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Chapter Text

The Chamber of Secrets bubbled with magical power. Spells rippled down its length, fired in fierce, quick bursts. Light reflected off the curling, snarling snake statues that lined the chamber. Several more spells shot forth before the chamber fell silent for all but Edelweiss Potter and her harsh breaths. Power flowed in her veins, dark and heady. Hours remained before she would be cleansed of her ill mood and the power fueling her.

She rubbed a hand across her forehead and grimaced at the feeling of sweat. She nearly growled at the dampness coating her. Edelweiss had meant to work through her frustration and anger. The worst thing she could think of had come to pass. Voldemort had his body and his full powers back. And did the powers that be listen to her and act? No. They engaged in foolish political posturing while she was left to wonder what grim fate she would face in the coming years.

Edelweiss began to cast again. Her anger and frustration leeched into her magic. Each spell leaped from her holly wand, a touch darker than it should be. She growled as her emotions boiled within her. She could hear her friend’s voice in the back of her mind: “Control your emotions,” said the Hermione in her head, “else they school you. The rational mind beats the emotional heart.”

“Unhelpful advice,” Edelweiss grumbled, as though her friend were there to hear her. “Better I use them than try to force my magic into an unnatural form.”

She paused and considered the return of her enemy, the Dark Lord Voldemort. She had been witness to his resurrection. And he had used her blood to overcome the magical defenses she acquired following their first encounter.

When she had been only fifteen months old, he had come to her family’s cottage on Halloween night. Three times he cast the Killing Curse that night. Yet only twice did the Green Death enact its fatal design. It failed him the last time. For when he had cast death upon her, a miracle occurred. She survived. His powers failed. His body destroyed. She was taken from the wreckage and, as her sworn godfather pursued a destructive course of vengeance, left with her mother’s muggle relatives.

She lingered at Number Four, Privet Drive for ten years, allegedly protected by ‘blood wards’. There she was treated akin to a slave, beaten at every sign of magic. It was the source of their wrath and the single thing that prevented her from truly joining the Dursley household. And they had kept it a secret from her, crafting a world of lies around her parents and her heritage. One that lasted until she turned eleven.

For on her eleventh birthday when she thought freedom from the Dursley’s cruelty had come to her in the form of Hogwarts and magic, Edelweiss was instead set on a path that ended with her reunion with the monster who shattered her family and left her with her infamous epithet, the Girl-Who-Lived.

And now Voldemort has a body once more, thought Edelweiss. She sighed and wiped the sweat from her brow. Her hair had begun to plaster to her forehead, which she disrupted with her open left hand. She brushed against the angry scar that cut across her forehead. It arced like a lightning bolt. It was the sole sign she survived the Killing Curse.

Edelweiss breathed out slowly and put thoughts of her past out of her mind. She used the strength still within her to remain on her feet. The chamber’s tiled floor was murky at the best of times. Despite her ongoing efforts, the Chamber of Secrets maintained a thin coating of grime on every surface and dark pools of sitting water.

And near the great statue of Salazar Slytherin at the far end was a large, dark stain from spilled blood. The basilisk she slew as a second year was gone now. She had it removed and rendered down for parts. She only retained enough of the vibrant green basilisk skin to produce armor in the future, along with five large vats of venom. The goblins she had contracted for the removal had kept the rest, providing her a slow yet steady stream of profit as they sold off the remains of her great victory.

The Chamber of Secrets was her place of solitude and peace now. The watching, prying eyes of Hogwarts had become too much in her third year. Where Ron and Hermione could go to Hogsmeade and feel normal, Edelweiss did not have that luxury. She turned to the first place she could think of, where she could escape the sensation of her hair standing up. She hated feeling someone’s gaze linger on the back of her head. Sometimes her right hand would twitch, a heartbeat away from drawing her wand and cursing the offender.

Thanks to her unique ability to speak parseltongue, the tongue of snakes, she was the sole occupant of Hogwarts able to access the Chamber. For now, it remained a sanctuary unique to only her. But she knew that one day even this place could fall.

On that fateful Halloween, some of Voldemort’s powers had been transferred to her. Or so Dumbledore told her, back when she still thought highly of him. She was skeptical of the Headmaster’s claim, yet what other explanation was there? A connection had formed between them, one that strengthened as the years passed.

It did not help that Edelweiss thought she was forever bound to the night of Halloween. Each year, something came to pass that night, ever since she entered the halls of Hogwarts. Each year something dreadful happened on that night: the troll in her first year, the Chamber of Secrets opening in her second, Sirius Black’s attack on the Fat Lady in her third year, and finally her name emerging from the Goblet of Fire several months back.

She huffed and shook her head, clearing her mind of thoughts that did not help her. Edelweiss could not allow herself to be distracted while she built and developed her spell repertoire. She was weak right now. Pathetic. She knew all too well that the only reason she escaped Voldemort and the graveyard was because of their twin wands. She needed to be stronger for when they next fought. Part of her new, future strength would come from knowing more spells. And once she knew them, she would need to master them, so she could fight Voldemort and his followers.

One day she would fight his Death Eaters in battle. She needed to be ready for whatever they would throw at her. She would not expect mercy from them, just as she would not give them quarter.

She could not do that. For her, capture at their hands would be the same as death. She could not rely on miraculous escapes when caught in a difficult position.

Edelweiss closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. She focused on her inner self, on the piece of her that resonated with the world beyond her skin. During her preparations for the Triwizard Tournament, she had stumbled upon a narrow tome that only she could read. The tome promoted meditation and guided one to… not enlightenment, per se, but a greater understanding. A greater connection to the world beyond the self, and the power one could gather by that means.

Through that meditation, Edelweiss learned to expand her feelings. To sense more beyond her weak, mortal self. To sense more than the primitive, material world that surrounded her.

And through her feelings, she had discovered something strange beneath her feet. Edelweiss struggled to make sense of what she felt. Some of what she knew could not be possible. She sensed metal and power that felt more in line with the muggle world than anything that could be found in the magical one. Yet it was there.

She had searched the parseltongue seals the basilisk’s lair and the abandoned office, long since pillaged with only spare, scratched-out pages left behind. Yet Edelweiss had not found it. It felt like a dirty secret. Her senses continued telling her what she felt existed, especially when she meditated in the Chamber of Secrets. Yet when she turned her wand and her magic to the task of ferreting out the strange things she sensed, Edelweiss was left stumbling in the dark.

Increasingly she felt that what she sensed was not of this world. The puzzle of what it was frustrated her to no end. Yet she could not justify introducing this particular problem to Hermione. Her friend might be the brightest witch of their age, but Edelweiss had grown up with nothing. She would possess her secrets for as long as they could remain so.

I will solve this mystery today, she decided. No matter what.

Edelweiss thought over how her magic had failed her. With a grimace, she slid her holly wand into the dragonhide holster at her wrist. It had been a Christmas gift, made from Hungarian Horntail. She held out her right arm, nice and straight. She closed her eyes and reached out with her strange, new senses. Some of her fatigue faded as her feelings found and embraced the secret thing she knew was present. Power filled her, swift and sudden. She did not need to incant or wave her hand about.

Her strange, new senses were meant to channel power. Edelweiss desired a proper name to describe it. Whatever last secret Salazar Slytherin hid away pressed at the edges of her awareness. Yet it resisted her attempts to grasp it. Edelweiss scowled and put her strength into her feelings. Her magic strained, even as righteous power filled her. There was something about this place, about this moment, that spoke to her heart and soul.

Something cried out, begging for her to show she possessed the power to find it.

Edelweiss nearly threw herself at what she felt. There was a long moment where she wondered if she had grasped onto it. And then another awareness pushed back. Hard.

She grunted, eyelids clenching tight as she focused, intent on claiming that which she felt. It sensed her will and intent. And as though judging her worthy, it finally responded as she wished.

Control was hers.

The wide circular block at the base of Slytherin’s statue shifted and groaned. Stone ground against stone, slowly twisting as it responded to the raw power of her will. Edelweiss clenched her jaw as she raised her right arm. The block strained against her. She reached out with her left and bolstered her efforts to move what she once assumed to be a fancy section of flooring. Her power rose, as rough and raw as it was. It responded to her intent, just as magic did; yet she felt that slight difference as she relied on these feelings.

It did not come completely from within, as her magic did. Instead, she felt as though she were bound to everything around her. As she sunk into its power, Edelweiss swore she could feel others—their emotions, their locations, even their intentions. She wanted nothing more than to explore this power, yet her lack of guidance stopped her cold. Push the wrong way and she might expose herself.

Certainly, someone else could wield their feelings like this.

Her eyes fluttered open and gazed up at the towering statue of Salazar Slytherin. You had these powers, didn’t you? Edelweiss thought, heart aflutter as she held the block in place. She had a feeling it was halfway clear. Just as you could speak with snakes, you possessed this strange power.

Does that mean…?

She gritted her teeth and nearly growled at the thought she entertained. Edelweiss Potter was sick of the ever-increasing connections between her and Voldemort. She decided to believe he was ignorant of these powers. If he had known of this place, then he would have wielded these powers against her. This power had to be her providence alone. She alone deserved to possess them.

This she would not share. It was hers. She had found it!

Her temper swelled in a wave of raging, wrathful fury. She channeled the full might of her will and her anger into the massive stone. It complied. Edelweiss had a sudden feeling that the stone had been waiting on her to call upon her anger. Where she had once struggled, it now moved with ease, revealing a pyramidal base that sloped cleanly to a point. A crimson crystal, filled with the hatred and wrath of a thousand human hearts, glowed where it sat at the apex.

How beautiful, Edelweiss thought, as she twisted her hands. The stone moved in turn, flipping over as she moved it leftward. She allowed it to hover until it was parallel to the chamber floor. Finally, she lowered it. The stone settled without a sound. She released her hold.

The moment she released her feelings and the power they granted her, a wave of exhaustion swept through her. Edelweiss nearly collapsed to her knees. Her legs shook. A wave of rage and fury swept through her, emulating what she felt from the crimson crystal. Her strength returned. The makings of a feral grin broke out as thundering realization shook her.

Her anger gave her power. It renewed her whenever she felt weak, just as hot soup warmed a cold child.

She approached the chasm left behind by her actions, holding her anger at a light simmer. Green lanterns illuminated descending steps, slowly drifting to the center. Without a moment of thought or hesitation, Edelweiss followed them down. Her footsteps were silent, sound and noise devoured by the stone around her. Something called out to her, beckoning her down and down and down. She resonated with the call as if part of her had been sealed away down here long ago.

At the base of the stairs, she found a short corridor. It led several feet to a strange metal door. It was dark and smooth, yet glistened as though freshly polished. A trio of soft white lights illuminated the doorway. Edelweiss looked it over, frowning as she failed to discover any handle or panel that would allow her entry. Staring at the door made her feel uneasy. Muggle technology did not work at Hogwarts. So how could something that looked even more advanced be here? This was the heart of Salazar Slytherin’s domain. Notorious muggle-hater Salazar Slytherin. And yet this anomaly existed.

Her right hand twitched, itching to draw her holly wand. But she stayed her hand. Her new feelings told her magic would not open this door. Something else could affect it as she wished. That thing—that feeling—would allow her access to whatever awaited her on the other side.

Perhaps I can learn more about this strange power and why it responds so readily to my feelings.

She approached the door with short, careful steps. Her emerald gaze cast about the threshold, hoping perhaps there would be a secret there. As she came within arm’s reach of the door, a trio of lights above her suddenly glowed red. A transparent blue man appeared before her, projected from the ground. He stared her down and his lips moved. Delayed words were relayed to her: [PEACE IS A LIE.]

Edelweiss flinched back and drew her wand. She held it low, by her side. Something told her danger could be at hand, but only if she failed this test.

[PEACE IS A LIE,] the blue man repeated.

A password. It’s looking for a password But how do I respond? And could I even hope to have a third chanc—

A voice whispered to her. It was not a voice she knew. Yet it reminded her of the feelings and power she had stumbled upon. The voice was soft, seductive, and rich. She thought of the crimson crystal that emanated pure passion.

“Peace is a lie. There is only passion.”

She nodded numbly. She had been prompted with ‘Peace is a lie’. Edelweiss knew what she had to do. She met the blue figure’s steely gaze and told it, “There is only passion.”

The blue man stared at her. Before she could fear she had answered wrong, the eyes glowed. [YOU HAVE ANSWERED CORRECTLY, APPRENTICE. BIOSCAN INITIATING.] A wide, silvery beam shot out from near the man’s projector. It crossed her body, top to bottom and left to right. Edelweiss stiffened, wand clenched tightly as it hovered over the scar that cut cleanly from her hairline down through her right brow. She kept it hidden under her wild black hair, which often curled about her thin glasses. The beam passed over the scar several times before the blue man said, [ANOMALY DETECTED. FILING FOR FURTHER ANALYSIS.] A few seconds later, he added, [ACCESS TO BE GRANTED FOR:]

Assuming what he asked for, she said, “Edelweiss Potter.”

[UNDERSTOOD. ACCESS GRANTED TO EDELWEISS POTTER. WELCOME TO ZIOST HANGAR, APPRENTICE.]

The blue man vanished and soft white lights illuminated the doorway. The door hissed open, rising so quickly her head flicked up trying to follow it. Air swept past her from beyond the door. Stale air. Her hand clenched tightly around her holly wand and her magic resonated with the phoenix feather within.

“You’re a Gryffindor,” Edelweiss hissed to herself. “There’s no need to fear the unknown.”

Yet with a hesitant step, Edelweiss crossed the metal threshold. She entered what the strange blue man had called “Ziost Hangar” as a dozen large lights suddenly clicked on. The hangar was almost the same size as the Great Hall with a high, vaulted ceiling. Thick bars of metal crossed above like ribs, supporting the metal roof. Several feet before her was a railing. She approached it and found that the floor fell away. She stared down at a black craft, long and smooth with a soft, matte finish. She had seen nothing like it. Not even in the muggle world. The closest she could think of was from Dudley’s telly programs—the kind he only watched when Uncle Vernon was at work and Aunt Petunia was busy gossiping. She hoped the strange craft could fly.

That must be why that strange man called his place a ‘hangar’, thought Edelweiss.

As she looked around the hangar, she found a stairwell to her left and a door on her right. It was identical to the one behind her. Edelweiss stared at the door. That calling sensation she felt up above returned. She could almost feel the seductive whispers emanating from the room. Her feet moved before her mind reached a decision—the same one her impulse had guided her to.

The door did not demand a password. It instead opened with a hiss, just like the previous door. Edelweiss entered a dark room. A heartbeat passed and the lights activated.

She had entered an office reminiscent of Dumbledore’s. Shelves covered most of the walls. They bore not books, as she would have assumed, but strange four-sided pyramids. They appeared to be made of crystal, glowing a faint reddish hue. There was a black diamond at the tip, linking the construct together.

Edelweiss breathed in slowly and then reached out with her new feelings. She caressed the pyramids, and they reached out in turn. She started toward one of the shelves when she felt another presence.

A greater one.

She glanced at the desk set along the far wall. Her gaze did not linger on the strange black and red banner hanging from nothing, but the pyramid built into the desk. It was larger than the ones on the shelves. It glowed brighter than the rest. Edelweiss reached out with her feelings and sensed that this was what drew her to this place. It had beckoned her, demanding and enthralling.

She approached the desk and stopped with barely two feet between her and the pyramid. After a moment of hesitation, Edelweiss reached out with her feelings. She brushed the pyramid’s internal structures and it glowed brightly. The black crystal atop the pyramid began projecting a familiar figure. It was not his whole body; only everything above mid-chest.

“I am Salazar Slytherin,” the figure declared. “Once I was a Sith Lord of Ziost. Later, I became a founder of the Universitas Hogwarts Magicarum Artium.” His gaze turned to her, terrible and burning. “You are the first to find this place. Be proud of your accomplishment. I desire to know your name.”

“I’m Edelweiss Potter, my lord,” Edelweiss said hastily. She did not know where the title came from, but she did recognize the roar of pride and victory in her gut. This discovery was hers, not Voldemort’s. “I am a witch studying above, in the halls of Hogwarts.”

“So Hogwarts persists.” Salazar smiled. She felt pride rippling from the pyramid—from him. “I would ask many questions of the academy as it is now, but the only one I must know the answer to is: does the house system I put into place still exist?”

“You’re the one who came up with the House system?” asked Edelweiss. She had always assumed it was a mutual choice or the slow evolution of the school across a thousand years.

“Yes! It was my grand vision as a Sith Lord to ensure all of our students competed against each other. They were too against individual competition, so I had to settle for splitting the student body into four groups, each corresponding with one of us.” Salazar then sighed. He scanned her and frowned. “I see no badge of House on you, Edelweiss. Which were you sorted into?”

“I’m a Gryffindor, sir. Though the Hat considered Slytherin for me.”

Salazar grimaced. “So Godric’s Hat persists. I would have thought it would fail over time.” A hand appeared and he rubbed his jaw. “How fascinating.”

“Is it actually, sir?”

His gaze flickered to her. “No. Not truly. Also, do not call me sir. I am not a wizard here, but a Sith Lord. I am to be addressed as ‘Lord Salazar’, ‘Lord Slytherin’, or should I accept you as my apprentice, ‘master’.”

“Of course, Lord Salazar,” said Edelweiss. She tried to not react to the usage of ‘master’ as a title. That reminded her of Dobby the House Elf, and thus the wretched treatment she suffered at the hands of the Dursleys.

“Though for a Gryffindor to find this place…” muttered Lord Salazar, troubled. His brows furrowed greatly, but they did not carve down into a proper scowl. He considered her. “Are you a parselmouth?”

Edelweiss nodded. She suspected Lord Salazar had never intended for only parselmouths to be capable of finding this place.

“Still,” said Lord Salazar as if he had never posed her a question, “you must be very powerful in the Force to reach me even with your gift. Have you been taught the ways of the Force?”

“…the Force, my lord? Is that this wonderful power I feel? The one that binds me to everything, yet grants me power over it all as well?”

He nodded. “A basic response, but yes. I would presume you have not been taught it, then. What of your witch studies?”

“Only four years.”

Lord Salazar considered her curiously. “Either you are younger than I first suspected, or you are small for your age.”

“I happen to be fourteen, Lord Salazar. I will be fifteen at the end of July.”

“So young and so powerful.” Lord Salazar grinned widely. Edelweiss swore something mad flashed in his eyes. “A powerful Sith Lord you shall be, Edelweiss Potter.”

“A Sith Lord?” she asked, unable to stop hints of fascination and fear from slipping into her voice. Edelweiss wondered why he called her a Sith Lord instead of a Sith Lady. But she would not ask. If Lord Salazar and Snape were alike, then he would not suffer fools.

Lord Salazar sighed. “When you asked about the Force, I began to fear you would be unfamiliar with my oldest and greatest title. Tell me, Edelweiss. How many years have passed since Godric and I had our public falling out?”

“About a thousand years, Lord Salazar.”

He drew back slightly. “…that long? Truly?”

Edelweiss nodded. “I, um, I should apologize, Lord Salazar. For killing your basilisk. It happened a couple years back—”

He waved away her apology as if it meant nothing. “After a thousand years, even the greatest beast born from Sith alchemy is more dangerous than she might be worth.” He paused and then raised an eyebrow. “A couple? So you were twelve at the time, yes?”

Edelweiss nodded.

Lord Salazar suddenly smiled. “My suspicion about your power is guaranteed. Should you agree to be taught by me or one of the many whose knowledge I have gathered, you shall be the greatest Sith Lord since those banished from Tython came to Korriban and learned the secrets of the dark side.”

Her mouth opened, a thousand half-baked thoughts ready to tumble from her tongue. Yet none sprung forth. Eventually, her mouth snapped shut. Edelweiss nodded dumbly, as though she understood all she had just been told. Lord Salazar smiled in the face of her hesitation or uncertainty.

“For now, take one of the holocrons from that section,” said Lord Salazar. He gestured to a bookcase on her left. Small lights illuminated a set of pyramids—holocrons—on two of the five shelves. “Those holocrons are best suited to instructing new apprentices. Especially those unfamiliar with the Force.”

“What exactly is the Force?” asked Edelweiss. She had a feeling she needed to understand that before she could comprehend what ‘Sith’ meant.

“The first of many questions. But that is not my place to tell you. I shall guide your growth, but I was never suited to teaching the Sith ways.” He sighed. “All the apprentices I tried to take up on this world were ill-suited to my old order.”

Edelweiss nodded. She scanned the holocrons from a distance, wondering how she might choose between them. There did appear to be little labels beyond each holocron, though they were so small she could not read a single one.

“I would recommend the holocron of a Sith apprentice and Master, the Lady Bastila Shan,” said Lord Salazar, as though he were reading her mind. Perhaps he was, somehow. “She lived during the Age of the Revanchist, just under three thousand years before my time. She was once a Jedi, the enemy of the Sith. They were the first to declare our ways ‘the dark side’. We adopted the term out of spite and hatred.” Edelweiss tried to not frown at that. She was still wary of dark magic from her world. What could this ‘dark side’ do to her? “Lady Bastila created a holocron to further preserve the wisdom of her master, Darth Revan, and those of his peers she thought of value. Her teachings will aid you in understanding what the Force is and how our foes think. From there, she can begin your training as a Sith apprentice.”

Edelweiss glanced between Lord Salazar and the holocrons one last time before nodding. She approached the illuminated shelves with their crimson and silver pyramids. She searched among them for the one Lord Salazar recommended. They looked the same to her, yet she had a feeling each holocron was unique. Somehow. Her eyes stopped, finding the label that declared: Lady Bastila Shan. She reached out and claimed the holocron. It was small enough to fit in her hand, unlike the monstrosity Lord Salazar used.

It did not activate. She held it to the light. Wires and thin threads twirled about the interior, masked by the strange glyphs on each side. The black capstone remained solid and dark. Edelweiss frowned. How did one activate a holocron?

“So you know,” Lord Slytherin added, drawing her attention back to him, “activating a holocron requires the use of the Force. You must will the holocron to activate; else you will continue to stare at it. You will find it easier if to use the Force if you channel your passions. Remember the code that granted you access to this place. For you, I believe anger shall be most ideal. In time, you will learn the full span of emotions a Sith Lord draws on for strength.”

“Of course, Lord Salazar,” she said, ignoring the twist in her gut at how easily he read her. “Is that why the password for the door was there is only passion?”

The man chuckled. “I thought it wise to work the Sith code into the seals and defenses when establishing this sanctuary. I could not risk this knowledge falling into the hands of one who would go against their teachings.”

“A code…” whispered Edelweiss. She heard what else Lord Salazar said, but did not care. The idea of a code, something to live by, sounded nice. Edelweiss had become too accustomed to living off the whims of fate, and by the principles others enforced upon her. She focused her mind on the holocron in her hand. The holocron glowed. A moment later, a woman emerged from the pyramid’s capstone just like Lord Salazar from the desk holocron.

“I am Bastila Shan, first apprenticed to Darth Malak and later to Darth Revan, the Dark Lord of the Sith,” the woman drawled. Her voice was rich and succulent, sounding how Edelweiss once thought Draco Malfoy’s mother would sound. She even looked similar, with high cheekbones and hair brushed away from her face. “For what purpose have you activated my holocron?”

“To introduce myself. I am Edelweiss Potter. I wish to learn about the Force from you, and the ways of the Sith.”

Lady Bastila hummed thoughtfully. “I feel your strength in the Force. It is great, but raw and untrained.” She considered something for several seconds as if the holocron was imprinted with the real woman’s mannerisms. Edelweiss was certain the woman had already made her decision. Maybe the holocron was programmed to probe viable students before rejection. “I shall take you on as my Sith apprentice, Edelweiss. Just as Revan taught me, I shall teach you.”

“As you say, Lady Bastila.”

Edelweiss’s response was met with a tinkling chuckle. “I do not mind being called lady. But it would be proper for you to call me master.”

Chapter Text

Edelweiss departed Lord Salazar’s office after a few minutes to speak with both the Sith Lord and Lady Bastila, who had teasingly called her “apprentice”. Each had expectations of her. For Lord Salazar, she was required to grow strong and wise in the dark side. There would be no time to return to Ziost Hangar before the end of the term, so they would put off their meeting until September. As for Lady Bastila, there was some discussion about when they would have their first lesson. They had agreed upon once Edelweiss was back with the Dursleys. She did not like that plan, but it was safer secrecy-wise than activating the holocron within Hogwarts’s ever-watching walls.

She returned to the Chamber the way she had come, crossing thresholds of metal and stone alike. Lady Bastila’s holocron sat heavy in her pocket, the pyramidal structure awkward where it sat. Edelweiss allowed her hand to slip into her pocket and caress the crystal and metal structure. It sang to her, oddly alive thanks to the power they called the Force. Or perhaps what she felt was the dark side, for they sounded to be related, yet distinct.

A feral grin slid onto her face. Edelweiss felt glee when she thought of the lessons before her. If what she sensed from that crystal and the holocrons was a hint of what the Force and the dark side promised, then she would be more powerful than any who walked Britain since Merlin and Morgane.

I shall overcome Voldemort with this power. And perhaps Dumbledore, too.

Edelweiss decided it was about time to return to Gryffindor Tower before she would need to make an appearance in the Great Hall for dinner. She wished that she could go and commune with Lady Bastila once more, to pose questions about what it meant to be a Sith Lord, but they had reached an agreement. More so, the holocron now in her possession and her newfound Force powers had to be kept secret. None could know of what she had discovered. Not the Weasleys, whom she cared about like family. Not Hermione, about as close to a sister as he might ever have.

She could not even tell her godfather, Sirius Black.

And definitely not Dumbledore, Edelweiss thought with bitter frustration. Rancid anger, restless and years old, bubbled in her veins whenever she thought of the Headmaster. Despite what the public might think and others within Hogwarts might claim, Edelweiss held no love for Albus Dumbledore. And it was for a single reason: It was only because of his insistence did she continue to return to the Dursley household where she was unwanted.

But before she went, she gazed upon the crimson crystal again. It glowered fiercely the longer she stared at it. Edelweiss closed her eyes and reached out with the Force. She wondered what she would feel now that she understood her new power a little better. Wrath and fury washed over her at first. But the longer Edelweiss held her grasp on the crystal through the Force, the more she was able to parse apart and understand each emotion, each fragment of passion, she felt.

So this is the power that shall be mine, she thought with a grin. This… This is the power of the dark side of the Force. The power of a Sith Lord. The power which shall remake me in its image.

A sudden, daring idea sprung to mind. Edelweiss approached the crystal. She scaled the stone pyramid it was set in. Her hand drew close to the crystal. It thrummed with burning power. Her heartbeat beat hard, seeking to match the crystal’s thrumming. Edelweiss felt as though she were in sync with this power before her. Just as the Force had drawn her to Lord Salazar’s final secret and the holocrons he brought from worlds beyond, it now drew her to this crystal.

Yet when she reached out to pluck the crystal from its stone mount, Edelweiss hesitated. A feeling of wrongness filled her. She swore that now was not the right time to claim this crystal. The Force was telling her so Edelweiss withdrew, more and more certain of her decision. A sense of rightness fell over her.

The crystal was not hers to claim on this day. One day, that would change. On that fateful future day, the crystal would beckon to her and she would claim it for some great purpose.

Until then, Edelweiss would leave the crystal be. Lady Bastila’s holocron was her great prize for discovering Lord Salazar’s hidden legacy. She just had to be content with that.

Edelweiss returned to the castle above by the first route she discovered down to the Chamber of Secrets. She sealed the main chamber behind her before following the cavernous paths to the base of the slide down from Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. She hissed, commanding the slide to become stairs with her parselmouth ability. Once the stairs finished shifting into position, as slick as the slide, Edelweiss began up and up.

As she climbed, Edelweiss considered whether she should expend energy to improve this particular route between Hogwarts and the Chamber. Of the other routes down to the Chamber of Secrets, only this and two others brought her to the second floor or higher. Most, annoyingly, deposited her in the dungeons. It made sense since the Chamber had been Lord Salazar’s, but could it not have pained him to make more entries higher in Hogwarts?

Perhaps one of the many descendants of Salazar Slytherin had reshaped the castle so. Edelweiss recalled Hermione once telling her that Hogwarts, A History included passages about the many, many refurbishments, restorations, and reconstructions imposed upon the castle throughout the centuries. The passages she used most have been caught up in one of them—or that one was used to fully mask the presence of Lord Salazar’s secret chamber.

A glimmer of light shined down, alerting Edelweiss she was near the top. She paused to hiss, §“Open!”§ The large sink complex of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom groaned as it shifted open before her. Edelweiss smirked and finished her ascent. She emerged and stepped out into the cold, white bathroom. She drew her wand, waved it toward the sinks, and watched as the stairway was sealed behind her. Soon it would return to being a slide.

A familiar face, topped with bushy hair, stepped out of a nearby stall with crossed arms. Edelweiss sighed as Hermione Granger took three strides so she could stand between Edelweiss and the bathroom’s exit, a mulish frown all but demanding answers about where she had been.

They stared at each other for several long seconds. Hermione eventually huffed and accused, “You’ve been going down into the Chamber.”

“Yes, I have.” Edelweiss resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. After a few seconds, she offered up, “I have been heading down there since our third year. You were too busy time-traveling to notice.”

Edelweiss stepped forward so she could try and push her way past Hermione. Her friend decided to stride forward. They paused when there was about a foot between them. Hermione then placed an unwanted hand on Edelweiss’s shoulder. “You don’t need to isolate yourself from Ron and me, Edie. After what happened with Cedric—”

“I don’t wish to talk about him!” Edelweiss hissed. The sudden flow of anger through her veins dragged up those strange Force powers at the edge of her awareness. She took a moment to breathe and cool her head before she continued. “I have woken from enough nightmares about his death to know I am in no mood to talk about what happened that night. I understand you want me to talk about it to you. But there are some things I will not burden you with, Hermione.” She paused, drew in a deep breath, and released it slowly. “Let it be, Hermione. I have made my decision. Respect it.”

Hermione huffed, her bushy hair almost wild. For a moment, Edelweiss thought the issue would be pressed further—to a breaking point from which they might never recover. But Hermione surprised her when she sighed and deflated.

Edelweiss only hoped that her friend would leave the matter alone. But that was unlikely. Very, very unlikely.

“This summer,” Hermione suddenly said quite strongly and fiercely. “This summer we’ll talk about what happened. And I will not give you a choice.”

Edelweiss sighed and muttered, “…if you must insist so.”

She did not intend to go through with what Hermione demanded, though. Edelweiss was perfectly content to keep her secrets. Especially as they began to pile up. The topic of Cedric Diggory and the recent events in the graveyard had become a sticking point between them. Hermione wanted her to open up. To discuss what happened that night. It did not help that over the past few nights, Edelweiss had woken screaming and sweating. She did not recall her dreams.

All she knew was that Hermione believed Edelweiss to be haunted by the death that occurred that night. The death she had been powerless to stop. A death that, had she followed her impulse in the moment, would have never come to pass.

And soon I will have power aplenty, Edelweiss thought, a hand brushing over the pocket holding Lady Bastila’s holocron. Enough power to destroy Voldemort and prevent him from ever taking another life again. Maybe even enough…

She allowed that last thought to drift away into the back of her mind. Edelweiss brushed past Hermione and stepped out of the bathroom.

They headed to Gryffindor Tower, one before the other. Only a few feet separated them, yet it could have been the whole of Hogwarts. Edelweiss could feel Hermione’s gaze on the back of her neck, somehow peering through her long thick hair. They went to the nearest entrance into Staircase Hall. Dozens of shifting stairs swiveled and swung about the massive chamber, guiding students from landings from the ground floor up to the seventh floor. Nearly all of the castle, including the Great Hall and the dungeons complex, could be accessed through the many, many landings throughout the hall. Edelweiss had learned the hard way that the wrong swing would lead to one of many abandoned sections of the castle, where ambient magic played havoc on the materials left behind.

Edelweiss gave the Fat Lady, guardian portrait of the Gryffindor common room and dormitories, the password and stormed through the threshold. She passed across the common room, a sea of reds and plush chairs, and started up the left-hand stairs to her dormitory. Her jaw set as she realized Hermione could follow her up to the dormitory, and there trouble her further.

She reached out with her feelings and grasped awkwardly to the power of the Force. As if summoned by want, a girl in the year above them came down the stairs. The girl glanced at Edelweiss as they came into each other’s sight. A discomforted frown marred her fine face.

I wonder… I know magic can compel someone, but can the Force?

She met the older girl’s gaze. She had a feeling she should be careful, but her anger drove her to act. To create space. With tremendous focus, Edelweiss slammed what she wanted through her eyes and into the other girl. The suggestion appeared to take hold, for the girl’s eyes went glassy. A moment passed as she stood on two steps before mumbling, “I should speak with Granger about her OWLs.”

It was only when Edelweiss reached her dormitory, thankfully empty, that she realized her cheeks were aching from a sudden grim. She lowered a hand to Lady Bastila’s holocron and grasped it. She fought back a sudden, powerful impulse to awaken the woman and boast of what she had done. After all, she had used the Force to influence another. She had twisted someone to her will.

She thought of Voldemort and shivered. Part of her wanted to reject Lady Bastila and Lord Salazar and the dark side, but its power proved too much for Edelweiss to so brazenly toss aside. She knew so little of the Force and the Sith that it would be foolish to surrender this opportunity.

A moment passed before Edelweiss made her choice. She went to her trunk, opened it, and put the holocron, that strange pyramid of crystal and metal and ancient knowledge, in a spot where she could easily retrieve it before she reached the Dursleys.

Edelweiss would speak with her new master—teacher—when the time came.

The Leaving Feast was held the day before their morning departure for London. The student body of Hogwarts was gathered at their four long tables, sat silently with the remaining visitors from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang among the Ravenclaws and Slytherins they had been sitting with since their arrival. A thousand candles hung in the air above the tables, unlit this eve.

Edelweiss gazed over the crowd, her eyes skimming over the obvious gap left at the Hufflepuff table. Her gut twisted, wishing once against that she had stunned Cedric Diggory instead of allowing her foolish, Gryffindor sense of fairness to distract from her gut instinct. She tried to suppress any thought of what could have come to pass, had she found those holocrons earlier. But they came through regardless. She could have prevented Cedric’s death. She could have stopped Wormtail. She could have prevented Voldemort’s return.

But none of that had happened. Cedric was dead, and her immortal foe had returned.

Her gaze drifted past the candles to the pitch-black banners hung from the rafters, stretching down from the magical sky like birds of prey above carrion. They set a mood that slunk into Edelweiss’s bones, all the way down to the marrow. She more played with her food that ate, and that which she ate tasted ashen or tasteless. The richness she had always associated with the feasts at Hogwarts was gone. She glared at the golden plates as if they offended her.

All around her were reminders of her failure. Cedric Diggory was dead because of her failure. The mood of mourning was her fault. She had been too weak to fight back the specter of death.

But that would soon change.

When September arrived, Edelweiss would be more powerful. She swore so on her blood and the magic channeled there. The holocron sitting in her trunk, nestled among her clothes and books, would ensure her ascendancy. She already had a faint grasp on how to manipulate the Force: how it allowed her to move heavy objects with only her will and deceive those she wished. It was a magnificent power, perfect for augmenting her magical knowledge. As the feast stretched on, she allowed her thoughts to dwell not on the mood around her, but on the powers she would develop. Lady Bastila waited with new knowledge. And that would guide Edelweiss to new heights of power and understanding.

The more she considered the Force and its potential, the more Edelweiss came to suspect it could be something greater than magic. It had been brought to this world from another. Thanks to all she learned beneath the Chamber of Secrets, Salazar Slytherin had not been born on Earth. He had come from another planet. A distant world invisible to the naked eye. And yet he had found a reason to land in Britain. Perhaps it was fate… or perhaps it was the Force. She already desired and coveted her future lessons with Lady Bastila.

Thinking of Lord Salazar reminded Edelweiss of the strange black ship she found in Ziost Hangar. It did not have the appearance of a muggle craft, designed for flight in atmosphere. It had to be the ship that ferried Lord Salazar across the cold expanse of space. Yet it did not look like a spaceship, all black and sleek and deadly.

Movement at the Head Table caught her gaze. Dumbledore had risen from his tall golden throne. It was hard to not sneer at the ostentatious sight behind him, though she could not help but respect the implicit power his gaudy seat projected. Despite her feelings about the man, she could not deny her respect for how he twisted and bent power to his will. She hated him for sending her to the Dursleys year after year for the summer. Yet living there had saved her life—once. Now, however, she had no reason to believe the blood wards that supposedly saved her so long ago worked as they once had.

A shame he did not see it that way, but she doubted he had listened to her reason why she doubted their power.

Not like he had ever listened to her.

“Another year gone. Another year passed,” the Headmaster began, his voice kept low despite how everyone stared at him. It was almost hypnotic, how he spoke. “Bonds of friendship were built, both here within Hogwarts and with our respected foreign guests. Later today, they will return to their homelands, hopefully with those bonds of friendship built strong enough to last across the distance that will separate us all soon. For every bond forged this year that lasts, the brighter the world—and our shared future—will be.

“However, there is one matter that I must speak about before we all part ways. On the night of the Third Task, we lost one of the best and brightest Hogwarts has known in many a year: Cedric Diggory. He was a friend and a prefect, a beloved member of this body, and a respected Quidditch player. He embodied every value of his House, Hufflepuff, and the values of the other three. He was courageous like a Gryffindor and wise as a Ravenclaw. He had his own brand of Slytherin cunning, channeled through the loyal and hard-working nature of Hufflepuff.”

Dumbledore paused then, his gaze swiveling across the Great Hall. Those blue eyes lingered on Edelweiss for a moment. Fury bubbled in her got.

“On that night when we lost him, he was not killed by accident or tragedy. He was murdered by Lord Voldemort.”

A huge gasp followed Dumbledore’s proclamation. Air withdrew from the Great Hall. Edelweiss felt shock and fear emanate from nearly everyone following Dumbledore naming Voldemort publicly. She was pleasantly surprised by how their fear and shock seeped into her. She focused on the Force—and felt their fear and shock turn into power.

A grin came to her face. Edelweiss would tell Lady Bastila of this moment and all she gathered from it.

“Do not be mistaken: he has returned. Outside of these walls, voices scared and small alike will reject the truth. These voices are not malicious. They only believe that if they ignore the evil released upon our society, it will not exist. I, however, cannot in good faith send you home to your families without warning you of the coming danger. Some of you will be swayed by the arguments of his followers. But their words are false promises. Lord Voldemort cares not for the bloodline of his victims. He killed as many purebloods as he did muggleborns. For him, it is those who would not bow and scrape before him that are a threat. But only when they are separated from each other, for his enemies are always strongest together.

“Fear not! For as deep as the darkness may be, it will always be overcome by light. Family and love are things he cannot understand, and upon them the strength of Hogwarts is built. When you leave tomorrow morning, I know you will take them with you into the world outside these walls.”

As the Great Hall was filled with awkward clapping, Edelweiss fumed in her seat. When she had been eleven, newly scarred by her second encounter with Voldemort, Dumbledore refused to tell her why her family had been targeted. It had been safe then to assume it was because they opposed him. Yet something in her bones told her it was a lie. That something deeper, more fundamental drove him that night. Even now, Dumbledore would not speak the truth. He could somehow speak honestly to the entire student body about Voldemort’s nature and war. But he refused to tell her why that madman targeted her family to begin with.

But what could it be? wondered Edelweiss as she stabbed the remnants of her meal. What drove you, Voldemort? Desire for power? A fear of death? Pure madness?

The obvious way to reach an answer would be to question Voldemort, but she was not ready to face him again. Edelweiss had been disabused of any certainty she could stand up to him only too recently. Only once she was powerful enough to destroy him without question would she tear the truth from his mind.

And once that was done, she would ensure Voldemort could never return from death or destruction.

The train to London traveled swiftly as if it were aware enough to know those aboard sought separation from the dreadful events that concluded their most recent year at Hogwarts. Edelweiss gave those who came and went from the compartment she occupied courtesy, but little else. Her mind focused on the future when she would finally be able to extract Lady Bastila’s holocron from where it awaited her.

Present around her were Ron and Hermione, as usual, along with Ginny Weasley, Ron’s younger sister, and Neville Longbottom. They shared the compartment in the most perfunctory manner possible. The four around her occupied seats and talked, but they were separate. Hermione tried repeatedly to involve Edelweiss in their conversations, yet when she listened in, she found herself incapable of following along or even caring about their childish conversations.

She wondered if her induction into the Sith Order—ignoring that she knew next to nothing of their ways—was what separated her from her friends. Even a week ago, she would have cared about their conversation. But all she cared for now was the holocron in her trunk and that which Lady Bastila would teach her.

About an hour out from King’s Cross, the compartment door opened and the Weasley Twins entered. Edelweiss glanced at them before drowning out their droll conversation as they spoke with the rest. And then they turned their gazes to her, mischief shimmering in their eyes. She straightened and focused her attention on the present.

“And what has you troubled—” began one.

“—O Queen of Gryffindor, Exalted Champion?” the other concluded.

“I would rather remain at Hogwarts than return to London. You know how I am about the summer hols.” Edelweiss glanced between them as she carefully reached out for the Force. She kept her hands where they were and tried to not strain as her new power came to her slowly. Yet she suspected that with the Force, she might one day know the difference between Fred and George. “Did Bagman cough up the gold?”

They glanced at each other pensively before the one on the left—Fred, she thought—admitted, “He ran.”

“Debts with goblins he can’t pay.”

“Doubt we’ll ever get our gold back.”

Edelweiss stared at them for several seconds as she reached a decision. “I have gold I do not need,” she said, rising to her feet. Edelweiss stepped up onto the bench, ignoring Hermione’s outraged squawk, and dug into her trunk. Her hand passed over Lady Bastila’s holocron three times before she found a bag of coins. Minister Fudge begrudgingly gave her a thousand galleons after the Third Task—her winnings. Her attempt to give half to Cedric’s father had been denied, annoying her.

She tossed the bag at them, closed her trunk, and sat back down. “Consider this an investment, boys. Now get out.”

They shared a final glance between themselves, before bowing their heads to her, and departed. Edelweiss tried to not preen at their respect. Ron and Ginny stared at her, gaping, while Hermione frowned.

“That was rather rude of you,” Neville pointed out.

Edelweiss huffed and leaned back into her seat. “I’m only tired, Neville. No need to worry about me.”

She then leaned back and closed her eyes, granting credence to her claim of being tired. She slowed her breathing and inched toward a meditative state. Her anger simmered and bubbled. Under normal meditative conditions, her emotions would slip away as she went deeper and deeper into that meditative state. Edelweiss went against her usual meditative pattern, instead focusing on all she felt when she discovered Ziost Hangar. She grasped her anger and held on to it, milking every trace of power the potent emotion possessed. She could feel her power rise. Sense how her anger supported and upheld the power of the Force she had accidentally discovered, down in the Chamber of Secrets.

When they reached London, Edelweiss said her farewells on the train, trunk in hand. She made certain to let the Weasleys know to give her best to Mrs. Weasley, no doubt somewhere on the platform. Hedwig, her trusted snowy owl, was somewhere in the wilds, commanded to remain away from her until Edelweiss required an owl. The cage had been left behind in her dormitory, for she deemed it unnecessary this summer. What was necessary was the holocron in her trunk. Thoughts of it filled her mind. She wished she could touch it, hold it, learn its secrets. But she had to wait until she returned to Privet Drive.

Edelweiss luckily snuck past Mrs. Weasley, who was busy pestering her children about where “that poor dearie” went. She passed through the barrier and returned to the muggle world. Nobody gave her a second glance as she dragged her luggage through the hordes churning through the muggle part of King’s Cross. She eventually stepped out of the train station and found Uncle Vernon waiting for her.

He kept silent as she approached with trunk in tow. He just lumbered back to his oversized car. Edelweiss followed in his wake, slightly amused by the curious glances that drifted between her, petite and unusual, and Uncle Vernon, oversized yet common. Maybe they thought it bizarre that she was forced to lug the suitcase instead of the massive man taking it upon himself to assist her.

The drive out of London and back to Little Whinging was disturbingly quiet. Not even the radio was on. Edelweiss had noticed in the past that when Uncle Vernon picked her up, he made a point of listening to BBC reports about pedestrian, muggle things. Like politics or football or some foreign nonsense he used to rile himself up. Curiously, she found herself almost missing that version of Uncle Vernon. His anger made him predictable, and predictability had kept her safe in the past.

Eventually, they pulled up to Number Four, plain and bland as always. Uncle Vernon watched her carefully as she removed her trunk from the back seat. As they approached the front door, he grumbled, “Put that thing up in your room and then come back down. You’re cooking dinner tonight. After that, you will clean the kitchen and dining room, girl.”

Edelweiss suspected the Weasleys coming through the fireplace had spooked the Dursleys. It was clearly enough for them to allow her to retain her trunk, despite having been gone for eleven months. Whatever Arthur Weasley said had gotten through their thick, dense skulls. For once, she could work on her summer homework before escaping their wretched muggle hovel. She did as ordered, swallowing her pride and anger so that she would be safe while amongst milquetoast enemies.

One day, she would wield her anger and new powers against the Dursleys. Until then, she would grow in secret and embrace the lessons of Lady Bastila’s holocron.

Chapter Text

Long, tiresome days passed before Edelweiss claimed enough time for communion with Lady Bastila’s holocron. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon did their damndest to keep her busy about the house and garden as a sweltering heat wave grasped Britain tightly. They did not blink at using excessive water for the lawn, despite the BBC announcers repeatedly talking about the risk of drought. They took pride in their lawn and their roses, ignoring how Edelweiss and her magic kept them in their almost pristine condition. Not even letting that fact slip into conversation was enough to break their hold on her time. It took her secretly calling the police, pretending to be one of their neighbors, which ended their lawn tyranny and bought the time she wanted.

Edelweiss did not even need to lock herself into her room to ensure she had plenty of uninterrupted time with Lady Bastila. Uncle Vernon, in his blustering fury over her daring action, had locked the five locks attached to her door and informed her she would only receive a liter of water daily and the ends from each loaf of bread the Dursleys consumed. Given his bizarre weakness in allowing her to keep her trunk in her room this year, she could fetch the holocron whenever she wished.

She woke on a warm, humid morning with a feeling deep in her bones. Edelweiss went to her trunk, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and drew out the holocron from within. The red crystal sides glimmered when streaks of white light passed over them.

The holocron rose from her palm as she shifted backward into a kneeling posture. The relic glowed crimson as it hovered before her face. The anger simmering under her skin roared to life. She breathed in and out once before channeling her power into the pyramidal construct. The lower four corners twisted as the black crystal capstone glowed. A heartbeat later, Lady Bastila, red-hued and amused, was projected from the holocron.

“Apprentice,” she drawled. “I wondered how long it would be until we would meet again.”

“Lady Bastila,” said Edelweiss, still uncomfortable with the thought of calling anyone master. It had slipped from her once. She swore she would not use it again until she was well and ready. “I am ready for my first lesson. Tell me about the Force.”

Lady Bastila smiled widely. “If that is what you wish, I will teach you not only about the nature of the Force but also the doctrine of the Sith. It is upon this foundation that all of your future lessons shall be built upon.”

Edelweiss nodded as she shifted to get more comfortable. She had given some thought to what the Force was in the days since learning of its existence. Something magical, yes, but she could not deny that it was different as well. She knew it in her bones that the Force and her witch magic, while somehow related, could not be the same. She had realized that much when reflecting on the day she discovered Ziost Hangar.

“I am ready to learn,” Edelweiss declared. “Please. Teach me.”

Lady Bastila began, “The Force is an energy field that binds all things together. It is everywhere, surrounding everyone and everything. All living things possess midi-chlorians. They are a kind of microscopic life form. They act in symbiosis with life, playing the role of connecting each and every living being to the Force. Through them, we can access the Force and use its power for our aims. Through these midi-chlorians, the first aspect of the Force is produced: the Living Force.

“All beings, regardless of their sensitivity to the Force, possess a weak energy field around them. That field is a manifestation of the Living Force. Those sensitive to the Force can manipulate the fields of both their self and of others, along with the broader fabric of the Force; either in tandem with the midi-chlorians within or by working against them.”

“Why would one go against these midi-chlorians?” asked Edelweiss, frowning. From what Lady Bastila had already said about midi-chlorians and the Force, it sounded counterproductive to act against them.

“Because they link the Living Force to the Cosmic Force. When one dies, the power of their connection to the Living Force joins the Cosmic Force, granting it more power to influence the living. They work through the midi-chlorians, forming the basis of what some brazenly call the will of the Force.

“Be mindful, young apprentice, for the Cosmic Force can twist the will of any Force-sensitive if one is not careful. And if that comes to pass, it can deprive them of their liberty and right mind.”

“What becomes of those who lose themselves to the Cosmic Force? Something terrible must happen if you are warning me of the Cosmic Force’s influence.”

She already had a suspicion of what might happen. The thought of becoming a slave as Lady Bastila implied made Edelweiss queasy and spiked her anger, a moment later. She had spent too many years in a state akin to slavery.

She would never be a slave.

“Darth Traya, who taught my master, hated the Force,” confessed Lady Bastila. “She realized that the Force twists the wills of those sensitive to it so that it might achieve what our enemies—the Jedi—call balance. It was my master Revan, though, who realized that the enforcement of the Force’s will emerges from the Cosmic aspect of the Force. It influences the Living Force, and thus forces those tuned to the will of the Force to enact that very will.”

“And so this dark side you and Lord Salazar speak of protects us from its will? Prevents us from becoming its slaves like the Jedi?”

“Yes,” purred Lady Bastila. “The dark side of the Force frees those sensitive to the Force from its will. Your passions protect you. They ensure you will not become its slave. The dark side is what allows us to master the Force and learn the secret truths of the universe. Our code emphasizes this truth through the words, ‘The Force shall free me’.”

“Can you teach me this code, master?” asked Edelweiss. She knew they would have come around to discussing the code regardless, but she needed exposure to the foundation of what it meant to be a Sith. “I learned the first line through the Force when I gained access to Lord Salazar’s hangar and his collection of holocrons. The rest, however, I do not know yet.”

Lady Bastila briefly considered her request before nodding. “I had meant to speak more about the Force before teaching you the Sith Code, but if you desire to know it now”—Edelweiss hastily nodded—“then I shall tell it to you. After that, we shall discuss their meaning. Listen closely, apprentice, for this is the foundation of what it means to be a Sith. This code is ancient. More ancient than any civilization on your backwater world. The code goes as follows:

"Peace is a lie, there is only passion.

“Through passion, I gain strength.

“Through strength, I gain power.

“Through power, I gain victory.

“Through victory, my chains are broken.

“The Force shall free me.”

Edelweiss frowned as she worked to channel Hermione’s inquisitiveness and cold logic into the process of considering and thinking over the Sith Code as Lady Bastila relayed it. “That first line… When you say peace, what… What do you speak of? The absence of war? Or something else? Perhaps… more personal?”

“A fine question for one who was never a Jedi,” Lady Bastila said with a slight smile. “Understand that the Sith emerged from the Jedi, and so there is an inevitable desire to respond to the decayed, rotting root of their philosophy: There is no emotion, there is peace.”

Edelweiss nodded. “So then how do the Jedi perceive peace?”

“The Jedi view peace as the absence of conflict. They strive to achieve their vaunted ‘peace’ by detaching themselves from the lives of those around them. No personal attachments. No desire. They are not even allowed to love another and to have children without intense scrutiny and the risk of expulsion from the Order.”

“A pitiful existence,” Edelweiss muttered. She remembered her first year at Hogwarts and the misadventures following Christmas. That image she had seen in the Mirror of Erised would forever remain scarred upon her heart. She had seen love. Belonging. Family. The things stolen from her by Voldemort—and Albus Dumbledore. “What’s the point of life without attachments? How can they live without them?”

“What indeed,” drawled Lady Bastila. Her smile grew larger. More pleased. “But our focus with the first line of our code relates to the opposite of the Jedi’s code. Where they reject conflict, we embrace it. With conflict, one grows—or one dies. It is the nature of the galaxy and of life.”

Edelweiss nodded, nearly losing herself in memories of her first four years at Hogwarts. “I understand. I’ve faced conflict several times in the past, and I grew stronger as a result.”

No incident stood out stronger in her mind than that of the Chamber of Secrets. Her poisoning by the basilisk and healing by Fawkes, Dumbledore’s phoenix, had granted her a mild immunity to poison and potions. She had a sudden feeling it would not be prudent to tell Lady Bastila. Though perhaps there would be another holocron that could teach her more about poisons and how to combat them.

Lady Bastila continued, seemingly unaware of Edelweiss’s thoughts. “The second line speaks to both our strength over the Jedi and what allows us to transcend the basic lives of animals. Any beast can move through life by relying upon their passions. But mastering your passions and forging them into a weapon allows one to seek and pursue desires that only a sentient mind can comprehend. You must rise above the wretched masses, or else you risk your destruction. Many a Sith Lord has been consumed by their passions and were warped into mindless beasts only suited for destruction and death.”

“I think I’ve grasped the entire code and what it means,” said Edelweiss, resting her chin upon a hand as she leaned forward. “Our passion and ambition inevitably leads to conflict. Only through strength of will do we survive and grow stronger as a result. That strength becomes the power necessary to become victorious over our enemies. It builds upon itself; power and victory, feeding each other symbiotically.”

Lady Bastila laughed, that same tinkling sound she first heard in Salazar’s solar. “You are a swift learner, apprentice. I do not know if any have been able to grasp the Sith Code’s true meaning as easily as you. But you must remember: victory must be achieved by displaying your true power. Else, it is an illusion.”

“I understand, master.” Edelweiss blinked. She had not meant to call Lady Bastila ‘master’. Yet she did not take her words back.

Lady Bastila acted as though she had not noticed the slip. “Best that you completely understand all I seek to teach you, apprentice. And what do you make of the final two lines?”

“I guess it would depend on how one defines their chains. Whatever binds each Sith must be overcome through their own power, so that they can be free to act as they please. Their will is superior to all.” Her unrealized self, the traces of herself Edelweiss tried to avoid and ignore, whispered things she had already known. She listened and agreed with all it told her. “For me, there are four chains that bind me down. Four chains I must break if I am to be free… to be a Sith Lord.”

Lady Bastila raised a curious eyebrow. Edelweiss required no further prompting.

“The oldest of my chains are the Dursleys. They are the ‘family’ I am forced to live with every summer. They used me as a slave before I learned about my magic, and still seek to abuse my labor for their personal gain. They must be permanently placed beneath me, as I was put beneath them before.

“The second set of chains is the magical public. Their opinions are mercurial and unreliable, changing not because of what I do or say, but because of how my image is manipulated by others. I must seize control of how I am viewed so that only the way I desire to be seen becomes reality. They must see me as I see myself. Not as my enemies and detractors do.

“After them… the next pressing chain to break would be Voldemort, the self-stylized Dark Lord who killed my parents and continues to hunt me. I must destroy him. I must erase every ounce of fear the people feel when they hear his assumed name uttered aloud. It should be known in all corners of the world that I am his vanquisher, greater than he ever was. By the time I am finished with him, Voldemort shall only be uttered concerning my rise.”

“And the fourth?” asked Lady Bastila.

“Dumbledore,” Edelweiss snarled with black fury. “All of my suffering comes back around to Albus Dumbledore. He has pulled my strings for long enough. I must ruin him, as he ruined me. Make it so none even speak of him.”

Her rage rose in a violent swirl that filled every ounce of her being. Her hands tightened, knuckles blooming white as her emotions—her passions—coursed through her with certainty and dedication. Power came to her, intoxicating in its potential, as she imagined the four chains she would shatter as she became a Sith Lord.

“And once you have destroyed them, my apprentice?” whispered Lady Bastila.

“I will… I… I will…”

Edelweiss sighed. Her building rage faded. Sweat trickled from her hairline and down to her brow, and from where her glasses touched her face. She removed those glasses and set them aside. It should be possible for the Force to overcome this simple infirmary. “I do not know yet. I have given little thought to the future beyond the war I know I must fight. Voldemort has returned, and his last rise to power triggered a civil war that nearly overthrew my society.”

“Then you must prepare to face the threat this ‘Voldemort’ poses to you and destroy all who dare oppose you,” declared Lady Bastila, each word sharp and precise. Edelweiss met her master’s severe expression. “The Sith Code has confirmed everything you know of growing stronger. Trust in my teachings, and you shall become a powerful Sith Lord. You shall be powerful enough to break your four chains and free yourself by using the power of the dark side of the Force.”

“Of course,” she replied, bowing her head. Edelweiss breathed in and then uttered the words that would guide her to her fate. “I submit myself to your teachings, my master.”

“Good,” drawled Lady Bastila. “You must keep our lessons a secret, apprentice. Having listened to all you have told me of your life, few around you will appreciate my lessons and the ways of the Sith. The greatest of all Sith has long been called the ‘Dark Lord of the Sith.’ This title was ancient history when I lived and breathed, some four thousand years ago. A time will come when you shall take up that mantle. One day you shall be the Dark Lord of the Sith. And one day, you will take on an apprentice who will take that title from you when the time comes.”

Edelweiss nodded warily. She tasted sour bile in the back of her throat. Hearing she would naturally claim Voldemort’s title horrified her. Yet she was thinking of that title as a mage. A human of Earth. Not as a Sith. For it was clear, when she thought it through, that the title of Dark Lord meant something different to the Sith. She would be wiser bringing honor to that ancient tradition. To be a Dark Lord of the Sith who would be spoken of how Lady Bastila spoke of her ‘Lord Revan.’

He must have been one of those Dark Lords, she realized. A true Sith, almighty and valiant.

“None shall know of my training until the time to reveal myself comes,” Edelweiss declared. Her heart and mind were both set toward the path of Sith Lord. She had already sworn herself to Lady Bastila’s teaching, after all. She could not turn back. “And once I am named a Sith Lord, then I shall reveal myself.”

Her master nodded. “When that time comes, you shall be a Sith in truth. You shall abandon your old name and be reborn as Darth… Gladiolus.”

Edelweiss blinked. A moment passed as she considered her assumed name when she became a Sith Lord, and then she smiled. She had long known that her mother’s family had a tradition of naming daughters after flowers. Aunt Petunia had hated her over it—and perhaps even because she never had a daughter of her own. Edelweiss was a rare name in Britain. And the name her master, Lady Bastila, prescribed matched the pattern—and was graced with meaning. The name her parents gave her meant courage and devotion, vital traits in a time of war. But her new name, the Sith name she would one day embrace, represented Sith qualities. Strength. Victory.

It was the flower of the gladiator, a warrior’s flower, that of survivors and killers. Perhaps not the most intimidating of names, but let them underestimate her; they would be easier to destroy.

“You honor me, master. I shall live up to the name that shall christen my ascension.”

Lady Bastila nodded, a proud smile adorning her face. “Now then, apprentice. We must accustom you to feeling the Force so intimately that it will respond with a simple thought. Have you been taught any meditative techniques?”

Edelweiss swallowed a groan as she nodded. She was essentially self-taught. She feared that would not count in her master’s eyes.

“Well, then. We shall begin.”

July trudged on, broiling day after broiling day. The skies of England remained cloudless and blue as the sun rose early, beat down harshly, and settled late enough that without the blasting of air conditioning, temperatures resisted being forced down to a mild seventy inside Number Four until well after midnight. Edelweiss spent her days, when not under the heel of the Dursleys, meditating as she built and developed her connection with the Force.

Her master insisted she dedicate as many hours as she could each day to her meditation, concentrating her anger and rage into a metaphysical needlepoint. She had been told the exercises would make drawing upon the dark side as natural as touching the magic she learned at Hogwarts. Lady Bastila failed to show signs of surprise when Edelweiss discussed her studies as a witch with her master. She developed two major suspicions following their conversation concerning witchcraft and magic: Lord Salazar had prepared her master and there were witches on other worlds. Whether or not they could perform the feats of the witches of her world was a question left unasked and likely for the best.

She had little interest in those people, for now. Her interest resided in her Sith studies.

Letters from her friends diminished from a few half-hearted notes at the beginning of the month to silence beyond a singular sentence a week before her birthday: We are safe but cannot write. Hermione mentioned early into the summer that she would stay with the Weasleys, incidentally implying in a manner Edelweiss suspected was a mistake that they were not at the Burrow. Her anger awakened and that letter burned into cinders and ash, despite it being days old when the realization reached her. Ron wrote little of note, for his letters were always shorter than Hermione’s. His letter contained little but thoughts of Quidditch and attempts to try and drag her mind away from the things that mattered. She even sneered at his usage of ‘your muggles’ near the end.

And despite her hatred over the phrasing, Ron was right. The Dursleys were hers. They were hers to handle as she pleased. When Edelweiss was weak, she served them. And when she became strong, they would serve her.

And when the day comes, I shall have my chance for vengeance. For justice. To see old wrongs brought to right.

Edelweiss woke with the dawn on the final day of July. She had fallen asleep early the night before, having avoided the attention of the Dursleys the prior day. While it had been her tradition to stay awake until midnight to ensure she reached her birthday while still awake, she had failed to remain awake to the moment she turned fifteen this year.

What did it matter when Edelweiss doubted she would receive letters and packages this year? Perhaps she would have a late birthday celebration in August. But on this day, she would receive nothing from them.

Edelweiss was kneeling upon the floor, Lady Bastila’s holocron before her, when movement caught her eye. She froze and stared at the sight outside her window. She had been proven wrong. Four owls waited on her, two carrying packages. She sighed and rose to her feet, keeping the holocron in one hand. Edelweiss ended up setting it aside as she opened the window. The owls were smart enough to wait for her to step back before fluttering into her room and dropping their cargo onto her bed. Two departed and two remained, perching where they could on her broken, battered furniture.

Irritation bloomed, for she recognized the two owls—and she did not appreciate the sight of either. The smaller was Ron’s excitable owl, called Pig in lieu of the long, noxious name the tiny beastie had come with. The other, worn and weary, was the Weasley’s family owl: the greying, ancient Errol. She sighed, knowing well enough that they expected a perch to rest on and treats to gorge themselves with. Both had been left behind, for Edelweiss had sent Hedwig into the British wilds for the summer. All of the gear necessary for taking care of an owl remained at Hogwarts.

Her dear girl must be displeased being left to her own devices, but Hedwig had spent plenty of summers locked up. The owl would understand her fate, no matter how unpleasant it was for her.

Edelweiss turned her attention to the gifts and letters delivered for her, once the owls stopped begging for scraps. They could find plentiful hunting on their return to wherever Dumbledore had the Weasleys and Hermione holed up. Perhaps once the Headmaster thought she was sufficiently cowed by the Dursleys or was pleased by whatever reason justified her remaining at Privet Drive, he would finally relent and allow her to depart.

Once he had told her the blood wards would last as long as she considered Number Four to be home; it had never been so, especially after she learned what life at Hogwarts was like. What a potentially happy life could be like.

She began by opening the package wrapped in rough brown paper and twine. It came from Hagrid. He had sent her several rock cakes, packed tightly enough together that a few of them had chipped into pieces small enough she could suck on them to the point they might be chewable. They were quite old looking, as if baked weeks ago instead of being fresh out of his cast iron oven.

Dumbledore must have you speaking with the giants, trying to placate them. It shall fail, but at least he takes that seriously.

She opened a small package, properly wrapped. It turned out to be from Sirius and Remus. She was surprised they dared send her something together. Then again, her godfather had foolishly returned to Britain following her forced entry into the Triwizard Tournament. Edelweiss had a feeling Sirius was foolishly caught up in whatever Dumbledore plotted or planned. Instead, he should be wise for once and build her a place to secretly use across the Channel on the Continent, should the worst ever come to pass. That would never come to pass, but she preferred a godfather more concerned with preserving her life than throwing away his.

They had sent a pair of books. She found one to be filled with the exploits of the Marauders, her father’s friends from Hogwarts. The other was blank, left for her to fill as she pleased.

There were two separate packages from the Weasleys. She opened the smaller one first, which turned out to be a shared gift from Ron and Hermione. They had packaged letters within. They were about as long as past birthday letters, yet somehow lacked all depth about their summer hols. She glowered, setting them aside, and wondered who it was telling them to censor their letters. Was it Dumbledore or Mrs. Weasley? Perhaps both in conjunction? That was the only conclusion she could come to, especially with how oddly lacking Hermione’s were.

Unsurprisingly, Hermione gifted her a tome too thick to be sensible. Edelweiss frowned at the unlabeled cover and spine. They had the feeling of snakeskin, oddly enough. She had to flip the book open to find a title, written in squiggling, slanted lines that blurred into readable English in her mind: The Ways of Parselmagic.

“How quaint,” she drawled. “But I’ve grown beyond plain, quaint matters like this.” There was neither pleasure nor disgust in Edelweiss’s heart. Strangely, she felt nothing.

She reread Hermione’s letter. Her friend had written little to suggest why she had gotten the book she selected, though it did appear she was trying to make good on it. Hermione did mention she thought the tome “probably useless, but the seller told my parents any who could speak with serpents could read this book. They remembered what I mentioned about our second year and thought you might appreciate it”.

…it would likely be rude to tell them they wasted their coin, but then why would a Sith Lord care about offending simple people?

Ron, on the other hand, had somehow gone through the trouble of ordering a few choice items from Zonko’s. Edelweiss could not fathom why he bothered to do so. She had gifted the Twins a thousand galleons toward an inevitable joke shop. She might not have told them to outright run a shop when she gave them coin. But it would happen. She knew it. Frankly, she would have preferred for Ron to gift her with something made by his brothers instead of Zonko’s products.

The final package was from the Weasleys at large. Edelweiss opened the package and found mince pies. Those, she knew, were without a doubt Mrs. Weasley’s doing. The entire package was probably so. Had the Twins or Ginny been involved, she suspected there would have been something amusing to pass the time or a glut of chocolate.

After scarfing down her first pie, Edelweiss turned her attention to Lady Bastila’s holocron with the hope she would learn something new this day. Activating the holocron was second nature now. Touching and wielding the Force reminded her now of her second term at Hogwarts when the feel of magic flowing through her holly wand became second nature.

“You are in a strangely good mood this day, apprentice,” said Lady Bastila shortly after she appeared. “I feel that… Could it be? Is today your birthday?”

“I am fifteen now,” said Edelweiss. She sounded slightly pleased with herself; despite the fact growing a year older should not be something to be pleased over. “In two years, the law shall finally recognize me as an adult.”

The Sith Lord surprised her apprentice by sniffing. “A silly thing to be excited about, apprentice. Though if your past is wrought with danger and death that to reach such a simple age is worth being excited over, then I surmise you have achieved much in turn.”

Edelweiss nodded. “I should have died when I was only fifteen months, master. That I have seen for many years is a triumph. The so-called Dark Lord Voldemort has tried several times to kill me.” She smiled, bearing her teeth. “I will see him dead in the end. The dark side is a power he knows not, master. It shall be his undoing.”

“Be mindful that your ambition does not make you arrogant, apprentice,” warned Lady Bastila. “Certainty in your power will lead to victory over those who underestimate you. But if you believe yourself more powerful than you truly are, then your certainty becomes arrogance and overconfidence. That shall be your undoing.”

“So even the Sith are not immune to pride.”

“It is worse, I am afraid. Many Sith have indulged in pride and arrogance. It is only natural when facing the swell of power that is the dark side of the Force. In the end, their lack of foresight brought about their destruction. You would do well to heed those lessons, apprentice.”

Edelweiss nodded while struggling to not frown at her master’s warning. Doubt twisted her gut, teasing her with nausea as she considered what could happen. Lord Salazar and Lady Bastila believed she would completely embrace the dark side and become the Dark Lord of the Sith. Her master even spoke of her taking an apprentice of her own one day.

Was it truly her fate to become the Dark Lord of the Sith? Or had she fallen for the lure of power to defeat Voldemort? Yet the possibility of freedom was too enthralling.

And if she were frank, did it truly matter? That she could question her path meant that she was choosing it of her own volition. When had Dumbledore allowed her to act on her own? The man manipulated her at nearly every turn. He used deception and tricks to ensure she would end up where he wished. He could’ve dealt with Quirrell, with the basilisk, and could have even freed Sirius Black without breaking a sweat.

Instead, he had thrown Edelweiss Potter—Heroic Potter; the poor little Girl-Who-Lived—at the problem.

“I understand,” she said, voice rough with thick, almost sudden emotion. “I will mind this lesson, master.”

“Good,” her master drawled as if nothing would please her more than supplication. “That is perhaps the most difficult lesson for any Sith to learn. I know I struggled with it, enthralled with the power of the dark side so soon after abandoning the Jedi.”

Edelweiss nodded. She had no clue how to respond to her master’s revelation. She knew of the Jedi, thanks to Lady Bastila, but to hear that her master had once been one was a surprise. And frankly, she was uncertain how to respond. It was easier to accept what she heard and wait for her master to change the course of their conversation before speaking.

“For now,” her master continued, “you will meditate. The time approaches when I will begin teaching you techniques to use and manipulate the Force. It grants a great many powers, and we have yet to discuss your lightsaber training.”

Several questions sprung to mind, but her master vanished, leaving the holocron dark before she could ask. With a huff, Edelweiss set the holocron aside and shifted into a meditative posture, with her legs crossed and hands resting lightly on her knees. She reached down into herself, found her anger, and stroked it like a fire as she closed her eyes. It grew, a blazing furnace within.

Soon, she would know how to channel this power properly and would no longer be like a foolish child, stumbling in the dark.

Chapter Text

Edelweiss woke late on the Fifth of August. Sunlight coated most of her face when she finally woke. She blinked a few times before whining and shifting so the wide span of clouds rolling in across the sky protected her eyes from sunlight. She remained lying there until a sudden burst of light rain washed away some of the heat oppressing Little Whinging. It lasted barely twenty minutes before petering out, leaving a mild haze in its wake. She took the chance provided by the anomalous weather to slip away the Dursleys, who were too busy with the late, oversized breakfast Aunt Petunia cooked up.

She spotted a drunkard shortly after escaping Number Four, passed out on the lawn of Number Six with a suspicious, bunched ball of silvery cloth under his head. His clothes were a shade dark, no doubt damp from the rain. Edelweiss touched the Force and sensed magic. Not only did she feel magic within the man, but the silvery cloth as well.

She raised an arm and reached out, seeking his memories. Her master had walked her through the process during recent communions. However, she had not resisted the temptation to use the Force so until now. A heartbeat passed before she found what she sought. Several images flashed in her mind, passing in quick succession. None seemed good. Her teeth gritted, Edelweiss’s emerald eyes opened. She snarled before turning and stalking away from Number Four.

Only once her wrath was fully tamed would Edelweiss consider what it meant for Dumbledore’s lackeys to be spying on her and do nothing about the Dursleys.

She retreated into her mind as she went down Privet Drive, heading for nearby Wisteria Lane. The park down that route would be beneficial to meditation should she desire. Edelweiss did not think she would dare meditate publicly, but she had yet to make up her mind on that matter. It was possible that with the wretched, uncertain weather nobody would be out and about. Yes, others could spy on her from their homes. But spies would be unable to understand her actions as well as anyone who dared approach and interrupt her mid-meditation.

Edelweiss was nearly upon Wisteria Lane when she noticed something dark moving off to her right. Edelweiss paused and glanced over, finding a long adder with black, glimmering scales slithering slowly in the sparse sunlight. She considered the snake for a few seconds before approaching it. The adder froze as she kneeled and whispered, “§Let me aid you, darling§.”

“§A two-legged sspeaker§,” the snake whispered, coiling as its tongue flickered out. Edelweiss smirked as the tongue brushed her skin. “§I heard whissper one lived in thiss land§.”

“§Come with me, so you may hunt in a better place§,” Edelweiss said. “§This is not a suitable locale for one like you, darling§.”

A moment of consideration passed before the snake suddenly nodded. It was an odd gesture for a snake to make. She paused for only a second, to introduce herself as She-who-slithers-over-all-lands. A rather pretentious name for an admittedly beautiful snake, Edelweiss thought.

She watched as She-who-slithers-over-all-lands came forward and crawled into her hand before slithering around her arm. She felt muscles shift underneath dry scales. Once the adder was secured, Edelweiss continued on her way. She listened as the snake spoke of past hunts and the humans she spooked. Hearing others panic at the sight of an adder or chase after her with malicious intent inspired something angry and disgusted within Edelweiss.

They continued along down Wisteria Lane. Edelweiss offered a comment here and there to her snake friend, though she found a greater draw to the dark side of the Force. She made up her mind; she would meditate once she reached the park. It would be the best use of her time, away from Number Four and her master. Magic could not be practiced during the summer, and especially not in muggle areas.

They reached the park as She-who-slithers-over-all-lands told a tale about a marmot she found and devoured in the nearby woods shortly after crossing what sounded to be the boundary of Little Whinging. Edelweiss smiled at the tale, regardless of how unlikely it sounded. Snakes, she increasingly suspected, were like Slytherins at Hogwarts: prone to boasting and bragging. She nearly laughed at the mental comparison. Had Lord Salazar not possessed the ability to speak to snakes, she imagined he would have still chosen the serpent as his house’s sigil.

She lowered her right arm and watched her snake companion unwrap herself and slither away. Edelweiss smiled when she heard a hissed, “§Here, foodie foodie foodie§.” The phrase repeated several times before She-who-slithers-over-all-lands traveled far enough she could no longer be heard, her hisses fading into the wind.

The witch turned and headed to the swing set midway between Wisteria Lane and Winston Road on the park’s far side. She straightened as a gust of wind crashed over her. Edelweiss enjoyed the coolness she felt. It was refreshing. The recent burst of humidity, paired with the heat wave of past weeks, should have left her oppressed by a sickly broil akin to being steamed. Instead, Edelweiss was lucky. Her thick black hair, left uncoiled and unbraided, rippled in the breeze.

She sat sideways on the swing furthest from Winston Road upon reaching it. She leaned back against one chain. The press of metal felt reassuring while in the midst of the dark side. She stared at the houses across from her. The seat was still wet, yet she did not care. Edelweiss shifted in her seat as her emerald eyes drifted across the cookie-cutter houses before her. They were constructed from brick, older than the whitewashed houses of Privet Drive. Perhaps they were council houses; she knew Uncle Vernon would bitch and moan and complain about their presence whenever given the slightest chance. Yet he rarely did. He either pretended they did not exist or perhaps he thought they had some strange, false connection to the shires where he claimed houses were built with the blood and toil of those who occupied them.

Edelweiss closed her eyes and opened herself to the Force. She felt it all: the Living Force and the grandeur of all life; the Cosmic Force, with its bonds to death and the eternal beyond; and the sweet, sweet fire of the dark side. She let them wash through her like a great flood seeking to drown a village. She breathed slowly as she channeled the full extent of the Force sweeping through her into a ball of power within. The metaphysical place where her magic existed yet did not. Each part of the Force she felt made contact with her magic, and each had a distinct nature that she better understood.

It was only the final one, the dark side, that she allowed to resonate with her magic. The Living Force attacked her with all of life pressing. It was claustrophobic, almost oppressive in its weight. The Cosmic Force slithered through her like the Imperius Curse, trying to subvert her mind. Lady Bastila had described it right. Edelweiss forced aside the Living and Cosmic Force and found she could breathe more easily.

Once Edelweiss was centered in her power and her emotions chained tight, she focused on what she learned from the drunkard’s mind.

Dumbledore had finally weaponized her exile to Surrey. Once, her location had been known to only him and the Weasleys, and then to Hagrid and somehow to Sirius. She knew nearly all of them were settled in her godfather’s childhood house. But Dumbledore had betrayed any faith she might have had in him. Nothing remained of the shreds of goodwill she had entered the summer holding. He had agents keeping watch now. They knew of the Dursleys, and so they knew of the degradation she suffered every summer. And by the Headmaster’s order, they did nothing to benefit Edelweiss Potter. They did nothing to improve her lot, even when it was clear the suggestion of attention from a witch or wizard would force them to shape up. Even her godfather, Sirius Black, and her friends relented to the old man’s orders.

Part of her hoped it was done begrudgingly, but then they were all too loyal to the man she hated.

He had even told her godfather and friends before that drunkard’s spying eyes to tell her nothing they might overhear in the pitiful letters they were allowed to send her. It was too dangerous, Dumbledore claimed. After all, Voldemort had returned. And he was dangerous. Too dangerous to speak freely with their friend.

Rage and fury coursed through her, burning molten in her veins. She closed her eyes and focused on the meditation Lady Bastila taught her. She distantly sensed the emotions of those dearest to her. The Weasleys. Hermione. Sirius. Her rage focused upon them and their subservient acquiescence to Dumbledore’s demand. Only Sirius suffered regret and doubt over his choice, and she sensed a shred of uncertainty.

She would grant the grace of forgiveness for this transgression. The others would need to beg—Ron especially.

When Edelweiss left her meditative state, she found that the sun appeared in between a pair of clouds, just beyond its apex in the summer English sky. Her stomach rumbled and mewled. Her mouth watered. She rose sluggishly from the swing, which had dried in the time she meditated.

Before departing Wisteria Lane, Edelweiss walked around the grassy area. She failed to stumble upon She-who-slithers-over-all-lands, though it was likely for the best. Having an adder with her would cause more trouble than she wished for. Muggles were remarkably particular in what they did and did not accept. And the muggles of Little Whinging had never liked her. Creating any more hatred between her and them was not worth the trouble.

She headed toward the suburbs of Little Whinging. There was a shopping district a kilometer and a half from Privet Drive, which could be reached by following pedestrian pathways too narrow to be paved over and too isolated for redevelopment. She would be free of prying, watching eyes, even though almost everyone in the area knew of the pathways.

Edelweiss took advantage of that oversight and made a beeline for the nearest path. She realized, if a bit belatedly, that she had taken no money from Uncle Vernon’s wallet. He was more watchful this summer, and accused her of all thefts; she hoped Dudley blew his ill-gotten gains on something good, or else she’d make an early example of him.

Halfway from the park to the shopping district, a familiar face stepped out into her path. There had been no crack of apparition. The slight shimmer that followed his passage before her drew a scowl. She carefully reached out with the Force and confirmed the man before her was who he appeared to be. He blinked, and she feared that he had noticed her use of the Force. The scars lining his face stretched awkwardly as he tried to smile.

Edelweiss spoke before he could. “A surprise to meet you in Surrey, Professor Lupin.”

Remus Lupin, the defense professor during her third year at Hogwarts and one of her father’s dearest friends, flinched. He looked shabbier than when she last saw him secreted into Hogwarts along with her godfather in the wake of Voldemort’s return. His robes appeared more threadbare than ever before, which she had not thought possible. He wore a vest and shirt beneath his suit jacket, along with trousers and scuffed shoes. They, at least, were in better shape than his robe.

“We’re worried about you, Edie.”

“Who is worried about me? You? Sirius? The Weasleys?” asked Edelweiss. She reached out slightly, working to sense his feelings on the matter. Annoyingly, Lupin’s emotions were absent. Silenced. “Spare me your lies,” she snarled. “If you truly cared, you would be here to spirit me to wherever my godfather resides, not to corral me on Dumbledore’s behalf.”

“You know why I can’t—”

“Why you won’t,” she corrected. The dark side’s power was but a thought away. “You are so enthralled by Dumbledore and what he has done for you that you’ve willingly become his slave.” Lupin finally flinched. “You overlook the crimes he commits against me. Was your friendship with my father ever true? Or merely an illusion to make seven years pass by easier?”

“Dumbledore explained to me how your mother’s sacrifice protects you—”

Edelweiss scoffed and spat at the feet of a man who had called her father friend. “Voldemort used my blood to return to his powers last month. The same blood ” Lupin, like so many others flinched, flinched at the utterance of ‘Voldemort’. “He touched me. Three years ago, I ruined the man he possessed with my bare hands. Forgive me if I no longer believe Dumbledore’s claim that I am safe here in Surrey.”

I have never been safe from danger with the Dursleys. They could have been Voldemort’s followers, had they been born to magic. Her brows furrowed slightly. Not that anyone would believe my claim.

“Even so,” said Lupin, clearly unconvinced. “Edie, you need to return to your family.”

She stared at him, astonished. She stared into his soft brown eyes. Edelweiss knew they would never see eye to eye on this particular matter. Even so, she held his gaze until he turned aside. “Not yet,” she whispered, just strong enough he could hear her. “I am off to eat; the Dursleys would throw celebrate if they heard I starved to death. Return to Dumbledore. Tell him what I have said, or keep your peace. I… I no longer care which you choose.”

Edelweiss stormed past Lupin before he could respond. Her anger simmered under her skin like a new layer of protection. She expected him to try and stop her. to say something—anything—that might delay her and give him the chance to try and convince her she was wrong. Disappointingly, yet unsurprisingly, Lupin did nothing. He had done nothing when she was a child, little when he was her professor, and could only stand aside now that her most obvious foe had returned.

A sigh escaped her as she turned a corner, leaving Lupin's line of sight. Whatever influence he might have once possessed over her was gone. Dead, like her parents.

She reached the shopping district to the sound of the local Anglican Church’s bell ringing twice. A few muggles stared at her, but most ignored her presence. Edelweiss glowered at those who stared at her and smirked when their gazes shifted away. She drew upon her anger and cloaked her person with the power of the dark side. After some focusing, she watched with great pleasure as gazes slid past her with no recognition. A victorious heat bloomed in her chest once her power was firmly in place.

Being functionally invisible thanks to the dark side was not a power Edelweiss had learned of from her master. She considered if it could be safely used against witches and wizards. Her need for secrecy as a Sith apprentice automatically suggested that she not dare attempt anything beyond meditation while around those who knew of magic. Lupin’s reaction to her using the Force confirmed that suspicion.

Until I can ensure others will not sense my use of the Force, I will need to be careful. Perhaps… Perhaps I can use the Chamber of Secrets toward that end. Lord Salazar did build it to hide his true legacy.

Edelweiss entered a grocery owned by an older couple that looked the other way when Aunt Petunia forced her to carry the bulk of the groceries before attending Hogwarts. Even now, they remained quiet about the slaps and shrieking that occurred years ago.

With the dark side as her cloak, she moved with lazy purpose and took what she wished.

She thought nothing of the electronic cameras as she snatched a couple small sandwiches, a bottle of cider, and a packet of crisps. Her prize held tight to her body, Edelweiss walked out with her goods. And the muggles were left none the wiser.

She consumed her meal as she returned to the park off Wisteria Way. It just happened to be her best option, especially as she sought to stay away from the Dursley household for as long as possible. Were it within her power, she would never return to Number Four. Unfortunately, all of her things were there—and she knew not where her godfather hid.

When she reached the park, Edelweiss discovered she was not the only one who decided to head there. Dudley and his friends stood around a boy about twelve or thirteen years old. She could not hear what they were saying. But she knew the dark mischief in their hearts.

Edelweiss chewed the last bite of her second sandwich while pouring her anger into the paper container the sandwich had come in. A faint whiff of smoke followed her as she swallowed that last bite of bread and meat.

She approached the group of boys with her head raised high. One of Dudley’s goons glanced over, looked twice, and gaped.

“Hey!” he shouted, raising a finger to point. “It’s Potter!”

Dudley and the rest turned and stared, watching dumbly as for once in her life, she did not run away from them. The boy they had surrounded used her sudden appearance to slowly back away. Once he had several feet between him and them, he turned and ran home.

“Is this how you get your jollies these days, Diddiekins?” asked Edelweiss with a crooked grin. “Beating up kids from around the neighborhood? What’d they do to you?”

Dudley flushed a furious red while his friends suppressed chuckles. They then glanced around. With the boy long gone, a couple of them glared at her while the rest spread out slightly, searching for where he went. That or they were foolish enough to think they could surround her.

“He deserved it,” her cousin snarled, jowls wobbling. “He was talking shite behind my back.”

Edelweiss glanced up and down, then side to side. Dudley’s blush brightened, rising to his forehead and falling to his neck. “Wouldn’t be too hard to talk about behind your back, given how big you are.”

“Ain’t like you’re better, talkin’ to yourself at all hours!” Dudley snarled. “Who’re you talking to, yourself? Going mad already? Dad always said—”

The dark side swelled within her. She slightly raised her right hand and directed it his way. Her hatred churned, demanding she punish him. However, it was not her power that silenced him. It was her wand, emerging from where she kept it hidden. In the summer before her third year, she had invested in a wand holster. Ironically, it was made from Hungarian Horntail skin. It proved useful in the years since, and somehow it proved useful now.

Her cousin blanched at the sight of holly in her grasp while his friends chuckled awkwardly. She did not intend to use her wand. But the reminder that Edelweiss Potter was magical would bring Dudley to heel.

“A stick?” sneered Piers, the rat-faced boy who had once held her arms while Dudley squared up to punch her lights out. “Big D, there’s no reason to be afraid of—”

A howling gust roared through the park. Edelweiss froze, sensing the magic carried along. It was not her power. If only her power could be so great, there would be no need to worry about Voldemort or Dumbledore. Yet it was familiar. Disturbingly familiar, she realized as Dudley and his friends shivered.

“The hell?” one of them mumbled, teeth nearly chattering. “Why’d it get so cold?”

“Stop it!” Dudley demanded. He pointed at her wand. “Stop whatever you’re doing!”

Edelweiss growled as she put away her wand. The boys exchanged confused glances, but they were not her concern. “What you feel is not my doing, Dudley.” Her emerald eyes—Killing Curse green—wandered across the park before scanning the surrounding houses. “Something fouler than any power I possess comes.” Edelweiss turned to the other boys. “Best you lot run on home. Be quick, and fear not. The danger that comes shall hunt me before it hunts any of you.”

Before she could turn away and start for Privet Drive, one of them shouted, “What the hell is going on, Potter?”

Edelweiss stared, considering what she could say. She knew she should do what she could to preserve the Statute of Secrecy, despite the fact a terrible violation of that very law neared. “Best you forget today, or else you will be forced to forget.”

And with that, she turned and strode off.

A few seconds later, Dudley’s rough breathing came from behind her. She was surprised he hurried after her. Edelweiss did not stop, though she glanced over her shoulder as he stumbled up to her side, flushed by the effort required. When they were younger, it was his friends who were tasked with catching her whenever they played ‘Edie Hunting’.

“Hurry along, Dudley,” Edelweiss growled. She glanced around, emerald seeking the telltale cloaks of a dementor. “We do not want to be outside once they finally arrive.”

“Who?” Dudley asked, still struggling for air. After a few seconds without an answer, he demanded, “When who arrives?”

“Not who,” she corrected. “What.”

Dudley blanched; the thick pinkness that usually graced his cheeks was now a milky white. He kept close to Edelweiss, though flinched when she drew her wand. Given the manner of creature soon to attack them, she wanted to be more than ready. Already she sought out the state of joy that fueled her Patronus Charm, centered on her friends and Sirius.

Her thoughts and memories of them were poisoned by anger. She tried to parse her emotions, yet they stuck together.

The passions that emboldened her and made her powerful weakened the single method she knew to fight dementors.

She spat a curse as she slid her wand back into its holster. They were already halfway back to Privet Drive. The freezing sensation that followed dementors was not strong enough to guarantee they would not suddenly swoop down upon them. Yet it did not mean they were not drawing closer.

Only that we might have enough time to reach Number Four before they arrive.

They had just stepped onto Wisteria Boulevard, the wide, American-styled road that ran south to Kent when her breath fogged. Dark clouds blotted the sky above them. Dudley squeaked, and her blood ran cold. Without the ability to cast a patronus, Edelweiss was at a loss for how to fend off a single dementor, let alone multiple.

“Dammit! We need to run!”

“Run?” asked Dudley through a violent shiver. While he was wearing a white tee and a jersey, his thick forearms were exposed. Thin, almost invisible hairs stood on end. “What the—what the hell is go—oing on?”

Edelweiss gave him a considering look as she thought over her options. “What you feel is the aura of a dementor. I think one has come to Little Whinging because of me.” She flashed him a grim smile. “They guard my side’s prison and will devour your soul if given the chance. Best hope we get you home before it finds us.”

Dudley gulped loudly. Any fear of magic he possessed would be compounded this evening. Edelweiss knew it would also affect his parents’ opinion of her. Hopefully whoever Dumbledore had to watch her could handle the dementors or force the Headmaster’s hand. The Dursleys were hers to punish as she saw fit.

They hurried along the boulevard. They were several yards from the corner onto Privet Drive when the chill thickened. Edelweiss peered over her shoulder and momentarily stiffened. Two cloaked figures glided toward them, moving with just enough haste they would clear the distance between them and the humans before they could reach Privet Drive.

“Wha—what’s goin’ on?” Dudley mumbled, head swiveling erratically. “Why am I—”

“It’s the dementor,” Edelweiss said. She rubbed her arms while a light puff of steam emerged from her mouth. “You can’t see it, but it knows you’re here.”

No point telling Dudley there are two. If they get past me, then he’s done for.

An internal war waged within her. Her older instincts, fashioned by life in Gryffindor and molded by Dumbledore’s approval, demanded she stand and face the dementors. What did it matter if she struggled to cast a Patronus when leaving a muggle to die by their hands would cast doubt on the name of the Girl-Who-Lived?

But her newer instincts, those born from her short study of the dark side of the Force, suggested she flee. This would be Dudley’s penance for brutalizing her as children. She might even be able to fashion this event to deal with the other Dursleys. They would care more for their son than for why she led them toward the feeling of a frozen hell.

Indecision held her feet. Yet her anger roared, demanding why she protected her wretched cousin. She could feel the dark side as it flowed through her. She heard its whispers. An inferno of hatred nearly consumed her, but Edelweiss had enough sense to focus her mind. Dudley could wait. The dementors could not.

Her doubts slid away, crystalizing into grim certainty. Edelweiss stepped in between her cousin and the dementors. She stared as they approached. Her right hand rose, fingers held in crooked lines, and aimed at the pair gliding ever forward. Edelweiss felt her dark power arise. The dead guiding hand of a tradition she barely knew grabbed her. Some long-dead fiend reached through the veil of death and whispered what she must do. Power welled within.

The scream of her mother, the Dark Lord’s cackling, the Killing Curse cast; the sounds of that fateful Halloween were a dim echo in her ears. Edelweiss became ignorant to them as she sunk deep into the swirling confluence of the dark side.

Edelweiss released a shuddering breath—almost a mad laugh—as instinct took hold.

In one moment, she stood before the dementors, iconoclastic in her immobile strength. She would not step aside for these abominable presences. They could not be permitted to pass.

In the next, the late day calm of Little Whinging shattered. Violent lashes of black lightning flowed from her fingertips like flames, crackling and screeching, as oxygen was rent into ozone. The bolts struck the dementors, who screamed and writhed upon contact. Edelweiss poured her wrath into the lightning. Her realized Force power mingled with the magics she was born to. It produced a power darker than looming night and lethal enough to stain unholy beings.

Several heartbeats passed before the dementors retreated, lingering bolts rippling off their whipping forms. They fled into the ether. Edelweiss was left listening to her thundering heart. She slowly grinned, wide and terrible, having witnessed what she wrought. She had known the dark side would be a great wellspring of power. Yet she had been ignorant to the majestic cruelty it could summon with a mere whim.

The dead hand of Sith tradition then released her. Edelweiss released a harsh, shuddering breath. Her legs suddenly felt weak as the great, terrible power that filled her slipped away.

She turned and found Dudley standing there, eyes glassy from the dementor’s influence. Edelweiss knew soon enough his mind would clear enough to realize she had done something to banish the sudden source of unexplainable terror. A strong shake of his shoulders cleared the glaze from his eyes. Dudley flinched from Edelweiss, his blue eyes reflecting emotions she sensed.

“What… What happened?”

Edelweiss frowned at Dudley’s reaction. His disbelief and confusion had to be a product of his inability to see the dementors. Perhaps if he had seen them he would understand. But all he witnessed was the power of the dark side.

“You… You saw nothing,” Edelweiss declared. “You saw nothing.” She stared into his soft blue eyes and thought of how wizards obliviate muggles. She poured forth her desire for him to forget. She recalled the girl in Gryffindor Tower who she had influenced with the Force. Her cousin would be easier, for he was a muggle and she was better trained. “There was no attack, Dudley. I did nothing that resembled magic. Head on home. I’ll follow soon I enough.”

“There was no attack. You did nothing,” Dudley muttered with glazed eyes. “I’m heading home. See you later, cousin.”

And with that, he turned and made for Privet Drive. Edelweiss watched him with a growing, sly smile. Her mind caught upon how he repeated her words. She had touched upon the Force while manipulating his mind, but not completely. Not fully. Somehow, though, it responded to her wishes. She remembered her lessons with Lady Bastila and nearly burst out laughing. Her master had described the effect of mind tricks, and what she had witnessed matched them perfectly.

“How wondrous,” she murmured as if in a daze. Edelweiss eventually followed after her ambling cousin. Each step she took was slow and languid. The evening air remained cool against her skin. She had naught a clue if the dementors would return, yet she did not care.

If they return, I shall destroy them. The Force has proven great enough to repel them. And if that can be done, then surely I can find a way to end them—permanently.

Kingsley Shacklebolt tried to shake the uncertainty that had clung to his skin after receiving a sudden evening summons from Madam Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He had been preparing to depart for Order Headquarters with his report for Albus Dumbledore and was interested in further brainstorming with Sirius Black. As the head of the search for the alleged mass murderer, he had unparalleled access to the material necessary to fabricate the man’s journeys about the Low Countries.

He encountered two other aurors outside Madam Bones’s office—Proudfoot, who was loyal to the law; and Robards, who was loyal to Minister Fudge. Only one could be trusted should the cold war enter the public eye.

“Let’s see what the Head has for us,” Robards said as he shot a glower at Kingsley. It was no secret in the department that Kingsley was more than friendly with Dumbledore. He doubted any beyond Nymphadora Tonks knew of his induction into the Order of the Phoenix. It was best kept that way. Minister Fudge would certainly purge the Auror Corps to maintain his office. Doubly so if he suspected any active aurors had joined the Order.

The door opened before Robards could knock. Miss Emily Kline, Madam Bones’s secretary, had predicted them, or so it appeared. She gestured them in, her soft blonde ringlets swaying, then closed and locked the door behind them with a wave of her wand.

Kingsley frowned. Something was deeply wrong. Miss Kline typically stepped out during meetings.

Amelia turned to face them once the door was locked. She had not been sitting at her desk, as Kingsley would have expected. With flaming red hair and a monocle over her right eye, she was beautiful and intimidating. Her reputation aligned with her appearance, and there were few witches free of Azkaban who could match wands with her. She held her post for good reason, even if she had not seen the field in five years. She looked past the three aurors lining up before her desk to her secretary. “Thank you, Emily.”

“Of course, ma’am,” the young woman replied.

She did not leave.

“As for you three,” Amelia continued, looking from one auror to the next, “I have a troubling case on my hands. Two incident reports arrived within seconds of each other. I suspect they’re linked.” She shuffled through a stack to her right before removing a document. Amelia then set it before them. “Shortly after half three this afternoon, a pair of dementors went unaccounted. This, I’m pained to admit, is not unusual. But when they did reappear some time after six, they had suffered magical burns. Best we can tell, their wounds were inflicted with magical lightning. The residue does not match any known elemental war spells. Only a spell of that magnitude could leave behind wounds on a dementor.

“The second,” she continued before any of them could ask questions about the dementors, “concerns a potential violation of the Ban on Underage Sorcery—and the Statute.”

They tensed, almost as one. A Statute of Secrecy violation was the most severe crime any of the aurors could think of.

Amelia set another document before them. “Detectors picked up two bursts of magical activity in quick succession. The activity occurred in a quiet part of Surrey. From our records, the only witch or wizard in that part is Edelweiss Potter. The only other name of note belongs to a squib, placed near Miss Potter’s residence following You-Know-Who’s downfall.”

“Magical activity?” asked Kingsley, trying to not sound weak. He had watched over Miss Potter a few times during July. The girl rarely left her room. There had been a couple times when he thought he had felt something coming from her bedroom, yet it faded almost immediately. The warding around the plot prevented him from drawing closer, else he risked alerting the girl to his presence. The blood wards reacted oddly if what Dumbledore told him remained true. How or why they evolved was unknown to him. And the Headmaster, strangely, did not possess a suitable answer.

Amelia sighed. “I’m afraid this is where it gets messy. While we have ideas about the magical activity that occurred in her area, it does not align with anything known to the Ministry. Best the detectors can tell, the first burst involved magical lightning; this is why I am sending the three of you to question her.”

“Are you claiming she created new magic?” asked Proudfoot.

“I hope not. Imagine how the public would react to a witch with magical powers unknown to the Ministry. The Prophet would have a field day with the news, let alone the trouble the Unspeakables would cause.”

Proudfoot whistled.

Robards scoffed. “We’ve all seen what’s been reported in the Prophet this summer about the Potter girl. This is another attempt on her part to make a name for herself and draw attention. It’s probably just accidental magic. She must have tried to frighten some muggles.”

“Either way,” said Madam Bones, ignoring Robards’ outburst, “I want this dealt with. Quickly and quietly. The three of you are to head to Miss Potter’s address immediately.” Her gaze turned to Kingsley. “You know where she is since Dumbledore has you and Auror Tonks watching Miss Potter on his behalf. Let him know the next time he decides to use my aurors for his vigilante club, he should schedule a meeting with my secretary first. I do not care which oaths you think are worth keeping and those you disagree with. You have a duty to the Ministry and to Britain.”

It took all of his impressive willpower to not swallow thickly at the knowing looks of accusation he received. Kingsley knew he should not be surprised Amelia suspected him. But to have it said aloud so brazenly was disconcerting. To mention Tonks as well—especially when she was not present—was a step too far in his eyes, though he doubted Madam Bones would see it that way.

“My brother joined Dumbledore’s rogue group during the last war,” she added. “I know how Albus likes to operate and the kind of people he successfully recruits into his little Order.” Amelia then turned to Robards. “And you say nothing to Fudge. I understand you’re his creature in my department, but this little tidbit goes unmentioned in your reports. It’s either that or you’re on Azkaban duty until someone else pulls a Sirius Black.”

Robards nodded grimly. “Understood, Madam.”

“And Proudfoot,” continued Amelia, turning to the third auror present. “Keep an eye on them. Should either do anything that besmirches the name and honor of the Auror Corps, I want to know. Some people have forgotten where their loyalties lie. Best they remember now, while we still have peace.”

“Understood, Madam,” Auror Proudfoot said with a smile.

“Dismissed.”

The three aurors departed swiftly. Kingsley informed them quietly of Edelweiss Potter’s address en route to the Ministry’s apparition site. Once there, they all vanished with small pops.

Edelweiss sat before her master’s holocron. The holocron’s red light illuminated her face. The Dursleys had given her long, distrustful looks upon returning, but said nothing when she immediately headed up to her room. They were too busy fussing over Dudley to trouble her. She bowed her head to the image of Lady Bastila before saying, “Master. I have good news to report.”

“Do tell, apprentice.”

“I blended my magical power with the dark side of the Force. I used that combined power to cast lightning upon dementors, foul creatures that draw up the worst fears and can devour souls. Once they were repelled, I then influenced my cousin’s mind. It was simple, for he is weak and gullible. A simpleton.”

Lady Bastila smiled. “You grow strong, apprentice. Soon, you will be ready to be taught the many secrets of the dark side. Do not fear whether or not what you have told me is pleasing to hear. Already you have found two applications for your power. I suspect your education as a witch has primed you to learn the ways of the Force without traditional guidance.”

“So what I have done is possible through the Force alone?”

“Yes, apprentice,” said Lady Bastila. “Force lightning is the providence of the Sith. Some Jedi, daring enough to use particular emotions for a moment of power, can use it to some degree. Manipulating the weak-willed is a common skill. Only moving objects and sensing others and their feelings are more common than that.”

Edelweiss nodded while considering what she had been told by her master. She was pleased by her ability to use her magic to more easily access Force abilities, yet she was faced with the gulf between incidentally wielding power and willfully using it. She struggled with a sudden fear that her Force powers were akin to accidental magic. To lose control would doom all she wished to accomplish in the future, and so she had to learn to control the Force. Even to dominate it.

“I must refine my powers,” Edelweiss declared, glancing down at a clenching hand. “I have sworn myself to your teachings, master. How best can I strengthen myself and ensure I dominate all with the power of the dark side?”

“Continue your meditations. Soon you shall develop mastery with the more common Force powers, such as telekinesis, and build from there. In time, you shall learn all I know, and learn from the other holocrons Lord Salazar hoarded before his flight to this world. What you have done this day shall be mastered in time.”

“I understand, master. I shall meditate on what you have told me, and I shall look forward to the day I can replicate what I did this day without incident or struggle.”

Edelweiss deactivated the holocron. After a moment, she hid it once more within her trunk. She sighed as she returned to her kneeling position on the floor, her mind already turning inward. Meditation had grown easier as summer had progressed. Yet she wondered how long it would be until she was ready for the lessons her master planned.

Someone rapped on her door just before she slipped into her meditative trance. Anger flowed in a fiery torrent as Edelweiss rose to her feet and stormed to the door. She threw the door open and glared at her horse-faced aunt.

“What do you want?” she snarled.

Aunt Petunia sneered in response to the furious demand. “Three of your lot are downstairs. Get them out of my house.”

Edelweiss frowned, half-tempted to slam the door shut in Aunt Petunia’s face. “You let them in?”

“You think I’m just going to allow three strangers in red robes to stand on my porch longer than necessary?” Aunt Petunia hissed. “It’s risky enough allowing them inside, let alone agreeing to their silly demand to speak with you. Get them out of my house and send them back to wherever they came from!”

Red robes… Red robes… Edelweiss thought. Those must be aurors. What would aurors want with me?

Could they know of the dementors already?

“Fine, Aunt Petunia. I’ll handle them.”

She then stomped downstairs, paying no heed to Aunt Petunia’s petulant glare. Edelweiss entered the living room and found three aurors waiting for her. One of them looked familiar. After a moment, she recalled him from when the Minister visited her following the Third Task. He glared at her. The second was an older man, aged by long years hunting dark witches and wizards. He watched her blankly. The third was an African man wearing a fez atop his bald head who looked almost pleased to see her.

“Hello,” Edelweiss said, making her way to the open seat across from them. Aunt Petunia remained upstairs. She saw no sign of Dudley or Uncle Vernon. She assumed they too had already retreated upstairs. “How can I help you?”

The aged auror spoke up. “I am Auror Proudfoot. With me are Auror Robards and Auror Shacklebolt.” Each of the aurors nodded when mentioned, allowing her to place name to face. Robards was the one that Fudge had brought with him. “We’ve come to inquire about an incident that occurred recently in Surrey. We have reason to believe you were involved, and that laws were violated in the process.”

She frowned, glancing from Proudfoot to Robards and Shacklebolt. Edelweiss knew less than she liked about these men, along with their department. She had heard little in passing. The only other auror she knew was Mad-Eye Moody, and he had long retired before he was captured and impersonated by Barty Crouch Junior.

“I’d rather not answer questions until I have a chance to hire a barrister so they can clear whatever questions you have for me,” said Edelweiss, remembering that one crime show Aunt Petunia used to watch. “Though I am not against having you inform me of whatever happened and why it should be my concern. It’ll make everything on my end… easier.”

Proudfoot nodded while Robards sneered and Shacklebolt appeared oddly frustrated. She could guess why Robards may be frustrated, but not this Shacklebolt fellow.

Too risky to use the Force on him. Lupin noticed, and he was not an auror.

“We did not come all the way out to a filthy muggle neighborhood to be talked down to by some attention-hungry half-blood bitch!” growled Robards, rising to his feet. “For some reason, you drew two dementors here and used illegal magics upon them—in the presence of a muggle as well!”

“Illegal magics? Are you listening to yourself speak?” she asked, unfazed. They must mean the Force, somehow. “Do you have anything to back up your allegations?”

Robard’s face flushed the same red as his robes. “You violated the Statute of Secrecy and the Ban on Underage Sorcery!”

Edelweiss crossed her arms. “Quite the accusation. Get out. I can send an owl once I have a barrister. Otherwise, leave me alone.”

“You can’t do thi—!”

“Miss Potter,” interrupted Auror Proudfoot. “Two dementors returned to Azkaban after being declared missing, bearing magical burns caused by lightning magics. The best magical sensors across Britain suggest you are responsible. That there were no attempts to cast the Patronus Charm—”

“That is what I would have done, were I confronted with dementors,” replied Edelweiss, ignoring how sweet the lie was on her tongue. Then again, she had thought about casting the charm before turning to the dark side of the Force. “I learned how to cast the Patronus Charm during my third year when Hogwarts played host to a hundred or so dementors.” She shivered, remembering that fateful night. It seemed with hindsight she had successfully cast a patronus that night because fate and the flow of time demanded it. She had witnessed herself cast the charm and repel the mass of dementors that had threatened her and her godfather, Sirius Black, and so she had known she could cast the spell.

“That’s quite the claim,” Auror Proudfoot said. “I would be impressed if you were willing to cast it for us.”

Edelweiss laughed. “And chance incriminating myself? I’ll pass, Auror Proudfoot.” She straightened. “Please leave. I have nothing else to say, and I have a feeling someone very important will block any further attempts to question me.

“Have a good day, gentlemen.”

With a false smile, she watched the three aurors depart Number Four. Her smile morphed into a sneer once they vanished with the telltale pop of apparition. Dumbledore had told her once that the blood wards around Number Four protected her from those who meant her harm. One of those aurors was most certainly loyal to Minister Fudge, and she did not doubt he meant her some kind of harm these days. Either those wards were keyed to particular threats, or the usage of her blood in June had truly invalidated them.

Voldemort using my blood had to weaken them. There’s no love lost between the Dursleys and me. If the wards won’t hold, then this place is no longer the safe haven Dumbledore believes.

And so it is time to depart. I shall only return when it is time to punish the Dursleys for all they have done to me.

Edelweiss gave the closed door no final glance before turning from it. She climbed the stairs, moving with purpose and grace. The dark side was with her, draped over her shoulders like a warm cloak. Power embraced her like a lover, yet she had no cause to wield it.

She left the door open as she packed her trunk. Edelweiss locked her trunk carefully. She nearly reached out with the Force but decided otherwise. It was unnecessary. Edelweiss lifted her trunk and turned to find her doorway darkened.

Aunt Petunia stood there, lips pursed into a tight line. “What did they want?”

“Nothing to concern a muggle like you. I am leaving. You can do nothing to stop me.”

“Why should I let you go—”

Aunt Petunia squeaked, then gasped faintly as Edelweiss raised a hand and poured fourteen years of misery and wrath into the woman. She was careful to only use the Force. And she was rewarded for her effort. Petunia’s hands grasped at her throat while her eyes bulged. It would be all too easy to crush her aunt, but she would be too obvious of a suspect.

Edelweiss stepped forward and whispered, “My kind does not even know what I am doing to you. Thank your god I have decided to not kill you before leaving.” She drew back her Force powers, and Petunia collapsed. She stepped over her muggle aunt, allowing her trunk to smack the woman’s head, and headed for the stairs. Before she descended, Edelweiss paused and turned back. “Do not expect me to return in June. If I were you, I would think about leaving England. America would not be a bad option, though Australia will be nice soon enough.

“Oh, and you will forget what I just did.” Edelweiss caught Petunia’s horrified expression. “You can remember my words, but not my deeds. I don’t need curious busybodies sniffing after my trail, after all.”

And with a cackle, Edelweiss all but skipped down the stairs and out the door. The twilight of August greeted her. She felt free. The dark side had helped free her. She walked to the curb, trunk in hand, and closed her eyes.

Now, dear godfather, where are you? You cannot hide from me.

Not anymore.

Chapter Text

Sirius Black was frustrated. But that was nothing new. Frustration had been his state of mind for a long while now. For nearly two months, he had been constrained to the grimy house of his childhood. He would never call Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place home, for it had not been a home for him since he turned nine and asked why the muggle children playing in the park across the road were beneath him. His mother had screamed at him for wanting to think about playing with muggle children before declaring him a bad influence on Regulus. The answer she later gave him, trying to act like a mother, had rung hollow, especially with how she followed it up with a blinding cuff to the ear. So when he arrived at Hogwarts two years later, he rebelled. For a child of House Black, there was no greater rebellion than becoming a Gryffindor.

Unfortunately for Sirius, the nature of a Gryffindor was not suitable for remaining cooped up in a nasty, plague-ridden house like his family’s townhouse. It made his skin itch.

He had begged and even pleaded with Albus Dumbledore to be added to his goddaughter’s protection guard. He had even proposed going there while in the form of Padfoot. Edelweiss Potter, the girl he should have raised as his own, was forced to stay with Lily’s wretched sister and her even more horrid family. Sirius saw them once following his daring escape from Azkaban. He had vague memories of meeting them at James and Lily’s wedding. The prank he had played on the Dursleys was rightfully deserved, given how they sneered at anything and everything magical. It should have been simple, even for the worst muggles, to keep their mouths shut and act polite for a few hours.

He had seen known Death Eaters capable of that little.

To make matters worse, his last remaining friend, Remus Lupin, had been sent to Surrey around midday to attend to some special task. He had yet to return, which was concerning. Dinner had come and gone, and the children had inquired after their best defense professor. Sirius decided then and there he would remain awake long enough to hear Remus’s report.

Even if he’ll say little else than Edie continues to hide away within that bland, cookie-cutter excuse of a house those muggles live in.

He watched from his spot at the head of the dining room table as members of the Order of the Phoenix gathered, summoned for an emergency meeting. The Weasleys, having arrived in early July and remained ever since, were the first to take their seats with him. Arthur had yet to be suspended from his post at the Ministry, but he had confessed to being placed under investigation. Sirius assumed that meant Arthur’s loyalty to Dumbledore was obvious enough that the fool, Minister Fudge, wanted to know if there was a way to remove Arthur Weasley without violating the law.

Others who fought in the first war as part of the Order trickled in, taking seats shortly after they arrived: Emmeline Vance, Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody, Sturgis Podmore, even wizened Elphias Doge. He nodded to them all, taking note of those who returned the nod as a courtesy and those who meant it.

Sirius carefully watched the new recruits as they filed in. Hestia Jones had been recruited by Vance from the Hit Wizards, while his cousin Nymphadora Tonks was brought on by her auror trainer, Mad-Eye. One of the other Weasleys was present, though he had resisted his mother’s nagging to join the family at Number Twelve. He had flowing orange hair and a dragon tooth earring his mother took umbrage with. Sirius thought it made him the best of the bunch. Once Edelweiss was brought over, he would get to know the others better, if only through her. He only recognized the boy who had owned Wormtail and befriended his goddaughter.

Dumbledore arrived several minutes after everyone else settled down, a grim-faced Kingsley Shacklebolt and a worn-down Remus following in his wake. Sirius thought it the height of irony that the auror leading the task force hunting him down was involved with the Order. Being able to help actively railroaded every attempt to find him was the greatest prank he had pulled since the last year of the war. The dark-skinned auror avoided his gaze, taking a seat with his fellows, Moody and Tonks.

“I am afraid I have called this meeting to share grave news,” began Dumbledore, his weary gaze sweeping over those present. “As many who work at the Ministry have heard by now, two dementors went missing this afternoon. When they returned to Azkaban, the aurors present discovered they had been scarred with magical burns. Kingsley has informed me that the DMLE has investigated a possible suspect. I am afraid to inform everyone here that it is a name we all know.”

Sirius’s gut sunk long before the Headmaster uttered his goddaughter’s name to shocked gasps.

“More troubling than that incident was another one, which occurred earlier in the day. Miss Potter encountered Remus while away from her family’s home,” continued Dumbledore. Sirius glanced at Remus. His friend did not deign to share even a glance. “She did not say so directly to him, but I fear from what he reported that she is liable to flee her relative’s home without warning. And given what has happened today, I fear it may come soon. We must prepare for her disappearing, though to where I cannot say. Perhaps—.”

“Why not bring her here before she can run away?” asked Sirius, a moment away from outright demanding they escort her to Grimmauld Place. He rose to his feet, drawing a few glowers. His chair screeched when his legs bumped it backward. “I’ve begged you all summer to bring my goddaughter here! Every time you denied me. So why not now? She’s run afoul of the aurors—”

“It’s not as simple as that, Black,” snarled Mad-Eye, his false blue eye swiveling about in the eye socket it occupied. “The national sensors detected two unknown spells cast in her area around a time of day which aligns with the dementors being absent from Azkaban. Unless you can explain how that girl is capable of using magic unknown to the Ministry, we cannot trust bringing her into Headquarters.”

“This is my house,” Sirius growled, ignoring what Mad-Eye had said about Edelweiss for the time. “I offered it to Dumbledore because nobody would think of checking this house for the bloody Order of the Phoenix. I’m more than willing to retract my offer and leave Britain with my goddaughter, the consequences be damned.”

“That won’t be necessary,” interrupted Dumbledore. “I will go to where Miss Potter is staying and speak with her soon. After that, we will make plans to secretly move her here. It appears she must be kept under a close eye.” He turned to the Weasleys. “I trust you can continue to look after her as you have in the past.”

Mrs. Weasley beamed. “The children will be overjoyed to have her here with us. The limitations on writing letters has been difficult for them all. Even dear Ronald.” She lowered her voice as if saying something truly scandalous. “I think he has a crush on her, the poor dear. Merlin knows the girl wouldn’t recognize romance if it stepped before her and announced itself.”

Sirius grimaced at the thought of his goddaughter with Ronald Weasley. He had nothing truly bad to say about the boy. He simply believed the boy was not up to the standard he knew James and Lily would set for their little girl. He did not doubt for a second they would have encouraged a friendship with the Weasley children.

But a romance with the youngest son? That was out of the picture.

“Perhaps something will flourish this year,” Dumbledore said, carefully walking the line between suggestive and condescending. He glanced at Sirius, noted the man’s tension, and sighed. “Perhaps I should go tonight. Miss Potter has shown a tendency in the past to be rath—”

A loud gong echoed from the kitchen. Sirius and several others sprung to their feet and burst in. The fireplace roared with green flames. An elderly woman had stuck her head through and shouted for all to hear, “Headmaster! Headmaster! Trouble! Hurry!”

As Dumbledore hurried to the kitchen fireplace, Sirius felt something brush his mind. It was no Occulmency attack. Yet the feeling reminded him painfully of the ones his mother subjected him to before he fled to the Potters. A moment later, the house shook with bone-rattling reverberations. A second after that, a bell, deep and grim, tolled twice.

“That was the wards,” he whispered, glancing at whoever was closest. Tonks, his cousin Andromeda’s brat, stared at him with bright red hair. Her hair had been a noxious violet when she arrived for the meeting. “That was the wards,” he said louder, “and the house is under the Fidelius.”

He rushed to the front door, Tonks and a few others on his heels. He ignored the grime of the front entry as he passed the stairs, which creaked and groaned as the children upstairs scuttled about. Sirius hurried past the curtains over his mother’s portrait. He ignored her sudden shrieks as he threw open the front door and found his goddaughter standing on the sidewalk before Grimmauld Place, scowling at the houses before her. Her intent emerald eyes searched for something.

The house, Sirius thought. Despite how impossible the thought was, the wards had reacted—and they could have only reacted to his goddaughter.

Before he could greet her or descend the few stairs down to the sidewalk where she stood, those emerald eyes—too much like Lily’s, as they always had been—flashed and met his gaze. Edelweiss Potter grinned widely and then bounded up the stairs to stand before him, holding her trunk as though it was weightless.

“Hello, Sirius,” said Edelweiss. Before he could speak, she crashed into him with a fierce hug. He stumbled back a step, yet he had enough sense to draw her close to him. After a minute, Edelweiss drew back and looked about, frowning. “What is this place? I know it’s there, yet my mind is not fully convinced. It’s the oddest thing in the world…”

She trailed off as a wand was shoved into her face. Fury bloomed in her emerald eyes as she looked past Sirius and into Remus’s grim face. His friend looked rather apologetic as he said, “Tell me something only the real Edelweiss Potter knows.”

She did not flinch at his demand. “I used my memory of flying on a broom the first time I attempted to cast the Patronus. It failed spectacularly.”

Remus sighed with relief. He lowered his wand, though he did not grin as Sirius had upon gazing upon his goddaughter. “You should read this,” he said, handing Edelweiss a slip of parchment.

Edelweiss took it without comment. Sirius knew what was written upon it, for that piece of parchment was the Secret which made all who read it aware of what hid beneath the Fidelius established around his family’s townhouse. She blinked after reading the final word. She smirked as her gaze rose to the house before her, now fully visible to her gaze.

“Neat trick, linking a ward to a bit of parchment. Can’t say it’s the safest thing in the world, but I don’t know much of wards anyways.” Edelweiss glanced back at the small park across the road, and then to the buildings around that park. “We should head inside before someone grows too curious about why I vanished.”

“There’s nothing to be worried about, Edelweiss,” said Remus.

She gave him a sideways, doubtful look. Sirius sighed before turning to his friend. “She isn’t being paranoid, Remus. It’s a bit chilly out this evening. And don’t forget: she hasn’t seen her friends in weeks.”

He glanced back to his goddaughter, expecting her to look overjoyed at the prospect of reuniting with her friends after so long apart. Instead, her face was cold and stiff. Something furious burned in her gaze. His mind flashed back to that fateful day some two years ago, when Edelweiss confronted him in the Shrieking Shack. Her fury that night had been terrifying, greater than anything he had encountered from a single witch.

Edelweiss caught his gaze. A moment after, she sniffed just like his cousin Narcissa might and stepped past him into Grimmauld Place.

Once he closed the door behind them, Sirius was reminded that his mother’s portrait had been awakened. Her obnoxious screaming and screeching filled the hallway, allowing her to utter all manner of wretched words. Remus flinched away, his senses strengthened due to his werewolf nature. Sirius grimaced at the reminder of the reason he fled home.

Edelweiss shocked him. She began laughing, just loud enough to interrupt his mother’s portrait. Walburga Black stared at the laughing witch, her jowls fallen and mouth opened wide. His goddaughter’s laugh slowly transformed into a cackle. It was the kind he associated with his cousin Bellatrix. Her laugh slowly died away, leaving her with a wide, almost vicious grin.

“Who is that wretched witch?” she asked Sirius, something dark beneath her amusement. “Please tell me that’s some distant ancestor of yours.”

“I’m afraid that was my mother.” Sirius snatched the curtains around his mother’s portrait and slammed them closed, blotting out their view of the foul woman. Thankfully that silenced his mother. Or so it would be until the curtains opened up once again. “Nobody has been able to permanently silence her since we started using this house as Headquarters. And before you ask, her portrait is kept up by a permanent sticking charm.”

“You use this place for Dumbledore’s vigilante club then?” asked Edelweiss, more knowledgeable than she should be. “Quite brazen, using a house that must have belonged to his supporters during the previous war. Your relatives must be quite peaked they can no longer remember a family townhouse.”

Sirius grimaced and shrugged. “Most of them are dead or in Azkaban. Only ones free are Andromeda, whose daughter is part of the Order, and Narcissa, who married Malfoy.”

Edelweiss scowled upon hearing the name “Malfoy”. Even so, she seemed content to say nothing else. Everyone who had been gathered for the meeting had emerged from the dining room or kitchen to find her with him and Remus. They stared at his goddaughter, shocked and stumped by her sudden arrival. Dumbledore pushed forward, his face set grimly, old and weathered.

“My dear girl, you had us all worried.”

“I assume Figg realized I left, then?” After a moment of silence, she clicked her tongue. “I’m surprised the barmy old woman could actually use her eyes to see what’s before her.” Edelweiss frowned as she took in Number Twelve. She turned back to Sirius. “When was this place last cleaned? It’s a dump.”

“Welcome to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, Edelweiss,” Sirius said, stretching his arms wide. A moment passed where she just stared at him, gobsmacked, and then she burst out laughing. He grinned, chuckling in turn. It was relieving to hear her laugh so joyfully. She had been a thin, angry thing when they reunited in the Shrieking Shack. And it had been a dark witch’s cackle she released just minutes earlier. He regretted that he had left her in Hagrid’s care that dreadful night. He regretted that he had chased after Peter.

Most of all, he regretted not trusting Dumbledore with the change in Secret Keeper.

“My dear girl—”

“I am not your dear girl,” Edelweiss snarled, turning to face Dumbledore. “That ship, as far as I am concerned, has sailed.” The air around her crackled with unbridled fury, charged by some unknown power. Perhaps, Sirius feared, the very power she had used upon a dementor. The Headmaster frowned, whereas everyone around him gasped and retreated from her poorly restrained power. “I am ‘Miss Potter’ to you, Headmaster. I will not suffer any other name from your lips.”

“Miss Potter, then,” Dumbledore said with a pinched expression. A few gasped. “I understand you are angry with me. But everything I have done has been for your own good. You must be protected—”

“Why?” she demanded, voice booming. “So I can be offered up as a sacrificial lamb? To be the totem of your war, the rallying beacon for your cause? I will see Voldemort”—Sirius, along with several others, flinched or yelped at the utterance—“dead for what he has done to my family. And you have done nearly as much harm as him. We are allies in this conflict, Headmaster. Nothing more. And after he is dead…” Edelweiss smirked before holding out her hands in mock uncertainty. “Well, I cannot say.”

Gasps and outrage met the audacious and worrying declaration. Sirius found himself caught between offense Edelweiss would dare go against the Order of the Phoenix and fear he would need to step in between his goddaughter and his allies. Yet as he considered her words, he realized Edelweiss was seeking to verbally justify her hatred of Dumbledore. He feared she might take it too far. She was young and angry, too akin to his cousin Bellatrix for comfort.

The moment after the thought came to him, Sirius swallowed thickly. It was a terrifying thought: his precious goddaughter could become identical to his mad cousin. He needed to head off whatever troubled her as best he could, though it might be too late for Edelweiss. His failures continued to mount, building every day since he made the mistake of handing her over to Hagrid.

Edelweiss seemed unaware of the offense she had caused. She continued speaking, a hand raised to support her chin as she offered Dumbledore a sly smirk. “If you have something patronizing to say to me, perhaps we can save that for the morrow. I may even listen then, Headmaster.” She turned to Sirius, a foot tapping impatiently. “I would appreciate something to eat, Sirius. I’m quite famished. Certainly, the House of Black has maintained some semblance of propriety.”

A pop stole attention from Edelweiss. Sirius gaped, for Kreacher stood beside his goddaughter. The mad elf had appeared without anyone having to call for him with threats, just as he did during Sirius’s childhood. He bowed, muttering, “Kreacher serves the House of Black still. What does—”

“Serves? How?” asked Edelweiss, sneering at the house around her. She then stepped into the kitchen. Sirius followed. Her gaze lingered on every cobweb and stain. “I’m shocked you were never given clothes. Or did your master die before they could expel you for such poor service?”

Kreacher grabbed his ears and twisted them. “Kreacher be a good elf. He serves his mistress; yes, he does; yes, he does.”

Edelweiss glanced at Sirius, ignoring the worried look he shot her, and mouthed, “Your mother?” He nodded grimly. She sighed, turning her attention back to the house elf before her. “Kreacher. I am hungry and wish to eat a proper supper.”

The elf sneered, returning to normal after a strange lucid moment. “Another filthy—”

“You would deny the Heir of Slytherin what she requires? Do you dare reject those invited by the Lord and Master of House Black?”

Kreacher squeaked, then snapped away. Edelweiss held stiff for a moment before sighing. She slumped against a nearby wall and shook her head. “Worry not about how I acted, Sirius. Just the… influence I feel from this house.” Her emerald eyes flickered to him before she asked softly, “What happened here? I… I feel its darkness. Yet it is oddly cold.”

“The House of Black has a dark history,” Sirius said, glancing at the other members of the Order. Most watched his goddaughter with a distinct look of worry or concern. A few, such as Mad-Eye Moody, eyed her with expressions drifting toward distrust. “I’m surprised you noticed. Most witches and wizards wouldn’t pick up on a house’s aura so easily.”

She shrugged just as Kreacher returned with a plate of steaming food. There were roast meats and vegetables, along with a bit of treacle tart to the side. The elf waited for her to take a seat at the dining table before setting the plate down before her. He snapped his fingers and a goblet appeared to her left.

“Wine, for Heiress Slytherin,” the elf croaked.

“Return to your duties,” Edelweiss commanded, reassuming the strange persona Sirius could only describe as ‘Heiress Slytherin’. “I shall call you should I want for anything else, elf.”

Kreacher nodded dutifully and then vanished with another soft pop.

“You’ll need to teach me how to command Kreacher like that,” said Sirius with only a hint of jealousy. “He’s never taken orders from me so willingly.”

Edelweiss frowned, holding a fork of meat. “Even when you were a boy?”

Sirius grimaced, deciding it would be best to not answer his goddaughter’s probing question. He glanced at Dumbledore, who watched her with guarded blue eyes. The lightness he was accustomed to in the Headmaster’s gaze was absent. Sirius found it strange that he had to peer into the old man’s eyes to make sense of his feelings.

“Is there anything else you want, Headmaster?”

He mentally thanked his goddaughter for noticing, even as he flinched at her suddenness. Sirius stared at Edelweiss as she filled a plate with small portions from the venerable feast set before her. She ate quietly, her gaze never lingering too long on her meal. Each bite was the precise size his mother would have expected. It was as though Edelweiss had been raised in a pureblood family and not by muggles. Once more, Sirius wondered what damage Lily’s wretched muggle sister had done to Edelweiss Potter to make her the way she was.

“I’m afraid not, Miss Potter.” Dumbledore glanced at Sirius before turning back to Edelweiss. “Though I should warn you about this house. There are many dangers one can stumble upon, if they are not careful.”

She peered at him, unimpressed as she held a bite of rabbit before her lips. “I would assume a house belonging to one of the most notorious dark families in Britain has dangers hidden about.” Edelweiss’s gaze swiveled to Sirius. “What areas are sealed away?”

“The library, for one.”

“Disappointing, but unsurprising. Where else?”

“The potion labs in the basement.”

Her mouth was open, the bite of rabbit nearly past her teeth. She paused, withdrew her bite, and frowned at him. “Truly?”

“And the Lord’s suite,” continued Sirius, not bothering to answer her question.

Edelweiss shrugged as she snatched the neglected bit of rabbit off her fork with her teeth. She made a small moaning sound as she chewed. Sirius wondered if her meal was that good, or if she knew Kreacher would be somewhere, minding how she enjoyed the meal.

“I’m surprised you didn’t claim it for yourself,” Edelweiss eventually said. “Unless you like sleeping in your childhood bedroom.”

“This house brings back old memories. Ones I’d like to forget.”

She nodded, even as her emerald eyes surveyed the kitchen as she continued her dinner. Her emotions were hidden well, but Sirius had grown up in a family of Slytherins. He had been forced to quickly learn how to peer behind false expressions. All he could wonder was when his goddaughter had the time and necessity to develop a mask of her own.

Another failure. Another mistake to rectify.

“I can take over with Edie, Sirius,” said Mrs. Weasley as Edelweiss finished her meal. “She’ll want to see her friends once she’s done. She’s sharing a room with Hermione and Ginny anywa—”

“Is there another room I could have?” Edelweiss asked Sirius. “One to myself?”

“Well, there’s my brother’s room,” he began. Sirius glanced at Molly, who was glaring at him, fists upon her hips. “But I think you should be with your friends as well. You haven’t seen them in months, and I imagine the letters you got from them weren’t the best.”

“I wonder why,” his goddaughter replied monotonously. She acted emotionless as she rose to her feet, yet Sirius suspected a storm of wrath and fury brewed within her. It was written upon her face. Edelweiss glanced at him again, her emerald eyes completely blank, before granting Mrs. Weasley her full attention. “Show me the way, Mrs. Weasley. I should get the reunion out of the way.”

Molly shot Sirius a smug, victorious look before bustling over to Edelweiss. She poked and prodded the girl about her weight. His goddaughter handled the questions and protests with ease, as though they reenacted this encounter every summer. Sirius feared his suspicion was true. He watched his goddaughter be escorted to the staircase. As Edelweiss went, she glanced back at him. The other members of the Order had dispersed for the night.

She proceeded to surprise him by smirking.

Edelweiss was dearly tempted to yank her arm away from Mrs. Weasley’s grasp, but it was more dangerous to end up on the woman’s bad side this early into the summer than to regain that moment of extra freedom. Chances were Mrs. Weasley ruled the roost despite being in another family’s home. If Edelweiss wanted to find time for her Sith studies, she would need to twist Mrs. Weasley firmly around her finger. What she had seen of the Black’s house was in dreadful shape, and thus the likelihood the Weasley matriarch had put her children to work cleaning the house was a dead certainty. Anything that reminded Edelweiss of the Dursleys was trouble indeed.

“How have you been, dear?” asked Mrs. Weasley. “The children have been worried about you since you haven’t written them back.”

“If there was anything to say, I would’ve written it down. Not as though they troubled to do same.”

“Dearie,” Mrs. Weasley began with a frustratingly disappointed tone. Edelweiss’s jaw clenched. “You must understand why their letters weren’t as filled with details as they’ve been in the past. Letters can be intercepted.”

“Can they now,” Edelweiss bit out. Her anger welled, searing in her veins. “If that can happen, what’s to stop Voldemort from sending me a letter disguised as a portkey? Can he not come up with such a simple plot to steal me away and murder me?”

Mrs. Weasley’s lips pursed at the harsh response. Edelweiss took advantage of the matriarch’s annoyance and went ahead, following the stairs past their first landing. She glanced at the wall along her right where several house elf heads were hung, mounted on wood plaques and stuffed like cheap taxidermy. She would question Kreacher about their presence another time. It was simple to assume it was done because they had served the House of Black well. Given Kreacher’s failures, he would never join those heads in death.

When she reached the landing of the first floor, Edelweiss was rushed by a mass of bushy hair, just spotting a few signs of red hair before her vision was blotted out. She barely had enough time to raise her arms before Hermione Granger slammed into Edelweiss.

“Hello,” said Edelweiss, trying to fight down her suppressed anger. Now was not the time to revel in her brewing hatred for her friends. Betrayal burned hot in her heart. “How has your summer been?” When Hermione did not immediately reply, Edelweiss continued. “Mine’s been splendid, with poor letters and a dementor attack.”

There was a long moment of silence, as her friends realized what she said. Hermione released her and stepped back with a shocked expression. Ginny blanched at the news, her eyes bulging wide.

And then the Twins popped into her space.

“Those are—”

“—no danger to you—”

“—Miss Patronus in her third year.”

She forced a smile to her lips. They would panic if they learned that spell no longer worked for her. It was embarrassing how her anger at the Weasleys and Hermione prevented her from casting the Patronus Charm, for that very anger laid the foundation of her new powers.

“I handled them,” she said plainly, glaring at who she assumed was Fred. Edelweiss knew the Force could tell her which Twin was which without trouble. But she was wary of using the Force so close to a handful of fellow witches and wizards. She would wait until she was behind a locked door—and perhaps on one of the higher floors—before returning to her lessons.

“Though not as you should have,” said Mrs. Weasley, looming only a few feet away. “Albus told us what you did. Lightning magic? In the middle of a muggle neighborhood? What were you thinking?”

Edelweiss clenched her jaw. She wondered how she had been so easily caught in a proverbial corner. She sighed, slow and long, before muttering, “I was too angry to cast a patronus then. Perhaps if my friends had not kept me at arm’s length this summer, I would’ve been in the proper mind to cast that charm.” She glanced from face to face, taking note of those who looked genuinely pained and those not. “And so I did what had to be done.”

Mrs. Weasley scowled with lips pursed as if she sucked on lemons. Her hands balled into fists, already having found a place on her hips. Disappointment rolled from her in waves. The Weasley children all withdrew on instinct. “You should have returned home instead, dearie. The wards around that house, along with the guard watching over you, were set up to keep you safe.”

Edelweiss scowled and bit her tongue before something foolish could slip past her lips. Yes, her anger was a wellspring of power; but it was a power she had to keep secret until that fateful day when she could finally be reborn as Darth Gladiolus. That was a fate Mrs. Weasley would certainly try to prevent. The dark side was a power the matriarch would never accept, and she would do everything she could to stop Edelweiss was wielding it.

“I have my reasons,” she muttered, turning away from Mrs. Weasley. “I am tired,” she said preemptively, “and there won’t be a separate room set aside for me. Hermione, Ginny. Which room are you using?”

“Over here,” Ginny said heading for the doorway. She glanced at her mother behind Edelweiss. “Hermione’s been in a right fit, waiting for you.”

Edelweiss smiled. She slinked away from Hermione and the Twins, leaving behind Mrs. Weasley. Before Ginny could react to either Edelweiss or her mother, Edelweiss stepped past the Weasley girl and entered their small room, with its three beds and their trunks at the feet of every bed. There was a single desk, covered with piles of books.

Edelweiss yanked Ginny and Hermione into the room and then slammed the door shut. She leaned against it as Mrs. Weasley started banging against it, demanding she come back out and “discuss her attitude”. Ginny and Hermione stared at her with horror. The former seemed particularly frightened, her face so pale every freckle was blatant across her cheeks.

“Don’t,” Edelweiss said, her gaze fixed upon Hermione. The door thundered again. “I know what you’re thinking. I will not allow it.”

Eventually, Mrs. Weasley realized her efforts were fruitless. The sound of grumbling and bustling drifted from the door and headed to the staircase.

“I just want to sleep,” Edelweiss added as she stepped away from the door. She yawned into her hand before rubbing her face. “I can answer the plethora of questions you have on the morrow. No doubt Mrs. Weasley will tear into me at breakfast over my… comments tonight.”

After a few seconds, Hermione said, “As long as you answer them honestly, Edie.”

“I’ll do my best,” Edelweiss mumbled as she slumped over the only bed untouched by a sleeping shape. She shucked off the light clothes she had worn, ignoring the hisses and gasps at the sight of her ribs. She had grown so accustomed to being able to see them through her skin that it barely bothered her now.

That shall change, thought Edelweiss as she grumbled, “Don’t ask.”

With that, she turned over and showed them her back. It was still safe to do so with these two.

It was only as sleep dragged her down towards unconsciousness that Edelweiss realized she had left her trunk down in the kitchen.

Another matter for the morrow.

Chapter Text

Edelweiss woke to a dark room and soft snores. For several seconds, she rested in the strangely comfortable bed beneath her while staring at a ceiling too high to be Number Four. Her mind caught up to her body, and she recalled the previous day: the dementors, the aurors, her power in the dark side, and finally coming to her godfather’s house.

She sat up slowly and stretched with her arms raised high. Pops echoed from her, with a few more coming as she rotated her torso left and right. She was sorely tempted to meditate, now that she was awake. But her master’s holocron was in her trunk downstairs, and she could not recall if any defenses were active upon the trunk.

Ginny and Hermione remained asleep, unaffected by Edelweiss’s morning habits. She slipped from her bed and crossed the room, pausing only when she stepped upon a particularly squeaky floorboard. Neither woke, though Ginny’s breathing shifted for several seconds before returning to normal.

With a shake of her head, Edelweiss pressed on. Ginny or Hermione would wake while she was about. But it mattered not. Edelweiss had other priorities this morning beyond the pedantic matter of friendship and honesty. She had to secure the secrecy of the Sith. She had to secure her future and the power that would let her triumph over Voldemort and even Dumbledore.

She left the room, leaving the door just ajar. The hallway outside was plain with dark walls and a long stretch of green and silver carpeting down its length. Edelweiss was surprised at the lack of paintings lining the walls. Given Dumbledore used them at Hogwarts to monitor the comings and goings around the school, she had thought he would install portraits that could be used to monitor those who occupied Grimmauld Place. She did spot faint lines where portraits had once hung.

If he will not spy on those here, then neither can his enemies. The House of Black would prefer Voldemort to Dumbledore.

Edelweiss scuttled down the stairs. She glanced about upon reaching the first landing. Her gaze returned to the mounted house elf heads behind her, then ahead. No sign of movement came from below. Yet. Not even a doxy or a cockroach scurried about the filthy house. She hesitated and then decided to reach out with the Force. Nothing, not even Kreacher, was awake on the ground level.

Nothing stood between her and her trunk in the kitchen.

She finished her descent swiftly, bare feet soft on the carpeted steps. The Blacks had not spared any expense in the past. Despite the inevitable ravages of time, Number Twelve retained a quality of charm the bland prefabricated hovel the Dursleys called home could never possess. The stairs had been lovingly silent during her descent. Edelweiss wondered if she could sprint up and down their full length without making a sound. Certainly, she would be quieter than Dudley thundering down for breakfast.

No sound echoed through the house as she stepped to the ground level. Edelweiss glanced up and down the main corridor. She remained marginally surprised nobody was about. It could not be that early.

Edelweiss frowned and once more reached out with the Force. She allowed her senses to expand out further—and grimaced at what she felt. There was a dearth of magical protections within the house. What she could feel around the house was pathetic, perhaps even insignificant. She did sense the strange ward protecting the house from the naked eye, but it was oil over a watery structure.

And it could not fool the Force.

She smiled at that realization. The Force was greater than magic, even if she did not know how it would replicate the transfiguring magic from her Hogwarts education. Edelweiss briefly wondered if Lord Salazar had ever found a way to merge those powers. If the Force and her magic could work together as they had in Surrey, then certainly Lord Salazar would know more.

Edelweiss went straight to the kitchen. Her trunk rested beside the chair she had used the prior night. She went to it, kneeled, and ran a hand over the covering as she scanned the battered exterior for signs of tampering. She relied mostly on muggle means to secure her belongings. It would be suspect to use magical means, especially when staying with the Dursleys. But here, in the House of Black—

“Edie?” asked a familiar voice, yawning at the right moment to stretch the nickname. “What’s ya doin’ up so early?”

Edelweiss stiffened. A moment passed before she forced herself to peer over her shoulder at Sirius. He stood in the kitchen doorway, wearing a nightgown akin to Aunt Petunia’s. It took more effort than she wanted to suppress the mental comparison. Even with his prankster past, he had grown up in a privileged, pureblood household. Perhaps he would claim he was different, but she suspected there were aspects of his nature that remained in line with his upbringing.

That was a realization Sirius would never acknowledge. Edelweiss knew it with great certainty.

“I wanted to retrieve my trunk before everyone woke,” she said, standing straight. “The Dursleys usually lock it away. When it didn’t appear upstairs…. Well, I wanted to ensure it was fine.”

Sirius sighed. His grey eyes softened. “I’m sorry about—”

“You don’t need to apologize.” Edelweiss sighed and ran a hand through her black curls. “You did what you thought was right, Sirius. Your mind was clouded by emotion, and you made a mistake.” She glanced around the kitchen, trying not to think of how she crept toward hypocrisy with those words, before adding, “And you trusted the wrong man, to both of our regrets.”

“Edie,” began Sirius, his face falling. “Dumbledore is a goo—”

“He is a fool, and an old one at that,” she growled. Wrath bubbled within her. Her blood ran hot. “And… and he failed me! I begged him to not send me back after my first year. He claimed it was the only place where I was safe. I have never been safe while living with the Dursleys.”

“You seemed fine when I saw you before your third year.”

Edelweiss grimaced at the reminder of their first, unknown encounter. If she had known that dog was Sirius Black then, she would have done anything other than be startled by the appearance of a strange, massive dog. She had allowed her stupid, foolish Divination class to fill her head with silly ideas about Grims and prophecies.

She had been a fool to follow along with Ron’s slothful decision. If Edelweiss knew Professor McGonagall as well as she hoped, the Transfiguration professor would not allow her to drop divination. Perhaps two years ago, it would have been fine. But she was to be a fifth year, ready to take her OWL examinations in nine months.

And yet the time could be dedicated to her true path. Edelweiss Potter accepted the fact she would fail her Divination OWL if it guaranteed she ascended to her post as Sith Lord.

To be Darth Gladiolus before she turned sixteen, let alone became an adult at seventeen.

The drums of war echoed faintly in her mind. Edelweiss’s heart seized its beat.

“And what did you see, Sirius?” She continued before he could attempt to respond. “Me, fleeing that house, afraid what I had done would bring further punishment down upon my head.” Sirius’s mouth did not open. He had neither protest nor excuse. “Unlike you, I do not have another family I can safely flee to without risk. I’m trapped in that house, for however long Dumbledore wishes—or until I turn seventeen.”

Unsaid was Edelweiss’s certainty Dumbledore would never remove the orders that kept her entrenched within Number Four until she became an adult. Best she free herself bore that day could come to pass.

She recalled the blood wards around Number Four and frowned. What power could they possess now? Allegedly they saved her at eleven. Would being there for a month or two every summer be enough, as Dumbledore believed? Had Voldemort using her blood for his revival already subverted them? Edelweiss sighed and shook her head. She had no answer for the questions spiraling within her mind, and she did not trust Dumbledore enough to answer them.

And all of that was built upon the assumption Dumbledore had told her the truth. He weaved lies as a spider weaved a web. She could confront him, but could Edelweiss ever trust his words? He might preach virtue, but all she had seen from the man was vice.

And lies… Lies were a vice. She knew that truth all too well.

“I don’t like that look,” Sirius announced. He entered the kitchen with a wariness that surprised her. Did he think of her like a wild animal? Edelweiss watched him approach her. He was quick to kneel by her side, his face overcome with grief and despair. One of his hands came up under her jaw and raised her chin so their gazes met evenly. “You were hurt by what happened this summer. More than anyone thinks.”

Edelweiss huffed and drew away from him. “I found a way to survive, Sirius.” Her jaw clenched and lips pursed as she tried to suppress the flash of pain she felt at his saddened expression. She grasped her trunk and stood, lifting it from the floor. “I’ll be fine. I’ve always been so.”

Sirius stared at her with an unreadable look for several seconds before sighing. He stood as well. “If something is troubling you, Edie, you can always tell me.”

She smiled and tried to forget the invasive warmth in her chest. It was inappropriate for a Sith apprentice. “I will, if there is something you can help me with.”

Her words received a suspicious snort in response. Sirius shook his head as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, her trunk on the other side. “Just like your mother.” Edelweiss tried not to stiffen, even as she allowed Sirius to guide her from the kitchen. “Let’s get you back to bed. You have been sleeping, yes?”

“I’ve been sleeping fine,” Edelweiss grumbled as they headed for the stairs. “I’m used to waking early. Blame the Dursleys.”

“They make you cook breakfast?”

She glanced at her godfather with a guarded look. He stared down at her with those soft grey eyes again. Indignation and fury swelled within her. As easily as she could touch and wield the power of the dark side, she knew implicitly that Sirius did not deserve to have that power used against him. He had followed his wrath and hatred into a trap. Edelweiss had to learn from his example, or else the very passions that granted her immense power through the dark side would betray her to a terrible fate.

“And more,” she replied, looking away. They climbed the stairs in silence. Edelweiss eventually drifted away from Sirius and toward the room she shared with Ginny and Hermione. “Clean. Garden. Cook. Those were my main chores growing up. And if I did too well at school… they would stuff me into the boot cupboard. Talk back? Cupboard. Show any emotions? Cupboard.” She scoffed and shook her head. It felt strange, telling Sirius anything. “Not that they fed me enough food to make it as small and cloistering as they’d like. I was safe from them in there. I had friends in the spiders, for they afforded me none.”

“Edelweiss…”

“It’s fine, Sirius,” Edelweiss declared. She straightened, head tilting up. “It’s all in the past.” She took several steps toward the room she shared, her trunk swaying in her grasp. “They’ll get their due in good time.” With that, Edelweiss crossed the final steps to the door and pushed it open. She did not wake them, though Hermione rolled over and grumbled in her sleep.

Without a glance towards Sirius, Edelweiss stepped inside. She set her trunk down near the bed she slept in and ran a hand over her trunk. She could feel the holocron within. She could feel how it called out to her, beckoning her interest and power.

“In due time, my master. In due time.”

Edelweiss returned to the kitchen with Hermione and Ginny in tow. The other girls had remained abed for almost two more hours. Neither was pleased Edelweiss had woken early nor were they happy about her continued secrecy. While she had promised honesty, she had not promised swift answers. They could remain in the dark a while longer. Or however long it would be until Edelweiss could finish her ascension and become Darth Gladiolus.

She went to sit down. But Mrs. Weasley stepped into Edelweiss’s path, her brows furrowed.

“Mrs. Weasley. A good morning to you.”

“I wish I could say the same,” replied Mrs. Weasley. “Instead, I’ve been worried all night. I barely slept because of how worried I was.”

“…is this because I failed to attempt a Patronus, or because of the reported events in Surrey yesterday?”

“Both, I’m afraid.”

Edelweiss glanced at Ginny and Hermione, then to the table. Ron, the Twins, and even Sirius were sat around. They all shot glances her way, clearly intrigued by whatever she might say.

Not in front of them.

“Then could we step out? I’m not in the mood for… interlopers this morning.”

Mrs. Weasley frowned at Edelweiss’s words but relented with a sharp nod.

Edelweiss allowed the older woman to guide the way out of the kitchen and into a room across the hallway. The room was a little dusty but otherwise remained in good shape.

“We only finished up with cleaning this room a couple days ago,” Mrs. Weasley said. She sighed and muttered, “This house has proved to be difficult. Especially since Kreacher refuses to help out.”

“That’s… unsurprising, actually,” Edelweiss said. She waited a few seconds for Mrs. Weasley to say her piece before realizing the woman stared at her. Waiting. Watching. She sighed and muttered, “What do you wish to know? I’ve seen that expression from enough professors to know what it means.”

“I wanted to ask if you were alright, dear. I know the silence from your friends has been difficult, but it’s necessary.”

Edelweiss bit back the words she had uttered to Sirius and Hermione when confronted over the same matter. She turned her head away from Mrs. Weasley and muttered, “I’m fine. The aurors came to ask questions, but nothing happened. I sent them on their way. If you want to know more about that, then go ask that Shacklebolt fellow. He was there.”

“And your encounter with Remus? What Albus told us was disturbing.”

“…I’m welcome to my anger, am I not?”

Mrs. Weasley did not immediately respond. After several seconds, Edelweiss glanced over her shoulder at the woman. She was silent, pensively so.

“Dear… Holding on to anger is not healthy.”

“But it’s all I have. Otherwise, I might consider despair—or betrayal. And you cannot tell me that those would be more dangerous than only being angry.”

Mrs. Weasley shot her an astonished look. When the woman failed to speak up, Edelweiss left and returned to the kitchen. She sat down and joined the others. And when Mrs. Weasley rejoined them, she pretended as though nothing had changed since last year.

Days blended together as August dragged on. Most hours were dedicated to cleaning the house. Edelweiss realized two days into the effort was akin to waging a protracted war against an entrenched foe. The house fought back, and Kreacher appeared to be her most ardent defender. Only she had any impact, which frustrated the Weasley children. While she held no ill regard toward Ginny or the Twins, Ron and Hermione remained on thin ice with her. Their conversations were short and clipped, barely more than twenty words in total.

Sirius and Arthur Weasley spent the morning on Edelweiss’s first Saturday at Grimmauld Place working to reactivate the cooling charms within the home. Shortly after lunch, they got the wards working properly. Finished with their labor, they drew the children into a long break with chilled afternoon tea. Edelweiss went straight to the Twins once everyone gathered in what Sirius named “the large family room” and said, “Apologies for forgetting about our little… conversation on the Hogwarts Express.” She leaned in close. “I assume you’ve made good use of the gold I gave you.”

They blinked in unison; they suddenly reminded her of the blank look Dudley deigned her with several times in the past. They then grinned widely and seized her hands, giving long shakes that, had she not embraced the dark side, could risk yanking her arms from their sockets.

It was Fred who began speaking. “We have made—”

“—great use—” continued George.

“—great use, indeed—”

“—with the gold you gave us, Lady Potter,” they finished together, beaming.

Edelweiss granted them an amused smile. “I had hoped the gold would do more good in your hands than mine. I appreciate hearing that my hope proved true—and that you have made good use of my… investment.”

The Twins grinned wider than they had been. “Wish to see what else we’ve developed?”

“Perhaps on the Express,” she replied, glancing about. “Hermione will get named prefect, so I should be free of her for some time.” Edelweiss leaned in close. “You know she doesn’t approve of your antics.”

“I don’t know about that,” said George.

“She’s quite intrigued by a few of our products,” Fred added, nodding.

Edelweiss raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

The Twins glanced around the room before smiling smugly. George reached into the pocket of his robe and removed a pair of small human ears, linked by a long spool of clear string. “One of our developments. We call them Extendable Ears. Perfect for listening in on conversations. We used them to listen in on a few meetings, but the Order figured out what we were up to. They have wards up now.”

“As they should,” Edelweiss replied. She reached out to grab them, yet hesitated halfway. “May I?”

George answered by handing over the Extendable Ears. “Consider it a gift,” he said, beaming. “We couldn’t have finished this without the gold you gave us.”

“Good, good,” Edelweiss said, distracted as she inspected her gift. Once finished with her brief inspection, she pocketed the strange pair of ears. “What else have you two developed?”

“Skiving Snackboxes,” stated Fred, proud of the name. “We have a few versions, though they need further refining before we can sell them.”

“Then I would suggest paying anyone who tests your products. It’ll be safer for you two, and I doubt many will want to freely test your products.”

“And what about Hermione?” asked Fred.

“She won’t approve,” added George.

“Would who approve? Of what?” asked the devil herself. Hermione had snuck up on them. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her piercing gaze focused on Edelweiss. “What were you talking with them about? They’ve been secretive all summer about whatever they’ve been up to with the money you won from the Tournament.”

“That’s for them to decide. Not you—or anyone else,” Edelweiss said, her gaze fluttering to a watching Mrs. Weasley. The woman frowned but was soon distracted by her husband. “I gave them gold to help them with their ambitions, Hermione. Maybe I’ll get something back. Maybe I won’t. Regardless, I think Hogwarts might be more amusing once we return.”

“They should focus on their grades,” Hermione stated pointedly. “They only got six OWLs combined.”

Edelweiss glanced at the Twins. “Did I ever ask you two about grades? Or did I just tell you two to use the gold as you thought best?”

“Thought best,” replied George as Fred added, “And to create mischief!”

She snorted softly, reminded of the password to wipe the Marauder’s Map clean. “Have you two asked Sirius for help? He is Padfoot.”

The Twins exchanged a look before scurrying over to where Sirius stood, chatting with his cousin, Nymphadora Tonks, as he sipped from a cup of brandy mixed with leftover tea. Hermione glared at Edelweiss before muttering, “Ron and I thought it prudent to not tell them who the Marauders were.”

“Perhaps I should have kept my peace as well, then,” Edelweiss muttered, utterly unapologetic. “I thought they were already aware of Moony having taught us two years ago.”

Hermione sighed and shook her head. Her bushy hair flumped about like a nest caught by racing gusts. Edelweiss turned aside and scanned the rest scattered about the family room. Most of the cherry and ash furniture was in questionable condition. She doubted Sirius or Mrs. Weasley cared enough to restore them to their prior luster. Across the largest wall, absent of doors or windows, was a sprawling family tree, growing ever rightward. There were several burned spots along the various branches, one of which she’d bet had been Sirius. Most of the burns existed among the recent generations, with only some here and there throughout the centuries going back to whenever the family tree had been started.

She glowered at the sight. Part of her wanted to be furious that Sirius would be removed so. But Edelweiss knew that she would do the same. A Sith Lord threw away worthless pawns, just as the House of Black pruned their family.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” said Hermione, drawing Edelweiss’s gaze. “How was your summer really?”

“Best one with the Dursleys yet, which says little. I rarely saw them for once, which was the best. I kept myself busy, and out of the way. And so they forgot about me.” Edelweiss thought of her master and her lessons concerning the Force and the dark side. “I was able to work on my summer homework for once as well, so don’t worry about badgering me to complete it.”

Hermione huffed, even as her gaze swiveled over to where Ron and Ginny sat, edging closer to Sirius and Tonks. Edelweiss watched the auror speak. Odds were it concerned her auror training. “Ron was hoping you wouldn’t have started like usual.”

“Best of luck to him, then. He’ll have to suffer your nagging alone.”

Edelweiss stepped away before Hermione could begin berating her for language. Her mind wandered, stretching and reaching out for the holocron she knew awaited her attention. After all, her goal for the summer was to grow strong in the Force. To learn all Lady Bastila had to teach her so that she might go before Lord Salazar once returned to Hogwarts and be prepared for his lessons.

Hmm…. When should I go seek Lady Bastila out? I will need to retrieve the holocron from my trunk first.

Hermione appeared before her, arms crossed with a glower upon her face. “You’ll be helping as well,” she threatened. “This is our OWLs year, and I won’t allow you to coast through them like Fred and George.”

Edelweiss sighed. She shot Hermione her best pleading look. All she received in turn was a frustrated huff and a darkened glare. “Must I? He’s the reason I picked Divination instead of Ancient Runes…”

Hermione blinked. Edelweiss tried to not smirk. She recalled that month in their second year when they had been faced with the prospect of which electives they would take. Hermione had been so worried about her choices and the Chamber of Secrets that she failed to properly mind Ron and Edelweiss until it was too late.

“You know, it was funny watching you flutter about the common room, haranguing all of the upper years about which elective to take,” Edelweiss said, allowing herself to indulge in some friendly teasing.

Hermione’s face reddened. “You should’ve told me you were interested in Ancient Runes! If I had known, I could’ve convinced you to sign up for that instead of Divination.”

Edelweiss snorted. Her lips then twitched at the thought of those childish, halcyon days. “You’re the one who stormed out of Divination. Anyways, Ron and I did warn you that Muggle Studies wasn’t worth your time.”

“Oh don’t remind me,” Hermione grumbled. “I’m still disappointed by that class. It could be so much more!”

“And divination?”

“That class is rubbish!” Hermione grumbled, clearly sounding to be trying to keep her anger on the down low. “Maybe if Professor Dumbledore hired a different professor. Everyone knows that woman is a complete fraud. Why he keeps her around…” She sighed and shook her head. “I don’t wish to speak ill of Professor Dumbledore…”

“You can leave that to me,” said Edelweiss, even as she recalled that day in her third year when Trelawney spoke strangely. The events of that night, and what they had led to had been easy to forget when faced with the reality she had been wrong about her godfather and the crimes he committed. “Could she have…?” Edelweiss murmured.

“Could she have what?” asked Hermione, all but demanding.

