"There is a nature to the dark side…"

Rey stared at the thick burgundy curtains hanging from the window beside her bed, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. Despite the stresses of the day weighing heavy on her limbs and busy mind, sleep was unreachable. With the heavy curtains blocking any moonlight, and the lack of the muggle technology she grew to love—she loved being a witch, but she did on occasion miss her mobile—it was nearly impossible to figure out the time of night.

It meant Rey had no idea how long she spent laying in her bed, desperate for sleep to consume her. Every one of her suitemates seemed to be asleep, based on the three separate snores timing off in random increments. In fact, even Dee seemed to be asleep, her cat's furry bum resting comfortably on her normally chilly feet.

"There is always a place for you with me."

The voices were especially active that evening. Every sentence uttered into the night was a siren song at her ears, just begging her to follow their promises into the darkness. It was starting to get harder and harder to ignore them, especially when their presence seemed to intensify every night. It wreaked havoc on her mind, her soul, and most importantly to Rey, her sleep schedule. With seven N.E.W.T. level classes, Quidditch, and her roles as a prefect, sleep was everything to Rey.

"We must pass all the tests we face… Or die in the effort."

She had no choice. On shaky legs, desperate to ignore the call and the meaning of the worlds, she climbed out of bed and slipped into her slippers and dressing gown. With a soft muttering of "Lumos", she hurried out of her dormitory and into the rest of the castle.

It was a quick journey to the Hospital Wing, and Madam Kalonia handed her over a vial of Sleeping Draught with little fanfare. Their resident nurse seemed prepared for the bombardment of sixth and seventh years requesting the sought-after potion. Students were known to resort to a dose or two when the year got stressful and sleep eluded them. It wasn't necessarily the most recommended method for anxious students, but when Hogwarts used to forbid the use of the draught, students found other more….

Illegal variations.

It meant the pretty purple vials joined the likes of contraceptive potions in Madame Kalonia's locked cabinet. These draughts were not advertised nor promoted, but if students asked for either, they would receive them, no questions asked.

Rey returned to her dormitory, the vial tight in her sweaty hands. Madame Kalonia probably thought she was manic—only a week into the school year and already anxious enough to need a dose of the potion. She, of course, was unaware of the true reason Rey needed the elixir.

If she knew, Rey had a feeling she'd be forced into a lot worse than just a stern conversation with the friendly nurse.

When she returned to her bed, the taste of lavender and valerian root on her tongue, sleep came easily. But the draught was only a temporary fix. Unlike the potion she truly sought out—one of the dreamless variety—this draught did nothing to rid her mind of the nightmares that plagued her.

It meant the voices prevailed, even in the comfort of slumber.

"You're not alone. I hear them too."

-x-

The weekend came and went far faster than Ben would have liked. Half of his first Saturday at Hogwarts was spent on the Quidditch field, effectively trying out for the Slytherin team. Phasma ran the practice like a drill sergeant, intent to run her teammates ragged whenever given the chance. She felt it built character, but as Hux had quipped, "It just builds her ego and superiority complex."

Ben agreed. But he had grown to like and respect Phasma in the few days he knew her. She was wildly passionate about Quidditch, and perhaps most importantly, had given Ben the position as Seeker on the team. For the first time since arriving, he finally felt like he belonged.

The fun of Saturday drifted into the stress of Sunday, when he spent most of the day coped up in the library, desperate to finish a potions essay and a Transfiguration assignment. Ben wasn't nearly prepared for the learning curve of changing not only countries, but also schools. He was unfamiliar with certain ingredient and potions, and in some cases, hadn't learned some of what was expected of him. He was warned of this by Chewie, but also told that later in the year, he may be ahead of his peers for the same reason. He looked forward to reviewing lessons already learned in Ilvermorny and thus giving him the upper hand in his classes. Really, he looked forward to anything that would make him look good in the eyes of his classmates.

