Master Apprentice
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Title: Sound of Snow Falling
Author: TheWrongImpressionist
Beta: MerryAmelie
Archive: MasterApprentice, Fanfiction.net
Category: Qui/Obi, Crossover, Alternate Reality, Romance, Action/Adventure
Rating: PG-13, possible eventual R
Summary: in which Obi-Wan gets an education in the Living Force (whether he wants it or not), Qui-Gon further embraces his not-so-inner maverick, and Voldemort engages in a little biological warfare.
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated at tukitaka@gmail.com, as writing fiction is very hard for me, and I take great pains to produce quality work.
(back to Chapter 10)
-eleven-
-the will-
On a small mining ship making its way valiantly through Wild Space, Jedi Master Adi Gallia stands at a wide window and watches the approach of the planet on which Qui-Gon and his Padawan have been marooned. It took days for them to pinpoint its exact coordinates, since, true to what Mace told them via transmitter, the planet shows up on no scanner. Even from afar the planet seems green and lush, teeming with the Living Force that no doubt acts to hide its presence. Qui-Gon, she wryly thinks, must be thrilled.
His Padawan would be another matter. Adi had few interactions with the boy but remembered him to be peculiarly intense and focused, his close connection to the Unifying Force instilling in him a certain sibylline quality hidden beneath his layers of calm. Other than that he seemed to be a competent Jedi, humanoid and unremarkable in appearance, and one Adi hoped would bring about the healing Qui-Gon so truly needed after his previous Padawan's Turning to the Dark Side.
She hears the soft footfalls of her Padawan's approach. When the young woman reaches her, she takes a place at Adi's left and is silent. Together they watch the nearing of the planet Earth.
“Siri,” Adi eventually addresses her Padawan without turning, “what do you know of Qui-Gon's Padawan?”
“Obi-Wan?” Siri frowns a little, remembering. “Quiet, intelligent. Driven. Very loyal to Master Jinn. One of the last to be made Padawan, and one of the first to go on active duty with his Master.”
Adi nods. “And of his Master's character?”
“Quiet, intelligent. Compassionate. Spontaneous. A headache to the Council.”
Again Adi nods; she can testify to that. “And what do you feel of the planet?”
Her Padawan raises a hand as if to touch it from afar. “It feels very alive, Master, and young.”
“What else?”
“The Force whispers to me of great change for the Jedi Order,” Siri finally admits reluctantly. “Concentrated on that planet. Do you feel it too, Master?”
“Yes.”
Her Padawan is sharp; it's only a second before she connects Adi's lines of questioning and asks, “Do you think Obi-Wan and his Master are its source?”
Adi exhales calmly. “Yes.”
~*~
She stands next to her mate, coat vivid black and white and glossy in the morning light, her companion's arm wound around her waist. Her mate catches and radiates the light like a sun, hair long and golden as her coat. Both young mares watch him, quiet in the wings as the Herdleaders thank his Master and Obi-Wan in front of a solemn gathering of centaurs and a scattering of Hogwarts teachers – including the Headmaster – before moving on to their funerary rites.
The atmosphere is somber, more so than is usual for the centaurs, as they recount each name lost to the telepathic disease. With patience and respect, Obi-Wan listens. His Master stands a half-step forward and to the right, hands clasped loosely and still. Both wear their hoods raised in a gesture of deferential mourning, their features hidden and their faces in shadow. The gesture hearkens back millennia to the spiritual roots of the Jedi, in which one duty of the Order was to guide departed spirits to the Force. In order to remain among the living during this journey, it was believed Jedi needed to remain anonymous; conversely, those souls bound for the Force were named. It is an ancient practice, and recalling his roots in such a way always instills in Obi-Wan a meditative quality. The air is quiet; the Force feels gentle in his mind.
The ceremony finishes, and some centaurs come to thank Obi-Wan and his Master personally, while others simply steal away into the Forest. The older stallion Herdleader is one such centaur; the younger pair, however, approach.
“The Forest will be your home, always,” the mare intones; Obi-Wan bows, and knows his Master does the same.
“We are honored,” Obi-Wan replies, and the centaurs nod, and leave; and though the Headmaster comes over and exchanges a few words with them, soon he and his Master are left to themselves as the rest of the Herd disperses.
His Master touches his shoulder. “Come, Padawan.” He begins to walk away.
Obi-Wan doesn't follow. For a moment, he allows himself to watch the tall, lean form of his Master under the stippling of the trees' shade. Affection blooms, and is left unquenched.
His Master turns. “Padawan?”
“A moment,” he says softly, his eyes no longer on his Master but on the young pair of lovers who watched him so during the ceremony; the mares are stationary while the rest of the Herd moves away with the quiet thunder of hundreds of hooves.
His Master glances at the pair, a flicker of his eyes. “I shall await you,” he promises. The language is more formal than that which Qui-Gon usually chooses; perhaps he feels swept up in the ritual of tradition just as Obi-Wan does.
Obi-Wan's affection colors his mind in earthy greens and he can smell, for a moment, citrus.
His Master must sense his peace; he smiles, and touches him gently on the nape of his neck before turning and walking away. Despite the solid coloring of his robe, he blends into the forest like one born of it. Perhaps he is; Obi-Wan does not know his Master's birth planet.
Maybe he will ask, someday.
Without hurry, he returns his attention to the pair. They watch his approach until the palomino tugs on the arm of the darker one, who, with clear hesitation, follows her mate's lead and meets him halfway across the clearing.
