#he is a fire that palpatine can’t stifle

[phoenixkaptain]

Thinkin about Star Wars bending AU andndhdj

Anakin should be the Avatar, obviously, but I think he would begin as a water-bender. I mean, his name literally means “water bringer” or whatever. It’s pretty clear.

But I also think he would have the most trouble with water-bending. Not the fighting part, but the healing part. He’s too impatient or he just can’t understand how to do it, no matter how often he’s shown or it’s explained, and that leads to him feeling even more guilty about everyone who dies. His mother dies and he thinks “This wouldn’t have happened if I’d just done better.” His fears of Padme dying are multiplied because he feels so useless.

Anakin is great at fighting. He’s intimidating. He can lift up mountains and hold them threateningly over the heads of his enemies. He can stop the very air they breathe and pull it out of their lungs. He can use their blood to manipulate them like puppets. He can reduce an entire village to ash in seconds.

But he just can’t heal people. Even as people say he’s mastered every other element, he feels like the very element he began with isn’t mastered. He feels like he’s failing, failing the moon and the Jedi and the water itself. He just can’t figure out what he’s doing wrong, and he’s tried for so long, and it makes him equal parts furious and depressed.

(Palpatine is the one who the Jedi get to train Anakin to heal with water-bending, and Palpatine sees how nervous he is about it (Anakin could never get it to work on Tatooine and is worried he’ll fuck up and the Jedi will send him back) and teaches him wrong on purpose so that he only gets worse. But, he promises to lie to the Jedi, because Anakin is so worried about it, and tells them he’s doing fine, the skill just needs to be practiced. Then, we still have his manipulations and Anakin’s reliance.)

When it comes to Anakin’s children, I think Luke and Leia should be different.

Leia fits earth-bending. She’s loyal and unyielding and absolutely bends metal in her fists when she’s angry. The ground shakes when she walks, mountains crumble when she looks at them, she’s terrifying to the enemy because she learned to lift mountains just like the Avatar did. The unyielding sturdiness of earth, but the softness too. Things like farming and building things and making games. There’s softness to earth, a springiness that makes it strong, and Leia is both the unyielding bedrock and the soft sandstone. I like to think she’s good at bending sand itself, because she uses techniques she sees other benders use and so doesn’t treat sand like rock. She treats it as water and so bends it accordingly.

This is a super unpopular opinion but hear me out! Luke should be a firebender. Hear me out hear me out hear me out-

Luke is the twin suns of Tatooine. He is immediately powerful and dangerous, despite his looks. More than that, he’s the life that fire brings. He’s the life that comes after all the Jedi are killed. He’s the lava that changes Anakin Skywalker yet again. He’s the warmth of a nice day and the heat of an oven. He appears harmless but can only be harmless because he’s learned to temper his ability to harm.

Luke has incredible self-control, especially later on in life. That self-control translates awesomely into fire-bending. And Luke being uncertain of his abilities is the weakness he would feel on Dagobah. Luke is hesitant because he doesn’t want to hurt people who don’t deserve to be hurt, and he doesn’t want to hirt himself. So he didn’t use firebending to fight, he used it for comfort. To light fires in hearths. To cook food. To amuse little kids. And he tries not to get angry because his explosive power when he’s angry is unstoppable. A star going supernova. It’s intense and destructive and terrifying.

But also, I imagine Luke learning to redirect lightning. I imagine him redirecting Palpatine’s lightning, the lights setting him aglow as electricity crackles over his form, his eyes glowing and intense as he directs that lightning harmlessly into the ground and smiles in the face of Palpatine’s abrupt fear.

And Leia being the earth and Luke being the sun is just kind of canon. Leia is the one who holds people together, who can lead people. Leia is the earth the seeds are sown in. Luke is the one who stands off to the side smiling ominously, but who is just as protective of people as Leia. He’s driven to protect them but he also holds himself apart, almost unthinkingly. Luke is the heat that gives those seeds the confidence to grow.

I think it fits nicely and I have the mental image of Anakin finally learning to use water to heal and using it to heal Luke. Luke, who got burned by his own fire because he was reckless for a second. An Anakin who learns to heal because Leia can describe it to him, because she studied waterbending for her sandbending. Just, a little family of people who don’t fit perfectly but are willing to learn and change and commit murder.

Also it’s just really funny to have none of the “Skywalkers” be airbenders pfft

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

Even Stars Burn Out

As he enters the Jedi temple, reinvigorated by a new, unspeakable purpose - Anakin Skywalker feels nothing.

There are no thoughts in regards to the countless lives he is about to snuff out in his mind. There are no feelings of remorse or hesitation in his heart. He has already decided, he has already weighed the lives of his former fellow Jedi against Padmé’s. It was never a contest, there was never any question as to whose life mattered more. Anakin keeps his lightsaber in his hand, his loyal 501st battalion have his back. Order 66 is nigh, the termination of each and every Jedi the rule which he must obey.

Do the Jedi deserve such a grim fate? Anakin thinks being part of the order, a constitution that has molded and used him for years, is crueller.

Do they deserve to die? Anakin thinks death will bring relief, as the misled become one with the Force.

He strikes down the first meager padawan, and still he feels nothing. No guilt, no remorse. Only anger.

His rage burns red hot, his hatred thrumming like the rhythm of a drum within his chest. The pounding of his heart is the only beat he follows, as he strikes down another familiar face. And another. And another. Until the faces all blend into one, until blaster fire and the buzz of clashing plasma blades overpower his senses.

They fall. They all fall.

Anakin is powerful, he has always been powerful. Talented, the Force syphoned within his very cells so much more than that of his peers. He has less training, yet he outmatches each and every one of them. Master Cin Drallig proves to be some competition, but even he must fall at the swipe of Anakin’s blue saber.

Master Jurokk stands no chance.

Shaak Ti is caught meditating, unaware of the one time hero of the Republic coming to end her life. Anakin stabs her in the back, and she slumps limp to the side as her light burns out. Anakin keeps no count, he has no idea how many bright eyed young men and women he has struck down. They seem to him like spider-roaches; like an endless flood of vermin pouring from each and every entrance like spider-roaches from a damp crack in the wall. He deals with them with the same dissociation, with the same emotional dissonance. His master's words echo in his head; his praise and his promises. The Sith Lord will aid Anakin in his crusade to save Padmé, and Anakin is desperate.

The hall seems serene, a clean slate save for the heaps of fresh bodies stacked along the ornate stone floors. Their hollow eyes stare at Anakin, locked in horror and what he feels might be accusatory glares. They will judge him, and he accepts that fate. Their thoughts of him matter little.

Anakin closes his eyes, senses further life forms. Senses Force signatures that are unstable; some weak, some fluctuating. Some reeking of fear and confusion. Youthful. He knows what must be done.

Only now, does Anakin take a moment to weigh his options. Only now, for a brief second in which clarity finds him, does he stutter. The moment passes, almost as casually brushed aside as if the doubt was naught but thin air. He ascends the grand stairway, makes a well aimed leap to the second suspended level. The pale, tear stricken faces of the hidden younglings greet him as he enters the juvenile training hall. They have hidden behind the scarce furniture provided. Anakin senses their terror, and he tries to relish it. He takes a deep breath, steadies his trembling hands.

Do these children deserve to die? Anakin knows they will be hunted relentlessly by the clones, and by his master, should they be left alive. Him killing them is a blessing, it's a mercy that he will take such pity on them.

Sors Bandeam approaches, the blonde boy barely even a toddler. He speaks, but Anakin hears none of it. He shuts out the hushed whispers and murmurs, and acts. He thinks of Padmé, of the child she is carrying. He tries not to picture the face of his daughter or son in the place of the younglings' as he strikes them down. Padmé must live, nothing else matters. These younglings would have grown to develop the same traitorous, poisonous views as the Jedi council. They are merely the next generation. His master asked him to spare none, and Anakin obeys. He will always obey.

When it is done, he doesn’t linger. He doesn’t dwell upon his heinous crime. He exits the chamber, leaving the children as they lie. Helpless, hapless, innocent and forever suspended in time. They shall never age, they shall never reach adolescence. They have found peace.

When Anakin exits the smoldering Jedi temple, there are no survivors. Thick black smoke billows out of the giant construction, his trusty platoon of clone troopers left behind to guard the tattered remains of what was once Anakin’s home away from home.

Bodies litter the exterior stairway. Anakin steps over them with little reverence. He smells only the ashy, pungent stench of death and embers.

He thinks he can sense Padmé’s distress from afar. Something in him tells him to go to her; to reassure her, to feed her any lies necessary in order to soothe her pain and fear. She is distraught, as he comes to her. He is disheveled, still numb and empty and hollow inside. He thinks only of her, as he kisses her lips and strokes her cheek, and offers her what he hopes is an affectionate smile. She is unconvinced, fretful, and he cannot stop her wandering thoughts. He tries, he explains what little he can. He has further duties, his master expects him to follow through with his mission. He can’t stay, despite her pleas.

The flight to Mustafar is quiet, solemn, and stifling. Anakin blocks out his barrading thoughts, thinking only of Padmé’s beautiful but sad face. He thinks of her swollen belly, thinks of the baby kicking as he presses his palm to its curve. He does this for her, for their child. For them. Only them. Only her. He lands, resolute. The separatists must fall, like Count Dooku before them. The war must end, a new era is about to dawn.

The heat of the lava planet is pressing, sweat pouring down Anakin’s furrowed brow. His reception party is confused, and he smirks at them. He quips, voice dry with sarcasm as he adds two more lives to his conscience. He is focused, clear headed and determined. His strides are fast, and the Neimoidian viceroy Nute Gunray of the Trading Federation appears bemusingly shocked as Anakin interrupts the meeting. Whatever his master promised Gunray was a lie, and the viceroy realizes this. Anakin hates Gunray, he hates the Trading Federation, he hates everything they stand for. That unbridled hatred feeds his rage, and steers his saber.

If Anakin felt nothing killing his fellow Jedi, he feels even less slaughtering the ring leaders of the faction he has spent years of his life battling. War has changed him, desensitized him and he slices through their hideous bodies like butter. Like paper, they rip and tear and break. Gunray pleads for his life, and if Anakin were a cruller man he might have relished in it. Instead, he finishes the job.

An eerie silence once more overpowers him, as he reports to his master. The now Emperor Palpatine praises him, but the compliments ring hollow. They are meaningless, and Anakin knows this. He accepts this as par for the course. His master has never been honest, and deep down, Anakin has always known this.

Still, the solitude is claustrophobic. The walls seem to be closing in.

Anakin finds himself desperate to move anywhere at all. He paces the room, avoids making eye contact with the dead as they glower at him - mocking him, just as the fallen Jedi had. The balcony suspended sixty feet above the rivers of scalding lava below becomes his refuge. He fixes his eyes upon the mesmerizing molten rock; yellows, browns, reds and oranges capturing his attention. The river twists and warps into random shapes and patterns, and its roar seems to bring to mind cries of agony and misery.

Anakin shakes his head, the anger dissipating bit by bit. In its wake, there is pain. Clawing at his insides, clutching at his heart. Padmé must live, he thinks. Nothing else matters. But Anakin knows he can never go back. The moment he agreed to aid his master's vicious scheme, he was lost. The stricken faces of the younglings flash before his eyes; little Sors' big blue eyes full of admiration. Expecting to be saved, to be taken away and kept safe by one of the biggest heroes of the Republic. Instead, his frail body now lies cold and lonely lightyears away.

What might Padmé think, if she knew?

What might Padmé say, if he ever told her?

Anakin’s hands tremble, and he wraps his arms around himself to still their treachery. The Sith yellow of his eyes, a sickly hue that had overtaken them as he allowed darkness to engulf his being, fades. It is the last time it will ever fade.

Pale blue eyes regard the lava river, even as they are clouded with tears. Anakin thinks of his mother. He thinks of her kindness, her love, and her demise. He thinks of how heavy her withered body felt in his arms as he brought it home, thinks of how he failed her. He will not fail Padmé. He will not bury Padmé.

There is guilt now.

Guilt so raw, so blunt, so immense that it tears Anakin’s heart in two. He feels conflicted. He feels lost. He feels alone, and afraid, and disgusted. He feels hurt, and used, and enraged. He feels small, and helpless. He feels powerful, and untouchable. He weeps, and he allows himself to mourn the Jedi. He weeps for them, and for himself.

Cin Drallig.

Shaak Ti.

Jurokk.

Sors Beam.

Anakin will forget them, eventually. Their features will fade, as his memories disappear into oblivion. Only Padmé remains a beacon of hope, only Padmé can save him now. Anakin cries, and he sheds a piece of himself with each scalding tear. He cries, and he willfully suppresses the disappointed, horrified faces that comes to mind.

Mother.

Qui-Gon.

Yoda.

Windu.

Ahsoka.

Obi-Wan.

Padmé.

Anakin dries his tears, holds his head high. There is no use in weeping over what has been done. His future lies ahead, bright and open wide. He forces himself to believe in this mantra, forces himself to discard rationality and reason. What else can he do?

Then he loses everything.

He loses the battle. He loses his limbs. He loses his sight, his hearing, his voice, his soul. He loses Padmé.

And for what? What was his sacrifice all for?

Master was right, it is ironic. Anakin never betrayed the Jedi for Padmé. He did it for himself, and he loathes himself for it. Anakin is alone, locked in a prison of his own making. Anakin is but scraps of the man he used to be; a traitor, a coward and a monster. He suppresses himself, relying solely upon his hatred. There is an endless supply of that, now. He is despicable, and thus, there will forever be a steady stream of loathing to feed off of. He needs no one, he deserves no one.

Does Anakin deserve such a fate? Yes, his brain whispers. He deserves all of this, and more.

Does Anakin deserve to die? No, the same voice concludes. Death would be relief, a sweet blissful slumber to save him from his demons. He deserves no such relief, he must be punished and tormented.

Anakin killed Padmé, and this is his reward. He knows this. He accepts this. Anakin burns in his own flame, he has flown too close to the sun. He has snuffed it out by his own hand, and all he is left with is an endless night. All his fears have been realized. All his dreams have been crushed. He has done it himself.

Anakin feels nothing. He is a husk of a man, more cybernetics than living flesh. He has no autonomy left, he lives only to serve his master. He locks away his past, refuses to look at it, refuses to sifle through it. It brings only agony and suffering. He refuses to retread his steps, to reconsider his choices. If he did, the guilt would eat him alive. If he did, he would succumb to his own unbearable, irrefutable remorse.

Anakin Skywalker is consumed by regret. In his heart, he knows this.

Anakin Skywalker deserves no less.

***

You can probably tell I was very much inspired by Matthew Stover’s writing style in the RotS novelization, though much less poetic. I had fun however, and it was nice exploring a different style. Hope you enjoy it too! It’s an addition to The Mask of Death  series on Ao3, link below.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24049894/navigate

[passable-talent]

listen,, im just in the mood for stih!reader. not followed-anakin-to-the-dark reader,,, just straight-up sith, subscribed to the sith, bloodlustful, power-hungry reader x anakin. whether they were a sith before him or a knight pulled to the dark at the same time but separate from him is up to you, but i just want some sexy evil reader <3

two things. one- in planning this one i came up with possibly my most interesting canon ret-con ever. 

two- sorry about the lack of this in the past, with all of my darkfics i just always end up trying to make the reader redeemable or in some ways well-meaning so that it doesnt alienate my,,, readers,,, but as you wish!

that said, i havent gotten to really indulge my absolutely sadistic side in a while and it was uhhhh fun

There was a prophecy to the Jedi, long ago, that one young Jedi would bring balance to the Force. 

And to the Sith was a prophecy that there would be a Dyad in the Force, one whose power would give rise to the power of the Sith.

Sheev Palpatine, tasked with finding an apprentice more powerful than he, who could possibly be within the Dyad, went through many apprentices in very quick succession, each destroyed by the Jedi before they could gain true power. There was only one apprentice who escaped the Jedi unscathed- a young former scrapper from a planet so unexceptional it didn’t even have a name. 

You had struggled from the moment you could walk. You had built yourself up, with no help, no guidance. From a difficult child to a violent teenager, you fashioned yourself weapons, taught yourself to fight. When others tried to lay claim to what you owned, you cut them down. 

So naturally, when he discovered you, Darth Sidious gave you a lightsaber. 

With your skill in mundane weapons came an adaptability into the divine, and you were quickly nearly as skilled with a light saber as his last three apprentices, combined. He believed that your innate skill and exorbitant midi-chlorian count meant that you must be one half of the prophesized Dyad, and with the formation of a Force bond, he could do what his master had not, and become the other half. He just needed to build your power. 

Each time he praised you, the hole in your soul grew larger, wanting more, needing it. You had come from nothing- so now, you wanted everything. You wanted to be the most skilled. You wanted to be the most powerful. You wanted to be the strongest and the fastest and the best.

So imagine your anger when you came across a little Jedi padawan who you could not defeat. 

Anakin Skywalker was the golden boy of the Jedi, and it had gone to his head. He was nineteen, and already more skilled than his master, and most of the masters on the council. Of course he would try to kill a Sith apprentice, when one crossed his path.

Imagine, two young prodigies, on opposite sides of a millennia-long war, each convinced that nothing could stand in their way. Imagine no one winning the battle, and both going home unscathed.

Imagine how it would drive them mad. 

Darth Sidious could not be seen without risking his discovery, so you often did what he needed. You wouldn’t complain- each successful mission would ease your hunger for victory and power, if only for a moment. You were cunning, and only unleashed your brutality when it was necessary, but Anakin- Anakin had the key to the cage that held your rage, and he opened it every time you saw him. 

His master, the other Jedi, those you would dispose of easily, not caring enough to kill them, just doing enough to get them out of your way, so that you could face him. Every time you failed to kill him, you got angrier, until you felt nothing but rage when you saw him. How dare he challenge your supremacy, your skill. How dare he live and breathe, proof that you weren’t unbeatable. 

In the dark side of the Force, with this conflict came uncertainty- no matter how Palpatine promised that his blood-soaked and rage-filled apprentice was the most skilled in the galaxy, he began to doubt. He began to wonder if Anakin was truly the apprentice he’d been seeking. 

In the light side of the Force, Master Yoda began to understand what Anakin’s prophecy had truly meant- Anakin was meant to be the light’s balance to the dark that you carried in your heart. 

Against the numbers of the Jedi, you were at a disadvantage, but you weren’t concerned with odds, not when you were the most talented Sith that had ever lived. All you felt that you lacked was the wisdom of the Sith who had come before you, and so you often meditated, trying to reach them. Darth Plagueis in particular guided your mind many a night. 

But something was off about your meditation, this day. You couldn’t reach your grandmaster, and a sick, disjointed sensation rolled in waves through your skin. Breaking your concentration, you opened your eyes.

And seated in front of you was Anakin Skywalker. 

“You-” you snarled, immediately calling your saber to your hand. He held his hand up, though, and something about the motion made you pause. 

“I’m not really here,” he said, then looked around. “Can you see where I am? I can’t see where you are.” You narrowed your eyes, suspicious and still angry, but now curious. You slid from your meditative sit and onto your knees, slinking toward him on your hands before reaching out to touch his shoulder. 

“You mean you didn’t reach out to me?” You asked, tilting your head, expression still distrustful.

“No, I thought you called to me.” You locked your eyes with his, reaching forward with the Force to feel him, his presence. He seemed to feel you doing so, but did not resist, and in fact did the same. Reaching deep into his heart, you found a surprising spot of cold- and latched onto it, holding it, unlocking its secrets. This, you could use.

“You don’t trust the Jedi,” you said, a smirk curling on your lips. His eyes widened briefly, which made you realize just how correct you were. Maybe it wasn’t so bad that he was so skilled- if it could be used in service of the dark. 

“The Jedi stifle me,” he conceded, and from your connection you’d forged into his soul you felt a spark of fire, that so-familiar rage. This time, the emotion wasn’t yours, but his. 

“The Sith will not,” you promised, and sat back down, much closer to him now. 

“The Sith must be destroyed,” he snarled, and you were in your element now, you were finally in control. After all this time, you were winning a victory against Anakin Skywalker.

“Why? We seek to bring order. I seek my fullest potential. Isn’t that what you’re doing? What the Jedi aren’t letting you do?”

“Shut up,” he groaned, looking away, and so you leaned closer, lifting your chin, beginning to smile. 

“We’ve fought in the past, Anakin,” you breathed, “But I promise you this- I would help you the way no Jedi would think to.” 

You felt it when his entire presence in the Force sparked, and then disappeared. It seemed that he’d grown too distracted to keep your connection. 

Speaking of that- how could you have had such a connection? 

Sure, you’d felt his presence in the Force before, but only when you fought, when your souls clashed as brightly as your sabers. This was new, very new, and in all your teachings you had heard of nothing like it. 

Nothing- nothing but a Dyad. The Dyad. 

Sidious was right, in everything he had ever told you- you were of the Dyad, you were the Sith meant to experience power like none before you had, you were the one the prophecies had spoken of. But Palpatine wasn’t the other half, the way that the Rule of Two would’ve expected it- the other half of the Dyad was instead a young Jedi.

Master Yoda felt a disturbance in the Force as you realized it- as your dark hunger pulsed out of your body, satisfaction with knowing that it was all true making you feel powerful. The destiny you had been promised, you now knew for certain, was rightfully yours. 

You only had two problems, both easy to fix. The first- your Dyad partner needed to join the Sith. Only then would you be fully unstoppable, only then would no one be able to stand in your way. 

And the Second? Anakin becoming a Sith would violate the Rule of Two. Meaning that there would be three Sith where there was only room for two.

So you needed to be rid of Sidious. Such was a plan for another day. 

The Clone Wars were a Sith’s playground- Sidious’ extraneous apprentices, Dooku and Ventress, took care of most of the messy battles. Fighting clones, negotiating with the Trade Federation, such things were beneath you. Your specialty, your joy, was in the destruction of the Jedi. Every single Jedi death in the Clone Wars was at your hand. 

And though you clashed with Anakin, the roles had been reversed- now twenty-two and sure of your destiny, you fought not to kill Anakin, but to show him the power of the dark, the power you wielded. He fought the way you had as a teenager, full of rage and murderous intent. Tortured as his missions were by you, he could not escape you in meditation, nor in sleep. You walked his dreams, making him wake with not anger but want, something that he hid from everyone, even his master. In his meditation you would appear before him, promising things that he only believed because they left your mouth. 

“Anakin Skywalker is at his most powerful when he’s at my side.”

No Jedi sensed the rising darkness in Anakin Skywalker, just as you expected. Jedi are incapable of seeing past what they believe. They know that the Sith have returned, and still are blind to the power of the Dark!

The Sith, though... the Sith sensed his power. You sensed it, of course, reaching into his soul any time you could, grooming and nurturing the darkness he’d begun to share. And Sidious felt it, too. 

So he took an interest in Anakin Skywalker. 

He grew closer to Anakin through their mutual friendship with Senator Amidala. Palpatine promised Anakin balance, salvation from the worries he carried with him. 

And he began to pull away from you, which certainly did not sit well. You were the most powerful Sith in generations, more powerful than even him, and he dared think you could be replaced? Not only he thought you could be replaced, but he dared set up such a replacement as though you wouldn’t notice?

No. 

You were stronger than that. Smarter. There was three where there should be two, and if your counterpart in the Force was meant to bring balance, weren’t you meant to, as well?

So you took advantage of the age and weakness of Palpatine’s body. You poisoned him, slowly, deteriorating him, so that all that kept him alive was the Force, and he had no strength of his own. 

And then you told him everything. 

“An apprentice, when they are no longer fit for the teachings of the Sith, is replaced,” you said, your scarlet saber humming, its life and energy filling your body, like it had a thousand times. “Which is why you have grown interested in Anakin Skywalker. I have learned from you, my master, I see through your deception. You wish him to take my place.” 

Your darkness invaded your smile, an emptiness invading your stomach that the deaths of dozens of Jedi had yet to fill.

“He will,” you promised, “He will be one of the most amazing Sith there has ever been. And he will fulfill the prophecy of the Dyad, just as you suspect.” 

Sidious didn’t even have the time to ask how you knew before you buried three feet of plasma in his body. 

You didn’t remove the saber, just let it rise and fall with the laboured breathing of an old man. 

“Without your help, Sidious,” you snarled, “I have pulled Anakin Skywalker to the Dark Side. I have found the Dyad, the one spoken of in prophecy- I have felt it pull he and I together. And without your help, I will purge the Jedi from the galaxy.” You ripped the saber from his body, separating his chest from his stomach.

As Palpatine breathed his last breath, you had an unexpected visitor- a few of them, actually. Masters Kit Fisto, Agen Kolar, Saesee Tiin, and Mace Windu each entered Palpatine’s office, sabers ignited and prepared for a duel with a Sith Master. 

But they didn’t expect it to be the one that now stood before them. 

Master Mace Windu knew of you- knew of the Sith apprentice who had a hunger for power so strong that it was meant to outgrow their master. He knew that you had killed countless Jedi, and would kill countless more, if given the chance. So he wasted no time in changing his intentions for the evening. 

“In the name of the Galactic Senate of the Republic,” Windu said, igniting his saber, “You’re under arrest.” Your lightsaber still humming with the blood it had taken, you turned to him over your shoulder, canine tooth glinting from underneath a disturbing smile. 

“And what are the charges?” you asked, calm as though you could predict the exact outcome of the match. “I’ve just killed your Sith Lord. Surely that must count for something.” 

You focused the Force within you, sending it to the one person who you needed the most- and you showed him the way that four Jedi looked at you, threatened you.

“The Senate will decide your fate,” Windu threatened, and you tilted your head. 

“The Senate just lost their chancellor,” you said with a small laugh, “I don’t believe they’ll be deciding anything for a while.” 

It was all too easy to destroy them. Fisto, Kolar, Tiin, they were no challenge. Neither was Windu, but you needed him to believe he was gaining the upper hand- for Anakin was back on Coruscant, hurrying to your location, seeing through your eyes the way that Windu meant to murder you. 

Feigning weakness, you opened your chest, which Windu rewarded with a strong kick, and you fell to your back, little groans and whimpers of fear leaving you as you scrambled backwards, and you could feel it, you could feel the way Anakin was running toward you, feel his desperation to protect you, even if he tried to disguise it with democracy. 

“You are under arrest,” Windu hissed, his saber pointed to your nose. 

And then, there- the man whose presence you had once loathed, and now craved. Anakin was here, with those lovely blue eyes, that curly hair, that body that deserved to rule the galaxy by your side. 

“Anakin,” you said, chest rising and falling in panicked breaths, “Anakin, I killed Palpatine, I- I’m trying to help, I’m trying to help you!”

“You killed him to take his place,” Windu said, and your eyes narrowed. “But you have lost.” You reached out as though to call your saber back to you, but didn’t actually use the Force- which made it seem as though Windu overpowered you when he grabbed your throat and lifted you from the floor. Letting your body hang limp, you clawed at your throat, breathing ragged, and this- this was your chance. 

You turned your gaze to him.

“Anakin,” you breathed, desperation, love, in your eyes. “Anakin, please...” He’d heard you say that word before, sounding just the same, in dreams of soft touches and tangled sheets. He’d seen the way you looked at him, when he met you on the battlegrounds, and you seemed to enjoy his skill. All too familiar was the curve of your neck, the flex of your muscles, as you fought against a grip on your throat.

“Please, Anakin,” you whispered, “I love you.” 

“They are a traitor, Anakin!” Windu snarled, arm extended toward you. “Don’t listen!” You weren’t choking, not quite, but blood was being cut off, and you were starting to get woozy. You pushed the feeling through your bond to Anakin, proving to him how desperate the situation was becoming. 

“Please,” you said, mouth gaping for a moment as you struggled to breathe, eyes briefly rolling back in your head. “Don’t let him kill me.” Windu dropped you, and you crashed to the floor, coughing and sputtering, letting them both believe your limbs were too tired to hold you up. 

“I am going to end this,” Windu said, conviction in his tone, “Once and for all.” 

“You can’t,” Anakin said, and dark satisfaction pulsed deep in your chest. With those two words, you knew how this day would end. “They must stand trial.” 

“They are a Sith Lord! They're too dangerous to be left alive!” Curled up on your side, you didn’t look dangerous- you looked pitiful, coughing to regain your breath, tears rolling down your face. 

“Please don’t kill me,” you sobbed, and in Anakin’s heart you felt resolve- you knew he wouldn’t let you die. 

“It’s not the Jedi way!” Anakin said, “They must live!” You raised your eyes to Windu’s, and saw no remorse in them.

“Please, no-” you whimpered.

“I need them!” Anakin shouted, but Windu lifted his saber anyway. Anakin reacted in an instant, igniting his saber and slashing it through Windu’s arm, the distinctive purple saber now lost to the window and the streets of Coruscant below. 

You smiled.

In an instant you flipped onto your hands, swiping Windu’s legs out from under him, and he could do nothing to stop his fall. Anakin fell to his knees, shocked, and ashamed of what he’d done. 

“Anakin!” you said, rushing toward him, and finally, finally you could feel what you had in dreams, what you’d longed to- you threw your arms around him, burying your face in his neck. “Anakin, you saved me.” He hugged you back, slowly, and there was nothing else to compare to this. 

You had been prophesized to be the Jedi and Sith who would bring balance and rule, and finally, after all this time, you were together. Not on the opposite sides of a battle, not in a connection, not in a dream, but in reality, in each other’s arms. 

Together, you were more powerful than any Jedi or any Sith had ever been. You could feel it already. 

“Thank you,” you breathed, pulling away far enough to brush back his hair, but his eyes were heavy with sorrow and regret. “Ani, love, look at me-” His gaze met yours, and nothing else in the universe had ever been so beautiful. 

“I love you,” you promised again, and pressed your lips to his. The Force itself seemed to rejoice in you finally meeting, and now, all that was left to do was to ensure he stayed by your side. 

“Finally, we’re on the same side,” you breathed, and you felt the way he bristled. 

“The Jedi won’t see it that way.”

“The Jedi don’t understand- and they’re traitors, anyway, plotting to destroy the Republic, all this time. We have to rebuild the Jedi Order. We can make things the way we want them to be.” Anakin seemed to consider, so you pulled yourself closer to him, holding him just the way you remembered, in all those dreams you’d shared. 

“We don’t have to run away anymore,” he said, and you cupped his face. 

“No,” you said, “We don’t have to hide.” 

“The Jedi turned against me,” Anakin said, his voice low, and you felt that darkness in his body grow. 

“I know, love,” you breathed, brushing back his hair. “But I’m here. I’m still here.” Anakin leaned forward, holding you close by your lower back and kissed you, and you felt it- you felt hunger in his body, you tasted it on his lips. He rocked forward, laying you down on your back, even as you kept your arms around his neck. 

And as you surrendered control, you almost had to laugh- he had no idea how much power you had over him. 

