Broken Chains

A Harry Potter/Star Wars Crossover

Disclaimer: I own neither Star Wars nor Harry Potter. This story was not written for profit. I just wanted to share it with my friends.

Unfortunate, Inevitable and Somewhat Irritating Author's Notes:

This is a drama with a markedly Dark, sometimes even Evil Harry. It contains references to rape, torture and sometimes extreme violence (most done on Harry, but not all). You do not need to know the SW verse to read it since I try my best to describe what is happening. However, if you are familiar with the SW verse, please note that the Force mechanics and some plot elements for this story are inspired loosely by the first Force Unleashed video game. The second game was unfortunately not able to inspire much of anything.

I would also like to give credit to Blank101 and his Son of the Suns Trilogy (he is a favorite author of mine, check him out). His trilogy of stories about Luke Skywalker served as inspiration for some of Harry's experiences in this story, and he deserves full acknowledgement of that fact. If you enjoy Star Wars fanfiction, his trilogy is required reading.

It will be thoroughly, unrepentantly Harry/Hermione, with an eventual third equal partner in a stable relationship. If you don't care for H/Hr or possible three-way relationships, don't bother reading. This is not meant as a harem fic, but it will eventually be polygamous. While this is an M-rated fic, I have purposely edited the story to adhere to the TOS. In some cases this will require editing on my part. The unedited version will be posted on my yahoo group, however only after being posted here.

I've decided not to have this fic beta read, so please keep that in mind. If you find any glaring errors, please feel free to PM me.

Like all my other stories, I will respond to reviews via a dedicated forum thread.

Broken Chains

Chapter One: Cruel to be Kind

Not even Remus himself could say why he kept coming back.

There was every reason not to. The Ministry guard sneered at him with open contempt; the workers stared at him as if it were a full moon and he was going to rip out their very souls. And yet, every day, he made the dutiful trip, had his battered old wand checked, and filled out the suite of forms necessary to visit the Department of Mysteries Veil Room. He had the questions memorized and was even thinking about just copying the forms to save time.

Sometimes Tonks would come with him, and on those days when she couldn't join him he found he missed her company more acutely than he would have imagined just a few weeks before. They rarely spoke more than simple greetings, but somehow the oppressive guilt felt less heavy when shared by her slender shoulders.

Harry was gone, and it was his fault.

Every day for the past 42 days, he came to stand before the Veil and remember every second of that dark, terrible night early in June. Every day he asked himself if he could have done more. He held Harry in his arms; he knew the son of his best friend would try to dive after Sirius. The moment he saw Sirius fall through the veil, he knew Harry would rush after his godfather.

And so Remus rushed forward to grab the boy. He wrapped strong, wiry arms around Harry's thin frame and readied himself for a fight. Bellatrix's insane giggles were ringing through the air as the Order Members and Dumbledore fought madly to contain the Death Eater incursion. The worst of the fight was over with Dumbledore's arrival, save for this last, terrible act.

But Remus did not have time for his own grief, not when he saw shocked rage and disbelief flit across the face of his best friend's son. And so he rushed forward, grabbed Harry, and hoped that it would be enough. It wasn't, though. Harry went absolutely limp, and the suddenly dead weight surprised Remus enough that Harry fell through the werewolf's tight grip to the floor. A split second later, Harry was diving forward after Sirius's still visible leg.

Remus had heard accounts of time slowing down and dismissed them as nonsense: no longer. He stood in shock and watched as Harry flew through the air after his godfather, and knew instinctively that the trajectory the boy chose would take him through the veil right after Sirius. The instant seemed to go on forever, but when eternity ended, it did so with a rush of movement followed by profound silence.

Harry was gone. The Boy-Who-Lived was gone because Remus Lupin let him go.

