"Finally, I was really getting sick of this place," Arden commented, as she and Harry were watching the grey ship approach the landing pad, looking to be exactly the same class the wizard had seen way back when he had first appeared on Dathomir. The brick-like ship was even accompanied by the same whiney sounding escorts as before.
"Well, now or never," he declared, while already raising his staff, which he proceeded to lightly knock onto his companion's head.
"Ow, what was that for?" the witch complained, either not noticing or not caring about the weird sensation that was probably running down her skin at that moment.
Harry glared at her a little, unsure of whether her complaint was a jest or actually a serious one. "I told you, it helps you blend in, so to speak. Won't allow you to run around in the open, I'm not strong enough for that, but it keeps you reasonably well hidden. Now, take up the line so I can disillusion myself, too."
Without further comment, Arden picked up the small string Harry had made for them to be able to keep close to each other, even while disillusioned. Satisfied that they would not lose each other, he applied the very same charm to himself, before silencing them both. They reached the landing platform without interference, only having to sneak past a few definitely bored and mostly inattentive guards.
From close by, Harry marvelled at the actual size of the craft they were hoping to stow away on. By his estimate, the ship had to be more than 30, if not 40 metres long, and at the very least half as wide. They had arrived the moment the troopers were starting to unload their cargo, an impressive number of standardised boxes on hovering sleds, and it took the dozen people assigned to the task a few minutes to complete. That was the moment he had been waiting for. With a small tug on the string Arden held the other end of, he signalled his intention, and quickly snuck along the loading ramp at the side of the craft, before anyone could get any ideas about coming back.
The interior of the craft was just as drab as the exterior had been: grey metal walls, stark floors, no furnishings. He was just lucky he had let his snake go free the day before, not willing to take a wild animal onto a journey that might take them weeks, inside an environment that was definitely not reptile-friendly. To the fore of the vehicle, they found a rather cramped cockpit, and a small bathroom, if one could even call it that. Before they had the time to explore more, not that there was a lot to explore, they heard a number of voices coming from the back of the craft.
In what Harry guessed was the cargo hold, a group of people had arrived, consisting of two men in black uniforms, two of the army troopers they had seen before and three, two men and one woman, in what looked like prisoners' uniforms.
"Yeah, so tell me again why our shuttle is being used to transfer prisoners? This is a landing craft, not a prison transport," the older of the black-uniformed men grumbled roughly.
The army troopers frowned, almost in unison. "Well, feel free to tell that to Tarkin yourself; I'm just following orders," one of the soldiers answered, intensifying the annoyed look on the shuttle captain's face.
"Tarkin? This is not even his sector," he replied belligerently.
"Look, I'm not happy with this, you're not happy with this, but it's not like we have much choice," the more reasonable seaming of the two countered. "I've brough cots for everyone, so we have somewhere to sleep, at least. Let's get going and this over with. You three," he barked at the prisoners, "assemble these. And they better be perfect when I inspect them, or else…"
With that, the older, and grumpier, of the two troopers threw an armful of folded constructs at the least emaciated prisoner, who just barely managed to catch the heavy-looking items. "And be careful with your filth, traitor. These better be spotless, when I inspect them later," he barked at the three; he reminded him a bit of an older, more pudgy, brunette version of Draco Malfoy. Rather sure of himself because of who stood behind him, not because of anything he had actually done by himself.
However, if there was one thing Harry had to admit he respected about these people, it was their efficiency. Within minutes, partitioning had been set, cordoning off part of the room. Not the part where the prisoners would sleep, naturally, but the Imperials' cots. For his and Arden's lodgings, Harry simply warded one corner of the large cargo compartment all the way to the other end of the galaxy, before setting up the tent. While being cooped up in there for days on end would certainly not be considered anything approaching fun, looking at the orange-clad people assembling the cots immediately put things into perspective.