Since, well, most of them seemed to eye him with fear or thinly veiled disdain. Except Rey of course. There was nothing subtle about her hatred towards him. Every time he found himself in her presence, it was impossible to ignore her eyes on his every move. He felt how deeply she loathed him with every breath he took.

That only intensified on Monday, when he found himself back in the unfamiliar classrooms of the centuries old castle. He survived his Transfiguration class without too much stress. With Hux beside him, it was easy to listen to the Irish fellow drone on about his cat's odd behavior or how awful the food during breakfast hours had become.

It was a worthy distraction from paying any attention to Rey. He wondered if it was just the morning hour of the class, or the rather challenging assignment given to them, but she didn't seem to be looking at Ben at all. It momentarily—and naively—gave him a false hope that maybe, just maybe, they could look past their differences and become friends.

Or, civil, at the very least. The Skywalker-Organa-Solo clan tended to incite drama, and all Ben wanted, especially with an assumed identity, was to break free from that pattern. If he could survive his seventh year with most of his classmates not knowing his name, then he succeeded.

Unfortunately, he wasn't stupid or naïve enough to believe that was even a remotely possible outcome.

That became especially apparent by their second class of the day. Of all the N.E.W.T. level classes, Charms seemed to have the highest enrollment at nearly 32 students. Ben assumed it was simply because the subject of Charms was so useful in the everyday lives of witches and wizards—as it was, the average wizard was far more likely to use a summoning charm during their daily life than say, use their lessons on Glumbumbles from Care of Magical Creatures.

But Ben quickly learned that the Charms professor, Professor Ackbar, was beloved by students and faculty alike. As the head of Hufflepuff, he was known for his kind deposition and his desire to keep the classroom fun when the lessons allowed for it.

He knew the man was active during the war. Ben heard his name before in recounting of the famous battles. It probably explained why he felt like Professor Ackbar was studying him whenever he looked in his direction.

Truthfully, Ben didn't know what the faculty knew outside of his Uncle, Chewie, and Kenobi. But he trusted Chewie—and, he supposed, his parents—enough to believe that if the rest of the faculty knew his true identity, they wouldn't say anything about it.

That class was supposed to be another opportunity for Ben to hang with Hux and a few of his other Slytherin classmates. He had no desire to branch out and meet people from other houses, just by virtue of knowing Slytherin's reputation.

Oh, and of course how Rey treated him.

But the Universe worked in cruel and mysterious ways. Ben should not have been surprised when Rey was assigned to be his partner for that morning's lesson on the gouging spell. Defodio was not something in his repertoire, so Ben was rather excited for the assignment, even if it had to be completed with Rey.

He practiced about sixteen different interactions in his head with the Gryffindor girl, hoping that any one of them would somehow patch up their troubled relationship. That maybe with the right combination of Solo charm and Organa diplomacy, Rey Niima wouldn't hate him so desperately.

Ben was wrong.

"Ren." Rey muttered as she slid onto the seat beside him. His table in the back had been occupied by Hux, until his housemate was assigned to work with some Ravenclaw who's name, and face Ben wasn't familiar with. Now, Rey sat beside him, smelling of vanilla and roses, but looking far less chipper than usual.

He assumed her sour mood had to do with being forced to work with him, but an internal voice, one that sounded like his Uncle's chastising timbre, reminded him not to be such a narcissistic tool. Perhaps Monday had not been kind to her.

She looked tired.

He knew the feeling.

"Rey," He began, thinking back to his previously rehearsed interactions prior to her arrival, "Good morning." It was a stellar start, especially since he had a habit of putting his foot in his mouth.

Instead of a polite—or indifferent—response, a pair of hazel eyes glared at him. "Bugger off, Ren. It's too early for you to do that American arse-kissing thing."

He cleared his throat. "I'm… not sure what you mean."

Rey rolled her eyes. "You lot always pretend to care how others are doing. So I'm saying to save it for someone who actually wants it. Like one of the hags in Slytherin or a member of your fan club."