-🦌 Roe

part 2 | part 3

[ilonga]

Buried Alive

summary: 

Sometimes Anakin gets flashes of what’s going on. There are times were he can almost push through the fog and darkness and take control, if only for a second.

The first time it happened, he was terrified out of his mind.

He had no limbs. No limbs.

And there’s a. . . suit? And an Empire?

What had happened?

(au where Anakin is sorta trapped in his own mind as Vader, but can sometimes break free)

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25634890

When he was younger, he used to think that the Chancellor’s office was a bit . . . suffocating, almost. Like the walls were pressing in on him, from time to time, or like he couldn’t breathe consistently, let alone think clearly. As the years passed and his visits with the Chancellor became more and more frequent, he thought about it less and less, and the strange feeling that seemed to accompany the office faded away entirely.

Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe it hadn’t, and Anakin had just pushed it aside, pretending it was nothing. Gotten used to it. Learned to ignore it. Because these were the Chancellor’s offices, and how could anything associated with this kindly old mentor be so cold? Surely, surely Anakin must be mistaken.

Now, twenty two years old with his thoughts echoing messily around him, he remembers what he’d said to Obi-wan the first time he visited the Chancellor.

It’s so cold in here, he’d said, and Obi-wan had given him a strange look because the Chancellor had already adjusted the temperature before their visit had begun, making the offices far warmer than usual to help the Tatooine child fit in (wasn’t that so thoughtful of him, why wasn’t Anakin more grateful? ).

It’s cold in here, yes, as the Chancellor reveals himself to be the Sith Lord who’d orchestrated the entire war and Anakin’s whole world implodes. But then the temperature drops to freezing. The world blurs before him and seems muffled, almost. He can’t think clearly, his thoughts are so slow. . . why can’t he think? Where is all of this darkness coming from, why can’t he breathe--he’s drowning, he’s being buried alive, he’s drowning, he’s drowning--

He doesn’t remember how he got out of there, stumbling his way to the Council Chambers--it’s all so hazy. He just knows one moment he was at the Chancellor’s, the next, warning Master Windu (who seems so far away, like he’s looking at him from the other end of his battlefield specs), and then he’s somehow. . . back? Again? In Palpatine’s offices? Why is he here? How did he get here?  

There’s a sharp burst of pain (but it isn’t his pain, no--what happened to Master Windu?) and suddenly every thought he’s ever had about the stifling, smothering atmosphere of the Chancellor’s office (he can’t think--) comes rushing back to him all at once, but maybe it’s not the offices, maybe it’s never been the offices. Maybe it was just the Chancellor, the Sith Lord, all along.

“What have I done?” is the last thing he manages to choke out (what have I done in every sense of the question)  (what is happening to me?), the last words that are his own for years and years to come.

The darkness in the Chancellor’s office buries him alive.

(Are those eyes yellow?)

* * * * *

Anakin doesn’t know where he is. There are seconds where he even forgets who he is. He’s floating in a vast expanse of space that’s also stifling and claustrophobic at the same time. He can’t understand it, can’t manage to wrap his head around what the hell is going on.

Where is Obi-wan? Where is Padme? Oh, force, what’s going to happen to Padme? What will happen to their child?

He’s alone, floating in darkness. He must have been trapped in here somehow, but the last thing he remembered were the Chancellor’s offices and Master Windu (and dead Jedi? Were there other Jedi there too?) .

And then suddenly there are screams, echoing around him all at once. Anakin doesn’t know who’s screaming. It could be him, for all he knows. But they sound. . . young. Young like Ahsoka was, when he first met her on Christophis.

Oh, force, Ahsoka! Is she alright? She was (where was she?) on. . . Mandalore (why?). . . fighting someone (who?), someone important. Is she safe? Or not? Is she dying as he’s trapped here, helpless? Is Padme dying too, alone and scared, in this very moment?

The screams stop. But it seems like barely seconds have passed before new ones take their place. (Who are they? Where are they coming from?)

There’s a voice, all of a sudden, one that sounds achingly familiar. He reaches for it blindly, hoping--

Padme’s face flashes before him, anguished and choking (no!), and Obi-wan’s there and his face is twisted in an expression of fierce, hopeless grief Anakin’s never seen before, not even when Qui-gon died and Obi-wan barely spoke for weeks. What’s happening? he almost manages to get his lips to form the words. What’s going on, where is everybody?

He almost gets the words out. Almost. But then the darkness comes flooding back and he’s buried again, their faces disappearing from view as rapidly as they came.

What is happening to him?

Was it Palpatine who did this to him?

His mind rebels almost instinctively at the thought. Palpatine, who cared about him? Who listened to him? Who was kind to him, since he was nine years old and afraid, a former slave in a world so foreign? Palpatine, who is. . . a Sith Lord. Palpatine, who’s been orchestrating a sham war for years. Palpatine, who’s responsible for every death in this wretched war, for the loss of every man in the 501st who’d died fighting. Palpatine, who’s indirectly responsible for what happened to Ahsoka, to everything Obi-wan has been through for the sake of the war, who’s responsible for all the pain and loss the Jedi faced as a whole for these past three years. Palpatine, who--

Who used him.

Who’s been using him since he was nine years old.

All of a sudden Anakin feels sick. Or as sick as he can, as a disembodied jumble of thoughts floating in an indecipherable crushing darkness.

So that’s why Palpatine showed interest in a nine year old former slave from a backwater desert planet. Not out of the kindness of his heart, not because he saw Anakin as worthwhile, special.

No. Because he wanted to use him all along.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on that, however, because now there’s pain. Incredible pain, the likes of which he could have never imagined before, not when he was a slave and faced beatings day by day, not when Dooku cut his arm off on Geonosis, not when he was being electrocuted, tortured, for the millionth time throughout the war. This pain is worse than all of that combined. It’s how he imagined Maul must have felt, when he was cut in half, if he was also set on fire by a vengeful custodian upon arriving at the bottom of the reactor pit. The pain builds, and builds, and builds.

He needs it to stop, he needs it stop, he can’t take it, he’d rather die than keep feeling this pain, let him die--

And then there is nothing.

* * * * *

When he wakes up (in a manner of speaking), he knows something is different. He can feel it. If he found his way back to his body somehow, he’s impossibly sure that it would be nothing like the one he left behind.

Well, there’s only one way to find out.

He pushes. He fights the darkness, tries to wade through the inky blackness surrounding him, tries to find his way out of this madness and regain control.

It doesn’t work.

He keeps pushing.

Every day (are there even days anymore? He certainly wouldn’t know) he pushes until he’s exhausted beyond belief and sinks into blessed nothingness. Sometimes he feels like he’s getting closer to an escape; other times, it feels like he could go on and on forever in this maze (this prison) and end up right where he started.

Years must be passing by, he thinks, as he tries to reach a new equilibrium. Sometimes, Anakin gets flashes of what’s going on. There are times were he can almost push through the fog and darkness and take control, if only for a second.

The first time it happened, he was terrified out of his mind.

He had no limbs. He had no limbs.  

And there’s a suit? And an Empire? What happened?

He’s buried again.

The second time, he realizes two crucial things.

Number one, he can’t feel the Jedi anymore.

Number two, his lightsaber is red.

He realizes with frightening clarity what must have happened. What Sidious must have made him do.

Is that what I am? he thinks bitterly. A puppet?

A slave? He tries not to think.

It seems that’s exactly what he is. Sidious’s puppet, with all his personality buried under mounds of Sith power to make for easy control.

He’s buried again.

Sidious must have noticed something that time, because it becomes all the more difficult to fight his way out. And he’s tired. He doesn’t know how many more years pass with him floating there, with no sense of direction, no sense of time, no sense of anything really.

He’s lonely. He wishes Obi-wan were here, or Padme, or Ahsoka. Hell, what he wouldn’t give for even one of Master Windu’s unimpressed glares.

No doubt any one of them would be doing so much better in this situation than he was. Obi-wan would have figured out what was happening to him in minutes, and broken free of it in even less. Padme would have never let Palpatine (Sidious) get to her in the first place. Ahsoka would have powered through the darkness and wrenched back control, permanently.

But it’s just him, and he’s weak. Too weak to protect himself, too weak to protect the ones he loved. Weak like the desert boy he thought he’d left behind with a detonator buried deep under his skin.

There’s no use in these kinds of thoughts, he knows. Don’t waste your water, his mother would say, Or your despair. They are precious, and you must save them for when you have finished the work you set out to do.

Work.

Next time he breaks free, he will get to work. He’ll do whatever he can to sabotage Palpatine’s (Sidious’s) rule.

The third time he breaks free, he wastes no time. He’s in his (Vader’s) chambers, luckily, and he has access to a datapad and to what he needs for slicing. He has access to coordinates, numbers, and all sorts of sensitive military information. And a list of who survived the transition from the Republic to the Empire.

. . . Padme’s dead.

. . . Ahsoka’s dead.

No. No.

He can’t let himself get distracted, not when he could sink back under any second. Don’t waste your water, or your despair. Despair. Despair is for later.

Alright. he thinks. Which of these survivors is most likely to be involved in an illicit rebellion?

Because of course there’s a rebellion against Palpatine; there was a rebellion against him even back when he was Chancellor and Anakin was blind to his true nature. They may have called themselves a Delegation, but they had seen what was coming, and they had been prepared to fight--

Oh. The Delegation of 2000.

Senator Organa.

He had always been a friend to the Jedi, even as public opinion and support declined. And he was a dear friend of Padme’s--she trusted him with her life.

In the span of two minutes, each feeling like more and more of a struggle, he manages to set up an untraceable, anonymous communication line straight to the Senator. Vader being unofficially near the top of the Imperial hierarchy does have its benefits.

The information is sent. The comm line is deleted. No trace of the communication is left from Anakin’s end. And the Senator will never know where the information came from. He imagines he’ll assume it came from an imperial defector.

Which he is, in a manner of speaking. Until he’s swallowed up again by the prison that is his own mind.

He managed it in three minutes total.

Now that his task is complete, the incessant pushing and stifling darkness is nigh unbearable. But he also realizes, for the first time, how much he truly hates this suit. The prosthetics are shoddy and clumsy at best, ridiculously heavy and difficult to maneuver. The life support is bulky and he can still feel age old burns, all over his body, that seem as though they’d never been treated at all. And worst of all is the respirator. Does the breathing sound it makes have to be so obnoxious?

How did all of this happen to him, anyway? He remembers the pain from what felt like forever ago--it’s no duller as a memory than it was a sensation. Clearly his limbs had been chopped off from what seemed to be a lightsaber (was it Palpatine, maybe? A punishment of some sort?) but what of the burns? Had he really been set on fire, or had he imagined the sensation? Had it been lava or something of the sort? (he swears he can remember the scent of Mustafar, even if he can’t recall actually being there; had something happened to him there?)

His flow of thoughts is interrupted by a steadily rising pressure in the back of his mind. It feels like-- Palpatine. He knows.

There’s a crushing, devastating weight on his mind, the phantom pull of a heavy anger he can nearly taste, then an almost audible snap.

Then nothing.

* * * * *

When he wakes up, it’s almost worse than the pain he had felt from being burned alive. He had been building up a resistance, able to fight through the darkness faster and faster each time, but now all of that is gone. He feels chained.

Before, he had felt lost and sluggish, buried and drowning. It was a terrible sensation. But now, he’s chained.

He fights back an instinctive bout of panic (never again, never again!) but it changes nothing.

Palpatine’s slave.

Nevertheless, he starts over.

He tries to build back up, bit by bit (it’s so much harder than before) , and he’s certain years are passing again (again, and again, Padme, my love, I’m so sorry).

Sometimes he’s vaguely aware of what’s happening outside. In his weaker moments, he wishes he wasn’t. (He’s doing a lot of killing)

He comes to a realization one day (or night, or week) about the deaths he’s been feeling (the deaths he’s been causing). They don’t feel like ordinary deaths. Not like those of any normal sentient being across the galaxy (hasn’t he felt enough of those, during the war).

They’re a bit. . . louder-- oh, force, he’s hunting down Jedi.

No. No.

How could he-how could he-use me against my own people like this-use me to kill my own people, my own people--like I’m some sort of trophy, like I’m a broken attack dog-I’m not his toy, I’m not his toy--

He doesn’t know how long it takes him to claw his way out of the downward spiral. Maybe days. (his own people, he’s hunting down and slaughtering his own people--it’s despicable--his own people)

So.

That’s why Palpatine was really interested in him. So he could have the pleasure of using the Jedi’s Chosen One against them, turning him into some kind of attack dog.

He’s never been so disgusted in his life.

Don’t waste your water.

Don’t waste your despair.

Save them for when you have finished your work.

He finally manages to break through again, weeks or months or maybe years later. He moves more quickly this time, compiling coordinates and military plans, setting up the anonymous, untraceable comm line, and sending it all straight to Senator Organa once again.

It only takes him a minute this time.

He slumps back, and the darkness consumes him.

* * * * *

The next time he wakes, it’s to a voice.

I was beginning to believe I knew who you were behind that mask. But it’s impossible. My master could never be as vile as you.

Is that. . . Ahsoka?

Then I will avenge his death.

Ahsoka, it is Ahsoka! (but how? She had died, the reports had confirmed it. Unless she had faked her death? Had she faked her death? Hardeens ran in the lineage, it seemed. How had she faked her death?).

For a moment there’s joy, unbridled, wild joy, shooting through him, but then he realizes.

No. No!

No, he can’t hurt Ahsoka, he can’t, he won’t (you can’t make me do this). He won’t. He shoves with everything he has, every last ounce of strength within him. He shoves forwards and pushes the darkness aside, trying to draw from a well of power within him just as he had on Mortis.

Ahsoka? Ahsoka!

There she is, standing right before him--so he was right, years had passed, maybe fifteen years from the looks of it? She’s gotten so tall now, and her lightsabers, they’re white. A brilliant, blinding white. She’s all grown up now, his Snips, all grown up and protecting the rebels. Is it even possible to feel this much pride? They’re almost the same height--he’s been so lonely, for so long. Can she help him, maybe? The two of them could handle anything together, back in the Clone Wars. Maybe she can help him figure out exactly what’s happened to him, help him fight it off. Maybe. . .

I won’t leave y--she’s saying something but it’s drowned out suddenly, with a rushing in his ears and a wave rising from within to drown him. Ahsoka? Ahsoka! No!

Ahsoka?

She’s gone.

Don’t waste your water--don’t waste your water--don’t waste your despair, don’t--

He. . .

He despairs.

* * * * *

He doesn’t know how long it takes to pull himself back together this time (Ahsoka, no, Ahsoka. He promised her he’d never let anything hurt her, he promised her he could never let her die, and now she’s dead. At his own hands.) but it’s almost certainly been years.

He’s beginning to doubt he’ll ever break free. Not permanently.

He considers, briefly, trying to rid the galaxy of Vader in a. . . different manner. It’s not like his deprived half life is one particularly enjoyable or worth living anyway. The only thing keeping him going had been the hope that he’d wrench back control for good one day, but now. . .

It seems like it’ll never happen. And while he’s waiting, trapped, for the next couple of minutes he’s able to snatch, Vader is out there, hurting people (hurting his people), killing people, tearing planets and families apart.

Enslaving people.

That sends him down another spiral of deep loathing and disgust, though whether it’s directed at himself or Palpatine, he’s not sure.

Maybe he could rid the galaxy of Vader, permanently. It would be so easy (his lightsaber ignited at the wrong angle, a push of the wrong buttons for his life support, light damage to his respirator).

The next time he breaks free, he tries. But he realizes, then, that Palpatine must have foreseen this, because somehow the suit and prosthetics won’t let him. As soon as the intent crosses his mind, the prosthetics won’t move the way he wants them to, the buttons won’t respond, and the respirator will stubbornly force air in and out of his lungs at a desperate pace.

It seems they’ve been built to keep him alive at any cost. To protect him (ha, protect) against even himself.

His abhorrent red lightsaber isn’t even useful for this one thing.

He feels sick again. So even the choice of whether to live or die has been stripped away from him?

Slave, slave, slave. Palpatine’s slave.

With a tremendous effort, Anakin wrenches himself away from the thoughts.

Don’t waste your water.

Don’t waste your despair.

So.

It seems the only way forward is to keep going as he’s been going. Break free for a few minutes, compile sensitive information, and send as much of it to the rebellion and Senator Organa as he can.

He’s hit by another wave of deep loathing. This time, it’s definitely directed at Palpatine.

Life continues (this is his life now. He hates it). More information is sent, in staggering intervals. For the most part, Palpatine doesn’t seem to sense his duplicity. Maybe he thinks that after what happened with Ahsoka, Anakin is no longer someone (something) he needs to worry about. The information does, however, seem to be making some difference for the rebels. Every time he wakes up, there are more reports of sabotage, failed battles on the Empire’s part, people gone missing (liberated) , places fighting back (protecting themselves) against imperial rule. Most likely, the schematics have been the most useful information the rebels have acquired. He knows enemy schematics were definitely the most useful resource to have access to back in the Clone Wars.

He feels a bit of pride at the thought. It’s easier to manage his reality when he has tangible proof of making a difference. The pride is always accompanied by guilt, of course, his constant companion, but it’s there.

He is helping. He is making a difference. A little. At the very least, the rebels now know how to fight back. The Empire is developing new weapons every day, but with their schematics, the rebels have a chance at defending against them, and exploiting their weaknesses. At protecting the planets that would otherwise be terrorized.

He should have known not to get too comfortable.

* * * * *

The Death Star. DS-1 orbital station. Death Star. Star of Death?

The name sounds inappropriately comical, as if it had been named by a Temple youngling with an overdramatic flair.

Death Star? What kind of a silly name was that? Certainly not one that embodied the sheer horror, the sheer monstrosity, the almost sacrilegious nature of this terrifying, depraved creation.

Built to destroy planets.

Sometimes Anakin thinks he’s reached a limit for how horrified he can be, by his reality, by Palpatine’s actions, by this new Empire and the evil it inflicts on his people.

He’s wrong, every time.

A weapon to destroy planets?  

Yes, he’d fought in the Clone Wars. Yes, he’d been one of the more ruthless generals. Yes, he understands the value of might and power and displays of strength.

And, yes, he’s been guilty of slaughter in cold blood before.

But this?

This horrifies him straight to his core. Forget everything he was as a Jedi, this goes against everything he’s ever believed in as a person . Yes, this horrifies the Jedi in him. But it also horrifies the nine-year-old slave in him (the masters blow us up if we’re disobedient), the Clone Wars General in him (our objective is to protect the people), the Senator’s husband in him (democracy isn’t perfect, but it protects us from tyranny), the Negotiator’s padawan in him (compassion is central to the heart of a Jedi), the master to Ahsoka in him (I want to help my people), the parts of him that are and will always be Shmi’s son (the biggest problem in this galaxy is that no one helps each other. Remember that, my son). It’s unjustifiable, in every sense of the word. It’s everything he ever thought he was fighting against in the Clone Wars, as a Jedi.

They’re building a battle station that destroys planets. That could kill millions, billions, with the press of a button.

How can anyone involved in this project live with themselves? Are the people of the Empire so drunk on power that they’d do anything for another taste of it? Kill billions of innocents?

(After murdering the Sandpeople, he couldn’t sleep for weeks in horror at what he’d done. How can these Moffs condone this with satisfied smiles and a prideful shrug of their shoulders? How?)

It’s revolting.

He has to get information to the Rebellion, somehow. There has to be a weakness, there has to be something they can do.

There has to be some way they can fight this.

Otherwise. . .

He doesn’t want to think about it. The next time he wakes up, he’ll find the schematics, find a way to get them to the Rebellion, or, if not the Rebellion, Senator Organa and other planetary leaders. He’ll try to find a weakness.

* * * * *

Slipping the Death Star schematics to the rebels (he couldn’t even send it to the Senator, this time) ends up being much more difficult than he had expected. In the end, all he manages to do is make sure a copy is available somewhere, and less guarded than it should be. He doesn’t even manage to take a look at the plans himself.

Oh, force, there better be a weakness in this Sith-damned monstrosity.

Usually he won’t be pushing so hard right after breaking free for a time, but he’s desperate to find out what happened to the plans and whether they were successful. So he pushes and fights in a way that would have probably had Obi-wan shaking his head and heaving a long-suffering sigh, but it does pay off. To an extent.

There’s a young woman with dark hair and eyes holding herself in a way that sharply reminds him of Padme. He can’t hear what she’s saying, but the pure disdain on her face is clear enough to read, and he feels an unexpected sense of kinship and satisfaction at her courage. Her posture might mimic Padme’s I’m-a-Galactic-Senator-and-I’m-smarter-than-you stance, but something in her face abruptly reminds him of himself. Her brows are raised, lips twisted in a darkly amused scowl, eyes darkened with copious amounts of both scorn and determination. Contempt practically radiates off her set shoulders. He imagines that was how he looked facing down Grievous for the first time, snapping out a disdainful “shorter than I expected” at the notorious Jedi-killer.

She fades away abruptly, but the image stays with him.

She feels. . . important somehow. He wracks his brain and tries to remember who she is, if he’s met her before--no doubt Vader has, but it seems he’s never been able to push through when in her presence.

She looked about twenty some years old, and now that he’s not focused on how suddenly she had dredged up memories of Padme (that pain is never going to go away, is it?) he realizes her hair and dress were done in an Alderaanian style. Something niggles at the back of his mind--

Oh. The third time he had broken free, he had spent most of those precious minutes perusing the Holonet to find out what had happened to his friends. One of those headlines, that he had spared but a passing glance, had to do with Senator Bail Organa and Queen Breha’s newly adopted daughter.

The young woman had been Leia Organa. Princess of Alderaan. And she had a spine of steel to match Bail’s, it seemed, although she certainly didn’t seem to favor his subtlety (a decision Anakin of all people could definitely respect). Another pang of sorrow shoots through him; Leia had been one of the names he and Padme had considered for their child (though Padme had been insistent it was a boy while he was convinced it was going to be a girl). That name had been one of the few things on Tatooine one could consider beautiful, and even then, it was a name meaning mighty, fierce. Everything he would have wanted his daughter to be.

Everything, it seems, that Princess Leia of Alderaan is, although the name no doubt means something different on Alderaan.

He can respect that, even as he’s hit by another wave of sorrow for his unborn child. According to the funeral reports he had read, Padme had died still pregnant, due to complications from a “traitorous Jedi attack”. It’s so blatantly a lie he has to wonder if anyone believed it at all. Of course, this means that either Palpatine had his still-pregnant wife killed. . . or he had Vader do it.

He clings to the idea that this Princess is carrying on Padme’s legacy somehow, as far fetched as it is. It brings him a small measure of comfort.

The next flash he gets is. . . far less comforting.

There’s a sudden aggressive explosion in his mind and suddenly he’s lost himself, trying to block himself off from so much pain, so much death, so much suffering, but none of it’s his own. He’s feeling the pain of thousands, millions, maybe billions all at once. Amongst the echoes of pain and pure terror, he notes rather deliriously that, for once, he’s glad not to be in control of his own body. Had he been in control, Vader would have dropped to his knees right then and there in front of the viewport, and not even the respirator could have made him keep breathing (or maybe that would have been a good thing). It’s like a rising wave on Kamino, ready to drown him in a way not even the darkness in his own mind can, and then suddenly there’s an intangible tearing and they’re all ripped out of existence and silenced, leaving excruciating, gaping holes in his awareness.

It’s so overwhelming that a physical reaction somehow gets through to Vader even though he’s not pushing for it; his whole body tenses, his legs nearly buckle despite being mechanical, his respirator slows as it tries to accommodate the changes in breathing and heart rate, and his hand digs into Leia’s shoulder where it’s resting--

Wait. Leia.

Alderaan.

He looks to the viewport and--

Alderaan’s. . . gone?

No. No. It can’t be.

A whole planet, gone just like that?

Impossible. The Death Star may have been built for this but surely the Moffs would never--how could anyone actually go through with it? They could never, no sane person could see this through, it’s--impossible, he must be seeing things wrong. His vision is unreliable, has been unreliable for the past twenty years, at the best of times, so why should it be showing him the truth now? Just because they viewport is filled with debris--it means nothing, they could never--

All those people. . .

Their pain, their terror. . .

No. No. It can’t be, it would never--a planet? Gone? A whole planet? A peaceful one, no less? All those people--the people--

No, no, no, no, no--Bail! What about Bail, what about Breha, what about--Leia, what about Leia?

How could they?

It doesn’t feel real. It can’t be real.

A planet can’t have been destroyed.

Millions can’t have been slaughtered with the simple press of a button.

Bail--Senator Organa can’t be dead (but you felt his death, didn’t you?). Queen Breha, she can’t be dead (Padme had always felt close to her; two monarchs of pivotal planets).

Leia.

Leia can’t be orphaned, twice over.

Oh, Leia.

I’m so sorry, he thinks, almost as dead to the world as he had been twenty years ago, I failed, I should have been able to stop them. I should have tried harder.

All he’s ever done is fail, it seems.

Some Chosen One.

He wishes suddenly that he’d never been born. Never given Palpatine the opportunity for such an effective attack dog, never given him the opportunity to tear the Jedi apart from the inside and build the Empire from his ashes. Maybe without Vader at his side, none of this would have happened. Palpatine would have been found out sooner with no Jedi listening to his honeyed lies, the Jedi would have defeated him without Vader’s interference, so many wouldn’t have died.

His mother wouldn’t have had to raise a child she’d never asked for, a child who she then never heard from again until she died and he was too late to save her. Obi-wan would have never been burdened with him so young, Ahsoka would have never died trusting that he’d never hurt her, Padme wouldn’t have died without an unborn child to look after.

Your water, he suddenly hears the lilting cadence of his mother’s voice, you’re wasting your water.

Ani, my son, you must save your water, and your despair, for when your work is finished.

How, he wants to ask, how can I go on? Every time I try to fix things, it just gets worse and worse. How can I continue my work when it seems like my work is doing nothing?

You continue your work, his mother’s voice says, firmer this time, until you’ve finished your work, or until you can work no longer.

Until you’re dead, she doesn’t say.

I miss you, he’d say to her, if she was truly real, I miss you. I need you.

Shhh, my son. I am always with you.

It could be entirely a product of his imagination, but his spirit feels lighter all the same.

Alderaan will be avenged, he vows Leia, knowing there’s no way she can possibly hear him, Your father will be avenged. Your mother will be avenged.

If it comes down to it, I’ll find a way to tear this station apart myself.

Somehow.

* * * * *

There’s something big going on, he can feel it, (that presence feel so familiar) and he’s trying to push through out of the darkness (I can’t take another Ahsoka, please, no) and then the darkness multiplies (there’s something Palpatine doesn’t want him to see--) and he’s being buried, he’s being suffocated, he can’t breathe (not that he usually can anyways), but he can’t and the moment passes, and he’s left floating aimlessly in the blank infinity slowly consuming him.

The next time he wakes up, it’s to Obi-wan Kenobi’s lightsaber lying in his chambers.

He feels sick to his stomach.

Or at least what’s left of it.

Oh, Anakin, says Obi-wan’s crisply accented voice from somewhere lightyears away, you’ll be the death of me someday.

I didn’t want you to be right, master. Anakin thinks blankly, But you always did like being right.

He’s numb.

So numb.

When his mother died, he had raged. Raged and raged and raged at the world around him until he had very nearly torn it apart. He’d felt such anger he was sure he would never feel anything else again.

When Padme had died, he had felt sorrow. Deep, bone-crushing sorrow, for her, for their unborn child, for everything she fought for and the legacy she’d never be able to leave behind.

When Ahsoka had died, he had felt guilt. So much guilt it was unbearable, the sharp edges of broken promises and words never said, the jagged pain of so much that he should have done for her but would never be able to.

But Obi-wan’s death seems to have taken away his ability to feel anything at all, ever again.

What is the galaxy, without Obi-wan Kenobi?

Who am I, Anakin Skywalker, without Obi-wan Kenobi?

Nothing. They were nothing, there was nothing left in this galaxy, nothing--

Why didn’t you kill me, Master? he thinks blankly, an edge of hysteria creeping in on his thoughts, Why didn’t you kill me--you were my Master, you taught me how to fight, you knew me better than anyone in this galaxy--why couldn’t you kill me?

How could you let me kill you?

Distantly, he realizes Obi-wan would have probably been his last hope for an escape from this misery. If there was anyone in the galaxy who could have defeated Vader (who could have beaten Anakin), it was him. But it seems he was wrong. He’s still alive, and Obi-wan is dead.

How can he be alive when Obi-wan is dead? It seems fundamentally against the laws of this universe; hadn’t they agreed without words that when they went out, they’d go out together?

Once, he would have been thrilled to finally be able to beat his master (mentor, friend, best friend, brother?) in a duel.

Once, Obi-wan would have said that it was every master’s wish for their student to grow to be better than him.

Somewhere, buried in some remote, faraway corner of his mind, a part of him is laughing at the irony. For the first time, Anakin Skywalker well and truly feels as empty as the darkness surrounding him.

He descends into apathy.

* * * * *

He feels it when the Death Star is destroyed, but he can’t find it in him to be triumphant. There’s a passing sense of relief, but nothing more. Was this the price? Obi-wan’s life for the destruction of this mechanical monstrosity? (he doesn’t even know what Obi-wan looked like when he died; he’ll always be immortalised in his memory as he had looked in those final days of the Clone Wars)

It doesn’t seem worth it.

Rationally, he knows he shouldn’t be thinking like this. To trade one life for millions would be a heinous act in every sense of the word. If he had made a trade right here and now, to bring Obi-wan back in exchange for the Death Star, Obi-wan would have murdered Anakin himself (or let one of his disappointed stares do the trick; those always made Anakin want to crawl under a rock and never see the light of day again), and not even Vader’s apparently ridiculously overpowered combat skills could have stopped him.

Rationally, he knows this. But he doesn’t much care.

He would have made the trade anyways.

He can’t bring himself to be horrified at his train of thought anymore either; he just notes them as impassionately as he programmed C3PO to do, back when he was still building him on Tatooine. So some hotshot pilot managed to destroy the station; wonderful. Allegedly the Princess was able to escape too, which is also good, he supposes.

The sense of relief is faint and somewhat dispassionate. He would say he’s happy she’s alive, but it seems like the ability to be happy on any level has been completely sucked out of him.

The darkness around him ebbs and flows, pushing and pulling at the pieces left of his consciousness as if it realizes it could probably pull him apart for good and he’d offer little resistance. He imagines he can feel the threads of Palpatine’s presence woven through it, delighting in the fact that after so many years, his perfect little puppet is finally broken.

He can’t even summon the usual loathing at the thought of the man’s name.

Perfect little puppet.

Finally broken.

* * * * *

He subsists on spite now.

It’s the only thing that keeps him halfheartedly pushing and hoping to break through. He hasn’t managed it yet, and he doesn’t quite know what he’ll do when (if) he does. Senator Organa is dead. Clearly the Rebellion lives on--the destruction of the Death Star proves that--but who would he even send the information to? Leia, maybe? Surely her father has taught her a thing or two. Maybe she’ll know what to do with it.

