Disclaimer: We neither own Harry Potter or Star Wars. We write this as our dreams and ideas needed somewhere to go other than our lonely heads. So don't sue me, sue Forge.

***Updated Feb.6 2017***

Author's Note:

Hello, everyone! I am Darth Vidicus, and that energetic non-bouncy one over there is Forge. Together, we are the Siblings Grimm. We are in fact siblings, I know *surprise!*, and as we are both separated due to college and life, we write as a way to do something together.

For the purpose of this story, we have created a website. I am a visual person, and sometimes it really helps to have a visual aid so that you can fully grasp the story the author is trying to weave. Also, for those of you who are less familiar with Star Wars or Harry Potter, we will be posting background information so that you can catch up and understand the content written here. Every chapter will have at least one post on our blog with accompanying information and pictures. We recommend that you begin reading the chapter then reference the accompanying blog post when and if needed (thus not to spoil anything in the chapter).

Please see our profile for further details.

Finally, we would like to thank some of those who have 'pioneered' this particular crossover and who have made some of the greater fanfics here. Specifically, we offer our thanks to Darth Marrs, plums, ffdrake, and Faykan. Great work ladies and gentlemen!

With no further adue, we give to you 'Quod Oblitus Trivium'

*Lights dim and curtains are drawn*

Rain fell over the English countryside as the heavy spring clouds hung grey and heavy in the overcast morning sky.

The wild grasses, common to the country, bent low as the water slowly dripped down their green stems.

A man, tall and lean, stood silently in the dismal morning air. His long hair hung in soaked ropes as water slowly trickled down his head and onto the thick heavy material of his cloak, keeping most of his clothes dry.

As time passed by, the small fauna of the country gradually began to resume their daily shuffle as the man's silent intrusion into their home became gradually forgotten, caution lost as he stood still and silent.

Before the man lay a thick white slab of stone, its surface drenched in the morning's downpour.

A name was carved into the stone there, a silent witness of times now past. The man's gaze held fast on those letters, neither moving or wavering.

With the slow and heavy movement of a falling tree, the man came crashing down to his knees. His face still and cold as a stone, not even a single tremor passed over his face. Raising his arm from where it clutched the soaked grass at his knees, he reached into his heavy cloak and withdrew a single flower. The rain hit the delicate petals, making it look as if the flower was covered in small twinkling lights.

It was a rather small flower as far as blossoms go. It was small and petite, looking fragile and delicate in the man's hand. The flowers petals were pure and radiant, somehow almost glowing in the dull morning light. After taking a moment to admire its simple beauty, the man placed it gently next to the name, his fingers pausing along the cold marble surface.

Below name and dates, an epitaph was written, a memorial of promises made. His eyes swept over the words, remembering the meaning that was given to them so long ago.

Finally, the man was ready to take his leave. Drawing himself in, and letting out a long slow breath, he rose to his feet. With one final glance behind him, the tall man walked quickly into the rolling countryside, leaving the white stone behind.

The words echoed in his mind. The words that she had once read to him, the words he himself etched into the cold stone.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

Pressing forward into the darkening twilight, the cold hung around her body like a thick fog. Moving through the dark terrain it slowly became evident that this was no natural chill. It crept slowly across her being, seeking out any hint of warmth, almost as if it had a will of its own.

She was getting closer.

Walking in the darkness she saw the twilight shroud of stars that smothered the sky like a thick blanket, hinting at the majesty and grandeur beyond. But there was no moon in the sky that night, and as such she could barely see the faint outline of her surroundings. Even with the light of the stars the rocky terrain around her was hidden and shadowed. It was dark enough that one should not be able to navigate the darkness as she was, but there was a force, a presence that she could feel, drawing her toward her destination. She could not turn away.

Trudging slowly through the darkness she tightened her grip on the straps of the small black satchel that hung at her side, reassuring herself that is was there. It would not due to loose it in this place of eternal night. Keeping one hand on the satchel she used her other hand to sweep her dark hair out of her eyes, trying in vain to better see through the twilight around her.

Stumbling and struggling through the darkness, she had a fair number of falls, but nothing would dissuade her from her course. Though the darkness was thick and overpowering, and the cold sapping her strength, in her core an intense hatred raged. And the flames of that anger pushed her onward.

This place was always dark, it never changed. As such she was not sure how long she had been traveling along her current path, she had been forced to abandon her transport some time ago. It had been many hours, maybe even days. She rested when she needed to, but never for long, for she could not escape the presence the continued to draw her nearer, to lead her closer.

After some time the ground began to slope downward and dark shapes began to rise up on either side of her. As she moved forward and the shapes drew nearer it became apparent that she had entered a crevice that was slowly deepening and narrowing to a point. And yet the power pulling her forward only increased. What she sought had to be down here, amongst the rocky crags.