Edelweiss blinked. “Maybe I’m overthinking it, but I think Trelawney did make a prophecy. Back in our third year.”

Hermione made a disbelieving sound.

And if that was a real prophecy… What she said that day did come to pass then… Yes. Indeed, it was. But—

“Could there have been another prophecy?” Edelweiss finished aloud.

“What do you mean by that?” asked Hermione. She sounded almost afraid, as though presented with an unfathomable danger. “Another prophecy?”

“Only that you’re right to believe there’s something suspect with Trelawney’s employment at Hogwarts. I think she must have given another prophecy in the past. One that required Dumbledore to take her in and protect her the only way he could—through employment.” Edelweiss smiled at Hermione’s doubtful expression. “She gave one the night we learned the truth about Sirius, predicting that Pettigrew would flee Hogwarts and return to his master—to Voldemort. And that’s exactly what happened.”

“That couldn’t be a prophecy,” Hermione grumbled. “She must’ve guessed right for once.”

“No. The more I think on it, the more I’m convinced I’m right. Her voice was different. Guttural, as if she were possessed.”

Hermione huffed and went away, muttering bitterly under her breath. Edelweiss wished her friend could accept when she was wrong. It would make it easier for them to get along, especially since Edelweiss suspected her transformation into a Sith Lord might permanently alienate them from each other. And she knew that it would, in part, be caused by how the Force transcended magic. It was the superior, perhaps even the elder power.

Though could Hermione make for a good Sith apprentice? She already possesses the passion to be a Sith Lord…

Edelweiss set the thought aside. There was no point thinking about an apprentice when she was still so weak.

The makeshift party ended shortly afterward. The children—Edelweiss unfortunately included—were put back to the tedious task of cleaning a house that fought back. She bit her tongue, for her frustration from the summer and being forced to clean a magical house by hand piled up like dirty dishes in a sink. She spent most of their time cleaning silently with Ginny Weasley. The youngest Weasley had been an oddity among her family, for she possessed a degree of hero worship no other Weasley had displayed toward Edelweiss. That had melted away over the years, though the Chamber of Secrets incident had initially reinforced that view in a manner Edelweiss wished she could have avoided.

“You ever dream of him?” Ginny asked out of the blue. Edelweiss blinked and glanced at the Weasley girl. “You know,” she mumbled, cheeks redder than her hair. “Of Tom.”

Edelweiss could not help her sudden, shaky breath. Despite the years, the memory of Tom Riddle lingered. Perhaps it was her appropriation of the Chamber of Secrets that kept the memory of the teenage Voldemort fresh and present in the back of her mind. He had been handsome, and charming, and had enough of the monster she encountered the year before to be a ghastly threat. She had thought nothing of destroying him with a basilisk fang. Yet now she wished she could have stabbed it right into him instead of the diary that empowered whatever crude magics he operated under.

Strangely enough, the diary reminded her of her master’s holocron. She did not know what to do with that thought. So she let it settle in the back of her mind as continued to do what was expected of her.

Edelweiss found an opportunity to speak with her master a few days before the middle of August. They all expected Hogwarts letters to soon arrive, and so they had grown lax during breakfast. She pocketed the holocron early in the morning before Ginny and Hermione woke from their slumber. Any attempt to claim a room of her own had fallen through thanks to Mrs. Weasley.

She waited through breakfast before spotting her opportunity. As Mrs. Weasley troubled Ron over him asking for thirds, she snuck from the kitchen and went straight to the nearby steps.

With a hand resting on the holocron, Edelweiss sought out a room she thought would be perfect for maintaining secrecy. Buckbeak, the hippogriff who aided Sirius’s flight from Hogwarts, was roomed on the second floor. Given the prideful nature of the aerial species, she knew there would be no cause to worry over whether or not others would enter. Only her godfather and Hermione had gained Buckbeak’s confidence, and neither would enter without announcing themselves.

She snuck up to the second floor and went straight to Buckbeak’s room. It was cruel to keep him locked up so, but there was nowhere safe to house a beast legally executed yet in the care of a wanted criminal.

“One day,” she whispered, thinking of the Code. “One day you will be free.” Edelweiss knocked once on Buckbeak’s door. She smiled at the lack of a human voice.

Edelweiss opened the door softly and made eye contact with Buckbeak as she crossed the threshold. She closed the door with a foot, standing firm before the hippogriff. Once their gazes were completely locked, she bowed, remembering Hagrid’s infamous lesson. Buckbeak returned the bow a moment later.

She straightened with a smile and approached the hippogriff. He accepted her rubbing his beak with a pleased chirruping sound. Edelweiss chuckled at the sound before turning away. She withdrew the holocron from her pocket and found a suitable corner for her lessons. The corner granted her a commanding view of the door. Edelweiss kneeled with her feet tucked beneath her and focused her simmering anger on the holocron. The pyramid’s tips twisted and the red projection of her master, Lady Bastila, projected above.

“Apprentice. How long has it been since we last spoke?”

“Over ten days, master, but not two full weeks. I confess part of the delay is due to my failings. But most of that delay rests upon the shoulders of those around me. They will not approve of you and your lessons, should they learn the truth. But it matters not. Soon I will return to Hogwarts, the school that Lord Salazar helped raise. There I will have a place dedicated to my Sith studies.”

“Good,” crooned Lady Bastila. Edelweiss shivered at her master’s tone. “From what you told me of your encounter with those dementors of your world, you have discovered the potential you will have as a Sith Lord, able to wield the full might of the dark side of the Force. While there are particular powers I could teach you or even should teach you, it would be wiser to focus on those powers you have already learned and wielded.”

Lady Bastila leaned forward, a sly smile upon her lips.

“Which power do you wish to learn first?”

Edelweiss thought back to her encounter with dementors in Surrey. The lightning she wielded, though powerful enough to drive back the dementors, was too dangerous to openly wield inside Grimmauld Place. The Chamber of Secrets was better suited to learning that power, and that left her with a single choice.

“Teach me how to use the Force to influence the minds of others. I will need that ability to protect the secrets of the Sith, should they ever come under threat.”

Lady Bastila nodded. “A wise choice, my apprentice. With time, you may become capable of learning the greatest of my Force powers: battle meditation.”

“Battle meditation?” whispered Edelweiss, unable to help her reverent tone. She knew her war had come. Any advantage she could acquire was one to seek with a feverish and possessive intensity.

“As you have discovered on your own, those strong in the Force can use its power to sway the minds of others—especially those weak of will. Battle meditation takes this power to its greatest extent: the ability to manipulate multitudes. An entire army—both armies, if one is that powerful—can be swayed by the might of one who wields the Force with their will alone. Through battle meditation, you can embolden your allies with courage and confidence, and weaken your enemies by filling them with doubt and fear. It is a power that can sway the tide of battle.

“When I was still a Jedi, opposed to Lord Revan, my power of battle meditation was the sole defense against him sweeping across the galaxy and conquering all.” She chuckled darkly. “Eventually, I saw the truth of the dark side. I joined him, and so died the Republic of our era.”

Edelweiss nodded, trying not to be overwhelmed by the potential of battle meditation. With it, she could guarantee victory by the time she came of age. Perhaps even earlier than that.

Could I kill Voldemort next spring? Edelweiss wondered. It is too likely that we shall cross paths again come May or June.

“Should I begin with my meditations, master? Or is there something else you wish from me?”

Lady Bastila hummed. “How much have you meditated since we last spoke?”

“Not as often as I should, master.” Edelweiss glanced down at her clenched hands and scowled. “The others around me do not understand why I meditate, and so they seek to occupy more of my time than wise.”

“It is not in the nature of a Sith to allow others to dictate our actions,” said Lady Bastila. “Outside of our master-apprentice relationship, you should have no others who can command or control you.”

“And what if I must hide who I truly am? Then would it be all right to… comply with a command I would otherwise avoid?”

“Should that come to pass, apprentice, I would advise you to remember the culprit—so they might be punished… accordingly.”

Edelweiss nodded. That made sense to her. Until she could be properly named ‘Darth Gladiolus’, she needed to ensure nobody thought she had changed from the Edelweiss Potter who narrowly survived the Triwizard Tournament. None knew that the girl they had known was all but dead. But one day they would, and they would despair because of it.

“There is another who I worry may try and compel my loyalty,” Edelweiss confessed with a bitter grimace. “Albus Dumbledore has long controlled my path. He is the strongest of the chains binding me to my pathetic life before I encountered Lord Salazar and the Sith.”

Lady Bastila considered Edelweiss and her words with a thoughtful look. The apprentice waited, for she knew her master would eventually speak.

“This Dumbledore,” her master began. “How long has he controlled you? Tell me of all the manipulations he has put you through and how they bind you to his will.”

“After my parents were murdered, he ensured I was placed with the Dursleys. I have told you some of what they have done to me. I know little of his involvement before I learned I was a witch, though I believe his choice to send Hagrid, a simpleton unfathomably loyal to him, was a manipulation to ensure I could be drawn along the course that brought me face-to-face with my other great nemesis, Voldemort.

“Following that encounter, Dumbledore insisted I return to the Dursleys by claiming the protections that saved my life against Voldemort could only be restored by returning there.” Edelweiss snarled, thinking of how her blood had been used by her enemy. “Much of the rest I have told you, master.”

“Some, but not all. Close your eyes and feel the dark side while you tell me all this Dumbledore has inflicted upon you. Focus on your hatred and malice.”

Edelweiss did as commanded. She reached inward and banked her hatred and fury with her many, many memories of Albus Dumbledore. She murmured the Sith Code as she focused on the dark side and allowed its power to coalesce around her and through her. Once in the embrace of the dark side, she began:

“In my four years at Hogwarts, Dumbledore has forced me to face threats to the castle in his stead. All of these threats he could have faced on his own, but instead the task was left to me.

“In my first year, he allowed me to face Voldemort, knowing well enough the man sought to steal the Philosopher’s Stone so he might regain his proper form. Instead of placing protections that could thwart a dark lord, Dumbledore had the professors put into place protections children only a year into magical education could circumvent. I had to stop Voldemort from seizing the Stone. I risked death to stop him, and Dumbledore allowed it without remorse or regret.

“In my second year, when Lord Salazar’s basilisk threatened the castle, he made no effort to stop the attacks. He was there, fifty years ago, when attacks of the same nature occurred within the halls of Hogwarts. He could’ve done something—anything—to stop the threat. Instead, I had to shoulder the burden. It was I who went into the Chamber of Secrets, into Lord Salazar’s secret place, and destroyed the beast. I even destroyed the false pretender who called himself the Heir of Slytherin, for he knew nothing of the Force.”

Her master hummed but said nothing about Edelweiss’s summary of her early years at Hogwarts.

“The next year, my wrongfully imprisoned godfather escaped his imprisonment. Dumbledore stood back and did enough to only prevent Sirius from being executed in a foul manner. The man could keep his soul, but he could not be allowed to regain his liberty. After all, if Sirius were to regain his liberty, he might take me into his care instead of leaving me alone with the Dursleys. And worst of all, despite his influence over the Ministry and the Minister himself, Dumbledore allowed those foul demons, the ones I turned back with the power of the dark side, to be stationed around the castle. What did it matter to him, if students were traumatized by their presence? Better to play his silly political games than to act properly as the Headmaster of a school filled with children.

“And then last year, during my fourth year at Hogwarts, he stood back as I was forced to participate in the Triwizard Tournament. He made no effort to determine the true identity of the one who placed me in the tournament. He even failed to notice how one of his old allies was replaced by a foe! How blind can he be to not notice a threat amongst his staff until it was too late? Or did he want me to be bait, to fall for the trap laid out by Voldemort and his supporters once more?

“And in the end, when I told him my blood, the very source of the protections that justified my placement with the Dursleys to begin with, was used to revive Voldemort, he sent me back! His arrogance has blinded him to a danger that we were all fortunate Voldemort was too arrogant or too foolish to not abuse.”

“You are a pawn in his game,” whispered Lady Bastila. Her tone sounded too consoling for Edelweiss’s liking. “Your life matters not to him, regardless of what he may claim. What must you do, apprentice?”

“I must destroy him,” she growled. “Obliterate him! I must strike him down with all of my hatred.”

“Yes, you must. And once you do, apprentice, you shall be a Sith.”

Edelweiss smiled at her master’s agreement. They saw eye to eye on this particular matter now. While she had listed off Dumbledore as one of the four chains that bound her down, it had not gone spoken that his death would be critical to her transformation into a Sith Lord. His influence was a poison, one to be excised. And the dark side of the Force would be her panacea.

The Force would free her, just as the Sith Code declared.

“I shall release you to your meditations, apprentice.”

And with that, Lady Bastila’s image vanished. The holocron deactivated. Edelweiss shifted slightly in her meditative posture and returned to her effort. Where she had been meditating to focus her thoughts and fury, she now only sought the untamed power at the heart of the dark side of the Force.

She remained like that for a time, her mind focused entirely on the task of meditation. And then she felt another presence in the room. Her eyes opened. Edelweiss paused, for she found Kreacher standing before her. Buckbeak marched about the far side of the room agitated, yet not enough to lash out or release cries of protest.

“Mistress calls?” croaked Kreacher.

“I did not mean to summon you,” said Edelweiss. She fought a smile at being called mistress. “Explain how I did, so I won’t do so on accident again.”

Kreacher wrung his floppy ears, spindly hands wrapped with strings of linen. His ghoulish face shivered as he shook his head. She waited several seconds before reaching out with the Force, cautious of the elfish magics he possessed. She still remembered what Dobby had done before her second year. An older elf should be more dangerous, just as an older mage was more dangerous than a younger one.

The elf froze the moment she touched him with the Force. She sensed an influence upon him akin to the dark side. That, she suspected, was the influence of the House of Black. Could the dark side and dark magic have similarities? That would explain the influence she felt within Kreacher—and explained why he came to her while meditating. He felt her power and thought her proper; the dark side’s power matched the power he had long served, and he wanted another to serve.

“I understand,” whispered Edelweiss. “You felt my power, so you came to me. You did the same for your previous mistress.”

“Yes,” moaned the house elf, as if giving away his loyalty was the last thing he wanted. “Oh, how my mistress would be horrified her terrible son and the blood-traitor filth.”

“Even me?”

Kreacher froze. Edelweiss restrained herself. Even with the dark side beckoning for her to influence the house elf, she held back. She wanted Kreacher to choose her of his own volition. Let her power in the dark side be enough to overcome his loyalties to the dead.

“You… You be…” mumbled Kreacher, wringing his hands. After a few seconds, he vanished with a loud crack. Buckbeak flailed back, squalling and squawking. Edelweiss sighed, for now her hiding place would be revealed to any listening for Buckbeak.

Edelweiss stewed in frustration as she tried to calm the hippogriff. It worked to some degree, yet she could still feel Buckbeak’s distress. Her jaw clenched. She had to breathe in and out several times to not let her anger seep through and influence the majestic creature before her. It was a great shame that he was locked within this room instead of being free, as he deserved.

The door was suddenly flung open, maybe three minutes after Kreacher popped away. Sirius stepped into the room, dark hair plastered to his forehead and grey eyes blown wide. He bowed to Buckbeak the moment their gazes locked. Once the hippogriff approved Sirius’s entrance, he turned his attention to her.

“Edie. There you are,” Sirius said, his brows furrowed yet relief flowing from him. “We’ve been looking all over for you.” He paused and glanced around. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to find a quiet place to meditate in peace away from the others.” Edelweiss sighed and rose to her feet. It appeared her time of sanctuary and solitude was over this day. “Mrs. Weasley is too fixated on cleaning up this house to allow me any time during the day, and then my friends sap the rest of my hours.”

“They’re going to be worse,” said Sirius. “Your disappearance has the house in an uproar. Were it not for Dumbledore, we would be scouring London for you.”

She scowled at the mention of Dumbledore. “Was he here? Can he track me?”

“He has influence over the house’s wards, being the Secret Keeper. If you had left, he would have known. Because you didn’t—”

“Is. He. Still. Here?”

Her godfather frowned. “He was preparing to leave when we heard Buckbeak from downstairs. I came alone, thinking Kreacher was harassing Buckbeak again.”

“Ah. That makes sense.” She glanced away. “I accidentally summoned him,” confessed Edelweiss. “It was an… enlightening experience.”

“He responds to your calls?”

She shot Sirius a sly look. “Don’t tell me you’re angry he responds more readily to me than to you.”

Sirius chuckled slightly. “It’s not that. He does come when I call, but he’s slow and doesn’t follow my commands as I’d like unless I make my orders redundant.”

“Yet you’re the head of this household. Shouldn’t he respond to your summons and commands as you desire?”

Sirius sighed, running a hand through his lanky black hair. “I never liked Kreacher growing up. My mother was a cruel woman, and Kreacher became cruel through her. My younger brother, Regulus, had her favor. And so Kreacher favored her.” When Edelweiss frowned, her godfather offered her a light smile. “I was the white sheep of the family.”

It took Edelweiss a few seconds to recognize the pun. She sighed and shook her head. Her godfather burst out laughing, which startled Buckbeak. She moved to calm the hippogriff, running a hand over his beak. Then and only then did she join Sirius by the door.

“We should let everyone know I haven’t been abducted,” she said, before following Sirius downstairs. Edelweiss knew for the rest of the summer she would need to step lightly if she wanted to avoid causing too much trouble. A smirk crossed her face. She could do that, and achieve whatever she wished, all the while leaving the rest unaware of who she truly was and of her true intentions.

Chapter Text

Their Hogwarts letters arrived on the Twentieth of August. A single great owl bustled into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Mrs. Weasley rose, claimed the six letters the owl carried, and proceeded to hand them out. The Twins took theirs with bemused looks, setting them down and returning their attention to the breakfast of rashers and toast their mother had cooked up. Ginny received hers next and opened it with a finger as she chewed on one of the sausages cooked up especially for her. Edelweiss noticed that Ron’s letter and Hermione’s letter were a bit misshapen upon being handed over. When prefect badges came tumbling out, gold with a crimson lion, Edelweiss was unsurprised. She was disappointed McGonagall chose Ron over Dean Thomas, but then the muggleborn boy did not have the same influence her friend possessed. Perhaps the professor thought Ron would grow up and be a good influence this year.

Edelweiss thought McGonagall was being foolish. She expected Ron to be more willing to abuse his authority as prefect than to handle it appropriately. Perhaps he would surprise her and act appropriately.

“Another prefect!” shouted Mrs. Weasley, all but smothering Ron as she hugged him tight. “One more prefect in the family! Oh, that’s everyone so far.” She turned to a nervous Ginny with a beaming smile. “I do hope you’ll continue the family tradition next year, dear.”

The sole Weasley daughter smiled awkwardly; it was the look of a daughter burdened with unwanted and unwarranted expectations. A glance at the Twins revealed nothing of their feelings; though there was a strong chance they would create excessive trouble being openly and blatantly forgotten. They cared not for authority and academics, yet the Twins possessed a pride of their own.

Hermione, frowning as she glanced around, asked, “What about Fred and George? They were never made prefect.”

Mrs. Weasley glanced at the Twins, who looked up with beaming grins, before turning back to Hermione with a condescending, if apologetic, expression. “It was obvious they would never be named prefect before they started at Hogwarts. Arthur and I knew McGonagall and the Headmaster would pass them over in favor of more responsible prefect selections. We made our peace with it long ago.”

Edelweiss bit her tongue at Hermione’s dark scowl. It would be all too easy to say something and spark hostility among all present. And while she might thrive off the hostility, now that she was pursuing a future as a Sith Lord, it would be unwise to spark it so unnecessarily.

Yet it would be all too easy, she thought, glancing between Mrs. Weasley and Hermione. They in particular would be easy to thrust into a pointless, bitter argument. I could do it with a single sentence and enjoy the show—and then suffer the consequences. One of them will recognize my role in that affair and be quite cross over it.

Her attention returned to her Hogwarts letter. She opened the envelope and withdrew the parchment within. There was nothing remarkable about its contents. The letter had not changed since her second year when the welcoming language was replaced with a reminder about term and little else. Edelweiss also found a small slip, listing three titles for the upcoming term: The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5 and Advanced Transfiguration, both written by the same person as past copies for Flitwick’s and McGonagall’s classes; and the new text for Defense Against the Dark Artes, Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard.

“Another new professor,” Hermione muttered, resignation already filling her. She turned to Mrs. Weasley. “When will we go to Diagon Alley?”

The matriarch glanced at her husband, who had just joined them for breakfast. He only shrugged, as though he did not wish to get involved. “The Headmaster and I have agreed that it’s too dangerous to take all of you to Diagon this year,” Mrs. Weasley said calmly. “I can do all the shopping, though I will need the keys to your vaults, girls.”

“No,” said Edelweiss. “I will be going to Diagon Alley.”

“It’s not safe!” protested Mrs. Weasley.

“When have I ever been safe? Every year at Hogwarts my life has been in danger. Every year, there was some incident where I should have died. But did I? No! I survived! Have you faced down Voldemort?” Everyone at the table flinched, including Mrs. Weasley. “Look at yourselves! You flinch at the utterance of the name he adopted! He was not born with that bloody name! He told me himself, and took it because it made him powerful!”

“That doesn’t—”

“It does matter! And do not think I have ever backed away from a confrontation with him! When he went after the Philosopher’s Stone, I stopped him! When he found a way to possess Ginny and set a basilisk on the innocent of Hogwarts, I stopped him! When he manipulated the Triwizard Tournament to ensure his return, who faced him? Who dueled him to a standstill? It. Was. Me!”

Edelweiss blinked and realized she had risen to her feet, panting slightly. A bead of blood trickled to her knuckles, for her nails punched through her palm's skin from how tightly they balled up. The sides of her fists ached from pounding against the table. Everyone stared at her, shocked and awed by her words. Mr. Weasley had a hint of pride in his gaze. For a moment, it was as though she was one of his children and not just a family friend.

It was as though she belonged.

Mrs. Weasley’s face suddenly tightened like a dried prune. Her fists perched upon her hips. Her mouth opened as her face burned with indignation.

“You will take me with you, Mrs. Weasley,” Edelweiss said, allowing the Force to fill her. She tried to thread her power into a needlepoint and poked it toward the witch before her. “I am coming with you to Diagon Alley, regardless of what you or Dumbledore might want.”

Mrs. Weasley’s eyes unfocused and her lips drew up and down. Yet before she could speak as Dudley had, she blinked. Mrs. Weasley then shook her head, banishing Edelweiss’s influence. She frowned, no doubt confused by the influx of ideas not her own into her mind.

“I… I will speak with Albus about your request, dear, but don’t expect him to agree,” Mrs. Weasley said awkwardly. “But only for you, Edelweiss.”

Hermione was the only one who did not groan.

Before Edelweiss could sit down, Mr. Weasley rose and asked, “Could we speak privately, Edie? It’s about an important matter.”

Edelweiss frowned. She reached out with the Force, keeping her probe needle thin once more, and felt out Mr. Weasley’s thoughts and feelings. He blinked and stared at her funnily for a few seconds. She withdrew her probe. He shook his head and rubbed his temple. Her heart soared as he left the dining room without confronting her.

I escaped his notice.

She followed him and was surprised when he guided her away from the dining room and into the family room with the massive family tree.

“What did you wish to speak about?” asked Edelweiss, crossing the room to one of the large, padded chairs. She slumped into it, crossing her legs as she stared at Mr. Weasley.

“Amelia Bones spoke with me yesterday about something that happened when you were still in Surrey,” began Mr. Weasley, shifting with an awkward air. Edelweiss already knew what he would say, but she wondered what this ‘Amelia Bones’ thought. Other than the woman’s relation to Susan Bones, she knew nothing of whoever this was. “She wishes for you to come in and provide a statement. Otherwise, she may have to issue a warrant, and with the aurors who come in and out of this house—”

“I won’t have an option either way,” she replied bitterly. “Fancy that. Sirius will be unmolested by them, yes?”

“That’s a… different issue.”

She nearly scoffed. Instead, she settled for a weak, frustrated huff. Mr. Weasley’s face pinched at the sound. “You mean Dumbledore is unwilling to pull strings on my behalf or his.”

Mr. Weasley frowned. “Have you not read the paper this summer?”

Edelweiss rolled her eyes as she muttered, “Why care for a gossip rag when they never tell the truth?” She sighed before adding quite serious, “I have not been reading the Daily Prophet. I assume they’ve slandered Dumbledore, and thus myself by proxy?”

“Yes,” Mr. Weasley said, looking away. “They’ve gone after Dumbledore more than you, but they don’t hesitate to include you in a story a few times a week. They aim to present you as a lunatic.”

She flared her nostrils, envisioning what the office of the Daily Prophet would look like once she was finished with them. It was a dark, heady thought; Edelweiss released it before she did something foolish like acting upon her hatred too early. There were better ways to bring the national paper to heel.

“What of Skeeter? Surely she takes delight in smearing me at will?”

“She’s gone quiet. Nobody knows where she went to after the Tournament. It’s almost as if someone learned whatever dirty secret—”

Edelweiss kept her eyes open as she tuned out whatever else Mr. Weasley had to say. She would agree to speak with Amelia Bones, for that appeared to be the best way of clearing her name. Perhaps there could be some way to convince the woman Voldemort had returned and get something useful from the Ministry of Magic.

Yet she was troubled by what Mr. Weasley said about Rita Skeeter. The woman had been her greatest frustration outside of the Tasks the prior year, using the paper as her bully pulpit. That, more than anything, had ruined what little respect Edelweiss had for the Prophet. That they continued to attack her even without Skeeter was strange. Curious, even.

“When does Madam Bones wish to speak with me?” asked Edelweiss, cutting off whatever the Weasley patriarch was saying. “I assume she wishes to speak as soon as possible.”

Mr. Weasley pursed his lips momentarily, reminding Edelweiss annoyingly of his wife. Seconds trickled by before he sighed and said, “I would need to get Dumbledore’s approval—”

“Is the Ministry that dangerous? Does Voldemort have agents in every department, waiting for me to bumble in so they might kidnap me, so they can deliver me to their false lord? Or does Dumbledore think he can control my every movement because as far as he’s concerned I’m just a child?”

“The Ministry nearly fell to You-Know-Who during the previous war,” said Mr. Weasley, his green eyes filled with disappointment. Edelweiss swallowed weakly, hating that the expression still affected her. “With Lucius Malfoy so close to the Minister, Dumbledore is concerned they might weaponize the Ministry against you.”

“Just like how the paper has turned against him?”

Mr. Weasley’s pinched expression answered her question.

Edelweiss rose to her feet and started for the door. She stopped two steps from the door, glanced over her shoulder, and said, “Let Dumbledore know I would love to meet with Amelia Bones sooner than later. I will leave scheduling said meeting to you two.”

Edelweiss then left, leaving Mr. Weasley behind with his thoughts.

Four days later, Edelweiss withdrew from a deep meditation on the nature of the dark side. She blinked and wondered for a moment why she had withdrawn from her meditation before suddenly sensing a mighty magical signature entering the house. Her master had taught her how to sense others; repeatedly she had reached out, identify what she felt and their power, before carefully drawing back and reporting to her master all she had sensed. So far, the entire house remained confused by what they felt, but none had yet to piece together her disappearances and those incidents.

Through her power, Edelweiss discovered that she could use Grimmauld Place’s wards to further her reach and control. While the Force protected her from being readily identified, the wards ensured a stronger sense of place for all within its walls. She even noticed when Order members came and went, as infrequent as it was. Grimmauld was being used primarily as a residence this summer, despite how the Weasley adults and Sirius referred to it as “Headquarters” in passing.

And so her greatest test was coming to pass. Whether or not Dumbledore noticed her sensing his arrival would tell Edelweiss how far she had already come.

She headed downstairs, straightening her black robe and smoothing it out. While cleaning Grimmauld Place, they discovered a guest room, well-preserved and filled with dresses and robes from witches past. Only a few dresses and none of the robes were cursed, so Ginny and Edelweiss pillaged the stash to add to their flagging wardrobes. Hermione had sniffed at their actions, yet forty minutes later questioned Sirius about the library his family had to possess.

Edelweiss followed her senses to the dining room, where she found Dumbledore sitting at the head of the table. The Weasleys—Arthur, Molly, the Twins, Ron, and Ginny—sat to his left, while Sirius, Hermione, Remus, and a frustrated Snape sat on the right. She had not sensed Remus, but then he came and went so often that his signature was about as familiar as the Weasleys.

Snape sat nearest to her. He sneered at her and then turned to Dumbledore. “Your prediction was right, Albus. The girl showed.”

The Headmaster beamed at the praise. His twinkling eyes peered past his half-moon spectacles to meet Edelweiss’s cold stare. “I had a feeling she would arrive as I said. I enjoy witnessing a prediction come true.”

“A prediction,” Edelweiss said flatly. She glanced around the table and noted the awkward and estranged expressions. “Is there a reason we’re all here? I’m surprised you’ve allowed the children to be present, Headmaster.”

Mrs. Weasley’s face flushed with fury. Before she could begin shouting though, Dumbledore cleared his throat. She turned to him, her face caught up in several struggling expressions. Edelweiss found the sight hilarious; yet should she laugh, the fragile goodwill between her and Mrs. Weasley would fall apart.

And so she added, “Or would this conversation be better handled in private?”

“I fear so, Miss Potter.” Dumbledore rose to his feet, even as most of the table looked ready to burst out with protests. Chief among them were her friends, who must have been appeased by being allowed at the table for an important conversation. It was shameful how childish they were being, but then she could not think of a time when the adults around them set a proper example. Perhaps only Mr. Weasley had, once upon a time.

“Enough,” said Edelweiss. Her friends went silent. “If anything is said that needs to be relayed, then I shall let you know.”

Dumbledore stared at her as though seeing her for the first time. The adults, for their part, merely stared at her with shocked expressions. She had done her best to mask her increasingly hostile temperament. It seemed the dark side of the Force influenced its practitioners so. Edelweiss did not mind the change, but she had to restrain her new nature. Allowing its darker potency through would give those around her cause for alarm—and they maintained just enough power over her person to cause trouble.

Edelweiss fought down her anger. Weakened restraint threatened her position. Her training was incomplete, and she needed to avoid revealing her other powers. She was still a girl; yes, she had been the one to defeat the Dark Lord, but she was still a girl. A child.

And Dumbledore? He defeated Grindelwald. He was the one Voldemort feared. His power had not diminished yet.

“Miss Potter is right. If there is anything that needs to be explained, we will be open about it.”

“So that’s it?” snarled Snape. “Potter has one little tantrum and you allow her to have her way?”

“Potter is standing right here,” Edelweiss growled. “And she is more important to his war than you are, spy. I wonder which master are you truly loyal to.”

The potion master’s jaw clenched tightly as he glowered at Edelweiss. Regardless of what he said about her in the past, she had never dared talk back to him while at Hogwarts. She basked in the face of his anger and frustration; let him hate her. Nothing would change between them.

“Now, now, Severus,” said Dumbledore, passive as always. “Miss Potter has a right to her privacy, especially with what I wish to speak with her about. Should she agree, I will—”

“He gets to know nothing,” Edelweiss declared. “I don’t care what he does on your behalf, Headmaster. I do not trust him. I am tired of his silly boyhood grudge blinding him to the truth: I am not my father. I do not know James Potter beyond a few tales and a memory that painted him as being akin to Draco Malfoy and not myself.”

In a blink, Snape drew his wand and aimed it at her. She stared at him, trying to not grasp for the Force. Sirius rose to his feet, pointing his wand Snape’s way.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said with steel in his voice. “Lower your wand. We are among friends.”

Snape glowered at Dumbledore as though he would happily murder the old man. And yet he did as instructed. He sneered once more at Edelweiss before pushing past her, his cloak fluttering in his wake as he made for an exit.

“I need to learn how he does that,” she whispered with a faint shred of envy. Seconds later, she felt his departure from Grimmauld Place. Edelweiss frowned as she wondered how she could have missed the man. His signature was as foul and greasy as him.

Dumbledore rose to his feet and joined her at the threshold. “Lead the way, Miss Potter,” he said. She blinked; surprised he would grant her any tactical advantage. Edelweiss tried to shake the impulse to think of this encounter as a battle, but it was inevitable. There was no other way for her.

They went to the family room, where she had all so recently spoken with Mr. Weasley. It was unchanged, despite the days of inactivity that passed. It seems Kreacher can be put to some good use after all.

“Arthur informed me of your desire to meet with Amelia Bones and discuss the recent incident before you came here,” Dumbledore began. “I understand your desire to clear your name. In most cases, I would support your endeavor. However, I am concerned that Minister Fudge will learn of your visit and use it as an opportunity to level criminal charges against you.”

“He is welcome to try. But he will fail.” Edelweiss stared at the Black family tree as she spoke. “From what the aurors told me, there is evidence aplenty to prove that my actions were in self-defense.”

“There were two instances of magic that evening, Miss Potter. Only one matches what was done to those dementors.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, but she did not turn to face him. “What are you implying?”

“I imply nothing. I only express concern that your actions could see you imprisoned in Azkaban. My influence is not what it once was. I cannot shield you from the consequences of your actions.”

Edelweiss snorted lightly and allowed her lips to draw up into a soft smile. “I fear not Azkaban. I have already proven I can handle dementors without relying upon the Patronus Charm… and I do not think Amelia Bones would be so foolish as to lock me away.”

“May I ask, how did you achieve that feat?”

She had to bite her tongue to prevent boastful words from slipping forth. Chances were Dumbledore asked solely because he hoped she would slip and tell him the truth about her new powers. He did not know of them, but he could suspect something was amiss with her.

Edelweiss chuckled before saying, “I am afraid I cannot tell you. A secret can only remain so as long as no other learns the truth.”

“You cannot keep it a secret forever.”

“I will try,” whispered Edelweiss. She sighed and brushed aside her thick, black hair. She was thankful it was so long, or else it would stick up like her father’s. “I want you to know, Dumbledore, that I will pursue a meeting with Amelia Bones regardless of your feelings. Were it not for the respect I have for Mr. Weasley, I would have gone to her already.”

“I’m afraid I cannot allow you to do that, Miss Potter.”

“Would you prefer I return to Hogwarts with the threat of an arrest hanging over my head? Certainly, Fudge has tried to use the revolving door that is the Defense professorship to try and insert a sycophant of his into your castle.”

Dumbledore was slow with his response. She suspected she guessed right about Defense for the coming year. Yet the Headmaster did not wish to admit she saw through him with ease. Edelweiss thought about the text assigned for Defense this year. Oh, did she wish to have a copy before her. Either it would be a treasure trove of magical tricks, or it would be so useless burning the bloody thing would grant neither satisfaction nor a good fire.

“The Defense position has been temporarily filled, though Fudge has a bill close to a vote which would allow the Ministry, through the Department of Magical Education, to place an instructor of their choosing should I fail to recruit and hire one. The assigned text for Defense this year reflects their preference.”

“A shame what happened to the last four Defense professors,” said Edelweiss, smiling coyly. “Dead, memory wiped, a werewolf, and subjected to the Dementor’s Kiss. One would think that the standards at Hogwarts have been on the decline. I will assume from the assigned Defense text that whoever the Ministry wants is guaranteed to fill the post.”

“I’m afraid that like everyone else, you will need to wait until September First to find out, Miss Potter,” replied Dumbledore with a soft, almost amused smile. She sensed his amusement burning brightly. “I will query Madam Bones about her wish to speak with you. I will let you know once I have an answer and an appropriate date—and chaperone.”

Edelweiss nodded, uncertain how to feel over allowing Dumbledore to handle her Ministry business. Part of her was relieved she avoided being thrown head-first into the messing business that was navigating the Ministry of Magic. And yet she regretted that it would be this man who would guide her course if only to begin.

I must learn, and learn quickly, just what occurs within the Ministry’s walls.

“Let me know once you know.” Edelweiss headed for the door. “Unless you have something else to speak of, I will return to the meditation your arrival interrupted.”

“I’m afraid I do have something else to speak with you about, Miss Potter.” She almost believed him. Edelweiss finally turned to face him. She crossed her arms and leaned against the door. Light reflected from his half-moon spectacles, guarding his blue eyes. “When I entered Grimmauld Place today, I was surprised to feel a legilimens probe brush against my mind. I spoke with the others before you came down. Only Sirius reported feeling something akin to a probe, and he waved away what he felt.”

“Is there a point to mentioning whatever a ‘legilimens probe’ is? I assume you have a reason to mention it to me when I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Dumbledore frowned. Disgust flooded her, witnessing that disappointed grandfatherly look that once affected her. “It was your probe, Miss Potter.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you speak of, Headmaster.”

“Miss Potter—”

“I believe that is all. Farewell for now, Headmaster.”

And with that, she stormed off. Edelweiss restrained herself, for her Force powers wanted to lash out with sweetly cruel violence.

I must return to my meditations before I turn and go to try and strike him down.

She climbed the stairs, mastering her temptation. And yet Edelweiss struggled to find a calm center in her meditations that day.

The next day when Edelweiss came down for breakfast, she found Sirius eating alone. She paused at the threshold and reached out with the Force. Though Dumbledore had mentioned Sirius noticed her attempts to use the Force on him, she had faith in her power. She was curious why he would be up so early when he enjoyed Mrs. Weasley’s cooking over whatever scraps he could scrounge up for himself.

Her godfather suddenly glanced up. She retracted her Force probe and stepped into the kitchen. A small smile crossed his face as she made her way over. “Edie. You’re awake.” Sirius’s gaze fell to the table before him. “I’d apologize for not having anything ready for you, but I hadn’t expected you so early.”

“You’re the one who favors his bed more than I, godfather.”

Sirius sighed. “You can call me by my name.”

“I could, but I have already decided to call you what I want.” Edelweiss took a seat. “I’ve been wondering… Are there any rooms in this house that could be used for dueling? I wouldn’t wish to ruin the wallpaper.” She was beyond rusty and hoped to cast something before September. She did not think becoming a Sith Lord would lead her to abandon her magical ways. Not yet, at least.

Her godfather frowned. She sensed his discomfort at her request. Yet he did not feel ready to reject her request entirely. “Why are you asking, Edie?”

“I want to practi—no. I need to train. I need to be ready to fight. There must be enough ambient magic around this bloody house that even if the Ministry could detect magic being cast here, they will have no clue who the responsible party is. Between Lupin, you, and Mrs. Weasley, they’ll be blinded to anything I might do.”

Sirius huffed just how a dog would. “Molly is a trained witch, Edie. You aren’t.”

“Then you could help train me,” Edelweiss said, trying to not smirk too obviously. She could sense his thoughts and it made her regret having not asked until now. “Either you help me or I see to it myself. I have no choice in this matter. I will fight in the war that has already descended upon us, even if it’s only cold for now.”

Sirius stared at her for a few seconds before sighing. “I fear I’m going to regret this, Edie, but I know a chamber perfect for your needs.” He rose to his feet. “Follow me. We’ll need to be quick unless you’re fine being found out.”

Edelweiss grinned as she shot to her feet, breakfast forgotten, and followed her godfather. Sirius led her to a door hidden in the back of the house near the overgrown garden he and Mrs. Weasley had rowed over several times. He hurried her through the doorway while looking around for any watchful gazes. Edelweiss sensed nobody nearby, yet she did not fault Sirius for his paranoia.

She possessed it as well. She only had the proper tools to ensure her privacy.

They descended several weaving flights of dark stairs beneath Grimmauld Place and the muggle subway system as well. Edelweiss raised a curious eyebrow when the air turned frigid. Steam rose from their mouths as they pressed on.

Eventually, the stairs came to a final landing. Sirius guided her down a lengthy corridor and into a large chamber far beneath Grimmauld Place. Edelweiss grinned at the open space. Silver glass lanterns illuminated the chamber, granting a soft, almost peaceful quality to the large chamber. Soon, magic and violence would displace any sense of peace.

She made her way to the chamber’s center and drew her holly wand. It hummed in her possession, too accustomed to her magic to dare reject the path she followed. She had read that holly embraced the heroic types.

A Sith was not a hero. A Sith was not a savior. They merely were.

“What do you think?” asked Sirius, drawing her attention back to him.

“It’s quite lovely,” replied Edelweiss, twirling her wand. “I’m surprised it’s so clean. Certainly cleaner than the Chamber.”

“Chamber?”

She blinked. Edelweiss realized she had never spoken of her sanctuary to Sirius. Not in any of their letters. Not even in passing last year. “The Chamber of Secrets. It was opened during my second year before you escaped Azkaban. The monster is dead, so I decided to use it for my purposes.” She shrugged before adding, “No better place for privacy than a place where only I alone can go.”

Sirius nodded thoughtfully. She waited uneasily, witnessing a serious expression on her godfather’s face. Her grip around her wand tightened, though not enough to warp the wood or drive a sliver into her palm. It vibrated against her flesh, almost begging to be used like during her duel back in June.

“We never were able to find it, though we didn’t look that hard. We were all convinced it was only a myth.”

“None of you were parselmouths. Even if you had stumbled upon the entrance, you would’ve been unable to access it.”

He huffed. “It would’ve been a point of pride to know where the entrance was.”

“Oh, well that’s easy. You know Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom?” Sirius nodded, frowning. His silver eyes were dark like slate. “There’s an access through the sinks. That’s how I entered during my second year—and it’s the only one Dumbledore knows of.”

“You’ve found more?”

“Wouldn’t be Salazar Slytherin’s secret chamber if he didn’t create several secret paths by which to reach his Chamber. Most are in the dungeons, though one leads into the forest and another comes out around the Charms corridor. Not to mention the Slytherin common room entrance.”

Sirius grinned, even as his eyes dimmed with the haze of memory. “Oh, the pranks we could’ve pulled having that kind of access.”

“You four were already menaces,” Edelweiss said with an edge of fondness. She shook her head, knowing what Sirius thought. “Voldemort had little trouble recruiting from Slytherin, though how many joined him? A quarter? Even less? Had the four of you attacked them in their sanctuary, the ‘home away from home’ as McGonagall described the houses, then all of those Slytherins would see how you idolized Dumbledore and would project that onto him. How do you think that would affect the Dark Lord’s message among them?”

“Sounds like you think we were too harsh.”

She rolled her eyes. “Most swayed to his side would have gone regardless. but offering a better way forward into the future could have made your lives easier.” The words were like acid in her mouth, yet she continued. “You must know what they say about honey and vinegar.”

Sirius nodded. “Make sure you follow your advice, Edie.”

Edelweiss shot Sirius a withering glare. She knew her chosen path would one day alienate her friends, but she had a war to win. Tactics and strategy were good to possess, but power was necessary to destroy a monster like Voldemort. Only as a Sith Lord would she have the power to overcome and destroy her great foe. He had been right about good, and evil, and power; she would no longer be cowed by the fear of power. She would seize it, and with her power destroy him.

“Enough talk,” said Edelweiss, twirling her wand once more. “Let us duel.”

Before Sirius could raise whatever wand he possessed, Edelweiss lunged forward, a whisper of “Expelliarmus” upon her lips. It was neither a powerful spell nor that threatening, but it proved useful in the past. Even against Voldemort, it had been of use.

Sirius drew his wand in a blink, revealing he had kept it hidden up a sleeve. He blocked her spell with a shimmering shield. As if taunting her, he smiled and flicked his wand. A yellow-green light flashed her way, sickly phlegm and moving akin. Edelweiss dodged with a roll and responded with a crimson stunning spell. He smacked it aside, a small shimmering shield of blue around the tip of his wand.

“What spell was that?” asked Edelweiss. “Will you—”

Her godfather used her moment of weakness to cast a trio of curses. Biting back a few choice swears and muttering, “Protego,” Edelweiss raised a shield. The first two spells splashed against the barrier, the surface rippling from each impact.

The last spell, however, punched straight through her shield and smashed into her ribs. Blood filled her mouth, barely spilling past her lips as her jaw clenched shut. The taste of copper coated her tongue so thoroughly that she found herself uncertain if blood had come up her throat or if she had bitten the inside of her mouth. Edelweiss stumbled back a few steps, one hand over her ribs and the other raising her wand at Sirius. He watched her carefully, even as her developing Sith instincts demanded his head.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered, rubbing the spot. Blood trickled from her lips. She spat a splattering onto the floor behind her. “What spell was that?”

“One I shouldn’t have used,” admitted Sirius. “It’s meant for wartime, not practice.”

“Then it's perfect for my purposes,” Edelweiss said with unveiled want. She breathed slowly and opened herself up to the Force. She felt stronger after a few seconds and managed to straighten. “Open war will soon consume Britain, Sirius. I must be ready.”

“Must you? Truly?”

She blinked, astonished by his willingness to question her. “Of course. It has been my war since Voldemort came to murder me on that Samhain night.” Edelweiss ran her hand across her forehead, glossing over the scar across her right brow. “He made it clear to all who would bring about his destruction. He marked me!”

Something rippled through her, around her, faint and heady. For a moment, Edelweiss swore she felt all the Force wrap around her instead of only the dark side that had become her source of power. The potency of the Force whispered to her, yet she could not understand. She wanted—needed—to know what it meant; yet it was gone before she could grasp it.

“…weiss? Edelweiss?”

She blinked and stared at Sirius. He had crossed the distance between them, hands on her shoulders and eyes wide with worry.

“Is something wrong?”

“You blanked out. Are you well, Edelweiss?”

She huffed and shook her head. Her ribs pinched from the earlier spell, while her hair brushed against her cheeks. “A stray thought crossed my mind. That’s all. It’s not something you need to worry about, Sirius.”

“I always worry about you, Edelweiss. It’s what kept me sane while I was locked up in Azkaban.”

“I thought that was your need to take revenge on Wormtail.”

Sirius grinned wolfishly. “That as well.”

“Well, how did I fare dueling?” asked Edelweiss, resisting the urge to rub her bruised ribs. “I need to be read—”

“You won’t be ready for fighting, regardless of how much you practice,” Sirius said. His eyes hardened. Not with the fires of battle, but with worry. Concern. “The Death Eaters have years of experience engaging in murder and mayhem. That we didn’t all die during the first war was a major accomplishment in itself. The number of times I saw the Killing Curse nearly hit me or James or Lily… It’s not something one forgets easily. There is no being ready for war.”

Edelweiss spat on the tiles and turned aside, black hair covering her sneer. “I do not have the luxury to sit around, Sirius. I do not have the luxury to play at being a child. It is my war, just as I told Dumbledore. Voldemort came after my family for a reason. He chose me for a reason.” She peered at Sirius through her hair, pouring her certainty into her emerald gaze. “I will be there at the end, either victorious… or dead.”

Sirius stared at her for a long while, torn by pride in her dedication and his desire to keep her safe. In the end, he sighed and muttered, “Then I’ll need to train you right with the few days we will have this summer.”

Edelweiss grinned. That was Sirius’s cue to raise his wand and hex her.

Chapter Text

A letter arrived bearing her name arrived that afternoon. Edelweiss fought back a smile, finding her name written in the Headmaster’s careful scrawl. She did not hesitate before opening the letter. She read it over several times, a vague furrow on her face once she finished. Dumbledore had come through for her this time, scheduling a meeting between her and “Madam Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement” for the Twenty-Seventh. The message was otherwise sparse, though it did mention Mr. Weasley would escort her to and from the Ministry of Magic. Beneath that was a time, early in the morning. Just early enough, no doubt, to sneak under Fudge’s watchful gaze.

Sirius pulled her aside the next morning. They made their way down to the dueling chamber beneath Grimmauld Place before he informed her with a regretful look, “We need to put off any training until after your meeting.”

Her brows furrowed. “Why ever not?”

“Because you’re going to be meeting with a department head. And not just any head, but the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. You will be passing through the Ministry’s security, and they will inspect your wand for any sign you’ve been using it recently.”

“And that would be an issue why?” she asked, knowing nothing of the Ministry’s likely lackluster defenses.

“If your wand displays any sign of being used since June, the Ministry has to investigate,” said Sirius, sounding quite exhausted. “It doesn’t matter if you’re in a magical household and thus the Trace can’t pick up the difference between you, me, or Mrs. Weasley. They’re bound by law to act, and the Minister will certainly act—unless you can get Amelia to protect you. But she’s always been a stickler for the letter of the law. We were lucky she was only a recruit during the previous war, or some of us might have seen the inside of an Azkaban cell.”

Edelweiss spat on the floor of the dueling chamber before storming back upstairs. Her godfather was right, and she wished he could be wrong. When she had first met him two years ago, Minister Fudge had seemed kind, if perhaps a touch incompetent. But after what he had done back in June and over the summer, it was clear she had judged him wrong. He only desired power and thought her—and Dumbledore—to be a threat to that power.

She hoped Madam Bones would be understanding of what she did earlier in the month. That or be susceptible enough to the dark side to be influenced.

The morning of the Twenty-Seventh arrived with little fanfare. Edelweiss woke early, startled out of her restless sleep by visions of Voldemort. Whatever she had dreamed of slipped from her mind almost immediately upon waking, yet she swore the entire vision had been from Nagini’s perspective. That disturbed her, heading for the bathroom. How had she peered through the eyes of Voldemort’s snake? How the vision came to her was a great mystery, one as intriguing as it was disturbing. She had thought little of the truth when she had been first informed there was a connection between her and the Dark Lord years ago. Her recent vision was proof enough that the connection persisted, firmly entrenched in both their minds.

I must destroy it, she thought while under the steaming shower.

Edelweiss knew she required guidance for the task of severing their connection. Lord Salazar, she hoped, would either know how to sever the bond or would have a holocron capable of teaching her how. The dark side possessed powers over the mind; certainly, it had an answer to whatever bound her to Voldemort. There had been an odd error while accessing Ziost Hangar. That, she hoped, would provide answers.

That reunion was still seven days away.

She put thoughts of the future out of mind and focused instead on her coming meeting with Madam Amelia Bones. From all she gleamed from Sirius and the aurors in the Order, the woman was fair yet strict with a hard edge of practicality. Edelweiss was confident she would experience little trouble from Madam Bones when it came to the events early in the month. She would have to skirt around the Force and its influence, for her secret remained too valuable to hand over so easily. Maybe the woman could be bound by an oath. Sirius did mention them in passing.

When she finally came down for breakfast, she found Arthur Weasley already waiting in the kitchen. Edelweiss had grown accustomed to rarely seeing the Weasley patriarch, for he often left for work early and returned late. He smiled as she made her way to the table.

He wore a plain robe over muggle business clothes, including an oxford tie. That the colors did not clash or stand out took her by surprise. Then again, Edelweiss suspected Mr. Weasley had just enough experience dealing with muggles that he knew how to dress around them. His behavior around muggles and his treatment of them reminded her uncomfortably of the patronizing teachers she had in primary, though.

She probably should tell him. Any enduring qualities to his oddity had faded long ago.

“Albus informed me you have a meeting with Madam Bones this morning,” Mr. Weasley said, setting a plate of toast and rashers before her. She scooped out a bit of blackberry jam and spread it across a slice of toast. “He asked me to escort you there and back.”

“So he said in his letter informing me,” said Edelweiss around her first bite. She swallowed, and then asked, “Do you know why Madam Bones wished for it to be so early? I think Dumbledore only passed along his suspicions.”

“I imagine the Minister would like to interfere with the meeting, should he learn of it. Fudge has pushed bizarre conspiracies about you ever since you sided with Albus back in June. I think part of him wishes you would have rejected Dumbledore’s claim You-Know-Who returned.”

“Then he is a fool,” grumbled Edelweiss. She took a vicious bite out of her rashers. “Dumbledore only makes that claim because I told him. Anyways, I doubt Fudge will be in office this time next year.”

“I didn’t take you for an expert in politics.”

Mr. Weasley might have meant his comment kindly or even thought it might remind her to be humble. Yet a twisted, offended anger roiled low in her gut. Her face twitched as she struggled to maintain a calm composure. The dark side flowed into her, whispering for her to lash out with her terrible power. Yet it would be counterproductive to act rashly, especially since this man was her key to accessing Madam Bones.

I could subvert her, thought Edelweiss. She was almost surprised she hadn’t considered it before. The dark side has the power to sway minds, though a woman like this ‘Madam Bones’ will not have reached her station without being stronger than the walls of Hogwarts. It may be impossible…

She rejected the idea. While the idea of controlling those in power sounded lovely, it was too risky at this juncture. One day, Magical Britain would be hers. She would need to carefully sow the seeds of her future conquest.

“I’ve witnessed enough muggle politics to guess what will come to pass when the truth comes to light,” Edelweiss declared with great certainty. Mr. Weasley’s eyes brightened at the comment. He began questioning her about the muggle government. It was almost alarming how many questions he posed. She was doubly alarmed that the Head of the Office for the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts would be so clueless about the governance and law systems of muggle Britain.

Mr. Weasley leaned forward. He nearly placed a hand on his plate of eggs and toast. “Tell me: what is the fundamental dynamic between the Tories and the Whigs.”

She blinked and felt everything she had picked up through osmosis almost slip away. “The Tories are still around, though they’re technically the Conservatives.” Edelweiss shrugged. “They’re who Uncle Vernon supports. They’re opposed by Labour, not the Whigs. It’s been that way for a century or more. I have no clue how long it's been since there was a Whig Party in Britain.”

“Labour? Truly?” Mr. Weasley had the look of a man introduced to a miraculous prophet. “And who do they represent? I know that much about your…parley-a-ment”

Edelweiss bit her tongue to stop from laughing, though she did smirk. For now, she would not bother correcting Mr. Weasley’s pronunciation. Watching Hermione argue over the proper pronunciation of muggle terms was always amusing. There was time to engineer a conversation that would lead to a discussion of parliament another time. “Labour is for working folk. Miners, fishers, industry people.” She tilted her head, remembering her uncle’s rants. “Uncle Vernon hates them. Goes on and on about how they’re ruining the country, but then he’s in business. Maybe they’re also supported by Asians and Africans? That might be part of Labour…”

“Ah, well they must be decent folk.”

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t know, since I barely followed their politics. But what I have noticed is that men are men, regardless if they’re wizards or muggles. Fudge is afraid of losing his office. Especially since he’s in the pocket of a formerly alleged Death Eater.”

Mr. Weasley frowned, but she waved off his impending response.

“Yes, yes. I know. I know. But remember that I saw Lucius Malfoy in that graveyard back in June. The trouble just happens to be that he, as far as the law is concerned, was innocent of any crime during the previous war. It’d take finding him in robe and mask leading Death Eaters without a trace of the Imperius to put him in Azkaban. Or a strong minister, but that would require Fudge being dismissed from office. He’s a worm, and one without use during a period of war.”

“Fudge performed well for most of the past thirteen years.”

“Because those years were during an era of peace, where any fighting between the factions hungry for power occurred within the halls of the Wizengamot and not in the streets and fields of Britain,” said Edelweiss. “I’ve read enough of Voldemort’s previous war to know that he was on the verge of victory when he came to murder me—and was defeated.” She sighed softly. “A tragedy how weak the Ministry was in the war’s wake to allow so many to go unpunished.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Mr. Weasley said, turning away. Edelweiss frowned. It was tempting to try and reach out with the Force. But doing so would not serve her well. “Nobody knew who to trust back then,” Mr. Weasley continued. “It was a dark, dark time, Edelweiss. Nobody batted an eye when Death Eaters claimed Imperius since so many innocents were under it as well.”

Edelweiss nearly choked on a laugh. She knew from all she read that the war had been a massive, dreadful mess with Voldemort and the Death Eaters abusing the Imperius. But she was surprised the Ministry had yet to develop some means of determining whether or not their claims were genuine. Certainly, someone must have studied the Imperius—or better yet, the Dark Mark, if only from a speculative perspective.

Perhaps there he left notes behind in the Chamber, she thought, slouching back. I never did try to decipher what I did find in the accessible parts of the Chamber before stumbling upon Ziost Hangar.

It was unlikely she would find the secrets of the Dark Mark down there. But Edelweiss would not know until she tried It would be challenging making sense of the scribbles and markings upon those pages, but perhaps with Lord Salazar’s aid, it would be possible.

All things are possible, either through magic or through the dark side of the Force, she reminded herself. One only needs to seize the power necessary.

They finished their breakfast shortly after, eating the rest in silence. Edelweiss glanced at Arthur a few times, noting his furrowed brow and uncertain expression. She could sense his wavering feelings, the hints of doubt and uncertainty that might allow her to separate the Weasleys from Dumbledore. It was unlikely, given how partisan his family was. Yet if she could create separation between the old man and any of his supporters, it would ease her domination of magical Britain.

Mr. Weasley led the way once they left Grimmauld Place. Edelweiss took in the sights as she followed him, wishing she could have known the location of the Ministry and how to enter before this day. While it should be possible to use Grimmauld Place’s floo to reach the Ministry, that could risk exposing Sirius’s hiding place to any aurors attempting to capture her godfather. She could grant Dumbledore credit where it was due, primarily in how he convinced the aurors in the Order to hide Sirius from their peers and superiors.

I should try to learn his rhetorical tricks, thought Edelweiss. I will need them once he is gone. I would be a fool to only rely upon my name and my Sith powers to ensure the complacency of the public—even if it will be easier.

As they traveled from Islington to Whitehall, Edelweiss noticed they began to acquire unwanted attention. Mr. Weasley appeared ignorant to the stares directed their way, even after he waved at a group of men in muggle business suits. They shot him queer looks with hints of confusion and more than a hint of disgust. Their gazes fell upon her and turned to a leer. She sneered back. Had she the power to get away with it, she would make them suffer for how they looked at her.

They rounded a corner near Whitehall proper, which loomed with its many fluttering Union Jacks. Edelweiss smiled slightly at the sight and wondered if the Ministry of Magic possessed as much grandeur and national pride. She could not fathom the Ministry looking less splendid than muggle government buildings, constructed in beautiful styles old enough wizards would remember them fondly, despite the centuries of secrecy and separation.

Mr. Weasley brought them to a phone booth, marked off with a large OUT OF ORDER sign. Edelweiss glanced between him and it, wondering if his mind had been addled. Otherwise, the Ministry was truly so arrogant they thought muggle laziness would protect an entrance into their central base.

“This is the visitor’s entrance,” said Mr. Weasley. He slid the booth door open and stepped inside. Edelweiss followed glanced up and down the street before following him in. She watched as he dialed: 5-1-3-3-1. She nearly groaned, realizing he had dialed magic. Magic, of all bloody things!

That was when the booth shifted. It shook; rocking for a brief moment, and then the booth began descending into the ground. Mr. Weasley lifted the phone from the receiver.

“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic!” a small, cheery voice said. Edelweiss stared at the phone receiver, else her gaze flicked over to Mr. Weasley. She did not need to see the smile on his face. “Please state your name and the purpose of your visit.”

“Arthur Weasley with a guest, Edelweiss Potter. Here to… speak with Madam Amelia Bones of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

A few seconds passed as if there was someone on the other side of the phone’s receiver. Soon enough, two badges popped out of an oversized coin deposit, larger than any muggle coin Edelweiss was familiar with. Mr. Weasley picked them up, keeping one for himself and handing the other to her. She stared at the green badge and read:

EDELWEISS POTTER — — — — — GUEST

           MEETING WITH DEPARTMENT HEAD BONES          

“Huh.” She spun the badge about in her hand. On the backside, she found a very muggle-styled pin stretching across it. Edelweiss pinned the badge to her breast. She noticed in her reflection that the green of her badge was a shade almost identical to her eyes. It went well enough with the robe she wore, though she wondered if it would have been wiser to choose a robe that was grey or white for visiting the Ministry. The black she chose, while comforting to her, would present an image at odds with the savior she was meant to be.

Sunlight vanished once the booth descended beneath ground. Edelweiss assumed an illusion or some kind of replacement moved into place above them. She would not fault the Ministry for selecting a common phone booth for their visitor’s entry. Though she found herself suspicious of the proximity to Whitehall. Had the magical ministry once been closer to their muggle counterparts? Or perhaps it was the Crown they once served before the separation of the magical and muggle worlds. She had never considered whom among Her Majesty’s government knew of the magical world, though certainly some did: the Queen, certainly; probably the prime minister, along with those cabinet members whose offices would be affected by the actions of witches and wizards.

She glanced at Mr. Weasley, before shaking her head. He was too clueless about muggle governance to know who in high office would be informed of the magical world. Edelweiss would learn their names and titles once she ascended and became Darth Gladiolus. On that day, she would cow all of magical Britain and hold their lives in the palm of her hand.

For now, she would focus on the task at hand: her impending meeting with Madam Bones.

The lift emerged from the darkness they passed through and revealed a large atrium hidden beneath the streets and tunnels of muggle London. It stretched out past several dozen fireplaces, many glowing a fiery green as people came and went. Most were dressed in fine robes. Those dressed otherwise either had business in the muggle world or were one of the red-garbed aurors. She spotted only a few aurors; symbols of the apparent safety the magical world lived under. Few would readily admit the need for a serious effort to maintain security in the Ministry.

She spotted a great fountain near the far end, where the stretching path opened into a circular space with several doors equally spaced. The statue was difficult to see clearly from a distance. Edelweiss had to remain content with the knowledge she’d see it as they headed for Madam Bones’s office.

Mr. Weasley led her out of the booth and to a security desk ten yards away. A pair of lazing aurors inspected the wands of people entering the Ministry. Some passed by the desk without being checked. Edelweiss hoped they all worked for the Ministry. She was guided to an auror with a sullen face and an obvious bit of fat beneath his weak jaw.

“Arthur, good to see you,” the man said before turning to Edelweiss. “Who’s the girl?”

She flashed her badge. The man bit back a gasp as his eyes flickered up to her brow. A few people glanced their way, though none bothered reading the green badge pinned to her robe. Edelweiss brushed her hair around, so she could fully hide the lightning scar that marked her identity. A single glimpse and a loose tongue were all that was required to reveal her identity to all present. Given how the auror reacted, she might not have the luxury of stealth for long.

“She’s a family friend,” Mr. Weasley said awkwardly.

“Of course,” the auror muttered. “A family friend.” He then shook his head. He held out a hand and met Edelweiss’s gaze. “Wand, miss. Need to inspect it before you can enter.”

Edelweiss drew out her wand from inside her robe. She had left her holster back at Grimmauld Place. The auror raised an eyebrow at where she placed it but said nothing. She handed over her wand. He drew and waved his wand over hers.

“Holly and phoenix feather, eleven and a half inches,” the man said as he returned her wand with a slight furrow. “Feels like you’ve used it since June, though nothing came up.”

“Just been around a lot of magic—more than usual for my summer.”

“Muggle family, huh?”

Edelweiss nodded, trying to not scowl at the reminder of the Dursleys.

Mr. Weasley thanked the man. Edelweiss pocketed her wand. They pressed on into the Ministry. She wondered when Minister Fudge would learn of her presence. She expected to reach Madam Bones before he could interfere. Whether or not she would be gone remained up in the air. If his efforts to slander her and the Headmaster via the Daily Prophet were to be judged by, she would assume there would only be enemies and obstacles within the halls of the Ministry. And if Fudge caught on quickly enough, he could force something that would benefit him, like a sudden trial. Violations of the Statute of Secrecy and the Underage Ban would come up, despite the fact she had cast no spells that night.

And then she remembered what the aurors had said when they came to Surrey. Her decision to blend the dark side of the Force and her magical powers had drawn them to Surrey that night. Not enough occurred to securely press charges—and that was a pleasant surprise, given the slander and their certainty she had done something—but it was enough to take note of and remain cautious. After all, Madam Bones might levy charges herself.

They eventually reached the golden statue Edelweiss had spotted from the lift. Her lips twisted into a disgusted frown, witnessing all it revealed. At the center were a witch and wizard, positioned to subtly portray the superiority of wizards over witches. They held up wands that spewed water in cascading arcs that fell into the fountain around them. As accompaniment were a trio of magical beings—a goblin, a house elf, and a centaur. They stared at the humans with awe and gratitude, as if their meager positions in society were not a deliberate insult to keep them low and weak.

“The Fountain of Magical Brethren,” commented Mr. Weasley, noticing where she stared. “All money thrown into the water is donated to Saint Mungo’s.”

Edelweiss nodded, sickened by what was crafted in gold. For a moment, she considered the merit of tossing a coin. She rolled a silver sickle in her right hand for several seconds. After her hesitation passed, she tossed it over her shoulder and smiled at the small splash of water.

Let them see the foolish savior they expect in that action.

They came to the circular end, which turned out to be an elevator bank. One door happened to already be opened. Edelweiss pressed forward, Mr. Weasley just on her heels. They entered and the doors closed behind them.

Madam Bones’s office was in the rear of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which dominated the Ministry’s fifth level. Edelweiss had been surprised to learn the atrium was the eighth floor, for simple logic would dictate an entrance to be the first floor or the ground level. She assumed now that the first floor was where the Minister had his offices as if the numbering was enough to prove his importance. It was hard to not sneer thinking of the portly man “leading” magical Britain. The moment he rejected her declaration Voldemort had returned from his exile and was restored to his old powers was the moment he set into motion the destruction of whatever legacy he built.

Mr. Weasley guided her to a desk where a pleasantly attractive woman sat. She looked up from whatever had kept her busy and smiled glibly.

“Miss Kline,” said Mr. Weasley, nodding to the woman.

“Mr. Weasley.” She glanced at Edelweiss, then back to him. “How may I help you this morning?”

“Miss Potter to see Madam Bones,” he replied. “We might be a tad early.”

“Amelia had her schedule cleared this morning to ensure she could meet with Miss Potter immediately and for however long their meeting takes.” Miss Kline turned to Edelweiss. “If you’ll follow me, Miss Potter.”

Edelweiss nodded. The secretary rose from her desk and headed down a narrow corridor behind her, deeper into the DMLE. Edelweiss gave Mr. Weasley a quick nod of thanks and then followed Miss Kline. A few aurors glanced her way as they passed, but none moved to stop them.

Her lips twitched, trying to resist the temptation to draw into a violent, crooked smirk.

Miss Kline knocked twice on Madam Bones’s door, no doubt for Edelweiss’s sake. She could sense the woman within; she must know who waited beyond.

Madam Bones responded almost immediately. “Send her in.”

The secretary opened the door for Edelweiss. She gave the woman a slight nod before entering. Miss Kline closed the door behind her.

Edelweiss was now alone with Madam Bones.

The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was a severe woman with red hair like her niece and a monocle over her right eye. Her lips were drawn in a thin line, even as she gestured to one of the chairs before her desk. “Please sit, Miss Potter. I would like to end this meeting as soon as possible.”

Edelweiss sat before asking, “Because you wish me gone, or you worry the Minister will interfere?”

Madam Bones frowned slightly “Does it matter to you which it is?”

“I have no desire to deal with the bumbling buffoon we call ‘Minister’,” Edelweiss said carefully. “Though you must suspect he will make a greater deal out of what happened back in August than it’s worth the time—or the tax money—to trouble with. You could benefit from some of that money coming your way. To properly… finance the aurors.”

Madam Bones grimaced. “If Cornelius knew about our meeting, you would be facing a trial before the full Wizengamot. And if he heard what you just said, we would both face bribery charges.”

“I’m not an adult, though.”

“One could argue that having participated in the Triwizard Tournament, where the rules stated an Age Line was to be implemented to keep under-aged witches and wizards from putting their name into the Goblet of Fire, that you already are one.”

“And that would prevent him from prosecuting me under the Ban on Under-aged Sorcery.” Edelweiss smiled, thinking of how Hermione had spent days researching magical law the prior year. Had they access to the Black Library, they might have spent days there preparing for this meeting. Instead, Edelweiss had some peace and Hermione slept in. “Naturally, that means my wand cannot be snapped without committing a capital offense, nor will he have the ability to expel me from Hogwarts without the Headmaster’s explicit approval.”

“Fudge is already at odds with Albus. There’s no point in worsening an already difficult case.” Madam Bones sighed and rubbed her temple. “He’s already furious I’ve blocked any attempt to bring you in on trumped-up charges. He knows little of that August day. Be thankful what he does know is not enough to prosecute you, Miss Potter.”

Edelweiss hummed as she wondered what Fudge knew. Odds were he knew about the scars she left on the dementors, along with the Ministry’s uncertainty over how she achieved her great feat. Even with the traces of her magic lingering on her wand, there was no way they could learn the truth. What she used against the dementors was more Force than magic.

And it was unlikely Madam Bones knew of anything akin to the Force. All Edelweiss needed to do was skirt through this conversation and she would be free.

“So, what did you wish to know?” Edelweiss asked, laying her hands upon her lap. “I doubt the report you received from your aurors was satisfactory, given you pushed for this meeting. Dumbledore was less than pleased about me coming to speak with you.”

Madam Bones frowned at the mention of Dumbledore. “Albus has long preferred for others to bow to his whims and fight using his methods. The Ministry listened to him for too long during the previous war, and we nearly lost because of it. I hate to admit it, but if nothing changes soon—since I already fear you’re right about You-Know-Who—then Britain will be lost.”

Over my dead body, Edelweiss thought bitterly. She felt her anger flare. The dark side whispered sweetly of battle and death. She suppressed that desire. This was not the place for those powers.

“You did not answer my question, Madam Bones.”

“I want to know everything that happened on the day those two dementors were cursed. Our sensors detected unknown magic used in Surrey, aligning with what happened to them. And most of all, I wish to know what your involvement was.”

Edelweiss struggled to not frown. “Will you require an oath? Threaten me with veritaserum?”

“Must I?”

She grimaced. “I would demand an oath from you in exchange for the full and entire truth. I do not wish my secrets to spill out into the halls of Ministry—or worse, the front page of the Daily Prophet.”

Madam Bones considered the proposal for over a minute, one eye fixed upon Edelweiss through the madam’s monocle. If it did not possess enchantments, Edelweiss would question how this woman earned her post over someone as dedicated as Mad-Eye Moody. Then again, dedication could become zealotry or madness. Given Madam Bones was willing to go against Fudge, there was steel in her spine and a functioning mind in her skull.

“And if I won’t?”

“Then I will keep my secrets. There are a great many things I do not want others to know. You will be left to wonder and speculate about the gaps, knowing it was by your choice they exist.”

She watched Madam Bones consider her options. Whatever thoughts the elder woman previously possessed were being revised in real-time, or so Edelweiss assumed. Eventually, Madam Bones sighed and murmured, “I, Amelia Bones, swear to keep the secrets of Edelweiss Potter as told to me within the next hour. I will tell not a soul of what is confided to me.”

“That I can accept,” replied Edelweiss, hoping she was not about to make a fatal mistake. She felt a ripple of magic as the oath took shape. While in any other case they would need to progress further with ritualistic words or spells, there was no need now. The Force transcended magic, and so Edelweiss used the Force to snatch threads of their oath and weave them into a binding contract.

“Wha— How?” whispered Madam Bones, eyes blown wide from feeling a brush of the Force. Edelweiss felt a tremor run through the older witch.

She grinned, crooked and full of teeth.

“I have come into another power,” whispered Edelweiss as she leaned across the table. “One greater than magic, known only to Salazar Slytherin. With this power, I turned back the dementors without reliance on my magics. Every pretender seeking to live up to the legacy of Lord Salazar is deaf and blind to this power. For it is I, who stand in opposition against the madman who claims descent from Slytherin, that has become his true inheritor.” She leaned back and crossed her legs, a pleased smile gracing her lips. “That, Madam Bones, should be enough to explain what transpired—and why you cannot prosecute me, yes?”

Before Madam Bones could respond, still rattled by the revelation, her office door slammed open. Miss Kline scrambled backward into the office as a trio of red-garbed aurors escorted a squat man in a green suit into the office. His purple bowler cap sat askew upon his head.

Madam Bones rose to her feet with a burst of fury. “Cornelius! What is the meaning of this?”

“The meaning of this? The meaning of this?” hissed Fudge, pointing at Edelweiss as his eyes narrowed. “Why was my office not informed you had scheduled a meeting with the Potter girl, Amelia?”

“The Potter girl?” snarled Edelweiss. She rose to her feet. The sweet siren call of the dark side roared in her ears. Memories of wielding Force lighting flashed in her mind. The dark side beckoned her to repeat what she had done that night. This pathetic man would certainly make sweet, sweet sounds as he screamed and begged. It would be so simple to unleash her wrath and fury upon the foolish man who dared defame and attack her. Her restraint could easily slip, yet she could not act yet. She was not powerful enough to escape the consequences of her actions. “The Potter girl? It was only a few months ago you were singing my praises in the Prophet! You bragged about a potential upset in that thrice-cursed tournament! And now this is it? Girl? GIRL?!”

The room rattled with her wrath. Sparks crackled between her fingertips. Edelweiss clenched her fists and reeled back her power. Now was too early. Too soon for the Force. I have yet to complete my training. I have not even sat my OWLs. Those stepping stones toward my future power are necessary, no matter how insignificant they might be.

Fudge whimpered, backing away from her. The aurors had wands drawn. Yet until she drew her wand in a foolish attempt to curse the Minister, there was nothing they could do but point their wands at her.

“Stand down,” demanded Madam Bones. She stormed around her desk. When the aurors hesitated, she snarled, “If you’re going to raise wands so willy-nilly, then get out of my office!”

“But ma’am,” one of them protested, “Miss Potter threatened the Minister.”

Madam Bones glowered at Edelweiss before telling the protesting auror, “She is quite upset about the Minister’s actions towards her this year. Miss Potter should have more sense than to allow her magic such free reign, but she appears to have it under enough control to avoid violating the law.”

The Minister’s mouth opened. “But Amelia—”

“No buts, Cornelius. If there is a problem you have with Miss Potter, you can handle it on your own time.” Madam Bones turned back to Edelweiss, her eyes a storm. “Thank you for confiding information about that past incident, Miss Potter. You are free to go. I will have another auror, one less curse happy, to escort you back to Mr. Weasley.”

“Thank you for the offer, Madam, but I believe I can see my way out.” Edelweiss knew Dumbledore would loathe her having the freedom to roam as she pleased. This was her sole chance before September and the inevitable return to Hogwarts to liberate herself from the presence of the adults typically around her. She gave Amelia Bones a polite nod, then turned to the Minister. “Minister Fudge. This has been my most unpleasant meeting with you—and that does include back in June when you first called me a liar.”

And with that, she departed Madam Bones’s office to the shouts and screams of full-grown witches and wizards. Edelweiss stormed out of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement before her simmering rage got the best of her.

Had she paused to glance into a pane of glass, she might have noticed her eyes briefly flash a poisonous, sulfuric yellow.

Edelweiss returned to Grimmauld Place with the high summer sun baking her back. Dressed in her black robe, she would have suffered without the power of the Force coursing through her. It prevented sweat and kept her cool, nearly miraculous since she could not use magic during the summer hols. Her presence at Diagon Alley garnered attention, with many sets of watching eyes following her as she went from store to store, collecting her new books, resizing her uniforms, and even restocking for potions.

She came to Number Twelve with her supplies packed away in a shrunken bag. She climbed the three steps up to the door and tried the handle. It barely turned; locked. Edelweiss scowled and rattled the handle. Her mouth opened so she might demand the house grant her entrance. She was the closest thing to an heir that Sirius had, and thus this house would be hers upon his death.

The door swung open before she could speak. Albus Dumbledore stood at the threshold. He did not look upon her as a kindly headmaster or a disappointed grandfather might. His blue eyes were thunderous. She could feel his power, restrained just to the point any who encountered him would be reminded just whom the last two dark lords feared.

She would not be like Grindelwald and Voldemort. She would not fear Dumbledore.

“Miss Potter,” he said softly. She shivered. The dark side came to her, flooding her with power. Yet her passions stayed at a low simmer in the back of her mind. “You have been missing for most of the day, and have done so without leave. Kingsley was assigned to return you to Grimmauld Place after your meeting with Madam Bones. Yet instead you decided to wander muggle London. Alone and without escort during a time of war.”

“I also went to Diagon for supplies,” Edelweiss said. She had not known about Kingsley, but it made sense Dumbledore would trust one of his auror pawns to return her. “Still, I doubt any of Voldemort’s followers are capable of walking the streets of muggle London without making a fool of themselves, And as for Diagon, since you’ll ask, nobody dared walk up and speak with me. Plenty recognized me. But none acted.”

“Do not underestimate what Tom is capable of,” warned Dumbledore. “He is a cunning foe. He has always benefited from his enemies turning against each other.”

Edelweiss struggled to not roll her eyes. The Headmaster might think his words could convince her to follow along with whatever he desired. But she saw through his intentions. If she parted ways from him and created a faction loyal to her, then he might fail to defeat Voldemort once the war reignited in full. It was an arrogant, foolish desire. Yet he was an old man, losing glory and prestige.

She had seen and read enough to know old men hated being challenged by the young—and especially by a young woman like her.

“I am well aware what kind of man Voldemort is, Headmaster. There’s no need to lecture me about his ways. I could have ended up like him, were I stripped of the few sweet mercies I have snatched for myself. Were it not for my friends, for the Weasley family and their influence, I could have followed the path he blazed—or worse, made myself into one of his pathetic, simpering servants. You were the one who told me it was my choices and decisions that make me different from him, regardless of our many similarities.”

Dumbledore frowned as she threw his words back into his face. He had spoken them to her following the Chamber of Secrets crisis when she had been young and foolish and coated in several foul fluids. Edelweiss knew thanks to her discovery of Lord Salazar’s secret she was closer to following in Tom Riddle’s footsteps than ever before. Perhaps she would be nearly identical to Voldemort, once she became the Dark Lord of the Sith.

Her master seemed certain it would happen one day.

“You should be careful how you speak, Miss Potter. Those opposed to Voldemort must work together, side by side as friends.”

“‘Side by side’,” she repeated as her brows furrowed. “One can do that as allies, not as friends.”

He smiled, regaining his grandfatherly mask. “Is there a reason we cannot be friends?”

“Is there a reason you must control where I go?” Dumbledore blinked at Edelweiss’s question. “Ever since my parents died, you have influenced nearly every choice available to me. I understand my death would be a devastating blow to your cause, but can I be more than a living symbol?”

Her words hung between them for several seconds. “Yet you understand how it is, Miss Potter,” Dumbledore eventually said. “You are a living symbol. I would have preferred for you to have a longer childhood, happy and safe from the evils and dangers of the world. But it seems I have failed you.”

“Wishes, hopes, and dreams, Headmaster. Wishes… hopes… and dreams. Best you treat me as an equal partner or ally in this coming war, or else I shall pursue the means that best suit my interest—and my interest alone.”

Dumbledore considered her for several seconds before sighing. The strength he had been projecting faded. Old sorrows, along with his exhaustion, seeped up to the surface. “Must you fight me at every turn? Only a few months ago, you trusted me with the truth of what happened that night in Little Hangleton.”

“You’re Albus Dumbledore,” said Edelweiss. “Of course, I would tell you about his return. I only hoped you would come to terms with the fact I will not back down from my role in the war to come. I have two paths forward: victory of death. Either he dies, or I do. There is nothing else for me.” She stepped in close as the Force whispered to her. She listened, and despite her training otherwise, allowed the Force to guide her next words. “I cannot live while he does. My survival requires his death.”

Dumbledore paled; his shade was not the brittle white of his beard, but near enough. She felt horror and fear ripple from him. She would have savored the feeling, were she not confused by how her words had drawn a severe reaction. For a split second, she was dearly tempted to reach out with the dark side and learn what she could from him.

Her need for secrecy outweighed her curiosity. Dumbledore had learned too much of her powers already. For all Edelweiss wanted to lash out, she needed to learn patience and develop enough wisdom to properly wield her powers.

“Please step aside, Headmaster. I wish to enter.”

He blinked. Whatever dark mood he had been trapped by vanished. Dumbledore stepped aside, granting enough space for her to slip past. Edelweiss continued onward into Grimmauld Place without looking back. She felt his gaze on her back. Yet she did not look back. She could not, for in a petty corner of her mind, that counted as a victory for him.

Soon enough, she would return to Hogwarts. Her mind already reached for the Chamber of Secrets and the secret hangar Lord Salazar had hidden under the school he helped raise. There awaited more holocrons, more knowledge from the ancient Sith long dead when Salazar Slytherin walked the land.

Edelweiss would learn from them. And in time, she would ascend. She would be Darth Gladiolus.

Chapter Text

Sirius strained to not burst out laughing as he and Edelweiss watched the Weasleys scurry about on the morning of September First. His goddaughter sat on her trunk, slowly sipping a cup of scalding breakfast tea as her emerald eyes, so much like Lily’s, lazily watched the pandemonium filling his family’s house. Had his mother been alive to witness this morning, it would have been enough to return her to her cold wretched grave. For now, he would take pleasure in knowing that a family of blood traitors disrespected everything his mother had lived and fought for during her miserable life.

“I wish this wouldn’t happen every year,” Edelweiss grumbled between sips. “Even the year when we stayed at the Cauldron, they fluttered about like lost birds unable to remember where their nest is.” She sighed, a cup in one hand while she rubbed the bridge of her nose with the other. “You should just agree to some dueling practice this morning instead of forcing me to wait on them oh so pointlessly.”

“You’re the one who wanted to be ready to leave first thing,” Sirius shot back with a smirk. “Anyways, you’ve already spent an hour locked in Buckbeak’s room, doing whatever it is you’re up to. Best you deal with the fact we’re all heading to King’s Cross together.”

She glowered in response.

For all he cared for his goddaughter, Sirius increasingly found that he no longer understood her. There were days when the girl he expected shone through, but on most, he had to deal with a young woman slowly evolving into a woman that frightened him.

“You have been spending more time up there than with your friends or even with me.”

Edelweiss looked away and muttered, “I guess you have a point. At least Hermione stopped grumbling about the library.” She took a sip of her tea then.

Sirius huffed, just as he did when in his Padfoot form. The bushy-haired girl’s moods had amused him after discovering that he would not grant her access to the Black family library. She mostly switched between pouting, brooding, and anger in the wake of his declaration. It did not even matter to her that he claimed to do so for her safety. Edelweiss, somehow, found her way in. To his immense relief, she only tried to read the books within once. Sirius had laughed, hearing her mulish tale of how she stumbled upon a centuries-old copy of The Arte of the Succubus. Unlike him and many other Blacks, she had not been disappointed that it lacked the sexual content expected for succubae texts.

Even so, he nursed a fear she might investigate the more illicit texts within the library, obsessed as she was with a looming, impending war. Instead, Edelweiss seemed content to spend her time away from the library.

“That’s because we’re heading back to Hogwarts,” said Hermione Granger as she descended the stairs. “We’ll finally be away from this wretched place.” She approached with her trunk in tow, taking advantage of its featherweight charm. Sirius had seen the number of books the girl owned. She could have a library of her own, with the absurd size of her ever-growing collection. With a sigh, she whispered fondly, “I cannot wait to be back at Hogwarts.”

“So you can hide away in the library?” teased Edelweiss with a crooked smile. “Don’t tell me you read through everything your parents bought you this summer. They must have gotten you a dozen books.”

Sirius roared with laughter when Hermione’s cheeks went red. The girl shot him a glare. Her brandy brown eyes attempted to set him alight. Edelweiss hid her lips behind her cup. Sirius noticed how her cheeks bunched up against her eyes and grimaced. The expression reminded him, oddly, of Bellatrix, back when they were kids and her cruelty was good-natured and teasing. Back when they were close, pranking together.

Before she fell under You-Know-Who’s sway.

“It’s not like that!”

“Or is it because you’re a prefect?” continued Edelweiss. “I never thought you would fall for the temptation of power.” She took a long, noisy sip. Somewhere in the house, a loud bang echoed, followed by screaming and bellowing. She flinched, dropping her cup. Tea spread out from where the cup hit the floor, moving across the wood as his blood once had.

“Those twins,” Hermione grumbled, turning to stare up the stairs. “Why must they make it harder for us to leave?”

“Because they think it’s funny,” Edelweiss said drolly. She rolled her eyes at Hermione’s glower. “You know as well as I that they think chaos and mischief are more valuable than the order their mother seeks to impose on them. I would be surprised if they last the full year, especially since the Ministry will try to interfere at Hogwarts this year.”

Sirius frowned as he said, “You think Fudge would try that?”

His goddaughter scoffed and her nose wrinkled. “I had a brief run-in with him after speaking with Madam Bones. Between that and what Dumbledore has mentioned to me, I’d be shocked if Fudge doesn’t attempt to meddle with Hogwarts. He already got Dumbledore stripped of his titles in London and Avignon. Being the Headmaster of Hogwarts is more important and certainly more influential; that’s half the reason Dumbledore has held onto that over the other two. Until his legacy is secured, the Minister will lash out at any threats.”

“Legacy?”

Edelweiss turned to Hermione, a strange, wry smirk upon her face. “Fudge has governed over a decade of peace and prosperity. The outbreak of war, especially the same war he governed over the aftermath of, will upset the careful balance he has tried to maintain. Given that Lucius Malfoy can pull Fudge’s strings with his gold, only his ousting from the office of Minister of Magic will rally the Ministry to oppose Voldemort.”

“And that would require You-Know-Who to be undeniably revealed,” Sirius added, recalling lessons on politics he received from his mother and James’s father.

“Both will come within hours of each other,” Edelweiss said as if those events had already come to pass. “One must only wait, my dear Dogfather. Once they come to pass, well, who knows what other legal battles may be won.”

And then she smiled, pleased and prim as any proper pureblood heiress would manage after boasting of a successful plot. Something dark twinkled in her emerald eyes, and once more Sirius’s treacherous mind compared his goddaughter not to Lily or James, but to his cursed kin.

At twenty minutes to ten, a dozen mages stepped out of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. It was technically thirteen, but Edelweiss’s godfather could not go as Padfoot. His true self, Sirius Black, remained at large in the muggle and magical worlds.

It was a curious, oddly boisterous group that set out for King’s Cross. Edelweiss lingered at the back with Mad-Eye Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt. She briefly considered speaking with one of the aurors. A Death Eater had replaced the former the prior year. Said Death Eater had done a remarkable job of not only pretending to be the auror in question but also teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. He was her favorite professor for that particular subject, if only by a narrow margin. She would never tell Lupin, who was at the front with Mrs. Weasley. But then she doubted any of her current company would appreciate any fondness for a Death Eater, regardless of her reason.

Few muggles paid attention to their passing. To them, their group appeared to be a group of posh schoolchildren already dressed in their old-fashioned uniforms. Some may think their robes dubious, but with the growing foreign population in London, their dress technically existed within the confines of polite British society.

They loaded their trunks onto trolleys when they reached King’s Cross, then headed to Platforms Nine and Ten. Edelweiss remained at the rear, allowing Mad-Eye to walk by her side.

They only had five minutes before the Hogwarts Express was set to depart.

“Albus has been frustrated by your independent spirit this summer,” Mad-Eye said, surprising her with a hint of amusement. “It does make protecting you difficult. But I almost prefer a moving target than an easily protected one.”

She nearly scoffed. “If he wishes to assign me a guard, he could bloody ask. I wouldn’t mind you—or perhaps that Tonks girl—but most of the Order are too sycophantic for my tastes.”

Mad-Eye snorted. “That he would hate to hear.”

“Sounds like someone needs to tell him, then. I’m the one who should be acting like a wearied savior with the weight of the world upon their shoulders, not him.”

Mad-Eye hummed. “And where does Albus fit in this story of yours, girlie?”

Edelweiss glanced at him, then forward towards the brick barrier onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. “The mentor who perishes before the end. The one whose final lesson is drawn from their inevitable death."

“Surprised you accept him as a mentor.”

“It is the story the public expects,” Edelweiss said as Mrs. Weasley and Ginny passed through the barrier. “Fudge has perpetuated the narrative that I am Dumbledore’s good little acolyte. Once Voldemort makes himself known…”

“You can use him to get the public to look to you as their savior,” finished Mad-Eye. “If you weren’t on our side, I would be worried about what you might become in the future, girlie.”

She stared up at him, meeting his mismatched eyes. One was dark and beady, while the other was electric blue, spinning and whirling about. “Oh? What do you fear I might become?”

He glowered at her simpering tone. “A dark lord.”

Edelweiss huffed and shook her head. In a way, that was her destiny. The Twins had just passed through the barrier. Only half their party remained on the muggle side.

“A dark lord?” she murmured with amusement. “I would be a dark lady, terrible and beautiful like the sea,” Edelweiss declared. She gazed at Mad-Eye through her eyelashes. His face betrayed nothing. She turned her attention back to the barrier before them. “All would bow before me, thankful and worshipful that I brought down the terrible Dark Lord whose name they would never dare speak aloud. They will love me, no matter what I do.”

Ron and Hermione passed through the barrier. Now it was only Edelweiss, her guards, and Padfoot.

“I’m only kidding, naturally,” she added after a few seconds. “We should follow before anyone becomes curious about why we’re delayed.”

Mad-Eye watched her, yet said nothing as they strode forward to the barrier. She crossed through with ease, long since accustomed to driving her trolley into a brick wall. They arrived on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, the crimson Hogwarts Express waiting at her standard berth.

Edelweiss looked up and down the platform, searching for her friends and the others who guided them to King’s Cross. She spotted Ginny following Ron and Hermione as they boarded the second to last car. They usually rode in the back of the train, so it was unsurprising. Yet Edelweiss found she was not interested in sitting with her friends. Memories of June flooded back to her. She had been bored by their presence and their conversation.

More so, she felt herself drifting away from them. They had not shared the misery of cleaning Grimmauld Place. Yes, Edelweiss had aided them in part. But on most days, she had escaped the drudgery Mrs. Weasley forced them into. And that ignored her frustration with them over the few lackluster letters they wrote.

That was enough for her. She started for the train’s center. Edelweiss lifted her trunk from the trolley she had used. While she had kept the battered thing she received during her very first trip to Diagon Alley, she had it modified during the summer before her third year. It bore a featherweight charm and a minor expansion charm to hold her growing collection of magical objects.

And maybe with time, it will take on the holocrons most necessary to my path forward.

She barely made it five steps before something tugged at her robe. Edelweiss turned and found Padfoot, staring up at her with large, begging eyes. With a sigh, she kneeled and hugged her godfather, disguised as a dog. “Get home safe,” she murmured into his fur.

Padfoot huffed. She could almost hear his voice: “Don’t worry about me, Edie. Watch out for yourself.”

She stood straight and turned to Mad-Eye. “See to it that my dog returns to the safehouse. I would be pained to hear he ran into some trouble.” She glanced about, searching for anyone daring enough to eavesdrop on her conversation. Edelweiss then leaned in close and whispered, “Let Albus know I remain angry my pet cannot come to Hogwarts. A vicious beastie like him would keep me safe where he cannot.”

There was an amused gleam in Mad-Eye’s small, beady eye as Edelweiss drew back. “Aye, girl. I’ll tell Albus.” He turned to Padfoot. “Come along, mutt. You’ve had your walk. Need to take you home.”

Padfoot whined but followed Mad-Eye back toward the exit without issue. Edelweiss watched them go, hoping nobody could tell from her expression just whom she was seeing off. The Death Eaters might know of Sirius’s animagus form, thanks to Wormtail. That should have been enough to keep him at arm’s length. Yet she could not deny him minutes more in her presence. Sirius had helped her train this summer, even if their time together had been truncated thanks to her choice to speak with Madam Bones. And yet, part of her wondered if she would ever use those skills in combat. From her lessons with Lady Bastila, she had come to understand that few Sith wielded magic as a witch would. While there was Sith alchemy and sorcery, they were not necessary for every Sith Lord to learn.

Edelweiss boarded the Hogwarts Express just as a pair of Gryffindors two years younger than her went to board. They stared at her as she passed, bug-eyed and nervous. She had to bite back a groan. She had a feeling the coming year would be frustrating. Their reactions to her presence were worse than what she experienced in both her second and fourth years, and that had come only after some disaster haunted Hogwarts. The papers had been in full swing over the summer, slandering her good name on the Minister’s order. The sole recourse available to her would come following Voldemort’s inevitable reveal. Perhaps she could find a way to engineer events in her favor. But history proved their clash would be by his reckoning.

And if past years were to judge, their confrontation would come in June.

Upon finding an empty compartment, Edelweiss opened the door and stepped inside. She closed the door behind her and then put her trunk in the empty racks above before slumping into a seat, oriented so she could stare out the window of the compartment door. With the Force, she drew the curtain down and blocked the ability for any to peer through.

The Hogwarts Express departed shortly after she had gotten comfortable. Nobody had come and tried the door. Edelweiss glanced up at her trunk, considering whether or not she could remove anything and remain. Had she a guarantee of privacy and secrecy, she would extract Lady Bastila’s holocron and commune with her master. She had not spoken with her since the day after she met with Madam Bones, for Edelweiss had been too distracted with preparations for the return to Hogwarts to make time for anything more than meditation. The holocron had already been secured within her trunk when she meditated that morning.

But without those guarantees, she could not risk bringing her master’s holocron out into the open. She would return it to the Chamber of Secrets the moment she could. Following that, she would make Ziost Hangar her secret place of learning. A citadel for the Sith arts.

In the end, she knew anything productive needed to wait until she returned to Hogwarts. Removing her cloak and turning it around, Edelweiss snuggled beneath the cloth as if it were a proper blanket. All the while, she pressed into the corner near the window. She closed her eyes, drew in a few slow, deep breaths, and slipped into an easy sleep.

“—ou’ll wake her up!” a voice hissed. It was vaguely familiar to Edelweiss. But her mind remained hazy with sleep.

“Oh, come off it,” someone else replied. Her accent—and it was a she—reminded Edelweiss of Welsh presenters on the telly. “Potter is out cold. She didn’t even snort or shift when you prodded her face.”

“Still…” the first voice began, fading with nerves. “I don’t want to be here when she finally wakes.”

“Does it matter?” asked a third. His voice cracked, squeaking slightly. Edelweiss heard muffled snickers and giggles before he added, “Weasley and Granger didn’t look our way when they were storming up and down the train looking for Potter. If they didn’t think to look here, then perhaps she doesn’t want to be around them.”

“Wouldn’t blame her,” the Welsh girl said. “Granger is a menace and Weasley is cruel to anyone not in Gryffindor. I’m surprised Potter dares talk with those in her house, let alone the other houses.”

“I hear she doesn’t,” the first speaker said. Her voice reminded Edelweiss of the posh BBC radio hosts. “Then again, the Hufflepuffs have been at odds with Potter twice since we started at Hogwarts. I doubt she takes kindly to anyone even vaguely rude to her.”

“Rude Hufflepuffs,” the boy muttered. He sighed before continuing. “She’s ruined Hogwarts. Sometimes I think Draco is right about the school going to the dogs. But then he mentions his father and Dumbledore in the same breath and I’m reminded he’s an idiot.”

The girls giggled.

Edelweiss opened her eyes slowly, all the while maintaining her even breathing. Three others had joined her in the compartment. Two sat on the bench across from her and one sat beside her. The one on her bench was a weedy boy with brown hair that flopped over his ears and face. In the back, it tried to reach the base of his neck but looked to be an inch short. The exposed skin was sunburnt.

Across from them was a pair of girls. One was willowy with soft green eyes and warm, auburn hair. She had drawn her hair up into a braid that wrapped around her head like a crown, and her brow and cheeks possessed a soft sprinkle of freckles across them. The other girl bore a strong tan, her hazel eyes brightened by her warm skin. Her hair was like a field of wheat, with darker shades of brown hidden under the golden tops.

They were all in her year, and they were all Slytherins. Edelweiss was surprised, especially as they continued speaking.

“Malfoy is a fool, not an idiot,” muttered Daphne Greengrass. Her green eyes narrowed before she added, almost sullenly, “It’s quite unfortunate he shall be a menace this year. His father has more influence than ever, and we all know the truth of what occurred in June. That will give him enough sway to get away with whatever he wishes.”

“No need to remind me about June,” growled Theodore Nott. Edelweiss realized she had heard two men called Nott. She wondered what the relation was between the three. “I’m thankful we never had to host the Dark Lord this summer.”

“Shhh! You cannot speak of him as if Potter is right!” Greengrass said. She glanced at Edelweiss, then back to Nott. “Do you think she will do nothing when she can waltz into the Mini—”

Greengrass’s voice squeezed out into a squawk as she noticed that Edelweiss had woken. The girl blanched, her freckles standing out clearly. The other two merely stared. After a moment, the Welsh girl—Tracey Davis, Edelweiss somehow recalled—slunk back into her seat, as if she could vanish into the cushions of the bench behind her. Nott, meanwhile, appeared ready to draw his wand and test himself against the girl who had faced the Dark Lord four times and emerged alive four times.

“When I can waltz where, Greengrass?” asked Edelweiss through a curling smirk.

Greengrass glanced at the compartment door, closed her eyes, and then swallowed thickly. “I heard about your recent visit to the Ministry,” she said, finally daring to meet Edelweiss’s gaze. “They say you blew off the Minister while meeting with someone at the DMLE.”

“Oh, yes. I remember that quite well.” Edelweiss glanced out the window. The grey of London and the green fields of England were long gone, replaced with the rising hills of Scotland. Some light remained outside. Soon the sun would set and night would come. They had an hour before they reached Hogwarts. Maybe a half hour more or somewhere in between. Dark clouds loomed in the sky, helping to blot out the setting sun. “I did see the Minister when I met with Madam Bones.”

“Whatever for?” asked Nott. He flinched slightly when she met his gaze. Edelweiss suspected one of the Notts Voldemort named was Theodore’s father. The other, then, was either an uncle or his grandfather. Definitely a blood relative, given his reaction.

“I’ve long wanted to meet the woman leading the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. You can certainly understand why.”

“Do you want to be an auror?” he asked, taking her comment at face value.

“And deal with paperwork?” She scoffed, shaking her head with a smile. “I would be a fool to reveal any plan or ambition of mine to you, Nott.” Edelweiss glanced at the two girls, then back to him. An amused thought struck her. “But I can let you in on this little secret: the Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin. I begged for anything else since Malfoy left me with a terrible impression.”

The three Slytherins exchanged confused, skeptical looks. Edelweiss reached out carefully with the Force. She sensed how their emotions swirled, the doubt and confusion that underlain their impulse to deny her revelation without any evidence to the contrary. Amusement flooded her, sensing how easily they were manipulated into doubt. She wondered, if only for a heartbeat, whether or not she could use the dark side of the Force, here and now, to bend them to her will.

Edelweiss held back, though. It would be a sign of weakness if she had to rely upon compelling people to be loyal. Better they come willingly, to witness now which way the winds of war would blow.

Ironically, that happened to be the moment she felt one of them decide Edelweiss had spoken the truth.

“We should tell Malfoy,” Davis said with a cheeky grin. “Imagine his reaction when he hears we didn’t get Potter because of his ego.”

“Serves the prat right,” grumbled Greengrass. “I still cannot believe Pansy likes him.”

Edelweiss coughed to cover up a laugh. The houses at Hogwarts all operated on a kind of loyalty that led to ranks forming around any scorned or attacked member. Only a select handful escaped that treatment; she happened to be one of those unlucky few. Twice her fellow Gryffindors had turned on her, and twice she had been the wronged party. She doubted the Slytherins would have been that loyal, though perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps they would have seen her presence among them as cause to change their ways.

But most likely, they would act like the rest of Hogwarts.

Though as she considered the merits of being in Slytherin, Edelweiss wondered about the merits of cultivating bonds among the other houses. It was clear now the confines of Gryffindor Tower held her back. Every day she drew closer to war, she was reminded she lacked a faction to call hers. All she had were Dumbledore supporters who might willing fight beside her, yet would act on behalf of the Headmaster against her if they believed it to be for the greater good.

Edelweiss’s gaze wandered from face to face. Each Slytherin tensed as her emerald eyes lingered upon them. “I’ve been wondering… How does Draco maintain control in Slytherin, beyond using his father’s influence and money? I doubt a boy whose father grovels like a dog at the feet of a halfblooded maniac is that—”

“Halfblood?” squeaked Greengrass, something horrified or merely strained reflected upon her face. “Are you claiming that the Dark Lord is not a pureblood?”

Edelweiss blinked. Her lips twitched. She had to hold in a laugh. She had known Voldemort’s blood status for years. To hear others be shocked by the truth reminded her of the ignorance of magical Britain, and how easy it would be to bring her entire society to heel.

“He told me himself,” Edelweiss confessed. “His father was a muggle. A man he detested for abandoning him and his witch mother.” She glanced at the compartment door with its drawn curtain. “It is quite fascinating how my blood is technically purer than his. My mother may not come from an old lineage, but she was a witch in her own right.”

“Why tell us?” asked Theodore Nott. His tone suggested he suspected every word of hers to have three meanings. To him, they very well might be so complex. “You must know where my family’s loyalty lies. You were there when he returned.” He glanced at the other two, who had done a remarkable job to hide all hint of emotion from their faces. “Their families will remain neutral as they did last time. Only once they’re certain of the outcome will they make a decision.”

“How foolish,” remarked Edelweiss, unable to help her sneer. “Though I do not plan to give them time to remain on the sidelines forever. As to your question, Nott, know this: my grand ambition cannot come to pass while Voldemort and Dumbledore live.” They flinched when she uttered Voldemort’s name, and none more than Nott. “The old men of the past must be brushed aside and relegated to history before they can destroy all that has been built. If need be, I will do away with them myself.”

“You’re mad,” Davis whispered sickly. “Mad.”

“Maybe I am, Davis. But it has to be done. This war cannot be fought by those following two madmen.”

“And so you throw yourself into the conflict,” muttered Greengrass, sickened and awestruck. “You want to fight them both, don’t you?” She nearly chuckled, though it sounded too sickly to be true amusement. “I’d agree with Trace and call you mad, but I fear you’ll succeed.”

“I plan to do more than succeed, Greengrass.”

She nodded, rubbing her arms awkwardly as she considered Edelweiss’s swift reply. “Don’t you fear what might happen if we tell others about what you’ve said, Potter?” asked Greengrass. “The wrong word to the wrong person could undo all of the plans you have in mind. You can’t think the Dark Lord will let you act freely.”

“I do not mind Voldemort learning. Let him think his enemies are at odds. He will convince himself it is true, and thus will make his conquest easier.” Edelweiss leaned against the window as a vicious, toothy grin formed. “His error will be his downfall.”

Nott stared at nothing, his face pale and grim. His lips pressed into a line so thin Edelweiss could barely make them out. His gaze wavered and eventually came to rest just past her shoulder. She raised an eyebrow, guiding his gaze back to her. “Should I tell my father what you have said, Potter?” His voice wavered. “That will guarantee the Dark Lord learns what you want him to know.”

Edelweiss blinked as she realized loyalty to Voldemort might not be born of blood, but came from belief in his cause or fear of his power. She sought a crack in Nott’s façade, one she could pry and prod, a means to draw him away from the foolish loyalty that would destroy his family.

She would enjoy destroying those loyal to Voldemort, before and after his death. And she would enjoy turning those loyal to him into her own pawns, should they live long enough.

“Go ahead,” she replied, reaching out for the Force. It swelled within her, wondrous and powerful as always. With it, Edelweiss brushed against Nott’s mind and touched the very thoughts and ideas she was comfortable with him sharing with his father, and through him to Voldemort.

There was a knock on the compartment door before she could do anything more with the Force. Edelweiss glanced at the door with its lowered curtains, then to the others. Davis sprung to her feet a moment later. She opened the compartment door after another knock. On the other side of the threshold stood a familiar trio of unpleasant faces.

“Potter. Now this is a surprise. Have you grown tired of that mudblood and the blood traitors?” sneered Draco Malfoy. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle stood to each side of Draco, trying to look intimidating. Once their bulk might have worried her; now it was pathetic. “Up and down the train, all anyone can talk about is where you are.” He smirked as he took in Edelweiss’s companions. “At least you are with decent folk, even if one of them drags down her house.”

Davis wilted. Greengrass looked ready to jump in on her behalf

“Must you always be a noxious prat?” asked Edelweiss. She flexed her hands, itchy to draw her wand. She reached for the dark side, channeling a thread of that power through her and toward him. Draco’s face went splotchy. She suddenly wondered why she had ever treated him as a threat in the past. “We were having a most pleasant conversation before you so rudely interrupted us. Be off, Malfoy, and find someone else to annoy.”

She waved a hand before he could reply. The door slammed shut. Edelweiss then twisted her raised hand. A sharp, metallic click echoed as the door locked shut. Pleased with herself, she turned her attention back to the three Slytherins. They acted awkwardly, glancing between her and their group. Odds were they thought she had just wielded wandless magic, for they did not know the Force.

Malfoy banged on the door; the Slytherins still with Edelweiss jumped.

“Oh stop your foolishness,” grumbled Edelweiss. “Draco isn’t even that great of a threat. I doubt he could seriously face any of you in a duel, never mind how worthless those two lugs backing him up would be.”

“It’s… Being in Slytherin is different from other houses,” said Greengrass. She flinched when the door rattled once more. “We aren’t supposed to go against each other when not within our house. Draco leverages that to keep people in line. He’s too vocal to be properly silenced now.”

“Given the times my own house has turned against me, loyalty like that would be appreciated,” Edelweiss said, watching Greengrass closely. The girl’s jaw clenched slightly. “Should he make trouble for you, let me know. I have become tired of the moods of the student body and how they worsen life at Hogwarts. I would enjoy the challenge of spreading my influence into your common room—and bringing Malfoy to heel.”

Edelweiss still remembered the route to the Slytherin common room. Factor in the Marauder’s Map and her parseltongue ability and there was no reason she should be barred entry.

That assumed Salazar Slytherin had always been egotistical. He was a Sith Lord, one who abandoned the galaxy to pursue a personal matter on Earth. She could not fathom the other Founders driving him out for solely that reason, nor did she trust the official histories. They knew little of Lord Salazar, after all.

“As if,” said Davis. Yet her voice wavered. Her hands tightly clenched, though she had enough control to not shake. “Your protection would go away the moment we enter our common room.”

“It’s still behind that wall across from a painting of a frigate caught in a storm, yes?” asked Edelweiss as she peered out the window. The sky was almost pitch black now. She guessed they would arrive within the hour, if not sooner. When she turned back to the Slytherins, they had all paused, surprise and alarm hastily hidden. “I will assume from your shocked reactions that the answer is ‘yes’.”

“You still need the password.”

She rolled her eyes. “§How can the hallowed halls of Salazar Slytherin be safe from me?§”

Nott’s eyes bulged while the girls stiffened. Edelweiss smiled primly. Internally, she cackled at their reaction.

“I had forgotten you were a parselmouth,” Nott muttered. “If… If my grandfather’s stories hold up, you won’t have any trouble entering.”

“Good.”

Her word was final, resolute. Edelweiss leaned back and stared out the window. After a time, the Slytherins began whispering among themselves. She paid little heed to their words as she waited, with ever-growing disappointment, for her friends to come and search this compartment.

But by the time they finally arrived at Hogsmeade Station, neither Hermione nor Ron had troubled to track her down.

Chapter Text

Hermione Granger scanned the platform at Hogsmeade Station for Edelweiss Potter. Ever since the end of the previous school year, her best friend had begun to drift away. It pained Hermione to witness, but she understood why Edelweiss created space between them. Her friend was filled with a mad obsession with the looming war, convinced she needed to fight it alone, and that she needed to shed blood. Unfortunately, there was precedent to defend her belief. Edelweiss Potter solved her troubles alone and did what had to be done in the end. She had faced Quirrell and You-Know-Who alone in their first year. She had gone into the Chamber of Secrets alone in their second year. They might have been together during their trip through time in their third year, but Edelweiss had displayed a magical prowess Hermione wished she could not be jealous of.

And during the previous year, Edelweiss had faced down three deadly tasks before a reunion with her dreaded foe. Merlin knew what she would face in this coming year.

“There she is!” shouted Ginny, pointing towards a pack of Slytherins heading for the horseless carriages. “She’s with Greengrass and Nott!”

Dread slithered cold and slow through Hermione’s body. She pushed through the crowd, using her prefect status a few times to get bemused older years out of her way. She reached Edelweiss and the Slytherins with her soon enough. Luckily, it was before they could board a carriage up to the castle.

“—so you see them as well, Nott?” Edelweiss asked, staring at the blank space before the carriages. “What are they?”

“Thestrals,” said Nott, looking a touch peaky. “Only those who have witnessed someone die can see them, Potter.”

Edelweiss hummed. She peered over her shoulder quite suddenly, a flash in her familiar emerald eyes. “Ah. There you are, Hermione. I was wondering where you were. I was quite disappointed you didn’t find me on the train.”

Hermione scowled defensively. “We searched the train for you, Edie.” She glanced at the Slytherins before asking, “What are you doing with them? Nott’s a—”

“I’m well aware of what his family is like, Hermione. He proved himself willing to be compliant while on the train.” Nott shot Edelweiss a distressed look but said nothing. “I have grown tired of fighting the wars of our parents and grandparents.”

She was tempted to argue with Edelweiss over how trustworthy any who followed You-Know-Who could be, but Hermione doubted her points would sink in. Some delusion twisted her friend’s mind, poisoning her against those who wanted the best for her—Dumbledore most of all. While she could not deny that Edelweiss was justified in her petty anger at the Headmaster, he was still Albus Dumbledore. He had defeated Grindelwald. He was the one Voldemort feared. They could not fight the war Edelweiss was obsessed with without him.

“Fine,” Hermione grumbled. Edelweiss smiled victoriously, and Hermione felt a flush of anger. Impulsively, she added, “We’re joining you in the carriage.”

“There’s only enough room for you and Ron.”

“Go on,” said Ginny before Hermione or Ron could protest. “I see some of my friends. I’ll head up to the castle with them.”

Ginny then departed, heading for another carriage somewhat nearby. She began speaking with her fellows, who glanced at Edelweiss and the Slytherins with strange expressions.

“Come on, then,” said Edelweiss, stepping up into the carriage before them. The three Slytherins exchanged uncertain looks before following after her. It chilled Hermione, seeing Slytherins so willing to follow her friend.

“Might as well join them,” grumbled Ron, stepping up into the carriage. Hermione followed after him, and she found them sitting with Edelweiss, the Slytherins across from them.

The carriage shifted forward several seconds after they all sat down. To Hermione’s surprise, the unfamiliar Slytherin girl reached out with her right hand in a very muggle manner. “I’m Tracey Davis,” she said as an introduction. “I’ve wanted to speak with you for a while, Granger, but I’ve always been so worried about Malfoy that I’ve kept my distance. We have Ancient Rune and Arthmancy together, so I guess I could have risked it, with him taking the same electives as Potter, but—”

“Trace,” warned Greengrass. “Malfoy has not been defused yet.”

Davis deflated at Greengrass’s words. Nott rolled his eyes, though his face was morose enough Hermione suspected he might enjoy seeing Malfoy be publically humiliated. From what she had seen, he spent most of his time with that dark-skinned Slytherin in their year, and periodically with Greengrass and Davis.

And that assumes Parkinson is elsewhere. Otherwise, she and Davis remain in Parkinson’s orbit. It’s all so strange.

Hermione put that sudden realization out of mind. She felt troubled by it. But then, life in the magical world was easier for her when she approached it like a children’s story, with black-and-white morality. Slytherins evil, Gryffindors good, and nobody minded the other two houses beyond when their numbers stepped into the grand conflict within Hogwarts, all of which seemed to surround her friend.

Edelweiss, the central figure in so much these past four years, had abandoned that worldview. Where a year ago she too would have dismissed Slytherins as cruel prats, she now entertained a possible friendship with Greengrass and Nott and even Davis, who seemed decent.

“Oh don’t worry so much,” remarked Davis, drawing Hermione’s attention back to her. The girl was surprisingly tan for a pureblooded Slytherin. “They don’t know it yet, but Potter more or less has those two wrapped around a finger. We’ve all been looking for an excuse to get away from Draco. Thankfully, she’s stepped up to provide it.”

“You make her sound like one of you,” said Ron, his face reddened with fury. “You snakes need to—”

“I made the decision to reach out to them, Ronald, of my own free will and volition,” Edelweiss suddenly said, voice low and cool. “You will speak to them politely—or not at all.”

Ron released a frustrated growl before crossing his arms, making clear his decision to suffer in silence rather than risk Edelweiss’s wrath. Hermione listened carefully to what Edelweiss said and struggled to keep her feelings to herself. Deep within, fear and disgust swelled, for her friend appeared working to orient herself—and those she drew to her—into an alternative to You-Know-Who and Dumbledore.

It was brazen.

It was foolish.

It was, unfortunately, also brilliant.

Worse, Hermione struggled to justify why Edelweiss should not seek to create her own faction, for that was what it appeared to be. Using her young age would only get those very words thrown back in her face. It was clear from everything Hermione saw and heard over the summer that her friend was utterly convinced she fight the Death Eaters soon. And worse, she spoke of fighting on her terms. By her methods.

What worried Hermione most was what Edelweiss intended for Britain after the war. Hermione trusted Dumbledore’s vision, regardless of the likelihood the Headmaster would live long enough to witness a lasting peace settle across Britain.

When they finally reached the castle and disembarked from the carriages, they found the caretaker, Argus Filch, waiting at a narrow point right before the main doors, waving about a strange object that reminded Hermione of a portable metal detector. They had been informed that dark detectors would be used on arrival during the prefect meeting, but it was different seeing it in person. He waved it over them as they disembarked and trudged forward. He grumbled about Gryffindors and Slytherins mixing, calling it “unnatural.” His dark detector registered nothing, though there was an odd moment when it twitched while passing over Edelweiss.

The three Slytherins separated from them by the time they reached the Great Hall. While heading for the Gryffindor table, Hermione came up to Edelweiss and whispered, “What was that about?”

Her friend was slow to answer. “I cannot say. If I knew, I would tell you.”

Hermione had a strange feeling that she had been lied to. Somehow, Edelweiss knew why the dark detector reacted to her so—and why it was not enough to set the device off. Hermione thought it might be due to the influence of Grimmauld Place, but then why had it not reacted to her and Ron the same way? Was it because of the times Edelweiss went off alone when they were meant to be cleaning?

You’re overthinking things, Hermione. Just calm down and consider everything appropriately.

She released a long, deep breath. It made her feel better. And once she was freed of worrying over Edelweiss, Hermione finally had the mental space to be happy that she was back at Hogwarts. Aisles and cases of tomes remained unexplored and unread in the library. Her personal reading time would be diminished this year when compared to previous years. They were taking their OWL examinations this spring. High marks on those would allow her to register for more NEWT-level courses, and high marks on those offered access to internships, apprenticeships, and posts at both Gringotts Bank and, more importantly, the Ministry of Magic.

One day, she would become the Minister for Magic. She knew deep down it was a lofty, even arrogant dream. But she had the ability to reach that high office. She was intelligent and tenacious enough to push past the lazy prejudice of the purebloods around her and seize power for the common good. She, Hermione Granger, would prove to them that her lineage was not something that held her back, but a source of strength. She was stronger because she was the child of muggles, not despite it.

For now, Hermione would focus on studying for her OWLs. It would be impossible to achieve what she wanted without passing those tests with flying colors. And after them would come their NEWTs—

“Stop worrying about tests and the future,” grumbled Edelweiss as they finally sat at the Gryffindor table. “We still have months before we sit our OWLs.”

“I…” began Hermione, the word squeaking out of her. “I am not worrying about them.”

Edelweiss rolled her eyes, a fond smile coming into place. “If you say so. Hermione Granger never worries about tests, especially not weeks or even months in advance.”

Ron snorted. When Hermione glowered at him, he shrugged and mumbled, “Edie has a point, Hermione. You’ve always been too intense about exams.”

“They’re very, very important!” Hermione hissed. “And our OWLs are more important than any we’ve taken so far. You two should take them seriously as well.”

“There’s a difference between taking them seriously and worrying about them way too early.” Edelweiss’s gaze drifted, and Hermione’s followed. Malfoy was currently forcing some other students to shift around the Slytherin table so he could sit with Nott and Greengrass. Davis sat away from them with Zabini and a short girl who looked akin to Greengrass. “Once Christmas has passed, then you can bother us about OWLs. Even write up study schedules, since you have done that every year.”

Hermione tried to not blush, despite how a fiery warmth swelled within her cheeks. Her friend was correct, regardless of how much she wanted to protest the claim. Hermione had grown up obsessed with school and education, for her parents had long talked about the schools she might be able to get into with high test scores. Despite how far they had risen in the world, they had wanted her to go even further.

Hogwarts is the same as those schools, she told herself, almost as though she were repeating a religious mantra. Magical Britain is the same as the muggle world. The better I do on these tests, the better off I will be. It has to be so since that’s the world I know.

Edelweiss struggled to not sigh and roll her eyes, as Hermione’s thoughts remained fixated upon the fluttery, unnecessary miasma that was her worries over their OWLs. She probably could peer into her friend’s psyche, so that she might discover why Hermione was so obsessed with tests. However, Edelweiss worried she might give away her powers while stumbling about the choppy tides of Hermione’s mind. She had been sloppy in the presence of those three Slytherins while on the Hogwarts Express.

A glance at the Slytherin table revealed that Malfoy had finally cornered Greengrass and Nott. Davis was obviously beneath his attention, for the girl was a halfblood. Zabini, though, did seem to inquire into whatever happened on the Express. No doubt all of Slytherin knew that those three had journeyed back to Hogwarts in Edelweiss’s company.

Daphne Greengrass appeared to be defending their decision to share a compartment with Edelweiss. No doubt many would know she had slept through most of the journey north. And yet a faint reddish blush crawled up Malfoy’s neck. Nott had a sly smirk on his face. One that grew when he caught Edelweiss’s watching gaze.

She smirked back. Perhaps she would not need to act on their behalf. The mere presence of an alleged friendship—even an alliance—with Edelweiss Potter could be enough to gain what they wanted. Given their ease in embarrassing Malfoy, it could even be that others were seeing through the illusion that was the influence of the Malfoy name and wealth.

The doors of the Great Hall suddenly swung open. Professor McGonagall entered, guiding the new crop of first years between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables toward the hall’s front, where the Sorting Hat awaited. They were tiny and timid, numbering nearly seventy by the time they were all gathered in a funky line before Hat and stool.

The Sorting Hat began its song, but it fell on deaf ears. Edelweiss’s gaze drifted from the first years to the Head Table. While she looked over the familiar faces, her gaze lingered longest on a squat woman with a wide, unpleasant face. She was dressed in pink, wearing a thick cardigan and had a small bow in her soft brown hair. The woman noticed Edelweiss’s focus on her and sneered.

Oh joy, Edelweiss thought, turning back to the first years as the Hat finally wrapped up its long, monotonous song. She clapped automatically. Another Defense professor who looks more than ready to try and kill me.

Beyond the troubles she experienced every Samhain, Edelweiss recognized a disturbing trend of Defense professors attempting to murder her. Quirrell had actively attempted to murder her once ordered by Voldemort. Lockhart sought it by proxy, threatening to obliviate all of her memories. Lupin had succumbed to his werewolf nature and attacked her. And the false Mad-Eye had betrayed her to her foe before trying to steal her away from Hogwarts.

Edelweiss wondered how the new professor would attempt to kill her. Would it be purposefully done, or occur by incident? It mattered little since it appeared her class would either be a waste of time or merely poorly run.

Best to skim the assigned text and hope my worries are misplaced.

The Sorting took over a half hour. Several sat on the stool for a minute or two, the Hat mulling over which house to send them to. Edelweiss only clapped when she heard the loud announcement of, “Gryffindor!” There was enough bad blood between her and the other houses that she tossed aside politeness and propriety for the night.

“Lot of midgets this year,” Ron grumbled. “They should hurry up. I’m starving.”

Edelweiss bit her tongue to stop from snorting at Ron’s ill-timed comment. Hermione took umbrage with his words, slapping him across the table. A few of the others around them glared at her, but nobody said a word when they spotted the red and gold prefect badge proudly displayed on her chest.

“Dumbledore will want to speak as well,” she told Ron as a “Rollins, Carol,” was sorted into Hufflepuff. “He will likely keep his speech short in favor of announcements before we head to bed.”

Ron nodded, even as he stared longingly at the large golden platters along the table’s center. Soon, they would be filled with a grand feast. For now, they remained barren and empty. His gaze remained fixed on the platters, even as Dumbledore stood and spoke a few words of greeting. He was subtle as he referenced his speech from June, yet Edelweiss heard his warnings nonetheless. The new Defense professor glowered at him as if he had spat directly in her face.

Ah, yes. She is loyal to Fudge. So Dumbledore failed to find another candidate.

Food appeared and conversation began almost immediately after the Headmaster sat back down. Edelweiss plated herself roasted chicken and pork, along with a salad rich in cucumber and tomato. She listened to Hermione theorize about the Hat’s song—the same song she had ignored—while Ron ate with his usual blistering speed and lacking graces, his plate piled almost alarmingly high.

“Close your mouth while you chew,” snarled Edelweiss. “It was amusing a few years ago. It’s revolting now.”

Ron glared, yet snapped his jaw shut nonetheless. Edelweiss noted a few grateful glances shot her way. Yet many more frowned at how she forced Ron to behave correctly. Many glared at her. She turned to Hermione and whispered, “Do you know why I’m less popular now than right after my name came out of the Goblet?”

Hermione blinked. “You have been reading the Prophet, yes?”

Edelweiss rolled her eyes. Despite Rita Skeeter’s so-called reporting from the previous year, Hermione had decided to waste her limited coin to renew her subscription to the Prophet. Hopefully, her friend had picked up on how it was little more than the Ministry’s mouthpiece, barely above a propaganda rag.

Maybe that is why she’s so surprised, Edelweiss realized. I guess it is obvious, now that I think it over, that many would be angry at me because of what was written. How foolish are they all, to take the Prophet at face value? Did they forget the lies last year, or did they believe them as well?

“You know I don’t read the paper, Hermione. Everything I saw from it last year came from either issues you received or those Malfoy used to taunt me.”

Hermione had the grace to appear embarrassed by the reminder. She was saved from answering by Ron. “They’ve been saying terrible things about you all summer,” he said, his mouth miraculously not filled with half-chewed food. “Hermione used to rant and rave about the articles.”

“I never heard any of that.”

“She stopped a couple days before you suddenly showed up. Dunno why, since the articles continued to make her mad. Once you stopped cleaning with us, she’d rant and—”

“Ron!” Hermione hissed. “You can’t talk about this summer!”

“She has a point,” Edelweiss said with a bit of pork chop on her fork. “This is not the place for a conversation about that place.”

Ron’s ears went bright red while his cheeks took on a rosy hue that highlighted his freckles. He returned to eating, all the while appearing mindful of Edelweiss’s earlier words. She tried to not be surprised he was capable of polite manners. But then she was so accustomed to him eating like a slob that any change of pace would stand out.

“What about those Slytherins in your train compartment?” asked Hermione with a hint of suspicion. “Is this the wrong place to talk about them?”

Edelweiss glanced up and down the table. Only a few were actively paying attention to them. Most were caught up speaking with their friends they had likely not seen in three months. After a few seconds of thinking, she made her decision. “What of them?” she asked. “I was asleep when they arrived. They have as much love for Malfoy as we do. Perhaps even less, since they have to suffer him in their common room and the ill-effects he brings to every Slytherin here.”

“But they’re Slytherins. You can’t trust them.”

Her left hand clenched. Had she been holding a knife, it would have bent under the force. “The Hat nearly sorted me into Slytherin. I begged for anything else, and so I was sorted into Gryffindor.” Edelweiss tried to feel nothing as she stared at Hermione’s stricken expression. “I will not fault you for distrusting Nott, since I don’t as well. But Greengrass? Davis? They could be allies. Perhaps even friends. The latter faces enough scorn and contempt within their walls, given her blood status is equal to mine.”

“It doesn’t matter,” grumbled Hermione, turning back to her dinner. “She’s as rotten as the rest.”

Edelweiss clenched her jaw. After a moment of stewing with frustration, she decided to allow her friends the chance to eat in peace. She focused on her meal, all the while wondering when she had grown up compared to them. Over the summer would be her first guess. But then she had focused on her studies of the Force and its dark side under her master’s tutelage, and later eked out what she could from living in a Black family home. Yet the more she reflected upon the past months between bites of roasted meat and vegetables, the more she realized she had also pushed them away. It had been a slow process, aided as much by her diverging interests as by how they followed Dumbledore’s order concerning letters. Both of her friends dangerously idolized the man. Hermione more than Ron. And could she truly trust anyone who idolized him?

They don’t have the same experience with him, she reminded herself. They aren’t the ones sent to an uncaring household. He doesn’t manage their lives as he does mine, dictating their summers and manipulating their time at Hogwarts.

Why would they hate him the way I do?

She ate on in silence, stewing in her anger and hatred. More than once she glanced at the Head Table. It took a few glances to notice Hagrid’s absence; his massive bulk had always stood out. And for all the man’s many faults, he was still the one who introduced her to the magical world. There must have been someone else to escort the first years to the boats they took across the Black Lake to the castle. Maybe it had been the woman in Hagrid’s usual seat. She looked familiar as well.

Eventually, dinner gave way to dessert, and then that too went away. Edelweiss drew away from her anger as Dumbledore rose back to his feet, his long silvery beard almost fashionable against a robe of magenta and puce.

“Welcome back to another year at Hogwarts,” the Headmaster began as the Great Hall went quiet. “I will begin with this year’s beginning of term notices.” He smiled fondly as if there was nothing he would rather do. “Firstly, it should be noted that the Forest on the grounds is out of bounds to all students. Some of the returning students should remember that it is called Forbidden for a reason.”

Edelweiss smiled fondly, remembering her many misadventures in the nearby woods. She had risked death there several times, especially when she and Ron had foolishly wandered into an acromantula nest while seeking an answer to the Chamber of Secrets.

“Next, our caretaker, Mr. Filch, has asked me to remind everyone that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a great number of other magical items. You can find the complete and extensive list fastened to the door of Mr. Filch’s office.”

He paused and glanced up and down the Head Table. “We have two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be instructing Care of Magical Creatures while Professor Hagrid recovers from his summer sabbatical on the continent. Defense Against the Dark Arts will be taught this year by Professor Umbridge, who has kindly stepped down from her Ministry career to pursue one in education.”

His announcement was met by polite, if disinterested clapping. Hermione and Ron shot worried looks first at each other, and then at Edelweiss. She shrugged while trying to not narrow her eyes, for she suspected the “sabbatical” Dumbledore spoke of was Order business.

As the Headmaster continued to notices about Quidditch tryouts, Professor Umbridge rose to her feet. Edelweiss only noticed because the squat professor’s chair shifted back loudly enough that the professors nearest her turned and stared, shocked at her brazen action. Dumbledore trailed off once he noticed her as well. He stared curiously at his newest professor.

Professor Umbridge cleared her throat with a “Hem, hem.” Edelweiss grimaced at the false sound. The moment she opened herself up to the Force, she felt a deep undercurrent of discomfort swirling amongst the student body. Only some at the Slytherin table felt pleased by the events occurring before them. Odds were they knew more about Umbridge than anyone else.

“Thank you, Headmaster, for those kind words of welcome.”

Her voice was high and breathy like a teenage girl trying desperately to flirt with a boy who never gave her the time of day. Edelweiss clenched her jaw to hold back a laugh at how ridiculous the new professor sounded.

“Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!” The Great Hall remained silent as her words echoed high above in the rafters. When no response came, she continued as if nothing was wrong. “And to see such happy little faces looking up at me!

“I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all and I’m sure we’ll be very good friends!”

Giggles broke out nearby. Edelweiss glanced over at Parvati and Lavender. She suspected one of them had made a snide comment about Professor Umbridge’s ghastly pink cardigan, or about how silly the bow in her hair looked. Regardless, it was doubtful the woman would find many friends at Hogwarts.

“The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance,” continued Professor Umbridge. “The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the wizarding community must be passed down the generations lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching.”

Edelweiss frowned as she leaned forward onto an elbow. A bad feeling pooled in her gut as the new professor spoke, slowly laying out in her strange way what she planned for her tenure at Hogwarts. Edelweiss’s frown slowly deepened as the woman went on and on. She was left wondering who this Umbridge woman was among Fudge’s cronies and minions. She was certain this woman had been within Fudge’s inner circle. Edelweiss’s lacking knowledge of the Minister’s office and the Ministry in general meant she knew nothing about Umbridge beyond what was being revealed, here and now. She had to relax her jaw as Umbridge’s speech began to come to an end.

“…because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognized as errors of judgment,” said Professor Umbridge, smiling sweetly. It was the smile of a creature confident it had nothing to fear from those it thought as prey. “Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited.”

She was met by silence. Nobody clapped. Not the Ravenclaws who understood what she said. Not the Slytherins who might agree. Not even the Hufflepuffs who were overly polite. There was no whispering or gossiping about what was said. All that met Professor Umbridge was the silence of a student body quite incapable for once of coming to a sudden, rash decision about how to handle an oddity in their midst.

Headmaster Dumbledore, surprisingly, came to her aid. “Thank you, Professor Umbridge, for those illuminating words.”

Professor Umbridge, for her part, glowered at the Headmaster. Edelweiss suspected the woman thought she was being mocked. That, or her hatred of the Headmaster was too strong to hide her honest feelings.

A fool to challenge him so openly in his castle. Not even Voldemort dared to act against Dumbledore within Hogwarts without some cunning scheme in place.

“As it has grown very late,” continued Dumbledore, “I believe all of you should head off to bed.”

The Great Hall erupted in a rumble of voices as the student body rose to their feet. Edelweiss waited where she sat, watching as Ron and Hermione squabbled over how they would escort the Gryffindor first years to the common room. She tried not to laugh as Ron proceeded to call them midgets despite Hermione’s efforts to correct him.

The first years, on the other hand, were more interested in staring and ogling Edelweiss than following the new prefects. She stared back, vibrant emerald startling several who stared too long.

“Come on, Edie.” She turned and found Ginny standing behind her. “Let’s head up while they argue over the first years.”

Edelweiss glanced at Ron and Hermione, who were still busy arguing amidst the Gryffindor first years. She glanced at the twenty or so children chattering to each other.

“Lead on, then,” she said, rising to her feet.

Ginny dominated their conversation as they climbed Gryffindor Tower. Edelweiss allowed Ginny’s words to wash over her, for her mind was more intrigued by what Umbridge said. Most obvious from her speech was the Ministry’s blatant intention to fully interfere in the affairs and operation of Hogwarts. She would not be surprised if something occurred that would allow the Ministry—through Umbridge, their agent at Hogwarts—to influence or control the staff’s composition. They could go as far as sacking and replacing professors.

Edelweiss thought first of Trelawney, and then of Snape and Binns. They could all be justifiably sacked. She would not even shed a tear, seeing them permanently forced out of the castle, disgraced and ridiculed over their poor instruction.

When they reached the Fat Lady, guardian of the Gryffindor common room, Ginny suddenly asked her, “Do you know the password?”

Edelweiss blinked. “Password?”

She recalled how she slept through most of the trip from London before spending the remainder with those Slytherins. After that, she argued with and ignored Ron and Hermione enough that she had forgotten to ask them for the common room password.

As prefects, they would know.

“Afraid not,” Edelweiss admitted. “You?”

Before Ginny could answer, a familiar voice drew their attention behind them. “I do!” They turned as Neville Longbottom reached them, grinning. “For once.”

“Be my guest, then,” said Edelweiss, gesturing forward to the bemused Fat Lady, who rested playfully in her portrait.

Neville stepped forward and proudly said, “Mimbulus mimbletonia.”

The Fat Lady winked at Neville before swinging inward, granting them access to their common room. It was as red as it had been in years previous, yet as Edelweiss entered, she didn’t feel as though she were coming home, as she once might have. Ever since she discovered she was a witch, Gryffindor had become her true home, the place where everyone she cared about was. Yes, that was before Sirius, but her godfather had called it home when her parents were a Hogwarts. It counted in the end.

Nothing had changed with Gryffindor. She had changed.

Her favorite seat, a massive plush chair by the fireplace, was occupied by a group of giggling third-years. She considered bullying them away from it for a moment, but a wave of exhaustion swept through Edelweiss. She turned to Neville and Ginny, murmured a good night around a wide yawn, and climbed the stairs to the dormitory she had occupied for four years.

Beyond Hermione, who remained elsewhere guiding the first years up to the common room, the other girls in her year had beat her to their room. Fay Dunbar had already climbed into bed, a mask over her eyes. Edelweiss sensed she had not fallen asleep yet. Whatever gossip Lavender and Parvati had been engaged in halted the moment they noticed Edelweiss.

“Were your summer hols pleasant?” she asked, crossing to her bed. When they had been first years, Edelweiss had insisted on having the bed furthest from the door, and thus closest to the bathroom. Lavender and Parvati had been displeased with the arrangement, but their hero worship of the Girl-Who-Lived prevented them from daring to argue against her. Now, that mysticism was gone, replaced with uncertainty and doubt.

“Fine enough,” said Lavender awkwardly. “You were in the papers a lot. The front page, mostly. Not the parts I read.”

“They only said nasty things about you,” added Parvati with a frown. “Padma doesn’t think you or Professor Dumbledore are barmy, though she says most of Ravenclaw won’t agree.”

“If only they could see half of what I have,” Edelweiss muttered with a sneer. She entertained what the Ravenclaws might say and how she might sway their minds. Would it be her memory of Quirrell removing his turban to expose the ghastly face attached to the back of his head? Perhaps the memory of Tom Riddle revealing how and why he devised the name ‘Lord Voldemort’ would convince them. Or perhaps she could outright show them all what occurred in that graveyard—events even now suppressed in a dark, damp corner of her mind.

“My family believes you, though,” Lavender said, her words rushed and stumbling. “We’ve long supported the Headmaster. Ever since he went over to Germany and beat Grindelwald.”

Edelweiss hummed. Revealing her true feelings toward Dumbledore would not endear her to Lavender—and thus would not endear her to Parvati, in turn. Perhaps with time she could trade loyalty to Dumbledore for loyalty to her, but that would take time and more patience than she wished to exert with these two.

“And Fay?” she ended up asking, glancing at the now-sleeping girl.

Lavender shrugged. “She didn’t say much when we came up. She ate with her friends at the feast. Fay climbed into bed shortly after we got comfortable.”

Fay had long been the odd girl out in their year. Where Lavender and Parvati were childhood friends and Edelweiss and Hermione had a bond forged in fire, Fay existed along the periphery of their year. Not even Neville went as unnoticed as Fay Dunbar did. She had latched on to some girls in the year above them to mask her loneliness. Sometimes Edelweiss felt bad about how they had all but marginalized the girl. But with all that weighed upon her shoulders, Edelweiss discovered that she did not truly care about Fay Dunbar.

“So the normal, then.”

Lavender nodded. Parvati stared at the sleeping girl and sighed. “It’s depressing, having a stranger sleeping in this dorm with us. We’ve been together for four years, yet how much do we really know about her?”

“Beyond she’s friends with a few sixth years?” asked Edelweiss.

Parvati nodded.

“She’s a halfblood like me,” Edelweiss remarked. “One parent muggleborn, one parent pureblood. I think it’s reversed, but then she doesn’t talk about her family much.”

“We could say the same about you, Edie,” Lavender teased. “I know you holiday in the muggle world—”

“Wouldn’t describe my summers as holidays, but go on.”

Lavender frowned at the interruption before continuing. “Well, it’s just we never hear anything about your muggle relatives. I don’t want to be pushy or nosy, but I’ve always been curious. What is the Girl-Who-Lived’s home life?”

An impulse struck her. Edelweiss pondered the potential of telling these two the truth. She considered telling them how she had called a cupboard under the stairs her bedroom for nearly ten years. How she was ignorant of being a witch until she received her Hogwarts letter. That her muggle relatives purposefully kept her ignorant of her magical heritage thanks to their hatred of her parents. How she had cooked and cleaned and handled the gardening since she was five and had been expected, at least until the past summer, to continue doing so despite being a witch. She even considered telling them how she had lived in fear she would be beaten—or worse—by her muggle uncle.

But secrecy was her tool. A source of power, and allowed her to avoid telling lies.

Hermione stormed into their dorm, face flushed with fury. For several seconds, she paced back and forth before her bed, hands opening and clenching. Edelweiss watched Hermione until she suddenly approached her and said, “I cannot believe what they’re saying about you down there! I nearly took twenty points because of what they said!”

“Nearly? I’m impressed that you were able to restrain yourself.”

Hermione grimaced. Frustration flashed in her brandy brown eyes while her jaw clenched tightly. Edelweiss wondered what exactly ate at her friend. Was it the fact she had not given into the impulse to abuse her power? Or was the comments Hermione overheard truly that bad?

“I take it they said nasty things about me.”

“…yes, they did.” Hermione turned away. “I will not repeat what they said.”

“A wise choice,” said Edelweiss, her mouth filled with bitter poison. The dark side flowed into her, through her even. A brief impulse passed through Edelweiss, nearly prompting her to return to the common room below. No doubt those responsible for offending Hermione had run off to their dormitories. “Though I wouldn’t mind another reason why I shouldn’t go down there and hex anyone who looks at me wrong.”

“Because it won’t solve your problem?”

Edelweiss shot Hermione a sideways look. “I dunno. I think controlling the Ministry or the Prophet might improve my life.”

Lavender and Parvati choked in horror while Hermione blanched. Edelweiss smiled crookedly and waited until her friend realized she was being teased.

The conquest of Magical Britain would come in time and not soon. One day, though, these three would realize Edelweiss had been serious.

“Just go to bed,” grumbled Hermione as she headed to the bathroom. Edelweiss followed after her friend. She wanted a shower before trying to get a good night’s sleep. Hopefully, a peaceful night in Gryffindor Tower would leave her in a better mood come the morrow.

Edelweiss woke as a fire bloomed in her veins. A power beckoned her, weak and distant. She sat up with a frown and reached out with the Force. Her senses grazed against the enchantment on the stairs up the girl’s side of the tower and those upon the Fat Lady’s portrait. The power drew her attention deeper and deeper, further down into the castle.

Lord Salazar. He was summoning her to the Chamber of Secrets. No, to Ziost Hangar. And who was she to make him wait?

Edelweiss slipped from her bed and snuck over to her trunk. She opened it up and drew out a robe to cover her nightgown, the Marauder’s Map, and her father’s invisibility cloak. Those final two, along with her Gringotts key and the album of family pictures Hagrid gifted her long ago, were all she retained of a Potter family legacy. The only other possession she had that was as valuable as them was her master’s holocron.

And none can be replaced. Not even the Map.

She closed her trunk and rose to her feet. Her yearmates were deep sleepers—even Hermione, who was prone to waking at odd hours to write down strange insights from her garbled dreams. For all she hated divination, Edelweiss sometimes wondered if her friend possessed a slight gift for it. Hermione remained too rigid in her thinking to realize what she was capable of—and Edelweiss would take advantage of that oversight.

Were Hermione more attuned, perhaps she might pick up on the Force and Edelweiss’s slow transformation into a Sith Lord—into the Dark Lord of the Sith.

She shivered at that realization and then shook her head. Edelweiss could engage in thoughts of greatness later.

The descent from Gryffindor Tower to the Chamber of Secrets passed quickly, thanks to her past effort in her third year. Shortly after being given the Marauder’s Map, Edelweiss stumbled upon a passage on the fourth floor that possessed a parseltongue lock. Her father and his friends, muddled by confusion, had left behind awkward and odd notation. The parselmouth safeguards had stumped the Marauders—months would pass before she learned who they were—over that particular passage.

Edelweiss happened to be a parselmouth and thus she could pass through. She soon learned just about every trace of parseltongue sealing within Hogwarts led to the Chamber’s entrance. That locale on the fourth floor was the closest to Gryffindor Tower, close to a passage that led over to Ravenclaw Tower.

With cloak and map, Edelweiss had zero trouble reaching her desired passage. From there, she vanished from the Marauder’s Map. Edelweiss allowed her father’s invisibility cloak to hang from her neck, bound together as if it were a regular cloak and not the oddest silvery blanket in the world. Once she had joked with Ron about using it while she slept. He had not found her joke as amusing as she thought he would. He had sprouted off some wizarding nonsense about her never waking up.

Apparently, she learned later, the wizarding tale of Sleeping Beauty involved a cloak of invisibility instead of a curse.

Barely twenty minutes after waking, Edelweiss came to the door into the Chamber of Secrets. It was tall, lined with serpents that sealed it shut. She barely lost her stride as she demanded with a sharp hiss: “Open!” The door leaped to obey her, and she slipped into the familiar confines of the Chamber of Secrets before it fully opened.

The massive stone block that had guarded the entrance to Ziost Hangar sat precisely as she left it back in June. The crimson crystal glowed as Edelweiss approached. She grasped the dark side, and the crystal glowed brighter. She had learned some of lightsabers during the hols. She understood that unless something else happened, that crystal would one day be instrumental to her weapon.

Edelweiss headed to the stairwell down to Ziost Hangar, stepping here and there as she cursed her oversight of not putting on slippers or shoes before answering Lord Salazar’s summons. She hurried down the stone steps and reached the strange metal door that guarded the Hangar. The door hissed open automatically. No strange, robotic voice attempted to block her entry.

Edelweiss went not directly to Lord Salazar, but to the guardrails several paces beyond the entry. She peered down at the strange, black ship below. It was sleek, all smooth surfaces that slowly curved to the forward point. Part of her was tempted to inspect the craft—and then Lord Salazar’s summons struck her like a bell. She turned shakily from the ship and proceeded into the holocron room.

Lord Salazar appeared almost immediately, his massive red-hued projection hovering over the desk. Edelweiss kneeled before him, head bent as she murmured, “What do you wish of me, Lord Salazar?”

“You came. I was not certain you would recognize my summons,” the ancient Sith Lord said. “Though you did not come as quickly as I desired.”

“I… I only hesitated once, and only a few feet away from here. The summons awoke me, and I knew where I must go,” said Edelweiss. “Thankfully, I know the swiftest routes through the castle, including those you installed.”

“Are you the only parselmouth living?”

“The only one within these walls. The other, the one who names himself the Dark Lord Voldemort, is my enemy.”

“This Dark Lord? I presume he is a descendant of mine.”

“He is,” Edelweiss admitted sourly. “He prides himself on his connection to you through his mother. However, I know that while he found the Chamber above, he remains blind to the Force. Else you would have trained him, and this place would have remained secret to me.”

Lord Salazar scoffed. “You would have found your way here. But since you seek to become a Sith Lord and he dares name himself the Dark Lord, you must destroy him. I do not doubt your capacity to slay him.”

“Thank you, Lord Salazar,” she said shakily.

He smiled before asking, “How have your studies under Lady Bastila’s tutelage proceeded?”

Edelweiss nearly reached into her pocket. The Map rested there, but her master’s holocron was not. It resided back in her trunk. She had seen no reason to bring it with her when she responded to Lord Salazar’s summons.

“They went well,” she said carefully. “My master’s holocron is in my dormitory back in Gryffindor Tower, so she is not available to speak now. She would better report on my progress.”

Lord Salazar nodded, though a hint of something disappointed or exhausted slipped onto his weathered face. “Rowena and Godric were fools, claiming tower dormitories for their lot. Helga and I were more sensible, placing them lower in the castle. Teaching should be done higher up. Better to draw the gazes of our students to the heavens.”

“I would not call a common room beneath the Black Lake sensible, even if it is impressive, Lord Salazar.”

“You have been to the Slytherin House?”

“I have,” Edelweiss admitted. “In my second year, when Voldemort’s… memory possessed a student and used your basilisk to attack students, my friends and I brewed a batch of polyjuice potion. With it, we disguised ourselves as Slytherins, so that we could access the common room and try to uncover what others knew.”

“A memory that possessed people? Polyjuice? These are not known to me.” Lord Salazar scowled and crossed his arms. “Magic has grown in the thousand years since I passed away. I am both pleased and vexed.”

Edelweiss nodded as she pieced together a proper response in her mind. She wished she understood what that memory of Tom Riddle had been beyond what he claimed. However, that happened to be another secret Dumbledore continued to keep from her. She would be shocked if his theory about whatever that diary had been was proven false.

All she knew was that the diary had almost killed Ginny Weasley and that basilisk venom destroyed it in turn.

“Perhaps this relates to the anomaly the scanners discovered during your first visit,” murmured Lord Salazar. “I have spent the months since the reactivation of Ziost Hangar to analyze what was discovered.”

Edelweiss frowned. “Anomaly? I remember that faintly…” She hummed thoughtfully. “Do you know what it is?”

“The anomaly relates to the scar upon your brow.” Edelweiss brushed some of her wild black hair over the lightning bolt scar that cut across her right eyebrow, across her forehead, and into her hairline. The highlight was the obvious bolt that cut across her brow, for it was red and ached something fierce. “Indeed. That. I have gone over the scans taken, and the best we can determine is that there is something of another’s essence lodged there.”

“We?”

[SYSTEM REPORT: ZIOST HANGAR OPERATED BY SERIAL NUMBER: ZETA-ALEPH THREE-SEVEN]

Edelweiss stumbled back to her feet as her emerald eyes scanned the room for the source of the strange, metallic voice. Lord Salazar chuckled, low and mirthful at her panicked reaction.

“What was that?” she demanded, on the verge of drawing her wand. She grasped the dark side and drew power into her using her panic and fear. Edelweiss suddenly felt drunk with power, ready to lash out at any moment.

“That was Zeta-Aleph, a droid brain plugged into the computer systems that operate Ziost Hangar,” said Lord Salazar. There was pride in his voice, tempered by a hint of glee. “Rowena begged many times to study him. Her methods were crude, however, and would have destroyed that which I could not dare be lost.”

“Why not?”

“Because he possesses knowledge unknown to any organic life form on this planet. Ziost, my homeworld, is on the far side of the galaxy.”

Edelweiss frowned at the reminder that Lord Salazar had not been born on Earth. “Lord Salazar. I have a request: show me the galaxy beyond Earth, and show me where Ziost is.”

Lord Salazar stared at her, almost amused by the demand. And then he nodded and disappeared, suddenly replaced by a large wheel. Her mouth fell open as she stared upon its brilliance, upon a million million stars. One portion, reaching out from the edge of the furthest ring, glowed. “This is the Orion Arm, where we currently are. Rowena insisted upon naming it so.” The Orion Arm dimmed, and then most of the far half glowed. Segments appeared, divisions that meant something to him yet nothing to her. “This is the Known Galaxy, at least at the time when I was a young man. I fled after prophetic dreams revealed the looming destruction of the Sith Order I knew. The one who would destroy it would also bring about my death, so I fled for a world where I might sow the seeds of my future vengeance against his legacy.”

Lord Salazar said nothing as Edelweiss approached the projected galaxy. Lines streaked out from the core, spreading out like the branches of a tree. She raised a hand and followed one. “What are these?”

“Hyperspace lanes. People beyond this planet can travel across the stars swiftly, moving faster than light.”

Her breaths became shaky. “The ship in the other chamber. That’s how you came to Earth…”

“Yes. A thousand years ago when I first came to this world, it was beyond a backwater. A dirty, impoverished world. That ship was the most advanced craft by all measures.”

“And so it remains,” Edelweiss murmured, recalling the little she remembered of muggle space travel. “I cannot fathom what it must have been like to arrive on this world after all the luxuries a space-faring people must enjoy.”

Her education concerning early Britain had been undermined thanks to the Dursleys and their efforts to ensure she performed worse than Dudley. Fury roared in her veins thinking of them. She tried to cool her ardor, even as she took comfort in thoughts of plotting their final destruction.

“Worry not, young apprentice. One day you shall leave this world and step out into a new galaxy. You shall encounter the remnants of the Sith Order which replaced mine, and deal with whatever remains of that tired old religion.”

“I would not call it tired,” declared Edelweiss. “Not yet.” The Gryffindor courage that had driven her through the trap door, into the Chamber, to face dementors and Voldemort, bloomed with her fury. “Perhaps that is how you feel, my lord, but I am filled with energy, with the strength to carry on. Entrust me with this legacy, and I shall be the greatest Sith Lord who ever lived. I shall still be spoken of five thousand years from now when every other name of this age has long since faded.”

Lord Salazar reappeared to gaze upon her. She stiffened, unwilling to back down before him. Eventually, a wry smirk crossed his old, weathered face.

“You have many trials ahead of you, apprentice. Only once you are worthy shall any Sith confer upon you the title of Sith Lord. Only once you are… Darth Gladiolus will I recognize your ambition as more than a simpering girl’s idiocy.”

Edelweiss blinked, wondering how Lord Salazar had learned that name.

“What trials do you foresee for me, Lord Salazar?”

“There are two great trials I foresee. How you face them shall be upon your shoulders: you must overcome the two lords of your age. You have spoken of this Voldemort, the unruly descendant of mine who calls himself a dark lord. But there is another. You radiate with wrath and fury whenever you think of him, even more than toward the one who murdered your parents.”

“The Headmaster of Hogwarts. Albus Dumbledore.” Edelweiss clenched her hands so tightly a nail cut through the flesh of her palm. “That is who you speak of. He is this other lord—the one in opposition to the false dark lord.”

Lord Salazar hummed slightly. “Once Dumbledore and Voldemort are no more, then you shall be a Sith Lord for certain. All who know the dark side will recognize you. Should they not know the name of Gladiolus, they shall confer upon you the title of Darth. In ancient times, that title separated those who thought themselves a Sith Lord from those who were Sith Lords.”

Edelweiss straightened and smiled. When Lady Bastila had first spoken the name Darth Gladiolus, she had barely minded the first element. The latter, the flower name that emulated her own, had grasped her fancy and imagination so tightly she barely even gave that other one—the title of Darth—a second thought.

With this new realization, she felt the thousands of years of history, prestige, and heritage that title bore. She needed to do right by the title. She would be a great Sith Lord, greater than any who have lived or would live. At the end of time, when all faded to dust, they would still speak of Darth Gladiolus and the shadow she cast across the galaxy.

“But I have allowed myself to be distracted,” Lord Salazar said, drawing Edelweiss from her errant thoughts. “We sought to speak of the anomaly detected when you first came to Ziost Hangar. As I had said, it is the essence of another, parasitically attached by some means I do not fully understand.”

“When you say essence… What do you exactly mean?”

Lord Salazar was quiet for a minute or so before saying, “Rowena used the word ‘soul’ to describe what I speak of. A fragment of another’s soul has attached itself to you.”

“A soul can be broken apart?” whispered Edelweiss. A hand covered her mouth as her gut flipped over and tightened with disgust. Horror bubbled in her veins, even as her mind grasped onto something she hoped would explain what Lord Salazar had told her. Perhaps she was only grasping straws, but thinking of that handsome, cruel boy in the diary had awoken memories she had tried her best to forget and repress.

“You know the memory of Voldemort I spoke of, Lord Salazar? I… I think it could have been like the anomaly. A soul fragment.”

“Explain.”

“Well, the Tom Riddle from the diary—Voldemort when he was maybe a year older than me—said he had taken from Ginny and had poured some of himself into her. If soul and essence in this case were the same thing, then perhaps that was what the memory was: another fragment of his soul, bound to the diary.”

“And where is this diary?” asked Lord Salazar.

“I returned it to Lucius Malfoy after it was destroyed. I used one of the basilisk fangs to pierce it through. The memory vanished and Ginny was restored.” She paused and then frowned. “There was something odd about him. Almost… familiar. I cannot place—

“Then it appears this Voldemort left some of his soul with you.”

“Oh.”

Edelweiss was almost surprised Lord Salazar fell quiet after her verbal realization. But then, he already knew what she had realized. A fragment of Voldemort’s soul was with them in Ziost Hangar. She held it within her. It was on that night when Voldemort cast the Killing Curse upon her, his powers failed, and his mortal body was destroyed. It was why she could speak with snakes, why she could access the Chamber of Secrets.

It was why she had always sensed him, for a portion of the Dark Lord sought to return to its master.

“He murdered my parents,” Edelweiss began thickly, “and then attempted to kill me. It failed, and he was destroyed—for a time. This part of him has been with me since that night, so long ago.” When Lord Salazar raised an eyebrow, she added, “It would have been when I was only a year old, and I only just turned fifteen. Nearly fourteen years have I bore it secretly.”

“It will be difficult to remove.”

“Yet there must be a way, my lord.”

Lord Salazar remained quiet longer than she liked. He appeared thoughtful to her. Perhaps ponderous was a better word to describe him. And all the while, he considered the dangerous task of freeing Edelweiss from the foul piece of Voldemort latched on to her. She wondered how long he puzzled over how to cleanse her of the Dark Lord’s taint; had been from their first meeting, or only here and now?

“There are two ways you may free yourself of his essence: either he must kill you the way he first attempted, or you must use Sith alchemy to purge yourself of its taint.”

“Sith alchemy?” asked Edelweiss, remembering the hunt for Nicholas Flamel in her first year. She had set aside thoughts of alchemy since then, distracted first by the thankless task of stopping Voldemort from acquiring the Philosopher’s Stone and then by the events of past years at Hogwarts. Yet now that she was years into her magical education and newly introduced to the ways of the Sith, the possibility of alchemy was once more laid out before her.

And better yet, there was the option of a future. After all, what life could she lead as long as Dumbledore and Voldemort lived?

She had rarely entertained the possibility of a future, for the Dark Lord cast a long shadow over her life. Once she might have considered joining the Auror Corps, but that was before she discovered the dark side of the Force. She no longer required aurors to gain the power necessary to destroy Voldemort.

“Sith alchemy is a dark science, one whose roots predate the Sith Order. Those who practice it seek to wield the energies of the dark side to manipulate life and the world around them,” Lord Salazar said. “With Sith alchemy, you may cleanse yourself of the tainted essence bound to you. You may even find a different path to immortality.”

Edelweiss nodded, turning to scan the wall of holocrons. Dozens sat there, waiting their turn to be activated by a Sith apprentice. “Who among them would be wisest and most knowledgeable in this science?”

“I would suggest the holocron of Naga Sadow.” The red crystalline glass of a holocron shimmered under an illuminating light. “He was one of the great Sith Lords. Naga Sadow was buried on Korriban, the ancient homeworld of the Sith. On that world did the early wielders of the dark side ascend to Sith Lords, and there did they first face their old Jedi brethren.”

“And then the Sith became a religion, a way to commune with the Force and use it for one’s gain,” whispered Edelweiss. She went to the wall and took Naga Sadow’s holocron. For a few seconds, she considered slipping it into the pocket of her robe. She instead drew her wand and cast a swift tempus. The faint glow of numbers warned her that morning had come. Hermione would be awake soon. As such, Edelweiss’s ability to conceal the holocron would be hampered.

“I will return for your knowledge and lessons, Lord Naga,” she murmured, returning the holocron to its previous place. Edelweiss turned back to Lord Salazar. “I must depart, my lord. Do you require anything else of me?”