Before Obi-wan’s . . . death, (and for a moment there he had almost convinced himself Obi-wan had somehow managed to pull another Hardeen, but the absence of the man’s presence of the force, which he hadn’t realized was there until he lost it, had forced him to face the truth rather painfully) he had been fueled by spite, to an extent. But he had also been fueled by hope, of a better future for the others out there if not for him, and fueled by love too, for the people still out there that he was fighting for.

Now it’s just spite. And halfhearted spite, at that.

(he didn’t realize it before, but he had never known how it felt to be completely devoid of hope until now)

But he keeps fighting nevertheless. And every time he feels the threads of Palpatine’s presence try to constrain him, he pushes harder.

Go to hell, he thinks at them as loudly as he can whenever he encounters them.

Always so mature, my young padawan, his internal Obi-wan voice says in response.

There is no response from whatever force powers Palpatine has set on monitoring him.

He keeps clawing forward. It’s a strange half reality he lives in; he’s never been able to get used to it, no matter how many years have passed. His thoughts are almost permanently hazy and difficult to hold on to, and his senses are partially there and partially deadened. Sometimes he can convince himself that he’s physically there, mechno arm (well, arms. and legs.) and all, in some metaphysical dimension where all he can see is darkness and all he can hear is silence. Other times, it just feels as if he’s asleep (asleep but will never wake up). This makes trying to push his way out. . . an interesting experience to say the least.

(Obi-wan would have been fascinated.)

(Obi-wan would have also never found himself in this situation to begin with.)

Sometimes, it feels like he’s swimming for a surface he rarely reaches. Other times, like he’s trying to claw his way out of a muddy grave. The last time he broke free, it felt like a shadowy maze churning and twisting until he finally stumbled his way towards an exit.

Every now and then, he hears echoes of what he assumes are the voices of people around him. They can last anywhere from seconds to hours. If he’s lucky, he’ll even see flashes or visions of his surroundings to accompany them. (An icy planet, a dilapidated rust-bucket of a ship speeding into hyperspace, a helmeted bounty hunter with a significant resemblance to Jango Fett)

Sometimes they’re interesting, but most of the time it’s just the voices of egoistical Moffs, Admirals, and Captains, who seem, rather rationally, to be frightened of him. He swears he’s heard the name Skywalker recently though, which is strange. He’s the only Skywalker of enough renown to be discussed by the Empire (Padme had never taken his name in any capacity, so it couldn’t be her), but in the Empire, talk of Jedi seems to be looked on unfavorably, to say the least. Officially speaking, Anakin Skywalker is dead, and Imperial personnel don’t seem like the types to reminisce about the past on the job. (he’s also positive that, with the exception of Palpatine, few if any are aware of the fact that Darth Vader and Anakin Skywalker share the same body)

A voice filters in, then, interrupting his flow of thoughts. He recognizes Vader’s mechanical tones (and isn’t it strange to hear “himself” speak without feeling his mouth move), and a youthful voice that responds with increasing anger.

You murdered my father!

Ah, he thinks with a touch of sympathy, I’m afraid Vader does a lot of that sort of thing.

He misses what Vader says next, but it’s no doubt some kind of taunt. He wonders who this kid is, and finds himself hoping he makes it out of here alive (not many who face down Vader do).

The kid’s face suddenly flashes before him-- blond hair like Anakin used to have, back when the sun was constantly bleaching it on Tatooine, and blue eyes that do, come to think of it, also match Anakin’s own shade, to an extent. Something in the kid’s face reminds of Leia, however. He doesn’t know what. Maybe this kid is a Tatooine native? If so, he feels even more sympathy for him--to grow up in the most desolate corner of the galaxy, lose his father, and now face Vader? He can’t be more than twenty from the looks of it, with a bright and shining presence in the force, and--

Oh. Oh, that smarts.

The kid’s had his right hand cut off at the wrist, and his face looks to have taken a beating as well. He’s barely hanging off the air shaft Vader has cornered him on to. If Anakin could feel his own limbs at all, he’s sure they’d be throbbing in sympathy. He’d lost his first limb to Dooku at around this kid’s age.

Now the kid’s yelling something about impossibility and lies, and Vader says something that Anakin again doesn’t catch in return. The kid’s face screws up and--No, wait!

He’s gone. The kid jumped.

Congratulations, Anakin thinks bitterly at the presence controlling his body. You’ve added another twenty-something year old to your kill list. Are you proud?

He wonders vaguely what Vader had told him that had been so terrible that had the kid jumping off the air shaft to commit suicide---no, wait. He doesn’t know the kid, doesn’t even know his name, but he can still feel that presence (that’s strange. Why?).

He doesn’t know how he managed it, but the kid survived.

Well. That’s something, at least.

* * * * *

He manages to break free for the first time in what must have been a few years, for a couple of minutes, after the strange encounter on Bespin.

He’s. . .

Well.

He’s solved the Skywalker mystery.

Luke Skywalker. Native Tatooinian. Prodigiously talented pilot, made the shot that blew the Death Star into pieces. Poster boy of the rebellion. There are whispers of him being a Jedi. And he has a bounty on his head, for a number of credits so high Anakin can barely believe his eyes. A bounty. . . placed by Darth Vader himself.

“Yes, yes,” Padme says, laughing and swatting at him playfully, “Leia is a lovely name for a girl. But if it’s a boy--and my motherly intuition says it’s a boy--”

“I’m telling you, it’s a girl,” Anakin says, unable to keep the joy out of his voice. He’s almost deliriously happy; there might be a war going on, the Republic and the Jedi might be falling apart day by day, but he and Padme are going to have a child. A child! “My mystical Jedi senses say so.”

“Your mystical Jedi senses--”

“And I’m telling you right now, she’s going to have lovely brown hair and eyes just like her mother, I can see it now.”

“Flatterer.” She takes a deep breath. “If it’s a boy, I like the name Luke.”

“Luke,” he says, turning the name over on his tongue. It’s a beautiful name; light and airy. It reminds him of his mother’s singing in the evenings, when he was young and her lullabies were the only thing that would soothe him. “Is it a Naboo name?”

Padme nods, biting her lip and looking off to the side. It seems she’s thought a lot about this. “Yes. It means light.” she looks up at him almost shyly. Clearly the name has wormed its way into her heart. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.” he says truthfully, “Luke.” He smirks up at her again. “It’s going to be a girl, though.”

“Oh, shut it, you.” Her gaze turns distant. “I want him to be a Skywalker.”

“A. . . Skywalker? You want her to take my name?” He’s genuinely baffled. His name? A Tatooine slave’s name? He would love for his mother’s name to be carried on, sure, but Padme’s last names, both of them, carry so much more prestige.

“Amidala is the last name of a persona. A politician. It’s not real. And Naberrie is a name I haven’t called my own for years. But Skywalker. . . Well. We can honor your mother. And it’s a beautiful name. Wouldn’t you want your child to walk the stars?”

He can feel tears building, somewhere in the corner of his eyes. Padme might be the one that’s pregnant, but it seems that he’s the one who’s been getting emotional these past few days. He chokes out a laugh. “In the running to become a poet, Senator Amidala?”

She lets out an uncharacteristic snort at that. “If only pretty words worked as well on my fellow Senators as well as they did on you.”

They’re slowly heading towards the door; neither wants to let the other go but they both know he has to head back to the Temple soon. This is one of the softer, quieter moments that they’ve shared, that they’ve gotten so few of throughout the war. He turns to look at her.

“Luke Skywalker.” he says. “It’s beautiful.”  

Luke Skywalker. . . is the boy who confronted Vader just a few weeks ago.

Luke Skywalker. . . is his son.

He has a son.

For at least a few minutes, blank shock is all he feels. He barely notices himself sinking back under into oblivion and losing control of his body once more; it pales in significance.

A son. A son.

Oddly enough, the first thought that makes it past his shell shocked state is that Padme had been right.

Motherly intuition. . . And I had been so sure it was going to be a girl. he thinks, rather joyfully. Guess you were right. You were right.

You were right.

The next thoughts that worm their way past him are of a more confused variety. He had been so sure Padme had died--no, he knows Padme is dead. He can feel it (it’ll never stop hurting). But the child had somehow survived? How? Palpatine would have never let the child live; he would have seen Luke as too much of a threat. And Padme had died just days after Palpatine had started puppeting him.

So she had died in childbirth, then? Just like in his dreams?

And she must have kept Luke a secret. Protecting her family till her very last breath.

Her bravery had been passed down to their son, it seemed. (He had clung to the idea of Princess Leia carrying on Padme’s legacy somehow, but it seems that had been unnecessary. She had Luke, they had Luke, their son, their actual son, to carry on her legacy, to keep bits and pieces of Padme alive in a universe that would be so lacking without them. He wonders if perhaps Luke and the Princess know each other, in the rebellion. He imagines they’d be good friends)

Facing Vader. . .

Or maybe Luke just sported Anakin’s own reckless streak.

He wonders, vaguely, if Obi-wan had known before he died. Obi-wan had certainly known about him and Padme. Maybe he had known about Luke as well? Maybe he had even been the one to teach Luke, the reason Luke had been able to hold off Vader as long as he did.

On second thought, he realizes how cuttingly painful that would have been for Obi-wan to go through. The son of his dead close friend and other close friend turned supposedly-mass-murdering traitor?  That. . . would have hurt. As much as he wishes the two could have met, he also hopes Obi-wan was spared from such pain.

His son. His son.

And twice the pilot he ever was already, it seemed.

“You know,” he had once said to Padme, “some would say my piloting skills are dashing.”

His internal Obi-wan voice and Padme’s own response had been eerily in sync for once, replying, “Anyone who’s ever gotten in a ship before with you would know otherwise.”

Ha. Ha! Take that, “Emperor”. he thinks loudly at those threads of Palpatine’s presence, as maturely as he usually does, My son blew up your Death Star. My son. My son blew up your Death Star. Ha!

He doesn’t deserve to be proud of Luke, he knows it, but he’s proud anyways. So ridiculously proud.

And he was brave. So brave. To take on Vader and not blink an eye? To lose a hand (and, oh, that just got so much worse), and push himself off an air shaft without blinking? To survive that fall?

That’s a Skywalker move if anything.

To take on Vader. . .

Oh. Oh. Oh.

“You murdered my father.”

“No, that’s impossible!”

Oh.

So Luke had also. . . been under the impression that Vader and Anakin Skywalker. . were two entirely separate entities (he had thought Vader had murdered Anakin? Well, he supposes that’s true, from a certain point of view.).

Vader hadn’t been taunting him, like Anakin had originally assumed.

Vader had told him the truth.

Well. Force damn it.

I’m sorry, Luke.

To whatever force-damned twisted powers were controlling him, he thinks, You couldn’t have at least name dropped his mother into the conversation? He should know he has at least one parent he can be proud of.

That. . . that must have been painful for him.

The wild, uninhibited joyfulness that had overtaken him ebbs away, bit by bit. He’s still happy, happier than he’s been in a long time, and in complete and utter awe (of his son. His son), but reality is slowly setting back in .

Luke--his son-- had just faced down Vader. Which meant Palpatine inevitably knew about him by now, if he hadn’t before.

He was a target. For Palpatine.

Suddenly Anakin’s horrified beyond belief. An involuntary shudder overtakes him, almost reaches Vader. He cannot allow Palpatine to get his hands on Luke. Never.

Look what Palpatine had done to Anakin. What despicable things did he have in mind for Luke, given the chance?

Would he bury Luke, too? Suffocate him until he had none of his personality left? No control over his own body? Would he cripple Luke and murder his loved ones until he had no one left?

Turn him into his slave?

No. Never. Never. Luke was born free, and he’ll stay that way. Anakin will make sure of it.

Palpatine’s presence has been growing stronger, in the back of his mind. Either it’s a precaution due to the discovery of Luke, or (more likely) he’s been spending more time in closer proximity to Palpatine recently (that’s worrying) .

He hopes Luke will do the smart thing and stay away.

*****

Luke’s a Skywalker.

And it shows.

Why did he have to inherit my recklessness and sheer stupidity, Padme? he thinks half-hysterically, hyper aware of Palpatine’s suffocating nearby presence. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hears his mother’s tinkling laughter. He has a newfound appreciation for how difficult it must have been to deal with a child as reckless as him, the sheer terror she must have felt when he threw himself into life-threatening situations. What is he doing here? Why is he here? What is he doing?

Is he out of his mind?

Despite his overwhelming terror for Luke, his son’s (his son!) presence can’t help but be reassuring, unfailingly bright and steady and pulsing at the edge of his awareness. It’s a powerful, powerful presence; he can finally understand why Obi-wan so often complained about Anakin’s own presence being so loud. His son seems to have inherited it.

The presence also feels incredibly close; could Luke be right next to him, right now?

Oh, please no. The last time Luke had been in close proximity to Vader had. . . not gone well. Oh, force, please let Luke keep his remaining limbs.

Palpatine’s presence is growing heavier and heavier in his mind when he begins to hear the echoes.

I know there is good in you. The Emperor hasn’t driven it from you fully.

That’s Luke, he realizes resignedly. Luke’s next to him, to Vader, because of course he is. Of course he doesn’t think about the danger, about what Palpatine would give to get his hands on him, about what Palpatine would do to him, given the chance. Of course Luke’s going on a fool crusade to try and reach Vader’s conscience, not realizing that he has none. Vader’s not real! he wishes he could shout. He’s a puppet, he’s a parasite, there’s no ‘good’ in him, there’s nothing in him to begin with! Just the Emperor’s shadowy powers strung together with chains.

He starts trying to shove his way out, now, (and couldn’t Luke have tried this damnable crusade when Vader was further away from Palpatine, doesn't he know how much more difficult it is to break free when Palpatine’s so close), and the darkness around him convulses and writhes, wrapping around him and trying to pull him under.  

Come with me.

You don’t know, he thinks, wishing Luke could hear him, You don’t know his powers, you have no idea what he’s capable of--get out of here while you still can, before he forces you to call him your master too, before he forces you to obey his every command--

I will not turn. . . and you’ll be forced to kill me.

The world around him coalesces into chains and jagged edges, digging into the cracks of what’s left of his mind. He can see it now, ending this way. Him forced to kill his own son, Palpatine deriving his twisted satisfaction from watching Anakin break completely and utterly. Or, worse, Palpatine twisting Luke’s mind until there’s nothing of him left, then forcing one of them to kill the other.

You won’t do this. I feel the conflict within you.

You feel me, not conflict in Vader. Me! he again tries to shout, struggling against the increasing constraints and heavy pressure of Palpatine in his mind. And if I couldn’t escape to stop Obi-wan’s fate, or Ahsoka’s, or Padme’s, why would you believe I could do it for you? It’s too late for me, go, go--

My father is truly dead.

Yes, he thinks with relief, yes, you finally understand, now run, escape while you still can, but Luke’s presence isn’t dimming, or vanishing, it’s remaining constant and steady while Palpatine’s only grows. Luke’s still there. He’s not leaving. Which means that they’re heading towards Palpatine after all.

Welcome, young Skywalker, he hears, in the drawling tone of the Chancellor’s voice (no, no, the Sith Lord, Sidious. The Emperor, Palpatine.) and he blanks out in sheer terror. The voice brings back with it flashes of things both horrible and wonderful, of better times and of the reminder that all along, Palpatine had been manipulating him, playing him, grooming him to become the perfect puppet--

Vader twitches.

He’s barely pulled himself back together when he hears the harsh, grating voice speak again.

It is unavoidable. It is your destiny. You, like your father, are now mine!

No, he thinks desperately, bile rising in the back of where his throat would be, if he could still feel it, no, he’s not yours, he’ll never be yours, he doesn’t belong to anybody, I don’t belong to you!

He’s shoving and tearing at the edges of his mind, trying to find a way out, he has to help Luke somehow, force damn it, he can’t let this happen--

The hum of lightsabers echoes around him as he tries to claw his way out. His surroundings are an endless maze, then a crushing tide, then the thousands of chains of the slaves of Tatooine. A dirt-filled grave one second, the haze and fog of endless blaster fire the next, then he’s dragging his way towards a trickle of light shining through the cracks above an endless system of caverns. The sound of the sabers grows deafening, or maybe it’s just his fear of where they’ll hit next that has them feeling so loud. The echoes grow louder too, and now he’s seeing flashes to accompany them.

I will not fight you, father, Luke says, standing proud and tall at the edge of his vision. An exchange of blows, then he’s performed a flip reminiscent of Anakin’s own fighting style, back in the Clone Wars, landing neatly on a catwalk overhead.

The flash dissipates as a low buzz of anger from Palpatine floods into his awareness, but the echoes continue.

I can feel the good in you, the conflict.

Not this again, Luke, he’d groan if he could, You’re putting far too much faith in me, you know.

You couldn’t bring yourself to kill me before, and I don’t believe you’ll destroy me now.

Why is he taunting him? Anakin thinks desperately at an imaginary Obi-wan in his head, who would sigh and mouth ‘karma’ if he was real. Is he out of his mind?

He continues pushing forward, catching another flash of Luke ducking numbly out of the way of an attack and disappearing from sight. Well, he’s certainly gotten better.

I will not fight you.

Vader must have responded with an exceptionally cruel taunt here, because there’s a sudden drastic change in Luke’s emotions. A faint worry shifts to frenzied anger and terror, so strong that Anakin actually catches snippets of thoughts.

Sister?

He. . . what?

What?

What?

A . . . sister? Luke has a sister?

“Leia,” says Padme, somewhere far away, “it’s a beautiful name for a girl. It’s Tatooinian?”

“Yes,” he says, slowly, imagining a clever, sharp-tongued girl with Padme’s hair and eyes,  “probably about the only beautiful thing Tatooine can call its own. It means fierce.”

“If we ever have a daughter, that’s exactly what I’d want her to be. Fierce and mighty like her father. But,” she says, grinning mischievously once more, “it’s going to be a boy.”

We. . . were both right, Padme, he thinks, in deep shock for the second time this year, There were two.

He suddenly knows, inexplicably, deep in his bones, that Leia Organa, Princess of Alderaan, General of the Rebellion, is his daughter.

Oh. That makes so much sense.

There’s a sharp, sudden pain around the area his wrist would be, but he can barely acknowledge it, so lost in his haze.

Leia, Leia, Leia. She’s our daughter, she’s our daughter, Padme, she’s our daughter. . . He’s mentally reviewing all he knows about Leia (admittedly not much, not enough, he should know so much more), going back over the memories of their meeting (so she is carrying on your legacy after all, Padme, your brilliance lives on in her), comparing all the bits and pieces of Leia to the bits and pieces he’s learned about Luke, to all he knows about Padme, even, a little, to what he knows of himself.

She does have your hair and eyes, and your sharp tongue, and your boundless drive to hold the galaxy together by the skin of your teeth. . . she has my temper, though, I think. And--oh, she’s a General, isn’t she? And that attack on the Death Star. . . that was her plan, wasn’t it? That--that definitely seems like something I would do.

Honestly, Anakin, his internal Obi-wan voice starts again, with a fond exasperation, wasn’t two Skywalkers in the galaxy bad enough? Now there are three of you, and all three have inherited your penchant for recklessness. The galaxy won’t survive this.

He wonders if Obi-wan knew about Leia. He doesn’t know whether he’d want him to. (knowing about Luke would have been painful enough--add in Leia, who wears Padme’s face? It would have been heartbreaking).

Luke and Leia. . . so they knew they were twins, then. Had it been kept secret from them, too? Had Bail and Breha known when they adopted Leia--

His train of thoughts is interrupted by the sound of pained screams.

Luke’s screams.

No, no, no, Luke! he wrenches himself back to awareness, trying hard to break free, push, push, push--

Only now, at the end, do you understand.

Luke is at the foot of the stairs, writhing in pain as Palpatine’s lightning courses through him, each of his screams shrill and shuddering and a dagger through Anakin’s heart. Vader’s standing next to the Emperor, and--oh. Look at that. He’s lost another hand. This is getting ridiculous, honestly. What is it with Skywalkers and losing limbs? Palpatine is cackling as the lightning increases, but Anakin can feel the rage underneath--whatever Luke had said or done had considerably derailed Palpatine’s plans.

You have paid the price for your lack of vision, Palpatine says, furiously increasing the intensity of the lightning. Luke’s screams are hoarse and raspy; he’s just barely keeping from falling down the shaft in the room’s center.

Help me, father, he mouths, and Anakin continues his desperate crusade against Palpatine’s control, please, help me--

He fights, he fights, he fights, and it hurts so much more than he could have imagined to try and break free with Palpatine right next to him--he’s buried, again and again, but scrabbles his way back out, Luke’s presence beside him acting as the anchor he never had before--

It’s as if a veil has lifted. He’s done it, he’s broken free, he’s broken free.

He rushes forward, as quickly as he can, fighting a dual battle against Palpatine’s presence trying to drag him back under and against the constraints of his own body (his robotic limbs haven’t gotten any more maneuverable, and now he’s lacking a hand on top of that). He doesn’t have time to pull out a lightsaber, to try and access the force after so many years, to pull off any maneuver well-planned or strategic, he has only seconds and he has to act, now--

He grabs Palpatine from behind, hefting him over his head as the force lightning is redirected into his own body. It’s pain, pain, pain, every step is pain--

He blacks out.

When Anakin comes back to himself, Palpatine is sailing down the abyss (there’s an explosion as he hits the bottom), he’s collapsing at the edge of the shaft, and every molecule in what’s left of his husk of a body feels like it’s on fire, the tremors from the electricity still running through him (he always forgets how much being electrocuted hurts). He can barely feel Luke dragging him away from the edge; he’s too caught up in his physical pain and the absolutely incredible rush of being free, he’s free, he’s free--

Palpatine is dead.

He’s dead.

The Empire is finished.

Anakin is free.

He lets out a euphoric laugh, weak and rasping but thrilled to the bone all the same. It comes out as a burst of static through his respirator, and he feels Luke’s concern. His connection to the force hasn’t been so uninhibited, so unfiltered in years--he feels alive even as he feels his life slipping away with every shudder of his life support suit slowly shutting down.

Palpatine’s presence, for the first time in decades, is gone. He has control over his own body again, over his mind, over his mouth and his words--

“Luke,” he says, the words flowing from his mouth like honey even as they come out as feeble gasps through the vocoder, “help me take off this mask,”

Luke looks shocked at his words (he can look at Luke, his son, his son, without having to spend all of his energy fighting for fragile glimpses), and so, so exhausted from the ordeal (he’s alive, he’s alive, Luke’s alive, and free, and will never have to call anyone, least of all Palpatine, his master) he just went through. It doesn’t stop Luke’s mouth from being set in a thin, determined line, even as his frame shakes. “But. . . you’ll die.”

Anakin huffs another weak laugh. He’ll die anyways; he can feel it. The life is draining from him breath by excruciating breath. But, at the very least, he’ll be able to die as free as he possibly can (he’s free, he’s free). He says as much to Luke, who hesitates for a long moment before reluctantly complying with his request.

The mask lifts.

(he’s free)

He’s looking at the world with his own eyes for the first time in over twenty years (without the red tinge of his mask there are so many colors, even in the unending Imperial gray of whatever shuttle they’re in). He’s looking into the face of his son with his own eyes for the first time (Luke has Anakin’s eyes and Padme’s smile, but his nose and jaw are all Shmi’s). With the respirator gone, each one his breaths are shallow gasps sending sharp spikes of pain through his chest. He can still feel the life support shutting down, quicker now that the mask is off, until he can’t move at all.

He’s never been in more pain.

He’s never been happier.

His vision won’t quite focus but he manages to turn to Luke anyways, trying for a smile that ends up rather watery. “Now, go, my son. . .” (his son, his son) “Leave me.”

He knows he’ll die here, alone, but he’ll be alright. He’s free of Palpatine’s chains for good, able to think and feel and look and hear for the first time in decades. These are some of his most joyful moments. He’ll be alright.

But Luke. . . Luke should go. Anakin’s getting that discordant feeling he gets under his skin whenever something’s about to blow; this station won’t be safe for long. And Luke shouldn’t have to witness him die, after all the pain he’s put Luke through. He should go.

He’s not leaving.

His mouth is moving, his face desperate and distressed--Anakin, with a tremendous effort, manages to focus on his voice. He isn’t even looking Luke in the eyes, anymore. He tries to lift them but finds that he can’t (he’s so tired). “I can’t leave you here.” Luke is saying, and Anakin wants to laugh, again, but he can’t anymore, “I’ve got to save you.”

Save him?

Save him?

Oh, Luke.

How can he not see it?

“You already have,” he says, fighting to drag out of each of his words. You already did save me, you saved me, you saved the galaxy--I’m free, the galaxy is free, you saved us-- “You were right about me.” Luke had been right, all along. There really had been enough of him in there to break free. He had thought the only way for it to end would have been with Palpatine still holding the strings, one or both of them dead, but Luke had been right. He had been able to break free. Luke had helped him break free.

Obi-wan laughs, somewhere far away. Anakin Skywalker, admitting someone else was right?

 “Tell your sister--” Oh, Leia, “you were right.”

You were right.

He’ll never get to speak to Leia as himself, but it’s alright. Luke is there, Luke will get to be with her for the rest of his life, he can tell her for him. He hopes she knows, deep in her bones, that all her parents love her.

Luke’s saying something again (Father, he thinks he hears), but focusing is. . . difficult. He tries to project his love, his joy, his pride, towards him now. Maybe he’s successful. The world around him fades to a blur of colors and buzz of noise.

Anakin’s free (free), his children are free, the galaxy is free.

He’s free.

He dies free.

* * * * *

“Hello, Anakin. I’ve missed you.”

[magicalforcesau]

Dancing With Ghosts in Your Garden~ Chapter 7- Year 1: February

(Ao3 link)

One thing Obi-Wan and Satine agreed upon was that despite their shocking discovery in an unsuspecting broom closet, they should do their utmost to maintain decorum. The very last thing they needed was every student getting it in their heads to explore the school for secret tunnels. Regardless of what this meant for their pending investigation(s), keeping the peace was essential if they wanted to get any further.

The second thing they agreed about was whom to share this information with, which considering the perilous circumstances that were already weighing on this school year, logically meant heading straight for Headmaster Yoda. For the busiest wizard in the school, he saw them quickly and took their accounts very seriously, even going as far as to follow them and excuse them from their studies for the morning to help clue him in.

Unfortunately, as far as agreement went, that was as far as it went between Obi-Wan and Satine. 

“You didn’t show him the robe.” Satine said tersely as they walked back to the common room to pick up their books for their afternoon classes. 

He sighed, knowing in the back of his mind that this confrontation was inevitably coming, even if he chose to ignore it all day, “You know why.”

“We took an oath to lead without bias.” She returned with the same level tone. “In case you’ve forgotten.”

“And I am insulted you would insinuate that’s why.” He walked along her step-for-step and felt the blood boil in his face. No, he would not break first.

“You’re withholding evidence!” She waved her hands around, turning her back to him so she could ascend up the winding stairs, “And you know it.”

“A discarded robe is hardly evidence when we know for certain that this alleged cheater has been masquerading as a Slytherin this entire time! If anything, it likely exempts Anakin as a suspect and quite possibly, Gryffindor house.” 

“Or,” Satine said archly, “Your tornado of a mentee has been running around the tunnels this entire time, as insinuated by a conversation we overheard between him and Rex.”

“My-” He shook his head, and while he would normally quell his rising tone, freely continued without hesitation when noticing they were alone in the common room, “My what of a mentee? You have the audacity to call me biased when you’ve had it out for Anakin this entire bloody time!”

“I do not have it out for him, Ben!” She implored, for once not as angry as him and more exasperated than anything else, “I don’t have the time or energy to hold grudges against 11 year old’s!”

“And yet,” He rounded the couch, dramatic as that may be, “At every single turn you insist on accusing him before even pausing to think about other possibilities.”

“Then read them to me!” She snapped, “Because here are the facts that I see: Anakin has admitted to discovering the tunnel system on Halloween night, Anakin is always popping up seemingly out of nowhere, Anakin is the only one to score 100% on Professor Windu’s homework assignments lately, we found his robe inside the physical tunnel, and Rex and Anakin were literally talking about his going out the night before.”

He clenched his jaw and stuck out his hand, tallying off rebukes to each of her statements, “Professor Windu and Yoda confirmed a trap door leading to those tunnels, making it quite possibly an accident, Anakin is a quiet and sneaky little boy, he is so frightened of Windu that he doesn’t want to set him off and actually tries in that class, I still stand by my previous statement of this being an easy frame-job, and that conversation was so obviously taken out of context.”

She rubbed at her temples, “I’m not sure what kind of “research” you and Qui-Gon do during your not-so-secret late night investigations, thank you for the invitation, by the way, but you are being absolutely delusional.”

Obi-Wan’s jaw went slack as he floundered a bit at her knowing that. He sniffed and straightened his posture. It never remotely occurred to him that Satine would want to be involved. He’d been far too concerned about Anakin to think of it. Any guilt that might have snuck its way into his chest was just as easily banished when he remembered why they were quarreling in the first place.

“You’re being petty.” He said calmly.

“Maybe I am.” She retorted and made her way over to the bookcase that led to the girl’s dormitory, “And maybe I’ll relent on pettiness when you decide to wake up and look at what’s right in front of you.”

***

Anakin was unsure what was up with Obi-Wan, but the older wizard seemed incredibly tense when he caught up with him by the prefect bathroom on the third floor. Evidently, Hondo had snuck inside and tried to promote his new business venture by scribbling his information on the bathroom stalls. 

“Why do prefects even get their own bathrooms anyway?” Anakin thought aloud, “What’s so great about you guys that you need to pee in private?”

Obi-Wan sighed through his nose and kept his stare straight, “I’m afraid I don’t have a proper answer for you Anakin.”

Anakin would normally pester for at least a slightly more riveted response, but it didn’t seem like his mentor was in the mood. Because of this, he read the room and assumed it was not the time to bring up the herbology essay he had due in a few days that remained untouched at the moment.

“You look tired.” Obi-Wan said after a long period without talking. 

“I was up late.” He said.

“So, I’ve heard.” Obi-Wan replied dryly and Anakin stopped in his tracks.

“Windu told you?” He whined. “Man, Echo and Fives were already giving me a hard time for costing Gryffindor 10 more points.”

Something in Obi-Wan stiffened again before turning back to look at Anakin with a calm yet scrutinizing stare, “He caught you out of bed late.”

“Yeah, I had a really bad dream about-” He wasn’t sure why, but Anakin knew he shouldn’t share his experience with Dooku and Palpatine to Obi-Wan. It was far from the concept of mistrust, but more because it felt sacred. Palpatine followed Anakin’s beliefs without question and saw them through to the end, even enlisting Professor Dooku along as well. Even then, Anakin hadn’t shared entirely what he’d seen. He didn’t want to until he knew for certain.