As she reached the end of the ever narrowing ravine, there stood before her what appeared to by a towering rock wall. Reaching forward she began to feel her way along it. From end to end it seemed at least 4 meters long. And though too dark to see clearly, it seemed to be covered in patterns and text of ancient origin. Working her way toward the center her wandering hands found an opening, a square opening.

In the darkness, her sinister face broke into a wicked had found what she was looking for. Filled with exhilaration she opened her satchel, and as the flap fell open a dim, maroon light filled the darkness around her. Reaching into the satchel she drew out a red pyramid, covered in black linear designs that matched those on the wall before her. And in a moment she had inserted the pyramid, point first, into the opening.

With a dull thud and a sudden burst of air, a seam appeared above and below the opening. Removing the pyramid she backed away from the wall, waiting for what would come next. No sooner had she done that, the wall made double doorway began to slowly and ponderously swing outward, revealing the inky blackness within.

As the doors swung open, the cold that had followed her and drawn her to this point rolled forth from the darkness like a heavy ocean tide. What had been a pervasive chill became a bone-freezing presence that weighed down on her very being.

Cautiously, the artifact in hand, she pressed forward into the darkness that quickly engulfed her.

After a few moments, red lights flickered on along the base of a wide metal catwalk that extended into the corridor before her, the edges of which gave way to a deep chasm. The passage stretched on for some time, but she pressed forward undaunted. At the end of the passage, she was again met with a doorway. But instead of the heavy stone doorway at the entrance, she was presented with what appeared equally large metal door.

With no slot on the door, or on the wall beside it, she waited. And not long after she arrived at the door, the doors began to retract, with a slow hiss, exposing the dark chamber beyond. Without a hesitation, she walked forward into the awaiting chamber.

Immediately upon entering, a low thump sounded above her, and a bank of lights that extended far to the left and right turned on, exposing what appeared to be a cavernous chamber. Before her, now revealed in the light were rows and rows of metal slabs.

Separating the rows of slabs a broad path extended further into the chamber. Before she began down the path she took a moment to examine the strange metal slabs.

Drawing closer she began to realize that they weren't just slabs, they were soldiers. Dawned in full battle armor, these soldiers were entombed in solid metal. With another thump, a second bank of lights exposed an identical series of soldiers. This was followed by another thud, and another, and another. As the banks of lights continued on further and further down the chamber, the light exposed, thousands if not millions of soldiers.

Then, as she stood marveling at what she had discovered, with one final thud a bright red light turned on in the middle of the path, exposing a towering statue of a figure in a hooded cloak, a drawn saber before him.

Filled with awe and an overpowering sense of ancient power, she walked down the long path passing by the countess entombed soldiers.

And there, before the imposing statue stood a desolate slab. But this one was not the same as all of the others. It did not contain a soldier covered in armor. No, this man was taller, broad in the shoulders, and looked as if he could crush her between his hands. This was the man of the statue, he was the commander of this army, he was the Lord of this dark place. He is what drew her to that place.

She noticed that on the side of the slab a slowly flashing green light… he was alive!

And with that discovery, she was filled with an intense, overpowering feeling of victory and triumph. She would show those who had wronged her the true meaning of power. And she would have her revenge.

All that remained was awakening this man before her. Glancing around she found a stone plinth a meter or so in front of the man, the top of which had a shallow, square indent. The perfect size for the artifact.

Approaching it, she reached forth she placed the small red pyramid on the plinth, it fit perfectly and seamlessly.

Immediately after she let go of the artifact it began to increase in brightness, and suddenly along each of the sides, a shining red line extended from the artifact to the base of the plinth. But, the line facing the man did not stop there but raced along the floor to the base of his metal resting place. As soon as it reached it, colored lights and displays lit up as if they had never been off and the green light began to flash at a steadily increasing rate.

As the light began to flash faster and faster, she started to hear a sort of sizzling noise as the metal surrounding the man began to glow a cherry red. Growing brighter and brighter the metal began to turn white and then fade away, exposing the form of the man behind it.

Approaching the awakening man the remainder of the metal quickly dissolved away, revealing the man's full and imposing figure. His skin was a dark grey, and though taught and strong, had the appearance of faded parchment. Dark veins webbed his forehead and a respirator covered his mouth and lower jaw. He was dressed in metallic battle armor that covered his whole form. His very presence emanated power and demanded respect.

For a moment, he stood there, frozen and unmoving, causing her to wonder for just a moment if he had somehow died in the process. But as he suddenly fell to a knee and drew in a long, deep mechanical breath, those thoughts were banished from her mind.

Kneeling on the floor he struggled through his first few breaths, maintaining his composure when he most surely was experiencing great pain. And then, with a deep breath, he spoke in a raspy voice that somehow echoed with dark power.

"After millennia…. I have returned."