Voldemort arrived at that moment, and the fight that followed was the stuff of legends. Dumbledore fought like a man possessed, employing magic so far beyond even the knowledge of the rest of them it seemed impossible that Voldemort should be able to survive it. And yet the dark lord did just that, fighting back with terrible viciousness. The ancient headmaster and his one-time pupil fought to a standstill while destroying much of the Ministry, and by the time Voldemort escaped with Bellatrix, not even Fudge could deny that Voldemort was back.

None of that mattered, though, because Harry Potter was dead.

Remus expected recriminations, and his expectations were met head on plus some. Molly Weasley screamed at him as if he were the one to kill the boy, and Remus let her. Harry's friends were surprisingly more understanding—they knew Harry better than Molly ever could, and knew he would gladly risk his life to save a loved one. Their tearful forgiveness was in a way a thousand times worse than Molly's condemnation.

Dumbledore acted as if he had lost his only son. He had tears in his eyes throughout his fight with Riddle.

Now Fudge's administration was teetering on the brink of complete collapse with no clear successor; Voldemort was openly attacking muggle towns and landmarks; and it felt as if the whole world were falling apart. His dark thoughts fled for a moment when he felt a soft hand take his, and looked down to see the shorter form of Tonks looking back up to him. Her lips were turned with the hint of a sad smile; her warm brown eyes were wide and accepting. There was no judgment in her face, only comfort.

"I was wondering when you would come today," she said softly.

"It was a late night with the packs last night," Remus admitted. "Few are brave enough to go against Fenrir."

"You are."

"For what good it does," Remus said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Tonks said nothing, for which he was eternally grateful. There was nothing left to be said that had not already been spoken. There were no thoughts he had not already thought. All there was left to do was stand, stare, and wonder.

"How much longer are you going to do this to yourself?" Tonks finally asked.

The tone of the question was completely neutral—she did not judge, but rather just wanted to know. She squeezed his hand, as if to say that any answer was fine by her. He looked down, and as always felt stunned at how beautiful she was; how wondrous it was that she came as often as she could to simply stand with him and hold his hand.

"Until his birthday," Remus finally decided.

"Okay," Tonks said. "And then?"

Remus took a long, ragged breath. "And then, I suppose it'll be time to live again."

"Good," she said, this time with a genuine smile.

Before he could respond, the veil flashed. Brilliant, painfully bright white light filled the chamber. The two backed away, shielding their faces from the terrible, awesome light. With the light came an ear-shattering roar, like all the lions that have ever lived or ever would were all roaring at the same time. The sound reverberated through the chamber, rolling over the two hapless spectators with visceral power that brought both to their knees.

The light began to fade just enough that Remus could see Unspeakables and aurors pouring into the room, but the residual stars in his eyes did not allow for details. The roar was lessoning, but he could still not hear what anyone might have been saying. He had eyes only for the veil, which he knew beyond doubt was the origin of both the light and the sound.

The roar came again, even louder than before, and abruptly something came shooting out of the veil like a missile. The moment the object emerged completely, all light and sound disappeared, leaving Remus's ears ringing and his eyes dazzled from the after-effects.

Only when the worst of the dazzling faded did he see the object crumpled at the base of the wall opposite the veil. With the remnants of stars still sparkling before his eyes, it took a moment to realize he was looking at a person. He took a stunned step forward, then another and another. His vision cleared with each step, and as it did he made out details—pants two sizes too big; a torn T-shirt; battered sneakers; black, unruly hair.

"Oh Merlin," Remus whispered. "Oh Merlin. Harry? HARRY!" He rushed forward, sliding on his knees to cradle the boy when a shield appeared, stopping his progress cold.

"Don't touch him, you fool!" an Unspeakable said. "He came out of the veil!"

"This is Harry Potter!" Remus yelled back.

"It could be Merlin's blessed mother for all I care, do not touch him!"

Remus couldn't help the angry growl that rumbled up from his throat, but stopped when Kingsley Shacklebolt grabbed his shoulder. Where did Kingsley even come from? "Remus, he shot out of that veil like a cannon. He's probably broken every bone in his body, if he's alive at all. That's why you can't touch him."