“-About the Zillo Beast.” Which was a lie and yet it came much easier than the truth of talking about the true threat. Maybe this was why Anakin was initially accepting of the beast’s death sentence. He thought it might solve something within him, but it didn’t and it wouldn’t. “I went looking for Qui-Gon.”

Obi-Wan paused and Anakin wondered if he was actually going to believe him, before softening and guilt twisted in the young boy’s gut. 

He placed a supportive hand on his shoulder as they continued to walk, “You shouldn’t wander the castle alone. It isn’t safe.”

“You do it.” He mumbled.

“I’m not the one with a price on my head.” His voice was gentle and he seemed considerably eased in comparison to the beginning of their conversation, but his eyes were still stern, “Though I can’t necessarily blame you for seeking out Qui-Gon.”

“Windu didn’t even listen to me.” Anakin said glumly.

“Professor Windu tends to look only at the facts presented in front of him,” And for once, Obi-Wan appeared to grow mad at this thought, “Which can admittedly delude one from the connecting factors.”

“It’s like he thinks I’m guilty of something that I don’t even know about.” He shrugged.

His mentor ran a hand through his immaculately combed hair and sighed, “I know what you mean.”

***

Cody tried to stifle a chuckle as he watched his two best friends try to pretend like they weren’t utterly pissed with each other during breakfast. Because it was “strictly prefect business”, neither had opted to share the dirty details of their most recent quarrel with Cody, but from what he could tell, it was personal.

Obi-Wan was typically the more apologetic of the two by nature. Satine tended to dig her heels into the ground to stick up for what she believed in while Obi-Wan was a bit more open-minded. Obi-Wan often said the wrong thing based on past bias that hurt Satine’s feelings and Satine usually let him know it with her own fires that upset him. He always knew they would bounce back, because they always did. It was the nature of their friendship and most of the time, he just had to sit back and watch.

The roles seemed to be reversed this time around, which was always an interesting change-up. Obi-Wan clearly was being headstrong about his beliefs this time, which eliminated it being over any sort of familial relation and Satine was exasperated with his mindset and had likely said something offensive in the process.

Did that stop them from sitting side-by-side and attending all of their classes and obligations together? Apparently not.

It didn’t mean they were above passive aggression. 

“Just to let you know, pretending that those pancakes are Kenobi’s face isn��t going to make the anger go away.” He quipped and Satine set aside her utensils, of which she was previously butchering her pancakes with.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything except:  “So, OWLS.”

It seemed the subject of OWLS was the only thing that prevented the two of them from biting each other’s heads off. He didn’t know how, since the idea of standardized testing always made Cody feel at risk of his own head exploding.

“Before you go all “post-Quidditch-loss” glum, I’ve devised a schedule to optimize all of our success.” Satine reached across the table and patted Cody’s hand.

He smiled, relieved that he didn’t have to say anything at all for them to understand his concerns.

“I might straight up fail out of my potions exam.” He grimaced, “I think I tie with Hondo for the most explosions in that class.”

“Except Hondo’s might be intentional.” Obi-Wan mused before shrugging, “So, we’ll pay extra attention on that one.”

“I’ve already accounted for that, actually.” Satine said curtly, but didn’t add in any snark, and showed him the color-coded schedule she’d assembled.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts is pretty low on the priority list.” Cody commented, not really thinking that much on it. They all did sufficiently well with Kenobi being the most proficient at the subject, as he was at most things. However, he expected it to be quite hard, with Dooku being behind it and all.

“Well,” Satine’s voice was even more clipped now, “It’s not like any of us will be needing it next year.”

It was the first time it had been mentioned- even indirectly, but from across the table, Cody had optimum viewership of the way Kenobi’s entire body seemed to grow incredibly taut. Truthfully, Cody had never asked what happened during his friends’ meetings with the headmaster. He figured they would all eventually be forthcoming with what transpired and Satine had done as such with her decision to work for the ministry, but Kenobi hadn’t said anything. 

He cleared his throat, “That’s alright. I mean, I don’t love spending my time thinking about that stiff, Dooku, anyway.”

His attempt at levity didn’t work much. It was almost like he hadn’t spoken at all.

Obi-Wan looked stuck between a scathing comment and retreating altogether while Satine seemed like she was daring him to do either. It gave her a different excuse to be frustrated or annoyed and that seemed to be what she wanted. 

Obi-Wan finally broke the silence between them, “Regardless of what we use, we ought to do plenty of research. You know, in-depth analysis that isn’t taken purely at face value.”

“That is true.” She said coolly, “But true research is, of course, at least acknowledging a clear trajectory as opposed to ignoring it simply because you do not like it.”

“True research is also about being able to trust your participant’s judgment.” He said, “Which is why only few are eligible to participate in the first place.”

“It’s got nothing to do with trust and everything to do with refusing to collaborate.” She snapped, “And- You know what? Nevermind. I feel like I’m talking myself in circles here. I’ll see you both at a later time for studying. I’ve got to go help Vizsla prepare for his potions project.”

“Be sure to make the smiley faces extra obnoxious this time.” Obi-Wan called after her. 

Satine gave him a not-so-friendly hand gesture and disappeared from the Great Hall with the only trace being the deflated Obi-Wan Kenobi, who watched where she left with a curious mixture of contempt and admiration.

“So,” Cody folded his hands, “Is Anakin prepared for his potions project?”

Obi-Wan grimaced, “Never actually told me there was a project. So, no.”

***

Anakin wasn’t exactly surprised to be summoned into Qui-Gon’s office that following day, given he was sure Obi-Wan passed on any concerns about Anakin to the professor. It was complicated in a sense, because while Anakin appreciated having people who looked out for him in favor of the alternative, he wanted to prove that he could sort out his own issues and didn’t need babysitters. 

“How can you lecture me about not getting any sleep when Obi-Wan has looked like a zombie half the time these days?” Anakin protested.

Qui-Gon poured him a cup of tea that Anakin would fail to feign enjoyment of and chuckled softly. “Do you truly believe I haven’t lectured Obi-Wan about his self-care habits?”

“I haven’t seen you do it.” Anakin said.

“Same as Obi-Wan isn’t present now, I try to keep my chastising towards only him. In any case, I did not invite you here to discuss your sleeping habits. At least, not in the way you believe.”

Anakin was thankful to have the teacup in order to have something to do. Even if tea did usually taste like rooty leaf water. 

“Have you ever heard of parseltongue?” Qui-Gon asked calmly.

He scrunched up his nose- both in response to the gross taste of the tea and in confusion over what the professor just asked him.

“Is that a disease?” He asked.

“No,” He chuckled and set his own teacup down, “It’s the language of the serpents as well as those who can communicate with them.”

“Who would want to talk to a bunch of snakes?” Anakin questioned, “I’d rather talk to a shark or dog or something.”

“Salazar Slytherin saw it to be a very useful trait. He didn’t just use it to speak to snakes, but influence them as well.” He said, “Most parselmouths, as the speakers are generally called, derive from his bloodline.”

Anakin tapped his chin, truly trying to think about what this had to do with him. It wasn’t like his dreams ever involved snakes. Then again, he had told Obi-Wan he’d been dreaming about the Zillo Beast, who while unlike a dragon as previously discussed in Palpatine’s class, could have been more like a snake.

“Is this about the Zillo Beast?” He broke the silence, which had previously only been filled by the soft crackling of the hearth central to Qui-Gon’s office. It made Anakin remember with clarity his moment on Diagon Alley, when the dark wizard was speaking to the flames.

“Not directly,” Qui-Gon said and pulled out a book that appeared to be some sort of translator, “The night of the holiday party when you were incapacitated, you were muttering… Words in parseltongue.”

“That’s not possible!” Anakin frowned, “I’m horrible at second language. You should have seen my French grades in school.”

“Parseltongue is not typically something learned, Anakin. It can be mimicked, but most of the time it is a purely genetic trait.” He said.

“But, that would mean...” Anakin didn’t have a proper answer for that. His mother had left him so in the dark regarding wizard lineage that he didn’t have a rebuttal for why he spoke a hereditary language among snakes. It sounded cool enough, but Qui-Gon was doing that thing adults did when they tried terribly hard to appear calm, even if they weren’t. 

“I don’t expect you to have the answers.” Qui-Gon said gently, “It’s quite possible you were simply relaying the message of the dark wizard that poisoned you. However, as word of these dreams persists, I’m concerned that you are… Seeing things that could be of assistance.”

Anakin squirmed in his seat, unsure how to possibly express that he was already looking into this with Dooku and Palpatine. However, neither of them had mentioned parseltongue. Maybe there was something Qui-Gon could decipher that they couldn’t.

“The word you primarily kept muttering over and over again, was “Vader”, which is German, for-”

“Father?” Anakin guessed, having to really dig in the crevices of his mind to a day where his school was not one of magical ability. 

“Exactly that.” Qui-Gon paused, “Forgive me if this is out of turn, Anakin, but do you find it possible that your father could have anything to do with this?”

“My father is a muggle. I never knew him.” Anakin said tersely and tried not to make it sound as foul as it tasted to say.

Qui-Gon’s eyes grew very sad as he nodded, “Very well. I will continue to search for any other utterances that strike out. And Anakin, please remember that you can always talk to me should your dreams trouble you any longer.”

“Yes, Professor.” Anakin said, but it felt more automatic than anything, because the mention of his deadbeat father, who didn’t so much as have a face to Anakin, made him feel a numbness that he hadn’t remembered for a long time. “Hopefully, I’m not busted by Windu next time.” He added, trying to add a sprig of humor to his voice.

Qui-Gon frowned, “When did this happen?”

“Two nights ago while he was on patrol.”

“Windu wasn’t supposed to-” He cut himself off in what seemed to be intense thought. “Well, I will talk to him.”

Anakin took this as his cue to leave, but turned back to catch Qui-Gon staring thoughtfully in space, feeling his skin prick from the unspoken accusations that floated aimlessly between them. Windu was not supposed to be roaming the castle either that night.

So, what was he doing?

***

“I’ve searched each path as instructed, Headmaster.” Mace Windu walked into the room without any warning of his arrival.The little headmaster was propped up on a stack of firm pillows in order to see over his desk, which no doubt had been designed for someone of the height of the average adult. His eyes were bright this evening and his long green ears perked up when he noticed he had company. 

“Found nothing, have you?” He spoke in that reversed verbiage that had become commonplace for Windu to understand. 

“The tunnel that led to the Zillo Beast is significantly newer than the rest of the tunnel systems.” He said with a nod of concession, “The infrastructure of these tunnels are ancient in make- whereas the tunnel that led to that dark lair was only meant to look old for aesthetic.”

“Sealed these tunnels should have been.” Yoda said gravely, “Meant for dark magic and smuggling, they initially were.”

Mace Windu knew this and while his peers and students would likely assess that he was an extreme stickler for the rules, he was not by any means unreasonable. He did not see the pure dangers of these tunnels for merely existing. Should they receive proper care and supervision, they just became different pathways to class. 

“Would you like me to seal them?” He asked.

“Tried many times, I have.” Yoda shook his head, “Against the will of the school, it is.”

Mace frowned, “Against the will of the school? With all due respect, Headmaster, regardless of all the magic in the world, this place is not physically alive.”

“Hmm,” Yoda gave him a look of appraisal, “Sure of that, are you?”

“It is not sentient.” He responded plainly, “It doesn’t have a beating heart or required source of sustenance. Biologically, it is not living.”

“Constrained, your definition of alive is.” He said, “The beating heart, the students are. The sustenance, knowledge is. Sentient, it is not, but intentions, it does have. For as long as it’s needed, alive, Hogwarts is.”

It took much patience to prevent himself from releasing an impatient sigh. Really, he knew what Yoda meant, but working amongst those that refused to see things straightforward could be frustrating. He supposed he was already spared enough from Qui-Gon’s presence for the night. Then, he’d be double-teamed.

“That does not help us with preventing another attack.” He said with folded arms.

“Then, the matter of the cheater, there is.” Yoda added thoughtfully.

“You’ve already declined my suspicions.” Mace said, trying too hard not to sound bitter about being rejected. 

“Keep looking, we must.” He pulled out a wrinkled map from his desk drawer. It was a map that was enchanted to show the whereabouts of every student in the school. It showed the blueprint of every location with the exception of the secret tunnels. His little green hand slid the map towards Mace. “Patrol the tunnels again, you shall, but tell anyone, you must not.”

***

He was in the hallway, late for class or at least he thought he should be. The sky was blue and he could hear birds, but the clouds looked stormy. He turned away from the window, but no one was there. In fact this wasn’t the hallway at all.

He was in the library, but it was loud and there were no windows. The book shelves seemed to trap him, he couldn’t walk towards the entrance, or try to find Obi-Wan at his usual table; whenever he tried it was only another shelf of books. He tried to grab at one, maybe there was a secret passage he’d missed somehow, but the books were stuck in place. He grabbed one with both hands and he pulled on it so hard his feet left the ground for a second, but still it didn’t budge.

He decided to continue down the passageway. He wasn’t even sure why that book stood out to him so much. Still, his hands itched to rip it from the shelf. It’s spine had been a deep blue, so deep in fact that it may as well have been black, he hadn’t caught the title, but it must have been important.

Before he could turn around and go back for it, a drop of water fell onto his hand. He looked up and realized it was too dark to see, looking behind him he could no longer see any books. The only light in the room were the walls, dazzling bright lights burst out of the carvings there. Stick figures were walking with him on either side and although they didn’t have mouths or really any way to make noise, he could hear them chanting almost like it was coming from the beat of his own heart.

“Vader, Vader, Vader,” It echoed in his mind even if he wasn’t sure he was really hearing it or not. He tried to tune it out as he continued, nowhere else to go, but the figures continued to follow him, glowing eerily in the dark.

He felt eyes on him, like he was being followed, but when he turned around there was nothing. He turned to continue forward picking up his pace. His heart was hammering louder and with it the chant did too.

“Vader, Vader, Vader,” He hit the end of the hallway. 

The Zillo Beast’s cage.

The beast was no longer there, but the bars had narrowed and there was no way for him to squeeze his way in, or escape from to the other side. He looked left and right, but there were bars there too, so he turned slowly, heart pounding, head filled with chants to see he’d been trapped. There was no way to escape. He pulled at the bars, even tried to climb them, but his palms were slippery with sweat and it seemed as if his strength had left him.

From the shadows he heard a deep voice speaking, but of what he couldn’t hear over the chant:

“Vader, Vader, Vader,”

Footsteps he felt more than heard were coming towards him at a painstakingly slow pace. He was pulling desperately on the bars, but his hands continued to slip. He saw a glint of silver from the darkness and he knew it was the blade he and Rex had seen. Then he saw the man’s robes, still no face, but it was damning enough. The dark robes, nothing fancy, but the inside was a deep mauve which stood out almost unnaturally in the darkness. The color was practically blinding, hypnotising him into standing still, hands sliding off the bars to fall at his side. Their surroundings had changed and he didn’t even notice, trees had sprung up around them and they leaned towards him as if to mock his suffering.

The sword was being raised, it glinted ruby red and the blade looked golden although he was certain it was meant to be silver. The hood of the cloak shifted though it still revealed no face; it did however allow the cloak to move in such a way that a wand was visible, if only for a, strangely long, second.

It was a twisting dark wood wand, blackthorn, he knew almost immediately because he’d seen such a wand before. It was a wand that did such elegant wand work for its owner, crafting the most beautiful charms.

A wand that belonged to Professor Mace Windu.

The sword swung.

***

Anakin’s eyes shot open and he pressed a hand, still twisted in his sheets, to his mouth to stifle the cry he was sure he’d made. He didn’t dare to move, eyes roving around the parts of the room he could see, but there was no glint of silver or gold, no mauve-lined robes, and no twisted blackthorn wand. He heard a rustle from behind him and he snapped instantly to a sitting position, grasping his wand he’d kept under his pillow in trembling hands pointing it towards the source of the sound.

Rex was rubbing his eyes and looking blearily at him.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was thick with sleep and Anakin lowered his wand, but he didn’t loosen his grip. Although Rex had already done so, he couldn’t allow his voice to break the silence of the room. His heart was beating quickly and he could almost hear a voice speaking behind the sound, but of what, he did not know. 

“Are you ok?” Rex looked more awake now, and more awake translated to more concerned. Rex slipped out of bed and Anakin tried to focus on the soft patter of feet before Rex was climbing onto Anakin’s four-poster and whispering quietly, “Did you have a bad dream again?”

The fears and terrible memories swelled forward and Anakin felt his breath catch and tears slip from the corners of his eyes. He was trembling and he tried to stop by clutching his wand tighter, but all that did was allow a few golden sparks to fizzle out the end.

“It’s Windu, Rex,” Anakin said although he was sure the shakiness of his voice would not sound convincing, “I saw the tunnel again, but it felt different, like a warning, not a memory,” He was crying now, much as he tried to banish the tears.

“What do you remember?” Rex asked, he wrapped an arm around Anakin’s shoulders, and Anakin had to fight with himself to not cry into his friend's shoulder. He wanted his mum. She’d make things better. For the first time he really wondered if she had been right to stay away from the wizarding world.

“I was in the tunnel, but this time I got put into a cage,” He explained to distract himself, “He had that sword, the one we found and then there were trees.”

“And you’re sure it was Windu?” Rex asked and Anakin nodded frantically.

“His robes were lined with purple, like the scrap we found,” He pushed, “It was so bright like it wanted me to see, and the sword he had… it should have been silver, but it was gold and red-”

“Gryffindor colors,” Rex gasped, pulling away in shock.

“And I saw his wand,” Anakin wiped away tears, “It was Windu.”

“We have to tell Obi-Wan,” Rex whispered with a frown, but Anakin shook his head and practically leaped across the other boy to grab his shoulder.

“We can’t! Obi-Wan doesn’t believe me,” Anakin reminded him.

“But what if it is a warning? If he’s planning to do something-” Rex’s forehead wrinkled as he considered the little knowledge they had.

“He’s too cunning,” Anakin shook his head sadly, “The whole school thinks he’s great. Qui-Gon would hear me out, but without proof he can’t do anything! Everyone at this stupid school would rather have me dead then believe me!” 

This had been weighing on his heart for some time now. He looked to the wand in his hand. When it chose him, he had been elated, it had been one of the best days of his life. To be chosen to do magic and study away at a castle in the hills had easily surpassed everything he’d ever wished for. He wondered now, if it hadn’t been a blessing, but one big curse he was playing into.

“That’s not true,” Rex patted him on the shoulder, “I believe you,” Anakin felt his eyes tearing up again, but he threw his arms around his best friend before they could fall, “If Windu tries to get you, he’ll have to go through me too!”

“Thanks Rex,” Anakin failed at steadying his voice once more, “You're the best friend I could ever ask for.”

***

Anakin awoke to the feeling of his eyelashes being stuck together. So, he scrubbed at his eyes until he could open them enough to see Rex, who must have fallen asleep, still in Anakin’s bed. He was wrapped in all the sheets in a way only the youngest of such a large family could and he only woke up when Anakin tried to pull some of them back.

“Get your own blanket,” He grumbled without opening his eyes, clutching onto what he could with an iron grip.

“These are mine,” Anakin complained, tugging harder. Rex opened his eyes then and sat up, allowing the blankets to fall from his hands as he realized he was in fact, a thief.

“Ah, whoops,” He grinned sheepishly, “Sorry mate, Fives always did say I was a blanket hog.” 

Anakin just shrugged. As if both remembering how they ended up fighting over blankets in the first place, Anakin’s face fell and Rex’s drifted back into concern, “Any more dreams?”

“No,” Anakin shook his head, “But I’m not sure anything could top that last one even if I did,” He admitted and Rex just frowned, slipping off the bed and towards his trunk.

“Well if you don’t want to talk to anyone, maybe we should keep an eye on Windu?” Rex suggested.

“How so? Last time he caught me out of bed I got in trouble and I wasn’t even doing anything,” Anakin complained and Rex just gave him a look.

“The map, you idiot,” And he slapped a hand to his forehead, grabbing it from under his mattress.

“You’re right!” He held the paper up to the light before suddenly dropping it into his pocket and looking around to ensure none of the other first years were awake.

***

“So, Windu’s been going off property, huh?” Rex thought aloud as he and Anakin walked down the winding hill of the front entrance. Anakin’s eyes were glued to the map that rested on top of his textbook, trying to accurately see where the map tapered off. “That’s weird, I find it hard to imagine any of the professors having actual lives- let alone someone as stiff as him.”

“I just assumed they all lived at Hogwarts.” Anakin shrugged, “I guess that would be a little odd.”

“Some of them do.” Rex pointed out, “But yeah, I can’t really see any of them exactly going out on the town and grabbing a beer.”

“Most of them could use one.” He said and frowned, “It still shows us on the map.”

Eventually, a professor or prefect was bound to look and see the two first years drifting seemingly aimlessly across the lawn, looking like they were up to no good, and would surely corral them in. In reality, Rex really needed to study for Charms, but knew Anakin had the subject on lock. Despite being under clear scrutiny with Windu, Anakin had a natural talent for the subject that Rex might never understand. 

That being said, even coupled with the crunchy snow that they squashed beneath their boots and the damp wind that smacked them in the face, there was something about the wide open stretch of white landscape before them that promised the possibilities of great adventure. 

“The grounds are very large.” Rex voiced his thoughts, “I reckon it’ll show us all the way to Hogsmeade if we let it.”

Rex knew the smile that appeared on Anakin’s face quite well. It was one of both determination and mischief and admittedly, it sparked excitement with Rex as well. 

“I don’t see the harm in trying it.” He grinned and then gave pause, “Though, we probably should take an alternative route.”

“I could go for a butterbeer.” Rex answered with a smile that matched his friend’s. 

“I’ve never had one.” Anakin said.

“Great, a bonus mission, then.”

***

Satine prided herself on the ability to multitask. She could simultaneously observe that the first years were behaving as they enjoyed their time after school in the Great Hall, playing board games and chatting amicably, while also trying to mentally construct what she was to do for their latest Charms project.

It was an interesting one, for sure, which involved presenting a counter-charm in front of the class. She and Obi-Wan had paired together of course and despite her recent frustrations with the boy in question, had no worries about their imminent productivity.

Aayla and Stass, who always worked together, were not as confident in the merit of their own work ethic.

“Would you happen to know the counter-charm to my brain melting through my ears?” Stass groaned as she slumped off the bench and onto the floor.

They didn’t have to sit with her while she essentially babysat the younger students, but neither girl seemed to have anywhere else to be and Satine would be a liar to say she didn’t appreciate the company. 

“It’s only a counter-charm if it’s actually you know, countering a different charm.” Satine said with a smile, not taking her eyes off her scan of the crowd. She spotted Viz, who sat in the far corner to the right with a few other students around him. It was a relief to Satine that he’d found more friends. He’d been such a loner in the beginning of the year, only really seen occasionally beside Anakin Skywalker.

Satine bit her tongue. She was especially glad he found other friends.

“We could go simple, you know. That is always an option.” Aayla said, “A locking and unlocking display wouldn’t hurt us.”

“You know Windu will have a well-timed and well-deserved lecture about taking the easy way out.” Stass sighed, “He’d rather see us fail at something hard than opt for something too easy.”

“When you’re right, you’re right.” Aayla flopped backwards so she was lying flat on the bench. One of her blue lekku dangled over the side, just barely above the stone floor. “What are you and Kenobi working on?”

“We haven’t discussed it yet, actually.” Satine kept her hands folded in her lap and tried not to appear visibly cross with him, even if most could tell by the way they behaved around each other. It didn’t help when she could practically feel the curious stares of her prying and procrastinating friends.

“You haven’t come up with the full plans for the project?” Stass gaped, “But it’s been a whole week since it was assigned.”

“I’ve been a little busy, you know.” She pointed out, “Those essays for potions were not exactly what I’d call a fun time.”

“You still got the best grade in the class.” Aayla said.

“Second best.” She corrected almost automatically. “By a whopping half point.”

“Good thing you’re not keeping score.” She smirked.

Satine rolled her eyes. She really wasn’t. So, it was in her nature to be a little competitive when it came to academics. It was always in good nature. She was never mad when he scored better than her on something… Just, determined to be better for her own sake. 

She was already considered at a disadvantage at this school for being a muggle-born. She didn’t grow up with magic the way many had. Satine merely felt the need to fill in those gaps in whatever way she could. If it were always easy for her and she was simply always the best, she would grow uninspired. In comparison to this, she always had someone to walk in tandem with in terms of intellect, even if that person was presently being an idiot.

As if on cue, Obi-Wan Kenobi walked into the Great Hall, scanning the crowd with determined eyes until they landed on her. She cocked an eyebrow in response, contrasting the smile she might shoot him if she weren’t still cross with him. Most students liked to relax after the course of the school day, which might involve untucking their shirts, rolling up their sleeves, loosening their ties, or removing their jumpers. Obi-Wan was far from “most students” and almost constantly opted to dress with the primness of a new day.

He walked over to her, but kept turning his head around the crowd. Most students spared him a brief look of concern, noting that two prefects in one area was rarely a good thing, but seemed to recognize Obi-Wan and Satine’s close friendship and continued on with their antics.

It was refreshing in a sense, because the little first years were not nearly as concerned with their friendship as say, third or fourth years were. Satine could not quite fathom why.

“Hey, Kenobi! Here to talk strategy for the match?” Aayla teased as he got closer. 

Satine wasn’t sure how she managed to forget that Ravenclaw’s next Quidditch match was in just a couple weeks’ time, but she guessed her increasing annoyance with her most valuable player was a large component of this. 

Obi-Wan chuckled and shook his head, “No, but that doesn’t mean I’ll say no to advice on how to keep my head on straight against Ventress’s vital blows.”

“Keep the ball from going in the hoop for a start.” Stass offered.

“Mind-blowing. Please go into sports analytics.” Aayla playfully jabbed her friend’s torso with her pointed toes. 

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” Obi-Wan said with a smile that faded into caution when he finally regarded Satine, “May I speak to you alone?”

“That depends, are you going to acknowledge my thoughts and opinions or will you be ignoring all of that completely?” She replied sarcastically and not quite caring if they had witnesses. Obi-Wan could read that the moment he came into the room and she knew it.

“Satine…” He begged quietly in a voice he rarely reserved for anyone else.

She hated how her heart still skipped a bit when looking at him for too long and in favor of avoiding the embarrassment of flushing red in front of her friends, she slid off the table and wordlessly joined him across the room. They could still manage to watch over the first years if they needed to, but it was slightly more secluded.

“I’m assuming this doesn’t have to do with our Charms homework.” She said, but frowned as she noticed he was still searching the crowd with growing tension in his form. “What’s up with you?”

He gave another onceover across the room before returning his gaze back to her and she realized with growing clarity that he wasn’t simply looking from the perspective of a prefect that was trying to do his job, but someone who was actively looking for something else.

Or, as she considered the entirety of first years filling the Great Hall, someone.

“You’re looking for Anakin, aren’t you?” She said with the shake of her head. 

“And Rex.” Obi-Wan sighed, “They skipped their final class today.”

She knitted her eyebrows together, “So-”

“-For the record, this does not mean you were right.” He said pointedly. “These could be two completely unrelated incidents.”

“Oh, well, heaven forbid that ever be the case,” She drawled and crossed her arms over her chest, “And I wasn’t about to say anything of that matter, actually. It’s still my responsibility to ensure the safety of younger students, regardless of who they are.”

“I’m just ensuring you won’t use this as an opportunity to lay a preemptive “I told you so” on me.” 

She bristled, “It’s good to know your faith in me is ever persistent.” 

“I’m here for assistance, aren’t I?” He retorted.

“Are you?” She frowned, “Because you’ve got a funny way of asking for it.”

“Please?” He returned to that gentler tone that stroked something soft in her chest and she shoved it somewhere deep where she didn’t have to think about it… For now. 

She sighed, “Let’s check the common rooms first.”

***

Anakin walked the secret tunnels beneath Hogwarts with enough confidence to make an outside viewer think he carved them out himself. It certainly paralleled significantly to a few months before when he’d merely been eager to see them in the first place. Rex held his glowing wand over the map and huddled close to Anakin as they followed its lead to see just where the map trailed off. 

Even without the map, it was obvious they were no longer beneath the castle as it was beginning to feel like a refrigerator as they continued onwards.

“You know, this is an awful long path for a shortcut.” Rex muttered.

“Pretty straightforward too.” Anakin commented, noting that they had only made one or two minor turns in their trek towards Hogsmeade.

“I wonder what shop we’ll drop in on.” Rex said, though it wasn’t the first he’d thought of it. “It might look a bit funny to pop up behind a merchandise shelf in Zonko’s or something.”

“As long as Windu doesn’t catch us, we’re good.” He said, “He’s observing Slytherin’s Quidditch practice in place of Palpatine. I’d say we’re in the clear for now.”

“I gotta hand it to ya, mate,” Rex began, “Despite all the thinly veiled threats, you really don’t ever quit, do you?”

“Hogwarts is my home.” Anakin said sharply, his high-pitched voice echoing off the wet stone walls, “And I want to keep it safe. I can’t do that if some creep is trying to kill me at every left turn.”

If Rex was going to argue that they were too young to be so protective of their school, he didn’t give any indication of it. It was a relief to have someone in his life that wasn’t so quick to comment on the more augmented portions of Anakin’s statements. 

They walked a little longer in comfortable silence. The only space that filled them was the sounds of their boots sloshing around in puddles. Lining the walls was ice and while there didn’t appear to be any icy patches, the ground was a bit crunchy from snow previously tracked in. 

It was strange, Anakin was beginning to feel even safer in the tunnels than he did walking through the main corridors of Hogwarts. Of course, he felt plenty fine going to and from class as was expected of him. However, exploration of Hogwarts on the surface was strangely forbidden, clearly containing more secrets than the teachers could manage. It was easier to delve deeper.

Not only that, but knowing there was a straight escape out of the building if need be was a bit comforting for Anakin. Seeing as his life had been attempted twice at this point, it was always good to know. That, or if Sebulba figured out it was he who turned his bed into a swamp.

“Hey,” Any comfort he felt seemed misguided by Rex’s tone, “Have you taken this route before?”

“I told you, I’ve never been to Hogsmeade.” Anakin said, but when he tried to continue walking, Rex grabbed him by the sleeve of his robe to force him in front of him. Concern filled the wide brown eyes of his friend, who was only illuminated by the soft glow at the tip of his wand. “What?”

“If you’ve never taken this way before, then how does snowdrift get dragged in here?” He nodded towards the small little dustings of snowy residue that peppered inconsistently across the surface leading forward. 

Anakin frowned and held the map down to his side, giving Rex his full thought and attention for that moment, which was all the more chilling. As much as the tunnels had become a safe haven and escape for Anakin, they were also the primary mode of transportation for his alleged attacker. 

“It’s cold down here.” He added, trying to remain optimistic.

“Not cold enough to freeze.” Rex said.