Ben sighed and glanced back to the blackboard, reviewing the instructions of their assignment yet again. He hadn't been at Hogwarts for even an entire week and he managed to piss off the prettiest girl in the school. If anything ran in his pesky blood, it was most definitely that.

"It's called being polite," He finally muttered in response, regretting the words the moment they left his mouth, "Maybe you could learn a thing or two."

He could practically feel the frustration rolling off the girl beside him. "My, aren't you just a prat, Ren?" She shook her head and grabbed her wand, the ash held tightly in her angry fingers, "You could learn a thing or two about respect."

Ben sat up straight. Without his shoulders hunching, he dwarfed over her. His dad frequently joked he had giant's blood running through his veins. His mother joked that maybe he was Chewie's. His dad didn't like those jokes very much, no matter how harmless they were.

"I'm just being honest," He retorted, looking down to meet her angry gaze, "You were the one that said honesty is the best policy, and well, I honestly think you could be more polite to me."

The way her mouth fell open was equally as shocking as it was humorous. But he didn't get very long to bask in her stunned silence or enjoy how pretty she looked with the sunlight painting her hair gold before she began her scathing attack.

"Listen here, Kylo," She hissed out, leaning closer so they sat only inches apart, "I dunno who you think you are, but you can't just show up here and think you run this school. Your Slytherin lot think you're so bloody smart and cool, but you're not. Not at all." She shook her head, her cheeks ruddy. "You don't get to attack our favorite professors or insinuate about our personal lives. You've been here less time than the bloody first years."

Maybe, when he was safe in the privacy of his dormitory, he'd consider how troubling it was that he enjoyed making her angry. He could call it revenge for her asking the one question he couldn't answer in order for them to be friends. He could call it narcissism, and just decide that flustering other people made him happy.

But deep down, he knew it was because she looked so pretty when she was angry, and nothing thrilled him more than every ounce of her attention being focused on him and him alone.

If they couldn't be friends, he would have to settle for rivals. It was the only way to ensure she'd continue speaking to him.

"If you don't want me to insinuate about you—or assume you need better manners—than maybe you could just be polite back, Rey. All I said was good morning." He explained, happy to continue staring into those big, hazel eyes, "You don't want to be my friend, fine. But we can still be polite and courteous to one another."

He was really nailing that Organa diplomacy.

Rey glared at him, her nose pinching in disgust. "I knew you for mere days before you accused me of using Professor Skywalker as a father figure and called him a fraud. Then, when you did have the balls to apologize, you wouldn't even tell me what prompted your outburst. So don't you dare lecture me about manners and friendship, Kylo Ren."

Ben shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "Exactly! We barely know each other. I can't possibly divulge every detail of my life to you. You wouldn't do the same for me!"

She crossed her arms. "Nothing in my life is interesting enough to keep secret, Ren. Secrets never lead to anything good. That's why we can't be friends."

"Oh?" He asked, his eyes locked on hers, "You expect me to believe you don't have a single secret in your life?"

Rey hummed and nodded. "I don't."

"Your friends know every single thing about you? There's not a single detail that you decided to keep hidden from them for whatever reason?" He studied her. For a millisecond, panic seemed to overcome her features. But before he could even confirm to himself what he saw, it was gone.

Rey was back to her self-righteous certainty. "Precisely."

Ben just shook his head. "Fine, Rey. I guess you're so much better than me. But we can still be nice. Try to get along."

"That depends. Are you Slytherin's new seeker? I know they had practice on Saturday."

He cleared his throat and nodded. "I am."

With a hum, Rey twirled her wand. "Then I dunno, Kylo. I'd say we have a lot more dueling in our future."

Ben wanted to be angry, or to issue a retort back, but all he managed to do was watch as she reread the instructions. As soon as she flicked her wrist, uttering "Defodio" at their pile of rocks, he knew he was an absolute goner.

