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I’ve got a fire for a heart (I’m not scared of the dark)

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“‘Soka? ‘Soka!”

Dark blue eyes shot open. There were so many memories in her head, half-formed and spinning, that she couldn’t quite figure them out. There were so many - too many - and she was thankful to be laying down, since she surely would have collapsed otherwise.

She remembered the peaceful eddies of the Force which swirled her away when she went to sleep that night in the New Jedi Temple, watching a new system for the Jedi Order arise that was better than the old, finally able to rest after her long years of fighting.

It was surprising, then, that she could open her eyes again.

Everything was jumbled.

Was she human, or togruta?

Alive, or dead?

Witch, or Force-user?

“‘Soka, are you alright?”

She looked up at Hermione’s concerned face, and fell back on years of undercover missions for the Jedi Council, Anakin, and the Rebels (and how her heart ached at the thought of them!). She pulled on the persona of Ahsoka Potter {pronounced Ahs-ok-a, not Ah-so-ka, as it had been in her previous life}, took back her glasses (she didn’t really need them, not any more, but she altered the light around her eyes to make them ineffective) with a rasped,

“Thank you,” and looked up to see the strange man who had been in the corner of the carriage - Professor R. J. Lupin, if his trunk was to be believed - passing her something brown.

“Here, eat this, it’ll help.”

She blinked, but sensed no ill intentions, and so took it, hesitantly, her pale blonde - almost white - hair swaying loose around her head.

“It’s alright, it’s chocolate.”

Privately, she wondered how chocolate could possibly be of any help in her current situation, but decided not to press the issue.

She sat up, carefully, and, with as much of a vocal waver as would suit the part of her that was still ‘Soka Potter, asked,

“What- What was that thing?” She figured that she needed as much information as she could possibly get. Knowledge was always a good place to start.

“That was a dementor. One of the guards of Azakaban.” She could sense the truth in his words, but wondered what kind of kriffing idiot would employ one of those as a prison guard?

[Unless they were a Sith. She wouldn’t put anything past a Sith.]

“It’s gone now,” he told her, and she suppressed a sigh of relief. “It was searching the train for Sirius Black.”

She blinked, and then remembered. Right. The murderous, raving lunatic who was trying to kill her.

Because of course he was. Why couldn’t she have a normal life, for once?

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he finished, “I’m going to have a word with the driver.”

The man stood and walked out, but not before reminding her, “Eat. You’ll feel better.”

He then closed the door and walked off, leaving the three alone.

She bit into the chocolate absently, her gaze distant, as she tried to figure out the next chance she had to meditate. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be until she was back in her room that night; she’d just have to make herself last until then.

The three friends sat in companionable, if tense, silence, as the train raced the storm to their school.


Severus Snape studied Potter as she walked into the Great Hall with her sycophantic ‘friends’. Something seemed... off about her. She seemed far more sure of herself, walking straighter, but also more defensively - like a warrior.

Severus wondered what could cause such a change.

She also looked more calm and collected - speaking less, but with more wisdom to the words that she did say. It was like she had become a completely different person over the course of the holidays.

But that wasn’t possible. Her relatives had, without a semblance of a doubt, spoilt her rotten, just like every year - just like her father. Something else was going on.

He met Dumbledore’s eyes, and silently requested to see what was going on in Potter’s mind. The Headmaster nodded, giving his consent.

Severus turned around and met the girl’s eyes, expecting the usual lack of resistance.

To his surprise, he was met with a wall of unimaginable pain, emotional and physical; for a horrifying moment, he believed that he was going to die of a heart attack from the agony. He was then shoved out, and stared in shock at the girl, who glared at him, a clear message in her eyes: don’t try that again.

He looked back to Dumbledore, sending him a memory of what had just occurred.

The man’s grandfatherly demeanour faltered for a half-second, before Severus had a message pressed into his mind - they would discuss this in the Headmaster’s office after the feast.


She scowled as she felt Snape push into her mind, refuting him with the shielding she had built up during the Clone Wars, her time as an Exile, and her years as Fulcrum. So that was how Dumbledore knew so much about her.

She listened to the Headmaster explain the Dementor guards, and scowled. While not as powerful as a Sith, she placed Dumbledore’s maliputiveness and selfishness right up there with Sidious’. With an outsider perspective, she could see that the Headmaster had manipulated her, his ‘Chosen One’, in the same way that Sidious had manipulated Anakin, the Jedi’s ‘Chosen One’.

She scowled and dug into her food, steadfastly ignoring Malfoy’s childish taunts.

She was so many things - Ahsoka Tano, ‘Soka Potter, Padawan, Jedi Exile, Fulcrum, Friend, Sister... Lover - but one thing she was not was easily bated.


Unfortunately, Albus was not able to discern what had happened to his young saviour - at least, not anything more than ‘she has mental defences now’, which was utterly useless.

Eventually, he decided to keep an eye out for something more concrete.


That evening, after the feast, around ten o’clock, she went straight back to her bed, closing the curtains quickly before settling into a meditative stance. She then sorted through her memories.

Eventually, she managed to sort through all the parts of her - Ahsoka Tano, ‘Soka Potter, Padawan, Exile, Fulcrum, Witch, Friend, Sister, Lover - and get her memories in order. She was all of those things, and all of them were her.


But there was a Dark presence in her scar - one that reminded her of the Inquisitors or Ventress in strength, but not as Dark as Dooku or Vader had been. She reached into the Force and pulled it out.

It struggled, causing her physical pain, and only through years of dealing with battle wounds did she manage not to scream. But, eventually, she managed it, sending it falling out of the window, and dissolving into nothingness before it hit the ground.

She then reached out into the Force, pulling her lightsabers towards her.

Her first lightsaber pair had been confiscated by the Council, and destroyed during Operation Knightfall. They were useless to her.

Her second lightsaber pair had been lost to the elements when she had faked her death on Mandalore. And they had never truly fit her; sure, they liked her and worked for her, but Anakin had made them - they had never truly been hers . She couldn’t use them on a permanent basis.

Her third, and last, lightsaber pair, were probably still intact in her vacuum-sealed grave, and she knew they would listen to her. So she called them toward her.

She reached out with the Force, further than she’d even done before, and pulled, sending the lightsabers racing toward her, being carefully guided around planets and stars.

After nine hours of intensive meditation, eight hours of which was made up of pulling her lightsabers toward her, she felt them finally come to a stop outside her bedroom window.

She opened her eyes, careful to keep her lightsabers afloat, and looked at the time, wiping the blood that had leaked from her scar with her hand as she did so.


She’d meditated through the night.

Slightly stunned, but no less focused for it, she snuck over to the window and grabbed her lightsabers, after opening them a crack.

She smiled as she felt the familiar, curved hilts in her hands.

But she knew that the other girls would soon wake, so she hurried to use the bathroom, cleaning the blood properly off of her face and her hands, and got dressed quickly, so that they wouldn’t notice the hidden hilts attached to the inside of her skirt.

[But, however useful hair was for hiding weapons and lockpicks, it was still going to take a lot of getting used to. She‘d take her montrals and lekku - which were, simultaneously, better to hear through, and required less effort to keep tidy - any day.

She added ‘Learn self-transfiguration’ onto her to-do list.]