Remus clung to the auror as if for his own life. "Is it him, Kingsley? Is it really Harry?"

"It sure looks like him. Unspeakable, is the boy alive?"

"Barely," the Unspeakable said as he knelt over the body and performed a series of diagnostic charms. "He shouldn't have survived the impact with the wall even with the wall's cushioning charm."

"As if he should have survived the Veil in the first place?" Shacklebolt snorted. "Place him in stasis and get him to St. Mungo's."

The Unspeakable stood, and though his face was hidden by his charmed cowl, they could hear the contempt in his voice. "Are you a fool? Someone just returned to us through the Veil of Death! We must study him."

"Tell it to the head of the DMLE," Shacklebolt said. "After you get him to Saint Mungo's."

Tonks joined them, and Remus realized there were many more aurors than Unspeakables in the room. The Unspeakable threw up his hands. "On your heads with it, then! Take him and leave the Department, now!"

Shacklebolt turned to Tonks and Remus. "Stay with him. I'm going to notify the others."

After the auror captain was gone, Tonks and Remus, with the help of other aurors, placed the battered and broken body of Harry Potter in a stasis spell and levitated him from the chamber. As they did so, Remus found himself thanking magic and Merlin and anyone else who would listen, while at the same time trying to imagine what his young friend had experienced through the veil.

~~Chains~~

~~Chains~~

Dolores Umbridge was a changed woman. No one who knew her before her brief stint at Hogwarts could deny it. Unfortunately, none of those same people could say the change was for the better.

The syrupy voice that covered the hateful, stinging words grew thin and strained, until little was left but the hate. The woman now moved with short, jerky steps, and her left eye had a constant tic that made it very, very difficult for those unfortunate souls who worked for her to maintain eye contact for long.

Most of those who worked for her put up with it because of the general consensus in the Ministry that Umbridge was on the way out. Fudge was already gone, voted out following the inquest into the events surrounding the death of Harry Potter. Umbridge's own trial was going to occur in a matter of days, pending the election of a new Minister. The original front-runner, Rufus Scrimgeour, was murdered the day before the election that was expected to see him assume office. Amelia Bones was also attacked, but somehow managed to escape.

Bones was now the only viable candidate, and even the most uninformed knew that the current head of the DMLE and Umbridge were not friends, in the same way Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley were not friends, or Dumbledore and Voldemort.

However, until the inquest formally convened and the new minister was formally elected, Dolores Umbridge came to work every day with her short, jerky steps and a tic to her eye.

She did not actually do anything—all ministry work was actually being routed directly to the various department heads, circumnavigating her office entirely. Any large decisions were put off until after the election, though already some department heads were beginning to seek input from Amelia Bones. That was, to the Senior Undersecretary of Magic, a mortal insult. However, she did nothing about it. She came in, sat down at her immaculately clean desk and stared at the pink walls filled with photographs of her various kneazles. All were pure blooded kneazles, of course. She could not abide the half-bred monstrosities that occurred occasionally between magical kneazles and domestic housecats. In fact, it infuriated her that any self-respecting kneazle would lower itself to those standards. In the event one of her own animals did so, she simply put the creature down. Better dead than sullied, she reasoned.

So it was on one particularly warm day in early August that Dolores sat in her office behind her otherwise empty desk, carefully reading every word of a budget proposal from last year when she heard a knock on her door. She looked up in surprise to see Narcissa Malfoy standing at her door.

"Good day, Madam Undersecretary," the all-but widowed matriarch said with a curtsey that was the true height of decorum. "I wonder, Madam, if you have a moment of time?"

Umbridge stood quickly, her left eye flinching rapidly much like a cramping muscle. "But of course, Mrs. Malfoy. Please, come in. How can I help you today?"