“As of now, I do not, young apprentice. When you return, bring Lady Bastila’s holocron with you. I wish to speak with her, and you can begin your lessons in Sith alchemy with Lord Naga then. And soon, I hope, we shall begin your lightsaber training.”

Edelweiss bowed and departed. Her hands clenched as she envisioned what wielding a lightsaber would be like and the powers she would gain from her studies under Naga Sadow.

Chapter Text

Edelweiss returned to Gryffindor Tower, thinking of the opportunity posed by lessons with Lord Naga Sadow. While learning Sith alchemy would be necessary to cleanse herself of the essence Voldemort, she had a feeling it would grant her further powers than those her master could teach her. Lady Bastila had said little of Sith alchemy than mentioning its existence.

Her mind also drifted to the realization Lord Salazar had guided her to. She had known since the end of her second year that she possessed a connection to Voldemort. Dumbledore had told her of it, and how he suspected some of Voldemort’s power had come to her that way. She had wondered, in the back of her mind, how that could have happened.

Now she had her answer, and it disturbed her.

The others were awake or absent when she finally returned to her dormitory. Edelweiss received stares as crossed to her trunk, returning her cloak and Map to where they belonged before shucking off her dirtied robe and grabbing a set for the day.

“Where have you been?” demanded Hermione.

“Only running an early morning errand,” Edelweiss replied, closing her trunk. She stood up straight and stepped past her friend. “Don’t wait up for me, Hermione. I’ll be done for breakfast once I’m ready.”

She entered the small bathroom before Hermione could protest. The showers were empty except for the ridiculous pile of soaps, shampoos, creams, and perfumes Lavender and Parvati used. Edelweiss glanced at a few in the stall she picked, frowning at the excess before her. By her reckoning, there should be a dozen witches in their dormitory to require the piles present.

Only two witches for so much was overkill.

Edelweiss shook her head fondly and yanked the knob toward the hottest setting. She stood just beyond the water until steam began to rise. With that, she stepped forward and allowed her body to relax under the beating heat.

As she showered, Edelweiss considered the quandary of souls and essence. If Tom Riddle’s diary and her strange connection to Voldemort were both of his essence—what Lord Salazar said Rowena Ravenclaw called the soul—then a chance greater than zero existed that Voldemort had created more objects bearing his essence. If there were more objects like the diary, then she would have to hunt them down and destroy them before she could permanently kill him. Her jaw clenched at the thought of crossing the span of Britain because Voldemort was too cowardly to live and die like a mortal man.

To mollify her poor mood, she worked one of Lavender’s shampoos through her black hair. Her mind drifted to the matter of Sith alchemy and how it might solve her conundrum. The strange technology in Ziost Hangar had detected Voldemort’s essence within her scar with ease. If that could be done, then certainly Sith alchemy could destroy the taint. More so, if his soul was split and stored elsewhere—as she increasingly suspected—then perhaps she could destroy the other objects keeping him immortal while cleansing herself.

Edelweiss pursed her lips. She wished she could trust Hermione with the truth. Her friend would be useful for solving the mystery of Voldemort’s essence and how Sith alchemy could destroy it. Yet there was too much between them now. The dissonance between being Sith and Hermione’s unwavering moral core. Their opposing opinions concerning Dumbledore and his role in their lives. The fact that Edelweiss had accepted she would commit abhorrent acts; something her friend could never do.

“Shite,” she hissed, washing away shampoo. “Must I walk this path alone?”

Deep down, she knew the answer was yes. Edelweiss might hate that the path before her was a lonely one, but it was the only path forward for her. Until Voldemort and Dumbledore were dead, she could only trust in her Sith masters and their lessons. She had friends, yes. Allies, even. But trusting any with the truth would undo her. All of her promises to Lord Salazar to become a great Sith Lord would be naught but empty, faithless words.

Edelweiss had known her fifth year at Hogwarts would be serious. Year after year, the fifth years appeared on the verge of tears for months before collapsing at the end of the year. But she had not expected the severity each professor expressed in their speeches during their first week back at Hogwarts. Of their core instructors, only cheerful Professor Sprout and mysterious Professor Sinestra failed to deliver a speech about how difficult and strenuous the OWL examinations would be and the challenges they would face moving on to NEWT-level courses.

On Monday, Professor McGonagall doubled down on her warnings about the dangers of Transfiguration from their first year and her willingness to send away any student who did not take her subject seriously. Snape all but celebrated that he would no longer teach most of them Tuesday, for his NEWT Potions class was comprised purely of those who managed to earn an Outstanding on their OWL. Flitwick, despite his jovial nature, reminded them of the importance of the exam and of how far they had come in the past four years during their class with him Wednesday afternoon.

And then Thursday arrived. The fifth-year Gryffindors headed to breakfast knowing they would finally have Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Umbridge. Plenty of gossip, rumors, and hearsay had spread through Hogwarts concerning her and her class. Few knew anything concrete about Professor Umbridge and her career beyond that she had been Minister Fudge’s Undersecretary until her reassignment at the end of August. The woman had then been quietly inserted into Hogwarts. It was clear to anyone with eyes to see and a mind to think that her main purpose did not concern educating and training young witches and wizards.

Already they heard grumbling about Umbridge’s curriculum. Those who had attended her class, for some odd reason, had yet to admit why they were disappointed. It was as though they feared punishment merely because they might not like a class. That left Edelweiss filled with unwanted nerves, especially after having to sit through Hermione lecture about the textbook’s failings.

“It’s as if they don’t think witches and wizards should defend themselves!” Hermione had hissed. “There’s an entire chapter about how to summon aurors and the various ways to get their attention regardless of any obstacles between them and the reader! An entire chapter! It’s absurd!”

“Fudge must think Dumbledore is truly up to no good,” Edelweiss replied, almost amused by the idea. “Strange that barely two years ago, Fudge was ready to hand his post over to Dumbledore. Maybe being Minister for so long has caused his power to go to his head.”

Hermione had glowered at her then, unamused by Edelweiss’s dismissal of her concerns. A glance at her friend as they headed for the third floor revealed Hermione’s concern had bubbled up into frustration. Maybe even anger at the prospect of suffering an incompetent instructor in their OWL year.

The classroom they entered was nearly barren. Only a few Ministry-approved posters lined the walls. Professor Umbridge sat behind her desk, smiling primly. She was dressed in the same pink cardigan she wore for the Welcoming Ceremony, though the bow in her brown hair was black and not a matching pink. A few Ravenclaws had already arrived, taking seats on the left side of the classroom—incidentally farthest away from the new professor. Thus the Gryffindors sat down on the right-hand side near Umbridge. Edelweiss allowed herself to be boxed in by Hermione and Ron, with Neville filling the last seat in their row.

Several minutes later when the classroom was filled with students, Professor Umbridge rose from her chair and came around her desk. “Good afternoon, class.”

A few said “Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge” audibly, but most of the class muttered or grumbled. Edelweiss said nothing, watching the professor warily.

“Oh, I am afraid that is not good enough. You are all old enough to know how to appropriately greet your professor,” she said before repeating: “Good afternoon, class.”

“Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,” they all replied like stupid children. Edelweiss had mouthed the words, though it appeared the professor had not noticed. Umbridge smiled, clearly pleased with her infantile ability to control the students before her.

Let us see how long that lasts.

“Welcome to the beginning of your OWL year. I am quite afraid to admit that your education in the Defense Against the Dark Arts has been impeded and hampered by the poor selection of professors in the past and their inconsistent methods of instruction. However, I am confident we can undo the errors of the past four years and prepare every one of you for your examinations. Every aspect of this course is approved by qualified individuals within the Ministry of Magic, which I hope comes as a relief to you all.”

Edelweiss raised her hand. She nearly smirked at the look of surprise in Professor Umbridge’s brown eyes. “Yes, Miss Potter?”

“I was wondering: which of our past professors did you find least adequate?”

Hermione hissed at her while Umbridge’s wide, toad-like mouth stretched into a devious smirk. “I am quite afraid to state that Remus Lupin was the worst of the lot, though Alastor Moody—or should I say, Barty Crouch Junior—was a poor choice on the Headmaster’s part.”

“I remember Lupin being quite competent,” replied Edelweiss, ignoring the mention of the Death Eater who stole Mad-Eye’s identity. She glanced around the room, holding back a smile as several nodded in agreement. Merlin knew how they’d react to her approval of a Death Eater. “I would assume that your animosity is because he’s a werewolf, and not from any academic failure on his part.”

There was a flash of malice in Professor Umbridge’s eyes before her smile twisted upward, sickly sweet and completely false. Edelweiss could feel the professor’s feelings through the Force; she was dearly tempted to respond to hatred with more hatred.

“I am quite afraid that his nature of a dark beast is not as important to judging his ability as a professor as you may think, Miss Potter.” The professor took a step toward her. “Perhaps if you stop thinking so highly of yourself, others will take you seriously.”

Edelweiss returned the smile as she steepled her fingers. She said nothing. She would allow Umbridge to believe herself victorious. Before the end, though, she would have her vengeance. She would enjoy the woman’s impending downfall, and she would be there to witness Fudge’s little toady become nothing but meat and gore.

Professor Umbridge waddled back to her post at the front of the classroom. “Now class, put wands away and get out ink and parchment.”

Groans rippled throughout the classroom, though few dared to openly protest the professor’s direction. Edelweiss had left her holly wand in a pocket, so all she had to do was pull out the parchment and ink Umbridge demanded. Professor Umbridge drew her wand, a short stubby thing, and tapped the blackboard directly before the Ravenclaws. Words swirled onto the board, beginning with:

DEFENSE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS

A RETURN TO PRINCIPLES

Beneath the legible text, she tried to read three bulleted sentences, all too blurred for Edelweiss to make out. She frowned, drew on the Force, and sought to pierce the magical veil upon the board. Her powers failed her, somehow not piercing the veil over Umbridge’s writing.

“Once you have this copied down, please look at me,” continued Umbridge. “I want all of you to have a written note about this year’s intentions for Defense beyond the task of passing your OWL.”

Edelweiss scratched down the two lines before staring at Umbridge. The class took their time, for when the final pair of eyes settled upon the professor, her lips were pressed tightly—as if she held back a scream.

“Good,” simpered Professor Umbridge in that annoying, girlish voice of hers. She tried to smile, but it looked strained. “Next will be the course aims. These are the broad principles that will guide us throughout the year, both with correcting the errors in your education and preparing you for your examination.”

She tapped the blackboard with her wand again. Edelweiss watched as the blurred words became clear. From the slight gasps around her, she surmised the others had not been able to see what was hidden upon the board.

Edelweiss read as she wrote, and found herself frowning deeper with every line:

1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.
2. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.
3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.

Professor Umbridge watched patiently as scratching quills filled the classroom. Edelweiss flexed her right hand once she finished. Something told her Umbridge would insist on them taking notes instead of learning practical magic the entire year. Frustration welled up at that realization. She could stand one of Fudge’s goons if she were being taught magic. But this? This was a waste of her time. She would be better served skipping class in favor of her Sith studies.

Perhaps I should abandon this farce now instead of suffering whatever Umbridge has in mind.

“Now,” the professor continued. “Does everyone have a copy of Defensive Magical Theory? It was on your booklist, so I will be most displeased if anyone does not possess a copy.”

There was a rumble of responses, only a few enthusiastic. Umbridge would soon reach the bottom of the list for their Defense professors—assuming she had not already reached that low.

“Oh, that will not do,” she said as if their dull response insulted her. “When I ask a question, your answers will either be ‘Yes, Professor Umbridge’ or ‘No, Professor Umbridge’.

“Now, do all of you have a copy of Defensive Magical Theory?”

“Yes, Professor Umbridge,” the class said.

“Good.” Professor Umbridge smiled at her victory. “For today, you will read the first chapter of Defensive Magical Theory, entitled ‘Basics for Beginners’. You will take notes, always keeping our course aims in mind. They are very clear, so I do not expect questions. There will be no need for talking while you work.”

And with that, Umbridge returned to her desk. She stared at them long enough that one by one, their heads dipped. Bags shuffled as books were taken out. Soon the room was filled with naught but the scratching of quills and the turning of parchment pages.

Edelweiss removed her copy from her bag and flipped it open to page five where the first chapter began. With a quill in one hand and the other to rest her head upon, she struggled and trudged her way through page after page of dull nonsense and idiocy. Most felt written for the witch or wizard who had barely scrapped a few OWLs. Perhaps it was meant for the multitude of witless fools who allowed a halfblood madman to nearly seize control of their island nation.

She was neither, and so the text before her increasingly became more and more offensive to her sensibilities.

As she set down her quill to stretch, Edelweiss noticed the oddest thing: Hermione had not taken notes. Her copy of Defensive Magical Theory remained firmly closed. Her right hand hovered high, still and solid as if she had just raised it.

Edelweiss glanced at the rickety clock behind where Umbridge sat, grimaced at how only twenty minutes had passed since Umbridge instructed them to begin working, and then she glanced between her friend and the professor. Umbridge watched the classroom with a careful eye, yet she made a point of not acknowledging Hermione’s hand.

Several minutes passed as others noticed what was happening around them. By the time class was halfway through, everyone but Umbridge stared at Hermione, waiting to hear what question she might pose concerning the dreadfully droll chapter they had been instructed to read instead of learning proper magic.

It appeared having everyone more interested in staring at Hermione compared to the first chapter of Defensive Magical Theory broke Professor Umbridge. Her brows furrowed slightly as she granted the raised hand due courtesy.

“Yes, miss? Is there something confusing about the reading?”

“No. My question is about the course aims, not the reading. I already read—”

Professor Umbridge held out a hand, stopping Hermione from spiraling into a rant. “I’m sorry. Did you say you had questions about the course aims?”

“Yes, I did, Professor.”

“What is your name?”

“Hermione Granger.”

Edelweiss leaned back in her seat as Professor Umbridge’s frog-esque mouth twisted. “Well, Miss Granger. I believe you will find the course aims quite clear if you read them carefully.”

“I have read them carefully, Professor. They’re acceptable for a class of first years, but not OWL students. They say nothing about actually using or practicing defensive spells.”

“Using defensive spells?” Professor Umbridge sounded greatly offended, as if Hermione just announced that the Ministry was filled with fools dumber than muggles and the Minister himself was a worthless clown. Edelweiss shifted to cover her mouth, else she giggled at her thoughts. “Why would you need to use defensive spells in my classroom?”

“We aren’t going to use magic?” asked Ron, saying what many were thinking.

“Students raise their hands in class, Mister…”

“Weasley.” A moment later, he raised his hand. Edelweiss had to bite down on her tongue, else she burst out laughing.

Professor Umbridge stared at Ron for a few seconds, then turned her attention back to Hermione. Her hand was raised, though Edelweiss did not doubt for a second the professor would have returned to her friend regardless.

“Yes, Miss Granger? What else do you wish to ask?”

“Isn’t the purpose of Defense Against the Dark Arts to practice defensive spells in a safe, controlled environment?”

“Are you a Ministry-trained expert in either education or Defense Against the Dark Arts?” Professor Umbridge’s smile was twisted where her voice was sweet. Edelweiss hid her hands, clenching them tightly.

“No, but—”

“Then I am quite afraid you do not have the qualifications to question the way I instruct my course. Wizards older and cleverer than you have devised the new standards for Defense instruction. These standards are the ones I am following to improve upon the faulty, troubling four years you have experienced.”

Edelweiss was surprised her hand shot up, but she was in no mood to retract it. Umbridge appeared surprised as well, for she stared at the hand for a few seconds before finally saying, “Yes, Miss Potter?”

“Will there be any practice sessions for spells we may learn about during this class or will we be expected to engage in self-study to prepare for our OWL?”

Mentally, she was more concerned with the underground war beyond the castle walls. Following the war, she then thought of Lord Salazar’s offer to learn Sith alchemy, which could potentially bring about the destruction of her most hated foe without fighting him face to face. She would not speak of Voldemort here, assuming her—and Hermione’s—suspicion Umbridge was only at Hogwarts to impede Dumbledore was true. For now, she would bide her time. Certainly, Umbridge would make enough people angry that the student body could be turned against her. Maybe she would find a Sith apprentice of her own. She had no reason to believe only she had the potential to learn the Force at Hogwarts. Magic must be similar enough for her to bridge that gap. Others must be capable as well.

Professor Umbridge blinked slowly. Had she never considered that particular question could be raised? She must have prepared for protests over not practicing magic. She must have suffered days of children asking why they could not practice magic. Edelweiss was curious how the professor would handle this new challenge presented to her. Already Umbridge had tried to suggest they should listen to the opinions of no-name wizards employed by a government unable to successfully combat a single dark lord.

“If you follow the methods instructed in this class and covered in the text assigned for this course, then you will have no trouble performing all of the spells required for your OWLs.”

Edelweiss glanced at her classmates. Several had waxen expressions. She sighed slowly, drudging up that Gryffindor courage as she said, “I’m speaking for my—”

“Hand, Miss Potter.”

She raised her hand. Umbridge scowled and scanned the room for others raising their hands. She nodded to Dean.

“Mister…?”

“Thomas, Professor. Dean Thomas.”

“Yes. Your question?”

“I was wondering if we might be able to get some tutoring with any spells we struggle with. Professor Lupin was really good about—”

“I am afraid that Professor Lupin is a werewolf, and thus his educational methods suffer from the same tainted ills that affect him. That Professor Dumbledore allowed him to instruct magical children is deeply concerning, given that werewolves are such vicious beasts.”

“Does that mean…?”

“There will be no practicing magic in this— Miss Potter! What are you doing?”

Edelweiss stretched as she packed her school bag. Everyone stared at her as she shouldered the bag, stepped past Hermione into the aisle between the rows of desks, and gave the Professor a curt nod. “I’m afraid I am wasting my time in your class, Professor Umbridge. It’d be for the best that I leave. I have no worries about whether or not I will pass my Defense OWL.”

“Why, how can you—?”

“I have done more to safeguard this castle—and this nation—than anyone but the Headmaster these past four years. I would list my accomplishments, but I doubt you’d believe a single thing I say. You would deny that the Philosopher’s Stone was hidden in this castle and that I stopped a dark wizard from stealing it. You would deny that when the Chamber of Secrets was opened, I entered it and slew the beast within. You would even deny that I made it through the three tasks of the Triwizard Tournament using only my ability and wits. And the less said of the dementors that swarmed Hogwarts two years ago, the better.”

Professor Umbridge’s face had slowly turned a bright, furious red with every accomplishment Edelweiss listed. For a moment, she considered letting the woman know the truth about Voldemort and even Sirius Black, for that would certainly turn her face the same puce shade that often consumed Uncle Vernon’s face when furious. But that risked punishment. She had caused enough trouble, especially when she was about to leave this class and turn Defense into self-study.

“While that is quite impressive, Miss Potter, assuming all you said is true,” the professor hissed. “I am quite afraid you are still required to attend my class.”

“I am?” She tilted her head. “I guess that was why I’ve put up with Binns droning on and on—and with the incompetence we’ve experienced with past Defense professors. Because I am required to be present.”

For a moment, Professor Umbridge appeared pleased. Edelweiss gave the seat she had occupied a brief, almost considering look, and then smiled derisively. “Do find the rule that requires me to be here, Professor.” And with that, she turned on a heel and glided from the classroom, ignoring Umbridge’s sudden, furious outburst. Odds were the professor would assign her detentions. Edelweiss doubted they could be that imposing. Scrubbing cauldrons or cleaning trophies might be tedious, but there was a meditative trait to them she could use to further her Sith studies.

And if anything, she could twist them to learn more about Professor Umbridge and what she wanted from Hogwarts.

Hours later, Edelweiss appeared before the student body at dinner. Already whispers buzzed about her, spawned by her defiant departure from Defense. She had descended to the Chamber of Secrets, hurling curses and hexes at the snake motifs Lord Salazar or one of his heirs had constructed. Magic burned in her mouth and veins as she cast, pouring forth a torrent of wrath and fury. The dark side leaked into her spells, energizing all she did. It was only once she tired of hurling spells that she went to Lord Salazar.

When questioned about Sith alchemy, he mockingly told her capacity to understand Sith alchemy and its basis was heavily limited, for she had not taken the Study of Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. Her choices of Care of Magical Creatures and Divination had finally bitten her in the arse. She hated that Lord Salazar was right. She would go about patching holes in her knowledge soon.

Hermione puffed up like a furious cat as Edelweiss settled onto a bench at the Gryffindor table. Ron glanced between them, too worried to eat like normal.

“Where have you been? We tried looking for you! We even used the Marauder’s Map! But you appeared nowhere! Professor Umbridge—”

“Can whine and scream all she likes. I will not return to her class,” growled Edelweiss. “As to where I was, you two should know by now where I go when I wish to be alone.”

They exchanged a look that nearly drew a groan from Edelweiss. For whatever reason, neither approved of her appropriating the Chamber of Secrets. She had argued with them several times about the matter, but her words always fell upon deaf ears.

“Edie, I wish you would stop using that place.”

“Why should I? Nobody else in the castle can access it. Perfectly safe and secret.”

Instead of responding, Hermione and Ron blanched. Their gazes were fixed just behind Edelweiss, so she glanced back.

“Hem hem.” Professor Umbridge stood there, a vilely pleased smile stretching her face. “Where have you been, Miss Potter? You left my class early, and you did not attend History of Magic.”

“Around.”

“Oh? If I were to ask Miss Granger or Mister Weasley, would they give me the same answer?”

Edelweiss knew they would not. Unlike her, neither had grown up needing to learn how to lie. They also struggled to wield silence as an effective tool against unwanted conversation. Morgana’s tits, she had used her silence against them. Ron had been furious when she ignored him the previous year; Hermione had bawled in the bathrooms several times during those weeks in their third year when they had fallen out over her Firebolt.

And yet fury roiled in her gut, a serpent seeking escape, now that Umbridge targeted her friends.

“What does matter is it to you? Shouldn’t you be happy that ‘Dumbledore’s little pawn’, as the paper loved to call me, is no longer in your class, ready to interrupt and derail your effort to mold the school into a hive of Ministry-loving zealots?”

Professor Umbridge’s face bloomed with strained fury. Edelweiss was impressed, for she had assumed all the woman could do was smirk and glower. She watched as the professor grappled with her fury, knowing should she use it improperly, she might embarrass herself. Unlike Umbridge, though, fury and hatred empowered Edelweiss.

Though I should mind my words better, she thought. They can be a double-edged sword.

The moment Edelweiss recalled how hatred empowered her, she reached out with her senses and drew the dark side of the Force to her. She wrapped herself in its power, luxuriating in whispers and promises of the violence she could unleash with its power.

For a moment, candles flickered and goblets shivered. For a moment, Edelweiss was on the verge of wielding the ball of furious power gathered around them and within her. For a moment, Umbridge’s wide eyes reflected a hint of sulfuric yellow amid deadly green.

And then the moment passed. She released that terrible power, for it was not the appropriate time. Edelweiss struggled to allow her anger to fade; something pulsing hot—the dark side, she knew—whispered tantalizing promises of power once more. All it wanted from her was to destroy all who stood against her.

“Is that all, Professor?” Edelweiss said with a strained smile. “We are interrupting dinner.”

Astonishingly and wonderfully, Professor Umbridge noticed how nearly the entire hall stared at them. Their gazes pierced her with curiosity. In the wake of their pressure, she huffed and returned to the Head Table. Edelweiss smirked at the professor’s back before glancing at the rest at the Head Table. She made a point of ignoring Dumbledore’s watching eyes.

“Well, that was quite fascinating,” she said, almost mockingly. Edelweiss sat back down. “So, what happened after I left class?”

Hermione sighed and shook her head while Ron regaled her with how furious Professor Umbridge had been in the wake of Edelweiss’s departure, and of the many, many detentions promised.

A week following her now infamous departure from Defense Against the Dark Arts, Edelweiss chose to not join her peers in returning to Umbridge’s worthless class. Instead, she descended through the castle to the Chamber of Secrets. Hermione had coerced her into attending the class on Friday, and Edelweiss deeply regretted her error. It followed the same course as the first: a monotonous hour spent taking notes from the pathetic drivel Umbridge thought appropriate for students staring down the prospect of taking their Defense OWL. Umbridge’s astonishment at Edelweiss’s presence seemed to wipe from her memory that she had issued detentions the previous day.

The descent went quickly. Edelweiss’s bag was weighed down with Runes and Arithmancy books she “borrowed” from Hermione, along with a few titles taken from the school library. Half she read during the previous week had gone over her head, but she hoped Naga Sadow would tutor her through the gaping holes in her knowledge. She had waved off questions about why she wanted them; Edelweiss found she struggled to piece together a suitable lie for why she had a new and sudden interest in those two topics.

When she reached Ziost Hangar, she found Naga Sadow’s holocron not among those on the shelves, but resting beside Lord Salazar’s holocron built into his desk. He appeared at her arrival, gesturing to the holocron. “Take Naga Sadow’s holocron to a meditation chamber on the lower floor. He knows to expect you.” His gaze traveled to her unwieldy bag, straining against its strap. “You have brought reference materials. Good.”

“I need them if I am to fully understand all Naga Sadow has to teach me, Lord Salazar. Perhaps it will not be enough, but it is more than when I was last here.”

“I am impressed by your dedication.”

“I have my choice to become a Sith Lord, Lord Salazar. That means I must dedicate myself to all that title demands. From all you have told me, Sith alchemy should be the key to destroying Voldemort for good. If it can do what I desire, then I would be a fool to not pursue that potential.”

“And what potential do you foresee?”

“That I may destroy every trace of essence binding him to life. If it is possible, I will even curse him so that he can no longer split his essence. Once he is permanently mortal, all I must do is finish him off.”

“Are you powerful enough to kill him?”

Edelweiss remembered their graveyard duel and how she had been at Voldemort’s mercy. Were it not for the shared core of their wands, she would have been struck down that night. She should have died that night, or at the very least been purged of the essence tainting her scar even now.

But the girl who had dueled the Dark Lord in that graveyard had become a mask. Deep down, Edelweiss was only the Sith apprentice who sought to become Darth Gladiolus.

“I am not yet powerful enough to defeat him, Lord Salazar. But I will be. You said it yourself; Darth Gladiolus shall destroy him. Not Edelweiss Potter.”

He chuckled and smiled. “You impress me, apprentice.”

She smiled slightly, pleased by the praise Lord Salazar granted her. Yet it was not enough. She needed to completely shed the weakness that was Edelweiss Potter. Once she shed her weakness, she would have the power required to destroy all of her enemies. Darth Gladiolus was the one who would free Britain from Voldemort and Dumbledore. Gladiolus was the one who could overcome the Dursleys, and bring the magical public of Britain to heel.

Only Gladiolus could free her from the cycles of her life: cycles of pain and suffering and weakness that bound Edelweiss Potter to an unrelenting wheel.

She reached into her bag and drew out a crystalline pyramid. “I also brought my master’s holocron as you requested.”

“Leave her with me,” Lord Salazar demanded. “And then go.”

Edelweiss stepped forward, switched Naga Sadow’s holocron with Lady Bastila’s, and bowed to Lord Salazar. He dismissed her with a slight nod, and she left his solar.

She followed what Lord Salazar told her and descended to the floor below. She used a tube akin to a muggle elevator, which was swifter and quieter, moving without shift or rattle. Edelweiss entered the first meditation room she stumbled upon. It was small, perhaps six feet in each direction. She kneeled in the room’s center and held the holocron in one hand. She thought of Umbridge, of how worthless she made Defense Against the Dark Arts, and the fury she dredged up activated Naga Sadow’s holocron.

“Ah, Salazar’s little apprentice,” sneered Naga Sadow. He wore a large, angular headpiece that threw his features into sharp relief. “You came as Salazar said. I questioned him about your education, and I find you wanting. You are either more skilled than he suspects, or so deluded to believe yourself prepared for what I have to teach that I should deny you, here and now.”

She frowned slightly, wondering what she had gotten herself into. Naga Sadow struck her as being born of two species. Unlike Hagrid or Flitwick, he was vicious and exacting, likely drawing more from his non-human heritage than human. Pointed tendrils descended from his cheeks, which she recognized as a key trait of the Sith race. Edelweiss had been surprised to learn the Sith name had come from a red-skinned, humanoid race who had inhabited Korriban, her order’s ancestral world, before their founding. The knowledge and power the Sith possessed in the dark side had led those first pioneers who abandoned the Jedi to adopt their name for their new order. She knew little else of those early centuries, so long ago. Before the Sith Empire, and the Great Hyperspace War—events her master Lady Bastila thought important to lecture on.

“Through your teachings can I finally destroy my foe,” Edelweiss stated. She removed her bag, filled with many tomes. “My studies can only go so far without guidance, and I have sought out materials of my world in line with all you have to teach me.”

Naga Sadow granted the tomes a single, dismissive glance. “Clearly. Do not think I shall hold your hand through these lessons, little apprentice. I am the greatest Sith alchemist who has ever lived or will ever live. Through me, you will be greater than the pathetic worms you share your backwater world with.”

Edelweiss nodded, already accepting that her world was a backwater. By the standard of the galaxy beyond, they were not wrong. The furthest any Earth human had traveled was their moon, and that happened because of petty planetary politics and not to establish a settlement on the natural satellite as a launching point for further exploration of their local system and the galaxy beyond.

“I understand, Lord Sadow. I have no desire to disappoint you, nor shall I give in to any temptations to take my lessons lightly. My very life might hang in the balance. I must learn all you have to teach me.”

“I will hold you to your word, apprentice. Now, I wish to hear what you have learned of the… skills Lord Salazar said would be vital to learning my alchemical secrets. He has only told me of your deficits. Then again, he had been a poor alchemist while alive.”

“As you wish, Lord Sadow.” The holocron projection smiled wryly. “There were two skills Lord Salazar tasked me with learning about. The first of these are runes. We use characters from a variety of ancient scripts, each imbued with a particular meaning by the people who devised them, to affect and influence the world around us. While I suspect the basic principle can mesh with any runic form you could teach me, it will need to go beyond the written. I must understand enough of the language to piece together how its runes can come together and create meaning and power.”

Naga Sadow hummed thoughtfully. “For what reason would you need to know the language? Certainly, you can get by with me teaching you the meanings of each character instead.”

“Because for what I seek to accomplish with Sith alchemy, I must enact it through a ritual. From what I have read in the past week, speaking aloud the runes used as part of a ritual will not ensure all of its powers are seen to fruition. I must possess some fluency in the language.” She smiled darkly. “If I succeed in what I wish to perform, my foe will be made permanently mortal. I will block his pathway to immortality and leave it forever cut off.”

Naga Sadow hummed as a wry smirk crossed his face. “How curious. An immortal foe. How has he achieved this?”

“According to Lord Salazar, Voldemort split his essence and placed portions into vessels. We discovered his method because he destabilized his essence before the night when he first attacked me. With his essence fractured, a portion broke away. It resides within me now, and I seek to use its destruction against him.”

“Fascinating. What you seek can be done,” the ancient Sith Lord said. “It will be tricky, determining what should and should not go into this ritual you envision. But only together can we accomplish this great feat.”

Edelweiss grinned widely, hearing the ancient Sith Lord’s confidence in her plan. She had known all she would accomplish with Sith alchemy would be due to Naga Sadow’s instruction. But to work with him as close to equals as possible and devise how she would ensure Voldemort’s future destruction? She had not even considered he would offer her that change, given how ignorant she had been concerning the magical principles vital to learning his discipline.

“And what of your other skill Salazar mentioned? One he said that would make up for your lacking knowledge of mathematics.”

“Oh, yes. Arithmancy. That’s been trickier to learn, though I have some grasp on the basics of standard arithmetic thanks to my upbringing. I did consider asking a friend to aid in studying arithmancy—especially its more esoteric aspects—but she’s too inquisitive to maintain secrecy around my Sith studies. Any slip about what I seek to become will create unnecessary trouble. She has a strong love of authority and a rigid view of right and wrong.”

“Learn how you can use her without revealing what must be kept secret,” commanded Naga Sadow. “Valuable resources should be used wherever possible. Deceit and deception are weapons for even the simplest Sith Lord. Mere secrecy is not enough; you must twist those who would be enemies into useful pawns.”

Edelweiss was surprised to feel a twinge of guilt at the thought of abusing Hermione’s academic passions. Yet she and Ron had done just that most of the past four years. How many of her past essays, especially those assigned over the summer hols, had she completed on her own? How many of Ron’s had been the product of his intellect?

How foolish was she that she needed another to point out what she had been doing for years now? There was no reason to feel guilt over an exploit Edelweiss had leaned into for years. Naga Sadow was right. She should use her friends until their utility to her was completely spent. Her justification would be simple: an olive branch, offered because she “felt terrible” about the widening gap between them. After the summer, they would be quick to accept her word—hook, line, and sinker.

“Of course, Lord Sadow. I have nearly allowed this bond to slip through my fingers because of how slighted I felt recently. I should cultivate more useful relations and connections, and not allow them to fray and drift apart.”

He smirked with a slight showing of sharp teeth. “You are learning. That is the core of manipulation: creating usable connections. I shall leave developing your ability to manipulate to another of your masters, should you not learn it on your own time. The primary purpose of this holocron is to teach Sith alchemy, not to hold your hand through social engagements.”

Edelweiss felt a faint burn in her cheeks. She remembered how the Sorting Hat considered sorting her into Slytherin. She wondered if that had come to pass, would she be as capable as Naga Sadow desired? She was certain he only saw value in her abilities as a Sith apprentice. Whether that was a product of the holocron’s development compared to his personal preferences remained unknown to her.

“There is something else, a topic I will need to study before we move forward with the ritual,” said Edelweiss, all but fabricating the topic out of hand. “There is a language—a magical one—that only myself and my foe can speak. Another of my enemies believes I gained the ability to interact with this language thanks to the powers transferred to me when I accidentally acquired his essence. This other foe is something of an ally against the first, though I cannot allow one to live long after I destroy the other.”

“You wish to retain this power, despite how you acquired it.”

“Indeed. If I incorporate that language into this ritual, I think it might be more effective. I could acquire the ability to permanently speak it, even after the taint of his essence has been cleansed. Retaining that ability is essential to ensure I can access Lord Salazar’s collection of holocrons. If not, perhaps I can find other ways around the language-based locks Lord Salazar has put into place.”

“Your idea has merit. I will need to commune with Lord Salazar so we can discuss how to ensure your retention of this language. I believe it is possible, but nothing is certain until attempts have been made.” Naga Sadow glanced away, a distant, ponderous look upon his face. He appeared almost calm, and certainly focused. “Yes… Yes! I believe it can be done! It shall be difficult, but it can be done.” He turned back to her. “You will bring what you have of this language to me. We shall work together to decipher what is needed to craft the alchemical creations and rituals necessary to achieve your goals, apprentice.” He grinned, a maniacal look that nearly frightened her. “Oh yes, yes indeed! That, more than your world’s study of languages and arithmetic, shall open the way to what you need. A sympathetic bond between you and this enemy will ease the process of destruction and transformation.”

“They will still be necessary, yes?”

“Of course, fool girl! Do not question me! It was always known to me that those lessons would be necessary. The inclusion of this third element will only guide us forward to victory over your foes.

“But for now, we shall begin your first lesson in Sith alchemy. Our focus shall be upon determining all that you do and do not know so that I can determine the proper pacing at which to prepare you for the working you wish to put into motion.”

And with that, Edelweiss spent the afternoon and part of the evening kneeling before Naga Sadow’s holocron, absorbing all he had to teach her as she explained that which she had recently learned. By the time she returned to the castle, her mind only held the possibilities of Sith alchemy.

She barely noticed Umbridge waddle up to her before publically issuing two weeks of detentions for her absence.

Chapter Text

The morning after Edelweiss received her detentions from Professor Umbridge, the three chasers of Gryffindor’s Quidditch team intercepted her as she entered the Great Hall. She had forgotten about Quidditch and the team, for last year’s season had been canceled in favor of the Triwizard Tournament. And then she stumbled upon Lord Salazar’s collection of holocrons and her future as a Sith Lord. The chasers loomed over her even though she gained several centimeters. She almost matched heights with the shortest of the three, sixth-year Katie Bell.

“What were you thinking getting detention with Professor Umbridge?” demanded Angelina Johnson, her frustration like poison. “I need you available for tryouts on Friday. Go apologize or do whatever you need to get that night cleared.” Her dark, glowering eyes would have cowed the Edelweiss of a year ago. But now? She was a Sith apprentice, superior to all around her.

“Apologize? Better you should speak with Umbridge yourself,” said Edelweiss. When Angelina’s glower didn’t let up, she sighed and added, “I would love to get out of detention with her, but I doubt she’ll agree without reason—and Quidditch won’t be good enough.”

Angelina snorted. “You know your reason. The entire team needs to be there for tryouts.”

Edelweiss blinked. In the four years since she first joined the Gryffindor Quidditch team, there had never been a need for tryouts. The team had been all but assembled when she first arrived. And after that flying lesson with the remembrall, she had readily agreed to join the team when Professor McGonagall suggested it to Oliver Wood. She realized there always would have been a need for try-outs; Oliver, team captain and keeper, graduated following her third year at Hogwarts.

“I’m the seeker, though. You only need a keeper. I don’t interact with them out on the pitch.”

Angelina glanced at Alicia and Katie. Both shrugged as if conceding Edelweiss’s point. She knew they would not openly do so. Yet they should know Umbridge would never surrender a day’s detention. Had they minded the speech from the Welcoming Feast as Edelweiss and Hermione had, they would have understood Enemy Number Two in the eyes of this year’s Defense professor was Edelweiss Potter.

Enemy Number One remained Headmaster Dumbledore. Edelweiss might hate the old man, but better he remain at Hogwarts than be scattered to the four winds. For now.

“Still, it’s a matter of team spirit.”

Edelweiss turned to Alicia, then to Katie. Neither appeared willing to speak on her behalf. With a sigh, she muttered, “I’ll try, but don’t get your hopes up. You know Umbridge hates me.”

“Then go to class!” hissed Angelina. “It’s the reason she gave you detention in the first place!”

“Why? It’s a bloody waste of time!” Edelweiss shouted back. The dark side responded to her rage, banking it like a dimming fire. “You three might have luckily dropped Defense, but I am technically required to take it until June. That wretched woman is going to scuttle the Defense scores for my year and nobody at the Ministry should be surprised when most of the Defense OWLs taken in June turn out to be Poors and Dreadfuls! Morgana’s tits, they probably want that. That will give them plenty reason to force Dumbledore out of the headmastership.”

Ugh. They’re making me defend him! Curse the Ministry and curse Umbridge! I’ll enjoy ending her when the time comes.

Angelina grimaced and her dark skin went ashen. Katie Bell blanched while Alicia Spinnet merely looked a touch sickly. Edelweiss blinked, wondering what she had said to draw such expressions—and then she realized their gazes hovered just past her.

She turned and found a mirthful Professor Umbridge standing nearby. “Is that what you think of me, Miss Potter? One more week of detention should help sort out your priorities. And I will add another week if you do not come to class as scheduled.”

Edelweiss clenched her hands tightly, her sharpened nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms. She met Professor Umbridge’s gaze and grasped the Force. It flowed, dark and potent, between them. Her instincts took command, recalling what she had done to Dudley a month or so ago. The squat woman’s gaze dulled and dazed as Edelweiss’s power worked into her mind.

And then a thought struck Edelweiss. What did she truly know of Umbridge’s intentions? Yes, the woman likely wanted to remove Dumbledore. But what else? What other powers did the Ministry intend for Hogwarts? What else did they intend for her?

She withdrew her powers, scrubbing over any awareness Umbridge might have had that someone meddled with her mind.

The foul woman blinked. She frowned, but only said, “Best you be in class, Miss Potter.”

Edelweiss nodded and then turned away. She headed to the Gryffindor table. She had learned something useful: Umbridge was heavily susceptible to the Force.

Despite having stormed out once and suffered a second time, Edelweiss dreaded entering Umbridge’s classroom. It was a reminder of her weakness, of the weakness she would expel once she became Darth Gladiolus. But the moment for that was not at hand. She just knew it, though whether it was the Force as a whole or the dreaded Cosmic Force telling her, she did not know.

She shocked Gryffindors and Ravenclaws alike as she entered. They stared as she set her bag down between Hermione and Ron, reclaiming the seat she had occupied and abandoned during their first session. Professor Umbridge shot Edelweiss a vicious, victorious grin. Yet she suspected the woman would have been as happy to assign an extra week of detention. Punishment came before instruction for one Delores Umbridge.

After all, what were her classes but punishment? They most certainly did not learn anything of use.

Once seated, Edelweiss drew out the assigned text, some parchment, and a quill. Hermione shifted her massive inkpot into place between them. Surprisingly, Professor Umbridge said nothing about it.

The period passed with them only taking notes from the fourth chapter of Defensive Magical Theory, which was concerned with the Ministry’s list of illegal spells and the reasons why. While some made sense to Edelweiss, like the Unforgivables, she did not understand why others were on the list. A few hexes and jinxes that got tossed around the halls of Hogwarts were present, though those spells had fee punishments instead of time in Azkaban. Stunning spells and disarming charms had not made the list, though the author included a passage that suggested he believed spells of that nature—being more suitable for combat and defense than daily living—should be heavily regulated if not outright banned for civilian use. There was even skepticism toward dueling as anything more than childish foolery that injured valuable future members of society.

“What a load of tosh,” grumbled Hermione.

Edelweiss glanced over and nearly gaped at what her friend was doing. Instead of taking notes, she openly annotated her copy of Defensive Magical Theory. Very heavily, given the tremendous amount of excess ink on each page. She risked a glance at Professor Umbridge. She watched Hermione carefully with a pinched expression, yet she did nothing to stop the bushy-haired girl from marking up the book before her. Odds were since Umbridge had not attempted to stop Hermione, the annotation had occurred during the class Edelweiss skipped the prior day.

Meeting with Naga Sadow and learning about Sith alchemy had been worth the absence. And Edelweiss hoped to find some way out of her detentions, unless she could find another route forward—and out of this class entirely.

She thought over what detentions Umbridge would issue to her. She doubted it would be anything worse than writing lines. Though perhaps the woman was crafty enough to try “honey” instead of “vinegar”, as the saying went. Edelweiss had no reason to like the woman, but if Professor Umbridge dared suspect Edelweiss was anything other than Dumbledore’s loyal pawn, then she would be a fool to not attempt to build rapport between them.

It would be amusing if she got handed a cup of tea, spiked with a potion like veritaserum. She might even test her powers in the dark side and drink from that meddled cup.

Class continued without anything of interest occurring. When the bell rang, only Edelweiss rose to her feet. She froze at the nervous glances sent her way. After a moment of hesitation, she sat back down.

“Thank you, Miss Potter, for remembering where you are,” Umbridge said sickly-sweet. “For next Thursday, I expect all of you to write nine inches about the chapter you read today. I am curious what your thoughts on it are. Do leave behind your homework from yesterday.

“You are all dismissed.”

They left the classroom in a rush, only Hermione and Ron leaving behind homework. After several steps, Hermione snarled, “I cannot believe that cow! She’s holding back our education because Minister Fudge is too cowardly to see reason!”

Edelweiss rolled her eyes. “Why would you expect anything different from him? Fudge was a Hufflepuff at Hogwarts and has been receiving bribes from Lucius Malfoy for years, if not a full decade. The man might have been willing to give his job to Dumbledore if asked years ago. But now? With the threat of war over his head after years of peace?” She glanced over her shoulder, back to the classroom they left. Umbridge lingered at the threshold, watching them with a dark glower. The professor dared not follow them, yet certainly, she could know what they discussed.

She turned her back on Umbridge and grumbled, “He’s afraid his legacy will be that of weakness and failure. He’s right, but the fact we’re suffering as a result… The damned fool is too worried about what Dumbledore might do that he forgets about the rest of us. Just look at who he installed into Hogwarts.”

“We should do something about Defense,” Hermione said. Ron nodded in agreement. “That’d be a start.”

“Leave me out of it,” Edelweiss said, waving her hand. “I have enough trouble with Professor Umbridge without crossing her so brazenly.” She glared at Hermione as her mouth opened with a ready response. “I already received detentions because I dared defy her. Were I not so busy, I would be happy to aid you, Hermione. You speak of rebellion in the halls of Hogwarts”—and at that she grinned maliciously—“and I would not mind that.”

Hermione dragged Edelweiss into a nearby alcove. Ron hesitated, daring not to follow them into the alcove. “And what is so important you can’t do something, Edie? Any other year and we’d already be discussing—”

“I cannot tell you, Hermione. I am not keeping this secret lightly, but it must remain so.”

Hermione crossed her arms and glared. Ron frowned.

“Don’t give me that glare!” hissed Edelweiss. “As it is, I plan to tell nobody about this secret. Not until the time is right.” And I stand over the corpses of my foes. “For now, I’m more concerned over the two—no, it’s become three weeks now—”

“Three weeks? She gave you three weeks of detention?”

“Yes, and if we are frank, it does not matter in the grand scheme,” said Edelweiss, waving a casual hand at Hermione’s concern. “I have no reason to worry or fear what she may do. The worst she might attempt is to spike a cup of tea with a potion. Perhaps a calming draught or that truth potion Snape pumped into the Death Eater posing as Mad-Eye last year.” She grinned crookedly. “Imagine her shock when I tell her how Voldemort returned to his powers.”

“Or maybe she’ll ask you about Sirius!” Hermione hissed.

Edelweiss shook her head. “She has no reason to ask after him. Anyways, he’s safe behind the wards at Number Twelve. Worse comes to worse, I blackmail Madam Bones into giving him a trial. That will make Fudge’s day.”

Hermione was unconvinced. Edelweiss put an end to Hermione’s questioning by stepping out of the alcove and heading for Gryffindor Tower, ignoring Ron’s strangled outburst as she stormed by him. When she was not followed, she paused and glanced back. Edelweiss had assumed Hermione or even Ron would follow after her. Instead, her friends had gone elsewhere.

Maybe Lord Sadow spoke true when he rebuked me. I am allowing a useful tool to slip through my fingers.

Edelweiss lingered and considered how to rebuild the bond slipping through her fingers. Apologizing would be the best way to put things right between them, yet any wrong that she might have done to Hermione came about because of how Hermione betrayed her. And annoyingly, Hermione was accustomed to being the smartest and cleverest person in her peer circle. It was difficult getting her friend to admit when she was in the wrong. She continued to defend her choice to inform Professor McGonagall about the Firebolt Edelweiss received for Christmas in her third year, justifying it by her suspicion Sirius Black sent it. And while the Firebolt had not been cursed or jinxed, it had come to light at the end of the year that Sirius had indeed sent her the broom.

And Hermione used that as justification she made the right decision, despite being proven wrong on the dangers of the broom.

Edelweiss sighed. She had a feeling that handling Hermione would prove most frustrating. Ron was simple to deal with; like the other Gryffindor boys, he was interested in girls, food, and the rare magical talent he possessed. For Ron, that would be chess and Quidditch.

Maybe I can start playing chess with him again? Some of the tactical skills there would be useful to a Sith Lord…

Edelweiss received cold shoulders and estranged stares from her fellow Gryffindors following her early dinner. Whether their attitude emerged from her absurd detentions or her perceived lack of dedication to the Quidditch team, she did not know. All she knew was that their stares irritated her. Her connection to the dark side grew strong, thanks to her irritation.

Yet Edelweiss did not leave the common room early. She still had time before her detention with Professor Umbridge, and yet she neither desired to wander the corridors of Hogwarts nor to find some other place to spend her time. She did have essays to write for her other classes, yet her thoughts lingered on the looming detention and what Umbridge would have her do. That would help dictate how she handled the matter.

Her susceptibility to the Force means I can warp her mind to whatever ends I desire. It’d be too suspicious to outright kill her, but to warp her thoughts? To make her a puppet? I could do that…

But I will restrain myself until I know what she has waiting for me.

She finally left the common room to ensure she reached Professor Umbridge’s office right at seven o’clock, her mostly emptied school bag tossed over a shoulder. Edelweiss knocked as a bell tolled through the halls of Hogwarts. A response of “Come in, Miss Potter!” sounded between two tolls. Edelweiss opened the door and paused upon the threshold as her gaze wandered the re-decorated Defense professor’s office.

The walls and ceiling were coated with an eye-watering shade of pink wallpaper. The dark wood flooring she had appreciated from Lupin’s tenure was hidden by pink carpet, along with a large rug a few shades darker placed at the room’s center. Thick ribbons bearing eight porcelain plates hung evenly along the walls, with each plate displaying a kitten of a unique breed.

Professor Umbridge waited, sitting behind a large desk identical to the one in the Defense classroom. Two chairs sat before her desk, though only one had a roll of parchment and a black quill set before it.

There was no inkpot beside the quill.

Edelweiss frowned.

“Take a seat, Miss Potter. You’ll be writing lines tonight.”

Edelweiss slowly crossed to the seat, a touch relieved that her suspicion she would be forced to write lines had been proven right. She dragged the chair back, sat down, and scooted forward. She went to grab a pot of ink from her bag when Professor Umbridge cleared her throat with a small “hem hem”.

“Yes?” she asked, a hand in her bag.

“You won’t need any ink.”

Her gaze went to the strange black quill, then to Professor Umbridge’s wide smile. Edelweiss sighed lightly and nodded. She reached out, picked up the quill, and rolled it between a pair of fingers. She discovered a hint of coppery red up the quill’s black length. She reached out with the Force, brushed her power against the quill, and then swallowed a gasp. Something cruel was embedded into the quill akin to the cursed objects that littered the House of Black. The darkness encroached on Edelweiss as she held it. After a moment, she allowed the darkness in. She suffered disappointment when the quill’s dark magic failed to resonate with the cold touch of the dark side.

She wondered what Umbridge planned for her with this strange quill.

“What will I be writing?” asked Edelweiss, quill in hand. She unfurled the roll and found no line at the top for her to copy.

“You will write ‘I shall obey my betters’.”

Fury erupted within Edelweiss. Her immediate impulse, thanks to her growing connection to the dark side of the Force, was to bathe Umbridge in a lethal torrent of Force lightning. She remembered the inky bolts she had unleashed upon the dementors over the summer. A wave of euphoria nearly swept over her, imagining how it would be to wield that power against Umbridge. But doing so would draw unwanted and undue attention to her.

“How many lines will I write?” she asked, struggling to maintain restraint. Edelweiss could not allow suspicion to dawn upon her.

“You will write until the words sink in.”

Edelweiss stared at the quill she held and focused her senses. She felt its power and how the cruel grasp of the quill ended at her wrist. Its energy was concentrated in her hand, especially upon the back. She set the quill to parchment and wrote the first line: ‘I shall obey my betters.’ The back of her hand itched. The sensation was faint, just like the crimson letters she had written.

Edelweiss glanced up at Professor Umbridge. The woman sipped her tea, a pleased smile marring her drawn face.

She continued writing lines, her jaw clenched. The itching grew worse as bloody letters started emerging on the back of her hand. She knew long before the first word emerged clearly what it would say:

I shall obey my betters.

The only betters I have are the Sith Lords who came before me, she thought bitterly. And one day I shall grow beyond them all. That is the duty of all apprentices. To be greater and stronger than those who trained them.

Her burning, wrathful feelings rippled outward. She suddenly felt the crimson crystal far below in the Chamber of Secrets. It resonated with her power, reinforcing what she felt. Edelweiss shivered as that familiar ripple of the dark side filled her.

Edelweiss glanced up at Umbridge. She continued sipping her tea, watching as her torture continued.

One day, I shall kill you, Dolores Umbridge, Edelweiss mentally swore to herself. At the very moment your power is at its greatest, I shall cast you down into a pit of your own making. In that final moment, all you will know is Darth Gladiolus and the wrath that sits buried in her heart.

She ended up writing the same line for almost two hours. Edelweiss had reached the bottom of the roll provided and flipped over to the backside. The bright words on the back of her hand wept coppery tears. Professor Umbridge eventually set down her long empty cup.

“Let me take a look,” said Umbridge, her sausage fingers grasping Edelweiss’s right hand. She made a tutting sound as she inspected the bloody letters. “It appears it will take some time for these words to fully sink in.” She smiled widely. “Remember, Miss Potter. Seven o’clock.”

“Of course, Professor.”

But instead of rising to her feet, Edelweiss grabbed the power of the dark side that had filled her throughout the ordeal. Already any sting or ache in her right hand had faded, though the skin had not yet healed. The blood dried, leaving dark flaking streaks. She allowed its searing power to flow through her veins as she held Umbridge’s confused gaze. Only once she was confident she had enough power stoked within did she reach out and begin to influence the woman before her.

“But I will not be here,” Edelweiss said, voice augmented by her power in the Force. Umbridge’s eyes dulled as the Force swayed her mind to be open and susceptible to all Edelweiss said. “You will believe that I come for each and every detention you assign me, acting as though I am present. You will do nothing to prevent me from skipping your class, nor will you act upon any suspicion that I have deceived you.” She then smiled cruelly. “Do you understand?”

“Of course, mistress,” Umbridge said, sounding as though her wits had been muddled. “You will be here but not for detention. I will do nothing to force you to attend my class. And I will ignore my suspicions about you.” She then smiled viciously. “Seven o’clock on Monday, Miss Potter. I will see you then.”

Edelweiss then smirked. “I am certain you will,” she whispered as she departed Umbridge’s office.

September continued with sunny days. Able to skip Defense Against the Dark Arts at her leisure, Edelweiss found a second home in the Chamber of Secrets as she continued to study the ways of the dark side. Between her master, Lord Salazar, and Naga Sadow, there was always something new to study: a new Force power, some philosophy, and most importantly the ways of Sith alchemy.

Umbridge did not bother to levy extra detentions, for the ones already assigned would lead them into the end of the current month. The school began gossiping about the apparent laxness being shown. But given that Edelweiss left the Gryffindor common room every school night for a seven o’clock detention, they quickly assumed that the detentions were being used to cover whatever Edelweiss missed from class.

Not that she missed anything. On a lark, she did as Hermione had and read all of Defensive Magical Theory. Just as her friend said before their first worthless class, the textbook was a waste of parchment and ink. Edelweiss destroyed her copy one evening, using it as target practice. While her master had praised her ability to pour raw power into her Force lightning, Lady Bastila had been critical of her lacking accuracy. Her master had been right to point out her difficulties with accuracy, which had troubled Edelweiss. She was a witch. Her holly wand had been her greatest weapon until recently. Her aim should be far superior to what she had been capable of with the dark side of the Force. That it took her seven tries to strike the book and burn it only annoyed her, or so she convinced herself.

She could handle annoyance better than frustration.

Her time with Naga Sadow was also dedicated to her studies of magical runes and arithmancy. Given their value to her studies of Sith alchemy, the ancient Sith Lord thought it prudent for her to push forward with her studies as they related to her world as well. “Without a strong foundation, your aptitude for Sith alchemy with falter and flagger. I may have had ages to advance my studies and practices, but you do not have the same opportunities before you, child.”

“And that is why I am here, Lord Sadow. I wish to live and to destroy my foes. To be a Sith… That shall ensure my victory.”

He smirked and then nodded. “Then I have high expectations for you, apprentice. Exceed them, and you shall hold the world in your grasp without question.”

Edelweiss bowed her head. “I shall exceed your every expectation, master.”

“Good. Now, I wish for you to return to those texts about analysis. The more I know of how your magical systems work, the easier it shall become to devise how we shall destroy that hated enemy of yours…”

And so Edelweiss spent those hours learning at Naga Sadow’s feet, even as Umbridge believed her to be in her office, writing the same line over and over: I shall obey my betters.

Chapter Text

Edelweiss witnessed the first dawn of October from upon her broom, hovering over the wet field on the western side of Hogwarts. Golden beams streamed past the many towers of Hogwarts, outlining them in sharp contrast to the soft shadows still facing her. She hovered, dressed in crimson Quidditch robes as she basked in the golden warmth of a new day. Angelina was bound to come flying by soon and reprimand her for hovering about instead of flying around, but she found that she did not care.

Her Firebolt swayed in the wind as she considered once more resigning from the Quidditch team. She almost missed having the excuse of detentions, and unless otherwise instructed, Umbridge should not issue more.

Lightning rippled up her spine as her broom tilted forward slightly. An old longing welled up within. Ah, who am I kidding? I want to race, to feel the thrill of flight. If only there could be a way other than Quidditch.

Her gaze drifted to the rest of the team. The Twins were off on their own, bouncing bludgers between themselves as they tried to knock the other from his broom. The chasers tossed around a quaffle, floating about as they went. And then her gaze fell upon the redheaded bloke hovering before the goalposts. She blinked and then frowned.

Is that? It can’t be! He would’ve…

Edelweiss leaned forward and raced to where Ron floated in the sky. She understood the need to replace their keeper, given Oliver Wood had graduated two years ago. Edelweiss wanted to be cross with Ron for keeping a secret from her, yet she was proud that he could keep one from her.

“Ron!” she shouted as she reached him. “Why didn’t you tell me you made the team?” Edelweiss had been ordered to try and attend the tryouts. She had suffered a single detention and then chose her Sith studies instead. And then nobody had said a word to her afterward.

Though I guess my studies have made me unavailable recently.

Ron blinked owlishly before looking around as though the chasers—or worse, his brothers—would sweep out of the sky and suddenly scold them. “I thought you knew. Hermione gets so much of your limited time these days I assumed she would have told you.”

“Most of our conversation concerns classwork,” admitted Edelweiss. “She’s overjoyed I’m applying myself more, though she grumbles so often about Defense I’ve thought about cursing her.” She then smiled wryly. “I think Umbridge and I have come to an understanding about Defense, so think nothing of me not being there.”

Ron sighed and crossed his arms. “Of course, you get out of class. Umbridge has been a bloody menace!” He sighed. “I miss Professor Lupin. He was great.”

“That he was.”

“Still, bit odd how she took the job but doesn’t teach.”

Edelweiss recalled the words Umbridge had her write during the sole detention she attended. She flexed her right hand as she tried to not growl at her memory.

Ron glanced at the hand and frowned.

“Hey, I’ve heard rumors about her detentions, and… Well, I wanted to know if they were true.”

Edelweiss stared at her gloves with a pensive frown. A faint scar of the words had lingered for several days. Thanks to a simple glamour, she had kept the words hidden from sight. And while she was completely healed now, she had an impulsive need to keep her hand hidden.

Maybe it’s only my paranoia over my Sith studies and ensuring nobody learns of them and the dark side of the Force.

She raised her gaze and stared at Ron. Edelweiss could not bring herself to show her weakness to him. Not when he knew her weakness could destroy all she sought to become.

“I don’t know what rumors you’ve heard, but it was boring.” Edelweiss glanced at the chasers as they came flying over. “Don’t worry about Umbridge, Ron. She’ll be gone by the end of the year.” She then smiled with a touch too many teeth. “Trust me.”

Ron nodded. Yet she felt doubt from him. It was only a small ripple, but enough to affect her. To frustrate her. Some other worries lingered under the surface. Another secret kept from her. Edelweiss wanted to press and draw out what was eating at him. But the chasers arrived before she could speak. Angelina, at the fore, radiated frustration, aimed almost purely at Edelweiss.

“Potter! Is there a reason you’re troubling our new keeper?”

“Just giving him a hard time for keeping his position a secret from me,” Edelweiss said with a sly grin. “Can I help you, Captain Johnson?”

Angelina visibly recoiled. Edelweiss felt her shock and hurt at being referred to so. They had all called Oliver by name, despite the fact he was their captain and technically should have been called by his title. To use that on Angelina—and with her family name as well—was an insult in the confines of Gryffindor House.

Edelweiss fought down a smirk. The very passions that strengthened her connection to the dark side rippled off Angelina. Edelweiss wondered what effect they would have on her. She could taste the indignation coming from the seventh year.

“No. That was it, Potter.” Angelina’s gaze swiveled to Ron. He squawked under her intense look. “Get into position. We’re beginning drills against the rings.”

Ron gave Edelweiss a worried look before flying into position before the center ring. The Quidditch posts were fifty meters tall, terminating at rings two meters in diameter. She had once wondered how the chasers threw so accurately. But now that she knew the power of the dark side, she could tell they used a physical magic none of them truly recognized as magic.

She headed off. For now, her Quidditch task would remain being to catch the golden snitch.

While the chasers attacked Ron’s goals, she floated about the stadium. There was a practice snitch somewhere fluttering about. She could sense the golden ball, wherever it was, but she had no desire to hunt it down. Instead, she watched Ron and the chasers. He was a decent keeper, which she had known from summers at the Burrow. But the way he performed now revealed that he had done more than just play with his siblings. Edelweiss would bet he had taken time early into the summer to practice. It was a shame his time at Grimmauld had dulled his ability, but he did have enough talent to make the Gryffindor team.

Twenty or so minutes passed before a sudden volley of bludgers rocketed toward her. She rolled out of the way and watched the bludgers break from each other, roaring toward separate ends of the pitch.

“Nice try,” she shouted, turning as Fred came racing over. “Next time, try and have George on the other side. Maybe then you’ll have a chance of hitting me.”

“But I’m George,” he claimed.

Edelweiss rolled her eyes, openly and blatantly. “I know you’re Fred. Abandon your attempts to deceive me.”

For several seconds, she thought Fred might challenge her. Then his shoulders slumped and a weak sigh passed through his lips. “How’d you know?” he asked, putting on a good attempt at a puppy begging.

“Intuition,” she said, while she thought, The Force. It was almost hilarious how easy it was now to parse out which Weasley Twin was which.

“Well then,” Fred said with a grin, “we’ll have to work on fooling you.”

She huffed and smiled. “Good luck on that.”

He nodded, but before he turned away, Fred asked, “Would you care to test one of the products George and I have been working on?”

Edelweiss tilted her head and considered what they had been up to over the summer. She had seen some of their developments, but not everything. And she had not gotten the chance to try it all out herself.

“Why not,” Edelweiss said with a curious gleam in her eyes. “I am curious what my gold became in your crafty hands.”

The following day, Edelweiss left Divination early thanks to the Nosebleed Nougat the Twins supplied her. She considered her investment more than paid back as she chewed the other half of the sweet. She rubbed away the excess blood covering the lower half of her face as she headed for the nearest entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

Her thoughts lingered on which of her Sith masters she would attend to. Edelweiss had spent plenty of time bouncing between Lady Bastila and Naga Sadow. The former was her proper master while the latter taught her Sith alchemy. Throughout her descent, she considered going to Naga Sadow. Her studies into runes and arithmancy had drawn Hermione’s attention. Her curiosity frustrated Edelweiss, who had grown increasingly tired by the questions concerning her sudden interest in runes and arithmancy. Worse, Hermione no longer fell for the bait of berating Ron about his poor schoolwork.

Annoyingly, Ron had become distant outside Quidditch practice. She overheard him arguing with his siblings about a letter from Percy the previous night. Of the Weasleys who attended Hogwarts alongside Edelweiss, Percy Weasley was the one she knew least. He had graduated the same year as Oliver and now worked at the Ministry. He had talked to her about his work during the Yule Ball the previous year, and she had foolishly allowed his words to escape her. She should have cared then, for Percy could be useful. Umbridge worked to extend the Ministry’s reach into Hogwarts, and Percy could be a means by which to undermine those efforts.

Maybe Edelweiss should stick her nose into the Weasley’s business. She had been involved with their family long enough that she had a claim to them as if they truly were family.

She would leave that topic alone until a more suitable time. Whispers and rumors circulated through the student body concerning Umbridge and her apparent power grab. Hermione knew the most about it among those around Edelweiss, but then Hermione maintained her subscription to The Daily Prophet. How sad that she wasted her precious coinage on the Ministry’s propaganda, though perhaps there was a value to the paper’s existence.

I should do something about the Prophet. Overt? Secretive? Should I kill the editor or just intimidate him? Maybe I could outright take it over. Make it my mouthpiece.

Edelweiss sighed. She was nowhere close to deciding on the magical paper by the time she reached the fifth-floor entry for the Chamber of Secrets. She set aside thoughts of magical Britain as she commanded the passage to open and followed it deep through the castle and beneath the dungeons to Ziost Hangar, embedded into the foundations. She barely recognized how easily she switched to parseltongue when commanding the paths left behind by Slytherin or one of his many heirs.

She headed straight to the small meditation room where Naga Sadow’s holocron awaited her attention. She kneeled before the small pyramid before focusing the dark side onto the holocron. Naga Sadow appeared, a great grimace marring his expression.

“Ah, so you have finally returned, apprentice. You have been absent longer than I like.”

“I do have a life beyond our studies together, no matter how vital they are to my future victories.”

“Then perhaps I should lower my expectations if you plan to juggle masters.”

Edelweiss grimaced. “I plan to go beyond merely meeting your expectations, Lord Sadow. I shall exceed them, and show my petty little world what it means to be a Sith Lord. I could learn from ten Sith Lords—a hundred—and I would still meet whatever expectation you set for me.”

Naga Sadow made a harsh, dismissive sound. “Your arrogance shall get the better of you. Though perhaps that will confirm that you are worthy to be named a Sith Lord, as long as you learn to create opportunities. That will help you advance toward all your goals. Stop being passive or only reacting, girl. That is the way of the Jedi.”

Edelweiss nodded and pondered the Sith Lord’s advice. She knew not yet how to create an opportunity to strike against her foes—for that was what she surmised Naga Sadow spoke to—though if she were to follow his other piece of advice, perhaps an opening could be made. Hermione was cleverer than Edelweiss, and Darth Gladiolus would need that kind of mind to succeed as she desired.

“Now that I have instructed you in some of the basics,” continued Naga Sadow with a sly smirk, “I assume you have a plan for this ritual of yours. A power of that ilk is most suitable for destroying the fragment of your foe’s essence within you.” He then chuckled, cruel and spiteful. “He was a fool to do so.”

“I do not think he is aware that a part of him is bound to me.”

Naga Sadow frowned. “How would you know?”

“Given how often he has attempted to murder me, I believe he is completely unaware some of his essence has broken away without his command or knowledge. I would be shocked if he entertained the thought. He might be aware of our connection. But its source? I would be shocked.”

“A fool indeed.”

Edelweiss nodded, even if she thought Naga Sadow was too dismissive of Voldemort. He had become a dark lord for good reason. “I have an idea about dealing with the essence bound to myself and even to the other shards of his essence spread across Britain.”

Naga Sadow frowned but for a single eyebrow, which rose.

“Three years ago, one of his old possessions, imbued with his essence, was smuggled into the school. It possessed one of the students and unleashed a creature of Lord Salazar’s upon the student body. I destroyed the beast with a sword, but by then the object had produced a likeness of Voldemort. I destroyed the vessel containing his essence with basilisk venom—and I maintain a store of the venom after the basilisk was rendered for parts.”

“How would you apply this ‘basilisk venom’ you possess?” Naga Sadow asked. “How you pursue this venture will determine other aspects of the ritual.”

Edelweiss mulled over how she could use her basilisk venom stores. The most obvious means was in a potion. But she was mediocre at potions on the best day and a danger on the worst. She would be more likely to kill herself than achieve her aim of safely cleansing Voldemort’s taint.

She blinked as a terrible, brilliant idea came to her. It aligned with Naga Sadow’s description of having to channel the dark side through a ritual. It was potions-adjacent, which gave her some pause. But with the implementation of runes and arithmantic arrays, she should not have to worry about errors from preparing the venom. And if worse came to worse, Lord Salazar or even Naga Sadow could tutor her in potions.

“If I were to bathe in diluted venom, surrounded by runes and arrays, could I achieve my end and destroy the foreign essence within me?”

Naga Sadow raised a curious eyebrow. “A fascinating idea, apprentice. I will need information about the materials available on your world before I can make a judgment. I am not familiar with this ‘basilisk venom’, and much of what I would have used cannot be guaranteed to be found on your world.”

“As you request, Lord Sadow. Lord Salazar should retain knowledge concerning potions and rituals of this world from his time as a wizard. If your holocrons can commune beyond what I have been told—”

“Take me to him.”

Naga Sadow vanished before she could protest or question his command. Edelweiss sighed and leaned forward, lifting the holocron from where it lay. She headed swiftly to Lord Salazar’s solar and set Naga Sadow’s holocron beside Lord Salazar’s. She stepped back and waited. Seconds passed as if nothing happened. The holocrons sat there, a pair of crystalline pyramids red with shining metal and black capstones.

And yet they were lifeless and inert, which Edelweiss found troubling.

Must I?

She huffed and grasped her fury, that delicious, fiery power that was the dark side of the Force. Once ready, she focused all the power she could wield into the two holocrons. They glowed and projected their Sith Lords high above.

“Can you two not sense each other from within your holocrons?” asked Edelweiss. She gave Lord Salazar a pointed look. “You, Lord Salazar, have reacted to my presence on more than one occasion.”

“And on those occasions, you were cloaked in the dark side as you arrived. You did not need to focus your power on my holocron to achieve activation.”

Edelweiss growled as she turned to Naga Sadow. “And you? You were the one who commanded I bring you to Lord Salazar, so you two could commune.”

“My holocron, just like his, requires intent and the Force to activate.”

Edelweiss swallowed a growling protest while shrugging off the flush of embarrassment that even a half-year before would have left her mortified. She had grown past that foolish girl. She would be a Sith Lord come June. She felt it in everything: in her bones, upon the wind, and most especially upon the currents of the Force. She wondered if Divination might lead to a foretelling of her future power. She did not fear that quack Trelawney recognizing what Edelweiss had become. Was becoming.

She only wished for the confirmation.

“And now that you are both awakened?”

“Give us some time,” said Naga Sadow. “Our holocrons were created thousands of years apart, and we Sith Lords are hesitant to grant knowledge and power to those who are not our apprentices.”

Edelweiss nodded and considered what Naga Sadow had said. If she wished to learn from any other than these holocrons, she would need to seek out any Sith who remained—and then debase herself, bowing to one who may not be as powerful as her.

Still, if any still live in the cosmos, I shall seek them out, Edelweiss decided. Once I have settled the matter of Britain, I shall find them all… and destroy them, no matter their strength.

She waited the better part of a half hour for the holocrons to finish their communion. She suspected whatever potions knowledge Lord Salazar imbued into his holocron had to be guarded with fierce protectiveness. That, or the knowledge interplay necessary for their exchange was greater than she could guess.

“How fascinating,” Naga Sadow purred. His gaze swiveled to Edelweiss. She nearly flinched from his intensity. “It will take time to parse out how we shall achieve this end. While I am busy with that task, I would like for you to study the rituals of your world, apprentice. If what this enemy of yours has done is based on the powers native here, you will need them to overcome his work.”

She scowled. “You mean that the dark side of the Force will not be enough?”

“Had he been trained in the dark side, it would be enough. But because this foe of yours only knows the ways of your world, we must incorporate those into all I might plan.”

Edelweiss made an annoyed noise.

“What he has done is laudable,” continued Naga Sadow, ignoring her slight dismay, “but immensely foolish. To allow his essence to fall into your hands, even by accident, is an oversight he deserves to be punished for.”

“And what has he done that is laudable, Lord Sadow?”

“The pursuit of immortality. His error has come about because of his methods and his failure to account for what his defeats may cost him. In his effort to master death, he has opened the path for you to destroy him forever.”

“And so I shall,” declared Edelweiss. The dark side swelled within her. A great shroud of power soaked into her bones. She knew, then and there, that her words would become truth. Not today. Perhaps not soon. But one day that day would come, that promised day of inevitable victory.

Hermione came storming down from the castle, her bushy hair rippling behind her, as Edelweiss and Ron returned from Quidditch practice. Edelweiss raised a curious eyebrow seeing Hermione approach them so. Hermione being awake early was unsurprising. But for her to emerge from the castle so? That Edelweiss found odd.

“What do you think Hermione wants?” asked Ron, resigned to his fate. He had gotten on Hermione’s bad side recently after saying a few choice—and rather foolish—words about studying for their OWLs so early and the excessive amount of schoolwork they received. All of Gryffindor had gathered to watch as she berated him.

“I have no clue. Hopefully, it’ll be something other than OWLs.”

Hermione reached them at the top of the sloping lawn that led gently to the pitch. Hermione stopped first, crossing her arms as her gaze went to Edelweiss.

“I wanted to talk to you about Umbridge’s new post as the Ministry’s ‘Hogwarts Investigator’ and what we are going to do—”

“What we are going to do?” drawled Edelweiss. She nearly smirked when Hermione puffed up, radiating annoyance and frustration.

Several days had passed since Umbridge had been formally declared the Ministry of Magic’s Special Investigator Into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a post no doubt built to grant the woman special powers over the school and its inhabitants. Rumors and speculation had filled both the Prophet articles about her new post and the school body. Edelweiss personally thought it of little importance until the woman dared to cross her again.

“Yes,” Hermione bit out. “We.”

“I have decided to stand back and allow her petty power trip create enemies out of those who otherwise would keep their heads down. If we are fortunate, she will drive Snape and Trelawney out of their posts. We could use a real professor for Potions, and you have never been secretive about your disdain for Trelawney and Divination.” Hermione’s mouth opened to protest, but Edelweiss continued. “Could you imagine what our lives would be like if we had an actual teacher for Potions, and not just some prodigy confused by how children do not understand topics that are so plainly obvious to him?”

And despite any good Umbridge could do, she will overstep her authority. Once she does that, then I will be free to act. Her death shall be the prelude to my ascension as Darth Gladiolus, and all shall be thankful such a wretched creature is in her grave.

“Wouldn’t that be the day,” Ron muttered, sounding quite pleased with Edelweiss’s suggestion. “No more Snape.”

“The issue isn’t Potions, Edie. The issue is that the Ministry is interfering at Hogwarts.”

“Yes. And?” asked Edelweiss, nearly chuckling at Hermione’s owlish blink. “After five defense professors in five years, perhaps someone should interfere. Would it be best if they waited for her to end up ruined, if not dead? I would not mind if they did. But the post is truly cursed. It would have been wiser to send curse breakers instead of the Minister’s stodge—”

“And there’s the issue!” hissed Hermione. “She’s the Minister’s agent! A puppet! Do you think she can adequately teach us how to defend ourselves? You’ve seen what she thinks is appropriate for Defense!”

Edelweiss sniffed, even as her anger rippled under her skin. “I read the book she assigned, Hermione. Umbridge would not be qualified to give aurors instructions, let alone teach children. Your vision is too limited if you think of Hogwarts as only a school.” She gestured toward the castle, directing her friend’s gaze. “It is so much more.”

Hermione’s face went blotchy and red as her lips pursed tightly. “Then what is it?” she snarled.

“Hogwarts is the soul of magical Britain. Whoever controls it, controls the future.” Her emerald eyes burned with passion, just as her veins burned with the Force. “Until Dumbledore is expelled from its walls, he can influence generations and control the future. Remember that before Voldemort blew himself up trying to murder me, he was winning. Yet he had not won for he failed in his efforts to claim Hogwarts. His home.” She slapped her chest. “My home!”

With that, she stormed past Hermione. Edelweiss felt Ron linger behind, begging Hermione to help him with an essay as though that would cool Hermione’s passions.

Thinking of her essays drew a grimace to Edelweiss’s face. Between Angelina’s impression of Oliver Wood and her Sith studies, she barely had enough time to take her classes seriously, let alone stay atop her ever-increasing mountain of assigned work. Were it not for the expectations hanging around her neck, Edelweiss might have considered blowing it all off.

Instead, she would be a good little witch and go to the library. There was an image to maintain if she would keep her true nature secret from the public.

About halfway through October, the date of the first Hogsmeade visit was finally announced, posted to the boards of every common room. It would be on the Saturday before Halloween, which happened to be the following Tuesday. Edelweiss, who had claimed a corner table in the library when she wasn’t in the Chamber or Gryffindor Tower, did not glance up as Hermione sat down across from her with a frustrated huff.

“I’m assuming your anger is over Umbridge.” She paused and peered up. “What has our favorite stooge done now?”

Despite her tendency to respect authority too much, Hermione snorted at Edelweiss’s mocking insult. Her lips did twitch, though Hermione had enough restraint to not smile. She took a moment to compose herself before saying, “If she will not teach us how to defend ourselves, then we need a real teacher.”

Edelweiss glanced around the library, her burning gaze lingering on all within view. There were a few Hufflepuffs at a table several yards away and a group of Ravenclaws skirting about in the shelves; both flinched away from her gaze. Only then did she ask Hermione, “Who were you thinking would be this teacher of yours?”

“You, Edie.”

She blinked, glanced around again, and then leaned forward. “Please repeat what you just said. I swear you just said I would be an appropriate teacher.”

“But Edie, you have to understand,” said Hermione, her brandy-brown eyes luminous with certainty. “You’ve done so much since you started at Hogwarts! The Stone’s defenses, the Chamber of Secrets, rescuing Sirius from the dementors, even the tournament last year! You’ve survived all of that, and you’re stronger because of it.”

“I guess I am,” said Edelweiss with a pleased grin. She could not lie that she did not appreciate having her ego stroked and built up, but she did not trust what was being said to her. Especially not from Hermione, despite the fact Edelweiss should be the one manipulating her friend. “Still, that does not explain why I am going to be teaching. You happen to have the patience for it.”

“Who’s gonna be teaching?” asked Ron as he suddenly joined them. He set his bag down between the girls and then looked between them. “Hermione telling you about her defense club idea?”

Edelweiss stared at him with a harsh, piercing stare. Ron recoiled slightly. “You knew? You knew… and said nothing?”

“Well, uh…” Ron glanced between them for a few seconds before sighing. “Hermione said she wanted to tell you herself. I came up with the idea after shooting down her idea to get someone from the Order to sneak into Hogwarts and teach us. She was certain she could convince you since I said you would reject the idea.”

Edelweiss pursed her lips. Despite how little free time she possessed, their ‘defense club’ proposal would be a means by which to assault Umbridge’s authority and power. She leaned forward on an elbow and softly asked, “Convince me how?”

Hermione swallowed thickly, pinned as she was by Edelweiss’s intense gaze. “As I said, you’re the only one who could teach us. You have experience, and that’s more important than book smarts, Edie. Especially when trying to teach people how to survive a war.”

She drummed her fingers on the table. Her friends flinched at the noise, so soft only they could hear it. Edelweiss nearly snorted. How odd that she still thought of them as friends. The only serious time Edelweiss spent with Ron at Hogwarts was during Quidditch practice. Hermione increasingly became a tool in her mind. Her very personhood fell away, stripped against her will. Was this what becoming a Sith Lord would do to her? She had understood from a young age that she was different, set apart from the rest—but to think so differently? She had never expected this change.

And for whatever reason, she could not determine how she honestly felt about her new view of the world. Perhaps Edelweiss was only growing up.

“What else? You must have more arguments to convince me.” Edelweiss strained to hold back her smirk. She was baiting Hermione now, drawing out everything the bushy-haired girl could think. It should be obvious what she was doing, for there was only one person in the castle she hated more than Albus Dumbledore: Dolores Umbridge.

Though thinking of Dumbledore reminded her of how she longed for the day she destroyed him, no matter how long she waited. Edelweiss was certain she would be Darth Gladiolus that day.

Perhaps she would be fortunate enough to stand over Voldemort’s corpse when that day came to pass.

Hermione and Ron exchanged a concerned look that drew a dark scowl to Edelweiss’s face. What right did they have to judge her? They had allowed a man who did not have her best interest in mind cow them into following his will over doing what they knew was right. They knew the misery she suffered every summer. They could have done what was in her best interest. But no, they had to go along with Dumbledore’s foolish demand they not tell her anything!

“Just imagine Umbridge’s face when everybody passes their Defense OWLs because of you,” said Ron.

“Stroking my ego as well?” Ron choked while Edelweiss chuckled. “A wise decision.”

“Edie,” grumbled Hermione.

“Oh come off it, Hermione. You know I will agree if only to spite Umbridge. Can I not have some fun with this?”

Ron guffawed. He was not loud enough to draw Madam Pince’s ire, but the sound did draw unwanted eyes their way. The Hufflepuffs looked away when Edelweiss’s gaze fell upon them. The Ravenclaws stared back. She shot a filthy glare their way, and they scurried off as if her eyes burned them with hellfire.

“Is that all you care about?” asked Hermione. Her voice was soft in a manner that annoyed Edelweiss. “Spite? Making people furious?”

“Umbridge was the one who began this, Hermione. Not me,” Edelweiss declared, all but snarling. “She is dedicated to the acquisition of power and influence, just like any with eyes to see the world around them. I must destroy her, for that is the only option she grants me.” She sighed and rose to her feet. “And it is the same with the war. I will not offer quarter to those who fight against me. Think about that before you make any rash decisions.” She glanced between her friends and their pale, stricken expressions. “Keep me informed about the club. I will teach whomever you bring to me, whether you like it or not.”

Edelweiss then stormed off, before either could stop her. She sensed the growing separation between them. And for all she tried to tell herself she was content to allow the gap to grow and fester, part of her longed to reclaim their old friendship.

But that is not how a Sith Lord would act. They would use and abuse those two until their value was spent and their carcasses collapsed, drained of vitality and use.

Her decision was made. Should Ron and Hermione grow up and approach her seriously, she would remain on the outside of their plot. Annoyingly, Edelweiss thought it was a plot worth engaging in. But for her to advance, she would require them to approach her, not the other way around.

Darth Gladiolus, the Dark Lord of the Sith. That is who I shall be once those foolish old men are dead.

Edelweiss sat beside the roaring fire of Gryffindor Tower, an arithmancy tome lying in her lap. She rubbed her face, seeking to fight the tide of exhaustion threatening to sweep her under, to drown her in its tides. Part of her was sorely tempted to pass out in the ridiculously comfy chair she had claimed for her usage, but she had a feeling in her bones this tome would be of benefit to Lord Salazar and Naga Sadow when it came to her future ritual.

She sensed Ron long before he stormed into the common room. Yet Edelweiss did not look up from the tome in her lap until he crashed into the seat beside her. She glanced his way and spotted a crumpled fold of parchment clenched in a white-knuckled fist.

“Another letter from Percy?” she asked.

Ron’s hand clenched around the letter and crinkled the parchment. Edelweiss considered him for a few seconds before sighing and closing the tome in her lap. She would easily find her place another time and press on. This little ‘confrontation’ would be necessary for maintaining the fiction that was Edelweiss Potter.

“You should burn his letters if they’re only going to give you grief.” Ron paused and turned to face Edelweiss. “One day, he will come crawling back to your family with an apology on his lips. You should hope it does not require a death in the family to do so.”

Ron scowled as he glanced between the letter he held, the nearby fire, and Edelweiss. She waited for a response, for she could feel the gears in his mind shifting against each other.

“Yeah, well he better apologize to Mum and Dad.” Ron sighed, leaning back into the chair he picked. “Hermione and I decided to go forward with our idea since you’ve agreed to teach.” Edelweiss raised a curious eyebrow and he smiled. “The upcoming Hogsmeade weekend. The Hog’s Head, at noon. We’re going to meet with some people interested in learning from you.”

They fell silent after that. Edelweiss tried to return to her reading after reopening the tome and finding her old place. But all her mind could fixate on was how this defense group would forward her broader agenda. Yes, she sought to destroy Voldemort and Dumbledore. But what would happen after that? She had always been so concerned with achieving victory that she had never considered her life afterward. Swaying those at Hogwarts to become her followers instead of allowing them into the clutches of Voldemort or Dumbledore would secure a better future for her.

Especially once I ascend to my proper place and become the Dark Lord of the Sith. I shall require loyal subjects and servants.

“Hey,” said Ron, drawing her from her thoughts. “I’m heading to bed.”

Edelweiss nodded as she leaned back into the cushioned seat and considered what her friends—they were technically still that, though she could not say for how long—had planned. They would invite Gryffindors, and perhaps some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Yet for all she detested the thought, Edelweiss remembered how the Sorting Hat sang of unity within Hogwarts. If magical Britain was to advance after decades of strife and war, then all of society should be folded into the new world.

Slytherins, Slytherins, thought Edelweiss, almost singing the word. How shall the rest handle the snakes I set among them?

With that thought in mind, Edelweiss rose to her feet. She had a map and a cloak to retrieve.

Edelweiss folded up the Marauder’s Map as she whispered, “Mischief managed.” She slid the wad of parchment into a pocket as she peered around the corner she stood behind. Within the small room before her sat the three Slytherins she shared a compartment with on the Hogwarts Express. Were it not for the Map, she might have missed the fourth Slytherin, who had joined the three she sought out. His dark skin reminded her of the caramels Dudley stuffed his mouth with when they were ten. She almost wanted to apologize for the comparison, but then she knew little of Blaise Zabini.

Perhaps he will be amused by comparison, thought Edelweiss as she stepped onto the room’s threshold.

Tracey Davis caught Edelweiss’s emerald gaze and stiffened. The girl’s tan had barely faded, despite the cloudy weather that suffocated Scotland most of the year. Her golden wheat hair had lost some of its shimmering sheen.

“Trace, what’s the—” Daphne Greengrass swallowed her words almost immediately. Her auburn hair was loosely tied up, with several strands brushing against her neck and shoulders as they rested across her collar. “Oh. It’s you.”

“That’s all of you have to say, Greengrass?” Edelweiss asked as she strode into the room. Theodore Nott watched her silently, enough wariness in his gaze she nearly got excited. “‘Oh. It’s you’? I thought I had left a greater impression upon you than that, Greengrass.”

Soft green eyes like a meadow in spring glowered coolly. “And then you spent all of September, ignoring us as you suffered whatever nonsensical detentions Umbridge had for you, Potter. It’s nearly Samhain. Halloween. You’ve wasted two months playing games while we’ve had to keep our heads down.”

Edelweiss sniffed. “Samhain, Halloween—I care not which you call it, Greengrass. I happen to remember it as that day when terrible events came to pass. Dead parents, a returned madman, attacks within the safety of Hogwarts.” She smirked at their discomfort. Zabini looked the most troubled by her words. “Still, that’s not why I am here. My dear friends have decided they have had enough of Umbridge’s obvious incompetence. We’re organizing a little defense club. Open to all houses, though you can guess which one won’t receive an invite. I want you three—four, if Zabini can be trusted enough to not whisper secrets to Malfoy—to make an appearance for our little meeting. Let others see not all Slytherins bow to evil.”

Zabini scoffed. She raised an eyebrow as he said, “What would you know of Slytherin?”

“A great many things.” Edelweiss thought of the Chamber and Ziost Hangar, of her admittedly limited contact with Lord Salazar. However, she could not speak of all she truly knew to these four. Another thing came to mind, a little tale that had gotten the other Slytherins to warm up to her. She glanced at the trio from the Expression and knew instantly none had told Zabini what she told them. “One of which is a story of the past.”

“…what kind of story?” asked Zabini.

“You can thank Draco Malfoy at your leisure for convincing me to all but demand the Sorting Hat to send me anywhere other than Slytherin. The Hat said Slytherin would lead me to greatness. I rejected its offer, though I wonder if I was a fool for rejecting Slytherin.”

Zabini stared at Edelweiss for several long seconds. He then burst out laughing. She glanced at the other Slytherins, those who already knew that little tale. They all rippled with fear, though it was Nott’s that was the most potent. He must have seen enough of Voldemort over the summer hols to know that torture usually followed up an insult like this.

Edelweiss held a hand toward Zabini, low and draped by her robe’s sleeve. She tightened two fingers, and Zabini choked on his laugh. His bulging eyes met her steady gaze. She smirked, released her grasp, and then turned to the others.

“So—”

“Why should we go?” demanded Tracey Davis, sounding more confident than Edelweiss expected. “What’s there for us if we go along with your… with your plot?”

Edelweiss blinked, a touch surprised Davis dared question her proposal. Or that she sounded to be on the verge of accepting it. Then again, the girl was a halfblood in Slytherin. Her defenses against the cruelty of blood supremacists were Daphne Greengrass and whatever meager magical ability she had.

“I could duel all four of you simultaneously and walk away unscathed,” Edelweiss declared. “Without even breaking a sweat.” Only Nott looked slightly uncertain of her claim, but the dark side of the Force would allow her to overwhelm him easily. “Hermione has a silly idea about this ‘defense club’ stuck in those curls of hers. I know not what she wants from this group, but I intend to train fighters. People who can step into a society caught up in civil war at seventeen and survive, no matter how long it might drag out.

“Plus, you will have a chance to make connections in the other houses. I would assume those in the house of ambition and cunning can see a good deal when it arises.”

“What about Malfoy?” asked Greengrass. Her slender nose twitched. “He’ll make a fuss when he finds out.”

“If he finds out.” At their skeptical frowns, Edelweiss sighed and continued: “I shall handle him should the worst come to pass.” Edelweiss then gave them a dark smile, all teeth and upturned lips. “I have handled him as one deals with a child in the past. Perhaps it is time I remind him that even his father has been forced to flee before me and my power.”

The Slytherins shot her skeptical frowns, but that was to be expected. She was overstating how her little confrontation following the Chamber of Secrets incident with Lucius Malfoy played out.

“Hogsmeade. Noon. The Hog’s Head. Either make an appearance, or I will ensure none of you recall this little conversation… and perhaps scrape up some secrets to use at my leisure.”

Edelweiss swept away before they could respond, using her best Snape impression. Given she heard hissed, furious whispering, she thought she had succeeded.

Regardless, they would arrive for the little meeting in Hogsmeade. She knew it.

Hermione led Edelweiss and Ron to the Hog’s Head nearly fifteen minutes before noon. Snow blanketed the land, inches deep in some places and feet down in others. Edelweiss struggled to follow Ron and Hermione’s trite conversation, for her mind lingered on the future. She drew power from the dark side of the Force, knowing she would need it before the day’s end. More than one fool would be present, and she no longer suffered them lightly. It might only be a feeling, but it was one she would not ignore. She had learned, if slowly, to trust her feelings. Edelweiss had even begun to move past her deep-seated fear of the mind-altering nature of the Cosmic Force. She mentally cursed her master for telling her that truth, even if she remained grateful for the warning.

The Hog’s Head was dilapidated by the standards of Hogsmeade Village. Yes, the Shrieking Shack sat on the outskirts of the hamlet. But it was set out of the way so one could avoid it. The Hog’s Head was different. Despite being two stories tall, the building struck Edelweiss as remarkably squat. She assumed it would be a tight squeeze if more than a few dozen showed up. Ron and Hermione had skirted around her questions about whom they spoke to about their defense group. Edelweiss suspected a great many would show up. She had sensed several minds oriented toward a meeting at noon during breakfast.

They entered the pub to a ringing bell and a wretched smell. The common room was maybe a dozen yards in each direction, with several cramped tables spread about haphazardly. The old barman glowered at them. Edelweiss raised a curious eyebrow at his annoyance before turning away. She was more interested in the four patrons present: a man whose entire head was wrapped in greying bandages chugging a strange, simmering drink at the bar; a pair of hooded, cloaked figures sitting at a distant table as they argued in thick Yorkshire accents; and a black veiled witch, tucked into a corner beside the roaring fireplace.

“Do you think—?”

Edelweiss raised a hand, stopping Ron before he could ask something foolish. She could guess the answer to his unasked question without the Force. None present were Umbridge or a known spy, though she could not trust any of them to not go running and squeal about what they overheard in exchange for gold from the Ministry. From all she skimmed from their defense professor’s mind, Edelweiss knew any defense training behind Umbridge’s back would lead to repercussions upon discovery. Reaching out carefully with the Force, she projected her power upon the four patrons, focused into a single word:

“Leave.”

They scurried out of the Hog’s Head as if a mountain of cockroaches had fallen from the ceiling. Edelweiss hoped her Force-laden compulsion sent them all back to their homes and kept them there. For now, she put them out of mind. Should it be necessary, she would try her hand at modifying memories.

“Edie,” whispered Hermione, faint and afraid. “What did you just do?”

“Cleared us a space to talk openly.” Edelweiss crossed over to the scowling barman. He reeked of goat and looked familiar. Annoyingly so.

Could he be…? No. Dumbledore would never leave his brother in such a state. Not unless this was agreed upon between them.

“We’ll need thirty, maybe forty bottles of butterbeer. I’ll pay extra for exclusive use. Tell nobody about what we discuss—especially your meddling brother. I think we can both agree Albus deserves to be left out of this little secret.”

The barman blinked and then sighed. He smiled faintly behind his shaggy grey beard. “Should’ve expected you would know who I am, Potter. How’d you find out?”

She grinned, flashing a mouthful of sharp teeth. “Call it a woman’s intuition.”

He shot her a filthy glare before muttering, “It’s gonna be a galleon for every two fools who walk through that door. Don’t try to get out of paying. I know the Potters were disgustingly wealthy.”

“That we are,” she murmured, turning away. “That we are.”

Edelweiss set Ron to handling the butterbeers while she aided Hermione in setting up the room. They moved a table into a position that granted them a commanding view of the room and door and then sat three chairs behind it. She wanted the three of them united before the invited crowd. The rest of the tables were organized, if a touch haphazardly, before the table established for them.

The first through the doors were the Weasleys twins and Lee Jordan, carrying a bag of Zonko’s products and three more, brown and unmarked. Shortly after them came the chaser girls; Angelina glowered at Edelweiss, which she returned with a bemused grin. More Gryffindors entered: Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, already gossiping; Fay Dunbar, their quiet roommate, and her sixth-year friends; the boys in their year, Irish Seamus Finnegan, muggleborn Dean Thomas, and a nervous Neville Longbottom. Edelweiss was surprised to find Ginny with Dean, hand in hand. It was cute, in a quaint manner. She wished them the best, especially once she felt Ron’s anger with Dean.

Others from their house arrived, but students from the other houses overshadowed them as they filed in.

Several Hufflepuffs arrived, including some from their year: Susan Bones, niece of Madam Bones who held Edelweiss’s respect; her friends, Lily Moon, Hannah Abbott, and scarred Sally-Ann Perks; and a group of boys, including popular Ernie Macmillan, a skeptical-looking Justin Finch-Fletchly, and pompous Zacharias Smith. Edelweiss remained impassive at their arrival, though she feared one of them would accuse her of murdering Cedric Diggory if given the chance. Perhaps a dozen more showed up.

Had she suspected for a second what would happen after they claimed the Triwizard Cup together, Edelweiss would have cursed him in the back. He was more useful alive, able to speak on her behalf, than as a martyr used against her.

Ravenclaws followed in close to the noon bell. She recognized Padma Patil, twin to Parvati, along with Su Li, who often competed with Hermione for the top seat in their year. Following them came Cho Chang, who glared at Edelweiss as though they were serious rivals. The girl with Cho glared as well. She tried to not roll her eyes at their foolish anger. A few of the Ravenclaw boys were familiar, but Edelweiss could not recall their names. She knew few of the Ravenclaws. Several in total had come from their house.

Might have needed fifty butterbeers, instead of only forty.

And then her four Slytherins entered the Hog’s Head. Everyone turned to face them.

Several wands were drawn before Ron could shout over the bubbling din, “Who invited the snakes?”

“I did,” boomed Edelweiss. The room went still. Several seconds for all gathered to face her. “I invited them of my own free will. You all heard the Sorting Hat’s song this year. It is folly to think this school—this nation—can stand and remain whole, even as we continue to isolate one group because some among their number prostrate themselves before a madman and his ambitions.” She scanned the furious, reddened faces before her. “None do that to Gryffindors, yet one could argue Dumbledore is a madman with ambitions ill-suited to the long-term happiness and prosperity of Britain. Until this summer, he held posts not only within the castle many here call home, but also in London and Avignon.”

“Yeah, but he’s Dumbledore,” some Hufflepuff declared, sounding confused that Edelweiss Potter would dare question Dumbledore. “He’s different.”

“Because we agree with him, in part or in whole.” She scanned the room, taking note of their mood and attitude. Few showed their emotions, yet she felt a swirling miasma of emotion thick and confused enough that she could drown in the currents. “We delude ourselves, thinking Voldemort and Dumbledore are different beyond the pleasantries they preach.” There were shouts and yelps when she named the Dark Lord. Even the Slytherins were startled, the fools. “They each have an ideological vision for this land and think nothing of using each generation that arises to fight their proxy war. Some of us have no choice but to fight, regardless of our feelings on the matter.

“That, however, is not why we have gathered here. In several months, many of us will sit for the Ordinary Wizarding Level exam for Defense Against the Dark Arts.” Edelweiss felt tension leak out of the Hog’s Head. “We are here because the Ministry has forced an incompetent spy upon us in a clear attempt to further London’s control of Hogwarts, which has always maintained neutrality in the world of politics. After years of madmen and other incompetents, our defense education has been riddled with holes, especially when it comes to the practical application of spells in the real world.”

Zacharias Smith cleared his throat loudly. “What are you getting at, Potter?”

“What I am getting at, Smith, is that few among you will be prepared for your Defense OWL should nothing change. Hermione here,” and she gestured to her friend, who squeaked and blushed at the sudden onslaught of attention, “proposed I teach all of you how to defend yourselves since I possess more practical experience than any other student at Hogwarts.”

She channeled Snape with every word she uttered, especially at the end. Many flinched and sat up straight as if her words injected into them a fervent need to listen. The Slytherins, standing apart from the rest, smirked. Edelweiss slowly reached out with the Force, recalling all she knew of how to sway and influence minds. One error, one miscalculation, and all she wrought here and now would collapse.

“I have agreed in part because I cannot stand what Umbridge is doing, and because all of you must learn how to defend yourself.” Her gaze traveled the breadth of the room, taking in the watchful faces gathered before her. There was no sign her powers or her arguments were being rejected. “If you will not learn how to defend yourself against the dark forces that loom beyond the walls of Hogwarts, then I would suggest you leave now. I won’t prattle on anymore about OWLs and education. If that was your sole concern, then you would already be self-studying. Or you would be more interested in what Hermione would say than in my speech.”

She paused, waiting for anyone to say something contrary.

“I can tell that you are all here because you know how far behind you are. That you are unprepared for what is out there in the world beyond Hogwarts’ walls. Certainly, you have heard the tales: Quirrell, the basilisk, a hundred dementors, and the Triwizard Tournament. I have overcome them all, and am willing to share what I have gleaned from my trials and train any who wish to learn.”

The Hog’s Head fell silent. Edelweiss could have heard the scurrying rats and mice were there any. Not even the barman made a sound, busy as he must be calculating the coin she would owe him. It was a fine investment, should her actions here pay dividends in the future. Each mind present was hers to sway. If they had not already been swayed by her words, then she would find a chance in the future. Some present would be hers completely, and others would resist.

But eventually, they would all bow to Darth Gladiolus. Else they would perish.

“Now, I believe Hermione has a sheet for anyone interested in my offer to sign,” said Edelweiss. “We have plans moving forward, and they rely on knowing exactly who is here.” She smirked slightly at how her friend flinched. Most likely Hermione had expected this to go on for far longer and to use other arguments. Edelweiss would not fault Hermione for thinking so; she did not know there was a Sith apprentice beside her, more than ready to take control the moment an opportunity was handed over. “To any not swayed by my words, I would recommend you tell nobody about our clandestine meeting. Should I suspect one of you might tell Umbridge about why so many gathered here…”

Edelweiss then smiled wickedly as her unspoken threat hung heavily in the air. Were she daring enough, she might reveal what horrors she had in mind for whoever betrayed her of their own free will. But she was handling children. Vinegar and honey, as the saying went. And she? Well, she was mostly vinegar now.

“I doubt Hogwarts will ever forget the example I shall make of you.”

She turned to Hermione, who was quick to draw out the sheaf of parchment prepared for the meeting’s end. Her shouted words were devoured by muttered conversation. Uncertain parties were trying to make a decision. Yet Edelweiss was more interested in the jinxes she sensed attached to the page set down to be signed. She smiled, accepted a quill from Ron, and added a hint of her power to the parchment as she dipped the quill in an offered inkpot.

Edelweiss made a point of signing the parchment first and then stepped aside to allow everyone else to sign. They fell over themselves to add their signature beneath hers. In the end, everyone present signed their name. She wondered if they would continue on or flake after they thought through their decision. A shame it did not matter.

The magic upon that page would ensure their silence.

Chapter Text

The evening following their meeting at the Hog’s Head, Edelweiss gathered Ron and Hermione by the roaring fire in their common room. She muttered gibberish under her breath as she used her strength in the Force to warp the space around them and ensure their conversation would be private. Whether or not it would work was unknown to her. All she knew was that the Force and her magic both operated off intent. That meant she should be able to impose her will on the space around her. Hopefully. Then again, she had waited until the common room had cleared out before acting. Ron seemed completely oblivious to what she did, whereas Hermione flinched and looked around with a wild look in her eyes.

“Don’t worry about it, Hermione,” Edelweiss said. “I don’t want to risk any unseen eavesdroppers.”

Not that I wouldn’t sense them first. Someone might be lingering on the stairs up to the dorm, but they’re far enough away they don’t concern me.

Hermione frowned. “Truly?”

Ron snorted. “Doubt Edie would claim something’s true if it weren’t, Hermione. You know how she is. Did either of us doubt her when she confessed to using the Chamber of Secrets?”

Hermione scowled at him and then turned back to Edelweiss. “I want to know how you set that ward up.”

“I cannot teach you,” admitted Edelweiss. “For you do not have the potential.”

And she was honest about it. Edelweiss had checked. Hermione did not possess a bone in her body that was sensitive to the Force. She seemed resistant to its power, but then her mind was fortified against most manipulations.

Hermione gritted her teeth. She looked ready to argue about the Force—about something she knew nothing of—but after several long seconds, she sighed and gave up the point. She then asked, “Why did we need to wait until the common room cleared to talk?”

“Because I desired it. We need to discuss our little defense club and where we’re going to hold it,” Edelweiss said. “I will not allow others access to the Chamber of Secrets. It is mine. It has been that since I slew the basilisk and it will remain mine as long as I breathe.”

“I… I wasn’t going to propose using the Chamber of Secrets,” Hermione said, exchanging a nervous look with Ron. “Even if the idea did cross my mind.”

Edelweiss raised a doubtful eyebrow. “It would be poetic…”

Hermione nodded, though her face was ashen. “That it would be. Using the Chamber to train Volde… Voldemort’s enemies, that is.”

Ron squawked. Edelweiss blinked and her anger cooled. A wave of warm pleasure flowed through her. Finally, Hermione showed she possessed the strength to utter Voldemort’s assumed name when so many flinched and panicked at its mere utterance. She glanced at her first friend, who was busy glancing between Edelweiss and Hermione as though they were mad, and wondered what it would take for him to garner that strength.

Then again, he was probably right to think them mad. In time, she would be spoken of in the same way. Perhaps none would flinch at the name of “Gladiolus” the way they flinched at “Voldemort”. She would certainly be spoken of with the same tone: fear and awe.

Edelweiss shivered at the thought. She quickly masked it by muttering, “Poetic, huh…” At Hermione’s uncertain frown, she added, “I imagine Voldemort would be furious if he knew I routinely used the Chamber of Secrets to become stronger. He must have viewed the Chamber as his oasis within the miasma that is Hogwarts.”

She was honest enough with herself to know she projected her own experience onto Voldemort. After Dumbledore told her of how similar they were at the end of her second year, she wondered about who that young Tom Riddle was like during the summer hols between her second and third year. What would sharing a common room have been like? Classes, the Great Hall, all of Hogwarts. She had felt ashamed about her elective choices then. But when she thought to write McGonagall, her courage failed her. How could she explain her change to others?

Now, Edelweiss knew she had been foolish. How much further would she be along her chosen path had she taken Runes and Arithmancy instead of Divination and Care of Magical Creatures?

Perhaps I would be free of Voldemort’s tainted essence by now.

“Still, there must be other secrets within the walls of Hogwarts,” Edelweiss said as she leaned back into her plush chair. Were she sleepy, she would have certainly yawned. “Dumbledore once mentioned he stumbled upon a room filled with chamber pots when he needed a bathroom. I’m certain the Twins have stumbled upon similar in their time here.” Edelweiss hummed and crossed her arms. Her brows furrowed deeply. “But to not be on the Map…”

“Maybe it can’t be Plotted,” suggested Hermione. “Like Grimmauld Place.”

“Perhaps. But then how would we find it?”

Ron, who had been looking between them like a tennis ball in action, said, “We could always ask the house elves. If anyone would know, it’d be them. Plus”—and here he glanced at Hermione strangely—“we haven’t spoken to Dobby or Winky this year.”

Edelweiss noted how Hermione perked up and beamed at Ron. He blushed in turn, and she had to swallow an aggrieved sigh. She did not wish to witness whatever strange courtship her friends were caught up in play out before her. So she turned her thoughts inward. Freeing Dobby had been the easiest victory of her second year, and she realized she had never completely taken advantage of his loyalty to her. Edelweiss allowed the odd house elf to be bound to Hogwarts, and thus to Dumbledore. A foolish choice, but one she could not undo. Only once Dumbledore was dead could she take Dobby into her confidence and make him a tool of her will.

She made her decision suddenly and cleared her throat. Hermione and Ron frowned as she grinned crookedly and summoned: “Dobby!”

Edelweiss had once heard the phrase “imitation is the most sincere form of flattery”. She wished she could recall when or where, for that phrase immediately leaped to mind the moment Dobby appeared before her. The house elf painfully resembled Albus Dumbledore, complete with a lucidly colored robe and hat. He even wore a fake silvery beard. She was half-tempted to yank the beard from pure curiosity.

At least Dobby forewent those infuriating half-moon spectacles.

“Missy Edie Potter!” squeaked Dobby. Edelweiss knew she had been right to wait until the common room was empty, for not even the Force could keep this house elf a secret for long. “What can Dobby bes doing for you?”

“I have a question: is there a secret room within Hogwarts? One that can only be accessed under specific conditions?”

Dobby nodded vigorously, his ears and false beard flopping about wildly. His hat flew off thanks to a particularly vigorous nod. Edelweiss caught it, an amused smile gracing her lips.

“Oh, yes, Missy Edie Potter! There bes that place! We house elves calls it the Come-and-Go Room, but I also hears it called the Room of Requirement.”

“Where is this room?”

Dobby paused thoughtfully. Edelweiss went to skim Dobby’s mind with the Force, yet stumbled upon a block. After several long seconds, her power bypassed the curious magic house elves possessed and discovered the house elf did not know. He confirmed what she learned and then quickly offered, “I coulds ask the other elves. Many bes knowing where the Come-and-Go room is.”

“Could they write down and deliver written directions with my cleaned laundry?” asked Edelweiss. The elves would take away the dirty that night and return the clean in the morning.

Dobby nodded, nearly throwing off his false beard. “Dobby will speaks with Eekl about leaving message for Missy Edie Potter in her’s laundry.”

“I appreciate it, Dobby,” said Edelweiss. Before Dobby could depart, she continued: “Are there any particular socks you wish for Christmas?” A gift to reward good service would always be appreciated.

“Dobby does not knows, though he will accepts any socks Miss Edie gifts Dobby.”

Edelweiss smiled. “I’ll try and surprise you regardless. I’ll be in touch, Dobby.”

The elf bobbed his head, this time mindful of the false beard upon his chin. He then reclaimed his hat and vanished with a soft pop. Edelweiss rose to her feet and smoothed out her robe, beaming at how easily they found a secret training room.

“Well, I am off to bed. I suggest the two of you get some sleep as well. Once we know where this ‘Come-and-Go Room’ is, I want to prepare for our first session with those still interested.” Her smile twisted into something vicious, yet lacking in cruelty as she turned away from Ron and Hermione. “I wonder how they will handle disarming and shielding,” she wondered aloud. “Cannot allow them to build upon a faulty foundation.”

She sensed them nod in agreement. Neither moved to follow her as she headed from the common room. Edelweiss paused right before she would vanish from sight and looked over. They remained beside the fire, leaning in close and whispering. There was something they did not want her to know about.

Edelweiss frowned. Suspicion welled within. Her impulse was to learn what they plotted against her. Yet she decided quite suddenly that she would not interfere. Not yet, anyway. She sensed no malice from them.

She turned and ascended to her dorm and her bed.

Edelweiss entered Ziost Hangar the next day during those quiet Sunday morning hours when most of the castle remained abed. She dressed in a dark robe taken from Grimmauld Place, cinched at the waist with a belt of matte black metal that Hermione failed to recognize. It made sense, for the belt had come from a stash of random objects in Ziost Hangar. She drew on the dark side, and Lord Salazar and Naga Sadow appeared almost immediately.

“Masters,” she said, bowing her head without breaking eye contact. “I have come to inquire after the ritual to cleanse the taint of my enemy’s essence.”

“We have made good progress,” said Lord Salazar. “There are factors on your side concerning the materials needed that we must discuss.”

“However, there is another matter. One that is more important,” continued Naga Sadow. “You are woefully unprepared to use the runic language this ritual shall require if you are to use the dark side alongside the natural magics of your world.”

A pattern of twenty-three characters appeared before her. They reminded her strongly of the Futhark alphabets third-year Rune students learned, though she knew these were not of Earth.

“So this is the ancient Sith language,” she breathed.

“Your awe is amusing, apprentice,” said Naga Sadow with a vicious grin. “When the time comes, you will need to act alone. That is necessary for all Sith as they embark down the path of Sith alchemy. Yes, you can be taught much. But to succeed, your master cannot guide you. You shall either live or die by your own merits.”

Edelweiss nodded. She had yet to consider where she would perform the ritual. Thankfully, Hogwarts possessed enough to easily find and claim an abandoned classroom for her needs. She had done as much the previous year when preparing for the Tournament’s three tasks with Hermione and Ron.

“I assume I must learn to write all of these characters, then?”

“It would be wisest to learn them all. Not all shall be required for the ritual. Should you continue further into the realm of Sith alchemy, you will inevitably require every character. This particular ritual uses only twenty-two.”

She could almost hear him chuckle. Of course, they would make it so that she had to learn all but one. Edelweiss stood up straight and declared, “I shall learn them all, Naga Sadow.”

“Good. Lord Salazar had his droid prepare a chamber for you to read over and practice each character. Return to us when you have perfectly written each one twenty-seven times.” Naga Sadow glanced at an amused Lord Salazar. “He has told me that number has great significance upon your world.”

Edelweiss nodded, even as she glanced at the Sith Lord in question. Twenty-seven was vital to arithmancy practices, for it was the cube of three. Three, three times. She wondered if he had selected that number for that sole reason, or if there was another purpose behind the command.

For now, she would play along and learn what she could. The reason would certainly come to light before the ritual could be performed. Edelweiss bowed and said, “Partings, Masters,” and turned. Her grasp on the dark side loosened and she felt them return to their holocrons.

Edelweiss pulled Ron and Hermione aside after dinner three days after the Hog’s Head meeting. They sidled into an alcove off the second floor. Edelweiss drew out a small bit of parchment, rolled and sealed with the same purple wax that came on their Hogwarts letters. She had found it in the pocket of that very robe that morning, and she had been left wondering how long it lingered there before she found it.

“This explains who handles the school letters,” Edelweiss said when Hermione’s eyes focused on the seal.

No comment came. Edelweiss shrugged, broke the seal, and unrolled the message. Instead of writing down instructions as any witch or wizard might, the elves had gone with moving pictographs. Edelweiss held the message low so Hermione and Ron could stare at it as well. There was an image of a man teaching what she assumed were trolls how to dance of all things drawn onto a scraggly banner. A tapestry? A humanoid shape went back and forth thrice, an exclamation point hovering over its head, followed by a door appearing. Edelweiss watched the image repeat several times, taking note of how it was always on the third pass that the door appeared.

“Isn’t there a tapestry like that up on the seventh floor?” asked Ron. He used his height—Edelweiss just reached his shoulders these days while Hermione stood right beneath his chin—to peer over them and get a better look at it. “Yeah, I’ve seen that before. Up on the seventh floor, near the Fat Lady.”

“Well then,” Edelweiss said using a spark of Force lightning to sear away the message. She ignored their shocked gasps. “Let us go inspect this ‘Come-and-Go Room’ then.”

Her companions said nothing, only following in her wake.

They found a tapestry that matched the house elf drawing several minutes later. They did not need to pass the Fat Lady while en route, but they had climbed up to the seventh floor near Gryffindor Tower. Edelweiss immediately withdrew the Marauder’s Map from her pocket and found where they stood. There was no sign of a secret. None of the bubbles provided the password or the meager hint or indication something secret lay in wait nearby. Either her father and his friends had been ignorant of this particular secret or their genius could not map this particular room.

“How curious,” Edelweiss murmured as she glanced around. She cleared the Map before putting it away. “Either the room is not on the Map, or maybe the directions are faulty.”

“Are you sure this is the right place?” asked Hermione as Ron grumbled, “Maybe if you hadn’t burned that note, Edie—”

She raised a hand as she recalled the message. Yes, she had destroyed it, but she had committed it to memory before doing so. They needed to watch their steps, especially with someone like Umbridge lurking about the castle. The tapestry before them matched the message, almost alarmingly so. But the house elf had done more than merely draw the tapestry that hung before her. The figure in the drawing had paced before this spot, yet the door had not appeared behind the tapestry.

She glanced over her shoulder at the blank wall behind her. It cannot be this easy, she thought, even as she grinned widely.

“What is it?” asked Ron.

Edelweiss drew on the Force and expanded her senses. There was something there. Something mercurial and strongly based on intent. She sensed something else, but it escaped her before she could identify it. “I may visit the kitchens and personally thank the elf who brought me that message.” She stepped up to the wall across from the tapestry and ran her hand along the blocks, searching for any physical signs of what she knew rested behind the wall. “The door is here, but it is also not. How fascinating…”

She paced three times before the hidden door she sensed, wondering exactly how it would respond. As she feared, nothing happened when she merely paced. She grasped for an idea that she could fix in her mind, for the drawing had shown a person with an idea over theirs.

Edelweiss settled on a simple one: We need a place to train for Defense.

She paced before the blank wall once, twice, a third time; and a door appeared. Edelweiss grinned and wrapped her hands around the iron-wrought handles. She pushed the doors open and stepped into a spacious chamber, her friends following on her heels. Hermione closed the doors behind them, for Edelweiss had already drifted into the grand chamber her thoughts brought into existence.

The chamber established for their use was about twelve yards across and almost fifty long. The long walls were coated in ceiling-to-floor mirrors. One of the short walls was lined with engorged bookcases, while the other had a variety of objects and devices leaning against it. Hermione headed straight for the wall of books, while Ron awkwardly lingered beside Edelweiss. There were targets and dummies in each corner, waiting to be deployed.

“I think this will work magnificently,” she said. Edelweiss turned to Ron. “Would you agree?”

“Looks good to me.” Ron looked to Hermione, who was still busy perusing the books supplied. “What about you, Hermione?”

“I’m very impressed by these books, though where do you think the room got them from?”

“Who cares!” said Ron. “This place is amazing!”

Edelweiss nodded, for she agreed with Ron in part. She only found his lack of concern to be troubling. The most obvious solution to Hermione’s quandary was that the Come-and-Go Room shared texts with the library, sneaking them out for their use. She would need to check, or perhaps have Hermione do so in her stead. Free reign in the library would probably make her happy, even with their looming OWLs. Yet what Edelweiss noticed most of all was how the room pulsed with power. It felt more like the Force than of any magic she knew of. Perhaps this was another of Salazar’s secrets. She thought it was perfectly in line with any Sith Lord to construct a room controlled solely by desire and will. That brought into question just what it was capable of.

“Ron, Hermione. Step out for a moment,” said Edelweiss. “I want to… investigate something.”

Hermione looked ready to protest Edelweiss’s “odd” request with how her lips pursed and shoulders squared. But Ron dragged her out before she could speak. Edelweiss watched the doors as they went. Once the doors were closed and her friends were back in the corridor, she focused her will on the doors. She desired for them to vanish. They responded almost immediately, vanishing just as she wanted. She reached out with her feelings, inspecting the barrier placed between the room and the corridor beyond. She could feel her friends panicking. Hermione’s feelings bled through clearly, while Ron’s were difficult to make sense of. Edelweiss did detect to her amusement that he was already hungry, despite how recent breakfast had been.

Magic is the sole explanation for that boy’s appetite.

Once her amusement bled away, she willed the door to reappear. Hermione and Ron stormed in with wands drawn yet not raised. Edelweiss slapped her wand against her left hand. Magic shot outward from her, and they turned to face her with confused, wary expressions. “I could have hexed you both, coming through that door as you did,” she declared. “Frankly, the way you two entered was predictable—and foolish. Mad-Eye would certainly have harsh words for you two.” Their cheeks burned red; the redness spread to Ron’s ears, while Hermione’s hair bushed up like a hissing kitten. She watched them, now tapping her holly wand against her left palm. “But there would be no reason for you two to expect danger. Neither of you are an enemy of mine… though perhaps some lessons in how to handle danger may be necessary. ‘Constant vigilance,’ as Mad-Eye likes to say.”

“Maybe you could hold off acting like Mad-Eye until after a few meetings,” suggested Ron. “Though, I would like to see Smith’s face when you suddenly hex him.”

“Doubt there would be much to see. He’d be flat on his back and likely unconscious before he could draw his wand. His anger afterward might be amusing, though he’d be more embarrassed. I’d be surprised if he did more than slink back into his group afterward, tail between his legs.” Edelweiss smirked as her wand came to a rest with a soft smack. “Hermione. How long would it take to organize our first meeting?”

Hermione considered the question for only a few seconds before a torrent of ideas poured forth from her mouth. Edelweiss snatched up the idea of using the protean charm and said, “I’ll leave crafting our communication to you, as long as you leave handling our little Slytherins to me. They’ll flee or get defensive if you try approaching them.”

Hermione looked relieved at the prospect of not dealing with Slytherins. Edelweiss almost pitied the girl. She would need to grow accustomed to those four quickly.

Hermione surprised Edelweiss when on the Ninth of November she handed over five large coins. Galleons, she realized on closer inspection. It was late in the day, and she had been attempting to cut through her increasing workload. Her Sith studies had begun to eclipse her magical studies, including her independent study of runes and arithmancy.

Four of the coins Edelweiss now held had the regular goblin imprinted on to all magical currency, while one had Edelweiss’s smirking face imprinted on it instead. “They have a protean charm placed on them,” said Hermione, sounding greatly pleased with herself. “Those extra four are for your Slytherin… allies. This way, they can know when meetings are along with everyone else.” She pointed at the serial numbers. Edelweiss blinked. They looked wrong. Off. After seconds of careful study, she realized the serial numbers had been repurposed to express date and time. “Yours can be changed to alert everyone else when the meeting will be. Theirs will heat up when you send out a message.”

“This is genius, Hermione,” said Edelweiss. She glanced at Ron, who was admiring his coin. “How do you plan to prevent Ron from accidentally spending his?” she asked Hermione. “You know how his family is.”

“Given it’s the only galleon he owns, he shouldn’t spend it,” said Hermione. Ron frowned at them, though his expression revealed he did not exactly know what had been said. “Now go on, Edie. You should deliver those as soon as you can. I’ve already had several questions about when the first session will be.”

Edelweiss nodded. She returned to her dorm, gathered what she needed for a late-night jaunt, and slunk out of the common room under her father’s invisibility cloak as a group of disgruntled third-years stumbled through the portrait hole. She made it several yards from the Fat Lady before drawing out the Marauder’s Map. She hissed, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” She quickly found her four Slytherins down in the dungeons and away from their common room. Unfortunately, they were not alone. A few Slytherins were with them, Malfoy and Parkinson among them. Even being outside their common room, it would be a risky affair supplying her allies with the fake galleons.

Yet the challenge of delivering these galleons with enemies nearby propelled her forward. She was to be a Sith Lord. What did she have to fear from Malfoy’s ilk? Edelweiss kept an eye on the Map as she went, secretly hoping the unwanted Slytherins would depart her chosen four. She stumbled on an abandoned classroom with excess stores of parchment and ink thanks to Mrs. Norris. She stole some, slipped away from Filch’s cat, and wrote a note. She addressed it to Nott since he was the slyest of the four. Davis was too obvious, Greengrass was sitting beside Parkinson, and she had no reason to trust Zabini in this venture. Perhaps it was foolish, believing she could trust any of these four, but her other option was to seek them out at another time.

Most of the Slytherins had departed by the time she reached her four. They were gathered in a chamber with several couches and a square central table. Malfoy and Parkinson lingered about with Lillian Moon, Crabbe, and Goyle for company. It appeared they had been working on an essay for Flitwick, but had become distracted by something else. Edelweiss stood beside the furthest wall and listened to their conversation.

“You really think we’re going to tell you where we were?” asked Greengrass with sneering amusement. “We have all told you the same thing, time and time again: we cannot say a thing.”

Edelweiss smiled. These four must have noticed the hexes placed upon the parchment they had signed. That or they were smart enough to know they would be punished for betraying her.

Malfoy huffed. “So you’re going to side with mudbloods and blood traitors? What happened to the Greengrass family—”

“My family’s blood is older and purer than yours, Malfoy,” snarled Greengrass. “We were well established on these isles when your forefathers came across in the service of a bastard muggle king.”

“She speaks true, Draco,” added Nott before Malfoy could protest. “Remember that my family was here before yours as well. Only the Blacks and the Longbottoms remain from when Rome first touched these shores and perhaps a half dozen more who crossed with the first waves of Anglo-Saxon settlers. And don’t forget how worse it is in Ireland, thanks to the meddling of the Ministry in tandem with the muggle Crown.”

“You sound—”

“I am only telling you the truth, Malfoy.” The warning in Nott’s voice impressed Edelweiss. “You are too caught up in your father’s conception of the world to see what is going on. Something dangerous is afoot, and none of us will be prepared when it comes to light.”

Malfoy fell quiet, his face splotchy with embarrassment. Edelweiss moved forward, slipping around the nearby couch and standing right behind Zabini. He was the only Slytherin still working on his essay. A glance over his shoulder revealed he was more capable in Charms than she would have thought. Or perhaps she had grown too accustomed to sharing the class with Ravenclaws and not Slytherins.

“You’ve been quiet, Zabini,” said Parkinson. She stared at her dark-skinned housemate intently. Malfoy glanced between them with a pronounced frown. “What do you think?”

He grumbled something under his breath in what Edelweiss assumed was Italian.

“Zabini!” whined Parkinson. “I want to—”

“What I think,” Zabini snarled, “is that every one of you are more concerned with external politics than the reason we’re all at Hogwarts.” When they fell silent, he pressed on. “We are here to learn magic. You can’t be a decent witch or wizard if you’re more worried about your ego than your wandwork and theory.”

Parkinson huffed. “That’s not what I meant. I wanted to know about wherever the four of you were at Hogsmeade. I heard a rumor you were at the Hog’s Head.”

“And?”

“Well, Draco and I were worried about you four. I heard there were a lot of people over there, though nobody will say anything about what happened.”

Moon huffed and started packing up her half-written essay and charms text. “I’m heading back to the common room,” she told an uncaring Parkinson. “You’re welcome to come back if you want. I doubt they’re gonna say a thing to you or Malfoy.”

She only passed the corner where Edelweiss had first hid when Parkinson scrambled to hurry after Moon. Malfoy took that as his cue to depart, though he could not leave without uttering, “Best you four think about where your loyalties lie,” with a sneer. Crabbe and Goyle followed in his wake.

Edelweiss drew out the Map and waited until the departed Slytherins had returned to their common room before slipping off her invisibility cloak. She had planned to make a stealthy delivery and leave, but now she had the option to speak directly with her Slytherin allies. Their attention, though, had returned to their charms essays.

Edelweiss took advantage of their industriousness to circle the couch and sit beside Zabini, watching as he worked to finish up his essay. He glanced at her, looked over again, and then choked on a yelp. Greengrass looked up, a question on her lips, and froze when her gaze met Edelweiss’s. Her mouth snapped shut and she sighed loudly through her nose.

Davis turned at the sound and shrieked when she noticed Edelweiss. “Must you sneak up on us like that? You nearly scared me to death!”

“Did I? It wasn’t my intention.”

Nott and Zabini snorted.

“Tracey!” hissed Greengrass with narrowed eyes. “If Potter has sought us out, then she has something she wants to speak about!”

Edelweiss drew out the four galleons Hermione had given her to pass along to the Slytherins. She held them out so the four could see them. “These coins are not as they appear. They are tokens meant to inform you when meetings will occur. We found a secret place to practice, and so we’re ready for our first session.” She set the false coins on the table. “On the seventh floor, there is a tapestry of a man teaching trolls how to dance. A door will appear on the other wall. We will meet in there.”

Davis picked up one of the false coins. She stared at one under thick torchlight before nibbling the edge. “At least you didn’t use real coins,” she remarked. “The goblins would’ve wanted your head for that.”

“Hermione didn’t explain everything she did to make them. What she did mention relates to ‘a protean charm’.” Edelweiss frowned mulishly. “I had the feeling she wanted me to deliver these immediately.

Nott whistled lowly, inspecting a galleon of his own. “That’s NEWT-level work. I didn’t think Granger could pull that off.”

Edelweiss rose from the couch. “The only spell Hermione has ever struggled with is the Patronus. Why you’re surprised… Well, I guess you haven’t paid attention. She spends all of her free time cooped up in the library.” She drew her invisibility cloak over her shoulders, her head all that remained visible. “Keep in mind that if any of you rat us out, I will know. I will set the Weasley Twins upon you to begin. They will enjoy having targets who betrayed my trust.”

And before they could react, she tossed the cloak over her head and vanished into the twisting maze of Hogwarts.

Bitter cold and biting winds slammed the walls of Hogwarts as November rolled along. The time had come for the first defense meeting. Edelweiss went to the Come-and-Go room an hour before the scheduled time, preparing the chamber for the initial session. She mulled over which spell or spells to teach. Her old instincts suggested the disarming charm. It had saved her life when she dueled Voldemort, yet it would not be good enough. Shield charms were vital to magical combat. She assumed none would have an issue learning stunners. Nearly all of the signees were fifth years or older, and the younger students were exclusively fourth years. They should all be capable of that much.

Hermione and Ron arrived first, followed by a long stream of Gryffindors. They spread out before raiding a stack of cushions along the far wall and sat down. Edelweiss thought it a bit silly, but she knew bad habits died hard. Perhaps she should force them to their feet. Yet without her interference, they were quick to chat and gossip, slowly growing more comfortable in the chamber they had never seen before.

I guess I can leave them alone for now, Edelweiss thought with a slight smile.

The Ravenclaws came next, streaming through the doors in groups of two or three. Shortly after them were the Hufflepuffs. A minute before Edelweiss’s chosen time, her four Slytherins arrived. They received a few hostile looks, but most ignored them.

The door closed softly behind Davis. Edelweiss made a loud bang with her wand and then clapped thrice.

A thick bar slammed down over the door. On the other side, the door would be vanishing from sight, thus hiding their presence from the castle. Any who walked down that particular corridor would pass the Come-and-Go Room, utterly ignorant of its presence.

“Everyone is here, so we will begin,” Edelweiss declared. Many glanced between her and the door, shocked looks gracing their faces. “Worry not. None will find us here. For now, I want everyone up on their feet.”

She watched as they scurried up off the cushions. The newly arrived Slytherins joined the crowd, taking up positions among the Ravenclaws.

“Welcome to our first session. I am not naming this group, because anything that has a name can be betrayed—and I will not suffer traitors lightly. You will know my wrath if you go against all of us gathered here.” The Slytherins grinned, having already heard her threat. The rest looked alarmed. Edelweiss took that as a sign they understood her. “Our meetings will occur when they can. The sooner Quidditch practice schedules are delivered to me, the sooner I can plan out the remaining sessions between today and the winter hols. I want to fit in a good dozen sessions before we all leave. But if it only ends up being three or four, I will make them worth your time.”

“And how will you do that?” asked Zacharias Smith. His question sounded annoyingly genuine. “I understand having a dozen sessions, but only three? How would—?”

She whispered “Stupefy” with her wand held low and at her side. It was a risky position for cursing someone. But she had the Force to help guide her hand and ensure her targeting was dead on. The red spell smacked Smith full in the chest before he could raise a defense. He collapsed like a puppet cut from its strings. Edelweiss raised her holly wand, spinning it about a finger, as she gazed upon her gobsmacked audience. “There is one lesson I must teach you all: advantage. If you attempt to fight fairly, you abandon any advantage—and thus any hope of victory—you might possess. Surprise is an excellent example, especially if you have a quick, accurate spell up your sleeve.”

Edelweiss stepped forward and pointed her wand at Smith. The Hufflepuffs shuffled bout their fallen comrade just as she cast, “Rennervate.”

Zacharias Smith gasped as he woke, reacting as if injected with a lorry-sized quantity of adrenaline. His wide, wide eyes found her hovering above him, wand out, and he scurried away on hands and feet.

“What the hell, Potter!”

“I’d apologize for using you as a prop for my demonstration, but you volunteered yourself the moment you opened your fat mouth,” said Edelweiss, lowering her wand. “Still, I thought you could have tried to raise your wand before you went down. That was… pathetic. How you passed Defense under Professors Lupin and Moody is beyond me. I would have failed you after that pitiful performance.”

Zacharias’s face first went a brilliant red before settling on the ruddy puce color Uncle Vernon sported whenever she infuriated him. Edelweiss sighed and offered her free hand. He stared at the hand with narrowed eyes for several seconds. It was only when others began grumbling that he accepted her help and rose to his feet. He slunk into the pack of Hufflepuffs, muttering and grumbling all the while.

“If you only learn one thing from me before the OWL examinations, let it be this: the ability to handle sudden, violent confrontations and to emerge from them relatively unharmed.” Her gaze drifted across every pale and greenish face. She was disappointed, but unsurprised by their reactions. “I have learned these skills through necessity; I seek to teach them to you without risking your lives.

“Today’s session will center on two spells. The first is the one I used to knock down Smith: Stunners. The other is the shield charm, Protego. I want a show of hands: who knows either of these spells.”

Several hands rose, mostly among the sixth and seventh years present. A few fifth years, mostly Ravenclaws, raised their hands, along with Ron and Hermione.

“Drop them if the spell you know is Protego.”

Most of the hands fell. Edelweiss found herself disappointed. For all she detested the man, she had hoped many would have taken Dumbledore’s words at the end of the previous year to heart and learn spells useful for safeguarding their person.

Perhaps, she thought, rubbing her jaw, they have come to me now because they understand what Dumbledore wished for them to understand then, and fear what may occur when they depart this castle should we have spoken true.

That or Umbridge has buggered up Defense so badly that they have no other option.

“For now, line up against either wall. Hermione, I will need your assistance for this demonstration.”

The gathered crowd hurried to line up against the walls, finally mixing houses if by accident. Edelweiss kept her focus on Hermione as they took up positions between the two lines. “Stunners and shields,” Edelweiss said. “Since those are our spells for this session.”

Hermione nodded firmly as she raised her wand. A red spell leapt toward Edelweiss. She ducked beneath it, holly warm against her palm. Hermione shot a second stunner racing across the distance between them. Edelweiss raised her wand with a muttered, “Protego.” A bluish sheen rose before her, glowing bright and harsh as the red stunner slammed against it. The offensive spell broke apart, and her shield was left unaffected by the attack.

“My turn,” Edelweiss declared with a wide, almost vicious grin. She launched a swift trio of stunners, muttering the incantation as she used the simplified wand motion for the spell. Hermione’s eyes went wide with alarm. Her hastily raised shield blocked the first two spells before crashing apart as the third smashed against it. Edelweiss frowned at how her final spell failed to maintain its strength as it destroyed the shield. She had thought her final spell powerful enough to pierce Hermione’s shield and stun the other girl. Still, it was not the worst outcome. Bringing down a shield was important.

She spun her holly wand in her right hand as she surveyed those watching from along the walls.

Hermione surprised her by springing a counter-attack. Edelweiss ducked the first stunner, shielded against the second, and nearly followed a Force-driven impulse as a third streaked her way. Her master had mentioned in passing that the Force allowed one to absorb energies like Force lightning. Edelweiss already suspected it worked on spell fire, but this was not an appropriate audience for such a trick. Instead, she flicked her wand, pouring through it her intention to prevent Hermione’s spells from working.

Her magic responded, amplified by her power in the Force. Hermione’s spell fell apart. As her bushy-haired friend stared gobsmacked, Edelweiss swiftly stunned her.

“Don’t try to replicate what I just did,” she said to her astonished crowd. “Though if any of you can figure it out, well… You’re welcome to see if you can get a prefect to give you extra points.”

Her comments were met by a few smiles, but no chuckles. She sensed how they all felt and tried to not be bitter. Only a few betrayed their feelings with their faces or eyes. The rest masked their fear and terror, yet it existed nonetheless. Edelweiss released her grasp on the Force, else she accidentally became intoxicated by their potent, heady emotions. Part of her was tempted to cultivate their negative emotions regardless of the trouble it was bound to cause. She had been careful with her use of the Force at Hogwarts so far. Perhaps she had finally reached the proper moment where she might test its boundaries around witches and wizards.

Best not to bother while I am meant to be instructing. Another time, when I am ready to ascend to my true and proper nature.

She resuscitated Hermione, who glowered up at Edelweiss. She offered a faint smile before turning to those who had been watching. “I want all of you to line up. Only one row for now. We will work on dueling later. You will practice the shield charm to begin, but we should get to stunners before you need to return to your common rooms.” Edelweiss watched as none gathered immediately reacted to her command. She grasped the dark side and channeled its power into her voice. “Hurry up.”

The gathered crowd scurried to form a line along the wall opposite the barred door. She clenched her jaw at how they jostled and bumped against each other. Friends stayed close to friends. If she could paint them in their house colors, Edelweiss knew there would be no odd stripes, no overlap. It would be four perfect bars of color.

They all stared at her, though only a few held their wand. Zacharias Smith, she noted, was one of them.

“Wands out!”

She struggled to not grimace at how long it took several of them to draw their wands. Hermione had hers firmly held, while Nott and the Slytherins were quick to flick them out of their sleeves. Most drew them from pockets in their robes, though a few kept them in back pockets. One girl had to remove hers from a small purse tucked into the pocket of her robe.

Breathe in, and breathe out. Don’t be angry with them. They’re just children.

Edelweiss spent the next few minutes demonstrating and explaining the shield charm and its mechanics to those who did not know. Sirius had been pleased by how quickly she had learned the spell, though she suspected he had wanted to move her along and teach her other shields. Most magical shields were built on the foundation of Protego. Were she not accustomed to the laziness of wizards; she would have been pleased by the logical choice.

She would remain grateful most magical shields were based on the basic shield charm. If she could teach it to everyone present, then they could learn the other shield charms. There were plenty of specialized shields, including those that deflected dark curses, or the rare curse designed to puncture more common shields. Yet before she could get to those, Edelweiss had to ensure everyone present could cast a competent shield charm reliably.

“Now, I want all of you to cast on the count of three!” commanded Edelweiss once her explanation had wrapped up. “One… Two… Three!”

The room filled with the cries of “Protego!” Her emerald eyes went up and down the line, watching as silvery and bluish magical shields formed. Only a couple failed to produce a shield, though most shields looked weak enough that a single stunner would punch through without falling apart. Her impulse was to cast a nasty hex at each, but she stuffed it down. They were not like her. Edelweiss’s instincts reacted to danger and death. They were normal and needed to be handled lightly.

“That was not a bad first attempt, though I am disappointed by the poor quality of many shields.”

She had them repeat the spell until she was happy with what she saw. With every repetition, the shields improved. Edelweiss approached those struggling the most, coaching them through whatever impeded their ability to successfully cast what she thought should be a second-year spell. Most got it down quickly. A few of the boys, she discovered, were holding back to get closer to her. A hex disabused them of that option.

And then there was the curious case of Neville Longbottom. For as long as Edelweiss had known him, she had been befuddled by his struggle with spells—and really all wandwork. It had been during her second year that she learned he used his father’s wand. She had thought the decision odd, though Ron had used his brother Charlie’s wand up until that year. As such, she had thought nothing strange of wands being passed down through a family. Neville just happened to use his father’s.

But now, having watched him struggle more than everyone else combined? Edelweiss was disturbed by his struggle. She wondered why nobody had tried to intervene beforehand. She felt the power he possessed within. He should be great at magic, not almost falling behind everyone else.

She sighed and forced herself to approach Neville as he struggled through another attempt to cast the shield charm. She waited for him to finish his attempt and turn to face her before saying, “I know you use your father’s wand, but I’ve been wondering: Did it choose you?”

Neville looked away. Despair and fear bubbled through him. “I, um…” he began, hands tightening around the wand. “My gran said it was an honor to use his wand. He was an auror, before, well…”

Edelweiss knew Neville would rather speak about anything else than his family situation. The Edelweiss of June would have backed off the issue. But that was before she discovered Ziost Hangar and Lord Salazar’s holocrons underneath the Chamber of Secrets. She was now awakened to the Sith Code and their ways. She could feel the potential within Neville Longbottom. She could draw it out and refine his power. She could help him become stronger, and by doing so gain his loyalty until his death.

“Was he killed?” she asked softly. “Or did something else happen to him?”

Neville glanced around as a splotchy redness coated his cheeks. “I don’t want to say.”

She hummed. Edelweiss could understand why he would be hesitant to speak with her when so many strangers, including those who had been cruel to him, stood nearby. He was worried about what they might think of him. Either his parents were unsung heroes of the war, or whatever happened that led to him living with his Gran was the family's shame.

“I understand. If you wish to speak another time, let me know. There are private places in this castle for such a conversation.” Neville blinked. She felt his astonishment, though it went quickly A few seconds passed before he smiled, small and sheepish. Edelweiss gestured to his wand before saying, “Now, I want you to try again. Think of your father. Of how proud he would be of you.”

Neville’s smile faltered, stiff and strained. Edelweiss laid a hand on his shoulder, trickling power from the Force into him.

“Go on, Neville. You can do it.”

He nodded. She withdrew her hand and stepped back as he held his father’s wand before him. Neville took a moment to center himself before bellowing, “Protego!” He jammed his wand forward, and a great expanse of silver appeared before him. He held it for several seconds and then turned to face her with a shocked look.

“You’re more capable than you give yourself credit for, Neville.”

Ninety minutes passed before Edelweiss ended the session and gathered the sweaty, panting witches and wizards she was training around her. Most had moved on to stunners, though she planned to return to shields eventually. She gazed upon them with a soft smile and nodded to herself. “A good showing tonight,” she said. Smiles bloomed around her. “It will take time and practice to get these spells to where they should be, but you should all be proud of how far you came tonight.” She glanced from the Ravenclaws to the Hufflepuffs to the Gryffindors and finally to those Slytherins drawn in by her. “I would advise you gather in small groups—no more than five or six—and practice these spells until our next meeting. We’ll begin with revisions before moving on to whichever new spells I decide to practice.”

There were several nods, and several more looked ready to nod off and fall asleep.

“You’re all dismissed,” said Edelweiss. A few minutes later, she was left all alone in the Come-and-Go room. She closed her eyes, kneeled, and meditated on the dark side. She had her own training to attend to.

Chapter Text

In the days immediately following their first gathering in the Come-and-Go Room, the Ministry issued several policy edicts concerning Hogwarts. They came to the castle, both through announcements in the pages of the Daily Prophet and on handwritten documents framed in wood and glass. Those were hung in the Entry Hall so students could see them daily. Edelweiss stared at them one morning. Her face blanked, outwardly placid as she read them over. Most gathered around the newest announcement, which hung slightly crooked thanks to the jostling to read what it declared.

Edelweiss already had the words memorized, pondering over how she might use them against Umbridge should the worst miraculously come to pass.

ALL STUDENT GROUPS, HEREBY DEFINED AS ANY ORGANIZATION, CLUB, OR TEAM WITH THREE OR MORE MEMBERS,
WHO GATHER AT REGULAR INTERVALS FOR A SET PURPOSE OUTSIDE OF STUDYING MINISTRY-APPROVED CURRICULUMS,
MUST BE APPROVED BY THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC’S SPECIAL INVESTIGATOR.

The announcement, like those which preceded it, had been signed and approved by Minster Fudge, the fool heading the decrepit Department of Magical Education, and Professor Umbridge, named at the end.

Edelweiss glanced around and wondered why everyone else allowed themselves to be easily cowed by this newest proclamation. The worst were those who attended her defense group. Yes, their meeting had included some thirty students and they were explicitly going against the Ministry. But she had told them sessions would be held whenever they could be, not at the regular intervals explicitly mentioned by the declaration. The Ministry had a name for the announcement, but she ignored that. It did not matter in the grand scheme of things.

Hermione, though, seemed to think differently. In a low, hissed voice, she asked, “Why are you not worried about the decree? It—”

“—does not affect us,” Edelweiss said, each word clipped and careful. Her brows furrowed as she pondered over how Hermione was not seeing straight through the obvious loophole. “They’re concerned about groups who meet at regular intervals. Clubs, Quidditch. The like. This decree you’re so worried about only concerns regular life at Hogwarts.” She turned and headed into the Great Hall for breakfast. “It only allows the Ministry to interfere with that which already exists.”

Ron was quicker to follow in her wake. He asked, almost sounding desperate, “What about Quidditch? Won’t we be allowed to play?”

“Professor Umbridge would be foolish to ban a single team,” said Edelweiss, as they crossed the threshold into the Great Hall. Umbridge sat at the High Table, speaking with Professor Flitwick with a look of veiled disgust. She had a golden badge pinned to her pink cardigan. “She might force Angelina to replace me, though don’t count on McGonagall allowing that to happen. The best she can do is stall how long before we can return to practice. That will give Slytherin the edge for our game against them.”

They came to the Gryffindor table, only half filled with nervous students. Angelina rose from the table when she spotted them, a grin on her face. “I already got approval to keep the team intact,” she said, looking between Ron and Edelweiss. Her grin slipped. “McGonagall helped us out, but because of her influence, we’re only allowed to practice twice a week. At least until we play Slytherin on the Thirtieth.”

Edelweiss sighed and nodded. “Let me know when you decide which days we’ll use for practice. I already have the schedules for Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, though I fear those will change as well.” There were only a handful of Quidditch players from those two houses involved in their defense scheme. Yet their numbers were enough she had long decided safety could be found in organizing around practices instead of risking coming into conflict with Quidditch. She had a feeling most would choose their sport over her lessons.

“Will do.” And with that, Angelina returned to her seat.

“I can’t believe you’re organizing around their schedules,” grumbled Ron as they sat down. Food appeared before them. “What does it matter if they miss a practice or two?”

“We shouldn’t dismiss people just because they play on the Quidditch teams for other houses.” Edelweiss stabbed one of the sausages on the platter before her. “What matters is that Umbridge will manufacture any excuse to set into motion the expulsion of rebellious students—or worse, and it pains me to admit so, sack Dumbledore.”

The man still has his uses here at Hogwarts. For now, at least.

“You think she’d try that?” Ron had barely loaded his plate, an odd sight given how ravenous he was every morning.

“It makes sense,” admitted Hermione. She chewed at her lower lip, staring at the fruit and eggs she had plated. “The Ministry already got the Headmaster dismissed from his political posts. Removing him from Hogwarts would be the final step.”

“And should they do that, Voldemort could sweep across all of Britain,” continued Edelweiss, feeling disturbingly akin to a prophet. She huffed and shook her head. “Damn those two men,” she whispered. “Making my life more difficult than it ever should have been.”

If only she could focus solely on her Sith studies. She was increasingly confident with her Force powers. Though they, like any power, would likely be further refined before she ever fought with them. What dominated her mind was the ritual Lord Salazar and Naga Sadow even now worked to devise. It would purge her of the wretched taint her hated enemy had left within her that night he first attempted to murder her.

And when she thought of it, Edelweiss realized she had no classes after Charms in the early afternoon. Today would be perfect for communing with the Sith lords and learning more of what they knew.

No doubt something monumental awaited her. She shivered, entertaining that thought, and knew it to be true.

Lord Salazar’s holocron activated as Edelweiss swept into his solar, entrenched in the dark side. The ancient wizard’s face was stern, a slight frown communicating more disapproval than words could ever do. She bowed a moment later. She had only knelt before Lady Bastila, and that was as much from necessity as from respect. Unless she met a Sith in the flesh worth apprenticing to, that would remain unchanged.

“We have been waiting for you, apprentice,” said Lord Salazar. Naga Sadow appeared beside him, smaller in conjunction with the different sizes of their holocron. “Our cleansing ritual, designed for your purposes, has been completed. It waits only upon you to put it into motion. With it, your journey toward becoming a Sith Lord shall advance.”

Edelweiss smiled. “What will it require and how soon can I see it through?”

The ancient Sith Lords exchanged a dark look, one that made her stiffen. She stared while waiting on them, wondering which would tell her the troubling news they had for her. It was Naga Sadow who bit the bullet, saying, “There is a substance native to your world required for the ritual. It is the venom of the basilisk. The required quantity is immense and would be most easily procured from a live beast over time. According to Lord Salazar, you slew the one he had bred and raised.”

“Basilisk venom should not be an issue,” Edelweiss admitted, trying to not preen at the reminder of what she accomplished at twelve. “I claimed most of the venom for personal use. I had no plans concerning how I would use it, so my stores have been unaffected since the corpse was rendered for parts.”

“Do you possess enough venom to bathe in it, apprentice?”

She paused and considered how much that would require. The basilisk’s corpse had produced five hundred liters, according to the goblins, though she couldn’t recall whether their liter and a human liter were the same quantity. Lips pursed, she asked, “Do you know exactly how much would be required for this ritual? I have a great deal, though I do not know if it is enough to completely submerge in.”

Lord Salazar hummed thoughtfully. “Should you have any stores within my Chamber, I should be able to detect them. Otherwise, we can move along in other ways. We have planned around insufficient quantities, though you will require other materials to bridge the gap created by your lack of basilisk venom.”

“There are stores here,” said Edelweiss. “Feel free to inspect them as you wish, Lord Salazar. Otherwise, is there training either of you have for me? I suspect until we can handle the matter of the venom, we cannot move forward with the ritual.”

“It is time to instruct the girl in the ways of lightsaber combat,” declared Naga Sadow before Lord Salazar could speak. He turned a harsh gaze upon her. “Your studies have focused on the Force and the powers you gain through mastery of the dark side. However, if a Jedi were to find you, you would not be prepared to kill them without ambush. They will revert to the lightsaber and seek to cut you down.”

“A lightsaber,” whispered Edelweiss, unable to restrain her desire. Lady Bastila had discussed training her with a double-bladed weapon. But that form had been unappealing to Edelweiss. She preferred a more traditional method. She glanced at the plethora of holocrons on the wall, her emerald eyes seeking out any possible lightsaber tutor. “Which would you recommend, my lords?”

“There is a Sith Lord from an era following when your master lived that I recommend. Though do not mention either your master or Lord Revan to him,” said Lord Salazar. “One of their descendants was a powerful Jedi and she scarred him terribly while fighting on Alderaan in the Core. Lord Malgus is less than pleased by reminders of his many encounters with Grand Master Satele Shan.”

Edelweiss wondered how terrible those encounters must have been to create animosity between a single man and an entire bloodline. She went to the wall of holocrons and found one labeled “Darth Malgus” among those on the shelf furthest from where she first found Lady Bastila’s holocron. Given the animosity Lord Malgus possessed for her master’s line, she would settle on only communing with him within Ziost Hangar. It would also be more suitable for lightsaber training than anywhere else. Lady Bastila’s holocron had been returned to safekeeping in Gryffindor Tower, secured within her trunk. Her holocron was wrapped in one of the thick woolen socks Uncle Vernon had gotten her over the years. She nearly laughed, thinking of how he would react learning one of his gifts possessed utility. Perhaps she should repay the kindness with a clean, merciful death.

She set the bloodthirsty thought aside. There was time aplenty to consider how she might handle the Dursleys. Edelweiss had no reason to accelerate her nebulous plans concerning them. If this year progressed as she increasingly expected, a great reckoning would come to pass in June. She suspected she would once more clash with Voldemort—and by slaying him, she would achieve her ascension and become Darth Gladiolus in truth. Edelweiss grew excited at the prospect of facing her foe. She would be empowered by the dark side when they clashed next. Would he be able to counter her new Sith powers? Or would he be powerless before them?

“I would recommend you take Lord Malgus’s holocron to the dueling hall on the far side of the hangar,” advised Lord Salazar. Edelweiss looked away from the holocron and to the Sith Lord. “I had once intended to take on a Sith apprentice. By the time I was ready for that task, my powers had waned. Soon after, my former allies expelled me from Hogwarts castle. They knew not of this place, nor my unique powers. They only thought me a wizard from another world. ‘The Warlock’ they called me in secret.”

Edelweiss nodded, unfazed by how he referred to the other Founders. She would have been surprised if he still considered them friends—hers were increasingly utilitarian, or so she reminded herself. But allies? That explained the relation between the founders—and thus the Houses within Hogwarts—very well. Some days she was surprised the school had not been restructured to remove their degrading influence.

Perhaps she could improve Hogwarts by rendering the House system moot.

She bowed her head, took Lord Malgus’s holocron, and departed the solar. Edelweiss made her way to the lower level of Ziost Hangar using a stairwell she stumbled upon instead of taking one of the strange elevators. She walked past the strange black ship, glancing at its curved black form and dark mechanical underbelly as he went. Had she known anything of muggle craft, she could have attempted to identify all she saw. However, she knew naught of their planes and cars, and thus she was left to stare at something she was ignorant about.

I should learn how that works, and how to maintain it. Certainly, it shall have use one day.

It would be useful, possessing that knowledge. When the day came to step out into the galaxy beyond, Edelweiss would need to know how to maintain that ship. How else could she ensure she reached other worlds?

Civilized worlds.

Until then, she would focus on the tasks set before her. She had an opportunity to learn how to wield a lightsaber from a Sith Lord who must have been one of the greats. Or so she assumed. There was no reason Lord Salazar would lead her astray.

Edelweiss entered the dueling chamber, a long, narrow room that reminded her of the Come-and-Go Room. There was a pedestal to her left designed to accept a holocron. She set Lord Malgus’s holocron on it and tightly grasped her ever-present anger.

A massive man, tall and broad, appeared at the chamber’s center. He was bald with a thick ring of metal around the lower half of his head. The hollow of his eyes was set in a permanent scowl, burn embers deep within.

“Who are you to seek my knowledge?” he asked. His voice was slightly mechanized and terrible.

“Edelweiss, a Sith apprentice of a backwater world unexposed to our ancient enemies, the Jedi.”

Lord Malgus frowned as he crossed his arms. She struggled to not swallow as he accidentally attempted to intimidate her.

“For what purpose have you sought me out?”

“I wish to be trained with a lightsaber. Two of the Sith Masters I commune with recommended you for that purpose.”

“And which form do you seek to learn?”

“…form? Like a style?”

He laughed, dark and mocking. “So, they send me a child? Find another fool to teach you the basics. Once you can prove mastery over the first form, then—and only then!—shall I teach you.”

And with that, his holocron deactivated. Edelweiss felt her stomach churn as disappointment brewed in her bones. Where Lord Salazar and Lady Bastila and even Naga Sadow had understood she required time and guidance to develop her powers as a Sith, Lord Malgus rejected her solely because she had yet to reach the level of ability he desired. Her hands clenched as burning fury bubbled in her veins. She would show him. She would learn, faster than he could ever imagine, and return to him before Christmas.

She would repurpose that subterranean dueling chamber Sirius had shown her beneath Grimmauld Place for lightsaber dueling, and Lord Malgus would be the one to instruct her.

Edelweiss returned to Lord Salazar’s solar, fuming over Lord Malgus’s rejection. She would show him. She would prove herself worthy of his teaching and instruction. And once he became her lightsaber instructor, she would seek to surpass him.

She found Lord Salazar speaking with Naga Sadow as she entered the solar. She had thought their holocrons deactivated when she departed with Lord Malgus’s holocron, but it appeared she was amiss.

They paused and turned to her with odd looks. Had they expected she would still be with the bald Sith Lord, practicing the basics of lightsaber forms under his careful watch? They must have. That was the sole explanation she could think of. Then again, it was a foolish attempt to learn how to wield a lightsaber when she did not possess one.

Then I will need to figure out where practice weapons are stored. Lord Salazar must have a few lying around somewhere.

“Ah, apprentice,” drawled Naga Sadow. “You have returned sooner than we expected.”

She nodded, jaw clenched. Edelweiss had to breathe in and out several times before she could speak. “Lord Malgus was displeased I lacked training with a lightsaber. He has decreed that I learn and master the first form before he will instruct me.”

Lord Salazar grimaced, seemingly displeased, while Naga Sadow grinned maliciously. “We should have expected it would be so,” Lord Salazar confessed. “All I knew of Lord Malgus when I filched his holocron for my growing collection. Though given the praise for his dueling ability, I am no longer surprised by his rejection. No doubt he meant that holocron for someone already accustomed to the art of lightsaber combat.”

Edelweiss nodded, seeking to mask her frustration. “Since I have returned,” she said, seeking another topic, “I wish to know if the quantity of venom stored in the Chamber of Secrets is satisfactory for the ritual, or if I will be required to smuggle extra vats into the castle.”

“What you possess is only three-quarters of what will be required,” said Lord Salazar.

She blinked, almost surprised. She had hoped the 200 liters stored within would be aplenty. She would need to write the goblins, and that would be after she did the math to determine how much that final quarter was.

“However, there is more work to be done,” Lord Salazar continued. “You will need to locate a proper site for your ritual. I do not recommend the Chamber of Secrets, for there are warding schemes set around it that could interfere. Other parts of the castle may be suitable, though.”

“A proper chamber…” murmured Edelweiss, a hand pressed to her lips. “Is there a place within the castle that would be ideal, Lord Salazar? I know that it has changed since your time. But certainly, there must be a location known to you perfect for this ritual. Perhaps in the abandoned parts of the castle.”

Lord Salazar made a spitting noise. “Damn the fools who allow my greatest achievement to sit empty!” He paused before huffing loudly. “There is no need for a special chamber, apprentice. Any classroom will do. You must only see it through to the end.” He leaned forward, face drawing into a dark scowl. “Do you possess the proper courage, Edelweiss Potter?”

“I am a Gryffindor,” she replied with boiling blood. Lord Salazar was fortunate he was long dead, for she would have done the deed herself. She did not possess the Sith title her master promised. But it would be hers. That was certain. She had sworn herself to this path, and she would see it through to the bitter end. Blackened would be her soul, for that would ensure Voldemort and Dumbledore were cast down, their followers scattered upon the wind as ash and dust.