Now, Obi-Wan pulls back his hood politely. “Henna,” he greets, before transferring his attention to the other. “Milady,” he says, and the mare smiles prettily at the term of address. Obi-Wan half-bows smoothly, before adding to both, “I offer you my greetings and those of my Master in his stead, and would give again my thanks for the transference of your language. It is an act of generosity without compare.” He bows in thanks to the black and white mare, who, despite her obvious mistrust of wizards, felt deeply enough about Obi-Wan saving her family's lives that she offered his Master their language when the Jedi most needed it. She frowns faintly, while her mate simply smiles even more. Obi-Wan rises and looks both in the eye. “Is there some way I may assist you?” he asks with courtesy.
Instead of answering directly, the young black and white mare pushes a strand of hair from her eyes, raises her chin a bit, and lifts a front hoof to stamp, once, the snow. “This is my mate,” she introduces guardedly, “Aravind.”
Simply, Obi-Wan nods, and receives a graceful curtsey in return.
“We don't need your help, not anymore,” the palomino mare says, still smiling, “thanks to the efforts of you and your Master. We'd actually like to help you, this time,” she offers, and looks at Obi-Wan as if to gauge his reaction.
Obi-Wan is curious. “Oh?”
She seems satisfied with what she sees. “Yes,” she says, and looks to her mate, a clear cue.
“I have seen you in the stars,” the sister of Morgwen begins. She flicks her tail, and resentfully admits, “I did not seek to see this....” The young palomino pinches her arm cheerfully. “...but such is the way of the stars,” she continues with a more even tone, “that they tell what they wish, when they wish.
“Let me first explain this: centaurs are not so close-minded as wizards.”
Her mate smiles and leans into her. “Centaurs accept love in any form,” the mare says, and tenderly touches one of the slender pine boughs braided into her flaxen hair, giving her mate loving eyes.
The young piebald mare returns her gaze, then glances at Obi-Wan, as if in an afterthought. “I may be selfish and mistrustful, but when I'm with Aravind, these traits fade away. The best choice I've ever made in my life is to love her.” She pauses. “And it is because of Aravind's generosity of spirit that I find myself giving you the future I have seen for you in the stars.” She takes a few paces towards Obi-Wan, legs long and nimble despite the snow. “You love the moon. I tell you this.”
Then she leans forward and says, “And the moon loves you.”
Obi-Wan's eyes widen; she watches him without judgment before turning and rejoining her mate, and the pair walk quietly away, but Obi-Wan isn't thinking of them any longer.
The moon loves you.
He touches the Force, asking for a hint of warmth and walking off into the distance. The sun rises and falls while he meditates. When he returns to his Master's side, Qui-Gon smiles and welcomes him back, as the silver in his hair glints like the sun off the moon.
~*~
The air was cold and the snow all but melted, but at Hermione's insistence, both Harry and Ron wore scarves (Ron's, a rather sophisticated dark gray with white stripes, was knit by Hermione herself, and Harry suspected he heard her murmur the word 'dashing' as she happily handed it over to the red-faced Ron). Harry wasn't all that eager himself to get to their destination, so his pace began at a meander and slowed to a trudge the further they went across the grounds. Ron and Hermione kept his pace, and, probably knowing the reason for his reluctance, had the good grace not to prod him along, or even comment on it.
So he tried to think of other things, more pleasant things, as they walked. Such as the Valentine's Day dance that past weekend, and how beautiful Ginny had looked in her dress, and how she'd laughed at his dancing, and how, at the end of the night, they'd walked through the gardens outside the ballroom, stood under the stars, and kissed.
Harry couldn't help the smile that arose on his face.
So it was that he passed the next few minutes in pleasant daydreams about Ginny, and before he knew it, they were at Hagrid's hut, and Hermione was clearing her throat pointedly while Ron knocked on the door.
Harry blinked. “Er – what?”
“I was asking,” Hermione gave him a look he couldn't decipher, “did Professor Dumbledore tell you how we were to find Master Jinn and Obi-Wan?”
“Um,” Harry racked his brains, “Follow Hagrid's goatpath and make a left at the rock that looks like a crumple-horned snorkack?”
Ron turned and raised his eyebrows. “That's it?”
Harry shrugged. “Well, he said we'd find the centaurs that way, and I reckon they'll be with the centaurs, wouldn't you think?”
Hermione frowned a bit. “There's nothing that says they still are, but if Dumbledore seems to think so, that's good enough for me. Besides, we'll have Hagrid with us,” she added, then the door swung open and she was set upon by a large, happily licking dog.
“Down, Fang!” Hagrid interceded, pulling Fang back by the collar. “Down!” When his dog was no longer suffocating Hermione in slobber and instead making the rounds of Harry and Ron, wagging his tail and barking until they petted him, Hagrid peered down at them, pulling on his coat and beaming. “You lot ready to go?”
Fang paved the way for them, frolicking ahead while Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Hagrid followed. They took the opportunity to catch up, chatting about the kinds of everyday things that, in Harry's opinion, had gotten pushed aside for too long. He missed talking with his first friend in the wizarding world.
When they reached the Forest, Hagrid and Fang took the lead. It was a sunny afternoon, so lighting was unnecessary and, Harry surmised, the Forest was at its safest. There was indeed a path they followed, and Hagrid didn't seem fazed in the slightest when Harry relayed Dumbledore's instructions. Birds chirped liberally, and every so often there was a faint rustle in the foliage that reminded Harry just which forest they were in, and that they weren't alone.