No, that was also true. While muggle school had bored him, he did understand the basic concepts of temperature control and how water would only freeze when reaching zero degrees celsius. And there were puddles of murky water lingering throughout the tunnels. If it were truly that cold, they would have froze over as well.

He sighed, “Okay, so should we turn back or go-”

Anakin didn’t have the time to finish that thought, because any suggestion he was about to make died on his tongue at the sound of shoes hitting stone flooring at a rapidly approaching speed.

He didn’t have to encourage Rex to follow him as he turned on his heels and began sprinting in the opposite direction. While he nearly dropped his wand in the process, Rex staggered next to him, trying his best to keep up. Somehow, he managed to keep his wand aglow, which did help a little in terms of allowing them to make out what was directly in front of them. However, the speed at which Rex flung his arms made the light seem like it was flashing. 

The way back towards Hogwarts was dark and the brandish motion of Rex’s wand gave off the heightened sensation of a strobe- slowing time impossibly. Anakin balled his hands into fists as he ran, crinkling the revered parchment tightly through his sweaty fingers.

In those seconds, his mind raced to many things.

Windu.

Phantom.

Vader.

The footsteps grew louder and more frantic, even over the sound of his brain pounding in his skull. Whoever chased them was quick and determined, but not heavy on their feet. Anakin veered his head to the side, trying to catch Rex’s eyes in the flickering light of his wobbling wand, but only saw a blur of his friend beside him and tried to focus more on getting out of here. 

It occurred to Anakin, suddenly, what it would take to discover the identity of this masked evil and he squeezed his fist so unbearably tight that it hurt. He wouldn’t tell Rex, so his friend would go on, but he had to know. He could only run for so long.

So, he stopped to a complete halt, trying to hastily unwrinkle the parchment he’d previously crushed in his knee jerk reaction. The tension that was caught in his digits made this exceptionally hard as well as the way his heart threatened to burst through his chest in anticipation. 

The map would reveal the truth. He would have his proof. He would have his name. There would be no more doubt that the person who has repeatedly made Anakin’s first year at Hogwarts so uncharacteristically strange was-

-BAM!

The breath was stolen from Anakin as he bore the full weight of a shrouded body that had been hurtling towards him. For a moment, he was floating and the only thought that drifted across his mind’s eye was that he was no longer holding the map or his wand. He wanted to curse, but the words were also no longer a luxury he could afford.

He skidded to the cold and damp floor, splashing into a puddle with a grunt and a gasp. It felt as though he’d gone into shock as he briefly wrestled in the dark with his witless attacker, who also seemed to have their senses knocked out of them by the impact. 

Blood pumped into Anakin’s ears and pain finally caught up with him after a moment and he looked up into bleak darkness, but had the presence of mind to shove this surprise guest off of him. It was surprisingly an easy feat, not nearly as dense as the menace on Halloween had been when he’d snuck up on him.

Even in his haze, it was clear to him that this wasn’t the same person. This person was small and desperate, scared even. As they rustled a bit in an unsure scuffle, he could feel what seemed to be an emblem on the front of the robe. 

There was no answer of course.

As if also just coming to, the mystery person scrambled to their feet in equal terror as Anakin had initially felt, and stumbled into what would become a running position, the sound of distant footsteps hitting puddles as well as strangely, an irregular fluttering. In what small lighting Rex’s wand allowed for him, he could see that this person was a young boy.

“Anakin, Anakin!” Rex’s arms were underneath Anakin’s armpits as he hoisted him to a standing position. His worried voice indicated that this had not been the first time he’d said his name. “Was that-”

“-That was a student!” Anakin gasped as he dusted himself off, no matter how little good that was going to do when he now had ice and dirty water on his robe. 

“We ought to go after him then!” Rex urged.

“The map!” Anakin panicked, “I was trying to get a look at the map and I dropped it!” 

Rex waved his wand across the floor and both boys exchanged shocked glances when they noticed not only Anakin’s map and wand in a particularly jagged shaped puddle beneath them, but several different slices of parchment all around. Anakin wasted no time looking at them yet as he plucked the map from the water.

“What’s it say?” Rex asked.

“Bollocks.” Anakin cursed, “It doesn’t work when it’s wet, apparently.”

“Well, what kind of spell is that?” He complained. 

“I’m sure Palpatine never thought I’d be dragging it through mud.” Anakin defended slightly and winced, “I hope I didn’t break it.”

Rex bent down to pick up another piece of parchment and frowned, “Well, I think this answers any question of what he was doing down here.”

Anakin looked over his friend’s shoulder and wrinkled his brow, “Homework?”

“This isn’t homework,” Rex rolled his eyes and brought the papers closer to the light, “These are answer keys to the OWLS tests for the fifth years.”

***

Obi-Wan and Satine had searched what seemed like the entire school with growing trepidation. Obi-Wan, in particular, was trying his best not to seem shaken by his mentee’s absence while Satine wondered when and how she was going to suggest adult intervention.

She didn’t have to, luckily, because right as that moment felt inevitable, they stumbled across Anakin and Rex as the boys stood with hands on their knees, huffing and puffing outside of the Gryffindor common room. From her peripherals, she could see Obi-Wan relax substantially and she was also glad for their safety. However, such relief did not prevent varying questions from flooding her mind.

Obi-Wan beat her to the first one, “Where have you two been hiding?”

Anakin straightened with the alarm of someone that was trying to disguise having been caught. Doing what, Satine supposed they didn’t have definitive proof of. At the very least, they’d obviously been running.

“Um, cardio.” He so obviously lied, “For Quidditch.”

“In your full uniforms.” Satine said plainly and then looked to Rex, “Rex isn’t even on the team.”

The youngest Fett’s frown deepened, but after exchanging a quick glance with his best friend and co-conspirator, eased into what Satine could only assume was purposeful ignorance. “I’d like to be someday.”

That much, while true, was irrelevant. She wasn’t buying it and clearly, Obi-Wan wasn’t either. 

“You skipped class- Herbology, mind you, which is far from your strongest subject in order to run around like hooligans?”

“We didn’t mean to miss class.” Anakin justified, “We completely lost track of time!”

Satine rolled her eyes, “You’re really going to have to do better than that. For skipping class no other purpose besides playing hooky, I’ll have no choice but to assign detention for the both of you this evening.”

“Wait, okay!” Rex broke a bit, clearly not keen on spending his time with the likes of Krell and truthfully, Satine didn’t want him to either, “We were… Investigating.”

“Rex!” Anakin glared at his friend.

“No, do share, please.” Obi-Wan said, holding out a hand to cue Anakin to silence.

“We were trying to figure out who was behind this cheating scandal that’s going around.” Rex said and Satine furrowed her brow at the way Anakin slackened ever so slightly at this “admission” of truth.

“That’s the job of prefects and professors.” Obi-Wan reminded them, “Not first years.”

“Yeah, well, did either of you find this?” Anakin boasted as he held a surprisingly wet piece of parchment out in front of him, “Because a couple of dumb first years did.”

“I never said you were dumb.” Obi-Wan returned as he took the dripping paper away to take a better look at it. Over his shoulder, Satine caught a glance too and couldn’t help the small gasp that she took in.

“Where did you find this?” Satine asked in a treacherously concerned voice. 

“And why is it wet?” Obi-Wan winced and wiped his hand on the side of his robe. 

“Outside.” Anakin said, “Right near the entrance.”

“We were running, because we thought we saw the kid.” Rex added and for this bit, Satine could see that Rex was relaying what he believed to be the truth.

The heaps of snow that covered the rolling terrain did explain quite obviously why the parchment was soaked in some parts, but not why it existed at all. The OWLS weren’t for another couple of months and yet, the answers (albeit, smudged) were right in Obi-Wan’s hands. Neither prefect took to looking at them too closely in fear of glimpsing any of the answers in-context, but enough to know this was certainly the key for a Transfiguration exam.

“Thank you for bringing this to our attention.” Obi-Wan nodded at the two of them. He was very practiced at maintaining a cool composition, even if Satine could see the cracks in his display from a kilometer away. It seemed to placate Anakin and Rex, who were also trying not to seem jostled.

“Does this mean we don’t have detention?”

If Satine had it her way, she’d want to add further questions before making such a promise, but Obi-Wan seemed to have other ideas.

“For now.” He said sternly, “But see to it that your spree of vigilantism stops right here. The main priority for you two is to go to school and learn, not engage in criminal investigations.”

“Leave that to us.” Satine added with hands on her hips, “And remember that we might not be as kind next time you choose to skip class.” 

Both first years nodded their heads hastily and at Obi-Wan’s firm dismissal, jogged off to dinner, trying to beat the other through the doors. Instead of following them inside, Obi-Wan shared a concerned look with Satine.

“What do you make of this?”

“It was one thing when it was regular exams and essays,” Satine admitted, “But this is supposed to be a standardized examination. Whoever is doing this has contacts that run deep.”

“I know.” He said, “It’s good that you have seen reason.”

Feeling as though something halted and reverberated within her, Satine stepped back, completely incredulous. “Pardon?”

He frowned in confusion, “You see that this cannot be Anakin now.”

“I see no such thing!” She offset, “We’ve drawn no absolute conclusions yet!”

“He literally handed us the test paper, Satine.” He said. 

“Need I remind you that he clearly did not want to?” She argued, “Rex was the one to goad him into it.”

“He doesn’t have the sort of contacts to get access to this level of cheating!” He said, “And I’ve been with him almost constantly.”

“Almost constantly except today.” She reminded him.

“And you believe Rex complicit.” 

“I didn’t say that!” She said, “I don’t know what I believe and neither do you.”

“I believe Anakin wasn’t being wholly honest with us, but he’s not a cheater. If anything, he was likely trying to seek out more information on who freed the Zillo Beast.” Obi-Wan stood up straight, as if his more impressive height would give him an advantage in this spinning wheel of an argument. 

“And I hope that’s the case!” She insisted, “But even still, that is something he should most certainly not handle alone.”

“Anakin doesn’t trust the manner of investigation here,” He said firmly, “And frankly, I can see why.”

“That sounds a bit fishy to me, actually.” She said, “You and I have given him no reason for mistrust.”

“Well, I haven’t.” He said bitterly.

“Don’t you dare try to lump me in with Windu’s oversight regarding Krell.” She poked him hard in the chest, “I don’t believe with certainty that it’s Anakin, I admit, and I do have many more questions in relation to this whole mystery now, but I will not rule any potential suspects out.”

“God forbid we rule anyone out in an investigation!” He said, waving around the parchment, “Good thing you’re not an Auror, because everyone would constantly be a possible suspect of crime.”

“Yeah, well good thing you aren’t one either!” She snapped and it felt cold as it came out, but her mouth seemed to move before her brain could think, “Because not only does it require the courage to pursue Defense Against the Dark Arts, but critical thinking!”

His eyes widened a tad and his mouth fell open a tad, “I- Well, then. Why are you even investigating alongside me in the first place?”

“Ben...” She tried, regretting what she said if only a little bit.

“I’ll see you later.” He said shortly, “We’ve got a counter-charm to develop, no? I am smart enough to help with that, right?”

“I never said-”

“-No, but you did.” He laughed a little, even if it wasn’t funny to him, “And it’s okay. Really, it’s inconsequential since we both know that’s not where my path is going anyway.”

She opened her mouth as if to speak, but couldn’t figure out what to say. She didn’t believe Anakin was entirely innocent in all of this, but she wasn’t hellbent on his guilt as Obi-Wan seemed to believe she was. And regardless of how it came out, the most infuriating part of Obi-Wan not actively pursuing what he dreamed to do, was that he was perfect for the job.

***

Hondo Ohnaka specialized in many things. 

Bribery, scheming, smuggling. All things pirating, really, but most of all, he prided himself on his charms- both in the magical and personal sense. He’d never have such an aptitude to sell his scams if he wasn’t so damn convincing. Plus, there was his fearlessness. He did not fear trouble and almost welcomed it… To an extent. 

He took a very large hit when exempting himself from the cheating scandal. It was a shame, really, because it was just the kind of sleaziness that Hondo could have made a killing off of! It was not as though he hadn’t thought of it in the past, of course, but he didn’t have the means that this mystery cheater had. 

Even though he had been insulted that Kryze and Kenobi initially suspected him, he became truly offended when they believed he wouldn’t have been able to pull it off. Naturally, he could. He totally could. And yes, he had inadvertently promised to keep an eye on things for Kenobi, because even though Hondo was a pirate at heart, he did have a soft spot for the prefect. It was dangerous, he knew, but Kenobi was one of the few people to be nice to Hondo in those early days.

It counted for a little bit, that was all. Should this cheater offer Hondo a great sum of the profit, that would be a different story and he’d hope Kenobi would understand.

In a way, his promise to play lookout benefited him in the long run, making it possible for him to sell his Valentine’s Day gags more in the open. He could keep watch for anyone exiting from any secret corridors or at the late night, seeming like his typical troublemaking self, while getting a first glance at the person AND making a profit or alliance.

He knew with Kryze involved that he would be on a short leash, but he would make do.

He was just in the middle of making a decent sell- heart shaped chocolates that were supposed to make you look like your crush’s exact type- when Anakin Skywalker seemed to appear from nowhere, running right into him.

“Hey, kiddo, watch where you’re going!” He scolded, only irritated because the chocolates hit the floor. His buyer, a sad sack named Max Rebo, raised and lowered his large blue ears in exasperation, before scurrying away.

“Sorry, Hondo.” The boy dusted himself off and bent over to help him pick up the candies. “What are these?”

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” Hondo warned him when the boy raised the chocolate to his lips, “It could give you horrible diarrhea.”

Skywalker would surely tell his mentor what happened if Hondo got the kid sick and the last thing he needed was to miss out on the Valentine’s day sales. 

Skywalker winced and tossed it back into the heart shape box, “Can’t risk that twice this term.”

Hondo didn’t really want to know the bowel habits of the first year, but was curious what he was doing wandering the halls so close to curfew. He narrowed his eyes at him.

“You’re not trying to move in on my turf are you?” He asked.

“What? No!” Anakin insisted, “I’m just running late is all.”

As an experienced liar, Hondo knew that while that was true, it didn’t answer his question in full. Besides, the boy looked a bit too nervous for someone that was being questioned by one of the least authoritative figures in school. It was mighty suspicious.

“You better not be!” Hondo assured, “Because I don’t take well to splitting profits evenly… Well, unless I’m mooching off someone else.”

“Are people really buying this stuff?” He asked.

“What? You don’t like?” Hondo asked, distracted from his suspicions to be annoyed at the implications from the kid. “You’d be surprised what people do for love.”

Skywalker shifted in his stance, “I don’t know if love is worth the stomachache.” 

Hondo placed a hand on his shoulder and tried to look wise, “Love is a stomachache, Skywalker.”

***

Despite how frazzled he still was from their encounter with the mysterious cheater in the tunnels (as well as with Hondo), Anakin was never too nervous not to be swept in the calming yet alluring aura that was Padmé Amidala. It was hard not to, when it seemed even without the aid of the map, that destiny tended to cross their paths in the halls.

As per usual, she was trailed by some other Gryffindor girls whom she was quite close with- this time, Saché and Rabé. However, Anakin could hardly notice them when her laugh seemed to fill the whole hallway… Until Rabé (he thinks- her friends all looked very similar to him) said something of interest.

“I take it you won’t be receiving any valentines this year from Sebulba.” She said.

“No, I don’t think so.” Padmé chuckled, “And I think he’s afraid I’ll send him one carved of toenails and earwax or something dreadful.”

“I’d say it’s a shame he finally went “fully mad”, but I can’t say I find it in me to feel bad for the bloke.” Saché added.

“I still do.” Padmé offered with a shrug, “Not enough to do anything crazy like date him, but people don’t just become like that, you know?”

“Still,” Rabé sighed wistfully, “It’d be nice if some of the boys around here had a proper romantic bone in their body.”

Padmé smiled knowingly and nudged Saché, whose cheeks matched her tie, “Not just boys. Have you thought about making something for Yané?”

“Oh bugger off,” She scowled, “I’ve got no time for romance as of late, thank you very much.”

“That’s a no.” Rabé teased, “You know she’s going to knit you something beautiful.”

“She’s going to make something beautiful for all of us, thank you.” Saché said, “Because she’s talented like that.”

“So are you, in your own ways.” Padmé said encouragingly. “You’ve just gotta put yourself out there. Who cares if you’re a year younger?”

Anakin swore his heart was floating somewhere midair- as if a passerby cast a Wingardium Leviosa spell on it without warning. How was someone so unassumingly beautiful? It felt somehow, like he was meant to overhear the advice, but knew if he lingered much longer he’d be noticed from his position around the corridor. Instead, he walked with haste to the library. 

What was he going to do?

***

“Okay, mentor, I’ve got a problem and you need to help me fix it. ASAP.” Anakin burst into the library and dropped his stack of books on the table in front of Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan cringed at the glares they received from surrounding tables and raised a finger to his lips.

“Have you no mind for those that use the library as more than a place to nap?” Satine hissed, acting much less subtle in her approach.

“Sorry.” Anakin said, but was too caught up in whatever was going on to be genuine in his apology. “I just have a major problem.”

‘Major problems’ could be anything on the scale of miniscule to horrific when it came to Anakin, so it was difficult to decipher which this would be. Regardless, Obi-Wan made his peace with the fact that whatever studying he’d been planning would have to wait until later. 

In truth, he’d already been derailed by the undercurrent of tension presently wrapped around him and Satine. She was still cross with him and he felt likewise, but they’d both been too stubborn to give up their usual seat at the library.  

“What’s going on?” Obi-Wan asked.

True to his dramatic entrance, he flopped backwards across a row of wooden chairs with a heavy sigh. “Valentine’s Day is coming up.”

It was obvious that Satine was doing everything in her power not to roll her eyes, which while Obi-Wan felt a similar sense of exasperation, did not want to give her the satisfaction of agreement.

“That’s all?” He asked, voice carefully neutral.

“That’s all?” Anakin shot up in horror. “It’s quite possibly the worst thing that could ever happen to me.”

“You are aware it happens every year, aren’t you?” Satine asked.

He shook his head adamantly, shaking his shaggy hair, “This year is different. This year, I’m in love. I’m in love with the prettiest girl in school and it’s completely awful.”

“You do remember Halloween, right?” Obi-Wan asked, “When you were almost killed by the rogue Zillo Beast? Or at the holiday party? That, to me, is much more qualified to be the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“Physical injuries have nothing on injuries of the heart.” He clutched his chest for emphasis and Satine couldn’t withhold the chuckle that seemed to bubble up inside her, though try as she might for Anakin’s sake.

“I’m sorry,” She smirked at his grimace. “I don’t know what’s funnier: the theatrics or the fact that of all the people in the world, you chose to come to him for romantic advice.”

Obi-Wan frowned, “And what’s wrong with asking me?”

“Yeah, what is wrong with asking him?” Anakin rounded on Satine, who remained cool under the pressure of both boys’ expectant stares.

“He knows positively zilch about love.” She said as if it were obvious, which prickled Obi-Wan in all the wrong ways.

“That’s not true!” He argued, even if someone else had asked him a mere ten minutes ago, he likely would have told them the truth. He just didn’t like Satine telling not only him, but his protégé what he did and didn’t know, particularly about this sensitive subject. “I know more than you do!”

Sometimes, he learned, it was best to call someone’s bluff. He just couldn’t tell if he was calling Satine’s or his own.

“Yeah, Obi-Wan’s the smartest guy I know!” Anakin slung an arm around him in support.

She crossed her arms, “Do share then, oh wise one.”

He opened his mouth and then closed it before opening it again. He racked his brain to say anything to wipe that smug look off Satine’s face. She seemed so certain that he was clueless and the fact that he was transparent in his lack of knowledge on the subject bristled him more.

The audacity of it all! Who was she to assume what he did and didn’t know? Then again, it shouldn’t surprise him, seeing as she refused to believe him of Anakin’s innocence in the cheat-sheet scandal. 

“I don’t need to prove myself to you.” He sniffed, “Anakin came to me, because he trusts and respects my opinion and believes I can fix this situation for him.”

“You can?” Anakin asked excitedly.

“He can’t.” Satine answered, “You don’t ‘fix’ a crush, particularly not someone else’s. If you knew anything about love, you’d have come to that conclusion on your own.”

“And what do you know about love? I don’t see you walking around with a boyfriend either.” He pointed out.

“By choice!” She snapped, finally, much to his satisfaction, seeming as heated as he was, “And anyway, at least I’ve been kissed before.”

Obi-Wan’s jaw dropped, despite how little he wanted to display his shock at this revelation. He wasn’t sure what he felt in response to that, but he didn’t like the sickly feeling that crawled around his stomach. He mentally shoved it away as far as it could go so as not to further influence this argument.

“When?” He asked, voice cracking only a little, “Who?”

“Bryce Saxon when I was 10.” She said.

“Nice!” Anakin said at the same time Obi-Wan said, “That doesn’t count! We didn’t even know each other.”

“Why does that matter?” She asked, “Did my life not truly begin until I met you?”

“I-I” He stammered, “I just meant it’s circumstantial proof if we don’t know the person.”

“You don’t have to. Why would I lie?”

“To make me jealous?” He spat and when her eyes widened at that, he quickly added, “-That you have kissed someone while I haven’t.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve got better things to do than lie about my accomplishments.” She said. “And you should know all about circumstantial evidence.”

Ah, so there it was. She was still lashing out about his disbelief in her claim. That only enraged him more. 

“As if kissing some twerpy bloke is an accomplishment.” He sneered, hating every bit of himself that was getting so riled up by this hushed debate. He and Satine argued all of the time, but never like this. The subject matter was sensitive and typically something they stayed away from. Or at least, he thought they did.

“Why do you naturally assume he’s twerpy?” She asked. “It’s not like you’ve got much room to judge.”

Was she calling him twerpy? Did that bother him?

“Regardless of what he was like, his existence is irrelevant, because an elementary-aged kiss is hardly the muse of romantics, which means it’s useless to Anakin.”

“That’s a good point.” Anakin said.

“Yes, well, Anakin is 11. I was 10. If anything, I’m more advanced than Anakin and would better assimilate my experiences to his.” She countered. 

“Also a good point.” He said thoughtfully.

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw. Would she stop bringing up that stupid kiss? “It’s best for advice to come from a mature and collected perspective. Sometimes, being caught in the hysterics of the situation is not the best position to be giving out any information.”

“That’s-” Anakin began.

“-I thought it was just a twerpy kiss?” She rose to her feet with her hands planted firm on the table.

“I’m not the one citing a peck on the lips as gospel reasoning to be fully informed on the throes of romance.” He met her with equal passion, their faces only centimeters apart. “I would also like to point out that I know much better what my protégé is capable of.”

“Do you?” She retorted.  

“Is this a bad time?” Anakin asked awkwardly, “Because I’m starting to feel like this isn’t really about me anymore?”

It was totally about Anakin, while simultaneously not. Obi-Wan certainly didn’t have it in him to explain.

“No, it’s a perfectly good time. Come along, Anakin. Let’s get you a Valentine.”

Obi-Wan stood up straight, keeping his glare fixed on Satine, who was just as formidable in holding a staring contest as he was. Oh, he’d show her. He’d ensure that this issue was resolved so that they could resume their normal studies. Then, she wouldn’t assume he was some… Love-less dolt ever again. And he wouldn’t have to hear about her stupid kiss with Bryce Saxon.

“Come to me if you’d like actual help, Anakin.” She called after them.

“He won’t need it.” Obi-Wan returned hotly. “He’s in the best hands.”

“So, what do I do?” Anakin asked after they were far out of ear shot and walking through the halls.

“I don’t know.” Obi-Wan sighed with dropped shoulders.

***

The two of them eventually returned to the library that evening, opting to skip dinner in favor of getting some research time while Satine wouldn’t be expected there. Anakin had really hoped to have a break from reading. His homework load was getting marginally larger as was, particularly in Charms, which while his favorite subject, had his least favorite professor.

“I can’t believe you willingly come here for all your answers. How do you find the patience?” Anakin asked.

“I’ve always liked to read.” Obi-Wan said, “It’s an escape.”

Not quite understanding what the handsome, perfect, rich student would want to escape from, Anakin continued his pacing.

“Maybe if you spent less time escaping, we’d have the answer to my Valentine’s Day dilemma.”

“I don’t spend all my time reading.” He said, “Some of us have responsibilities.”

“Yeah, you’re too busy busting the couples that are snogging when you could probably use a little of that yourself.” He said.

“I’m not a complete drag.” Obi-Wan said, “I’m trying to help you, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, to prove a point to Satine. Which, by the way, you’re not doing so hot.” He said.

“Who does she think she is? Going off about how I don’t know anything about love?” He scowled, which proved Anakin’s theory that his annoyance wasn’t with him in the slightest. He was distracted in a way Anakin had never seen him all year and it was over something so silly.

“Well, to be fair… You don’t.” He said, “Or else I doubt we’d be literally looking it up in the encyclopedia.”

“Have you got any better ideas?” He quirked a brow.

“Of course not!” Anakin said. “I’m 11! You’re the prefect and my mentor! You’re supposed to know everything.”

“Where is that written?” Obi-Wan asked as he marked a page in the book he was skimming. Anakin always wondered how he read so fast. It was like he could just glance at a page and understand its contents.

“I don’t know,” He said, “But you are older and older people are definitely supposed to know more about this kind of stuff, especially teenagers.”

“It seems I missed that lesson, then.” He answered just as stiffly. “Just sit still and feel free to study for your Charms exam if you so wish.”

“How can I study when I feel like my heart is going to burst out of my chest every time I think about this girl? You have no idea what it’s like to see her and not tell her she looks beautiful, but also those words never come, because you don’t want to sound like a freak. And then when she is anywhere within the vicinity it’s like a slow but pleasant torture, because seeing her just makes things… Better, I don’t know.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.” He said carefully. “Just like the rest of us.”

Anakin frowned, “What do you mean?”

Obi-Wan peered at him from over his book, “I’m not an alien. I have feelings! Everyone does. They’re completely natural, but you cannot allow them to dictate your every action.”

“So, what you’re saying is…” Anakin said slowly. “You like-like someone.”

He fiddled with his watch, which must have become a new nervous tick of his when under pressure. “I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, but Qui-Gon says sometimes, it’s about what we don’t say that’s more telling about what we mean.” He pointed out, hoping he was using that phrase correctly. 

Obi-Wan pinched his brow and then slowly massaged his temples. “Okay, if it helps you, let’s just say I have had… Instances where I’ve occasionally felt… Emotionally conflicted... About someone.”

“Who?” Anakin asked.

“That’s hardly relevant to your dilemma!” He returned.

“So, what do you do?” Anakin asked.

Anakin noticed that Obi-Wan seemed strained, like he was trying to figure out the answer to that question and was coming up short every time a new thought seemed to cross his mind.

“Are you friends with this girl?” Obi-Wan finally asked, leaning on his forearms.

“She barely knows I exist.” He puffed at that.

“Then, I suggest you befriend her first.”

Anakin’s eyes bulged out, “Oh great! Never thought of that idea! Thank you so much, love guru.”

Obi-Wan sighed, “Find common ground and remember that she is also a person with feelings. In the trials of any relationship- whether it be platonic or romantic, you must always consider the other person’s position and feelings.”

“So, when do I get to kiss her?”

“Maybe never.” Obi-Wan said.

“What? I can’t believe I came to you at all! What kind of advice is that?”

“You can’t force something, Anakin.” He said. “And your intentions must be pure. Wouldn’t you rather have her in your life to some capacity than none at all?”

Though the prospect of just being friends didn’t have nearly the same amount of appeal as bestowing Padmé with the most glamorous Valentine’s Day gift of all time, it did feel a little more his current speed.

“Thanks, Obi-Wan.” He smiled.

***

“Satine, I’ve come to use your services.” Anakin said as he seemed to pop out of nowhere.

“How did you- Where did you-?” She stammered, looking around her, but then back at the expectant boy. “What are you talking about?”

“Love advice, of course.” He said, “But you can’t tell Obi-Wan I came to you. I think it’ll hurt his feelings.”

Satine couldn’t help but feel smug as she led them into an empty classroom, careful to shut the door behind her. Sure, she wouldn’t tell Obi-Wan that his advice had clearly not measured up as he’d been so positive it would. It wasn’t about being right, it was about how bemusing it was for either him or Anakin to assume he knew anything about romance. While she was certainly not trying to give off the impression that she knew everything, she was at least more aware of her own personal feelings.

Other people’s, of course, were questionable.

Sitting behind what would be the professor’s desk, she folded her hands. “How may I be of assistance?”

“Just to let you know, I’m not coming to you because I’m totally convinced that you’ll be able to help me either.” He said, “But… You are a girl and so is Padmé so, why not?”

She frowned. Who taught this boy how to ask for help before? He was nothing like Viz, who was polite and quiet, but also incredibly studious and perceptive. She was impressed at his quiet wit for such a young boy, but never had to worry he would say something to make someone else cross.

Anakin, on the other hand, was a troublemaker, and was insistent on making the entire school, but apparently Obi-Wan, know it. 

“And you are making me want to help you less and less.” She scowled.

“Not if you want to best Obi-Wan.” He wagged his finger, “Which judging by that heated argument yesterday, I’d say you do.”

She didn’t appreciate the word ‘heated’ being tossed here and there as though this were some passionate feud that was controlling every facet of their very being. Regardless of their present disagreement, which still boiled her blood when she thought about it, they were perfectly capable of continuing about their daily business. Their prefect duties never suffered, they still worked well together in class, and even studied together. Admittedly, the ladder was much more indicative of neither willing to give up their spot. 

However, she’d be lying to say that she wouldn’t benefit from proving a point, even if just to herself.

“Start by telling me what you like about Padmé.”

“She’s got this beautiful way about her.” He said, “Like she radiates sunshine. It’s almost like she’s an angel.”

She smiled encouragingly, “Yes, and?”

“She runs her fingers through her hair a lot, but it never messes it up. It’s like she doesn’t even try to be perfect, but she is.”

“Okay, what else?” She asked.

“Her smile just lights up the whole room. Of course, I usually only see it from afar.”

She narrowed her eyes, “Anything that isn’t based solely on her appearance?”

“Please don’t make this one of those rants.” He said, “Friendly reminder that Viz is your mentee, not me.”

“Sure, but Viz doesn’t corner me in the hallway looking for advice on how to talk to a girl.”

“I can talk to girls!” He said defensively. “Just not the love of my life.”

She wanted to admonish him for being dramatic, but Anakin had this insistently hopeful demeanor that she just couldn’t bring herself to break. Many young kids believe their first crush is to be their first love and later their only love. She couldn’t begrudge them for holding onto that hope. Her parents always said that the Kryze’s mate for life- referencing that they were each other’s first and only loves. That being said, she would never wish for her dear mother to remain alone simply because of those values. Sometimes, happiness meant getting beyond your first.

“It just seems to me, Anakin, that you’re less in love and more infatuated.”