OOOOOOOO
Over the following days, Harry and Arden spent a large amount of time just sitting either inside the tent or outside at the tent flap. Neither did they talk much, as, despite being sure in their protections, it still did not feel safe, in a way. What they did get to do a lot of, though, was simply listen, and even just doing that, they learned a lot.
The first, and possibly most important observation, from a strategic point of view, was the obvious antipathy between the two groups of soldiers assigned to the duty of transporting both the prisoners and, unwittingly, the two stowaways. It was never really overt, how much they disliked each other, but over the three days the ship's chronometer showed they had now been travelling, it could not have been clearer.
The Imperial Army and the Imperial Navy parts of the crew hated each other, and the only redeeming factor they could see in their respective 'comrades in arms' was the fact that neither of them were something they called Stormtroopers. While Harry could understand the disposition of the army members, they had most likely been 'sharply encouraged' to join up, after all, he did not really understand what the two pilots were on about. Both of them seemed to have the instincts and bearing of career officers, not someone who had been pressed into service.
Eventually, he resigned himself to the assumption that they probably had some reason for their bitterness, as well. Flying a glorified space-lorry would, after the novelty of spaceflight wore off, probably not place high on his list of priorities, either.
Now the prisoners, on the other hand, were a lot more interesting. On the second day of their voyage, he happened to overhear the three chained captives talking, as one of their guards (the other was sleeping, allowing for round-the-clock surveillance) had gone to the restroom.
"What do you think Tarkin wants with us?" one of the men, Harry had, for obvious reasons, taken to calling him 'Beard', asked the others. "And, if it's just more interrogations, why not let the people at the prison handle it. He made himself a lot of enemies over the years, so getting someone to drop us off can't have been as easy as calling in a favour."
The sole woman with them, Harry called her 'Bangs', just shrugged, while the other man, 'Baldy', began talking, only to be quickly cut off by 'Beard'. "What if he wants to know about…"
"Shut up!" the other man hissed. "Do you know how many microphones Imperial Intelligence has all over this place? No? Well, neither do I, so don't say anything even remotely interesting. Those two guarding us might have all the wits of a grazer, but whoever gets to listen to those recordings will certainly be a lot smarter."
The whole conversation worried Harry, quite a bit actually. He did not think there were actually recording devices hidden throughout the room, and if there were, what skills he had pulled from one of his possible descendant's memories, a technomage by profession, had taken care of whatever might have been in place. Still the underhandedness and general state of what he had seen before told him he would not like what he found in the greater galaxy. So much for peacefully making the best of… whatever had happened to him.
Hearing the scrape of boots on metal, the three quickly fell silent again, greeting the returning trooper with what Harry was now sure were fake deferential looks. The conscript, however, seemed to be content with the fear and fealty he must have assumed he inspired in the prisoners. It made sense, from a certain standpoint; being left little choice, whether to enlist or not, probably did not elicit a great feeling of self-worth and control. Then again, he well remembered something Sirius had once said. "If you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals." Given the way his godfather had proceeded to treat Kreacher, the irony was not lost on Harry. Still, that irony did not detract from the wisdom of his godfather's observation. And the way this soldier was treating those beneath him did not speak highly of his character.
Completely convinced that he would not be hearing any more interesting information, Harry got onto his two feet and entered the enchanted tent, assured as he was after two days that the wards would hold of any attempted incursion into his and Arden's sanctuary. As far as travelling as a stowaway went, it was really not half bad.
His travelling companion was lazily lounging around on the cot she had been occupying ever since they had started their journey, gently throwing her staff from one hand to the other with a bored expression on her face. Seeing her with the long piece of wood, an idea came to Harry.
"Arden," addressed the witch. "Would you like to try, whether you can do my kind of magic? Might be interesting to know." For a while, the witch looked at him funnily, almost as if the idea was completely foreign to her mind. Which, now that he had heard a little bit about the society she had been raised in, seemed reasonable to assume. After all, the witches of Dathomir were often only able to produce the effects of some part of their Allyan magic; whether that was a true limitation, or one put in place by being brought up in culture that believed that limitation to be there naturally, Harry did not know. Still, it could not hurt to try.