“Will you face our cleansing ritual? Will you embrace your fear and anger, to allow the dark side to work through you?”

“Aye, I will, Lord Salazar. I will cleanse myself of the taint my foe left within me. I will destroy the key to his immortality, and ensure his destruction by my hand.”

They smiled and nodded. Edelweiss tried not to preen under the approval of these Sith Lords. She wanted to bask in their praise, to soak in all she could from them. One day, she would surpass them. Edelweiss found disappointment in the fact they were already dead. Her strength would be proven by killing other men.

For an hour, Edelweiss took notes and asked questions about the ritual. The Sith Lords made her verbally repeat the steps back to them several times to ensure she would not forget them, despite every one being written down. Everything necessary—materials, runic scheme, and the Sith Code in that old, terrible language of the Sith race—were both written down and committed to memory.

Life at Hogwarts grew annoyingly hectic as the first Quidditch game of the year approached. Edelweiss increasingly regretted that she had not sought to resign from the team. Between preparations for her ritual, scheduling and planning defense meetings, and studying for both her OWL examinations and her ascension to the rank of Sith Lord, she was awash with work. And given Angelica’s determination to increase practices after their first game of the year, Edelweiss’s fealty to the Gryffindor team had plummeted to an all-time low.

At least their first match of the year was against Slytherin, as usual. Edelweiss would enjoy making a fool of Draco Malfoy. Not that it was difficult. She thanked whoever designed the Quidditch schedule, for there was only a single way to open every season, with Gryffindor crushing their ancient rival. The match was excellently timed as well, for she desired to use the high of victory over Slytherin to fuel her cleansing ritual.

On the night before the game, Edelweiss found herself unable to sleep. In the late hours of the night, she spirited away from her bed and to the Come-and-Go Room, Lady Bastila’s holocron and a practice lightsaber she had found in her pocket. Her practice weapon was cool to the touch, thicker than her wand but just as long. She her thumb over the emitter, wondering how such a weapon could resist the heat its blade produced. It should always be warm, and yet it was not.

She paced before the tapestry and slipped inside the door that appeared. A chamber almost identical to Ziost Hangar’s dueling chamber had come into being. When she set her master’s holocron upon that perch she used for Lord Malgus’s down in Ziost Hangar, Lady Bastila appeared.

“How fascinating,” her master drawled. “This place…. I can feel its power.” Her gaze returned to Edelweiss, dropping to what her apprentice held. “I see you finally begun your training with a lightsaber.”

“That I have,” said Edelweiss, holding her practice lightsaber in a hand. She kneeled before the projection. “I wish to learn the first form of lightsaber combat from you. I have found another Sith Lord to instruct me, but he insists I master the first form before he instructs me further.”

Lady Bastila hummed dangerously. “Only the first form? There is much I can teach you…. But if you are certain, apprentice, then I will accept your wishes. I know it was Lord Salazar who suggested you seek another to instruct you in the ways of combat.” Edelweiss stiffened. Her master’s tone suddenly changed, lighter, almost amused. “A wise decision, despite the poor choice of tutor.”

Edelweiss blinked as she leaned back onto her heels. “You are not angry, master?”

“I am incensed, but not against you, apprentice. Remember that I am the one you call ‘master’. Not Salazar nor Naga Sadow, nor whatever duelist they guided you to.”

“Of course, master.” Edelweiss rose to her feet and began to stretch her limbs. She had quietly dressed in her Quidditch tights and jersey before leaving the dormitory. These were the clothes best suited to lightsaber training she could explain away, should she somehow be caught out of bounds. “I am ready to begin.”

“Are you?” her master asked maliciously. “Then let us see, apprentice.”

Edelweiss limped to the Gryffindor table the next morning, struggling to hide a pained grimace. She wondered why she thought learning Shii-Cho, the first form, had been wise before a Quidditch match. Her body ached. Muscles left untrained by Quidditch twitched with pain. Not even sleep and the Force cleansed her of those pains. Had they a reserve seeker, she would beg off playing. She might even consider being truthful with Angelina when explaining why she could not play. She’d omit the nature of the blade she was learning, but otherwise, it would be the truth.

Angelina could learn to live with disappointment.

It’s not like Edelweiss cared. Quidditch was an afterthought these days. The defense meetings and her Sith studies were what stroked her passions. Magic, some days, was almost treated the same as Quidditch: an afterthought. She considered pawning off the business of planning defense meetings on to Hermione. But then Edelweiss would worry over what measly, ineffective ideas would be thrust upon her. She had her ideas for what was and was not useful.

Edelweiss sighed, thinking of the defense group. They were scheduled to meet in three days. Tuesdays, oddly, were the most convenient day of the week. But she could not choose them with any notable pattern.

She sat in the first open seat she found. Edelweiss had to swallow a whine as a bruise she had not known of on a thigh pressed against the edge of the bench. She breathed in and out slowly, channeling that pain toward something productive. It was a simple task, thanks to her Sith training. Turning pain into power was meant to be second nature to a Sith Lord. All her masters claimed so.

I’m not there yet, she thought with a slight pinched feeling.

Months existed between the present and when she would reach her full Sith powers. She would become their equal. She would be the Dark Lord of the Sith, master of all sworn to the dark side of the Force. She had little proficiency with the lightsaber, and she had a feeling none of her Sith masters—not even Lady Bastila—would think her worthy of the name of Darth Gladiolus until she achieved mastery over that tool.

Edelweiss slathered her plate with rashers and toast. She eyed a plate of cooked eggs but held back from raiding it. If she remained hungry, she could eat more. As she ate, her thoughts turned to her training, and to what her master had said of Shii-Cho and its relation to other forms.

“It is the foundation of all forms,” the Lady Bastila stated. “One who cannot master the first form will not master any other. Whichever duelist Lord Salazar found for you—”

“You’re eating heavy.” Edelweiss blinked, startled from her thoughts, and turned to find Angelina hovering over her. Worry radiated off the seventh year. “I had been worried you might not eat this morning, since that’s how you normally are at the beginning of the season.”

“This year is different,” grumbled Edelweiss. She nearly turned back to her breakfast when her thoughts from earlier came back. “Oh. Angelina. If we lose, I am going to resign from the team. I’ve been very busy and I can live with cutting Quidditch.”

Angelina glared and crossed her arms.

“You don’t need to worry about me purposefully losing, though,” said Edelweiss. “Worry about Ron. This is his first game. We’ve both seen from practice that he’s more susceptible to pressure than he lets on.” Edelweiss thought of their first year and the Mirror of Erised. “His brothers have achieved a lot during their times at Hogwarts… and being my friend has not helped him in that regard.”

“I’ll talk with him,” said Angelina before stalking off. Edelweiss could only hope it was enough. She had a feeling it would not.

“WEASLEY IS OUR KING! WEASLEY IS OUR KING!” bellowed the Slytherins with malicious glee. “HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN! WEASLEY IS OUR KING!”

“You like our song, Potter?” asked Draco Malfoy, floating nearby. He had given up on singing after the first few renditions of their song. “We didn’t have enough time to—”

“It’s childish,” Edelweiss remarked as she watched Ron at the Gryffindor hoops. Two Slytherin chasers charged his way. One suddenly broke off, flying first in front of Alicia and then Katie. Both were cut off from their attack angles. The other chaser pressed forward, nearing the rings. He chucked the quaffle, and it went into the ring furthest away from Ron—who had lunged the wrong way. She sighed and added, “And it’s working.” She turned back to Malfoy, who stared at her as if she were someone else. “How long did the lyrics take you? A month? Two?”

Malfoy was slow to answer. They floated there for a minute or so before he said, “When did you grow up, Potter?”

“Over the summer.” She turned back to the pitch. The sooner she caught the snitch, the sooner the game would be over. Ron could use the help, anyway. His frustration clouded his mind and the pitch. Edelweiss suspected she was the only one affected by it. “I realized there were more important things than petty squabbles.”

“Like what?”

Edelweiss gave him a side-eyed look before smirking. The dark side cloaked her like an old friend. She poured a touch of that power into her gaze. “Like power,” she drawled, “and the willingness to use it.”

His eyes widened and his mouth fell open. Shock rippled off him. Malfoy must have spent enough time around Voldemort that summer to recognize the words she uttered. The Dark Lord had uttered them to her so many years ago. She had challenged him on the matter of good and evil, and he had dismissed those ideas. It was unsurprising that a man who basked in his vices would dismiss good and evil.

She had discovered that while good and evil were real, they were also a matter of perspective. Power allowed good to vanquish evil, and for evil to triumph over good.

Edelweiss had come to terms with the truth she would commit evil to ensure the good of herself. She would stain her soul, as Dumbledore would declare. But it mattered not to her. In the end, the price paid would be worth the cost. She would be free.

And the world would be forever changed.

A flash of gold caught her eyes. With a careful yet swift glance, she confirmed she had spotted the golden snitch. Amusingly, it hovered about twenty feet from the ground near the Gryffindor goalposts. Edelweiss spent some time floating around Malfoy, who had joined in on another raucous round of “Weasley Is Our King”. The score reached 170-40. If she waited too long, Slytherin would cross the 150-point threshold catching the snitch granted and they would be victorious.

Her pride and Sith learning demanded victory regardless of the truth losing would free her from Quidditch.

Once Edelweiss had several feet of separation from Malfoy, she leaned forward and zoomed toward the posts. She could just hear Lee Jordan’s commentary over the roar of the wind and the Gryffindor crowd as he screamed bloody murder at her spotting the snitch. They all knew the game would end in their favor unless Slytherin got extremely lucky. Of all the seekers she had dueled in the past, Draco Malfoy could not claim to have ever beaten her. She had fond memories of their matches, especially the first one with the rogue bludger and their zooming race through the wooden support structure around the pitch.

That kind of flying was what she wanted. Being seeker was mostly floating around and looking for a shining ball barely larger than the eye. It was tiresome and demeaning, especially with her growing Force powers. She longed to race brooms and for the victor to be decided by a mix of raw speed and talent.

Being seeker was as close as she could come to that thrill while playing Quidditch. A shame that the chase would be over before it could begin in earnest.

Edelweiss reached the golden snitch before it could drift more than a few feet from where she first spotted it. She snatched it from the air and held the golden, confused ball tightly in her fist. The score, as best she knew, was 190-170 Gryffindor. Their victory was her victory.

She grinned upon realization. Edelweiss would remain on the team, yet she would have the power to dictate her schedule. They needed her more than she needed them. She would use remaining on the team to keep the other members in her defense group. And their presence there would add them to her growing power.

Edelweiss landed and slipped off her broom. She watched others in red and green descend from the sky. Her observation was cut short when she felt something roar her way. She tossed aside her Firebolt while dodging the other way, drawing her wand as she rolled into a kneeling stance. A bludger bounced off the turf and ricocheted back into the sky. One Weasley Twin raced after it while the other pelted the other bludger at the large Slytherin beater who targeted her after the whistle.

“Idiots and fools,” grumbled Edelweiss, shaking her head. She did not need them defending her honor, though she appreciated their support. They would make for excellent minions after she fully embraced what it meant to be the Dark Lord of the Sith. She would repay the Slytherin beater for their attempt on her life eventually; they were too low on her priorities list to deal with in the present.

She went to the locker room while entertaining thoughts of the torture she would inflict upon that foolish beater. Edelweiss grinned at that thought before remembering she would eventually need to rejoin her teammates. Somehow she would need to depart Gryffindor Tower during the partying this night. The thrill of victory in her veins would fuel her cleansing ritual with great power. She had the entire process memorized, Sith runes and all. There was basilisk venom aplenty within Hogwarts now, thanks to the goblins and their discretion.

On this night, she would purge Voldemort’s foul taint from her body. On this night, she would be freed from his influence. On this night, she would bring ruin upon Voldemort’s method of immortality. Lord Salazar promised it would happen, and Edelweiss had double-checked his and Naga Sadow’s work as best she could. She believed enough in their claim to not doubt it.

And her mind happened to be too addled by pumping adrenaline to think beyond the ritual and all it would achieve.

Edelweiss entered their empty locker room. By the time she showered and dressed in the black robes she would sacrifice to her ritual, none of her teammates had returned. Not even Ron, who she almost expected to emulate Oliver Wood and attempt to drown himself in the showers. She smiled, recalling that old memory. That had been when she loved Quidditch, and not merely the thrill of flying.

Still, the absence of the team troubled her. No reason existed why they should not be present. Not unless something awful happened on the pitch after she left, severe enough to impede the team from stepping off the pitch.

“Shite,” hissed Edelweiss. She rushed out of the locker room and nearly bulldozed Umbridge in her haste. She stumbled backward, shocked to find the squat, pink witch seemingly waiting on her.

“There you are!” the woman shouted, the strange girlyness of her voice absent. “Your teammates just hospitalized Mister Malfoy fighting like muggles! Muggles!”

Edelweiss blinked. She then sighed and rubbed her face., already envisioning what had transpired in her absence. “Let me guess. They got in a tuffle over that last minute bludger. Malfoy said something terrible about… say, their mother, and so either Fred or George gave him a beating.”

“That is not what happened. Those two boys, the older Weasley ones, laid hands on Mister Malfoy without provocation!”

She bit her tongue hard enough to draw blood. She gained nothing by contradicting Umbridge. Edelweiss knew Malfoy and the Weasley Twins too well to believe the assault occurred without due cause. Malfoy had never shied away from insults and slander. Part of her suspected he spoke those words to provoke a violent reaction against him. Certainly, that had to be his aim if he had been publically assaulted. Odds were making him a prefect only made it worse. Then again, her focus on her Sith studies and her defense group meant she barely interacted with Malfoy outside of the classes she did the bare minimum for.

“Is that so? I was not there, as you know. I only assumed he said something, based upon how Malfoy has behaved in the past.”

Something predatory glimmered in Professor Umbridge’s eyes as if Edelweiss had said something she wanted to hear. “Oh? And how has Mister Malfoy behaved in the past?”

“Like a spoilt child,” Edelweiss said as flatly as she could. “And I would know about spoilt children. My cousin—a muggle, mind you—behaves almost the exact same way. Fits, when he doesn’t get what he wants. Leverages others to bully those who slight him for whichever reason his little mind contrives. I assumed he mocked the Weasley family because of the enmity between Arthur Weasley and Lucius Malfoy.” She smirked as she added, “I once watched them brawl in Diagon Alley like muggles. It was almost hilarious, seeing two pureblooded men go at it with their fists.”

Professor Umbridge sniffed. “Those sound like lies, Miss Potter. Do you need more detentions as a reminder of what counts as appropriate behavior and morals?” She pointedly glanced at Edelweiss’s right hand. It had long healed over, though Umbridge would not know. The woman operated under the assumption Edelweiss had been present for detentions following the first debasement. “Or should I punish you another way? Misters Fred and George Weasley have been banned from playing Quidditch ever again after what they did.”

“Were they? Well, that is one way to punish their behaviors. Curious to see if it works, though I would be surprised if it does.” Umbridge blinked at Edelweiss’s daring words. “Unless you have anything else to say, I believe it is time for me to leave, Professor. To ensure they do not get into further trouble.”

“Go on, then,” Umbridge said. “Do not let me see you out of bounds, Miss Potter.” Wrath rolled off her in waves, for Edelweiss had avoided the trap laid out for her. Chances were the woman believed the Prophet’s propaganda. Edelweiss had learned from September. Soon, Umbridge would have no power over her but that she was deluded into believing she possessed.

“Of course, Professor. Have a good day.”

Edelweiss went straight to Gryffindor Tower, working her wrath and fury like banking the coals of an ember-spewing fire. Her anger was directed toward Fred and George. They were fools to act publicly as they did, no matter what provoked them. Malfoy’s power was only that which others granted him. Visions of tortures and punishments flashed in her mind, suitable ways to make them cower before her power and might.

Yet upon reaching the Fat Lady, Edelweiss realized almost all of what she envisioned could not be done yet. Those visions spawned from her Force powers and she had sworn to hide them until the proper time arrived. She paused at the entry to the common room and stared at the snoozing portrait. After several seconds, she turned away. She had an important task for this night, and handling the egos of shortsighted children impeded that task.

The time for her ritual was at hand. Tonight was vital toward her future ascension. Edelweiss headed for the chamber she had set aside for her cleansing.

Midnight approached as Edelweiss concluded the preparations for her ritual. She had chosen a secluded room on the fourth floor near the large room used for History of Magic lessons. The dark side of the Force had inevitably led her to that chamber. A paste of blood and basilisk venom, thickened with honey, was slathered in sharp, whooshing shapes across her face and body. She was nude, for any cloth would interfere with the cleansing ritual Lord Salazar and Naga Sadow had constructed on her behalf. She projected her gratitude for their mentorship at them before turning her attention to the Sith letters written on the floor with the same substance that coated her body. Encircling the capstone of her ritual, she had written with the same substance a single platitude three times:

The Force shall free me.

WONOKSH QYÂSIK NUN.

Her capstone was a large basin—a bathtub, frankly—carved from a single block of quartz. Rowena Ravenclaw had made it for her experiments during her life and hid it somewhere where only those who knew the Founders could find it. Edelweiss had tasked Dobby with moving the basin, but only after getting the elf to swear to never tell Dumbledore about any tasks he completed on her behalf.

It was wise to not inform Dobby what my purpose is, Edelweiss thought as she approached the basin. Though it would have been simpler to use Kreacher, instead.

The way Dobby had explained it, when she asked, was that only elves bound to the castle or staff members were allowed to enter Hogwarts. Dobby, as Lucius Malfoy’s elf, had been considered the equivalent of a staff member’s elf by the wards. The school governors had many privileges, despite their limited involvement in the running of the school.

She began muttering the Sith Code in the Sith tongue as she slipped a foot into the basin’s contents. Most of the venom stores within the castle had been carefully poured into the basin. Had she not enough, she would have been forced to brew several cauldrons of a special potion of Lord Salazar’s devising.

She had only needed to brew one, and she had consumed it before she began. The potion sat coolly in her stomach, waiting for when the ritual would begin.

Edelweiss put her other foot into the venom bath and then sat down. The paste on her submerged body ached, already reacting. She uttered the Sith Code again, this time in English. Upon her third repetition—this time in parseltongue—she submerged herself in the bath. The fluid seeped into her skin, raced up her nose, and slithered through pressed lips. She gasped as a sudden weight pressed down on her chest. She swallowed a mouthful and felt the ritual activate. Her body alighted with pain, yet she could not scream.

The last Edelweiss recalled was the sensation of her skin burning in streaks and swirls; and a strange, high-pitched voice screaming, and screaming, and SCREAMING.

The Force shall free me, indeed.

Chapter Text

Edelweiss woke with a pained whine. She coughed, flinched from the white-hot shock of pain from her ribs, and then coughed again. Harder. She opened herself up to the Force and sensed that her ritual had been a success. Yet the pain and weakness she suffered now was not according to plan. Either the Sith Lords had made an error, or Voldemort had been naughty with his essence. Naga Sadow and Lord Salazar had assumed five parts—her, three vessels, and Voldemort—due to some of her arithmancy readings. She had thought it would be seven, which was “within a suitable range of uncertainty”.

They had underestimated Voldemort, and so she suffered the burden.

The price of victory, Edelweiss thought in a moment of delirium. She then tried to sit up, grimacing as the muscles through her torso contracted. Her eyes opened to find the sterile white of the Hospital Wing around her. The ever-present specter of Madam Pomfrey descended upon her before she could rise more than a couple inches from the bed.

“Down, you fool girl! Down!” The nurse huffed before waving her wand over Edelweiss. It flashed several colors in swift succession. “What madness possessed you to fill that basin with enough basilisk venom to drown yourself in?” Edelweiss’s mouth opened to respond, but Madam Pomfrey continued berating her. “Don’t justify yourself, fool girl! You should consider yourself lucky you failed to kill yourself!”

“I’m too… too power…ful to die… so,” Edelweiss growled, hating how weak she sounded. This should be a moment of glory and triumph for her. For in one swift stroke, she had rendered Voldemort permanently mortal. She opened herself to the dark side and rejoiced as its burning might fill her bones with renewed strength.

“Bah!” Madam Pomfrey shook her head before muttering, “Power? You fool girl! It’s a shame seeing what you did to yourself. You’re going to have a difficult time once everyone sees those strange tattoos on your face.”

“Oh, so those worked as well?” she murmured with awe. Her Sith masters had been uncertain what, if any, permanent effects the markings would have. She tried to sit up again. Her limbs felt weak, filled with jelly. Edelweiss slumped back onto the bed, staring up at the nurse. “Could you fetch me a mirror so that I can see myself? And some pillows as well.”

Several long, uncomfortable seconds passed before Madam Pomfrey sighed and bustled away. She returned shortly after and handed over a large handheld mirror. Edelweiss turned its polished surface toward her face and nearly gasped.

Edelweiss had felt the paste on her face before initiating the ritual, but she had only glimpsed those on her body. She had gone into a trance, fueled by the dark side, as she applied them. Now, however, she could make out every black marking that distinguished her face. Across her forehead were five triangular bands that started thick at her hairline and streaked down, thinning to needle points around her brow; the central one followed the slope of her nose and ended with a black bead that dotted the tip. Black bars ran from her temples to her eyes. The skin around the sockets was black as well. There was a pair of stripes like those on her forehead across each cheek, streaking up from her jawline to her high cheeks, along with black filling the narrow strip between septum and lip. Her lips were mostly black, with the top completely covered and the bottom split by a thick stripe down the center. Her chin now bore two triangular blocks that rose from the darkness swirling around her neck.

“Oh,” she breathed, enthralled by her new markings. All that was missing were the sickly yellow eyes of a Sith Lord. “They look better than I hoped.”

Madam Pomfrey sighed loudly. “That was a very foolish thing to do, Miss Potter. Is there a reason you risked your life for this vanity?”

Edelweiss glanced around the Hospital Wing. Neither her eyes nor the Force revealed any others present. Her housemates would be sleeping off the euphoria of yesterday’s game, dulled as it was by the Twins being banned and Ron’s poor showing. The absence of Headmaster Dumbledore surprised her some, though she had learned well enough that the man was capable of moving invisibly through the castle when it suited his needs.

Best she err on the side of caution.

“I’m afraid I cannot tell you the full of what has come to pass. And no, you cannot compel me,” Edelweiss added as Madam Pomfrey flushed with outrage. “All you need to know is that I accomplished what I set out to do, and nothing more.”

Madam Pomfrey glowered, unimpressed by the answer. Edelweiss briefly wondered if the nurse would disregard her warning and attempt to coerce an answer. There were magical means to steal the truth from a guarded mind, as she had learned the previous June. She had been present when Dumbledore had Barty Crouch Junior dosed with that truth serum Snape scrounged up. Could that overcome the power of the Force? She did not think so, nor did she wish to discover whether or not it could.

“Though, I guess I can confide in you what I set out to do. I have put into motion his defeat,” admitted Edelweiss with a whisper. When the nurse frowned, she added, “Voldemort.”

It took all her strength to not cackle when the nurse recoiled. Madam Pomfrey then scurried off so she might report to Dumbledore what had been said. Edelweiss knew that by giving up part of her plot, she could mask the rest. The Headmaster would certainly seek to investigate what had occurred regardless. Now, though, Edelweiss would have the power to guide and dictate the manner of that investigation, and thus allow Dumbledore to reach the conclusion she desired.

Then again, she had gotten lucky. Had she lacked the power and will to ensure the ritual could expand and amplify its power in reaction to the extra sources of Voldemort’s essence away from his body, she would have been compelled to venture out and hunt them down. She could not fathom how wasteful and tedious that process would be. Worse, she suspected that Dumbledore would be integral to that hunt.

He had known Tom Riddle, after all.

Madam Pomfrey returned minutes later, escorting Dumbledore, Snape, Umbridge, and Professor McGonagall. She frowned as she considered her four visitors. Edelweiss had expected Dumbledore and did not find McGonagall’s presence surprising. But what reason led Snape and Umbridge to make themselves present as well?

“It is good to see you are awake, dear girl,” said Dumbledore, as if nothing had changed since last June. “You gave us a terrible fright.”

Edelweiss peered out the nearest window. Golden sunlight poked through the heavy grey clouds of the late Scottish autumn. Something about that sight felt like an omen. But for what? The Force told her nothing. Perhaps she desired to see an omen where there was none. She had achieved a great feat; one worthy of praise and adoration, were others to know of all she wrought.

“Miss Potter!” shrieked Umbridge. Edelweiss slowly turned back to those gathered around her bed. She nearly smirked at their annoyance and discomfort. “What were you thinking! Experimenting with unknown runes! Engaging in blood rituals! Why, were it not for the Headmaster, I would have summoned aurors to arrest you and take you to Azkaban!”

“Without a trial? I had not realized I slew a dozen muggles and a wizard last night.”

Umbridge glowered as if sucking upon a prune. McGonagall, surprisingly, looked on the verge of laughing. Snape looked away, clearly wishing he could be anywhere else. Dumbledore maintained a cordial look.

“Why you—!”

“Apologies if this sounds forward,” interrupted Edelweiss, “but is there a reason the four of you are present? I understand the presence of two, but not all four.”

“It’s because all of us got pulled into your foolishness, girl!” snarled Snape, managing to surprise her with his restraint. “Professor Umbridge happened to be the one who found you. I do not know when she set it up, but she established a monitoring ward around some of the less frequented sections of the castle. It detected your ritual because somehow you slipped past it.”

Edelweiss glanced at Umbridge, hating the flicker of respect she suddenly felt for the foul witch. She had missed whatever wards Umbridge had established in the portion of the castle she had chosen for the ritual. Now that she considered the matter, she should have planned for how to retrieve her body from the basin once the ritual concluded and secret her away to Ziost Hangar for recovery. It would have been immensely embarrassing to drown while cleansing herself of the Dark Lord’s essence. Though death because of arrogance was fitting for a Sith apprentice. To think she could survive the most deadly dark lord in centuries several times only to perish in her attempt to end his immortality and ensure he would perish by her hand.

I guess I should thank Umbridge before her end for ensuring my ongoing survival.

“I assume the ward drew you to the room I repurposed?”

“Indeed,” Umbridge said. She then smiled widely, and it was most certainly not because Edelweiss had completely recovered from her ritual. “I nearly summoned aurors and Unspeakables to the castle after coming upon what you had done to yourself. It was bad enough, having to levitate you out of the depths of your arrogance.”

Edelweiss clenched her jaw. She was caught between amusement and frustration over how Umbridge reflected Edelweiss’s thoughts with her words.

“Instead of acting on my conscious, I summoned the Headmaster and Professor Snape. Once they said it was fine to move you, we brought you here,” continued Umbridge as if Edelweiss were an inconvenience. “They were almost as quick to respond as myself. Only Professor McGonagall had to be summoned to the Hospital Wing and be informed of the foolishness you engaged in.”

Edelweiss glanced at the woman in question and raised a curious eyebrow.

“You know why I was summoned, Miss Potter. You should have been asleep in Gryffindor Tower, not halfway across the castle doing Merlin knows what!”

She hummed as she scanned the four arrayed around her. All possessed a mix of concern and frustration on their faces. Snape and Umbridge shared something malicious as if they would have shed no tears had she perished in the night. Professor McGonagall almost had something akin to a terrible fear etched on her face, despite the feeling of being weak in the Force. The Headmaster, for his part, regarded her like a mystifying puzzle he could not make sense of.

“What I wish to know,” said Dumbledore, drawing attention to him, “is why you told Madam Pomfrey what you have done will help defeat Voldemort.”

Edelweiss amused herself with the various reactions to Dumbledore’s daring to utter Voldemort’s assumed name. Professor McGonagall, like most, swore and flinched. Snape paled, revealing faint veins across his face. Professor Umbridge, as usual, appeared ready to burn the castle to cinders. Then again, she was firmly in Minister Fudge’s “He cannot be back!” camp.

“That is what I said. Tell me, Dumbledore: Did you know that some of his essence was bound to mine? Or were you in the dark about the events that transpired on that fateful night?”

Dumbledore sighed as the professors shot him disturbed looks. Umbridge appeared to be arguing with herself over whether or not she should report the conversation to the Minister. Edelweiss sensed that Umbridge leaned toward saying nothing, and so she decided she would not bother with interfering. Only if something that could derail her future ascension would she act.

“I had my suspicions, Miss Potter, but nothing else to work off. Not until you gave me that diary at the end of your second year.”

She breathed out slowly. “So you understand why I took that risk last night.”

“I do,” said Dumbledore. He appeared to age thirty years in a heartbeat. “But to see you so weak? So close to death for the fourth time?” He sighed and shook his head, beard wobbling. “I have seen too much death in my many, many years, Miss Potter. I do not desire to see your name added to that list.”

Edelweiss wanted to question his words, yet they were said with such sincerity she struggled to not automatically believe him. It pissed her off how he still inspired emotions beyond fury and hatred within her. She wanted to only feel those two with Dumbledore. And yet at the same time, she struggled to name all four incidents the Headmaster referred to. The fourth was her ritual, regardless of the danger she was actually in. The first, she assumed, had followed her encounter with Voldemort at the end of her first year. The second was probably from her third year when she was laid low by the dementors during that infamous Quidditch game. But the third incident?

“What were they?” she asked, wanting to know. Needing to know. “The ritual. Quirrell. The dementors on the pitch. What is the last one?”

Dumbledore stared at her for a long while with those solemn blue eyes of his. Eventually, he murmured, “The night you first cheated death, Miss Potter. When you got your scar.”

Her mouth went dry. Suddenly, she no longer wanted this confrontation. She wanted an escape, no matter how cowardly. Edelweiss knew the easiest way out. She leaned back, closed her eyes, and fell back asleep.

Edelweiss woke once more to find the afternoon had already arrived. She yawned as she sat up and raised her arms in a high stretch. She then rubbed her crusted eyes and found a plethora of flowers, candies, and cards at her bedside. She blinked at the sight; after several months of slander in the papers, she had assumed few students would dare show any kind of support for her. More so, she was surprised by how quickly this mass of goodwill tokens had been gathered. She did not recall if any had been present when she awoke earlier. And then she remembered the piles she found beside her bed following her encounter with Quirrell. She had been unconscious for three days on that particular occasion. Somehow, a similar quantity had been gathered in a handful of hours.

A moment later, she noticed the blonde-haired girl sitting by her bed, barefoot and reading from a glossy, upside-down magazine. Edelweiss frowned as she tried to read the title. All she could make out was that the title began with a Q. She knew not of any wizarding publication that started so.

“Hello, Lady Gladiolus,” the girl said without looking up from her magazine. Edelweiss tensed. “Worry not. I won’t tell anyone that name… though I doubt they would believe me.” She looked up and revealed soft, blank blue eyes. “I’m Luna Lovegood, though most people call me ‘Loony’ Lovegood.”

“Loony,” repeated Edelweiss. “You.”

Luna nodded.

Edelweiss snorted. She nearly shook her head, though she failed to stop the smile, which graced her face. Of course, the first who might learn her secret was a kook. “Best you say nothing of my other name, for nobody would believe you if you told them.”

“Indeed. It’s better than the alternative.”

Visions of the girl engulfed in Force lightning flashed in Edelweiss’s mind. It was a pleasant sight, and one she realized would be completely unnecessary.

“Still, I wish to know how you discovered the name ‘Gladiolus’.”

Luna tilted her head. It reminded Edelweiss of a cat considering potential prey. “There’s something that floats around you. They grow stronger whenever you’re angry or embroiled in… passion? It’s so odd. I don’t know what they are, though they whispered to me that soon you’ll be Lady Gladiolus.”

“Lord Gladiolus,” she corrected softly, befuddled by Luna Lovegood. How could this strange girl see so much when even her friends were blind to the truth? “There are no Sith Ladies,” she continued carefully at Luna’s bewildered frown. “Only Sith Lords.”

“How strange,” said Luna, who was as easily strange. “Why would there not be Ladies as well as Lords?”

Edelweiss pursed her lips. How had she allowed this girl to draw so much from her so easily? Was it that she already had one foot in the door? She could very well be Force-sensitive. It would explain how she learned the truth of Edelweiss’s future. But would she be perfect for molding into a Sith apprentice?

Then again, Luna Lovegood came across as unaffected by the Sith markings upon Edelweiss’s face. “It’s a tradition. That is all I can tell you.”

Luna nodded as if that explained everything. “Okay. I wanted to ask you a question, though. Could I join your group?”

“What group?”

“The defense one.” Luna glanced around the Hospital Wing before leaning forward to softly whisper, “I’ve noticed people coming and going at strange hours. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Your heliopath told me. You must be very powerful, to have one at your beck and call before your majority.”

“My… heliopath?”

“Oh, yes. They’re spirits of fire. Powerful ones. Most can’t see them, though if you know where to look, they’re brighter than the sun and move obvious than dawn.”

“Was it my ‘heliopath’ that revealed my future name to you? Or was it something else?”

Luna shook her head firmly. “They’re different. Trust me.”

“I… will. But I’d like you—”

Before Edelweiss could finish making her demand on Luna Lovegood, the Hospital Wing doors slammed open. Hermione and Ron swept across the threshold, found where Edelweiss lay, and hurried her way. About halfway across the room, they froze and gawked at her face. She stared back. They flinched as though she had said “Voldemort”. She sighed and shook her head. None of the professors had warned them about her new appearance. That was all she could assume from how they stood and stared.

And as the winter snows would descend upon Hogwarts, their shock broke. They stormed forward, horror in their eyes. Fear and confusion radiated off them in thick, heady waves. Edelweiss had to resist the temptation to close her eyes and sink into the dark side of the Force’s seductive strength.

Hermione reached her bedside first, a befuddled Ron trailing behind her. Luna took their approach as her signal to leave, though she winked at Edelweiss before slipping out and silently closing the doors behind her.

“What were you thinking?” demanded Hermione. “Performing strange rituals on your own? Risking your life—”

“To achieve a greater purpose,” said Edelweiss, scowling. Her new markings emphasized the darkness of her expression, causing her friends to skitter back. Ron was the steadier of the two, retreating less from her dark gaze. “I did what I must. Anything else risks defeat, and defeat means death. Our enemy relies upon the frail morality of his foes to be victorious.” She scoffed and shook her head. “The two of you need not worry about me. If you are unwilling to fight—to kill, to put down the demented and deranged, those who cannot belong in society—then step back. Leave me to what I must do. I… I understand that you would rather hold on to your precious childhoods than face the harsh world beyond these castle walls.”

Edelweiss tried to not be disappointed as she felt their shock, horror, and disgust. They knew she had come to the conclusion she would need to kill her enemies long ago. Destroying Quirrell, for as horrifying as it had been at the time, had not scarred her as Dumbledore assumed. She had struggled to process it then, but that was because of his foolish morality polluting her mind. She would act, as she must. Her Sith training confirmed her beliefs, solidifying them to the point she viewed those completely unwilling to shed blood in wartime as fools and cowards who deserved their wretched fate under an oppressive boot.

“You’re speaking mad,” said Ron, his face so pale she could count every freckle on his face. “Edie, you can’t be serious about… about killing people! That isn’t done!”

“Well maybe it should be,” she said, voice thick with her bitterness. “How many lives could have been saved if only the Order had been willing to permanently stop Death Eaters? How many families would still be intact if those crazed monsters had been put down like the deranged beasts they are? I take no pleasure from the thought of killing.” A lie, but they need not know. “I will do it because it must be done. My decision has been stripped from me because of Dumbledore’s moral cowardice and the failures of those who followed him during the first war.”

Hermione scowled and crossed her arms. “Your parents—”

“Are. Dead!” Edelweiss felt the dark side swell within her. That burning power begged to be channeled and used. She bound it tightly within her. Let it be her strength while she told her friends the truths they had been sheltered from. “My parents are dead because they trusted a coward during a time of war. They fought for the losing side not because it was the wrong side to fight for, but because they were unwilling to do what had to be done. Had either of them the strength or courage to end the rotten creatures under those skull-white masks, perhaps Pettigrew would have remained true instead of betraying them to Voldemort. I could have been raised in a loving family instead of with the Dursleys!”

Edelweiss was left panting at the end of her outburst. Her anger had escaped her, poured into words previously unsaid. The dark side remained with her. But its influence had waned. She slowly drew in deep breaths, allowing the Force to fill her. It renewed her, restoring her with purpose and strength. She glanced between her friends, waiting for their response.

Hermione and Ron exchanged a look that sent fury racing through Edelweiss. She could taste their worry and confusion.

“You know that killing people isn’t right,” began Ron, sounding unusually nervous. Edelweiss nearly rolled her eyes. “We’re worried about you, Edie. This talk about killing people, fighting a war…this”—he gestured toward her face. She briefly wondered how they would react, seeing the markings that extended across her limbs and body. Not even her hands and feet were free of them—“whatever it is you’ve done to yourself,” he continued, starting to ramble. Ron could be a good friend most of the time, but he would never be a good speaker. “We… We just want you to know we’ll always be there for you.”

“Even when I plan to face my enemies, intent on leaving corpses in my wake?” she asked, purposeful with each word. “You know how events come to pass with my life. Come June, I shall face Voldemort and his Death Eaters once more.

“Death shall visit them, and steal away their wasted potential.”

Their faces barely masked hints of green by the time Edelweiss uttered that final word. She sighed through her nose, already exhausted by their moralizing. After several seconds of pained silence, she muttered, “Leave me. I have no patience to argue about my methods. Whether you know it or not, we have fought this war many times before.”

They departed shortly after, their mutters drifting to her even after the door slammed close behind them. Edelweiss sighed and shook her head. They thought time would lead her around to their opinion. She had hoped for understanding from them. Instead, all she received were two stony walls unable to consider her position.

Edelweiss flopped back onto the bed, raising a hand marked with crossing swirls that ended with truncated points around her middle knuckle.

They would regret their choices one day. They would regret that they did not side with Darth Gladiolus from the start.

Two days passed before Madam Pomfrey finally relented and released Edelweiss from the Hospital Wing. She left early that morning, granting her time to return to Gryffindor Tower before breakfast. She reached the common room without issue and snuck up to the fifth-year girl’s dorm. Hermione appeared to have already left. She had always been the early bird among them. The others were still abed, though Fay Dunbar’s choking snorts suggested she would wake soon. Edelweiss passed through like a breeze, snatching up clothes for the day, and went to shower.

While she stood under the steaming hot waters, Edelweiss admired her body handiwork. Swirling lines interspaced with jagged barbs coated most of her form. They flowed across her arms and legs, ending at flame-like points on the back of her hand and on the tops of her feet. The lines along her body were fewer: a handful swooped downward, starting beneath her breasts and flowing around her ribs as water navigates a crisscrossing channel; there they met with several knife-like lines that pointed to her naval. Her groin was free of markings, though she had a diamond over each ovary.

She viewed herself as intimidating. Perhaps edging on monstrous. Yes, few would see most of these lines. But that was not what mattered. What mattered was that she knew they were there. It was power for her sake. A reminder of the pain she suffered to bring Voldemort closer to death. She had risked her death, courting it as a lover might, and emerged stronger and greater.

Edelweiss had achieved her first great goal.

“Through strength, I gain victory,” she whispered in the Sith tongue, lathering her hair. “The Force shall free me.”

Edelweiss finished and dried herself as the others trickled into the shared bathroom. They had risen from their beads, yawning and stretching. They froze upon encountering her. Lavender Brown squeaked when she spotted the black lines and swirls across Edelweiss’s exposed form.

“They—they released you already?” asked Parvati. Her face was paled, drained of her usually warm complexion.

“Barely an hour ago. I had grown tired of lying in a bed all day, and I think Madam Pomfrey finally regretted keeping me longer than necessary. There was never anything wrong with me.”

The other girls stared at Edelweiss’s face, boggle-eyed, before exchanging knowing looks. When she felt their pity, she glowered. They suddenly flinched back as though she had named Voldemort in their company. She wished she could outright read their minds, for their emotions became too mixed for her to completely understand.

“Now, if you three could stop staring, I wish to get ready for the day.”

They did as she asked, though Lavender added a belated, “Everyone’s been gossiping about your face! You know they’re going to stare!”

Edelweiss rolled her eyes as she stepped past them. She wanted the gossip. These markings represented her power writ large. She now bore a masked proclamation of the station she would ascend to when her time arrived. June, she continued to suspect. It would be in June, as always. She had told her friends so. It was always then when she came face to face with the Dark Lord’s might.

This time, he would falter and fall to the might of Darth Gladiolus.

Her sweeping entrance into the Great Hall sparked a flurry of furious whispers among the few present so early. Edelweiss’s skin crawled as she approached the center of the Gryffindor table. Few seats were occupied. One, near the end, was where Hermione had chosen to sit with a dozen books set haphazardly around her. She was attempting to read from whichever tome she had propped open while shoveling porridge into her mouth. Edelweiss continued past the center of the table before claiming the best seat to stare at Hermione. She then filled her plate and waited to be noticed.

Edelweiss nearly finished her plate when Hermione finally glanced over. She paused; her gaze returned to whichever tome she was reading, and then she looked up and over again. They stared at each other for a while—and then Hermione suddenly squeaked. She swallowed suddenly, coughed several times, and had to chug down several gulps of water before rasping out, “When did Madam Pomfrey release you?”

“An hour ago. Maybe a little more.” Edelweiss snatched up a slice of treacle tart. Given there was only a single slice, she assumed it was Dobby’s doing. The elf wanted the best socks for Christmas. That or he had just been that worried for her. “You were busy, reading and eating. I didn’t have the heart to interrupt you.”

“But still,” began Hermione with a frown. “I would have preferred you tell me you just arrived. Or maybe a warning you were being released from the Hospital Wing.”

“You haven’t come to visit since when I woke up, Hermione. Anyways, I didn’t have a chance to warn anyone before being released.”

Hermione pursed her lips as the shadow of doubt crossed her face. Her brandy-brown eyes lingered on the markings Edelweiss bore upon her face. Hermione’s emotions changed, second by second. They fluttered and flittered about, a mess of contradictions that leaked confusion and horror most strongly into the Force. Her emotions were so loud Edelweiss suspected that odd Luna Lovegood girl would notice, were she present.

And then Hermione’s emotions became fear. It sparked anger low in Edelweiss’s gut. She had known her friends would not understand, but to be afraid of her? She had assumed they were stronger than that. Yes, she enjoyed the fear she would inspire in others. Edelweiss was training to become a Sith Lord. Fear was part of the bargain. But she had not expected that fear from her friends. Perhaps they were finally reaching the moment when that friendship would be irrevocably broken.

“I don’t know how to handle the person you’re becoming, Edie,” admitted Hermione. “When you speak about killing as though it were some foregone conclusion… It scared me. I’m terrified by what you’re becoming. I want to help you.”

“Then accept who I am becoming, for it was thrust upon me. I did not choose this path because I desired it. I chose it out of need.”

Hermione’s expression lightened, though she did not appear relieved. Her inner turmoil was unchanged. “Why not ask for our help, instead? What about Dumbledor—”

“He is half the reason I must approach the war as I must,” Edelweiss hissed, leaning across the table. “Half the reason I must kill is because of his failures.” Hermione drew back as if bitten. “I… I will not speak of my childhood here. However, the plainest terms I can use to describe it would be abusive. I understand why he put me with the Dursleys, but it was a grave mistake on his part. Whatever magical defenses it granted me was not worth the price inflicted upon my psyche.”

Something akin to pity bloomed in Hermione. Edelweiss sensed the depth of that emotion, stained with regret that she had failed to notice that which was now obvious. She felt a twinge of pride at the fact she had hidden the worst of the hell she suffered as a girl. Perhaps that was why it had been so easy for her to embrace the ways of the Sith. Edelweiss had witnessed the cruel heart of men and knew what was required to face it without showing weakness.

“I don’t want your pity, Hermione.”

“But you shouldn’t have gone through that!” she said with the passion that usually accompanied her studies or odd little interest. “Somebody should have noticed something!”

“They probably did. And then they accepted what the Dursleys said about me.” Edelweiss clamped her jaw shut. She had said too much, and Hermione appeared to notice, for she leaned forward as well. “It matters no longer, Hermione. That is all in the past. I can only affect my present and thus influence the future.”

“Edie… There’s still something that could be done. You don’t have to shoulder all of your burdens yourself.”

Edelweiss sighed and shook her head. “If you won’t listen to what I say, then I should go. I have long made it clear what you must understand.”

With that, she stuffed the remnant of her treacle tart into her mouth. She stood and stormed out of the Great Hall, chewing and swallowing as she went. Hermione shouted after her; Edelweiss ignored those calls. She was too irate to deal with her friend.

Thankfully, there was a perfect way to clear her mind.

Edelweiss growled as a blaster bolt stung her left hip. She wore a blast helmet that blocked her vision entirely. She could hear the thrum of the training saber she held, along with the light hiss of the training droid that floated around her head. Her feet repositioned as the droid tried to get behind her. She made certain to keep the blade of her weapon away from her skin. It might not slice through her limbs as a proper lightsaber was supposed to, but it was still a weapon—and thus deserving of her respect. Plus, bad habits now could mean a premature death or injury in the future.

“The Force, you stupid girl!” her trainer shouted. She had sorted through Lord Salazar’s holocrons and chose one at random from the group labeled “for lightsaber training”. “Use the Force to know where the blasts will be!”

With teeth gritted, Edelweiss did as commanded. She found the droid swiftly. Instead of waiting for it to fire upon her, she ripped it from the sky with the Force and tossed it to the ground. It bounced once, twice, and then came to a roll. She was dearly tempted to kick the remote or crush it. But this droid was the sole one in Lord Salazar’s stores. Without it, she’d have to risk being shot at by a real blaster and not the droid’s programmed bolts. The thought of being fried hard enough to have her nerves shot and seared was enough to hold her back from lashing out.

“You do not appear to appreciate my lesson.”

Edelweiss growled as she ripped the helmet from her head. “I do not understand what you want from me in this scenario! Blasters do not exist on Earth! The closest we have is the magic of my realm, and neither of us knows if spells and blaster bolts react the same to a lightsaber! Maybe I can deflect spells. Maybe I can’t. But there is no way to test.”

The long-dead Sith made a rough scoff in the back of his throat. “You will not remain on this backwater forever. We both know you will leave one day.” He then rubbed his pointed jaw with lithe fingers. “Have you considered bringing another into the fold? No Sith works in complete isolation. The Jedi, for all the humanity they sacrifice, do not work in solitude. They take on students, slowly growing their order like a plague. We are meant to cull them. That task cannot be done alone.”

“I cannot trust anyone with this secret,” Edelweiss muttered, pushing damp hair away from her eyes. “Two cannot keep a secret.”

“Yet someone knows. I can feel it.”

Edelweiss recalled that strange girl—Luna Lovegood, Loony Lovegood, estranged within her own house—who had called her “Lady Gladiolus”. She still fumed at the error in title and remained frustrated someone had learned of that name. The how remained unknown, but then Edelweiss had yet to hunt down Lovegood and question her completely. From what she had picked up between departing the Great Hall and coming down to Ziost Hangar, the girl was either half-mad or particularly Force-sensitive. That explained the strange creatures the girl claimed to see better than any theory Ravenclaws proposed before concluding that their callous dismissal of her apparent delusions was the appropriate course to take.

House of wisdom indeed.

“I cannot say if she is trustworthy, for I do not know her. All I know is that I have only made it this far in my training because it has been kept secret.”

Her lightsaber tutor hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps that was the wise course of action to begin. But you are swiftly approaching the point where you can no longer work alone. Another must be brought into the fold or your growth shall be stunted.”

Edelweiss huffed, a doubtful scowl upon her face. She vaguely understood the man’s logic. She liked it naught and feared what fate might befall her, should she follow his advice and choose poorly. It was a troubling thought—and one she could not escape.

And yet, she could not find fault in his point. Another Sith apprentice—and one beneath her—could boost her acquisition of power. The fact any knew the name Gladiolus and could connect it to Edelweiss Potter sent a tremor of paranoia through her. She should hunt down the Lovegood girl and subvert the girl to her cause. She might even discover a potential apprentice in the loony girl. Edelweiss did not think herself truly prepared to take on a student, but one day she would. That was the way of the Sith; to take on an apprentice and train them to be powerful. She did not approve of slaying one’s master, though. Perhaps the Sith of Lady Bastila’s age was a barbaric lot. Or perhaps there was a reason Lord Salazar had fled to Earth, for a Sith in his era might have threatened his life.

“I shall take your advice under consideration,” she said. Edelweiss tried to clear her mind of unnecessary thoughts as she drew the helmet back on. She had to achieve mastery over the first form if she was to convince Lord Malgus to train her. Part of that mastery came with being able to deflect bolts. As far as her trainer was concerned, it was a skill of vital necessity. She did not agree, but then Earth was “a fallow backwater that somehow supports human life” in their merciful opinion.

She had to build up her power now. Her true trials waited in the future. Edelweiss needed to gain any advantage she could grasp before her fateful hour of ascension. If that meant she considered accepting an apprentice earlier than expected or learning how to deflect the weapons of a civilization halfway across the cosmos, then so be it. She would face the future head-on.

She would ascend, her head high, and become Darth Gladiolus. She would destroy all who stood in her way.

Chapter Text

December arrived with a thick torrent of snow that paralyzed the castle. Professor Sprout was forced to cancel Herbology for the better part of a week as continual storms deposited feet and feet of wet snow, stacking up and up across the school grounds. The greenhouses held firm under the snow’s weight. But with students unable to travel between the castle and the greenhouses without an absurd amount of warming charms and shoveling their way through, there was little the portly witch could do beyond assign two weeks' worth of self-study essays at breakfast following two futile days of strenuous work to clear the route to her greenhouses.

Edelweiss found the winter perfect for focusing on her Sith studies and her defense group. Concerning the former, she neared a point where the holocron Siths involved with her instruction were almost proud to call her their student. She planned to challenge Lord Malgus soon and she had considered turning to self-study for Sith alchemy, now that she had learned so much from Naga Sadow.

As for the latter, she was left at a loss for moving forward. While those first sessions, where she taught them basic defensive and offensive spells had gone well by her regard, the ones afterward had been less so. Especially the first one of the month.

“You want to teach us what?” shrieked a Ravenclaw boy. Edelweiss could not recall his name, nor was she that interested in doing so. His ability was middling, though enough to pass his OWLs.

“I said that today’s session revolves around household spells that can be utilized for defensive or offensive purposes.” Edelweiss wished she could outright tell them she wanted to teach them war spells from the previous war, but she suspected that would scuttle the group moving forward. Many considered this defense group to be nothing more than a study session to replace Umbridge’s pointless, debauched version of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Some believed her claims about the war, but many still doubted Voldemort’s return. Would it not expose her studies as a Sith apprentice, she would force her memories of that night in the graveyard into their minds. “Those who are crafty or cunning are capable of turning simple spells, devised for household use, and deploying them on the battlefield in a manner that creates carnage, destruction, or a terrible, bloody wake.”

“Like what?” demanded Zacharias Smith. Most of the boy’s animosity had been drained away, yet he was still the most vocal of her skeptics.

Her lips twitched up into a smirk as she twirled her holly wand. It had become less responsive recently. It still answered her beck and call, but not as strongly as it once did. “What would you say if I told you the same spell potion masters use to boil water for certain high-level potions is the same spell now banned by the Ministry under the name Blood Boiler Curse?”

There was a series of hisses and swears, along with a few mumbled curses. Most sounded doubtful, but Edelweiss only had eyes for Zacharias Smith. He lost some of the color in his face, though his rebellious streak had not been broken. Not completely, at least.

Edelweiss stopped twirling her wand as she asked, “Would anyone care for a demonstration? I’ve only read of the spell.”

A suitable lie—

She felt the room go cold. Most faces were stricken white or green, and several glanced toward the door as if it would save them from her. Edelweiss sighed and lowered her wand. “If you are to prepare for what lurks in the shadows of our society, beyond the walls of Hogwarts, then you must know what exists. This is not the time for cowardice or weakness.”

Few were mollified by her words. Edelweiss could feel that truth as strongly as she saw it on their faces. She knew she was stronger in the Force now, able to sense how these children thought and reacted with simplistic ease. There were a few with more mutinous emotions; they would be handled if necessary. Hermione had placed a curse on the document everyone had signed. That curse would protect their secrecy from willful exposure. Accidental exposure was still possible, but she did not think anyone present would be so foolish to speak of this group beyond the Come-and-Go Room.

After all, she had modified the curse and added an extra hex. One that would ruin the treacherous fool.

“How about we learn the Patronus?” suggested Hermione, glancing between the unsettled group and Edelweiss. “I think most of us want to learn that.”

More muttering came from those gathered. Annoyingly, most of the chatter was approving of the suggestion. Edelweiss swallowed a sigh. She would not fault Hermione for making the suggestion, though if they could have discussed plans beforehand, that would have been better.

That is as much upon me as it is with her, though. I’ve kept her out of the loop.

Edelweiss recalled their conversation in the Great Hall after her discharge from the Hospital Wing. It incensed her that Hermione would dare pity her. The Dursleys had been wretched to her, yes, but that was a reason for her to gain power: so she could put them and those like them beneath her boot. The dark side of the Force gave her that power. The markings on her face were a sign to all with eyes to see that she was undergoing a metamorphosis into a new person. A new being, one of great power and influence. Let the lightning bolt upon her brow fade and with it the girl she had been.

“Fine,” Edelweiss said, stuffing down her frustration. “It’s a nastily difficult spell, though it can be bloody useful. I know the Headmaster can use it to send messages. I saw him do it back in June following the third task.”

A few perked up at her words, though most remained a haze of swirling emotion. Saying she was vexed by their reaction felt like an understatement. These children should be grateful she was willing to burn the time that should be dedicated to her Sith studies just to tutor them. That’s what this was. Tutoring. None of them were serious about being able to defend themselves. They just wanted a decent Defense OWL mark, to have a hope of a chance of getting into the Defense NEWT class and thus one of the more lucrative Ministry jobs.

“Now, we can begin working on Patronuses today—”

“Can we see yours?” asked Lee Jordan, raising a belated hand.

Edelweiss twirled her wand once, then shrugged. She had not made any attempt at the Patronus since that day back in August when her fury and wrath had been too hot to allow her to draw forth the peace and serenity casting the Patronus charm required.

Peace, she thought bitterly, turning from her gathered audience. Peace is a lie, yet can there be power in it? She could feel the interest of the others, their excitement to see her cast the infamously tricky charm. A year ago, it would have been simple. Even six months ago, before she stumbled upon Salazar’s secret legacy.

But that was before Edelweiss had started down the path of Sith Lord.

She took her time to gather those positive emotions that fueled the Patronus Charm and the silvery stag she had been able to cast for two years. It took some time for Edelweiss to center herself, to find that place of joy that empowered the spell. Once she had those emotions fully gathered, she thrust her wand into the air and shouted, “Expecto Patronum!”

It came slowly, but a shape of silvery light fluttered out of her holly wand. It did not take on the shape of a stag as expected. Instead, she witnessed a strange bat creature emerge, with a brain-esque tumor bulging from its head and a pair of fierce arms, shimmering blades at the end of each. It flew over the gathered crowd, its thick tail fluttering like a squid through a channel.

“Well that is new,” she murmured, watching this strange creature fly above them all. Edelweiss had a feeling it bore some connection to the ancient Sith. Perhaps what she saw came from their homeworld, Korriban. She should show her feat to Lord Salazar or—

No. She would keep it a secret for now. This was a product of her witch inheritance, and not from the Sith tradition.

“New?” asked one of the Ravenclaws. “Does that mean something has happened?”

“Yes,” replied Edelweiss, allowing the Patronus to fade. “It used to be a stag. Now it is… well, it’s whatever that is meant to be.”

There was a flurry of whispers and gossip at her pronouncement. Chances were by tomorrow morning half the castle would know something was amiss with Edelweiss Potter. The specifics would be retained for this group. Otherwise, whoever the responsible party was would have their face branded with the name of their sin.

“For now, we’re going to cover the theory of the Patronus Charm. It took me the better part of a school year to learn the charm, and my first success was more luck than skill or ability.” It burned her to utter those final words, yet they were true. She had witnessed herself cast the spell before traveling through time. She achieved the feat because she knew she would. “The Patronus is a curious spell, for it is powered almost exclusively through emotion…”

Almost an hour later, most gathered for her defense group filed out in their usual packs, chatting excitedly about the “special lesson”. Nobody had produced more than a silvery shield, but it had been a surprisingly productive evening. Yes, they had not focused on the spells she had planned on, but it had gone better than what she had planned would have played out. She would need to rethink the defense group in between her Sith studies and keeping atop what remained expected of her.

Six lingered behind with her: Ron, Hermione, and the four Slytherins drawn into their group.

“Is there a reason you have remained behind?” she asked. In her bag was her practice lightsaber. She itched to run through the katas of Shii-Cho. She would approach Lord Malgus soon. Edelweiss knew the Sith Lord would demand she show him what she had learned. The how remained uncertain.

“Edie, we’re worried about you,” began Hermione. “We wanted to—”

“You are worried about me,” she interrupted. Her gaze turned to the Slytherins. “Why have the four of you remained?”

“Because Granger asked us,” said Greengrass with arms crossed. The others nodded, though only Davis felt comfortable with their admission. “She made some good points. And frankly, you’ve gotten more erratic.”

Unspoken yet understood among them all was that the markings on Edelweiss's face troubled them all. She knew most flinched when they caught sight of her face; let alone how they reacted whenever she dared meet their gaze. She had yet to flinch from her reflection, though some mornings passed when she nearly wondered whose face she saw reflected to her. And then she remembered who she was becoming. Who she would soon be. Once the emerald eyes of Edelweiss Potter turned sulfuric yellow, she would finally be Darth Gladiolus.

“You do not need to worry about me,” she said, trying to not sound overly contrite. “I am strong enough—”

“And that’s what worries me!” shouted Hermione. Edelweiss paused, mouth falling open as she stared at her furious friend. “You keep talking about strength, about the things you must do! But you never tell me anything! You keep all of these secrets. You do strange things to yourself. It… it frightens me! I worry about you all the time, especially when you act as if our friendship means nothing!”

Something putrid burned in her veins and churned in her gut. “If that is how you feel,” began Edelweiss, her voice low and soft and brimming with frustration, “then you can always leave, Hermione. If our friendship is too great of a burden for you, then be wise for once and relieve yourself of it. Go on. Leave. Live an easier life.”

Hermione gaped. Her brandy brown eyes watered. Edelweiss turned away with a sneer, drawing the shroud of the dark side close around her. Her hands itched, the flickering start of Force lightning sparking along her fingertips. Oh, was it tempting to lash out with her power. But she had to restrain herself. Secrecy was paramount. She could not reveal her powers. Not yet. Not so soon.

“Well?” she snarled after several long seconds of silence. “Are you not going to say something, Hermione? Try and plead for me to take back my words? Perhaps demand an apology?”

Hermione remained silent for a little while longer before she suddenly murmured, “I barely know you these days, Edie. I doubt you’ll accept my words were I not genuine… and I think even were I truly genuine, you would still reject my words.”

Edelweiss huffed. Her gaze flowed over the others, embracing their anger and confusion. “What about the rest of you? What do you have to say?”

“I want you to apologize to Hermione,” said Ron, stepping forward. “I apologized last year—”

“Because you were too blinded by your jealousy to listen to my words!” boomed Edelweiss. She found no joy in watching her first friend flinch away, though some pleasure was derived from his shocked expression. “I told you last year, Ron, that I would never put my name into the Goblet of Fire! I told you before the drawing, and I told you after. But did you listen?” She waited a half second before continuing, running roughshod over whatever he tried to say. “No! No, you did not. Ronald Weasley has to be ruled by his inferiority, by how he longs to surpass all his brothers! Do not think I have forgotten the Mirror of Erised. I remember what you saw and what that means about you.”

His pale face suddenly burned a hearty red. “This is the same, Edie. You’re being a bad friend. We’ve never hesitated to help you with your burdens.”

“We both know that is not true,” she said lowly. “For if it were, then I would have never returned to the Dursleys after my second year at Hogwarts. Remember the bars the Twins ripped off the window.”

Edelweiss turned from him in a wordless dismissal. She peered through the staunch masks each of the four Slytherins present bore: Davis was greatly worried, though there was no hint she might act upon her feelings; Greengrass was more frustrated than furious, despite what her balled fists suggested; Zabini felt regret and remorse, wondering why he allowed himself to be bullied into remaining behind; and lastly there was Nott, who couldn’t help but project the white and crimson form of Voldemort on to her.

“Leave me,” she demanded, unwilling to deal with their foolishness. The dark side writhed in the back of her mind, a demanding voice desiring her to lash out and strike against them.

They hesitated.

“LEAVE ME!” she bellowed, the Force projecting a faint, dark aura around her person. Shocked gasps filled the air. For a split second, Edelweiss wanted to burn them all with her power. But that would be obvious. Foolish. Without purpose beyond settling a momentary grievance, one easily buried.

And so she whispered, “Go.”

They fled. Left to her own devices, Edelweiss grasped all the fury and frustration she felt and poured it forth into a massive torrent of Force lightning that left jagged black stains along the far wall. She stared at those marks and envisioned herself as Darth Gladiolus. She would not be ruled by her wayward emotions. They would not escape her the way they had weak, pathetic Edelweiss Potter.

Darth Gladiolus would be better. Would be more.

Edelweiss woke the next morning, stiff and groggy. Several seconds passed before she realized she had never returned to Gryffindor Tower the previous night. Instead, she occupied the small, uncomfortable bunk she found aboard Lord Salazar’s strange black ship. She wondered how old it had been when Lord Salazar claimed it and journeyed across the galaxy to Earth. She had been tempted to pull up star charts and follow the course this ship had followed, but she resisted the temptation. Her emotions had still been a torrential mess when she stormed into Ziost Hangar. Her reaction to that confrontation with her friends and the Slytherins had led her to a revelation: she needed time to pull herself back together. To reassert control.

She was a Sith, not a mindless animal.

Even after awakening, she resisted the temptation to inspect the star charts. Instead, Edelweiss inspected the chamber marked as a ‘Refresher’ and showered underneath the strangest showerhead ever. It used high-pitched air instead of water and soap to clean her. It was strange, yet effective. Edelweiss lacked any scent when she stepped out, but it was better than the sheen of sweat that the coating of sweat that clung to her following lightsaber training.

“Should I…?” Edelweiss hesitated before shaking her head. She still had her classes in the castle above. Ones she was expected to attend, else she risked drawing undue attention to her. She struggled to not fall behind with her essays. McGonagall had yet to say anything, but she had a feeling the Transfiguration professor was very disappointed with her lacking work. That Edelweiss could get the spells to work in class meant she was not failing, per se, but if the OWL exam had a heavy emphasis on theory, then she would be in danger of performing poorly.

Or I might not, she thought as she headed to where her school robes should be. A droid, somehow maintained by the strange functions within Ziost Hangar, had taken them away after she undressed, claiming they would be laundered. She sniffed her robe set outside the refresher and found the droid had spoken true.

Yet there’s no sign of the droid.

“How odd.”

Once dressed, Edelweiss climbed back up to the castle. She would have loved to remain in Ziost Hangar for the day, but she still had a life in the magical world. Hogwarts and Britain beyond could not be abandoned just because she preferred the ways of the Sith to being a witch. Also, she did not trust the house elves enough to attempt summoning one to Ziost Hanger. Perhaps they could not come to the hangar proper, but the mere thought of Dumbledore learning of her sanctuary beneath the castle sent disgust and horror pulsing through her.

A great murmur erupted when she stepped into the Great Hall. It was late into breakfast. Only the Ravenclaw table had obvious holes from the early risers, off studying somewhere quiet. Edelweiss paused only a moment before she went to the Slytherin table, where Greengrass, Davis, Nott, and Zabini sat slightly apart from their house. Only a few from the younger years sat nearby, including a girl who looked like a younger version of Greengrass.

“Bunch over,” she commanded Zabini. When he stared at her, she repeated the command. He shifted over enough to grant Edelweiss space to sit down.

“What are you doing here?” asked Greengrass. Edelweiss could feel fear and anger rolling off her in faint waves.

“Can I not come sit with friends?”

Davis choked on whatever she drank in the morning while Nott openly gaped. A new rumble of whispers went flying as her words spread throughout the Great Hall, moving almost faster than light.

“After last night—”

Edelweiss narrowed her eyes as she concentrated on the Force. Greengrass’s words squeezed out as her throat tightened and her eyes bulged from the mystical pressure applied to her neck. Greengrass happened to be smart enough to not raise her hands to her neck, even as she gasped for breath with a horrified stare lingering upon Edelweiss.

“Be mindful of your words, Daphne.”

And with that, she released the pressure. Greengrass took in a great, gasping breath as Professor Snape swept up to them, his robes billowing behind him as usual. Edelweiss turned to the potion master with a serene smile. Her mind envisioned the many, many ways she could use the Force to rend him asunder.

“Professor Snape. A good morning to you.”

“Miss Potter. What madness has possessed you to sit at the Slytherin table?”

“Branching out, sir. I thought it might be wise to build connections in other houses.”

Snape blinked. His dark eyes then flashed with surprise. “I did not expect a lick of sense from you, Potter.” He glanced at each of the four Slytherins sitting with her, his gaze lingering longest on a panting Greengrass. “Be careful of what comes from your acquaintance with Miss Potter. She has caused great trouble and grief for several around her.”

Professor Snape gave her one final, almost shaken look before sweeping away. He returned to a distressed Head Table. Edelweiss’s gaze followed him to the other professors. Most looked upon her with a look of surprise or pride. All except Umbridge, who masked her distaste with a thin, flat expression. She could feel hints of hatred rippling off the frog-faced professor. Unfortunately, they were only hints. Not the inferno Edelweiss wanted.

She also felt Dumbledore’s gaze bore into her, as though he were trying to make sense of her other power. Edelweiss clamped down on the Force, shuttering her connection to that great power until the Headmaster looked away with a troubled frown.

“The Headmaster doesn’t appear happy with you, Potter,” said a familiar sneering voice. She turned lazily to Malfoy as he strode up, Crabbe and Goyle following as always.

“Let him be troubled. His opinion of my choices has become something I no longer care for.”

Malfoy blinked and then frowned. His grey eyes, usually filled with spite, frustration, or amusement, went dark as he considered her words. Had she truly been perceived as Dumbledore’s little puppet, or had Malfoy fallen in line with what everyone else said?

If it were the latter, then she was disappointed. She expected better from the son of Lucius Malfoy—unless Edelweiss had somehow overestimated the man.

“So you understand how this school has gone to the dogs then, Potter?”

“What I understand is that he has been too busy for too long with political matters which prevent him from fulfilling his duty to Hogwarts appropriately.” Edelweiss did not need to glance around to know everyone stared at her, nor did she need to look over to know who strode her way. She turned just as Hermione and Ron reached them. With a firm grasp on the Force, she said, “Head back to our table. I have everything in hand here.”

Ron nodded as his eyes glazed over. He then mumbled, “I’ll head back to our table. You have everything in hand, Edie.” His tone reminded her of how Dudley mumbled on that fateful August eve. Hermione blinked and frowned as she watched Ron return to the Gryffindor table, just as Edelweiss had ordered.

“What—How?”

“Nothing you need concern yourself with, Hermione,” said Edelweiss, even as she filed away the fact the Force easily influenced Ron’s mind while brushing off Hermione’s. Thinking back to the Quidditch game and his performance as Keeper, it was dreadfully obvious that his will was not as strong as it should be. She would remember this fact for their next game. It would relieve the stress on her shoulders as seeker if Ron performed in accordance with his capability.

“Looks like that Weasel understands where he should be,” said Malfoy gleefully. “You should follow along, mudblo—”

Edelweiss’s gaze fixed on Malfoy’s throat as he uttered the very slur that caused trouble back in their second year. She tightened his throat just enough to stop the rest of the word from emerging. His grey eyes fluttered about as a hand rose to paw at the constriction he felt. Eventually, his gaze settled upon her. There was enough intelligence in him to recognize who and what was responsible for his struggle to breathe and speak.

“The next time I hear you utter that word, Malfoy,” Edelweiss whispered, soft enough only he heard her words, “it shall be your last.” She released the pressure on his throat while flexing her hands. She had to fight down the desire to cast Force lightning. “Am I understood, Draco?”

He nodded frantically. Deep in his eyes, she spotted a glowing ember of fear. Edelweiss would seek to ensure that ember did not die out, but that it grew into a conflagration. A great, terrible wildfire that would reshape his psyche. It would be in his best interest to be so terrified of her that he fled the moment he laid eyes on her.

“Go,” she commanded, threading enough of the Force’s influence into her voice to send Malfoy on his way. Crabbe and Goyle hurried to follow after their leader, shooting befuddled looks her way as they went.

“Merlin’s balls,” whispered Nott. “He looked like he was about to piss himself.”

“That is the humiliation he deserves,” said Edelweiss as she turned back to the table, her anger icy and cold. “However, I will not inflict that upon him just yet. Anyone can learn.”

“How did you do that?” asked Zabini, leaning toward her. Whatever fear he had of her was abandoned, replaced by a burning curiosity.

“Power beyond your imagining, Zabini,” she said slyly. Edelweiss turned to the platters before her. They were stacked with small omelets bearing bits of tomato and sausage, along with bowls of fresh fruit and pitchers filled with several varieties of juice. “If I knew how good the fare was here, I would have come to the Slytherin table earlier. This beats Gryffindor by a mile.”

“Edie,” said Hermione. Edelweiss glanced back at her friend, an eyebrow raised. “We need to talk. Soon.”

Edelweiss tilted her head as she recalled a recent announcement. “There’s a Hogsmeade trip this Saturday. We can talk then.”

Hermione realized without being told that she had been dismissed. She nodded and stalked back to the Gryffindor table. Ron sat there, feasting with his mouth slopping open like a cow happy with its cud.

Edelweiss looked away, else her appetite leave her. She would need her strength.

Lord Malgus glowered at Edelweiss when she activated his holocron. Weeks had passed since he put forward his challenge to master Shii-Cho. Though she was not completely finished with mastering the form, she needed—wanted, more so—to acquire a form to make her own. She was confident with her skill and reflexes that she could deceive the Sith Lord.

They stood there silently for a few minutes. And then he asked, “Have you mastered the first form?”

“I am where I must be to gain more knowledge and power from you, Lord Malgus.”

The bald Sith Lord blinked at her brazen non-answer. With the breathing device over his lower face, it was almost impossible to read his moods. Edelweiss was grateful he revealed even a little of his feelings through a simple blink.

“Then you will prove yourself to me, little apprentice.”

A loud hiss filled the chamber as a humanoid body was raised from the floor near the far end of the chamber. There was a small rod in one hand. It raised the rod high and a vivid red blade ignited with the telltale snap-hiss of a lightsaber. Edelweiss raised her training weapon. The red-edged blade hummed low and dangerous as she brought the weapon up into a high guard.

“So that is how you wish to approach this?” asked Lord Malgus, clearly judging which guard she chose. His holocron form blinked away. A moment later, the droid’s eyes flashed a cruel red. “Let me test you, child.”

The droid moved quickly, but not so swiftly Edelweiss was unable to keep up. She blocked the first two strikes, both aimed at her core, before leaping over a low slash and parrying the higher follow-up attack. Her attempt to go on the offensive was quickly stopped. But she did prevent his countering parry from tapping her right shoulder.

“Impressive, for a green child,” Lord Malgus taunted. He brought his weapon down from a high position, trying to use raw force to knock her down. Edelweiss relied on her reflexes as a seeker over her lightsaber training as she backpedaled away from the overhead slash. She waited a moment after the blade came down before lunging forward, her blade straight before her. He slapped away the thrust and nearly took her on the wrist with a backhanded swing. It was only a quick and timely twist that brought her blade into position to glance aside the slashing blow. Even so, it sent her reeling away.

“I am more… than a green child,” Edelweiss panted as she adjusted her stance. She opened herself to her anger. The dark side filled her muscles with strength, and her breathing eased. “I am a Sith, Lord Malgus. You shall recognize me on this day.”

He chuckled, which sounded doubly strange through his vocalizer and the droid’s system. It chilled her slightly, though not enough to quail and falter before him. “Then prove yourself, girl. Show me your power.”

She waited, forcing him to approach. Yet the droid body stood where it had sent her back, blade lowered. She knew Lord Malgus was inviting her to attack. Edelweiss took a small step forward, and then a second. The droid remained posed and in place, unmoving yet somehow unrelenting.

Blast. He truly wants me to charge in. And given his experience, I will break long before him.

Edelweiss moved in slowly, waiting until she was just within the droid’s range before lashing out. She knew her lunge was daring, foolish even, but it was not meant to strike. Lord Malgus would respond, spotting an obvious weakness in her form and posture. There was a chance he would move too swiftly for her to react, but she was committed now.

He did react, but not as she desired. She had expected his lightsaber to come down upon her like the guillotine’s flashing blade. What he did was drive a sudden, swift knee into her exposed gut. She went flying, crossing several feet before crashing to the durasteel floor. Edelweiss tumbled over and over. Her lightsaber slipped from her grasp and deactivated as it clattered a few feet further away.

“That was a daring attempt. But a foolish one,” said Lord Malgus. Soft footsteps approached. “If you do not move, I will kill you.”

Panting, she made an effort to not glance at the droid. The moment she did was the moment Lord Malgus would strike. He was a predator. He enjoyed toying with his prey. A lack of fear or panic should keep him at bay long enough to retrieve her weapon and defend against his looming assault.

And so Edelweiss sought out her lightsaber. She spotted it two meters away, just beyond the range for her to crawl, retrieve, and defend herself. She twisted her right hand so it was oriented toward her weapon, and then she reached out with the Force. It twitched; the footsteps drew closer. Lord Malgus’s humming blade remained several feet away. If he wished it, he could swiftly close the distance and strike her exposed legs.

Still, Edelweiss reached out with the Force.

Come to me!

A step closer.

Come to me!

Another step closer. Within range.

Come!

The lightsaber shook once more and then finally skittered across the floor and into her hand. Edelweiss spun as she thumbed the ignition, that glorious snap-hiss coming to life as she swung her blade up and blocked Lord Malgus’s great chopping motion downward. It took the breath from her and left her right arm shaking. But she had stopped his blow from striking her.

And that was the least she could demand of herself.

“Heh, heh, heh,” the Sith Lord chuckled. Ominous red eyes stared down as the droid continued to push toward her. Edelweiss clenched her jaw. She raised her free hand and held it beneath the tip of her lightsaber blade. For a moment, she was dedicated to pouring her strength into supporting that end of her weapon.

And then she realized that there was something else she could pour her Force powers into.

Edelweiss thrust that hand at the droid. It flew across the chamber, limbs flailing behind the torso she pushed against. Without flesh and blood, Lord Malgus’s vessel was powerless against the Force. It was a dead thing, something that could only be acted upon with the Force, and thus was unable to touch and wield that power.

Lord Malgus cackled as his droid body crashed to the floor a foot from the far wall. Edelweiss knew she was powerful enough to send him completely across the chamber and impact terribly against the far wall. She had acted upon instinct, creating enough space so she could rise to her feet and prepare for the next assault. She held her blade forward in one hand while her other readied to use the Force once more. The humming blade jutted forth, held high enough to not sear the durasteel floor. Her body ached from her crash. She drew on the power of the dark side flowing through her and channeled her pain into strength. Anger at being bested in the slightest kept that power thick and heady within her.

She watched the droid form slowly rise.

“I confess myself impressed. You have accomplished more than I expected in the brief time I allowed you. However, you have risen faster than you should. Unless you have gotten lucky.” Lord Malgus paused, as though he had expected her to respond to his accusation. “From all I witnessed during my era, that shall lead you to a pitiful, ruinous fall.”

“I am not like those Sith from your time, Lord Malgus. I am different. I am more.”

“Because of your witch magic?” The long-dead Sith was able to thread a sneer into his tone, despite the doubling layer of mechanical distortion. “Perhaps that will work against the Jedi. But against a properly trained Sith, you are as feeble as a newborn.”

“And yet I was able to hold my own against you.”

“Because you remembered what other powers you possess. I was reminded of how powerful Force powers could be in combat when I dueled that traitor Revan’s spawn, Satele Shan, on Alderaan. We had met years before when the Sith Empire liberated Korriban from the Jedi. I slew her master, and so she sought me out. As we dueled, she shattered a tree to create space between her and me. When I thought her disabled, she was able to catch and absorb my blade with her power in the Force. And finally, she slammed me so hard into a cliff with the Force it shattered—and I acquired the vocalizer I use even now.”

Edelweiss found herself smiling. While she was still disgusted that her master’s descendant had been a Jedi, she was pleased to hear how capable that woman had been as a warrior. To face Lord Malgus in single combat and seriously injure him in the process? Lady Bastila’s descendant was powerful. It was only a shame she served the Jedi instead of the Sith.

“What became of her?” she asked. “This Satele Shan.”

“She would become their Grand Master, though she later went into an exile of her own after I crushed the pathetic Republic of that time.” Lord Malgus made the droid's body shrug. “It matters not what became of her in the end. The Jedi lived on, and the Sith fell into decline. I know this much from the Sith who brought all of us to this backwater.”

Edelweiss blinked. “You know where you are?”

“Thanks to the systems of Salazar’s ‘Ziost Hangar’, I am aware he came to a backwater far from galactic civilization. It has even gathered information from what you have provided its master from the castle above us.” He then chuckled. “How fascinating that the humans of a desolate world, far away from all I knew in life, would be identical enough to humans elsewhere in the cosmos that they can reproduce. The Dark Lord you seek to unseat is Salazar’s descendant, yes?”

“Indeed.” Edelweiss sneered at his claim that she sought to “unseat” Voldemort. Were she not Sith, she would have no interest in the title of ‘Dark Lord’. “While the Force will be enough to defeat him, I must be able to destroy those who follow him as well. They are unsuitable to be my followers.”

Lord Malgus made a strangely approving hum. Edelweiss hoped she had impressed him enough he would deign to teach her whichever lightsaber form she desired. She would need that power for the day she left Earth. She recognized now that one day she would leave, and that the Jedi and Sith beyond Earth would attempt to destroy her.

They shall either bow to me or be destroyed in turn.

“So, Lord Malgus,” Edelweiss said once it became clear the man would say no more. “Have I proved myself as you commanded?”

He hummed again, the droid body rubbing a chin as if it were Lord Malgus before her, in the flesh. “You have done better than I expected, though I am hesitant to teach you more beyond what you need to know to further develop the basics. It takes longer than a few weeks of intensive practice to master a form. A true Sith Lord masters all seven.

“But I sense your impatience. You wish to prove yourself. You thirst to achieve greatness.” Lord Malgus paused. Edelweiss thought he might be impressed with her. “I shall assist you down the path you have chosen. But which form you learn is on your shoulders alone.”

Edelweiss straightened as her eyes flashed brightly. “Name them, so that I may choose.”

He chuckled lowly. “So be it, apprentice.”

Edelweiss emerged from the Chamber of Secrets pensive. Lord Malgus had walked her through the other lightsaber forms, discussing their merits and difficulties, before all but leading her to a decision. She sighed. He had offered to let her choose; in a way she had, though he had nearly guided her into following his footsteps.

Form Six had been dismissed immediately; Niiman required ten years to master, built atop knowledge of the five forms devised before it. Perhaps one day she would learn Form Six, but for now, she put it out of mind. Form Seven had appealed to her, with its brutality and ferocity, but Lord Malgus had rejected that option for her.

“For now, choose another,” he said, almost sounding like a caring master. “But in time, you shall learn it. Juyo shall serve you well once you are a Sith Lord.”

With two out, she had been left to consider the four remaining options after hearing their description. Form Three was too defensive for her liking. Perhaps a year or two ago she would have chosen Soresu. But the days of Edelweiss Potter being that reactionary girl were gone. She would act and take the offensive. Form Two seemed good for that purpose, yet she found Makashi lacking. Form Five, while powerful, relied too much on countering and using the enemy’s strength against them for her tastes. Lord Malgus had seemed almost disappointed by her decision; Djem So, she suspected, had been his form of choice.

And so she settled on Form Four, Ataru. It was built upon fluid movement and a willingness to move into the sky while fighting. To Edelweiss with her seeker instincts, it was the perfect form. The sky might not be the safest place in a fight, but Ataru would allow her to use skills already developed in tandem with her new Sith training. Lord Malgus accepted her choice, overcoming his disappointment over her rejection of Djem So.

Edelweiss glanced at her right pocket, where she held the training holocron provided to her. She left Lord Malgus’s holocron in Ziost Hangar’s dueling room. With Lady Bastila secured in Gryffindor Tower, she distrusted having the two within proximity of each other. Lord Malgus had summoned Lord Salazar to the dueling chamber. They spoke in a tongue Edelweiss knew not before agreeing on a supplementary holocron for teaching Ataru. Her Force powers needed to be practiced in the safety and security of Ziost Hangar. As far as they were concerned, lightsaber training could be completed elsewhere. Edelweiss had already used the Come-and-Go Room for that purpose. And with the Christmas hols around the corner, she could use the dueling chamber beneath Number Twelve for her purposes.

Naturally, she would need to keep her Sith training a secret from Sirius.

Edelweiss drifted through the lower reaches of the castle as she made her way to Gryffindor Tower. It was late, though not so late that she openly risked losing points for violating curfew. She snorted, thinking of losing house points. The others might care about that farce, but she did not. She had grown beyond the simple, pedantic qualms of Hogwarts. Her calling was that of the Sith; to dominate and rule, to wield the dark side in pursuit of all she desired.

Soon she would be a Sith Lord; she would be the Dark Lord of the Sith. How could she take herself seriously as Darth Gladiolus if she allowed the rabble—even those older and respected within British society—to seek to tear her down to their pathetic level?

Footsteps approached as she climbed a stairwell up to the fifth floor. Edelweiss continued on. She passed the fifth floor and soon came to the sixth floor. There, she followed a curving corridor toward Gryffindor Tower. The footsteps followed. They quickened after she turned a corner and headed straight for the stairwell up to the Gryffindor common room.

Amusingly, she felt unthreatened by whoever pursued her.

Let’s give them a chase.

Edelweiss pressed on. Let whomever it was in pursuit attempt to catch her before she came to the Fat Lady. Perhaps they would succeed; perhaps they would not.

Regardless, she would maintain the upper hand however she wished.

Edelweiss reached the stairwell up to the seventh floor, and the Fat Lady’s portrait guarding the common room. She moved swiftly, skipping steps where she could. She resisted outright running, though she did smirk when she heard her pursuer swear. That was followed by hurried footsteps, harsh enough to suggest he was running.

How should I handle my pursuer? I cannot allow them—him—to know who I am, nor can I attack him in a manner that could be traced back to me.

She came to an alcove on her left before the landing. Her pursuer was nearly upon her, yet she had nearly reached her destination. He was close enough that Edelweiss knew that only the Force would allow her to escape his notice. Yes, she could challenge him. But modifying memories could be a tricky affair when it came to magicals, and she knew not how strong her pursuer might be. She could brute force the matter, but that risked the potential for exposure.

And so she embraced the obvious solution and stepped into the alcove. Edelweiss cloaked herself in the Force, using her will to prevent any who passed the alcove from noticing her presence. She could sing and dance about, breaking a sweat, and they would be unaware. She felt a touch of exhaustion from her long day. Her anger flared and her exhaustion fled.

A tall Slytherin prefect huffed up the stairs, wide in the shoulders with a pronounced jaw and small, dim eyes. He passed her alcove, reached the landing, and crossed the threshold without even glancing her way. A few seconds passed before he swore loudly. He looked around and muttered, “Merlin’s beard. Where did the bitch go?”

“Where did who go?” asked a familiar voice. Edelweiss edged up to the alcove’s lip and watched as Hermione strode forward and confronted her fellow prefect. “You’re a long way from the fifth floor, Collins. Were you following someone?”

“What’s it to you, mudblood?”

Hermione’s nostrils flared. Edelweiss had heard Ron complain about how prefects were not allowed to take points from each other. Instead, they had to go to the Head of House for both parties to make a complaint—and Professor Snape never failed to defend his snakes. She knew that if Hermione had the power to take points, Slytherin would already be fifteen short because of the slur.

A low toll echoed through the castle. Curfew had finally arrived. Edelweiss grimaced. While she could try and sneak past them, she would be noticed when entering the common room. And being spotted would cause more trouble for Hermione than she deserved.

The Slytherin made a strange, swaggering motion. Edelweiss crept forward to the threshold, the Force answering to her will. She pursed her lips for a moment—and then she reached out carefully. She nearly choked on her breath at sensing how simple the Slytherin prefect’s mind was. Before Hermione could respond to the attempt at intimidation, Edelweiss whispered, “I am returning to the dungeons. Good night.”

A moment later, the prefect drolly said, “I am returning to the dungeons. Good night.”

He returned to the stairwell as if in a daze. Edelweiss did not bother to slink back into the shadows. The prefect’s gaze was dulled by her domination. He trudged down the stairs, neither hurrying nor slothful.

“What was that about?” mumbled Hermione. “It was though…”

Footsteps approached the threshold. For a split second, Edelweiss considered how she could vanish. But Hermione had proved resistant to the Force, and Edelweiss’s invisibility cloak was in her trunk.

Hermione entered the stairwell before Edelweiss could reach a decision. They stared at each other for a long, painful second. And then Hermione said, “I will ignore this the one time, Edie. Head up to bed and please be asleep before I return from my rounds.”

Edelweiss nodded. She could argue or protest; even brag how she sent the Slytherin troubling Hermione to bed. None of it mattered, though. If Hermione were unable to put the pieces together—pieces that Edelweiss both hoped and feared her friend noticing and putting together—then she would forever remain in the dark.

She went to bed and dreamed of herself as Darth Gladiolus, clad in black as she strolled down a corridor of black tiles.

Come Saturday, the upper years of Hogwarts flocked to Hogsmeade. Most of them, at least. Some, like Ronald Weasley, remained in the castle so they might catch up on their schoolwork as the winter hols began to encroach on Hogwarts. Edelweiss knew she should be working with Ron on essays and readings she had ignored, but she had a conversation that was more important than schoolwork. And so that was how she found herself following Hermione up the high street amidst a snow flurry. Instead of heading for the Three Broomsticks or the Hog’s Head, as she expected, they pressed on to the edge of town.

“Where are we going?” she asked. “You only said to follow you.”

“It’s up ahead,” Hermione said, pressing forward.

Edelweiss frowned; she knew she could use the Force to learn what Hermione kept secret from her, but that would further expose her than the tricks and errors she had committed in Hermione’s presence. More so, her friend—if she could still be called that—had proven resistant to the Force’s sway. To try and dominate her mind could destroy it, and that would eliminate all utility Edelweiss found in their relationship.

They departed the village and continued for a while longer, plunging into the sparse woods around Hogsmeade. Edelweiss already suspected where they were going, but she remained silent. This would be Hermione’s show, and she wanted to see how it would play out.

Edelweiss drew her cloak tighter around her form as the snow fell heavier. She did not rely on magic to protect her from the cold weather, but the Force. It was the greater power.

Eventually, they came to the Shrieking Shack. It was a sad, dreary sight, and yet Edelweiss held warm feelings toward it. This was the place where she learned the truth about Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, and where her first great hope to escape the Dursleys was presented to her.

If only Remus had not been a fool that night, she thought bitterly. Her hands clenched. She envisioned stripping down the Shrieking Shack until it was nothing but rubble and dust.

“Inside,” said Hermione, heading for the door. She paused, turning to face Edelweiss when she reached the bottom step up. “Come on, Edie.”

Edelweiss sighed and followed along. She waved a hand, clearing snow away from her shoulders and hair. Hermione’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she said nothing as Edelweiss stepped past her and entered the shack.

Dust floated everywhere and most of the furniture was covered in white sheets. Hermione entered behind her, closing the door and casting several hexes upon it.

“Don’t forget the windows,” Edelweiss whispered as she went to the stairs up to the floor above.

Hermione only sighed, exasperated, and continued her work.

Several minutes passed before Hermione stormed upstairs, her hair puffed out like a furious cat. She shot Edelweiss a foul glare as she slammed the door to the small room shut.

“You wanted to speak,” Edelweiss said. “So speak.”

She watched Hermione pace back and forth for a while. She sensed that Hermione struggled to order her thoughts now that she was thrown off her game. How muddled had Edelweiss left the allegedly most brilliant witch of her generation?

Hermione stopped and turned to Edelweiss with an intent look. “Over the past week, I have seen you use magic in a way we have not been taught. I have tried to search for anything that would explain what you have done, and I’ve found nothing.”

“Unsurprising. What I have learned came from the private notes of Salazar Slytherin.”

“Can I—”

“You need to be a parselmouth to read them, Hermione. And I have been unable to replicate them in another language. A… strange element to their nature, I believe.”

Hermione drooped. After several seconds, she nodded. Edelweiss almost felt bad lying to her friend so, but she could not tell her the truth. That had to remain under lock and key until the time came to destroy her enemies and impose her will over all of magical Britain.

They left shortly after. Edelweiss smiled all the way back to Hogwarts, knowing one problem had been neutralized.

Chapter Text

Edelweiss crawled into bed early on the night some two days before the Hogwarts Express was set to return to London. For the first time in her time as a witch, she would not spend her Yule hols within the castle walls. Professor McGonagall confirmed she would be allowed to spend the hols with the Weasleys at Grimmauld Place. The Dursleys, for once, had written the school to grant their consent.

She suspected that what actually happened was that Mad-Eye paid them a visit. How the auror threatened an agreement out of Uncle Vernon would be quite the story. Edelweiss was disappointed she missed witnessing that confrontation.

The Force drew her to bed that night. She sensed its currents, beckoning her to bed. Edelweiss worked to resist the draw of the Force, but it grew stronger the more she resisted. It reeked of the Cosmic Force—that dreaded aspect of the almighty power that swayed minds and made puppets of the Jedi. And yet Edelweiss failed in her effort. She succumbed to its siren call. It came swiftly, crushing all resistance abruptly. Edelweiss found in the span of a blink she went from struggling to finish an essay in the common room to laying in her bed, changed and ready for sleep.

Might as well learn what the Force wishes to show me, she thought mulishly. Edelweiss pushed aside her hesitation, closed her eyes, and embraced the draw of the Force.

Time blurred into inconsequential nothingness—and then Edelweiss became aware of her surroundings. She was in a dream but not; a blurred, greyed ripple of some other place she had dreamed of once before. The grey coloring faded, but the ripples and blurs did not.

She stood in a long corridor, the walls and floor and ceiling all covered in identical black tiles. They were smooth and glossy, reflecting a pale blue light that drew her forward. As she went, Edelweiss noticed her reflection. She stopped and stared, burning the image into her mind. This was how Darth Gladiolus would dress when the time came. She wore boots made of a dark, pitted metal. That same metal covered her hands and forearms, gloves merging into gauntlets that reached up to her elbows. There, metal met bare flesh. The black, swirling marks from her cleansing were exposed for all to see. She wore cloth over the rest of her form; supple pants and a sleeveless tunic, with a long, flowing cloak over her shoulders fluttering behind her.

And at her belted waist hung a lightsaber, sleek grey metal stylized to mimic her holly wand.

The weapon of a Sith Lord.

She followed the corridor until she came to a door. She opened it and entered a strange, circular chamber. A dozen doors surrounded her. When she reached the chamber’s center, the wall shifted and started spinning. Instead of watching the wall or the doors, Edelweiss closed her eyes and focused on the Force. Time passed. Eventually, the chamber stopped spinning. Relying only on what she felt, she went to a door on her right. It was not directly before her, yet it was not directly to the side. She opened that peculiar door and stepped through.

On the other side of the door was a massive chamber with a high, arching ceiling. Before her was row after row of shelves, all bearing blue, shining orbs of wildly varying sizes. Edelweiss frowned and started forward. The Force beckoned her onward, onward, onward! She had a terrible feeling about what she would find at the end of her path, but she had no—

A man screamed. Edelweiss turned toward the scream. The world rippled into its proper color and shape as she broke from the guidance of the Force. She rushed to the scream’s source. She nearly stumbled over a massive snake as it weakly crawled, seemingly spent. There was no time to stop and inspect it. She had yet to find the man who had screamed.

She found the man near the dying snake and froze. She knew him. She knew the balding red hair on his head and his paunchy stomach. His eyes widened as though he could see her. But he shouldn’t be able to. This was a dream, or so Edelweiss told herself.

His lips moved, her name reflecte—

Edelweiss shot up in bed. Hair was plastered to her brow and her breaths came in harsh pants. She sprung to her feet, raced across the dormitory filled with snores, and scurried down the stairs to the common room. Her heart pounded hard enough to bruise her ribs. Her mind whirled, grappling with her dream.

What had she seen? She did not know the place she had walked through, yet Edelweiss feared what she witnessed was true.

But for that to be so…

She shook her head to banish the thought. Edelweiss went to the portrait over the fireplace, one of a Scottish warrior cleaning his massive sword.

“Summon McGonagall!” she demanded. Edelweiss remembered the copy in the professor’s office from prior years. She suspected McGonagall used the portrait to keep an eye on the Gryffindors, despite her apparent blindness to the madness that occurred most days. “Go now! Fly!”

“Now, hold ye—”

“Go before I ruin you!” bellowed Edelweiss. She knew she was too loud. Her voice might be loud enough to awaken all of Gryffindor. “Hurry! A man’s life hangs in the balance!”

The portrait nodded and vanished. Edelweiss spent the next few minutes stressfully pacing before the dark fireplace. The dark side cloistered around her, a second skin that provided no real comfort. She tried to make sense of what she witnessed. Arthur Weasley had been attacked. That was clear. But where? And by whom? Voldemort? She would be unsurprised to learn he possessed the power to control snakes. But something had been off about the snake she noticed. Wrong. She hoped that snake had housed some of his essence and had now perished, though it should have been slain by her cleansing ritual. It would be dead now. Yet the thought of it infuriated her. It never should have had the chance to look Arthur Weasley in the eye, let alone attack him.

“Did I make an error with my ritual?” she murmured.

There was no time to dwell on that thought, for McGonagall burst into the common room, family tartan wrapped around her night robe. She went to Edelweiss and asked, “Miss Potter, what is—?”

“Inform Dumbledore that Arthur Weasley has been attacked. It was done by a snake in a chamber with glowing orbs on shelves.”

McGonagall blanched. Edelweiss knew the place she dreamed of was connected to the Order. She was tempted to press the issue, but a man’s life hung in the balance. If she were to claim the Weasley’s loyalty for herself, she needed to ensure their patriarch survived to see the new year.

To see more years.

“Go on,” said Edelweiss. “Go tell Dumbledore, so that he can send someone to get Mr. Weasley to safety.”

McGonagall stared at Edelweiss pensively. For several seconds, she worried the professor would ignore her—or worse, try and punish her. But then she sniffed and said, “Remain here, Miss Potter. I will go speak with Albus.”

She watched the professor go and only worried about Arthur Weasley, who had always been decent to her. Some did not deserve death, and he was one of those rare few.

A half-hour later, a tight-lipped Professor McGonagall escorted Edelweiss to Dumbledore’s office. She raised an eyebrow at the sight of Minister Fudge and Umbridge. But then she had kept the Force close to her after what transpired in her dreams. The adults appeared slightly exhausted, though the Minister was frightened awake when he gazed upon her marked face. She stared impassively as he babbled about “rotten morals” and “a need to do something”. It would have been hilarious, were it not so pathetic.

“Pardon me, but why was I summoned?” asked Edelweiss.

Dumbledore rose to his feet. Minister Fudge cleared his throat, shot the Headmaster a dark look, and then turned to Edelweiss with a grimace. “It was reported to my office around twenty minutes ago that there were several breaches into the Department of Mysteries. One of these breaches was caused by you, possessing those strange, dark marks on your face. And worse, there were reports of yellow eyes! Yellow eyes! What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I woke up about a half hour ago from a most terrible nightmare.” Edelweiss fought down the sudden want to liquidate the Minister with Force lightning for daring to compare her Sith markings to the slave-tattoo Voldemort branded onto his servants. She also suffered a wave of jealousy, learning others had seen her eyes burn sulfur-yellow before her ascension. They would be like glowing coals in her skull. “I wish I could aid you, Minister, but I’m afraid I don’t know—”

“You told me about Arthur being attacked in the Hall of Prophecy,” interrupted Professor McGonagall. She had freshened up, though her tartan hung around her just like when she stormed into the Gryffindor common room. “While I disagree with the Minister’s claim you were there physically, I cannot fathom why you would know about something in London.”

“And especially not after what happened to Arthur Weasley,” the Minister added. He shot a foul glare at Dumbledore. “This is the second time someone with close ties to you has been found where they should not be, Albus. I want to know why the Department of Mysteries!” Edelweiss tried to recall who the first person had been, but she was drawing up a blank. Perhaps she should read the Daily Prophet, for all she detested the Ministry’s propaganda rag. No doubt they would have bragged about a member of the Order of the Phoenix being caught somewhere illicit. “I am tempted to see you drummed out of your position here at Hogwarts!”

“I am afraid you do not have that authority, Cornelius. Otherwise, you would have removed me this summer while you pushed me out of my other posts,” said Dumbledore. He glanced at Edelweiss, a hint of amusement hidden in his blue eyes. “It pains me to confess that Arthur took a concern of mine too far. I am covering his care at Saint Mungo’s, and I will ensure his family receives restitution for what has happened.”

Minister Fudge huffed. “That does not explain the snake corpse we found!”

“Snake corpse?” asked Edelweiss, playing dumb. She glanced at Dumbledore. “Do you think…?”

She let her question linger in the air between them. Edelweiss wondered if Dumbledore would bite at the trap laid for him. She certainly hoped so. But he only smiled back, obviously aware of what she was doing—and he found it amusing. Amusing!

“I have no doubt, my dear, that Voldemort believes there is something of great value to him in the Hall of Prophecy.”

Edelweiss raised an eyebrow while Minister Fudge spluttered. “A prophecy? Perhaps connecting me and him—?”

“Enough!” boomed Minister Fudge. “Enough about him! He has not returned! He has not! He has been dead all of these years!”

“Then how would you explain the Chamber of Secrets being reopened?” asked Dumbledore. “I told you then that it was the same man—and that it was never Hagrid.”

Minister Fudge’s face pursed as if he had eaten a handful of prunes while Umbridge shot Dumbledore a deathly glare. Professor McGonagall appeared to have aged several years in as many seconds. All the while, Dumbledore remained behind his desk, strong and stoic. Here was the wizard Voldemort feared. Here was the wizard she would destroy.

“May I return to bed?” asked Edelweiss. She yawned. “I would appreciate a few more hours of sleep before you inevitably inform the Weasleys about what happened to their father.”

There was an awkward, almost pained exchange of glances before McGonagall said, “I will escort you back to Gryffindor Tower, Miss Potter.”

Edelweiss nodded. No protest came despite Umbridge’s frustrated expression. They left Dumbledore’s office to the sound of Fudge bellowing about alleged threats to the integrity of the Ministry, and the Department of Mysteries in particular. She smirked. The Minister was a fool if he remained unaware of the truth that he had long been subverted.

Like clockwork, the story of Arthur Weasley’s peculiar attack in the Department of Mysteries was plastered across the front of the Daily Prophet. The student body of Hogwarts almost immediately began to speculate as to what happened. The Weasleys, along with a frightful-looking Hermione, had been told shortly after Edelweiss returned to the common room. They had gathered, worried over her disappearance from bed. That was amplified by the panic she put into the portraits while reporting the attack. She remained silent when questioned how she knew of the attack. Judging from the dark gleam in Ron’s gaze whenever he glanced at her, she would need to take him aside and correct whatever foolish notion bubbled in his head. She would prefer to not threaten and cajole him into seeing things correctly. But knowing him, it might be necessary.

Edelweiss would never forget how he believed she secretly put her name into the Goblet of Fire the previous year. She had been sorely tempted to throw his lackluster apology in his face and end their friendship following the First Task. Were it not for the pressure she received from Hermione and the other Weasleys along with her weak heart, she might not have accepted Ron back into the fold.

She suspected there were other ways to ensure his compliance.

Edelweiss also suspected that what she witnessed was connected to her cleansing. Had she not cleansed herself of Voldemort’s tainted essence, she might have witnessed the attack on Mr. Weasley from the snake’s perspective. She could not fathom how that change would have affected her reaction to the incident.

Naturally, she had begun to question how she had been in the Hall of Prophecy while her body slept in Gryffindor Tower. Lady Bastila’s holocron currently resided in her trunk, so she easily had access to someone versed in the Force and its many phenomena. Hopefully, her master possessed an explanation for what Edelweiss had experienced. While she felt triumph in possessing powers beyond the scope of what Voldemort and Dumbledore could do, she wondered why they would both be interested in the Hall of Prophecy. The obvious sprung to mind, yet how likely could that be? Was she tied to one of these men—Voldemort, no doubt, for he began their story by orphaning her via failure to murder her—by prophecy?

The Force told her yes, and that she hated.

That left her unsettled. Her gut churned. Had discovering the Force and the dark side, embracing Salazar’s Sith legacy, been her working within the confines of this prophecy?

Or could she break away from its influence?

It would not matter in the end. She would destroy Voldemort regardless of external forces or influences. That was her truest power.

Fifteen minutes after lunch, Edelweiss was summoned to Professor McGonagall’s office. She passed through the slightly ajar door and found the other Weasleys gathered along with Hermione. She sensed their discomfort, along with McGonagall’s frustration. She had a few suspicions as to why the professor had summoned her. The trouble was that the only logical answer meant incurring the wrath of the Ministry through Umbridge.

“You’re sending us to Grimmauld,” said Edelweiss. Of all present, only her trunk would be packed. Hermione packed the night before they left—which would be tomorrow—while the Weasleys had a destructive habit of not packing until the day of departure.

“Aye, I am,” said Professor McGonagall. “With the rumors about what happened to Arthur spreading throughout the school, Albus and I decided it would be best for all of you to depart today.”

“Even Hermione?” asked Edelweiss. “Won’t that make Umbridge more suspicious?”

McGonagall pursed her lips, appearing a heartbeat away from outright glowering at Edelweiss. “I reminded him of that very point, Miss Potter. But Albus believes that sending all of you from the castle now can be done without drawing their ire to you and the Weasleys. And even Miss Granger, thanks to her connection to you, Miss Potter, along with the Weasleys, can be excused in this case. Frankly, given the situation with Arthur, it would be more suspicious if Miss Granger remained behind.” She sighed before adding, “Aurors will likely be at King’s Cross. On Fudge’s orders, since he has grown even more suspicious of Albus and his intentions.”

“And Dumbledore fears they might catch on to Grimmauld Place as the Order’s headquarters if they follow us,” Edelweiss surmised. “With the Fidelius Charm, is that truly of great concern?”

“Albus believes so. I do not think it is the appropriate reaction, but I understand his reasoning.”

Edelweiss sighed and then nodded. “When do we leave?”

“Within the hour. Albus has modified the wards so that all of you can depart from my office instead of his.”

Something changed after June, thought Edelweiss, bitter poison in her mouth. For the best, truly.

She still recalled the portkey that spirited her away at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, along with the price she paid for her weakness. She glanced at the others, who were asking McGonagall about their trunks. “A certain house elf with handle it,” McGonagall said with a smile.

Edelweiss embraced the Force then and carefully parsed out their emotions. The Weasleys projected varying states of anxiety. They wanted nothing more than to hear about their father and his condition. Ginny even wanted to see him at Saint Mungo’s immediately. Hermione’s were more muddled, yet her feelings were similar enough that Edelweiss almost mistook the bushy-haired girl for a Weasley.

“Miss Potter,” said Professor McGonagall. “I would like to speak with you privately.”

Edelweiss nodded. She watched as the Weasleys and Hermione filed out of the room, the latter shooting her a worried look.

“What do you wish to speak about, professor?”

“I am concerned about the quality of your schoolwork,” began Professor McGonagall. “You are struggling with most of your courses, especially with the written work expected from you. All of your professors have reported this decline to me. Even Severus is concerned, which surprised me.”

“I find writing to be boring and tedious,” said Edelweiss, unable to reveal the truth. “I excel with my wandwork, along with the rest of the practical work required of me.”

“And that is only half of what will be expected of you on your OWLs.” Edelweiss almost thought Professor McGonagall was angry with her. Disappointment rippled off the older witch, potent through the Force. “If you continue as you are, I am worried you may not be able to register for many NEWT-level courses. Worse, you may need to take remedials so you can catch up with those in your year.”

“I will be fine, Professor, but”—and here she paused, smiling slightly as if she were still the girl savior everyone expected—“I appreciate the concern.”

That seemed to be enough for McGonagall, for a burst of relief flowed through her. “If you ever need help, know my door is already open.”

“Of course,” said Edelweiss with no plans to accept aid from McGonagall. She did not trust the professor. Not after everything that happened over the past four years. But for now, there was nothing wrong with allowing the Scottish professor to think she possessed influence over Edelweiss.

Better yet, that assumption would trickle up to Albus Dumbledore. He would believe there remained a means by which he could influence Edelweiss, now that she was increasingly beyond his control. She wondered how long she could string them along before they realized her game.

For now, though, she would lie low. The Christmas hols would allow her time to focus on learning Ataru and to prepare for whatever trouble she would face when she returned to Hogwarts in January. Edelweiss sensed unseen powers at work. They were too blurry to make sense of, yet she knew a threat loomed upon the horizon.

A threat, oddly enough, that she thought could be used to her advantage.

Professor McGonagall briefly stepped out of her office, returning almost automatically with the Weasleys and Hermione in tow. She then drew out a length of rope and held it out for them to them.

“This is the portkey Albus prepared for you. It’s set to react to an activation word.”

Edelweiss was the last to grasp the portkey. She grimaced, remembering what happened the last time she touched one. The others must have forgotten, for she received confused looks at her hesitation.

Worse, they acted as though Umbridge might barge through Professor McGonagall’s door at any moment. A foolish fear, for the woman was currently giving first years an academic debauching in Defense. Edelweiss, for her part, was ready to return to the Grimmauld. Perhaps she would bully her godfather into dueling her. He would expect her to ask after it. The others would not blink at her doing so, thanks to the defense group.

And once we have a schedule for dueling, then I can ensure I can train with my lightsaber without issue.

McGonagall waited until she was confident they were all holding the rope tightly before she said, “Leo.” A moment later, something yanked Edelweiss behind the navel. She was taken from Hogwarts. The world spun in a flurry of muted colors. Reds and golds poked through for a time, eventually replaced by greens as the world slowly righted itself.

She crashed to the floor as they arrived at Grimmauld Place. Edelweiss cursed under her breath, for the Force failed to warn her of their sudden arrival. The Weasley Twins chuckled at her misfortune. Hermione helped Edelweiss to her feet, amusement and worry on her face. She almost ripped the hand away, but her relationship with Hermione was too valuable to wantonly destroy.

“One of these days you’ll land on your feet,” said Hermione. “I still don’t know how you’re so clumsy with magical transit.”

“I would rather never use portkeys.” Edelweiss recalled the previous night. “Maybe one day I won’t require them.”

Hermione blinked. “What do you mean— Wait, is this related to our conversation—”

“It is and it is not, Hermione. For now, worry not. I do not think that day is near.” Edelweiss glanced around the room. They had landed not in the entry, but the small family room with the great, sprawling family tree of the Blacks. “Where’s—?”

The door suddenly burst open, slamming against the wall, as Sirius Black stormed in. “Edie!” he shouted. “You’re here!” His voice bore a barking quality that drew a fond smile to her lips. Her godfather pushed his way over and scooped her up into a hug. She embraced him, grinning widely, despite the faint, embarrassed flush that came to her face.

“What happened to your face?” Sirius whispered into her hair.

“We’ll speak of it later,” Edelweiss replied.

Sirius then set her down. Edelweiss took a small step back. “It’s good to see you, Sirius.” She glanced at the Weasleys, taking in their jealous, morose expressions. “Is Mrs. Weasley around? How is Mr. Weasley?”

“Molly is at Saint Mungo’s, along with Bill and that bird of his. Seems like he’s getting serious about the girl he’s been seeing recently.”

Edelweiss nodded. She had met Bill Weasley twice now. Once during the previous summer and a second time, following the First Task. In another life, she might have looked up to him as his siblings did. Instead, he was just another Weasley; one she knew just better than Charlie, who worked with dragons.

“Arthur is doing well,” continued Sirius. “Hopefully he’ll be released before New Year, though with the aurors sniffing around him…”

“You think they’ll hold him longer?”

Sirius nodded. He glanced at the Weasley children before admitting, “It was a near thing. The Unspeakables are furious with Dumbledore since he was able to sneak members of the Order into their department without getting approval from them. But because of how the Department of Mysteries is structured, the Minister can’t do much.” He shrugged, a faint grimace marring his attempt at being elusive. “I believe he’ll be fine, but I won’t know anything until Molly gets back.”

“Do you think he might be fired from the Ministry?”

Sirius’s uncertain silence was answer enough. Edelweiss thought it was foolish on the part of the Ministry to consider eliminating the man heading one of their most vital muggle-facing departments. But then she had witnessed firsthand how witches and wizards thought of Muggles. It was as though muggles were human-shaped animals and not human. Arthur Weasley acted so oddly around them it was a miracle he did not expose the magical world on his own.

It would be a tragedy to allow magical Britain to be exposed as it was. The muggles, for all their “liberal softness” as Uncle Vernon boomed too often, would not suffer their magical populace to act as they had during secrecy. They would be yanked, screaming and biting, into the modern age—or risk being destroyed in the process.

Edelweiss almost wanted to witness it happen. It was only an irrational fear muggles would snuff out many British mages that kept her firmly on the side of secrecy. Purging enemies was one thing. Genocide was another.

“They would be foolish to fire him, but then we are speaking of the Ministry.” Sirius huffed while the Twins tittered. “I wonder who they would hire to replace him. Not a muggleborn, despite the fact they would be the most qualified to fill the post.”

The Weasleys grumbled and complained about Edelweiss’s comment, though she sensed that Hermione secretly agreed. She would not take up the position—Hermione Granger had too much ambition for that—but she would see a muggleborn step into that position if given the chance.

“Come on,” said Sirius. “I have tea ready for you lot. Kreacher will handle your luggage once McGonagall sends it over.”

Edelweiss bit her tongue. She knew she would room with Hermione and Ginny once more. Mrs. Weasley would insist after what happened with Arthur Weasley, and she could sense from Sirius that he would not risk helping her this time around.

Not that his help amounted to anything over the summer.

An hour passed before Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Bill’s unknown girlfriend returned from Saint Mungo’s. Shouting arose from the entry as the Weasley children greeted whomever their brother had taken up with. She tuned out their shouting. Edelweiss had remained in the kitchen with Sirius, wishing she could have placed her training lightsaber and holocron into her robe. Had she done so, she would be in the dueling arena, running through her katas and other training exercises instead of listening to a few months’ worth of pointless gossip while Sirius stepped around the single matter he wanted to talk with her about.

“Shouldn’t you be out there?” asked Sirius, once more avoiding the elephant in the room.

Edelweiss shook her head. “I’d only be in the way. They might like having me around, but I’m not one of them.” She raised her cup of dark, lukewarm tea to her lips. It smelled oddly unpleasant, as though whatever granted the tea its pleasant flavor had been leeched away. “I never will be. Not as Mrs. Weasley would like.”

Sirius raised a curious eyebrow.

She considered the surface of her cup for a second and then chugged down all that remained. Edelweiss wrinkled her nose. “She wants me to fall in love and marry one of her sons. Ron would be expected since we’re of age.” She sighed before muttering, “He’s a decent friend, but he’s too controlled by envy. It could never work.”

And I have plans of my own. Plans that his petty sense of self-righteous morality would clash with—and I will not have that. None will stand in my way. I will cut down any who dare stop me.

Edelweiss wondered if she could maintain her earthly bonds when the time came for her to step out into the galaxy beyond. She knew the day would come, even if she had no clue of when that might be. There was so much out there in the cosmos. And a sentimental side of her thought Salazar would appreciate having his holocron brought to Ziost one last time. That, however, could only come to pass after she destroyed all who stood in her path. Perhaps she would embark on some social reform before her departure. It would be foolish to leave magical Britain as the same backward quagmire some fool stylizing himself as a dark lord could conquer.

I am the only one with a true claim to the title of Dark Lord on the Earth, Edelweiss thought, reflecting on her lessons under her many Sith masters. Her future title no longer troubled her as it once had. Any who dare to invoke what is mine shall be destroyed.

She paused in her thoughts. Someone was thinking about her, projecting their emotions her way. She could not ignore them. Edelweiss sighed the moment she realized who it was. She shook her head and muttered, “Worry about me less, Sirius.”

“But you know I’m always Sirius!” he quickly said with a wry grin.

Edelweiss glowered and growled, “Must you make such childish jokes?”

“If it’ll keep you acting normal, then I will tell as many as I humanly can,” he said. His amused smirk fell away. She watched, secretly impressed, as his prankster mask slid away, revealing a solemn man beneath. “I’m your godfather, Edie. It’s in my job description to worry about you. Especially when the only way I can learn anything about you and your life at Hogwarts is through the letters Molly gets. And even then, that’s all filtered through her feelings. Most of which happen to be negative.”

“I could have guessed that,” Edelweiss grumbled. “Still doesn’t explain why—"

“I don’t need a reason,” Sirius said, crossing his arms. “That’s what love is.”

Her gaze left him and her jaw clenched, lips pursing. “And what if I risk your love for me?” she eventually muttered, turning back to him. “What will you do when what I wish to pursue and what you believe is best for me cross paths? Or worse, diverge completely?”

His brows furrowed. His grey eyes took on a dark look, almost worryingly so. “Is there something you wish to confide in me? Something I need to know that you’ve kept secret? I have a feeling it relates to those strange black marks on your face.” He suddenly shivered. “They give me the creeps. They feel… wrong. It’s a shame they mask your beauty, Edie.”

She huffed, annoyed. “No. There are no secrets that I wish to confide in you, Sirius. I do not trust you with this secret. I trust nobody with it.”

Not even the one who knows part of it.

Sirius hummed thoughtfully. He then surprised her by nodding. “If you ever change your mind, Edie, you can always tell me. I will never betray you. You can trust me on that.”

“So you say. I will keep you to your word.”

Sirius nodded, seemingly proud of the quick agreement they had reached. He proceeded to set his cup down and leave the kitchen. She sensed his emotions and knew they were true when he headed for the entry. Edelweiss sat there in the kitchen, hearing his low yet tenor tones come from where the Weasleys still were. She turned to where he disappeared, staring. For several seconds, she considered going to join them—and then Kreacher appeared, grumbling, “Filthy muggle-loving elvies. Comes into my mistress’s home, just as blood traitors and mudbloods. Worthless. Worthless!”

Edelweiss waited for the house elf to notice her presence. After all, she had garnered something akin to approval from the foul elf. Instead, he returned to his bedding alcove under the sink. After several seconds of nothing but low mutterings coming from the closed space, Edelweiss rose to her feet, slipped out of the kitchen, and headed for the stairs. She scurried up them and down the hall above, heading straight to the door she remembered from the prior summer. Within, as expected, were three trunks. Edelweiss crossed to where hers waited, kneeled before it, and popped it open. She quickly withdrew her training lightsaber and the Ataru holocron.

She slipped them into her pocket, just as the door behind her opened. Hermione stood on the threshold, her brandy brown eyes watching Edelweiss carefully.

“Just checking that everything was here,” said Edelweiss as she closed her trunk. “Mine looks good. Going to check yours?”

“No. I spotted you slink up the stairs, and decided to follow. Mrs. Weasley is cross that you haven’t come to ask after Mr. Weasley, especially since you asked Sirius about him when we arrived.”

Edelweiss rose to her feet and stretched, drawing a few pops from her back. She needed to stretch more, especially if she was to master the lightsaber form she had chosen. Ataru required quick movements and a level of flexibility she struggled to achieve.

“I was going to speak with the Weasleys once I came down.” A lie, but Edelweiss increasingly excelled at lying. Not that she had been a poor liar to begin with. “And then there’s something personal I must attend to.”

Hermione crossed her arms. A moment passed and then she strode forward, righteous fury cast on her face. “Such as what, Edie? You’ve been secretive all year. Too secretive. I’m still not happy with the evasive half-truths you’ve given me, especial—”

“Stop!” growled Edelweiss, holding a hand toward Hermione. The Force flowed through her and into her friend. “No more talking from you!”

Hermione froze. Her eyes did not dull as others had, but she did not speak. She barely thought. It was as though she had been turned into a statue, which retained her natural coloring.

After a few seconds of hesitation, Edelweiss approached her friend. Hermione’s brandy-brown eyes did not follow her. “You should know better than to speak of matters others have no right to know. Be careful, Hermione. Who knows what wandering ears linger about this hovel.” She turned aside and grumbled. “It’s bad enough I have to put up with your meddling speculation.”

Edelweiss sighed and released the Force’s grasp on Hermione. She blinked suddenly and then glanced around with a dazed, confused haze over her eyes. She flinched away from Edelweiss, who had moved while Hermione had been ignorant of the world around her.

“What—? How?”

“Worry not about what has transpired,” Edelweiss whispered. She nearly giggled at how Hermione reeled away from her. “You should worry about the ease with which you might be deceived. I have done nothing more than to guide your mind in one direction—away from where it should be.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Hermione. “What did you do?”

“You do recall our conversation in the Shrieking Shack, yes?” When Hermione nodded, Edelweiss smiled impishly. “Then know that what happened to you relates to that. It would be a waste of your time to try and learn the truth, for none but I know. And once I decide to let it come to light, the world will be changing so quickly it will matter not what I did or did not do.”

“You speak as if your actions are inexplicable even to me, who knows more of your secrets than anyone else.”

Edelweiss stiffened as old memories, all but buried, returned to her. She had confided to Hermione, sometime around Easter in their first year, about her first acts of magic. Naturally, nothing happened as a result of telling someone. Muggles were powerless to affect her life. The magical world would not dare intervene. Not as long as they bowed and scrapped before Dumbledore.

“Then you understand why act as I do.” Edelweiss offered up a false smile. “I grow exhausted of your questioning, Hermione. Why must it be in your nature to peel back and question all you encounter? Can you not accept that events play out beyond your understanding? Doing so will certainly make your life easier. Perhaps even more peaceful.”

“Edie…”

“Don’t you dare ‘Edie’ me, Hermione!” Edelweiss felt the passionate embrace of the dark side wrap around her. “I can see your mind at work. Don’t you dare turn against me.”

Hermione swallowed nervously before nodding. “I won’t. We’re friends. We’ll always be friends.”

“Good. Then you will keep secret anything I decide to entrust you with. Understood?”

Hermione nodded weakly, a shard of fear dancing in her gaze. She would likely operate under the delusion she might gain the chance to learn the secret being kept from her by remaining compliant. Edelweiss made her way to the threshold. She lingered there a moment. She had nearly gone without adding one last warning. “Tell anyone about what we have discussed, Hermione, and I will find out. And despite all our long years of friendship, I do not forgive betrayals of the highest order. It’s only by your grace that I agreed to allow Ron back into the fold last year; and recall that his betrayal was nothing truly serious in the end. Only doubt, and the inability to believe my word over his failures.”

Hermione’s face reddened as if she had been openly insulted by Edelweiss’s words. Perhaps she had.

It mattered not to Edelweiss. She drew the dark side about her like a cloak and as she descended to the floor below, willed the Force to coat her so all gazes slid from her as rain slid off glass. She made her way down and further still to the hidden entrance Sirius had shown her over the summer, and down to the subterranean chamber beyond.

She had forms to practice. A future to prepare for. The rest were distractions from that future.

On Christmas Day, Mrs. Weasley finally relented to the demands of her children to visit Mr. Weasley at Saint Mungo’s. Edelweiss briefly considered staying at Grimmauld and using the empty house to focus her energies toward hours of dedicated study into the dark side and practice her lightsaber skills. She then remembered how stiff and sore she was, and decided she could sacrifice a few hours visiting the man she rescued from mortal peril. She hoped to learn something from the man about her strange astral wandering. She had taken to thinking of what occurred as “astral” after some careful questioning of Sirius. And if necessary, she could wield secrets drawn from his mind against the Weasley family so that she could control their futures as she saw fit.

That was unlikely if she were honest with herself, but the thought was enough to draw a smooth smile to her face when Mrs. Weasley blinked with astonishment when Edelweiss said, “Yes, I would be interested in visiting Mr. Weasley,” in response to her question.

Hermione, the most aware of recent events, shot her a suspicious look as they readied to leave. Edelweiss allowed the suspicion to flow past her, even as her Sith instincts bayed for punishment and retribution. They might need to have a conversation about what was and was not appropriate in the public eye. It was imperative nobody suspect something was wrong within the mind of “disgraced saviour”, Edelweiss Potter.

They left Grimmauld around half-eleven, walking in a manner akin to when they went to King’s Crossing in September. Remus and Mad-Eye accompanied them, while Nymphadora Tonks would hover about Saint Mungo’s. Sirius had been left behind, whining as they stepped out the door. Edelweiss used the walk to peer into the minds of random muggles and see, through magic and the Force, what she could glean from them. There was little of interest or note, though she found the practice useful. She knew magical minds were heartier than non-magical ones, with their natural and unnatural defenses against invasion. Possessing the power to punch through or subvert those defenses could mean the difference between life and death, should her Sith training miraculously fail her. They had yet to; only through her lack of training in the arts of subtlety had she risked revealing her powers whenever her passions risked getting the best of her. That folly had nearly exposed her completely to Hermione, and even now kept the bushy-haired girl slightly suspicious of her.

They came to an abandoned department building twenty minutes after departing. Mrs. Weasley waved them into a small entry with boarded-up windows. Once everyone was inside, she approached a disturbed mannequin that had the appearance of a massive nutcracker dressed up like a wizarding version of Santa Claus. Its head tilted slightly as Mrs. Weasley approached.

“Welcome to Saint Mungo’s Hospital,” it said with a monotonous voice. “How may I help you?”

“We’re here to visit a patient. Arthur Weasley.”

The mannequin nodded, stiff and awkward. Edelweiss reached out slightly with the Force and felt a strange power tied to the construct. She immediately thought of the gargoyle defending Dumbledore’s office.

The Force can make sense of magical workings. How fascinating.

The other set of doors in the room groaned and drew back a few inches. They then slid aside silently, revealing a clean white interior.

“Go on, now,” said Mrs. Weasley. She waved them through the open doorway, her gaze lingering briefly on Edelweiss.

Suspicion or worry? Which may it be?

Edelweiss decided to not worry about learning. To try and learn which it might be risked worry becoming suspicion. And if it were the latter, then the suspicion would deepen into a void she might never cross.

The welcoming room was plain, though a receptionist sat behind a wide pane of glass. She glanced up and blinked, bewildered. Edelweiss assumed the woman expected only a few visitors, maybe upwards of six. Instead, she watched ten enter the hospital, present to visit a single man.

“Come along,” said Mrs. Weasley, ignoring the receptionist. “He’s this way.”

‘This way’ turned out to be the first floor above. They passed through a swinging green door labeled: 'Dangerous' Dai Llewellyn Ward: Serious Bites. Edelweiss exchanged bemused looks with Ron as they entered the cramped ward. There were seven beds present, bunched up together with barely enough rough for a child to slip between them. Only two beds were occupied, both set near a small window at the far end. The other patient was a sleeping man, his bandaged arm woven with shimmering thread. From how Lupin glanced at him, Edelweiss surmised a werewolf bit the other man. Dust floated in the air, though Arthur Weasley looked quite well when he spotted them.

“Molly! Children!” He paused, spotting Edelweiss and her marked face. “Edie! Why, I had thought those marks were a hallucination on my part.”

She snorted and stepped forward. Everyone else remained behind her as if recognizing she wanted a private moment with Arthur. “I’m surprised the Prophet hasn’t plastered my face all over the front page ever since it changed last month. My markings have been the gossip of Hogwarts for weeks now.” She tilted her head. “Then again, Fudge flinched when he saw them just recently. I guess nobody outside the castle believed the tales.”

“Well, you can’t trust what you read in the paper,” said Mr. Weasley as though Edelweiss placed the full blame for his ignorance on the Prophet. “And after everything that happened in the Department of Mysteries…”

Edelweiss nodded. “I was surprised you noticed my presence. I dreamed all of that from Gryffindor Tower.”

“How strange…” murmured Mr. Weasley. “How strange.”

“Indeed.” She then stepped aside and allowed the other Weasleys to crowd their father. She watched on for a time with Lupin and Mad-Eye standing beside her. It was quickly tiresome and Edelweiss itched to be anywhere else. The two men beside her were enough to resist the temptation of poking into Mr. Weasley’s mind.

“Could I see more of the hospital?” she asked Lupin. “I’ve never been here before.”

He glanced first to Mrs. Weasley and then—annoyingly—at the man with the werewolf bite. “As long as you’re careful.”

Edelweiss beamed at him. “I’m always careful, Remus.”

He stared at her with a look of horror and regret. Odds were he was as much seeing her parents as he was seeing her. Perhaps the marks on her face dulled those memories of his halcyon past. But she knew the look well enough from her third year to recognize that exquisitely painful blend of past and present.

Only Mad-Eye followed her out of the ward. Edelweiss felt both eyes on her back as she sought out the nearest stairwell and ascended. She sensed a pair coming down the stairs, but neither presence stood out. As she rounded the first landing, she came face to face with a man she thought to never see again.

“Professor Lockhart?” Bad habits died hard. Edelweiss grimaced at how easily she uttered ‘professor’ in the face of Gilderoy Lockhart. She bitterly recalled his attempt to wipe her memories and leave her for dead. Thank Merlin Ron never replaced his broken wand that year.

“Me?” said Gilderoy Lockhart. He frowned at her, though whether from his lacking memories or her marked face, she could not say. “A professor? Why, I think I would remember if I was a professor!”

“Oh, don’t mind her, Gilderoy,” said a white-robed woman. Edelweiss noted the badge of twin snakes around a stave on her chest and assumed she was a nurse. Madam Pomfrey wore nothing of the like, yet they felt alike. “You know how people can be when they see a familiar face.”

“Oh, of course!” he said, beaming that wide white smile Edelweiss recalled from her second year. “She must be here for a personal autograph!” He turned to head back up the stairwell. “Come along, then. All of my stuff is by my bed!”

And so the four of them awkwardly ascended to the fourth floor. Edelweiss followed nurse and patient to a set of wide double doors, a sign beside them proclaiming the room beyond to be the Janus Thickey Ward.

“I know some good folk who’ve spent a long time here,” murmured Mad-Eye. Edelweiss glanced back at him. “They were aurors, Frank and Alice. Damned good ones, as well.”

“Were they in the Order?”

“Aye, they were. That’s probably why they were attacked in the end.”

Anything else Edelweiss might have asked was interrupted upon entering the ward. There were a dozen beds, each set at even intervals. To her surprise, almost half were occupied. Two beds near the far end had a pair of visitors—an old woman and a young man. Her grandson, Edelweiss guessed. She was tempted to turn around and leave. Her encounter with Lockhart had been a surprise, and she wanted nothing to do with him.

And that was when she recognized the young man.

“Neville?”

Edelweiss snapped her mouth shut, surprised by how loud she uttered his name. Neville Longbottom reacted in kind, jumping a good inch as he turned her way. His mouth fell open. He spent a good few seconds trying to work it before the old woman said, “Neville, dear. Who is your friend?”

“That’s Edelweiss Potter,” said Neville, sounding slightly hesitant and very awkward. “I’ve told you plenty about her.”

Neville’s grandmother hummed, staring intently at Edelweiss. She, in turn, recognized the red handbag and vulture hat that Neville had inflicted upon his boggart.

So that’s his gran.

“Well come over, dear,” said Neville’s grandmother. She waved Edelweiss over for good measure. Once Edelweiss reached them, Neville’s grandmother looked her up and down. “You look a great deal like your grandmother Dorea under those strange marks on your face. Neville told me of them in his letters, though that the Prophet has yet to mention them… How curious.”

“Curious?” muttered Edelweiss.

“Though your eyes,” continued Neville’s gran, ignoring Edelweiss’s words. “Those are Lily’s without a doubt. Had things gone differently, perhaps you would have grown up beside my Neville.”

Edelweiss glanced at Neville, who looked pained at his grandmother’s revelation, before asking, “You knew my family?”

“Few could claim to not have known Charlus and Dorea by some measure,” said Mrs. Longbottom. It was the best name Edelweiss had without using the dark side to draw up the woman’s given name. “She stunned many when she married into the Potter family, especially since it was still well known that Henry, Charlus’s father, had advocated we aid the muggles during that Great War of theirs. Many families, including the Blacks, sought to have his magic bound, his wand snapped, and his memories obliviated for daring to suggest we provide any succor to our muggle counterparts.”

“So then the Blacks didn’t approve of the marriage.”

“Other than Arcturus, yes. He, I suspect, saw through the illusions we all held close during Grindelwald’s war and recognized something of a kinship in Charlus Potter. The alliance they built during the 50s should’ve led Britain into a long peace.” Mrs. Longbottom sighed and shook her head. “A shame what happened in the early 60s.”

“And that is?”

“Dumbledore finally gained enough support to make himself the head of the Whig faction in the Wizengamot. They had always been friendlier to the muggle world, but Dumbledore took their advocacy a step too far, as many believe. Some accused him of being an integrationist—or worse, wishing to completely undo the Statute of Secrecy. Henry Potter was never so daring, which allowed him to avoid exile.”

Edelweiss blinked as she clamped down on her surprise. She knew Dumbledore’s political influence came from defeating Grindelwald back in ’45, but to hear he had outright taken control of part of the Wizengamot? She understood little of the archaic leviathan at the heart of magical British governance, yet she knew enough to be disturbed by what Mrs. Longbottom said. As to integrating magical and muggle Britain, that reminded her of her fears of secrecy and discovery—and, she realized, that extended to the broader galaxy. Should the Republic the Jedi supported find Earth, they might destroy the world just to purge her.

Mrs. Longbottom chuckled faintly. “Charlus had been the leader then. He had made progress when it came to the recognition of muggleborns within blood purist circles. They had slowly opened to integrationist policies for them—earlier induction into the magical world, even adoption into various families. To say that he was irate by Dumbledore seizing that faction and eliminating Charlus’s policies puts it lightly. He resigned in protest after a particularly nasty argument over the emergent Knights of Walpurgis.”

“The Death Eaters,” growled Edelweiss. The dark side rippled around her. “Those were the early ones. Before war broke out in the ‘70s.”

Mrs. Longbottom nodded, a stern look on her face. “I attended Hogwarts with many of them. Most are dead now. Only Nott lives, and he escaped Azkaban because of his poor health following You-Know-Who’s fall. After he recovered, his family had restored enough prestige to prevent future prosecution.”

Edelweiss hummed, before sneering. “I assume Dumbledore did nothing?”

“Just about.” Mrs. Longbottom sighed. “I’m still shocked by what young Sirius did. It must pain you—”

“My godfather is innocent of his crimes,” said Edelweiss softly. “It was Pettigrew who betrayed my parents, not Sirius. He was exposed as the Weasley pet rat and fled Hogwarts at the end of my third year.” She glanced at Neville, then back to his grandmother. “He was there at the end of the Triwizard Tournament. When Voldemort returned.”

Even though her words should not have carried, fear and panic rippled through the quaint ward. Edelweiss glanced around the room. The nurse who had been with Gilderoy Lockhart stared at her, horrified. It was as though she had not realized the strange girl with black facial markings was Edelweiss Potter.

Doubtful she would have, given what the adults in my life have all said. What are you up to, Fudge? Why not use my face to discredit me?

She sighed and turned back to the Longbottoms. “It was nice seeing you two, but I think I should go. Happy Christmas.” Edelweiss turned to Neville. “Our first session will be three days after the hols end. Oh, and the wand situation. Have you gotten that handled yet?”

Neville glanced at his grandmother, a grim look on his face. Mrs. Longbottom shot Edelweiss a pointed look, as though she were upset with the course the conversation had taken. Edelweiss understood why since Mrs. Longbottom was the one responsible for Neville using his dad’s wand in the first place. Judging from the two lying in the beds before them, the true owner of that wand was not Neville Longbottom. Not now, and likely not ever. There was still breath in his chest, even if he felt… wrong.

And then Edelweiss was surprised. “Neville, dear,” began Neville’s grandmother. “What is Miss Potter speaking about?”

He stiffened and glanced between the two women. Edelweiss knew that with anyone else, she would be hesitant to reveal her subversive actions at Hogwarts. But the Longbottoms were good people, and she trusted Neville just enough to extend that truth to his grandmother. “Neville is part of a group that practices spells we are not being taught in Defense.”

Mrs. Longbottom pursed her lips disapprovingly. “Why am I not surprised? I told Albus to find someone—anyone!—but did he? No! The man is so beholden to his view of the world that Hogwarts ended up with that dreadful Umbridge woman.”

“Has Neville told you about her?”

“Oh, I knew Dolores Umbridge long before Fudge grew frightened of conspiracy in the halls of Hogwarts,” snarled Mrs. Longbottom, every bit the hardened matriarch Edelweiss had long imagined. “She’s a vile woman, responsible for outright heinous laws. The worst is her anti-werewolf legislation. That Lupin fellow who taught you two was forced to lie to us about his condition, though I’ve long suspected Albus had his reasons for bringing him into the castle.”

That reason, Edelweiss knew, was Sirius Black. She still did not know if Dumbledore had known from the beginning that Sirius was innocent. Though the lack of action on his part made it too easy to suspect conspiracy at play when it came to her godfather’s many years within Azkaban.

“Yes, well we founded a group in response to Umbridge’s poor teaching.” Edelweiss glanced down at the pair lying in beds, unaware of the world. She could feel them in the Force. They were lost within their minds, labyrinths of trauma separating them from reality. “I take it these are Neville’s parents?”

“Yes.” Something hard—almost hateful—burned in Mrs. Longbottom’s eyes. Edelweiss felt the emotion directed elsewhere. “Frank was my pride and joy. And Alice… Oh, I was uncertain at first, but they proved me wrong. They were good together. Good for each other.” She glanced at Neville. Edelweiss felt a ripple of confusion from her. Disappointment underlined it, though she thought there might be a shred of hope. “When they had Neville, we were all so excited. Children during those terrible years were to be treasured.”

Edelweiss glanced at Frank and Alice Longbottom. “Were they attacked before or after Voldemort failed?”

“A few days after. Just long enough nobody knew exactly what happened beyond your survival—and a hope of peace and recovery.”

“Gran,” Neville said suddenly. “Can I talk with Edie alone?”

Mrs. Longbottom blinked, rather surprised, and then glanced between them. Her expression was waspish, though her gaze was not accusatory. There was some curiosity there, despite there being nothing she should be concerned about. “I will wait for you in the lobby. Take your time, Neville.”

They watched Mrs. Longbottom go before Neville said, “My parents were attacked by Death Eaters. They thought my parents would know what had happened to You-Know-Who since they had gone into hiding at the same time as your parents. They… They tortured them.”

“With the Cruciatus?”

Edelweiss vividly recalled how Neville had shied away from Crouch’s demonstration of the Unforgivable. He was pacified with a herbology book following that class. Naturally, it proved useful for her efforts during the Triwizard Tournament. Ever three steps ahead, Barty Crouch Jr.

He nodded. “It was the Lestranges and… and Barty Crouch Junior.”

Her veins chilled at the mention of the Death Eater who had replaced Mad-Eye during the previous year. For a long moment, Edelweiss considered telling him the truth about Defense that year. But she decided otherwise the moment she touched him with the Force. He would not succumb to the passions that drove any Sith should she tell him. It was disappointing, but not all had the character to be a Sith.

Not yet, anyway. Perhaps with time, he could be swayed.

“At least one of them is dead.”

Neville looked distressed, even as he nodded. “I shouldn’t wish dead on them—”

“You live every day with what they did to your parents!” hissed Edelweiss. “You have every right to hate them! Every right to desire the day the Lestranges perish in Azkaban.”

She recalled Voldemort mentioning them during his monologue. Edelweiss had thought nothing of it then, for she had not known those names. Now was different.

“I guess,” he muttered, unable to believe her.

Edelweiss could tell she had left Neville troubled and hopefully with plenty to think over. “I would suggest you speak with your grandmother about getting a proper wand.” She glanced down at Frank Longbottom. “Your father would want you to be the greatest wizard you can be, Neville. Not to be like him.”

She waited several for a reaction, for anything from Neville. When it did not come, she laid a hand on his shoulder and whispered; “I’ll see you back at Hogwarts.”

She made it halfway across the ward when she heard Neville reply softly, “Thanks, Edie. For everything.”

Edelweiss paused, feeling something peculiar well up within. She brushed it aside and pressed on, Mad-Eye silently following in her wake. By the time she returned to the Weasleys, Mr. Weasley had fallen asleep. They were all ready to return to Number Twelve. She spotted Mrs. Longbottom on the way out. The woman stared at her for a few seconds and then nodded as if approving.

Edelweiss used that approval to fuel her training through the rest of the hols. She would kill those three Lestranges, no matter what.

They, like their master, would perish by her hand. She owed that to Longbottoms.

Chapter Text

Hogwarts brimmed with joy and merriment as the student body returned to the castle following their New Year celebrations. Edelweiss, aching wonderfully from practicing Ataru, felt suspicious of the brightly vibrant mood. She had been forced to deal with the suspicion of Dumbledore’s followers and painful, wary looks from Sirius and the Weasleys. None had dared speak a word of her markings beyond what Sirius mentioned when she first arrived at Grimmauld. But she could see it in their gazes. Her new face worried them, yet none possessed enough courage or daring to question her. They did not even have the will to berate her for the foolishness that granted her those marks, justified as the ritual was.

Edelweiss stuffed away thoughts of the hols and opened herself up to the Force. The moment after she did so, she realized why a happy mood filled the halls of Hogwarts. They had time away from the looming oppression of Umbridge and her silly rules. The defense club members were all rearing to get back into action. Members from all four houses had approached her on the train back to Hogwarts, all wondering the same thing:

“When’s the next session? What are we learning next?”

Hermione’s quick thinking concerning the Patronus Charm and teaching it had paid dividends. Edelweiss was frustrated events played out so. But she now understood that it played out for her benefit. Most who attended her sessions possessed a rigid morality. They were the kind who looked up to Albus Dumbledore, admiring him and encouraged by their families in hero worship. She would need time to cultivate those feelings for herself. Yet she had already stepped onto the path of the Sith Lord, so perhaps it would never come about.

If they will not love me, then they shall fear me. That was how Darth Gladiolus would reign over the mercurial public of magical Britain.

Through fear, as countless other Sith Lords had.

The Great Hall rippled with noise as the student body sat for the first breakfast of spring term. Edelweiss glanced about the hall, taking note of several absences among the Slytherins. She spotted her four little snakes. Each had a sour cast to their face. When she caught Greengrass’s gaze, the auburn-haired girl almost immediately looked away.

Edelweiss knew then that something was afoot. Something foul had wormed its way into the heart of Hogwarts, and it was not her.

“Hem hem!”

The hall froze. Conversation died. All turned to face the Head Table. The professors stared at Umbridge, who had risen to her feet with a proud smile. Almost two dozen students now stood before the table, all bearing strange, new badges with shining I’s front and center. Most were Slytherins—Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson stood proudly near the center—but there were a few Ravenclaws and even a Hufflepuff present. No Gryffindors were among their number; a fact that could be explained in several ways.

Edelweiss frowned at the sight. She set down her fork and knife.

“Due to events during the prior term, it has come to the attention of the Ministry of Magic that behavioral standards are not being upheld as they should here at Hogwarts,” began Umbridge. “After long discussions with the Head of the Department of Magical Education, it was agreed that Hogwarts would host a new body, whose sole purpose is to correct student behavior; a body chosen through a careful examination of their previous record… and known affiliations.”

“Sounds like she picked a bunch of Slytherins 'cause they hate us,” grumbled Ron. Hermione silenced him with an elbow.

“These students form the foundation of a new era for Hogwarts. One where those of respected backgrounds are entrusted with the vital, yet often thankless task of maintaining order and dignity among their peers. This first group of Inquisitors has agreed to step up and take on this duty, regardless of any price they might pay. And from what I have seen of Hogwarts, I fear they might pay a dear price indeed for their involvement.”

Edelweiss reached out with the Force, brushing her probes against each of these Inquisitors. Beyond the Hufflepuff and a few Slytherins, all present were in it for the power. Umbridge had, with a single fell swoop, assembled a personal army within Hogwarts. And the great, mighty Dumbledore had been powerless to stop her. A glance at the Headmaster revealed he maintained his composure well, even as his authority was openly flaunted and undermined.

Umbridge then sat down. The Great Hall watched silently as the Inquisitors went to their house tables. The Hufflepuffs made a point of giving their peer among this new group extra space—too much, by whatever standard dictated their internal workings. She suspected they would shun the Inquisitor among their number. And this did not go unnoticed. Edelweiss felt a wave of regret ripple from the Hufflepuff Inquisitor, witnessing their new treatment.

A shame the other tables did not react to their Inquisitors similarly. The Ravenclaws regarded their own with cool curiosity, appearing to adopt a policy of watch and wait for now. Edelweiss could not fault Ravenclaws for taking that careful position, even if the moral cowardice infuriated her. Did they think these “Inquisitors” would be of benefit to Hogwarts? Maybe they did. Or maybe they were too accustomed to their neutrality as events played out in the castle around them. Perhaps they were afraid of rocking the boat too much.

The Slytherins, naturally, welcomed back their number with smirks and handshakes. Malfoy grinned as though he were the Heir of Slytherin and not the Dark Lord. Hatred bloomed within Edelweiss. She clenched her hands tightly under the Gryffindor table. It was necessary now that she plotted how she would bring about Umbridge’s fall.

Her decision to wait and allow the Minister’s puppet to acquire power before casting her down could not be done passively. Edelweiss needed to accelerate events in her favor. By her hand, even. Else, she risked having to take action openly, like butchering Umbridge.

In the days that followed the Umbridge establishing her Inquisitors, Slytherin swiftly jumped into the lead for the House Cup. Edelweiss had forgotten about the inter-house competition between her Sith studies and her defense group. The Cup had also been irrelevant the prior year, thanks to the Triwizard Tournament. But coming down to the Great Hall for breakfast and seeing only one of the four great hourglasses opposite the Head Table be filled with colored gems was an unpleasant shock. Worse, the other three had black gems instead.

Everyone else is negative instead of being set to zero.

She glanced across the Great Hall and met Malfoy’s gaze. He smirked at her and flashed his Inquisitor badge. The dark side churned within her. It took tremendous willpower to restrain her writhing fury. But she managed it. Not yet, she reminded herself. Not yet. Edelweiss could not reveal her Sith powers to magical Britain just yet. Too much had already slipped out to Luna Lovegood and Hermione. Thankfully though, the little the Prophet had run about her changes—and they were oddly reluctant on that front—failed to suggest she was anything beyond a silly, attention-seeking girl.

Woe to them all. They maintained their delusion. She would laugh at how they all failed to see what was before them. That she relied on their ignorance made her future victory all the sweeter. The longer none realized what Edelweiss Potter was becoming and what she would soon be, the better. Her cloak of secrecy allowed her to act more freely, regardless of the consequence.

Hermione sat down with a loud huff, her school bag filled to breaking with thick tomes. Edelweiss glanced between her friend and the bag as the bushy-haired girl filled a plate with meat and fruit.

“Care to explain what has you frustrated?”

“As if you care,” snarled Hermione. She stuffed her mouth full of diced melon. Seconds passed before she growled, “You’ve made it clear you only care about yourself and whatever forwards your desires.”

Edelweiss considered the accusation. She felt some anger over the fact Hermione was not completely wrong about her prioritizing her key desire—the acquisition of power. Her ambitions drove her choices. And yet magical Britain would benefit from how Darth Gladiolus would destroy the complacent order. Her backward society required the destruction of Dumbledore and Voldemort along with the worlds they represented if they were to advance. The end product, unfortunately, remained beyond her ability to perceive the future through the Force.

If she were frank, the task of reconstruction was best left to minds like Hermione Granger or Theodore Nott. Perhaps to both of them. She needed to ensure the partisan divide that plunged Britain into civil war twice in a half-century could be circumvented. She had a feeling force alone would not break that old divide.

“And if I asked what kind of society we should raise up once the old men of this age are dead and gone, how would you respond?”

Hermione paused mid-chew to stare at Edelweiss. After several seconds, she blinked, and then frowned, and finally swallowed before asking, “Pardon? Did you just ask what kind of society I would want?”

“I believe that is what I asked.”

Oddly, Hermione paused to think. Edelweiss almost expected to hear something akin to “something more like muggle Britain, naturally” seconds after she posed her question, but that would perpetuate the troubles of the recent past. Voldemort accrued followers because of how Dumbledore approached his position on the Wizengamot. It did not help that he advocated policies that pushed Britain closer to the muggle world than even the more progressive members of the Wizengamot were comfortable with.

(She had done her research after her encounter with the Longbottoms at Saint Mungo’s. Ignorance was a tool for her to wield, not an infliction to possess.)

Chief among the issues that created trouble between Dumbledore and his natural followers were muggleborns and their growing influence in society. The very idea of muggleborn influence over magical society had many purebloods, especially those who hated all of Dumbledore’s policies, to fabricate “old” beliefs about blood purity.

Ironic how Dumbledore created Voldemort, and the latter perpetuated the influence of the former.

“I would seek justice, first and foremost,” began Hermione with a tense expression. “Justice for everyone who suffered in both wars. For non-humans not allowed to practice magic like witches and wizards.”

“You will find opposition from many, including from some of the races you wish to uplift,” warned Edelweiss as she picked out a few choice links of sausage. “The goblins, for one, will take your interest in their ways as an insult.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “If they don’t wish to use wands—”

“I doubt that is the issue. But I’ve never been one for History of Magic.”

Hermione sighed. Edelweiss sensed her friend’s growing frustration. “I guess I might be jumping the gun, but you make it sound like I’m forcing my ideals onto them.”

“That is how some would view your pursuit of ‘justice’, Hermione. You must remember how annoyed others were with that S.P.E.W. business last year.”

Miraculously, Hermione was able to swallow her initial response to criticism. Instead of exploding with outrage and fury, she pursed her lips tightly for several long seconds. She breathed in and out several times; loud enough Edelweiss knew it was deliberate. Eventually, Hermione sighed one final time and muttered, “I still think the treatment of house elves is abhorrent. And to think that they’re happy with their servitude!”

“I don’t like it either, Hermione. But some things cannot be forced without violence. Sometimes you only need people to fear what you might do if they cross you to get what you want from them.”

Edelweiss hoped she did not sound like a hypocrite, but she spoke the truth. Dumbledore achieved what he did because people were afraid of his power and the potential violence he could unleash. Yes, that was all based on a handful of duels, but a few showings were enough to have almost the entire population cowed—and to have a good chunk of that population all but worshiping the ground he walked.

“Had those words come from just about anyone else, Edie, they would’ve been convincing. But you? You’re holding that group together purely through the power you wield. The Slytherins told Ron and me about how you ensured their continued loyalty, which included how you convinced them to come to the Hog’s Head in the first place.”

“Threats are only theoretical if never acted upon.”

Hermione glowered.

Edelweiss sighed and shoved another bite into her mouth. “You understand what I mean. As long as they believe I shall fulfill my threats, then they will go along with my wishes.”

“That’s—! That’s no better, Edie!” She glanced up and down the table before leaning forward to hiss, “That’s how Voldemort behaves!”

Edelweiss bit down on her tongue. She could not tell Hermione the truth that she would become a dark lord as well. She pursed her lips in an offended manner before looking away, glowering at the hourglasses with their mounds of black stones.

“Something should be done about that,” she said, gesturing toward the hourglasses as if she cared. “It’s pathetic how the Slytherins need to put the other three houses in the negatives.” Edelweiss turned back to Hermione. “I expect better from them. After all, they are the house of cunning.”

“And what would you know about cunning, Potter?”

Edelweiss peered over a shoulder. Draco and his companions stood behind her, all smug smiles and crossed arms. Even Parkinson was present. She was grateful none of the four Slytherins pulled into her orbit were present. She knew they would be watching from the Slytherin table, wondering what she would do. Let them watch.

Let them all watch.

“A great deal more than you, Malfoy.” She waited for his mouth to open before carrying on. “I confess myself disappointed. I expected this state of the House Cup rankings from my house were they given full reign over Hogwarts. But Slytherin? I would have thought you’d want the other houses to hope they could claim the Cup up until the end when you squashed them utterly.” Edelweiss shook her head. “I expected too much. You’re cut from the same cloth as your miser father.”

“Don’t you dare talk about my father!” snarled Malfoy. His face has gone red and splotchy, grey eyes burning with indignation. Edelweiss could feel his hatred, and oh was it delicious. “You know—”

“I know he snuck a magical artifact into Hogwarts during our second year. The very one responsible for the Chamber of Secrets fiasco that nearly shut down the school. And he did it while you were in the castle. I wonder if he ever had sleepless nights, knowing you were in the same castle as an active basilisk.”

Malfoy’s face paled immediately. His jaw clenched, almost as tightly as his white-knuckled fists.

“If that won’t convince you, then I have another story. Did your father ever tell you what became of Dobby? One of your family’s house elves?”

“How do you know that name?” snarled Malfoy.

Edelweiss blinked and then tilted her head. “How about you tell me what you know about how your family lost the elf—and then I will tell you how I learned about him.”

Malfoy stared at her with a touch of confusion. “Father said he was disobedient. Had ideas beyond his station.”

“I guess that is one way to phrase being tossed onto your arse by an abused servant, newly freed thanks to the quick thinking of a twelve-year-old girl.”

And then she smiled sweetly, to rub it in.

Malfoy’s face flushed even brighter red.

“Still, that was not when my paths with the elf began,” continued Edelweiss. “He thought that since your father was going to release a monster into Hogwarts and I was too valuable to die, the best course of action was to maim me.” Draco blinked. “You do remember the rogue bludger, yes?”

He nodded stiffly.

“That was his doing as well. Now go on, Malfoy. You certainly have better things to do than to try and trouble me before everyone wonders how I might embarrass you this time.”

He glanced around, sneered at her, and then stormed off while pretending he still had dignity. Edelweiss glanced toward the Gryffindor hourglass. Nothing happened.

She turned away with a pleased smile, stretching her lips cruelly. Edelweiss finished her breakfast. As she prepared to leave the Great Hall, she glanced at the Head Table. Umbridge glowered hatefully at her.

Edelweiss saluted the wretched creature teaching Defense and then left before she could cause any more trouble. She could do that another time and for good.

The stale air of the Chamber of Secrets sparked and glowed as Edelweiss poured out the full extent of her power. Dark streaks of indigo lightning arced and spiraled from her fingertips. She grinned widely as her power became wrath incarnate. The air screeched as Force lightning rent its molecules apart. She maintained the torrent for several long seconds before stopping her flow of power abruptly.

“Fine work, apprentice,” cooed Lady Bastila. Her entire body hovered above her holocron. She wore a set of Sith robes that were plain in cut, yet well made. Edelweiss did not think the garb to be from luxury materials. It made no sense for a Sith to dress so when heading into combat. The garb reminded her of what she had worn during her strange wandering into the Department of Mysteries. “You have proven yourself adept with wielding Force lightning.”

Edelweiss pursed her lips as a disgruntled sound echoed up from her throat. “Adept is not good enough, master. I should be able to wield Force lightning like any of the great Sith Lords of old. Did not Lord Revan destroy a thousand with a single blast?”

“He did. But that feat destroyed an overloaded Republic troop carrier. He slew many thanks to the foolish arrogance of the Jedi, who had insisted more than wise entered the carrier. His feat was as much their doing as it was his.” When Edelweiss scowled at her master, she was met with a sly smirk. “Should you wish to achieve the power you seek, you will need to live for a very long time.”

“Are you saying there is a connection between the length of one’s life and how powerful they are in the Force?”

“Only that one grows into their power over time.” Lady Bastila paused, rubbing a thoughtful hand beneath her pointed chin. “I am familiar with a way to bolster your power as you would like, but I… I would not trust this method. It could drive you to madness.”

Edelweiss glowered and crossed her arms. She had gotten the droid in Ziost Hangar to reproduce a tunic nearly identical to the one she wore during her projection. It made her training in the Chamber chilly—and it also revealed the slight swell of her arm muscles and the complementary Sith markings down each arm. The collar rode up her neck, blending with the dark markings that covered everything between her jaw and collarbone.

“I would like to hear of this method before I make a judgment, master.”

Lady Bastila nodded. “This was a power used to great effect by Darth Nihilus, one of the puppets who followed Darth Traya following a schism within Revan’s Sith Empire. He was the Devourer, the Lord of Hunger. His power with the dark side allowed him to consume all life on the world of Katarr, where most of the remaining Jedi had gone to meet in secret.”

“…and how did this power of his lead him to madness?”

“It is a product of how Nihilus came into being. His body had been destroyed at Malachor V when Revan destroyed the Mandalorian threat. His body was then repaired through will and the influence of the wound in the Force that followed. Very much like Darth Sion, the Lord of Pain.”

“So they were both affected by what Lord Revan did at Malachor V?”

“Indeed. Recall that the Force can be used to absorb energy. They drew energy into themselves at Malachor. But one cannot hold on to it forever.

“Now, back to your work.”

Edelweiss nodded pensively. Her master always had a reason for the stories she told. Edelweiss suspected the tale of Darth Nihilus and Darth Sion was to warn her against drawing too much power into her person. They had covered the power of tutaminis, a particular Force skill for manipulating energy. Darth Malgus had mentioned it as well when discussing the use of the Force in a duel.

She drew the dark side to her, concentrating on the source of passion that made her connection to the dark side so potent. She then focused her magic, willing it to mesh with the Force. She had done so once before, on the night she left Privet Drive. Once she approached the edge of too much power, Edelweiss lashed out with her right hand at the garish statue of Salazar Slytherin. Her magic responded in tandem with the Force. She watched a blast of pure energy leap from her. It was a bright, terrible green like her eyes, yet it lacked the strange breathy quality of the Killing Curse. Many would mistake her new power for the Killing Curse.

But they were not the same.