At the rock – Harry supposed it looked like a magical creature, vaguely, although Hagrid recognized the marker – they took their left turn, walking into the brush. It was difficult to push their way through the overgrowth, even with Hagrid plowing a pathway, and finally Ron asked, “Don't we have a machete or something, like in those Muggle movies?” He mimed slicing down the plants with much bravado; Hermione giggled.
“It's best not to upset the Forest,” Hagrid advised wisely, and gave a nearby tree a friendly pat. The tree cooed, startling Harry.
“Blimey. It's really alive!” Ron regarded the tree, then, gingerly, reached forward and gave it a tentative pat as well. The tree cooed for Ron, too, and he grinned.
They didn't see the centaur herd so much as stumble into it, and immediately there were two centaurs in front of them, bows at the ready and blocking their view of the majority of the Herd. Harry tensed, ready to go for his wand if he needed to. The pair frowned at first, but upon seeing Hagrid, one wore a look of recognition, and lowered her bow. The other seemed to recognize him, too, but only lowered his bow when the woman gave him a pointed glare and subtle kick with her back hoof.
“Hello, friend Hagrid,” she greeted amiably enough. “What brings you to our Herd?”
“Hello, Briseis, Arius,” Hagrid replied with a smile, and the mare, at least, looked pleased at the personal address. “These three,” he indicated Harry, Hermione, and Ron, “have a message for your two guests. Might you know where Obi-Wan and Master Jinn are?”
The woman – Briseis, Harry guessed – shook her head. “They've been staying with the Herd, but they frequently spend their time elsewhere. They always return eventually, however, and you are welcome to wait here, with us, until they do so.”
Hagrid smiled. “We'll do just that, thanks.”
Arius snorted and left in wordless disgust, while Briseis gave him a disapproving look and led the way through the Herd to a smaller clearing where a lean-to shelter had been constructed, giving enough room for two people to lie beneath with little room to spare.
Ron looked doubtful. “This is where they've been staying?”
Briseis nodded. “Often they forgo the shelter and simply sleep under the stars,” she added with a hint of approval. Harry reckoned she would approve, what with the importance centaurs placed on the movements of the heavens.
They spent what Harry thought might have been an hour in that offshoot clearing, talking and trying to ignore the feeling of being watched by eyes both friendly and otherwise. Once, a pair of foals trotted along the path towards them, looking excited, before a mare – their mother, perhaps – caught up with them and ushered them away. Hagrid frowned gruffly and didn't say anything, but Harry could tell the blatant mistrust bothered him.
Finally, however, there was something of a minor commotion, and Harry turned where he sat, peering eagerly around the trees. What he saw surprised him. It was Jinn and Obi-Wan, of course, but with them was a thestral. Obi-Wan had his arm resting on its bony back, and it walked beside him without protest.
Hagrid brightened. “They found Rose! I wondered where she got off to.” He stood and waved, catching the Jedi pair's attention with ease. Jinn gave a more controlled wave back, and though Obi-Wan didn't wave, he nodded slightly.
The Jedi picked their way through the Herd, and Harry noticed they got far fewer dirty looks than he and his friends did. Even with a thestral in their midst, it didn't seem to bother the centaurs.
“Oh!” Harry suddenly remembered, and turned to his friends with worry. “You guys, er, alright?”
Hermione had wide eyes, and Ron looked equally shocked. “I forgot we'd be able to see them now,” Hermione murmured, sounding sad.
“They're not so bad as I heard,” Ron said boldly, and shrugged, attempting to look unconcerned.
Harry could call him out on it, how his friend was really as unnerved as Harry had at first been, but that wasn't what a friend would do. A friend would let Ron's bluff slide, and so, Harry did.
“Yeh know, thestrals are really quite friendly,” Hagrid offered genially. “They eat meat, but they're gentler than some herbivores, and they follow instructions really well.”
“I've heard they can be quite intelligent,” Hermione agreed, sounding like she was progressing from shock to fascination quite quickly.
By that point, Obi-Wan and Jinn were almost to them, and they crossed the last few feet to the clearing on silent feet.
“Hagrid, Hermione, Ron, Harry.” Jinn smiled, and simultaneously, he and Obi-Wan bowed in greeting. Obi-Wan, Harry saw, bowed lower; Harry supposed it was another of those rank things that seemed to define so many of the intricacies of Jedi hierarchy. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”
“Hello, Obi-Wan, Master Jinn,” Hagrid replied, smiling. “These lot have got a message for you all.” Hagrid gestured towards the trio. “I'm just a guide. Though I'm right glad you found Rose, I've been worried sick.”
Obi-Wan approached, his arm on the thestral's neck and his hand on its thin mane.
“I suspected she was a stray member of your flock,” he said, and gave a gentle tug on the thestral's mane to coax it forward. The animal walked agreeably at his side, and Harry saw Obi-Wan rubbing his hand back and forth over its bony neck, like one might pet a dog or cat.
The animal licked Hagrid on the face when it got close enough, and Hagrid stroked its nose with affection while Harry grimaced (and he rather thought he wasn't the only one). Hagrid gave especial attention to the base of the creature's bat-like wings, rubbing where the appendage attached and making the thestral lean against his hand, clearly enjoying the caress.
“You've a message for us?” Jinn prompted.
“Yes,” Hermione said importantly, and glanced at Harry before she continued. “Professor Dumbledore wanted to know if you'd like a room in the castle to stay in, and if you would, we're here to show you to it. And Harry's got a message for Obi-Wan.”