"I suppose," she responded almost shily, like she did not completely believe he was willing to share this with her. Seeing he did not waver in his conviction, Arden became firmer in her resolve. "Yes, I would like that… but no shadow magic, alright?"
Harry nodded; he had no great interest to show her that, anyway. Sure, he might have had a new understanding of the Killing Curse, but that did not mean that some of the other magic wizards had come up with over the eons was not truly vile. He felt ill just thinking of some of the stuff he had read during his, admittedly rare, looks into the various books Hermione had brought on their hunt for the horcruxes. No, compared to most of the stuff, a quick, painless death was infinitely preferable. There were, after all, worse things in life than death.
"No shadow magic," the young wizard assured his friend. "In fact, as soon as I have a proper focus, maybe with that crystal I found on the mountain, I'll show you the lightest bit of magic I know. It's sort of a… protector spirit, I guess. Not a real spirit, more an embodiment of happiness and all that is good, really. Even just being in the presence of a strong one makes you ridiculously happy."
He thought back to the first time he had produced a patronus, back at home. It was still a weird feeling, thinking of his old life and not really feeling anything about it. Yes, he was starting to miss Hermione, actually more than Ron, now that he was thinking about it, but that old life had always been hard and painful, and while it was probable that, with Voldemort being dead (at least that much he was certain of, if nothing else), things would have become easier had he stayed, he was now getting a blank slate, so to speak. There was definitely something to be said for that.
Noticing the time that had passed since he had ended his last sentence, Harry pushed on. "If we find out this is something you can do, we'll have to make you a wand or staff as well. Mine should work, for now, but it's always better to have your own." With that explanation out of the way, the wizard handed over his staff, feeling oddly naked not having the smooth piece of wood at his immediate disposal.
"Most wizards use wands, but I lacked the skill to craft something as delicate," he explained, a little amused by the awestruck expression on Arden's face. At the very least, she seemed to be feeling some sort of connection to the focus, crude as the tools might have been. "Now, it's kind of grown on me. I always had the feeling a wizard should have a staff, you know." When his pronouncement was met with a questioning look reinforced by a raised eyebrow, he chuckled. "I suppose you don't."
The entirety of pop-culture being forgotten obviously had the advantage of nobody knowing about the Harry Potter, either. That in mind, the very same Harry Potter counted the whole thing as a victory. And, he now had the opportunity to try something he never had been able to before; teach someone magic who had not been influenced by the wizarding world. He was definitely looking forward to it.
"We're going to be starting with something rather easy," he told the now eagerly watching witch. "It's the levitation charm, the incantation is 'Wingardium Leviosa'. It's important to be clear in your pronunciation. Just point the staff at whatever you want to use it on."
Arden nodded, gripped the staff more tightly and concentrated intently on the piece of dried meat Harry had laid out for her to practice on. "Wingardium Leviosa," she ordered the magic, so fierce in her delivery that her tutor almost expected to see the meat float between them. Alas, having never used a focus like this before, and attempting a new spell, she had little chance to achieve what she had set out to do.
"Good first try," Harry commended her, wiping away the slightly put-out expression that had appeared on her face. "When you pronounce this spell…"
They kept practising for hours after that, Harry sliding back into the 'teacher role' he had enjoyed so very much during the days of the DA, and soon, Arden did not only know the levitation charm, but could also magically open doors and stun people. Not all that much, but definitely more than either of them had ever expected in so short a time.
OOOOOOOO
After they had spent almost four whole days on the small shuttle, at least according to the clock one of the troopers had brought, they seemed to reach wherever they had been headed to. At least, that was how Harry interpreted that suddenly, the normal shifts for guarding and piloting were dissolved, while the prisoners were 'gently encouraged' to deconstruct their cots. The whole thing was painful to watch, but after his year on the run, hunting horcruxes, having a bigger goal while ignoring things he could do nothing about had somehow become common practice. Still, it irked, tingling Harry's saving-people-thing.