“Huh?” He asked.

“It means you are more invested in the idea of Padmé than who she really is, because you haven’t actually gotten to know her yet.”

“Funny, none of these books that Obi-Wan and I found said anything about that.” He said as he placed them down in front of her.

She picked one of them up. “Enchanting Maneuvers for the Romantically Troubled”  

“Seriously?” She chuckled, “This was his big reference guide?”

“But he also told me to be friends with her.” He sighed, “Sounds like I’m going to be feeling this sharp pain for a while.”

Satine touched his hand. “This is just a part of growing up.”

“Is this how you felt with Bruce Sexpot?”

“Bryce Saxon.” She snorted, “At the time, a bit. He was my first kiss, but nothing more than that. If I’m honest with you, it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be on the playground.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he had potato salad on his face.” She cringed.

“I don’t think that’ll be the case for Padmé.” He said, “She’s always pretty.”

“It’s not just about being pretty.” She said, “It’s about learning the things about her that aren’t so pretty and still accepting and appreciating them about her. It’s about getting to know her and finding out your commonalities and your differences and striking a balance. It’s about being a true friend to her, even without the promise of romantic entanglements.”

“Obi-Wan kinda said that too.” He groaned. “And you’re sure I’ll be okay?”

“Yes, Anakin.” She smiled, “I guess I can’t begrudge Ben too much. Though, did he tell you how to make proper valentines for someone?”

“No!” He brightened. “I can still do that?”

“Of course, you can.” She scoffed, “Valentines don’t have to be romantic, especially at your age. It’s all in the presentation.”

“Will you help me?” He asked shyly.

“Of course.” She smiled warmly, understanding a bit what Obi-Wan saw in the boy sometimes. His boyishness could be rather sweet. It didn’t change how rambunctious he was nor that he suspected he’s been up to something lately, but he wasn’t entirely just trouble. “And I must say, Padmé is a very lucky girl to be receiving all this fuss.”

“I should probably add that she’s a whole year older.” He said, “Making her unattainable, which Obi-Wan pointed out likely has its level of appeal for someone like me.”

“Someone like you?” She questioned.

“He used the word ‘brash’, but I don’t know.” He shrugged, “I just want this feeling to either go away completely right now or to do something about it. I can’t just sit on this like Obi-Wan does.”

Satine’s eyes flew from the covers of the ridiculous books to Anakin, heart skittering in her chest.

“Ben likes someone?” She blurted.

“Yeah, it shocked me too.” He said.

To say she was conflicted was a massive understatement. On one hand, the possibility of Obi-Wan having a crush was… Intriguing from the perspective of his friend, who wanted nothing but the best for him (even when he pissed her off). However, speaking as someone who sometimes found herself stealing a peek at him over her library book just to admire the way the light caught his hair, it was reasonably quite disarming.

Then, of course, there was the part of her that was furious he never gave any indication of showing interest in another girl.

“If it even is another-”

“-Oh shut it.” She mentally battled. She needed to remind herself that she was still annoyed with the person in question. 

“Did…” She kneaded her hands, trying desperately hard to keep her voice level and of casual curiosity. “Did he happen to say who?”

“Of course not.” He rolled his eyes. “You know him. It’s huge that he just revealed he has feelings at all. That’s about as far as he’ll go for a while.”

“Right.” She tightened her jaw.

If Anakin noticed any piqued interest, he didn’t say anything, and she believed she knew enough about Anakin to determine that he pretty much said everything he could think of. Case and point: the fact that Obi-Wan likely did not want this information to get to anyone.

“Anyway,” He continued, “What am I doing for Padmé?”

She’d been lost in thought for a moment, analyzing every detail of their argument from the previous day. It wasn’t completely out of the ordinary for her to be contemplating her interactions with Obi-Wan from all possible sides. It’s what she’d been reduced to since the end of their fourth year when she’d had the horrifying realization that she may think of him as more than just a friend. But Anakin shook a hand in front of her face to get her attention. “Satine?”

“Oh!” She flushed, “Sorry, I got a bit distracted about… Charms homework. We’re going to do roses, Anakin.”

***

Cody appreciated that when Satine and Kenobi got into it that they tried their best to leave him out of it. It didn’t usually work since both prefects were very snippy and snarky at all times, let alone when they were in a quarrel. It certainly kept things interesting, especially with how quick their topic of debate could change.

“Okay, remind me again what you’re huffy about today?” He asked Satine as they walked from her Defense Against the Dark Arts class together. 

“Ben is the most infuriating person on this forsaken earth.” She spat, gripping her textbook a little tighter to her chest.

“You realize that doesn’t narrow it down in the slightest, right?” He smirked, but Satine clearly didn’t find it funny, because she shot him a glare before yanking him by the arm to the side, secluding them from onlookers with a nearby coat of arms 

“You know he likes someone?” She hissed. 

He frowned, “He’s a kind lad, I assumed he liked a lot of people.”

“No,” She groaned, “Like-like’s. Anakin told me.”

Cody considered this, “Kenobi’s got a crush, huh?”

“Yes!” She waved her hands in exasperation, “One that he didn’t elect to mention to either of us, mind you.”

“Well-”

“-We’re supposed to be his best friends!” She argued, cheeks turning red, “And while I understand that he tends to lock up his feelings in a little box and store it somewhere hidden, crushes are the sorts of things you share with friends, right?”

“Sometimes-” He started again.

“-Unless it’s someone we would disapprove.” She said thoughtfully, but the anger thrumming through her veins didn’t seem to simmer, “Which is positively ridiculous, because we’d be supportive, right?”

“Of course-”

“-I mean, it’s not someone of the likes of Ventress or anything.” She said definitively and continued walking, to which Cody followed, “That would be the only scenario in which I could see truly being keen on hiding it.”

He gagged, “If Kenobi’s type is pure evil, sure, maybe… But maybe he hasn’t told us because-”

“-He doesn’t even spend any time with other girls.” She said defensively, “Or boys! I suppose I shouldn’t presume, but he’s never mentioned, looked at, or spent an ounce of time with anyone else! Just us, most of the time. It’s extremely misleading as to who he could possibly have romantic feelings for.”

Cody cleared his throat, “Er-”

Luckily, Satine seemed more motivated to have this conversation with herself rather than it be an open discussion, so he didn’t have to think his way out of that one.

“-And what does that say about us?” She stopped in her tracks, face scrunched in thought, “That we can’t notice that our friend has gone smitten over someone else? Like… That’s ridiculous. I- We surely would have seen some signs.”

Cody shrugged, “Should he fancy someone, that’s his business, right?”

“Right, sure, yeah, but who?” She clenched a fist, “And… Why?” There was an obvious vulnerability at the end of that statement.

“Are you sure this is what’s bothering you so much?” He finally asked as they approached their next classes. 

“Of course!” She turned on him, daring him with piercing eyes to insinuate otherwise, “What if they’re not good enough for him?”

“I’m sure she is.” Cody said carefully and patted her on the shoulder, “I know it’s in your natural coding to worry about him, but I’m sure it’s no big deal. Your source is Anakin after all, right?”

“That’s… Fair.” She paused, but still seemed unsure. She sighed, “This would be a whole lot easier if he didn’t communicate his feelings as well as a piece of toast.”

Cody chuckled. Yes, things might be very different if that were not the case.

***

Obi-Wan pushed in the door to Qui-Gon’s office. He was early and he knew Qui-Gon was still at dinner, so he didn’t bother knocking since he knew Qui-Gon wouldn’t mind. He settled himself in the large armchair by the fire and grabbed a book off the top of his previously abandoned stack. He didn’t open it yet, instead he stared up at the portraits haphazardly reaching towards the ceiling.

They were arguing about his and Qui-Gon’s investigation, which wasn’t unusual. Qui-Gon’s office wasn’t the most riveting place for a painting to hang in hogwarts, but considering the professor’s love of a good debate they were allowed to yell over one another and argue about the latest gossip, whether that be the latest scheme or the actual criminal investigation was always up in the air.

“I say, I say!” Yelled a portrait from across the room, “It couldn’t have been Windu, he hadn’t been near the table all night!”

��May I remind you we’re wizards?” Another called, “You wouldn’t have to be near something for anything to happen!”

“I bet Windu let out the beast too!” Another commented, “Halloween night. He was an Auror, he’d know a dark spell or two.”

“But I saw him on Halloween,” Obi-Wan thought out loud, “I was in his office,” The portraits quieted before another shouted.

“I saw Mace run out of his office during the attack! There’s no way he could have been all the way to the library and back without notice!” And the voices erupted all at once.

Obi-Wan tried to think around the noise, although it was true that the two different attacks didn’t lend themselves to having the same suspect, he hadn’t considered it a possibility that both could be related. In fact it was a rather curious possibility. Surely the mysterious figure described by Anakin would have been furious for the escape of such a beast. Would they have been mad enough to attempt to poison a student.

The door squeaked open and Obi-Wan practically jumped up, letting the book he’d forgotten he was holding roll off onto the floor.

“Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan greeted and the man looked surprised, but he wasted no time, “Do you think both attacks could share a suspect?” Qui-Gon’s brow quirked as he considered the statement.

“I suppose-“ Qui-Gon started.

“If you had been keeping a dangerous pet below the school and an eleven year old let it free, would you want revenge?” He pushed and Qui-Gon walked to his desk.

“Well I personally would not try and kill a child no,” He tried making light, but his face fell back into consideration, “I suppose it’s a possibility,” He decided.

“Professor Windu couldn’t have done it then,” Obi-Wan started to pace, steps sliding into familiar places on the stone floor.

“I’ve already determined that it wasn’t Mace,” Qui-Gon cut in and Obi-Wan screeched to a halt.

“What? When?” He pressed, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“He has several alibis and he even showcased to me the last 100 spells his wand had cast,” Qui-Gon explained, “It was good enough for me to believe his innocence and the book was only borrowed after we returned to school.”

“So who was absent on Halloween night, but at the party?” Obi-Wan asked, mostly to himself.

“That’s a good place to start, but don’t let such a narrow search cloud your mind.”

***

Cody was up before the rest of the guys in his year. Quidditch days always had that effect on him, it didn’t matter that this match was between Ravenclaw and Slytherin, it only mattered that he’d get a chance to watch his favorite game in the world be played. He wasted little time getting dressed. It was still cold outside with a little snow left on the ground, though he was sure it would soon fade away into spring. Professional Quidditch was usually played in the spring and summer months, but Cody always figured it was best that they got to learn to play in all sorts of conditions throughout the school year; that way he’d be ready for anything.

In the common room he found Anakin asleep on the couch, a transfiguration textbook on the floor just below a limp hand as it had clearly slipped when he’d fallen asleep. Cody debated with himself for a moment before reaching over and gently shaking the other boy awake. Anakin startled and looked around with wide eyes before they landed on Cody.

“What?” He mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and Cody grinned at him in response.

“You’d better clear up here before the prefects wake up. I doubt they’d be too happy to find a first year sleeping in the common room past curfew,” Anakin just blinked before moving his transfiguration book from the floor to the table.

“Yeah I guess you’re probably right,” Anakin yawned and Cody leaned on the back of the couch for a minute watching him shuffle parchment into a stack.

“Whatcha doing sleeping down here anyways? Is it Rex’s snoring?” Cody asked in jest and Anakin laughed, but shook his head.

“Rex doesn’t snore! He says you do though,” Anakin’s grin seemed to falter for a minute before he admitted, “I just haven’t been sleeping well lately,” Cody frowned, but tossed the expression from his face when Anakin turned to look at him.

“That’s alright,” Cody shrugged, “Things can get a little crazy at Hogwarts, but look on the brightside, it’s a Quidditch Saturday!” Anakin did perk up in interest at that.

“Obi-Wan’s playing right?” Anakin asked and Cody nodded.

“Ravenclaw vs Slytherin!” Cody announced enthusiastically, “It may not be as exciting as playing a match, but we’ll need to see who wins so we know where we stand,” He explained, Anakin looked a little more awake now at the prospect of getting to see another game.

He helped him shovel some parchment into his bag, “Why don’t you wake up sleeping beauty so you guys can go grab some breakfast before the game?” Anakin nodded and scampered up the steps towards the boys dormitories.

Cody smiled and shook his head before heading to the Great Hall to avoid Rex’s wrath, on the off chance that Anakin let slip whose idea it was. 

The halls were still relatively quiet- Ravenclaw house should be mostly awake by now, but they weren’t known for being as loud and rowdy on game day as Gryffindor. Slytherin would be up too, but it was even less likely to catch a Slytherin this high up in the castle on a weekend. The portraits were still just waking up. Some of the more energetic figures were chatting loud enough to annoy their neighbors. Cody wasn’t sure what the purpose in that was; if he was a portrait he wasn’t sure he’d want his neighbors to hate his guts. He must be missing something for he passed by a portrait of a princess glaring daggers at a knight who had taken to singing limericks.

The great hall was rather full and the Slytherin’s had taken to their assigned table, glaring at any who dared to sit with them as if that alone would expose their Quidditch secrets. Ravenclaw was a bit more spread out, sitting with their friends at the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables if they so desired. Obi-Wan and Satine were sitting at their usual spot at the very end of the Ravenclaw table and Cody didn’t bother considering anywhere else before sitting down across from them.

“Excited, Kenobi?” He asked as he started loading up his plate with pancakes. Obi-Wan, who had been staring off into space while sliding bacon around his plate, fixed him with his usual pre-Quidditch frown. Cody chuckled before pointing at him with a syrupy fork, “Come on, mate! It’s a great day for a game.”

“Yes quite. What I wouldn’t give to play in freezing temperatures year round,” He rolled his eyes, before cutting his bacon with a knife. Satine had been oddly quiet, not saying a word so far. She was facing as much away as she could from Obi-Wan without actually turning. It was surefire proof of them being in a fight. He supposed though they had been ready to pounce on one another for a few weeks now.

“Anakin slept in the common room last night,” It was the only non-Quidditch topic he could think up at the moment and it seemed to catch both his friends' attention.

“Is he ok?” Obi-Wan asked first, which was unsurprising. Concern was pinching his face and he turned towards the Gryffindor table to see if his mentee was around.

“He’s fine, I woke him up before he could get into any trouble,” Cody shrugged, “He said he’s been having trouble sleeping, did he tell you anything?” Obi-Wan shook his head with a frown.

“He mentioned having a bad dream once… But not that it was a consistent issue.” He said slowly, Satine’s eyes gleamed as she looked over to him.

“So you admit to not knowing everything about your little protégé?” She asked and he turned to glare at her in turn.

“I’d never said I knew everything,” He answered back with a heated glare.

“So you’re not all knowing then?” She dropped her fork and let it clatter onto her plate.

“Once again, I never said that,” He responded, stabbing a piece of bacon with his fork and shoving it in his mouth.

“I thought it was implied the way you’re desperate not to look at this from all sides,” She spat and he bristled.

“Did I miss something?” Cody asked, exasperated.

“It’s prefect business,” Satine answered with an apology in her eyes. He just shrugged and went back to eating his pancakes. He wasn’t sure he even needed to know with how often the topic changed. They went back and forth so much that it was like watching a Quidditch passing drill; his eyes flicking from one to the other waiting for someone to slip.

“Satine, I really don’t have time to go through all this right now,” Obi-Wan cut in eyeing the members of Ravenclaw’s Quidditch team gathering to leave.

“That’s fine,” She answered stiffly, “I’ll see you tonight so we can work on our Charms project,” Obi-Wan looked hurt, but he hid it well.

“I’ll be sure to let you know whether or not we win,” He stood from the table, tossing his napkin on his plate and was swept away by his teammates.

“You’re not going to the game?” Cody frowned. He hadn’t expected getting ditched, even though he supposed he could sit with his brothers. Satine deflated instantly, looking back towards where the Slytherin’s were heading out of the great hall.

“He’s absolutely infuriating sometimes, Cody,” She sighed, picking her fork back up

***

Obi-Wan pulled his broom out from the locker and although it was plenty shiny he grabbed his polishing cloth as well. Galen was going on about their strategy, but Obi-Wan’s mind was still back on Satine. He wished she’d see things from his perspective. Anakin had a notoriously bad habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but that didn’t automatically make him guilty as Satine had thus far been implying. He was 11, a bit of a troublemaker on occasion, but he didn’t have it in him to do something so scandalous as running a cheating ring. It wasn’t bias, he told himself as he worked to get a hardly noticeable smudge off the broom handle. He knew Anakin had a pension for trouble, but Obi-Wan hadn’t seen or heard of him doing anything insidious, besides occasionally popping up out of nowhere and startling people.

In fact he was quite proud of Anakin- he stood by Rex when he was struggling, and he was getting better and better in his classes through practice and dedication. Though he did tend to get a little moony-eyed near that girl he was fond of, Padmé, it wasn’t like he’d have it in him to play schoolboy tricks to get her attention. Anakin was simply an easy target. Frame the first year who had had some unfortunate happenstance befall him not once, but twice.

“Earth to Kenobi!” Aayla sat down heavily next to him, grabbing his broom out of his hands and inspecting the handle, “I can see my reflection in this,” Her nose wrinkled and she twirled it around nearly wapping him in the head with it, “You do know we’re playing Quidditch not entering a broom beauty pageant,” Obi-Wan just folded up his polishing cloth into a neat square.

“Not all of us like coming off the field as a pincushion full of splinters,” He offered, delicately reclaiming his broom and standing to put away the cloth. He realized then that they were alone and he looked around.

“I thought being in the running for Head Boy would have you better at listening,” Aayla laughed, “We’re heading to the field,” She stood, kicking her broom up into her hand.

He hurried to shove on his helmet and he made sure his wand was securely pocketed in his Quidditch robes before he followed Aayla out towards the field.

He wished not for the first time that he could see such a sight from Cody’s eyes. The large field, currently covered in a layer of snow, was surrounded by stands that were filled to the brim with students willing to risk the cold to watch a good game. Cody could go on and on about how giddy he was walking to his position, but Obi-Wan had always only felt a sense of dread. Even now that he was a more seasoned player, he still felt his stomach flip as he passed under the tall (very, very tall), golden hoops. He took his position and waited.

There was a hushed silence- the kind that really only came in moments before a match. Students were still chattering in their seats, but they seemed far away. Galen was making a few gestures towards his other chasers, but no one on the team dared to say a word as if it would give Slytherin the ability to one up them at every turn. And then there was the whistle, piercing through the air and both teams kicked off the ground, rocketing into the air.

Obi-Wan was happy with his position as keeper, but on cold days like this, waiting for the bloodbath in the middle of the field to head towards him was a little more excruciating. Still, as most times they played against Slytherin, eventually they made a run for the goal post. This was fairly easy to deal with. One chaser headed straight for him and he saw the chaser’s eyes dart towards the right a second before she did. Obi-Wan pushed the handle of the broom and by all accounts it should have worked. He would catch the Quaffle in his free hand and lob it back towards centerfield. Only it didn’t work as intended, his broom had jerked quite aggressively the wrong direction before stilling once more.

He was no Cody when it came to knowledge of brooms, but he’d had this broom since his first year and it had never behaved in such a way. Something was surely amiss and he just hoped it was a one time fluke.

***

“Something’s up,” It was Cody who said what they were both thinking. Satine had her binoculars pressed firmly to her face as if it would let her see Ben even clearer, “I could have seen that shot from a mile away! Even the chaser looks confused,” Satine grabbed the back of Cody’s robes blindly and pulled him back from leaning over the edge.

“Ben has that look,” Satine told him, “He’s concerned,” Cody tried to steal her binoculars, but she batted his hand away with a sudden gasp.

Ben’s broom had jerked again and he was reaching for his wand, which made Satine grip the rail tightly.

“That’s a foul!” Cody yelled a half second before Satine saw a bludger fly over and knock right into Ben’s chest, causing him to drift back a little at the impact. “Where’s the whistle? Come on ref!” 

She pulled Cody away from the edge again. Ben looked shaken, but unharmed, however Satine saw with horror something small and thin falling towards the snow below.

“His wand, Cody,” Satine tightened her grip on Cody’s robe.

“What?” Cody asked, momentarily pausing his shouting. Satine took her eyes off the field just long enough to give Cody a semi-horrified look.

“Ventress knocked his wand out of his hand,” Satine pointed to where Ben seemed to be hovering uncertainly. The audience was drawn to the referee, calling for a penalty throw to Ravenclaw, but neither Cody or Satine really cared about an extra few points.

“If he was going for his wand, something’s definitely wrong,” Cody ripped the binoculars from her hands suddenly, “He knows the rules, you can’t use magic on your opponents. Your wand is only there for extreme emergencies,” Cody was looking around the field for something.

“I’ve never seen a broom behave like that,” She was squinting at the field, without something to magnify the spec of blue and silver, it was impossible to make out his expression.

“They don’t,” Cody said gravely and Satine’s heart jumped to her throat, “It’s foul play.”

***

It was shaping up to be a boring match, Slytherin had already scored and Anakin was feeling a little secondhand embarrassment for his mentor. Obi-Wan wasn’t much for Quidditch and unlike most of the people Anakin knew, he didn’t really talk about it unprompted, and even then he’d usually just remind Anakin to be careful. He didn’t remember Obi-Wan being quite so terrible at the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff match earlier in the year.

“He should have got that one,” Anakin complained to Rex as Slytherin managed to score again. The Ravenclaw captain seemed to be glaring back at the keeper, but Obi-Wan seemed not to notice.

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Rex commented, “Cody always teases him, but really, Obi-Wan is a fairly decent Keeper,” Anakin shrugged, but watched as thankfully Ravenclaw finally managed to score something other than a penalty.

“He’s jerking around up there like his broom’s possessed or something,” Anakin considered as Obi-Wan seemed to struggle in the air again. Rex leaned forward, frowning rather intensely.

“It does look like that doesn’t it?” He asked, but didn’t seem to be wanting an answer, “It kind of reminds me of that jinx Echo put on Fives after he stole the last of the holiday candy,” Rex considered.

“Who would want to jinx Obi-Wan though? He’s a prefect!” Anakin watched as a Slytherin approached Obi-Wan again, only for Obi-Wan’s broom to drop about a foot with no prompting that Anakin could see.

Those rooting for Slytherin cheered, but Anakin felt that cold sensation of fear. Surely the mysterious cloaked figure wouldn’t be going through Obi-Wan to get to him, right? That did seem like a stretch even in Anakin’s mind. Rex sat up straight and he looked around a little frantically.

“Where’s Krell?” And Anakin was on his feet in an instant. They spotted him, sitting alone in the front row of the Gryffindor section. He’d been given a wide berth- no one knew the whole story which Rex was grateful for, but a prefect doesn’t lose his title for only a small infraction. They saw his hand twitch and Obi-Wan jerked to the right.

“Oi!” Rex shouted and Anakin looked over to him in surprise, he flinched a little when Krell looked over at him with a disgustingly smug smile on his face. Rex swallowed, but continued, “Jinxing other people’s brooms is against the rules,” Krell just rolled his eyes.

“Oh how brave,” Krell scoffed, “Kenobi’s acting like a fool and you’re coming after me? It’s not my fault he’s a lousy player.”

“You’ve got your wand out,” Anakin stepped in front of Rex, “Obi-Wan’s a better player than you ever were, you were just jealous.”

“It’s not a crime to have my wand out. I don’t see any muggles,” Krell twitched his hand sending Obi-Wan to the right so Slytherin could score again, “What are you going to do about it?” Anakin took another step forward reaching for his wand, but a furious voice cut in.

“You’re going to put your hands up right now!” Satine had her wand out, as did Cody standing to her right, the fury burning in their eyes was enough to make even Anakin take a step back. Krell, however, didn’t move, just looked over at them with a sneer.

“And why would I do that Kryze,” He said her name like it was mud on the bottom of his shoes, “I’m pretty sure you’re all about innocent until proven guilty, or does that just apply to bloodthirsty beasts and not your fellow wizards?”

“You’re going to do it or I’m thinking we have a rematch from the Halloween party,” Anakin had never heard Cody sound this angry. This was much past his frustration at a missed goal or Anakin accidentally beaming a teammate in the head during Quidditch practice. Here, he sounded downright murderous. Anakin hadn’t attended the Halloween party or witnessed the fight, but by Rex’s expression, it may have started similarly.

“How do you expect Gryffindor’s Quidditch team to manage without their fearsome captain,” He goaded and Cody took a step forward only stopped by a hand to the chest by Satine.

“There’s no need for unnecessary violence. Put your hands up,” She jabbed her wand forward in warning.

“You wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Krell crooned cruely, getting to his feet, “Not even if I did this?” He twitched his wand down and Obi-Wan dropped about a foot. It was clear by his snarling grin that it was only a warning. Satine took it as such and stepped forward pressing her wand to his chest.

“No, but I could trap one, if you were to find yourself in the position of turning into one.”

Anakin wasn’t that great with transfiguration, but if Satine was even half as good as Obi-Wan, it was a credible threat. Krell even seemed to realize that perhaps he was more at her mercy than he wanted to be so he sighed, a grumbling ugly sound.

“Fine, you win,” Krell narrowed his eyes at her. Satine took a step back, not lowering her wand.

“I’m glad you see it my way, now-” She started, but he cut her off with a knowing smile.

“I know, I know. Hands up!” And he threw his hands up, but there was the unfortunate consequence of him raising his wand in a swift, purposeful motion.

“Expelliarmus,” Cody yelled, but it was too late. Krell purposely dropped his wand off the edge of the stand and Obi-Wan had rocketed up and disappeared into the clouds.

***

Obi-Wan could see the sun, which on a normal day would be quite nice, but as it was he had just broken through the clouds and his broom was jerking and twitching like an angry hippogriff. He tried desperately to control it and then everything seemed to freeze as he was suspended in the air like any normal broom ride, save for the fact that Obi-Wan was clinging to the broom as tight as possible. For a moment he thought he was safe, but his broom seemed to sputter and he dropped a foot in the air. His broom was trying, practically wheezing to stay in the air, but whatever had been done to it must have inadvertently tampered with the magic.

Just as such a realization set in, he dropped like a rock. No amount of pulling on the handle was doing any such good except making them spin in the air enough to make him feel quite ill as the field came back into view. He stuck out a hand, trying to mimic how Qui-Gon did wandless magic.

“Aresto Memento,” He put as much passion as he could into the word, but nothing happened, not even a flicker. His vision was suddenly filled with gold as he smashed into a Quidditch hoop, there was a crunch and a sharp sensation that had him dropping hold of the broom, he made a mad grab for the polished wood in a desperate attempt, but his hand slid right off the polished surface and he plummeted to the ground.

***

Satine was frozen, wand still at the ready, but eyes glued on the unmoving navy blue smudge interrupting white snow. She wasn’t sure she even had a heart to beat anymore, or lungs to take on air.

“That had to be at least a 200 foot fall,” Cody didn’t sound like he was breathing much either despite his ability to talk, “Maybe farther, but the clouds are pretty low. It might be a record.”

“Cody please,” She choked out. He was in shock, but so was she and listening to the odds of their best friend’s survival was not going to sit well with her.

“Now that is a shame,” Krell’s voice brought her back to the task at hand. Ice filled her veins and she turned, looking him in the eye. He was leaning on the railing, chin resting on his hand and he looked far, far too pleased with himself, “But mistakes happen, don’t they Kryze? Fett?”

“The only mistake here,” Satine spit through gritted teeth, “Is that a prefect, a Quidditch captain, and half of Gryffindor are witness to your crime,” She steadied her wand at him, “You’ll be exceedingly lucky if you aren’t expelled for this,” He just waved her off with a lazy hand.

“You think I care about this shoddy excuse for a school? Everyone here is weak,” Krell turned and took a step towards her, “I have my sights set on somewhere better-” He took another step, but that was more than enough for Cody.

“Locomotor Wibbly!” Cody jabbed his wand towards Krell whose legs shook suddenly and he collapsed with a curse. Satine didn’t even bother reprimanding him for such a schoolyard jinx.

“Incarcerous,” She swished her wand and silvery ropes burst from it and wrapped themselves around Krell’s wrists. It was an extremely advanced skill, past even her year, but she couldn’t even find pride in such work. She turned wordlessly to the field where Ben was being loaded onto a stretcher by Madame Nema and Qui-Gon. His teammates were huddled together on the ground looking absolutely shocked and even the Slytherins were looking subdued. Satine raised her wand once more.

Golden sparks shot out of the tip dancing in the air until they formed a large glittering prefect’s badge, it would catch the attention of a professor, or with any luck, the headmaster himself.

***

“If you’re not careful you’re going to break something and end up with a bed of your own!”

Her voice was the first thing he remembered hearing and his eyes struggled to open. It was bright and he tried to bring his arms up to block the light, but one of them was holding something and the other felt heavy and it seemed to throb with every beat of his heart. He felt himself groan slightly as his eyes fluttered, trying to get used to the light. A hand met his shoulder immediately, but he still tried to push past it to sit up.

He was in the hospital wing, he realized. The tall arched windows and the room lined with cots really could not be a single other place at Hogwarts. He became aware of how much his body ached at the same time he was pushed back down onto the bed.

“Stay down,” Satine was leaning over him, her hair falling around her face as she looked down at him with a deep level of concern.

“Satine?” He asked and she nodded.

“Yes, Ben I’m right here, Cody’s gone to get Madame Nema,” She explained and he tried to look past her, but couldn’t see much of anything except for her blonde hair.

“You came?” He was trying to remember what events had led him here, but he did remember they were in a fight. He was surprised to see her at all.

“Cody and I saw your fall, of course we came! It looked rather dreadful,” He could tell she may be putting things a little lightly, but at least the pieces were starting to click into place.

“I thought you weren’t going to the match,” He sat up once again and this time ignored her gentle push to lie back down.

“I-” But she didn’t have time to finish because Cody was running over, expression brightening when he saw Ben awake and gazing at him, with Madame Nema right behind him.

“Glad to see you coming around, mate!” Cody ruffled his hair which he automatically tried to fix, but he instead looked, surprised, at the wrap fastened around his wrist.

“Mr. Fett, could you please not harass my patient?” Madame Nema was not one to waste time. Obi-Wan found himself poked, prodded, and questioned before even realizing what was happening.

“Well you had quite a fall there, Mr. Kenobi,” She explained, “You’ll be feeling it for a few days I’d imagine,” She handed him a potion which he didn’t bother asking about before downing it and wincing at the taste, “You’re lucky. Besides a nasty break in your wrist there, you’ve come out of this with only scrapes and bruises,” Obi-Wan frowned and looked at his hand.

“Can’t you mend bones?” He’d thought so at least.

“I did, dear,” Madame Nema tsked, “I can assure you it would hurt a lot more if I hadn’t. Just because bones can be mended, Mr. Kenobi, doesn’t mean we won’t be taking precautions,” He must have looked fairly sullen at the thought because Madame Nema chuckled, “It’s only for a few days and you’ll be right as rain. In fact you should be thankful, I dread to think of what would have become of you had you not managed to slow your fall,” He stared at the wrappings in curiosity. Surely she was talking about his unfortunate run in with the hoop. If Satine’s muggle science books were to be believed, something like that would take some of the momentum. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if the attempted spell had done him any good. A wizard stuck between a rock and a hard place may have the ability to do some amazing things.