At least he could be sure about one thing. He was most definitely his father's son.

Solo men tended to fixate on frustrating women. Frustrating and frustratingly beautiful ones.

-x-

Rey grumbled and stormed along the corridors, desperate to forget her entire Charms lesson. Maybe later in her life, she'd regret not knowing the Defodio charm, but at the moment, nothing would please her more than forgetting Kylo Ren's dark eyes and taunting words.

"You expect me to believe you don't have a single secret in your life?"

She had been so certain—so adamant—about her own openness with her friends, that the thought of her not having shared every detail with them seemed impossible. Finn knew about Rey's childhood crush on the seventh-year Gryffindor Quidditch star during her second year. Rose knew about Rey's first—and pathetic—attempt at touching herself below the sheets the summer after her fourth year. Even Poe, who's friendship she considered forced at best, knew all about Rey's upbringing in the foster system.

But with those impossibly dark eyes staring into her soul, like a pair of knowing crystals taunting her words, it occurred to her just how false her claim was.

Her friends didn't know everything.

Nobody knew about the voices. Or the dreams.

Rey shook her head and strolled into the Great Hall, desperate for lunch. She didn't want to think about Kylo's words for too long. If she did, she might decide she was being too harsh on him by forbidding their friendship unless he spilled the beans about his relationship with Professor Skywalker. Given her own realization about keeping secrets from her friends, she realized it was hypocritical at best.

But then again, Professor Skywalker had been a mentor to her since his arrival at the school last year. Did she really want to be friends with someone who uttered such cruel and unforgiving words at a man he barely knew?

Trying to think through the madness of Kylo Ren's arrival would be impossible until she filled her stomach. So, she scurried to her usual table and slipped beside Rose, ready to stuff her face with what appeared to be stew, and jacket potatoes, and a glorious looking roast chicken, and—

"OY!"

She cut off her own daydreaming of food when her eyes bounced from a promising looking platter of custard tarts to Finn's nervous, but smiling form. He sat behind said tray, decked out in a practice Quidditch kit in Hufflepuff's distinct yellow, his forearms encased in thick brown pads.

"I had the same reaction." Poe retorted from beside Rose, munching away on a custard tart, "Nearly pissed myself laughing."

Rey looked back to Finn. "Finn! Since when did you join the Quidditch team? You hate flying!"

Rose, who sat beside her, hummed in agreement. "I said the same thing. But he was guilted into it."

"I was not guilted into it!" Finn exclaimed. He crossed his arms and looked between his friends. "For the last time, Klaud and Larma asked if I would consider being a Beater because," He cleared his throat and muffled his voice, "We're short a player."

Poe just shook his head, unimpressed. "Honestly, leave it to Hufflepuff to not be able to field a Quidditch team. Between the other three houses, fifty students didn't make the cut as first string or alternates! But you lot can't even get the seven starters, let alone your bench!"

He let out a yelp as Rose elbowed him. With a smug, satisfied smile, she turned back to Finn. "Don't play if you don't want to, Finn. Quidditch is a big commitment."

"Not to mention, Poe will torment you for weeks when we inevitably kick your arse," Rey added, through a mouthful of jacket potato, "You know how he is."

Finn just shook his head. "I appreciate everyone's concern, but I'm going to do this. I want the experience. You lot love playing Quidditch, so why not? Besides, it's all in good fun anyways. We know we aren't going to win any matches."

Poe snorted. "Yeah, you can say that again."

"You might want to dial back that confidence, Poe. Larma was telling me that she watched most of the Slytherin practice on Saturday. Apparently, Kylo Ren is the new seeker and he's incredible."

Rey piped in, unable to help herself. Evidently, if Kylo Ren was involved, she'd make her opinion known. "Sure. No offense to Larma, but she'd probably think a house elf on a mop would be a good seeker. She's not exactly Harpies material." Rey liked Larma, she did, but the girl was absolutely not destined for professional Quidditch.