In any way, around twenty minutes after the prisoners had been given their task, a small shudder went through the craft, startling all those arrayed in the cargo hold, including Harry and Arden, who were sitting and waiting where their tent had once stood. With a hiss and an inordinate amount of white steam he could hardly believe was really necessary, the door that had been closed since the very beginning of their journey opened, revealing what Harry could only describe as a gigantic hangar.
Guessing the size to the best of his ability, he assumed one would be able to stack several Privet Drive 4s both next to and on top of each other. Yet, despite the enormous amount of space available that could probably put to use, the only thing he could see behind the boarding ramp was an enormous expanse of polished, black floor. When the tired and annoyed legitimate occupants had finally left their shuttle, it was time for Harry and Arden to sneak out. Employing the same trick as when they had snuck onboard, they both grabbed a piece of string, before the young wizard placed them both under disillusionment charms.
As they set foot on the hangar floor, Harry took a moment to look around, taking in the scenery. Despite his earlier impression, there actually was quite a bit going on. Not to the extent he would have expected for a space this big, but still. There were gantries and scaffolding lining the walls, one of them now moving toward the vessel they had arrived in, the people moving around it seemingly intent on servicing the craft. Toward the back of the room, if room was even an appropriate name for something this size, were multiple doors, guarded by men in black tunics with weird, oversized helmets. Somehow, the place managed to convey both a certain utilitarianism, as well as a stifling opulence.
Seeing the maintenance crew come closer, Harry tugged on the string, leading Arden away from where he expected the mechanics would soon be crowding (after all, he could still be very much bumped into, even disillusioned), and stepped toward the large sliding doors at the back of the hangar. Already feeling bad about doing so again, he stepped up in front of one of the guards, made eye-contact with the man, even though the soldier did not know that, even with the rather limited cover of a disillusionment charm, and let loose his legilimency.
He struggled for a few moments, as did the guard, with keeping on his knees, but soon righted himself and absorbed what he had learned. Even the idea of an artificial object containing hundreds of these hangars was astounding. Then again, a diameter of over a hundred kilometres and the capability to destroy a planet seemed equally as ludicrous. For now, Harry filed it under possibilities; this Empire did not seem like it was above propaganda to fool both the citizens and the common soldiery.
However, another thing that he had learned, and that was of more immediate, practical use, was a part of the installation's layout: specifically, where to find the barracks. And that was where he led Arden. The rooms the scores of people keeping everything running inhabited were strictly segregated between the different branches of the military. Given the general dislike between these people, Harry was not all that surprised.
Their target in mind, a quarter for officers belonging to the Navy complement, Harry snuck around a multitude of corridors (it was a big installation, alright), until they reached something he really had not been expecting to find in this place: they were standing in a park. Not all that pretty, admittedly, rather sterile in its design, but still, a park. There was even a news kiosk, although he was quite sure the only thing you could buy from it was heavily 'edited' by the relevant authorities.
Across the small plaza was what they wanted to reach, and what the guard had been thinking about with enormous jealousy; the quarters of some of the higher officers. Not the elite, by far, but important enough to warrant personal rooms. Thankfully, time on the station seemed to be set so that it was not currently breaktime for any personnel. Or possibly, there simply were not that many people allowed to use this particular area; either way, there were only five people there, all of them gathered around a high table drinking something looking and smelling a lot like coffee.
Without losing any time, Harry pulled Arden along the circumference of the small park, listening to the group of grey-clothed officials with broad bars of coloured squares in yellow, red and blue.
"…gives me the creeps," the youngest of the men complained, prompting his older companions to scowl at him darkly, all the while subtly distancing themselves from their big-mouthed comrade. "The only one with any control over him is Tarkin, and that doesn't really make me feel better."
The oldest of the group, a white-haired man with five of the rank-squares on his chest, all of them blue, turned his beady eyes on his younger colleague, and declared pompously, "Lord Vader is the most powerful force in the fight to defend the New Order."