The last was said firmly, and Harry cringed a bit, not looking forward to this at all. It wasn't that he wasn't truly sorry – he was – but it was just such a difficult thing to do, to apologize....
“Of course,” Jinn nodded. “Padawan, if you'd like to speak with Harry, I'll discuss our staying in the castle.”
Obi-Wan bowed. “Yes, Master.” He gestured towards Harry, then turned and walked some distance away, out of earshot of the rest of the group. Harry followed. Where once Obi-Wan's easy deference would have bothered him strongly, he now felt what could best be described as a mild lack of comprehension. He still didn't quite get it, but he was getting better at accepting it.
Then he was standing there, and Obi-Wan was standing there, waiting with his hands tucked in his sleeves and his brown robe draping familiarly to the ground, just like in Harry's dream before the alien attack....
“Hey,” he said with sudden insight, “do you think maybe Voldemort had something to do with the attack on the castle?” He went on to explain what he'd seen, growing more excited as he talked. “It would make sense,” he finished. “I mean, in my dream Voldemort was talking with someone wearing a robe just like yours. That's why I thought you were the one attacking that day.”
Obi-Wan listened with interest. “It is certainly possible,” he agreed. “Controlling the mind of one of the Jedi, the Draethos may indeed have met with Voldemort in such a guise. His motive for this is less clear, however.”
Harry nodded. “Yeah, I don't know what the – the Draethos, that's what it's called? - would have gained by working with Voldemort.”
Obi-Wan shrugged. “There are any number of diabolical scenarios I could suggest, but it is just as likely the Draethos was bored and sought entertainment. They are an aggressive species, and have such a history of unprovoked violence for the sake of violence.”
Harry made a face. “Lovely.” Then he, too, shrugged, and said, “I suppose it doesn't matter so much anymore, does it, now that the Draethos is gone.”
Obi-Wan's eyes were knowing. “But Voldemort is still alive.”
Harry squirmed uncomfortably. “Yeah...” He didn't want to think about Voldemort if he didn't have to. It always gave rise to mixed apprehension about his future and anger at Voldemort himself.
So he changed the subject, quite obviously, but Obi-Wan didn't seem to mind. “Anyway,” Harry began, “I also had something else I wanted to say....”
The Jedi nodded calmly, and waited. Harry took a deep breath.
“I, er, wanted to apologize,” Harry continued, feeling quite awkward, especially since Obi-Wan looked as serene as ever, “for being...kind of a git.” He rubbed the back of his neck and shifted a bit, not quite looking Obi-Wan in the eye. “I made a lot of assumptions about you that turned out wrong. I mean, it's not just the fact that they turned out wrong, I shouldn't have assumed in the first place, either.” It got easier the more he spoke; he found himself apologizing freely. “And I doubted you, during that attack on the school with the Draethos and the machine; I thought you were behind it, and really, you were trying to save us. You were nice to us that whole time at the Burrow, too. And I challenged your explanations, and I let my own prejudices and emotions get in the way of my thinking. So I just want to say, I'm sorry, and I'm going to do my best to ask and think before I jump to conclusions, from now on.”
Graciously, Obi-Wan bowed. “Your apology is accepted.”
Harry breathed a sigh of relief. That went better than expected. Obi-Wan didn't appear angry at all; looked as pleasant as ever, in fact, neither glorying in Harry's admittance of wrongdoing nor denying it.
And maybe it was the kindness in the Jedi's eyes that had Harry blurting more. “I'm just tired of things being kept from me, you know?” he explained. “People don't tell me things, and then what else am I supposed to do but try and figure it out on my own? And then if I mess up, I get yelled at. If they just told me things, I wouldn't have to go looking.”
“And I wasn't forthcoming in any of my earlier explanations,” Obi-Wan supplied, nodding. His expression spoke of understanding.
“Yes! I mean, er-” Harry stumbled through his words, “I'm not trying to pick a fight again, I'm just-”
“I understand, Harry.”
Harry peered at the Jedi. “You do?”
Obi-Wan smiled that small smile. “I do.” And when it came down to it, it was the same smile Ben had always given – did it really matter what the name was, when the person was still the same? Did it really matter that Obi-Wan called Jinn 'Master' and not some other term of address? Did it really matter that Obi-Wan had kept some things to himself – things that were mostly none of Harry's business in the first place?
No, Harry supposed it didn't. “Thank you, Obi-Wan.” He smiled, too. Feeling a lot lighter, he returned with the Jedi to where their friends – and Obi-Wan's Master – waited.
~*~
Between classes, Hermione tucked away her arithmancy notes, returned the library books she'd borrowed, and decided to pay the Jedi a visit. It wasn't a spontaneous decision; now that Harry had made up with the pair, Hermione felt rather confident going to them with questions, as Master Jinn, especially, seemed receptive to curious inquiries. Bidding Madame Pince a courteous goodbye – it paid to be on the librarian's good side, something Ron and Harry could never truly appreciate – Hermione pushed open the old wooden doors to the library and set off for the first floor.
When she arrived, she found them at their doorway, Obi-Wan holding the door open for Master Jinn. Or at least, judging by the height differences, she assumed it was Obi-Wan; both had their hoods up, uncharacteristically. Certain that must mean something, she only added it to her list of questions to ask and approached them, brightening.