“You did land like a champ,” Cody broke his thoughts, he was grinning, but Obi-Wan could easily see the worry hidden in his eyes, “A real Quidditch fall. Probably how you avoided getting any brain damage. In fact in the 22nd Quidditch World Cup-”

“Thank you, Cody,” He rested a hand on his friends shoulder, “As much as I’d love to hear about the greatest Quidditch injuries of all time, perhaps another time.”

“Your loss,” He shrugged.

“Madame Nema,” He caught her attention just as she’d made to leave, “Are we done here?” Satine looked like she wanted to interject, but Madame Nema beat her to it.

“Are you implying you’re well enough to leave?”

“You said it yourself, ma’am,” He shrugged, a small smile building on his face, “It’s mostly just scrapes and bruises,” They had a bit of a stare off.  Madame Nema was quite stubborn, but unfortunately nearly no one could hold a candle to his own stubbornness, except maybe his blonde haired best friend who was currently glaring a hole through him.

“I’ll allow you to go back to your dormitory, on the terms of you going right to bed,” Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief and nodded quickly in agreement, “And I’ll see you back here again tomorrow.”

“Yes ma’am,” He agreed and swung his legs over the side of his bed.

He made it out of the hospital wing before he stumbled and Cody was quick to catch him, swinging an arm around him like it was any other day. He tried not to use the extra support, but he found himself leaning into Cody as the ache in his limbs seemed to thrum with each step.

“I wish I knew what got into my broomstick,” Obi-Wan finally broke the silence with a sigh, “It’s never acted such a way before, I’m sure I looked like a great fool,” Cody and Satine both tensed up and they all came to a halt.

“You were a victim of foul play, Ben,” Satine told him softly and after hesitating, “Krell had your broom locked in a jinx,” He blinked and turned to Cody for confirmation. Cody’s lips were in a hard line.

“Really? Krell?” He didn’t think the other student had such a thing in him, though perhaps he was thinking of prefect Krell and not ex-prefect Krell. There wasn’t much left to hide if you were already disliked throughout the school.

“The headmaster’s dealing with him,” Satine nodded and continued stiffly, “We caught him in the act.”

“Well,” He wasn’t as mad as his friends looked, if Krell had been caught then justice had been served, “At least if it was just a jinx, I don’t have to buy a new broom,” Satine looked at Cody and Cody looked back at Satine before pulling the broken handle of Obi-Wan’s broom out of his pocket.

“About that...” And Obi-Wan groaned, Cody handed him the piece and he inspected it. Somehow it was still just as polished. Cody gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, “It’s alright mate I’ll help you pick out a new one, I’ve got this month's catalogue and there are some great new models!” He nodded absentmindedly. He would have truthfully just told Cody to pick whatever seemed best anyways. He then remembered that he had not lost track of one of his possessions, but two.

“Please don’t tell me I have to replace my wand as well,” He breathed out trying to stay calm, but it was difficult. An heirloom like that would be impossible to replace.

“No, no!” Satine reached a hand into her pocket and he had never been happier to see the sleek black wand, “I’ve got it!”

They continued walking while Obi-Wan inspected his wand for any damage, but not even a scratch had befallen it.

“So the game,” Obi-Wan over at Cody, “Who won?”

“I don’t know,” Cody told him, “We left as soon as we handed over Krell. I told Anakin and Rex to stay, but I’m nearly sure it’s over by now.”

“I hope I didn’t mess this up for Ravenclaw,” He hummed.

“You didn’t mess anything up,” Satine’s voice was like ice, but for once it wasn’t directed at him, “Whether Ravenclaw won or lost doesn’t matter.”

“Well it matters to Gryffindor,” Cody said before catching Satine’s narrowed eyes, “I mean, either way we’re planning to stomp you in the final match.”

“Well I’d much rather Ben be alive,” Satine rolled her eyes.

They reached the final hallway before the Ravenclaw door and Cody took off with a wave and a promise to let Anakin and Rex know he’d survived. He was grateful for it as hopefully Cody would be the one being pestered and not him. He and Satine approached the door to their common room, fighting to answer the Ravenclaw riddle first. Satine was the winner by a few seconds and gave him her best smug look as the door swung open. Stairs were becoming his enemy, but he made his way up them and into the chaos reigning in their normally quiet common room. Ravenclaw, it seems, had won after all.

***

“Can you believe Krell’s not getting expelled?” Satine looked up with a raised eyebrow as Anakin Skywalker dropped down dramatically across from her.

“That bastard has to have some kind of blackmail,” Cody growled, stabbing his pancakes with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

“It’s alright,” Ben was looking between them with nothing short of exasperation, “He’s still being punished.”

“He was already getting punished,” Cody complained, “But at least now there’s absolutely no way he’s weaseling his way back onto my Quidditch team. A stunt like that should get him banned from every team in the country.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted him expelled on my account anyways,” Ben shook his head, returning his attention to the french toast, dripping with syrup, on his plate.

“He nearly killed you,” Satine reminded him, “That should definitely be grounds for expulsion.”

“They say it takes a lot for you to get expelled around here,” Anakin told them as he loaded up his own plate. The clock tower rang before anyone could ask him where he’d heard such a thing and the owls were swooping in right on time. Ben checked his own watch with a frown.

“Madame Nema will be expecting me soon,” He didn’t sound too happy about it.

“I can walk you there!” Anakin perked up.

“You’ve hardly eaten breakfast Anakin,” He tried before sighing, “Well alright, finish your breakfast and we’ll go,” Anakin nodded before picking up his plate and darting off towards where Rex was sitting at the Gryffindor table.

“Satine?” Ben sounded hesitant and it was too easy to pull her attention off the Gryffindors and onto him, “Do you really think it’s Anakin?”

“Ben,” She sighed, trying to lower her voice though she knew if Cody was listening he wouldn’t say anything, “I’m sorry for yesterday, but I can’t throw out a suspect simply on the basis of trust.” Ben seemed to consider her, really consider her before he turned back to his syrup drenched toast and changed the subject.

“What do you think the odds of learning to cast spells with my left hand by tomorrow is?”

***

Anakin jumped up when the hospital doors opened and Obi-Wan slunk out, looking both ways like someone may see him.

“What did the doctors tell you?” He asked, following Obi-Wan down the hall towards the library.

“I’m fine Anakin,” He smiled, but Anakin wasn’t stupid; he saw the slight limp and the wrapped wrist and frowned.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked softer and Obi-Wan stopped to look at him, “It was a really big fall,” Obi-Wan seemed to look through him, like he was trying to read his very thoughts and Anakin squirmed.

“I told you when you started that Quidditch is a very dangerous sport,” Obi-Wan told him, “I did get very lucky, but I promise I’m okay,” He then continued walking, but Anakin’s thoughts weren’t quite settled.

“What if the cloak guy tries to off me like Krell did to you?” He’d always felt safe in the air, but uncertainty seemed to be coming for him at every turn these days.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan had paused again, turning towards him and putting his hands on his shoulders, “Pulling a stunt like Krell did is a one ticket way to be caught. He’d have to reveal himself to us and if he wanted to do that, we’d have seen him by now,” It didn’t sit quite well with Anakin even though he knew Obi-Wan was right, but he followed his mentor down the hall anyways and tried to push mysterious cloaked figures out of his mind. 

***

Obi-Wan was walking at a brisk pace through the emptying halls. He was in the dungeons making his way towards potions class when he nearly ran right into an opening door. He managed to skid to a halt grabbing the edge of the door before it tried to close and peering inside.

“Anakin,” Sure enough his mentee was standing frozen under the door frame.

“Oh hi, Obi-Wan!” He said his name cheerfully, but he did look a little wary for being caught.

“What are you doing in here?” He checked the door, “The potions storage room?” 

It was odd, he knew Anakin liked potions class even though he didn’t have much of a knack for it, but there was no reason for a first year to be snooping around the eye of newt when he should be out in the greenhouses for herbology.

“I was just checking to see...” He trailed off as he looked at the walls of ingredients, “There!” He pointed up at something and Obi-Wan followed his gaze to a jar labeled ‘bezoars’.

“And what is it that you find so intriguing about that?” Obi-Wan crossed his arms.

“Well that’s what they fixed me with right?” Anakin asked with a shrug, “I just thought I’d like to see one. Professor Palpatine wouldn’t mind,” and Anakin wasn’t wrong, Professor Palpatine encouraged the students to familiarize themselves with the various ingredients. Only the most dangerous things were kept under lock and key.

“Yes, bezoars are a cure for most poisons,” Obi-Wan nodded, never one to pass up a moment to teach, “However, this would be a more noble quest if you weren’t meant to be in Herbology right now. Come along, I can walk you there and then at least you won’t get points for being late,” Anakin seemed nervous, looking around before he pushed Obi-Wan gently towards potions.

“I can’t have you walk all the way over there! You’re practically an invalid,” He complained and Obi-Wan sputtered to a halt.

“Excuse me?” He tried to turn, but Anakin was pushing him forward.

“You’re brittle! You definitely should sit down,” He instructed, “I don’t want you to pass out on me or anything.”

“Anakin! I’m perfectly fine,” Obi-Wan whirled around and Anakin took a step back with a frown, “I can make it to my class with no trouble. You on the other hand need to be in class in...” He checked his watch, “about a minute.”

“And I’ll get there in time if you let me go!” Anakin whined.

“There’s no way-” Obi-Wan tried to interject, but Anakin just shook his head and started jogging back the way they’d come.

“I’ve gotta go! You should sit down before you fall over!” He called over his shoulder.

“Anakin!” He tried, but it was futile. Obi-Wan sighed before his attention was drawn to a piece of parchment fluttering to the ground. It had clearly fallen from Anakin’s person, but there was no use chasing the boy down. He had half a mind to worry if Satine’s suspicions were about to come to life, however after a close inspection it was blank, save for some water damage.

“Revelio,” He tried, tapping his wand to the parchment. Ink seeped up towards the surface spelling out his name and he nearly dropped it.

‘Obi-Wan Kenobi should keep his nose out of other people’s business.’

After a moment of stunned silence, he let out a short burst of relieved laughter. It was just a scrap of joke parchment. He tucked it into his bag, well he supposed he’d return it to Anakin next time he saw the boy.

***

“First you were nearly late to potions and now Qui-Gon’s class?” Obi-Wan took his seat next to Satine, who greeted him with rolled eyes and a smile, “And here I thought you wanted to be Head Boy. What kept you?”

“Found a couple of first years trying to sneak into the girls bathroom,” He sighed, dropping his bag on the floor between them, “I can’t say I find the appeal. They’d likely end up with nothing more than being the subject of a few stinging jinxes.”

“Given my assumption of the boys bathroom, maybe they were simply looking for a cleanlier option,” She suggested, jest sparkling in her eyes as she moved to pull out a rather long piece of parchment, “Qui-Gon’s already said we’ll just be working on our project today,” She pointed towards the instructions scrawled on the blackboard, “He says we could use a day to work in class, but secretly I think he’s gotten himself enamored with another prophecy book.”

Satine was likely right, as Qui-Gon was sitting in the front of the room with a book propped open on his knee and a teacup held opposite. If he was taking a break from reading every book in the library, Obi-Wan couldn’t say he blamed him much. Random facts about charms still danced behind his eyes when he was trying to fall asleep at night and no matter how interesting they were, he hadn’t the skills to make much use of them.

“Have you got any spare parchment?” Satine drew his attention by running the feather of her quill across his cheek. He rubbed away the feeling with the sleeve of his robe, giving her a half hearted glare for her trouble.

“I’m sure I do,” He yanked his bag up by the strap, “Be my guest,” He figured he should order her some new parchment. She’d been taking notes for the both of them since Madame Nema still hadn’t given him permission to remove the wrappings on his arm. Satine had been refusing his thanks, but he still wanted to think of a way to acknowledge his appreciation.

“What’s this?” He blinked and looked at the folded parchment in her hands, “I know it’s not yours. You never fold your parchment.”

“Anakin dropped it,” He shrugged and watched as she inspected it, “It’s just a bit of a joke parchment I think.”

“You think?” She asked before setting it on her desk and pulling out her wand.

“I already tried ‘Revelio’ and all I got was an insult,” He warned her and she paused, thinking through her repertoire of spells.

“Revelio Maxima,” She tapped her wand once and just like when he had tried it words bloomed forth from within.

‘Perhaps, Satine Kryze, you should try harder next time.’

“See I tried to warn you,” He shrugged, Satine looked more thoughtful than offended and tapped her wand to her lips.

“This isn’t necessarily an insult,” She considered, picking it up and watching the ink fade away, “It was an instruction, maybe we should try something a little more creative?”

“You get instructions and I get insulted,” He sighed, but couldn’t help the curious smile growing on his face. He liked a challenge, but really what sort of Ravenclaw didn’t like a good riddle? He pulled the parchment in between their desks and got out his own wand, “Alohomora,” He tried.

‘Really, Kenobi?’

“It doesn’t like you much does it?” Satine giggled and tapped her wand against the parchment again.

They tried a wide variety of spells, running through any sorts of useful charms they could think of, before Satine guessed a phrase.

“Open Sesame!”

“I’m sorry what?” Obi-Wan looked over at her feeling perplexed.

“It’s a muggle phrase,” Her cheeks turned a bit pink at the scrutiny, “It’s a little childish, but Anakin was raised as a muggle.”

Their attempts continued, at some point they’d gotten onto much more complex, silly phrases and Obi-Wan was just about to try one that seemed to be on the right track when Satine had him pause, her hand landing on his slightly more damaged one.

“Wait, we shouldn’t be doing this in class,” She pointed out with a whisper, “What sorts of prefects are we?” Obi-Wan glanced around and normally he would agree, but Qui-Gon had still not once looked up from his book and the rest of the class was chatting quietly in pairs. It was hard for him to feel out of place in Qui-Gon’s classroom.

“Come on, one more guess?” He asked, batting his eyelashes at her. She shoved him gently, but sighed.

“Well then, show me up, Mr. Prefect,” She slid the parchment closer to him and he flourished his wand a little dramatically.

“I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good,” He tapped the parchment. Immediately, the ink started seeping up, but this time it was not forming only a short sentence. It was forming a scroll with his name written in elegant font, and the one right beside it was Satine’s. In fact it looked quite a lot like Qui-Gon’s classroom.

Obi-Wan ripped the parchment off their desks and into his lap, hoping to keep it out of sight of his professor or their classmates before he could figure out what he was even holding.

“Let me see!” Satine pulled it towards her slightly and unfolded another part of it.

With every piece unfolded the picture became clearer that it was a map. A map showing every single magical person in Hogwarts and their exact location.

“Look there!” Satine pointed and he looked to see a broom closet. The drawn wall moved under her finger to reveal a path that led to the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory.

“That’s...” But he didn’t even know how to finish such a thought. This was the missing piece they’d been searching for and hadn’t even known it. A map that showed every corridor, person, and apparently, every secret tunnel in the entire school.

And it had been in the possession of Anakin Skywalker.

“Ben,” Satine said his name slowly, looking at him with a cautious expression, “We have to-”

“-I know,” He interrupted her. This was not a coincidental test key or a robe on the ground, this was practically an arrow pointing towards Anakin, exclaiming loudly that he was the culprit, “We need to go straight to the headmaster,” He swallowed. Satine stood up and raised a hand and he followed her folding up the parchment in his hands.

“Yes Satine?” Qui-Gon looked up from his book with a frown, “Is everything alright?”

“We need to go to the Headmaster’s immediately,” she announced, “prefect business.”

***

Anakin was in a foul mood. First he’d nearly been late Herbology, barely making it away from his mentor in time to use the tunnels. And then he’d discovered that for the second time this year, he’d misplaced the map. 

“Where have you been?” Rex asked, looking away from reading through Cody’s corrections on his history essay, “I thought we were going to go over tonight's plan?”

“Well here’s the plan. There isn’t one,” He grumbled, “I must have dropped the map somewhere, but I’ve looked everywhere!”

“You lost it?” Rex gasped, dropping his essay on the table, “What if someone bad finds it?”

“I don’t know!” Anakin hissed, trying to keep his voice down. There were other people in the Gryffindor common room, and although most liked to leave first years well enough alone, he didn’t want any eavesdroppers, “But I’ve gotta find it before Windu-”

The portrait hole opened and Anakin nearly jumped out of his skin as Professor Windu bent and twisted his way into the common room. All eyes went to him immediately, but he said nothing, just scanned the crowd before his eyes landed on Anakin.

“Skywalker, come with me.”

As he followed Professor Windu out of the portrait hole, all he could think about was every regret he’d ever had. Thankfully there weren’t many, but he did wish he’d written his mum more, or gotten to kiss Padmé. He contemplated what his last words would be before he ran into worn robes that had stopped in their tracks.

He looked up at Professor Windu, waiting for him to pull out that sword from his dream, but his professor did nothing except turn to a large winged statue.

“Root leaf stew,” Was all he said, but stairs suddenly started growing out of the ground, spinning around and around until they stopped forming an elegant spiral staircase.

“Um, what-?” He’d been through nearly every passageway in the school, but this was not one he knew. He hoped he wasn’t being led to another hidden beast, but Windu simply crossed his arms.

“The headmaster wants to see you.”

Anakin climbed up the stairs and was relieved when Windu didn’t follow. Still, if this really was the headmasters office, this couldn’t be good.

Yoda’s office looked much like Qui-Gon had described it to him, with portraits of all the past headmasters staring down at him. Under less intimidating circumstances, he wouldn’t mind a fair look around as there were shelves of books and strange objects- maybe even some contraband stored somewhere. Headmaster Yoda, however, caught his eye almost immediately and waved him over and into a chair across from his desk.

“Know why you are here, do you?” Yoda’s voice echoed just slightly in the otherwise quiet room and Anakin shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

“Win- I mean, Professor Windu said you wanted to see me,” He said nervously. Normally in these sorts of situations, he’d explain why he didn’t do it, but unfortunately he really didn’t know what ‘it’ was this time. Yoda nodded at his words, closing his eyes for a moment before continuing.

“Heard of the cheating scandal, have you?” Yoda asked, laying his little hands on the desk before them, “Rewritten, the O.W.L.s had to be,” Anakin’s brows furrowed as he tried to figure out where this was going.

“Yeah, I mean I know the prefects are looking for who it is,” And like being hit with a ton of bricks, or perhaps a bludger, it dawned on him what was being insinuated, “Hold on! You don’t think I’ve done it?” Yoda looked at him, expression rather grave.

“Found, evidence has been. That the culprit, you are,” Anakin stood up swiftly.

“What evidence? I didn’t do it!” Yoda just blinked at him, waiting until Anakin begrudgingly collapsed back into the plush chair.

“Show you, I will,” He finally said, opening a drawer in his desk and pulling out a long black cloak, “Found, this was, in a hidden passage by your bed.”

“But that-” He interrupted, but was given a thoroughly chastising look.

“Your name, it has,” He tapped the tag of the robe, but pulled out the O.W.L.s key he’d found before he could interrupt, “Gave this to Satine and Obi-Wan, you did. Dodged their questions, also.”

“Headmaster-”

“Hush,” Yoda held up a hand, “Alone, these things are not,” Lastly he pulled out a square of parchment. Anakin felt sick at the sight, his map, water damaged and all, was placed between them, “Fell from your robes, this did,” Anakin’s mind raced. He knew he was innocent, but this was not a good look, “Open it, why don’t you?” Yoda suggested, sliding it towards him, “Otherwise, check your wand, we will.”

“Headmaster, Professor,” Anakin felt small as he pleaded, “I didn’t do it, if I was going to steal cheat sheets then why wouldn’t I use them myself!”

“Scored 100 on Professor Windu’s holiday assignment, did you not?” Yoda questioned, “Impossible, that is, without the key.”

“What? No!” Anakin roared standing up again, “I did that fair and square! My mum could tell you too!”

“Even so, too much,” Yoda tapped the map with his own wand and the map swam to life, “This is.”

“So what? You’re going to expel me?” Anakin kicked the desk furiously, “For something I didn’t even do?”

“Expel you, I will not,” Yoda fixed him with a careful expression, “But given detention and suspended from the Quidditch team, you will be.”

[master-sass-blast]

Sass Attacks Star Wars --Part One: the Padme/Anakin relationship.

Alright. Okay. THIS has been a looonnnggg time coming.

I love Star Wars. It was my first major movie franchise. Star Wars holds a near and dear place in my heart, and it always will.

H.O.W.E.V.E.R.

There are a lot of parts that just...

No.

And, with this specific edition, I’ll be ranting about the Padme/Anakin relationship in Attack of the Clones, Star Wars the Clone Wars, and Revenge of the Sith.

Largely because I have determined that George Lucas doesn’t know how to write women.

-FIRST AND FUCKING FOREMOST: A twenty-three year old, independent, politically successful, financially well-off woman is not going to harbor a deep romantic love for a boy that she met ten years ago and hasn’t seen since.

Just... no.

It’s not going to happen.

Especially when you consider that a nineteen year old would barely be out of high school.

There usually isn’t the level of emotional maturity that would attract an adult woman to a teenager barely out of high school.

Especially when you consider that the Jedi’s version of emotional maturity is “REPRESS. EVERYTHING.”

-But, I’ll admit that Attack of the Clones Hayden Christensen is, undeniably, fucking hot.

-I mean, look at him.

-So, charitably, perhaps Padme sees Anakin --still expecting the chubby cheeked kid she met ten years ago--and goes “Hot damn.”

I mean, I would.

-And, equally as charitable, let’s assume: 1.) Anakin is better at human interaction than the lines offered in the movie and 2.) doesn’t reek of stalker-y obsession like he did in the movie.

-So, like, maybe there’s an initial physical attraction, but Padme knows that Jedi are forbidden to have attachments and that engaging in a relationship with one can cause a LOT of scandal for all parties involved, so that’s the end of that.

I know I can’t be the only one with this kind of mindset. Like, did any of you ever see someone you’d never met at a party or coffee shop before, go ‘hot damn,’ maybe flirt with them a little, only to find out later that they’re with someone?

Like, you automatically put that option off the table. Even if you have feelings for them, you don’t act on them.

That’s what Padme would do, in my opinion. She might be attracted to him, might be attracted to the power he exudes, but in the end she would know better and let the idea go.

Side note: There’s no contesting that Padme is gorgeous. She probably has a dozen Senators and nobles offering to court her at any given time. There’s probably at least five serious Republic based fanclubs for her, plus at LEAST one underground Separatist one. A Jedi PADAWAN with an obvious crush on her isn’t going to set her off-balance that much.

-And OH BOY does letting go of pursuing a relationship with Anakin end up being the right idea.

-Remember that scene in AotC, where Anakin’s bitching about the Council and Obi-Wan limiting his abilities and power while Padme packs to leave for Naboo?

-Yeah, THAT ONE.

-Any self respecting woman knows that when a guy starts bitching like that (and not venting frustrations or talking, BITCHING) an immediate red flag needs to go up.

I’ve met guys that did stuff like that, over similar topics that Anakin whined about, in a similar attitude, and WHOO BOY.

At best, they were apathetic disasters that had no motivation for life and minimal empathy for others. Classic selfish assholes.

At worst, they were actual sociopaths/psychopaths (and, yes, I’m dead serious).

-And, even if Padme has sympathy for Anakin’s “predicament” (more on that at another date), his behavior clearly shows that he’s not ready for a relationship --even if he wasn’t a Jedi.

-So, aside from being off limits, he’s emotionally immature. End of story, end of attraction.

-BUT THEN: the flight to Naboo happens.

-And it’s OBVIOUS Anakin’s flirting with her.

-Which, ya know, awkward, but excusable.

-Until he tells her that he dreams about her.

Even as a preteen, nothing about this line was romantic to me. It did not “set fire” to my loins then, and it especially doesn’t now that I’m twenty.

Like, if the guy is not your partner, there’s nothing sweet about hearing that you’ve been “dreamed about.”

It’s really creepy. Like, when I was younger, I thought it was just cringey. Now that I’m older, it’s just creepy and a clear indication that Anakin either doesn’t care about Padme’s comfort or is just EXTREMELY bad at reading emotional and social cues.

I mean, I’d buy the latter, because --ya know--the Jedi order, but the context doesn’t change that it only repels/destroys any growing attraction.

-So now, Anakin’s gone from “forbidden fruit,” to “arrogant and emotionally immature,” to “awkward, but forgivable,” to “awkward and creepy.”

-And they’re going to spend a lot of time together in an isolated location with minimal contact with other people.

-And, ladies, we all know what we do when we hit situations like that:

Spend as little time with the person as possible and contact for help/a replacement, that’s right!

-So, assuming that Padme goes this route, the kiss scene never happens. The scene with the black dress:

(Yeah, that ^^^^^ dress) Never happens. Ever.

-Anakin still has nightmares about his mother, and Padme still agrees to help, because one of Padme’s best personality traits is her compassion for others.

-They go to Tatooine. Padme dresses much more sensibly for the environment because she is a smart, educated woman with a vast wardrobe and because she’s trying to deflect attention from Anakin.

-Anakin murders the Tusken Raiders after his mother dies. Padme finds out (in a group setting, not one on one, because she’s smart enough to not isolate herself with him) and Anakin goes from an “awkward and creepy” to a “get me the fuck out of here, please.”

-They stay on Tatooine, as told, so that Padme doesn’t have to spend a lot of time with Anakin, in space, alone. This is because Padme is smart, and knows that going to a Separatist world as a Republic Senator without cover, a plan, or an idea of what she’s getting into with a guy that just murder dozens of sentient beings is not a good idea.

-Obi Wan is rescued. The Clone Army comes to save the day. Dooku gets away. Anakin and Padme are picked up by a Republic cruiser and escorted back to Coruscant.

-There is no confession of love from Padme, and no secret wedding. Padawan and Senator part ways, and Padme heaves a sigh of relief for it.

-Revenge of the Sith continues without the marriage/pregnancy sub-plot.

No one cares, because it wasn’t that convincing to begin with.

-Padme lives, and goes on to be a founder and major actor in the Underground resistance.

-Anakin goes on to be Vader by downfall via insecurity. There’s more than enough for Palpatine to manipulate without Padme in the picture.

Essentially, what bugs me about the Padme/Anakin sub-plot is that it’s deeply misogynistic and shows an utter lack of knowledge on writing women well. Padme’s status as a politician is little more than a necklace --a dazzling piece of flashy jewelry that, aside from looking good, serves no real purpose in the movies.

(I’ll grant that Padme’s status as a Senator is used far better in the TV show, but I think the full potential was never truly reached. But more on that later.)

Aside from a tiny handful of scenes, we never see her act as a Senator. We never see her using her years of experience and expertise to negotiate deals, suggest new policies, or advise the Queen she serves. We got to see Palpatine do that in Phantom Menace, but we never get to see Padme do it in the movies.

In addition, it’s abundantly and PAINFULLY clear that George Lucas doesn’t know how to write female characters, much less female characters in love. Padme doesn’t have a specific, consistent characterization in the movies. She’s all over the page, especially in Revenge of the Sith. Her emotional range is wildly underwhelming, and her intellectual prowess is completely stifled by having all the plot point lines go to the men around her.

(And I don’t mean that Natalie Portman’s emotional range is underwhelming. Movie!Padme’s emotional range is underwhelming. In my opinion, Natalie Portman got handed a shitty script and did her best.)

In the long run, Movie!Padme is nothing but Anakin’s arm candy. She rarely makes choices for herself, rarely gets to do anything that the men around her don’t approve of, and rarely has a scene without Anakin.

Also, Padme isn’t a woman in love. There isn’t one convincing moment of narrative in the movies OR the books. She just seems uncomfortable, unhappy, or disturbed. We can believe that Anakin has a crush on/obsession with Padme because of his behavior and body language, but that’s never reflected by Padme.

Side note: Anakin lists his reasons for “loving” Padme as her beauty (possibly her compassion) and the fact that she “kissed him.” Padme never gives one reason in the movies for why she loves Anakin.

Think about it.

Anyway, TL;DR: the Padme/Anakin relationship makes no sense, is poorly written, and goes against basic female behaviors towards guys like Anakin.

[eirianerisdar]

Fic title "a face in the crowd"

First off, anon, I’m terribly sorry for how late this is. I can’t even pinpoint when I got this - this has been sitting in my inbox since before I came up with Silent Measures. Which means months. But I’m trying to clear my inbox so here’s something I came up with on the spot.

A Face in the Crowd

Summary: During the Clone Wars, the Jedi were lauded as heroes, but so out of reach of the masses that they seemed at times to be toy soldiers selling war bonds more than actual walking beings. But there were four Republic Days that fell within the Clone Wars, and in each one of them, if you look carefully enough, there are things to be seen that are special. A child watches, is inspired, and remembers, twenty years after.

Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, Aayla Secura, Plo Koon, (and many clones, though only in passing)

(note: this is after Ahsoka leaves, so she isn’t here)

Edit 24/7/18: There is now a companion fic to this, For the Brother I Did Not Deserve.

Little Meron Junshi is not sure whether he likes this Republic Day parade.

It technically hasn’t started yet, but the heat is stifling here in the masses milling behind the railings along the Senate boulevard. His father has put him on his shoulders, and the air is a little clearer up here, but Meron would much rather they be back home on Alderaan, where the air is sweeter and the skies much, much bluer.

And less loud. There are many interesting species around him that he has not seen before, but Meron finds the noise rather distracting. And the boulevard before them is still empty, except for the red-and-white armoured clone troopers that stand guard at equal intervals along the railings themselves.

But he will behave, because he his a big boy of eight and his father is here to do important business with Senator Organa, and Meron is only here because he pleaded and pleaded until his parents said yes.

And then suddenly, there is thud of a plasma cannon from high above, so deep and low that Meron feels it shudder through his frame and down to his father’s wide shoulders; and the guarding troopers snap to attention with a muted thud of armoured boots against duracrete.

This first thud echoes across the suddenly silent masses; and in the distance, under the Senate Building itself, comes an answering drumbeat.

Then another. And another.

And then a steady tramp-tramp-tramp comes filtering down the boulevard, and before Meron can do anything but sit up straighter on his father’s shoulders, the first company of clone troopers come into view.

The Coruscant Guard is first, led by a proud-shouldered trooper with a helmet visored in grey and painted in red, the etched plaques on his armour marking him as a commander.

Meron gapes as row after row of red-white troopers follow, posture ramrod-straight, each holding a blaster at parade ready. The cadence of their steps are so well-matched that if Meron were to close his eyes, he could imagine a singe titan was thundering down the boulevard, and not nearly a hundred and fifty men of one company.

The crowd around them is shrieking with excitement.