After that, even though talk of this Lord Vader sounded interesting, having only gotten a vague idea from the people whose minds he had read, the pair of infiltrators resumed their walk toward the door, the remaining walk only another 50 or so metres.
Then, in typical Harry fashion, things went terribly wrong. Within seconds, what had been a fairly empty space was filled with white-armoured stormtroopers, E-11s at the ready and pointing at the group of (mostly) surprised officers. In the midst of the throng of armoured personnel was one that stood out. A rather old looking man with white hair, just like the oldest of the officers, and an impressive, equally white moustache, was at the back of the formation, his white uniform a contrast to both the stormtroopers as well as the grey-clothed officers.
"Colonel Yularen," the navy officers snapped to attention. All of them, but one; during the commotion, the oldest one, the one with the five blue rank-squares, had been steadily trying to make his way to the only door that was not covered by a horde of obviously well-trained troopers.
"At ease," the newcomer, obviously Colonel Yularen, told the still saluting group, even though his eyes were firmly fixed on the only member of their group who was not saluting. "Leaving us so soon, Captain Mody?"
What had formerly been a cautious creeping turned to a full-on sprint, as the target of Yularen's attention desperately made for the unguarded door.
"Restrain him," the colonel ordered his soldiers, and with astonishing precision, only two of them triggered a stun pulse, both of them hitting the fleeing captain square in the back, causing his legs to give out mid-step. With a sickening crunch and a splatter of blood from his ruined nose, he landed on the decking under the wide-eyed stares of his, now former, comrades and the trained indifference of the Empire's enforcers.
"Take him to cell-block AA-22," Yularen, who Harry was starting to think more and more of as some kind of secret police, ordered, quite loudly. Having been goaded into his fair share of traps, it was rather obvious, what the plan here was. Nevertheless, just from the look on the face of the youngest member of that group of officers, Harry was sure it was not only rather blatant, but also dangerously effective.
When the troops were finally gone, and the remaining officers had returned to the business of sipping from their cups, which were now generously topped up with some form of alcoholic beverage, Harry pulled on the string linking him and Arden. Together, they made their way to a new, now quite specific target.
It did not take them long to reach Captain Mody's quarters, suitably ransacked, as he would have expected from a thorough fascist government, where Harry could finally drop his disillusionment charms on them both. That was, of course, after doing to the cameras hidden in the room what he had already done to the ones hidden in the shuttle on which they had hitched a ride.
Now that he could finally see her again, Arden looked just as stunned as he felt at what they had witnessed on their small tour of the facilities; the sheer scale of the space station was astonishing, having forced them to go for minutes without ever turning a corner along straight corridors. That was without even mentioning the presence of a literal park in the middle of all that sterile metal.
"We have to help that guy," Harry finally declared. But not before taking a few deep breaths and trying to let everything he had seen, both with his own eyes and inside someone else's mind, sink in. "That Yularen guy definitely made it too easy to find the Captain, and the young one seemed way too eager to take the bait."
Arden looked at him questioningly. "I agree with your observations," she finally commented. "But not with your conclusion. Did you see how good those… stormtroopers you said they were called?" Harry nodded. "How good those stormtroopers were? And that Yularen guy is no idiot, either. I don't see, how us getting caught is going to help anyone."
Harry mulled it over in his head, and he had to agree. Partly, at the very least, even though his 'saving people thing' was screaming inside him to just grab a ship and run. Then, another unfortunate thought popped in his head.
"We're going to need someone, who can fly whatever we take out of here," he muttered unhappily. "I could simply use what I learned from someone else's memories, but with everything I've learned that way, I've had to practice with my own two hands. I'd rather not do that practising while someone is shooting at us…"
His companion swore a bit under her breath, before acquiescing to his assessment with a nod. "I don't know how to fly a ship, either," she admitted. "So, what's the plan?"
A small smile on his lips, Harry laid out his ideas. After all, he had done something very similar before, what now seemed like a lifetime ago.