“Hello, Master Jinn,” she greeted as they both turned in her direction. “Hi, Obi-Wan. Er,” she blinked as a thought occurred to her, “is it okay if I address you that way? Would you prefer Padawan Kenobi-”
“Obi-Wan is fine.” She could see his lips curve in a smile.
“Right, then. Obi-Wan.” She smiled as well. “I was hoping I might have a word with both of you?” She trailed off inquisitively. Her slight nervousness about going to see them was all but gone, now; it was surprisingly easy to be in their presence, even without being able to fully see their faces.
Obi-Wan shook his head, and her heart sank. “I apologize, Hermione, but today we need to see to our sister.”
Hermione's ears pricked. “Your sister?”
“The one you knew as Jedi Master Kor Vollei,” Master Jinn unexpectedly supplied, and Hermione started a bit; he'd been so silent and still, she'd almost forgotten he was there. Recalling her time at the Burrow with Obi-Wan, she could comprehend now where the younger Jedi might have picked up such a quietude, if his Master always behaved so.
“Oh.” Hermione remembered; they'd taken the unresponsive woman to St. Mungo's following the attack on the castle. “You mean-” she connected the dots in her head and came up with an assumption, “not your biological sister, but your sister in your Order?”
“Yes.” Master Jinn nodded. “Now if you'll excuse us, we need to leave before visiting hours are over. But if you'd like to ask us a question before we go, you may,” the Master amended graciously, perhaps sensing her disappointment, though she tried to mask it as best she could.
“Well, of course, if you're sure, that is,” Hermione replied politely. When Master Jinn nodded again, she continued, “Then might you explain why you're wearing your hoods raised? It isn't too cold out, and I'd bet you have more sophisticated means of disguising yourselves, if you needed to.”
It was Obi-Wan who answered. “We wear our hoods raised as a sign of respect,” he replied solemnly, “and during certain rites.”
It wasn't the most polite thing to do, to ask another question, but Hermione was curious. “Are you performing a rite today?”
Obi-Wan and Master Jinn's eyes met briefly; just a tilt of the head and a glance, but that seemed to be all they needed. If they hadn't had to leave, she would have loved to ask them more about the Padawan and Master relationship.
As it was, Obi-Wan responded, and something in his voice sent a portentous shiver up her spine.
“We expect to conduct a funeral.”
~*~
“And so we shall,” his Master murmurs, withdrawing his hand from the Jedi woman's temple with a sigh.
“Master?”
“There is nothing left of the woman this once was.” Qui-Gon regards her sadly. She stares at the ceiling with blank eyes, living only under the glow of several life-sustaining spells.
Obi-Wan touches the woman's forehead briefly with a fingertip. “We shall perform the rites.”
“Yes.”
They begin gathering up the woman and her few effects; as he once did with his Master, Obi-Wan lifts her with the Force, before a sudden flash of remembrance almost has him dropping her. This is similar – too similar – and for a moment he has to calm his breathing as thoughts of carrying his own Master in such a way, to his own funeral, invade his mind.
His Master notices. “Obi-Wan?”
“A momentary distraction, Master,” he explains, unwilling to lie but also reluctant to elaborate. The softly shining orbs that serve as lighting in the hospital cast faint blues and greens onto his Master's robes. Healing colors.
“Wait, now, what do you think you're doing-” A nurse accosts them when they enter the hallway, frowning severely and looking around with suspicion on her features. “No self check-outs of patients from that ward-”
“We've gotten the proper authorization and are free to leave,” his Master intones, crossing his fingers in front of his torso. The woman frowns some more, and repeats, “Well, you do have the proper authorization, so you're free to leave.”
His Master turns to Obi-Wan. “Come, Padawan.”
They're halted many more times as they leave the building, and each time his Master gently suggests an alternative thought to the minds they encounter. Having left the institution once already under his own power, Obi-Wan leads the way. With only minor complications upon entering the main hall of the hospital, they soon find themselves in the small backyard garden of a nearby residential building, where they left the mounts the gamekeeper was kind enough to supply. The thestrals are unfazed by the weight of an extra rider; Obi-Wan secures his grip around the woman with both his arms and the Force.
Taking to the skies is truly a breathtaking experience; Obi-Wan has flown many a craft, but rarely does he ride upon the back of another living creature, and were the circumstances not so somber he would have enjoyed taking the animal through some of her paces. As it is, he merely lets the thestral choose her speed and altitude, and together with his Master they traverse the skies. The clouds provide sufficient cover in the late afternoon light, and the breeze, this high up, is chilly. Obi-Wan keeps a touch of the Force to warm him.
When they arrive at the castle, the gamekeeper seems surprised to see Obi-Wan's burden, though he takes the reins of the animals without protest, doling out a few affectionate pats to skeletal necks. His questions Qui-Gon deftly answers with the patience and tact of the diplomat he is, when he chooses to be.
Obi-Wan thinks of his Master defying the Council on some matter or another; the farthest thing from tact in his tone, though his poise never wavers. Disagreeing on matters is commonplace among Qui-Gon and his peers, and it is something Obi-Wan has long grown used to, though his young, newly chosen mind had, in the early days of their relationship, been scandalized and, if he is to be honest, a bit embarrassed at being chosen by a Master so unseemly in his defiance. He had been unable to see that, while the Council more often chose caution, Qui-Gon himself turned to compassion, and let this emotion guide his actions.
The thought of an emotion guiding any action, in a positive light, is one that Obi-Wan is only now understanding. Emotion, yet peace.
And he would not relinquish having been chosen as this man's Padawan for anything.