“Impressive,” remarked Lady Bastila as she stared up at the blackened, smoldering mark on Lord Salazar’s statue. “I have never seen the dark side of the Force used in that manner. Rarely does it take on a visible shape when used so… purely.”

“That was magic and the dark side working together.” Edelweiss glanced at her master with a sardonic smile. “Maybe you are right that I should not worry myself with mastering Force lightning, for I can do so much more.”

And if her voice twisted into a dark snarl, neither woman commented on it. Edelweiss returned to her practice, seeking mastery over the dark side Force powers her master taught her. All the while, she considered how they might interact with her magic, and how that power could allow her to dominate first Britain, and then the galaxy.

“Set the next date for the Twelfth of January,” Edelweiss whispered to Hermione within the safety of their dormitory. They had traded galleons. Hermione had complained too much for Edelweiss’s preferences about their sessions, and so she had handed over the master galleon. Hermione had glowered but otherwise accepted the coin. “We’ll start a quarter after seven and go until ten minutes before curfew.”

“I didn’t design these to communicate an end time, Edie.”

“An oversight on your part. We know better for next time.”

“Next time?” asked Hermione warily.

Edelweiss shrugged as she juggled the question of whether or not she should retract her words. “You never know if we might need to establish a secret ring within a hostile society again. I’d rather not need to, but the skill would be useful nonetheless.”

Hermione gave Edelweiss a worried look before glancing around their dorm room. Parvati and Lavender were on the far side, gossiping over the most recent issue of Witch Weekly. Fay Dunbar, as usual, remained absent. Edelweiss reached out carefully with the Force and sensed their absent roommate a floor above with the sixth years.

“That would mean your war effort would go south, Edie.”

She nearly grimaced at the prospect of failure. “One never knows with war, Hermione. I am confident I have the strength and power to achieve victory, but I am not so arrogant as to think my victory is already assured.”

“You should not be claiming that—” Hermione suddenly stopped and turned toward the door, brows furrowed. “Did you hear that?”

Edelweiss’s mouth opened, ready to question Hermione’s sanity when she heard it. Raised voices rose from the common room. A lot of raised voices, which was a bizarre occurrence for several minutes after ten on any night that did not follow a victorious Quidditch game. Edelweiss leaped to her feet and stormed down to the common room, holly wand in her right hand and the dark side’s influence buzzing in her left. A troubled mood, brimming with dark side energies, embraced her halfway down.

She arrived to find a bizarre scene playing out in the common room. Professor McGonagall stood in the center dressed in a nightgown with tartan slung over her shoulder. She was swearing up a storm, her thick Scottish brogue transfiguring half her words into gibberish. Across from her was Umbridge with three of her Inquisitors. Edelweiss noted that the trio was the Hufflepuff and two Ravenclaws. Had any of the interlopers been Slytherins, she knew her fury would have become wrath.

“What is going on?” Edelweiss demanded, purposefully holding her wand low yet ready. Everyone turned to face her as she stepped forward to join the professors and the Inquisitors. “Professor McGonagall. Why are there students from other houses in the Gryffindor common room?”

There was a wave of agreement behind her, along with several insults levied at Umbridge and her toadies. Edelweiss only had eyes for the professors, struggling to not smirk maliciously at how Umbridge glowered at the whole of Gryffindor.

“Miss Potter. That is what I am trying to determine,” said Professor McGonagall, sounding caught between relief and annoyance. “I arrived to find Mister Collins, along with Miss Vince and Miss Taney, had barged their way past the Fat Lady with Professor Umbridge in tow. They have failed to explain why they are here, instead of in one of our offices.”

Edelweiss turned to Umbridge with a raised eyebrow.

“I know there are students in this house that are engaged in behavior that violates several ministry-approved measures—”

“Which measures?” asked Edelweiss with mocking sing-song. “The one about ‘appropriate gender relations’? Or maybe you’re speaking about the ban on ‘toys and tools of mischief-making’. Best of luck getting those banned, Professor. Filch and the Headmaster have been fruitless in their effort to stop the tide of Zonko’s products that flow into Hogwarts every year.”

“Not those, Miss Potter,” said Umbridge, sounding on the verge of exploding. She felt like she was a lot closer, and Edelweiss sensed there was a wand in her hand now. “The policy concerning student groups.”

“Ah. I have heard nothing, but I have been busy.”

“With what?”

“§You would not even believe me if I said§.” She turned to Professor McGonagall, who had blanched hearing parseltongue aloud. “You can ask about, but you won’t find anyone who’ll confess to violating any of the Ministry’s silly rules.” She glanced at Umbridge again. “Good night, Professors.”

And before either woman could respond to her words, Edelweiss glided across the common room and ascended the stairs to her dormitory. Shouting arose in her wake, but nobody came after her. Surprisingly, Hermione had remained in their dorm room. Unsurprisingly, she was attempting to wear a line in the floor pacing. “What was going on?” she asked.

“A reminder of how important secrecy is,” replied Edelweiss. She glanced at Lavender and Parvati. Their magazine remained open, but it was clear neither was paying attention to whatever trite article they had previously been absorbed in. “And an overstep on Umbridge’s part.” She turned back to Hermione. “One I doubt she will dare repeat. She knows now her Inquisitors are not welcome in Gryffindor Tower. Nor is she.”

The next morning, Gryffindors entered the Great Hall and discovered the twenty-three meager points they had miraculously recovered in the wake of the Inquisitors’ bloodletting had vanished. There were nearly two hundred black marbles in their hourglass, a representation of how deep a pit they had been tossed into collectively. Edelweiss stared at the black sight, burning the mound into her mind. It could help fuel her when the time of ascension came. Unfortunately, that time was still in the distance. Still out of hand, which frustrated her to no end. Why did the Force not allow her to act as she wished? Why must she continue giving ground to Umbridge?

She was a Sith! The title of Dark Lord was her right; she only needed to reach out and claim it.

Her gaze swept across her housemates. Several hid right hands, gauze or white cloth stained faintly brown held over that they failed to keep out of sight. The Force revealed to her that the strange dark stain on that black quill Umbridge possessed had touched them all. And nothing—nothing!—had been done to aid them.

“Proud of your work, Potter?” She turned to find Malfoy standing behind her, his swagger returned. “Professor Umbridge made it very clear all the points she took from Gryffindor were because of your defiance last night.”

“Is that so?” she drawled. She stared into his eyes, pouring forth all the black hatred in her heart. She watched as he grew nervous and then almost frightened. Fury bubbled in her veins. The dark side swelled within her, and that power seeped into him. Edelweiss was merely its conduit. With the softest of voices, she whispered, “Every night, right before you go to sleep, Malfoy, you will see shifting shadows of things you do not know and cannot see haunting you. They will whisper and sneer, mock and ridicule; and all you will receive is no sleep.”

“You’re… You’re mad, Potter!” Malfoy snarled, trying to regain his confidence. His gaze drifted past her and she felt courage swell within him. Edelweiss sensed Professor Umbridge behind her. She did not turn. Not yet.

“Best you think of better insults, Malfoy. Run along now.”

Umbridge snatched Edelweiss by the arm before she could try and sit at the Gryffindor table.

“Miss Potter—”

“Professor Umbridge,” barked Professor McGonagall from the High Table. “There are rules about how the staff can handle students. Must I remind you that the Minister has yet to grant you the authority to treat students as you wish? If there is a problem with Miss Potter, perhaps we could discuss it privately in my office.”

Edelweiss restrained a smirk as Professor Umbridge huffed. She released her grasp, shot Edelweiss a foul glower, and waddled her way back to the High Table. Umbridge sat beside McGonagall. They began hissing at each other, voices magically lowered to prevent students from eavesdropping.

“You’re playing with fire,” said Hermione from her spot at the Gryffindor table.

Edelweiss sat across from her. “Perhaps I am.” She glanced at the High Table where the professors continued to argue. “It’s nice to have McGonagall’s support for once. Maybe that business around Yule woke her up to the troubles within Hogwarts.”

Her gaze then turned to the Slytherin table. Malfoy sat in his usual spot, holding court. He caught her gaze and sneered. She winked and smiled in return. He flinched away. She hoped his reaction reflected his feelings about the Sith markings on her face. She sensed… fear. It was not much. She could not trust that it would last.

But it was a good start.

Edelweiss slipped into the Come-and-Go room with two minutes to spare. January Twelfth had finally come, and she had more waiting on her than she expected. The room buzzed with mixed excitement. Many shared stories of recent encounters with the Inquisitors. From what she sensed, none of the stories were pleasant. Not even whatever the disaffected Zabini appeared to be telling a concerned Susan Bones and worried Hannah Abbott.

She gazed upon the chamber and took note of how her four Slytherins stood apart. Tracy Davis had gathered with Lavender and Parvati, sharing gossip that had not escaped Slytherin’s common room. Daphne Greengrass showed a spell—a family spell, as Edelweiss learned with the Force—to a group of Ravenclaws.

“Edie, there you are!” said Ron, looking rather frazzled. His hair was as puffy as Hermione’s when she was in her foulest moods. “I swear they’re going to kill each other!”

Edelweiss nearly asked whom he spoke of when her gaze discovered Hermione and Nott together. They stood separate from the rest, arguing fiercely over something they both considered of vital importance. Nott’s hands moved about while Hermione was stiffer than a statue.

“Let me handle them,” Edelweiss muttered, heading toward the pair bound to give her an unwelcome headache. She suspected they would affect her enough she would need to toss around Force lightning after the session. Her practice saber had been left in her trunk, which was probably for the best. Her mood soured, for the thought of striking down her problems and not having to worry about cleaning up blood sounded very, very nice.

“—cannot think I will put up with—!”

“You’ll have to deal with personalities of great influence who’d love to see you impoverished and forgotten should you pursue a career in the Ministry, Granger!” snarled Theodore Nott. “Policy is set by precedent and the Minister, and they serve at the bequeath of the Wizengamot. Thus, they can have their power stripped from them by the Wizengamot.”

“Then how are the common people supposed to affect change?” asked Hermione.

“They usually don’t. The old families and those most capable affect change in our society. They are the ones trusted to guide our society. You would be best off acting as Lily Potter did by marrying into one of those influential families!”

“Please do not disrespect my mother by saying she married my father to advance her position in society,” Edelweiss said, trying to not sound furious. Hermione and Nott jumped and turned to face her with alarmed expressions. She glanced between them, brows slowly furrowing. “Care to explain why you two look like you’re a moment away from hexing each other into a night in the Hospital Wing?”

They exchanged a look that reeked of mistrust before Hermione declared, “We had a difference of opinion concerning how the Ministry currently operates and how it should.”

Nott rolled his eyes. “Granger here thinks the Ministry should operate more like the muggle government, while I tried to explain why the Ministry operates as it does.”

Edelweiss glanced between them again, wondering if she should prepare to pass judgment over their absurd case. “You two can continue your conversation another time. It’s a quarter after seven and curfew is at nine tonight.”

And with that, she turned to face the chamber. Edelweiss tapped her throat with her wand, murmured, “Soronus,” and then boomed, “Attention!” She smiled at the wave of swears and curses that met her pronouncement. Several visibly jumped, while others flinched and gasped. She whispered, “Quietus,” and stepped forward until she found a central spot among the gathered crowd.

“Welcome back from the hols. I assume everyone has grown accustomed to the indignity forced upon Hogwarts by the Ministry, yes?” There was a wave of nods and murmurs. None went against her words, which drew a smile to her lips. “Last term, we spent our time on spells of various uses for both offense and defense. Today, I believe it is time to begin practicing fighting. And yes, I did say fighting instead of dueling. Do not expect honor or fairness from those like these ‘Inquisitors’ that Umbridge has recruited They only know power and believe themselves the only ones worthy of wielding it.”

“You speak like you plan to fight in the halls of Hogwarts,” said Zacharias Smith, her eternal critic. “It won’t come—”

“I have no wish to exchange spell fire within these halls.” Edelweiss paused to take in the gaze of everyone around her. She could feel their uncertainty, their doubt, their fear; those emotions were the source of her power. She wondered if any would understand the power she gathered from their negative emotions. “However, I will not delude myself and think we will be so lucky. Umbridge will not stop until she has this castle in her flabby fist. These Inquisitors are the next step toward complete control of Hogwarts.”

“You think she’ll have Dumbledore removed?” asked one of the Ravenclaws with Greengrass.

“If she could lock him away in Azkaban, she will do it.”

Worry rippled through the room. Edelweiss nearly scoffed and rolled her eyes at their reactions. What did they think Umbridge was at Hogwarts for? She recalled that single, foolish detention she suffered. How the Ministry encroached on life within the castle. Had her time studying the ways of the Sith Lords of old awoken her to the reality of the world around her? Or had she only gathered the ignorant and foolish to her?

“Today, you will pair off with someone from another house. You’ll cast simple spells—first-year hexes and jinxes, shield charms, disarming charms. We will intensify your spell repertoire as the month progresses. There will be a session, eventually, where I will teach new spells. But it is better that you all learn how to fight and not just a bunch of spells you could use.”

Edelweiss smiled when people began splitting into pairs without her having to command them into action. It took longer than usual for the room to pair off, and that was solely because those present tended toward pairing with their friends. She nearly had to step in twice, but those situations resolved themselves before she needed to act.

She took up a position near one of the shorter walls, allowing her to gaze upon the whole chamber. Edelweiss opened herself to the Force so that she might better sense all that occurred before her. Once she saw all were ready to begin, she cleared her throat and said, “Go ahead. Staring casting.”

Spells flew haphazardly, fired without the necessary intent required to fight.

The next ten minutes passed slowly. Edelweiss eventually began walking the perimeter of the chamber, monitoring how the magical brawls playing out. She attempted to not grimace witnessing several of the “fights”. Most were very capable with the shield charm. A few like the Weasley Twins had realized stepping aside from a poorly aimed spell saved energy and casting time. The issue, though, was how few of them truly needed to shield. Had more moved like the Twins or Susan Bones, the number shouting “Protego!” would have fallen to almost none. She found their accuracy to be pathetic.

It sickened her.

What had she taught them these past months? Yes, they had maybe two dozen sessions before this day, but most present had over four years of magical training under their belt, and that was speaking purely of the fifth years. There were sixth and seventh years who performed even worse than their younger counterparts.

Edelweiss growled as she raised her wand. She paused for a deep, centering breath before thrusting her wand forward into the chamber and hissed, “Finite Incantatem!”

The chamber stilled as spells sputtered out and failed. Every gaze found her as she stormed down the chamber’s center. Her tongue worked against her lips and teeth, a reflection of the frustration bubbling within her.

“A pathetic showing!” she eventually bellowed. Several flinched, including Colin Creevey. Edelweiss blinked, wondering how she could have missed him. Worry about him another time. “Had everyone dodged instead of shielding, I doubt more than four of you would have required a shield charm!”

She spun on a dime, whispering, “Tarantella,” as she aimed her wand at Cho Chang’s glowering friend. The girl in question tried to raise a shield, even as the jinx shot her way struck. She had been too slow. Her legs flew into an uncontrollable jig. Edelweiss lowered her wand as her gaze once more traveled across all gathered around her.

“If you are unprepared, you cannot raise a shield in time. She could have stepped aside and allowed my spell to soar past instead of being caught flat-footed.” There was a murmur of discomforted whispering, along with a few weak chuckles. “The goal of today’s session is to accomplish one of two things: either improve your accuracy or your ability to dodge a curse.”

Edelweiss reorganized them into two offset lines as her mind slapped together an exercise she could run them through. She had the first person step forward from each line. She turned to her left, where a nervous Neville Longbottom stood. His wand looked different from the one he had used before Christmas. “Your side, Neville, will be casting the dancing legs hex. Do your best to hit the person across from you.” She turned to the other side, where a plain-faced Ravenclaw stood patiently. “You are to dodge. Watch his wrist; that shall tell you where his spell shall go.

“Begin.”

Neville’s hand shook slightly before he stumbled over the incantation. A sickly white light sprung from the wand, shocking him more than the Ravenclaw. She lunged forward and crashed to the floor. She grimaced as the impact sent her wand clattering away.

Edelweiss nearly sighed. Perhaps she should have gone through a demonstration before putting these two through her exercise. Neville’s spell could have been sidestepped, though his shaky hand meant his spell was not as predictable as it otherwise would be.

“Again,” she said. Her gaze went to Neville. “And cast with confidence. You would have had her, were your hand stable and voice solid.”

For a long moment, she thought her words wouldn’t reach him. And then Neville surprised her and nodded stoically. He straightened as he turned to face the Ravenclaw. Edelweiss felt the girl’s panic, witnessing that transformation within Longbottom. She bit her tongue to hold back her initial comment. “Breathe,” Edelweiss said. “Be patient, yet alert. React immediately and trust your gut.”

The Ravenclaw glanced at Edelweiss before nodding. She held her reclaimed wand loosely in one hand while her legs spread slightly. Her eyes narrowed slightly, waiting and watchful.

“Tarantella!” shouted Neville. He jabbed his wand forward as he cast. The jinx shot across the distance faster than even Edelweiss expected. The Ravenclaw girl dodged right, but a touch too late. She danced her way to the ground and giggled as her legs twitched and waved in the air.

Neville grinned brightly. He glanced at Edelweiss. She sensed what he wished to do, and she nodded. He crossed over to the girl and lifted the jinx. They then turned to Edelweiss.

“Each of you to the end of the other line. We’ll go until you two come back to the front of your original line.”

Edelweiss stood back and watched as pair after pair went both times. The caster had the advantage, she noticed, and Quidditch players were fantastic at dodging. A few raised shields instead of dodging. Cursing offenders in the back stopped that behavior after the third. She had them go through this drill for a reason. Cheating would not help them.

Eventually, they returned to Neville and that Ravenclaw girl—“Lisa Turpin,” Hermione hissed midway through. They glanced at Edelweiss, yet she saw both of them had the vigor and will to go again. She peered up and down the lines; most looked ready to go again, if not casting a jinx, then to try and dodge again. She cast tempus and saw they had nearly thirty minutes until the ending time she had chosen.

“Anyone too tired to continue, you are free to leave for the night,” said Edelweiss. “Anyone who wishes to continue, you can run through the drill until our set ending time.”

Remarkably, only a few left. Edelweiss noted that among them was Cho Chang’s friend. The one she cursed earlier.

I shall remember you… Edgecombe. Yes, that is your name.

Defense sessions came and went as January stretched on. They were almost to February when their year became truly frenzied over OWL preparations. Around then, an odd rumor began to circulate through Hogwarts. Edelweiss thought nothing of the rumor when she first heard about it. Tea? With Umbridge? They had to be barking mad. Only the most pathetic toady looking to get an in at the Ministry would dare waste their time having tea with Umbridge.

And then one of the sixth years in the defense club, one of the few still in Potions, grumbled, “And the Toad has Snape brewing something up. Won’t be ready for a while, though he seems frustrated by how much she wants and how little aid she’ll give him to procure proper ingredients.”

Edelweiss glanced at them curiously but did nothing.

“Any clue what it is?” their friend asked.

“Something that takes a while to brew. A month, I’d guess. Maybe even two or three. No more than that. And it’s something she really wants.”

Edelweiss drifted away from them, pondering what she overheard. There were plenty of potions that took a long time to brew. Polyjuice took a month, though part of that had been the process of properly gathering the ingredients. But what could take that long? What would Professor Umbridge actually—

It dawned on her with sickening dread. Veritaserum. Snape had given three drops to the Death Eater who posed as Mad-Eye Moody back in June, and that little quantity compelled Crouch Junior to spill his secrets to Dumbledore. She remained furious Fudge had the man Kissed before a proper confession could be given. But the past was written in stone. Edelweiss could only focus on the present and the future, malleable to her will and wishes.

At the end of that day’s session, she approached the sixth years she had eavesdropped on. They froze as though Edelweiss suddenly appeared before them.

“I need you to investigate something for me,” she began, her gaze focused on the one still taking Potions. “Snape might be brewing up Veritaserum. I need confirmation of whether or not he is.”

“That can’t be legal!” she said while her friend gaped.

“Umbridge cares naught for what is and is not illegal. She acts as she believes is right and within the confines of whatever system she resides in. If she has the chance, she will move along without thought to the pain she inflicts.” Edelweiss sighed. “I would be shocked if she wasn’t using it—or perhaps the rumor refers to calming draughts, meant to dull the senses.”

“I… I’ll see what I can find out,” the Potions student promised. He seemed unaware she had spied on his earlier conversation. “But that’s it. I can’t guarantee—”

“Do what you can. That is all I am asking of you.”

The nod she received was wary and hesitant. But Edelweiss could tell, thanks to the Force, that her will would be done.

For now, she would need to think over her options now that she suspected how Umbridge would attempt to lay her low. An idea crawled into Edelweiss’s mind. She glanced about the Come-and-Go Room and spotted Edgecombe glowering at her. Perfect. She would work wonders for Edelweiss’s purpose, once the time was ripe.

Chapter Text

A terrible blizzard slammed into Hogwarts on the first morning of February. Professor Sprout appeared close to tears throughout breakfast; once more Herbology was canceled for days. Edelweiss thought the weather appropriate for the icy mood suffocating the school. The mood had descended as a swarm of snow-burdened owls swooped into the Great Hall and delivered wretched cargo. She only needed to glance at the front page of the Daily Prophet to know danger loomed in the future. If Voldemort had been trained as a Sith, then she knew he would have waited for this very storm before striking. The twin blow of his actions and the weather dominated many minds around her, for on every paper, the oversized headline declared:

MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN

She did not need to read the article to know what happened. Voldemort daringly struck Azkaban amidst night and liberated all locked within sworn to his cause. Those freed were those too loyal or too foolish to bribe their way out of a life sentence. That much she knew, thanks to events she witnessed back in June. Edelweiss had gone through the records of the Death Eater trials back when Sirius escaped Azkaban. Proof of membership as a Death Eater was a life sentence. No parole, yet unfortunately no capital punishment. She suspected in the rush to clean up the aftermath of the war, they had not bothered to eliminate the worst.

After all, who could have predicted the worst Dark Lord in Britain’s history might find a way to escape death and return from the grave?

Dumbledore had the foresight to know that would not be the end for Voldemort. But then the old man had been made impotent even within the halls of Hogwarts. Edelweiss glanced to where he sat at the Head Table. It was rare these days to find him present during meals. Whatever Order business he engaged with behind the scenes occupied enough time he rarely appeared before the student body.

That or he had grown tired of Umbridge’s perpetual glower. Edelweiss wondered if the woman understood what subtly meant. After the implementation of the Inquisitors, the clear answer was no. How she had gotten the Ministry to sign off on the name was something Edelweiss would love to know, for she had sworn that term retained a powerfully negative image in the wizarding psyche. After all, Umbridge’s formal title was a major mouthful—and now everyone called her “the Grand Inquisitor” behind her back.

“This is terrible,” whispered Hermione for the twelfth time. “So many escaped, and they’re blaming it on Sirius.”

“Keep your voice down,” muttered Edelweiss mulishly. “Nobody is supposed to know about Snuffles. I don’t know why you’re so surprised the Ministry insisted the Prophet run that story. The only other option would be to admit that Dumbledore and I have been right this entire time.” She sighed and shook her head. “If only they could admit the truth.”

“If only…” agreed Hermione, voice drifting off. She turned to Ron. “Say, are there any other magazines or newspapers? Beyond the Prophet and Witch Weekly, that is.”

Ron looked up from the hill of meat and potatoes before him, blinking dumbly. “Others? Uh…” His lips twisted as he thought. His gaze drifted away from them toward the nearby Ravenclaw table. “You know, I think there is another one. The publisher even lives in the same area as my family.”

“Who?” asked Edelweiss as Hermione asked, “Which?”

“The Lovegoods. They’re the ones who publishing The Quibbler.”

Edelweiss hummed thoughtfully while Hermione groaned. “That magazine?” Hermione shook her head. “It’s full of nonsense and conspiracies! You can’t be serious that’s it!”

Ron shrugged and returned to his breakfast. “It’s the only one I can think of. There isn’t much beyond the Prophet and Witch Weekly.”

While Hermione descended into a mire of grumbling and frustration with the lack of journalistic mediums in magical Britain, Edelweiss pondered over the strange encounter she had back in November with Luna Lovegood. She glanced over her shoulder to the Ravenclaw table and found the girl in question. “Ron,” she began, gesturing at Luna. “Is that one of these Lovegoods? The ones who run the Quibbler?”

“Yeah. That’s Looney—I mean, Luna,” he said, a faint blush blotting out his freckles. Hermione snorted. “Her dad does it all, or so I hear. Dunno what happened to her mum other than she’s dead. Ginny used to play with her years ago.”

Edelweiss nodded. She stroked her chin with a thumb, following the two thick marks there. “She could be useful,” she murmured. “But we’ll need someone to write up an article. Someone who’ll write down my story.”

Hermione paused. She looked uncomfortable with whatever crossed her mind. Edelweiss watched and waited. Seconds later, her friend gave in and muttered, “I think I know just the person. However, you won’t like it.”

She was right. Edelweiss did not like whom Hermione thought about. And yet, it was better than nothing at all.

“Next Hogsmeade weekend is Valentine’s Day,” Hermione added. “We could meet with her then. So many people will be distracted that—”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Edelweiss. She glanced at the Ravenclaw table again and found Luna. The odd blonde looked up from her breakfast. She smiled as their gazes met.

Odd indeed.

Edelweiss waited days before approaching Luna Lovegood. She sensed that the Inquisitors had bumped up their numbers trailing her throughout the day. Perhaps they suspected she would do something following the Death Eater outbreak. Maybe they suspected she had plotted something with Hermione. Either way, she was amused by the fact nearly all of them were Ravenclaws. She also noticed the Hufflepuff who joined the Inquisitors had resigned. She suspected whatever form of social warfare Hufflepuffs engaged in had gotten to that Inquisitor. Still, she did find it amusing how few of the Slytherins bothered to follow her about.

Malfoy’s doing, no doubt. He would want to catch her himself, yet he could not stand to be too close to her.

She easily lured Luna into one of Hogwarts’ abandoned wings. The girl had no friends, so there were no presences around her that Edelweiss needed to worry about. Yes, some people might notice her randomly interact with Luna “Loony” Lovegood. But when that encounter ended as quickly as it began, the interest of the gossipers and rumormongers would drift away to something more scandalous.

A shame that none bothered to consider that something of interest could occur during a brief encounter. They would be floored by the truth she would soon reveal to all. Her truth. The one the Ministry was hell-bent on keeping from the public.

And Edelweiss? She prepared for the inevitable attempt by Umbridge to silence her story. She had been a fool in September to allow that woman a modicum of power over her. She would ensure Umbridge never again had any influence or power over her, even if it meant a temporary exile from Hogwarts.

Exile was often ended by conquest and bloodshed. Her Sith Masters had taught her that.

Edelweiss entered a small, dusty room. Luna stood on the far side, staring into a corner filled with cobwebs. Oddly, the room reminded Edelweiss of the one Dumbledore chose to hide the Mirror of Erised in before he moved it during her first year. That, she now knew, had been a manipulation on his part. Why else would he allow her to stumble upon the mirror than to prepare her for her inevitable confrontation with Voldemort?

She sighed and set that thought aside. Her sigh alerted Luna Lovegood, who turned to her with remarkable awareness. Edelweiss strolled to the room’s center and then stopped.

“Hello, Edelweiss Potter. Or may I call you Lord Gladiolus?”

“Not yet,” she confessed almost bitterly. “But soon. You will know when the time comes. I am certain of that.”

Luna hummed before nodding understandingly. “Something like a wrackspurt has been flittering around you recently. It told me where and when you wished to meet.”

“They serve you well.” Edelweiss glanced about. She sensed nothing, but then Lovegood possessed a bizarre brand of Force-sensitivity. She grasped the dark side, brushed her power against the girl’s mind, and then asked, “And ‘wrackspurts’? Care to explain what those are?”

Luna’s blue eyes lost that dazed, dreamy quality as she straightened. “They’re fae, invisible to most. They usually cause people’s heads to go fuzzy.” Her head tilted as she blinked. “You’re immune to them. Or as immune as anyone can be.”

Fae. Of course, she would think of what she sees so. There’s all manner of faerie-like creatures and critters about the isles. And given the muggle stories that linger, some would be invisible to most.

“Oh? I am immune to them?”

Luna nodded. “There’s something about you that protects your mind from them.” She shrugged before adding, “I cannot say what it is. Maybe my father would know.”

“I do not think he would know, for I am the only one living who knows the power which protects my mind.” Edelweiss considered the possibilities before her. The Force showed her some things, and none appeared to lead her toward destruction or failure. And so she would take a risk. A leap of faith. This girl did know the name ‘Darth Gladiolus’. “I believe you could be trained to wield this power. You strike me as being sensitive to it. After all, how else would you know to call me ‘Lord Gladiolus’.”

“How fascinating. So this is a power I could learn?”

“Perhaps in time. But that is not why we are gathered here. I have a proposition.”

Luna’s head tilted to her left. “A proposition?”

“I’d like to commission a story for your father’s publication, The Quibbler.” Edelweiss drew a step closer to Lovegood. “I’ve realized the need for the people of Britain to know the truth of what happened last June, along with the recent misconduct and failures of their Ministry. Would he be interested in a story like that?”

Luna grinned widely, as though Christmas had already come again. “I’ll write Daddy. He’ll be excited to publish anything that harms the reputation of Minister Fudge.” Luna leaned in close and whispered, “There’s all manner of secretive work going on within the Department of Mysteries. Weapons to control people. Strange spells that would change the world if they escaped.”

Edelweiss felt her heart lurch. She had done her best to keep her strange, nighttime jaunts into the Department of Mysteries a secret. It had happened twice more, each drawing her to that strange chamber with the orbs before she suddenly awoke.

She had said nothing of those dreams to her Sith masters. She dreaded telling them, for they would be furious she kept that incident—and any further ones—from them for almost two months now. She hoped it was only a coincidence, but Edelweiss had learned with Lovegood—and the Force at large—that there were no coincidences.

Luna must have noticed something, for she took a step back and smiled. “I’ll be touch, Edelweiss Potter.”

She then skipped out of the room.

Edelweiss sat down and sighed. Seconds passed before she grinned, luxuriating in her nearing victory. She doubted Hermione would have trouble with their reporter friend.

To think, she had been a bug during the prior year.

Hogsmeade had been repainted pink for Valentine’s Day. And that morning, the village was blessed with a coating of fresh, glistening white snow. Edelweiss watched couples come and go from the various businesses spread throughout the small village near Hogwarts. An old want twisted in her gut. She suppressed the feeling. It was a distraction from the path she had chosen to walk. A Sith Lord could not afford the weakness of family and children. Those old wants of Edelweiss Potter had to be sacrificed so Darth Gladiolus could destroy their enemies and stand above all.

“We could have come down earlier,” grumbled Hermione as they trudged toward the Three Broomsticks. “I need to visit Scrivenshaft’s and you know I always look around Tomes and Scrolls.”

“You can do that afterward,” Edelweiss said. “I have no interest in visiting either.” She sighed, white steam puffing from her lips. “It’s almost noon and I’d like to avoid keeping our guests waiting too long.”

They made their way to the Three Broomsticks, entering as a pair of seething hags stormed out. Edelweiss paid them no heed as she stepped into the pub. The common room was packed and noisy, voices blending into a cacophony. The proprietress, Madam Rosmerta, bustled about with frantic energy. She looked to be a woman increasingly on the verge of going mad as she carried several mugs of sloshing butterbeer in each hand.

“This way,” murmured Hermione, heading for the back stairwell. “I booked a private room upstairs. They should be waiting for us there.”

Edelweiss nodded and followed her friend up the stairwell. The ruckus of the common room faded once they reached the crooked landing. They climbed another flight of steps—the sound all but fell away—and made their way down a small hallway with doors only on their left.

“Room Seven… Room Seven… Room Seven… Here!” said Hermione. They stopped at a door with a large brass ‘7’ nailed to the wood. Hermione opened the door and entered the room without knocking. Edelweiss followed her in and found two others already awaiting them, sitting around a small table.

Luna Lovegood dressed as she normally did in her blue-and-bronze-lined school robe. She wore butterbeer cork earrings, held on lines of copper wire. Edelweiss raised a curious eyebrow at the sight, though she came up short when she finally came face to face with the journalist contracted by Hermione.

“Rita Skeeter. I’d say it’s a pleasure, but after last year you’re lucky I’m not crushing you under my heel.”

Rita Skeeter sneered. She looked run down: her blonde curls no longer bounced, her glasses lacked most of the glimmering rhinestones that adorned them, and she had even shorn down her nails to something practical. She held a notepad and a quill that was lacking the ostentatious appearance of the peacock-styled Quick-Quotes Quill the woman used during the Tournament.

“Let’s get this over with,” grumbled Rita, glowering at Hermione. “It’s bad enough I struggle to get more than puff pieces for the Prophet these days. But writing for The Quibbler? You’re lucky I didn’t tell you to—”

“I’m certain the aurors would have enjoyed arresting you for being an illegal animagus,” Hermione said, interrupting the journalist. “I suggested you because your name, for some unfathomable reason, still carries weight with the public.” She turned to Edelweiss. “I’ll leave the rest up to you, Edie. This is your story.”

Edelweiss nodded. She closed the door behind them and drew her wand. She embraced the dark side as she waved her wand and placed several protections on the door. Nobody would overhear their conversation, nor would anyone curious about why she was up here recall the reason they came up the stairs. They would need to be patient and wait for their chance to read her story. She joined the others around the table and sat down directly across from Rita Skeeter.

“I assume Hermione informed you about what I will be telling you, and thus what you will be writing?”

Rita nodded as though aggrieved by the thankless task thrust into her hands. “A little expose about whatever happened during the Third Task. A simple matter.”

“Then we have an understanding.” Edelweiss paused, and then smirked. “I thought of speaking about Albus Dumbledore and his questionable management of Hogwarts and my life as well, but that may distract from the narrative you’ll certainly spin from my tale of that June night.”

Rita froze, a wild look in her eyes. Hermione stiffened beside Edelweiss. She could feel their confusion and uncertainty.

Edelweiss rolled her eyes. “I have no love for Dumbledore,” she said, mostly to Rita Skeeter. “But for now, I must suffer him in my life.”

“You understand the Ministry would use that as justification to try and remove him,” Hermione pointed out.

“They would need to go through the Board of Directors for it to stick,” said Edelweiss with a toothy smile. “Should, say, Umbridge try to remove him herself with the Minister’s backing, that can be spun as a usurpation of the school.”

Rita Skeeter sighed, interrupting the impromptu argument. “We can just stick to the night of the Third Task since you two can’t agree.” She paused, lips twitching. “We can go over anything else once we’re finished, should I have other questions.”

“Fine. I can do that.” Edelweiss breathed out slowly. “I’ll begin with my encounter with Diggory and Krum. Krum was put under the Imperius Curse by the Death Eater installed within Hogwarts by Voldemort.” Rita stiffened, face scrunching up. “Oh get over it!” Edelweiss snarled. “I’ll say his name a dozen more times before we’re finished. You and Lovegood can censor his bloody name, but I will not! He’s a bloody halfblood using his descent from Salazar Slytherin to mask the fact he was sired by a bloody muggle!”

“You know this for certain?” asked Rita with a breathy whisper. Her hand was hard at work, scratching down what Edelweiss was saying.

“Aye. I’ll get to that when it comes up.” She huffed loudly at the interruption. “Back to my story. Krum was put under the Imperius. Diggory and I took him down and then split ways. We reunited at the Triwizard Cup, where I decided to be a chivalrous fool and argue with him over the bloody thing. We were both injured and tired, and I had taken to heart the anger over my unwanted position in the Tournament. Had I done as my instincts suggested, I would have taken the Cup once ensuring he was stable enough that Madam Pomfrey could handle him.

“And that means he would be alive. The Cup turned out to be a portkey. It took us to a graveyard near a muggle town called Little Hangleton. We bumbled around for a few minutes before a voice called out, ‘Kill the spare’.” She sighed and shook her head. “A moment later, Cedric Diggory was struck down by the Killing Curse. I was stunned and strung up, tied to one of the graves.”

Edelweiss paused, allowing Rita Skeeter to finish writing down what had been said. She waited until the woman looked up before continuing. “I awoke to find a Death Eater with Voldemort, preparing a ritual of restoration.”

“Restoration?” asked Rita Skeeter.

She nodded. “Voldemort never died after that night thirteen years ago. He was stripped of his physical form and sent into exile. He returned to Britain, for a time, when he possessed Professor Quirrell three years ago.” Her hands flexed, remembering how his face burned under her touch. “I dealt with him then and sent Voldemort back into his exile. There he remained until last summer when a servant of his finally returned to him, sent into flight after recent events.”

“Sirius Black.”

“Wrong. Sirius never bowed to Voldemort, nor did he betray my parents. That was all Peter Pettigrew, who hid as a common rat for twelve years in the Weasley household.”

Rita paused in her writing. She blinked, once while staring at her notepad and then again when she looked up. “He hid as an animal with the Weasleys?”

“Yes. He likely hid with them due to their connection to Dumbledore and their poor position in regular society. Harder to be found out by anyone in the Ministry, yet close enough to hear whispers and rumors of his master.” She sighed. “Events conspired against me at the end of my third year. Pettigrew escaped Hogwarts and the grasp of justice. Sirius remains in hiding, ever my faithful godfather.”

“You know people will call you mad. Everyone knows that Sirius Black—”

“What they know is a lie,” Edelweiss said with a snarl. She felt the cold touch of the dark side cloaked around her. “I may sit down for an interview concerning him another time, Skeeter, but he is not our focus today.”

Rita Skeeter nodded. Her face was pale and her lips only possessed color thanks to her lipstick. “So, the ritual. What are you willing to share, since everyone knows whatever happened had to be an act of dark magic.”

“Dark magic indeed. It required sacrifice, part of which came from his dead muggle father. All the public needs to know is that he returned to his full powers that night. He then summoned his free Death Eaters and taunted me, seemingly at his mercy.”

“And these Death Eaters,” continued Rita Skeeter. “Who are they?”

“Those left free following Voldemort’s fall,” said Edelweiss, nearly rolling her eyes. The shocks and gasps in response to her uttering the false Dark Lord’s name were fewer, though she knew it would take an excessive amount of time to break them out of their habit. “I’d reckon there were two or three dozen present. Some of the names you can guess from the trial records: Malfoy, Nott, and Mulciber were ones that stood out.” She leaned toward Rita and added darkly, “If you were to draft a list of every ‘Death Eater’ who got out of Azkaban by claiming the Imperius defense, you would have the names of nearly all who were there that night. They all lied to protect themselves.

“Still”—and here she leaned back to her normal posture—“those who remained free following Voldemort’s fall came back to him, crawling in the filth like animals. It was very pathetic, though seeing him torture his followers was strangely amusing.” Edelweiss’s face smoothed when Skeeter’s eyes bugged out wide. “No comments about possible madness or delight in cruelty, Rita. This article should only reflect what I tell you about that night. Not your opinions.”

“Yes, yes,” Rita grumbled. “You’re trying to salvage your reputation, not sink it completely. I understand that much, Potter.”

Edelweiss tried to not feel too annoyed that her interview was being termed ‘salvage’ for her ‘reputation’, even if in an accurate manner. She needed to find a way to eliminate her irritation before she returned to the castle. It would be bad for people to think something might be off with Edelweiss Potter.

“However, not all of the freed Death Eaters returned to him that night. There were three absent. One, he called a traitor and a coward. I suspect that he referred to the former Headmaster of Durmstrang with those words. Plenty gossiped about him having been a Death Eater back during the war.”

Rita nodded and mentioned, “He was allowed to go free because he betrayed others.”

Edelweiss nodded, recalling Dumbledore’s memory of that day and the names Karkaoff had betrayed in exchange for his freedom. Among them had been the four who had tortured the Longbottoms into insanity. She hoped to cross paths with the Lestranges; she had been prevented from slaying Barty Crouch Junior herself. They would die by her hand since Neville did not have the strength to kill them himself.

“The second was one whose loyalty he doubts. That would be Professor Snape, who Dumbledore protected. Everyone in the castle knows. That is probably why he’s stuck teaching.” She leaned against the table and murmured; “I do not think he knows how to teach someone how to brew a simple potion without just showing them directions and stalking about while fuming about incompetence.”

Rita Skeeter choked on a laugh as her cheeks went bright pink. Hermione sighed loudly, aggrieved, while Luna Lovegood nodded in agreement.

“The last of their number was his agent, a Death Eater, within the walls of Hogwarts.” Edelweiss sighed and shook her head. “I was blind to that person and their presence. Everyone was blind. That nearly got me captured again, and likely killed had events otherwise played out differently. But we haven’t reached the point in my tale where I tell you who it was.

“Voldemort gave a speech, talking about how they were cowards and that the first faithful servant to come to him was Peter Pettigrew. He rewarded Pettigrew for his service, conjuring silver to replace his sacrifice. It was around that point he remembered I was present. He decided to duel me instead of just killing me while I was tied up.”

Voldemort had stared down at her, slitted nostrils flaring. “Bow to Death, Edelweiss Potter,” he had hissed, trying to firmly place her under the Imperius Curse. “Bow to Death.”

“He had me to rights,” she confessed bitterly. “He should have killed me in that graveyard. But I was saved by a coincidence or fate or pure stupid luck.” Edelweiss grimaced, her hands drawing into tight, closed fists. “Our wands share a core. Something strange happened that night. It saved my life and allowed me to return to Hogwarts with Cedric’s body.”

Rita Skeeter raised an eyebrow. “Care to describe what happened, or do we want to leave that to reader speculation?”

Edelweiss breathed out heavily as she bundled her fury into a ball and tossed it down the deepest, darkest part of her psyche before she could say something regrettable—or worse, do something regrettable. Already she could smell the faintest hint of ozone. No doubt the scent rose from her clenching, itchy hands. Her Force powers responded to her will—and sometimes that was a touch wild. Yet if she were to convince others, she needed to be honest where truth served her better than lies or secrecy.

“Dumbledore called what happened ‘Priori Incantatem’, after the reversing spell,” Edelweiss began, slightly wary of what she might incidentally reveal. Though given the strangeness of her holly wand, perhaps it would not matter. “Our wands linked, for their cores came from the same phoenix—Dumbledore’s phoenix, oddly enough. The effects of our spells caused a chain reaction and created a golden magical dome, which surrounded the grounds on which we dueled. The Death Eaters were driven back, forced to watch as I confronted their master alone.

“A ball of energy formed between us. It moved by willpower. I forced it toward his wand. That caused the spirits of those killed by Voldemort to appear. First came Cedric Diggory, freshly murdered. Then it was a muggle, who had probably worked in the area. After him came Bertha Jorkins—”

“She was murdered?” asked Rita Skeeter, sounding almost hysterical. “Everyone assumed she had vanished!”

“Vanished. Murdered. Are those truly any different when dealing with Voldemort?” Edelweiss smirked widely. She felt the discomfort of those around her, so she quickly moved on. She needed to use them, here and now. “After her were my parents. First, my mother… and then my father, as I had known for years.”

Rita paused, waiting for more.

Edelweiss took several seconds to center herself as the shroud of the dark side surrounded her, its power feeding on her pain. She whispered, “I heard them dying, whenever a dementor drew near.”

She was pleased she could utter those words without awakening those old longings that ran contrary to being a Sith.

“Oh.”

“You can see why I quickly grew to hate you,” Edelweiss confessed. “You trivialized the pain I feel having never known my parents, beyond stories, photos, and the repressed memories of the night my life was ruined—and thus defined.”

Rita Skeeter nodded. Remorse—legitimate remorse, at that—rippled off the woman in faint waves. Edelweiss schooled her features, else she reveal her surprise Rita was capable of such emotion. She had hoped—expected even—for the woman to be pleased by the pain she caused. It was bizarre dealing with her as a human and not as a pest to crush under her heel.

“Eventually,” she continued, “I was told I could not maintain the connection. I broke it. The spirits aided my flight. I retrieved both the Triwizard Cup and Cedric’s body and returned to Hogwarts. From there, you know most of the rest. The only thing I can think of that has been kept secret from the public is that the Death Eater at Hogwarts, Barty Crouch Junior, never perished in Azkaban. It had been his terminal mother, polyjuiced to look like him. His father took him out of the prison and kept him as a slave in his house, held under the Imperius until the summer of the Quidditch World Cup. He was able to break away, disguise himself as Mad-Eye Moody, and interfere in the Tournament.” She shrugged before muttering, “A real shame that Minister Fudge had the man Kissed before he could confess to all of his crimes. Along with what he did.”

“…the Death Eater… was Kissed?” asked Rita, looking between her notebook and Edelweiss. “Why do you think Fudge had that done?”

“Fear, I imagine. The man is a coward. He thinks by denying the truth he can salvage his legacy.” She nearly spat onto the table between them, earning shouts and glares. “Not that he will have much of one beyond his failures. Whoever picks up the pieces after him will be the one history remembers.”

The conversation continued with little else of interest to say. Edelweiss already felt her thoughts drifting, turning to matters concerning the dark side of the Force and her Sith studies. Her work here was finished.

Complete.

When they parted ways twenty minutes later, Edelweiss could not help the toothy, sardonic grin that adorned her face. She could feel the future twisting into shape. And if it just happened to be a shape that suited her needs, then she had no room to complain.

A massive swarm of owls stormed the Great Hall late on the morning of the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Quidditch match. They all bore the same cargo: the newest edition of The Quibbler. The Quidditch teams had almost risen, so that they could depart for the pitch in advance of their adoring crowds. Edelweiss watched with barely concealed amusement as students and teachers alike stared at their unexpected gifts. She was pleased to see that there was a little note pinned inside the copy delivered to her by a contrite Hedwig.

“Sorry, girl,” she whispered, allowing a few of her fingers to be nipped and nibbled on. She no longer felt the owl’s anger. “I’ll make time for you soon.”

Hedwig hooted loudly before stealing several chunks of bacon from the table’s center and flying off. Edelweiss huffed and smiled fondly as her gaze lowered to the note slipped into her copy of the strange magazine. It was written in an odd, slanting hand:

‘Miss Potter,

‘Thank you for entrusting my daughter and me with your arduous tale. We have long supported you and Dumbledore against the dark forces that haunt our world. Continue fighting, no matter what.

‘Yours,

‘Xenophilius Lovegood’

Her smile faded at the reminder of how others connected her to Dumbledore in their thoughts and beliefs. Yet what should she have expected? None knew the full extent of his crimes against her. She had only told Rita—and Luna, in turn—of what happened on that night back in June. Yes, she had mentioned she held no love for the man. But a gulf of difference existed between being at odds and actively hating someone.

Though as she considered what was and was not said, Edelweiss found herself disappointed. Skeeter should have been able to read between the lines. She should understand Dumbledore’s failures on that night. Had he acted more prudently, Fudge would have been forced to tell the truth instead of attacking them with slander. Barty Crouch Junior could have been preserved long enough to inform the public the worst had come to pass.

Hindsight reminded her that she might not have been furious enough to grasp the dark side on that day and achieve resonance with the kyber crystal embedded into the seal over Ziost Hangar. And without being able to sense that, she would have never discovered the dark side of the Force and the ways of the Sith.

“Miss Potter, if I may have a moment.”

Edelweiss turned to find Professor McGonagall looming over her. Umbridge gave her a withering glare from where she stood behind the Deputy Headmistress.

“Have I done something wrong?” she asked. Edelweiss slipped the hand holding Lovegood’s note under the table. She channeled a flash of Force lightning through the note and set it alight. Smoke filtered up from beneath the table, faint enough that Professor McGonagall only twitched her nose with irritation.

“Just come with me,” the woman said, exhausted and uninterested in arguing. After a moment of hesitation on Edelweiss’s part, McGonagall barked, “Now, Miss Potter!”

Edelweiss sighed and rose to her feet. She turned back to the table and snatched a few apples from the center bowl. “I only arrived for breakfast, Professor. Are you sure this cannot wait?”

“I’m afraid not, Miss Potter. Not today.” McGonagall leaned in close before hissing, “Minister Fudge is here. He is very, very furious! It appears The Quibbler reached London hours before Hogwarts.”

Edelweiss nearly sighed again. To stop it from coming out regardless, she took a large bite from one of the apples and chewed loudly. “Lead on, Professor.”

They made their way up to the fifth floor where the Headmaster’s office was. Edelweiss trailed after McGonagall, eating through the fruit she took from the breakfast table. She tossed the inedible cores into dark corners wherever she could, confident the house elves of Hogwarts would whisk them away. It was callous to use them so, but McGonagall would be unwilling to stop so Edelweiss could dispose of her trash with Minister Fudge waiting on them.

By the time they reached the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore’s office, Edelweiss began licking the juice from her fingers. Her hunger remained unsatiated, yet it was not a physical hunger. A dark craving existed in her heart and the back of her mind. She had to ignore it for now.

But once the Minister’s anger has been defused and the Quidditch match is won…

“I hope you have something planned for when the Minister threatens to have you expelled,” Professor McGonagall hissed, breaking through Edelweiss’s thoughts. Umbridge gave them a dismissive look. She had her own idea of how events would play out.

“He doesn’t have support from the Board of Directors to do more than demand,” replied Edelweiss. At McGonagall’s surprised look, she added, “Snape has threatened to expel me enough times I checked the school charter for the requirements to expel a student. You need to either be convicted of a crime that results in imprisonment in Azkaban or have all twelve members of the school board vote for expulsion. I have zero cause to believe he could gather more than five or six to support that demand.”

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips. She did not share Edelweiss’s confidence. She could not blame the professor for her belief. Edelweiss only wondered how those in power in magical Britain could be so blind to what she recognized as being crystal clear.

The professor turned away and approached the gargoyle. She then spoke the password softly. It shifted aside. Edelweiss grimaced, having failed to catch the password. Though, did it matter? She knew should she truly require access to the Headmaster’s office she could always rattle off the names of every candy she knew of until the bloody thing moved. Dumbledore was predictable that way.

She would not have it any other way.

Edelweiss moved swiftly and seized the lead, climbing the spiral staircase two steps at a time. She did not knock at the door, nor did she wait to be summoned. She just pushed the door open—she had to stop herself from smirking at the soft sound of outrage from Professor McGonagall behind her—and strode into the office as though it belonged to her. Nothing had changed since her little interrogation back in December, including their unpleasant guest.

“You!” shouted Minister Fudge almost immediately. His auror escort—Auror Robards, if she remembered right—grimaced. “You…! You!”

“Me what?” she asked with mock offense, pressing an open hand against her chest. “Have I done you some terrible wrong, Minister?”

Fudge stormed her way shaking a copy of the newest edition of The Quibbler at her. “This! Do you know what chaos this is already causing? I have had howlers in my office since five this morning! HOWLERS!”

Edelweiss stared at the cover. She regretted not looking it over earlier. It was a remarkably well-done painting of her dueling Voldemort in a graveyard with the golden dome of magic surrounding them. There were a few Death Eaters visible, but most were shades in the background. Her lips twitched as her gaze returned to Minister Fudge. “It’s a lovely recreation of last June, Minister. You should know since I did tell you my story in full. You should even know the exact moment that depicts.”

His face drew up in a disgusted look that wished to be a scowl, yet failed to reach that level of scorn. Umbridge cleared her throat with her obnoxious little “hem hem”. McGonagall, who stood beside Edelweiss, grimaced.

“Miss Potter,” began Umbridge in her sickly-sweet tone. “This article has been greatly disruptive to the social fabric of both Britain and Hogwarts.”

“And that is not my fault. If Britain can be shaken by a single story, then perhaps the Ministry should change course. Or the Ministry could allow the Prophet to publish articles beyond whatever tripe gets pumped out of whichever office responsible for debasing the nation’s paper.” She sighed and shook her head. “To think that muggles can get being trustworthiness down better than wizards.” Edelweiss fixed her gaze upon Fudge. She drew on the Force slightly. Too much power and Umbridge and Fudge might notice. Too little and her power would be ineffective. “Were I you, Minister, I would return to London, find out who has failed the public, and fire them.” She added a sweet smile for impact.

The looks of offense and fury that bloomed on their faces were glorious, especially since she had just implanted a seed into his mind. Edelweiss held her sickly sweet smile, even as internally she cackled with victory. How had she ever allowed herself to be cowed by them? Had the Dursleys truly damaged her so terribly that it took her adoption of the dark side and the ways of the Sith to cast aside their influence and realize the world had always been hers to claim?

“I would follow Miss Potter’s advice, Cornelius,” said Dumbledore. He had remained behind his desk, amused by the proceedings before him. “I do not fault you for your mistakes. I only wish for you to do better.”

Edelweiss picked an impassive expression as she awaited Fudge’s response. His face went puce, almost identical to a furious Uncle Vernon. She allowed him to believe in the image of the silly schoolgirl still firmly lodged in his mind. She wondered how he would react when Darth Gladiolus stared him down and demanded for him to kneel.

A glorious day, that would be.

After several seconds, Fudge grumbled, “I guess I should take a tighter hand with the Prophet,” with an expression of pure pain. He turned to an alarmed Umbridge. “Come along, Dolores. I believe we need to have a conversation about your work here at Hogwarts. You as well, Robards.”

They departed, stepping around where Edelweiss stood. Umbridge was so shocked by Fudge’s words that she did not even bother to glower as they went.

“You should go as well, Miss Potter,” said Dumbledore. Edelweiss turned to face him and was surprised by his drawn, severe expression. “I applaud your effort to circumvent the Ministry’s attempts to hide the truth of Tom’s return. However, this will cause greater trouble for us both here within the halls of Hogwarts.

“Plus,” and he suddenly beamed at her, “I believe you have a Quidditch match to win.”

Edelweiss nodded and turned to Professor McGonagall. “You heard the Headmaster. I have to go soundly beat Hufflepuff.”

She grinned at the amused huff she received in return.

Just as she told Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, Edelweiss won the Quidditch match for her team and soundly beat the Hufflepuffs. Between Ron’s abysmal performance in their previous game against Slytherin and the Twins being replaced by a pair of boys she did not know, Edelweiss knew before being escorted to the Headmaster’s office that the wisest course of action would be to swiftly catch the snitch and end the game. Perhaps it was unfair to the school, snatching the golden ball within five minutes of the game beginning, but she had made her decision long before she went out onto the pitch.

And it did not hurt that she was compelled to attend to another matter, deep within the castle.

Edelweiss made her excuses near the Great Hall and parted from the team. The dark side beckoned to her. She did not know what she was walking into, yet she knew something significant awaited her. The last time she had acted so—and after a Quidditch game—she had gone through with the cleansing ritual that freed her of Voldemort’s taint and destroyed all that assured his immortality. What did this day have in store for her, to draw her away so?

She came to the Chamber of Secrets and found the chamber awash with violent crimson light. The kyber crystal that had first reached out to her back in June pulsed with thick dark side energies. She could feel the anger and hatred that had been poured into the crystal. Edelweiss reached inward and drew those emotions to the surface. With them in her grasp, she met the kyber crystal as an equal—and then sought to force her will upon it.

The crystal drank greedily as it tried to weaken her resolve. The crimson darkened. Its great glow did not diminish. The colors changed, dyeing the Chamber of Secrets a bloody shade, just as her blood and the basilisk’s had once been shed on its tiles.

Come to me! Edelweiss thought, focusing upon the crystal. Come to me and be mine! Together we shall rule all before us!

A resonance began to build between Sith and crystal. The dark side rang in her blood and bones. Edelweiss imagined if there were any sensitive to the currents of the Force beyond Luna Lovegood within the castle, they would now be staring down and wondering what the great, terrible passion burning in her veins was.

The resonance grew, ringing in her ears. Edelweiss thought her veins might burst into flames as the kyber crystal’s innate power rippled through her. She gasped and gritted her teeth. Her fear, her anger, her hatred—all of it sprung to life, fueling her with the power to overcome the crystal and force resonance upon it.

A wide, manic grin dominated her face as the kyber crystal finally embraced her power. They sang in tune, her and the crystal. It would be the heart of her lightsaber, the equal to her power in the Force. Woe to all who stood opposed to her, for if they managed to survive her Force powers, they would certainly perish on the blade of her lightsaber. Edelweiss went to where the crystal awaited her and claimed it from its perch. Holding it carefully, she descended into Ziost Hangar. She went past Lord Salazar’s solar, past the dueling chamber, and to a small room far from the rest, where the parts and pieces necessary for a lightsaber were stored.

Edelweiss scanned the chamber. For a moment, she began to think over what would make her weapon look best. And then came up short. She recalled something her master had mentioned during their training up in the Come-and-Go Room: “You must rely on the Force when constructing your lightsaber. It will only serve you best if you construct it with the Force as your guide.”

With a sigh, she stepped forward and kneeled in the room’s center. She closed her eyes and began to meditate, focusing on the particular requirements of the lightsaber: the emitter and the casing, the end and the other little elements that brought it all together. She felt the parts move about, rising and falling, the Force and her growing connection to the dark side choosing from all Lord Salazar had gathered and prepared for his inevitable student.

Gathered and prepared for her. For Edelweiss Potter.

For Darth Gladiolus.

Eventually, the chosen parts began to orbit her. She released her grasp around the kyber crystal. It rose from her palm and joined the elements in orbit. They slowly came together, guided as much by her conscious will as by the unconscious knowledge of the Force. She heard her weapon click together. Her eyes opened and a grand smile sprung to life.

Her lightsaber was complete. She was more complete. Edelweiss slowly rose to her feet before claiming her new weapon. She held it almost reverently in her hands, twisting it, feeling how it fit in her hands. The hilt was ovular, with two thick, grey serpents wrapped around a black core. At the end away from the emitter, she found that the serpents were bound, two heads of the same creature.

“How lovely,” she whispered. Her thumb found the initiation trigger. She brushed over it a few times before finally pressing down. With a snap-hiss, a thrumming blade of red and white emerged from the hilt. She swung it lazily, enjoying how it hummed with every pass.

“What a beautiful weapon…”

Edelweiss deactivated her lightsaber and slipped it into her pocket. She would need to acquire a proper belt. But for now, this would work. It was not as though she had much use for it at the present.

Nor could it ever be connected to Edelweiss Potter.

Chapter Text

On the Seventh of March, a Ravenclaw Edelweiss recognized from her defense group joined Umbridge at the front of the Great Hall just as dessert appeared. Violently red boils covered his face. They printed a single word bright and bold for the student body to read: SNITCH. Edelweiss glanced at Ron and Hermione; both appeared horrified, though only the former was shocked. The latter blanched, a few faint freckles standing out as she stared. She had not known the hex she devised to trigger should any sell them out had been boldly modified without her knowledge or permission.

“This young man came forward to tell me of a dangerous anti-Ministry group operating within the walls here,” began Umbridge. Her voice was stern and serious, a departure from the girly tone she often used. “Before he could tell me everything he knew, this jinx activated. He has been unable to tell me anything further about this group. To anyone who knows something, I wish for you to come forward immediately so that you may be helped and the guilty party punished for their treachery.”

She waited several long seconds as if any within Hogwarts would be bold enough to step forward so with all watching. Edelweiss was unsurprised nobody dared something. After what they had witnessed, everyone in her defense group would reconsider daring to cross her. They would be angry—she could feel their horror and fear, thick and potent throughout the Great Hall—but for now, she ensured their protection through this daring act.

Umbridge sighed. She sent the boy to the Ravenclaw table. His housemates gave him a wide berth. Most in her defense group stared at him as though he carried the plague. Only Luna Lovegood, who had experienced a brief moment of popularity thanks to the article about Edelweiss in The Quibbler, remained near him. Then again, she appeared completely unaware that the disgraced boy had sat down beside her as she stared at the candles hovering above.

Ron’s mouth opened, mostly filled with chewed food. “Later,” Edelweiss hissed.

He nodded while Hermione shot her a pointed look. Edelweiss ignored her friend, for she felt Umbridge’s furious gaze upon her. She would be candidate number one for operating a secretive group posed against the Ministry. Odds were she would come under suspicion.

But what shall Umbridge do? Edelweiss pondered. I know my way forward. She has been an obstacle to my ascension as a Sith Lord from the beginning. Perhaps the time is ripe to raise her up. But that means removing Dumbledore from the castle.

An idea of how to get the ball moving came to mind. The only problem with her first move was that it required her to do something she had not done since September when she modified Umbridge’s mind.

She had to attend Defense.

“Miss Potter, if I may have a moment.”

Edelweiss finished packing her bag before turning to face a watchful Umbridge. She had ignored the estranged and confused stares as she entered the Defense classroom that afternoon. She needed to be in this position if she were to advance this next portion of her plot.

“Yes, Professor?” she asked, overly polite. “Can I help you?”

“Please, come into my office. I wish to speak with you.”

Edelweiss glanced at the door into the professor’s office, then back to Umbridge. “What for? Is this about my progress in your class? I’ve done everything you’ve assigned.”

Umbridge’s face scrunched up, her anger and hatred poorly concealed behind a thin veneer of worry. “It’s about your Defense OWL. I doubt you will be ready, even with your… admirable progress.”

A trap. She wishes to question me—and to do so within her framework. I doubt she’s broken through the compulsions I’ve slotted into her mind, though I cannot know until she confronts me.

Edelweiss nodded, curious about what trick Umbridge had in store and confident in her ability to slip around it. She turned to Ron and Hermione. “Go on. I’ll be on my way soon enough.”

She ignored their feeble protests, layered with confusion over her actions, and followed Umbridge up to her ghastly pink office with the kitten plates strung along the wall. Edelweiss ignored them in favor of taking a seat where months prior she had been subjected to an insidious form of torture. She watched Umbridge waddle over behind her desk and take a seat across from her.

“Could I interest you in tea?”

Edelweiss glanced at the small pot set on a white box. She suspected it was a heater of some kind. Brushing it with the Force confirmed her suspicions—and drew her attention to the pot. She frowned at it, wondering what it was she sensed. It dawned upon her a moment later. A potion and not one she recognized.

In for a shilling, in for a pound, she thought, turning back to Umbridge. Edelweiss forced a smile and said, “I’d love a cup, Professor. Professor Lupin did the same for me, back in my third year.”

Umbridge paused as she reached out to lift the pot and pour them each a cup. “Oh? He did?”

“He did. I was the only third year who couldn’t go to Hogsmeade. Because of Sirius Black, of course.” Edelweiss watched as Umbridge regained her composure and went forward with pouring them each a cup. “He told me stories about my parents and their time at Hogwarts. It was nice, for I was raised by muggles that would cheer on witch burnings.”

Umbridge nearly spilled tea onto the desk as she flinched upright. Her eyes bulged wide and her lips moved aimlessly. No doubt the woman had assumed Edelweiss had a nice, cushy childhood. Spoiled, no doubt. She would have never suspected the truth.

“But when you’re the ugly sister, hatred builds up.” Edelweiss smirked before taking a small sip of her tea. She waited for the potion to begin taking effect before grasping it with the dark side. It was deeply uncomfortable holding both. The sensation was as if she had stuck a dozen live wires into her torso. But it was effective. Whatever the tea possessed would not work. Yes, it was meant to make her tongue slip and utter truths she would otherwise not mention, but now she could bypass it.

And Umbridge would be none the wiser.

“Do tell me more,” said Umbridge.

Edelweiss nodded as though she were pleased to talk. “They made me do all the chores from a young age. Clean the bathroom, iron Uncle Vernon’s clothes, wash the dishes, cook their food, take care of the garden—”

“Pardon me, Miss Potter, but ‘cook their food’? Did I hear you correctly?”

“Oh yes! Why, it wasn’t until I received my Hogwarts letter personally from Hagrid that I learned I was a witch. They always called me a ‘freak’ and punished me for my ‘freakishness’. Like the time I turned a teacher’s wig blue or apparated onto a roof.” She shrugged awkwardly, as though she were a simple fifteen-year-old girl. “Should’ve realized then I was truly special.”

Umbridge mouthed “apparated onto a roof” with stunned shock on her face. Edelweiss wondered what witches and wizards assumed about her house life. She had no reason to suspect they knew the truth. Dumbledore had every reason to keep her out of the public’s eye. He had been raising her to be his sacrificial lamb. He had never told her so, but it was clear to her now. Had he wanted her to be victorious over Voldemort, regardless of the prospects against her, he would have seen to that. But he had not.

“And nobody thought to take you away from that?” asked Umbridge.

Edelweiss shook her head. “Dumbledore told me I had to return after my first year. I even begged him to send me anywhere. But I had to return because of the blood wards.”

“Blood wards?”

“Yes! My mum’s sacrifice allowed him to establish special wards around where I was raised. I have to go back every summer to make sure they stand, though I don’t think they’re much good anymore.”

“And why ever not?”

Edelweiss’s lips twitched; she could not smirk. Not now, as she acquired an unforeseen victory over Umbridge. “Because Voldemort used my blood to regain his body. I said as much in the article The Quibbler published.”

“But those… those are lies, Miss Potter,” Umbridge said, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself than Edelweiss. “Dumbledore has convinced you that is true.”

“But he didn’t,” she replied with furrowed brows. “Dumbledore has done many things to me, but he’s never meddled with my mind. He’s never needed to, since I was more than happy to do what he wished.” Edelweiss then blinked slowly and glanced at her tea. “Professor… I… My mind feels…” She swayed in her chair and noticed from the corner of her eye that Umbridge had risen to her feet. “I’m… sle…sleepy…”

And with the quality of acting only a Slytherin should be capable of, Edelweiss fell from the chair and plunged into a Force trance. To Umbridge—or any witch or wizard—it would appear that she had fainted and collapsed.

A faint smile still found a way to grace her lips as all else faded to black.

Naturally, Edelweiss was spirited to the Hospital Wing. That incident sent waves of gossip and suspicion through the school. She sensed the interest and confusion already spreading through the student body, despite having only woken from her temporary trance. Lavender and Parvati slipped into the Hospital Wing while Madam Pomfrey was discharging her to ask what had happened. Ron and Hermione appeared off put by their appearance, though Edelweiss was greatly—and secretly—pleased they sought her out.

“You’ll need to ask Professor Umbridge,” she replied after a moment to feign thoughtfulness. “I don’t recall much after I entered her office, though she did pour me a strange-tasting cup of tea.”

Predictably, Lavender and Parvati exchanged a look that expressed fear of what might have slipped from Edelweiss’s lips. It would not be what they feared, but she would allow them to brew in their fear for a time. She had no doubt it would play into her plans for Umbridge, raising the woman high so she could be cast down and ruined. There was no doubt in Edelweiss’s mind that Dolores Umbridge would grasp any and all power given to her. She had shown a tendency toward abusing it as early as September—and she had yet to repay the professor for her torture.

Madam Pomfrey made an odd hissing sound. A moment later, she waved her wand over Edelweiss’s head. Pomfrey’s brows furrowed, for no color appeared. Edelweiss possessed a vague understanding of the woman’s inspection spells thanks to her trips to the Hospital Wing. She knew her use of the Force to ignore the effects of the potions Umbridge spiked her tea with succeeded—and that Madam Pomfrey might figure it out.

I should be able to handle this minor trial. Lies are supposed to be a Sith’s bread and butter, or so my masters have suggested.

“How strange,” the nurse murmured.

“What’s strange?” asked Hermione, ever curious.

“If a potion had been used on Miss Potter, then something should have reacted to my spell. Yet it received no reaction.”

“Pardon me, but I do have an explanation for what you’re seeing,” Edelweiss said. “Back in my third year, I began using the Chamber of Secrets for my personal use.” Hisses of surprise filled the room. Edelweiss ignored them, focused solely on Madam Pomfrey’s doubtful expression. “But it was only last year that I stumbled on a hidden chamber. It was filled with texts written by Salazar Slytherin, in what I think is a written form of parseltongue. One of them concerned a series of trances witches and wizards can use to quicken their healing or subvert the effects of potions.” She then shrugged. “I guess they work.”

Edelweiss’s words were met with varying doubtful expressions. Lavender and Parvati looked almost awestruck by what they heard. Their spellcasting and dueling abilities had grown by leaps and bounds thanks to the defense group, though Edelweiss would never trust them in a fight unless necessary. Ron had a strange look. One that led to the suspicion she would need to head off another sprout of immature, jealous nonsense. Hermione looked doubtful, though she did know things that pointed toward the truth of the Force. Only Madam Pomfrey accepted her words. Her lips remained pursed despite the fact her suspicion was now gone.

“If you could pay me a visit another time, Miss Potter, to explain this trance skill, I would be greatly pleased,” said Madam Pomfrey. When Edelweiss raised a sharp brow, the nurse sighed. “And yes, I’ll keep this secret from Albus.

“You’re free to go.” She gave the others pointed looks. “All of you.”

The five students were swiftly shooed from the Hospital Wing. Edelweiss shot the two Gryffindor gossips a wink before pulling her friends aside into an alcove.

“Not a word from either of you,” she hissed, raising a hand. “Everything is going as I wish, and I do not need you two making an error that derails my plot.”

“Plot for what?” asked Ron suspiciously.

“Why, I’m going to propel Umbridge to the greatest height she can reach here at Hogwarts. And then I will tear her down from her lofty perch. Best of all, by the end, nobody will care. Her foundation will be so faulty and weak I shall be seen as a hero for removing her by whichever means I wish.”

“Murder,” accused Hermione.

“Justice, Hermione. Umbridge’s departure from the castle shall be justice. I will not even stain my hands with blood.”

The dark side is powerful enough that she will not even bleed. I can crush her like a bug and leave no sign of what I have done.

Still, Ron’s face was slightly green while Hermione looked furious. Edelweiss considered the merits of modifying their memories of this little conversation. But she sensed an uneasy, reluctant decision from them both to go allow her plan to move forward. She would need to keep a careful eye on them. Should they ever come to the wrong conclusion, all she worked to build as a Sith could come crumbling down if she failed to act appropriately.

“That’s why you want Lavender and Parvati to spread a rumor that she dosed you with a potion,” Hermione said. “So you can deceive others.”

“She did dose me. Umbridge will believe that she got away with it. All the while, the student body will whisper and wonder when it will be their turn to be taken into her office and given a potion in their tea.” Edelweiss peered back out into the corridor near them and reached out with the Force. Nobody lingered close enough to eavesdrop or even wonder. Good. It would be inconvenient to deal with them. She returned her attention to Ron and Hermione. “I have a plan in the works, and the student body must believe what I wish them to. The article in The Quibbler was a good start, but it is not enough. And it does nothing to raise her higher in the world.”

“Edie,” whispered Hermione. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing you need to worry about, Hermione. Only repeat the line I put forward, and try to not get in my way.”

Her friends exchanged a worried look. Edelweiss held back a frown, especially when she sensed a plot. The plot was against her and not coming from one of her enemies. She glanced around. It was still only the three of them.

Would they dare…?

“Do not get in my way,” she hissed before storming off. Edelweiss tried to tell herself that Ron and Hermione would never dare plot against her, but she had no evidence to the contrary. She knew she should trust her feelings, and yet what they told her and what her mind said came into conflict. Even her heart was conflicted, and she had not heeded its wisdom in some time.

Edelweiss huffed and made her way to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. She could expend her anger and frustration safely down in the Chamber of Secrets, away from prying eyes and untrustworthy minds.

March dragged on. Edelweiss remained open to the churning undercurrent of Hogwarts. She was pleased the school slowly turned completely and utterly against Umbridge and her Inquisitors. There had been a moment, back in January, when she thought the school might accept the power Fudge’s pawn had seized for herself. The grace period granted to a new professor had been long over. Many had been alienated by her decision to not teach spells in class and instead have them read from a worthless book and take notes during their class periods. Hogwarts was not primed yet for Edelweiss to act, but that would come soon.

In the meanwhile, she focused her defense group on being capable of defending themselves. She noticed new members were brought into the fold by those Edelweiss could almost actually trust. Luna Lovegood was the first, followed by several Ravenclaws and even a few more Slytherins. One of them had the same auburn hair as Daphne Greengrass. A sister, she presumed. There was no need to check the list of names that every new member signed. That was not its purpose, regardless of how Hermione began to badger her about taking attendance as the numbers waxed and waned each session.

The purpose of that list of names had first been to ensure none could betray her. The hex placed upon it—and thus upon every member—was still active. Few suspected how it worked, for she had calmed the nerves of most during the first session following the Seventh.

“As many of you know,” she began, emerald eyes drifting across the fifty or so gathered before her. “A member of this group was discovered by Professor Umbridge. I do not believe her tale that he came forward. We were fortunate that whatever he said violated a particular oath all of you, one way or another, have sworn as part and parcel of joining this group.” Several shifted awkwardly, but she continued. “It was a difficult piece of magic to establish. But it remains necessary for ensuring our security and secrecy, especially now in the face of Umbridge’s ongoing effort to hunt us down and expose us. I trust all of you will remain silent… though you are welcome to bring more into the fold, who happen to be honest and trustworthy.”

She later approached those few who remained reluctant and harbored uncertainties. With some, words sufficed. With others, the gentle touch of the Force swayed them to ‘see the light’. In the end, she drew them all to her position, despite the fact she would soon violate their trust through means honest and dishonest alike.

And now, the list would ensure her plot worked. Umbridge was a simple creature, and once she saw the little modification Edelweiss would apply, she would take the bait happily and willingly.

The end of the month was fast approaching when Edelweiss decided the time was right. The Daily Prophet increasingly printed articles desperate to paint her and Dumbledore as crackpots and fools. Their editors and journalists were as furious over what she published in The Quibbler article as they were over the fact she dared go to The Quibbler in the first place. Competition was greatly frowned upon in magical Britain. She would use that truth to advance her position.

Thus, she sensed disquiet and uncertainty among the student body. They had all read The Quibbler article. Even those who professed their certainty that she was a mad fool stoked tension and fear in a doomed attempt to seize power or influence. Having different views presented to them—especially among those in her little defense group—meant that their minds were stretched to near breaking. Several had come down with sudden bouts of mental fatigue or stress, bullying Madam Pomfrey out of her already limited stores of potions. For some odd reason, Professor Snape could no longer brew enough.

Perhaps for that same reason, Professor McGonagall was slower to answer the summons of Gryffindors when they had problems beyond the academic.

Edelweiss had selected her tool of manipulation weeks before she decided the time was ripe. Marietta Edgecombe, Cho Chang’s obnoxious friend with red-blonde hair, had stood out fairly early as an ideal candidate for sacrifice. The girl irritated Edelweiss with the way she acted. Apparently, Edelweiss’s role in Cedric Diggory’s death had affected Cho long into the school year. There were rumors about attempts to hunt her down on the Hogwarts Express and odd stories about a strange obsession that Edelweiss sensed no sign of ever existing.

Not that it truly mattered.

Still, those rumors seemed to be enough for Marietta to hate Edelweiss. Thus, she had made herself ideal for Edelweiss’s plot. Better yet, some alleged that her mother was a ladder-climbing official at the Ministry. No doubt Marietta received letters from home, urging her to aid Umbridge in her effort to cleanse Hogwarts of those who opposed the Ministry.

As a defense session wrapped up, Edelweiss called out, “Edgecombe. If you could remain behind, I need to speak with you.”

There was a moment where the girl hesitated, staring at Edelweiss with a look of befuddlement. She looked almost ready to turn and leave when Cho Chang whispered something frantically before pushing Marietta toward Edelweiss. She even winked for good measure, as though that might keep Marietta out of trouble.

A shame she is anything but safe from trouble.

“What do you want, Potter?” asked Marietta, already on edge. She, unlike Cho Chang, understood there was reason to be wary of Edelweiss Potter. “I have a good book and—”

“I do not care,” said Edelweiss, interrupting Marietta. She waved her hand toward the girl, keeping it low enough that nobody but that most observant watcher would notice. She remained careful with her application of the Force, in case any beyond the absent Luna Lovegood was Force-sensitive.

The girl’s eyes went dull, dazed as she swayed slightly where she stood. “When the next date for a defense meeting is scheduled,” Edelweiss continued, “you will go to Umbridge that day and tell her about the meetings you have been attending. That you are worried about your mother’s post at the Ministry. That she has suggested you go to her for protection.”

Marietta Edgecombe nodded before mumbling, “When the next date for a defense meeting is scheduled, I will go to Professor Umbridge that day and tell her about the meetings I have been attending. That… That I am worried about my mother’s post at the Ministry. That she has told me to go to her for protection.”

Several seconds passed before Marietta blinked. She shook her head, frowning, before asking, “Was there something you wanted me to know?”

Edelweiss smiled sadly. “I realized it was nothing. You should go before the other Ravenclaws leave you behind.”

Marietta Edgecombe nodded hesitantly, as though expecting another trap. But she reached the doors without issue. She glanced back at Edelweiss with a frown. Shortly after, she stepped out of the Come-and-Go Room, unable to say anything as the Force compulsion sunk into her mind and implanted itself deeply enough that Marietta would never suspect it to be anything but her own decision.

Edelweiss smirked once the Ravenclaw was gone. She waited for the rest to leave before locking the doors, drew out her lightsaber, and worked through her Ataru katas, crimson blade humming. The strain on her limbs made her impending victory all the sweeter. She had won this victory and deserved the fruit of her labors.

The next meeting was set for the spring solstice. Edelweiss heard grumbling from a few Ravenclaws and Slytherins—there was some old tradition day called “Ostara” then that she had never heard of—but they begrudgingly retracted their complaints when pressed and promised to be present. She told them in parting, “If you celebrate it, then certainly the Inquisitors will celebrate it as well. They will not be able to thwart us that night.”

They drank her words like milk from the breast, utterly unaware of what she planned. Marietta Edgecombe had gone stiff when the announcement went out. Her eyes flickered between Edelweiss and Umbridge during most meals. And though her friend Cho did her best to draw her friend into conversation, it was clear to anyone minding Marietta that the girl was deeply troubled by something.

Something known only to her, and to Edelweiss Potter.

Cho Chang approached Edelweiss minutes before the Ostara session was set to begin. She shifted from side to side as though consumed with a thick, anxious energy. A few glanced her way with concerned looks, but most were too caught up in their pre-session conversations to notice. Edelweiss knew why Cho acted as she did; the Force told her the plot was already in motion. Yet she met the Ravenclaw with a slight furrow between her brows as if she were genuinely concerned. “Is something the matter? You normally don’t come over to speak with me.”

“I’m sorry, but there’s something that’s troubling me,” said Cho, as though she were attempting to convince herself at the same time. “It’s about Marietta. She couldn’t come today. I haven’t seen her since dinner.”

A dinner during which Marietta Edgecombe made an effort to slip away, wishing nobody would spot her as she went.

Edelweiss had seen Marietta depart and smiled to herself.

“Okay?” asked Edelweiss, seeking genuineness in her tone. “There have been a few who have not attended every session. I doubt this is anything to worry about. Perhaps she’ll arrive late or you’ll catch up with her in your common room. I doubt it’s anything to worry over.”

Her point about those not attending every session happened to be true. Hermione grumbled about absences, but none had proven disastrous yet. The Ravenclaw who had been caught had been dutiful in his attendance beforehand. He now avoided Edelweiss as though she were Death incarnate.

“If you say so,” Cho mumbled, sounding as uncertain as always. Thankfully, most of her anxious energy had gone away. “Still, I thought you should know.”

“Of course,” said Edelweiss. “And Cho?”

The girl perked, confused and curious while on the verge of turning away.

“Thank you for letting me know.”

And now I know all shall go according to plan.

For twenty or so minutes, Edelweiss went through the motions of teaching. She had chosen to return to Patronuses for this session. There had been requests for a second lesson on them, and she needed something that would be easy to handle while awaiting her promised hour. She felt the Force churn and bubble. She knew something monumental was at hand. Annoyingly, the currents of the Force resisted her efforts to parse what would come to pass. Would her plan move as she expected or had she made an error in judgment? Perhaps the hex would not activate properly. That meant Umbridge would be free to move against them at her leisure instead of crashing the meeting, as Edelweiss desired.

The Great Hall would be the venue for that worst possible outcome. Umbridge would have near absolute control over events. Not like here on the seventh floor, where Edelweiss could wield both the natural proximity to Gryffindor and the multitude of routes to Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff to ensure few of those loyal to her were punished for daring to follow her. The Slytherins would have no choice but to fight unless they were willing to follow the Hufflepuffs into the bowels of the castle.

She owed her followers whatever security she could buy them. Though their pain could be used to further bind them to her.

And for those who decided to stand by her, they would reveal to Edelweiss the birth of her greater powers: the ability to create genuine and lasting loyalty. What did it matter if one was all-powerful, yet could not sway even one to take up arms on their behalf?

Twenty-six minutes into the session, Dobby suddenly popped into the Come-and-Go Room. Several students, most only spraying silvery mist, shrieked and stepped aside as the Dumbledore-mimicking house elf scurried her way.

“Missy Potter! Missy Potter!” shouted Dobby as he reached her. The chamber had otherwise fallen silent, gazes on her and the strange elf. “Terrible news! She’s coming! Professor Umbridge has learns of yous meeting here! She’s coming! Terrible news!”

Edelweiss sighed and nodded, playing the aggrieved role for her audience. “I feared this might happen, but I thought we would be safe. Thank you for telling me, Dobby. Go. Before she learns you warned us.”

She focused her mind on a particular image and then snapped her fingers. Four doors appeared along the walls of the Come-and-Go Room. Three bore the house symbols of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw. The last was the usual door into the room, set where they always entered.

“Soronus,” she whispered, touching her throat with only a hand. A moment later, she boomed, “If you are unwilling to stand by my side, go through the door that bears your house’s symbol. For you Slytherins, follow the Hufflepuffs. This is the best I can do on short notice. If you move quickly, you should return to your common rooms before anyone notices. I doubt many will be willing to sell out their fellow housemate.

“For any who wish to remain behind, know that I will face Umbridge and her Inquisitors. I will not flee. I will not be passive. And I will fight them this night should they dare cross wands with me.”

She released the magic amplifying her voice. She felt the power of the dark side of the Force rise, banking her with excess strength. Edelweiss watched most of her “students” flee through the door representing their house. Her lips pursed tightly for several long heartbeats before releasing with a soft sigh. She had assumed most would go, and they acted just as she predicted.

Yet a number remained behind to fight with her. Cho Chang stepped forward first, tension held heavily in her face. Guilt drove her; Edelweiss could almost taste it, sweet and divine.

The Weasleys remained, though Ron shot the Gryffindor door a brief, longing look. Neville stood by them, and they were joined by a remarkable surprise.

“Davis. You I did not expect to remain.”

Tracey Davis sniffed, holding her wand tightly. “I’m a halfblood, Potter, just like you. I have no protection in Slytherin without Daphne and Theo. They’ll be too busy rebuilding their position after tonight to adequately protect me from Malfoy and his goons. Better I fight with you. They won’t dare cross you without a guarantee you will do nothing. And I’ve seen enough to know you can curb his worst impulses.”

Edelweiss smiled with flashing teeth. “Good to have you with us, Davis.” She turned to Ron. “You have the Map. Get it out.”

He went red as he scrambled through his pockets to yank out a poorly folded Marauder’s Map. He had frowned when she entrusted him with it earlier in the evening. Fred snatched the Map from Ron, tapping it with his wand with an amused grin. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!”

The Map bloomed to life, showing almost all within the walls of Hogwarts. Only a few places, like the Chamber and the Come-and-Go Room, did not appear. Edelweiss took the Map from Fred and scanned for Umbridge and her Inquisitors. She found them climbing up from the fifth floor, far enough from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor that those sent back to their common rooms would return without being caught.

“Okay,” murmured Edelweiss as she scanned the routes up to where the Come-and-Go Room normally let out. She pointed to a weave of corridors between them and Umbridge. “Over here. This will be prime for an ambush and to then sneak away.” She gestured to three points, all near enough to be probable, but not so close as to guarantee their escape. “We’ll make for these places after the initial engagement. A fighting retreat before vanishing into the castle’s maze.”

The Weasleys nodded, believing in her as their parents believed in Dumbledore. She handed the Map to the Twins. She trusted their ability to keep it secret and safe. They approached the door with Neville and Davis—Tracey—following behind them. Cho Chang followed after a few seconds of hesitation, leaving Edelweiss and Hermione alone in the room’s center.

“What is it,” she demanded of her friend. “You would not be lingering if you didn’t have something to say.”

“I’m worried for you, Edie!” Hermione hissed, keeping her voice low enough. “Fighting Umbridge? Like this? She’s going to expel—”

“She’s going to get rid of Dumbledore,” boasted Edelweiss, unable to restrain her mad grin. “Umbridge’s entire purpose in this castle is to get rid of him, not to ruin me.” She raised the parchment they had every member of their group signed, which she had kept in her pocket for just this moment. “Watch.”

Edelweiss waved a hand over the page. Ink rose to the surface at the top, boldly declaring:

DUMBLEDORE’S ARMY

“When she sees this, she will act just as I wish.”

Hermione glanced between Edelweiss and the page, blinking several times before gaping. “You— You set us up!” she hissed with thunderous realization. Miraculously, she kept her voice down. “You set us up with Marietta—”

“You promised, Hermione!” whispered Edelweiss, intensity burning in her emerald eyes. She could sense the others glancing their way. She waved a hand and their gazes left them. Hermione paused, completely befuddled for once in her bloody life. “You promised to not get in my way. The die is cast, Hermione. Will you stand by me”—the Gryffindor door reappeared—“or will you depart?”

Hermione stood there for several long seconds. And then she sighed and grimaced. “Fine,” Hermione muttered, almost snarling. “I’ll go along with your madness. Someone has to protect you.”

Edelweiss beamed as she laid a firm hand on Hermione’s shoulder. She ignored how her friend flinched. “You have always been my dearest friend, Hermione. Even when I was closer to Ron than to you. I am happy you have decided to remain true to our friendship.”

She received a stiff nod, as though Hermione were making a deal with the devil and not backing a dear friend. In a way she had. Edelweiss was that devil, and she had long since claimed ownership over her friend.

They joined the others, all with wand in hand. Edelweiss approached the main door, which had remained visible throughout the departures and her brief argument. She gazed upon all gathered to support her and noted their stiff faces and white-knuckled grips.

“Thank you all for supporting me. I will not forget your loyalty.”

She received nods and smiles, none of which were stiff. Not even from Hermione, who had good reason to be stiff and unwilling. None could change course now. Not without risking their dignity, their honor, and whatever meager standing they still possessed. By now, the rest of the defense group should have returned to their common rooms. A chance still existed they would be tracked down and persecuted for joining her. But Edelweiss knew on this night, Umbridge would prefer to pursue and attack the symbols of opposition against her than to bother hunting down every minor peasant who dared align with her opposition.

They left the Come-and-Go Room, hurrying quickly to the ambush point Edelweiss had chosen. She took up a position on the far corner with Ron, Hermione, and Tracey beside her. The other Weasleys, along with Cho and Neville, took up positions across from them. The girls kneeled while the boys remained standing, all bearing wands ready to cast.

“Wait until you see them all,” whispered Edelweiss, holly thrumming in her hand.

The others nodded.

A few impatient minutes passed before the sound of loud footsteps echoed their way. Soon enough, Umbridge and her Inquisitors appeared at the end of the hallway, marching forward without issue or opposition. A victorious air hung around them. Only Edelweiss peered around the corner, the Force masking her from the gazes of her enemies. Thankfully, Marietta was not with them. The girl had to be held elsewhere. Either Umbridge’s office or, as Edelweiss secretly hoped, Marietta had been sent to Dumbledore’s office. No doubt Minister Fudge had been summoned to the castle, awaiting his agent and the capture of the architects of this act of defiance against them.

Striding at the very front was Umbridge, flanked by Malfoy and Bletchley, a seventh-year Edelweiss knew from Quidditch. He had been a fixture of the Slytherin Quidditch team since she joined the Gryffindor one. Hatred bubbled within her. How fascinating that a past of sports could inspire such violent emotions within her, despite the fact they otherwise never crossed paths.

Several other Slytherins trailed them, chatting excitedly as if they were about to surprise their enemy. Edelweiss saw only silver and emerald on their robes. Snake badges on their chests. No Ravenclaws were present. They, she assumed, were off-guarding Edgecombe.

“Three,” she whispered.

The others tensed.

“Two.

Wands slid around the corner as lips began to move.

“One.”

In one moment, the corridor was clear and peaceful. In the next, almost a dozen spells raced down the corridor at Umbridge and her Inquisitors. Edelweiss rolled from one spell into the next, her connection to the dark side augmenting every spell she cast. They were darker, faster, and more powerful. Her lips did not move. Her wand barely shifted from her firm grasp. And contrary to all they had been taught at Hogwarts, spell after spell, unique and powerful, shot forth. Smoke and dust quickly filled the corridor, blinding their foe and delaying their counterattack.

“Break away,” hissed Edelweiss once a few stray spells returned their way. When none of her companions moved, she barked, “Go! Fly you fools!”

Cho moved first. The girl had been brave, daring even, risking everything to face Umbridge so. But with Marietta elsewhere, no reason existed for her to remain with them. She dashed off to the nearest exit route Edelweiss had pointed out earlier. Surprisingly, Neville followed her. He looked ready to continue fighting with his white-knuckled grip around his wand.

A protector to the end, and unfortunately unsuitable for my apprentice.

“Go!” she had to shout at the Twins and Ginny, breaking up her offense for several seconds. That brief window proved enough for the Inquisitors to rally and take the offensive, for spells suddenly splashed around her. Her left hand sprung forward awkwardly, twisting around her body to slip around the corner without fully exposing her body. The Force responded to her will immediately. As spells reached her, they were absorbed into her outstretched palm. She felt the confusion of her friends. “Go! Fly now!” she had to shout again, even as she mentally cursed how they remained with her.

“We aren’t going!” shouted Ron. “We’ll fight—”

Damned fool!

Edelweiss was dearly tempted to stun him. Davis saved her from having to expend effort to remove Ron and Hermione, dragging them off.

“Come on, you idiots!” she snarled, yanking their arms. “Potter has it in hand!”

Edelweiss sensed their departure away from her location. She noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. Her focus returned to the enemies arrayed before her. The Inquisitors performed better than she expected. But then her expectations for them had been subterranean. Wherever Umbridge was in the miasma, only the Force could tell her.

And frustratingly, her Force senses were being obtuse where it concerned Umbridge. She sensed and understood the many forms before her, but sensing the particular in each figure remained slightly out of reach. She felt as if the Force mocked her effort. She believed in her power and the domination the dark side allowed for.

She churned with anger and hatred, wrath and fury; the dark side consumed her—and suddenly she knew where every Inquisitor was. She even knew where Umbridge was.

A moment later, Edelweiss realized her friends were in trouble. And while one was not a problem, the other could threaten her plot.

With a growl, Edelweiss slammed her left hand at the Inquisitors still fighting her. The Force responded to her will. A bubble of power shot forth. The enemies before her flew backward, rising briefly into the air before crashing painfully to the ground. With them handled, she turned to where she sensed her friends and moved. The dark side filled her, heady and brilliant, allowing her to cross several spans in the flash of a second. Never had she known such power could be available so simply. This was not a power her masters had spoken of, though they had alluded often to how the Force could augment the body.

She reached where she sensed her friends and came up short. Umbridge stood there, escorted by Crabbe and Goyle. They had their wands drawn and pointed at Hermione and Ron, both of whom had empty hands.

Tracey Davis was nowhere to be found.

Good.

“Tell me where Potter is,” demanded Umbridge. “Tell me, and I will let you two go.”

“We’ll never tell you!” shouted Ron.

His loyalty warmed her heart. But it was now misplaced.

“Your father has a good career at the Ministry, Mister Weasley,” said Umbridge. She briefly turned her wand toward Hermione before restoring its aim on Ron. “You wouldn’t want to ruin that for him. I know it must be difficult for him, especially with his elder son, Percy, being so loyal to his country and Ministry. I fear dear Percival understands where his loyalty should be, and has acted accordingly.”

As Ron’s mouth opened wide to respond, Edelweiss emerged from her hiding place. Her wand moved quickly and harshly, ripping three wands from three hands. She caught them with graceful ease and stepped between her friends and Umbridge.

“Let them go, Umbridge,” she demanded.

“Why should I do that?” asked Umbridge. “I know what you have done. One call to the aurors and—”

“And if I were to surrender, would you release them?” offered Edelweiss as she twirled her wand. Her grasp on the wands she had taken tightened. She heard the gasp of her friend’s; Ron’s was horrified while Hermione’s was one of realization. “It’s a simple deal I’m offering you, Dolores. Me for them. Certainly, the Minister is awaiting me in Dumbledore’s office. He must already be raving about me and my defiance.”

Umbridge frowned as she glanced between Edelweiss and the two behind her. After a long while to think, she smiled widely. “You have a deal, Miss Potter. The wands.”

“My friends?”

“Go on, Mister Weasley, Miss Granger.” Umbridge then shot them a malicious smile.” Your punishments will come down once we know the extent of your crimes.”

Ron and Hermione shot Edelweiss an uncertain look when she did not protest the comment about punishment. She nodded reassuringly. They hurried off, heading for Gryffindor Tower. She watched them go, feeling tendrils of lingering defiance. They had just gotten their first taste of resistance, of truly fighting for their lives. She felt a sensation ripple off them akin to an addict coming off his first high and wondering when he might get his next fix.

Umbridge suddenly cleared her throat. Edelweiss turned to her and spotted the outstretched hand, small and demanding. She could cut it clean off, but she had made a deal. More so, she needed to see her plot to the end. Any deviation now would end in its ruin—and by proxy, hers.

She handed over four wands, bitter to hand over her holly wand when she had the upper hand. But it had to be done. Better yet, her choice maintained the illusion others believed of her. Umbridge beamed proudly as she pocketed Edelweiss’s wand of holly before handing Crabbe and Goyle theirs. They glowered at her, looking ever more like trolls compared to that day so far ago when she first met them.

“Come along, boys. Miss Potter is right. The Minister is expecting her.”

Malfoy and the other Inquisitors caught up with them a few minutes later, about halfway from the seventh floor to Dumbledore’s office. They happened to be on the far side of the castle, distant from where the Headmaster could be found on the fifth floor. The pack of Inquisitors were bruised and battered, many with robes seared or cut. Edelweiss smirked at him. She might be in their custody, but it was her victory.

The others had all escaped.

“Potter,” Malfoy said, sneering at her. “I should have assumed you’d be behind this.”

She smiled sweetly. “I always am, Malfoy. I always am. You should know by now I am behind half of what happens in the castle.” Edelweiss then tilted her head. “And Dumbledore is responsible for the other half. Not even your father has the same influence as I.”

Malfoy’s jaw clenched. Edelweiss could feel the repressed fury within him at the dismissal of his lorded father. How fascinating that Draco Malfoy’s entire sense of self, purpose, and power relied on the influence and power of his father. Were she not a ‘prisoner’, she would laugh in his face and mock him.

“Have you checked Potter yet?” asked Parkinson, looking Edelweiss up and down with a strange, almost predatory look. “She certainly has something up her sleeve.” Parkinson’s gaze flickered to Malfoy. “She always does.”

Umbridge paused and considered Edelweiss in a new light. She had not planned for how ‘Dumbledore’s Army’ would be revealed to the woman in question. It had not mattered to her, for it would have come up regardless. Somehow. This was a fortunate occasion, driven solely by a girl’s desire to impress the boy she fawned over. “I had planned to take her to the Minister immediately. You are right, Miss Parkinson. We should check her. Take ten points for Slytherin for your quick thinking.”

Parkinson preened. She turned to Edelweiss with an amused sneer on her face. “Arms up, Potter. This will go quickly if you don’t resist.”

Edelweiss did as told. She knew what Parkinson would find. That would light a fire in Umbridge. Catching Edelweiss Potter leading an anti-Ministry group was one thing, but to have confirmation it went all the way up to Dumbledore? That was the sole reason Minister Fudge sent her to Hogwarts.

She wanted to burst out laughing. This was too easy. She almost felt bad about how well her plot played out.

Parkinson took her time inspecting Edelweiss. She fondled her legs and breasts, with a particularly slow hand lingering around her groin. Edelweiss had to clear her throat and glower at the pug-nosed girl to get her to finally inspect the pockets of her robe.

“Madam Umbridge!” Parkinson said as she removed the folded, hexed parchment from Edelweiss’s right pocket. “I found something!”

Umbridge waddled forward and took the parchment from Parkinson. A thrill ran through the woman. Edelweiss felt sick sensing that thrill through the Force. More and more, she knew she would enjoy killing Dolores Umbridge.

The woman in question unfolded the parchment. She froze, staring at the title at the top. She then smiled viciously, beaming with malice at Edelweiss. “Well, Miss Potter. I doubt you will be getting out of this one.”

“We’ll see,” she replied coolly.

Umbridge’s smile did not falter. She grew even smugger.

They continued to Dumbledore’s office. Two aurors loitered before the stairwell, emptied of the statue that usually guarded it. They were tall with closely cropped hair and hard faces. They seemed dull and Edelweiss felt their boredom and annoyance.

“Madam,” the one on the left said. His eyes were dark and his hair darker. “The Minister has insisted only you and the ringleader can go up.”

“I understand,” Umbridge said. She turned to her Inquisitors. They all straightened, surprising Edelweiss. Was there something competent within this gang of hooligans and Death Eater wannabes? “Return to your common room. Keep an eye out for anyone acting suspicious. I will send you names—”

“Madam,” the man repeated harshly. “Minister Fudge is waiting.”

Umbridge grimaced. Edelweiss felt the woman’s contempt for the auror’s interference. “I’ll send a message in the morning,” she told her Inquisitors. Her gaze turned to Edelweiss. The contempt shifted figures and expanded swiftly. “Come along, Miss Potter. The hour of judgment is at hand.”

Edelweiss did not respond; there was no point in responding. She had no reason to think she would be expelled from Hogwarts this night. Certainly, that would be what Umbridge would push for, but she was not the only party involved. Minister Fudge was here, and she could sense his frustration and fury. Once he saw that title—once he read the words “Dumbledore’s Army”—he would do exactly as Edelweiss wished.

And Umbridge? The best she would get would be the office they would be entering. Their feud would continue, bitter to its fatal conclusion.

They scaled the spiraling stair up to Dumbledore’s office, Umbridge’s wand hovering close to Edelweiss’s back. She nearly rolled her eyes at the paranoia driving the squat witch. Umbridge had already made her error. The trap had been sprung, and only Edelweiss knew it.

The door had been left open. Edelweiss blinked at the large gathering before her: Dumbledore and McGonagall were behind his desk with an anxious Professor Flitwick lingering nearby. Over beside Fawkes’ perch were two aurors, both familiar from the visit over the summer hols. One of them was a member of the Order. Shacklebolt glanced her way with a knowing look.

She ignored him.

On the other side of the room were the Ravenclaw Inquisitors guarding a slightly swaying Marietta Edgecombe, SNITCH emboldened across her face in bright pustules. Edelweiss almost felt bad for how she used the girl. But once Marietta woke the coming morning, the girl’s mind would be cleansed of any trace of Force manipulation. And even better, the girl would be utterly convinced of the story that had been planted into her mind with the Force.

Pacing across the chamber was Minister Fudge. He muttered angrily to himself, no doubt waiting on Umbridge to return with the discovered ringleader. A familiar woman with red hair and a monocle stood off to the side, watching her boss warily. Madam Bones looked exhausted. Edelweiss almost felt bad for her.

Dumbledore rose the moment he spotted them, smoothing out his robes. They were golden, edged with reds and oranges. He looked dangerous for once. Edelweiss briefly felt awe and dread at the sight. She destroyed that feeling and resurrected her hatred, spiced with spite. “Professor Umbridge. Miss Potter. It is very late for both of you to be out of bed.”

“I am more curious about why Dolores insisted I bring a contingent of aurors,” said Madam Amelia Bones. “For she has brought in only a single witch, and one untrained at that.”

Umbridge glowered at Madam Bones. “You’re mistaken if you think this ‘untrained witch’ is no threat, Amelia.” She turned to Minister Fudge. “I’m afraid the state here at Hogwarts is more rotten than any of us suspected.” She then stalked around Edelweiss to occupy the office’s center. “I have uncovered Dumbledore’s plot against both the Ministry and Britain herself.”

Dumbledore’s face remained impassive, despite the accusation. “I’m afraid, Professor Umbridge, there is no plot.”

“Ha! That’s what you want us all to think!” She unfurled the parchment Parkinson had found and displayed it for all to see. Everyone shifted to get a better glimpse of the page. “Dumbledore’s Army! Not Potter’s Army! No. This says Dumbledore’s Army. You’ve had Miss Potter training students to overthrow the Ministry!”

The professors looked shocked, glancing between the page, the Headmaster, and Edelweiss. Madam Bones looked resigned, while the Minister’s face had gone bright red. Dumbledore stood passive and solemn. He glanced between the parchment and Edelweiss, his brilliant mind swiftly reaching understanding. She met his gaze with a soft smile. He held back any reaction as his gaze returned to Umbridge.

And yet the moment of realization resonated in the Force, thick with shock and disappointment.

“I was surprised when Miss Potter agreed to my proposal,” Dumbledore said. Edelweiss was a touch surprised he would play along with her trap. “She had expressed discontent with your lessons, Dolores, and I suggested she teach her peers. Miss Potter was hesitant. But when she explained her detentions with you, I suggested a Defense Association. She took that name in another direction. No doubt to irritate you and Minister Fudge.”

“No doubt indeed,” said Madam Bones with crossed arms. She shot Edelweiss a knowing glare. “But why her? Why not another student?”

“Miss Potter has long been a leader among the student body and has developed a wide and strong repertoire of spells.”

“Her Inquisitors learned the hard way,” Edelweiss said, unable to help herself. She smiled, glancing at offended face after offended face. “I was quite surprised by their poor showing, but I guess that is what the Ministry’s methods produce when applied to their fullest.” Her gaze slipped from Bones to Fudge. “Maybe you should have your Department of Education go back over their curriculum. A practical education could have prevented everything happening here. Would have even weakened Dumbledore’s position, too.”

Minister Fudge growled, face burning a bright red. He looked between her and Dumbledore, as though he were challenged to determine which to blame more for the undercutting of his power and influence. Edelweiss was certain he would choose wrong, but then only Dumbledore—and perhaps those in the Order—would know the truth: the defense group was all her doing. Marietta would not say a word. The hexes affected her so that she could no longer speak on the matter, especially not now when it mattered.

And then the Minister made his choice. He turned his back to Edelweiss. “Dumbledore. I have long held respect for you. Before the previous year, I would have counted you among those whom I could go to for advice. But this has gone too far! It was bad enough when you claimed that You-Know-Who had returned from the dead. But this? An army? In your name? I wish I could believe your story, but it does not match what I have seen with my own eyes.” He sighed and uttered the words Edelweiss had been waiting for. “Dawlish. Shacklebolt. Arrest Albus Dumbledore on the charges of conspiracy and treason against the Ministry. I thought he might one day confess his crimes. It appears I regarded him too highly.”

“And what about Potter?” asked Dawlish.

Minister Fudge glanced back at her, face pruning as he thought. “I will leave her punishment to Dolores. She will be the interim headmistress—”

“You cannot do that!” shouted McGonagall. “I am the Deputy Headmistress, Minister. If anyone should take charge in Albus’s absence, it would be me.”

“And you are not questioning me arresting Dumbledore?”

She paused, glancing at Dumbledore. Edelweiss bit her tongue. This was going even better than she had expected! She had known there would be protests and arguments about who would take charge of Hogwarts following Dumbledore’s expulsion from the castle—there was no getting out of arrest for him beyond flight—but she had not expected the Minister to dare impose his will on Hogwarts! Perhaps she should have. He had been doing as much since the autumn when the first ministry proclamations came to the school.

“I see,” Minister Fudge said with a sigh. “Minerva. Please, step aside. For the sake of your students.” He glanced at Edelweiss again.

Before Professor McGonagall could argue her point again, Dumbledore stepped forward. He looked grave, severe. This was the man Voldemort feared. This was the man who defeated Grindelwald, a dark wizard so dangerous he had nearly conquered all of Europe. Edelweiss tingled with excitement. She would kill this man one day.

And oh, did she look forward to that day.

“I am afraid there will be no need for you to defend me, Minerva. I appreciate the support, but Cornelius is right. You must think about the students—and Miss Potter in particular.” He smiled at her and nodded his head. Damn the man for understanding. Damn the man twice over for being amused by her plot’s success. She was removing him from his place of power, and he was amused! “As I have said before, as long as there are those loyal to me here at Hogwarts, I will never be fully removed from the castle. You can put whoever you wish in the Headmaster’s seat, Minister, but they will never command Hogwarts as I have.”

Minister Fudge turned to his aurors, who remained near Fawkes. “Dawlish! Shacklebolt! Now!”

They stepped forward with their wands drawn. Edelweiss sensed Shacklebolt’s uncertainty; the man was a member of the Order. He awaited any sign from Dumbledore to act against the Minster’s wishes. Whatever orders he had did not include the scenario of Dumbledore being arrested. That or he assumed Fudge would never dare that.

“Gentlemen, please step back,” Dumbledore warned the aurors. “I do not wish to injure either of you.”

Edelweiss watched how McGonagall skirted away from the Headmaster, followed by Flitwick. The Charms professor reeked of worry; for his students, for Hogwarts, and most particularly for the aurors daring to stand against Dumbledore. Somehow, goodwill persisted between the two wizards. Edelweiss would have thought any kind feelings between them would burn away this night.

Dawlish frowned. “What can you—”

Dumbledore raised his hands above his head with a giant clapping motion. Fawkes leaped from his perch with a vivid, burning glow and descended upon his master in a blaze of glory. The room bloomed with light and song, blinding all. Edelweiss flinched at the song. Her Sith markings burned as though they were potent dark magic. She had never heard of phoenixes possessing powers of this nature, but then her knowledge of them had come from Dumbledore explaining what Fawkes did for her in the Chamber of Secrets so long ago.

When the office dimmed to normal, they discovered that Dumbledore vanished in the fiery inferno. Edelweiss watched with an amused smirk as the others looked around. She knew none would catch him this night. She doubted any would see sight or sign of Albus Dumbledore until the night of her ascension.

Or so she believed, thanks to currents in the Force.

Minister Fudge eventually turned on the aurors present and demanded, “Go find him!” They hurried from the office, cloaks rippling behind them. With that done, the Minister turned to the gathered professors. The students, Edelweiss included, were no longer his concern. “From this moment forward, Dolores Umbridge is the Headmistress of Hogwarts. You can begin searching for a new Headmaster once the summer hols begin. But until the end of term, she is in charge.”

Professor McGonagall straightened and said, “I am afraid that I cannot allow that, Minister. As I said, I am—”

“Must I have you arrested as well, Minerva?” the Minister asked. He sounded annoyed. Disappointed. “Your loyalty to Dumbledore is well known. Under his tenure, Hogwarts has become a hotbed of anti-Ministry sentiment. It’s bad enough that You-Know-Who grew powerful while Dumbledore was holed up here over twenty years ago. But now? In a time of peace? People may begin to get ideas! It’s bad enough that Potter’s lies have been exposed to the public.” He paused to glower at Edelweiss. “But to have one of Albus’s loyal supports as Headmistress? I am afraid I cannot allow that. Not as long as Dumbledore is in the wind.”

“Minerva,” said Flitwick, appearing exhausted. “Let the matter rest. We can worry about a permanent headmaster once the summer begins. Until then, our students will need a return to normalcy… or the best we can give them.”

McGonagall sighed and nodded. “You’re right, Fillius. It’s only that there are rules. Laws by which we are meant to abide. The Charter—”

“Should be rethought and revised,” Umbridge declared. “It’s an archaic document. One that predates the modern Ministry and our entire way of life. Perhaps it is time that a new charter be drafted, allowing for better relations between the school and London.”

Edelweiss watched on as the adults argued and bickered over the charter and its legitimacy. She grew bored, waiting for them to remember why they gathered on this night and in this place. Her plot was all but complete. Now, she had to find a way out of trouble—and to protect those who swore fealty to her, whether they knew it or not.

“Professor Umbridge?” asked one of the Ravenclaws after about thirty minutes. The adults all froze and turned to him. “May we be dismissed to bed? I wanted to study—”

“Yes, yes,” Umbridge said, waving off his concerns. “You three can go. See if you can find some help for Marietta. She”—and here Umbridge smiled widely, nastily—“has done her mother proud. Loyalty should be rewarded, after all.”

Marietta, her forehead still marked with SNITCH, nodded dizzily. Her hazy eyes glanced at Edelweiss, as though she were expecting orders from the one who twisted her mind and used her as a pawn. The Sith apprentice’s gut twisted and her veins chilled. The pawn should not have any sense of who had pulled her strings.

Had Edelweiss made an error while planning commands in Marietta’s mind?

No. She had been careful and thorough in using the Force and its influence to mask her trail. If she had been messy, someone would have figured her out by now.

Edelweiss watched the three Ravenclaws depart. An Inquisitor shot her a foul glower. Her nose wrinkled in response. Once the sound of their footsteps vanished, she stepped toward the adults, drawing their gazes to her. “What of me?” she asked, grasping the Force. “Am I free to go, or do you have questions for me?”

“Yes, we do,” said Minister Fudge. “Dumbledore took most of the blame for your group, but that does not mean you are not partially responsible for violating—”

“Oh, I violated nothing,” Edelweiss interrupted. “I realized that from the moment I read your little declaration concerning student groups.” She smirked. “It defined organizations as having ‘three or more members who gather at regular intervals for a set purpose outside of studying Ministry-approved curriculums’. We did not meet at regular intervals. You can question every name on that list”—and she gestured to the parchment that brazenly declared her group to be named ‘Dumbledore’s Army’—“and you’ll discover the same story: we met whenever we could. Never regularly, and never at a set interval or even for the same amount of time.” She then shrugged as if she were perfectly innocent. In a way, she was. “It was an oversight on your part, Minister.”

And a grievous one, as well. While Dumbledore had taken flight thanks to her efforts, Edelweiss would be able to remain within the walls of Hogwarts. Minister Fudge’s face went bright red while Madam Bones covered her mouth with a hand. Umbridge looked ready to flay Edelweiss, while her professors merely shook their heads. She felt amusement and disappointment ripple from them, though their feelings favored the former over the latter.

“Still, your group—”

“—was organized to teach defensive spells, Minister. I know you were worried about Dumbledore gathering a force here at Hogwarts. But frankly, my goal was to pass along the knowledge I’ve accrued during my time here.”

“Oh, what could—!”

Edelweiss summoned her wand from Umbridge’s loose grip and instantly cast, “Expecto Patronum,” energized not by the happy joy that Lupin or Dumbledore would prescribe, but the violent joy of victory that was inherent in all who walked the path of Sith Lord. The strange flying creature she had called on the previous time emerged, fluttering about the Headmaster’s office for several seconds before being allowed to vanish.

Her gaze fell upon the adults arrayed around her. Minister Fudge was shocked. Madam Bones looked impressed. McGonagall and Flitwick considered her with wary, almost estranged looks, while Umbridge only gaped, astonished the wand could be retrieved without brute force.

“If that is all, I would like to get some sleep. It must be nearly midnight.”

It was nowhere close to that late hour. But Edelweiss wanted to keep them off balance. The moment any thought over her actions in both the past and the present rationally, she risked losing all she sought to gain. She was on the verge of victory. And while reprisals were possible, she did not fear them any longer.

“No, no!” Umbridge shouted, pointing a pudgy finger at Edelweiss. “You cannot just go on your merry way! You have—”

“Done nothing wrong, than perhaps skirt curfew,” Edelweiss drawled. “As I told the Minister, I have violated no laws. Had my little group met consistently on a schedule, then yes, I would have violated your rules. But I did not, and thus I have done nothing wrong.” She glanced about the office, regarding the countless portraits that watched. One of them had grey eyes identical to Sirius’s. “You must realize the great accomplishment that’s fallen into your lap, Umbridge,” continued Edelweiss. “Dumbledore was forced out of Hogwarts not because of Voldemort, but thanks to you.”

The woman flinched and then smiled coyly. It was as though she had not realized that her actions effectively brought about the Headmaster’s sudden and impromptu dismissal. Decades of Dumbledore guiding Hogwarts had come to an end. The woman gazed about her new office with poorly constrained greed in her beady eyes.

Edelweiss glanced at the fuming minister. No doubt Fudge would go about rectifying the error she had taken advantage of once he returned to London. The school would wake to learn Dumbledore was replaced with Umbridge and a change to one of the policies forced upon the castle.

Few would be happy about either change.

And better yet, Edelweiss could easily shape her narrative about this night. Honest, forthright Edelweiss Potter, foolishly unaware she laid the foundation for a conspiracy that led to the ouster of long-time Headmaster Albus Dumbledore from Hogwarts. Those who knew her well, along with the Slytherins in her pocket, would see through the lie. After all, they knew she had rejected a name to begin with.

But for the rest of the school? They would eat that up just as easily as they accepted other tall tales about her.

“However,” said Umbridge, drawing Edelweiss from her thoughts, “your disregard for authority cannot go unpunished. You are hereby stripped of your privileges. No more Quidditch for the rest of your tenure at Hogwarts, along with three weeks of detention.” She glanced at Edelweiss’s right hand, long barren of scars created by cursed quills. “It appeared the lesson from our previous sessions never sunk in.”

Edelweiss raised an eyebrow. “Will you not be too busy with your new duties as Headmistress? I already dread telling the captain I’m off the team. Plus, I’m so busy with preparing for the OWLs that I’m afraid I will forget those detentions as I buckle down and study.”

Umbridge looked ready to reject the proposal, but then something dawned on her. Edelweiss felt a cold ripple of cruelty from the woman. Her gut swooped before the pronouncement. “I will drop your detentions on one condition: Every other member of your group, except Miss Edgecombe and Mister Tanner, will have a week of detention with me at my choosing.”

A cold fury bloomed in Edelweiss’s veins. She could be a good little Gryffindor and accept the burden of saving those sworn to her from Umbridge’s wrath. Yet handed to her now was a way to spread the pain and misery of Umbridge’s tortures, a way to inflame the school as a whole against their new usurping headmistress. And best of all, none of those with her would believe Umbridge’s claim.

Not when she could explain everything.

“Remember that you shall reap what you sow, Headmistress.” She sighed and muttered, feigning defeat, “Your terms are acceptable.”

Umbridge giggled, believing she had been handed a great victory. “Then you are dismissed, Miss Potter. Tell Mister Weasley and Miss Granger that they will attend detention with me tomorrow night. Seven o’clock, on the dot.”

“Both of them?”

For a moment, the woman pondered her options. And then she nodded, pleased with the decision already made. “Both of them. Mister Weasley and Miss Granger should be on time. Else I revoke their prefect badges.”

Professor McGonagall released a squawk of offense while Minister Fudge glanced between Umbridge and Edelweiss with a confused look. Madam Bones had taken a step back, appearing to understand what was playing out before her. Something guarded lingered in her gaze; Edelweiss sensed little from the woman and found herself impressed by the degree of emotional control.

“I will.” Edelweiss turned her gaze upon Minister Fudge. “Have a good night, Minister. And please, reconsider your positions of the past year. There is still time to salvage your legacy from the ruin you approach. I have never lied to you. Not in my third year, nor last year.”

Before Fudge could respond, she departed, descending the spiral stairs swiftly. Cloaked in the dark side, Edelweiss passed the squabbling aurors and returned to Gryffindor Tower. She passed through the Fat Lady’s portrait hole to find the common room filled with muttering, grumbling bodies.

Chapter Text

Hermione had not intended to gather almost all of Gryffindor in the common room. She had intended to gather everyone who had joined their defense group—the group Edelweiss had renamed Dumbledore’s Army in a hopefully vain effort to remove the Headmaster from Hogwarts or some other nonsense—so that they could learn what would become of their lives at Hogwarts, now that their group had been revealed. Would they be expelled? Her wand snapped? Could they be imprisoned in Azkaban? Ever since she had learned of magic, Hermione’s world had been irrevocably changed. There could be no future without the magical world, no matter the price she might pay.

Now I sound like Edie, Hermione thought sourly. Worrying about some price I might need to pay.

In the midst of gathering those who would be affected, others had gotten dragged into their business. It began with a trickle of seventh years. But eventually, the other NEWT students joined them. That was followed by the third and fourth years and the few second years still awake. Hermione even spotted two of the first years, gathered by the roaring fire. They fought sleep, yawing widely in the massive plush chair they shared.

Yet they were present nonetheless.

Her gut twisted at the sight. It reminded her painfully of those simpler days when all they feared was Professor Snape plotting to steal the Philosopher’s Stone from under Professor Dumbledore’s nose.

The common room rippled with conversation and speculation. A dozen theories floated about. The most common held that Edelweiss would be suspended and her wand snapped. Others proposed she would be shipped off to Azkaban instead of merely being suspended. Hermione knew what Edelweiss wanted from this incident. That nobody had yet to suggest Dumbledore might be removed from the school was unsurprising.

She was the only one who knew. Who cared. Who feared that outcome.

The Fat Lady’s portrait swung open suddenly. The room fell silent as Edelweiss ghosted through the hole. Her glowing emerald eyes scanned all gathered. She appeared unfazed, despite the fact nearly every Gryffindor stood before her. She stepped forward. Gryffindors parted before her like the Red Sea before Moses.

Edelweiss stopped at the room’s center. “Why are you all out of bed?” she asked, voice soft and smooth. There was nothing in her tone that suggested she was in trouble.

Did Edelweiss’s plot work? Is Professor Dumbledore gone?

Several garbled answers met the posed question. Hermione picked out one consistent element: her name. She swallowed as Edelweiss’s gaze found her, eyes glinting with dark intention. Hermione nearly retreated, but she held strong. She was a Gryffindor for a reason. She was brave, courageous, and always sought to do the right thing, regardless of her hunger for knowledge.

Hermione grabbed that courage and stepped forward. “I wanted to gather everyone who would be affected by what happened tonight.”

“You could have been patient. We both knew I would slip through Umbridge’s fat grubby hands.” Edelweiss glanced at the ceiling. She then closed her eyes as a rumble of astonished whispers rippled through the common room. Hermione pursed her lips at the black markings that consumed all of Edelweiss’s eye sockets. How her friend could ruin her appearance was beyond her. She might not care about her appearance as much as Parvati and Lavender, but she still cared enough. “However, not everything is well within Hogwarts.”

“What happened?” demanded a seventh-year.

Edelweiss allowed her gaze to flicker to Hermione before casting her emerald gaze across the common room. “Dumbledore has… left the castle. He is no longer our headmaster. Worse, the Ministry has decided to prevent the transition of the Headmastership as dictated by the school’s charter. Instead of the Deputy Headmistress becoming the interim headmistress, Professor Umbridge has been carefully… selected for the role.”

Gasps of horror and outrage filled the common room. Hermione knew this was what Edelweiss wanted. But to hear it aloud made her sick. Worse, Edelweiss sounded truly regretful that these events were coming to pass. How had she come to be such a foul liar? Had there been some secret perversion of her character?

Perhaps that was where Edelweiss’s terrible marks had come from. Their source was the same as the evil that now festered in her heart.

“Umbridge has already begun to wield her new authority. She has removed me from the Gryffindor Quidditch team.” Edelweiss’s gaze landed on the chasers. “I’m sorry. You will need to find someone to fill my position.”

Angelica Johnson nodded gravely. She seemed unsurprised to Hermione. But then Angelica had already needed to replace the Twins. To have three new players would hurt the team. Everyone knew that.

“There’s something else, but it only concerns those I have been teaching. The rest of you. Off to bed.”

Shockingly, they followed Edelweiss’s command. Hermione gaped, outrage and frustration churning within her. She had wasted several minutes attempting to send most gathered back to bed where they belonged. They had ignored her, more interested in Edelweiss’s words than in what she had to say. Her! A prefect!

Once only those who had been in their defense group remained, Edelweiss sighed. “I’m afraid to inform you that Umbridge will be doling out detentions to the rest of the group. She decided that instead of giving me detentions, it would be better to inflict them upon the other members. I was the one in charge. The one responsible for all of you. This will hurt me as much as it does the rest of you.”

Hermione shivered. There was something about Edelweiss’s tone that convinced her the detentions would be terrible.

“And she has already picked out her first two victims.”

“Ron and I,” said Hermione.

Edelweiss nodded. “You begin tomorrow, at seven.”

Hermione sighed while Ron grumbled under his breath.

“I should warn you,” continued Edelweiss, “that she will force you to write lines with a quill that I am confident was made using dark magic. It will draw blood from you and scar the back of your hand with the words she has you write.”

“And how did you avoid having those words when you had detention with Umbridge?” asked Seamus Finnegan, sounding frustrated. Their world had been tilted upside down in an evening.

Edelweiss waved a hand over her face. Hermione bit a yelp, watching as those strange black markings vanished, revealing the pale face she knew well. After a few seconds, they shimmered back into place, masking the true Edelweiss Potter. “I can affect their appearance. Whether or not anyone can see them”—there were sudden gasps—“or if only one or two can see them.”

She then winked at Hermione, lips drawn into a wry smirk.

“Still,” Edelweiss said, returning to a serious tone, “Umbridge will have a story of her own, concerning a false title: Dumbledore’s Army. The page we all signed was disfigured to have it at the top.” She sighed and shook her head. “This is my fault, for I did not dare write any other title or name. None of you have done anything wrong, though I will not fault anyone if they wish to part ways with me.

“But I will not allow her to win. This was only a setback.”

Hermione watched with astonishment, having heard from Edelweiss’s lips exactly what she was going to do, as every Gryffindor who had been in their defense group—who had been in Dumbledore’s Army—stood tall and told Edelweiss in no uncertain terms: “I’ll remain faithful.” Nobody said it the same way, but their words meant that nonetheless. Hermione went last. Done on purpose by Edelweiss, no doubt. Her friend had become a master manipulator when she had not been paying attention. Perhaps the truth was that only Hermione understood what Edelweiss did. Not always the why, but enough to try and guess. Never had she fathomed a Gryffindor would be so capable of guile and deception.

“I already told you where I stand,” Hermione said. “But I won’t follow you mindlessly. Somebody needs to tell you when you’re going wrong.”

Edelweiss grinned—grinned!—at that. “I would expect nothing less from you, Hermione. You might not be my oldest friend, but you’re my dearest. My most trustworthy.”

Hermione blushed and smiled, even as something in her gut told her that she was being deceived. That she was being told the words she wished to hear, regardless of their validity.

Yet she had not enough courage to call out Edelweiss for her lies and trickery. She was too weak to do that much.

The Great Hall cloyed with solemn air the next morning. Only the Gryffindors, last to arrive, knew what occurred the previous night. No owls arrived as the student body awkwardly sat at their tables, eating in pained silence. But the owls would come eventually. And when they did, they would bear copies of the Daily Prophet that would gleefully report the coup that took place at Hogwarts in the night. Edelweiss sensed the gazes of those in her defense group who were not Gryffindors. She would seek them out soon and speak with them as she had done with her Gryffindors. She was greatly pleased they would look to her for guidance and reassurance. All she had to ensure now was that none learned what Hermione knew. Only the Slytherins would appreciate the kind of manipulation and deception necessary to depose Albus Dumbledore.

Edelweiss knew she set herself on this path of suspicion the moment she revealed that the parchment of names bore “Dumbledore’s Army”, writ large and bold at the top, to Hermione. She reached out to Hermione with the Force and nearly gasped, discovering her friend was uncertain of how to handle her suspicions and her anger from the prior night.

Umbridge arrived soon enough that Edelweiss set aside her concerns about Hermione. Her old pink cardigan had been discarded in favor of a flowing pink robe. Edelweiss swore the witch now challenged Dumbledore for the ghastliest robe to grace the halls of Hogwarts. She approached to the gaudy golden throne at the center of the Head Table and stood before it proudly.

Gossip spread immediately. Edelweiss sensed confusion and fear from all party to her defiance. She closed her eyes, focused on each of their minds with the Force, and replaced their fear and anxiety with cool serenity false to all but Edelweiss herself. She sensed a few jump, startled by what they felt, but most echoed with relief having their fear or anxiety drawn away so it would not overwhelm them.

Umbridge cleared her throat with that obnoxious “hem, hem” sound, silencing the gossip. She waited several seconds to ensure the Great Hall remained silent. She then began speaking. “Last night, a conspiracy against the Ministry of Magic and this nation was discovered in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. The main conspirator was revealed to be the former Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. Instead of allowing himself to be taken into custody so that he might stand trial for his crimes, he evaded arrest by the aurors and fled the castle. Even now, he remains at large.

“He committed his treason by organizing through a particularly divisive member of the student body. She convinced those who believed they knew better than the Ministry of Magic to learn unorthodox and dangerous spells instead of trusting and following the guidance of their professors. She has accepted her punishment, and those who were party to this treason shall be punished as well.”

She then drew out a small scroll, one that Edelweiss did not recognize. But she already had a feeling of what it said. “By order of the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, I, Dolores Jane Umbridge, have taken up the position of Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Gasps. Shock. Panic and fear. Edelweiss felt them all flow into her. Each emotion filled her with dark side energies. It slid through her veins like magma rolling downhill. She had to breathe slowly else she risk being overwhelmed by the burst of emotions that so easily transformed into the dark side of the Force. She could become intoxicated from the wash of fear crashing into her.

“Edie?” whispered Ron, staring not at her face but at her hands. “Are you alright?”

She blinked and glanced down. She had twisted the fork and knife she held, warping the metal in her hands. She released them and grimaced at how her fingers bent and curved the previously straight lines of her utensils. They vanished a moment later, replaced with fresh copies.

“If anyone knows anything else about Dumbledore’s plot against the Ministry, my door shall remain open to all,” continued Umbridge. She then smiled widely. “I will also be continuing to instruct Defense Against the Dark Arts until a time at which a new instructor can be provided by the Ministry—”

The far doors groaned open. An older man in red auror robes stepped through the gap. Edelweiss blinked. She recognized the auror from the summer, and then recalled he had not been present the prior night. He was alone and appeared undisturbed by the confusion his sudden arrival sparked. He crossed the distance of the hall, gaze focused solely on Umbridge. She did her best to mask her emotions, though Edelweiss sensed unease under the surface. She had expected some time to pass before her classroom replacement arrived.

“Headmistress,” the auror said, holding out a letter. “I was to give you this. Madam Bones didn’t say what my orders were other than to await what you have to say.”

Umbridge took the letter as though it might burn her skin. She unfolded it carefully before blanching. She read it over several times before weakly saying, “Congratulations on your assignment, Professor Proudfoot. You will be instructing Defense Against the Dark Arts until the end of term.”

He nodded. Edelweiss sensed his discomfort. She was quaintly surprised by the appointment. But then she suspected Madam Bones pulled strings at the Ministry to get an auror she could trust into the castle. What those had been, she could not fathom. Perhaps the Minister remained worried about Edelweiss and her influence, so he went to the sole figure at the Ministry who had any sway with her. If so, then he acted in error. She did not know if she could use this new figure at Hogwarts yet, but there was no harm in trying.

Edelweiss was left wondering as she ate just how Auror Proudfoot’s presence at Hogwarts would destabilize all Umbridge sought to put into place. She had a feeling, deep down, that they just could not work together. She just could not say why.

That did not stop her from leaving the Great Hall that morning with a slight smile. It was time to move forward with removing Umbridge from her perch.

In the days that followed Umbridge’s ascent to the office of Headmistress, Edelweiss stepped up into the role of reassuring those who followed her into “her treachery”, as Umbridge dared call it. The Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Slytherins of her defense group sought her out, always careful to not be noticed and always wary of wandering Inquisitors. The names of those who had been in her group had become an open secret, though few dared act against them. Fear of Edelweiss’s power and teachings grasped many throughout the castle. They expressed fear of what Umbridge would do to them. In response, she said: “Hold fast and stay true. And most of all, do not submit in spirit. Her title is a false one, usurped from Dumbledore. She cannot last. And do not forget that only we can sweep away the refuse that would be Umbridge’s legacy.”

Miraculously, her words heartened them. Edelweiss assumed that happened because they trusted her so. Yet that conclusion always felt wrong to her. She was the last person to trust, for the reason they were found out in the first place was to advance her vendetta against Umbridge. The woman needed to seize Dumbledore’s office to reach the position natural for her ultimate destruction.

She eventually concluded the reminder Umbridge had not come to her position appropriately heartened them. She had seized it by illegal means—and they would play a role in seeing her removed from Hogwarts.

Perhaps they assumed it would be alive. Edelweiss would not dissuade them of their delusion.

The student body picked up on a quiet defiance from her followers. She sensed their feelings toward them, and it made Edelweiss proud. Neville Longbottom walked the halls of Hogwarts, tall and proud. Tracey Davis no longer cowered before those who had blood purer than hers. Susan Bones appeared to rule over all of Hufflepuff, leveraging her house’s pliant nature to great effect. Even dreamy Luna Lovegood, once the most easily tormented child at Hogwarts, went about her day protected by an unknown power.

Edelweiss witnessed as days passed by that those four—and others taken under her aegis throughout the school year—inspire change elsewhere in the school. The process was slow, for the ever-present threat of the Inquisitors weakened their influence. Yet it happened, slowly brewing under the surface. A day would come before June when the school might wake up, rise up, and cast down their unwanted Headmistress.

And for all Edelweiss desired to further influence events at Hogwarts, the Force had another desire for her. As the spring continued, she began to dream of a fateful place.

A place with corridors of black tile.

Days passed before she realized where those dreams dragged her. Minister Fudge had called that place “the Department of Mysteries” when he visited Hogwarts back in December. She still remembered that night, when she first walked the halls of that place in her dreams. But she had not gone as Edelweiss Potter, but as Darth Gladiolus. She had assumed that dream was a vision of the future to come.

But what if it was not?

She had been ignorant about events that night, for worries about Arthur Weasley had plagued her mind then. But now that months had passed, she had become curious how she achieved that feat, how he had been able to see her, and whether or not she could take her mortal form along.

Edelweiss meditated before sleeping the next night. She dreamed of herself within the Department of Mysteries again, though she arrived dressed in her nightwear. With some concentration, she changed her clothing into the garb of Darth Gladiolus. It would take more work to make the journey dressed as she wished—and to take it a step forward, to be garbed as she wished and present in body and mind.

The next day, she ventured down to Ziost Hangar and told Lord Salazar what happened. Only he of the Sith Lords she knew understood the magical ways of Earth. He stared at her for several seconds before murmuring, “So astral projection is possible with the Force. Rowena thought as much, but I rejected her ideas. I barely managed to apparate…”

She tried to not be disappointed that Lord Salazar knew little of astral projection, as he called it. Edelweiss did confess herself annoyed he rejected the pleas of Rowena Ravenclaw to experiment with such power. But she surmised Lord Salazar denied her because though he learned much of Earth’s magical ways, he never dared combine them with his Force powers.

Perhaps arrogance is not the right way to think of him, she thought in those following days. Shortsighted, or merely unwilling.

Regardless of which it was, his failure set Edelweiss behind in understanding the full extent of the power she had stumbled upon. She had combined magic and the Force before, but never in a manner as mad or dangerous as astral projection. What she did learn through her nights venturing forth with astral projection was that meditation allowed her to retain awareness. Even after falling asleep, she retained the shred of consciousness necessary for astral projection. And since that consciousness was no longer synced with her body, she could travel as she wished.

At first, she remained conservative with her efforts. Edelweiss returned night after night to the Department of Mysteries. She took her night appearance as a sign that none would spot her as she slunk about the department, learning as many of its titular mysteries as she could. In the other rooms, she found a giant tank with brains, hundreds of time turners, an extensive library, and a strange stone chamber with an onyx archway that shimmered with death.

But on most nights, she returned to the chamber she mentally named the Hall of Prophecy. Edelweiss did not wander the chamber. She kneeled beside the entrance and meditated as she bathed in the pale, low light that filled the chamber. The Force whispered to her, begging and demanding she drift further in. It was tempting to follow the whispers, but she remained suspicious of those whispers. Was it something about the chamber, or was it related to astral projection? Elsewhere in the Department of Mysteries, there was always a feeling she was in the wrong place. As though the Force wanted something of her from that place.

Perhaps it is time to go elsewhere, Edelweiss decided. She woke back in her bed and rolled over, content to plot another night.

Amidst April, Edelweiss decided the time had come to experiment with place when astral projecting. Time and again she had gone to the Ministry, snooping about the Department of Mysteries. She feared what might happen to her should she never experiment. Go further. She did not desire her power of astral projection to be bound to the Ministry, nor to only send her mind. Both would serve her poorly in the future. Her ambitions required her to travel beyond that place.

As always, Edelweiss meditated for some time before climbing into bed that night. Unlike recent efforts, where she only went in mind, she would seek to project her body to another place. On this night, more than a shade of her person would travel. Her mind conjured up the form of Edelweiss garbed as Darth Gladiolus and then allowed the dark side to sweep her away. When she opened her eyes, she stood on a familiar muggle road, lit by a few glowing lamps. It was silent at this late hour. Her cloak hid her features in shadow. A glance at her hands revealed their outline was sharp and clear.

The dark side had carried her to a familiar place, and her body had come along as desired.

Her gave swiveled across the cookie-cutter houses along Privet Drive. One house, where she recalled Miss Figg living, had a “FOR SALE” sign posted out front. Slapped over that with a bright red “SOLD” marker.

As Edelweiss peered up and down the street, she thought over what she needed to do to ensure her presence went unnoticed. A smirk crossed her face. The Force was all she needed, for magic would risk exposure. She stared at the nearest lamppost and willed the light to disappear. She had to focus more intently than usual, for her hands remained at her side. But as inevitable as death, the light flickered out with a pop. Sparks fell to the asphalt street, dying as they bounced off the dark surface.

Good, she thought, turning her gaze to the other lampposts. They popped out as well, drenching the street in darkness.

Edelweiss approached Number Four, malice ablaze in her heart. She strode up the path she had strolled down in August when she embarked out into the wider world. It was fitting that she returned as she approached the cusp of her ascension.

She reached out to the door. With the Force, she unlocked it and pushed it open. Edelweiss entered and closed the door behind her with a flick of a few fingers. No need to alert the neighbors something would happen in Number Four this night.

The house was as plain and grotesque as always. Edelweiss climbed the stairs, silent as death. Her cloak slithered behind her. She came to the junction with the doors to her room and Dudley’s on one side and the way to the master and guest bedrooms on the other. A slight snoring sound stopped her from heading straight to the master bedroom.

Dudley was home. Why would he be home? His school, like hers, had dormitories.

Edelweiss smirked, for she believed the Force had delivered all of her enemies to her this night. She brushed open his door with a slow gesture and stepped inside.

Dudley’s room was a pigsty, just as his second room had been when she first moved into it. She stepped carefully as the dark side filled her. She approached his bedside. Her cousin was sound asleep, snoring where he lay like a pig ready for the slaughter.

A fitting image, thought Edelweiss as her lips peeled back in a sardonic grin.

She reached out with the Force and felt his heart. It was overburdened from a life of sloth and gluttony. A little pressure and it shuddered, struggling against her grasp. Edelweiss closed her right hand slowly. Her cousin’s heart strained and struggled. Dudley’s heart stilled before he could wake. With a final breath, he died quietly, unaware his end had come.

Dudley Dursley, her childhood tormentor, was dead. Dead! And by her hand!

Edelweiss nearly laughed, then and there. Oh, how easy it had been! Why, she could have acted years ago! A little mistake in the kitchen would have been enough to bring about a similar end. Why, she could do this again!

Twice over, even.

Her gaze flickered between emerald and yellow as she peered over her shoulder toward the master bedroom. Her work was not finished yet.

She slipped from Dudley’s room, sealing the door behind her with the Force. She could not allow signs of foul play to linger in her wake. The magical world might not be easily fooled, but the muggle investigators would reach the conclusion she desired. They might even turn the Dursleys into martyrs: the tragic, cautionary tale of American vice infecting merry ‘ol England.

Edelweiss glided to the master bedroom, opening their door just as she opened Dudley’s. The master bedroom was obnoxiously clean compared to their son’s. They had a spotless floor and a carefully maintained bedside. Even their king-sized bed looked quaint with their mismatched bodies beneath covers and sheets. Vernon rumbled, snoring away, while Petunia was silent, her face covered with a cloth mask and a pale cream meant to slow aging or some rot. Edelweiss cared not. She glanced between her two tormentors and swiftly devised how she would end them.

The sardonic grin that overcame her when she ended Dudley’s miserable life bloomed again. She reached out, focused on Vernon’s heart, and held tightly. His heart failed faster than Dudley’s, for he had more time to pile up every ill-conceived vice that overwhelmed his already struggling organ. Edelweiss was almost disappointed by how easily he went.

And then a wretched stink filled the air. Edelweiss waved a hand over her face and conjured a bubble of stale, yet sweet-smelling air. She had not considered what Vernon’s death would cause, for there had been no terrible smell when she finished off Dudley.

Petunia’s nose wrinkled. After a few seconds, her nose drew up so harshly it nearly disappeared into the rest of her face.

“Vernon, dear, what is that smell?”

After a few seconds, Edelweiss cheerily proclaimed, “Why, that’s Vernon, Auntie!”

Petunia stiffened. “No… No! It can’t be—”

Edelweiss clenched a hand and the Force responded. Petunia gasped weakly as her throat tightened. Her hands came up to grasp and claw at her overly long neck. Edelweiss brought up her other hand and restrained Petunia’s hands. She then drew those hands with their long, bony fingers and sharp nails from their destination. There could be no sign to the investigators that what happened at Number Twelve was little more than a horrible, horrible tragedy.

“I want you to know before the end that this is all your doing,” whispered Edelweiss. “You could have treated me well. You could have cherished me, loved me as my mother would have loved Dudley… and I would have been yours to mold however you wish.

“But you allowed resentment and hatred to fester in your heart. The jealousy of being born plain, where your sister was truly gifted. And from that fertile soil of hatred, I shall be reborn.”

She relaxed the pressure on Petunia’s throat. The woman coughed several times before rasping out, “You’re a monster! You’ve always been a monster!”

“One of your making.”

And with that, she collapsed the windpipe. Edelweiss no longer feared evidence of foul play being found on the corpse of Petunia Dursley. She weaved a slight compulsion along the woman’s neck. The muggles would see what they wanted, and no witch or wizard would think these deaths were worth their time.

When Edelweiss felt Petunia perish, she released the Force. A shuddering breath passed out of her as she felt the molten embrace of the dark side race through her once more. It was enthralling. In an instant, Edelweiss understood why Voldemort killed so easily and readily. The rush of possessing the power of life and death over others, and watching as they died…

She could easily become addicted to it. Unlike him, though, she would always act in the name of justice, peace, and security.

Two days later, breakfast was interrupted by the arrival of Madam Bones, flanked by a pair of aurors. All three bore grim expressions, yet their postures failed to suggest they feared confrontation. Edelweiss sensed their concern they might encounter resistance and maintained a blank expression as they made a beeline to the Gryffindor table. She knew why they had come. She did not need the Force to guess. Yet it was only when Madam Bones softly said, “Miss Potter. Could I speak with you privately?” that she knew for certain.

The Dursleys had been found and they wished to speak with her about the matter.

Edelweiss rose to her feet, wiping her hands clean of crumbs. “I know a place where we won’t be overheard.”

Madam Bones nodded. She glanced at her niece at the Hufflepuff table before saying, “Lead on, Miss Potter.”

They walked for five minutes in silence. Edelweiss took them into one of the less used parts of the castle near where she initiated her cleansing ritual. She held the door open. One of the aurors entered first, followed by Madam Bones. The other, whom Edelweiss only then recognized as Tonks, flicked her head into the room.

“I’ll stand guard out here.”

“…if that’s what you wish.”

Edelweiss entered the room. The door closed behind her. She was left alone with one auror and Madam Bones. “So, what did you wish to tell me? That is the reason you’re here, Madam Bones. Yes?”

The two adults shared an awkward look before Madam Bones asked, “Has there been any strange interruptions to your mail home?”

“No,” Edelweiss said carefully. “I might live with the Dursleys, but there’s no love between us. You should poke around the cupboard and learn more than enough about my childhood—and about how they feel about me.”

Their already grim expressions twisted into something disturbed. Edelweiss reached out with the Force carefully. She did not sense suspicion from them, yet their emotions remained murky and troubled when it came to her.

“Then I’m afraid to be the bearer of bad news,” Madam Bones declared. “About thirty hours ago, someone entered their home in Surrey and killed all three Dursleys.”

“…all three?” asked Edelweiss, feigning confusion. “Dudley attends a boarding school, as far as I know. If someone went after the house on Privet Drive, then they only should have been able to kill two—and the blood wards—”

“No such wards were found around the house,” the auror said snidely. “There were hints something had been established, but they had fallen long ago.”

“Huh.” Edelweiss was unsurprised to hear the blood wards had failed. But then she had never bothered to check if Dumbledore had spoken the truth about those very wards. “Still, my point remains. I cannot fathom how Dudley would be home.”

“Yet he’s dead, along with his parents.”

Edelweiss stared at the auror for a few seconds before sighing. “I wish I could say that I’m saddened to hear of their passing. But that would be a lie. They were uncaring on the best of days… and abusive on the worst.”

Madam Bones hummed thoughtfully, light glinting off her monocle. “Would you have any suspicions about who the culprit would be? Otherwise, our business here is concluded.”

“I would assume it was Voldemort or a Death Eater. But since there’s been nothing in the Prophet, I guess there’s no signs of magic?”

“Unfortunately so,” Madam Bones said, clearly frustrated. “The killer was smart. As far as the muggles are concerned, Mr. Dursley and his son passed away in the night. Shortly after, Mrs. Dursley took her own life. A terrible tragedy, they’re calling it.”

“A terrible tragedy indeed,” said Edelweiss. She was careful to downplay the insincerity in her voice, even as she mentally crowed over how the DMLE failed to suspect her involvement in the murders. “Well, it was nice to see speak with you again, Madam Bones, even if it concerned something… unpleasant. I assume you’ll spend some time with your niece before returning to London?”

Madam Bones sighed and shook her head. “Unfortunately Fudge is cutting my budget once more.” She glanced at the auror with her and then back to Edelweiss. “I’d suggest you say nothing of what I just mentioned, along with your family’s fate. The Ministry is keeping this one silent for now.”

“Of course, Madam Bones. You have a good day.”

Edelweiss remained in the room as Madam Bones and the auror went. She caught a glimpse of Tonks, who mimicked something. She cared not. The Dursleys had been found dead, and the responsible party was in the clear. How easy it could have been for them to accuse her, and how right they would have been.

Yet they failed. I remain here, one step closer to my ascension.

Discontent brewed in the halls of Hogwarts as April crawled forward. Edelweiss approached each member of her defense group after they finished their week of detention with Umbridge. Some, like Colin Creevey and Ravenclaw Lisa Turpin, bore their new, bloody scar with pride. Others, such as her Slytherin allies and Lavender Brown, requested assistance in healing their wounds. Hermione proved invaluable with that latter group, somehow drudging up large supplies of essence of dittany. The sappy substance proved effective in helping to heal scars and combat the pain. That, however, could not compare to the power of the Force.

Yet Edelweiss could not openly use it to support those who had been her followers. Between her pained commitment to secrecy and the dark side’s poor capacity to heal others, it would be a fool’s errand to attempt. And so when not busy with her Sith studies, she encouraged those opposed to Umbridge in their efforts to thwart the woman’s control of Hogwarts.

Chief among those she supported in their efforts against Umbridge and her Inquisitors were the Weasley Twins. Once only good-natured pranksters careful to remain away from barbaric cruelty, they took Umbridge’s rules and Headmistress position as a personal insult. As far as anyone could tell, they aimed to crack her mind and thus leave her so incompetent she would require long-term healing at St. Mungo’s. Somehow they snuck nifflers—treasure-hunting critters—into Umbridge’s office, which caused havoc with all of the glittering metal left behind in the wake of Dumbledore’s flight weeks prior. The rumor mill claimed Lee Jordan aided them, but Edelweiss personally suspected it was house elf involvement that led to their success.

They continued to sell their products, as well. Fireworks were sold in equal rate to their production. Most were shot off during meals, coming from all four tables. They also sold the Skiving Snackboxes they showed Edelweiss earlier in the year. And while they also had a substance called Peruvian Darkness Powder, they would not sell it. Edelweiss thought they should rename the substance in case they changed their minds, but the Twins stood firm. Even firmer than their decision to sell none of their stockpile, though they did provide her some powder free of charge.

“Repayment for all you did to help us,” they said, bowing lowly. Edelweiss had to suppress her grin. Willing minions and servants were necessary for her future as Darth Gladiolus. Fred and George had leap-frogged to the top of her list.

And it was not only the students who resisted. Professor McGonagall, following a very obvious leading question from Dean Thomas, explained how transfiguration could be effectively used in warfare, like when barricading a location or sending out scouts to see if a location was safe. The next day, a sign was posted in the Entry Hall, informing the professors they could only discuss the Ministry-approved content of their subject.

The next day, Professor Flitwick somehow slipped the Disarming charm into his second-year classes. When Umbridge tried to come down upon him, he publically announced, “The spell is a charm, and my subject is Charms, Headmistress. Thus, it falls under the purview of my subject. If the Ministry has an issue with my judgment, informed as you know by masteries in three core fields of Charms, they can inform me of the specific spells I can and cannot teach, along with the appropriate grade level. Until then, I will continue as I always have.”

Unsurprisingly, a list arrived two days later, rolled up in a scroll thicker than it had any right being. Flitwick looked amused rather than furious or flabbergasted. He made a point of ignoring the scroll. Edelweiss sensed amusement and even victorious glee from the other professors as Umbridge went a furious red.

Everyone knew something major would occur soon. Something to reinforce Umbridge’s authority, even prevent others from questioning it.

As the final day of April dawned, the school awoke to a loud show of crying and begging. Edelweiss sensed what was occurring long before she reached the outer courtyard, close to the main gates onto the grounds.

At the courtyard’s center stood Professor Trelawney, surrounded by bags and luggage. It had been known, if implicitly, that Umbridge, in her capacity to affect educational standards and curriculum at Hogwarts, could dismiss any professor from their post. But she had never acted on those powers.

Not until today, Edelweiss thought as she glanced about the courtyard. Most of the school had shown up in their pajamas.

“Hogwarts is my home!” sobbed Trelawney. “I’ve known no other for sixteen years! You cannot send me away!”

“I am afraid that you are wrong on both counts,” said Umbridge, prim and proper. Her pink attire clashed against the tan and grey stone around her. “While I would have been unable to dismiss you from the castle when Dumbledore still held the Headmaster’s seat, I am now the Headmistress. I have the power to dismiss professors at my whim and ensure they can no longer pollute this fine institution with their presence. You were told quite politely at the end of March that you would leave the school at the end of April unless you were able to turn around the poor outcomes of your class.”

Trelawney tried to defend herself, but she bubbled and sobbed instead. She skirted away from Umbridge when the woman took a step forward.

“We should do something,” whispered Hermione.

“What would you do?” asked Edelweiss, keeping an eye on Umbridge and Trelawney. She decided against reminding Hermione how much she detested Trelawney. Edelweiss had never been impressed with the professor, but her friend actively hated the mad woman. “What power do you have to prevent Umbridge from removing Trelawney?”

“Are you truly going to allow Umbridge to do this? To remove a professor with Dumbledore gone?”

Edelweiss paused to glance about the courtyard. She tried to count the faces gathered, but it mattered not if she could. That would not tell her how many students had not gathered to watch events unfold. Few supported Umbridge wholeheartedly with her attempt to banish Trelawney from the school. But fewer wanted Trelawney around. What she did sense was the sinking dread that Umbridge revealed she had the power to determine who could and could not stay in Hogwarts. And for many students, they feared she might turn that power on them, now that she was willing to act upon it.

“She’s digging her grave,” murmured Edelweiss, her lips barely moving. “Think about what every halfblood or muggleborn is seeing play out.”

Hermione said nothing. She knew what Edelweiss spoke of. Fear and uncertainty rippled off her.

“‘Who will be next?’ That is the question running through many, many minds,” Edelweiss continued. She shot Hermione a pointed look. “You would be high on a list of those Umbridge would love to remove from Hogwarts. A muggleborn with little influence and power—and the wrong relationships. You would be easy to remove, especially since whatever protection I could provide you has been burned to nothing thanks to Fudge and the Prophet.”

Hermione took in a deep, shuddering breath. “You can’t be serious.”

“I wish I wasn’t. I doubt the thought has crossed Umbridge’s mind, but if it does…”

Edelweiss allowed her words to drift away and thus guided Hermione’s mind in the direction she wanted. It turned out that Hermione struggled to make sense of what she was witnessing, of what she had been told, and how it clashed against all she believed about magical Britain and Hogwarts.

Her beliefs had been delusions. Their true nature revealed.

Professor McGonagall swept into the courtyard with Snape, Flitwick, and Spout on her heels. All four professors bore disgruntled and annoyed expressions. Even Professor Sprout, who was generally quite cheery, looked unsettled by the matter at hand.

“What is the meaning of this, Dolores?” demanded McGonagall with a thick Scottish brogue. “The castle was awakened by screaming and crying!” She glanced at Trelawney, who flocked to McGonagall with a pathetic sop. The professor looked almost offended by the other woman’s actions. She turned her offense into a glower for Umbridge. “Is there cause to remove Sybil from the castle?”

“I have relieved her of her duties as a professor.” Umbridge pursed her lips, looking briefly like a distressed frog. “It was a shame she caused such a fuss. But I had warned her that she would be dismissed should nothing change.”

“There is a difference between a professor being dismissed from their post and them being completely removed from the castle. Did you ensure that Sybil would have somewhere to go once she left the castle?”

Umbridge sniffed. “I assumed her family would take her in.”

“She has no remaining family. Something you would know if you were thorough with your investigations into all of us. I know you inspected the backgrounds of Severus and Fillius when you inspected their courses back during the fall term—”

“My decision is final,” said Umbridge, her voice echoing out over the courtyard. “I would suggest you return to your office, Minerva. Else I reconsider your position at Hogwarts.”

McGonagall sniffed before turning her back on Umbridge. She did not return to the castle as commanded. Instead, she saw to Trelawney. Edelweiss reached out with the Force, working to sieve through the churning emotions of the gathered crowd so she could focus on whatever McGonagall was planning. Would she send Trelawney to Dumbledore? Edelweiss knew the former divination professor had some legitimate prophetic ability. She had predicted that Pettigrew would flee to Voldemort’s side back in her third year.

“Edie,” whispered Hermione.

Edelweiss withdrew slightly from her Force sieve and turned to Hermione. “Yes?”

“What are we going to do about this? You know”—and here Hermione smiled slyly—“Dumbledore’s Army? What will we do?”

The single regret of Edelweiss’s plot to remove Albus Dumbledore from Hogwarts was his newfound martyrdom. Behind her back, Hermione had spread that name through the defense group. And so in the hearts and minds of those she taught, Dumbledore became the symbol she desired for herself. The name had become a banner to rally under. They all knew the headmaster had been usurped from his rightful seat. After all, she had reinforced that sentiment in their minds to calm their fears. And if Edelweiss’s intention with the name was to remove the man from Hogwarts, none seemed to know or care.

It troubled her she did not know which it was, as well.

She pursed her lips. “Skive Divination. Leave the classroom of whichever quack is brought into the castle to fill Trelawney’s position empty and barren.”

Hermione hesitated a few seconds before nodding. Edelweiss sensed the bushy-haired girl’s uneasy acceptance. She was somewhat surprised since Hermione had very strong opinions about education and learning. Opinions that—ignoring Hermione’s infamous storming out of Divination in their third year—she found a capacity to live by. Edelweiss suddenly felt a touch uneasy. She had expected pushback, no matter how futile it was. Instead, she received a quick, uneasy acceptance.

Maybe it’s because she used that Dumbledore’s Army name against me, Edelweiss thought sourly. She watched McGonagall escort Trelawney to the gates, Flitwick following behind them with Trelawney’s bags and trunks levitating between them. Once they passed through a colonnaded arch and out onto the main lawn, Edelweiss turned and returned to the castle.

She hungered for more than food quite suddenly.

Ron tried to settle his nerves as he entered the common room. It was late and Hermione wanted to speak alone. And specifically without Edelweiss around. He thought her request was a bit odd. But then their friend had become something strange over the last year. He might even admit she had been odd during the summer after the Tournament, given her disappearing act. But at least then something resembling the Edelweiss Potter he had known for over four years still existed.

These days, he found himself uncertain if he should even call her “Edelweiss” these days. There were a few times when he thought there was something else staring out through those familiar emerald eyes. A creature that wore her marred face.

“Over here,” Hermione called out, waving him over. She had claimed the two large, plush seats by the fireplace. The fire was low but remained burning. Ron made his way over and slumped down into the other chair.

“So what’d you want to talk about?” he asked.

“It’s… It’s about Edie. About what she’s done.”

Ron frowned. “Like what?”

“She’s the reason Dumbledore isn’t the Headmaster anymore. She even bragged about it.”

Ron froze for a moment before he burst out laughing. “Merlin’s beard, Hermione! You had me worried for a moment. Edie? Plotting against Dumbledore?”

“You don’t think she wouldn’t? You know she hates him now.”

“Sure, but you know about her crumby childhood. Edie’s blamed him for it for a while now. Started some time after Sirius went back into hiding.”

Hermione sighed and leaned forward. “I’m afraid it goes deeper than that. You know how I went with her to Hogsmeade right before the Christmas hols? And we talked in private?”

“Sure. What about it?”

Hermione paused again. This time, she looked over her shoulder toward the dormitory steps. Ron frowned, glancing between her and the stairs. “Is there something wrong?”

“No… It’s just—” Hermione sighed. “I’m just worried about her. I’m afraid she’s becoming a monster and we’re powerless to stop it.”

“I think she’s just too obsessed with fighting You-Know-Who,” said Ron. When Hermione glowered at him, he rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. Always going on about how she has to fight him. She has to be the one to stop him. How she’s willing to kill. I think once he’s gone and all the Death Eaters are locked up in Azkaban, she’ll go back to normal. Or at least she’ll realize there’s more important things in life than fighting.”

“…I wish I could share your belief, Ron. But I can’t.”

Ron shrugged. “Well, why don’t we just ask her about the things she’s keeping from us? With how she’s been talking, I wouldn’t be surprised if she comes clean over the summer. I doubt she’ll stay with her muggles for long.”