As he spoke, he looked up, and with pupils encompassed in a corona of burning orange light, he fixed her dead in the eye.

And thousands of light years away, Harry Potter bolted awake, still seeing in his mind the burning anger behind those bright orange eyes.

As soon as Harry had gathered his composure, he silently slipped out of his room and down the hall to the toilet. Turning on the faucet he splashed his face a few times with the cold water before drying it off with the hand towel. Looking up into the mirror, Harry's gaze was met with familiar green eyes. Though the eyes were his own, he could not help but remember the intensity of the flaming orange eyes he had seen in his dream.

Was it a dream?

He wasn't really sure. How many other times had he had dreams like this?

Slumping down onto the Dursley's fancy toilet seat covering, Harry tried to recall all the nightmares he had experienced over the last few months. Since the end of the tri-wizard tournament, and Voldemort's resurrection, nightmares had been unfortunately much too common.

Harry sighed as he ran his hand through his messy black hair. He had seen Cedric die once, that was more than enough for him. But his dreams seemed not agree with him, as Cedric's face had become almost a normal sight for Harry during the wee hours of the night. And as much as he hated his nightmares, and oh did he hate them, there were nights where he would have a nightmare that was… different. Much like the dream he had had of Voldemort and the poor groundskeeper before last year's Quidditch World Cup, some of his dreams were more real, more… alive.

Fortunately, they weren't that common, but they were far more disturbing than his normal nightmares. Flashes of darkness and silver masks, figures pleading for mercy, the cries of tortured souls. He could only assume that they came from Voldemort.

He wished he could talk to somebody about it, Dumbledore, Sirius, or his friends. But with how cryptic and evasive Dumbledore had been in what little communication they had, he wasn't exactly feeling fond toward the Professor at the moment. With Sirius, Harry didn't know what was going on with him. He was always supportive and lent a listening ear, but with the ministry on the prowl since the end of term, his communication with Sirius had been greatly reduced.

His friends hadn't exactly been much better either. Ron had gone secretive soon after they got back, apparently, the Weasley's weren't living at the Burrow at the moment. Then Hermione had gone to stay with them, wherever that was, she then too quickly stopped writing Harry as much. When she did write him, she kept her letters vague and asked more questions about his holiday then answering his questions about hers, she would always tell him that it was for the best, that he would know more soon.

For the best! He was the one who had nearly been killed when Voldemort returned from the dead, the one who had to bring Cedric's body back to Hogwarts. Why were they keeping secrets from him?

In frustration, he slammed his fist down on the sink, and in the process, accidentally knocked down the Dursley's toothbrush holder, causing a loud clattering noise as it hit the floor. Not a moment later Uncle Vernon had pounded his way down the hall and threw the toilet door open.

"What in the BLAZES are you doing up at this hour boy?! Banging things around and making a racket, up to some of your weird little tricks?!"

Scrambling to pick up the brushes and the holder, Harry quickly explained. "No Uncle Vernon, I swear I was just going to use the toilet when I accidentally knocked the holder down!"

"Ruddy lies those are! What are you doing going to the toilet with your trousers up and the seat cover down?!"

Realizing he had been caught Harry quickly backed up and tried the truth. "Okay, I wasn't going to the toilet, I just had a nightmare, I needed a place to think!"

Twisting his fat face into a mocking expression, Uncle Vernon was quick to come up with a retort. "Huh, had a nightmare, did you? Serves you bloody right for dealing with all the freakishness like you do! Maybe it will teach you a lesson." Backing away from the door and gesturing toward Harry's room Uncle Vernon finished his piece "And for further notice, the wash closet is not a place for you to be crying about your problems! Now get out of here and get to your ruddy room!"

Not hesitating a moment Harry slipped out and returned to his room, trying to suppress rebellious thoughts of slipping some of the twins nugget into his Uncle's morning eggs.

Back in his room, Harry thought back on the dream he had and tried to compare it to some of the others he had had. It was different. Though his dreams had followed people and events at times, there was something distinctly different about this dream. And who was that man? Some potential ally of Voldemort's perhaps? An ancient enemy long lost to the world? Whatever was going on and whoever he was, Harry couldn't escape the feeling that it spelled danger and destruction in in the years to come.

Settling into his bed, Harry let the events of the night fade from the forefront of his mind, and soon after, Harry drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

Watching from the darkness, a presence stood in the shadows of Harry's room. Though perhaps hovered would be a more proper term.

Chuckling to himself as he watched Harry drift off to sleep none the wiser The presence reflected on Harry's final sleepy thoughts. Harry did not know how very right, and how very wrong he was.

Slowly withdrawing from Harry's room and the house of number four Privet Drive, the wraith-like entity gave one last look before speeding off to its physical body, knowing full well that this would probably be the last normal night of Harry's life.