Or… recreational Quidditch, for that matter. She was sweet, just not terribly good at the game.

Finn rolled his eyes. "Maybe not, but she was with Wrobie and Wrobie thinks Kylo is the best seeker at Hogwarts in the past two decades."

Rey swallowed. Well, that changed things. Wrobie was Larma's girlfriend and Ravenclaw's seeker, and a damn good one at that. Not as good as DJ, Slytherin's seeker up until this year, and not as good as Rey, but still talented.

So, to hear that Wrobie not only thought Kylo was good, but also better than Rey—and DJ—had her stomach in knots. She glanced at Poe, who afforded her a shrug, clearly no cares in the world.

"We'll just have to see then, won't we?" Rey forced out, glancing at her abandoned plate of food with disgust, "Only time will tell if he's actually as good as they say he is."

Poe laughed and pointed at Finn, bits of potato escaping from his mouth. "You lot play Slytherin first, so we'll take notes when your arses are kicked."

Finn just shrugged. "It's funny now, but when you lose the House Cup, don't come crying to me or Rose."

"Winning shouldn't matter. It's only about—"

Rose's words were cut off by Finn, Poe, and Rey in perfect sync.

"Having fun."

Rey couldn't help but smile. Maybe, with her friends by her side, Rey would be able to forget about the dreams plaguing her nights and the dark-haired boy plaguing her days.

One could hope.

-x-

The rest of Ben's Monday flew by. Since Rey was in every class, avoiding her was a challenge, but there was a steady stream of Slytherins during every period that helped distract him. Not to mention, without Defense Against the Dark Arts, he wasn't subjected to his Uncle's cruel stares and the blatant brown-nosing of his classmates.

Of course, the delight of escaping his Uncle didn't last long. The man cornered him by the Black Lake, his new favorite spot. He was doing some reading for Ancient Runes when his Uncle showed up, returning from the Forbidden Forest with a dark green cloak covering his head and a basket of god knows what.

He stopped at Ben's feet, watching him with curious eyes. "Ben."

Ben growled and slammed his book shut. He looked around the surrounding area, confirming their privacy, before looking back to his Uncle. "Don't call me that. You know better."

Luke rolled his eyes. "Relax. Clearly I know we're alone."

"Still. Now what do you want?" He hadn't spoken to his Uncle since their fight last week. He had hoped over the weekend—rather naively—that either of his parents would have contacted him. By owl, or floo powder, or even the two-way mirror he was gifted back when he started Ilvermorny.

Instead—and expectantly—he was met with silence. Maybe it was the same, knowing gaze that his Uncle shared with his Mother, but it upset him dearly that even his miserable Uncle was willing to do what his parents hadn't.

"I wanted to see how you were." Luke began, setting his basket by his feet. Ben looked over the contents. He was unfamiliar with most, except for what appeared to be a vial of acromantula venom and a collection of golden Ashwinder eggs. Leave it to his Uncle to wander into danger for potions ingredients.

"As if you care." Ben finally spat back, glancing back to Luke with his usual disinterest, "Just go away."

Luke sighed. "Ben, please. I hate when you do this. We don't always have to fight."

"I really feel like we do."

"But we don't." Luke's voice was sterner this time. "You're my nephew and I care deeply about you."

Ben scoffed and crossed his arms. "Is that so? Then why did you heckle me in front of your entire class? You made me look like a moron all because some asshole gave me an enchanted map. You could have cut me some slack and instead, you were more interested in making yourself look powerful."

His Uncle shook his head. "I don't tolerate tardiness in my classroom. I can't give you a break. It sets precedence. Besides, the last thing I need is for another student to think I'm favoring you." He sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "It was bad enough that Miss Niima overheard at least part of our conversation."

At the mention of Rey, Ben snorted. "Yeah, well, no worries there. Rey doesn't know my real identity, and even if she did, she wouldn't care. She'd hate Ben and Kylo equally."