Hermione stared at him oddly. She then shook her head, bushy hair flying about. Ron was surprised by the endearing emotion that fluttered through him.

“I don’t think we should try and force her to talk about it,” Hermione said. Ron had a bad feeling thanks to the constrained way Hermione spoke of the matter. “We’ll see what she says about the summer hols. Her family is dead and she’ll need somewhere to go. After that, we’ll discuss this again.”

And with that, Hermione rose to her feet and headed up to her dorm. Ron shook his head. He appreciated how much Hermione cared, but sometimes she worried too much. Edelweiss would be fine. He was certain of it. Things would go back to normal before next September. Maybe they’d even have a simple school year, or as simple you could have as NEWT students.

Great, he thought morosely. I need to study. Without Hermione, there’s no way I’d pass my OWLs.

May arrived with a sweet breeze and a violent swell of anxiety. A black market of tokens, potions, and totems to help push OWL and NEWT students through their revisions and tests arose almost overnight. Edelweiss struggled to not be buried under the massive pile of essays assigned every other night. It seemed every professor had become desperate enough to hammer every trace of knowledge potentially necessary for their OWLs into their soft skulls, regardless of the fact the rest acted in the same manner.

Only Professor Proudfoot took pity on them. He decided with their OWLs nearly upon them, they would practice spells in class—“As long as none of you tell the Headmistress,” he added with a wink. They could not cast at each other, even when practicing shields and counters. Still, Edelweiss quickly determined which Ravenclaws had not joined her group purely through their mediocre ability. Their auror professor stared at her oddly a few times. She eventually realized that he was trying to figure out which spells she had taught and which she had not. It was amusing. Even so, she appreciated the revision of spells taught and practiced by her group both before and after the Christmas hols. She almost felt bad for those learning them now in the weeks before their OWLs.

Edelweiss found cause to be grateful for her dismissal from the Quidditch team. They came stumbling in most nights, sweaty and exhausted. The final game of the season lingered in the near distance, close to when their OWLs were. Ginny Weasley had been selected for Edelweiss’s spot on the team. She happened to ride Edelweiss’s Firebolt as well. That broom had not been confiscated from her, thanks to some deception and trickery.

Ron came stumbling over to the small table Edelweiss and Hermione had commandeered one night several days into the month. He slumped over, nearly dripping sweat onto their essays.

“You look miserable,” Edelweiss said without looking up from her work. Her nose wrinkled. “You should shower as well.”

“No time,” grumbled Ron. He dropped his bag onto the floor beside him. “I’m behind on my essays for Flitwick and Sprout.”

“Certainly you can do that after you shower,” said Hermione. She hesitated before adding, “Edie’s right. You should go shower.”

Ron sighed and muttered something under his breath. Edelweiss felt his frustration and annoyance. She suppressed the impulse to manipulate the dark side so he would perform well enough to ensure Gryffindor’s win. The final Quidditch game of the season between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw would determine who would win the Cup. Gryffindor had to win by a major margin, or so she heard gossiped about the common room. Edelweiss had not kept track of the Quidditch Cup given how busy she was with her Sith studies and maintaining appearances.

“Maybe he’s worried about falling asleep in the shower or turning in early,” suggested Edelweiss, knowing neither was true. She forced a wide yawn. “I could enjoy going to sleep early as well.”

“And what has you so exhausted?” demanded Hermione.

Edelweiss glanced at Ron, then back to Hermione. They were stiff. Suspicion rippled off them so heavily she knew without listening to the Force. “I’ll tell you two this summer. How about that.”

They exchanged a look before nodding.

So they have been plotting behind my back. I’m almost impressed. I’ll need to learn what they plot before I can punish them, though. That is unacceptable.

“We’ll hold you to your word, Edie,” said Ron. He grabbed his bag and rose to his feet. “I’m just gonna head up. I’m too tired to work on essays tonight.”

And with that, Ron departed for his dormitory.

“Will you tell us?” asked Hermione, ignoring Ron’s departure.

So that’s the setup. Use Ron’s more jovial nature to get me to open up.

Edelweiss bit back a sigh. By the time summer arrived, she would be Darth Gladiolus. The girl Hermione had been friends with for nearly five years would be dead, replaced by the Sith Lord Edelweiss was meant to become.

“You will know something by then,” said Edelweiss. “As I have said time and again, I will face Voldemort soon. And when I do, I will seek to make that day his last.”

Hermione nodded; seemingly satisfied with the answer she received. Edelweiss waited for any other questions that might be posed, but none came. She shrugged to herself and returned to her work, wondering all the while in the back of her mind why she bothered. OWLs mattered naught to her at this point. But studying for them was expected from Edelweiss Potter. She still had to maintain that mask, no matter how much she would enjoy tearing it away.

And so Edelweiss sacrificed an hour writing essays about magics that no longer compelled her in service of protecting her true nature.

Edelweiss’s head barely touched her pillow before her spectral form appeared in the Department of Mysteries. She glanced at her hands and the hazy sheen around them. Good. She did not wish to be completely present this night. The time approached for her to plot how she would draw out Voldemort. He plotted against her, or so she assumed. She increasingly believed he coveted a prophecy. One, she feared, that connected them and even prompted his first attack on her to begin with. He dared not enter the Hall of Prophecy, for he still practiced secrecy. Yet he, like Dumbledore, sent agents whenever he could. The Unspeakables who operated the department remained clueless about their infiltrations.

Somehow, Edelweiss would draw Voldemort to the Department of Mysteries. And there, she would end him.

On this night, she would finally uncover the source of his interest and put into motion the events that would lead to his destruction. Dumbledore most certainly knew what Edelweiss sought. There was no other reason for him to place Arthur Weasley in the Hall of Prophecy back in December. And that, more than anything Voldemort had done, convinced her of the prospect she and Voldemort were bound by prophecy.

And once she found where it resided, she would plan how to bring about Voldemort’s inevitable destruction by her hand. The Force would handle the rest.

Edelweiss came to the circular chamber that played the role of the Department of Mystery’s entrance. In her astral form, she only needed to find the correct door and then pass through like a ghost. Annoyingly, the chamber spun about when she inspected each door. It was simple to keep track of which door led where. Yet the chamber continued to react as if she physically opened each door and poked her head through.

Eventually, she identified and passed through the Hall of Prophecy’s door. Edelweiss paused to gaze upon the great, expansive chamber once more. It was cathedral-esque, with a great vaulted ceiling that tossed soft light into every corner, and walls so distant they appeared hazy. Energy buzzed in the air. She felt it with every false breath.

Edelweiss started forward, passing shelves five times her height. They held glowing prophecy orbs of white and blue on pedestals. Most would sit nicely in her hand, yet some were egg-sized while others were larger than her head. She paused to peer down a random aisle. There appeared to be small bronze or brass plaques under each orb. Identification for every prophecy stored in this great chamber.

The last time I came here, the Force tried to draw me toward a specific place before Arthur Weasley distracted me, thought Edelweiss. She closed her eyes and opened herself to the Force. Reveal yourself to me, prophecy. Come to me, destiny.

A terrible chill shot through her gut. Her prophecy was here. Her destiny. It called to her. Its energies sunk into her bones and beckoned.

Edelweiss drew in a long, deep breath before releasing it shakily. She started forward, walking down the chamber’s center. The air was cool and stale, as though the Unspeakables did not use this chamber often. Given the impositions by both Dumbledore’s Order and whomever Voldemort had set to enter or inspect the Department of Mysteries, she was surprised they had not increased their security.

That meant something else was afoot. Something that would guarantee any who entered could not steal a prophecy without authorization.

She followed the main aisle, passing shelves on shelves. She was more than halfway across the chamber when the Force pulled incessantly toward an aisle a little ways ahead of her. She froze for a few seconds, before hurrying in that direction. Soft footsteps echoed from her. Edelweiss frowned, realizing how present she risked becoming.

Edelweiss stopped for a moment. She breathed slowly and returned to her opaque state. Only then did she continue.

The Force alerted her when to stop. She glanced from side to side, trying to spot something—anything—that might explain why she was drawn here.

Deeper in, then.

Edelweiss entered the aisle and slowly followed it. She felt like a fish on the line, and the Force was cranking her in. She breathed heavily as she pressed forward.

And then she reached that which the Force had guided her to. She gazed upon all around her. One of the orbs glowed brighter than the rest. Her gaze went to the small plaque beneath it. She released a great, shuddering breath.

And this explains it all, Edelweiss thought with awe and disgust in equal measure.

S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D.

Edelweiss Potter (?) & The Dark Lord Voldemort

She nearly seized the prophecy. It would be all too easy to the orb from its pedestal. Her hand recoiled as she realized the orb would possess some kind of magical defense. She closed her eyes and relied upon the Force instead of her senses. Only a single charm clung to the orb. The charm would only allow those named in the prophecy to lift the prophecy, and thus remove it from its pedestal.

So it is keyed to us, Edelweiss thought, gritting her teeth. Only we can claim it. How fascinating. Yet since he’s hiding from the public, how would Voldemort lure me here to claim it in his stead? And why would Dumbledore keep this secret from me for so long?

She realized the truth a moment later. “His essence,” murmured Edelweiss, her voice hoarse and bare. “Had it remained…”

Dumbledore must have feared the connection between her and Voldemort. If she had known the contents of this prophecy, then Voldemort could have learned it from her instead of wasting time and energy scoping out the Department of Mysteries. Voldemort would have used her dreams against her, had their connection remained. He had to know she dreamed through his eyes last year.

But it was different now. Dumbledore knew she was no longer bound to Voldemort that way. Yet the Headmaster did nothing to change his war plan. It would be simple to escort her to the Hall of Prophecy and take it away. But why wouldn’t he? Shouldn’t he want to prevent Voldemort from knowing what it said? That was the only reason she could fathom the two men played this silly game of mind chess against each other. There had to be—

Oh! It’s so obvious! Dumbledore is using the prophecy as bait. To draw out Voldemort and expose him to Fudge.

Edelweiss burst out laughing. It was a cold, cruel cackle. It echoed throughout the massive chamber. It did not matter if the Unspeakables came after her. She had realized Dumbledore’s game. Why she would have her chance to slay Voldemort come June. The Dark Lord of Britain would eventually become desperate to seize the prophecy and learn the path to victory over her. He must know that he could no longer implant information into her head. Would he suspect that she knew of this place as well?

Likely yes. But how do I deceive him now?

She noticed something shimmer out of the corner of her eye. She glanced that way and watched the shimmer draw back to hide behind the far side of the aisle.

Could that be…?

She cloaked her person in the dark side, projecting a field of invisibility. Edelweiss returned to the main aisle, went down two, and headed for the far wall. She approached the shimmer from behind and reached out with the Force before he knew she was there.

The fool had mental defenses. But that did not surprise her. She expected that from a Death Eater. But she sensed holes in his defenses. Ones that Edelweiss could exploit, thanks to her retention of parseltongue following the cleansing.

“§Give me power and access§,” she murmured, holding tightly to her growing influence over the Death Eater. Edelweiss smiled as her mental probes sunk in deep. Deep enough she could do whatever she wished and leave him unaware. “§Let us see what I can do…§”

Edelweiss did not learn the man’s name. There was no point in doing so. What she did was modify his memories of her vanishing. He knew of her strange appearance, yet he knew nothing of how she came to the Hall of Prophecy. And so she implanted the suspicion she had gone to leave the chamber. He remained behind, in case she returned to inspect the prophecy again, or even dare take it from its pedestal. Maybe she had noticed him. Maybe she hadn’t. Regardless, Edelweiss Potter was close to the goal.

She only needed to be lured into actually seizing the prophecy, since she seemed reluctant to do so.

Let the Dark Lord wonder what I can do now that our connection is broken, Edelweiss thought as she watched the false memories take shape within the Death Eater’s mind. He never gained access to my thoughts and memories concerning the Force and the dark side. Let him fear what secret powers I may have but never think they make me more powerful than him.

She retreated partially from the man’s mind and impressed upon him an overriding thought with the Force: I must report to my lord. Potter is ready to be lured to the prophecy. Edelweiss stepped aside as the man, still shimmering, stumbled his way toward the Hall of Prophecy’s entrance. What she had just done should be enough to draw Voldemort into her trap.

She only needed to prepare for her ascension. To complete her final tasks as Edelweiss Potter, so she may finally leave that foolish girl behind.

Chapter Text

Nearly every corner, corridor, room, and hall of Hogwarts grew annoyingly warm as the castle crawled into the lazy heart of May. Edelweiss struggled to focus in her classes like many of her magical peers. Yet her reason for distraction differed from theirs. They looked forward to the coming of summer. She awaited the moment of ascension, the final acquisition of power. She thought them foolish, for the OWL examinations resided between them and the summer hols. Edelweiss knew she should be worried about her OWLs. But she did not worry, nor did she truly care.

And she knew her attitude resulted from discovering Ziost Hangar the past June. After her last astral venture into the Department of Mysteries, she waited for a disturbance in the Force. Any sign the time was night. That Voldemort would make his move and fall for the trap she laid for him in the mind of his follower. Unlike Dumbledore, she did not plan to use drawing him into the Ministry as a way to expose him to the public.

No. She would destroy him and put an end to that farce of a dark lord. His time was over.

For now, all she could do was practice her Ataru katas and further develop her powers. Yet what good was it if Edelweiss could fill a chamber with Force lightning or read the feelings of the student body when she could not use her powers against Voldemort? They had to be kept secret still. And all the while, the castle edged ever closer to potential revolution. Inquisitors attacked in the halls. Ministry-backed rules increasingly became ignored or forgotten.

And through it all, the Weasley Twins appeared to be hoarding a small dragon’s fortune. Edelweiss had not seen their stash, but she sensed its existence. Part of her wondered how the Force allowed her to know of their growing wealth. Her only guess was that she sensed the emotion poured into every knut, sickle, and galleon they earned.

And that was not all she sensed. Edelweiss knew a flash point approached. A moment when all would change. A moment that would guide her to her ascension and her final victory over Umbridge, Voldemort, and Dumbledore.

On the morning of the Nineteenth, Edelweiss awoke with a feeling in her bones. She closed her eyes, breathed in, and felt as she breathed out. That feeling in her bones grew more potent, speaking to her not in words, but with a feeling of impending victory.

Her eyes flicked open. She glanced across the room and. caught her reflection in a tall mirror. She blinked at the sight of her emerald irises tinged with a ring of sickly yellow. Edelweiss smiled, even after the yellow vanished. She stretched languidly.

She had a strange, good feeling about this day.

Edelweiss hummed as she showered and dressed. She could not name the tune, but somehow it stuck. Any attempt to drop the tune failed. Edelweiss gave in and continued to hum as she descended from her dormitory. She spotted the Twins speaking softly with Lee Jordan across the room. They glanced her way. They waved cheerily, beaming, before returning to their secret conversation.

For a moment, she considered joining them and learning whatever they discussed. But before she could act on that impulse, she sensed through the Force that if she acted so, events would not play out as she would otherwise desire. Her involvement would impair the future she sensed before coming down. Her presence might even be enough to affect whatever was meant to come about this day—assuming it was not the promised day.

Edelweiss departed the common room and made her way to the Great Hall. She would be patient, despite her ever-increasing power in the Force, and how that granted her a limited capacity to peer through the currents of time. Her control was not enough to know with certainty what would come to pass. But it helped guide her course. It was why she allowed the Twins to act as they pleased, though the thought of allowing events to play out without her influence troubled her more than she was comfortable with.

But after her successful plot that removed Dumbledore from Hogwarts, what she had done to successfully eliminate the Dursleys, and set the stage for her final confrontation with Voldemort, being able to sit back and watch others scheme and plot was a luxury. And she could not recall a time she was able to engage in luxuries beyond what she claimed for herself.

She reached the Great Hall and spotted Umbridge trying to sit prim and proper on the golden throne Dumbledore left behind for his successor. Umbridge gazed upon the student body as she sipped her breakfast tea, careful to mask her disgust. Edelweiss sensed the woman’s growing hatred for Hogwarts and her students, especially after all that had been done to undermine her rule, day after day. Not even her Inquisitors—whittled down to only a majority of the Slytherins selected for her group—could bring about the order she desired for more than a few hours. Detentions and loss of points were meaningless now.

Umbridge spotted Edelweiss as she neared the Gryffindor table. She smirked at the headmistress. The woman’s face bloomed a bright red. Gossip suddenly rippled through the Great Hall. Edelweiss sat to the sound of Hogwarts questioning what she had done.

“You’re in a good mood,” said Neville Longbottom. He met her gaze easily. No longer did he cower to others, nor did the Sith markings on her face troubled him. She appreciated his growth. He had been like many and struggled to deal with her following that fateful night. But that was months ago, and Neville Longbottom had grown up.

“I am,” Edelweiss agreed easily. “I noticed something interesting before I came down from the common room. I have a feeling something… momentous may occur today.”

Neville nodded, though she sensed he was left perplexed by her. She did not fear those who suspected her hand in the dissolution of Dumbledore’s Army, as they continued to call it. But then, he was not among their number. Edelweiss knew that between her attention earlier in the year and their encounter at Saint Mungo’s, she had earned his loyalty strongly enough he dismissed conspiracies against Edelweiss. Yet he did not take her word as law, as she desired and deserved. Her followers should be obedient and unwilling to question her. Perhaps she would be merciful enough to allow the most capable to question her—but only in private, away from prying eyes and ears.

“What do you know?” asked Neville, drawing Edelweiss away from her thoughts.

“Keep an eye on the Twins. Whatever they have planned will come to fulfillment sometime today. Around lunch or shortly after. I’m certain they will act around then.”

“Should I tell the others?”

“No. I don’t want the Inquisitors catching wind something is amiss today.” Edelweiss plated eggs and sausage for herself. “Go about your day as if nothing’s amiss, Neville. I have no plan to interfere in whatever they have in mind.”

Neville nodded, though there was a confused look on his face. After a few seconds, he asked, “But why tell me?”

Edelweiss blinked. She then speared a carved chunk of sausage. “Because you noticed I was in a good mood. I had no reason to not tell you why.” She smiled widely. “I can trust you, Neville Longbottom. I hope you will trust me in turn.”

“Of course, Edie. You’ve been a good friend to me.”

She nodded thoughtfully, turning to focus on her breakfast. Her. A good friend. Edelweiss could not recall when she had been a good friend to Neville, though she guessed her work to uplift and make something of him counted. If he had the attitude required to be a Sith, she would consider him for her pupil. Lovegood was likely out; the girl seemed too odd for the dark side, despite possessing enough Force-sensitivity to potentially be worth training.

Maybe she should stop considering Earth when it came to her search for an apprentice. She knew a day would come when she, as Darth Gladiolus, would step out into the galaxy beyond Earth’s meager system. Perhaps she would develop Earth into a spacefaring world. She could even prepare her homeworld for the inevitable day some alien traced her course through the cosmos back to this small blue gem in a sea of nothingness.

Hermione and Ron joined them shortly after. Edelweiss listened for any hint they knew what Fred and George planned for the day. When nothing concerning the Twins came up, she tuned them out and continued to eat. She had a sudden moment of intuition: she would not sit her OWLs alongside them. She had grown beyond them. A Sith Lord stood above simple witches and wizards. Their concerns were beneath her. She did not need to prove herself to them.

They attended History of Magic that morning, wasting away ninety minutes. While Hermione and Ron headed for separate electives, Edelweiss snuck away to Ziost Hanger. She had time to indulge in training before the Twins acted.

Actually, I think I will skip their little act, Edelweiss decided with a smirk. Let them act without my implicit approval. I will hear of what they have done when I return to the castle.

Her pulse thrummed when she reached the Chamber of Secrets. She paused and looked around the chamber. Blackened marks covered a wall where she poured too much power into a blast of Force lightning. She could almost taste the harsh influence of the dark side.

“I will miss this place,” she whispered. Her voice echoed up and down the chamber. Edelweiss eventually found a dry spot on the floor. After a moment of consideration, she sat and curled her legs beneath her body. She shifted to get comfortable, and only then did she close her eyes. She centered herself in her passions: her need to be greater, her diminishing fears of failure, and the hatred she held for the men she would slay.

Once centered, she slowly reached out through the Force, the dark side her guide. She sensed Slytherins in their common room and the second years Snape berated.

They all froze.

She sensed the Hufflepuffs and the students in the lower levels. They all froze. She reached out further and further, careful to mask her true self as her Force influence infused throughout the castle.

She reached further and further, sensing the Ravenclaws and the Gryffindors in their towers. And she even sensed the professors.

They all froze.

And once Edelweiss had sensed them all, she focused on their reactions. Some reacted positively. They, she suspected, would align with the Sith were they Force-sensitive. Others reacted negatively. They would side with the Jedi. They would be her enemies, the ones she should destroy. Even those she considered her friends. Those traitors—

Her eyes blew open as she breathed heavily. Ron and Hermione had been among those who withdrew from her touch instead of embracing the burning passion of the dark side. Edelweiss sighed and hung her head. At least she had the control to prevent them from recognizing her in the dark side.

Edelweiss shifted her legs so she might kneel instead of sitting on her legs. She closed her eyes once more and slipped into a meditative state.

“Peace is a lie. There is only power,” she mouthed, fully embraced in the dark side of the Force. “Through power, I gain strength…”

Hours later, Edelweiss emerged from the Chamber of Secrets, refreshed and renewed. She cloaked her presence in the Force before reaching out once more. She parsed out the mood and attitude of the school. Something had happened while she was meditating, separated from everyone else. Something almost seismic in impact and influence. Enough that without the Force, she would have remained ignorant until someone told her what happened. She sensed a singularity of life upon which everyone’s attention was focused. It was potent. Not as potent as her Force touch across the school body, but near enough to be almost comparable.

I need to know what it is!

Edelweiss chased after the singularity. People passed her by, but she did not recognize them. She took no notice of them. They were phantoms in her periphery as she pressed forward. As she came to the corner nearest to what she sensed, she nearly bowled over Draco Malfoy. He started away from her, drawing his wand. He caught her gaze and blinked. His hand clenched tightly around his wand.

“You!” Malfoy hissed, raising his wand into her face. “Where have you been?”

“Wherever I wish,” Edelweiss said. She ignored the wand in her face, instead glancing at Malfoy’s companions. Parkinson and Zabini watched on. He, unlike the other two, did not wear an Inquisitor badge. “Zabini. Curious to see you here.”

He smiled weakly. “Trying to get on Malfoy’s good side. Or that’s what I’ve been telling myself.”

Malfoy glared at Zabini while Parkinson rolled her eyes.

“Answer Draco’s question before we drag you to the Headmistress, Potter.”

She glanced at Parkinson and then to Malfoy. After a few seconds, Edelweiss sighed. There was no stopping her ascension. She could let her mask slip a hair or two, especially with these old enemies of hers. “I’ve been using the Chamber of Secrets as a little hideaway when I don’t wish to deal with others. It was very useful last year when I was preparing for the Triwizard Tournament.”

Their faces went pale. The look was humorous on Zabini, for his darker complexion left him looking like a statue extracted from the ground. Edelweiss went to step past them. Malfoy stopped her before she could get past him.

“I want you to show me,” Malfoy demanded. “The Chamber of Secrets.”

She glanced at his hand on her shoulder and then back to his grey eyes. “No. Take your hand off me before I remove it.”

Edelweiss easily implanted images of crimson fire slicing away his hand, leaving the wound cauterized. She left the vision blurry enough that Malfoy would think she promised to use a fire whip hex instead of the lightsaber sitting heavily in her pocket.

He recoiled from her, and she stepped past him. Edelweiss ignored Parkinson’s attempt to stop her, along with Zabini as he watched on. She pressed forward and finally made her way around the corner. Her gaze fell upon the singularity, expecting something fascinating, only to find the corridor before her flooded by a murky swamp. She paused for only a second before continuing forward with slow, small steps. Tall grasses arose here and there while bubbling bogs coated a great deal of the floor. Croaking and buzzing filled the air. They weren’t loud, and yet their presence was great enough that she could not deny their presence. Edelweiss felt the swamp with the Force; felt the totality of life set before her.

It was astonishing.

Jealousy coiled low in her belly. This was what the Weasley Twins had planned. Edelweiss fought back the strain of regret she felt. She should have done something to learn what they plotted this morning. Yet she could not help but stare upon their work with admiration and envy for their handicraft. So many had talked down—even ridiculed—their magical ability. What must those people think now that two “underachieving” boys had crafted a work of magic worthy of being called great?

“Potter!” bellowed Malfoy, coming up from behind her.

She sensed his hand reaching out to grab her. Her efforts to compel him to live in fear of her had failed. A shame. He must learn another way. She turned, wand in hand, and allowed her magic and the Force to mingle in a single fiery blast. Wrath and fury flowed through phoenix feather and holly. There was a loud bang followed by a metallic smell. Edelweiss raised a hand before her face as she waved away a cloud of smoke and dust. A flash of pain then came from her hand, slightly muted. She glanced down and found that her wand had fractured from the power poured through it.

The dark side was too great for that medium. Her wand’s death sat heavily on her for a moment. And then she let go of that unnecessary weight. She understood in a heartbeat that the sacrifice of her wand helped to sever who she had been from who she was becoming. A wand of holly and phoenix feather belonged to Edelweiss Potter. Darth Gladiolus needed no medium to bend reality to her will. Her weapon was the Force.

“What have you done?” someone screamed.

Edelweiss blinked and looked up from her fractured wand. Malfoy had been thrown onto his back. He rolled and cradled his stomach, both hands pressed tightly. Blood welled, staining the front of his robe. She stared listlessly as he bled. A small pool formed under him, so thick and potent she could taste the copper. With the Force, she sensed that he still lived. Parkinson kneeled at Malfoy’s side, frightened and teary. Zabini stood back a step, his wand raised toward her.

“Take him to Pomfrey,” Edelweiss commanded. When they hesitated, she barked, “Now!”

The Slytherins swiftly gathered their fellow and carried him away. Zabini cast a healing spell on Malfoy as they raced to the Hospital Wing. Edelweiss felt how the spell helped stitch up the wound she caused, though it did not begin to undo the damage she inflicted. No spell existed to completely undo the exquisite blend of the dark side and her magic in tandem. Passion and intent maimed Malfoy, able to escape her otherwise conscious mind.

Then again, she had wanted him to fear her. How better to compel fear than to nearly kill the fool?

She turned back to the swamp. Edelweiss stared at it for a little while longer before closing her eyes and reaching out with the Force for the Twins. She did not sense them within the boundaries of Hogwarts. She reached out further. Their presences were distant; so weak around Hogwarts that she had to reach out to England to brush against their guarded minds.

And so they departed Hogwarts in victory to make a new life for themselves, thought Edelweiss as she opened her eyes.

Thank you, old friends. Soon, I too shall taste victory.

The morning after the Twins’ grand departure from Hogwarts, the student body held their collective breath. Yet when Umbridge failed to show at breakfast, many assumed the headmistress imposed upon them was in London. Perhaps they would be free of her. Few dared suggest that possibility, and it quickly died out. Most assumed otherwise and kept their heads down as they went about their day. Regardless, all knew something would happen, especially when rumors about Malfoy being hospitalized spread around lunchtime.

The swamp was left in place after Flitwick, McGonagall, and Proudfoot failed to remove it. Edelweiss suspected the trio had failed in their removal because they were impressed by what the Twins had done, not because they were incapable.

Hermione confirmed Edelweiss’s suspicions.

“Professor Babbling thinks they might have done something with a runic scheme,” she said after they ate lunch. “Since Lee Jordan doesn’t have their plans for that swamp, nobody knows for certain how they managed to deploy it and prevent it from being deconstructed. It’s nice that people are interested in the swamp since it appears to be helping them stress about their tests less.”

“If he wanted to, Flitwick could get rid of that swamp in a heartbeat,” Edelweiss said. “They’re leaving it in place for when Umbridge returns from wherever she is.” She glanced around for unfriendly ears. All she saw were friendly Gryffindors. Some had even formed a shield between Edelweiss and the other houses. “Who knows what she’ll do when she returns.”

“It’ll depend on Minister Fudge’s decision,” Hermione said pointedly. “Maybe they’re thinking about lifting the restrictions—”

Edelweiss nearly choked on a laugh. “Lift their restrictions? They’d be mad to do that now. It’ll reveal their weakness and they cannot suffer that now. Imagine what the public might think if Fudge and Umbridge prove to be easily cowed by a pair of jokesters whose wands they cannot snap because they’re of age.” She paused and waited for Hermione to prepare another argument. “No, they will do no such thing! She’ll return to the castle and find someone to make an example of.”

And if I’m fortunate, Voldemort will seek to move on the Hall of Prophecy that same day. It’s a good thing I’ve always been so… fortunate.

She wished she could act and thus accelerate Voldemort’s timeline. Without the connection from his essence that had been trapped in her fading lightning bolt scar, Edelweiss was left to manipulate her enemy through other actors. Perhaps she would truly get as lucky as she thought and have him move on the very day Umbridge returned.

“Is there something you know that you’re keeping secret from me?” asked Hermione. “I had thought we agreed on no secrets.”

“No new ones,” Edelweiss countered. She glanced about again before shrugging. “I’m the reason Malfoy got injured recently. I suspect the moment Umbridge is back in the castle, they’ll come after me.”

Hermione blinked and then sighed. “Of course you are. I should have assumed it was your doing the moment rumors began to float around.” She sighed again before leaning in close. “What has happened to you? The Edelweiss I know would never willingly harm someone even as foul as Draco Malfoy.”

“It was an accident,” Edelweiss grumbled. “I only meant to teach him a lesson. Not hospitalize the fool.”

Her defense failed to placate Hermione. Her stress and worry spiked, becoming thick and potent enough that it risked affecting Edelweiss. The fact nothing had been said about her absent wand was the only relief she could grasp at that moment. Edelweiss did not wish to think about how Hermione would react to a broken, shattered wand like that which Edelweiss kept on her person.

Then again, I’ve also taken to carrying my lightsaber. That would cause an even greater disturbance on discovery.

Were it not for the fact Edelweiss expected her ascension every morning since she woke with yellow-tinged eyes, she would leave her lightsaber somewhere safe. For now, she would try to be patient. Something lingered between her and her ascension.

“I’m heading to the library,” Hermione said, rising to her feet. She threw her oversized book bag over a shoulder as she shot Edelweiss a concerned look. “You should join me. You’ve fallen behind on studying for your OWLs. I know you’ve been using Ron to keep me distracted.”

Edelweiss smiled weakly. “I appreciate the offer, but there’s something I need to attend to. Something more important than OWLs.”

Hermione granted her a confused, almost disturbed look. Her lips opened to speak, but they closed a moment later. She shook her head, bushy hair fluttering about, and stormed off for the library. Edelweiss watched Hermione go before finishing her lunch and rising to her feet. Her destination was Ziost Hanger. The moment of her ascension was nearly at hand, and she wished to speak with her Sith masters about what she should expect. One of them was bound to have useable knowledge to guide her through her final days and hours as Edelweiss Potter.

“Sacrifice?” muttered Edelweiss thoughtfully. She breathed slowly, driving any thought of the hard floor from her mind. “What do you mean when you say ‘sacrifice’, Lord Salazar?”

The Sith Lord hovered before her, his red gleam filling the chamber with soft light. He bore a pleased cast to his face. “Exactly what the word means, apprentice. You must sacrifice all that you are now. Edelweiss Potter and Darth Gladiolus must be separate beings. You must strip away the falsities that cling tight to you.”

Edelweiss removed the fractured wand from her pocket and stared at it, cradled in her hands. “I believe I have started to sacrifice, Lord Salazar,” she said. Her gaze returned to the Sith Lord. “But this cannot be enough. Edelweiss Potter is more than a wand.”

“Good. You understand. From all you have told me, it is your reputation that restrains you from acting as a proper Sith. Others perceive you not as you are, but as they believe you to be. That must be destroyed, else you be held back from your true potential. All must know the truth.”

Edelweiss nodded. She still recalled how she complained of her reputation to Lady Bastila back in the days when being Darth Gladiolus was more a dream than reality. She knew the easiest way to bring everything into sync would be to tear away the mask of the savior and reveal the Sith Lord beneath. She could think of several ways to pursue that method, but they all led to confrontations with those who could block her from cutting down the men she hated most.

She looked forward to destroying Voldemort. The way everyone flinched from his chosen name disgusted her. His servants called him ‘the Dark Lord’, while the frightened masses of Britain either called him ‘You-Know-Who’ or ‘He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’. It was pathetic, how unwilling they were to name the monster they all lived in fear of even after he lost his powers. She admittedly knew little of the past war. But did it matter? His soul anchors were destroyed except for whatever shred of essence remained in his body. Once she destroyed him, he would be permanently dead.

Naturally, Dumbledore would need to follow Voldemort to the grave. If she could not kill them both on the same day, then drastic action would be needed. Unlike Voldemort, Dumbledore’s reputation rested on both his power and his favorability. Yes, the man had first cowed magical Britain by crossing the Channel and stopping Grindelwald in a single great duel, but he had also shaped the minds of nearly every mage living. Only once he was dead could she begin the work of tearing his influence out of her nation.

But what else could she sacrifice to ensure her ascension? Her friendships? The Weasleys remained useful to her, despite their loyalty to Dumbledore. Perhaps with time, she could break them of that foolish tie. Hermione would be repulsed by the transformation from Edelweiss Potter to Darth Gladiolus. That she knew, and that she almost regretted. Her friend had been the one to popularize the name Dumbledore’s Army among those who should be her followers. Those who should be the glorious vanguard of Darth Gladiolus.

They might betray me one day, she thought. Not today. Not soon. But one day. One day they might betray me.

She would let them be for now. Her powers would warn her of when the time came she needed to sever those bonds. Or she might find a use for their betrayal in bolstering her power.

And so her mind came to the inevitable conclusion. Edelweiss would continue down the path set before her. She would ascend through the death of one she already pledged to destroy: Dolores Umbridge.

Edelweiss smiled the moment she made her decision. She had raised the woman to her post as Headmistress for this very purpose. She had always planned to tear Umbridge down from the loftiest height she could reach. To raise her through manipulation had been in service of her training as a Sith. Killing Umbridge would tie off that loose end, and ensure she was Darth Gladiolus when she went to face Voldemort and hopefully Dumbledore.

Her ascension would be glorious. But she could not act immediately. She already awaited the hour of ascension. Umbridge would be unaware of her looming death until it was upon her. Edelweiss would destroy the enemy within Hogwarts before leaving to destroy her enemies beyond. After all, Voldemort had to fall for the trap she laid in the mind of his agent. He needed to be drawn into one last confrontation.

She only needed to be patient, no matter how difficult she found it to be.

Edelweiss gazed upon Lord Salazar and grinned widely. “I know what I must do, Lord Salazar. After it is done, I shall be Darth Gladiolus. You will be unable to deny that.”

He smiled and nodded, pride burning bright in his eyes. “Then do what must be done, apprentice. Sacrifice the weak girl of your past. Return to me a Sith Lord.”

Edelweiss minded the Force throughout the rest of the day; searching and seeking for sign Voldemort had finally taken the bait she set out for him. Her skin itched whenever she thought of him failing to pursue the trap prepared to destroy him. She struggled to keep those thoughts at bay. She knew Voldemort would take the initiative to destroy her. It was only a matter of time. Yet all she could focus on was her apparent failure. Her enemy remained silent. The Force told her nothing. It remained silent to her desires, which left her on edge.

Umbridge failed to appear at breakfast the next morning, and the morning after that as well. Edelweiss took that as a sign that events were proceeding as she wished, for it bought her more time. More rumors concerning Malfoy spread through Hogwarts. None dared openly link her to his injury, though she knew it was a matter of time. Their hatred for each other was too well known.

She skipped classes and focused on lightsaber training. Had any been able to access the Come-and-Go room while she occupied it, they would have witnessed Edelweiss weaving a pattern of swirling death with her crimson blade. Something in the back of her mind told her that her ability with the lightsaber would dictate her duel with Voldemort and Dumbledore. That would mean the difference between victory and failure.

I shall face both soon, she thought during a moment of rest and clarity. A house elf—Dobby, most like—had delivered food and drink while training distracted her. My plot will work, as I desire. Both shall come for me and I will cut them down in the heart of the Ministry.

She slept well until one morning, she woke to a grey dawn. Edelweiss stretched and then froze—something boomed through the Force. It was a great disturbance, and it announced a single truth: The day is upon you. Today. Today!

TODAY!

Edelweiss took her time preparing for the day. She paused in her morning routine to stare at her face in the mirror. The vivid emerald she had always been accustomed to had faded to a murky color halfway to the sulfuric yellow she knew would overcome her once she ascended. Edges of red stretched out from the pupil, almost like a starburst reaching ever outward into the cosmos. She knew the dark side and recognized its influence on her.

She grinned all the way down to the Great Hall. Her smile fell away when she discovered that Umbridge had still yet to return. As she ate, Edelweiss reached out with the Force and searched out her nearest foe.

Umbridge had returned. Her presence spread through Hogwarts like poisoned miasma seeping from a large gash. But the woman remained away from the Great Hall, her Inquisitors gathered around her.

No doubt she’s taking stock of what happened during her absence.

The morning began with Divination. Edelweiss attended for the first time since Trelawney’s removal and slowly regretted her decision. The teacher was one of the centaurs of the Forbidden Forest. How Umbridge suffered him was beyond her understanding. He stared at her oddly, as though he knew what she was. What she was becoming.

She was grateful when she was released from class. While en route to the Great Hall, though, Edelweiss felt another, though smaller, disturbance in the Force. She smiled as realization struck home.

And so the Death Eaters will move, to await me in the Hall of Prophecy. Oh, I could thank them!

Edelweiss ate mechanically. Her conscious mind lingered on the currents of the Force, parsing out what she should expect when she went to the Ministry. Yet part of her understood it was inappropriate on her part to be thinking so far ahead. She had yet to strike down Dolores Umbridge, whose death should usher her transformation into Darth Gladiolus.

“…ie. Edie? Edie!”

Edelweiss blinked. She returned to the present to find a worried Hermione staring at her. Her gaze then flickered past Edelweiss. She turned, following Hermione’s gaze, and found Umbridge hovering behind her, with Malfoy and Parkinson flanking her. Malfoy flinched when their gazes met, though he did his damnedest to put forward a confident smirk.

“Miss Potter. We need to have a serious conversation.”

“What about?” she asked, already knowing the what.

And here it is. The time I have awaited for so long. What I felt was indeed the call to ascend and destroy my enemies.

“I was informed of recent events concerning you and Mister Malfoy. Very concerning events.” Umbridge leaned in close. “Would you prefer to discuss this in my office or publically for everyone to hear?”

Edelweiss scanned the Great Hall and took note of how students snuck glances their way. None dared openly watch. But she sensed their curiosity and interest. Her skin itched. She did not desire a public audience for her ascension. It was a private matter. An affair for two.

She smiled at Umbridge, enjoying how the woman recoiled at a flash of teeth, and said, “Your office, headmistress.” Edelweiss then rose to her feet and strode from the Great Hall.

“…and so with great reluctance, I must suspend you, Miss Potter,” Umbridge said, barely managing to mask her glee under cool professionalism. “You must understand that a girl as disturbed and violent as you needs help. You won’t be sent to Azkaban. The public would never stand for that. You are a national symbol, regardless of everything you’ve been so unfairly subjected to and the damage you’ve caused to the social fabric. But you cannot be allowed to remain within the walls of Hogwarts nor amongst the regular public.”

Edelweiss nodded blankly. None of what she had been told would come to pass. She had spent the better part of twenty minutes listening to Umbridge blather on and on without getting to the point. Malfoy and Parkinson had been dismissed early on, their testimony given and accepted without question or suspicion of lying. They had sneered and smirked at her as they left. Woe to them, for this day would not go as they thought.

“And so I must ask for your wand,” concluded Umbridge. She held out her pudgy, grubby hand. “This is for your good.”

She glanced at the open hand and then shrugged. Edelweiss retrieved her fractured, burnt-out wand from her left pocket, and tossed it to Umbridge. The woman’s eyes bulged with alarm as she reached out, caught the broken wand, and blinked. Her pupils bloomed wide as she stared at the wand. Her gaze lingered long enough that Edelweiss nearly suspected something happened within Umbridge’s mind to rob her of her ascension.

“What… What happen—?”

Umbridge squeaked as she was cut off. Edelweiss’s right hand had risen. Her fingers closed enough to prevent the woman from easily breathing, but not so tight that she would choke and expire quickly. Edelweiss wanted to savor her kill. To know the moment Umbridge’s eyes dulled, it had been completely by her hand.

This was her sacrifice. The death of Dolores Umbridge would be the death of Edelweiss Potter. That girl could not be a murderer. She was born to be martyred for Dumbledore’s cause.

From the ashes of their destruction, Darth Gladiolus would be born.

She watched impassively as Umbridge collapsed to her knees, struggling and gasping for air.

“I imagine you are wondering what I am doing to you,” she whispered. “Fear not, for you are not alone. Only I know completely of this power. A few have learned figments of it, but only what I have allowed.” She smiled sardonically as the dark side filled her. Umbridge’s wide eyes bulged. “This is a power only Salazar Slytherin himself knew, for he learned it long before he came to our world.”

She relaxed the pressure on Umbridge’s throat just enough for the woman to croak out, “World?”

“Indeed. Before he stepped foot on Britain, Lord Salazar was a Sith Lord of Ziost, a world that orbits a star far, far away from ours. For a year now, I have been his pupil. I have dared to tread the path of Sith Lord. The moment of my ascension is nearly upon us.”

A ripple in the Force trickled through her. She knew what it meant and grinned widely.

“Rejoice, Dolores, for your suffering is nearly at an end. You are the fortunate one who shall witness the death of Edelweiss Potter and her rebirth as Darth Gladiolus, the Dark Lord of the Sith.”

“Dark lord…?” gasped Umbridge. “You?”

“Indeed. This is the path laid out before me, thanks to Lord Salazar and the wealth of knowledge he brought to this world. I am its inheritor, the one who shall bring it forth into the world. I am the one who shall take this world into the grasp of my palm. Soon, Voldemort and Dumbledore shall be no more. Fudge will have his chance to kneel and obey my commands… or perish alongside them.” She leaned forward. “I am merciful to those who have done me no wrong.”

Umbridge’s eyes bulged. She knew what the Sith before her spoke of. She knew now that she would not survive. Her death was inevitable.

“I am grateful you are here in the end, Dolores. I could think of none more deserving to be my sacrifice. Farewell. And if there is something beyond the grave, I hope you suffer until the end of time.”

She withdrew her lightsaber from her pocket. She thumbed the ignition, heard the snap-hiss echo through the office, and raised her terrible crimson blade. Umbridge gasped like a dying fish. The office filled with her fear and terror.

She released her grasp on the Force as her blade descended in a slashing arc. Umbridge had no chance to defend herself. Her head came off with a soft sound as the stump at her neck was cauterized. The head bounced once, twice, and then rolled toward the desk. The Force suddenly coalesced around the young woman born Edelweiss Potter. The dark side echoed with her ascension. Her power rippled out. Any attuned to the Force would know something had happened. Perhaps all would sense something had happened.

Edelweiss Potter breathed out, and Darth Gladiolus breathed in.

“What have you done?” asked one of the headmaster portraits.

She turned to the portraits. They flinched and recoiled, releasing hisses and curses. Sulfuric yellow repelled them. Darth Gladiolus shot them a bloodthirsty grin.

“What I had to,” she declared. “You all sat back and allowed her to desecrate this office. None of you have the standing to pass judgment on me.”

“And what if I tell your godfather of what you’ve done, girl?” asked one of the men.

Gladiolus stared at him for a few seconds before spotting the Black features. Her grin fell away as her left arm rose. Indigo arcs of Force lightning flickered between her fingers as she considered whether or not to destroy this particular portrait. Yes, this was an invaluable piece of magical history. But she could not allow word of her actions to spread yet. She needed to destroy her enemies first.

That decided it. Force lightning burst forth and scorched the portrait into ash. A blackened outline was all that remained on the office wall.

She turned her gaze to the others. None had fled to other frames. Good.

“None of you are to leave until I return,” declared Gladiolus. “Should I learn that any of you have contacted others, I shall return and finish what I have begun.” She scanned them, waiting for any protests or recriminations. None came. She smiled cruelly and cooed, “Good! I am overjoyed we have come to an understanding.”

And with that, Gladiolus turned and deactivated her weapon. She pocketed the lightsaber and strolled out of the office, humming the same tune she hummed days ago.

Victory was wondrous. And it suited her oh so well.

A dark mood threatened to consume Hogwarts as afternoon classes stretched on. Many suddenly felt as though they had been filled with every worst impulse that flooded through their mind. Several shook, struggling to hold back the worst impulses racing through them. Nobody could explain the feeling, yet they could not resist the feeling.

Hermione Granger used the master galleon made so Edelweiss could announce defense group meetings to summon the other members of Dumbledore’s Army to the Come-and-Go Room the moment she stepped out of her final class for the day. To her surprise—and relief—nearly everyone showed up within ten minutes. Only Zabini and the Twins were absent. A purse-lipped Greengrass explained, “Zabini happened to be with Malfoy when he had his latest run-in with Potter. He couldn’t slip away with us, but he will keep our secrets.”

“Any clue what happened?” asked Susan Bones, trying to act serious. “We all felt something. The gossip is clear it’s affecting the entire castle.”

Before anyone could offer a theory—not that anyone had a legitimate one, Hermione believed—Luna Lovegood took a step forward. In her whimsical voice, she announced, “Lord Gladiolus has ascended to her power.”

“Who?” asked Lavender Brown. “A pretty name, but I don’t know—”

“You’re talking about Edelweiss, aren’t you?” asked Hermione. Horror roiled in her gut. She thought of how easily her friend had gone with Umbridge. Of the smile that graced her lips as she left the Great Hall, seemingly on her way to a suspension. Could Umbridge still be alive, or had Edelweiss done what she promised? “Edie is this ‘Lord Gladiolus’, isn’t she.”

Luna stared at her for a second before nodding. “She has become more. Ascended to a power none know.” Her head suddenly tilted. “I know nothing else. She’s secretive, and the heliopath that spoke of her power has gone silent. But she is the source of the darkness that has grasped Hogwarts. I believe that to be true.”

Hermione glanced around the room, taking in the uncertain or the worried expressions. She wanted to propose they go after Edelweiss—go after Lord Gladiolus, as Luna announced—but her tongue stuck to the top of her mouth. Somehow, she could not act.

She shivered and felt fear pool in her gut.

Hermione Granger tried to grapple with the reality her friend was dead. Not physically, but spiritually. Edelweiss Potter was no more, replaced with someone called Lord Gladiolus. Someone she did not know and instinctively feared.

Around her, she saw others trying to do the same. None appeared to come to terms with what they had learned before they departed, cowed and anxious.

The future had turned dark, and Hermione had no clue how to restore the light.

Chapter Text

Ziost Hangar resonated thickly with her power. It reverberated off the walls and returned to wash over the newly christened Sith Lord. She knew this power, for it originated from the Known Regions, far beyond the uncharted space Lord Salazar crossed to reach Earth. Darth Gladiolus embraced the churning of dark side energies as they responded to her ascension to the mantle of Sith Lord. She paused to revel in their presence and power, to draw in those dark side energies and feel her strength soar to heights she had not known before. She opened and closed a hand as she considered the energies she sensed. They were familiar, and yet she did not think she had ever felt them with such intensity.

This is the sign I have truly ascended, she thought with a great smile. She cherished this power that was now hers. The power surrounded her, passed through her, and bound her to all that fell under her dominion.

The dark side had made her more than the silly girl who came to this place, uncertain and wary some years past.

Gladiolus strode into Lord Salazar’s solar, head high. She granted him a small nod and met his gaze with Sith eyes, burning bold and bright.

“You have done well,” drawled Lord Salazar. “You have abandoned the weak creature you were. You have become a Sith Lord.” He smiled then, true and genuine. “Welcome to our storied order, Lord Gladiolus,”

“Thank you, Lord Salazar. I thought it appropriate to present myself to you first. The holocron of my master, Lady Bastila, unfortunately, resides too close to those who would disagree with the powers and mentality of a Sith Lord. Else, she would be here with us for this momentous occasion.

“I shall deal with those who would oppose me in time. But for now, I must attend to the trap I have set for my foe. The one he walks into as we speak.”

“The one who shares my blood and uses it to gather others to his cause?”

Gladiolus nodded.

“Then go with my blessing. Destroy him. Destroy his followers. Destroy all of your enemies. Become the Dark Lord of the Sith you were destined to become. Show these fools the power of the dark side of the Force, Lord Gladiolus.”

“And so I shall,” Darth Gladiolus declared.

“Before you go embrace your destiny,” Lord Salazar continued, “I have a gift for you aboard my old shuttle. The rags you wear are not appropriate for who you have become.”

Darth Gladiolus nodded and then departed the solar. Lord Salazar would return to the confines of his holocron. She knew not when she would next communicate with the ancient Sith Lord. Perhaps months in the future, after she yoked magical Britain to her will. Perhaps years. The professors would certainly be wary of allowing her access to the castle after all she would do this night. And they would know what she had done, for the ruined wand of Edelweiss Potter remained in the headmaster’s office beside Umbridge’s decapitated corpse.

Gladiolus descended to where Lord Salazar’s shuttle rested. She found a wide box just past the boarding ramp with boots, a belt, and gauntlets set beside them. They were forged from metal she recognized, thanks to the lessons she received concerning ways to fight Jedi: cortosis, a rare alloy that could disable lightsabers. She set them aside before kneeling beside the case and opening it. Within, she found a familiar set of dress, all in black: comfortable dueling pants, a long wrap of fabric weaved with Sith runes, a sleeveless tunic with a metallic feel, and a large cloak with a deep hood.

“Thank you, Lord Salazar,” she whispered, smiling brightly. “I shall wear this proudly when I go into battle, armored in the dark side and all I have learned from you.”

She changed swiftly, knowing she could not luxuriate in the smooth feeling of her new garb. The gauntlets fit perfectly around her hands. And though Gladiolus felt uneasy wearing so much cortosis into battle, she did not believe the metal’s weight would slow her.

Force lightning danced across her armored fingers, traveling with nearly the same ease as they danced across flesh and blood. Gladiolus frowned as she considered the chance these gauntlets might interfere with her powers. But that concern did not overcome her gratitude for Lord Salazar’s gift.

Her new armor was required for the coming battle. She needed to set herself apart from the plainer battledress of the Death Eaters.

Gladiolus snatched her lightsaber from where she set it aside and clipped it to her belt. She smoothed out her tunic, adjusted her robe, and disembarked Lord Salazar’s shuttle. She raised the hood of her cloak as she paced laps around the landing chamber. The Force had called upon her to strike down Umbridge once her trap was sprung. But had the time to cut across the expanse of space and go to London come? How soon until she destroyed Voldemort and his ilk?

And she hoped to destroy Dumbledore before the night was through. If the opportunity presented itself, she would claim their lives in a singular great duel. Darth Gladiolus grinned as she envisioned using their cooling corpses as a platform from which to make Minister Fudge grovel and beg for her mercy like a dog. He was too cowardly to stand firm, though Gladiolus honestly thought if given the choice between abandoning his duties and swearing fealty, he’d pick the former. He only wanted the power and wealth of his role.

Not the responsibility.

She paused near the shuttle’s nose. She stared at its black matte surface. It reminded her of the black tiles that lined the path to the Department of Mysteries. And, as Gladiolus suddenly recalled, they covered the Ministry’s atrium.

A feeling caught her, flowing through the dark side. Her eyes widened and she grinned.

Her time had come.

Darth Gladiolus closed her eyes. She breathed in; she breathed out; and she wrapped the dark side tightly around her form. With it binding her, she focused her mind upon the Ministry of the Magic. At first, she chose the Department of Mysteries as her destination. And then she changed her mind. The atrium would make sensing the whole of the Ministry easier.

She channeled the power that flowed through her whenever she traveled—simple astral projection was not enough for what she must do—and in the span of a heartbeat, the Sith Lord stepped through space and thus crossed a great many miles.

Gladiolus opened her eyes and gazed upon the Ministry’s atrium. She spotted the golden Fountain of Magical Brethren at the far end and the elevator bank further beyond that. Not a soul haunted the atrium. No fireplaces glowed. The chamber smelled faintly of mothballs. Had she not known better, she could have believed the Ministry moved long ago to a finer locale, its old husk given away to the gnawing teeth of time.

She reached out with the Force. The presences within the Ministry counted between twenty and thirty, all but a few lingering in the Hall of Prophecy. Not even house elves moved about the Ministry. She sensed something of the Unspeakables, whom she had spotted once during her hauntings of the Department of Mysteries, but their presence was weak.

“Good,” she whispered, smiling viciously. “None to interfere in what I shall do.”

Gladiolus started for the elevator bank. She could have traveled to the Department of Mysteries directly. Frankly, she should have done so. But the Death Eaters went to great lengths to prepare their “trap” for her. She was a great many things, but Darth Gladiolus was not so rude as to inappropriately spring an enemy’s trap. The illusion of Edelweiss Potter would last a while longer.

They could wait a little longer. They lived on borrowed time, after all. She had already decided they would all perish. Their choice to follow Voldemort sealed their fate this night.

Her footsteps echoed across the atrium, metal clicking against tile. Darth Gladiolus hummed the same tune she hummed days ago. After several steps, she stopped. It was too early to hum so victoriously.

She would wait until her enemies were dead before allowing herself to enjoy how easily they fell to the combination of the dark side and her lightsaber.

Darth Gladiolus passed the Ministry’s wretched statue and reached the elevators. The one directly before her opened automatically. She had almost expected to use the Force after seeing the atrium look so dead. She raised an eyebrow before entering. If the Ministry building wished to be inviting after months of slander and insult from the people who occupied it, who was she to reject the hospitality? Soon, this place would be hers. Best that the Ministry understood its fate before the rest.

“Department of Mysteries,” she declared, standing in the elevator’s center. With cheery amusement, she added, “I have an appointment with some miscreants.”

The elevator door closed. Instead of moving smoothly, the car shifted and jerked as it traveled from the atrium to the Department of Mysteries. She grimaced and resisted the temptation to once more reach out with the Force and probe the Department of Mysteries. Her understanding of who could and could not detect her use of the Force remained muddled and uncertain, even after filling Hogwarts with her power. It would be the height of arrogance and foolishness to allow the Death Eaters to know her true power before the slaughter began.

The doors opened. A soft, feminine voice announced: “Level Nine. Department of Mysteries with access to Floor Ten, Wizengamot Chamber and courtrooms.”

Darth Gladiolus raised an eyebrow at the mention of access to “Floor Ten”. She had seen no sign of that before. Regardless, she swept out of the elevator once the doors opened and followed the familiar route to the Department of Mysteries without another thought of Floor Ten.

She could not permit distractions. Not when she had a duty, a purpose, to fulfill this night.

She followed the familiar corridor of black tiles to the Department of Mysteries. She opened the door she came to and entered the central, spinning chamber. Darth Gladiolus knew she was strong enough in the Force to hold the room in place and prevent it from spinning. But she did not need to accomplish that feat. She knew where the Hall of Prophecy was. She felt it. The Death Eaters within emanated anxiety and annoyance. They seemed to know of her arrival. But what else troubled them? Had she overlooked something?

Had Edelweiss Potter made an error as she plotted out how they would draw Voldemort into their trap?

No. She had not. They expected something else. Maybe someone else. No doubt the image of her in their mind was of Dumbledore’s loyal girl, accompanied by a gaggle of teenage allies. No adult would escort them into the Department of Mysteries, for the adults on Dumbledore’s side of the war would never entrust anything to their children. Not as a Death Eater might, should their lord command it. No doubt there had been those within Slytherin spying on her at Hogwarts. But would they have realized that Edelweiss Potter sacrificed all she had been given by her supposed allies to become the next Dark Lord? To be the one they would next serve had their lives not already become forfeit in her eyes?

Darth Gladiolus grinned maliciously. She was certain these fools had no clue what awaited them. Her sardonic smile stretched as she watched the chamber stop spinning. She almost went straight through the door into the Hall of Prophecy before realizing the Death Eaters expected her to get lost and wander about the chambers which comprised the Department of Mysteries until she stumbled on where they awaited her. She grimaced, thinking of the act she was about to put on. But it was necessary to maintain the fiction that Edelweiss Potter still lived.

She sighed—and then smiled. Her next kill would be glorious, rewarding her for following through with the chore of keeping the Death Eaters unaware of her power. Gladiolus chose a door at random. She almost passed through that door, but instead opened it and peered inside. The time room. The strange, golden chamber held a vast quantity of time turners and other strange clocks. She entered with a shrug and perused the tall, glass-lined cases.

Halfway across the time room—she quickly spotted two doors at the far end and knew she’d need to choose between them—Gladiolus stumbled upon a massive hourglass she did not recall from past visits. Golden beads fell through the narrow center, mocking the grains of sand ready to flow through the time turners around her.

“How droll,” she muttered with a sneer. And yet she reached out with the Force and inspected the massive hourglass. She nearly recoiled from feedback. It was a damned thing. Unnatural. An abomination meant to distort time around an area instead of for a person. And oh, how lovely it could be. The witch within her, suppressed by the Sith Lord she had become, nearly reveled in the sight before her.

But the Sith Lord Darth Gladiolus stared at the large hourglass, unable to feel anything but distrust. It could be a powerful weapon to maintain her power, but if any dared turn it against her…

“I shall destroy you should my enemies dare try to wield you against me.” The words burned in her mouth like an empty promise. But she would see it fulfilled one day.

Gladiolus continued. She picked a door at random and went left, away from where the Hall of Prophecy’s door had been in the central chamber. The Force could tell her where she was going, but she ignored every feeling and warning it sent her. The Department of Mysteries was a bizarre place, possessing many secrets. She wondered how many she might peel back.

She passed through the door she picked. Naturally, that door led her to where she meant to go in the first place.

A chill clung to the air. Fog hung high along the cathedral ceiling above. Gladiolus glanced around, noting how many of the orbs released a soft pale light. Most had glowed ethereal blue during prior visits. But now they were different. They had changed. She suspected what the cause was. Her ascension must have rippled through the Force so powerfully and potently that its currents and eddies affected the very fabric of reality which allowed prophecy to exist in contrast to determination and will.

Darth Gladiolus strolled forward, keeping to the widest aisle between the many rows of shelves. She felt the Death Eaters hiding in the shadows. They knew she was here, but they remained ignorant that she sensed their presence. They watched her approach their trap around where the prophecy foretelling her conflict with Voldemort awaited. She followed the trail, already knowing what awaited her at the end. She had seen the orb that represented the prophecy that bound her to Voldemort.

And it no longer mattered.

No prophecy spoken on Earth could account for the dark side of the Force. Gladiolus convinced herself of that as she followed the power beckoning her ever onward to the prophecy. She closed her eyes for a moment and sensed where every Death Eater waited. They remained ignorant of her true power. That she knew from the lack of reaction to her sensing them. How disappointing that Voldemort could not draw any sensitive to the Force to his cause. She had stumbled upon Luna Lovegood at Hogwarts. A shame the girl’s oddity meant she was unlikely to bow or bend to the Sith ways. Her father’s paper had served its purpose months ago.

Perhaps I should eliminate her, she thought. Gladiolus smiled as another thought came to her. No. I shall not kill her. But I shall test her. If she proves unworthy to become my Sith apprentice, then I shall destroy her. Perhaps she will be the perfect test for my Sith apprentice.

Gladiolus reached the aisle where the prophecy waited. Most of the Death Eaters loitered nearby, cloaked or under disillusionment. She could expose them now, but that would steal her fun. Steal her joy. She longed to see their assumptions turned to dust. She wanted them to know the depths of their failure before they perished by her hand.

She slowly strode forward, her sulfuric eyes scanning the plaques to each side. They bore names and letters that meant nothing to her. Most plaques sat beneath pale white orbs, stripped of their future by her actions. How fascinating that she could so easily rent fate and destiny.

Truly the dark side was the greatest power in the galaxy.

And so came Darth Gladiolus to a swirling blue orb set above the plaque that declared Trelawney spoke a prophecy to Albus Dumbledore concerning her and Voldemort. It had changed since her last visit when she applied a compulsion to a Death Eater and thus ensured this meeting would come about. Now it said:

Darth Gladiolus, Dark Lord of the Sith & The Dark Lord Voldemort

“How fascinating that this would change as a result of all I have changed,” whispered Gladiolus. She stared at the orb as a sudden curiosity grabbed her. What did this prophecy say? Could she divine what it said through the Force? Should she even dare? Inspecting the prophecy could grant the Death Eaters an opening to curse her in the back and take her to their lord, a failure and a disgrace to her new order.

Time to spring the trap, then.

Darth Gladiolus reached out and seized the orb. As she brought it back to illuminate her marked face, shadows slinked around her. She peered around with a mirthful smile. Only she was unmasked, though she could see their sneering lips and mocking eyes beyond the cold skull masks.

One of them lowered his mask, revealing a familiar face.

“Lucius Malfoy,” she drawled. “I had wondered when you would come sulking out of the shadows. I should have assumed you would be sent on this little mission after your humiliation in June.” Gladiolus lowered her hand grasping the prophecy as she scanned the others. “This is all Voldemort could send for little ‘ol me? I confess myself… disappointed. Certainly, you should know it takes more than twenty to capture me. Has Voldemort fallen so far—?”

“Don’t say his name!” hissed a witch with wild violet eyes. “You have no—!”

Gladiolus raised her free hand and tightened her grasp. The witch choked on her words. Her violet eyes bulged with hatred. “I have every right to say that charlatan’s assumed name. Unless the actual name you do not wish for me to say is ‘Tom Riddle’. No doubt Dumbledore will call him that when he arrives. The old man cannot resist an opportunity to… proselytize.”

“You can always make the right choice, Potter,” said Lucius Malfoy. He held out a gloved hand. “You only need to hand over the prophecy. Our lord will let you hear it before he decides your fate.”

“Him? Decide my fate?” She burst out laughing. It echoed along the ceiling, dark and cruel. “Oh, you poor, poor fools!” simpered Gladiolus. “The world you were born into has already died! You only do not know it, for I have not ripped out every cancerous growth your ilk have buried into the soil of Britain!”

“You’re a fool if you think you can fight all of us, Potter!” a man snarled. For some reason, she knew he had been among those who escaped Azkaban in January. “When the Dark Lord arrives—”

“I shall kill him. Finally and permanently,” Gladiolus snarled. “His fate has been writ in stone ever since I was in my mother’s womb.” She raised the prophecy high, waited for every gaze to rise to it, and shook the orb as though she meant to toss it away. Half the Death Eaters lurched forward while the other half watched with bated breath. She smirked. “What punishment did he threaten you with should you fail to retrieve the prophecy?”

“We will not tell you that—”

“Enough!” shouted Lucius Malfoy. He thrust his hand toward her once more. “Release Bellatrix, Potter, and hand over the prophecy. There are more of us than there are of you. Not even Dumbledore could fight all of us and be victorious.”

She growled, low in her throat. She released her grasp on Bellatrix Lestrange. She considered the value of saving this woman as a test for Neville Longbottom. He certainly had the hatred to kill the Lestranges, but she had already promised to slay all present this night. “You would need a hundred of your ilk to fight me now.”

“Potter—”

“That is no longer my name! Edelweiss Potter was a foolish girl with delusions about what she could and could not do.” She tossed back her cloak’s hood, fully revealing her black marks and sulfuric eyes. Her hair was bound in a thick braid that draped over a shoulder. A few Death Eaters blanched, seeing her true face. The rest merely stiffened. “I am Darth Gladiolus, Dark Lord of the Sith… and Lord Salazar Slytherin’s true heir.”

Unsurprisingly, the importance of her claim to the Sith title escaped the Death Eaters. After all, they had no reason to know that name nor to understand what it meant to be a Sith. But to claim that she, and not their master, should be the Dark Lord? That she had the greater right to be Slytherin’s heir? That sparked hatred in their hearts. She saw their eyes harden and witnessed lips draw back in sneers and snarls.

Gladiolus rolled her shoulders. Her cloak fell to the floor and pooled at her feet. She felt their gazes upon her exposed upper arms. If they had been shocked by the marks on her face, these drove a feeling of horror and disgust through them. “I have tired of this petty conversation. Should any of you manage to survive long enough to tell your master what I have told you… Well, I doubt what he does to you will be kinder than my treatment.”

Before they could act, Gladiolus slammed a clenched fist forward, driving power into them with the Force. They, along with the plethora of orbs sitting on both shelves, soared before her. She watched them crash against shelves, to the floor, and even one unfortunate foe that flew and crashed into the far wall. She smirked. She knew it would be easier to burn them all to ashes with Force lightning, but she wanted to savor their deaths. They could not all come at—

“Damn you, Potter! Avada Kedavra!” a Death Eater screamed.

As the emerald spell raced her way, Gladiolus summoned her lightsaber to her right hand and activated it. With that familiar snap-hiss, she went to parry the Killing Curse. The Force said nothing of her death, yet it also suggested nothing of how her weapon would interact with the spell.

Her blade sliced through deathly emerald. The Killing Curse shattered into naught with a whimper. Gladiolus blinked; she had failed to test her lightsaber against spells, for she had never found one she could fully trust enough to practice with. Not even Lovegood, who knew the name Gladiolus, had been brought close enough into her confidence to aid her. And manipulating minds was a dangerous game at Hogwarts. Too dangerous to risk exposing her secrets just for a puppet to test an innocuous theory.

“Well, well,” she murmured, grinning sardonically. Gladiolus turned her full hatred on to the shocked, abandoned Death Eater who had tried to hit her with the Killing Curse. “You truly are a fool.”

Before he could respond, she released the orb in her left hand, blasted Force lightning his way, and caught the prophecy before it could fall more than three inches. The torrent of lightning washed over the Death Eater before he could raise a magical shield. She witnessed flicker his skeleton flicker through his skin before thin waves of steam rose from his corpse. It collapsed, thumping against the floor without any wet sounds.

The chamber fell silent. She sensed movement but saw nothing when she glanced about.

“And now the hunt begins,” whispered Darth Gladiolus. Her blade thrummed in her loose gasp, the blade beginning to scorch a line across the floor. Reaching out with the Force revealed the Death Eaters had all fled the chamber, unwilling to face her without the element of surprise. Already they had fled to elsewhere within the Department of Mysteries.

So my enemies have taken flight. How disappointing, even if I cannot confess myself to be surprised.

It was rational. Gladiolus might be alone, but her power was greater than theirs combined. Still, she found herself disappointed. Could they not attempt to torture her? Incapacitate her and bring her to their lord? They had taken flight, proving themselves cowards. She would need to hunt them down and kill them one by one.

Darth Gladiolus would not deny herself the chance to slaughter her enemies like vermin.

She retraced her steps and came to the door that led her back to the time room. Or at least, that was what she expected. Instead, she entered a library that dwarfed Hogwarts’ grand collection by a staggering margin. The ceiling glimmered high above her, just within sight. Shelves rose to that ceiling. They stretched out as far as she could see, with books so narrow she almost missed them and tomes thicker than her skull and thrice the weight.

“How fascina—”

She sensed a spell. Gladiolus ducked as a glob of putrid yellow soared over her head. She raised her lightsaber before her as a shield, slashing through the second spell before sidestepping the third. An arm slipped behind a shelf that stuck outward into the corridor now before her.

“Come out, you filthy dog!” she demanded, pushing her Force powers outward. She would know soon if this lowly Death Eater was strong of will. “Come out and perish! Or are you a cowardly dog like the muggles you hate?”

“As if I would listen to you, Potter!” the Death Eater shouted back. A man, she surmised, based solely upon the sound of him. Odds were he was large, akin to Crabbe and Goyle’s fathers. “I’ll capture you on the Dark Lord’s behalf! He will reward my family for—”

“Enough talk,” snapped Gladiolus. She headed for the voice’s source, keeping her lightsaber between her and the Death Eater. “Step out and face me, or flee. I care not which, for you shall die by my hand regardless.”

“You’re a fool, Potter! The Dark Lord will kill you.”

“He will certainly try. I welcome his attempt. But by the time that happens, you will be dead and I will be more powerful.” A frenzied smile came upon her with madness. “By the end of this night, he too shall be dead, and I shall be the Dark Lord.”

The moment the Death Eater stuck his arm out, she tossed her lightsaber. Her weapon spun and twisted, transitioning from horizontal to vertical as it reached him. The crimson blade carved up along his arm, setting flesh and fabric alike aflame. He swore and cursed, collapsing behind the shelves as he tried to put the flame out absent a wand. Gladiolus reached out with the Force. Her weapon stopped in midair and then returned to her. It slammed into her grasp, the blade still ignited.

She strode up to the Death Eater as he rolled over and put out the flames scarring and ruining his left arm. Gladiolus found him on his knees. He stilled as he peered up at her. The skull mask customary of the Death Eaters covered his face. More so, the eye and mouth sockets were now black. Mocking holes that already knew death waited.

So this is how so many of his pawns escaped justice until after the fighting ended last time. How fascinating. I wonder what crimes they committed, comfortable with the secrecy their master’s wisdom granted. Then again, he destroyed himself in his attempt to murder me.

They shall all be punished for their arrogance.

Gladiolus decapitated the Death Eater without ceremony. His head fell off, plopping to the ground before her feet, and rolled away. The mask popped away from his head, yet remained intact. She smirked and stepped down on the skull-shaped mask. It snapped cleanly in half.

“One down. Too many to go.”

She stalked through the library, which decided to be larger and more labyrinthine than she recalled. At one point, she came upon a man bent over a desk, snoring. An Unspeakable, she decided after staring at him for several brief seconds. Gladiolus left him alone, though she knew the Unspeakables would be furious over the incursion into their space.

That, however, was not her concern yet.

The next door she passed through brought her to a massive chamber, dark with faint speckles of light here and there. Gladiolus looked around and nearly gaped when she came face to face with a massive mock-up of Neptune. She prowled leftward around the false planet, scanning the massive, cerulean orb. She swore there were patterns across it that reminded her of the thick grey clouds over Scotland.

“Stupefy!” screamed a Death Eater. Gladiolus leaped aside, spinning about to face the direction the red spell came from. It splashed harmlessly against where she had been standing while another Death Eater popped out from their hiding place—Is that Pluto?—and shot a lurid violet spell her way. As with that Killing Curse in the Hall of Prophecy, she sliced through the spell and destroyed it.

“Is that it?” she asked, bemused. “Is this all Voldemort’s Death Eaters can do? Throw around spells so easily dismantled and avoided?”

The one who tried to curse her first stepped fully into view, bubbling with mindless hatred. The moment he aimed his wand at her, she reached out with her left hand—which still held the prophecy—and flicked the hand toward the Pluto mock-up his fellow hid behind. The Death Eater rocketed through the air and crashed into the planetoid. He then fell to the floor with a fatal splat. She felt his life ebb away while his fellow cast a faltering healing spell.

“You should have caught him,” she said, taunting the other Death Eater. She pressed onward, seeking to orbit Pluto next. “Had you done that, maybe your fellow would still be alive.”

Best of all, her words were the truth. The man perished because of the trauma inflicted on his bones and organs by both collisions. The second one, when he crashed to the floor, had been the worst of the two. No doubt blood filled most of the cavities in the corpse. Had his skin been punctured by either collision, a large pool would be forming under his body even now.

“Merlin’s beard…” whispered the living Death Eater.

Gladiolus continued her drifting orbit. She used the Force so each step she took covered several feet. Before the Death Eater could understand what he witnessed her do, she lunged. Her lightsaber pierced his soft stomach. He gasped, or at least tried to. His body seized up. As she straightened and withdrew her cauterizing blade, he collapsed sideways.

Two more dead. Two more of Voldemort’s pawns destroyed by her hand.

She Force leaped from the ground, flipping at her high apex, and landed softly on Neptune. The solar system was laid out before her in the same pattern that filled the night sky. Uranus hovered nearest her, with ringed Saturn and massive Jupiter further beyond. Mars and Earth, and the rest within the inner part of the solar system remained out of view. She sprung forward, bouncing across the massive gas giants as the Force propelled her onward. This was a simple, instinctive use of the Force’s power. Nothing compared to the great, terrible powers she possessed as a Sith Lord.

Darth Gladiolus discovered no sign of other Death Eaters within the massive chamber dedicated to the solar system. She stamped down her disappointment. What had she expected? By her count, eighteen Death Eaters had come to the Department of Mysteries intending to capture her and the prophecy she still held. None had left the department yet—to her chagrin, she knew it to be true—and none lingered in the same chamber she occupied.

And so Gladiolus pushed on.

She discovered a door near Mars that returned her to the time room she had passed through while heading to the Hall of Prophecy. Gladiolus trailed down the room’s center, lightsaber raised so it cast crimson light across her marked face without blocking her vision.

As she crossed the chamber, her sulfuric eyes scanned for any sign of movement. Any hint of where they might be. She sensed them with the Force, yet they remained hidden. Her sense of where they might be happened to be annoyingly vague, unlike when she sensed them in the Hall of Prophecy.

How strange, she thought. “Cowards!” Gladiolus shouted, the full extent of her rage coming upon her. “Reveal yourselves!”

She struggled with the impulse to tear them from their hiding places. Perhaps it would be stupid—foolish even—to risk destroying the bounty of time turners, but Gladiolus wanted these Death Eaters dead. Dead, dead, dead!

A Death Eater chose that very moment to welcome her with a deadly spell. It was sickly violet and traveled in an odd, snaking wave. Gladiolus stepped around it instead of slicing through the spell. The Death Eater stared at her dumbly—and she lunged forward, empowered with the Force.

Danger, screamed the Force.

Danger, screamed her instincts.

So Gladiolus landed short of her target and swung her lightsaber about in a defensive shielding pattern. Four spells roared her way, and four spells disappeared when touched by her blade. A sardonic grin crossed her face as she straightened. Six Death Eaters stood around her now; the one who lured her in, the four who failed in their ambush, and their commander, Lucius Malfoy.

“I’m almost impressed,” confessed Gladiolus, raising her left hand. She still held the prophecy tightly. Should this escape her, then the Death Eaters would take flight. Darth Gladiolus had been a fool to think their plan had extended beyond retrieving it from her person. This orb was why the Death Eaters lingered behind. Not because of any fear of their master—or perhaps because of that fear, for she did not know how he would punish their failure—but because they remained confident they could take it from her. Perhaps even capture her in the process. Voldemort might not expect them to take her prisoner, but no doubt he would reward them for achieving that much. She gathered the Force to her, thicker and denser than ever before. “But only almost impressed.”

Gladiolus released the energy gathered to her with a stunning burst. Waves of power and lightning filled the chamber with her as its nexus, smashing shelves and crushing those time turners that did not crash to the floor. Their sands warped the chamber. The Death Eaters cursed and dodged for cover. All but one, pinned between danger and the wall. Gladiolus pursued that Death Eater, parrying three spells with her lightsaber before descending upon him. The Death Eater made a sound—a scream or begging or a plea for mercy, she could not say at the moment—and was suddenly silenced as her lightsaber plunged into his chest.

She yanked her blade free and turned to face the other Death Eaters. They had all fled the same way. Gladiolus frowned. That door had been the one she passed through entering this chamber from the circular entry. She followed them with a dark scowl, her blade held in a low guard as she prepared to fight for the doorway. One of them would challenge her. She felt that much. What she did not sense was whether or not they lingered at the threshold itself or if they had taken positions away from it.

The Death Eaters had proven capable of deceiving her still.

The door creaked on its hinges as Gladiolus approached. She sensed neither spell nor trap on the door. Still, she raised her left hand and used the Force to slam the door inward. It resisted shattering, though the violence impacted the doorframe severely enough that she could make out shimmering in the new gaps. Growling at the lack of response from the other side, she stormed through the doorway, throwing her left shoulder into the wood while raising her lightsaber so it crossed the threshold first.

She had acted wisely. Several spells streaked her way. Gladiolus used the Force to empower her instinct and skill as she swatted them aside. One spell, a vibrant silver color, nearly skimmed her forearm when she overcommitted to a ricochet block on another spell. It was only her preternatural powers that saved her from whatever it might inflict. Once their barrage ended—the Death Eaters assumed that would be enough to take her down—she sprung toward the nearest source of spellfire. She startled two Death Eaters, reeking with shock. Mouths opened and wands raised, they reacted too slow. She swung burning slices through their limbs, turning shouted spells into wordless screams.

Limbs fell to the ground with soft thumps. The Death Eaters backed into stony crags as she stalked forward. Gladiolus smirked. She wondered as she drew near if they would react like cornered prey or if they would impress her and try to resist their deaths.

They froze.

Gladiolus snarled as she swung her blade. One man lost his head. The other stared numbly. She swung again and ended the second Death Eater.

The Force alerted her to a nearby presence. Gladiolus paused. Her sulfuric eyes scanned her surroundings. She spotted a shimmer near a passage that led deeper into the chamber. The shimmering form retreated, aware she had sensed them.

Gladiolus smiled maliciously and pursued the shimmering form. She minded the Force, allowing her danger sense to help guide her feet and her blade. Something lingered at the edges of her awareness. A presence almost reaching out to demand she step forth so she might cross wands and die.

My wand is broken, she thought bitterly. Angrily. And Darth Gladiolus shall not die.

She stalked faster, following the shimmering figure as it retreated. Perhaps it sought to draw her into a trap. That was Voldemort’s way. At least it was concerning Edelweiss Potter. She was Dumbledore’s ardent follower, and thus she could be controlled by that oh-so-predictable morality. Three times Voldemort had drawn her into a trap. But she was a Sith Lord now. The Dark Lord of the Sith. On this night, she would prove her title true and strike down this false pretender.

This night—this encounter—was her trap. He and his followers would perish by her hand.

The shimmering figure turned to face her as Gladiolus drew within a few feet. She felt their shock and fear; along with an edge of certainty their disillusionment would protect them from her. But the Force could not be deceived the same way her senses might be. She swung her lightsaber before the hidden Death Eater could curse her.

Only a limb was carved off, and not even prettily. The mangled chunk of flesh and fabric flopped to the ground, cut unevenly through the forearm. A few fingers from the other hand followed, along with a bit of smoking wood. Gladiolus crushed their wand as she prepared a second strike. She stabbed forward, driving her blade into the center of the shimmering form.

The disillusionment fell without magic to maintain it. A shocked Death Eater, maskless and young, appeared there before her. In another life, Gladiolus would have recognized his face. But here and now, she knew him not. She withdrew her blade before stepping over his corpse. She pressed on, walking into the “trap” established for her benefit.

Gladiolus traveled only a short distance before reaching a passage that led deep into the chamber. She sensed several presences before her. And not all belonged to Death Eaters. She blinked, allowing surprise to flow through her for a moment. Had Dumbledore’s Order come to fight as well? She had few qualms about fighting them if they forced her hand. Yet there remained some among their number she wanted to avoid fighting. The Weasleys, for one. Their younger children were, as far as anyone else knew, her ardent followers and supporters. To alienate them by killing their parents, or Bill and Charlie—would weaken her social position. Gladiolus would not suffer that fate. Sirius sprung to mind following them. She enjoyed her time with her godfather. And yet the weak part of her that still remembered being Edelweiss Potter wished he could have truly confronted her about the Sith markings she now bore proudly. While she did not doubt he would remain loyal, she was left questioning if he could be trusted.

After all, Sirius Black proclaimed that he loved her just as he loved her parents. But he had betrayed them in the end. It had not been his intention, yet the choice that led to their fates hung around his shoulders just as blame could be placed on the shoulders of Voldemort and unfaithful Peter Pettigrew.

She would find and kill the latter, despite his failure to join the others at the Ministry this night. If necessary, she would hunt Pettigrew through rancid muggle sewers where thousands of his kind suffered and toiled in their miserable, rat lives.

Gladiolus followed the channel deeper into the chamber, keeping her weapon in a low guard as she took cautious step after cautious step. Part of her felt cowardly approaching the site so, yet she was so immersed in the dark side of the Force that she knew she had cause to approach the enemy so. The five Death Eaters who escaped her in the time room lingered nearby, along with the remnants of their cabal. She counted ten presences. Eighteen Death Eaters had come to the Ministry of Magic this night, and already eight were dead by her hand.

The rest would die once she had them in her grasp. Whether by Force or by lightsaber, they would perish. And once they were dead, she would seek out their master and Dumbledore. They too would perish.

Remember the Dursleys, Gladiolus. Remember how easily they died once you realized they could die.

She reached the end of the channel, which gave way to an open area she had found once before. Nothing had caught her attention except for an abomination she wished to destroy: the tall doorway of black, twisting stone. Shimmering, silvery grey threads hung in the archway. Gladiolus still got a queer feeling from it. She swore that she somehow stared into a pure aspect of the Force—and it screamed the truth she did not wish to hear: Abomination. Monster. Fiend. Betrayer. Kinslayer. Sith Lord.

Woe to thee, galaxy, for another of that—

She poured hatred and power into her left hand. Force lightning flowed through the prophecy, sending forth a jagged, pale blue bolt. Her power smashed against the archway, silencing the voices yet failing to destroy the target of her ire. Only after her blast echoed through the chamber did she hear the scream that rippled from her, furious and offended by the jeers and insults. Gladiolus panted, glaring at the archway with burning sulfuric hatred.

Before she met her final fate, she would rend that archway into naught but dust and ashes.

Gladiolus breathed out heavily through her nose. Focus. She straightened and turned slightly, scanning the rocky benches around her.

An execution chamber. That was where she had been brought. If they thought her end would come here, then they were fools. Dead fools. Corpses granted the mercy of a little more time.

“Come forth, Death Eaters,” boomed Gladiolus. She poured her wrath and malice into her words, lacing her dark side powers with a demanding compulsion. “Come forth, so justice may be done upon you! Come forth and face the end of your tale!”

A slow clap echoed through the chamber. Gladiolus turned to find Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange standing on a nearby perch. Both stared down at her, faces unmasked. Malfoy smiled almost fondly, as though she had been a girl he had fostered until the right moment for a betrayal most terrible. Bellatrix considered Gladiolus with only contempt.

“Quite impressive, Potter. Or perhaps I shall call you Gladiolus, as you have demanded.”

“Darth Gladiolus, Lord Malfoy. We should not forget proper titles, after all. We’re civilized folk, you and I.”

He chuckled “Darth Gladiolus, then,” he said with smug amusement. Lucius waved his wand at his feet before leaping down from his perch. Gladiolus sensed the magic he cast, lowering him so he did not need to worry about pain or damage from his landing. She was almost impressed. However, she no longer required a spell to achieve that feat. The Force would protect her. It was the source of her power. The key to her victory.

“Still want this?” she asked. Gladiolus lifted the prophecy orb from her hand with the Force and allowed it to hover in the air. Lucius Malfoy kept his wand by his side, not falling for her provocation. “How about this,” the Sith Lord continued, returning the prophecy to her grasp. “You can have this once your master arrives. You and your lot will have from then until I kill him to flee. Should you make it to foreign shores, I will let you live as long as you never return to Britain.”

Lucius stared at her unfazed. “And if I do not accept your gracious offer, Lady Gladiolus?”

“Lord. Not Lady. But I would not expect you to know,” Gladiolus said, almost bitingly. He raised a thin eyebrow. “If you are unwilling to accept my mercy, then I shall continue killing your comrades, one by one. Burnt, crushed remnants shall be left in my wake. Perhaps I will cut them into artful chunks for your pathetic lord to find.” Gladiolus raised the prophecy she held, drawing Lucius Malfoy’s gaze back to it. “This is what he wants. As long as I have it, he will come to me—no matter where I may lead him.”

“You think yourself able to trap the Dark Lord?” snarled Bellatrix, who had joined them on the floor below the perches.

“Think?” asked Gladiolus with a sardonic grin. “Think? You stupid bint! I know I can lead him into a trap. This affair was my plan from the start. I embedded it into the mind of one of his little followers sneaking about the Hall of Prophecy. I confess I began growing impatient, but only because this night marks my ascension. It is as I told you already. Edelweiss Potter is dead. I am Darth Gladiolus, Dark Lord of the Sith, and Salazar Slytherin’s true heir. The blood spilled only increases my power, and soon your master shall join the rest already dead.”

“So be it,” said Lucius, his face paler than the bone masks the other Death Eaters wore. “We will take the prophecy from you, even if it means defying the Dark Lord. He has claimed your life for himself, but if I must—”

“You will try,” said Gladiolus as she ignited her lightsaber. The red blade cast a weak crimson light around her. “I will enjoy every moment of this, Lucius.”

Before either could act, members of the Order emerged from their hiding places. A momentary lull of surprise passed. And then curses flew in all directions. Death Eaters shot into action. Bellatrix cackled as Sirius and Tonks dropped down to fight her, two-on-one. They worked well, though Gladiolus could sense that their combined strength was barely a match for the mad dark witch.

A spell zipped right past her ear. Gladiolus drew her gaze back to Lucius, who held his wand pointed toward her. “Your attention should be on me, Gladiolus. If not, I will pluck you like the flower you’re named for.”

“It is a name chosen for me by my master,” she declared, lazily spinning the lightsaber in her right hand. She glanced about the chamber. “And this place is an excellent locale for me to showcase my true powers.”

Gladiolus sprung forward in a high, spinning arc. She wielded her blade like the propeller of an old-fashioned muggle airplane. Spells splashed off her flashing blade. Not every spell flashed from Lucius’s wand, and not a single Order member dared curse her. Yet she sensed from a few that they feared her and feared they might need to fight her off. They could be dismissed for now, though perhaps their presence could be used to divide and conquer the Death Eaters.

She landed a few feet behind Lucius. Her blade flicked up and spun about behind her back, blocking two curses flung in quick succession. She spun about while her crimson blade became a flowing flurry that sliced through Lucius Malfoy’s litany of spells. He weakened while trying to fight the last war’s battle.

He was a fool to fight so when faced with a warrior unlike any he faced before. Darth Gladiolus was the last of the ancient order of the Sith, and the first of a new order. One she would fashion once the appropriate apprentice came forward and submitted to her teachings.

Lucius growled and grimaced as she pressed forward, moving slowly but surely toward him. Gladiolus took a step here and there to orient his slow retreat toward the cavernous walls about them. Lucius remained unaware of where she directed him until he suddenly slammed into stone. His blue eyes widened, horrified as he glanced between her and the rocky wall behind him.

Gladiolus suddenly recalled the blast of dark side magicks she wielded in the Chamber of Secrets. Why not. I don’t know what it actually does. She gathered that power to her, letting it flow through the prophecy in her hand, leaching its magical potential. Once her power was fully prepared, she flicked her wrist. That terrible green light sprung forth. In the span of three heartbeats, it crossed the distance between them.

The dark side magick crashed over Lucius Malfoy. He did not immediately die. His body twitched and flailed as foam poured from his lips. Blood streamed from his ears and nose, while his eyes popped out of their sockets and hung like gruesome yo-yo’s. Gladiolus watched with brazen fascination. She had only used this power to show the potential of mixing the dark side and her witch magic to Lady Bastila.

“How fascinating,” she murmured. “Yet not what I expected.”

She had expected that burst of green Force energy to behave like the Killing Curse and grant a swift, clean death. Instead, she had inflicted a terrible fate on Lucius. He was dead now, though odd flickers of energy continued to ripple through his body. Her head tilted as she watched his limbs flail about in one last seizure before falling silent.

Her danger sense burst to life. Her blade flashed and a spell from the other side of the chamber shattered along its crimson length. Another spell zipped past her head. She tilted forward and avoided a third. Gladiolus’s gaze left Lucius’s corpse. She scanned the far perch, above the floor she still stood upon. A Death Eater stood on a ledge casting spells her way.

“So be it,” she muttered, dodging the rest of his barrage. Gladiolus drew on the Force and leaped into the air. She crossed the span of a dozen yards in three heartbeats. The Death Eater shifted back a step but did not flee.

Brave, but foolish.

Gladiolus spun about her lightsaber, creating a shield of crimson fury as the Death Eater began casting spells at a fast and voracious pace. She dodged as many as she parried, using the speed and reflex of Ataru to weave through the impressive wave of spell fire directed her way.

The moment the Death Eater paused to breathe deeply, she lunged forward. The Force propelled her. She swung up through his guard. He tried to backpedal, but it was useless. Her blow was not meant for his chest. Her blade instead sliced through the wrist connecting the hand holding his wand to the rest of his body.

The Death Eater gasped at the parting. He took a few more steps back, raising his cauterized arm to stare at it with confusion. Gladiolus allowed him a final second to suffer pain and horror before spearing him through. She felt his death ripple faintly through the Force.

She withdrew her weapon and allowed his corpse to collapse at her feet. Gladiolus then scanned the chamber, seeking another Death Eater to end.

Where are you, Voldemort? Darth Gladiolus pondered. Her foe disappointed her. She had expected him to appear as she butchered his followers. She believed him to be that possessive. Perhaps I need to kill more to draw him out of hiding. Perhaps I must kill them all.

Gladiolus scanned the chamber. Most of the remaining Death Eaters were caught up in duels with Dumbledore’s Order. She recognized none. She had made no effort to learn the names and faces of his followers and sycophants. They would fall into line once she yoked magical Britain to her will. And if they did not, she would re-enact what she had done to the Death Eaters this night. The Order of the Phoenix would become the same: a list of the dead names, wasted in a pointless war.

She found a duel where the Death Eater appeared to be getting the better of a woman whose Force presence was vaguely familiar. Gladiolus willed herself to flicker over to them. In one breath she stood upon the far side of the chamber—

—and in the next, Gladiolus plunged her blade through the Death Eater’s back. There was a weak gasp and she felt her victim’s—another woman, surprise surprise—life snuff out. The Order fighter stared at her dumbly with mouth agape and eyes bulging.

“Stay out of my way,” Gladiolus commanded as she tore her blade from the corpse. Her lightsaber thrummed threateningly by her side, drawing the Order fighter’s frightened gaze. “And let your fellows know: once Voldemort arrives, do not interfere. I plan to kill him this night. If they try anything, I will kill them too.”

“Potter—”

Gladiolus laughed mockingly. “Did you not listen? That fool girl is dead, woman. I am Darth Gladiolus. You will either call me ‘Lord Gladiolus’ or ‘my Lord. Call me by that dead girl’s name again and I will kill you.”

“You… You’ve gone mad!”

Gladiolus snorted and rolled her sulfuric eyes. She imagined that to Dumbledore’s servants, she had gone mad. After all, she did not balk at doing what needed to be done. They had the chance to purge society of the filth that plunged them into a decade of civil strife, war, and genocide, and they failed to punish the responsible party. She would not allow the fallow ground that gave way to Voldemort to grow fertile again.

This would be the end of his madness. An end to the pureblood madness of his followers. She would see it done, and leave a stark reminder to never challenge her.

Gladiolus spent the next few minutes flickering about the chamber, slaying one Death Eater after the next. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Tonks and Sirius continued to duel Bellatrix. There was an unspoken agreement among the Order members that none of them would step in until their fellows were struck down. She thought them fools to let their allies fight that mad witch as they were. But if they wished to be weak while the members of the fallen Black family duked it out, then she would step in and claim the glory for herself.

It was as she finished off the final Death Eater except Bellatrix that Gladiolus prepared to intervene. She realized from the moment she began shocking Order members that she would sacrifice their opinion of her before the night ended. They must have raced to the Department of Mysteries, fearing the worst when their teenage savior mysteriously vanished from Hogwarts and sprung the Dark Lord’s trap.

Instead, they arrived to discover her busy cleaning up the mess they left behind following the first war. Gladiolus left corpses where they would have tried to be merciful. What fools they were, leaving enemies stunned so their fellows could restore them.

Gladiolus stepped to the edge of the cliff surrounding the lower area with that strange archway. Her gut turned and twisted, glancing at the wretched thing. The want to destroy remained strong, yet it was now accompanied by the feeling its destruction would unleash something horrible—that the arch existed to prevent something else from being unleashed.

I will have time in the future to investigate that mystery, Gladiolus thought. Her gaze returned to the duel.

She waited until the three dueling Blacks neared where she stood before she dropped down into their midst. The Force slowed her descent, so she landed silently behind Bellatrix. She lunged forward—

—and the witch proved more aware than Gladiolus expected. Bellatrix sprung aside, tripping over her feet in the endeavor while Sirius charged forward, his wand in motion.

Gladiolus did not draw back. She knew, intellectually, that she should try and avoid her godfather. But why should she? She had already sacrificed so much at the altar of Sith Lord. What was one more man added to her tally? A man who had loved her father as a brother, whose failure set her upon her course?

One final sacrifice. To truly be a Sith Lord.

Surprise flashed in Sirius’s silver eyes, followed almost immediately by weary acceptance. As her blade cauterized his heart, Sirius released a final, whispered word:

“Sorry.”

Chapter Text

Darth Gladiolus’s lightsaber deactivated the instant she felt her godfather die. Withdrawing the crimson blade left the chamber quiet and cold. No longer could she hear the lightsaber’s thrum. No longer did it cast a weak crimson light around her. No longer was there a faint bit of heat surrounding her. She allowed Sirius’s corpse to collapse to the stony floor with a weak thud. She embraced the swirl of pain and acceptance that flowed through her as she finally, truly cast aside the mask of Edelweiss Potter. Any hope to reverse her transfiguration into Darth Gladiolus had died with Sirius Black.

Edelweiss Potter was dead, truly and utterly. Her gaze flickered to Tonks, shocked and horrified, before finding Bellatrix Lestrange. The dark witch threw her head back as she released booming cackles.

“You killed him!” the woman sang, her deathly white face stretched wide with pleasure. “You killed Sirius Black! Ahahaha—ack!”

Gladiolus barely heard the soft thump of the prophecy falling from her hand. In the back of her mind, she was impressed it did not shatter like glass hitting the ground. The rest of her mind was fixated upon the heart of her hatred. Her gaze, burning sulfur and bile, watched the mad dark witch as she choked on her laughter. Her left hand was raised, fingers curled inward to constrict Bellatrix’s windpipe.

“He is dead because of your luck, Lestrange,” said Gladiolus. Her voice was soft, yet threatening. She watched the dark witch attempt to retreat, even as she clawed at her throat. “I was not the instrument of his death. You were, Bellatrix. Because of you, the Blacks—a great pureblood family—have perished in name. And soon, they shall perish in deed, as well.” She smiled. “I would thank you if I cared one way or another.”

And with that, her left hand clenched close. Bellatrix Lestrange released a single, final gasp as her eyes bulged wide and her windpipe crumpled within her neck. Seconds passed as Bellatrix tried desperately to take in a breath that would never come. Her body flailed and floundered like a beached fish before finally collapsing to the ground beside her cousin.

And so passed another child of the Blacks.

Gladiolus spat on Bellatrix’s body. She recalled what Mrs. Longbottom had told her about the Lestranges back at Christmastime. She sensed the disapproving looks she received from Dumbledore’s fighters, sent to unnecessarily rescue her. A Sith Lord might care nothing for the opinions of sheep, but a need for justice had been hammered into her bones long before she encountered Lord Salazar. And as long as the sheep remembered their place, there was no need to cull their numbers. But for those like Lestrange, there were two fates: death or submission.

And I already know which you would have chosen, had I offered instead of acted, thought Gladiolus as her gaze lingered on the corpse.

She shook her head and scanned the chamber. Gladiolus counted eleven members of the Order arrayed around her, yet her senses told her it should be twelve. How could it be so, unless—

Gladiolus ducked under a harsh, red spell. She immediately turned to the spell’s source and waved an open hand. Silvery cloth fell away, revealing Mad-Eye Moody. Oh, you fool, Alastor. As he attempted to curse her again, she twisted her hand into a harsh claw. He grasped at his throat. Both eyes—real and dark, fake and bright—bulged as he strained against her power.

“Brazen, but impressive,” Gladiolus drawled. “I almost missed your presence. I am disappointed you turned your wand on me, Alastor. I would have loved to make you one of mine, but clearly, you’re too dangerous to leave alone—or alive.”

Gladiolus crushed her hand. Alastor Moody collapsed, already dead. She released the corpse as her gaze found the source of a nearby squeak. Tonks stood amidst the corpses of her blood, yet her attention and thoughts rested solely on Mad-Eye. Gladiolus raised a surprised eyebrow. All the while, she blocked out the sensations trying to grip her after killing so many near that thrice-blasted arch. Her skin itched as potent emotions rippled and roiled, leaving churned ripples in the already disturbed currents of the Force.

She sensed conflict bubble within Tonks. For a moment, Gladiolus considered offering to train Tonks as her Sith apprentice. The opportunity for revenge should be enough to win Tonks over. Yet Gladiolus suspected the woman possessed too much of Dumbledore’s taint to dare accept the opportunity to become more powerful while sacrificing her morals.

Just like Mad-Eye, she thought bitterly. It was a shame, too, for Alastor would have made for an excellent weapon. The man was just too loyal to Dumbledore to consider embracing the power of the dark side. Gladiolus wondered what magical Britain could have been like had others been willing to seize power and impose their will onto the world around them. So many content to let others use them.

It sickened her.

Gladiolus turned her attention to the lingering Order members. They fidgeted at the sight of her marked face and burning eyes. “Kneel and I shall spare your life,” she declared, meeting their gazes one by one. Few dared meet her gaze beyond that first moment. “Fight me and you will perish as the Death Eaters spread throughout this chamber.”

An older woman asked, “And if we would prefer to live without bowing to you?”

“Then I will let you go…. But only just this once. Should you leave or kneel today and betray me in any way in the future, I will hunt you down. I will destroy you—and not just you, but all your loved ones. Anyone you ever befriended or held a torch for. They, I will make into memories.”

The Order members exchanged disturbed looks. She could sense their hesitance to follow her. To choose her. Some had enough rebelliousness that she knew they would resist her rule. But so many of them were exhausted from fighting Voldemort and his Death Eaters. They had fought for so long that they quailed at the prospect of facing a new Dark Lord. Not that they knew who she truly was. Darth Gladiolus had only declared her new title to some of the Death Eaters. Maybe a few among those present would realize what she was now. But many, she knew, were too deluded or ignorant to see her for what she truly was.

It shall be their destruction, in the end. They should thank me for giving them the rope by which they shall all hang.

One by one, they scurried from the chamber. A few looked willing to fight had others stood and fought as well. But in the end, they left her with the knowledge they might one day be a problem. But letting them go could draw others of their ilk out and allow her to destroy them all in a single, devastating blow.

Their departures continued until Gladiolus was left with only Tonks for company. The auror shook with rage. It rippled off her in waves. Gladiolus reconsidered Tonks as she considered the likelihood she could tempt the auror to embrace the dark side of the Force. She might even possess sensitivity to the Force. But she could be strong enough as a witch that Gladiolus mistook one power for the other. Sith sorcery was a course some Sith Lords had followed.

Perhaps that was how she would train Tonks.

“Join me,” she offered. Gladiolus held out a hand. Tonks flinched. But she neither pointed her wand at Gladiolus nor did she lower her weapon. “Learn from me. Become my apprentice and learn the power I have used here. Become powerful…. Powerful enough to avenge your mentor, Mad-Eye.”

“I… I could never—”

“Then go, or die by my hand,” snarled Gladiolus. “You no longer interest me, Tonks. Two men await me. I will kill them both this night. I will not settle for only the one whose followers litter this chamber as cooling corpses.”

She waited a few seconds for something—anything—from Tonks before scoffing. “What a waste you are. Your mentor will roll in his grave forever because of your weakness.”

She then turned from the auror. She reached out for the Force and allowed it to guide her to a door from this chamber to the department entry. Gladiolus knew she would find passage that way from here, and from there to the elevators.

Something awaited her. She could feel it in her bones.

She paused as a presence flickered in the Force. It was brief. Too brief to be something major, yet not so brief as to be nothing. And then a soft sound echoed from behind her.

Gladiolus peered over her shoulder.

Nothing. Not even the faint outline of something disillusioned.

Gladiolus frowned. She expanded her senses, sensing both the door she sought and the one following her. And she was being followed. She even sensed who it was. She considered for a half second whether or not she should confront her stalker. But it was not necessary. Her stalker would confront her regardless, for she had a reason to act.

Poor, poor Tonks. You could have chosen a path that would end with my death at your hands. But instead…

That daft fool had beheld the deaths of her cousin, her aunt, and her mentor in swift succession. Yet she thought she could have a chance against the fully trained Sith Lord responsible for killing all three. Gladiolus could not say if Tonks was an idiot, a fool, or merely desperate. Perhaps she should laugh at how fortunate this choice proved to be. No doubt there would be some among the Order doubting their choice to leave and accept a Sith Lord’s mercy. Tonks’s corpse would help remind them they had made a wise decision.

And if they dared deny her as their new master, she would turn the same powers used against her twice to destroy them. The Daily Prophet would become her tool. It would ensure any who resisted the will of Darth Gladiolus were viewed as the treacherous parasites they were.

How ironic that the powers meant to preserve magical Britain’s stagnant status quo would soon be hers to wield against those who had used it against her. Gladiolus would enjoy their destruction. Many would learn from those examples. Some, possessing strength and moral fortitude, would not bend to her will. They she would see to personally.

No Sith permitted opposition. Not when their destruction could be guaranteed.

As she reached the door back to the Department of Mystery’s foyer—Gladiolus sensed this particular door would lead her true—a spell zipped her way. She spun, blade activating with a snap-hiss, and slapped away the errant spell.

“Step into the light, Tonks.” A silent moment passed. “Come forward! I shall grant you the honor of a warrior’s death. But you must give up your cowardly ways.” Gladiolus smirked. “You are not the coward your mentor was.”

“He was a better man—gack!”

Gladiolus clenched her left hand tightly as she yanked Tonks toward her. Her power broke through the magic hiding the auror from sight. The disillusionment collapsed and Tonks appeared, hair black as death. The auror tried to glare daggers at the Sith Lord, but all she could do was grip her throat as if her windpipe could be yanked clean open.

Darth Gladiolus made a tutting sound before saying, “Did you truly think that could work on me after I destroyed Alastor Moody for attempting the same trick? You may have deceived my senses briefly, but it was not long enough to have any hope of getting the jump on me.”

Tonks gasped and whined while trying to speak. Gladiolus tightened her grasp slightly. Not enough to immediately kill, but enough so her victim would know with grave certainty her fate was already decided. Like her auror mentor, Nymphadora Tonks would die in the bowels of the Ministry this night. That was the price one paid when they were a great, terrible fool.

Gladiolus had no reason to be surprised the auror would dare try and murder the one who murdered her mentor. The mentality of vengeance and betrayal held the fabric of magical Britain together, regardless of what Dumbledore preached. Those very traits he proclaimed to be bad and corrupting spread out from him. He acted as though he possessed the right to dictate the greater good, no matter the means he employed. And once those against him realized he was a hypocrite, then why bother holding themselves to any standard or principle?

Only victory mattered.

“I am disappointed in you, Tonks. Unsurprised by your choice, but still disappointed. After all, Dumbledore tells all his petty acolytes to not seek revenge. He certainly gave me that impression, when I still believed in him.”

Tonks released another choking sound as her face bloomed bright red. Her hair followed suit, turning a shade of violent crimson. It reminded Gladiolus of her lightsaber and proved a reminder that with Tonks, a rare magical gift would perish.

She made her choice, the Sith Lord thought. And she made the wrong one.

Her hand closed tight the instant she deactivated her lightsaber. Gladiolus watched realization flash in Tonks’s eyes before she too perished like her mad aunt and her mentor.

Gladiolus released her grasp. The corpse collapsed forward, the latest of many left in her wake. The Sith Lord almost felt something, gazing upon the loss of talent and ability before her. She returned her lightsaber to her belt as she tossed away that silly, sentimental feeling.

Sith Lords did not need sentimentality. She found no power in sentiments. Her way was that of the dark side. The dark side of the Force granted her the power to reshape the world as she saw fit. Only fools and the weak relied on sentimentality to move forward. That was Dumbledore’s way. And in a manner, Voldemort relied on sentiment as well. The pretender Dark Lord, for all he claimed to be different from Dumbledore, was a reflection of their common foe. One claimed to fight for the innocent while the other claimed to defend tradition.

Yet like her, they were radicals. But where they sought to shape Britain to their foolish whims, she would forge a better nation. A stronger one. A magical Britain worth being proud of, and one capable of resisting the whims of powerful madmen.

But to see her vision come to fruition, she needed to destroy those two men. After all, she would need to handle those who supported them. They would linger in the shadows, on the edges of society, even after the deaths of Voldemort and Dumbledore. But time would see their ideals swept away and discredited.

All any would remember of these turbulent years would be Darth Gladiolus and her rise to power.

She turned from the corpse, passed through the door she had been heading for, and returned to the Department of Mysteries’ circular entry chamber. Gladiolus scanned the chamber with a sense of disappointment. Nothing of either the Death Eaters or the Order members had been left behind. She had secretly hoped an enemy would leave behind something—anything—to expose their presence beyond the corpses left in her wake. Many would quail at the thought of using the dead as evidence of the sins committed by the men who dominated their society. But it was necessary. The people needed to learn the dreaded price all paid when they followed madmen.

Gladiolus left through the stable exit door and followed the passage back to the elevators. She discovered the elevator she descended with waiting on her like a loyal hound. She already sensed her foes waiting in the Atrium. She found it amusing that their attention was focused on her and not on each other. Did they know what she had become? Did they already fear her power?

Or were they so ignorant they continued to operate under the delusion she had barely grown beyond that foolish girl Voldemort dueled back in June?

It mattered not. Before the night ended, they would be dead. She would loom over their bodies. And standing there, she would bend all of magical Britain to her will. It was Darth Gladiolus, not Albus Dumbledore or Lord Voldemort, who was destined to rule.

She only needed to seize magical Britain for her own.

The elevator return to the atrium passed slowly. The door opened slowly and she stepped out into the atrium. She started for that noxious golden fountain. Her molten yellow eyes glanced about as she reached the fountain. Gladiolus felt the old men in hiding. For whatever reason, they were content to remain in their hiding places instead of emerging to confront her. Certainly, they should know some of what she had done. She had allowed Dumbledore’s cowardly followers the chance to flee from her wrath. They were not the threat the Death Eaters were. They had stood atop society with the power to reshape it, and they allowed their enemies to regain and hold power. That failure was unsurprising, given their leadership.

Dumbledore preached worthless, foolish mercy.

She was different. She would correct the errors of the past. Those loyal enough to Voldemort to willingly sneak into the Department of Mysteries on his behalf were dead now. The rest would either hide away in society and slowly be changed by her influence, or they would make an error and thus grant her the opening necessary to destroy them and receive praise.

And once they were culled, any others who might oppose her would fall into line. If any were still foolish to act against her, well…. They would know their inevitable fate.

Death came to all who opposed Darth Gladiolus.

Minutes passed as Gladiolus stood before the fountain, waiting for Voldemort and Dumbledore to act. Did becoming old grant them unnatural patience? Her skin itched while dark side energies flared and burned in her veins.

When her patience broke, it broke swiftly and harshly. Gladiolus turned to where she sensed those two hated men and raised her hands, fingers pointed forth. She breathed in and then released a torrent of Force lightning powerful enough to vaporize a thousand men.

Magical shields arose before her power could wash over them. Gladiolus felt the power put behind those shields as her lightning lapped over them. There was a reason those two wizards were feared. But they were wizards. She was a Sith. She was greater than them. And so with her fury filling her, she poured more power into her assault. The indigo bolts grew in size and strength, brilliant flashes of white flickering along every stream of lightning.

Dumbledore broke first. He vanished from his hiding spot right before his shield failed. He appeared several yards away from where her power scorched the tiled flooring. Voldemort fled her attack a few seconds after Dumbledore, moving in the opposite direction.

Gladiolus released her power. There was a tremendous flickering of light, followed by a great dimming. There they stood, three corners of a triangle surrounding the Ministry’s golden statue.

Soon, only one would remain.

“Miss Potter,” said Dumbledore. He sounded hoarse and hollow. Weak. “I am disappointed you would lash out with violence so. Have you forgotten all of my lessons?”

“You taught me nothing useful. All of your ‘lessons’ were naught but meaningless platitudes meant to keep me under your thumb.” She paused and then tilted her head. “Are you truly surprised I would lash out instead?” She ignored the false name he called her. He had no reason to know she was Darth Gladiolus now. Not until she told him. Like Tom Riddle, she had rejected her past self. “I feel your horror over what I have become. Yet you will not come to terms with the tantamount failure I represent until it is too late. You must have known what I was becoming when I put into motion the events that concluded with your expulsion from Hogwarts.

“But I guess you truly are a foolish old man.”

Dumbledore stared at her, pondering how he might convince her to turn away from the dark path she followed. Gladiolus knew there would be no turning back for her. But if the old man wished to waste his final minutes trying to plead with her, then why not humor him? He might be powerful and feared, but his wizardly powers were no match for the dark side of the Force.

“I had hoped some sense of mercy or forgiveness still existed in your heart,” Dumbledore eventually said, his half-moon spectacles glimmering with ambient light.

“I am afraid those days are over, Albus.” Her gaze flickered to Voldemort. His crimson eyes widened at meeting the sulfuric fire that burned in her skull. She turned back to Dumbledore as she embraced her passions. The fiery power of the dark side of the Force burned in her veins. “The Edelweiss Potter you knew is dead,” she proclaimed with a sardonic grin. “She has been tossed aside like a broken mask, no longer useful for the actor playing that role. I have been reborn as Darth Gladiolus. And on this night, I shall ascend to my proper place as the Dark Lord of the Sith.”

“A dark lord?” sneered Voldemort. “You?”

Gladiolus watched him step forward, pale-skinned and dressed in a black robe. He ignored Dumbledore’s presence now, focused instead on the one who would dare covet his title.

She raised an eyebrow. “Is it so difficult to believe that I could stray from the path of righteous martyrdom Dumbledore prescribed for me? No doubt you have realized you’ve been made mortal. The artifacts into which you imbued your essence, so you may guarantee your immortality, have been destroyed. Once I kill you this night, you shall remain dead. No return from apparent death for you, Lord Voldemort.”

Voldemort sneered, crimson eyes burning with a special breed of hatred. His subconscious knew she spoke true, regardless of what he wished and believed. “You know nothing, fool girl.”

“I know you once bound some of your essence into a muggle-made notebook. You were sixteen or seventeen when you did that, given what I recognized in the shade it produced. You gave it to the Malfoys, and Lucius passed it along to Ginerva Weasley.” Gladiolus then sneered, replicating the look she had grown all too accustomed to seeing. “I destroyed it and the basilisk Lord Salazar hid there. You foolishly assumed that to be the full extent of his legacy.

“You were wrong. For that is not all I found in the Chamber of Secrets. Salazar Slytherin had another legacy. One hidden so thoroughly not even you learned of it.”

Voldemort’s sneer remained, though she sensed his doubt. “And you think I would believe this fool tale?” he snarled, trying to project absolute certainty.

“I would hope that you would believe your eyes and senses, Voldemort. No doubt you’ve noticed the lack of wand on my person. The unique weapon I carry. And the fact none of your followers have returned to this chamber while I am free to walk it as I please.”

Voldemort’s crimson eyes flickered to Dumbledore. He, in turn, met Voldemort with cool blue eyes behind those infuriating half-moon spectacles. She watched them measure each other. Could they think the other was responsible for her transformation? It was deeply insulting they dared believe she set upon her course because of the other. But then neither knew the truth of all she underwent to achieve her powers. They were wizards; she was Sith. They remained ignorant, bound to foolish beliefs that could only arise on a backwater world like theirs. She knew better. She had eaten the fruit of knowledge and wisdom, and gathered power from her labors to master the lessons all Sith Lords learned. Before her and her power in the dark side, they were weak.

Hopeless.

They would perish by her hand. One day, their cults would pass from living memory. But they would not escape the judgment of history. She would ensure the histories recalled Dumbledore and Voldemort, and that they recognized only their failures.

“So, how shall we duel?” asked Gladiolus, drawing her enemy’s attention back to her. She was almost disappointed they had not begun fighting or monologuing while ignoring her in favor of the other. “Will I be forced to wait as you two duel it out? Or will you fight me instead?”

“I have no wish to fight you, Miss Potter,” Dumbledore said. He shifted to better face Voldemort. “Nor you, Tom. But if you both must insist upon violence—”

“I can fight you both, Albus. If the girl wishes to die by my hand, then I shall send her on her way. No matter what powers she has learned, she has no wand.”

Gladiolus summoned her lightsaber to her hand. She did not immediately ignite her weapon, though her thumb instinctively found the ignition switch. The wizards flinched. Their wands rose. But no spell flew. She glanced between their rods of yew and elder with a sly smirk.

“Avada Kedavra!” shouted Voldemort, thrusting his yew wand her way. Gladiolus took a slight step back as her lightsaber activated with that distinctive snap-hiss. She battered aside the Killing Curse, emerald light breaking apart on her crimson blade. Voldemort stared, shocked, while Dumbledore turned on the dark lord he knew. He swept his wand at the fountain and then back to Voldemort.

Water leaped in a rising, rippling fury. It hovered only a moment in the air before crashing down on Voldemort’s hairless head. Gladiolus watched, impressed, as Dumbledore maintained a thick ball of churning water around the other dark lord. Certainly, Voldemort worked to undo his water prison from within. His power was great enough to achieve that little. And assumed their fighting would keep the two men distracted as she shifted into position to strike them down.

Gladiolus kept her lightsaber low, by her side, as she took slow step after slow step, drifting into Dumbledore’s blind spot. Sneaking around Dumbledore without him noticing had never been simple, even with James Potter’s cloak of invisibility. Yet she hesitated at reaching an ideal spot. She was torn between wanting to witness horror flash in Dumbledore’s eyes as she struck him down and the knowledge that fighting him head-on remained a risky prospect. Voldemort feared him for a reason. Unfortunately, she knew nothing about his fabled duel against the Dark Lord Grindelwald except it had been fifty years ago.

The ball of water suddenly froze, an icy sheen across its spherical surface. A heartbeat passed before it shattered into a million glimmering shards. Gladiolus paused to watch Voldemort fall several feet to the tiled floor, his black robes billowing around him. He waved his yew wand about, transforming the mist of ice about him into a whirling inferno. Dumbledore shifted his stance slightly, widening his hips, and held his wand before him, ready to counter Voldemort’s coming attack.

Gladiolus found her opening. The Force augmented her legs as she lunged forward. Her blade remained low and to the side. She thrusted her lightsaber at Dumbledore’s back. A mad grin sprung to her face. She had him. Dumbledore would be dead soon. And then his wand suddenly moved, faster than expected.

In one moment, she had him dead to rights.

In the next, magic repelled her. She launched away from the duel near the ghastly golden statue with its found. She slammed into the black tiles and tumbled over and over. Her lightsaber escaped her grasp. She heard it deactivate as it went skittering and clattering away. Gladiolus pushed off the ground with the Force, drifted through the air for several swift heartbeats, and then landed smoothly on her feet. Her lightsaber rested several feet away, barely a quarter the distance between her and her foes.

To her annoyance, the wizards focused not on finishing her, but on fighting each other. Voldemort unleashed a fiery torrent upon Dumbledore the moment after he sent her flying across the atrium. Dumbledore caught the fire with ease and spun the fire about him as though it were a hurricane and he its eye. Gladiolus could feel the power rippling from Dumbledore. She almost wished to be jealous of it, but she had the dark side of the Force. She was a Sith Lord—and he had managed to humiliate her. Fury rose in a fresh wave within her. Her muscles flooded with strength. The ache and soreness she should feel from crashing to the floor and rolling vanished.

Emboldened, she summoned her weapon to her hand. Gladiolus held back from immediately activating her lightsaber. Instead, she watched the wizards continue their duel. She had been a fool to throw herself into their combat so wantonly. Patience, for all she struggled with it, was key when facing those with more experience than her. She should stand back and watch them duel, while also allowing them to grow exhausted. Only once she saw her path to victory over them would she strike.

I must cull my arrogant tendencies in the future, thought Gladiolus as she drew power inward. Her bones buzzed and her veins simmered. If there was ever one place where Snape saw through Edelweiss Potter, it was in recognizing her arrogance. I inherited that trait, and my power in the dark side threatens to make it worse.

Dumbledore transformed the fire he had spun about his person into a billowing sprawl of crows. Their caws and cries filled the atrium as they rose to the ceiling. A moment later, they descended in a spiraling miasma meant for Voldemort. He dissolved the fake birds into smoke and ash. Gladiolus began to focus her power. As Voldemort transfigured the smoke and ash into blades, she imbued his magical working with dark side energies. They would protect the attack from anything Dumbledore could do. Voldemort appeared unaware of her actions as he cast a flurry of blades down at Dumbledore. But the old man knew. That was all Gladiolus could determine as Dumbledore backpedaled, allowing the blades to pierce the floor instead of using his prodigious transfiguration ability to change the weapons fired at him.

“Have you lost your touch, Albus?” sneered Voldemort. “Or have you finally become a coward in your old age?”

Dumbledore glanced at Gladiolus. Despite the distance between them, she spotted a knowing twinkle in his blue eyes. She suddenly wanted to tear them out. “I’m afraid, Tom, that I was more concerned about what Miss Potter had done than your trick, as impressive as it was.”

“Did you not listen to her?” taunted Voldemort. “The girl has abandoned her old name. Call her by the one she has chosen: Darth Gladiolus.” He turned to her and sneered. “If you think yourself worthy of the title of Dark Lord, then come take it from me, girl.”

“So be it.” She focused dark side energies in her limbs while watching Voldemort’s yew wand as it swiveled her way. Right before Voldemort could cast, Gladiolus burst forward. She waited for his spell to fly from his wand before leaping into a high somersault. As she descended, she ignited her lightsaber. Blazing crimson swung for his head as Voldemort once more shouted, “Avada Kedavra!”

Gladiolus swept her lightsaber about in a lazy arc. Emerald light broke on her blade. She landed and immediately leaped forward into a rolling somersault. She popped up and swung her blade as though she were a pirouetting ballerina. Voldemort swore and backpedaled, curses on his lips and yew wand flashing. Gladiolus ducked and weaved around his defensive attack, only using her blade to dissolve a few errant spells that risked hitting her back or legs.

She eventually spotted a weakness in Voldemort’s offensive pattern. It was not an opening, per se, but it was enough for her to strike at. Gladiolus lunged two long steps before thrusting at his gut. One hand remained on her lightsaber while the other tingled from the Force lightning crackling across her fingertips. Voldemort’s crimson eyes glanced between the two threats, already knowing the potential danger of both.

He suddenly smirked. His wand flicked down. A thin stream of fire shot forth. He twirled his fiery whip in a chaotic pattern. She hesitated a split second, reaching for the Force to guide her hand through her enemy’s sudden change in tactics. Voldemort acted before her and wrapped his fire whip around the blade of her lightsaber. He then yanked back like a fisherman. Her right arm was pulled up and away from his body. Gladiolus stumbled before suddenly twisting her hips. She then thrust her left hand Voldemort’s way. A blaze of indigo bolts filled the narrow gap between them.

Voldemort moved quickly to block her blast with another magical shield. It prevented her from wounding him, but it was not strong enough to prevent her attack from driving him back. Gladiolus swore at how he kept his feet, though the dark scowl that crossed his face promised a viable attempt on her life.

Gladiolus snarled and sneered. She welcomed his resistance. It would only confirm the superiority of her power over his.

Before Gladiolus could continue her assault on Voldemort, Albus Dumbledore stepped into view. He did not stand between them nor did his wand aim at her. His stern expression cast a harsh edge onto his previously kind features.

“You do not need to fight alone,” he told her. “You have never needed to—”

“Spare me your condescending words, Dumbledore!” shouted Gladiolus. Voldemort, on the other side, smirked. She glanced between the two men before starting toward Dumbledore, each step slow and measured. Her lightsaber hung at her side, thrumming as it swayed in her grasp. “I have heard enough of your platitudes! I know your wisdom is nothing more than the prattling of a failed, hopeless man!”

His face softened. “You’re right, Edelweiss. I have failed you.”

“I already told you,” she growled. “Edelweiss Potter is dead. I am Darth Gladiolus.”

Dumbledore’s blue eyes flashed disappointment. “So that is the decision you’ve made. I see now that you took what I said at the end of your second year about you and Tom to heart.” He raised his wand and aimed for her heart. “I hope the girl you were can forgive me for what I’m forced to do.”

“She never could, for you symbolized all she hated. She killed the Dursleys. But I shall kill you.”

And with that, she surged forward. The dark side burned in her veins, filling her with heady power that slipped through her pours and coated her skin. Dumbledore had watched her assault against Voldemort carefully, for he immediately put distance between them. Gladiolus did her best to close the gap, using her training in Ataru to score nicking slices and thrusts to weaken and slow her hated foe.

He learned more from her brief fight with Voldemort than to create distance between them. He too used a fire whip to counter her lightsaber. The tip twitched with every flick of his wrist that blocked or parried her strikes.

Gladiolus learned quickly as well. She relied on the Force as she shifted between offense and defense. Lord Malgus had once shown her a few techniques from Soresu, the defensive Form III, after a particularly embarrassing duel. Some of that worked its way into her fighting style as she sought any angle by which she might end their duel quickly and decisively.

Albus Dumbledore suddenly stepped forward, dissolving the distance between them. Gladiolus tried to slam her weapon through his chest, but he swung his whip so it curled tightly around the crimson blade of her lightsaber.

“Avada Kedavra!” Voldemort shouted. Gladiolus looked from one enemy to the other. An emerald green wave raced their way. Her instincts told her to retreat, but she was caught up in Dumbledore’s spell. And then she remembered a Force technique she had practiced only sparingly, despite the great potential it offered. She had been more enthralled with astral projection and Force lightning, and even the ways she could sway weak minds.

I must make this work, or Voldemort will kill me—and steal Dumbledore’s life, as well.

Her left hand rose. Gladiolus drew on all the hate and loathing she felt for these men and focused her power on the dangerous task of consuming the Killing Curse. As it came to her and Dumbledore, she acted.

A sudden, strained hiss filled the atrium. The emerald light spluttered and faded as malevolent power flowed into Darth Gladiolus. She smiled brightly as she clenched her left hand open and closed several times. Every ounce of her person felt stronger. Greater. More.

“What…?” whispered Voldemort.

Gladiolus smirked and proclaimed, “I told you I knew powers you did not know, Voldemort. You should have listened when I warned you.”

And with that, she released a wild, colossal wave of pure dark side energy. It slammed into Voldemort and his magical shield. That shattered and he was sent flying halfway down the atrium, crashing to the tiled floor among the many, many fireplaces that lined the long length.

She turned back to Dumbledore, for he had released a strange choking sound just as she sent Voldemort flying. He stared at her with wide, startled eyes. Gladiolus could feel his shock and fear, and most of all realization. Yet before she could quest into his mind and learn why he reacted so, he canceled his fire whip spell and lowered his wand.

“So that is what she meant,” whispered Dumbledore. “I thought she spoke of another power.”

“The prophecy?” Gladiolus flashed him a disbelieving smile. She may have seen her true name upon its plaque, but it meant nothing to her. It had only been a tool to bring about the death of her enemies and to seize power. “You truly believed in it?”

“I still believe,” said Dumbledore with a strange edge of pride. “And I still believe in the powers of love and forgiveness. You may strike me down this day. But my legacy will live on. This creature you’ve become will not last.” Tears etched down Dumbledore’s face as he tossed aside his wand. It clattered across the black tiles before rolling to a stop far away. He smiled serenely. “One day you will be Edelweiss Potter again.

“And that, Darth Gladiolus, is when my victory will be complete.”

Gladiolus snorted. “The prattling of a dead man.” She raised her weapon. Dumbledore stared at her evenly. “Goodbye, Albus Dumbledore.”

And with that, she brought her blade down. It sliced clean through the man, entering between his neck and shoulder and exiting out above the opposite hip. His body collapsed into two uneven chunks, cauterized cleanly.

Somehow, a serene smile remained on his face at the end.

She spat on his body before turning to Voldemort. Gladiolus understood intellectually that her last attack against him had propelled him closer to a multitude of escapes. But he had not fled. Instead, Voldemort stood several paces away, watching her with burning crimson eyes.

“It is over!” boomed Gladiolus as she approached Voldemort. Her lightsaber grazed the floor while she drew the power of the dark side to her. “Albus Dumbledore is dead. And soon, you shall follow him!”

“You can try,” Voldemort snarled. “But I will always defeat death.”

Gladiolus launched forward without fanfare. With the Force empowering her, she closed the distance between them in a blink. Voldemort reacted slowly, casting a single foul-colored hex before she reached him, lightsaber raised high. She sprung over the spell and reached him with two swift steps.

As he had done earlier, Voldemort used a fire whip to hold Gladiolus at bay. Yet she quickly realized that he had been holding back earlier. He now used long sweeps and sudden flicks of the wrist to keep her on her toes, moving from offense to defense in almost equal measure. She could sense where his attacks would come from, but being able to know and being able to react was not the same skill.

Through some two dozen exchanges of blows, Gladiolus held firm. She mixed thrusts and slashes with a few odd parries and blocks. Sweat trickled down her back as their fighting continued, slowly drifting down the atrium toward the security stand. She kept an eye on that and the many fireplaces around them. At any time, someone could arrive and interrupt their duel.

And then she slipped up. Even with the dark side fueling her, Gladiolus only had a few months of accelerated lightsaber training under her belt. She would never openly admit it, but she knew in many ways she remained a novice. Worse than that, Voldemort’s combat experience exceeded hers by decades and he had not been trained in a new art as Gladiolus had.

His fire whip slipped past a late parry and scorched a hot line across her left gauntlet. It did not pierce the metal and reach flesh, yet she felt heat through metal and whatever material Lord Salazar had put on the inside.

Hatred and fury bloomed in Gladiolus’s veins. She slashed at his right hand while stepping into Voldemort’s guard. Her blade seared flesh and wand alike, through her angle was too forward to chop off his hand. Yew caught flame as her blade sliced up and out from the soft interior of his elbow. Voldemort’s high, horrified scream was music to her ears. She focused her mind on the fire, driving it to devour his wand fully. Gladiolus watched him backpedal, waving his wand about with his seared arm in a futile attempt to dispel the flame.

The fire consumed and consumed.

Ashes fell from Voldemort’s hand as his jaw clenched. Flame licked briefly at his fingers. His furious crimson eyes focused on the sulfuric gold gaze of a grinning Gladiolus. She poured dark side energies into the smoldering fragment of yew he still held. It shattered after two seconds, leaving Voldemort’s right hand a mess of blackened and bloody gouges.

He roared and held his wounded hand tightly against his chest. Miraculously, Voldemort retained enough strength to remain standing.

Gladiolus’s boots clicked on the tiled floor as she approached him one final time. Voldemort glared at her with hellfire and poorly masked fear. She sensed the potential to be a Sith Lord with him. But too much history existed between them. She could never permit him to kneel before her as an apprentice. His death had been predetermined.

She twirled her blade as she neared, filling the air with a violent whooshing noise. Despite his wounded hand and looming death, Voldemort stood firm. Darth Gladiolus twisted her left hand, and he was forced to his knees. He strained and struggled, but was powerless against the Force.

“Is this how you defeat death, Voldemort? Have you succeeded in your flight from that which comes for all?” she asked with a sneer. “On your knees?”

“How dare you, Potter!” the man growled, forgetting the honor he had granted her. It seemed at the end of all things, Voldemort remained Tom Riddle in his heart. “I am—”

Her lightsaber moved faster than his tongue. In one moment, Gladiolus stared down at the most feared dark lord of the century. In the next, she gazed upon a sad, pale corpse with a black, cauterized line across the neck. Voldemort’s head dropped to the floor with a loud plop before rolling a few feet away. His corpse then slumped over, the stump seared closed.

“It’s done,” Gladiolus whispered. Power rushed through her; her ascension was complete. What she began with the death of Umbridge was complete. “It’s done!” She burst out laughing. “They’re dead. They’re dead!”

A whoosh of fire silenced her laughter. Gladiolus sensed ten figures scramble out of a nearby fireplace, though only a few had wands drawn. She waited for them to spread away from the fireplace before she deactivated her weapon, hooked it to her belt, and finally turned to face the newcomers.

“Minister Fudge,” Gladiolus whispered once her gaze found him. With the Minister were a half-dozen aurors, followed by Madam Bones and two others Gladiolus knew not. They all froze. Only one auror had the sense to aim his wand at her. She waved a hand and his wand flew from his hand, clattering several feet away. The other aurors understood just who truly held power and lowered their arms. Their jaws clenched, though. Frustration rippled off them in waves.

“Miss Potter?” asked Fudge as though he did not know her face. He could not meet her gaze, with burning sulfuric eyes. “What— What has happened here?”

Her time of secrecy had ended. She smiled and declared, “I have ascended, Minister. I abandoned who I once was and transfigured myself into a new woman. A new being. I… am Darth Gladiolus.” She glanced back at Voldemort’s cooling, beheaded corpse. “I have corrected the error you made last June. Rejoice, Minister, for Voldemort is truly dead.”

There was no need to say “by my hand”. Fudge and his party understood as they glanced between her and the corpse. The aurors quickly exchanged nervous glances among their number. They knew they would die if they dared fight her. Yet for some, their honor and duty demanded they do something. Or so she sensed. Gladiolus almost wanted them to try and fight her. Power still lingered within her, and she would enjoy a chance to show these foolish wizards the true power of a Sith Lord.

“And what of Dumbledore?” asked an unfamiliar woman. She was thickset and suspicious, yet somewhat pleasant compared to the late Dolores Umbridge. “We were told he was coming here as well.”

Gladiolus turned her full attention to the woman. She swallowed and stepped back. “Told? I would love to hear what you were told, Miss…?”

“I am Madam Edgecombe to yo—!”

The woman’s words cut off as she grasped at her throat. Gladiolus had instinctively raised her hand. The Force responded to her will. A Sith Lord’s true power. She relaxed her grasp. Madam Edgecombe collapsed to her knees, coughing between attempts to breathe deeply. The other figure—a slightly balding man with a paunchy jaw—kneeled beside her while Madam Bones stared at Gladiolus, horrified.

“Mind your tone, Madam Edgecombe. Your daughter sided with Dolores Umbridge over me. I suspect should you go to Hogwarts and call upon Dolores, you shall find your family has made a very poor decision.”

“Are… Are you threatening me?” asked Edgecombe.

Gladiolus smiled, small and amused. “If I wished to threaten you, I would let you know what would happen should you go against me.”

“I can already guess,” the woman rasped out. The man helped her to her feet. “You’re a monster. Worse than You-Know-Who.”

“A monster,” Gladiolus repeated. “I would be offended, were it not true.”

All before her shrunk back, shocked by her bold declaration. She would not declare herself a Dark Lord just yet, for she knew the title would cause her trouble. Rebellions. Resistance. All manner of disturbances. Darth Gladiolus had no qualms about putting down any who tried to resist her rule. But it would be easier for her to never face resistance to begin with.

And to mask my takeover of the Ministry…

“Now, Minister Fudge,” she began imperially. “You have two options and you must decide this night.” Darth Gladiolus allowed her words to hover in the air between them before continuing. “Either you will leave without title and power, or you will kneel and swear fidelity to me—and me alone. You will retain your office, but not act as you please. The Office of the Minister for Magic will serve my interests, which happen to be the interests best for magical Britain.”

Fudge glanced at his fellows as though any of them had the power to save him. Madam Bones looked ready to try and fight Gladiolus, while Madam Edgecombe possessed a fearful expression. The man looked resigned to whatever fate Gladiolus would impose on him. She was pleased to see one already knew what would come to pass before night’s end.

The Minister turned back to her and swallowed. He tried to meet her gaze, but he was too cowardly. She could feel his fear. Taste it, even. Somehow, this man had been allowed to guide magical Britain. It was a miracle he had not completely ruined their nation.

“I will ask only once more, Cornelius,” she said softly. Fudge flinched at the utterance of his given name. She was easily a third his age, if not a quarter. “Kneel and remain Minister. Else you will depart a common man.”

They both understood that should he reject her or reject giving up his office, he would die.

Seconds passed as Fudge shook. His face turned red as he slowly lowered to his knees. Gladiolus watched him descend and then lean forward, hands splayed on the tiled floor like stomped rats.

“I… I can be loyal,” he began, glancing up at her face. She watched impassively. “I… I’ve grown too accustomed to—”

“Get on your feet, you sniveling fool!” snarled Madam Bones, yanking Fudge by the scruff of his green coat. The man squawked. Madam Bones glowered at Gladiolus. “I know not what foolish notions you’ve acquired in the past few months, Miss Potter, but—”

Gladiolus used the Force to silence Madam Bones. The Sith Lord’s right hand was slightly clenched like a claw ready to snatch fleeing prey. The woman’s face went as red as her hair, yet her lips pressed into pale lines.

“It is only because of the respect I have for you, Amelia, that I will not kill you this night,” Gladiolus said. “Best you remember who I have become, and who you still are. If I must choose between Britain and you, then I promise your funeral will be a bittersweet affair.” She waited a few seconds before adding, “Now, will you recant your actions?”

Madam Bones looked thunderous as she struggled to draw breath. Gladiolus held the choke until the woman nodded weakly, reeking of self-hatred at that moment. Only once the Sith Lord was certain Madam Bones would obey did she release her grasp. The woman hacked and coughed for several seconds before returning to normal. She even projected a façade of being unaffected.

Gladiolus returned her attention to Minister Fudge. He gulped. Yet he did not immediately fall to his knees. She inched forward. Just enough to spook him into action.

She nearly laughed at how quickly the man fell to his knees, all but whimpering as he bowed his head. She gazed down upon him with lidded eyes, the burning sulfur of her gaze just peering through. Fudge swallowed again, loud and pained. He tilted his head to just meet her gaze and muttered, “I… I promise to serve you… Darth Gladiolus.”

“I will hold you to your promise, Cornelius. Now rise. I have a new vision for magical Britain. One that I hope you will come to share in time. To believe in, truly… and fully.”

Darth Gladiolus waited for Minister Fudge to return to his feet before guiding him deeper into the Ministry. They passed Albus Dumbledore’s corpse. Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be said. The age of Dumbledore and Voldemort dictating the course of events in Britain was over.

It was now the age of Darth Gladiolus, Dark Lord of the Sith.

She allowed a soft smile to cross her face at the thought. Darth Gladiolus had won. Her enemies were destroyed. One day soon, the public would worship her unquestioningly, as they always should have.

And once Britain was hers, she would hold this world—and many others—in the palm of her hand.

And so it came to be,

The First fate of Darth Gladiolus

Chapter Text

The city-world of Coruscant, gem of the Galactic Republic and a shining beacon of liberty and democracy throughout the Known Galaxy, glowed in the light of its distant star. Home to some four trillion beings, Coruscant slowly grew into a world of almost pure city and industry, spread from pole to pole with sparse breaks to ensure a degree of self-sufficiency. For a thousand years, it has stood without threat, guarded like the rest of the Republic by the Jedi Order. Generations have passed since whisper or word of any true enemy to the Senate or the Jedi Council has reached Coruscant. The Sith remained extinct, or so they believed.

But now, on the ethereal currents of the Force, a cascading tide of the dark side washed across the world, alerting all sensitive to its currents.

Located on the edge of Galactic City, the Jedi Temple has remained a fixture of Coruscant’s evolving skyline for millennia. Only the Jedi remember when their temple was first raised eons ago. Sandstone and marble quarried from Undercity quarries long abandoned rose to brush the sky, meeting the soft rays passing through the systemically controlled weather of Coruscant.

Within the temple, sat in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, Grand Master Yoda meditated. Nearly nine hundred years old, he had witnessed the coming and going of many Jedi. Diminutive and green-skinned, Yoda was well aware of how odd he appeared beside the taller humanoids who dominated the galaxy. Yet it was in those oddities he found inspiration. Life flourished under the careful guidance of the Force, and he had learned to mind the will of the Force well. As the Grand Master, he was the wisest and strongest of all living Jedi. His strength came not from commanding the Force to act as he wished, but by working in tandem with the Force. It was his ally. A powerful ally.

There is no emotion. There is peace, he mentally recanted, eyes closed. The Jedi Code was as familiar to Yoda as his reflection. He found comfort in their lasting strength. A thousand generations had passed since they first came into being. There is no ignorance. There is knowledge. There is no passion. There is serenity. There is no chaos. There is harmony. There is no death. There is the Force.

On and on he repeated the Jedi Code, using it as a guide to delve deeper into the ripples and waves of the Force. Often when he meditated, Yoda did not delve as deeply as he did this day. He rarely needed to, for his connection to the Force was so great. Yet a premonition had come to him recently. One that prompted him to meditate as deeply as he was now.

For a time, he remained there in meditation. And then Yoda frowned suddenly. He sensed pain. Death. Destruction. Something terrible was happening, and only now he felt its ripples in the Force. His brow furrowed as a terrible realization brewed in his mind. A shadow formed.

And then he saw her. Yoda knew it was a woman—a young woman around sixteen or seventeen years of age. Her eyes burned with malice and her lips bore a sardonic smirk. Terrible black streaks marred her human beauty, blending her features into her raven-black hair. A faint scar passed over her brow before it faded.

Her lips moved, and Yoda was left with a name. A terrible name, bearing the titles he knew from the histories he had learned as a young Padawan. By the time Yoda came to the Jedi Temple, those who fought the last Sith at Ruusan had long been dead. The name shocked Yoda. A moment passed and then he emerged from his meditation with a gasp and a sense of foreboding that lingered.

“Darth Gladiolus,” whispered Yoda, Grand Master of the Jedi. A trace of horror managed to crawl into his soft voice. “How she suffers, that poor girl. Oh, the suffering… Suffering, her coming will spread…”

Elsewhere within the Jedi Temple, Master Dooku paused midstride. Growing old yet not frail, the human Jedi looked out into the cloudy western sky as his mind strained to make sense of what he had just felt. He knew it was the dark side, but it was not a weak feeling. It was strong. Potent. Dangerous. Like many older Jedi, Dooku had passed through a brush with the dark side in his youth. He had succeeded and avoided that temptation. But what he felt went beyond his brief encounter with the dark side. Dooku almost felt as if he had been strangled by that wretched power, and only now had been released to tremble before it.

“Master?” a soft voice asked. Dooku turned to a group of créchlings about seven or eight years old. About half of them were human, while the other half hailed from worlds throughout the Inner and Mid Rim. One was a Twi’lek of Ryloth. “Is something wrong, Master?”

His mouth opened, but no words dared emerge. Dooku did not know how to explain the extent of the horror even now running through his mind. He was thankful these children did not have the same familiarity with the Force that he possessed. They remained ignorant of what he had sensed and of the horrors that awaited the Jedi Order in the coming future.

Dooku had read the long, terrible histories of the Jedi, the Sith, and their many wars. From the emergence of the Sith Order several millennia ago on Korriban to the Seventh Battle of Ruusan a thousand years ago, conflicts between Sith and Jedi led to devastation on so many worlds across so many eras. Countless lives had been sacrificed in those wars. The Jedi sought to preserve the Republic, while the Sith tried to destroy it and rule the galaxy through a dominating Empire.

And as he gazed upon the créchlings, all of whom were waiting for him to respond, Dooku found he did not have the heart to tell them the truth. He did not want to envision them older, trained, yet with dull, lifeless eyes nonetheless. He did not want to envision that terrible woman with yellow Sith eyes standing over their bodies, a crimson blade humming as she turned to him with a wry smile.

“It’s only… only that something caught my eye,” he said weakly. “Even at my age, I notice things I find interesting or peculiar.”

The children nodded understandingly. He smiled at their acceptance and hoped that his choice would not harm them.

But Dooku found doubt in his heart. Dark days would eventually come for the Jedi and for the Republic they were sworn to serve. What fate awaited them, he could not say.

He tried to take solace in how many the Jedi were, and the fact she was but one Sith Lord.

Master Qui-Gon Jinn’s brow furrowed when he sensed a massive disturbance in the Force. He recognized the touch of the dark side; the potency of its power, and the pain and fury that lingered even after the wave passed on and faded. But he thought he sensed something else. Something that he had never sensed before.

Something… curious.

“Master,” said Obi-Wan Kenobi, his apprentice. “Did you feel that?”

Qui-Gon turned to Obi-Wan and nodded. “I believe dark days await the Jedi Order in the future,” he confessed. “But I think there might be hope, as well.”

“But… Master, it’s a Sith! That was evidence the Sith have returned!”

Qui-Gon nodded, for his student told the truth. The ripple had been more than just the dark side. It had been a proclamation to all who were Force-sensitive: a new Sith Lord had ascended to their dark powers. Already Qui-Gon could name the Sith Lord: Darth Gladiolus. The young woman—barely more than a girl grown into a woman’s body—had failed to mask the power she poured forth into the galaxy.

She may have released her power on purpose. It may not have been a mistake.

“Then the Council—” continued Obi-Wan.

“The Council will do as they think best,” Qui-Gon confessed, unable to believe the Council would act wisely on this matter. His disagreements with the Council had grown over the years, especially after his recent conversations with his Jedi Master, Dooku. The Serenno-born Jedi thought the Republic was increasingly mired in the political miasma and disrepair. He had not suggested that it would be necessary for a structural change on par with the Ruusan Reformation, but something had to be done before, as Dooku told him, “The Senate becomes nothing more than the plaything of corporations and guilds, old friend.”

“But the Sith—”

“Peace, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon closed his eyes for a moment and then nodded to himself. “We will have many years before this Sith appears before the Jedi. I do not think we know of her world, even if a Sith Lord somehow found their way there.”

“…but that would have been a thousand years ago, if not more.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “Indeed. It very likely was that long ago. Maybe a little more.” He shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “We will not know until we find this Sith and question her.”

“So it is a woman. I thought I misheard you earlier, Master.”

“Did you not—” Qui-Gon stopped himself before he said any more. As he stared at his apprentice, it dawned on Qui-Gon that Obi-Wan was unaware of the Sith beyond sensing her sudden rise to power, and the influence of the dark side which emerged from the ascension. Already the name “Darth Gladiolus” was engraved into his memory. He would not forget it—and he would know her the moment they finally encountered each other.

“Did I not what, Master?” asked Obi-Wan, coming closer. “What did you sense that I missed?”

“Only her sex, it appears,” Qui-Gon murmured. He smiled fondly. “Perhaps I can teach you further to better recognize the peculiarities in the Force.”

“Would that allow me to recognize what I missed from that wave of dark side energies?”

Qui-Gon nodded. “It will take time and practice, Obi-Wan. But I believe you will be able to succeed.”

His apprentice smiled. A moment later, Obi-Wan shifted to rest before Qui-Gon, sitting up straight as he met his master’s gaze. “I’m ready to begin, Master.”

“I guess we can begin today,” Qui-Gon said fondly. “Now, I want you to focus on your place in the galaxy…”

Chapter Text

A fire emerald green and spewing bloomed to life in one of many fireplaces decorated with gold leaf columns. A young woman in black stepped out of the flames, her heavy cloak dragging behind her. Her hood hid her marked face from casual view. Metal boots clicked on black tiles as she strolled down the center of the Ministry of Magic’s atrium. Golden sulfuric eyes gazed about the atrium, scanning the witches and wizards arriving just as she had. Only a few dared meet her gaze. But all knew who she was. Those rare few were either brave or brazen, and none worth her time.

For she was Darth Gladiolus, the Dark Lord of the Sith and once Edelweiss Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived. The Daily Prophet had granted her another title, declaring her their Witch-Queen. It was a crude title, but Gladiolus had come to embrace it. Anything that boosted her power was welcome, even if she did not possess the power of a true queen.

She passed the security desk without issue or challenge. There had been an attempt to challenge her passing on her first proper day at the Ministry. Gladiolus silenced the attempt with a Force choke and a later word to Madam Bones. That auror now served the Ministry on Azkaban Island, helping to guard the prison as they prepared to liquidate the dementors.

Gladiolus nearly chuckled as Ministry workers scurried from her path. A few gasped and several stumbled away. Months ago, they would have sneered at her and gossiped about her impending descent into madness. Some still gossiped about her madness, but they were wise to bury those thoughts when she was nearby. She had made an example of the one who dared speak those thoughts aloud in her presence. The rest swiftly fell into line.

The main path down the atrium gave way to the golden fountain used during her duel with Dumbledore and Voldemort. Gladiolus glanced at the witch and wizard, standing above the lesser races. She sneered at the sight, but gone was her urge to see it replaced. A cause for a replacement would come in due time. She just knew it.

She entered an empty elevator and said, “Floor One.” A pair of flying messages skittered in before the door closed. The car shifted before rising, jostling slightly as it passed the many floors between the atrium and the Minister’s floor. She frowned. Ziost Hangar possessed an elevator operated using the repulsorlift technology of the galaxy beyond Earth’s local system greatly superior to those of the Ministry.

Maybe I could pursue incorporating galactic technology with magical power, Gladiolus considered. Though if I am to pursue that avenue, then I will need to see about subverting my agreement with Hogwarts’s Board of Governors and speak with Croaker about which Unspeakable I can use. Their memories will need to be modified at the end.

Her frown deepened thinking of the Department of Mysteries and the man selected to be their public face. Croaker was a strange man. From what she had learned, he was somewhere between the ages of thirty and sixty. Gladiolus had yet to pin down his true features, for his face shifted between meetings. Annoyingly, Fudge had said, “Oh, that’s normal,” when she questioned him about Croker’s varying appearance. She had ignored how he forgot her title that time, flustered as she was by the mystery Croaker presented.

The elevator shifted as it came to a stop. The paper airplanes above her head shivered and twitched. The door opened and they zoomed forward, splitting into two groups as they raced down the main corridors of the first floor.

“FLOOR ONE: OFFICES OF THE MINISTER FOR MAGIC AND STAFF,” a delayed, feminine voice announced as Gladiolus stepped out of the elevator. She turned right and strode down the hall. Crimson carpeting stretched out before her, bound by golden molding at the base of white walls bearing framed portraits and paintings. Doors lined each side, set at intervals that increased as she continued along. She passed them all, each mounted with a plaque declaring the occupant behind them. Gladiolus had been forced to meet most of them in the months since her ascension. They were spineless creatures, easily bent to her will.

She sneered, thinking of them. Gladiolus almost wished she could have Ministry servants with a shred of backbone just so then she could feel like there were those worthy of her trust. Their weakness could be exploited, should she lessen her control over them.

At the end of the corridor was Minister Fudge’s office. Gladiolus did not knock. There was no need since she was both expected and could not be refused. Cornelius had tried to argue with her about impromptu arrivals at her pleasure. She reminded him of the power she wielded. And though she offered to release him from his oath and post, he enjoyed the privileges of being the Minster for Magic too much to agree.

Though some days she thought he might surprise her. Gladiolus understood now that Fudge had become the Minister thanks to his capability to administrate, and the fact he was pliable when faced with stronger wills than his. No wonder he had attempted to foist his post off onto Dumbledore’s shoulders when she had been younger. It was pathetic, and that led her to retain his service.

And given Fudge’s utility to her, Gladiolus decided to retain large swaths of the Ministry of Magic. It and magical society were intertwined enough that to destroy one risked the destruction of the other. And while she wished to have all of Britain in the palm of her hand, Gladiolus had learned through her ascension that reckless action risked plots and plans more than patience and care.

The room immediately beyond the door was the small office his secretary used, along with three doors into other offices. With Umbridge dead and forgotten, the Minister had hired a plain muggleborn girl with a name similar enough to a long-dead pureblood family that few gave her more than a second, slightly confused look. She had a polite demeanor and seemed oblivious—or impervious—to insults, whether blatant, subtle, or backhanded.

“Lady—I mean, Lord Gladiolus,” the girl suddenly said, rising to her feet. Gladiolus paused and stared at her. The girl shivered and swallowed before saying softly, “Thank you. I know it’s because of you that I have this job.”

Gladiolus smiled softly. “I have no clue what you speak of, but I will accept your gratitude. Is the Minister in?”

“Along with the rest of his cabinet.” The girl straightened and shifted away from her chair. “Would you like me to announce you?”

Normally Gladiolus would storm into the office without care. But an opportunity to remind the leaders of magical Britain to whom they all owed their loyalty could not be relinquished. She smiled broadly and said, “I would greatly appreciate that. Go on.”

The girl—Miss Grey, Gladiolus finally recalled— nodded and opened the meeting room door as Gladiolus approached it. She stepped up to the threshold and announced into the suddenly silent room, “Presenting Lord Gladiolus, Witch-Queen of the British Isles.”

Miss Grey drew back from the room, smiled appreciatively at Gladiolus, and scurried back to her seat. The Sith Lord smiled faintly and flowed into the room like fog across the land.

Everyone sitting around the central table rose to their feet. At the far head of the table was Minister Fudge. In the months since her ascension, he had lost weight and began going grey where he had not lost hair. His bowler caps had grown larger as a result. He smiled faintly, though she sensed his irritation at her arrival. Had he thought she would allow him to act freely? Should he act so again, she would remind him just why he answered to her. And if he failed to understand, Gladiolus would do away with him.

Across the table were the Department Heads for Magical Transportation, Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and Magical Games and Sports. All were older men, with grey in their hair and a few wrinkles on their once distinguished faces. She knew their names, but they were insignificant. It was much easier to recall them by their department name than by their personal names. Allegedly, familiar faces had once been among their number. But their time came to an end over a year ago, after the disastrous finale of the Triwizard Tournament.

Closer her sat Madam Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation. Curiously, the chair between them for the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures sat empty. Rumor had it there was an effort within their department to replace the current head. She almost applauded the effort, since the current occupant of the seat enjoyed being annoyingly stubborn. Were it not for the accord Gladiolus struck with Fudge and Bones on the night she ascended, the Sith Lord would have crushed that fool’s neck by now. Instead, she would need to wait until he overstepped enough for Fudge to sack him.

“Pardon my tardiness,” Gladiolus said as she crossed to her reserved seat. Once it had been dedicated to the Royal Mage, but the implementation of the Statute of Secrecy removed that old post, bound as it was to the muggle monarchy. “I had a personal matter to attend to this morning. Otherwise, I would have not been delayed.”

None dared question her lie. She sensed doubt from a few. Gladiolus had spent the morning hours in meditation, exploring the currents of the dark side of the Force. Something had shifted within the Force as a whole, and she was not completely certain what it was. Part of her suspected her ascension spawned disconcerting ripples and eddies throughout that ethereal weave binding all of life together.

Her meditation had taken longer than she expected. And while her ego prompted her to be furious they dared begin without her, she needed to focus on the matter at hand: governing magical Britain. That should be her primary focus until a time where she could safely step out into the galaxy beyond her local system.

“I think we should address the matter you mentioned concerning Lord Gladiolus earlier, Fudge,” said Madam Bones. She gave Gladiolus a wary look before continuing. “About the muggle Crown and their request.”

Gladiolus regarded Minister Fudge with faint curiosity. He blanched when he met her sulfuric gaze. They still disturbed him. “Yes, well, I recently spoke with their Prime Minister. He mentioned that their Queen wishes to have an audience with you. Invited you to tea at a place called ‘Buckingham Palace’.” He turned to Madam Bones. “That was the right name, yes?”

Madam Bones nodded. Gladiolus’s brow furrowed. She sensed Amelia’s frustration; both with the man who remained her boss and with the fact she could do nothing about him. Not without earning the wrath of Darth Gladiolus. And while Madam Bones still thought highly of the girl she met in the August of last year, the Sith Lord knew Amelia remained disturbed by the girl she was required to obey.

Gladiolus felt surprised hearing the Queen wished to meet her. She knew little of the woman beyond that she had been queen before her parents were born. While her instinct was to deny the request, she paused. The Queen could be an ally with the inevitable future Earth would face. A day would come when the Jedi and their Republic learned which world she came from, and they would arrive to purge her dark influence.

Earth needed to be prepared. A time would come in the years ahead when the humanity of Earth learned they were no longer alone in the cosmos. They would learn aliens existed, and that humans occupied a thousand other worlds. And those other humans would not be friends. They would be enemies, a threat to their ways of life.

And once that time came to pass, Darth Gladiolus would emerge as Earth’s champion. This world was her domain. It belonged to her. Thus, its security depended on her power in the dark side of the Force and the technology she had possession of.

And as the saying goes, the best defense is a strong offense.

“How fascinating,” Gladiolus murmured. “I agree to the audience, though I would prefer to meet with her later this month. I may seek to establish spies in the muggle world and thus monitor events as they come to pass.” She then sighed and said, as though she felt genuine sorrow, “I’m afraid with the death of my muggle relatives, I no longer have a reliable means to access rumors and gossip. They would have been an easy source of information concerning the Queen and various muggle governments.”

Only Madam Bones reacted to Gladiolus’s reference to the late and unlamented Dursleys. The woman had come to visit her at Hogwarts following their deaths. While Gladiolus escaped suspicion, speculation about what happened that night arose at the edge of the woman’s mind.

If she becomes an issue, then I’ll eliminate her. Unfortunately, her competency remains too valuable to sacrifice.

The heads grimaced at being reminded Gladiolus once possessed muggle relatives. She struggled with amusement over their discomfort. She knew that after so many generations with little or no contact between muggles and wizards, it was natural they would react poorly to reminders another Britain existed.

“Excellent,” Fudge said, unable to suppress how little he disliked muggles. “I will inform my muggle counterpart. He’ll be pleased to have this business dealt with swiftly.”

Gladiolus nodded. She leaned in her seat as though it were a great throne and listened as the department heads reported to Fudge about their departments. It was tedious. She could extract information from their pliable minds. None possessed defenses she could not overcome.

But alas, rulership required those beneath her to believe all would be well as long as she lived. She required a level of trust between them, and listening helped provide that. She would create an illusion that her power resided beyond animalistic violence. Gladiolus was slowly becoming schooled in the art of ruling, despite her young age and how recently she had become a Sith Lord.

For now, she would work within the system the fools before her had made. One day, hopefully soon, she would shed these fools and govern alone, unchallenged and beloved over a system of her creation.

Hermione Granger stalked the halls of Hogwarts. She had only returned for her sixth year, and already she itched to be in her final year of education. She itched to sit her NEWTs and to move on from her childhood. And that itch began thanks to the choices of one Edelweiss Potter. Or, as she demanded to be called now, Darth Gladiolus. Every other day, those horrible piercing yellow eyes and those disturbing mysterious markings appeared on the front page of the Daily Prophet. She had grown tired of seeing them and thus canceled her subscription to the paper. She still read about events, thanks to Lavender. Her fellow Gryffindor was more than happy to hand over the sections of the paper she never read.