Not wishing to disturb either the castle's occupants or the castle itself – it is fairly sentient and harbors a direct connection to the Headmaster, after all – they simply leave the school grounds altogether, gathering Force-speed through their bodies and running until they reach true countryside. With the Living Force as his guide, his Master kindly warns away any living creatures while Obi-Wan gently lays the woman upon the ground. With his lightsabre he cuts down enough limbs from surrounding trees to create a suitable pyre. Once he's gathered all the wood, he returns to each of the trees he injured, and, with slight apprehension, calls upon the Living Force to soothe the wounds he created.
The Living Force feels warm and electric at once, like falling asleep in a bed of leaves while under a waterfall. Torrential, yet soft.
When he finishes, he returns to his Master's side, aiding him in removing the liquid from the pyre wood, drawing it out in little pulsing bubbles beneath their fingertips, letting it pour back into the earth to nourish another living thing. They complete the task; his Master lets out a breath, of preparation, perhaps, and turns to Obi-Wan.
“You've done very well, my Padawan,” he praises quietly, and his eyes are on the trees Obi-Wan healed. “I am more glad than I can say that you have come to accept the Living Force in your life.”
Obi-Wan bows, feeling warm under Qui-Gon's approval. “Thank you, Master. I am trying.”
Then his Master sighs, and Obi-Wan knows what he now must do. He does not envy Qui-Gon the task.
They go to the Jedi woman, her eyes as unseeing as ever, her chest rising and falling slowly. With a hand to her forehead, Obi-Wan feels his Master gently envelop the woman in a cocoon of the Force. He will be with her in her moment of death. He whispers some words of comfort, but it is the Force itself that Obi-Wan knows offers the most relief, simply by its very nature.
His Master indicates a location on the woman's chest; Obi-Wan inclines his head. Then his Master nods, and, quickly, Obi-Wan ignites his lightsabre and stabs the woman right through the place his Master showed him, right where her heart resides.
She dies instantly and without pain. Obi-Wan can feel, peripherally, her spirit's return to the Force and wonders what it must be like for his Master, who guides the journey. He wonders if he will ever become as in tune with the Living Force to be able to aid another soul in the death of the corporeal body.
For just a moment, the Unifying Force whispers, Yes. Startled, Obi-Wan pushes the feeling away, unwilling to look too closely at where his future self might grow such a skill.
Then his Master is gathering up her body and laying it on the kindling, so Obi-Wan, too, rises, and takes his place on one side of the pyre while his Master arranges her as if in peaceful repose, closing her eyes. Obi-Wan begins chanting the funeral rites; Qui-Gon touches the kindling and with a call to the Force, induces friction and sets a spark to flame. He then rises and moves to the other side of the woman, so that he and Obi-Wan surround her in Jedi kinship. He joins in Obi-Wan's chant, seamlessly, and their voices are the only sounds, somber and calm, that resonate through the late evening.
“Madhurah swehpna, go rahdomah swehpna.
Madhurah swehpna, go rahdomah swehpna,
morittioo, madhurah, swehpna....”
From that single spark, the flames spread slowly, and a column of smoke rises into the sky. This is not the first time Obi-Wan has participated in such a tradition. As before, he feels humbled and peaceful while enacting the ritual, all earlier traces of fear from the Unifying Force's portents released gently to the Force itself. He ensures that he sends thoughts towards the male Jedi as well, whose body has long since been taken care of according to this planet's fashion, while Obi-Wan and his Master lay in recovery.
He and his Master chant the rites four times, twice for each soul they honor, before they become silent and still. The only movement comes from the flames themselves as they flicker and lick the kindling. With his Master, Obi-Wan stays until night has fallen and the flames consume the body within, until the fire sighs and extinguishes and the red lights fade.
~*~
“I feel strange tonight,” Ron announced, apropos of nothing. He sat up from his oft-abandoned transfiguration notes and looked at first Hermione, then Harry, as if either could supply an answer.
Harry made a face and replied, “Congratulations?” But he, too, had begun to feel odd as the evening wore on. Wary of it being related to Voldemort, he simply hadn't brought it up.
Both boys looked to Hermione. Suddenly appearing cross, she said, “Well, I certainly don't know what to tell you.” And she shifted a bit, biting her lip and tapping her notes with her pen.
Ron and Harry traded a surprised look at her unexpected irritation. Still, after a moment Ron daringly pressed, “But you feel it, too?”
“Well, yes,” she admitted. The fire from the common room cast a red glow upon the back of her body, and the brightness irritated Harry's eyes a bit when he tried to look at her.
When she offered nothing else, however, Ron shrugged reluctantly, said, “Okay, I guess,” and went back to his reading, though he'd glance up every once in a while, look around the room, stare at the fire, shiver, and return to his notes. Harry, too, couldn't keep his concentration that night, and eventually he and Ron retired, vowing without much enthusiasm to wake up earlier than usual in order to make up for the study time they missed.
Hermione waved them goodnight and kept at her own work. Neither boy noticed the sad knowing in her eyes.
~*~
Like diamonds caught aflame, the fire glitters and glimmers, billowing clouds of ash in great gray gusts. Fear tastes like soot in his mouth. His eyes catch on a scrap of a brown cloth eaten up by the flames, giving rise to terrible dread. He doesn't want to know what's there, doesn't, as if denial can change reality, but the Unifying Force whispers in his mind and it won't be ignored. He knows whose body is burning-
Waking is like swimming through quicksand; agonizingly slow and laden with terror. When he opens his eyes, the room is dark and quiet; he gags on the taste of burned flesh, turns to the side and spills out of the bed, scrambling to the doorway and yanking it open. Like a hawk, he zeroes in on his Master's presence in his mind – yes, yes, Qui-Gon is alive – but he has to make sure, so he takes the doorknob to his Master's room in his hand and throws it open, breathing erratically, gaze darting frantically to the place where Qui-Gon sleeps.