Luke hummed, seemingly amused by the declaration. "Miss Niima is a smart girl. I'm sure you can salvage the relationship."

Ben scoffed. "Please. Not with these ridiculous house rivalries. Everyone at Ilvermorny got along. Here, people use Slytherin as both an insult and a badge of pride. How is that possible?"

"People value different traits," Luke explained, "And unfortunately, Slytherin has a reputation of producing some bad wizards. Not all mind you, but many of them."

Ben didn't want to be or need to be reminded of that fact. It weighed heavy on his shoulders and darkened most of his thoughts. "I'm aware."

Luke watched him carefully, his dark eyes making Ben miss the comforting presence of his mother. "When we were arguing, you said something that caught my attention Ben. You told me that you dream about…"

"Your final battle with Lord Palpatine." Which he did. Not every night, but most nights. The faces were never clear, and the voices were hard to understand, but he knew where he was.

His Uncle looked aghast. "And in these dreams—"

"I'm not talking about this." Ben jumped to his feet, thrilled that he now towered over his Uncle. "But they told me all I needed to know. You had help, even if the rest of the world doesn't know."

Luke rubbed at his eyes. "If you ever acted like a man, Ben, perhaps we all would sit down and walk through the war with you—"

"Oh? And who is we?" He didn't know why he bothered to ask. He knew the answer.

Evidently, Luke knew that Ben knew too, because he ignored him. "How long?"

"How long what?"

"How long have these dreams been going on for?"

Ben didn't have an answer for that. For as long as he could remember, nightmares kept him awake at night. But these specific dreams of the final battle, the one that culminated in Lord Palpatine's death, had only been happening for about a year. In his ruminating, he must have vocalized that, because his Uncle looked disturbed.

With quick movements, Luke retrieved his basket and stepped away from Ben, watching him with careful eyes. "Ben," He began, his voice rushed, "Please come to me whenever you need me. There's so much you don't know and so much you could learn."

"Funny." Ben remarked, watching his Uncle with clear distaste, "Before, you wanted nothing to do with me. You told me I was a child of the dark arts. The embodiment of darkness because of the blood in my veins and the wand that chose me."

Luke cleared his throat. "Ben. My dear nephew. There is so much you don't know."

"Then I guess I'll stay ignorant forever, won't I?" Ben spat back. He grabbed his backpack and stepped away. "I'm just a child, remember?" With the shake of his head, he stalked off. He didn't have it in him to even look back at his Uncle, let alone obsess over his words.

With his original favorite spot ruined, he journeyed to the library and settled at a table in the back. Despite the stress clutching his neck, he was able to finish about half of his Transfiguration essay, until a new distraction appeared.

This one was far prettier to look at.

Rey was tucked under one of the floating candles, dressed in an oversized knit sweater. Her hair was loose of her usual three buns, and instead tied in a delicate braid down her back. Her face was buried in a massive book, her tongue peaking from between her lips as she studied each word with absolute devotion.

If he were closer, he would have counted the freckles spattered across the bridge of her nose or the distinct shades he found in her colorful, hazel eyes.

If she didn't hate him, he may have joined her table, gifting her with American candies and sweets he brought from home, desperate to win her favor.

If he wasn't a pathetic coward, he may not have been in this position to begin with.

Maybe they would have lounged by the Black Lake, dining on cotton candy and reading excerpts from The Tales of Beedle the Bard. They would have discussed Quidditch and literature and food and played with their cats.

But it wasn't that. Not at all. He wasn't close to her—not in the literal or figurative sense. She most definitely did hate him, based on every interaction they had shared over the past four days. And perhaps most disappointingly, he was still a pathetic coward.

If he hadn't let Luke set him off—again—he'd probably have a friend in Gryffindor.

He granted himself another look at her, practically hypnotized by her beauty.

In his fantasy world, she'd be a lot more than a friend.

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