Her parents still received a copy as they had since the summer before last. They wrote her almost weekly, walking a thin line between supporting that questionable creature her best friend had become and questioning what she would do in under two years when she finally graduated from Hogwarts.

Without a good answer and uncertain about the Ministry’s future, Hermione had thrown herself headfirst into her prefect duties and studies. Ron’s Quidditch obsession prompted him to neglect the former. And she knew that if she dared retract her aid with their schoolwork, Mrs. Weasley would no doubt send her a howler. It did not help that the Weasleys had made a point of being uncomfortably friendly with Darth Gladiolus. The relationship had reinforced Mr. Weasley’s position in the Ministry. They had even reconciled with Percy! The Twins had their booming business on Diagon Alley, boosted by Gladiolus’s appearance on opening day. And even Bill and Charlie, who had graduated before Hermione began at Hogwarts, appeared with her in public from time to time.

At least Ginny sees through her illusion.

Hermione thus poured her time and energy into the resurgent Dumbledore’s Army. She had gathered many who had been involved in the group the previous year. With Umbridge dead and a competent professor installed in the Defense position, they did not need to gather for training or practice. And yet they did meet, for they had all witnessed Edelweiss’s decline the previous year. It was difficult to not reflect on the past year and wonder if she could have stopped Edelweiss from becoming a monster.

Assuming we’re still friends. No word. No letter. Nothing since she seized power.

And that, before any other qualm, was the stickler. Hermione had neither personally seen nor personally spoken with Edelweiss—Gladiolus—since that last, fateful day when she left breakfast with Umbridge. She tried to write a few letters, but Hedwig never returned after the first. She even placed spells on a pair of letters. The one written to “Edelweiss Potter” vanished while the letter for “Darth Gladiolus” remained unopened. Susan Bones had mentioned speaking with her aunt several times about Gladiolus over the summer hols. But she had failed to report anything concrete. Either Madam Bones did not wish to speak of her new overlord or something foul had taken root within the Ministry of Magic.

Regardless of which, Hermione knew she should be patient. She grappled with the growing belief that her friend had given her soul over to evil. Why else would Albus Dumbledore be dead? His funeral had been an afterthought in early July. Albus Dumbledore! An afterthought! Had it not happened at all, she would have thought her life transformed into a cruel Monty Python sketch.

What a sorry state magical Britain is in, thought Hermione. She continued on her way, trying to not think of the future. The further ahead she looked, the gloomier her mood—and her prospects—became. For if she thought of the future, she would begin to think about what might need to be done.

And that made Hermione feel like she had become Darth Gladiolus.

Croaker entered the meeting room as the department heads rose to leave. He held a stack of vanilla-smelling papers pressed against his chest, organized so haphazardly Gladiolus knew they could be easily dislodged with the bump of a shoulder. The face of the Department of Mysteries did not approach Fudge, who remained seated. Instead, he approached Gladiolus. She watched as a few heads paused and stared. A flicker of her sulfuric eyes sent them on their way.

“You should stay, Minister,” Croaker said when Fudge moved to stand. The man slumped into his seat while Croaker sat on Gladiolus’s left. “You should hear what I have to report to Lord Gladiolus as well.” His gaze bounced momentarily between the Minister and the Sith Lord before settling on her. “I still find it peculiar to call you ‘Lord’ and not ‘Lady’.”

“Even after my explanation?”

“Yes. Even after that. I find it fascinating how Salazar Slytherin came to this world from another, possessing technology beyond what muggles possess even now.” He paused. Something genuine appeared on his formless face. “Are you certain we cannot explore and inspect his secret chamber beneath Hogwarts?”

“I am. The Chamber of Secrets has been resealed in accordance with the agreement I struck with the new Headmaster of Hogwarts and the Board of Governors. It’s a troubling agreement, but it retains the school’s traditional independence from London. They were insistent on that particular matter, and I saw no cause to continue Cornelius’s old policy. The Department of Magical Education proved to be filled with incompetents, judging from the OWL and NEWT results over the summer.”

Gladiolus had been suspicious of the board when they summoned her to lift her command over the portraits in the Headmaster’s office. Entering the office, it was clear most of the governors feared her. She had wanted to wield that fear and ensure her continued access to the Chamber of Secrets, and thus Ziost Hangar, went unrestricted. But to regain her trunk and all within—her master’s holocron chief among them—she had been forced into an agreement to seal off the Chamber and stay away from the school for a year.

It matters little, in the end. With Lady Bastila’s holocron, I can continue all my prior studies except for Sith alchemy. And though I gained much from it, I have neither the time nor the patience for that practice.

The agreement had remained secret, beyond her banishment from the castle. It had been her “punishment” for slaying the interim headmistress, even if nobody mourned Umbridge’s death. Only that murder was held against her. She found it amusing, but then the board and the professors wished to maintain Hogwarts’s sanctity.

Gladiolus would preserve the castle’s peace. Lord Salazar had helped build it. The strength of the British nation emerged from that school. It was one more tool for her to use.

That was a bitter thought, though. Darth Gladiolus sought distinction from Dumbledore and Voldemort, for the public harbored comparisons between her and those two men in their hearts. They had both used Hogwarts to their ends, regardless of the differences in their motivation. And so she gave lip service to mercy and second chances and avoided wasteful, wanton murder. The power to dictate who lived and who died was a mighty one, and one she would exercise to ensure she grew stronger. To act like either of her dead enemies would betray all she sacrificed to become a Sith Lord.

It would risk her fragile kingdom.

“A shame,” replied Croaker. “But unsurprising. Many are spooked when Unspeakables are mentioned in conversation. More so now, since everyone knows you have greater influence over us than any minister in the past two hundred years.”

“Some think you are an Unspeakable as well, Lord Gladiolus,” added Minister Fudge.

Her lips quirked up at his comment. Her. An Unspeakable. Gladiolus had aided them with improving their security shortly after her skirmish in their department. They had been displeased by how easily she came and went. Somewhere in there, they sought to prevent her astral travel from working. Croaker, she suspected, knew not of the project. Secrecy was tantamount when forging a new weapon. And she knew all about secrecy. It had been her salvation as a Sith apprentice. Already Gladiolus suspected it would remain so, now that she was a Sith Lord.

“How fascinating. Now, Croaker. I believe you have something you wish to inform me about.”

The man nodded. “A few, actually. Most were salvaged from files thought to have been either destroyed or lost during the Blood War.”

“Your spy problem,” Gladiolus remarked. Croaker nodded stiffly in lieu of a response. She had used that very Death Eater to lure Voldemort to his death. How amusing it had been to learn that. “I assume whatever you’ve found would have caused trouble for Voldemort had research into it progressed.”

Fudge squeaked from his spot at the far end of the table. Croaker remained unmoved, though Edelweiss sensed a trickle of discomfort ripple off him. The man was very schooled at masking his emotions. But not schooled enough to deceive a Sith Lord.

“So they would have,” Gladiolus remarked, already knowing the truth. She leaned forward, an elbow on the table and her chin resting on the back of her hand. “Tell me about them. I wish to hear all that pretender dark lord wished to bury.”

Croaker nodded. He then sorted through his stack of papers until he established three stacks before him. He slid in front of her. “In there is the culmination of research concerning ‘the olde ways’, as some colloquially refer to them.” At Gladiolus’s blank look, he sighed. “They’re the traditional religion, for lack of a better term. Muggles would call them ‘pagan rites’ and then dismiss them out of hand as foolish superstition.”

“Because they are!” shouted Fudge. He had suddenly risen to his feet. He quelled under Gladiolus’s unimpressed gaze. “They are superstitions! Only the most traditional of families practice them and always in secrecy! They won’t even reveal who is involved whenever they’re caught!”

“How can their actions be secret if they are caught?” asked Gladiolus. Fudge’s face bloomed red. “If you have a list, I would love to see it. Sooner rather than later.”

Several seconds passed before Fudge rose to his feet and muttered, “I will see that you get that list, my lord.” And with that, he stormed from the meeting room. Shouting echoed from the office, muddled enough she did not understand anything said.

“I’m surprised you keep him around,” remarked Croaker. “I had expected him to be removed before your sixteenth birthday, Lord Gladiolus.”

“He kneeled before me and has remained pliable beyond the odd, almost silly outbursts.” Gladiolus gave Croaker a pointed look. “Be mindful of how you speak before I begin to suspect that you act to influence me.”

“I’m only here to act as a liaison between yourself and the Department of Mysteries. I’ll leave the political machinations to the department heads daring enough to try and play the usual game of politics under your watchful gaze.”

“They will follow my will, or else I will replace them. Now, I wish to hear more about these ‘traditions’. Why would Voldemort wish to suppress your research about them?”

“Because they could undermine his positions concerning blood purity. The olde ways were, in part, meant to bring outsiders into the fold. While most outsiders were foreigners—first the Anglo-Saxons, followed by Danes and then the Normans—some came from muggle backgrounds. That was mentioned repeatedly in the report, and thus it had to be suppressed.”

Gladiolus hummed thoughtfully. She found no utility in spreading these ‘olde ways’ among the general public. There would be a terrible backlash, internally and without, when their world reunited with the muggle one. Given the many other troubles to come from reconnecting with the muggles, she did not need one to emerge from reintroducing paganism and its practices into the population she ruled.

An inevitable day would come when the Statute of Secrecy would need to be rescinded. It was undeniable.

“What else do you have?” Gladiolus asked.

“Would you rather hear about house elves or muggleborns?”

“Let’s begin with the muggleborns. I think I can guess what you’re about to tell me when it comes to house elves. But with muggleborns, I confess myself curious about what you have for me concerning that topic, Croaker.”

He smiled. “There are no true muggleborns. One must possess a magical ancestor to inherit magic. The research was halted before it could conclude anything further. But we have developed several theories about how muggleborns come about. With your approval, we’d like to research them all.”

“All of them?” Gladiolus raised an eyebrow. “How many theories do you have?”

“Several, though the most prominent in the department as of now is that muggleborns are descended from squibs forced into the muggle world.”

“That makes sense,” Gladiolus admitted. “I do not know what assistance I can provide the Unspeakables. My mother may have been a muggleborn, but all of her blood has perished.”

Croaker’s expression was unreadable. Only her mastery over the Force could pry through his blank feelings. “I understand, Lord Gladiolus. Those muggles would have been valuable for this project. A shame they passed away so suddenly, and all on the same night.”

Gladiolus fought down the urge to kill Croaker. The problem with killing the man was twofold: she was the sole suspect, given Fudge was elsewhere, and he was the sole member of the Department of Mysteries anyone knew. Without him, that particular department could decouple itself completely from the Ministry. And without that bond, they could vanish into the wind. They remained too useful for her ambitions to be allowed free reign. She would not mind placing them all under compulsion, but that would threaten their capacity to experiment with magic.

I will end their independence should Croaker grow bolder.

“I understand. I will leave your department to their research on that front.”

“And the house elf issue?”

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I care not about them, Croaker. Handle it however you see fit—but only as long as it does not distract from my revitalization plans for the country. Their treatment is abhorrent. Jail a few who abuse their elves. Society will reorient toward proper behavior as a result.”

“And if our research does interfere with your plans, Lord Gladiolus?”

“Then shut it down, Croaker. Sacrifices must be made.” Gladiolus bit her tongue before she could utter, “for the greater good.” Those words were Grindelwald’s, and later Dumbledore’s. She had no desire to speak or think in the same manner as those men, whether consciously or through a slip of the tongue.

Croaker nodded again and rose to his feet. “I understand, Lord Gladiolus. I hope you enjoy your meeting with the Queen.”

He departed, uncaring how she glowered at his back. Gladiolus then spent five minutes searching the meeting room for any means of spying. She found nothing. Once finished, she left the meeting room. Fudge was nowhere to be found. Either he was seeing to the pointless task she assigned him, or he had realized she had no real interest in the ‘olde ways’ Croaker spoke of.

Hopefully, Cornelius knows he needs me more than I need him. She granted Miss Grey a soft, appreciative smile, and then departed the office. But I doubt he’ll know until I finally dispose of him.

Draco Malfoy stalked the halls of Hogwarts, searching for an outlet for his anger. Back in spring, he had been one of the most powerful and influential students at Hogwarts. He led the Inquisitors who exposed the conspiracy of Dumbledore’s Army, comprised of those following that insufferable bint Edelweiss Potter. He had even gotten the better of her a couple of times, though she had a frustrating ability to repel his verbal attacks with mockery. Just thinking of her then filled him with anger.

And then she murdered his father. The Ministry declared her butchery to be “anti-Death Eater activities”. But he knew it was rank murder. Two dozen witches and wizards died by her hand that night. Not only his father, but his Aunt Bellatrix and his estranged Uncle Sirius, Potter’s godfather, his halfblood cousin, Tonks, and even the Dark Lord and Dumbledore. Those last two had shocked him. The Dark Lord was not meant to die. Invincible and immortal, he had been fated to purge magical Britain of the muggle plague rotting their society. Instead, Potter had cut him down, just as she had done with Dumbledore. Nobody openly acknowledged how Dumbledore died, but everyone knew the truth. Worse, most people feared Potter. In a single night, she destroyed her competitors for control and domination over Britain.

Thinking of that abominable wretch drew a snarl from him. There was a precedent for her title of “Witch-Queen”, but that had been in the ancient days of Morgana, the foul witch who dared overthrow the warlock king Arthur and his great mage, Myrddin. The famous Merlin, the one who had attended Hogwarts in its first century as a Slytherin, ensured all of magical Britain knew the glories of his namesake and the great king he served. To allow a Witch-Queen to live and breathe was to spit on Merlin’s legacy. It was to spit on Salazar Slytherin’s legacy, already stained by Potter.

Footsteps approached. Draco paused so he could clear his mind of anger and frustration. He retained his prefect badge, thanks to Snape’s departing influence. But the new headmaster—some Irish fool barely able to string ten words together—placed every prefect on probation for the entire year. Draco hoped to clear his probation after Yuletide instead. But for now, he had to remain patient. And most regrettably, patience was not one of Draco’s virtues. His parents strove to teach him patience. Perhaps now, months after his father’s murder, he would learn that virtue.

He watched as the footsteps turned a corner before him. Draco smirked when they turned their back to him. He then blinked, for he recognized that back. After years of arguments, curses, and a rather bitter assault, he could not mistake that cascading wave of bushy hair.

“Granger,” he said, just loud enough to reach her. “We need to speak.”

Hermione Granger, while an obnoxious mudblood incapable of understanding and accepting her natural place in society, happened to be the sole person Draco knew of at Hogwarts willing to speak against Potter. Unlike Draco, she did so carefully. But they had been friends for years. It would look peculiar to many if Granger openly opposed Potter. Then again, the girl had been left to squander and waste away at Hogwarts while Potter flitted about the Ministry as though it were all her fief. The wretched bint had yet to do anything severe, beyond eliminating opposition, engaging in some reorganization, and small little things that made plebeians barely worth the blood in their veins think her greater than either Dumbledore or the Dark Lord.

“Malfoy,” snarled Granger. “What do you want?”

“We need to speak about Potter and her tyrannical delusions.”

Granger snorted. “Your family was happy enough to fall in line with Voldemort’s madness.”

Draco flinched, hearing the name of his family’s dead lord. He met the Dark Lord once during the summer before his fifth year. The man had been everything his father claimed. Yet Draco could not help but be relieved the Dark Lord was gone.

If only he hadn’t been replaced by Potter.

“I know my father’s position concerning the Dark Lord,” Draco said bitterly. “But he’s dead, thanks to your friend.”

“I… I don’t know if I would call Edie my friend anymore.”

“Oh? So you don’t call her ‘Lord Gladiolus’ like all of the scrapers and fawners?”

Granger glowered. “Don’t call her by that foul name.”

“Why not?” asked Draco, unable to hold back a slight sneer. “Everyone else is complicit in using that name. She’s almost—”

“I’m tired of hearing the name of the monster wearing Edie’s face!” Granger paused as her words echoed through the corridors around them. Thankfully, they were both prefects. They did not need to worry about curfew. “If I start calling her that,” Granger eventually continued, “then I might as well join all the cowards who follow her without question. And I would never do that. ‘Death is preferable to dishonor,’ thank you very much.”

Draco nodded. His mother had said similar after Potter’s ascendance as “Darth Gladiolus” to the peak of British society. That the Malfoys were slowly and increasingly slighted by families who would have longed to even get their attention months ago was a reminder of the ruination being forced on his family thanks to Potter’s influence.

“Still…” continued Granger, looking away from Draco. “It is nice to know that there are others unwilling to bend over for Edie’s megalomania.” She glanced at Draco with a careful yet quizzical expression. “The enemy of my enemy…” Granger whispered to herself. She then reached into a pocket. “There are others who agree with us. I am taking a risk, providing this to you”—and she drew out a galleon—“but I would like to see if you would be willing to work with my allies. This coin will heat up when the time and date for the meeting is decided.”

Draco took the coin as if her skin would burn him. “And what aims would those be?”

“Restoring the proper order of magical Britain,” declared Granger, despite standing in opposition to that aim. “And the removal of Darth Gladiolus from the public eye.”

Draco clenched his hand around the galleon. “I’ll give this a try, Granger. But if this proves to be a bust…”

“It won’t. I won’t ask you to trust me, but I think there are some among our number who you can trust.”

Malfoy nodded before parting ways with the mudblood. He clenched his hand tightly around the galleon Granger had given him. A malicious smile bloomed across his face.

You will be avenged, Father.

Tourists stopped and stared as a figure in black glided to the black gates of Buckingham Palace, gilded with the golden crests of the British monarchy. She did not pause to wait for someone to open the gates on her behalf. They swung open as she approached, just wide enough to permit her entry before sealing right behind her. Darth Gladiolus sensed confusion and interest from the muggles who noticed her arrival. But she cared not for them. Her interest rested solely upon the old, powerful woman who currently called Buckingham home. Or a residence. She was uncertain what relation these royals had to their palaces, but she had no doubt there was a specific reason the summons called her to Buckingham instead of Windsor or another, more secluded site. She had expected the Tower of London, if only to reaffirm the ancient binding between magical and muggle Britain as it existed before the Statute of Secrecy.

A tall man with gaunt cheeks and a slight bit of skin hanging from beneath his jaw stood waiting for her several feet from the palace doors. His light-colored eyes watched her with a veiled mix of curiosity and disdain. Gladiolus sensed he knew of her titles and powers; the Queen must have told him, and she must have learned through her prime minister.

“Welcome to Buckingham, Lord Gladiolus,” the man said, voice grave and firm. “My name is Hendrick Sanderson. I am curious why you demand the title of a man and not a woman. Those who know of your coming have gossiped about it ever since word came from the Prime Minister’s office.”

“It is a tradition of my order,” said Gladiolus, unsurprised by what was said about the muggle minister. She felt a touch of surprise others within the palace knew of her. Though this man—he was most certainly someone beyond a common aide—decided it would be appropriate for some odd reason. She expected little beyond her meeting with the Queen. “There shall never be a Sith Lady,” she continued. “Only Sith Lords.”

Hendrick smiled thinly. “How quaint. Still, Her Majesty has required that you turn over your weapon before you shall be granted access to her person.” He held out a hand. “Your… lightsaber, was it? The Prime Minister seemed confused about the information your minister passed along. He claimed you no longer possess a wand.” His smile tilted up. “Quite peculiar for a witch, not having a wand.”

“Were you aware of the magical world before this was scheduled?”

He nodded and puffed out his chest slightly. “Was trained at Hogwarts, actually. I fell out of the magical world shortly after I finished up. I eventually found my way into the Queen’s service. The royals think it important to have at least one witch or wizard serving them. An old tradition, following the implementation of the Statute of Secrecy.”

The Sith Lord considered the man before her with a new eye. He was old and weathered, yes, but Dumbledore appeared so as well. That man must have been near or past one hundred when she struck him down. He had taught Voldemort, who attended Hogwarts back in the ‘40s, and became the Headmaster sometime after.

“You must be capable to maintain your post directly serving the Queen.”

Hendrick smiled proudly. “Aye, I am. One of the finest from my class. But I was muggleborn and was young at a time when muggles like the boys I grew up with were being sent to the trenches in France.” He sighed and shook his head. “What a waste.”

Gladiolus remained quiet. She knew of the Great War, but it meant nothing to her. For this man to be of an age with those who died in those trenches, he had to be around ninety if not older. Not a hundred yet, but old enough to possess memories of a world she could not fathom.

“If that is the end of the pleasantries, then follow me.” Hendrick’s gaze moved past Gladiolus to the gates she passed through. “You are bound to be part of the national gossip for several days. It is not often we receive strange visitors here and most certainly not in as public a manner as your arrival.”

She nodded. Hendrick guided her up the steps to the massive doors into the palace. They swung open and shut closed without any soul catching her gaze.

Gladiolus paid little heed to the rooms, hallways, and chambers they passed by or through. She noticed familiar colors as they crossed their path: red and gold, white and blue. Common colors. Colors with power and influence. After all, her blade was a vibrant, bloody crimson and her eyes a sulfuric yellow. They were almost a match.

They climbed two separate stairwells with marble railing. Beyond that, Gladiolus only minded their route through the palace. Forward through two halls, a left followed by a right, and eventually she was brought to the room where the Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain awaited her.

Hendrick knocked on the door. “Lord Gladiolus to see Her Majesty,” he called.

A moment passed and a buzzer sounded.

Hendrick opened the door. Gladiolus nodded to him while ignoring his words and entered a small solar. The decorations were remarkably unsettling. There were no blatant, obvious signs of wealth and power. Everything was of a quality that only nobility could aspire to. She sensed the limitations of her ascension to Sith Lord. She could name herself a lord, but she was not born to a title. Not like the woman before her was.

The Queen gestured to the seat across from her. “Please sit, Lord Gladiolus.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

A strange feeling passed through Gladiolus. It was as though she had been granted some great privilege by exchanging basic pleasantries with the Queen. She fought down astonishment at how easily the Queen could influence a Sith Lord, despite being an elderly muggle. That, Gladiolus realized, was the inherent power of effectively wielding soft power.

Her tools for influence were almost entirely hard power. Death and pain were the tools of trade for most Sith Lords. Even Sith alchemy and Sith sorcery were blunt, harsh tools in the end. Darth Gladiolus would need to learn all she could from the Queen. Soft power could ease the stress of controlling the Ministry, and thus magical Britain.

“So you are the disturbance in my magical realm,” the Queen said after a few seconds. “When I was told that Albus Dumbledore had been killed in combat, I had feared the worst. That upstart Tom Riddle, for one. But instead, I have been left with you, and from all I have heard of your actions since June, I confess myself… impressed. Concerned, but impressed with how you have behaved, despite only being sixteen.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Gladiolus said carefully. “I imagine my title of ‘Witch-Queen’ disturbs you, yes?”

“I assume you use that title so you can impose your will on the government my magical realm developed.”

Gladiolus smiled. “It does make my life easier. But then I suffer Cornelius Fudge. His sole value is that of continuity, linking my rule to the past.” She shrugged slightly. “He is a useful fool.”

The Queen chuckled. “I have dealt with plenty of fools in my time. Older men, usually, though a few younger ones with more energy than sense.” She smiled fondly. “Some proved their worth later on, while others remained fools.”

“And some are naturally foolish,” said Gladiolus. She shifted slightly in her seat, trying to mimic the Queen’s easy poise. “Was there any other reason you wished to meet with me, Your Majesty? Or was the purpose of this meeting for you to learn enough about me to be comfortable with my… presence acting within your magical realm?”

Gladiolus could not help the slight tinge of scorn that worked its way into her final words. Her hatred for Dumbledore remained hot and stoked, despite the man having been in the grave for months. Had the Queen possessed any influence over magical Britain, then Dumbledore would have been stopped from gathering all the power and influence he wielded.

“I was curious to meet you, Lord Gladiolus. Given your actions last June, I assume you hold Albus Dumbledore in low regard.”

“I do, and I cannot help but wonder why you did not seek to remove him from his influential seats.”

“By the time I was formally crowned and informed about my magical realm, he had already established himself completely within yours, politically and culturally. Given my oaths to not interfere in my magical realm just as I do not interfere in non-magical politics, I was left to watch and advise whenever Albus thought to call upon me.”

“I doubt that was often.”

The Queen nodded, even as her weathered lips twitched slightly. “Four times he met with me. Only once in your lifetime, and that was shortly after your parents were murdered.”

“So you know who I once was.”

“You are still Edelweiss Potter, as far as the Home Office and other non-magical ministries are concerned,” the Queen said, unimpressed. “You are welcome to seek out a meeting with the head there. I doubt he will be as receptive to your transformation as the magical realm has been. Though with the platform the Prime Minister and his party ran on, you might find an ally in my government.”

Gladiolus hummed thoughtfully. She had given little consideration before the Queen’s summon as to how she would pursue her goals in the muggle world. But now that she had the ear of the most influential woman on the planet, she could begin working toward preparing Earth for its inevitable future. And perhaps she could entrust Lord Salazar’s shuttle to worthwhile scientists if any existed.

“There is another matter I wish to speak of,” Gladiolus said before the Queen could dismiss her. “One that requires a great deal of secrecy and discretion, though I cannot say if a soul exists on this world who can accomplish all I desire.”

The Queen’s brows furrowed, yet interest bubbled brightly in her hard eyes. “And whatever might this be for? Is there some other great secret you’ve been keeping?”

“That is certainly one way to phrase it,” Gladiolus admitted wryly. “It concerns Lord Salazar Slytherin’s secret legacy and the conditions which first brought him to Earth.”

“…‘the conditions which first brought him to Earth’,” the Queen repeated calmly. “You speak as if he is not from this planet. I happen to know his family line stretched into the present.”

“I understand your confusion. My tale of Salazar Slytherin begins on a world called Ziost on the far side of the galaxy, over a thousand years ago…”

Gladiolus was greatly pleased when she finally departed Buckingham Palace. She had spoken long and deep about Lord Salazar and the strange devices and technological mysteries left behind beneath the Chamber of Secrets. It did irk her, giving up part of what made the Chamber of Secrets her greatest refuge and some of the secrets she had gathered over the past year. But she had neither the skill nor the background to manage the technological equipment so it could be replicated. She had also found an odd kinship in the Queen. Enough that she enjoyed their extended conversation.

She made her way to a shaded spot in nearby St. James Park. Gladiolus drew the dark side around her so any wandering muggle gazes would slide off her. Once she would have relied on her father’s cloak, but that was an artifact belonging to a dead girl. Darth Gladiolus did not need relics of that nature.

Her power over the Force was enough.

In one moment, she stood in St. James Park. In the next, she stood in the foyer of Number Twelve. There was no telltale pop like with magical apparition. Her power of astral travel and projection was greater than any traveling ability available to common mages. They could not ward against her coming nor against her leaving. She had discovered accounts from the previous war of how Death Eaters would throw up palings to prevent their prey from fleeing. Gladiolus had made a point of testing her powers against such palings and was pleased to discover they did not work against her.

“Mistress Gladiolus has returned,” drawled Kreacher, appearing at her side. The house elf stood taller these days, thanks to being freed from the enslaving dominion cast upon him by the Blacks. The dark side overcame the magic placed on the strange house elf. To Gladiolus’s amusement, he had gleefully destroyed the painting of Sirius’s mother. The harlot had screamed and begged until her portrait and its frame were reduced to ash.

“That I have,” Gladiolus replied. “My conversation with the muggle Queen was quite enlightening.”

Kreacher’s face scrunched. Some prejudices could not be circumvented “Should I draw up a bath for mistress?”

“No need, Kreacher. I appreciate the thoughtfulness. I will want my meal in my solar shortly after seven. I shall be busy well into the night.”

Kreacher bowed low before vanishing.

Gladiolus smiled at where he had been. It was a shame that the closest she had to a proper servant was a strange, mismatched creature. Perhaps she should seek out an apprentice.

If only I were not so busy, she thought, striding deeper into her residence. Ruling, planning for the future… It makes one long for a threat to overcome.

Draco Malfoy ignored the glares he received upon entering the Room of Requirement. Many around the room had been a part of Potter’s little cabal the previous year, though he recognized a few whose names had not been on that list Pansy confiscated. Chief among them were a pair of Slytherins he knew were in the same position as him: their Death Eater relatives had perished within the confines of the Department of Mysteries. They looked uncomfortable around the swill and swine of magical society. But if they desired retribution for the crimes committed against their families like him, then they would require allies and use them however they could.

And once the threat to their ancient society was dealt with, their allies would be reminded of where they belonged: at the bottom of society.

“The hell is Malfoy doing here?” asked a brawny Hufflepuff. The boy looked between Granger and Draco, a confused tilt to his eyebrows. “Why’d you invite him?”

Granger graced Draco with a disgusted look before admitting, “We need more allies than those present. Malfoy might be a vocal blood purist whose father died with a skull mask on his face and a brand on his arm, but he’s willing to help us with the problem of ‘Darth Gladiolus’. We all know she must be dealt with.”

“And how will we do that?” asked another. “She killed You-Know-Who and Dumbledore! The Ministry says she fought them both too!”

Granger’s face flushed a delicious shade of embarrassed red. “That’s only hearsay. The Ministry has lied about plenty. I would not be surprised if they told even a fraction of the truth about that night. You truly think a fifteen-year-old, partially trained witch could face them both and win?”

“She’s not partially trained, though,” said another. She wore the blue and bronze of Ravenclaw, yet something about her face screamed fellow to Draco. “My uncle works directly for the Minister. He says Lord Gladiolus has strange powers. Greater than any magic either Dumbledore or the Dark Lord knew.”

Draco scoffed loudly. “Potter’s always been lucky. We all know it.” He took a step forward, drawing eyes to him. Time to make you proud, Father. “I don’t know what strange witchcraft she found in the bowels of the castle, but it was enough to hoodwink the Minister and seize control of the Ministry. How can we stand by in good conscience as she tears apart all our forefathers built up?”

“Not all of us have magical ancestors, Malfoy,” said Longbottom, of all people. “You and I can trace our ancestry back through the generations, but some present here—and across society—can barely go back five generations, if even that far. They’re as welcome in our society as those of us who can trace their lineage far back.” He then smiled cheekily. “Though I guess some of us have to trace our way back across the Channel.”

Draco felt heat rise in his cheeks. He sniffed and muttered, “At least my ancestors made and shaped history. Yours were content to sit on the sidelines and watch, Longbottom. Best you remember that before you speak.”

Longbottom glowered as he reached for his wand. But before he could draw, Granger stepped forward and said, “Enough, you two! We do not have the luxury of fighting among ourselves. Edie will use that against us if we give her the chance.”

“And how would you know that?” Draco sneered.

“Because I read the Daily Prophet. It might still be the Ministry’s mouthpiece, but their writers cannot help but of her new ‘powers’. I doubt even half of the ones described are real, but if they are—”

“Then we’re doomed,” a hidden voice moaned. Draco sneered as the voice repeated: “We’re doomed!”

“Oh shut up!” shouted the Weasley girl. “You’re just here because you want to—”

“Ginny,” hissed Granger. “Enough.”

The Weasley girl huffed before crossing her arms. She glowered in the direction of the moaning voice. Draco failed to recognize the voice. He cared little about who it might be as long as they remained silent.

“As I was saying before I was interrupted,” continued Granger, “we must remain vigilant. The agreement struck between Edie, the Headmaster, and the school governors only lasts so long. That she has kept her word is due to how busy the leviathan of the Ministry has kept her. But once the summer arrives, she will be free to act as she wishes. And she has something precious beneath the castle.”

The room fell silent at the reminder that Potter had found something in the Chamber of Secrets that allowed her to acquire undue power. Draco almost wondered if the Dark Lord had used that same power before casting that errant thought aside. Had the Dark Lord known it, he would have destroyed Dumbledore long ago. Nobody would know the name Edelweiss Potter, nor would they have ever heard of a “Lord Gladiolus”.

“You don’t think she would act against Hogwarts,” someone else said, their voice quivering. “She might be power hungry, but she isn’t mad.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Susan Bones, suddenly stepping forward. “I’ve continued to write my aunt about ‘Gladiolus’, as Potter renamed herself. Everything I’ve learned recently has been disturbing. She possesses a power that allows her to overcome the normal boundaries of magic.”

Whispers rippled through the room. Nearly all were fearful. Some even reacted as though Potter might appear among them and slaughter those who failed to bow quickly enough. Draco nearly scoffed. But to do so would draw undue attention his way. He needed to integrate himself into this group carefully, not draw their ire and hatred. Several already hated him—and those feelings were most certainly mutual—but they would serve his interests if he had his way. Even Granger would be a tool for his revenge.

And best of all, she wanted revenge of her own. Granger wanted to reward betrayal with another betrayal. The girl did not know it, but Draco saw through her. His mother had taught him how to quickly read intentions and more over the summer.

“When you return to Hogwarts,” Narcissa Malfoy, the last of House Black, had said days after the end of Draco’s fifth year. “There will be dangers behind every corner. We must pretend to be loyal to this ‘Lord Gladiolus’, else we risk our family’s destruction.” Her passive expression became severe. “Your father, may his soul rest in peace, did not prepare you adequately for the trials ahead. This summer, I will ensure you are ready to handle our enemies properly.”

Draco had devoured everything his mother sought to teach him. And he believed he would extract great utility from using those lessons here. They would permit him to twist all present to his aims.

They would be his pawns in his quest to kill Edelweiss Potter, or Darth Gladiolus as she now named herself.

Chapter Text

Wind swept across the snowy graveyard as a cloaked figure drifted past burdened and faded gravestones. Darth Gladiolus could not say why she had come to this place, but it was New Year's Eve. The end of the year that witnessed her transformation. Her ascension. Perhaps she had desired a fitting time to sever an unknown tie with her past. She had destroyed that weak girl Edelweiss Potter months ago, on the very day she cast down her enemies and assumed the mantle of Dark Lord of the Sith.

Yet somehow, she had found one last, final task to attend to related to Edelweiss Potter.

Gladiolus stopped upon reaching a large headstone. It bore two names. Two familiar names. On the left-hand side, it said JAMES POTTER. And on the right, it said LILY POTTER. Beneath the names was a quotation. One that sounded peculiarly like something Dumbledore might have said prior to his death by her hand: The last enemy to be defeated is death.

How distasteful, Gladiolus thought with a sneer. Of course he would disgrace them with one of his arrogant platitudes. Yet for their gravestone to proclaim death could be defeated… She reconsidered their sacrifice. The life it had bought her. She smirked. Perhaps not as distasteful as I thought. Their sacrifice gave me life. Yet not what I would have expected from all I was told of them.

For a sudden moment, she considered destroying the headstone and permanently destroying the Potter legacy. But Gladiolus reconsidered. To do that would mean that the name of Potter still possessed a hold over her. That it could affect her at all. Better she abandon the last remnant of her bloodline. No longer would the Potter family grace magical Britain.

There was only Darth Gladiolus and her new order. She turned from the graves and treaded away, content to leave the past of Edelweiss Potter behind.

The future lies before me. One ruled by the Sith, for the Sith. One that shall answer to me, and me alone.

On the seventh day of 1997, a proclamation was issued from the Ministry of Magic. It spread across the land, carried by owls and Floo and the ever-trustworthy power of rumor that permeated small communities. In homes across the land, families froze in their holiday merriment to gaze upon the sudden arrival. They strove to make sense of what was being imposed on their nation:

FROM THE DESK OF DARTH GLADIOLUS

WITCH-QUEEN OF BRITAIN

To all subjects of magical Britain and Ireland, along with all dominions, provinces, and territories;

As of this day, the Seventh of January in the year 1997 Anno Domini, I have abolished the Wizengamot body as it has been structured since its reformation in the wake of Lord Protector Cromwell’s death and the later implementation of the Statute of Secrecy. It is vital in these trying times that the Ministry for Magic be allowed to better adapt and react to events as they come to pass. More so, the Wizengamot lost the meaning and value once poured into it by the reformations. Instead of being a body whose sole purpose is to ensure the longevity of our community and curtail the excesses of Ministry administrations, it instead has become a source of decay, willing and able to fall into line with whatever madness any Minister desires to inflict on the people.

Thusly, it falls under my purview as Witch-Queen, directly subordinate to only Her Majesty, the Queen of England, Scotland, and Ireland, to dissolve the present body. In the coming months, reforms will be made within the Ministry to minimize the bureaucratic monstrosity that holds back our society. And once that Herculean task has been accomplished, a new Wizengamot shall be summoned. This body shall not be comprised of those from the old families, along with Order of Merlin holders and Ministry officials. It will instead be comprised of those specifically summoned by my person due to their wisdom and capability, along with an undetermined number elected from the various shires that comprise our kingdom.

I seek to include those of various backgrounds, such as newbloods—those considered at present muggleborn—and members of families that have arisen in this nation in the centuries since the Wizengamot solidified late in the Eighteenth Century.

All present members of the Wizengamot shall be permanently barred from the future body, receiving neither summons nor approval from my person to attend any future elections. Any who dare resist this reorganization shall suffer a traitor’s death—drawn, quartered, and hung by their own entrails.

This is my will. It shall be done.

For days and nights, a horrible blizzard slammed the grounds of Hogwarts. Hermione Granger pensively watched the snow pour from the skies, comfortably sat in the library. She had been working on an essay meant not for any class, but for publication in the Daily Prophet under a pseudonym. One, admittedly, that she had yet to select. She knew blatantly criticizing the recent proclamation put forth by “Darth Gladiolus” could lead to her imprisonment—or worse, a traitor’s death—but she could not stand by and watch as the world twisted on its head and was ruined by her former friend.

Her research into the Wizengamot and its origins, along with the structure of magical Britain’s Ministry and comparisons between it and the muggle government, had left her with little to be happy with, though. Once she had believed the body to be a combination of Parliament and the courts, granted powers to ensure the Ministry could not overstep the boundaries laid down long ago when all of England was united under the Crown. After all, the developments necessary to forge the muggle state she knew began prior to the Statute of Secrecy.

Hermione sighed as she straightened and rubbed her forehead. Her head ached something fierce. Her eyes burned with slight strain. Her nature tempted her to continue working, but she had lost track of time. Worse, researching and writing this essay had cut into her studying and homework time. A recent potions essay had returned with an “Exceeds Expectations” instead of her usual “Outstanding”. An Exceeds Expectations! The new potions professor—professional and Australian, capable of actually teaching—had rejected her request to rewrite her paper, calling it “good enough for sloppy, early morning work”. She had wilted under those words.

“Granger. A surprise to find you burning the midnight oil in the library.”

Hermione masked her grimace as she glanced over her shoulder. Draco Malfoy loomed behind her. She almost regretted bringing him into the refurbished Dumbledore’s Army. But unfortunately, he had proved to be an increasingly valuable ally. Not only did he have connections she could not imagine possessing, but he also knew how to use them. The death of his father at Edelweiss’s hands had forced him to grow up. And annoyingly, something resembling a decent man had lurked under his noxious exterior

“Malfoy. I was unaware you knew where the library was.”

He snorted and then smirked. “I’ve always known. Malfoy Library has a high quality collection. It’s easier to send home for books and return them as needed than to bother with this one.”

She resisted her impulse to glower. Hermione knew if she had a library the fraction of Hogwarts back home, she would be hard pressed to surface beyond meals. She knew Number Twelve Grimmauld possessed a library. But being on the out with Edelweiss meant she was barred from the old Black house. And despite having killed her godfather, Edelweiss inherited the entirety of his fortune, along with a questionable quantity of spoils from those who perished by her hand.

“Of course. Someone as spoiled as you would never dare spend time around the peasantry.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “If I truly required something from this library, I would seek it out. I haven’t… until now.” He then smiled at her as though her existence did not insult his grotesque beliefs and sensibilities. “That would happen to be you, Granger.”

He then sat down across from her.

“What do you actually want, Malfoy?”

“I wanted to share some news from London. Something that won’t be printed in the Prophet.”

“And what would that be?”

“Patience, Granger.” Malfoy peered at her essay, his brows furrowing slightly. “What is this?” he asked as if his eyes did not work.

“I’m going to write something for the Prophet under a pseudonym,” Granger said, proud of herself. “It’s in response to Edelweiss’s power grab.”

Malfoy hummed. “I would be shocked if they publish it in the current climate. But feel free to keep writing it. The Prophet has a limited history of protecting anonymous writers regardless of the ideas they express.”

Hermione assumed he genuinely meant it when he implied she would be protected despite arguing against ‘Darth Gladiolus’, no matter how the Ministry might threaten them. She was pleasantly surprised to hear so. She suspected the Prophet likely found it easier to reject anonymous writing than to edit that which opposed or contradicted whichever narrative they were commanded to push.

“I understand. But I still need to put my opinion forward. Others will agree with my opinion. And as you said, the Prophet will protect me from her wrath.”

“You’re hoping Potter still possesses enough sentimentality to not murder you for daring to question her will,” Malfoy said, almost sneering. “You’re a fool to think a shred of the girl we knew exists in the monster we oppose.”

Hermione frowned. “What do you know that I don’t?”

For several seconds, she feared Malfoy would not respond. He surprised her by releasing a long, almost pained breath. “Mother finally got unsealed records about what happened in the Department of Mysteries. Three Blacks were killed that night. My aunt, Bellatrix… Sirius Black… and Nymphadora Tonks. All by Potter’s hand.

“And while one of those murders could be justified,” Malfoy continued before Hermione could speak up, “the other two less so. Tonks was an auror associated with the Order of the Phoenix, while her godfather, Sirius Black, was involved in Dumbledore’s little vigilante club as well.”

“How do you know about the Order?”

Draco sniffed. “Other than the fact you told me?” Hermione flushed, already recognizing her slip. “My mother knew. She learned of them from my father, and I don’t need to explain why he would know.”

And there was the greatest sticking point in their alliance of convenience. Malfoy wanted to avenge his Death Eater father. As far as Hermione was concerned, Lucius Malfoy received what he deserved. He probably should have stood trial before being sentenced to life in Azkaban. But she could no longer justify keeping a man like Lucius Malfoy in society, especially with how he wielded his wealth and influence.

“Your mother,” Hermione said. “I’ve never heard anyone talk about her.”

“For the best,” Malfoy said. He did not grumble as Ron might have done. Malfoy sounded proud of his mother, despite the fact she apparently worked away from the prying eyes of magical Britain. “When your sisters are Bellatrix Lestrange and Andromeda Tonks, it’s easy to be overlooked and forgotten, even as you pull the strings of society.”

“Is that what she actually did? Your father’s influence was clearly felt, but—”

“But my mother’s influence wasn’t. I know.” Malfoy huffed and shook his head. A soft, almost fond smile had found its ways to his lips. “It’s funny that you and the other muggleborns talk all about how backward and regressive magical society is. Yet you only perceive power as that wielded by the Ministry and those visibly at its pinnacle. It’s probably why Potter acts the way she does. She might have been born to a family almost eight-hundred years old, but she acts out like any muggleborn given more power than sense.”

Hermione nodded, pretending to accept Malfoy’s explanation. His words did not reflect the madness polluting Edelweiss’s mind. It was a terrible darkness that plagued her friend. One that deluded her, destroying the kind, heroic girl she had been. It had given birth to the monster she had become. Hermione could have lived with a hero who killed when necessary. Hermione might possess the strength to be as forgiving as Dumbledore, but she had finally come to terms with the reality that Edelweiss Potter did not possess that same strength. Instead, she possessed an iron will necessary for acting as she saw fit.

Perhaps that’s why she was easy prey for whatever evil that has claimed her and given her a new name.

Hermione’s gaze returned to her essay. Her brows furrowed. She suddenly felt incompetent. She had gone into writing her essay thinking it would only take carefully crafted arguments to sway Edelweiss’s mind. Yet if she were to believe the words Malfoy uttered, her friend was no more. She had been consumed by the fiend who named herself Darth Gladiolus.

And that fiend could not be allowed to retain her power.

And as she began to consider the matter seriously, Hermione began fearing the only means for righting magical Britain was to seize the Ministry from that monster, Darth Gladiolus. They had to reject the limited democratic norms that had made the Ministry of Magic recognizable to her just long enough to ensure they could be saved and preserved for future generations.

She glanced up and caught Malfoy’s gaze. “Say…” Hermione began warily. “What would it take to… overcome the Ministry?”

Malfoy paused. He then raised a considering eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re actually willing to plot treason.”

“It isn’t treason if it benefits the nation,” said Hermione defensively. “What Edie has done is the real treason! She’s trampled all over what people have fought and died for. She decided that just because she could kill Voldemort and Dumbledore that she deserves to rule over all of magical Britain, instead of gaining legitimacy from where it truly comes from—the people.”

Malfoy scoffed. “Most people will support anyone who promises to punish their enemies and reward their loyal followers.” He then paused. “Punish their enemies… Reward their loyal followers…” He tilted his head slightly while holding her gaze. “Has ‘Darth Gladiolus’ actually rewarded her followers? You can argue she’s punished her enemies.”

“That’s if you consider death to be a punishment,” Hermione grumbled. She then sighed. “I don’t think she’s rewarded anyone yet. All she does is punish and punish, increasingly grasping power for herself. You’ve read her declaration. She’s dissolved the Wizengamot—a flawed institution, yes, but one that countered the power of the Ministry.”

“Yet she says she’ll install a new one.”

Hermione scoffed. “I would be shocked if she follows through on that promise. The way she’s going, by the time she reaches that promised day of a new body, she will have already betrayed the trust which led to anyone to willing allow her the power to dictate how the world should work.”

To her surprise, Malfoy’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “You have not even spoken of her greatest evil. Our gracious Lord Gladiolus has declared herself a Dark Lord. Not publically. But everyone in the Ministry knows it. My mother knows it. It’s half the reason she’s done everything within her power to prevent Potter from coming to Malfoy Manor, despite requests worded to all but command compliance.”

She paused. Hermione had not expected Malfoy to reveal any secrets. He held plenty to the chest, despite all he said during meetings. He had a talent for filling the air with meaningless words and phrases. It would be impressive, if it did not infuriate her.

“Is she willing to help?” Hermione found herself asking. “Your mother. Will she—”

“I’m afraid not,” Malfoy said. He sounded sincere, which took Hermione by surprise. “My mother will not bow to Potter’s power, for she will not support one who has shed the blood of House Black. If there is anything my mother is, it is faithful to that which matters.”

“Blood,” said Hermione, less judgmental than she might have been in the past.

“Indeed,” Malfoy replied with a smirk. “Blood has controlled the fate of magical Britain since before the Statute. Even before my ancestors came across with William the Conqueror, who himself was a squib. Some claim he’s a muggle. But that is a lie.”

Hermione blinked. She resisted the temptation to embrace the chance to learn more about magical Britain’s history from someone who would have had it stuffed into his head as a small boy. Instead, she paused to take in a deep breath before asking, “Then do you have anything useful to provide me, Malfoy? Or did you just come by to give me grief?”

He did not answer immediately. In fact, Malfoy spent the better part of a minute thinking through possible answers. Hermione suspected she would receive nothing but deceit and being stonewalled.

So when Malfoy said, “Yes. I am willing to help you,” Hermione was taken aback. She had hoped her alliance with Malfoy might prove fruitful. But never had she thought he would be willing to actually aid her. “Once you finish your little ‘letter to the editor’ for the Prophet, I’d like to read it over. Edit it. There are things I know—ideas only I possess—that will make your writing more effective with those in the populace willing to support opposition to Potter.”

Hermione feared for a second he spoke of blood purity before tossing that fear aside. The concern of her letter was the Wizengamot and Edelweiss’s mad destruction of magical Britain’s institutions. Despite families holding seats on the body for generations, many had changed hands often enough that any fixation on blood purity would read strangely within the rest of her writing.

“Fine. But I will have final approval.”

Malfoy smiled widely. “I would ask for nothing less, Granger.”

And with that, he rose to his feet and walked away. Hermione sighed and returned to her work. A burst of inspiration struck her. She put quill to parchment. The sooner she finished, the sooner she could be published.

And the sooner I can affect the country for the better.

A letter concerning the declaration of abolition for the old Wizengamot, and the decision to create an allegedly more modern legislative and judicial body,

I write filled with doubt and uncertainty about the future. Already an institution, which has served magical Britain well throughout the centuries despite its many well-known issues, has been torn down and destroyed by the ‘Lord Gladiolus’ who has brazenly an unlawfully accepted the title of ‘Witch-queen’. With the abolition of the Wizengamot, the greatest and most long lasting counter to unrestricted use of power by the the Minister for Magic has been cast aside, all because of a single witch who thinks herself a dark lord has decided it must be so.

It would be most proper to call this ‘Lord Gladiolus’ a dark lord. Since she has demanded the title of ‘lord’ instead of ‘lady’, then I shall respect it—and declare her to be what we all know she is. A dark lord. Perhaps cowardice or terror holds most back, but I cannot remain silent. To remain silent would be to betray the promises made by those who came before myself, and my generation.

We were not the ones who failed following the previous Dark Lord’s first defeat. We are their inheritors, left to pick up the pieces of a broken and shattered generation.

And unfortunately, we failed. We failed the one meant to be our champion, allowing her to evolve into an agent of evil. For that is what she has become. Lord Gladiolus is welcome to posture and postulate about her alleged reasons for the actions she takes. But at the end of the day, all she seeks is power. This new Wizengamot shall be bound to her, and any within that body—be they from lines centuries old or newly come to magic—shall be disposed of, should they not fall in line with that which she desires.

So it must be that magical Britain rejects the Dark Lord who has seized power. She has stepped over the corpse of Albus Dumbledore to claim power over all. She has even destroyed one of her own, the very Dark Lord who slew her parents and made her famous enough to dare seizing power in the first place.

Sincere in my pursuit of justice and liberty,

Cassius

“And what about this… Cassius?” asked Minister Fudge with a shiver. “Will you not do anything?”

Gladiolus turned her sulfuric gaze upon him. Two weeks had passed since The Daily Prophet printed a letter written by one ‘Cassius’ that rejected her proposal to rebuild the Wizengamot. She would not allow whomever it was under pseudonym to stop her. Already some questioned her plan. But it did not matter. The old Wizengamot was already abolished. Among those who attempted to protest her action posthumously, some had been secretly shipped off to Azkaban while others had been sent off to re-education facilities scattered across the hinterlands of Wales and the Scottish highlands.

“What about them?” she asked with a sneer. When Minister Fudge offered nothing valuable, Gladiolus continued. “It matters not. The public shall fall in line, no matter what others attempt. In fact, having one who questions my plans could be useful.” A sly smile came to her lips as a plot formed in her mind. “Indeed. I could use this ‘Cassius’ fool to develop the argument in favor of my new Wizengamot. They will rove their use to me so.”

“…‘your new Wizengamot’?” questioned Madam Bones. She was the only department head who remained behind after Gladiolus dismissed them. “You forget why we agreed to your proposal in the first place. It was the inability of the Wizengamot to deal with either Dumbledore or You-Know-Who that led to us approving your declaration of abolition.”

Gladiolus clenched a hand, focusing her anger there. She resisted the temptation to draw on the dark side’s power. Madam Bones had surprised her in recent months, slowly working to fill a position that made her a linchpin in much that Gladiolus plotted. Should Bones turn against the Sith Lord, then so would the DMLE. She did not fear the prospect of fighting the aurors and the hit wizards and even the patrolmen. But slaughtering the men and women who ensured peace and order in magical Britain would weaken her position should rebellions elements dare arise.

They were necessary for imposing her will on all of magical Britain. That was how it remained in the present. The sooner she changed that, the sooner she would be freed of this new chain cast around her neck. The Sith Code promised freedom through power, strength, victory, and above all—the Force.

She only needed to see them through to her glorious end.

“I understand why you see it so,” Gladiolus replied. “But the public will see it otherwise. The legitimacy of this future Wizengamot relies upon my personal legitimacy. And while I know you distrust my methods, Amelia, you must admit that my plan is better than any put forward in a century.”

The redheaded witch glowered. Amelia’s expression amused the Sith Lord, especially with how her monocle muddled that otherwise fierce look. Still, Gladiolus treated her seriously. She chaffed at having to maintain Amelia’s post among her inner circle.

But it was necessary.

All I do is necessary.

“Unless you have any serious criticism of how I help to run this government or the plans I have laid forth for the future of magical Britain, you are dismissed for the day, Madam Bones. I imagine your department has been busier than normal recently.”

Madam Bones rose to her feet with a cold look upon her face. “I will go, then. But be careful, Lord Gladiolus. You draw closer and closer to upsetting the balance in magical Britain so far you can never restore the peace everyone jealously desires.”

Gladiolus waited until Amelia left before smirking to herself. It was amusing that the woman was willing to subtly threaten her. She enjoyed the byplay, even if she would prefer for the woman to expunge her anger and frustration by another means. None could be allowed to suspect something was amiss among the uppermost ranks of the Ministry. Darth Gladiolus needed all to believe she was as powerful as she said. While it was true she was tremendously powerful, Gladiolus knew she could not claim all of Britain solely by her power alone. One day soon, she would possess that strength. But it was not hers yet.

Just you wait, Britain. One day, you shall all be mine.

FROM THE DESK OF DARTH GLADIOLUS

WITCH-QUEEN OF BRITAIN

A response to ‘Cassius’,

Hello, daring writer. I know you are writing under a pseudonym, taking on the moniker of the one who led the assassination plot against Caesar, who did all he must to secure the freedom and security of Rome’s people. How daring, how brazen you are, to claim that you and he are one and the same. Perhaps you are his kin, by a fashion. And if that is true, then you are a traitor to Britain and all she stands for. You are one who shall betray all who dare to trust you. And by doing so, you shall see not your goals fulfilled, but my vision come to fruition.

I have returned to your letter a few times in the weeks since it was first published in the Daily Prophet. I find it quite curious how you write of me and of the threats that I work to dismantle, now that the Dark Lords who threatened Britain’s peace and security are dead. And yes, I do say ‘Dark Lords’ for a purpose. While Albus Dumbledore did not forward the typical causes associated with the dark lords of the past and of other lands, he acted in the manner of one. He gathered loyal, unthinking followers to his banner. He made promises impossible to fulfill, and he played games with the systems designed to maintain magical society. And let us be frank: the purpose of these systems is to serve the long-term interest of that very society: the proliferation of it and its inhabitants.

But Dumbledore showed weakness where another dark lord would show strength. He allowed his enemies to escape justice, following Voldemort’s first fall. Several slain by my hand within the confines of the Ministry of Magic were granted pardons or even exonerated of their crimes entirely. These were not innocents. They deserved their fates, and so were gifted the mercy of a clean death.

As for you, I would advise you rethink what is in your best interest. I suspect you are not one of the purebloods who sought power through Voldemort. Perhaps you were one of Dumbledore’s lackeys. If so, desist with your desire to restore whatever movement he tried to form. They were powerless before Voldemort. You are powerless before me. And while it pains me to admit a commonality with that foul monster, it is necessary for this argument.

All who stand against the peace and prosperity of magical Britain shall be laid low—or laid to rest.

I look forward to your next letter, for no doubt one shall come. It is as certain as the setting sun, Cassius.

Neville Longbottom entered his grandmother’s solar and pursed his lips as he glanced around at the few dozen invited for whatever affair she wished for him to attend. He had only come home for the spring hols, thankful to be away from the increasingly cloistered atmosphere at Hogwarts. Not that this is much better, he thought, gazing around the solar one more. It was a large room for its purpose, with several plush chairs and a great window that allowed sunlight to wash through and illuminate all within. In the past year or so, his grandmother had begun to decorate the room with the plants he loved most. It was a subtle display of her pride in him and a reminder that she had recognized where she failed with raising him.

The greatest concern among those gathered, in Neville’s mind, was the two remaining Malfoys. Narcissa Malfoy, born to the infamous Black family, glanced around with a bitter, almost estranged expressing marring her face. Though Neville guessed there was a reason why. Narcissa Malfoy’s gaze continually lingered on and fled from Andromeda Tonks, who his grandmother said was Narcissa’s estranged sister and the mother of Nymphadora Tonks, one of two aurors killed during the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. They had been the sisters of Bellatrix Lestrange. And while part of Neville wished he could have been the one to finish them off, he did not resent the fact he had been unable to enact justice on Lestrange.

His gaze went to Malfoy, who was busy arguing with Hermione. He still found it bizarre to watch them interact without trying to hex each other. They had grown strangely close over the past year. Ever since Hermione brought Malfoy into the fold, Neville had begun to suspect something was entirely amiss. He could not say exactly how things were amiss, but that particular feeling was unshakable.

After all, Draco Malfoy was Lucius Malfoy’s son.

Of course, the former patriarch of the Malfoy family had perished by Edelweiss’s hand last May. He would not call her ‘Darth Gladiolus’ unless she demanded it from him face-to-face. She would remain Edelweiss Potter to him, no matter what she did.

He sighed, thinking of Edelweiss. She had been his friend, or so he continued to believe. She had believed in his capacity to be a great wizard. She had not decried him as weak or mocked him behind his back. Always she had been kind, seeing the potential hidden within him.

Perhaps that was why she saw such potential within herself. He had seen censured documents about her role in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. Over a dozen Death Eaters had died by her hand, along with Auror Tonks, Mad-Eye Moody, and her godfather, Sirius Black. That last one had not seemed odd, yet trying to bring it up with either Hermione or Ron Weasley led to trouble. Neither was willing to speak about whatever existed between Edelweiss and her godfather. All he knew was that there had been something special and it was betrayed in the end.

His thoughts halted as his grandmother finally returned to the solar, the Greengrasses following in her wake. Daphne caught Neville’s gaze and nodded once. She had stepped up within the group known as Dumbledore’s Army now that they could expand and were no longer under Edelweiss’s supreme authority. Where Hermione led, Daphne ensured all followed. Whether it was politically or magically, Daphne Greengrass worked to ensure all among their number maintained a capacity to keep pace.

“This is a very fascinating gathering,” Neville’s grandmother drawled as she gazed around. “Allies and friends, enemies and foes… We’ve all gathered here for a single reason: Something needs to be done about this ‘Darth Gladiolus’ madness, and needs to happen soon.”

Several nodded and many more muttered their agreement.

“Now, I hope all of you have taken the time to look over the new and revised plan for the Wizengamot,” Neville’s grandmother continued. “I was surprised with the thoroughness the girl has placed into her plan. But then to assume what had once been Albus’s purview within society requires a capable mind able to see what we are all blind to.”

“That almost sounds like you approve of her actions,” said a merchant Neville did not recognize. From what he knew, some of the special privileges particular merchant families had held for centuries were being eliminated. ‘Economic liberalization’, Edelweiss had called it in the announcement of the new policy. “That stupid bitch has nearly impoverished my family! I’m lucky she hasn’t decided to chop me down like she did that fool Dumbledore!”

Shocked silence followed the outburst. Neville glanced around. Many held grim expressions, clearly sharing the merchant’s opinion. He could not entirely agree with how they viewed his old friend. He had hoped some would remain somewhat open to what Edelweiss sought to achieve. Neville believed she genuinely cared about Britain. The trouble was that she had no trouble seeking and seizing power in order to make her vision reality.

She risks becoming like the men she’s hated, thought Neville. Edelweiss might have hated Dumbledore, but she had never acted power thirsty around him. Not until she seized power in a single night, and slowly they were becoming strangers.

“I do not think she will wantonly murder those opposed to her,” Neville said carefully. He stiffened upon receiving shocked and angry gazes. “Yes, Edie—”

“The bitch wants to be called ‘Gladiolus’! Call her by that blasted name.”

Neville turned to the pureblood who interrupted him. “Did you ever speak of Voldemort by his chosen name? Or did you speak about him by another epithet?”

“I…”

“That’s what I thought,” Neville snarled. He turned and scanned those now standing around him. “Edie has her plan. Yes, it is unfortunate that we’re forced to engage with her by her terms. But that’s how we’ve all had to live with Dumbledore and Voldemort. That’s what she would tell us. And she truly believes that.”

“So why are you defending her?” asked another.

“Because she’s my friend. And because I do not wish to abandon my hope in her. She might be this ‘Gladiolus’ person for now, but I cannot believe it is permanent. Not even if some fool got lucky assassinating her.”

Neville noticed a few wealthier purebloods on the far side of the chamber turn to each other with suspect looks. Nobody else minded them. It was though they were not present.

“That’s a very inspiring speech, Longbottom,” said Draco Malfoy. He sauntered forward, gathering attention to him. “But I know as well as the rest that we cannot allow her to remain in power. Gladiolus must be removed. She must be… quarantined from society. Perhaps Azkaban. Perhaps exile. But either way, she must be removed.

“And I am not alone in this belief. I am confident everyone present knows of ‘Cassius’, the one who wrote a letter earlier this year in contention to Gladiolus’s plot to turn the Wizengamot into her own little fiefdom. We are in agreement that something must be done. Some of us can act politically. Others can act economically.” Malfoy paused and straightened, suddenly looking grown up. “And some of us might need to take up arms. If necessary, and only as a final resort.”

“Would you be among that latter group?” asked a broad man with a thick brow. Neville had a feeling that man came from a family sympathetic to the Death Eaters, if not outright complicit. Several former Death Eaters had been arrested. Yet many who secretly believed Voldemort doctrines persisted within society. Not even Edelweiss could sweep them all up. “Will you take up arms, Malfoy? Are you your father’s son? Or do you remain acoward to the end?”

“My father died by Potter’s hand. I will admit he wore a Death Eater’s mask and had a blackened Dark Mark upon his arm. But he had been the Dark Lord’s pawn before. He became that again, and I lost my father for that very reason.”

The other man huffed. “Sounds like you’re a coward as well, Malfoy—”

Before the man could finish his thought, a wand sprung into Draco Malfoy’s hand. His lips moved, but Neville heard no incantation. A violet spell shot forth and hit the man before he could draw and raise his own wand.

“No fighting!” shouted Neville’s grandmother. Malfoy paused to raise an eyebrow. “We are here to speak peacefully, not to behave like egotist children!”

“You’re right, Madam Longbottom,” Malfoy said. He slipped his wand back into his sleeve and took a step back to where his mother stood nervously. “I am only tired of being named a coward. If that were true, neither my mother nor I would be here. We would have hidden behind the wards of Malfoy Manor, hoping they would be enough to protect us against Darth Gladiolus.”

“You speak as if she’ll have cause to strike against your family,” Greengrass’s father declared. “Any reason why?”

Draco Malfoy offered a small smile. “I know Potter well enough to guess that she will not sit still forever as people question her and her vision for our society. Give it enough time. She will act. And given the changes with her, she will act violently enough to poison the people against her.”

Little else of importance was said before people began to depart. Neville watched them go, troubled by what transpired. He had a feeling that any peaceful path toward resolution with Edelweiss—with Gladiolus—had been lost forever.

And he could not say why.

A critique of the new Wizengamot’s workings and declarations,

Once more I write to the public on the matter of the Wizengamot. It was January when the old body was dissolved. Now that it is May, there has been enough time since the body’s reformation for observers to begin making early judgments. Do note my opinions are bound to change in some regard. Whether that change will be minor or major cannot be foreseen in the present. All I can state with grim confidence is that ‘Lord Gladiolus’ has not made good on her promises.

Firstly, I have noted that three of the sixty-seven-member body happen to be related to families who held seats on the old body which were passed down their bloodline. This kind of aristocratic primogeniture was promised by Lord Gladiolus to be completely and utterly abolished. And while I do recognize that she has made good on this point with the other sixty, that any slipped through is a reminder that she cannot be trusted. For all she calls herself a ‘Witch-Queen’, Gladiolus is fundamentally no different from the dark lords of old—or even recent years. If one were to mind the obituaries of the past seven months, one would see a decidedly slow trend of disappearances—a trend which continues to persist. Not only that, but it persists enough one could predict a disappearance during the next thirteen days. Whom it shall be is unknown, for there is no trend as there had been with Grindelwald and You-Know-Who. Only a pattern that can be detected.

Of their fate, none know.

Secondly, of those accepted from backgrounds previously excluded by the old Wizengamot, only seven are of muggleborn origin. While this may not seem like much, almost a quarter of our population is muggleborn. As such, one would expect over fifteen members of the Wizengamot to be muggleborn. Could this lack be due to background? It is well known among muggleborns that discrimination has prevented many from achieving posts beyond the bottom rung of the managerial core that comprises the Ministry’s true power. In fact, only in the DMLE does one find anything approximating equality in terms of ‘blood purity’, that foolish and outdated mode of thinking from the previous decades of this century.

And a point I find most important and dear to my heart is that of elected members of the Wizengamot. While there was representation from the government in the form of seats for the Minister and the Department Heads, only one—the Minister—was elected, and even then the popular vote had little influence on the outcome. Proposed districts have been laid out, yet in accordance with the seats that have been established for the Wizengamot, it will be difficult for the massive populations around urbanized centers to influence this body—whereas more rural members of our community, almost exclusively pureblood—will maintain a strong influence even though many have had their family seat stripped from them.

Unless ‘Lord Gladiolus’ finds a means by which to address these points, then the public must put forth enough pressure to force her hand and put forth a change that shall truly benefit the public as a whole. Elsewise, she shall prove herself a liar and betray the trust of those who have sought to put their hope and faith in her, despite their inability to influence any choice or decision she makes. Imperfect the prior system may have been, but it lasted for a reason.

Because, at the end of the day, the old system worked for the majority. That was the best we could ask for from a system of governance.

I await your response, ‘Gladiolus’,

Cassius

Darth Gladiolus was caught between seething and grinning as she reread the newest letter of ‘Cassius’. She already suspected the identity of the writer. More than merely suspect, for the writing style felt intimately familiar. But for some queer reason, she had no desire to expose the one responsible. Perhaps she wished for her to come forward, to reveal who she was and why she truly opposed Gladiolus. For if ‘Cassius’ was whom the Sith Lord suspected, then Darth Gladiolus imagined that the cause was petty anger.

This was one more betrayal. The most recent in a litany that went back to the days followed the deaths of her parents.

Her hands suddenly clenched around the copy of The Daily Prophet she held. Paper crinkled and tore. She restrained her wrath, so that the paper she held would not burst into flames. It would be all too easy to give into her frustration and hatred, and in doing so destroy evidence of Hermione’s betrayal.

It would be safest to deal with this threat now, Gladiolus thought. If she cannot awaken to the truth that my rule is just and good for Britain, then she should be cast aside. Once I counted Hermione as my dearest friend. Even in the midst of my Sith training, I held on to the prospect she would be vital to my future rule. But I was mistaken. She had long become Dumbledore’s creature. A girl whose face hid the rot within.

And yet, would the public readily accept her crimes as being worth treason? I can declare it so. The dark side would allow me to sway hearts and minds. And yet…

And yet her true crime is to reject who I have become. To hold on to the memory of that weak, insipid girl.

And that explained the heart of her anger with her former friend. Hermione rejected Darth Gladiolus and all she stood for. Gladiolus knew Hermione would rather call her ‘Edelweiss’ instead of acknowledging the Sith Lord her friend had become. The reason she did not was simple: the act of improper naming would welcome reprisals from those who truly believed in Darth Gladiolus. And for her part, Hermione required the good graces of the public to continue putting forward her subversive arguments.

As she considered reprisals against Hermione, Gladiolus began to ponder whether they would succeed in cowing the population as she desired, or if she would accidentally create a martyr, someone whose punishment could galvanize the remnants of Dumbledore’s followers and those blood supremacists who would seize any hope to avenge their failed, fallen dark lord. That combination could almost be a threat. But for that to come to pass, they would need to find common ground. Gladiolus did not believe she posed that great a threat to their desires to achieve that status. But then, she could be wrong as unlikely as it was.

I should destroy those who would oppose me before they can strike. But could they strike against me? Could they bring together enough strength and clarity of will to threaten my rule?

Darth Gladiolus was certain that the answer to both questions was a firm, resounding no. She had little to worry about now, and soon she would have nothing to worry about.

She sensed an approaching presence. The very one she had been waiting on when she returned to the recent Cassius letter. She tossed aside the crushed article as Auror Proudfoot entered her office.

“Lord Gladiolus,” the old auror said, masking any distaste he held in his heart. “You wished to join us for training?”

“Yes, I did.” She rose from her seat and pushed it in with a small wave of her hand. The auror did not react. “Thank you for coming as I requested, Auror Proudfoot. I am pleased your colleagues finally agreed.”

He shot her a darkly amused smile. Gladiolus sensed his desire to fight her, to measure his strength against hers. Many aurors had determined seniority not off of experience, but strength. Magical power and ability could mean the difference between life and death in a sticky situation. She sensed how he considered himself less capable compared to Mad-Eye Moody. But then the infamous auror died for the crime of trying to sneak up on her. She had crushed him like an insect, for he had acted like one.

A shame he could not have perished in a proper duel.

“Lead the way, auror. I may know many secrets, but the location of the auror’s training site is not one of them.”

Not yet, anyways, she thought with a blank face. Through Proudfoot, whether by his feelings or his feet, she would learn where they trained.

And that would place them in Gladiolus’s hand. They just did not know yet.

Proudfoot led the way from Gladiolus’s office, placed next door to Minister Fudge’s suite of rooms. She understood Cornelius wanted her close, yet not so near she could reach him without warning. Feelings of distrust lurked under the man’s skin. It was unsurprising, given she forced him to bow with Voldemort’s corpse at her feet and Dumbledore’s lying several yards away. But he could not risk placing her at the far end of the floor. Else people would begin to whisper, and that course of events would bring about the end of his career. Fudge, as her ministerial puppet, was useful as long as he remained loyal.

The time to cut him loose grew closer. Gladiolus felt it in the Force, weak and faint as it was. She did not know the when. She only knew it would come pass, like winter into spring.

They entered an elevator. Proudfoot considered Gladiolus with skepticism and concern before saying, “Auror training hall. Clearance amber.”

The doors closed. But instead of rising as Gladiolus expected, the elevator shifted down, deeper into the ground. She glanced at the auror. Amusement rippled off him in thick waves. If she did not know better, she would suspect he was attempting to prank her. Fool him, thinking he could fool her. She focused her mind and parsed out the ball of emotions at Proudfoot’s core. Too much of what she sensed churned uselessly, so she ignored that. What she desired was his honest feelings toward taking her to the place where aurors trained. Gladiolus sensed a shred of disapproval, layered with curiosity, fear, and a drive to prove himself.

The descent stretched on and on. Gladiolus’s patience dragged. She was sorely tempted to use the Force and compel the elevator car to descend faster. Her power with the Force was all but an open secret within the Ministry; everyone knew she possessed powers greater than even Dumbledore or Voldemort. They only failed to understand what those powers were and how they worked.

And then the car slowed to a stop. It shivered before stilling long enough for the door to open.

“Come along, Lord Gladiolus,” said Auror Proudfoot as he stepped out. “The car won’t linger long.”

She followed and the door closed behind her. Gladiolus glanced back to discover exposed frameworks behind them. The elevator car shifted before returning to the Ministry above. She raised an impressed eyebrow before following Auror Proudfoot. He had continued on, knowing she would follow. Part of her wanted to strike him down for the perceived insult of not waiting, but she understood that a pawn like him was too valuable to be sacrificed at the present.

Auror Proudfoot guided her down a narrow corridor that slowly descended further and further into the earth. Gladiolus recalled the chamber beneath Grimmauld Place, where she once trained with her late godfather. She blinked. Had she thought of Sirius Black since he perished by her hand? She had not intended to take his life, but it happened nonetheless. It mattered not. The past had happened. It was done. The future was hers to rule as she saw fit.

Eventually they reached a tall door. Auror Proudfoot tapped a plain copper panel with his wand. The door unlatched, but did not open.

He turned to face Gladiolus. “The moment we pass through that door, you will be privy to one of the Ministry’s best kept secrets.”

Gladiolus bit her tongue and nodded before she could utter anything that might reveal her skepticism about the Ministry of Magic and keeping secrets. So few had the strength of will and mind to keep her out that she had begun to gather and categorize all of the many, many secrets and rumors that kept the Ministry afloat. After all, power and privilege was traded at leisure. If the aurors wished to believe they maintained great secrets from her, then let them. She would extract their secrets one by one, gathering all they knew until she could peer through the lies they told.

Auror Proudfoot entered the room and Gladiolus followed him across the threshold. She passed through a cold wave of dark magic. She grinned. Funny how the ones entrusted to hunt down dark witches and wizards relied on dark magic to defend their secret training facility.

The chamber was ten times the size of the one beneath Grimmauld Place. The ceiling rose high above them, ribbed with bronze chains. Several massive chandeliers swung high above, each bearing a hundred flickering candles with pounds of melted, dribbling wax. Several aurors were busy sparring, shooting spells at each other around particular set-ups no doubt built to emulate the situations they often found themselves in. One pair shot at each other from around corners while another appeared to be fighting her way up a stairwell.

“What do you think, Lord Gladiolus? Does this garner your approval?”

She shot Auror Proudfoot an annoyed frown. He smiled proudly, hands resting close enough to his hips to remind her of American muggle superheroes.

“It’s suitable,” Gladiolus said. She then shrugged off her cloak, revealing her tattooed arms and her battle garb, boots and gauntlets included. “I wonder…”

She summoned her lightsaber from her belt. There was a secret dial on her weapon, which managed the blade’s intensity. She drew down on it before activating her lightsaber. Auror Proudfoot flinched at the snap-hiss, while Gladiolus judged the blade’s intensity. She had a feeling that if she struck the man beside her right now, she would only disable his limbs, not carve them off.

“Care to entertain me?” asked Gladiolus, smiling cruelly at the auror. “You did promise a duel.”

He glanced at her lightsaber, then to her face. His gaze hardened. “As long as I can get a few others to join me. You handled Dumbledore and You-Know-Who at the same time.”

“That I did,” Gladiolus declared with a wide, toothy grin. “Go ahead, Proudfoot. I doubt even ten aurors would be enough to fight me at once.”

Auror Proudfoot shot her a look as though he were already imagining what it would be like to force her to eat her words. He was welcome to try.

Questions concerning a lack of response,

I had not intended to write this letter. But the hour for the students of Hogwarts to board the Express and return to school is now at hand. The summer has come to an end, and I find it appropriate to now write, for Lord Gladiolus, who has all but subverted the Ministry of Magic to her will, has failed to respond to the questions and concerns from my prior letter. Why not respond over the summer, when the attention of the country was upon the Ministry and the new Wizengamot?

Is Lord Gladiolus afraid to respond to my questions? Or does she think them so insignificant that she can ignore them? Perhaps she assumes, that since I write under a pseudonym that I am not serious in my criticisms. That my opinions are not widespread through society. As though they are not kept from her out of fear for what she might do.

And some may wonder what there is to fear from Lord Gladiolus. After all, she did free magical Britain from a resurgent Voldemort, whose very return she warned of a year before she stepped forward and slew that monster.

But that was not the sole great man she slew that night. And note that when I use “great man”, I use it in the historiographical sense. While the concept of the great man is, more or less, foolhardy and incorrect, there are rare moments when men or women arise to the occasion within their society and fundamentally, alter its course through history.

For good and ill, that was exactly what Voldemort and his counterpart, Albus Dumbledore, did for magical Britain throughout the 20^th Century. Perhaps Darth Gladiolus believes herself worthy to join this lofty group.

But then the blood of both men is on her hands.

And there lies the rub. The power Gladiolus bears over the Ministry and thus magical Britain emerges from how she murdered her rivals. Albus Dumbledore, the long respected and beloved Headmaster of Hogwarts, not only died by her hand, but the events that removed him from Hogwarts occurred because of her plotting and planning. She sought to seize that which was his: his influence, his life, and his power. That she has not also brought Hogwarts under her control is a surprise—but only to those who did not know her before her transformation into Darth Gladiolus.

Fundamentally, the issue at hand with Gladiolus and her changes to society is not whether or not they are good, but the truth that all she does is to ensure more and more power is consolidated in her hands.

For the good of Britain, she must be removed from power.

Cassius

Every morning when owls soared into the Great Hall, Hermione expected a letter from Edelweiss—from Gladiolus—or at least a response to her letters in the Prophet. Some days she feared aurors would march into Hogwarts before remembering that Edelweiss tended toward acting by her own volition. The thought of witnessing Darth Gladiolus, with her glowing sulfuric eyes and foul aura enter the castle sent fear and awe alike up Hermione’s spine. Despite the fact they had been friends for almost five years, Hermione could not say she understood her old friend now. So much had happened and changed that Hermione struggled with the belief, real yet not, that Edelweiss Potter had died over a year prior at the end of their fifth year.

And now here we are at the beginning of our seventh…

A creature existed in her friend’s skin. All Hermione could do was convince the people to turn away from Gladiolus, to reject the Ministry’s illegitimate rule, and seek a proper and just system of governance. She doubted many would be willing to rise up against Gladiolus these days. And fewer would dare aim their wand at her.

Hermione sighed and rubbed her brow. She took her meals alone now. Ron and Lavender had grown close, while Ginny and Dean continued going strong from last year. She knew about their lives, but she was not involved. Not when she plotted and planned treason with Draco Malfoy in secret corners of the castle. She knew, by the letter of the law, they were traitors to the nation. But deep in her heart, she knew what they planned was the moral action to take. They could not allow the monster that killed her best friend to continue her rule. And somehow, she had acquired support from the Queen. The Queen!

“You look troubled, Hermione,” said Neville as he sat down across from her. “Thinking about Edie?”

She smiled, surprised he would join her. “I’m just concerned about the future, Nev. This is our last year here at Hogwarts, and I’m worried someone might leak my personal opinions.”

To her surprise, Neville smiled fondly. “You don’t need to worry that much about it, Hermione. People are growing… dissatisfied with how Edie’s manages the Ministry.”

“…are you not worried someone might report you for not calling her ‘Gladiolus’?”

Neville shrugged. “If I lose my liberty for something that insignificant, then I’ve already betrayed the memory of my parents.” His smile weakened, as though whatever prompted the expression pained him too much to speak of. “If I had known…” He sighed and shook his head.

“Nev…”

An eagle owl suddenly landed before Hermione. She flinched back, even as it offered the letter strapped to a leg. Her gut twisted at the sight. The only person she had ever known at Hogwarts to send or receive mail via an eagle owl was Draco Malfoy. She resisted the urge to look his way while she accepted the letter and opened it up.

The eagle owl took flight as she read:

Miss Granger,

You are cordially invited to the Samhain celebrations at Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire. A portkey will be prepared to transport you from Hogwarts School should you acquiesce to attend.

Please send a reply before the end of September.

Sincerely,

Narcissa Malfoy

Lady Regent

Hermione blinked. From time to time, she had wondered what Malfoy’s mother would think about her son’s closest companion of late being a muggleborn witch. And while they would never date or engage in more amorous actions like other fellow travelers might, a kind of affection had formed between them.

“Who’s that from?” asked Neville.

Hermione glanced from Neville to the rest of Gryffindor table. Most seats were filled, but nobody nearby paid them a lick of attention. She pursed her lips as she considered whether or not Neville could be trusted with the truth. After several seconds, she decided to trust her gut and said, “I was invited to Samhain celebrations at the Malfoy’s.”

Neville did not appear surprised. “Gran informed me yesterday that she’ll be attending their celebration as well.”

Hermione frowned. “I thought you were involved with the effort to resist her.”

“I owe Edie a lot,” Neville confessed. “And I cannot in good consciousness stand back and allow her to run ram shod over our society. I won’t fault her for approaching the Ministry as she has, but she betrayed the trust of many since she seized power in June of last year. And yet…”

“And yet?”

He sighed. “I’ve noticed an increase in militancy among those opposed to Edie. I cannot bring myself to raise a wand against her, regardless of the wrongs she has committed.”

Hermione nodded, for she understood Neville’s position. She had noticed the same, but she thought that maybe—just maybe—she could do it. To fight against her old friend. In another life, she knew she would have backed Edelweiss’s reforms at the Ministry. But she could not bring herself around to that position. Her old friend had become a tyrant and Darth Gladiolus clearly held no fondness for that old, forgotten friendship. Hermione wished there could have been a sign one way or the other before that terrible day when Edelweiss Potter was shed like a chrysalis of a demented butterfly.

“Then I hope you won’t take it personally when nobody continues communicating about actions to resist her,” said Hermione. “I only wish…”

Neville nodded, accenting to her position. They then turned to their breakfasts, saying nothing further.

Draco watched Dumbledore supporters and former Death Eaters brush shoulders from above. This was the first proper Samhain celebration in a hundred years, and it was only being held as cover for a secret meeting to plan the removal of a monster more dangerous than either the former Headmaster and the Dark Lord. One day soon, he hoped, they would expel Potter from her position within the Ministry. Darth Gladiolus was a parasite, a cancer devouring the fabric of British society. He would happily see her removed, and even more happily take revenge for his father’s murder by ending her wretched life.

His gaze found Hermione Granger as she cut a beeline to the stairs up to where Draco hid. She had been trying to hunt him down all night, or so he assumed. She had learned how to mask her more potent emotions, though Draco doubted Granger would ever develop the subtly and graces necessary to climb high in magical society.

A shame she’s so simple and of poor stock. She’s truly talented and her memory is stronger than just about any witch or wizard I know.

He remained bitter that Granger managed to draw undesired emotions from him. But he surmised some fondness had to form after a year of being conspirators. Granger had not realized exactly what they were until he had gotten her deep enough into his plots. Yet to his surprise, she had not been furious about his plotting. Annoyed, yes. But not furious. She had accepted the need to remove Gladiolus from her position; even if her heart was weak enough she preferred rehabilitation to execution.

“There you are!” the devil hissed, finally catching him. “I’ve been trying to find you all night!”

“I know,” Draco said. “And I happened to find it amusing.” Her mouth opened, but he cut her off with a raised hand. “I understand you’re annoyed with me, Granger, but I want you to hear me out.”

“Then make it worth my while hunting you down,” Granger snarled. She then crossed her arms. “You’ve been avoiding me since I received your mother’s invitation. Is there a cause for that?”

“Secrecy, naturally. Davis has been slinking around my business more and more. Everyone knows she’s the sole supporter Potter has in Slytherin. The Greengrass’s are sitting back and watching. Nott is content to handle matters as his family always has—by doing nothing.”

“And Zabini?”

Draco blinked. He had almost forgotten the Italian had been involved with the cabal in their fifth year. “He’s taking his NEWTs over the winter hols. Back to Venice with him, I’d bet.”

“A shame, but I doubt he’d stand against Edie.” Granger paused and considered him head-on, as though they were equals. “That’s what you’re going to propose. Revolution.”

“That word disgusts me, but yes.”

He had not thought Granger would ever realize what the true plan was. It seemed she finally proved him wrong.

“You’ve been using me to gather others to fight and die.”

“You caught me,” he said with a sly smirk. Granger crossed her arms, one last moment of indignation away from puffing up like a furious kitten. “I do value your contributions to our movement. Your presence has drawn many who might have sided with Gladiolus because of those with my… sympathies. And the fact that she has yet to respond to your recent letters as ‘Cassius’ has led others to question whether she truly desires the best for our nation.”

“Has there been a single honest moment between us these past several months? Or have you been using me from the start?”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “You’ve been using me as well, Granger.” She puffed up, just as he expected. “Don’t act as if you accepted me into your group last year purely because you wanted like-minded individuals of all stripes involved. You knew my presence would influence those who’d never listen to you otherwise.”

Her cheeks flushed bright red. Granger turned away with pursed lips. Draco nearly grinned at how he struck a nerve so deeply. She amused him, attempting to act like a Slytherin despite detesting them.

“And I was amused by your willingness to ask for my aid,” he continued. “You certainly learned underhanded tactics from Potter. She was certainly more adept than you in behaving akin to a Slytherin, and has only grown better at wielding influence and power since she seized it.”

Granger’s anger burned bright, overriding whatever logical sense usually drove her. “I am nothing like her!”

“Then you’ll fight her?” asked Draco, offering enough rope to bring Granger to his position—or give her enough rope to hang herself with. “You already realized what’s afoot, Granger. Will you fight for the future of Britain, no matter what you must do? No matter whom you must work with?”

Granger wavered for only a second before her brandy brown eyes hardened. “I’ll do it, Malfoy.”

“Then call me Draco, Hermione.”

He smiled then, barely hiding its vicious edge.

Soon, Father. You will be avenged.

Gladiolus looked up from her notes seeking to make sense of the theories developed by some Dark Jedi long dead when the Sith stepped forth into the galaxy. Grimmauld Place’s fireplace burned green as someone passed through the Floo. She wondered who would dare be so brazen as to speak with her at home. Even Amelia knew not to trouble her so.

Tracey Davis—who should be at Hogwarts—stepped through the fireplace, wiping soot from her black, unmarked robe. Increasingly those who favored Gladiolus’s rule over magical Britain had taken to wearing strictly black.

She bowed to Gladiolus with a slight curtsey.

“Why have you sought me out, Davis?”

“My lord. I have learned of a plot against you. One that seeks to attack you soon, and to take the power you have—”

“That’s enough,” Gladiolus said, raising a hand. “A plot, you say?”

Davis hesitated before nodding.

Gladiolus set her notes down and rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “What do you know of this plot?”

“Little, I’m afraid. Daphne’s family has been supporting those who question your rule. But they’ve remained away from anyone who might dare to overthrow you.”

“Yet you speak as that a revolt might be imminent.”

Davis shrugged awkwardly. “All I know is that there are whispers of rebellion. Nothing about when or by whom— Ah, that reminds me.” Davis straightened and met Gladiolus’s sulfuric gaze. “Malfoy and Granger began spending time together ever since he got recruited into what remained of ‘Dumbledore’s Army’. I only learned recently. I was not invited back. Too loyal to you, or so I was told.”

“And how did you learn?”

Davis glanced away, cheeks flushing bright. “They were seen together at the Malfoy’s Samhain celebration.”

“I’m surprised Malfoy would deign to be around Hermione, let alone join a group named after a man he often derided.”

“He’d love to kill you, my lord. Everyone in Slytherin knows that he holds a grudge over you killing his father.”

Gladiolus smirked. The Malfoys became persona non grata across all of society. The isolation had not been her doing. The Malfoys had even distanced themselves from the levers of power.

And she finally understood why. They knew I would detect their plot, so they had to take it into secrecy. Away from my gaze, and my powers. And they even twisted Hermione to their cause. I’d be impressed were it not so easy.

She knew she could reach out to Wiltshire and sense what they planned. But where was the fun in that? The Malfoys desired to usurp her. Maybe even to kill her out of revenge. They would try and rally any within the Ministry foolish enough to oppose her. Some, too valuable due to their skills, might even take the chance to throw off her yoke.

But the aurors would not support the Malfoys. They were hers. They did not know it yet. But the moment she ordered them into battle, their hearts and minds would be hers. The Auror Corps would soon be nothing more than the Fist of Darth Gladiolus.

And the first her Fist would crush would be whatever pathetic rebellion Malfoy and Granger built together.

“Thank you for informing me, Tracey,” Gladiolus purred. “If you learn any more of their plot, send word. Otherwise, return to your normal life.”

“…and if they ask me to join them?”

“Reject them however you can,” Gladiolus said, now bored of her conversation. “I will show no mercy. Not even to spies loyal to me. There will be no hesitation in punishing those who wrong me.”

“Of course, my lord,” said Davis, bowing low enough her dark blonde hair covered her face. “I will not ask for mercy for Daphne, should she be involved. I know you won’t show her mercy.”

“Greengrass knows my power. She would be a fool to join.”

Davis did not respond. Gladiolus could sense the girl’s uncertainty—and something more. Something… unique.

Something she had been secretly searching for, for some time.

“Oh, and Tracey?” she said as Davis went to leave. The girl froze, no doubt fearing she would be reprimanded for departing without warrant. “When this is over and we have peace, seek me out. I believe you could one day be worthy of my power.”

Shock, awe, and uncertainty flared within Tracey Davis. But not doubt. No. The girl believed Gladiolus’s words, and that would be all she required to command the girl’s loyalty until she knelt before the Dark Lord of the Sith and swore fealty to her teachings.

Chapter Text

They went to a grubby muggle pub on the last day of 1996. Draco sneered at the suggestions of being around muggles so, but Granger—Hermione, he called her to her face—had been annoyingly insistent on meeting in that world. “She won’t suspect us to meet in the muggle world,” the bushy-haired girl said after several arguments. “Edie always treated the muggle world like something to escape. A prison separating her from the magical world. Given her childhood, I understand why she thinks so. Her mentality ensures we can escape her notice until it’s too late for her to stop us.”

In the end, Draco decided to accept Granger’s reasoning solely because of Potter’s old feelings toward the muggle world. Muggles remained a foul menace. But until Gladiolus was removed from the Ministry—and justly executed for her crimes—it did not matter what muggles did or did not do. One day, their numbers would be culled and the survivors forced into servitude as they deserved. They might look human, but they lacked magic. That made them lesser. Unworthy.

He reached the rendezvous location, several blocks down from the Leaky Cauldron. Draco spotted Granger as she approached, dressed in a thick coat that garnered only appreciative or jealous stares. On the other hand, he had received a few quizzical looks. Draco had assumed his garb was perfectly acceptable for the muggle world, though given the warming charms layered into his suit, perhaps he should have thrown on an extra layer to handle the cold and snow better.

“Follow me,” said Granger as she gestured down a narrow alley. Small packs loitered at uneven distances as far as Draco could see. “The place I found is this way. Definitely out of the way. And since I’ve been practicing how to obliviate, we shouldn’t be too worried if things go wrong and we need to obliviate someone.”

Draco blinked. Granger surprised him sometimes with how ruthless she could be. But then she had learned that particular trait from Potter. He would keep Granger once the old families, primarily those who remained pureblooded, regained their proper position atop magical British society. And once their rule was secured, they would seize control of the muggle world and put an end to that farce called the Statute of Secrecy. His father had told him growing up that had been the Dark Lord’s plan. And though the Dark Lord now lay in his grave, Draco Malfoy would not see his family’s work these past generations slip away because a spiteful harlot dared rise above her rightful place. Perhaps in another life, Edelweiss Potter might have been a worthy concubine for House Malfoy. Her blood was too polluted to be his wife, yet he could not deny her power or the bloodlines connected to her as the Potter scion.

“Well look at that,” he said, playing up a teasing act. “You can learn how to be a proper witch.”

Granger glowered at him before stalking down the alley. And though she might be a mudblood, Draco had been trained to be a gentleman. He hurried after her and took her arm once they were side-by-side. Granger glowered again. Still, she said nothing as he guided her past the muggle vagrants and hooligans clogging the alley. Many jeered at them—they were dressed too finely for this place, despite Draco’s best efforts to dress “muggle”—but none dared act. In some primitive part of their mind, they knew that to strike against the witch and wizard in their presence would lead to death if they were fortunate and terrible pain if they were not.

They eventually reached the pub. It reminded Draco of the Leaky Cauldron. The flash of comparison in his mind made his jaw clench. Something should be done about the Cauldron. It operated as the bridge between the muggle and magical worlds. No wonder it was a disgusting, wretched place. The poison of the magical soul and the pollution of their culture passed through that dingy hovel.

Draco glanced at Granger, who had already stepped up to the bar and ordered a pair of beers from the barman. Thankfully, she had enough decency and sense to order them poured from the tap instead of ordering bottles or cans. He had heard from the halfbloods and mudbloods he had been forced to deal with in the past two years about such disgraces. Beer, by his reckoning, should never be bottled and certainly not inflicted with the abomination of canning.

They slid into a corner booth away from the muggles. Granger carefully raised wards around them before turning to Draco. “Are you certain we’ll have the support we need?”

Draco knew exactly what Granger was worried about. He nodded. “It took some time, but we have enough supporters across the Ministry to ensure the aurors will be too busy suppressing other elements to actively be a threat. It’s unpleasant business turning wizards against each other, but it had to be done.”

Granger nodded, despite the pensive gleam in her brandy brown eyes. “Do you think we will succeed? That we can successfully remove Edelweiss from power?”

“We have to,” Draco said. “If we fail, the best that will happen is we spend the rest of our days in Azkaban, forced to regret we failed to remove Potter from power.”

“And what do you think she will do if the worst comes to pass?”

Draco nearly rolled his eyes at Granger’s framing. “She will kill us all. She’s the new dark lord, whether she calls herself that or not. It’s bad enough that she’s embraced her ‘Witch-Queen’ title. It’s disgraceful any go along with that wretched, treacherous title.”

Granger grimaced and took a long swig of beer.

“Worse,” continued Draco, “is the fact she’s completely destabilized the order that Fudge maintained following the Dark Lord’s downfall. I do not like the man’s old policies. But he did manage to hold society together after all the destruction and death during the war.”

“And that was all the fault of Voldemort and his Death Eaters,” Granger pointed out. “If they had not engaged in violence to solve a problem that does not exist as they believe, then society could have remained stable. There would be more witches and wizards. Several pureblood families would still be around.”

Draco masked his frustration, being reminded of the countless families destroyed during the war. That had been his father’s sole regret from the conflict. As far as Lucius Malfoy had been concerned, those who were purebloods should have been captured and imprisoned until a time at which they could be reintroduced into society with the proper views. Some may have had to be executed in the end, but they had been infected with the spiritual poison of muggle ideas. Some, only deceived by that poison, could have been permitted to avoid re-education as long as they kept their heads down and faithfully served the Dark Lord.

“So, we’re committed,” Granger suddenly said. Her eyes looked cold. “On the chosen day…”

“We take the Ministry and remove Darth Gladiolus from her stolen throne,” Draco finished. “Almost four hundred have agreed to back our effort, either by clogging up the Ministry’s mechanics or by taking up arms against her.”

They finished their drinks and left shortly after. By the time the new year rolled around, Draco had returned to the family manor in Wiltshire. He went down to their dungeon level, had his fun with the muggle girls chained and dulled with potions, and then went to train. His duel against Darth Gladiolus would be the duel of his life. He would survive where his father died.

Darth Gladiolus sensed something amiss the moment she entered the Ministry. Many rippled with unease. Ever since the new year, she had noticed more and more returning to a wary state around her. But what she sensed this day was beyond what she was accustomed to. She started for the auror training grounds, knowing their full number should be present for muster. Many had grumbled early on after she implemented the mandatory mustering. Yet those like Auror Proudfoot, aged but capable, appreciated her continued interest in the strength and quality of their corps. She liked Proudfoot in particular, even if she sensed that he doubted her too often for her liking. Even so, he remained loyal to his oaths. Until a time when he defied her, she would keep him.

Eyes followed her to the elevators. Gladiolus reached out with the Force and took track of how many flinched from her broad probe.

Almost half present fear me more than ever before. How fascinating. And given the rumors of my ability in what they call legilimency, I should presume those who avoid recoiled from my power seek to keep secrets from me. She smirked as an elevator door opened before her. I think I will give them a chance to reveal their secrets. I control the aurors, and soon that control shall be absolute.

“Command system Jen’ari,” Gladiolus said, pleased that the Head Auror had been easily controlled and thus willing to implement a series of personalized commands for the elevator system. “Level Malachor.”

The doors sealed shut almost immediately. A heartbeat passed, and then the elevator began a smooth descent to the secret auror floor. Was it petty that all her personal commands did was improve the quality of the Ministry’s elevators? Yes. Was it necessary? Also yes.

She would rely on hit wizards and patrolmen to maintain order within the Ministry. Should something occur while Gladiolus and her aurors were busy with the morning muster, then she would trust in them to hold the line until a proper response could be levied against their foes.

Then again, Gladiolus was worrying over naught. Despite his letters, nothing had come of Cassius and his messages in the Prophet. No major sway in the broader culture against her—

She blinked. And then a vicious smile broke out as she sensed events playing out in the atrium and all across the Ministry. Her burning sulfuric eyes flicked up to the ceiling of her elevator. She may not be capable of peering through metal and layers of stone above, but she sensed what played out. The Force responded to her summons, filling her with power enough to face down the hundreds in rebellion and not worry about her victory.

A rebellion! How amusing! They must believe they can seize control of the Ministry. Perhaps they think with me in an elevator, they can separate me from the aurors and take me prisoner.

Could they suspect where I am going? Or are they so brazen as to think they can merely trap me and be done with it?

Darth Gladiolus cackled as her elevator car neared its destination. She would enjoy suppressing this rebellion. All of magical Britain would come to understand, completely and utterly, precisely who ruled them. She swept from the elevator and headed for the main training hall where her aurors waited, already mustered in full.

Proudfoot stood near the hall’s entry, his disgruntlement pronounced upon his face. “We detected spell fire throughout the Ministry, Lord Gladiolus. Something is afoot. What are your orders?”

“I know,” Gladiolus replied. “I plan to speak before we head out and put down this pathetic rebellion.” She gazed over the gathered aurors. Sixty-three aurors stood at attention along the near part of the training hall. Gladiolus would have preferred for there to be closer to a hundred by now, but the requirements for employment as an auror relied on a Potions NEWT. Thankfully, they no longer had to deal with Severus Snape and his mercurial attitude. Shortly after that Irishman was hired to be the headmaster of Hogwarts, an Australian potions master was tempted to cross half the planet and teach at Hogwarts. And while he produced better students than Snape, it would take years to undo all the damage that man had done.

He should thank Gladiolus that she allowed him to flee to the Caribbean, where Horace Slughorn had allegedly fled. She would have loved to install that man at Hogwarts and ply him with gifts.

And for all of Gladiolus’s power, she was not so brazen as to wantonly ignore the current state of international politics and thus take those men back. Not until her power was so great she could act beyond the scope that guided Grindelwald in his near conquest of magical Europe.

“Good men and women of Britain,” Gladiolus began, her voice ringing out. “As of now, members of the Ministry, along with society at large, have engaged in rebellion against the rightful course of this nation. They believe me a threat to the ‘natural order’ of the world, or however they justify their actions. No doubt they hate all I have wrought in pursuit of a better tomorrow.” She sneered. “I care not what they dare call whatever fetid past they dare drag us back into. My concern is with the betterment of this nation, and the forging of a future more prosperous than any glorified past. The path to that future cannot be barred. They might try, but their measly strength will give against our certainty in a greater tomorrow.

“And these fools dare to oppose the future. They are slaves to the old visions of dead, deluded men. They would darken the futures of all you love, and would happily cast this nation back into civil war in order to propagate their delusions.”

The aurors exchanged dirty looks and distressed mutters. Yet Gladiolus sensed only a few who held genuine uncertainty in their hearts. Most aurors developed the capacity to separate their minds and their feelings, allowing them to act even when potentially compromised or forced to face a friend’s death. Even so, they all had to sense the distress of the Ministry’s wards. How the mechanisms that ensured all worked properly had been put into a faulty state. As aurors, they were attuned to the Ministry and its mechanisms. Their duty was the defense of the realm and to hunt down her enemies.

Soon, any distinction between Darth Gladiolus and the Ministry would vanish. They would be one and the same. She would thank whoever plotted this rebellion against her. Their choices allowed her to move forward with securing her power long before she would have otherwise attempted.

“If any present will not do their duty and fight the rebellion beyond this hall, let your opinion be known now. I will not lead unwilling soldiers into battle.”

“Battle?” asked a young auror who was among the five new trainees. Gladiolus did not recognize his face, though Edelweiss Potter might have known his name. Several aurors were merely faces to Gladiolus despite their past with Edelweiss Potter. Unknown to them, they were naught but pawns in her eyes, meant to be wielded however she saw fit. “What are you talking about? It’s only some disgruntled—”

Everyone in the hall stiffened. Even Darth Gladiolus. She had not expected the rebels to seize and disable the Floo network. With the specialized wards around the whole of the Ministry to prevent entry via portkey and apparition, the Floo had been the primary means of access for almost all of Britain.

And it was no longer available to anyone on the outside.

“Fools,” Gladiolus whispered, awestruck by the idiocy at hand. “Those fools!”

“What are you—?”

Gladiolus raised a slightly pinched hand. The trainee auror choked on his meaningless question. His eyes bulged until she released her Force choke. Her hand clenched as it returned to her side.

“Never interrupt me,” Gladiolus whispered. She scanned her aurors once more. None were more than a hint perturbed by her action. “As I said: any who do not wish to fight may remain behind. But do know that if you remain, the way into the higher ranks of the Auror Corps shall be forever closed to you. Madam Bones and Scrimgeour have granted me the power to make that final determination. I will accept any willing to fight for this nation into the Corps. But those unwilling to do their duty in all scenarios will never have my faith and trust.”

Andy who had held onto doubts or uncertainties about following her against the rebels dropped them. Only the trainee who questioned her entertained doubts—doubts strong enough to prevent her charisma from swaying him.

Darth Gladiolus blocked out the world except for the potentially mutinous auror. She held his gaze. With the Force, she prevented him from turning away. After several long seconds, she poured her power into his mind and shaped it through two simple words:

OBEY ME.

The trainee stiffened, then grimaced before turning away with flushed cheeks. Even so, the power of the dark side was already twisting his mind to be utterly faithful to her. It would take time before the full extent of her power would sink in. And that fact would further her goals, for it would prevent the rest of the auror corps from ever realizing one of their own had been openly subverted by the one entrusted to lead them.

Gladiolus no longer feared that any auror might break from her will. No longer would they be able to question her commands. Doubt, mercy, and judgment would only exist as far as she permitted.

She was their god now. Her word was their law.

And not a single one knew it yet.

“Those who have made their choice to follow me can head for the elevators. I will leave the organization of your groups to the senior aurors.

“But know this,” continued Gladiolus before any auror could move. They had all shifted to head for the elevators. “I will take the first group with me to sweep the atrium. Any who resist our mission to secure the atrium will be put down.”

These traitors have already trapped themselves. From this moment on, their lives persist solely through my “grace” and “mercy”.

Melvin Berkeley watched as the hit wizard who had been manning the security desk was finally stunned. He sighed, relieved the dreadful task of securing the atrium was over. With the grates sealed and the Ministry cut off from the rest of the Floo Network, there would be no means for the Auror Corps to reinforce whatever meager force they had at the Ministry. The problem was that nobody knew where they were. All of their plans had expected fierce resistance the moment the first spell was cast.

Instead, they had overwhelmed the patrolmen guarding the atrium before being forced into messy duels with the few hit wizards overseeing the long arrival chamber. Even after the disastrous Battle of the Department of Mysteries almost two years ago, little had been done to properly secure the Ministry. Where before Melvin might have bemoaned the failures of the Ministry, he was now grateful for their oversights.

Though if he thought about it, they had relied on one woman’s oversight. They all knew the girl who had once been Edelweiss Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived, pulled the strings of the Minister and his department heads. Even Madam Bones, well known and well regarded for her fairness and just beliefs, was reduced to a puppet by the wannabe dark “lord” controlling the Ministry. That she had come to power after slaughtering her predecessor, You-Know-Who, and the greatest threat to her rule, Dumbledore, was not coincidental to Melvin. Once he opened his eyes to the truth, thanks to wacky Xenophilius Lovegood and his Quibbler, Melvin quickly came to terms with the truth: a dark lord ruled Britain. Unless the common people rose up, there would be no hope of deposing her from power. Even the muggle crown had been brought under her control!

What a wicked heart! Melvin thought, recalling the proclamations related to the Crown. His muggle half-siblings, whom he only spoke with infrequently, had informed him of a strange woman in black coming and going from Buckingham and Windsor. He held out no hope for the Queen and less for her living heirs.

Melvin believed if the Queen had truly met with this ‘Darth Gladiolus’ once, then the kingdom was doomed if they failed this day. All of Britain would become the Dark Lady’s domain.

A sound echoed from the far end of the atrium. Its source was too distant for him to recognize. Those nearest the elevator bank reacted. Melvin hoped the source was one of the other cabals reporting success in person. They were not meant to come into contact with the rest. But if the Ministry was already locked down, then did it truly matter?

Three elevators opened. Red-robed aurors emerged, dressed in battle armor. Wands were drawn but not yet raised, they moved almost uniformly. Their gazes scanned the whole atrium.

Melvin scurried to a narrow alcove perfect for both cover and hiding. He watched the elevators as aurors started to approach the Statute of Magical Brethren. Members of his cabal hid behind the statue’s base, preparing to ambush the aurors. More than they expected had emerged from the elevators, but then they had not planned for a fair fight with the aurors. The ringleaders of the rebellion, Cassius and the recently revealed Marcellus, had dictated plans to each cabal leader. And each of them was responsible for securing a floor of the Ministry. Odds were some came directly from the ranks of those pureblooded families who supported You-Know-Who. He knew his cabal leader had believed in Dumbledore, though feared joining the Order of the Phoenix until it was too late.

A dark form moved among the aurors. Melvin blinked. His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to make sense of the face hidden by a hood’s shadow. A few precious seconds of denial passed before he swallowed thickly. That terrible face with black markings and those burning eyes lurked amongst the aurors.

“No,” whispered Melvin. “How could she…”

Everyone—especially Cassius and Marcellus—had assumed Gladiolus would pursue ‘cutting off the head’ and thus would not be caught fighting the various cabals. The ringleaders had even alleged personal, bitter histories with the tyrant they sought to depose. Melvin cared little for their justification. He only wanted his chance to help remove the monster that murdered Dumbledore from power before she could continue casting her dark shadow across Britain.

Darth Gladiolus glided forward like a dementor. Melvin spotted those behind the statue freeze at the sight of her.

“You all know who I am,” she said, her voice soft and breathy. He could have mistaken her for an innocent girl had he not known her truth. “I will give you this offer once: surrender and live. Fight and die. You all have five heartbeats.”

Melvin blinked. Heartbeats? Why would she say that?

Thump.

Aurors separated into small teams as they shifted into positions around the statue’s large base, allowing them to flank the cabal members lying in wait. None raised their wands. Not yet. Melvin knew the moment wands rose, a fierce battle for the atrium—and thus the Ministry—would break out. Either they managed to gain an advantage over the aurors, or their rebellion would be for naught.

Thump.

If they lost the atrium, the rest of the Ministry would fall back into Gladiolus’s possession.

Thump.

Darth Gladiolus approached the statue as a hand slipped into her robe. The other rose, fingers splayed like a porous cup. Her terrible glowing eyes sought her enemy, ready to counter and destroy all opposed to her.

Thump.

Melvin’s hand clenched tightly, pressing the carving on his wand’s hilt into the soft flesh of his palm and fingers.

Thump.

“So be it,” Gladiolus pronounced. “My offer is rescinded. Aurors, eliminate them.”

And with a motion swifter than any bird of prey, she withdrew the hand that had been beneath her cloak. It held a thick rod of grey and black, twisting in on itself like vines. Her thumb shifted a hair and a blazing crimson blade burst to life with a snap-hiss. The blade thrummed with waiting violence. Melvin could tell even from the distance that if the blade ever got close to him, it would mark his end.

The aurors, as one, raised their wands. But none fired. Their discipline required visible foes, and they did not lack in discipline.

Melvin’s fellow rebels—especially those hiding behind the statue’s base—proved to be the ones lacking. They witnessed wands rise and chose that as their cue to cast curses and hexes. They emerged from cover and fired. Most launched familiar red stunners. But a few tossed spells of questionable legality.

Flashing white cutters flew across the distance as shimmering shields negated the wave of stunners. Melvin choked on a gasp as one cutter nailed a fellow cabal member in the face. Blood bloomed from where his nose had been. The flesh had been pulverized. Chunks of both cheeks and an eye flew aside, fluids streaming behind them. The man screamed and dropped his wand, both hands rising to cover the terrible, fatal gash.

Another cutter struck the man. It proved merciful, removing the bleeding head. Melvin closed his eyes and muttered a soft thanks the aurors were capable of exercising mercy in their butchery. Still, he heard the sound of the decapitated head hitting the floor and felt bile rise into the back of his mouth.

He withdrew and swallowed, grimacing as his throat burned.

Spellfire ended in gasps and choked bursts. Melvin was first confused—and then he spotted the specter sweeping through his comrades.

With her blazing blade in one hand and crackling lighting in the other, Gladiolus slaughtered any cabal member who dared directly oppose her. Melvin could only gape as he watched her fiery sword carve through flesh, cauterizing wounds. Lightning burst from her fingertips, indigo and crackling. Bolts struck three fighters, illuminating their skeletal structures as they were electrocuted until dead. Corpses collapsed to the polished Ministry floor, smoking like steamed ham left too long in the oven.

“For Britain!” someone shouted from the far end of the atrium the atrium. Melvin turned and blanched. A dozen members of the cabal raced forward, wands raised. They haphazardly fired spells at Gladiolus.

But their effort was for naught. She spun her blade about in a flashy pattern. Every spell that hit her blade shattered into colorful light. Gladiolus appeared utterly unfazed by the assault. She appeared bored in the face of the cabal’s magical might. She stepped forward and maintained her defensive position, even as the gap between her and her attackers shrunk.

“Fall back, dammit!” Melvin hissed, knowing his voice would not carry to his fellows. “Fall back!”

His begging words for them to retreat fell on unhearing ears. Gladiolus reached the nearest cabal member and lunged forward. She tried to curse the dark lord. She failed. Gladiolus sliced off half of her attack’s forearm, hand and wand still connected. The severed limb flew away, propelled by the strength that previously wielded it. Melvin despaired, for it was clear to him now that none of them could hope of besting the strange sword Gladiolus wielded.

Melvin tried to wrap his head around her weapon. It reminded him almost of a fire whip, only more useful and dangerous.

She continued onward, unrelenting as she switched from defense to offense. Gladiolus cut down two more before one of the remaining cabal members stepped into guard. He managed to curse her at point blank with a victorious roar.

The spell glanced off something. That was Melvin’s first thought. Her blade had remained busy slicing through her previous victim. He rejected the obvious conclusion, for it meant any last hope of defeating Gladiolus was impossible. What he thought he saw was the curse deflecting off her skin or something so near to the skin there was no difference between skin and the possible shield around her.

“What the… hell?” the cabal member muttered, retreating from Gladiolus. His wand remained raised, though he did not curse her again. “How…”

Gladiolus smiled, wide and vicious. “I have long possessed powers unknown to those like you, fool. Why should you be so surprised that I possess more?”

“You’re… You’re a monst—”

Her blade flashed white with crimson. The man swayed slightly before collapsing. The head fell and rolled away, cleanly severed without a hint of blood. Gladiolus watched impassively as aurors finally swept past her to subjugate the standing cabal members.

Melvin remained in his alcove as hope fled. The Floo was inaccessible to them. One could not use a portkey or apparition to come or go from the Ministry. Those wards were locked and sealed away from their access.

His wand slipped from his fingers and clattered to the tile floor. Melvin did not look up as aurors approached them, their wands raised. They stopped before him. After a few seconds passed, he glanced up at them—

Crimson consumed his vision.

Gladiolus surveyed the Ministry’s atrium. Thirty-nine rebels had been put down in a matter of minutes. She was almost disappointed by how easily they had been defeated. All but three were dead. Corpses were being prepared for disposal. No honorable burial awaited dead traitors. Not even she would know where the bodies would be buried. Perhaps they would be dumped in the North Sea or buried in shallow, wild graves.

Her gaze settled on the three rebels still living. Two had tossed down their wands and even now waited on her judgment, hogtied and bound like Christmas packages. One had been stunned moments after his wand slipped from his grasp. He had witnessed the full extent of her power when she carved through the group around the statue. That had left him frozen.

“Names,” she demanded. When they frowned, Gladiolus snarled. “I want the names of your leaders. The first of you to tell me survives.”

“…and the other?” one asked weakly.

Gladiolus stared down the questioning rebel. “They will die.”

“We don’t know any names, monster!” the other rebel shouted. “Just kill us both! We know that’s what you’ll do!”

“Is that so?” Gladiolus drawled. She had planned to kill them both, but there could be power in mercy. If they believed her word, then they would more easily follow her. “I swear now, by my magic and power in the Force, that I shall grant pardon to the one who tells me all I wish to know.”

The rebels exchanged an uncertain glance. They wanted to doubt her, yet they could not guarantee her words were lies. A chance existed Gladiolus spoke true. That they would have a way out, despite all they had done.

A groan interrupted their conversation. The stunned man woke in spurts, adjusting against his bonds. Gladiolus had hoped to finish with these two men before he awoke, but it seemed he was more resilient than his reaction to her suggested.

Gladiolus turned to face him as his eyes flickered open. He blinked several times before he finally noticed her hovering over him. The man froze. Several seconds passed before he soiled himself.

“Pathetic,” one of the aurors grumbled. She shot Gladiolus a disturbed look. “Must I remain here and witness this, my lord?”

“Yes. You must.” She turned her gaze back to the man who soiled himself. “What is your name?”

“I… I’m Melvin Berkeley, Lord Gladiolus!” the man said, squawking the moment he called her ‘Lord’. “I… I…”

“You need not fear my power,” she said, smiling softly. Melvin stiffened. “I am merciful to those who are genuine in their remorse. You only need to ask for forgiveness and to mean your words. I will know the truth of your feelings.”

Melvin glanced at his fellows. They glowered, pointlessly promising pain should they find the chance to lash out at one who appeared on the cusp of being a former compatriot.

I should have suspected how easily I can divide allies.

Gladiolus almost laughed at the glowers being tossed around.

Melvin turned back to her. “I… I couldn’t,” he managed to say. Gladiolus blinked. The man meant it, strangely enough. “You’ve done terrible things. Cassius is right when he writes about the terrible things you have done to this nation. I know now that nothing can be done… but it was worth the attempt.”

“How fascinating. You’re a true believer.” Gladiolus smirked. “Oh, and Cassius is no ‘he’. I’ve long known her identity.” A sneer graced her lips. “She will suffer for her treason. Her betrayal must be answered tenfold.”

“You know?” the three traitors asked with varying levels of shock and disbelief. The aurors present shot her similar looks, though they had the intelligence to remain silent.

“I do. I am impressed by the depths of her treachery.” She smirked. “If any of you suspected the truth, then you too would be impressed by her betrayal. Once I considered her my dearest friend. But those halcyon days were sacrificed so I could pursue the task of ruling this realm in the stead of those who would bargain away the futures of generations yet to be born.”

Gladiolus then turned to the aurors. “I want these three locked away until I can pass proper judgment. Snap their wands and break their hands. They won’t require either.”

Before any of the red-robed aurors could respond to her command, Gladiolus swept away to the elevators. She entered the sole one open and uttered, “Command system Jen’ari. Korriban.”

Destiny awaited her at the Ministry’s pinnacle.

Katie Bell tried to swallow her fear as she watched the elevator bank of the Ministry’s third level. Aurors and other members of her cabal waged a messy guerilla war deeper into the floor. The magical communiqué being used to maintain contact with the atrium cabal had fallen silent minutes ago. She had known when she agreed to join in on this rebellion that she might face injury or even death. But she had been part of Dumbledore’s Army. She had been trained by Darth Gladiolus back when she was still Edelweiss Potter long ago.

A clicking noise filled the small entry. Katie glanced down the various paths to the elevator banks with a frown. The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes had several routes into the many offices that comprised the surprisingly large department. Katie had never considered how much was contained within that particular department until planning for this day.

Maybe I should’ve volunteered for one of the other floors. They’d be simpler.

The clicking noise grew louder. Katie had been told what the clicking meant, but she just could not remember what she had been told.

“Merlin’s beard, Bell!” shouted Graham Montague, one of the Slytherins she had faced several times playing Quidditch. He appeared off the left-hand passage, which happened to be across the elevator bank from where she stood. “What’s that bloody click—”

A roar suddenly filled the elevator bank. An elevator door suddenly burst open. The impact sent them flying. Katie groaned as she tried to push herself up from her landing. Fire and smoke spread into the bank as a figure cloaked in black swept into the chamber.

Burning eyes found her. Edie! Gladiolus! Katie swallowed a shriek and raised her wand with a shaky hand. Before she could cast a spell, her throat constricted. Her mouth opened wide as she tried to draw in a deep breath. Her effort proved fruitless. Nothing entered. Her lungs burned. Her left hand grasped at her throat. She could not feel where the force constricting her was, despite knowing it was there.

Her thoughts slurred as she continued trying to gasp for air. To relieve the pressure on her throat. Her body tired, and without the strength to fight, Katie collapsed to the floor. Her eyes fluttered close.

Her last thought was a simple one.

Sorry, Mum. You were right.

Gladiolus sighed as she sensed Katie Bell’s brain become lifeless. She almost felt bad about what she did. But Bell had thrown her lot in with traitors and had even attempted to ambush her with magical explosives. Unfortunately for the rebels, Gladiolus sensed the trap before their load of Dragon’s Breath could erupt. A blast of Force power had been enough to propel the explosive force outward into the elevator bank. The small bay where Bell and another had awaited her was ruined as a result.

The other figure died in the wake of the explosion. He too felt familiar, despite already being dead. The aurors would identify him later. She would punish his family, just as she would punish the Bell’s.

She returned to the blown-out elevator shaft. Anyone else caught in her position would be forced to find another way to Level One. Gladiolus was not constrained how common witches and wizards were. The Force granted her powers many could not fathom.

She stepped up to the edge of the blown-out elevator and peered up. It had always struck her as arrogance that the Minister’s office was nearest to the surface instead of being deepest. Gladiolus suspected that without wards and expansion charms, half the Ministry would be above the ground, fighting against muggle Whitehall for space in crowded London

Gladiolus pushed off the edge of the threshold and leaped up to the floor above. She slammed the doors open with the Force. She stepped through a stumble before spotting a squad of aurors throwing curses at a band of rebels hidden from her sight.

“Report,” Gladiolus demanded as she approached the aurors in the rear.

They stiffened but maintained enough discipline that only one withdrew from the fight and faced her.

“Lord Gladiolus. We didn’t expect you on this floor.”

“My hand was forced on this matter.” Her gaze slipped past the auror and down the hall. “How have they managed to give you trouble?”

The auror sneered. “Those blasted Weasley Twins are involved somehow. There’s a plethora of traps and obstacles that we can barely handle disabling while protecting ourselves from the rebel fighters occupying this floor. They have us outnumbered by enough margin to have halted our progress.”

“A shame, but unsurprising on the Weasley matter,” Gladiolus drawled. “Those two always were talented.” Fury filled her veins. If any among the Weasleys should have remained loyal to her, it was the Twins. “Their loyalty appears to be to a dead man. They shall join him in due time.”

The auror nodded, unwilling to argue with her. “Will you aid us, Lord Gladiolus? Or will you continue to the Minister’s level?”

“I can spare a minute to push your line forward,” she said with a toothy grin. “Consider it my lordly duty to lead from the front.”

The aurors—they had listened in, even as they fought—offered her relieved smiles. Were they truly given such trouble they required her intervention? Gladiolus had assumed she trained her aurors better in her brief months with them. Clearly, she was wrong. Once this rebellion was ended and its ringleaders punished, she would see to furthering the training of her aurors.

Or perhaps she would train an apprentice instead. She had considered the prospect in the past, but never with enough seriousness to pursue the matter. Perhaps the time had finally come to find an apprentice and train a new Sith Lord. Perhaps even a future Dark Lord of the Sith. She knew a day would come when her worthy apprentice would find the strength to strike her down and ascend in her place. That, as her master informed her, was the Sith way. She had been incapable of striking down her own master because she had learned solely from holocrons. There had been no flesh and blood Sith master for her to overcome. Instead, she destroyed two alike enough to be a Dark Lord to be worthy of that title.

Perhaps I will be even more worthy of the title of Dark Lord of the Sith once I slaughter any Sith Lords who live in the galaxy beyond Earth’s— No. Stop that line of thought, Gladiolus. Focus on the task at hand.

Gladiolus glided to the corridor filled with spellfire. Her lightsaber leaped into her hand. Her thumb instinctively settled on the ignition. Her blade ignited with that familiar snap-hiss, and she stepped forward into the line of fire. She used large sweeping motions to batter and destroy the spells that raced her way, all the while climbing upstream against their torrential flow. It was child’s play carving through the offensive that had cowed the soldiers of the Ministry. Her jaw clenched tightly; she had failed in training them. She realized that she required an apprentice. One she could entrust with tasks that required a Sith Lord’s strength, but not her attention.

Now was not the time for those thoughts, though. She had enemies to slaughter and a rebellion to crush.

She reached the first batch of rebels at the end of the corridor. They stared, awestruck and horrified by her capacity to overwhelm their magical offensive without issue. Her right hand reached out. Force lightning poured forth. Gladiolus stared, impassioned, as their skeletons flashed into view. Those few who avoided her Force attack flinched back from their dying compatriots. She allowed those already dead to collapse, blackened and smoking.

“Please, we—”

Gladiolus reached out with a hand and crushed the speaker’s windpipe. Shouts echoed as the other rebels recoiled from the corpse in their midst. She had offered mercy earlier. Every rebel she encountered had rejected it. She would no longer offer it to any rebel—and especially not to those who delayed her aurors. They proved to be a danger to a stable rule. It was safer for her to destroy them and cast their corpses into dishonor.

One dared charge her instead of casting a spell. Gladiolus sidestepped his idiocy. She sliced off the wand arm of a witch who had not bothered to retreat before attempting to curse her. As the woman screamed, Gladiolus came back around and sliced through the back of the wizard who charged her like a rank muggle. He gasped before collapsing, a blackened mark stretching from buttock to neck.

A single rebel remained. She tossed down her wand and fell to her knees, hands raising as she pleaded, “Don’t kill me! Don’t kill me! Please! Please!”

Darth Gladiolus considered the woman’s request for a heartbeat. She then beheaded her foe. She spat on the corpse and sneered. “You abandoned all hope of mercy the moment you turned against me.”

The Sith Lord pressed on, seeking more rebels to slaughter. She sensed twenty or so remaining on the floor. Gladiolus determined she would not continue to her fated meeting with ‘Cassius’ and ‘Marcellus’ immediately. This floor should be purged first. Anyways, they would await her arrival. Let them be patient.

The Dark Lord of the Sith followed the dark side’s beckoning with malice in her heart and her thrumming lightsaber in hand.

Draco glanced between the shaking Minister Fudge, the glowering Madam Bones, and the calm Unspeakable called ‘Saul Croaker’. He did not believe the Unspeakable’s name was real. But then one did not know what to think when it came to Unspeakables. They were a queer lot, hiding in their little corner of the Ministry, disconnected from the rest of the body tasked with maintaining the social order.

He tapped his foot, the soft leather of his boot clicking against the harsh tile. The gauzy rug did not extend to where he stood near a wall.

“She should’ve been here by now,” he snarled. “Potter should’ve—”

“We assumed she would reach us by now,” Granger corrected. “Not that she would be here.” She sighed and shook her head. “We have no clue where she is. Not since the Atrium, along with those holding Levels Two and Three, went silent.”

“She… She’ll rescue us!” Fudge suddenly said. He turned to Madam Bones. “Right, Amelia?”

Madam Bones glanced around the small conference room. Twelve occupied the room: Draco, Granger, seven comrades of theirs, and their three Ministerial prisoners. Annoyingly, only Fudge seemed distressed by the presence of rebels in this room.

“She might. Or she might see this as an opportunity to get rid of us.” Her hard blue eyes flickered to Granger. “She was right that Gladiolus desired power above all else. It was obvious from that first night when she openly bragged about killing You-Know-Who and then waved off murdering Albus Dumbledore in the same night.”

Fudge swallowed and nodded awkwardly. “That… That makes sense, Amelia.” He chuckled awkwardly. Draco had heard muggle prisoners in his family’s cellar laugh that way the moment they realized there was no hope of rescue or escape. The Minister was losing it, and would likely go mad if nothing changed. “Of course, she’ll get rid of us. I should’ve seen it all along! She’s just like Dumbledore!”

Madam Bones regarded Fudge coolly. After a few seconds of listening to him laugh and mutter to himself, she turned to the Unspeakable. “What about you, Croaker? Do you expect to get out of this alive?”

“I do,” he said. “And so should you, Amelia. Lord Gladiolus would never dare admit it, but she likes you. Perhaps had she not changed into who she is now, she would have admired you. Desired to be like you.” He shrugged. “But she made choices which turned her into who she is today. If I were you, I would sit back and wait. She’ll come. If not for us, then for her.”

The Unspeakable stared at Granger. Granger stared back, almost challengingly.

Malfoy watched them for a while, wondering if they would start arguing or if they would only stare at each other. As he watched them, he fiddled with his hawthorn wand. It had served him well over the years, yet he had a feeling it would not help him much longer. Events were coming to a head quickly. And while he planned to kill Gladiolus, he had to fight down the fear he would survive long after slaying the vile witch who dared seize control of their society. Merlin knew what she had done to the aurors. Not a single had been swayed to their side. Too many had to be obliviated to preserve the secret of their brewing rebellion.

A sudden chill ran down his spine. Had Potter known they would act as they did? Was this a trap meant for her to gain even more power? His blood froze at the thought. Draco had assumed they remained steps ahead of Potter. After all, it had been easy to seize control of the Ministry, even with the complete lack of assistance from the aurors. Their numbers remained beneath the hundreds from before the war. They should not have mattered. They should not have mattered.

And yet the aurors would matter. Perhaps not enough to completely sway the outcome of this day. But they would matter just enough to give Potter her opening to stop them.

Draco stopped playing with his hawthorn wand and grasped it tightly. Unlike Granger, he would be prepared for when “Darth Gladiolus” arrived. Perhaps he could get the former friends chatting long enough to murder one of them—or even both. He would not allow any sentimental thoughts toward Granger to prevent him from seizing the justice that was his due right.

A rumble rippled through the hallway outside the office’s antechamber. Draco stiffened, but he did not turn and stare as everyone else did. He already knew what it was. Shouts and screams followed, shifting from the former to the latter as the sounds drifted closer and closer. He closed his eyes briefly.

And then the outermost door of the minister’s office groaned open. Footsteps approached, floorboards groaning and whining as Darth Gladiolus neared. Draco glanced to the door into the meeting room. The doors shifted as they were pulled slightly, and then opened silently to reveal the monster Edelweiss Potter had become. Sulfuric yellow eyes burned in her skull, highlighted by the black marks across her face. They granted her a fearsome look as she prowled into the room like a jaguar on the hunt.

“Malfoy. Hermione. I’m almost insulted. To think you two would dare go against me.” And then she tisked, just like McGonagall might have.

Gladiolus grinned at Hermione, flashing her teeth as if on the verge of snarling. Her former friend flinched back a hair, reeking of fear and regret as fear flashed in her brandy brown eyes. Good. She would learn before the end that she should have never betrayed Darth Gladiolus. But any hope of mercy was gone, now that words had become actions.

Gladiolus turned to Malfoy, who stared with hatred burning in his grey eyes. As with Hermione, it was a shame he dared go against her. But where Hermione might have had a peaceful future under the rule of Darth Gladiolus, Draco Malfoy could have become a worthy apprentice and successor to her. Hatred and wrath ensured the cycle of the Sith—the cycle of master and apprentice—carried on. Their order could not be exterminated as long as one person hated another, and desired power to destroy their enemies.

The Sith Lord scanned the three Ministry heads present. Minister Fudge and Madam Bones she had expected to find waiting with the conspirators against her. Their role in this affair would be discovered once the situation had been brought under her control as she desired.

But she did find Croaker’s presence a touch surprising.

“What brings you out of your department?” she asked Croaker.

“I was sent to check in on the Minister after these rebels launched their rebellion. I got swept up by these two after I made a mistake.”

“Ah. So you were spotted.”

Croaker grinned sheepishly, silently admitting to his error.

Gladiolus sighed. Her eyes nearly closed, but she sensed a wave of hatred rippling her way. Draco Malfoy had raised his wand, pointing it at the thin line that ran from the point of her central forehead marking to the bead on the tip of her nose. Magical energy churned within him yet remained too uncoiled to be wielded effectively against her. At this range, he had a vague chance of causing some injury to her. Nothing truly severe, but injury was injury.

“So you have volunteered to die first,” she drawled.

“You’ll come with me, bitch!” Malfoy snarled. “For my fathe—er!”

The wand fell from Malfoy’s hand as it shot to his throat, grasping and clawing as he choked. Gladiolus kept her right hand close by her side, thumb pinched inward toward the rest of her fingers. Her lips twitched, straining against the impulse to smirk in the face of her impending victory. How amusing that Malfoy thought he could have a chance of killing her. He could have attempted to attack her without speaking. It would have failed, but she would have needed to rely on her instincts than on watching him telegraph his spells.

And that in a fight to the death could prove to be the deciding factor.

“You stupid fool!” shouted Hermione. Her fear had transformed into anger and frustration. “You should have known trying to curse her to her face wouldn’t work! She killed Dumbledore and Voldemort in the same bloody night!”

“And within a few minutes of each other,” Darth Gladiolus added while admiring the back of the armored hand not choking Malfoy. She released the pressure slightly; enough to keep him down, but not enough to kill him off soon. He had first collapsed against a wall before being supported by two of his supporters. She glanced around and noted seven others followed Hermione and Malfoy into her deadly trap. They all stared at her with horror in their gazes and terror in their hearts. She was almost impressed they managed to stand their ground.

Perhaps I should give them all a true reason to fear my presence.

Gladiolus breathed out softly and projected an aura rich in the dark side’s influence. All of her hatred, malice, and wrath filled the conference room as though she had tried to stuff a cloud into the room. Reactions were instant and immediate. Three of the seven, along with Fudge, whimpered and drew away from her. Two of the seven shook as they strained against Malfoy’s weight, while the last two bolted for the door behind her. She let them pass. She already knew their names and faces. They would face their due punishment, no matter how far they ran. Escape from Darth Gladiolus was impossible now, no matter what those cowards thought.

Malfoy, Bones, Hermione, and Croaker all held firm. Gladiolus glowered at the small smirk Croaker shot her before turning her gaze to the other three. Madam Bones maintained a bored expression in the face of the dark side of the Force. The woman had been an auror once, so no doubt she did not fear death. Malfoy, for his part, hated her enough to resist being repelled by her aura, even as he struggled for a complete breath.

It was Hermione’s reaction that surprised Gladiolus. Her courage wavered several times, yet she did not break. Despite the hatred and malice poured forth, she did not withdraw. She did not retreat. She did not give into fear. She did not even match hatred with hatred, as Gladiolus secretly wished.

And then a tear slid across Hermione’s face. It was followed by a second and a third.

“You cry,” muttered Gladiolus, astonished. “Why?”

“Because I remember who you were, and I’ve realized the truth. You killed her. You… you fiend!”

“Fiend?” Gladiolus cackled. All but Hermione flinched. She was all that mattered now. “I am not some mere fiend. I am Darth Gladiolus, the Dark Lord of the Sith! This world will be but a stepping stone to a dominion that shall bring every star under its grasp! Your friend, Edelweiss Potter, had enough ambition and strength to know I was her only hope of victory over the monsters that destroyed her life.”

“So she sacrificed one for two.”

“No. She sacrificed many and became more than a mere martyr. She ascended, and was reborn.” Gladiolus gestured to her person. “Weep or gnash your teeth. It matters not. I can kill you here, or I can execute you before the baying horde of the masses. They will enjoy seeing one of those who would plunge their society, rescued from the flames of war by myself, into chaos and destruction.” Her sulfuric eyes flickered to Malfoy for the briefest of moments. “You cannot think he would allow you to install a muggle government after I was tossed down. He would enslave your kind, and place those like him with ‘pureblood’ from old families permanently atop society. No upward movement. No hope for a better future.”

“You say that like anyone could have had those under you!”

“…perhaps you are right, but I do not think so. A Sith rule would not leave its people so weak. It is the ethos of the Sith to compete and to clash. ‘Peace is a lie. There is only passion’. One cannot hope to grasp what they desire without dismissing the folly of passivity and embracing that which makes them human.”

Hermione froze, her brandy brown eyes wide and her teeth gritted with frustration. Gladiolus watched as her old friend, the friend of the girl she had once been, struggled to grasp all that had come to pass, and all that would come to pass. She could see it in Hermione’s eyes: the realization, the horror, the disgust. A moment of acceptance almost passed, but that turned to naught. Hermione could not accept that the ways of the Sith were the best for Britain. That her ways, the means of Darth Gladiolus, could lead the people to happiness. Ironically, it was only through the conflict and struggle of the Sith that a lasting peace could be found. Let the Jedi preach their peace of weakness.

The peace of the Sith was that of strength. It was of the strong ruling the weak for their benefit.

“Embrace the truth, Hermione,” Gladiolus whispered. “I can feel your mind and heart in conflict. One knows I speak true, yet the other cannot embrace the truth.

“Let go of your weakness. See that I am the way forward. The path to—”

Dodge!

Gladiolus suddenly leaned back. Color flashed in her vision. A spell, one cast with silent precision. She knew in an instant that the Force had responded to the ill will of one around her. Malfoy had tried to curse her—to blow off her head—while she had been busy trying to twist Hermione Granger around to her way of seeing the world.

Sulfuric eyes swiveled to her left, even after her left hand rose and clenched the offender with the Force. Draco Malfoy grasped, color draining from his face as he tried to lift his arms high enough to grapple with the unseen force on his neck. She widened the impact of her Force power to restrain his limbs.

His wand had fallen from his grasp, lying on the short-carpeted floor. Gladiolus sneered at the weapon. She drew on the dark side and willed his magical medium to burst into flames.

It snapped first, a clear strand of hair blackening before soft flames began to chew away the wood.

“You… You bitch!” Malfoy shouted through the power restraining him. Gladiolus weakened her grasp on him enough so his words could come through completely. “You murdered my father!”

“And? Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater. His life was forfeit the moment he allowed that false pretender to brand him like cattle.” Gladiolus turned to completely face him. She slowly began to close her raised hand. Malfoy released a pained groan, lacking enough air to properly scream. “I should have disposed of you earlier, but I thought that you might learn. That you could be smarter than your father.” She sighed and shook her head. “It seems the sins of the father are the sins of the son. Your hatred was no match for mine, Draco Malfoy.”

In the span of a heartbeat, she clenched her hand closed. Malfoy’s body crushed as though a massive hand smashed him. Blood and offal spewed from him, pouring forth from mouth and nose, eyes and ears, and any other orifice. His fluids sprayed across the ceiling, walls, and floor, along with two of the rebels standing nearest Malfoy. They froze; fear gripped them so tightly their hearts risked skipping a beat and dropping them to the floor.

“Why… Why…?”

Gladiolus’s disdainful eyes swiveled to Hermione. The girl squeaked and stepped back into the wall behind her. “He forced my hand by attacking me.” Her sulfuric gaze drifted from face to face. “You all saw it. An assassination attempt, thwarted solely through my power.”

“But… But you didn’t need to kill him!”

“No?” Gladiolus tilted her head, pouring every ounce of false innocence into her expression. Hermione recoiled as though bitten by a snake. “Responding with equivalent force is perfectly legal, Miss Granger. And that includes not just violence against a person, but also violence against the state.” She straightened and revealed the full depth of a Dark Lord of the Sith. “You have committed treason by leading an attack against the rightful magical government of Britain. You sought to remove me, the Witch-Queen of this nation, from her rightful place within the government, serving purely at the pleasure of Her Majesty, the Queen of England, Scotland, and Ireland. I hope you know the punishment for treason.”

“…death.”

“Aye. And not just any death, but a most terrible one. While the muggles have modified their laws to remove the most heinous executions, they remained within our laws when the Statute of Secrecy was implemented.

“That means you, along with several others, shall be drawn by entrails, quartered, and then hung until dead. Your four limbs will be placed across magical Britain as a reminder of the fate that befalls all traitors.”

And as though summoned by her pronouncement of justice, aurors stormed into the room. Their raised wands drew surrender from the remaining rebels. Hermione hung her head, defeated.

“Take them away,” Gladiolus commanded. She then left the room, disappointed.

None of this should have happened. I should have foreseen this. I should have struck them before they were ready.

But instead, I allowed it to happen… for I can accrue power from their failure.

She breathed out, closed her eyes, and reached out into the Force. Minds reached out to her, and she smiled. Many remained faithful. Loyal. But also fruitful of what might transpire without a mighty leader to follow.

The time for an apprentice was nearly at hand. For now, Gladiolus needed to clean her home and purge it of vermin.

Chapter Text

“…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 onto 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. Otherwise, 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 use with 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 it 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.

Chapter Text

Tracey Davis clenched her wand as she tightly grasped the doorknob. She had assumed her home, tucked away in the rolling hills of the English countryside, would always be a sanctuary from the troubles of magical Britain. But something lingered behind this door, threatening the world that had been raised around Tracey. Her heart raced away, yet she breathed steadily. Neither of her parents had been at King’s Cross to greet her as usual. Once, she would have thought nothing of their absence. After all, her father worked unusual hours for Gringotts while her mother served Britain as an on-call hit wizard.

But that had been her mindset before that fateful trip north on the Hogwarts Express.

She now lived in a world ruled by her lord, the merciful and powerful Gladiolus. And though Tracey admired her lord, she knew that their word was one where people sometimes vanished, though for good reason.

“Come on in!” her mother called before Tracey could force the door open. She hesitated. Her grasp around her wand tightened. Something sounded wrong in her mother’s voice. “Tracey, we know you’re out there!”

She nearly cast a revealing charm, for a sudden feeling washed over her. It mingled with the fear she felt coming to the door, uncertain and hurt by her parent’s absence, revealing to her that the danger she had sensed was not directed her way. After all, her lord had no cause to harm her.

Lord Gladiolus.

Tracey twisted the knob, pushed the door open, and then froze after taking a single step into her home. She had no cause to linger on the threshold. She was home, safe from the turbulent times of her age. It should be natural for her to cross the entry while calling out that she was home. A hand should be on her shrunken trunk, ready to remove and restore it.

She forced herself to enter the entry, a plain room with a dark, tiled floor. A few shoes cast about haphazardly rested a few feet before her. The wall to her right was unadorned, while the one on her left bore a single moving portrait of the Davis family commissioned back in her third year.

A dark figure swept into view. Burning sulfuric eyes peered out from beneath a heavy cowl. Lips, only pink in two spots, twitched into an amused smirk.

“Come join us,” drawled Lord Gladiolus. “I have come on an errand concerning you, Tracey. Your parents have demanded your presence. I had not intended to involve them beyond a simple explanation of my intentions. But they were less than pleased by my intentions—and by my curiosity concerning your home life.

“I do not think they approve of my wish, regardless of how appropriate you would be.”

Tracey’s mouth dried. She tried to swallow so she could wet her tongue and chapped lips. But not even a drop emerged.

Lord Gladiolus smiled. It almost looked fond, and that worried Tracey.

Could this relate to what she wanted before the rebellion? Tracey thought errantly.

“Come,” her lord repeated, sounding a touch annoyed. “Your parents wish to speak with you on the matter I have proposed before they’ll agree to anything.” Her gaze drifted and her lips fell. “They think you are a child who still requires their guidance and permission.”

“I… I’m surprised to hear that,” Tracey muttered. Frustration welled within her. She had managed, thanks to her stellar OWL performance, to convince them to allow her to follow the auror track through her NEWT years at Hogwarts. For them to be unwilling to agree to something on her behalf meant that they did not approve of whatever her lord would offer—which if Tracey’s memory of that night before the Janus Rebellion remained true meant an apprenticeship offer.

“Are you truly? Or is there something else I am unaware of? A particular career choice, perhaps?”

“I had another plan, my lord. Another way to serve you. But I believe that path is no longer necessary.”

Tracey held back the words: “For I will be under your aegis directly.”

In the two years since she first came under Lord Gladiolus’s aegis—back when the Witch-Queen still used the name Edelweiss Potter—Tracey had learned to emerge from her shell. She had retreated into that shell as a result of her early years in Slytherin. Though it had not completely enclosed her by the time of her fifth year, she knew three years unchanged would have solidified the hardness required in non-purebloods to survive and even thrive in the house of cunning.

She owed Lord Gladiolus too much. She nodded and followed her lord to where her parents waited. They passed the turn to the bedrooms, continuing down the main corridor until they reached the greeting room. They entered the spacious area, with its trio of long couches around a large, cluttered table. A wide stone fireplace dominated one wall. The walls beside it bore a trio of paintings, while the fourth had two wide windows allowing great beams of light to pour in.

Tracey’s parents rose to their feet as Lord Gladiolus glided into the greeting room. Tracey met her parents’ watching gazes with a slight smile. They smiled back, weak and uncertain. She wondered what they had been told—and why they did not appear to take it seriously. Tracey knew their lord well enough to suspect that whatever had been proposed earlier had been spoken of with the utmost seriousness.

Once all were sat and the family elf, Bixy, had served tea and biscuits, Lord Gladiolus finally lowered her hood. Her face had matured in the two years since their last shared year at Hogwarts. yet the black markings Gladiolus acquired in November of that year remained unchanged. Her hair, however, had been changed. Once where it had hung limply, grown long enough to not be a burden, she now wore it in a set of braids so intricate Tracey doubted she’d be able to accurately count them with magic.

“Now, Lord Gladiolus,” Tracey’s father began, slightly nervous. “Why have you actually come to speak with us? You cannot think we would believe your claim that our Tracey can learn whatever aberrant powers that drive you.”

Tracey glanced between her parents and Lord Gladiolus as events from earlier came together. Her lord had interrupted the family tradition of meeting Tracey at King’s Cross to put her parents on edge—and force their hand regardless of what Tracey would decide. Yes, her heart was set, but did her lord truly need to intimidate her parents so?

“I am speaking with you now about this particular matter,” Lord Gladiolus began softly, her sulfuric eyes almost glowing in their sockets. “The Janus Rebellion proved I require another with my powers. One I can trust. So as I informed you, I have decided to accept an apprentice. One with the capacity to learn the powers I have come to embrace and, should the worse ever come to pass, possess the strength of will to inherit my title and ensure my work persists into future generations.”

“An apprentice? Our daughter?” Tracey’s mother asked, raising a hand to cover her mouth. “Why her? Certainly, there are others with the same potential.”

Tracey felt her cheeks flush with shame, embarrassment, and a touch of wonder. Her? Lord Gladiolus’s apprentice? It was an unfathomable idea, and yet it was being offered to her so willingly. The mere prospect of learning the strange, magnificent powers her lord knew was tantalizing. The offer had been presented to her before the Janus Rebellion. She remembered that much. But to speak of it with her parents implied that her lord valued their opinion, despite her words to the contrary.

That or she wants to prevent them from acting out with honey instead of vinegar.

“She is among the rare few who possess the potential to wield the special powers I possess. I cannot be so picky as to deny any with that potential who are willing to faithfully serve me as your daughter has. Were it not for her, I would have not even suspected the Janus Rebellion, to my great frustration.”

Tracey’s parents nodded automatically while shooting proud glances at their daughter.

She frowned while staring at her lord. Tracey had heard plenty of speculation about exactly how Lord Gladiolus’s power worked. They knew she called it ‘the Force’, thanks to a particularly crafty and secretive Ministry staffer who went missing shortly after the term entered the public consciousness. But for her to have this potential?

A feeling swirled in her gut. She met her lord’s eye and knew that Gladiolus had sensed that feeling—and recognized it as the same power she possessed.

“I am seeking a proper apprentice from among their number. I do not doubt Tracey’s ability or her loyalty. But there is more I desire in an apprentice than those simple traits. With them, I could recruit dozens to serve me.

“But that is not what I desire. I desire a proper pupil, one who I can pour the wealth of knowledge and wisdom I have acquired over these past few years. One day, events will compel me to venture into the stars beyond our world. I must have one loyal and competent to handle affairs on this world while I am away. To ensure all I have put into motion and all that I will put into motion will not be disrupted.”

Before either of her parents could respond, Tracey told them, “I want to accept Lord Gladiolus’s offer of apprenticeship.”

They exchanged a glance. Seconds passed before her father sighed and said, “What happened to wishing to join the auror corps? We were proud when we heard—”

“Lord Gladiolus works closely with the aurors,” began Tracey, “but this is an opportunity for more. As her apprentice, I can make real change in the world.” She turned to her mother. “You’ve always lamented how you being a mug—a newblood set me behind in Slytherin. I cannot allow other children like me to face such stigma. Not when I can help them as Lord Gladiolus’s apprentice.”

Her parents exchanged another look. A longer one, as though they were hesitant to say yes, yet could not articulate the cause behind their dismissal. Her father eventually turned to Lord Gladiolus and inquired, “Can you guarantee Tracey’s safety?”

“I cannot. Nor could the aurors, since you were open to that path. Your daughter wishes to improve the lot of magical Britain. Who are you to stand in her way?”

“We’re her parents!” Tracey’s mother shouted. “I don’t see why we should hand her over to you! As wonderful as the changes you’ve made to our society are, Lord Gladiolus, you are still an unknown. Barely two years have passed since you’ve acquired your power. And what have we seen? An assault on the Ministry and mass executions!”

“You don’t want your daughter involved in that, despite her wishes to the contrary.” Lord Gladiolus sighed and rose to her feet. “Know that our meeting today was merely a formality. Tracey is a legal adult. She has already expressed a wish to be my apprentice. I will accept her, and there is nothing the two of you can do.” She then leaned forward and smirked. “Remember that you were all too happy to hand her over to my auror corps before lamenting what may happen to her as my apprentice.”

Tracey watched her lord sweep from the room, her black cloak rippling behind her. She hesitated only a second before muttering a weak apology to her parents and raced after Lord Gladiolus.

Her heart had been decided before her lord stepped inside. Tracey would learn all Lord Gladiolus had to teach her. She would be the ideal apprentice. And one day, she would be a master like her lord. And then she could train an apprentice, just like her lord.

“I will not hear it!” shouted Xenophilius Lovegood, waving his arms like the madman many believed him to be. “You foul demon! Out of my house! Now! Now!”

Lord Gladiolus sat unflinching before the man’s patriarchal rage. She had known from the start that recruiting Luna Lovegood as an apprentice would likely be a wash. Tracey Davis, who had quickly sent word accepting her new role, had said as much. And yet she had to try, for Lovegood’s strength in the Force still troubled her. She needed to be trained in the proper fashion: dedicated to the ways of the Sith and not the Jedi.

“I have not even—”

“Oh, I already know what you desire!” Xenophilius snarled, jabbing a finger in Gladiolus’s face. Were he any other man and she there for any other reason, she would have lopped off the hand daring to come so near. But because of who he was and what she wanted, she bitterly suppressed her righteous fury. “You want to take away my sweet moondrop. To mold her into a monster like yourself! I… I cannot believe I ever supported you. Why, Dumbledore must be rolling in his grave.”

“Good! Let him roll in his grave. He deserves no peace, even in death,” Gladiolus confessed. She grinned when Xenophilius came up short, eyes bulging wide. “I still appreciate that you published my tale back in ’95. But the world of then and the world of now are different. We have left one era and entered a new one. Either you adapt, or you will be swept from your feet and forgotten once the histories of our time are written.”

Xenophilius snorted. “My publication will ensure my legacy. Everyone will know a hundred years from now just the breed of monster you are.”

Gladiolus chuckled, high and mirthful enough to almost be a giggle. “You are quite the amusing man, Xenophilius.” Her mirth fell away and her sulfuric eyes blazed in her skull. “Now, where is your daughter? She is an adult, and thus can make her own choices separate from you.”

For several long, tense seconds, Gladiolus thought Xenophilius would persist in his resistance. And then a door opened behind them. She turned and found a startled Luna Lovegood, pale eyes wide and blonde hair long, standing in the doorway. She reeked of terror.

“Ah. Just the woman I had come in search of.” Gladiolus turned back to Xenophilius. “Thank you for your time. You’re dismissed.”

His face blazed bright red, just like Ron’s when embarrassed. Something almost resembling a pang of regret flashed through her. But it was gone as soon as it came, and she was left with naught but resentment that the Weasleys dared betray her.

At least they had the dignity to do so quietly, and to prevent any from their number from actively joining that rebellion. Ron, Ginny, and the Twins all had the sense to stay out of it, even if the latter allowed their goods to be used by the foe.

And so they persist at the edge of society instead of being celebrated, all because of their “principles”.

The thought faded as she moved toward Luna Lovegood. That spooked the girl out of her shock. She did not flee. The sense of terror amplified, augmented by panic over why Gladiolus was present Where Tracey Davis had all but leaped at the opportunity to be Darth Gladiolus’s Sith apprentice, Luna did not suspect it yet—and she would likely fear the offer. She feared the power of the dark side of the Force. Her reaction to Gladiolus’s presence had the same emotional tone as a family returning home after a long vacation to find it infested with cockroaches.

“I…”

“Will you hear me out?” offered Gladiolus. “I do not require an answer from you immediately. But I want you to hear my proposal before you dare reject what I offer.”

Luna stiffened. Uncertainty dominated the girl’s mind as she grappled with her options. Both she and her father had been present for the executions in Diagon Alley. And of all the publications in Britain, only theirs had questioned the justice of that day. They had not questioned the punishments, but the nature of how justice was enacted. Theirs was a justice of courts and lawyers, one that required a great deal of time and gold better spent elsewhere. What fools they were to hold onto that long-dead system.

“I…”

“Moondrop,” Luna’s father said. Unsurprisingly, he had not obeyed her command. Gladiolus decided, regardless of whatever final decision Luna Lovegood reached, her father would be carted away and locked up long enough to be sorry he ever dared oppose her. “You do not need to entertain her evil. She has been polluted by dark magics so deadly and dangerous not even You-Know-Who dared meddle with them.”

Gladiolus rolled her eyes as she turned back to Xenophilius. “He knew them not. Had he known them, he would have certainly learned them. And with that, he would have easily yoked Britain to his will. And know this: my power is not ‘dark magic’. It goes beyond magic—and your daughter possesses a natural affinity that has long made me… interested in offering her an apprenticeship.”

She sensed confusion within Luna. It was a weak feeling, but it was present enough that Gladiolus believed she could twist it to her aims. She turned to her second potential apprentice and said, “We should step out and speak, Luna.”

Luna Lovegood tried to not act like a prisoner on parole as she followed Darth Gladiolus toward the small babbling creek beneath the hill her family home sat on. She had been playing in its waters when her mother perished in a magical accident. She glanced at the fiend wearing Edelweiss Potter’s skin. She had returned home early after a terrible feeling suddenly struck her. It had convinced Luna that her father was in danger and that the only way she could save him was to hurry home. Her employer was less than happy about the swift departure. Though given the lack of customers, Luna did not think she would be missed too much.

“I know you have no reason to trust me,” Darth Gladiolus began, “but I was genuine in my offer to train you. Your potential… I have long considered you a possible candidate for an apprentice, even when I doubted whether or not your nature would align with the lessons I would teach you.”

Luna did not believe for a moment her nature aligned with whatever Darth Gladiolus sought to teach her. Perhaps Edelweiss Potter could have been an excellent teacher for her, but that girl was gone. Luna was not foolish enough to believe the woman beside her could ever be redeemed. She had given herself to evil and would end her days as evil.

“But now, after the recent rebellion that our nation managed to weather, I have realized I must find a proper apprentice. Someone capable of stepping up and assuming any responsibilities I might place on their shoulders—or require them to take up.”

Luna felt sick. She had a feeling about what she would hear next. “You think I could fill that role?”

“I know you have more potential than the other candidates I will recruit. One has already agreed. Her loyalty is assured, though I do not know if she has the strength necessary to follow the path I have established for her to follow. So she must have someone to challenge her. A rival, one more gifted by less certain.”

“You have the wrong person. I share my father’s opinion concerning how you control our society.”

Darth Gladiolus nodded, though there was a twist to her lips that suggested she wished to sneer. Luna had gotten better at understanding people ever since Hermione foolishly accepted Draco Malfoy into Dumbledore’s Army. She had parted ways with the group after that year, already sensing the tragic, destructive course they would follow into their graves. Given what became of them after their ‘Janus Rebellion’, Luna felt justified in her choice. However, she did regret her failure to rescue more than from the growing ranks of Hermione and Malfoy’s ill-fated rebellion.

“I can tell that you knew about the rebellion against myself. Yet you did not report anything about the events which transpired in January.”

Luna glanced away. She could not say anything that might make Gladiolus suspicious of her. “The heliopaths have grown more and more desperate to escape you.”

“…so you agreed with their aim. Then why not aid them?”

“Malfoy could not be trusted,” Luna admitted. “And Hermione thought using his methods would not lead her into trouble.” She glanced at Darth Gladiolus. Sulfuric eyes from her nightmares burned in blackened sockets. Luna now understood what it meant to be a Sith Lord. To be a Sith Lord meant to burn away everything for a singular goal. Edelweiss Potter desired power to destroy Dumbledore and Voldemort.

Darth Gladiolus was all that remained.

“How fascinating that some who object to my ways and methods possess a shred of sense.” The Sith Lord smiled slyly. Luna’s gut plunged to her toes, leaving her filled with sickly dread. “Should you become one of my apprentices, I will need to purge you of your arrogant opposition to my ways.”

“…arrogant?” Luna accidentally screeched like a regular girl confronted with some misdeed she wished forgotten. She flushed and muttered, “I cannot believe you would use that in reference to me, Edelweiss.”

“I do not know that name,” Lord Gladiolus said. “Do remember who I am, else I will be forced to remind you.” She tilted her head slightly, masking the harshness of her sulfuric eyes. “I may not be above using corporal punishment where necessary, but it would be poor form to employ it earlier than necessary.”

Luna nodded swiftly. She stopped and allowed Lord Gladiolus to continue to the creek that marked the boundary between the Lovegood’s property and their wealthier neighbors. She was surprised the Sith Lord continued walking. Gladiolus had to know Luna stopped in her tracks.

When the evil woman turned, her yellow eyes burned with amusement. Her lips twisted into a cruel smirk before settling as something politer. “I await your inevitable decision, Luna,” said Gladiolus. “I have peered into your soul. You may reject all I stand for now. But before the end, you will understand the necessity that drove Edelweiss Potter to shed her old identity like a snake skin.”

Before Luna could respond, the Sith Lord vanished like smoke in the wind. She gaped, for neither had crossed the boundary line. They had remained within the wards around the Lovegood property—which prevented apparition and portkeys in or out.

A jealousy unbecoming of a Lovegood twisted within Luna, low and sickened. Powers of that magnitude should not belong to monsters. They should be given to good people, freely willing to sacrifice all they had for the betterment of society. People like Hermione Granger. People like the girl Luna Lovegood thought Edelweiss Potter once was. She turned back to the familiar sight of home and strode up the hill. Her father would be furious with her decision, but it had to be made.