But his Master is awake.
Eyes wide and heart beating fast, Obi-Wan looks to his Master, who sits up in his bed, sheets pooled over his lap, back resting against the headboard and a wall torch lit and crackling quietly, casting the room in flickering shadows.
His Master watches him.
“How are you-” alive, Obi-Wan almost blurts, and awake, before he remembers the way he latched onto Qui-Gon's mind, desperate for assurance of his continued life. A slow, curling embarrassment suffuses him, and he dips his eyes and head in a bow, arms crossed over his torso while he tries to breathe calmly.
“I apologize, Master,” he murmurs. “While you were in healing stasis, I became accustomed to ascertaining your continued well-being through touches to your mind. In my haste, my former habit betrayed me. Intrusion was not my intent.” And so saying, he slowly, with much difficulty, relaxes his grip on Qui-Gon's mind, until he is separate from his Master once more, connected only by their bond and no more.
He still feels his Master's eyes on him, though he doesn't look up from his partial bow. Deference is a fitting front for his unseemly alarm.
“I will retire to my chambers.” Now Obi-Wan does raise his gaze, and he finds Qui-Gon's eyes, so dark blue and lit with the red reflection of fire, meeting his own with open thoughtfulness. It is an unspoken question.
Obi-Wan remembers the flames as they licked around his Master's body, and cannot find it in himself to answer his Master's question. He shakes his head; bows once more, turns, and leaves the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
~*~
From the first time she saw them, she knew their appearance heralded great things.
The younger one – Obi-Wan, was his name, though he paraded around as Ben for a while – bore on his shoulders a deep responsibility and an esoteric mysticism unusual for someone his age, but strangely fitting all the same. She wondered where he got it from; the kind of solitary self-possession that would make him wander the snow-covered fields of her son's friends, looking up at the stars with a wistful longing she wasn't sure he knew he emanated. Those nights, he would walk at an old man's pace with a young man's agility until he reached a suitable locale – and what constituted such a place, she didn't know – settle onto the snow as if he weighed naught but a feather, tuck his hands into wide sleeves, tilt his head back and watch the night pass. Sometimes he even lay upon his back, pillowing his head on his hands and relaxing as easily as if he rested on sand. And she would watch him watching the sky, and she would wonder where he came from, that his eyes reflected the stars with such a curious familiarity.
For the longest time, the older one was simply known as 'Master.' A term for which she shared her son's loathing, given the situation surrounding her later life and death; though it was soon clear that no one who earned such a title under less than savory circumstances could garner the unselfish devotion given him by Obi-Wan. When he awoke, Master Jinn brought a clear light of joy to his apprentice's life; it was visible to anyone who knew where to look. And, being simply a spirit, she had ample time to look. It was there in the subtle glances he'd give his Master, where his eyes would soften and his expression would ease; it was there when they shared meals, and their hands would brush as they passed dishes across the table, reading each other's desires before they were spoken; it was there when they parted ways for the night, and Obi-Wan would lie with his eyes open, and a small smile would linger on his lips.
Only once did she follow the younger man to his room and catch that smile. After that, she quietly left him alone when he retired for the night; she was getting too personal in her curiosity, and it wasn't proper to use her current state of being to meddle in things that weren't her affair. Her son was and always would be her main concern, after all.
As a general rule, she kept herself hidden from them, lest they detect her with their unusually strong magic – or, as she and her son eventually learned, the 'Force,' as these two 'Jedi' called it. And she thought she'd done a good job of it, too, until the night when the Master approached her.
Her son was safely tucked in bed with his year-mates, and she hovered above a balcony outside the fifth floor of the castle. Since dying, stargazing had become a hobby of hers. She never slept, after all, though she could rest if she chose-
“Madam?”
She whirled; looking right at her, his hands raised in a gesture of calm and his expression kind, was the older Jedi. She looked behind herself; there was no one there he could have been addressing. But no one, not even the Headmaster, had been able to see her since her death. Doubtful that this was really happening, warily, she hazarded, “Yes?”
“I mean you no harm, my lady.” Master Jinn smiled. “I'd simply like to speak to you, if you would allow it. My name is Qui-Gon Jinn. Might I know yours?”
“Lily Potter,” she replied, still with caution, though truly, she felt no malice emanating from the man, and her senses for such things had become much better since dying.
Jinn bowed. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Madam Potter.” His voice was smooth and his smile gentle.
She nodded. “And yours.” She floated a bit closer to him, uncrossing her arms. She couldn't feel the wind, but she could see it blowing that mane of his to and fro, and guessed it might be cold, from the way he kept his hands tucked in his sleeves. Unable to help herself, she asked, “How can you see me?”
Jinn cocked his head to the side. “I'm unsure of the answer myself, though I have a guess. You seem to be made of the Living Force; I have a particular affinity for this aspect of the Force, and have honed my sensitivity to it over the years. I am used to finding it where others may not.”
“I've heard you speak of the Force before-” she began, before realizing that revealed her poor manners of watching what wasn't any of her business.