A company of soldiers, each with stylised wolf-head painted  on their grey-lined white armour, and striding confidently at their head, a Kel Dor Jedi with russet robes flowing jauntily in the wind.

Plo! The crowd is screaming. Plo Koon!

The Wolfpack! Meron stares, wide-eyed, so engrossed in the clean lines of General Plo’s wolves that he nearly misses the ground-shaking thud that follows.

Five paces after the last grey-painted trooper comes twin files of eight AT-TEs, six-limbed bodies creaking with every solid stamp of durasteel legs. And marching between, standing on, and holding to the side of these giant assault walkers are many yellow-striped troopers. Most strikingly, somehow balanced perfectly on a walker placed centrally between the two main lines, is a blue-skinned Twi’lek woman with a smile on her face and a lightsaber at her hip.

SECURA! The masses yell, in a hundred thousand different sentient voices. SECURA!

She stands tall, but her smile widens.

Company after company come, whole battalions and legions painted every colour of the galaxy, each with a Jedi marching before them, or sometimes two, with the younger marching alongside a clone captain.

Meron watches, dumbstruck, as hero after hero steps off the war-reels and into reality, like toy soldiers ripped from the holonet and placed within reach.

But then a roar of pure sound sweeps through the masses like an oncoming wave, and Meron is nearly unseated from his father’s shoulders.

The troopers coming into view now are painted with bold gold stripes.

And at their head, stepping with a calmly fluid gait-

-is a Jedi with red-gold hair and cream robes, and eyes the colour of a silent sea above a beard trimmed to immaculate neatness.

Meron forgets to breathe.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, The Negotiator.

The multitude raves. There is no collective chant, now, not like before; overlapping screams of KENOBI and NEGOTIATOR and OBI-WAN rise in an increasing cacophony of unleashed madness.

Throughout all this, Meron only watches the Negotiator.

General Kenobi steps in time with his men, but something in the smooth effortlessness of his pace and the gravity of the tabards over his shoulders speaks of a noble sadness, mixed with extraordinary determination.

Sadness, in the middle of the greatest parade of the year?

Meron lowers he hand he was using to wave, and frowns. He is struck with the sudden impression that General Kenobi would look much the same leading his men into battle.

But then there is a blare of trumpets, and Meron nearly gives himself whiplash as he jerks his head to look.

These new troopers are painted blue.

The crowd is shouting in synchrony, now.

SKYWALKER! SKYWALKER! SKYWALKER!

The Hero With No Fear himself is stood next to Chancellor Palpatine, on a slow-moving barge surrounded on all sides by a sea of blue-and-white armour. His smile is rakish, his waving casual, and the scar that curves around the edge of one eye effortlessly cool.

Meron stares at Anakin Skywalker, and wonders if he imagines that those ice-blue eyes flicker towards him, if just for a moment.

Meron does not waste it. He straightens up so abruptly that his father grunts in surprise, but he does not pause to think about it - instead, he nearly slaps himself in the forehead as he salutes.

He is halfway through the motion already before he realises General Skywalker is looking at him.

Krayt spit! Meron tells himself, knowing his father would give him a good scolding if he heard the words out loud - I probably look stupid!

But what is done is done. The edge of his right hand is pressed to his forehead.

The General watches him for a moment - it cannot be more than half a second, but it seems the longest moment in Meron’s short life - and then suddenly, General Skywalker raises two fingers to his forehead and flicks them to the side in a jaunty salute.

In return to his.

Meron’s brain smashes into a wall of disbelief and disintegrates into awed smithereens.

It is only after the barge has passed by, and the next company is marching past that Meron remembers that he should drop his hand. He lets it fall by his side, numb.

He barely registers the rest of the parade.

He is grinning so widely his cheeks ache.

“Father,” Meron says, later, when a squadron of LAAT/is have flown overhead and the crowd is beginning to disperse, “I’d like to join the Alderaani guard.”

“Oh? And why is that?” his father says distractedly, holding one of Meron’s ankles to stop him from sliding off.

“I want to be a General,” Meron says.

There is a long pause. Meron’s father slows his pace, and stops.

“War isn’t as fun as you think, Meron.” His father’s voice sounds different.

“Oh.”

“Talk to me when you’re eighteen. We’ll see then.”

“Okay!” Meron chirps happily, as his father carries him across the sea of Coruscanti crowds, and away from the Senate boulevard, its white duracrete surface stamped grey with the feet of two hundred thousand men.

Twenty years later, clutching a blaster and kneeling in a white-walled corridor swamped with shadow, Meron Junshi thinks of that long-ago Republic Day. Of the sun and the chants and the bright-painted soldiers with their Jedi Generals.

He had gone to his father when he was eighteen, and he had gotten his wish.

The Alderaani guard had led to a permanent place in the Rebellion, and the Rebellion…here.

Behind him is a short passageway, and beyond that, the Tantive IV, with a precious person aboard. In front of him is a darkened corridor, which lies silent and still beyond the echoing howl of the klaxons.

And then Meron becomes aware of another noise.

A sawing, unnatural breathing, like air rasped through a grille of harsh desert sand.

And the passageway is lit with a bar of crimson plasma.

“Open fire!”

Oh, Meron thinks, as his finger tightens on the trigger and plasma spews uselessly out of the barrel of his blaster. You were right, father.

War is not a parade, with sun in your eyes and bright-painted soldiers and their much-loved generals marching before them; war is red-painted white walls, and flashing bolts, and screaming, and the never-quickening and never-slowing breaths of a shadow that reaches for you, and grasps you with invisible hands, and sends a screaming blade of blood-red light slashing towards your chest.

“Take it! Take it!”

And Meron knows that perhaps there is a little truth in what his eight-year-old self thought about war: War is nothing without hope.

Hope, to a boy watching a war parade on his father’s shoulders, is to receive an acknowledgement from the General he loved so much as a hero.

Meron stares into those hard black lenses, and holds this image in his mind as he dies.

He has no time, before the end, to wonder if he imagined Darth Vader flinch.

END

Sooo…

I’m…evil?

I hope this makes up for how late this is, anon. I made up Meron on the spot; his name means soldier. Reblog as you like, and thanks for reading, everyone.

Edit 24/7/18: There is a companion fic to this one now, For the Brother I Did Not Deserve.

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[fireflyfish]

I need a fic where Ashoka from Rebels finds Anakin (either she time traveled or Anakin does) and Ashoka just hugs him and cries--thinking how can this man become Darth Vader and Anakin is really confused but he hugs her and it's all cute and yes. Or for angst--Anakin finds out about his future from Ashoka and he's terrified but idk I need older Ashoka talking to Anakin ahhhh.

It’s not Anakin.

It cannot possibly be Anakin.

“Just hang in there. We’ll get you back to the medics in one piece. Just don’t give up on me, okay?”

But that voice and hair and those too-old eyes in a too-young face are Anakin’s. The thin scar is Anakin’s and the impossible balance of cold durasteel strength and warm, calloused skin around her hand are Anakin’s.

The sounds of battle all around her, is the music of his life, of his existence. Anakin Skywalker was born to wage war and Ahsoka Tano knows this better than anyone.

She has watched him perform this dance for almost two decades now.

“Anakin?” Ahsoka croaks out, grimacing in pain as she looks up at his young, unscarred face. This is not the burning demon with hellfire eyes and a dead star for a heart.

This is not Darth Vader.

This is her Skyguy.

But even know, she can feel the darkness eating away at him.

“Sir! She’s awake!” Kix cries out and Ahsoka wants to weep. It has been so long and she has missed her family so much. So many of them are gone, so many lost to time and Palpatine’s machinations.

“Kix?” she whispers, marveling as he turns to look down at her, the familiar blue paint of the 501st scratched up on his helmet and chest plate. “Is that really you?”

Why does it hurt to breathe? Where did she get hit? When did she get hit? Where had she been before this?

“General! The charges are set!” Rex’s voice crackles out of his helmet as he runs into Ahsoka’s vision, firing back at battle droids as Anakin continues to protect her, deflecting bolts like he was born with a blade in his hand. “Ready when you are.”

She’s back. She doesn’t know how she’s back or what brought her back but she has to tell Anakin while she has the time. While she’s still aware, before she passes out.

There are sounds of gunships and suddenly she’s being lifted up, shouldered between Kix and someone else as they drag her to the gunship. She lets out a groan and tries to keep the contents of her stomach down as they run, jostling her and nearly knocking her out as whiteout flashes of pain wash through her.

The world tilts sideways and then Anakin is running for the ship, Rex hot on his heels. They jump inside as the ship starts to take off, the doors sliding shut in a perfect symphony of skill, bravery and sheer dumb luck. It is an evac only Anakin Skywalker is capable of.

Anakin Skywalker, the man slowly turning into Darth Vader.

The man being eaten alive by his fear and his love.

“Skyguy…” she whispers, trying to reach him in the Force, trying to tell him everything he needs to know before she loses consciousness, before she wakes up and it’s all a horrible dream. “Please… master… You have to… listen to me.”

“Sir? I think she’s trying to tell you something,” Kix shouts over the sounds of battle, as the ship is buffeted by the explosive force of cannon and laser fire. The lights flicker out for a moment and Ahsoka stifles a cry.

She has to tell him.

She has to stop him.

“Skyguy…” she nearly sobs, holding out a hand. “Please!”

Anakin manages to climb over the wounded to make it to Ahsoka’s side, confused. “Kix, what did she say? I can barely hear her.”

Kix shakes his head. “I don’t know but she says you have to listen to her. I think… I think she called you Skyguy.”

“What?!” Anakin snarls, anger flaring and dying before he looks down at her. The edges of her vision are going grey and then black and for a moment she quails and thinks those dearly-missed blue eyes have burnt away to gold but then it’s gone and Anakin is holding her hand and it’s Skyguy and Master and everything is warm and all right again.

For a moment she is Snips again and she did not realize how much she missed being Snips.

For a moment she is sixteen and Anakin will make everything better.

“Master…,” Ahsoka whispers, trying to squeeze his hand. “I… I have to tell you… about Darth Sidious… and v-Vader. I… have to… tell you… I won’t… leave you…”

“Kix?” Anakin’s voice is harsh and demanding as her vision turns to black and she starts to fade away. “Kix, get her back! Snips! Talk to me! Ahsoka! AHSOKA!”

Ahsoka closes her eyes and her last thought is I’m sorry I can’t keep my promise, Skyguy.

There is a convoree outside the window of the hospital room, hopping from branch to branch, fluttering its wings and tilting its head to the side as it watches the inhabitants of the room through the transparisteel.

“All biological markers are identical. How is that possible?”

“The Force works in mysterious ways, Anakin. Especially around you.”

“Ha ha. Very funny, Obi-Wan. I’m serious. That’s Ahsoka. This… this… this woman is my Padawan!”

Neither of them say Former Padawan even though they both think it.

“We shall simply have to wait and see when she…”

“She’s waking up! Ahsoka? Ahsoka, it’s me. It’s your ma… It’s Anakin.”

Ahsoka’s vision slowly comes into focus as her montrals tell her that she is in a private room, several monitors cheerfully cataloguing her biorhythms and her continued existence. The light is too bright for a moment and then it’s softer, darker, a shadow falls over her vision and when she finally opens her eyes, Anakin is smiling down at her, worried, terrified and cautiously happy.

The Force sings with his presence. Master! Master! Your master is here! He’s here and he’s safe and you are back home where you belong!

Ahsoka takes a shallow, watery breath. “Anakin?”

He touches her cheek and smiles, squeezing her hand with his gloved hand. “Yeah… Hey Snips, you uh… you got taller.”

“How are you feeling, Ahsoka?” Obi-Wan seems to simply appear in her vision, hovering behind Anakin, his anxiety barely hidden behind his Negotiator’s mask and a gloved hand nervously combing his beard. “Should we get a healer?”

Ahsoka shakes her head and squeezes Anakin’s hand back and give him the best smile she’s capable of. “No. The healers can wait. I have so much to tell you.”

“Snips…” Anakin’s tone is familiar, the rumbling warning of his displeasure at her self-neglect and brings tears to her eyes.

To be Snips again meant to be cared for, cared about.

To be Snips again meant that someone loved her.

Ahsoka takes a breath.

“Skyguy… I’ve missed you so much but… I have to tell you about Darth Vader.”

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

Ablaze - aka Obi-Wan learns the truth about what happened to Anakin post Mustafar Oneshot

Whatever Obi-Wan had hoped for, it wasn’t this.

He had been convinced when he turned his back on his past, tears blurring his vision as he left Anakin - his brother - behind by the molten lava lake of Mustafar, that that would be the end of it. He had known the twins once born must be hidden, concealed from the Empire and Palpatine. He had held them in his arms, as he watched Padmé’s life leave tear filled her eyes. As he watched her succumb to a broken heart, as her time ran out.

Obi-Wan had hoped that in spite of everything Anakin had done, every deed committed out of some sort of misplaced idea of justice to save his wife, he’d have passed on to find peace. There was the guilt, crippling and heart wrenching as it weighed heavy on his shoulders, looming over him every waking moment. Like a phantom, he wandered lost with only one purpose. One foot on the ground, one already in the grave as he watched over Luke faithfully. It was his only mission, as heeded the Lars’ warnings of not coming too close. Of not getting to know Luke personally. He watched as the boy grew to resemble his father more with each day, bringing back still painful memories of Anakin as a padawan, of Anakin questioning him, initiating arguments yet always returning for comfort and solace.

He had prayed that, much as it had destroyed him, Anakin was finally free from the demons that had plagued him so.

Anakin; who had been lured and manipulated into becoming a disciple of the Dark Side. Anakin; who had always been good, and kind, and just. Anakin; who loved so deeply, so truly that he stifled the air in Obi-Wan’s lungs. His brother, his son, his best friend - all in one. Anakin; whose final resting place lay among ashes, fire and brimstone. Obi-Wan considered it his cross to bear, and perhaps one day, he might have the courage to tell Luke the truth. Once Luke was old enough to understand, and to feign for himself. With the truth, danger would be sure to follow. The eyes of Emperor Palpatine were everywhere.

He had been wrong.

The first time caught wind of rumours regarding some mysterious empirical Enforcer cloaked in black, purging the remaining Jedi from the Galaxy on behalf of the Emperor - he felt sick to the stomach. Nauseous and dazed, losing focus the world became a blur as he casually continued to eavesdrop. He'd caught whiff of the grim news by accident from some bounty hunters normally located off planet, on one of his rare trips to the Cantina of Mos Eisley. At first, he told himself he must have misheard them. But the more he listened, the more he heard, the further the claws of dread sank into him. Suffocating him.

A menace clad all in black, face concealed. A Force wielder, one of the bounty hunters had professed. The other denied the existence of such a thing, but did affirm she too had heard some tall tales from a couple of drunk Imperial cadets, matching the description.

A regular smuggler was quick to chime in, in a foreboding low voice, that speaking of the devil might as well conjure him forward. Obi-Wan should have asked, then. But he couldn’t bear it. He’d prefer being unwise, uncertain as to the identity of this cloaked assassin. Deliberately ignorant by omission. Still, a voice at the back of his mind screamed at him to trust his gut feeling.

So, for a few more months, he buried it. He ignored the inquisitive part of himself, the one wanting desperately to pry and find out more. The one wanting to either reaffirm, or deny, what he was already suspecting. Eventually it got the upper hand. Hood pulled over his head, one night he surrendered to the urge. Travelling by land speeder with the intentions of visiting that same Cantina, back to the same area.

While it was not likely he’d be approaching the same crowd - bounty hunters never stayed long without Jabba the Hutt personally acquiescing - there might be other visitors willing to share their knowledge. Or perhaps suitable victim to coax information out of, via mind control. Against better judgment, Obi Wan found himself considering kidnapping, or at the very least stunning an unsuspecting stormtrooper, simply to pull the soldier away from public eyes for interrogation.

As luck would have it, he needn’t have worried. Ears perked, senses keenly attuned to his surroundings, he was quick to pick up on a rushed, impatient tone. There was a note of distress, of distinct dread radiating from the person speaking. Letting the Force guide him, Obi-Wan found himself drawing near to a small, scrappy docking area on the outskirts of the small city. Three ships anchored neatly aligned, all in beat up condition from bad to worse. The vessels would fly, but not much more. Pacing back and forth by the cargo holder of a battered YT-freighter, was a young twi’lek male. Lekku twitching, sharpened teeth bared. His company consisted only of a human woman, who looked about the same age but less antsy.

“How can you be so sure he won’t find us?”

“Because rumour has it this planet is off his radar,” said the woman, with clear disinterest. “We’ll have time to repair the ships. Turk'll gather up some credits, and then we'll go undercover. The Empi--”

“We’re not talking about the Empire, Oma!” hissed the twi’lek, and Obi-Wan felt the tension of anticipation pouring into his bones, as he pressed his back closely to the wreckage of what was once another clay building.

“It’s all the same, he is no different. He can’t be everywhere at once, surely he must have more important clientele to keep up with. We’re only possible associates at best, and even then he has no evidence.”

“You don’t understand!” the twi’lek raised his voice, before catching himself. "He doesn't need a justifiable reason to give chase!"

In an instant, the man's wide eyed stare darted madly around the location. Obi-Wan waited patiently, seeking aid from the Force to remain unseen and concealed. He had perfected the expert craft of hiding his Force signature, all to stay alert out of sight and mind from the Empire. For four years, it had worked to his favour. Still, he pulled his robes tight around himself, nodding in greeting as a random stranger - a Rodian - passed by in the opposite direction. Obi-Wan was considering wiping the encounter from her memory, but the woman disappeared into the night and it seemed an unnecessary endeavour.

With a hushed tone, the twi’lek piped up again as he inched closer to Oma, his female companion.

“He knows we aided that young Jedi. He knows we docked on I’qka, we’re in the Imperial records. The kid told us himself he was being hunted! Don’t you figure if there’s a kid on a planet that rarely ever receives visits from outside travelers, and this kid disappears with the one ship that has been knowingly recorded, that’s going to raise suspicion?”

“Which is why we’re going to make repairs only on The Japor, and trade this ship in for something more inconspicuous,” said Oma, still as unbothered as before. “You think too much about it, if anyone’s gonna raise suspicion, it’s you with your fidgeting. Pretend you never met the kid, and it’s gonna work out a hell of a lot better for us.”

“No one’s gonna want this junkyard of a ship,” the twi’lek huffed, glancing with a doubtful expression back at their vessel.

“There’s a constant demand for functioning scrap parts here, we’re gonna make a fortune if we pick it apart. Might even trade some parts off to the Jawas. You get in their good graces, and they’ll find you whatever you need.”

“Better be. I just don’t understand… aren’t you afraid of him?”

“It doesn’t matter whether I’m afraid or not, what matters is that we keep running. It’s only a problem if he catches us, and as long as we’re one step ahead, he’s no threat.”

Oma sounded calm and collected, but Obi-Wan could sense a fleeting tinge of dread through the living Force of her bloodstream. He could sense her palpitated heartbeats, sense her shortness of breath. He must condone their bravery however; hiding and assisting a Jedi fugitive under the Empire’s nose was high treason, punishable only by death penalty. Helping a Jedi was just as bad as being one, and the two must have been aware of that when they decided to act out of compassion. He couldn’t do much to aid their flight or ensure their safety, given the risk of blowing his own cover and subsequently Luke’s, but he was going to ask the Force be with and guide them. He hoped it’d be enough. Perhaps the Jedi was someone he knew, so he would wish him too a safe haven.

“So, we just keep running forever and hope he never catches us?”

The twi’lek sounded dejected, his lekku twitching in distress as he padded over to slump down to sit on the lowered landing pad. Obi-Wan felt his sadness as clearly as were it his own, even as Oma placed a hand on his shoulder to offer what appeared to be a supportive squeeze.

“Isn’t that what we do best? Let’s just hope the kid will get by and find a safe place to stay. That would make it all worth it, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but if… if he comes after us, at least we’ll know he probably hasn’t found the kid. He’d need us alive, right?”

“Right,” Oma nodded, although that possibility didn’t seem to particularly put her at ease.

Obi-Wan sighed softly.

If the rumours of the Empire’s treatment of traitors was anything to go by, he’d presume a swift death was to prefer. More than one person had whispered of torture, and torment to force an approved testimony out of prisoners. It was frightening, how low the morals of those in power had stooped in such a short amount of time, since the fall of the Galactic Republic.

He had fought bravely in The Clone Wars for freedom, for justice. Was this his reward? Was this what the Jedi and their troops had laid down their lives to preserve? Then, on the other hand, Anakin too had been adamant to protect freedom. Had been adamant to end slavery, never able to overcome his own traumatic childhood raised on this burning sand planet as a slave to Watto. Mournfully, Obi-Wan regretted that he had never taken the time to speak about that experience in depth with Anakin. Regretted that he had not trusted Anakin’s visions of Shmi’s death. Perhaps, if his mother had lived, he would have resisted Palpatine’s lure.

It all came back to Anakin.

Every waking moment, Obi-Wan's mind would wander aimlessly until memories of familiar, mischievous blue eyes flashed before his inner vision. When he slept; nightmares of Mustafar, the stench of burning flesh and shrieks of anguish haunted him. Pleas for help, begging for him to come back. Begging him to stay. Every time, Obi-Wan tried to will himself to stay. Longing to turn back around, to hurry to Anakin’s side. To hold him in his arms, as they both perished in a burst of flames and embers. Instead, he had no control of his own limbs as he walked away. The sound of Anakin’s pained howls, and the gurgling noise that replaced them as the heat withered away his esophagus ringing in his ears.

“Are you afraid?”

Obi-Wan startled, at first convinced that the voice had spoken directly to him. He blinked his eyes, looking up only to realize it was Oma who had broken the silence. The twi’lek craned his neck to glance up at her, her dark eyes unreadable in the distant light spilling out of the freighter they called home. The twi’lek exhaled heavily; only to offer a sharp nod, eyes once more scanning their surroundings as if he’d been reminded of their vulnerable state.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“If he was so intent on killing a kid, what’s to say he’d hesitate to kill us just out of spite? I...” he paused momentarily, tone almost inaudible as he spoke again and if Obi-Wan hadn’t been so attuned to their conversation, he would have missed it.” I know people opposed to the Empire. They’re… attempting to align. To form some sort of resistance. Either way, a childhood friend of mine, M’naaka, works in close contact with their organizations.”

Oma only nodded to confirm she was listening, but he expression spoke of curiosity. It was clear she had never heard of this before.

“So, M’naaka has never met him directly, but--” the young twi’lek’s head shot up abruptly, his entire body strung out like a prey animal sensing the close proximity of a predator.

When nothing happened, no ambush forthcoming - Oma herself beginning to look increasingly uneasy - he settled back down into his tale.

“But she’s heard from her companions. They say that if Vader’s got reason to keep you in his sight, you’ve already lost.”

‘Henceforth, you shall be down as Darth… Vader.’

No.

No.

“Vader has bigger problems to cater to, if what you’re telling me about your friend’s contacts is true.”

Vader.

The name left Obi-Wan cold - the same sickness of that first mention of an assassin of the Empire cloaked in shadow had brought forth. The nausea returning, head spinning. He had pleaded with Master Yoda years ago, as they rid the ransacked and destroyed Jedi Temple of clone intruders, pressing that he must watch the holographic surveillance recordings. That he must see who had massacred their peers; the people he had grown up with, the only family he had ever known. The only life he knew, laid to waste. Children chopped to pieces, young men and women cut down in their prime. Whoever he had imagined to be the perpetrator, it was not Anakin.

Even now, he couldn’t believe Anakin could be capable of such vile acts. Yet, the holograms didn’t lie.

Now the sinking feeling Obi-Wan had experienced in that horrifying moment - as he'd watched Anakin kneel obediently before the now revealed true identity of Sith Lord, Darth Sidious - had returned tenfold. The sorrow.

He'd watched Anakin take on the mantle of Darth Vader; apprentice and second in command only to Palpatine himself. He'd watched all his hopes for his former padawan as a young Jedi crumble to ashes, scattered to the wind. Molding to become one with the sand dunes of Tatooine nightfall as he was brought back to present day. The bitter cold of the air was matched only by the block of ice forming in his chest cavity. He shut his eyes, swallowing against the lump in his throat.

The memory was still fresh, still vivid and tangible. Anakin, body set ablaze. Eyes a sickly yellow; bloodshot and animalistic as he poured the full intensity of his rage, his hate, his fear into the already heavy, charged air of Mustafar. His clothes, his hair, his skin aflame. Obi-Wan could not bear to watch the man he had loved as his own brother succumb. He abandoned him. Had left it up to the Force. He had assumed that the Force would take pity on Anakin - the man who was supposed to be The Chosen One - despite the monster he had become.

There were so many question, nothing made sense anymore.

How?

How had Anakin lived? Why? What must he look like? What agony must he be in? How might anyone survive being set afire? Obi-Wan had assumed that Maul was alone in his conviction, his ability to feed off of the Dark Side to sustain himself despite his mortal wounds. Had Anakin relied on similar tactics? Where was he now? Was there anything left of the man Obi Wan had raised and mentored? Did he know where to find his former master? Was he coming for him?

Vader. Of course.

Who else would be so consumed by spite, as to hunt innocent Jedi children to purge? Who else could be so petty, so insidious, so self absorbed? Anakin had been good, at heart. He’d been flawed, he’d been human. He’d been lying, he’d bent the rules, he’d become too attached. But he’d been well meaning, he’d been gentle and loyal and caring.

The shadow that had taken his place seemed to feed off of death, as if the blood on his hands made no difference to him. And why would it? Obi-Wan had seen the children lying lifeless on the cold stone floors of the Temple halls. In that moment, he had known there was no saving Anakin. He had refused to kill Anakin, had been adamant Master Yoda go in his stead. Anything at all, but that. In the end, he was left with no choice. Left with a naive belief, that maybe he could help Padmé bring Anakin back to sanity. Help him see reason. In the end, it was all for naught. In the end, Padmé faded away to become one with the Force. Leaving behind Anakin's estranged children; children he must never be made aware of.

Anakin died that day.

The Anakin Skywalker Obi-Wan had known, burned to dust upon shores of ash. The man reemerging in his place was changed; twisted, evil and unrecognizable. The man who had taken his place was but a pawn of the Emperor, serving his master’s bidding at his beck and call as a slave. There could be no other explanation. The man in Anakin's place had nothing left to live for, no one left to save.

Why hadn’t Anakin told him about Padmé? He must have known it was an open secret. He must have known Obi-Wan had already suspected it for several years. How could he hesitate? How could he stubbornly go on, wrestling in silence with his own fears and the expectations placed upon him by outside forces? How could he find Palpatine a better confidant?

Padmé had died, and Anakin with her. And with Anakin’s death followed a part of Obi-Wan.

As he swallowed down the stone cold terror of truth welling up in his chest, biting back an inexplicable urge to weep over the pitiful fate that had befallen his brother in arms - Obi-Wan somehow found enough strength for his legs to carry him back to his land speeder. Enough energy to take him home; home to safety and solace, where he may still serve his purpose of guiding and watching over Luke.

A man like Vader would not hesitate to twist Anakin’s son into something as cruel, and vicious, and unyielding as himself. But despite the fact that Obi-Wan refused to acknowledge Vader as Anakin, refused to believe Anakin had ever possessed the ability to overstep the line so grievously - deep down, in his heart, he knew it was a poor man's comfort. But if he dared set it the truth free, dared allow himself to dwell upon it, he feared he too would lose his mind.

Deep down, he knew that the love he had harbored for the boy had never been enough. It seemed, he had never really known Anakin at all.

------------

I always did want to write something like this, a piece where Obi Wan tackles the realization that Anakin is still alive under the mantle of Darth Vader. Here's my take, until canon inevitably offers us an official version, of a possible look at that. I had fun writing Obi Wan though, and his denial of Anakin's true self as a juxtaposition to Ahsoka's acceptance of the truth.

If you ship Obikin, you can always look at it that way too. It is written to be canon compliant, however!

Enjoy!

Link below to the Ao3 post, and subsequently my account:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25636756

Lose Companion to Lifeline:

https://stuffilikeipostno2.tumblr.com/post/634787175881474048/lifeline-ahsoka-reaching-out-for-anakin-post

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25578304

[ilonga]

another excerpt from “buried alive”, aka the “anakin is trapped in his own mind and not really aware of what he’s doing as vader” fic

bc I know I said it was going to be finished & up soon, but things came up and now it’s been....delayed rip

this time featuring: first steps towards rebellion and more irony

The third time he breaks free, he wastes no time. He’s in his (Vader’s) chambers, luckily, and he has access to a datapad and to what he needs for slicing. He has access to coordinates, numbers, and all sorts of sensitive military information. And a list of who survived the transition from the Republic to the Empire.

. . . Padme’s dead.

. . . Ahsoka’s dead.

No. No.

He can’t let himself get distracted, not when he could sink back under any second. Don’t waste your water, or your despair. Despair. Despair is for later.

Alright. he thinks. Which of these survivors is most likely to be involved in an illicit rebellion?

Because of course there’s a rebellion against Palpatine; there was a rebellion against him even back when he was Chancellor and Anakin was blind to his true nature. They may have called themselves a Delegation, but they had seen what was coming, and they had been prepared to fight--

Oh. The Delegation of 2000.

Senator Organa. 

He had always been a friend to the Jedi, even as public opinion and support declined. And he was a dear friend of Padme’s--she trusted him with her life.

In the span of two minutes, each feeling like more and more of a struggle, he manages to set up an untraceable, anonymous communication line straight to the Senator. Vader being unofficially near the top of the Imperial hierarchy does have its benefits.

The information is sent. The comm line is deleted. No trace of the communication is left from Anakin’s end. And the Senator will never know where the information came from. He imagines he’ll assume it came from an imperial defector.

Which he is, in a manner of speaking. Until he’s swallowed up again by the prison that is his own mind.

He managed it in three minutes total.

Now that his task is complete, the incessant pushing and stifling darkness is nigh unbearable. But he also realizes, for the first time, how much he truly hates this suit. The prosthetics are shoddy and clumsy at best, ridiculously heavy and difficult to maneuver. The life support is bulky and he can still feel age old burns, all over his body, that seem as though they’d never been treated at all. And worst of all is the respirator. Does the breathing sound it makes have to be so obnoxious?

How did all of this happen to him, anyway? He remembers the pain from what felt like forever ago--it’s no duller as a memory than it was a sensation. Clearly his limbs had been chopped off from what seemed to be a lightsaber (was it Palpatine, maybe? A punishment of some sort?) but what of the burns? Had he really been set on fire, or had he imagined the sensation? Had it been lava or something of the sort? (he swears he can remember the scent of Mustafar, even if he can’t recall actually being there; had something happened to him there?)

His flow of thoughts is interrupted by a steadily rising pressure in the back of his mind. It feels like--Palpatine. He knows.

There’s a crushing, devastating weight on his mind, the phantom pull of a heavy anger he can nearly taste, then an almost audible snap.

Then nothing.