Hermione’s sacrifice could not be in vain. Somehow, Luna would see to that.

Gladiolus entered Neville Longbottom’s large, illuminated office. Plants, familiar and not, lined the walls, interspaced with family portraits and groaning bookcases. When he had sent a politely worded note inviting her to discuss her vaguely offered proposal, she had been pleasantly surprised that he possessed any willingness to accept. Neville had been smart enough to remain clear of the Janus Rebellion. But his grandmother had not. The old harridan had given up the last of her time and strength to lead an annoyingly effective assault on the Floo System Office. Had it not been for the intervention of aurors freed from assaults elsewhere within the Ministry, Gladiolus would have been forced to put down that particular part of the rebellion herself. And while she wished she could have fought Augusta Longbottom that day, she understood that their duel could have lost her this opportunity.

That he’s agreed to a meeting could mean he’s planning something, just like Augusta. I was pleasantly surprised to sense him reach back while searching the land for potential apprentices.

Him

Tracey.

Luna.

Were it not for the Force, I would almost think these three coincidental.

She sat in the offered chair, oak and straight-backed. The seat had no padding, though with the Force she could offset that issue.

“Welcome to Longbottom Manor,” Neville said. He looked older than his seventeen years. The baby fat that had clung jealously to his cheeks had vanished. Gladiolus tried to not be surprised by the old, weathered cast to his face. “I wish I could have invited you before everything that’s happened these past couple years.”

“It would have been nice,” Gladiolus confessed. “Though I am afraid I have come on business.”

Neville frowned. “Business?”

“Yes. You happen to be one of a select few who are Force-sensitive.”

“The Force is your power, yes?”

Gladiolus pursed her lips. She had learned that the name had slipped into the public consciousness, though she was uncertain who the leak was. She would find that person soon and learn how they found out.

“It is. I have come to offer you an apprenticeship.”

“So you think I can learn your strange powers,” Neville said slowly as if she might think him a fool. “I’m surprised you would offer me the chance to learn them after what happened with my gran.”

“I would be amiss as a ruler to allow any with the potential to wield power as I to languish in their futility.” She set a hand on his desk. His eyes dipped to her hand before jumping to meet her sulfuric gaze straight on. “While you are not my first choice for an apprentice, I believe those with potential should be permitted an opportunity to seize hope and power for themselves. One does not control their fate without them, after all.”

Neville frowned. “Hope and power? I thought you had forgotten that first one, Gladiolus. Everyone knows you’re obsessed with the latter.”

She clicked her tongue. It had been a small slip. One meant not for a potential apprentice, but for speeches given to the masses. Even Fudge bought into her messages about hope. But not Amelia Bones. She was too perceptive to be fooled and too wise to become a liability.

“I have not forgotten the power of hope. I know all too well its power—in fact, it is a power of its own.”

“You almost sounded like Dumbledore there,” Neville remarked with a faint smile.

“…I had not realized you learned how to joke, Neville.” Gladiolus leaned back in the seat she occupied. “Still, it was hope that first led me to the way of the Sith Lords. From there, I learned to embrace the power they offered. It helped that they promised what I desired above all else. The thing Dumbledore oh so conveniently kept from me: freedom.”

Gladiolus spoke that word with a longing that almost made her feel like the foolish, dead girl she once was. But almosts were almosts—not reality.

“Would this power offer me freedom as well?” he asked almost jokingly. Her eyebrows twitched, nearly drawing into a disproving scowl. “I cannot say you are free, old friend. You’re yoked to Ministry and all the mechanisms within that have restrained the Minister and the old Wizengamot for centuries.”

“Freedom and power are linked by the ways of the Sith. ‘Through power, I gain victory.’ That victory, in my case, came in the form of the destruction of my enemies. Without them controlling my destiny, I have become free to decide it as I wish.” Gladiolus leaned forward, one hand on the desk while the elbow of her other arm provided a convenient perch for her chin. “The freedom I offer is that of power—the power to ascend over the trivialities that bind the common man to their mundane troubles, Neville. Think. You could reshape the course of this nation’s destiny with me. You only need to reach out and seize this opportunity.”

Neville’s gaze fell to his hands, hidden from her view. Gladiolus suspected his knuckles were red, edged with white. Doubt filled him like wine in a chalice, threatening to spill over if too much filled him. And while she was tempted to fill him with more doubt, it could ruin her attempt to lure him into her service as an apprentice. He might fully reject her. He could even follow the misguided path his gran chose.

But if it worked, then he could match or even surpass the other two. One apprentice had begun to study the Sith Code, though it would be some time before she was entrusted with a holocron. Davis was not ready for that yet. Lovegood had yet to agree or reject the offer, but already Gladiolus knew which way the odd girl would eventually go. Soon enough, she too would begin her training as a Sith.

The last piece of her delicate puzzle rested with Neville Longbottom. She had found several others, all Force-sensitive and granted the same task as Davis. But none possessed the same potential as the three she had personally visited. These three were worthy of her attention. They were the ones who had the potential to be worthy of her title and power.

“I wish you had come to me before that rebellion,” Neville suddenly admitted. “I would have had reservations even then. But now? After what you did to my gran?”

“You know why I punished her so. She played a vital role in that rebellion, leading the seizure of the Floo Control Office as she did.”

Neville sighed. “I understand, but…”

“I have also spoken to Luna Lovegood,” Gladiolus continued. “She has not confirmed that she shall become an apprentice of mine, but I have no cause to doubt her inevitable agreement.”

“How can you be so certain?”

Gladiolus grinned widely, for Neville’s feelings made clear to her that he did not doubt her claim. He only wondered where her certainty came from and how she could so easily declare one opposed to her ways would become her student.

“The Force grants me the power to peer through the haze of the future and discover that which may come to pass, and that which will come to pass.”

“Sounds like prophecy.”

She scoffed. “Prophecy is all poetry and guesswork. One can hear a prophecy foretelling their destruction and act in a manner that guarantees that which they fear will come to pass. My powers in the Force allow me to know what may happen, and thus allow me to act in accordance with what I desire.”

“…you sound mad, Gladiolus.”

“I would suggest you grow accustomed to calling me ‘master’, Neville.”

He scowled. “I won’t call you master. But I am willing to call you friend once more.”

“What about ‘my lord’?”

“That sounds like Voldemort speaking, not the ghost of Edelweiss Potter.”

Gladiolus came up short. Impulse demanded she punish him for the verbal slight. But if she was to guarantee Neville became one of her Sith apprentices, she needed to retain enough goodwill between them to head off any willfulness against the Sith way. The young man she had trained at Hogwarts possessed a strong sense of justice and a fierce loyalty that, were it not for his latent courage, would have made him more appropriate for Hufflepuff than Gryffindor. And if she was going to tempt a man of his caliber to the dark side, then she needed to work carefully as she guided Neville around to her perspective. Tracey’s loyalty would secure her, and Luna’s peculiarity could be twisted into a Sith’s perspective.

Only Neville would prove troublesome, she believed. Removed from their parents, Davis and Lovegood were putty in her hands.

“That’s a daring accusation.”

“To the uninitiated, that’s how it appears.”

Her jaw shifted from side to side as she considered Neville’s words. Annoyingly, she found little fault in his words. Yes, Gladiolus did not think herself the same as Voldemort. But they had both claimed the title of ‘Dark Lord’. Her title merely came from a different practice. A different tradition.

“I guess I can see how you’d come to that faulty conclusion.” She rose to her feet. “I would suggest you think over my offer. Know that it will not last forever. My patience has its limits. And this offer may be all that preserves your life and liberty… old friend.”

Neville stared at her consideringly for several long seconds. “I’ll think the offer over,” he eventually said. “It… It was almost nice speaking with you again, old friend.”

Gladiolus left with harsh, hurried steps, chased out by the haunting ghost of the brittle friendship between the boy Neville Longbottom once was and the girl she had been.

Chapter Text

Tracey Davis arrived first, dressed in the plain black tunic, wide belt, and trousers Darth Gladiolus provided for her three most promising apprentices. The rest she discovered to be Force-sensitive—all less promising than her three apprentices-to-be—had been made into acolytes: ready pawns to advance her goals where aurors were insufficient and a Sith Lord would be overkill. Their ability to use the dark side of the Force should prove useful one day, but none possessed the power or mindset necessary to be worthy of the title, Sith Lord. They would be Sith by a fashion, but to be a Sith Lord required more than mastering the power of the dark side. It required determination to reshape the world to suit one’s desires. A willingness to sacrifice all one had been to become more.

A Sith Lord internalized the Sith Code until it became etched into their soul.

Each apprentice had received a handwritten copy of the Sith Code with the “request” that they take time to study and meditate on it. Gladiolus embedded into her accompanying letters hints that the Code was the central philosophy behind every choice she made. She desired for them to take their reading of the Sith Code seriously. To treat it like they had their studies at Hogwarts. After all, the Sith Code guided Gladiolus through her final year as Edelweiss Potter. They reshaped that girl into the Sith Lord who claimed all of magical Britain as her own.

And one day, her reach would extend to consume the world, and perhaps beyond.

“Master,” Tracey said as she bowed. Her gaze drifted across the small room, glancing across the three empty cushions before returning to Darth Gladiolus. Her brows furrowed deep enough a valley cleaved between them. “I had hoped we would be alone today.”

Gladiolus nearly smirked. Had Tracey thought she would be the only one? She intended from the start to have the three together for this lesson. The Sith Lord supplied her apprentices with specialized portkeys to transport them to the antechamber just beyond the door. Only she knew they were in Ziost Hangar, deep beneath Hogwarts castle. She had chosen the rooms furthest from Hermione’s holding cell. They might notice the rumblings of construction. But she had a feeling the Code would consume their interest.

Then again, Hermione knew nothing of the durasteel complex being added to Lord Salazar’s hidden oasis.

“This is for all three of you,” the Sith Lord said. She gestured to the cushion to her left. “Sit. They will arrive soon.”

Tracey crossed to the chosen spot and sat on the cushion. A few seconds passed before she shifted into a kneeling posture Gladiolus recognized from her time as an apprentice.

Neville Longbottom arrived next. He wore a black cloak over a crimson tunic, plain trousers, and dark dragonhide boots. Only the wide black belt graced his wizardly form. Gladiolus frowned thinly. There had been no explicit note with the Sith apprentice garb she supplied the three. She had assumed the presence of clothes, properly sized for each, would be message enough to wear them.

Neville paused at the threshold and frowned. His gaze bounced between the two women, taking in how they both dressed in black. Gladiolus surmised she miscalculated with him. That thought ruined her pleased mood over Tracey’s arrival and reaction to not being granted preference over the others.

Before Neville could finally cross the threshold, Luna Lovegood slipped around him, as fae as the queer creatures she alleged to see. She had gotten the message, for she had dressed in the provided blacks. The girl gave the room a single quick scan before drifting to the open cushion on Gladiolus’s right. She sat with her legs crossed. For some odd reason, Luna rested her feet atop her thighs instead of beneath them.

Gladiolus stared at Neville. He stared back. Several seconds passed with their gazes locked before he sighed and sat before her more sensibly than the woman to each side.

“Apprentices. I do not plan for us four to gather so often. The way of the Sith rarely lends well to large cabals. I also have other tasks that demand my time beyond instructing you three, even at the beginning of your training. Our nation—and thus our world—approaches a crossroads that will decide the future. Will this world remain free of external coercion? Or will everything crumble away like tears in the rain?”

Tracey sat up straighter, almost pathetically willing to accept and embrace all Darth Gladiolus said. She appreciated the loyalty, though part of her wondered if Davis would ever gather the strength of will to challenge her for the title of Dark Lord of the Sith. Perhaps that willingness would come in time. Davis had yet to accept all the dark side of the Force offered.

Neville frowned slightly. Suspicion reeked from him in waves. Perhaps he had only accepted her offer of apprenticeship in order to keep a closer eye on her. Given that Longbottom spent time outside of his work—whatever that was supposed to be—with many who either had ties to the new Wizengamot or sat on that body, she had cause to suspect his purpose in agreeing was to spy on her. He might not be a loyal or faithful student yet, but time would tell.

It was a quaint plan. One that amused Gladiolus. She would permit him to continue on that path for now.

Luna Lovegood, as always, remained an enigma that was either more confusing than Gladiolus suspected or merely put up an act that made her seem more complicated than she truly was. Given that The Quibbler had done away with the deceptively subversive articles in favor of returning to the nonsense that defined them before her ascension, it appeared Luna’s choice to apprentice under Darth Gladiolus convinced her father to abandon those articles that would lead to him being jailed or fined once he overstepped the limited press protections the Ministry had in place before her.

“Now, each of you was provided a copy of the Sith Code. This is the philosophy that underlines all you will learn as my apprentice. You must internalize not only the words, but the intent behind each line. It was not written millennia past to sound nice. There is a purpose in every word given to you.”

Gladiolus waved a hand at the sheets of flimsiplast by her side. Zeta-Aleph had provided them when she inquired about writing in the galaxy beyond Earth. The droid mind had taken her request to mean she also wished to learn the lingua franca of the galaxy, which had been somewhere in the messy list of tasks she desired to accomplish before her inevitable departure from Earth.

(Her lessons in Galactic Basic were not moving along as swiftly as she would like. Gladiolus knew this was caused by the excessive tasks she already juggled: ruling magical Britain, keeping up to date with the research and engineering occurring across the Atlantic at Area 51, instructing Sith acolytes and her new apprentices, continuing her training, and handling the odd meeting with muggle officials, including the Queen.)

Each of her apprentices stared at the flimsi set before them with furrowed brows. Even Tracey, who feared questioning her master, glanced between the flimsi and Darth Gladiolus with uncertainty.

Gladiolus withdrew a trio of styli from her robe and set one beside each sheet of flimsi. “You will write the Sith Code from memory. You cannot ask for assistance from myself or the others.” She smirked with just a hint of flashing white teeth. “That does not mean you cannot use other means to gather information, though I should not catch you.”

All three considered her command with uncertainty. None appeared ready to actively question her command. Gladiolus doubted any would attempt to draw on the power of the Force for help. Only Luna had any experience with the Force, by Gladiolus’s reckoning. And she suspected that Luna’s experience with the Force had been filtered through the prism of the strange fae creatures she saw that emulated emotion and mental powers.

“Go on,” Gladiolus said for they still hesitated after a minute. “Begin writing the Code—and hand me your copy once you finish. I will judge by your recollections.”

Luna began writing before Gladiolus finished her second set of instructions. Tracey turned to her sheet the very second Gladiolus finished speaking. Neville only began after a few seconds to recall those parts of the Code he managed to memorize.

She watched as they wrote. The three took care to protect their flimsi sheets from wandering eyes, even as they futilely attempted to peek at what the others wrote. Neville tried to use his position between Tracey and Luna, along with his larger size, to read their flimsies. Gladiolus stared at him until he realized she had noticed his bold attempts.

He ended his attempts to spy after that. Neither made attempts after that. Luna knew how attuned Gladiolus’s senses were, while Tracey was too loyal and faithful to violate explicit commands.

Unsurprisingly, the former Slytherin finished first. She handed over her flimsi with a proud and slightly smug smile. Gladiolus had expected results of that nature with Tracey Davis. Of the three chosen to be an apprentice, Davis was the most loyal and faithful to ‘Lord Gladiolus’. The other two had cause to doubt or deny her, and that would be reflected in the quality of their work—or so Gladiolus presumed. She had not troubled to sense all within their hearts.

Naturally, Tracey’s recollection was perfect.

Astonishingly, Neville finished his work next. Gladiolus accepted his draft without comment and scanned it over quickly. While the particular words were not all completely correct, he showed enough understanding of the underlying philosophy behind the Sith Lords to almost impress her.

He might have merely memorized the words. I will need to learn how deep their meaning sunk in.

Luna finished last, handing over what she completed without comment or ceremony. For that peculiar girl, her silence caught Gladiolus’s attention. The Sith Lord had half expected a strange or vaguely elusive comment from her upon completion.

At least her handwriting is legible enough to understand that she possesses only the faintest grasp on the Sith Code. It’s though she only—

“Lovegood,” Gladiolus began softly, her sulfuric eyes rising from the flimsi in her hand. Luna stiffened, though her blue eyes failed to reflect any hint of fear. “Did you only read the Code once?”

“I only needed to read it once,” Luna said, unapologetic. “Plus, Daddy was curious about the ideas that drove you to murder a mentor figure as valuable and influential as Dumbledore. He burned the copy afterward.”

Gladiolus loudly scoffed. “That man was no mentor. Perhaps he desired that from me, but he never acted in that fashion.” She stopped and bit her tongue before she could accuse Dumbledore of further crimes. The man was dead. He deserved to be forgotten.

“Enough of that man,” said Gladiolus before any of her apprentices could react to her words. Frustration trickled out of Neville, while Tracey’s brows furrowed slightly. Miraculously, Luna maintained a peaceful expression. That most of all troubled the Sith Lord. She breathed out and then told them: “You should all know these words by heart—and you will repeat them after I:

“Peace is a lie, there is only passion.”

The three repeated her words: “Peace is a lie, there is only passion.”

“Though passion, I gain strength,” continued Gladiolus. She waited for her apprentices to repeat her words before continuing. “Through strength, I gain power. Through power, I gain victory. Through victory, my chains are broken.

“The Force shall free me.”

As her apprentices finished repeating the final line, Gladiolus reached out with the Force and sensed their moods. Tracey held an edge of frustration beneath her joy to be directly instructed by Gladiolus. Clearly, she desired one-on-one instruction instead of having the other two present. Neville bounced between uncertainty he was making the right decision as her apprentice and questioning whether the ideals Gladiolus would teach him were truly worth following. He would be forced to pick—and best he pick true. Luna, unlike the others, had managed to block Gladiolus from sensing her feelings.

Gladiolus glanced between her errant students. “Lovegood. Longbottom. What is your understanding of the first line?”

Neville cupped his chin as he pondered her question. Luna gave no outwardly sign she thought it over. Gladiolus barely sensed the girl’s mind working on the problem before her. She was disturbed that Lovegood could readily keep her out and appeared capable of maintaining whatever protection she had thanks to the Force.

Could it be that her ability to see ‘fae’ has allowed her to commune better with the Force than I? Gladiolus nearly snorted at the thought. I should remain patient. Lovegood may reveal something that I had not considered until now. And once she does…

“I have an answer,” said Neville. “Though I think I may not understand ‘peace’ the way I should, Lord Gladiolus.”

“Call her master,” Tracey hissed with a sneer.

Neville shot her an unimpressed look, as though Tracey’s loyalty would hinder her in the future. Gladiolus did not fault him for his opinion, for the greatest of her apprentices would one day strike her down. At that time, she would no longer be worthy of her title as the Dark Lord of the Sith. She would not abandon that title until that inevitable day. Whether or not her chosen apprentices could arise to the occasion and destroy her was unknown.

Perhaps I require an apprentice from another world.

“Apologies, master,” Neville uttered as though the words threatened to burn a hole through his tongue. “As I was saying, I do not think my understanding of ‘peace’ and yours match.”

“Then tell me your understanding. My role here is to teach and guide. I cannot do that without knowing the false beliefs you hold on to.”

He frowned before carefully offering, “Peace is the absence of war. to say ‘peace is a lie’ is to suggest we’re always at war.”

“Which is true!” Tracey interjected. “Think back to our years at Hogwarts. Think about the strange events that happened year after year, disrupting our education! It might not have been an active war, but everyone knew we were sleepwalking into one. Merlin’s beard, even Draco’s foolish rivalry with our master could be considered a war—even if it was purely interpersonal.”

Neville glowered at Tracey. But instead of responding to her, he turned back to Gladiolus and said, “Given what Davis said in response to my thoughts, I would presume that for a Sith, ‘peace’ is personal, not societal.”

“You have the right idea. But your phrasing remains incorrect. Peace refers to a state lacking in emotion. Where the Jedi—the enemy of the Sith—believe that one should abandon emotions in favor of an ‘internal peace’. They seek strength through passivity. The Sith believe passions are the root of their strength, and thus rely on them for that power.”

“But wouldn’t that open you up to be controlled by those passions?” inquired Neville. “If you draw strength from your passions, then the greater you feel them—”

“The stronger you will be.” Gladiolus offered Neville a knowing smile. “Your concern is not without reason, Longbottom. Sith of distant past have succumbed to their passions. Though if I were to be particular, their passions drove them to obsession with strength and power. Some reached the point where they could no longer distinguish between freedom and slavery. They became slaves to their whims and vices, little more than beasts given humanoid form.

“But because some succumb does not mean you should fear your passions. To fear them is to admit they hold sway over you. A Sith Lord controls their passions. They are a source of power, not a chain or a leash guiding you like a dog. Those who called themselves Sith but became dominated by their passions are like those who were once human but are degraded to the point they are indistinguishable from animals living in the wilderness.”

Neville nodded. His expression, however, revealed her words failed to mollify his fear. It weakened, yet remained. He surprised her by revealing how he had grown since their paths diverged two years ago in the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

“Now that we have covered the truth of passion, I would like you, Lovegood, to explain how passion leads a Sith to victory.”

Luna blinked, those wide blue eyes momentarily reminding Gladiolus of a startled doe. “Well, the Code claims passion leads to victory. The path between them sounds logical, but I’m not so convinced. Master.”

Gladiolus smirked at the tacked-on addition of ‘master’, despite the spike of frustration hearing her Code—the Sith Code—be questioned so. “Then explain how and why you are not convinced, Lovegood. Either of your fellow apprentices should be able to assist you through whatever gaps in logic you have apparently stumbled upon.”

“I will ignore the issue of passion, since you and Neville already spoke of it.” Gladiolus raised an eyebrow. She had almost expected the odd girl to dig into the question of peace and passion. It would suit the flighty girl she had encountered two years ago as a Sith apprentice. “This portion of the Code begins with the claim that passion leads to strength. That strength, in turn, is said to become power. But cannot one use peace as a source of strength? Instead of forcing their will on the world, they can align with the ebbs and flows of nature. That is how enlightened sages and monks of other societies achieve feats that many would declare ‘supernatural’, despite being neither of magic nor related to the Force.”

“That is a Jedi’s thinking, Lovegood. Not a Sith’s.”

“Oh? Apologies then. I had not known enough of their philosophy to avoid it.”

“Then how did you reach your ideas about peace, despite hearing contrary opinions?”

Luna shrugged. “It only seemed… natural. Self-evident.”

Gladiolus hummed, hating how her suspicion Lovegood would be drawn to the Jedi appeared to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. “So is that the extent of your doubts? Your inclination toward Jedi philosophy?”

Luna shook her head. “I will seek to keep my thinking within the confines of the Sith Code, ‘master’. You say one can have power, but how does that correlate to victory? There have been many occasions throughout history where one with less power has defeated the one possessing more power.”

“Such as?”

“You and Voldemort, when you were a child. Or if you wish to go further back, the duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald.”

“Interesting selections. For your first example, you must understand that my mother’s desire to save me—her passion to ensure life for her child—created the conditions necessary for my survival that night.” Gladiolus leaned forward. “As for your second, how can you be so certain that Dumbledore lacked power when compared to Grindelwald?”

“Because Grindelwald possessed the Deathstick.”

Tracey burst out laughing while Neville frowned disbelievingly. Gladiolus straightened, a hand rising to rest against her chin. Never had she heard of a ‘Deathstick’. She had a strong feeling Luna would happily explain what the ‘Deathstick’ was and why it should have ensured Grindelwald’s victory. She raised an eyebrow at the girl, prompting her to explain.

“The Deathstick is one of the Deathly Hallows. Legend has it that the one who wields the Deathstick can never be defeated in a duel. The wand has almost always changed hands through underhanded means. Only on a rare few occasions has it exchanged possession between two wizards or two witches dueling. And always at monumental moments.”

“Sounds like a fairy tale,” said Tracey, dismissive.

“The fae are real. So why would fairy tales not be real?”

Tracey’s mouth opened and then closed with pursed lips. She turned to Gladiolus as though expecting her master to aid her in arguing with Luna about strange things.

“I have long held reason to suspect that the fae Luna speaks of relates to the Force. Her ability to see them alerted me to her Force-sensitivity long ago.” Gladiolus then shrugged. “Perhaps they’re a way to understand the metaphysical. Lovegood has always struck me as being so sensitive to their currents that she visually witnesses manifestations of the Force.”

“And that’s why you want Luna as your apprentice,” Neville accused. “You want her power for yourself.”

“In a way, yes. But know that I cannot wield her power myself. All I can do is train and shape that power as it exists within Luna Lovegood.” She turned to the blonde girl, staring with disturbed blue eyes. “I understand your qualms about my ways. But your potential has always been too great to ignore. You only required a master to mold your potential into power you can wield.”

Luna nodded stiffly. Her face failed to mask how uneasy Gladiolus’s declaration made her. Lovegood should have understood from the moment Gladiolus visited her home that she would belong to the Sith Lord. Perhaps she had foolishly believed the path of the Jedi would remain open to her, even after she decided to become a Sith apprentice. Luna needed to wake up to the reality she would become a Sith Lord or she would die.

In the end, she will thank me for all I do for her. Gladiolus nearly smirked at the thought. Luna Lovegood would forever hate her. That hatred would make her a powerful Sith Lord. Perhaps even a worthy successor.

“Back to what you have said about power and victory, Lovegood,” Gladiolus said, reclaiming control over the conversation. Disgust swelled within her thinking at how easily Luna stumbled into and sprouted the beliefs of the Jedi. She had studied their Code and found it deeply offensive, akin to Luna’s thoughts on the Sith Code. “I understand where your doubt emerges from. But your doubt is faulty. It arises from a failure to understand that over time, the stronger power always wins. Consider recent history within our nation. My power proved too great for Dumbledore and Voldemort. It was too great for the Janus Rebellion. They all fell by my hand as a result.”

Luna frowned. “How can you be certain it was your power that led to victory?”

“Because if they had strength to resist, their fates would have been different.”

“Yet are you more powerful than any of your enemies at their peak?” asked Luna, sounding chillingly like a common Ravenclaw. “Or is it that they did not understand your power in the Force, and thus were helpless before it?”

Gladiolus scoffed. The truth was self-evidence as far as she was concerned. “My power is the greater one. The Force is superior to magic, and the dark side is the truest gateway to power.”

Neville’s lips twitched disapprovingly. Once more, he reeked of skepticism. Even compared to Lovegood, he would be the most difficult to sway. Gladiolus fought the temptation to dismiss him as an apprentice. He knew more about her power than she approved of in a subject. Yes, she allowed some of the truth about her powers to spread among the public. But most remained ignorant as to how her powers worked. She could not fathom why they would need to know the full truth. They were meant to be ruled. She was meant to rule them.

“I still think you kept them in the dark until you could kill them,” Neville muttered. “Though”—and he sounded pained—“I guess it’s a smart move. Cowardly, but smart.”

Ah. He sees the logic behind my past choices. A shame he does not approve. Hope persists that he will be swayed to embrace the Sith ways. If not, then…

“And what of the final two lines?” she asked in lieu of arguing with her more difficult apprentices. Gladiolus pointedly glanced between Neville and Luna, trying to ignore the frustration she—and Tracey—felt. “You’ve judged the other lines. You even question the logic of the Sith. Certainly, you have thoughts on those two.”

They exchanged an uncertain glance. Tracey glowered at them. She embraced the Sith Code, seeking to understand all it meant to be a Sith in each line. Gladiolus appreciated that one of her apprentices desired to be like her. But their meeting was meant more for the other two than it was for Tracey. Learning could be achieved through independent study. But for some, the barrier to learning resided in their misconceptions. False beliefs lead to wrong choices. Gladiolus knew the heart of that particular truth. It explained why she had easily stumbled from one disaster after the next, only ending with her discovery of the Sith. With their guidance, she seized control of her life.

“It explains why you embraced this path,” Neville admitted. “You wanted freedom to control your destiny. The Sith Code granted you the capacity to break away from everything binding your choices. I do not approve of some choices you have made. Of some actions you’ve taken. I hate that I can look at you and only see the one who murdered the Edelweiss Potter I knew and befriended. But I understand why yo—why she became Darth Gladiolus. It’s as the last line declares: ‘The Force shall free me’.

“You wanted that freedom, no matter the price. Even if it meant you becoming a monster, unrecognizable to those who loved you.”

Gladiolus found herself caught between pride Neville knew her so well and anger he dared suggest her choices turned her into a monster. Yes, she made hard choices. Difficult ones. But they had to be made. Someone needed to rule magical Britain. Why else would they have bounced between poor rulership and tyrants waiting in the wings?

I have brought peace and security to this nation, she reminded herself. I cannot falter. Not even when my chosen apprentices express doubt about the path I guide them to.

“Interesting perspective,” Gladiolus told Neville. She turned to Luna. “And you, Lovegood?”

“…nothing I could say surpass Neville’s words. We are in agreement.”

Gladiolus nodded as she wondered what it meant for Luna to align her opinion with the one Neville expressed. If that meant they would both come about as Sith at the same time, then she would leave the issue alone. But if it led them into the heresy of the Jedi—or worse, rejection of her alone—then she would need to destroy them in a single devastating blow.

If they fear being dominated by the dark side instead of dominating the dark side as they have suggested, then I must reveal how simple it is to control that power. Weakness and fear are why the Sith of old succumbed to those temptations. And they are not so weak. I would not have chosen them if they were.

She gazed upon her apprentices, wondering how to move them forward. This day had not gone completely as planned, but she knew all too well it could have been worse. Neville and Luna had yet to denounce her, even if their hearts and minds needed to be twisted more slowly than Tracey’s.

An idea struck her. It was bold, almost daring compared to her handling of them so far. It could as easily backfire as succeed in transforming these three into the Sith Lords beneath their skin.

“I have a gift for each of you,” she said with a slow, almost seductive tone. “Prizes from the hoard of knowledge that allowed me to achieve my potential. Entrusting these to you is a sign of my favor—and a reminder that I cannot be betrayed easily.”

Tracey Davis embraced her anger as she gazed upon the holocron of Lady Bastila Shan. She had been honored by her master’s decision to entrust her with this particular holocron. “Lady Bastila taught me the basics of being a Sith,” Lord Gladiolus had declared with a fond smile unsuited to the Dark Lord of the Sith. Tracey had beholden the holocron with something nearing awe. “I entrust her to you, the most favored of my three apprentices. You may not have the potential for power that Lovegood possesses, nor do you have the strength strong and resilience of Longbottom. But before them, you have my trust and faith. You have embraced being Sith, which is the first and greatest of my commands to you three.

“Do not fail my trust. Else, you will be done away with like any nameless traitor.”

That had been enough to propel Tracey into communion with the holocron at the first chance available. That, admittedly, had been about three weeks ago and within an hour of her dismissal. She would prove her master’s faith justified. Lady Bastila had set her master down her path. That made her the only choice to guide Tracey Davis down the path of Sith Lord.

She watched the holocron’s five corners twist. She had yet to become accustomed to the sight, for it was a marvel to behold. Tracey shivered as the aristocratic features of Bastila Shan appeared before her, colored red due to the holocron’s crystalline construction.

“Apprentice,” Lady Bastila drawled. “What do you wish to learn today?”

“I… This is a bold request, Lady Bastila. I desire to learn battle meditation. You explained that power to me when we first met. Already it haunts my dreams. Whenever I think of it, I get this feeling—”

“You are not ready for battle meditation,” Lady Bastila sternly declared. “While you have grown strong in the dark side, you do not possess the strength of will to control and dominate others as required for battle meditation.”

Tracey resisted the urge to openly grimace at the easy dismissal. She chaffed against the truth she was the weakest of Darth Gladiolus’s three apprentices in the Force. Admittedly, she knew little of their progress. It had only been a few days, after all. Luna had taken her holocron away almost immediately after being gifted it, while Neville had lingered just long enough to speak with their master about meeting at Longbottom Manor instead of the fabled Ziost Hangar.

Lady Bastila continued speaking. “You are ready to learn lightsaber combat from me.” Her lips perked into a sly smile. “Have you gathered the materials necessary for the weapon I described?”

Tracey nodded. When Lady Bastila had mentioned wielding a double-bladed lightsaber while alive, she instantly decided she needed a lightsaber of its type. It was offensive and defensive at once. mastery of that weapon could even prepare her to learn and master battle meditation. Lady Bastila had learned both before she had embraced the dark side. At least Tracey would never need to unlearn being a Jedi.

Not so unlike Lovegood.

“Show them to me. I will then begin your instruction.”

Tracey did as commanded. Her weapon had been prepared days ago when she last came to Ziost Hangar. It matched her grip almost perfectly. Her master had offered rooms within the Ministry, including where the aurors trained. Tracey denied them, for she wished to train where her master had learned the ways and secrets of the Sith.

When she stepped before the holocron with weapon in hand, Lady Bastila nodded approvingly. “You have exceeded my expectations. Lord Gladiolus assisted, yes?”

“She provided the elements necessary for its construction. I completed the task of constructing it without aid.” Tracey smiled slyly. “My master was surprised by my interest in the double-bladed lightsaber. She has permitted me to move forward with this training, for she knows of your mastery over it and its forms. She also trusts you to instruct lightsaber combat.”

“She should. I taught her the basics.”

Tracey nodded for she did not wish to admit that Lord Gladiolus only informed her of the full truth grudgingly. Her master had been forward about Lady Bastila beginning her training, but those words implied that the beginning had been just that—the beginning. Nothing had been said of training beyond the basics in the Sith Code and meditation through the Force.

If Lady Bastila was enough to guide my master toward her ultimate powers, then Lady Bastila shall work for me. I shall make my master proud—and in doing so, I shall be her greatest apprentice. The first to earn the ‘Darth’ title.

Tracey had figured out the ‘Darth’ title her master bore was a Sith tradition. Gladiolus had not told her so, and she had yet to inform her master she had reached that particular realization. She rarely had time to learn directly from her master. Darth Gladiolus spent every day busy with the tasks of ruling magical Britain and preparing their world for the future. She knew of the acolytes learning Sith ways, though they would never be Sith Lords. But she remained troubled by her fellow apprentices, who struck her as unbelieving in the Sith Code. Yes, Tracey struggled with the theory which guided Sith teachings at first, but she had come to understand and accept them. She saw their truth made manifest in her master. In the span of a year, she had transformed from a frightened girl into the most powerful woman on the planet. Few exceeded Lord Gladiolus in power, and only in economic or political power. When it came to raw strength, none exceeded the power of a Sith Lord—and especially the Dark Lord of the Sith.

“Where do we begin, Lady Bastila?” Tracey asked.

“With your grip and posture,” the dead Sith lady said. Her projection shrunk so that her full body appeared before Tracey. She was maybe a foot tall now, but her image remained clear enough to the Sith apprentice she understood how she should stand and hold her weapon. “Once you mimic me perfectly, we will work on body-strengthening techniques. I doubt you have the same… physical background as Gladiolus possessed as an apprentice.”

Tracey grimaced, but followed the instructions given to her without argument. She had already made up her mind about the double-bladed lightsaber. Now it was time to follow through.

Months passed before Tracey finally mastered the full set of modified katas for her chosen Form, Soresu. Given the dual blades and greater reach of her weapon, a defensive technique had made the most sense to Tracey when the time came to choose her lightsaber form. Yes, she understood that aggression was a vital part of her training as a Sith. But she would be her master’s shield against their future foes. Each Sith apprentice had begun to specialize in a fashion that aligned with their character. Tracey knew not what they learned, nor what it meant that she was defensive compared to Lovegood and Longbottom. In the rare joint trainings, neither had yet to defeat her with the lightsaber. But that might not last. Tracey could not guarantee she would remain the strongest forever. Longbottom maintained his tenacity while Lovegood was the strongest in the Force.

And so I must seize any advantage I can, she thought darkly. I’m not intrinsically powerful as our master is. But one day, I will match her strength. I will become a Sith Lord like her—and maybe one day seize the title of Dark Lord for myself.

Tracey shook her head and banished unwarranted thoughts. Her master could sense her feelings and thoughts. Any sign of betrayal would lead to Tracey’s destruction. Though given the allowances granted to the other Sith apprentices, perhaps her master would not act until one of them attempted to seize the power of being the Dark Lord of the Sith.

“You have done well,” Lady Bastila said once Tracey finished her pass through the katas. They too had been perfect. Mastery achieved, just as she desired. “Perhaps now you are ready to learn battle meditation.” When Tracey perked up, the Sith lady raised a warning hand. “I will not allow you to pursue this path lightly, apprentice. Should you prove yourself a poor fit for this training, then it will be ended. I have not taught your master the art of battle meditation, though she would likely surprise me and reveal a capacity for it without proper training.”

Tracey nodded as she fought down the burst of jealousy that flowed through her. She had worked to gain Lady Bastila’s approval to learn battle meditation. She was unsurprised, yet furious at the reminder of how powerful her master was. She wanted to live up to that standard. To be as capable as Darth Gladiolus, the Dark Lord of the Sith.

“Then what must I do?” she asked. “To surpass my master,” went unsaid.

“We will begin with your meditation,” said Lady Bastila. “If you cannot easily achieve a meditative state, then you will be unable to maintain battle meditation through the carnage and violence of battle.”

“I understand.” Tracey deactivated her lightsaber and kneeled before Lady Bastila. The holocron’s projection returned to the familiar sight of head and shoulders. “I am ready to receive your knowledge and wisdom.”

Lady Bastila nodded and said, “Then close your eyes and listen to my commands. I learned from Jedi and Sith masters of this power. None have ever managed to surpass me in this art…”

Around the time Tracey Davis first learned the double-bladed lightsaber, Luna Lovegood set the holocron of Naga Sadow within a small stone circle a half-mile from the magical homesteads of Ottery St. Catchpole. She knew her father loathed her choice to agree to training under Darth Gladiolus, but it was necessary. If the Sith Lord was to be toppled, then someone with the same power and knowledge was required. It sickened her to surrender to the corrupting power of the dark side, but what choice did she have? All knowledge of the Jedi, enemies of the Sith, could only be accessed through the Sith Lord.

Luna knew she did not have the woman’s trust yet. Perhaps Davis could access that information, but her fellow apprentice would doubt Luna’s curiosity and interest. Darth Gladiolus had revealed through their analysis and questioning of the Sith Code that Luna Lovegood was the least Sith-like of the three apprentices. Neville Longbottom, despite his good heart, had enough pain and weakness in his heart to succumb to the dark side’s allure. Tracey Davis had already surrendered herself to Gladiolus’s domination. She would sacrifice everything in service to her master.

Perhaps even her life.

She shook her head and then stared at the holocron warily. Luna knew she needed to seize the dark side of the Force to activate the holocron. But the dark side disgusted her. It was like an oil slick over water—she had learned of them thanks to Lord Gladiolus. For some queer reason, Darth Gladiolus enjoyed discussing the magical world with Luna. Why she heard those stories over Neville or Davis befuddled her. Her best guess was that her “master” sought to manipulate her with tales of a world just as strange as magical Britain would be to a newborn witch or wizard.

She sighed. What did it matter worrying over anything she could not influence? For now, Luna could only act in the present. She could plan for the future, though she needed to remain careful to not reveal her true feelings around Lord Gladiolus. The Sith Lord could sense the emotions of those around her. And while Luna had managed to keep her secrets since becoming a Sith apprentice, she increasingly feared that the mental barrier that protected her thoughts and feelings had been pierced by Darth Gladiolus’s terrible power.

Anger and frustration welled within Luna. She held it tight as she reached out with the Force. The holocron responded to her feelings. She swallowed thickly as the Sith Lord Naga Sadow appeared before her. His wretched face and slight, dismissive sneer still disgusted.

“Does Lord Gladiolus believe she can gift my holocron to any fool she knows to be Force-sensitive?”

“I asked to be taught by one such as you, Naga Sadow,” Luna said, seeking to sound polite. “I have heard her tales of Sith alchemy. I wish to master it. After that, perhaps prove mastery of Sith sorcery.”

The words made her skill crawl; yet she genuinely meant them. Sith alchemy might be a topic that Darth Gladiolus was educated in, but her knowledge was neither as wide nor as deep as she believed. Luna saw in that ignorance a chance to use a Sith Lord’s power against Gladiolus. It was a risky venture, but beggars could not be choosers. Any available venture needed to be seized. Any others who might oppose Gladiolus were now gone, dead or forced to hide their true feelings from society. And Sith sorcery, which she had learned of from Tracey Davis, should augment her magical abilities enough that it would not matter if her alchemical pursuits failed her—or risked destroying her soul.

“So you did,” Naga Sadow muttered, a hand appearing to grasp his chin. “And Sith sorcery? How fascinating… I see you still have not been enthralled by the power and potential of the dark side like Gladiolus when she was an apprentice.”

“I’m aware,” Luna said. It pained her to speak so commonly around these strange Sith Lords. But she knew if she presented her true self, they would know the infidelity in her heart. She would destroy their foul order. “I was chosen by her to be trained, not the other way around. I accepted the offer for I wished to learn more of the strange power we share in common.” She paused before admitting, “My father dislikes my choice. But it is my life to live.”

Naga Sadow nodded. “So is it. You have bent to her whims, unwilling to stand on your own feet.”

Luna stiffened. It sounded painfully true coming from Naga Sadow, yet she could not allow herself to believe his words. She had not bent to Gladiolus’s whims. She had made her choice after several torturous days, fearing the Sith Lord would return and use her father’s life to force Luna to become her apprentice. She knew all too well she had lucked out when it came to her father being left unharmed. Even after what he printed before and after the Janus Rebellion, Xenophilius Lovegood was permitted to continue printing as long as he did not stray across the “blasphemy” laws her master slipped into place.

She finds it amusing, forcing Daddy to step around the unfair laws she put into place when he returned to the old stories. Before the Quibbler became so threatened he returned to poking holes in the Sith regime.

And we all know Gladiolus uses me as a hostage against Daddy, to ensure he never oversteps.

“You do not agree with my sentiment,” remarked Naga Sadow, his beady eyes staring into hers. “What a curious apprentice you are, Lovegood.”

“I’m all I need to be,” she replied. “Now, for my lesson?”

Naga Sadow grunted. “I presume Lord Gladiolus informed you of the topics you must be well-versed in to learn my art?”

Luna nodded. Though her mind wandered and her eyes saw that which was invisible to others, she possessed the keen mind and quick wit of her house. She had been sorted into Ravenclaw for a reason. That included taking Runes and Arithmancy during her years at Hogwarts.

Her heart beat harshly, recalling the castle. She had been “dismissed” after the apprenticeship became official. Luna knew she was expected to sit her NEWTs in the coming spring. Yet she found herself less and less inclined toward the typical witchy paths through society.

Her strength in the Force appeared to be the primary cause. It had been the same with Lord Gladiolus years ago as she had eventually learned. Luna believed she witnessed the same phenomena in both and Neville. Both were better at masking their growing disinclination toward magic in favor of the Force. If pressed, Luna would say that Neville hid his tendencies better despite the fact they spent more time together than with Davis.

No doubt Gladiolus knows of the divide among her apprentices. Knowing her mind, she may believe it good. If we cannot work together, then we cannot challenge her. After all that happened during the Janus Rebellion, it became clear not a single witch or wizard could stand against her. No. One requires the Force and knowledge of it to face her and court victory.

“Good,” Naga Sadow drawled, drawing Luna from her thoughts mind. The Sith Lord appeared dismissive of her, as if he knew her heart and was unimpressed. “I will lecture through the basics. You will take to this art differently than Lord Gladiolus.”

“Because she only used it once. For her ritual.”

The Sith Lord paused before murmuring, “Indeed.”

A lie.

Luna knew the lie thanks to the Force. Without it, she might have failed to detect the lie. With only a witch’s training, she probably would have thought nothing of the man’s pause or the way he uttered that word. Instead, she detected the lie. She knew that to press Naga Sadow would risk him dismissing her. And that would cut her off from this source of power for opposing Darth Gladiolus. Luna could not risk that. Not when she might learn something valuable toward her ultimate aim of ending her false master’s reign.

“I’m ready to begin,” she said, hoping these lessons would not prove fruitful.

Unlike with the holocron of Naga Sadow and his knowledge of Sith alchemy, Salazar Slytherin failed to recover and transport a holocron specialized in Sith sorcery to Earth. All Luna had to work with was a data pad filled with thousands of half-translated pages concerning various exercises, spells, and means of wielding Sith sorcery. She found the wealth of knowledge granted to her by a bemused Darth Gladiolus to be more interesting than her Sith alchemy lessons with Naga Sadow.

Within the confines and boundaries of Sith sorcery was a greater degree of use, both before and during any conflict. Sith alchemy required preparation, even to deploy something prepared ahead of time. Given she would inevitably face Darth Gladiolus in a conflict, it was necessary to have an option the woman had no answer for.

She often read the data pad while at the Ministry, sitting beneath the fountain statue that replaced the golden insult to magical races that graced the atrium for generations. Luna hated that she preferred this new statue to the old one. But it did not condescend to the magical races that also called Britain home. Instead, it showed them on equal footing, with many of the long-forgotten fae flitting about with sprinkles of water pouring from their mouths. Water sprung from the wands of the witch and wizard, from the bow of the centaur, from the fingers of a house elf, and from the sharp quill of the goblin. Each faced the other, gathered in a circle around a recreation of the grand fae gateway at Glastonbury Tor. Sitting beneath it brought Luna peace. She almost felt serene. But those emotions were unbecoming of a Sith apprentice.

Then again, she had chosen this path for one sole purpose: to destroy Darth Gladiolus. Could she truly claim to be better than Davis, who wholeheartedly gave herself over to the Sith Order? Perhaps not. But enough had been sacrificed to avenge Hermione’s memory that she could not turn back now. Not when she had lost the same things that made life worthwhile.

For if Luna could laugh, she would. As she progressed through her studies into Sith alchemy and sorcery, the joy and wonder of life faded. The world dulled. Not to grey, for a darker shade cast itself over all her gaze crossed. The change plagued her. And when she had gone to her ‘master’ for help, she received little in return: an utterance of “How odd” and a swift dismissal as Gladiolus sought out her holocrons.

Not that I ever received an answer.

She groaned and closed her eyes. Her head tilted back and rested against the marble mock of Glastonbury Tor. Luna breathed in and out slowly, attuning herself to the splash and spray around her. It was no coincidence she was tucked away in one of the few spots free of water. She had even snuck into the Ministry one night just to determine where she could peacefully sit without getting wet.

It was worth the effort.

Luna turned her attention to the data pad she held. The passages she was reading came from a spell book almost six thousand years old, translated through several languages before being transcribed by Darth Gladiolus from galactic basic standard into English. Almost wished to learn the galactic lingua franca. The three apprentices relied on translations and holocrons. Miraculously, the pyramidal devices did not require translation. They managed to speak and be understood, despite the millennia separating them. Luna believed the Force helped in the process, though she had no means to prove her theory. After all, she had relinquished Naga Sadow’s holocron. Her readings concerning Sith sorcery consumed enough time she neglected holocrons except for her lightsaber instructor—and she would not test her theory on that.

Luna shivered. Fear gripped her heart as the image of her face bearing the sickly eyes of a Sith Lord flashed in her mind. She rubbed her arms, seeking to banish any recollection of that cursed image. Listening to the fountain and breathing in time with its spray helped draw away her fears.

Eventually, Luna calmed enough to focus her mind on the task of learning Sith sorcery. Some of what she read sickened her, but it was necessary. Sometimes evil had to be temporarily embraced before one could expunge it from the world.

Late October had been a time of sorrow growing up as a Longbottom. Between the murder of the Potters and the ghastly torture of his parents, Neville Longbottom had always struggled through the weeks leading into the end of the tenth month and those beginning the eleventh. He knew those feelings came from events beyond his control. Frustratingly, those feelings rested on his shoulders like a heavy cloak weighed down by a torrential downpour.

This year, two more weights hung heavily on him. The first was his grandmother’s execution. Months had passed since, yet he vividly recalled the sight of her hanging from her intestines, her arms and legs ripped off and tossed aside. He had known she had been involved the moment he learned of the Janus Rebellion. But to witness her be punished so? That scarred his soul, leaving him open to the second weight.

“Awaken,” he snarled at the holocron sitting on his desk. The crystalline pyramid rose a few inches into the air. It flashed bright crimson as the corners twisted. A moment later, a sallow face with beady eyes and a crooked smile appeared before him.

“So you come before me once more, child.”

Neville did not recall the name of this Sith Lord. He had gone through so many holocrons he feared Gladiolus might finally strip him of his apprentice title. But he had his reasons why he worked through so many. Despite their explanations and examples, something about the Sith Code and the Sith way struck him as hollow. It saddened and infuriated him in equal measure, creating the perfect brew of negative emotion to bolster his connection to the dark side of the Force and disguise his disgust with all it meant to be a Sith.

“I have. I wanted to clarify a few points from our prior—”

The Sith Lord snarled dismissively. A moment later, the holocron twisted and deactivated. It clattered onto the hard surface of his desk, wobbling after a particularly jarring strike on one of its edges.

Neville sighed. Another holocron that would no longer respond to him. It took less and less time to achieve that particular feat.

Gladiolus won’t believe my reasons why. She says the holocrons forget most of what they learn from previous students. But from what Luna has told me of Naga Sadow…

He sighed. If there was a silver lining to his situation, it was that he shared it with Luna Lovegood. The peculiar girl had more success with Sith alchemy and sorcery than Neville did with half the holocrons he worked with. Perhaps the issue was that he used holocrons to begin with. Luna had given up the few issued to her, only ever bothering with whichever Sith Lord instructed her in Djem So. Neville would have never guessed that Luna would be the type to embrace a form that allowed her to turn back an enemy’s power.

Then again, I hadn’t expected to select Makashi after being told of the forms.

As for Tracey Davis, neither knew which form she learned. They had their suspicions. Given the girl wielded a double-bladed lightsaber, they struggled to determine her chosen form. Sometimes Neville saw traits of their master’s Ataru, and other times the Juyo many Sith Lords had embraced. Sometimes, he wondered if Davis had foolishly chosen Niiman. Ten years to master a form was almost mad by his reckoning. And Davis was too much of a Sith to embrace Soresu.

Neville rose to his feet and picked up the holocron. It was early in the day. Gladiolus wanted him to spend time in meditation and studying. He was technically the furthest behind, having not chosen any Force powers to focus his time and energy on. While he had mastered pushing and pulling and moving things through the air, his bolts of Force lightning remained intermittent half the time and he had yet to sway another’s mind.

If only the dark side could heal, he thought, heading for the door. If it could, then I would choose that power. But it sounds to be one only the Jedi learn.

He reached the door when someone knocked. Neville froze. He did not recall anyone arriving on the estate grounds. Nobody had walked across the wards, nor had anyone come by Floo or dared apparate through the wards. For a second, he thought to draw his wand. It was the old impulse beat into him by Edelweiss Potter with her knowing ways.

But that woman was long dead. He was Darth Gladiolus’s student now, no matter how it disgusted him. Oaths had been sworn. Longbottoms abided by their word.

Neville reached out with the Force. He blinked at sensing the guarded mind of Luna Lovegood.

What’s she doing here?

He yanked the door open. Before he could ask his question, Luna said, “I want to speak with you about something important.”

“…what exactly?” he asked, wary of the answer Luna would give him.

“We both desire the same thing: to remove our master from her powers.” Luna glanced past him into the room. “May I enter? I have an hour before I’m expected back at the Ministry.”

“I was about to—”

Without waiting for an affirmative answer, Luna Lovegood slipped into the office. She glanced around as she made her way to the chair across from Neville’s seat. He sighed and closed the door, crossing the office with lumbering steps as he pondered what Luna wanted. Did she truly think he would be party to a conspiracy against their master? Even together, they did not possess the power to defeat her. Given Davis would side with Gladiolus over them, it would be two against two.

It pained him to admit it, but Neville knew he did not possess the strength in the Force or the strength of will to kill Davis. Stop her? Yes. But to kill?

Yet that was what it would require. He knew it deep down. Tracey Davis had surrendered herself to the dark side. She would be a Sith Lord no matter what. The only chance of saving her from that life was to kill her—and in doing so, they would need to kill their master, Darth Gladiolus.

Once he took a seat, Luna said simply, “We need to get rid of our master before we become hers. We must kill a Dark Lord.”

Neville’s hands shook for a moment. And then he made the choice he should have settled on long ago.

Darth Gladiolus, Dark Lord of the Sith, watched a holo recording of her three apprentices dueling. She had been surprised by Tracey’s desire to learn the double-bladed lightsaber, but now it was clear that choice had been made wisely. She proved herself skilled with the weapon, holding off Luna and Neville as the two worked together. Admittedly, they practiced the lightsaber less than Davis.

They should be rebuked for that failure, Gladiolus decided. She had focused her students on any course that would quickly lead them to power. Tracey desired control and thus learned battle meditation. Luna stuck to that which was familiar and thus learned Sith alchemy and sorcery. Neville lagged in his studies, so she supplied him with the oldest holocrons in Lord Salazar’s collection with the belief the wisdom of the ancients would reach and guide him.

She frowned slightly as she continued watching the holo. Tracey had a moment to strike Neville. But she hesitated. Gladiolus tapped a finger on her desk, pondering how she should rebuke her most loyal apprentice for her weakness. Their training sabers would not slice through flesh, so no damage would be done to Neville.

“Should I test them?” she wondered aloud. They had spent several months under her limited tutelage. Christmas was a few days away. A week after that, new years would arrive. Almost a year had passed since the Janus Rebellion. A year since any dared threaten her rule.

And if what I’ve sensed from Luna and Neville is true, perhaps a challenge will come sooner than I expect…

An idea sprung into her mind. She almost felt mad entering it. But it would separate the wheat from the chaff. Beyond advising them and teaching a few lessons about the nature of the dark side and the Sith Code, Gladiolus had been hands-off with their training.

She would learn whether or not these apprentices of hers could be worthy Sith Lords. Whether or not she could rely on them to continue down the paths she tried to guide them to. They’re like horses and water.

And if they dared reject her and the Sith, they would die. Gladiolus preferred weak apprentices to traitors.

A grin crossed her face. Gladiolus looked forward to witnessing and testing their power. And fortunately, she already had a suitable—and secret—location for their test.

Chapter Text

Hermione Granger kept her gaze on the data pad in her hands, despite the spider-crawling feeling she got from Darth Gladiolus’s putrid gaze glossing over her. She had digested enough philosophy, history, and lore from the galaxy beyond to understand that her friend, Edelweiss Potter, was dead. Her body walked and talked, retaining years of memories. But they were poisoned by the influence of the dark side of the Force. She did not know if Zeta-Aleph had missed the obvious evidence of the dark side’s evil in the documentation it provided her, or if the droid mind failed to realize what was and was not aberrant.

But she understood. The Sith were evil. Their ideology, as revealed in their Code, led many to embrace selfishness and self-destruction. Galactic peace in all eras had been defined by the domination of the Jedi and their Republic over their rivals, for strife always emerged hand-in-hand with the Sith and their ruinous empires. Hermione realized she had not been mistaken to take up arms against Gladiolus. The mistake she and her comrades made had been to underestimate the foul woman, failing to foresee why they had been incapable of acquiring aid from the auror corps—men and women who in any other circumstance should have been natural allies.

They’re her tools. She has control over the aurors, ensuring they will never take up arms against her. Her will is absolute for them, and so the nation will remain in her grasp. Only a schism among the Sith could free them.

“You’ve been away for a while,” Hermione said once she finally looked up. “I thought you had forgotten about me.”

Gladiolus giggled. “I could never forget about you, Hermione. You have taught me many lessons. Why, I fear I might have never learned them without you. Why would I ever forget about Hermione Granger?” Her head tilted slightly, her sulfuric eyes seeking Hermione’s brandy brown gaze. “You’re avoiding my gaze. How quaint that you can believe by avoiding my gaze you can protect your mind from my powers to perceive everything within you; your emotions, your thoughts, your very being.

“But you are wrong.”

“I am not powerless before you, no matter what lies you have told yourself, Gladiolus.”

The Sith Lord blinked. A light smirk graced her lips. “I would not call you ‘powerless’, Hermione. However, you cannot keep me out forever. Your strength has limitations. Limits that you will reach long before I tire in my effort to peel apart and discover every little secret you hold dear.”

“Well, then fortunate for me that you’ve had me so long I no longer keep secrets from you.”

The Sith Lord glowered. “You’ve grown brazen in your time locked away here.”

“What do I have to lose? You will never release me. As long as I provide utility to you, my life persists.” Hermione paused. Seconds passed before she uttered, “I know what breed of monster you are, Darth Gladiolus. The history of the galaxy is clear: the rule of the Sith is the rule of death and destruction. The rule of the Jedi is that of peace and prosperity. There is always a chance—”

Gladiolus’s hand rose and clenched, strangling Hermione. “I will never allow myself to fall for that weakness of the Jedi,” the Sith Lord snarled, her yellow eyes burning with her wrath. Hermione stiffened, recognizing the mystical grasp from the Janus Rebellion. It had been used on both her and on Draco Malfoy. So this is the dark side’s power. “You are a fool to suggest I could follow that fate, Hermione. If I must choose between my goals and myself, I will choose my goals.”

“And… not your…self?” Hermione rasped out. She coughed as the choke was released. “You cannot… be serious. You’ve revealed enough that—”

“This conversation is over,” Darth Gladiolus said, flat and final. She turned away from Hermione. “Zeta-Aleph. Synthesize all research and data Hermione Granger produces and have it sent to my personal data pad for my perusal. Understood?”

[YES, LORD GLADIOLUS,] replied Zeta-Aleph.

Darth Gladiolus glanced at Hermione, all familiarity finally gone. She wondered if the Sith Lord would speak one final time before departing. But instead, the Sith Lord shook her head and strode off, content to leave Hermione behind in her cell.

Hermione sighed and leaned back. Her head rested against the cold durasteel that lined the walls of her cell. She closed her eyes. What a waste this has all been, she thought bitterly.

What a waste.

What a waste! Darth Gladiolus thought, wrath and malice ablaze in her veins. She had gone to inspect Hermione Granger, curious what the girl had been up to in her solitude. Instead of discovering one awestruck by the majesty and power available in the cosmos, she discovered one willing to argue about the morality of the Sith and the Jedi. And worse than merely arguing over the matter—Gladiolus could entertain discussions about the merits of both orders as long as the argument came around to the proper answer—Hermione had decided to state that Jedi rule was preferable to that of the Sith.

Foolishness, choosing their ways over the Sith. The Jedi have always been weak. Too weak to enforce their rule over the whole of the galaxy, for they have always fallen under the sway of another body which enacts the will of various worlds instead of their own. If they had true will, they would yoke the Hutts and end the foul practices that occur in Hutt Space, far away from the “light of civilization” within the Republic.

She wandered the durasteel halls of Ziost Hangar, fury pumping through her veins faster than blood. Gladiolus knew she should attend to her duties at the Ministry or check on her apprentices or even the acolytes being trained elsewhere. Her anger was too great to handle those fools and idiots she kept around for their utility. Even her apprentices felt like fools some days! Tracey was foolishly loyal. Neville remained uncertain about the Sith. And Luna Lovegood’s peculiarity suggested, day after day, that the girl would never succumb to the influence of the dark side of the Force.

More and more, Gladiolus felt justified in her decision to test them. Each had revealed softness and weakness inappropriate for a Sith. If Tracey was less loyal or Neville more believing or if Luna could shed her tendency toward the ways of the Jedi, then they could prove themselves as Sith apprentices.

This is my punishment for not taking greater care with their training. I have permitted them—Lovegood and Longbottom in particular—to stew in their personal failings, all the while not taking a close hand in their training. I thought them akin enough to myself that they could be driven, with the aid of holocrons and the need to prove themselves, to rise to the occasion and prove themselves without being managed like children.

Any who survive and prove themselves… adequate by my expectations shall be shaped into the Sith apprentices I expected when I first sought them out.

Darth Gladiolus continued her wandering. She would test their skills and nature. Would they prove to be Sith in truth? Or would she need to restart her search for an apprentice?

She hoped not. Almost a year had been given to these three; one had to be viable.

Tracey Davis drew in a slight breath as the portkey her master provided deposited her upside down and several feet above the durasteel floor. She adjusted quickly and landed like a cat: on her feet. She wore her black apprentice robes and clenched her double-bladed lightsaber in her right hand. It had been adjusted two days ago so she might use it properly—and she had known immediately that properly meant her weapon was now truly lethal. She could sever a head from its neck if she wished. She remembered how her master had sliced open through those she executed.

A shiver ran up Tracey’s spine. She now held in her grasp the same weapon her master wielded. From the reports she read, the lightsaber had been used to finish off Dumbledore and Voldemort. Her gaze fell to the double-bladed weapon in her grasp. Was it truly as powerful as she believed? Or was it her master’s power that made the weapon so threatening?

She put that thought out of mind. Her master had summoned her, yet said nothing. She needed to make herself known.

“Master? I have arrived,” she called out. Tracey waited several seconds. “Master? I have—”

She sensed a flickering presence behind her. Something raged at her instincts, screaming threat. It would be like her master to spring a trap on her unexpecting apprentice. Tracey dove forward, rolled toward the nearest durasteel wall, and popped up in a defensive position, her lightsaber held between her and the threat she sensed. Crimson blades activated with that familiar snap-hiss.

She frowned as Neville Longbottom appeared and dropped a foot to the ground. He too wore his apprentice robes, though his were lined with crimson and gold.

Ever the Gryffindor, Tracey thought mockingly. She rose from her defensive pose and deactivated her weapon. Neville flinched as he turned her way.

“So you’re here as well,” he said. “Has Luna arrived yet?”

“I’ve seen nothing of Lovegood. Knowing our master, she will arrive last.”

Neville frowned. She sensed his skepticism, but he did not challenge her claim.

Tracey was proven right a minute later. The strange blonde arrived, her feet a hair above the floor. She wore a robe in the cut and style of their apprentice robes. Instead of being purely black, however, she wore mostly shades of tan and brown with a golden crescent pendant around her neck. Tracey stiffened. She recognized the color scheme from her studies. With a mixed pair of snap-hisses, she activated her lightsaber. Neville removed his lightsaber from his waist and thumbed the ignition, though he did not activate his weapon.

Luna stared at Tracey with a hint of amusement. “I see you recognize the colors I wear. The heliopaths told me of them. I know Darth Gladiolus will not approve, but I wanted to wear them once.”

“You’re a traitor, Lovegood, wearing Jedi robes.”

“Have you not considered the galaxy beyond may believe the Sith gone? By wearing the enemy’s colors, we can pass as we please,” Lovegood said, sounding almost like their master when she corrected any error she perceived in them. Tracey’s hackles rose, sensing a shred of superiority from the odd blonde. “You can also consider our world if you do not think Darth Gladiolus shall take you into the stars beyond. The public expects us to wear black like Darth Gladiolus. If we instead dress in different colors, we will be free—”

“They already know who we are, Lovegood,” Tracey snarled. She shifted forward a few inches, preparing herself to duel both of her fellow apprentices—assuming they were truly Sith like her. “What of you, Longbottom? What are your thoughts on Lovegood showing up dressed like a Jedi?”

Neville glanced between the two girls with a slight furrow. “It’s distasteful, but I understand her reasoning.” He grimaced at receiving dark glowers from both women. “Tracey’s right, of course. You should not dress that way, Luna. Maybe once we’re full-fledged Sith Lords. But we remain apprentices still.”

Tracey frowned. Something about Neville’s response struck her as disingenuous. She presumed it was only her suspicion over his weak defense of Lovegood. Yet the feeling itched in the back of her mind. Something was amiss with Lovegood and Longbottom. Something she feared she was failing to grasp, despite it happening right before her.

Could it be he no longer wishes to become a Sith?

It was a mad thought. Yet it struck Tracey powerfully—in a flash of inspiration—and left her rattled. Was she the only true apprentice to Darth Gladiolus, the Dark Lord of the Sith? It could not be true! She had gathered with these two several times—but always with their master present. She had never delved into their feelings until here and now. She had never gone to Longbottom Manor or sought out Lovegood at the Ministry.

“So you three have finally arrived,” drawled a familiar voice. The speaker crackled her words, yet Tracey relaxed at the soothing lull of Darth Gladiolus’s drawl. “Good! I see that you are all present. Were it not for Davis preparing to fight Lovegood, I might have waited longer. Stretch out your mercurial patience until it draws you into action.

“Though conflict is a key aspect of our ways, I would be a poor teacher if I permitted fighting amongst you three without aim or purpose. Violence for its sake is barbarism. Sith are greater than that. Every act of violence we commit furthers our goals. For myself, each act I commit furthers my aim of freedom—true freedom—and to secure the lasting independence of this world.

“I desire from each of you to consider what your goal as a Sith Lord shall be. Do you want power purely for its sake? Or would you pursue it for a loftier goal? Is everything I teach you used purely to further blind ambition, or does that ambition drive you forward into the realm of greatness?”

A door Tracey failed to spot upon her arrival suddenly slid open. “You will find me deeper within this complex. I had it constructed for other purposes, but it is suitable for testing you three.” Their master fell silent for a moment. “In the future, perhaps one of you will use this complex to train apprentices of your own.”

“And if we do not?” asked Longbottom.

“Then you have made other choices. I could not fault you for not taking to this place as I have, for only Davis has experience with these halls.” Darth Gladiolus fell silent for a moment. “I would be greatly disappointed if your cause to not use Ziost Hangar proved to be betrayal, Neville. If you are to strike me down, I will expect you to pour the full extent of your hatred into the blow. Better you be transformed into a Sith Lord than to wallow like the weak.”

Longbottom and Lovegood exchanged wary glances. Tracey suspected they possessed none of the loyalty to their master and the Sith ways that she held on to. But they had been chosen not for loyalty, but to use their power.

Power is everything as a Sith. If I am to succeed my master, then I must be the most powerful. And if I’m to grow in power… Tracey gazed around the antechamber until she found the speaker from where their master’s voice emerged. I must play along with whatever plot she has planned for us.

“What is our mission?”

“You are to find me and defeat me if you can,” her master drawled. You may work together. But note that reliance on an uncertain ally can lead to your downfall, just as if you face a foe more powerful than you.”

Tracey watched Lovegood and Longbottom. Their faces hardened. Yet their eyes betrayed a shared fear. They would hide their fear to protect their lives and goals. And yet Tracey sensed what they feared being exposed: Treachery.

She understood intellectually that betrayal was intrinsic to a Sith’s nature. After all, Lady Bastila had spoken warmly of how she had planned to grow strong enough to strike down her master, Lord Revan, and become the Sith Master and rule instead of bowing to him. Tracey considered that way of thinking. Could she truly become stronger than her master? Could she strike down Lord Gladiolus?

I must if I wish to surpass her expectations and be named a Sith Lord, Tracey thought. She grimaced. Her thoughts felt forced, as though they had come from some dark, unnatural corner of her heart.

Perhaps they had. Perhaps through embracing the Sith and their ways, she had twisted and disfigured her soul until nothing but a putrid blackness remained. If she were frank with herself, she could not fathom a life where she did not make this choice. Perhaps only in those lives where Edelweiss Potter somehow never became Darth Gladiolus. But that was absurd. Her master had been destined to become the Dark Lord of the Sith.

And so I must be a worthy apprentice. One day I will strike down my Sith Master, and become the Sith Master in her place. That is the fate of all who are Sith: to destroy or be destroyed.

Neville sensed a change in Tracey Davis. He struggled to not stare at her as fear gripped his heart. he sensed a seismic shift in her conviction. Where once there had been a weakness of piety deep down, it had been shattered and replaced with the strength of clarity. The middling Sith apprentice chained down by her loyalty had suddenly evolved into a Sith apprentice who truly believed every tenant and plank of the false religion that destroyed the good woman named Edelweiss Potter.

His gaze jumped to Luna. She watched Davis with wary care, already sensing and understanding the change that suddenly occurred within their alleged peer. He knew then that he and his ally would not find common ground with Davis. They might all desire to strike down Darth Gladiolus, but only one among them desired to assume the position of Sith Lord.

His right hand clenched. He fought the temptation to activate his lightsaber. Davis held her lightsaber at the ready; could she know how likely a duel was? Despite his strength and Luna’s speed, she was the better duelist. He knew that most of the success he and Luna experienced during their practice spars occurred solely because Davis permitted them. He had never understood why—and part of him suspected Gladiolus wished to squash whatever shred of weakness led Davis to fight them so.

“We should work together,” Luna said. She watched Davis as though she might suddenly lash out. “She’s stronger than each of us. If we try and fight her separately—”

“—she’ll kill us quickly if we’re lucky,” Davis finished. At Luna’s disturbed look, she shrugged. “We all know it's true. Our master is not squeamish about punishing severe failure with death. It is the appropriate punishment.”

Something about her last statement set Neville on edge. Between the shift within Davis and her words, he had a terrible feeling she would not hesitate to cut them down, should they give her cause. Perhaps that was what their master desired: not to test their strength against her, but for them to cull each other. He had learned enough from Sith long dead to know that culling the weak among their numbers was a common—and disturbing—trend. Why it had been permitted to begin with troubled him.

That makes you a bad Sith, a dark part of his mind whispered. Darth Gladiolus must know that your heart is not dedicated to the path she’s set before you. That’s why she’s put together this little trial. To make you commit—or to end you.

He caught Luna’s eye. He wondered if she had managed to completely fool Gladiolus. Deep down, Neville suspected it was unlikely. That he could question whether or not Gladiolus suspected them allowed his heart to grasp at hope. A chance remained that their master only suspected them of betrayal. And if that were true, then a chance remained they could remove the Dark Lord of the Sith without risking a new monster arising in her place.

“Fine,” Neville eventually muttered. “Davis, you lead the way. Your weapon is more defensive than ours. I doubt she’ll come at us head first, but you never know.”

Davis regarded him with suspicion. The look lingered for several long seconds before she nodded. “Come along then, Longbottom. You best watch—and defend—my back.”

Without waiting for a response, Davis strode through the doorway and into the structure prepared by Darth Gladiolus. Neville clenched his lightsaber in a tight grasp. He needed to be ready for any attack—and he would trust in the Force to alert him when danger finally arrived.

Luna Lovegood trailed several paces behind Neville Longbottom, who trailed behind Tracey Davis. She knew it had been expected for her to remain close at hand. But between Davis’s apparent succumbing to the dark side’s corruptive influence and Neville’s difficulty in masking the secrets of his heart, she needed to keep her distance between them and herself. After all, she increasingly had cause to trust neither.

Luna snorted softly as her hand rose to brush the crescent necklace she wore. Me. Worried about who I can and cannot trust. Alas, that which becomes of youth: the slow death of hope and joy.

A sigh escaped her. Neville glanced back with a concerned frown, while Davis ignored them entirely. The Sith apprentice must not truly think them a threat. She could understand not viewing Neville as one. After all, he had been perceived as weak for most of his time at Hogwarts. To add insult to injury, he was apprenticed to his grandmother’s killer. His strength could bring down the Sith, but only if he could get around the superior technique of their foes.

Luna Lovegood was a threat. She was not some simple girl to be cast aside on a whim. She had developed herself into something more. Someone more. Stronger. Made of sterner stuff than her father, who might have possessed a spine rigid enough to not back down against the Ministry, but had proved incapable against Darth Gladiolus’s dominating sway. It did not help that Luna increasingly suspected her Sith Master used the power of the dark side to sway the minds of the general public. Already she knew the auror corps belonged to the new Dark Lord. That had been accomplished before the Janus Rebellion when few knew the truth of the monster that controlled magical Britain.

She did not carry her lightsaber. She had no cause to do so. Luna knew her true strength resided in the Force, not in a tool. She could fight with her lightsaber adequately. But compared to her counterparts, she was the weakest with the blade. Neville could overpower her with brute force. Davis possessed a technical knowledge of her weapon and preferred forms that came across as prodigious to an unknowing eye.

They continued down the long, seemingly endless durasteel corridor. They had yet to deviate from their path, for the walls neither turned nor gave way to alcoves or doors. Luna feared they would follow this path until either their patience frayed into violence or they reached where Darth Gladiolus waited. And regardless of which path they might follow, she knew lightsabers would activate and blood would be shed.

Deep in her gut, Luna knew someone would die this day. The Force clouded her vision of the future, hiding certainty from her. But she sensed distress on its currents. The Force was life manifest, binding the living and the not living together. Given what she felt, she feared Darth Gladiolus would not be the one to perish. After all, the Dark Lord of the Sith warped and poisoned the currents of the Force. Oh, how clean and sweet it was when joined willingly! The rare chances to embrace the Force without the blazing taint of the dark side had been the finest moments of Luna’s year. She had to be careful about embracing the Force so, for she suspected Darth Gladiolus would sense such betrayal.

She brushed her necklace again. Fashioned through Sith alchemy, it would strengthen her connection to the Force. She hoped it would be enough for what she had to do.

“How do you think she will test us?” Neville asked Davis.

“She’ll test my certainty,” she replied. “I’ve held back in our practice duels. I have not treated them as seriously as I should have. My loyalty to her has become a hindrance to my development as a Sith.”

“And for me?”

Davis regarded Neville coolly for several seconds. She then turned forward and muttered, “Your faith in the dark side of the Force and the Sith Code is weak. She will see it strengthened, or you will be destroyed.” Davis shrugged. “I cannot fault our master for her choice. If I am not strong enough to fight her as I must, then she will destroy me as well.”

“How can you stand the thought of allowing her to destroy you?” asked Neville, unable to suppress his horror.

“You know the Sith Code, Longbottom. Passion. Strength. Power. Victory. This path I must embrace; if not, then I am unworthy to call myself a Sith.” Davis glanced over her shoulder at Luna. For a split second, she swore the other woman’s eyes burned with the same sulfuric shade that consumed Gladiolus. “Lovegood will have the most difficult time, for she is spiritually a Jedi and not a Sith. She gives lip service to the Sith and the Code, even as she hardens her heart against the way she must willingly embrace to ensure her survival.”

Neville did not respond. He did not glance back at Luna. He only continued to follow behind Davis, his lightsaber in hand. He straightened: shoulders rolled back, chest puffed out. Luna sensed his actions were for himself and not for Davis. Yet the fallen one shifted in response. Her weapon, which had hung limply in her right hand, straightened within a tighter grasp. Her thumb rested on the ignition. With a twitch, Davis could ignite both blades and act before Neville or Luna.

Luna watched on carefully. She trusted Neville enough to know that should the three of them fight, he would prove a stalwart ally against Davis. They would persist as allies, but any friendship between them had to be sacrificed for the greater good. Given their position, any friendly feeling risked exposing their plan. They had no other options when their foe proved deadly enough to slay You-Know-Who and Dumbledore in a single night. They needed to be ready for anything Darth Gladiolus threw their way.

And then they crossed a slightly indented threshold. The facility shook and groaned.

Darth Gladiolus drew out of her meditations. She had activated the facility’s defenses hours before her apprentices arrived. She reached out and inspected the systems, wondering which they had foolishly activated. When she realized they had flipped a simple proximity alarm, she frowned. Could they truly be so pitiful as to not notice even the simplest of traps? Or were they distracted by personal enmity?

It is the latter, she realized. Gladiolus smiled to herself. She had presumed they would fight amongst their number, but never had she thought their fighting could lead to activating the defenses in this part of Ziost Hangar.

She almost burst out laughing. How ironic that traps meant for regular humans could catch a trio of Sith apprentices, regardless of their strength—or their weakness.

Come, you three. Come prove that you were worthy of my attention to begin.

Neville widened his stance the moment an earthquake rippled through the facility. He glanced around as he recalled the hedge maze Edelweiss raced through in their fourth year. That, he firmly believed, was before she discovered the Sith and the dark side of the Force. They could have done something differently—anything, really. The trouble, Neville knew, was that they had no clue what could have stopped Edelweiss from finding the Sith holocrons. But then if she had never discovered the Sith, Voldemort could still live—

“Merlin’s beard,” Davis grumbled, shocking Neville from thoughts of the past with her witchy swear. She stood several paces away. “This was not what I expected.”

“I agree,” Neville declared. He smiled when she glowered at him. “This feels like something Edelweiss would have prepared, not Gladiolus.” He paused before adding with a sly smirk, “Then again, our ‘master’ is both.”

“She is only Darth Gladiolus, the Dark Lord of the Sith,” Davis reminded him.

“She speaks true,” added Luna. Neville glanced at her, unable to help the slight feeling of betrayal that ran through him. “Edelweiss Potter is dead. Darth Gladiolus replaced her, wearing her skin and speaking with her voice.”

“…that’s a grim way to view it,” Neville grumbled.

“Yet Lovegood is right. Our master replaced Edelweiss Potter. And I imagine if Potter dared reveal the truth to you during her final year at Hogwarts, she would have confessed in the end that nothing but Darth Gladiolus would remain. For her… it was inevitable. A foregone conclusion. One we should embrace ourselves.”

“…so you’re saying that ‘Tracey Davis’ will die?”

Davis nodded. “One day I will be a Sith Lord like our master. She will grant me a Sith name to replace my current one. Just as she claimed the name of the warrior’s flower, I shall have a name suited to heritage and destiny alike.” She shot Neville a pointed look. “Given your fear of becoming a Sith Lord, I would say you are unfit to become one. Unfortunately, it is not for me to decide your fate, Longbottom. That choice is reserved to you… and to our master. Should she find your wanting, well…”

Neville grunted, unimpressed by Davis’s words. He sensed his fellow in opposition to Darth Gladiolus draw close to him. He straightened slightly and prepared to put forward his own defiance against Tracey Davis.

Luna would not fault Neville for how he responded to Davis’s verbal aggression. They had no real argument against that point, for neither of them desired to become a Sith Lord. Their reasons for becoming one of Darth Gladiolus’s apprentices differed, even though they now shared the common goal of dethroning the one they called “master” without replacing her as the new Sith Master.

“If she finds me wanting, then she can act as she wishes,” Neville said before Davis could press. “I will not lie down and die for her. I am not easy prey like those she surprised during the Janus Rebellion.”

Davis scoffed. For a moment, Luna feared their argument would continue—or worse, break into fighting. Instead, Davis turned and continued. The rumbling and shaking had ended while they had stopped so Neville and Davis could argue. Luna had watched on, knowing she had nothing to contribute. She had already given up the Sith ways. Yes, she would use the potential of Sith alchemy and Sith sorcery to bring about Darth Gladiolus’s destruction, but it was not guaranteed.

She may have sold her soul for nothing. No choice but to continue.

“Come on,” Neville said before Davis could create too much distance. “We should stick close to Davis. Gladiolus may have modified this structure to punish us should we split up.”

Luna nodded and allowed Neville to lead the way, ever following Davis’s wake.

Tracey sensed Neville and Luna continuing to follow her. She hated their weakness and foolishness. They held tightly to their arrogant judgment and silly ideas of morality. They would destroy themselves. Embracing the dark side would protect them from that destruction. The path to ascension—to becoming a Sith Lord—would be closed unless they soon changed. Tracey saw the path before them. She knew that without embracing the dark side of the Force, they would be left to languish in weakness. Assuming they did not perish, naturally.

Power was everything in this world. Her master had revealed that truth to her. It had taken the holocrons of the ancient dead to help open her eyes to that truth, though. And only today had she come to terms with what she embraced as a Sith.

She reached a door after several minutes. She glanced across its wide frame, illuminated by soft white lights. Tracey recognized it from the singular time her master showed her the path down from the Chamber of Secrets and into the main hold of Ziost Hangar. As a Slytherin, she had been honored to enter the secret chamber of her house’s founder. It did not impress her as Ziost Hangar had; yet the Chamber of Secrets was an ancient place of value to Tracey Davis. She was among the rare few who had ever seen that mystical place.

Longbottom and Lovegood caught up to her after a few minutes. The door opened.

Blaster fire poured through the wide doorway. Tracey ignited her lightsaber while Longbottom and Lovegood ducked behind the doorframe. With her double-bladed lightsaber, it was child’s play to deflect and block the barrage, even as it focused on her. She remained where she had been caught for several heartbeats before taking a step forward.

The barrage intensified. Tracey took another step and another, always moving forward.

She continued pushing forward. The barrage failed to lessen until she had pushed forward several steps into the massive chamber. It resembled the hangar of a “capital ship” as her master called them, though none of the expected “snubfighters” sat in the many empty docks. A few platforms hung above her; none of her attackers stood up there. Oddly, the source of the blaster fire did not move positions as she continued her push. She could no sense an attempt to flank her.

Something is not right here. Tracey had learned from Lady Bastila about battle tactics when blasters and lightsabers were used as part of her battle meditation training. Given her choice to enter the hangar, some of her attackers should be moving to flanking positions. They had yet to move toward flanking positions. That meant they either possessed a tactic she was ignorant of or their programming was wrong. Maybe her master had designed this chamber as one of the testing sites.

This could not have been meant for me. Why else would the doors remain closed until they joined me? Tracey nodded to herself. That idea sounded better than the thought this was meant to test her abilities. However, that brought into question how this scenario was meant to test Longbottom or Lovegood. Were they meant to work with Tracey to overcome these attackers? That felt decided un-Sith-like, despite the fact working together would make achieving their goal easier. Maybe their master merely wished to see how they handled a challenge only a Sith Lord could overcome.

Whichever it is, I cannot remain passive for long. The longer I defend, the weaker I will be for whatever else awaits me. Tracey breathed out slowly as she widened her stance. Let me show Longbottom and Lovegood what a Sith apprentice can do.

She sprung high into the air, twirling and spinning. the dual blades of her lightsaber remained around her, deflecting blaster bolts as they tracked her through the air. Tracey waited until she was nearly to the platforms before breaking out of her spin. She pushed softly off the sparse molecules in the air superheated by the blaster fire following her—her master had taught her some of muggle science, along with Lady Bastila—and rocketed onto the nearest platform.

Tracey knew she would not have long. The platform beneath her feet already warmed as blaster fire splashed against it. With how many enemies she possessed, their barrage would eventually cook a hole through the durasteel.

Still, her position granted her a chance to safely monitor the enemy. About five dozen droids were positioned along the far ridge, blaster rifles raised and firing. All were focused on where she stood, aiming to either shoot her down or force her to make an error.

Keep moving.

With the Force propelling her, Tracey leaped from platform to platform. She made an effort to pick them at random, earning enough space from the blaster barrage to reach the next platform without needing to deflect with her lightsaber. And as she slowly worked her way across the chamber, she found herself wondering where her fellow Sith apprentices were.

They must act, Tracey thought, gritting as a blaster bolt skimmed past her. Unless they mean to sacrifice me. She was getting close. And the closer she got, the quicker the droids could spot and shoot at her.

Come on, you two, she thought bitterly. Act. Act!

“We must move!” Neville hissed. He had followed Luna’s example, hiding behind the doorframe into the large hangar while Davis pushed forward. It proved a wise decision, for Davis’s double-bladed lightsaber allowed her to push forward against a stream of blaster fire with relative ease. The choice to hold back did trouble him as a Gryffindor, but his time with Sith holocrons had opened his eyes to other tactics.

Luna nodded. Neville wondered exactly why she followed his lead now instead of acting as she saw fit. Perhaps she sought to use him instead of working with him. That conclusion felt off, but then she proposed they use this test to eliminate the Sith Lord, Darth Gladiolus. He feared they would have to kill Davis before the end. Murder sat ill with him, but it was necessary. Britain could not persist with a monster like Darth Gladiolus ruling it for long. Already she had destroyed a rebellion. Were it not for the fact the auror corps belonged to her, heart and soul, another rebellion would likely be brewing.

That was what Neville wished to believe.

They dashed forward, holding low to the durasteel floor. The droids maintained their focus on Davis, who leaped from platform to platform above them. Time passed, quicker and quicker, between her leaping and the droids firing at her. All the while, she pressed forward. One of the droids would eventually score a hit.

And once that happened, the droids would notice Neville and Luna and turn their blasters on the other apprentices. If Luna was like him, then she possessed no training in deflecting blasters. Their focus with the lightsaber had been dueling. They had presumed that practice would grant them the skills necessary to defeat Darth Gladiolus—and Davis, as well.

Luna stopped before Neville. He neared a console he hoped controlled a bridge across to where the droids stood shooting at Davis. Upon reaching it, he realized Luna had stopped following. He glanced back. Luna stood several paces away, eyes closed and hands reaching forward. He wondered what she was doing—and then he felt her power in his bones.

His breath caught in his throat. Neville understood that Luna was powerful in the Force. But never had he suspected she possessed enough strength to affect every droid firing at Davis. He watched as they slowly rose into the sky, no longer able to aim and fire their blasters. Several long seconds passed before they cracked and crunched. A moment after that, sparking chunks and parts fell to the distant floor.

Davis dropped from the rafters, landing softly amongst the droid parts. She shot a glower at Luna. Neville stiffened as outrage slithered through him. Davis should thank her fellow apprentice for bailing her out.

“We should be working together so that we can overcome Gladiolus’s strength,” Neville said. “You need to—”

“I’m moving on. Alone,” Davis snarled. “And don’t you dare tell me what I should or should not do, Longbottom.” She strode away, heading for the far door. Neville could not hear the door as it slid open for Davis. She paused just beyond the threshold, too near for the door to close automatically behind her. For a moment, he thought she might wait for them to join her.

With a swipe of her hand, Davis crumpled the door, leaving a sparking, inoperable barrier between them.

“We’ll need to find another way,” Neville told Luna. “She’s cut us off.”

She shook her head. “She has not. The Force will see us through.”

Neville sighed and nodded. He wished he had her faith in the Force. But he could not justify that faith. And so he watched impotently as Luna used the Force to pry open the destroyed door.

Tracey resisted the primal urge to stop as she pressed onward. The damaged door might slow Longbottom, but Luna would push through. They would be back on her heels soon enough. Her grip tightened. Though they tried to exhauster with those droids, she knew she could cut down Longbottom and Lovegood without issue. They were weaker than her. She could—

She sensed her master. She had expected to sense her master earlier, for none could match Darth Gladiolus in power. Davis longed for that power. She coveted it. Tracey tried to stop being surprised that she desired her master’s power now. Ever since her revelation before the beginning of this trial, a small voice in the back of her mind had begun to egg her on. It demanded she seek power and gather it within her self. Once she had enough, she could strike down her master and ascend as the new Sith Master.

“There you are,” Tracey whispered, all thoughts of the other apprentices gone from her mind. “Wait for me, master. For I will prove myself!”

She pressed on, unaware her eyes blazed a poisonous yellow.

Neville trained behind Luna, reeking of a wariness that compelled her to focus on the road ahead. She sensed Davis before them, continuing to move forward. The dark side clung tightly to the other apprentice. Tracey Davis had made her decision; she had chosen the dark side and the fate that awaited all Sith. If there had been a shred of hope to save their fellow apprentice from the darkness, it was now lost. They would need to fight master and apprentice if they wished to succeed.

“Was that her?” asked Neville. He shivered as though struck by a wintery breeze.

“It was. She’s made her decision. If we fail, Gladiolus will grant her a new name.”

“A Sith one.”

Luna nodded. Relief filled her that Neville possessed the intelligence to realize what struck her almost immediately. Her jaw clenched as she considered their options. Had she made other decisions, Luna would not worry over how to stop Lord Gladiolus. Had she chosen the Janus Rebellion, she would be dead by now. Had she chosen to reject the apprenticeship, she would be with her father, lost in life as she bounced between odd jobs. And had she chosen to reject her resistance to the dark side, she would be just like Davis:

Lost.

“Then we need to move faster,” Neville said. He breathed out heavily before increasing his pace. Luna blinked before following suit. If they allowed Davis to reach Gladiolus before them, then all hope could be lost.

Divide and conquer was a strategy for a reason: it permitted the wise and weak to defeat the arrogant and strong.

Sulfuric eyes flickered open. Darth Gladiolus smiled; she sensed her three apprentices. Her loyal apprentice neared, followed by those two… fools. Fools who believed that learning a little of the dark side of the Force would grant them strength enough to ace and defeat a Sith Lord. She parsed out their emotions and frowned. Neville had come to embrace Hermione’s silly notion that Gladiolus had murdered Edelweiss Potter. Idiots and fools! Edelweiss sacrificed whom she had been to ascend: to become something greater than her destined self.

As for Lovegood, she sensed regret and dedication. The girl truly had become one of Hermione’s silly, stupid learners. She would perish, learning what she had been tricked into believing had always been a fool’s errand, no better than a lie.

She rose to her feet and left her meditation chamber. She had not planned to meet them this soon. Gladiolus had planned to let them fight first. But that was unnecessary now. She would cull the weak. Only those worthy to be her apprentice would remain.

The sole question was whether or not any remained worthy.

The durasteel door hissed open, revealing a massive chamber. Neville entered first, followed by Luna. Tracey stood in the center, absently twirling her deactivated weapon. She glanced over her shoulder at them before turning her gaze back to the far door.

“She’s not here yet,” Luna murmured.

Neville nodded. They had feared they would not catch Davis before Darth Gladiolus could arrive. They managed to accomplish their goal, though something about this chamber sat ill with him. The nearer wall was over forty yards away, while the walls to their left and right were over thrice that distance. The ceiling loomed high above them. Were it not for the strips of white light dotting the ceiling, they would not know how high it loomed.

“Do you think…?” began Neville, his voice trailing off as a door across the chamber hissed open.

Darth Gladiolus, Dark Lord of the Sith, entered the chamber. She wore a sleeveless tunic and a cloth wrap over her trousers. Gauntlets and boots comprised of an unfamiliar metal gleamed in the brightly lit chamber. Her blazing sulfuric eyes swept past Tracey Davis to the pair behind her.

“Luna Lovegood. Neville Longbottom. I offered power and strength to you both. I offered the chance to rework the world into a shape that fits your desires. And how have you repaid my kindness? With betrayal and infidelity.”

Davis glanced between her master and her former peers. A sickly look clung to them and the sockets seemed rather hollow, lined with purple bruising that had not been present earlier.

The dark side’s taint.

Neville decided, then and there, that he would never again use the Force after this day. All it had wrought upon Britain was pain and suffering. He would make it his life’s work to bury all knowledge of the Force, including the foul ways that turned Edelweiss Potter into Darth Gladiolus.

That all depended on his survival. There was no guarantee of that, or even of victory.

“So you realized our intention,” said Luna. She tossed away her brown robe and drew her lightsaber. The crescent necklace she wore flickered with light, taking on a dark cast. The blade that hissed to life was not the familiar crimson of the Sith, but a pure white that filled Neville with peace and hope. “I only agreed to join you because it granted me the chance to avenge Hermione. To do justice by her memory.”

“I did not take you for such a fool,” Darth Gladiolus declared. Her gaze shifted to Neville. “And you, Longbottom?”

He nearly flinched upon meeting her piercing gaze. He could feel her screaming traitor into his mind. Did she believe that word alone would freeze his courage and compel him back to her side? Any chance of him returning to the Sith fold had been lost the moment he agreed to assist Luna in her plot to destroy the Sith.

She knew, Neville realized. Gladiolus learned what we planned and plotted this ‘trial’ so she could dispose of us without losing face before the public. He glanced at Davis, who had not moved closer to her master or further from the traitors. Her grip was white-knuckled. What about you? You could have disposed of us without involving Darth Gladiol—

Realization struck Neville hard. He feared their fate was doubtful now. Perhaps only dubious. Gladiolus sought to not only eliminate himself and Luna through means that the public would not question, but she also established the stage for Davis to prove herself as a Sith apprentice. Should she perform as expected, she might earn that Sith title she lusted for.

“Shall we begin?” asked Darth Gladiolus as she rolled her tattooed shoulders. Her lightsaber sprung into her hand, the crimson blade igniting before the hilt slapped into her palm. With a roar that rippled through the Force, she leaped thirty yards across the chamber, landing just beside Davis.

“Kill Longbottom, Davis, and you will truly be my apprentice. You will be worthy of the title: Sith Lord.” She smiled maliciously. “Lovegood is mine.”

Davis’s eyes widened and then narrowed fiercely. A trace of the sulfuric yellow Neville witnessed earlier returned as she focused her will on slaying him. She ignited her lightsaber and twirled it about with great theatrics. He raised his weapon. After a moment to breathe out slowly, Neville ignited the crimson blade, casting a bloody light across his face. Once he might have been honored to wield a crimson blade. But his love and loyalty to that color had been diminished, and now murdered, by the Sith Lord that consumed Edelweiss Potter.

I will stop her apprentice, and help Luna stop her. The Sith Lords end today.

He lunged forward just as Davis sprung to her left, her double-bladed lightsaber spinning like a shield before her. Neville never defeated her in their spars. But that was the past. A chance always existed for the impossible, especially on a day like this, when the fate of the world hung in the balance.

Luna cursed under her breath as Gladiolus slammed against her with wild, unpredictable flurries. Despite Djem So’s focus on turning a foe’s strength against them, she struggled to take advantage of any hole she spotted in the Sith Lord’s assault. And given that half were exposed on purpose, she suspected that taking those would lead to her swift and brutal death.

“You have already lost,” Darth Gladiolus taunted as she weaved through a pair of slices Luna threw her way, trying to create enough space to ground herself. “Your heart knows you cannot defeat me, so it fails to grant you the strength you require for victory. You are no Jedi, Lovegood. You will never defeat me.”

“I’ll… find a… way!” Luna snarled as she turned aside a heavy overhead chop. Her attempt to follow through her defense with a quick slash was thwarted by a burst of indigo Force lightning. The bolts drove Luna several steps back, catching against her blade as she worked to deflect them away. Naturally, Darth Gladiolus sidestepped the last deflected blast of Force lightning. She then lunged forward swiftly, almost blurring into shades of black with two piercing yellow eyes.

“A way? Do not make me laugh!” Gladiolus shouted. She thrust forward an open hand and sent Luna flying. She held tightly to her deactivating lightsaber as she soared through the sky, passing over the bitter crimson clash of Neville and Davis. A moment passed as she descended from the sky where she was tempted to interfere in that duel.

But Luna could not expose her back to Gladiolus—and interfering in the other due would accomplish only that. She could not fail this day. Not when the fate of billions—perhaps even trillions—relied on the choices she made.

Luna landed on her feet. Luna considered her options and then made the only choice available to her. She raised her hands, reached for the poisonous fire of the dark side burned into the necklace she wore, and cast an illusion thicker than fog over the North Sea on all three arrayed before her.

Neville would need to fight his way through the illusion. She trusted in his strength. He was strong, despite what he thought. Certainly, he was strong enough to break the illusion before either Sith. Unfortunately, she could not provide him with easy means out of the illusion without offering the same to Gladiolus and Davis.

Luna poured the full strength of her power in the Force, strengthened by her education in Sith sorcery and her working of Sith alchemy. She watched Neville, Davis, and Darth Gladiolus stiffen briefly before being trapped in illusions their minds framed on her behalf.

She stood there and held the illusions, knowing her life depended on them.

Hurry, Neville. You must be the one to strike her down now.

Neville blinked and looked around in a fright. Within a heartbeat, he mysteriously departed the massive chamber where he dueled Tracey Davis and found himself in what looked to be an abandoned part of Hogwarts. He held his lightsaber, tightly crimson continuing to illuminate a side of his face. He could only sense the touch of the dark side on the weapon’s kyber crystal as he lowered the blade.

Explosions rang out from elsewhere. He glanced around and stumbled as the floor briefly shook beneath his feet.

He raised his lightsaber as he continued to survey the corridor. Several portrait frames lined each wall, yet they remained blank. No movement. No signs of life. Not even backgrounds to suggest what had once been present. They were completely blank.

Is this Luna’s doing? Neville wondered. He had noticed her fly away from her duel with Darth Gladiolus. Davis required too much of his—

A warmth suddenly passed near his head. He scurried back several steps as he raised his lightsaber. For a split second, he thought something deflected off his blade. But the sensation vanished too suddenly to make sense. He waited several long seconds, weapon raised, and waited for another strike to brush her blade.

None came.

Maybe this is a dream, Neville thought. Luna’s trapped us all in our minds and I have to find my way out before Davis—or worse, Gladiolus—can break free and slay her. He knew little of her Sith sorcery studies beyond being a deceptively powerful means of wielding the dark side of the Force. Luna had spoken poorly of the practice, though she had never dared suggest she would abandon it entirely.

Neville shifted his feet as another explosion rocked through Hogwarts. He frowned. Was this some battle he had never heard of? Had this fight been fabricated from some wandering mind? Or could it be that this was a future stolen from magical Britain?

A sound, rapid and hurried, drifted his way. It slowly grew nearer. He paused and listened, trying to identify it. The sound was familiar. Familiar, almost like—

Footsteps!

Neville raised his lightsaber and strengthened his stance. He would wait to meet the approaching figure before acting. Given the strangeness of the vision around him, Neville judged it safer to treat what happened as though it were real than to disregard any potential danger. He feared Luna had only caught his mind in an illusion, leaving his body free to move. And if that were the case, then Davis and Darth Gladiolus remained threats to not just Luna, but himself as well.

I must find a way out, then.

A figure came around the corner, dressed in the black robes commonplace at Hogwarts. They—she—stopped suddenly, emerald green eyes fixed on the crimson blade before Neville.

Emerald… eyes?

He blinked. Standing before Neville was not Darth Gladiolus, but the girl she once was. Edelweiss Potter existed before him, seventeen, hale, and untouched by the dark side of the Force. Here stood the Girl-Who-Lived, untainted by Salazar Slytherin’s vile legacy.

Here stood his old friend, holly wand in hand and a pair of glasses on her nose.

“Neville? Why are you up here? What’s that?” she asked, staring at the weapon in his hand. Neville glanced at it, then back to Edelweiss. How could he explain everything that had happened to him?

Then again, she was a figment of his imagination. He could tell her whatever he wanted, or so he presumed.

“It’s a special weapon. One I found in the bottom of a false drawer in this part of the castle.”

Unsurprisingly, dream Edelweiss accepted the lie without issue. “Were there any more?” she asked, surprising him with her curiosity. The Edelweiss he recalled had never been that inquisitive. Not without cause, which he guessed this Edelweiss did possess.

An explosion rocked Hogwarts. He nearly asked what was happening around them. But he had the feeling that to ask risked his mind and sanity. Whatever Luna had done to forge this illusion rested on his mind remaining whole. And his gut—and the Force—screamed he needed to take care with his words, else he upset the balance. He needed to maintain the illusion around him for now. It was safer, and it had been kind enough to reunite him with an old friend.

He met her green eyes and said, “I wish there had been another. I think it would suit you.”

She nodded. Shouts and screams approached. Neville tried to not think about what he would do when the dream around him ended. Death awaited. Who’s, though, remained uncertain...

Tracey Davis went through the motions of dueling two Jedi as her mind worked through the sudden and disturbing change around her. She stood on a world arid and red, the stone underlined with hints of orange and yellow. The Jedi stepped back, regrouping after their continued failure. Tracey breathed heavily as she prepared for another onslaught. The Jedi looked troubled by her defensive style. She made her decision, then and there, to choose a second lightsaber form to learn. While she appreciated Lady Bastila’s instruction in the double-bladed variation of Soresu, she needed a better option than the primary method, defending, forcing her foe to waste their strength against her unyielding defense; or the seconding method, to use a blade for defense and a blade for attack.

She needed to crush her foes with ease. She needed to be able to attack with both and be so fierce and unyielding that no foe could even defend against her onslaught.

But first, I must slay these two. Tracey knew not what became of the chamber with Longbottom, Lovegood, and her master. She suspected Lovegood wielded Sith sorcery to place an illusion over their minds. That it held so firmly suggested Lovegood remained stationary, all her focus on maintaining the illusion. If she could break free quickly, then she could be the one to slay the blonde girl subduing her master.

The Jedi charged as one. Tracey raised her weapon to meet their mirrored slashes, stepping between them as she deflected their blades. One tried to spin about and stab her, but he was too slow. She severed his lightsaber’s emitter and a few fingers with a swift, spinning slash. He screamed and retreated a few steps while his comrade stepped forward with a wordless shout.

Tracey played with the other Jedi until a gap emerged in his offensive. She dodged instead of deflecting and then stepped forward into the hole that opened up. The Jedi attempted to defend against her maneuver, but he had overcommitted to his last attack. She slammed a crimson blade through his chest before he could react. After a moment to ensure he breathed his last, Tracey withdrew and allowed his body to collapse beside her.

“You monster!” the other Jedi shouted.

“You’re the fool who attacked me,” she said with a sneer. “Your friend is dead because of your arrogance, Jedi.”

Tracey knew her master hated the Jedi. So did the other Sith Lords she had spoken with via their holocrons. The reason for that hatred eluded her, though she guessed similarities in their orders meant every little difference had to be magnified. And by magnifying those differences, they sowed fertile ground for unending hatred. Hatred which empowered the Sith and weakened the Jedi.

Perhaps my hatred for Lovegood matches the hatred of the Sith for the Jedi.

The Jedi did not respond verbally. He growled and bared his teeth. He was not human, though he possessed a humanoid shape. The horns on his head suggested he was a Zabrak of Dathomir. How one of their number came to the Jedi was unknown to Tracey. Dathomir was a world beyond the reach of the Republic, whose Force-sensitives were witches locked in clan warfare forgotten across much of Earth.

“Try to kill me, then,” Tracey declared once several seconds passed. “No doubt you wish to avenge your comrade. To see justice for his murder done.”

“So you admit it was murder,” the Zabrak said. He summoned his fallen fellow’s lightsaber. With a snap-hiss, it ignited. “You’re honest, for a Sith.”

Tracey smiled politely. “Why lie to a dead man?”

Before he could react, she lunged forward. The Jedi tried to slice her in half, but she leaped over his strike. He watched her twirl over his head before jamming a blade through his exposed back. The tip pierced his heart, killing him instantly.

She breathed out as she withdrew her weapon. Tracey did not deactivate her weapon. She had no idea what else the illusion hid. She knew the illusions around her were Lovegood’s doing. She knew nothing of what had been done to her mind. She could theorize all she wished, but that would not aid her in escaping the grasp of what Lovegood had done. And while it would be easy to rely on her master to shatter the illusion, she could not do that if she wished to truly be a Sith Lord.

Once this day is finished, I think I will also study Sith sorcery. Tracey thought it rather pathetic that she dared pursue a path followed by one of those traitors. But she hated how weak and impotent she was in the face of Sith sorcery. Had she possessed any knowledge of that discipline, then she could have broken free by now. Instead, she was trapped in this strange vision with Jedi who thought they could threaten a Sith.

Tracey growled as she scanned the area around her. No other Jedi appeared to be nearby, but she sensed them faintly. She should be able to sense their presence; none who drew power from the Force could truly hide from others. Only ignorance, from what Lady Bastila had taught her, could protect one completely from any searching through the Force. Ignorance of either one’s power, or ignorance that one boasted power in the Force.

One could mask their presence, but masking and hiding were different.

She waited several seconds before deactivating her lightsaber. Tracey glanced up the cliff behind her. She spotted a narrow path that led higher to a cave entrance some fifty yards above.

Claim the high ground, her master and Lady Bastila taught her. Neither had taught her so physically, but they reminded her of that truth enough she internalized it. She started up the path, following it with swift yet careful movements. The path switchbacked three times before she reached the cave entrance.

A presence. She sensed a presence beyond the black opening. Whether it was friendly or an enemy, she could not say yet. But she had sensed a Jedi, not a Sith.

Tracey raised her weapon. She ignited both blades with snap-hisses before entering the bleak cave.

Darth Gladiolus stood in a black void. Luna Lovegood’s Sith sorcery was responsible for this strange place. She peered around her environment, searching for a break in the black void surrounding her. Her lips curled downward. Nothing appeared to break the void. Nothing else appeared to be present with her.

“I can sense you, Lovegood,” Darth Gladiolus drawled. “I know your heart. You believe that with the dark side of the Force—with Sith sorcery—you might manage to defeat me. But you are a fool! The dark side cannot defeat one like me. Not without embracing its power and all it means to be a Sith.

“I know for certain you do not believe in either. You think me an abomination. You think you must take up Hermione’s fruitless crusade to depose me from power.

“You could be right, from a certain point of view. But unfortunately for you, the chance for victory over me cannot be grasped as you are. Had you waited and plotted and planned with Longbottom—and do not think I have not detected his involvement in this affair—then perhaps you could have gained enough power to overthrow me.

“But to overthrow me requires the will and willingness to be the next Dark Lord of the Sith.”

The void fell silent, consuming her voice. Gladiolus frowned. She presumed she had not left where she last stood. She remained within the great dueling chamber beneath Hogwarts castle, connected to Ziost Hangar through a long, split hallway and a hangar designed to support a future defense of Earth. She could not trust that Earth’s great distance from civilized space would preserve their safety. One had to be proactive, even in defense against hostile powers.

And then she sensed it. It was faint, but she sensed… one of the three she chose for an apprentice. Gladiolus closed her eyes and reached out, poking and prodding the source of what she sensed. It was dark enough that she could not say for certain whom among the three she sensed. Though despite the distance, Gladiolus had a feeling it was not Tracey Davis. Her presence in the Force had developed, growing stronger in the dark side before the trial began.

Either Longbottom or Lovegood. Which of them could it be…? Is it Lovegood, who has bound my mind to this void with Sith sorcery? Or is it Longbottom, caught up in the same trap as myself?

If he had been caught as well, then it meant they were all in different illusions. If that were true, then she suspected Luna Lovegood did not possess enough strength to maintain her sorcery illusion and strike down her enemies. She could only do one or the other. Luna did not possess the strength to slay Darth Gladiolus without her sorcerous advantage. It was uncertain if Lovegood could even stop Tracey Davis, who had just given herself to the dark side.

Gladiolus smiled. She realized once the illusion broke, Lovegood was dead. She might not perish immediately, but her time would count down from that moment. Once the countdown began, Luna was welcome to struggle for her life. And while Gladiolus knew allowing Tracey to destroy the sorcerer would ensure her apprentice fully committed to the dark side, she would not leave matters to fate. She would act as she saw fit, and only command her apprentice if it would benefit them both.

Now, I must break the illusion. Darth Gladiolus closed her eyes and reached out with the Force. Her instincts demanded she only grasp the dark side. But she knew an incomplete grasp of the Force would fail to shatter the illusion and stun Lovegood long enough to cut her down without resistance. And so she embraced it all, including the Cosmic Force. She breathed in, out, and then yanked on the full power of the Force.

White lines crackled around her. Gladiolus grinned. Her instincts proved right. She only needed to break the illusion and it would fall. Once that happened, she would be free to cut down Lovegood.

She grasped the Force once more. She drew even more power to her self, allowing it to flow through her veins like molten metal in a mold. Gladiolus reached out—

—and pushed. The white lines expanded. One moment passed. Two.

The void flashed with a stunning light, and then the great chamber beneath Hogwarts returned.

Gladiolus discovered Lovegood had collapsed. She panted heavily, her face wan and drained of color, coated in sweat. The necklace forged with Sith alchemy had shattered, leaving a blackened line across the girl’s throat. The Sith Lord sped to where her prey rested, attempting to regain her breath. The girl’s bleary blue eyes glanced up. Seconds passed before she realized what she saw.

A white lightsaber blade rose to block Darth Gladiolus. But the Sith Lord was too fast. Before the blade could be fully raised, she activated her lightsaber, swung her blade, and cleaved Luna Lovegood’s head from her neck. She turned to face the severed head as the girl’s lightsaber deactivated and clattered to the durasteel floor.

“A good showing, but you attempted to destroy me too early,” Gladiolus told the corpse. “A shame, for you would have been a powerful Sith Lord.”

The clashing of lightsabers drew Gladiolus’s gaze from Luna’s corpse. She found Longbottom and Davis once more dueled. To the Sith Lord’s pleasant surprise, Davis had taken the advantage. She had been troubled when she learned Tracey had taken to Soresu over the other forms. But it was clear now that the girl had made the right choice. Where the form was meant for defensive purposes, the double-bladed lightsaber permitted a more offensive variation. One blade defended, the other attacked.

A beautiful, deadly display. She smiled and watched as Tracey pushed her advantage.

The illusion broke without warning. Tracey immediately knew her master had conquered Lovegood’s admittedly impressive technique. She sensed that truth a moment after the desert world vanished. In the back of her mind, she wondered if that had been Korriban, the ancient homeworld of the Sith race whose name graced the order she belonged to. That mattered little, though.

The traitor Longbottom stood before her.

She would kill him. She would make her master proud and slay the fool who dared be swayed by the words of an insipid girl already deluded by ideas only a Jedi could hold.

Tracey kept up a pace of blocking and attacking, knowing that Neville would tire before her. She had trained more. She had the dark side to ensure her strength. She had the will and conviction to kill the other.

Neville backpedaled out of her range and raised his weapon into a high, Ataru guard. He breathed heavily and his weapon shook. Tracey grinned maliciously. “You will soon be dead, Longbottom. If I am fortunate, my master will give me my Sith name. No longer will I be Tracey Davis. I will be someone more. Something more.”

Neville huffed. “I will not allow that.”

“Then you will need to kill me, Longbottom.” Tracey spun her weapon before her. “Unfortunately for you, I am the stronger. Soon you will be dead at my feet.”

“Then come kill me.”

Tracey resisted the temptation to wait and allow her opponent to dash his strength against her. He should be the better dueler, given his knowledge of Form Two, Makashi. Yet she knew she needed to strike first if she wanted to prove herself to her master. A Sith should not take the back foot. Not unless it guaranteed victory—and she had grown tired of taking the back foot. She would be the aggressor. She would hunt the enemy and destroy them.

Longbottom should prove a worthy foe to destroy, Tracey thought, snarling at him. He has stepped up and become what I want for myself; I must seize it from him.

She smiled and stepped forward. Longbottom stiffened. She appeared unphased by any threat he could pose.

Once Tracey got within four yards of Longbottom, she sprung forward. She did not lead with either blade, for that would signal to her foe which side she intended to attack. Either he relied on the Force and his instincts, or she would claim his life with the first blow.

He swung toward her left, throwing all the might he could draw from his body. Tracey spun her lightsaber, parrying his strong blow so his blade rose high above his head. She stepped forward into his guard, slammed the central part of her lightsaber’s hilt into his nose, and then spun about, driving the blade home through his ribs.

Neville Longbottom tried to gasp but failed to make any sound. Blood trickled from his broken nose. His lightsaber deactivated as it fell from his hands. She withdrew her blade and retreated with a spin, keeping her blade low at her hip. The corpse collapsed first to its knees, and then to the ground.

“You have done well, apprentice,” her master announced. Tracey turned to face Darth Gladiolus. She smiled proudly, her sulfuric eyes burning with pleasure. “Kneel.”

Tracey did not question her master’s command. Her weapon deactivated. Something powerful descended upon her. It took her a moment to realize it was the dark side of the Force. It coalesced in the chamber, surrounding them both.

She kneeled before her master and bent her head.

“You have done well,” her master drawled. “You have embraced your future in slaying one who betrayed his word. Trust is fickle, just as our foes must be. We must see through their intentions.” She paused. “His death was inevitable; you only hastened it. Be proud, for you have done well. You have proven your power and your willingness to do what must be done, apprentice. Rise no longer Tracey Davis, but as Darth… Myrddryn.”

“You honor me, master,” Darth Myrddryn said. She rose to her feet as the dark side settled in her bones. She was a Sith Lord now, though not yet a Sith Master.

But one day, I will claim that title for myself… along with others.

Chapter Text

Darth Myrddryn released a shuddering breath as she and her master, Darth Gladiolus, emerged from shadow. She glanced back at the wall now behind them, lost in the understanding they had previously been halfway across the planet. They had met at Ziost Hangar, presumably for lightsaber training when her master dropped this “surprise” on Myrddryn.

So that was her astral projection, she thought, turning back ahead. That is the power that allows her to come and go as she pleases.

She knew her master possessed the power to come and go as she pleased, but Myrddryn had known nothing of her master’s power to travel wherever she wished until this day. Distance and wards could not deny her master.

Myrddryn desired that power, and she knew her master would not teach her. Not yet, for Gladiolus coveted her secrets. They prolonged how long Darth Myrddryn required Darth Gladiolus as her master. Only once she learned all of her master’s secrets would she dare declare herself the new Dark Lord of the Sith and seize that mantle by slaying her master.

Certainly, her master knew her apprentice’s thoughts. Their spars had grown vicious, wielding Force techniques and physical violence in order to claim an upper hand.

“Come, Myrddryn,” her master said, unaffected by traveling halfway across the planet. “The people here must know you if our work is to continue without interruption. Earth must be prepared for our inevitable encounter with the Republic or any other galactic neighbors we possess.”

“I have wondered, master. Why have none dared make contact with us?”

“Likely because we would either not be worth the effort subduing or because any neighbor is too distant to bother investigating our system.”

Myrddryn hummed thoughtfully. Her master’s words made sense, though her mind quickly favored one theory over the other. She believed distance prevented alien races from discovering and investigating Earth over any unwillingness on their part. Given that Earth would have been easy to subdue for any spacefaring civilization, distance kept them isolated in the cosmos, even with modern attempts to make contact with any intelligent life beyond their system.

They followed a narrow concrete corridor from their arrival point before turning a corner. A short corridor stretched out before them. Doubled doors stood at the end of the corridor with two military men standing at attention. Myrddryn glanced at her master; she was unfazed by their presence. The men saluted Lord Gladiolus before opening the door. Their presence was not announced, yet half the room immediately turned to face Darth Gladiolus with relieved smiles on their faces.

“Welcome back, Lord Gladiolus,” an older gentleman said as he dipped under the nacelle of the starship left in the care of these muggle scientists. Myrddryn nearly froze, gazing upon the Dearg Due once more. Her master had drawn the name from some old set of tales. “I had wondered when you would pay us another visit.” He was almost upon them when he finally noticed Myrddryn, standing a half-step behind her master and set off to the right. “I presume this is your apprentice? You mentioned you had three in our last conversation.”

“I’m afraid Myrddryn here is the last one remaining. The other two proved unable to achieve what I desired from them. They are lost to me now. But, it is of no issue. I only required one apprentice. Having three gave me options. Possibilities. Doors now closed.”

Myrddryn frowned at her master. Had she believed the three she picked to be her apprentice had been incapable of matching the standards she set for them? Or had Tracey Davis been the only one who possessed everything necessary to become a Sith?

She shivered, imagining Lovegood and Longbottom with the same sulfuric eyes that now burned in her skull.

It mattered not, now. She had grown. Evolved. Darth Myrddryn replaced Tracey Davis, just as Darth Gladiolus replaced Edelweiss Potter. That fate awaited all who walked the path of Sith Lord. Sacrifice was instrumental to becoming what she now was. She had not only sacrificed the life of Neville Longbottom, but she also sacrificed who she had been. The parents of Tracey Davis remained apart from Darth Myrddryn. They had no desire to make peace with the one who replaced their daughter.

And for Darth Myrddryn, she had no desire to enter their home. That had been the place of Tracey Davis. She was no longer that person.

“Well, it is good to have another with you, Lord Gladiolus,” the man said. He turned to Myrddryn and granted her a sharp nod. “I am Sir Wilberforce, the leader of this venture. I have been honored to know your master, Lord Myrddryn. I look forward to working together in the future.”

“Thank you for your kind words, Sir Wilberforce,” Myrddryn said as if those words did not burn her tongue. She glanced at her master, who had stepped away from them to inspect the starship. “Has your efforts with the Dearg Due been up to my master’s expectations? She has told me little of your work.”

Myrddryn tried to not seethe over the secrecy. She had been oblivious to any muggles in the know about the Sith until recently.

Sir Wilberforce nodded. “I am unsurprised. Lord Gladiolus juggles a great many duties. I hope that she will pass some of that responsibility along to you. It will do you both good, Lord Myrddryn, f she makes that choice.” The old man paused as he glanced at Darth Gladiolus, who spoke with a trio of scientists about whatever project was on the monitors before them. “Your name… It reminds me of the old Arthurian legends. Are you perchance Welsh?”

“I am,” Lord Myrddryn admitted, slightly curious about where this particular line of questioning emerged. “And I did not know of any connections between my new name and those of Arthur’s ancient kingdom.”

“Few would recognize it, for most only know its Anglicized counterpart: ‘Merlin’.” He then winked at her. “I do not fault you or your master for embracing the great wizard’s older name. He played his role to ensure the greatness of King Arthur’s realm.”

“Aye, that is true,” Myrddryn admitted. She had failed to grasp any connections between the Sith name her master granted her and her heritage, both as Welsh and as a witch. But then her master’s Sith name emerged from the same tradition as ‘Edelweiss’. Meaning had been embedded into ‘Gladiolus’, just as she now learned ‘Myrddryn’ possessed meaning.

Another thought struck her. It slipped through her lips before she could think it over. “That may explain why my master graced me with the name ‘Myrddryn’. She recognized my power… and reminded me she does not think I can rule as she does.”

“A power behind the throne,” Sir Wilberforce said with a soft smile. “There is no dishonor in that, Lord Myrddryn.”

Myrddryn nodded, even as bitterness flowed into her heart. She could not settle for being replaced. Her destiny was to ascend past her master. Darth Myrddryn was the future of the Sith, not Darth Gladiolus.

But there could be another, Myrddryn suddenly thought. Her brows narrowed. She turned her gaze to the Dearg Due, matte black and sleek. The day when that ship would depart Earth approached. Her master would depart for other worlds, entrusting all she worked to achieve since her ascension to Myrddryn.

She found herself caught between the fact she needed her master’s trust, yet the Sith boasted a long tradition of apprentices betraying masters. Darth Myrddryn needed to balance those traits and secure her place at her master’s side until the time was right. She could not allow another to seize her future as the Dark Lord of the Sith.

“I’d like to learn more of your work, Sir Wilberforce.”

The old man smiled and nodded. “Come along, then. And do not hesitate to ask questions. Some of what we work with has challenged much I once believed.”

Myrddryn suppressed her doubt over Sir Wilberforce’s claim. She would follow along for now. The more she knew, the more valuable she would be to her master.

And the easier it would be to replace her when the time was ripe.

Darth Gladiolus watched Sir Wilberforce escort her apprentice as she minded the conversation occurring before her. Margaret Song, the Hong Konger who had been part of Sir Wilberforce’s original team, was presently describing their efforts to replicate—and manufacture—repulsorlifts. From what Gladiolus understood of Margaret’s technical explanation, they had been fairly successful, though not as successful as they desired. Equipping repulsorlifts on a larger vessel like the Dearg Due remained beyond their present ability.

However, they managed to manufacture speeder bike prototypes.

“Admittedly,” Margaret continued, a pained sound in her voice, “we have not worked all the bugs out. We nearly lost someone in our last experiment, and that was only after we managed five tests without either ruining the prototype or the dummy.”

The Sith Lord’s gaze returned to Margaret. “What issue do you continue to face?”

“It has to do with the engine coupling. We experimented with engine types—electric, diesel, petrol, even a makeshift jet engine—and none have worked well with the repulsorlifts we fabricated with aid from the military. Not a single one has managed to last more than a few minutes before separating—or exploding.”

Gladiolus hummed. She was pleased her scientists had advanced their relationship with the American military. It was unlikely to be a vector through which she could claim the loyalty of the Americans, but they would prove useful in the future. Though she understood it would take a great deal of care and time to sway such an independent people to her ways. Their ability, though, spoke volumes about their utility to her.

A shame not all of them hold beliefs aligning with Sith. If there could be a nation based around the dark side of the Force and the Sith, then all my plans would advance easier. They would understand my desires and work to fulfill them—all the while coveting my power as any aligned to the dark side.

And that desire will make them even stronger.

She set aside thoughts of the Sith and a nation utterly faithful to the dark side. It would not aid her, moving into the future.

Only now did they near the verge of making the leap from being bound to their singular world to being a spacefaring people. Gladiolus knew it would take time. But she remained dedicated to ensuring the next spaceship constructed on her world safely made the jump from their system to the Alpha Centauri system and back. The distance was less than five light years, which in the galactic term was next door, but that achievement would spark a renaissance for Earth and her people. Many of the great fears and worries that plagued them would be swept away as they extended out into the stars, claiming their rightful place among the other races of the Milky Way.

“Have you attempted to adapt the sublight engine technology of the Dearg Due?” Gladiolus asked. “That could fix your issues with the repulsorlifts—and help us fashion vessels much quicker than those already in use.”

Margaret sighed. “Sir Wilberforce had a second team brought in from MIT and Stanford to pursue that idea. Their work appeared promising, from what I managed to see.”

“I presume there was an issue then?”

“Yes?” Margaret frowned. “I thought you would have known. While we thought the problem was that the other team did not like us, it turned out there was a spy amongst their numbers.”

“A spy?” Darth Gladiolus drawled, veins ablaze with anger. “Tell me what you know.”

“Yes. Foreign. Nobody knows for certain if he was Chinese or North Korean given the paperwork turned out to be… less than kosher. The other team was dismissed shortly after. Should they ever violate their NDAs… Well, I would not wish to be them.”

Her lips threaded into a line. Darth Gladiolus had not accounted for national—and ideological—differences interfering in her plans. But then she had her eyes opened to the reality: they, as humans of Earth, had to band together against the rest of the cosmos. She hoped to find allies after her inevitable departure, but she held no hope on that front. For who would ally with a world unable to work together toward a common cause?

Gladiolus needed to guarantee Earth possessed the strength to repel any who dared enslave her world. Her destiny was to rule Earth, and from there dominate the whole of the Known Galaxy. To permit another world to dominate her own was to spit in the face of her destiny. That would be a rejection of all she strived for since the day it became clear she would inevitably come into contact—and conflict—with those beyond the boundary of her homeworld.

“Disappointing,” she drawled. “Summon any with the skill necessary to complete this task. I—or my apprentice—will inspect them, and select those who can be trusted.”

“…you do understand that we are working with the American military, and thus their government, yes?” Margaret asked. Gladiolus frowned. The scientist added a belated, “My lord.”

“I understand all too well the foolish notions small, pathetic men get into their minds,” Darth Gladiolus declared. “I will show to them that there are other paths forward. They can either cower and hide beneath the fear and ignorance of the past, or they can embrace the truth of power and help build a future where one’s will and desire can become manifest.”

Margaret hummed doubtfully, but she did not openly reject Gladiolus’s words. The Sith Lord knew she sounded rather megalomaniac, but her words neared a genuine feeling. Earth would become a world where potential could be fully realized. The Sith allowed Gladiolus to achieve her true potential. She trusted in the influence of the Sith to ensure Myrddryn reached her true potential.

But what to do about those who reject the Sith and the dark side of the Force?

Gladiolus vividly recalled the defiance of Lovegood, Longbottom, and Granger. The first impulse that raced through her demanded she hunt down and destroy any who would resist her, who would stand against her—or worse, embrace the ways of the Jedi. Thoughts of their kind awakened her fury. How could she permit her people to embrace the slavery of passivity?

The Jedi needed to be destroyed. It mattered not that some were inclined to their ways by nature. Darth Gladiolus understood her history. Only the Jedi threatened the Sith.

“But if it is necessary,” she continued as though Margaret had not been thrown for a loop by her words and she had not allowed her thoughts to spiral away. “I understand your reluctance to trust the Americans further. I like it little, but we must make sacrifices if this world is to maintain its independence. We have been fortunate that none have discovered us yet.”

Margaret glanced at the Dearg Due as skepticism rippled off her in thick waves.

“I understand your doubt given the shuttle here. I do not know exactly how, but the owner of that ship was drawn halfway across the galaxy to reach this world, all so he could fulfill a vital task in Scotland and pave the way for me, a thousand years after his time.”

“That… makes sense, I guess.” Margaret lifted her glasses from her face before rubbing her eyes. “I only wish we had more to go on than records a thousand years out of date. Several schematics we found in the hard drives had to be returned to a ‘Zeta-Aleph’ for translation.”

“Ah. I had not realized he failed to translate everything before uploading them to the Dearg’s systems. I will inform him to ensure everything is in English before sending them.”

Margaret nodded. “We also received reports from the same source, though it was clearly a different writer. A woman, I think. Her writing carries a distinct note that oddly reminds me of myself.”

That must be Hermione’s work. I did not approve any unaltered files to be delivered to Area 51. She glanced across the chamber, noting where Wilberforce and Myrddryn stood, stilling speak. She then spotted the disgruntled American commander standing in a doorway across the chamber, watching them with judgment in his eyes and doubt in his aura. He held a stack of papers in one hand and a cold mug in the other. She peered into his mind and discovered—

Ah. So that’s how her files got here. The American made requests of Sir Wilberforce, who asked for everything Zeta-Aleph possessed. Somehow, Hermione’s work made it through the filters that otherwise should have kept her work from the scientists—and from the Americans.

“Pardon me,” she told Margaret. The scientist flinched at the Sith Lord’s politeness. “I must speak with the commander.”

Gladiolus weaved across the chamber, drawing only a touch of the dark side to muddle her presence. Myrddryn’s golden eyes flickered to her, ever aware of her master’s presence. Only they were sensitive to the Force, thus only they would notice its usage, especially when used to make Darth Gladiolus a phantom.

She appeared beside the American commander, busy scanning the chamber with furrowed brows. Confusion reeked from him, along with a sour note of determination—determination to protect his men, his nation, and those under his charge, regardless of loyalties or nationalities as long as they did not threaten the United States.

“You appear to be searching for someone,” Gladiolus murmured low enough only the American would notice. She did not desire to draw attention to them.

“Yes. For that strange ‘Lord Gladiolus’,” he muttered. “I don’t like her much, though Sir Wilberforce—” He froze and glanced to the side. “How did you—?”

“I have my ways. But that is not what should concern you. What should concern you is the sluggish progress here and the fact planetary intrigues have set behind an affair which should be purely focused on the stars beyond.”

The commander scoffed. “You’re barking up the wrong tree. If you’re truly troubled by what happened with that team, you should pay Beijing a visit. They plotted that intrigue, though perhaps you could also blame Washington. They’ve throttled efforts here since.”

“Then you should inform Washington they either give into my desires or I pay them an unpleasant visit,” Gladiolus said as though she were speaking to a particularly obstinate child. “My concern resides with the future of our world. If politicians must squabble, then they can do it while not impeding my efforts.”

“Then I will change their mind—or cast them down. If an example must be made, then I will make an example of whoever speaks the loudest against me.”

The commander hummed as though she had not proposed what would be treason from a countryman. “So you would rely on bureaucrats?” he asked. “Are you not a soldier? A woman of action and dedication?”

She clicked her tongue. “I would ask the same of you, commander. Why listen to fools when you know what is happening here?”

“My oath was sworn on the Constitution of the United States, my lord,” he said, sneering at her title. “Your countrymen may be willing to do whatever you demand, but I have restrictions. Restraint. I could command you be removed from this base and never permitted to return.” His gaze wandered back to Darth Myrddryn once more. “Perhaps she will be easier to work with.”

Darth Gladiolus nearly cackled. Myrddryn? Easier? Only a fool would believe so. Gladiolus knew her student would grow into the plotting and intrigues that compelled many a Sith apprentice to betray their master. Tracey Davis had been a pliant girl, happy to receive the attention of her lord. Gladiolus had never considered what would become of that girl once she embraced the Sith and proved herself worthy to be called a Sith Lord. She had much to learn still, but the girl had grown as a result of her apprenticeship.

Then again, had neither betrayed her when they did, Neville and Luna would have grown strong enough to be worthy of that title as well.

They proved through deed and weakness they were unworthy.

The Longbottoms were extinct as a result of Neville’s choices. Frank and Alice, confined to Saint Mungo’s for almost two decades, passed away shortly after their son perished. As a result, the Ministry quickly seized their estates, property, and money. One day that wealth would be rewarded to a deserving servant; one who knew their place and did their duty.

“You are welcome to try and work with her over me, commander. But listen closely when I say that choice will not turn out well for you. Not as she is now.”

He shot her a dubious look. “Perhaps in the future then? The eggheads mentioned in passing that you’ll eventually leave Earth for somewhere else.”

“And I will return. But before I think to depart, I must ensure Earth will prosper during my absence. I would be… amiss to not prepare my homeworld before I go gallivanting through the cosmos.”

The military man snorted. “‘Gallivant’. What a way to describe what you’ll be up to.” His face shifted, losing all trace of emotion. She could sense a whirlpool beneath the surface, choppy enough she struggled to parse all he felt. “I won’t ban you from the base,” he eventually admitted. “But I cannot trust you to come and go as you please. Protocol must be established. It was reported to me that you and your apprentice walked out of a shadow instead of arriving in a normal manner.”

“That would be how it would appear to the uninitiated. Shadows only make the process simpler, especially with the distance between England and America.”

His mood soured almost immediately. “Do not remind me about your unnatural powers.”

“If that is what you wish,” Darth Gladiolus drawled. “Be safe, dear commander. I would be disappointed to return and find a different man monitoring the progress of my dear scientists.”

He granted her a fierce glower before turning his back to her and sorting through his papers. Eventually, he tired of whatever display he was making and headed off. Gladiolus frowned once the commander vanished from sight. She found surprise at the man’s restraint. Perhaps she should have used the Force to influence his thoughts. But making him one of hers would be suspicious to anyone, and his superiors would likely replace him as a result.

Perhaps I should visit Washington as he suggested and impose my will and order.

She nearly sighed. Gladiolus cared little for spycraft. She was a woman of action; her blood sang with battle. The dark side was its most potent when fighting and killing her foe. For Darth Gladiolus, violence was the ultimate law. She maintained enough violence to keep Myrddryn at bay. She used violence to end threats against her will and used it again to remind the people where their loyalties must lie. Maybe a day would come when her violence would no longer work, but she sensed that day remained far in the future.

If she were to deceive herself, she would believe that day would never arrive. But Gladiolus was no fool. She lived by the sword now. She would die by it one day.

She remained away from the rest, watching as the science teams continued their work. Margaret spoke with her fellows about the idea Gladiolus provided her while Myrddryn continued speaking with Sir Wilberforce. Were the man not dedicated to Crown and country, Gladiolus might fear his loyalty would sway. Instead, she watched on with sly amusement as her apprentice only added to the man’s knowledge of the galaxy and, likely, the Force.

Eventually, Gladiolus grew tired of watching. She headed for the Dearg Due, untroubled by the glances and stares. She only paused once beneath the Dearg’s bow. A heartbeat passed before she raised a hand and ran a few grazing fingers along the faint gilding she rarely minded. So accustomed to seeing only the matte black look of the shuttle, Gladiolus allowed herself to enjoy inspecting the gilding that otherwise went unnoticed. Fingers rolled back into her palm until only the pointer remained extended. She traced the patterns she found, continuing until a voice cut through her concentration.

“Master? What are you doing?”

Gladiolus somehow managed to avoid the startled instinct to withdraw her hand. Instead, she permitted her hand to fall in slow, almost brusque movements. Only once her hand returned to her side did she turn and face Myrddryn.

“Have you grown tired of speaking with Sir Wilberforce? I found him intriguing when we first met, but then he only possessed silly ideas about the cosmos. By now he must be close to an expert on galactic matters.”

“I only wished to ensure you were of right mind,” Myrddryn said. Her emotions were closed off to Gladiolus. “I spotted you inspecting the Dearg Due. You seemed… off.”

“Did I feel wrong to you? Or did you merely look with your eyes instead of trusting the Force?”

Myrddryn remained silent long enough Gladiolus determined her apprentice relied solely upon her eyes. She smiled and laid a hand on her apprentice’s shoulder. Myrddryn flinched, but made no effort to remove the hand.

“You have grown powerful, my dear apprentice. But you must remember that the Force can reveal as much as it can hide. You have done well to learn that second lesson, in part thanks to the example of Lovegood.” Myrddryn’s face twitched into a brief sneer. “But you must trust that it will tell you true.”

“That sounds like a Jedi’s words, master.”

“Maybe a Jedi would speak those words. But I am not commanding you to be passive. Use the Force to seize the truth. Pierce the veil of uncertainty; the veil of lies and doubt. Seize command of the Force—and your future.”

“Are you saying I should use the Force to destroy you, master?”

Gladiolus smiled. “One day you will be powerful enough to ‘destroy me’, Myrddryn. I would be a poor Sith Master if I did not teach you all I know, aware that one day you will be powerful enough to try and claim my title, along with my life.”

Her apprentice blinked. She then frowned with suspicion, her sulfuric eyes dimming like embers slowly losing their heat. “You have accepted that one day I will destroy you?”

“I would be disappointed if my apprentice never attempted to destroy me once powerful enough. I cannot say how many times you will fail, but I will only know whether or not I succeeded in training you when I die by your hand.” Gladiolus then smiled, all teeth and malice. “But I will not make it easy for you.”

Myrddryn nodded stiffly, likely troubled by the response. Gladiolus sensed her apprentice’s thoughts. She could almost see the mental imaginings of possible encounters. All played out in Myrddryn’s favor, naturally, but she found it amusing her apprentice already thought of that future day. She found it… quaint.

“What did Sir Wilberforce tell you?” Gladiolus asked, forcing her apprentice away from thoughts of slaying her master. “You spoke with him longer than I expected.”

“Only introductions,” her apprentice said. She then pursed her lips. “He noted my name possesses a Welsh characteristic—among other curious little traits.”

“So it does.” Gladiolus had opened herself to the Force. That name, Myrddryn, leaped out to her and she uttered it. Her master’s holocron had reacted similarly before granting the name of ‘Darth Gladiolus’ to a covetous Edelweiss Potter. “So it does,” she repeated. “I presume you are more pleased with your name now?”

“I am, master.”

Her apprentice had blinked at the naming, but embraced it quick enough. While Tracey Davis had been relieved to claim her new name as a Sith Lord, she had failed to release her confusion. But then, they had spoken little of how Gladiolus acquired her name beyond a reference to the flower name tradition of Lily Evans’ family.

“Good. Now, what have you sensed concerning the work being completed here?”

Myrddryn glanced around, unable to resist a dark scowl. “At their rate, nothing will be accomplished until long after my own apprentice is trained and has taken on an apprentice in their place.”

“I have more faith in them. But, I understand where your concern comes from.” Gladiolus gazed around the chamber. “I have sought to induce thousands of years of development and change in a few short years. Not even a race as tenacious as our own can uphold such change without trouble—without trial and error.” She shared a look with her apprentice. “That is our supreme role as Sith Lords: to use the weak—the sheep of this world—and shield them from the changes that would otherwise shatter their brains and leave them utterly paralyzed. Rule is ours by right; best do it well, else you invite usurpers.”

Myrddryn nodded. She did well to mask her skepticism, but Gladiolus sensed it nonetheless. She would not fault her apprentice for her skepticism, but then her apprentice had little understanding of the truth that existed beyond Earth: a galactic civilization awaited them, able to send ships halfway across the Milky Way within three weeks. To face that threat, Earth must build its strength swiftly, or they would be made a subject of whichever alien race or civilization discovered them first.

And given the presence of two Sith Lords, it is likely that the Jedi and their Republic shall eventually come seek us out. Unless we make an effort to gather our strength and create allies out of future enemies, they could very well make this world another vassal giving to their foul Core.

“There is more to do, apprentice,” Darth Gladiolus said. She caught Sir Wilberforce’s gaze from across the room. He nodded to her. Good. He remains willing to follow his Sith masters. “Let us depart. Should you wish to visit again, reach out to Sir Wilberforce. I will handle transporting you across the Atlantic.”

“Will you not teach me your method of astral projection?”

“Mayhaps with time, apprentice. But for now, it shall remain a secret of mine.” She smiled as her apprentice glowered. “Come. It is time I teach you how to handle the least pleasant of all men: politicians.”

“This is most unusual, I tell you!” Fudge snarled, rising to his feet for the first time during the twenty-minute meeting. “Unusual! The Longbottoms, extinct! In a time of peace!”

“One chose rebellion, the other chose treason,” Gladiolus said, stony in the face of the Minister’s fury. “I only did what I must.”

Myrddryn stood near the door, watching as her master calmly handled Minister Fudge and Madam Bones, the erstwhile Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It was known throughout the Ministry that Lord Gladiolus—few knew of the ‘Darth’ title and none would dare use it because of the undue attention it would draw—controlled the auror corps. Having sensed their presence and even dueled a few in their special chamber, Myrddryn recognized the depths of her master’s control. She would need to twist them into obeying her while her master was away. To not act then would invite the mystical sway over them to activate once she turned against her master. And while her master was unlikely to use the aurors during a confrontation between Sith Lords, the chance existed—and Myrddryn would rather they be her weapon than remain in her master’s possession.

“Only what you must?” Fudge asked, shocked by their brazen nature. “You have squandered your position within the Ministry! Already plenty question whether or not—”

“Their questions matter little, Minister. None remain that’d dare take up arms against me. Not when I have an apprentice in the form of Lord Myrddryn here.”

Gladiolus gestured to her. She stepped forward, drawing the gazes of Fudge and Bones alike. Recognition flashed in the eye of the latter, for the other remained hidden behind her monocle. Had Myrddryn retained a bond with the parents of Tracey Davis, she would seize knowledge from them concerning Madam Bones. They must know something that her master did not. But she had no desire to restore that fractured bond.

For now, she would rely on her master’s good graces. Some days she wondered if it was wise to rely on her master at all. Darth Gladiolus had achieved her great powers through the guidance of Sith holocrons thousands of years old. Yet Myrddryn knew her master needed her still. That was the reason Gladiolus sought an apprentice, to begin with. The chances she could discover a more worthy apprentice beyond Earth was high; Myrddryn was needed for now.

I worry over nothing, Myrddryn realized. Master brought me here so that when she inevitably leaves Earth, I will know how to handle these two, and thus rule magical Britain.

There were other Heads within the Ministry, but only these two posed a danger to the Sith order. Why else would they only meet with Fudge and Bones? More so, they, along with a queer man of the Department of Mysteries Myrddryn had yet to meet, had been taken prisoner during the Janus Rebellion. Her master had rescued them, and then she slew the ringleader Draco Malfoy.

“In the event I depart Earth or, by some unforeseen act of God, I perish, all of my positions and duties shall be inherited by my apprentice, Lord Myrddryn. Only she of the three I took for apprentice proved her mettle; only she proved to me that she was worthy to be recognized as one of my order: the Order of Sith Lords.”

Fudge’s face ballooned with color. Madam Bones considered Myrddryn coolly, no doubt recalling what she knew of the Sith Lord once named Tracey Davis. Myrddryn met Madam Bones’ stare, grappling with the temptation to use the Force to learn more of what the woman thought. Myrddryn knew that burning bridges with Tracey’s parents had placed her in a difficult place when it came to learning about the second-most powerful woman in magical Britain. Yet would it be easier to risk Bones’ scorn or to go crawling back?

I… I could remain patient, instead. Allow Bones to offer me information that can be used against her in the future.

“I am pleased we understand each other,” Gladiolus said when no argument or protest came forth. Fudge’s puce-shaded face paled, drained of blood faster than a butcher talented at their craft. Her master noticed: “Unless there is a problem, Cornelius.”

“A problem?” he hissed. “Of course, there’s a problem! You only hold your positions because of what you did that night!”

“Don’t forget the rebellion,” Bones said, finally speaking. “Any who doubted your… worthiness to help guide our society swallowed their protests after that wretched affair ended.”

“Not all,” Gladiolus said. “Neville Longbottom managed to hold onto his misgivings—not that I mind. I’m only disappointed he decided the proper course was to lash out at me so early. Had he only waited a few years and grew his power, perhaps he could have defeated me.”

Madam Bones pursed her lips. “Regardless, you have made an effort to quiet those who would question you.” Her gaze drifted to Myrddryn before returning to Gladiolus. “You must understand many will chafe having to serve your self-appointed inheritor. Your legitimacy is based solely upon your strength—and nothing else. There are no systems, no means, by which to guarantee your apprentice won’t face a rebellion on par with or exceeding the Janus Rebellion.”

“They would be fools to try,” Myrddryn snarled.

“Certainly,” Bones said, sounding only slightly impressed. “But if you know anything about this nation during these last few decades, we have no shortage of fools—especially fools willing to plunge this nation into bitter civil war with only a shred of hope of imposing their will on others.”

Madam Bones shot Gladiolus a pointed look. Myrddryn’s master beamed back, amused Bones would dare lump the Sith Lord before her with the likes of Dumbledore, Voldemort, and the Janus Rebellion leaders.

“They are welcome to try and impose their will over mine.”

“No! I will not stand for it!” Fudge bellowed, rising to his feet. He slammed his hand on the table; Myrddryn was impressed he did not grimace. “I have had to deal with one rebellion during my tenure as Minister! I will permit a second.”

“Do not forget who saved you from outright war,” Gladiolus softly said. Fudge flinched. “I will proclaim, for all to hear, that Lord Myrddryn is my chosen and rightful heir. She shall aid you in ruling during my absence. Should any dare go against her, it is to be treated as though they have opposed me. While I am away, her voice is mine.”

Myrddryn glanced at her master, warm pleasure and cold fear fighting in her veins. The aurors would be under her sway. They could open the door to slaying her master once she returned from her sojourn in the stars. Myrddryn had learned shortly after her ascension as a Sith Lord that Darth Gladiolus was destined to venture into the starry sky beyond Earth. Where her master would go remained vaguely unknown. Ziost and Korriban, ancient Sith worlds, were possibilities.

Otherwise, the galaxy struck Myrddryn as free for Darth Gladiolus to wander as she pleased. Even, perchance, to Coruscant.

“That sets a dangerous precedent,” Madam Bones stated.

“Yet it solves the question of legitimacy. Naturally, once I return to Earth, Myrddryn’s reign shall end. But from the moment I depart this world to the moment I return, I leave it all in her capable hands.” Gladiolus glanced at Myrddryn, those cruel sulfuric eyes miraculously softened. “She has proven herself a Sith Lord in my eyes; none else can be entrusted with guiding Earth while I am away. She alone is privy to… plans of mine.”

Madam Bones sighed. “So be it, Lord Gladiolus.” She turned to Fudge. “I’ll leave writing the statement to you. No doubt our ‘dear lord’ shall wish to look it over before it runs in the Prophet.”

Fudge nodded timidly. “Of course, Amelia. That sounds like a… wise idea.”

“Then we understand each other,” Gladiolus said with a clear edge of victory. She turned to Myrddryn. “Come, apprentice. We have another meeting to attend to this day.”

The Sith apprentice nodded. She ignored the flush of disappointment she experienced as they departed the Ministry. She had not seen enough of her master manipulating Bones and cowing Fudge. Myrddryn suspected her master cut it short, wishing to not give away too much before the day of departure.

Hopefully, this next meeting will be more fruitful.

The Queen of Great Britain sipped her tea as she waited on her next visitor. Over two years had passed since she first met the young Lord Gladiolus. She had been pleasantly surprised by the girl’s vision for the future, even if she chose brutish methods to achieve her ends. That had changed, to a degree, in the time since their first meeting; yet that rough, dangerous nature remained firmly in place, despite all the advice the Queen attempted to dole out.

And now she brings an apprentice—an heir for me to meet. She has said naught of this other woman beyond granting me a name: ‘Lord Myrddryn’. A warning that she might think any of her apprentices could be ready to meet me so soon would have been appreciated.

The Queen nearly sighed. She could feel her age in her bones, though she believed she still had a decade or two of life before death would claim her. The world had changed immensely since she was a girl, and they stood on the precipice of an even greater change. If Lord Gladiolus succeeded in her desires, the Queen might witness the first Earth-built starships venture beyond the limitations of their solar system.

A silly idea of being laid to rest amongst the stars sprung to mind. The Queen snorted softly and permitted a weak, fond smile. She would be buried alongside her forbearers on Earth. She would leave space and its uncertain frontiers to the young of this age. They would follow Gladiolus into that new frontier, and confront whatever madness awaited the ambitious.

Her buzzer lit up. They had already arrived.

The Queen straightened before pressing the buzzer’s response button. The door shifted slightly, and a moment later it opened. Hendrick, her reliable yet aging court wizard, stood aside as Lord Gladiolus and her new apprentice, Lord Myrddryn, swept into the room. They wore black with burning yellow eyes.

She suppressed a shiver. Their unnatural, guarded eyes did well to mask the rot lying within their souls. The Queen had learned some of their nature—these so-called “Sith Lords”. Little of what she knew painted a rosy picture of the black-clad duo.

“Welcome back, Lord Gladiolus. I presume this is Lord Myrddryn.”

Lord Gladiolus nodded. “Has Sir Wilberforce informed you of their meeting? Or did you already know how to say her name?”

Lord Myrddryn—some fool girl deluded into following Gladiolus’s path—glanced between her master and her monarch with a suspicious look. Yet she showed a lick of sense in keeping her mouth shut. Lord Gladiolus had been sensible with choosing her apprentice; that or she had been left with only a single viable candidate. Given the exacting nature of Lord Gladiolus, the Queen suspected the latter. For her to swiftly eliminate two of three candidates meant they either washed out or—and this was the more likely scenario in the Queen’s mind—they had died as a result of their training.

The Queen found herself disappointed Lord Gladiolus would murder her students. But she was unsurprised. It was in her nature.

“I have many sources, Lord Gladiolus. Enough whispered her name that I knew it before you requested a meeting. And do not think me foolish enough to not know how to pronounce your apprentice’s strange new name. The Welsh remain a part of my realm, even if they have been reduced to a lesser state compared to the Irish or the Scots.”

Lord Myrddryn, surprisingly, reacted more strongly to the Queen’s words than Lord Gladiolus. The girl had been brought up in a magical Welsh household. Given the long-standing divide between the magical and non-magical realms, Myrddryn knew little of how the “muggle” Welsh related to the rest of the British people. She tried to not be too disappointed by that realization.

“Further,” the Queen continued, “I presume this meeting is to introduce Lord Myrddryn and myself. I understand you plan to leave this world one day, and so you wish for me to know your apprentice as I know you.”

Lord Gladiolus nodded. “The connection between we Sith Lords and the British Crown cannot be allowed to fail. My student must know my most valuable connection to the non-magical world.” She glanced at a frowning Lord Myrddryn. “Unlike myself, she was raised purely within your magical realm. The Crown means nothing to her. And while she has met Sir Wilberforce, I do not think he managed to impress upon her how important you are when it comes to the cause of readying Earth for entering the broader galactic community.”

The Queen smiled thinly. She understood how great the gap between the Crown and her magical subjects had grown. Gladiolus had confirmed it, being the first magical leader to meet with the Queen since her coronation decades ago. Her Prime Ministers had contact with the magical community, as though they were an adequate replacement for her. That thought nearly made her chafe; her magical Ministers should have come to her whenever trouble arose in their part of her realm.

Perhaps that was why she had taken a liking to Gladiolus. The woman, for all her many faults, understood the need for a connection with the Crown. It had been meant to elude the watchful eye she frankly deserved to be fixed to her. But it had served them both; Gladiolus had her goal of defending Earth advanced while the Queen maintained a greater tie to the magical realm, even with the spies managed by Hendrick.

“I will happily build a rapport with your successor, Lord Gladiolus.” The Queen’s smile widened. “You have become a favored subject and servant, willing to act as necessary while not betraying me to acquire more power and influence.”

Lord Gladiolus stiffened at being openly called a ‘subject’ and a ‘servant’ before her apprentice. The Queen noticed how Lord Myrddryn glared holes into her master. She wondered about the nature of the relationship these two possessed. The Queen knew little of the inner workings of the “Sith Order” that Lord Gladiolus and her apprentice belonged to.

“What a funny thing to call me. ‘Subject.’ ‘Servant.’ Do you seek to imply that I am subject to your decisions? Or have you taken our relationship to be so inequitable that I cannot possibly be an equal in your mind?”

“That is what you are, Lord Gladiolus. You live in my realm, the realm passed down to me from my forefathers. From Alfred the Great to Queen Victoria, great efforts have been made to maintain and defend the sovereignty of the Crown.” She leaned forward slightly. “You do not live outside that sovereignty, even with your power.

“But that is not what I need you to realize: You speak of leaving Earth. That is why we are meeting today. But when you return, then what?” Gladiolus pursed her lips. “You must learn the art of diplomacy, of using favors, offers, and words to maintain power. You know enough of violence, but you know little of diplomacy.”

“Is this a joke to you?” Lord Gladiolus asked, failing to restrain a sneer. “Strength will guarantee Earth’s safety, not words.”

“Perhaps it will. But you must prepare for threats you cannot fight with either strength of arms or your strange mystical powers, Lord Gladiolus. A time will come when you must talk your way through problems. I would be amiss as a mentor if I did not assist you in that fashion.”

“‘A mentor’,” Gladiolus repeated, the words awkward in her mouth. “We have not spent enough time together to warrant you claiming that title, Your Grace. However, I will confess that your interest in my choices has been… useful.”

“Good. The strength and integrity of my realm relies, regardless of how I feel, on your strength and choices.” The Queen turned to Lord Myrddryn, who stiffened under her gaze. “The same with you, Lord Myrddryn. You will become your master’s representative; no doubt exists in my mind that she will return from her journeys away from our small little world on the edge of the galaxy.”

Lord Myrddryn nodded, her yellow eyes guarded.

The Queen turned back to Lord Gladiolus. “Anything else you desire from this meeting, or was this only a formal pleasantry?”

“Only a formal pleasantry,” Lord Gladiolus said stiffly. “I’ve had to suffer a few of these recently, now that I have formally taken on an apprentice.” Something apprehensive flashed in her yellow eyes. It was so brief that the Queen almost thought she dreamt it. “There is one last pleasantry we must attend to.” She nodded to the Queen before turning to her apprentice. “Come, Myrddryn. This is the most important of them.”

The Queen watched the lords leave. She summoned Hendrick and said, “Be ready for when Lord Gladiolus moves to leave Earth. We should keep a close eye on Lord Myrddryn once that day passes.”

“As you command.”

Darth Gladiolus dreaded the coming meeting, but she could not avoid it. Not anymore. She held no love for her former friend, but a great deal of her legitimacy as ruler over magical Britain rested on the punishments meted out following the Janus Rebellion. To reveal that she had deceived the people—if only to her apprentice—sat ill with her. But she could not abandon Hermione Granger in her cell, presuming Zeta-Aleph would keep her fed and bathed without an issue arising that would reveal her deception.

It had to be done. It had to be done. Someone needed to know Hermione Granger lived, hidden away within Ziost Hangar.

And the only one she could trust with that knowledge, unfortunately, was her apprentice.

“Where are you taking me, master?” asked Darth Myrddryn. “Is there something within Ziost Hangar that you have kept secret from me?”

“There is, and it is not within the complex where we ended those traitors.” Darth Gladiolus pursed her lips as she considered how to broach the topic. “I have deceived the people. The legitimacy of my rule—of your rule—rests on a lie.”

“…I am pleased you are willing to reveal the truth to me now, master.”

“You are the only one I can entrust the truth to. Only you, Darth Myrddryn, can maintain the strength of the Sith here on Earth.” She caught her apprentice’s gaze. “Threats to our position would use this truth against us; the people care for lies and truth more than those with power. And so that we can maintain our position, you must know the truth—and you must understand how severe your punishment shall be if you fail me.”

“I understand, master.”

Lord Gladiolus sensed her apprentice’s seriousness. Myrddryn would not permit the Sith to fall from grace. They understood a day would come when they would face each other in lethal combat, and never had it been suggested that the cause would be anything other than Darth Myrddryn seeking to become the Dark Lord of the Sith. She would not use Hermione’s continued life against her master as a means to weaken her.

Hermione’s mind, however, could be wielded in Myrddryn’s favor against Gladiolus.

They reached the cell complex. Gladiolus felt her apprentice’s confusion about their destination. After all, Gladiolus had made a concerted effort to keep this location secret from her apprentice. Of the three she once possessed, only Davis ever visited Ziost Hangar beyond switching and swapping out holocrons.

“What is…”

“You will see soon enough,” Gladiolus declared. “Keep close, apprentice.”

Myrddryn did not respond. They passed the security room and entered the short hallway leading to the cells. Gladiolus continued until she reached Hermione’s cell—the witch appeared asleep at a glance—and then turned to her apprentice, who stopped a step short.

“Look within, then tell me your thoughts.”

Her apprentice frowned before nodding slowly. Myrddryn peered into the cell—and then stiffened.

“Why—Her? What?” Myrddryn hissed in short succession. She turned to her master with a wild look in her eyes. “Why would you keep her alive? She’s supposed to be dead!”

“She is dead to the world. But I retain the use of her mind. She has taken umbrage with the nature of the Sith, but she understands her role in the new order we build. Either she works for me, or she is disposed of.” Gladiolus smirked. “I suspect she sees an opportunity to escape, somehow. Some day. It’s a foolish hope. But then, she is a fool. How else would one describe her nature after her failures?”

Myrddryn nodded slowly. “I understand, master. Still… I would have disposed of her, instead of keeping her.”

“Thank you for reminding me there is still much I must teach you,” Gladiolus said. She smiled placidly when her apprentice’s jaw clenched. If Myrddryn wished to be shortsighted and foolish, then Gladiolus would permit it. For now. “But today, the sole purpose is to—”

“So you brought someone else,” rasped Hermione. Gladiolus stared into the cell. Hermione had sat up, though her bleary expression revealed she was still quite exhausted. “Is that Davis?”

“I am Darth Myrddryn now!”

“So another has fallen for to your religion,” Hermione said, her gaze already swiveling to Gladiolus. “What of Neville and Luna?”

“Dead. They betrayed me, and perished for their error. They were not… strong enough to be victorious.”

Thunderous rage roared through Hermione Granger. She did well to mask her emotions, though years late. But Gladiolus sensed her feelings. Gladiolus wanted to revel in what she sensed; had Hermione been Force-sensitive, that fury and hatred would be perfect for driving Edelweiss Potter’s old friend into the welcoming arms of the dark side of the Force. But Hermione was not Force-sensitive. She had rejected the Sith and the dark side. By her reckoning, the weak, impotent Jedi were preferable as rulers and leaders.

“You should be proud,” Gladiolus continued. “Lovegood decided to take up your banner, if only in secret. Your folly prompted her to oppose me; her blood is as much upon your hands as they stain mine.”

“So you admit you’re responsible for her death.”

Gladiolus snorted. “I am a Sith Lord. Who lives… Who dies… I have the power to decide that. It is that power which defines me as a Sith Lord.” She leaned forward so the force field highlighted the marks on her face. “You live and breathe due solely to your utility. Do not forget your work aids various efforts to prepare Earth for her inevitable debut into the galaxy beyond.”