Jinn only grinned. “I've noticed you before as well, so I suppose we're even.”
She was surprised. “You've seen me already?”
Jinn smiled. “Once or twice. The blue glow tends to give you away.”
She blinked. “Oh.” When had that been? “Well then. As I was about to say, I've heard you speak of the Force but I'm not sure exactly what it is. Could you explain?
He did, talking about the all-encompassing Force and its dual aspects, Living and Unifying, and when he was through she was nodding. “It sounds like what I am, that's for certain. Magic as my son knows it never quite seemed to explain my presence.”
“And what would you call yourself?” the Jedi asked curiously.
She shrugged a bit. “Hmm, a spirit, I suppose. I'm not visible like the castle ghosts, I'm not vengeful like a ghoul, and I'm not as solid as a poltergeist. Spirit's the best I've been able to come up with.”
“And you're here to watch over your son?” Jinn asked with a knowing look.
She nodded. “Yes. He needs my help, as much as I'm able to give when I'm like this.” She gazed at herself with sadness. “It may not shock you that I cannot give as much help as I'd like. Sometimes, he struggles so.” It made her heart squeeze in pain to watch him hurt, and to be unable to do anything to assuage it.
“Harry has a difficult path ahead of him, but he has friends and family to see him through it.”
Appreciative of the sentiment, she smiled a bit. “I'm glad you think so. I think so, too, but it doesn't stop me from worrying.” She wasn't surprised he knew her son was Harry; the dots were easy enough to connect, given her last name and that he'd seen her before.
“It is easy to feel concern for those we love.”
She glanced at him, then, and inexplicably, a familiar longing arose deep in her heart. “I do miss James terribly,” she confessed wistfully.
“Your husband?” Jinn guessed.
“Yes,” she confirmed. “He wasn't able to stay behind like me. And I won't be able to see him, not until I'm ready to leave Harry, and that won't be until Voldemort is gone, for good.”
“It is easy to long for those we love.”
She peered at him, then, closely. “You sound like you have some experience of your own in this regard, Master Jinn.”
Jinn sighed, closing his eyes, and for a moment was silent. “The one I long for,” he began quietly, not looking at her but looking out over the grounds, “is within my reach and yet, unreachable.” Then he sighed again, and met her eyes, expression pleasant once more. “I do have a question for you, if you'd be kind enough to answer,” he said, changing the subject.
She was curious. “If I can. Certain things, though, like what happens after you die – I can't talk about that,” she warned.
Jinn nodded. “Then you are certainly able to refuse my question, should it cross those boundaries. What I'd like to know,” he said, and looked again over the grounds, before returning his eyes to her, “is how, precisely, you were able to remain behind for your son.”
She considered him a moment. “Are you asking this with the one you long for in mind?”
“Yes. If possible, when I die, I'd like to remain behind as a guide, just as you have. He hasn't told me anything explicitly, but-” he shook his head, “my Padawan's recent behavior is indicative of potential harm to myself, and he does tend to have an advantage when it comes to knowing these things.”
“The Unifying Force?” she asked, remembering the man's explanation.
“Yes.”
“That must be a difficult burden,” she said solemnly.
Jinn smiled enigmatically. “It is the way of things. It is the Force.”
She eyed him. “Right. Well, in any case, how I stayed behind is something I'm pretty sure I can answer. And if I can't, I'll know it soon enough, believe me.”
Jinn simply nodded, expression attentive and interested.
“Simply put, it is my love for my son that has kept me as I am.” Jinn's expression became at once inscrutable. Ignoring his odd reaction, she continued, “At the moment of my death, all my thoughts were on protecting Harry. All my heart was concentrated on his well-being. I was determined to do anything I could to keep him safe, even at the loss of my own life. I suppose, without meaning to, I began some sort of spell – not the kind of spell that you can write down in a book, you understand, but something more ancient and instinctual than that. Perhaps something more like your Force,” she added. “While I was full of such love for my son, I was killed. I've thought about it before, and I believe my husband wasn't able to remain,” she cautioned, “because his heart was split – love for me and Harry, both. It may be that you can't remain behind for more than one person. All I know is that, after James was killed, I didn't have time, yet, to spare him my heart, not when my baby boy was there, alone and defenseless, but for me. So when I died protecting Harry, my heart was on him and him only.
“There was a bit of a – a transition period, I suppose you could say, and there are some other things I know I can't tell you about, nor would you understand, corporeal as you are.” She smiled. “But, in the end, my love for Harry was stronger than the will of my body to die, and so, a sort of compromise was reached. My body moved on to death, and I did not, and, well,” she indicated herself, “here I am.”
Jinn was quiet for a long few minutes. Content to wait, and glad that she hadn't been struck down in some spectacular fashion with lightning bolts and fire for revealing what allowed her to stay on Earth as a spirit, she observed the Jedi, though for the life of her – or unlife, she supposed – his expression and body language gave away nothing.
When he did speak, his voice was soft as a whisper. “You loved Harry enough to die for him,” he said quietly, “but you also loved him enough to live for him.”
She ran that sentence through her mind once more, then replied, simply, “Yes.”
Jinn looked her straight in the eye, then, and gave a deep bow. “Thank you,” he said, and she could tell the words came from deep within him, from a place of unfeigned gratitude.
Feeling solemn herself, she replied, “You're most welcome, Master Jinn. I hope you're able to protect this precious person of yours as I am my Harry.”
Jinn's eyes were kind, but otherworldly in a way that sent her mind to wondering.
“So do I.”