Narcissa settled herself on the edge of the seat, and waited until Umbridge was seated as well. "I came with news, Dolores. The Wizengamot met today, and it shocked me to see that you were not in attendance. Did you not receive the summons?"

Umbridge's eyes widened and her tic suddenly stopped. "I did not."

"I suspected as much, the blackhearts. Amelia Bones has been named as Minister for Magic. Even before she took the podium, she was calling for a more comprehensive inquest not just on Mr. Potter's untimely death, but on all the circumstances beginning last summer until the battle that saw his end. Your name came up on three separate occasions."

Umbridge seemed to sink in on herself, though it was simply an illusion caused by very broad, thick shoulders slumping to a degree. "Yes," she said. "I knew the time was coming. Dumbledore is having his revenge on us all. First he drove out Cornelius, and now he has turned his attention to me."

"It seems likely," Narcissa agreed with a sad, sympathetic smile. "Of course, it's all for naught since Mr. Potter is not dead."

"Yes, I…" Umbridge paused mid-breath, blinked, and then leaned forward and latched her beady dark eyes onto the Malfoy matriarch. "I'm sorry, my dear, what was it you just said?"

"You didn't know?" Narcissa artfully looked shocked at the oversight. "Oh dear, they truly have cut you out of the loop, haven't they? Mr. Potter reemerged from the Veil ten days ago. They are keeping it quiet for now until he recovers, but Amelia Bones knows, as do Dumbledore's people and the Department of Mysteries."

"How is it that you know?"

"The Malfoy family's influence remains even if my husband is unfairly detained. From what I understand, St. Mungo's placed Mr. Potter in a magically-induced coma because of injuries he received when he returned, and an almost lethally depleted magical core. However, he is expected to wake any day now."

"I see."

"Of course," Narcissa continued in an absent-sounding voice, "not everyone is as thrilled by his return as Dumbledore. In fact, some quarters met this news with a great deal of dissatisfaction. These people felt Mr. Potter was more of an obstacle to peace than a proponent of it. His willingness to drag his friends into a fight was evidence that he has undo and potentially dangerous influence on those around him."

"He is a liar and a thug," Dolores said with heat. The fact that Potter was proven to be truthful was irrelevant to her. She could not have seen the truth by that point in her life if her life itself depended on it. So blind was she that she did not even realize it was her very life that was hanging on the conversation. "We were better off without him."

"Some people would be very, very grateful if a brave, upstanding citizen took a stand and did what was right. Such gratitude would carry significant reward. Riches, power. It is a shame that Dumbledore's puppets are going to drive you out of the Ministry, Dolores. I and many like me believe you have so much more to contribute." Narcissa flicked her wand to summon the time. "Oh goodness, look at that! I promised Draco that I would meet him in Diagon Alley for his school shopping. It astounds me how tall he has grown. Well, thank you very much for your time, dear Dolores. I hope whichever path you take leads to success—and power."

With that, Narcissa Malfoy breezed out of the office. In her absence, Dolores stared at the opposite wall filled with the pictures of her kneazles. The creatures looked back at her, and in her broken, twisted mind, the animals were pointing out that Harry James Potter was a half-blood; that his father lowered himself to rut with a filthy mud-blooded whore to beget the most troublesome boy to have ever lived. The boy could not even die right.

What was right? The question bounced back and forth in her mind, echoing the words of her visitor. She wished to do what was right, but what was right? She looked down unseeing at the previous year's budget, but in her mind's eyes she saw Potter's face as he and his own mudblooded trollop led her to that terrible place where those…. The tic in her eye throbbed and she dismissed the memory. No, she knew what to do. She knew what was right.

She would have to kill Harry Potter.

It felt as if a great weight fell from her shoulders with the making of that one decision. She felt free, light and powerful as she knew what she would do. The interminable waiting for her doom dissipated as she stood and threw her pink cardigan around her shoulders. When she marched out of her office, her gait was not jerky any more. Her steps were still short, but this was more of a physical necessity than a state of mind, given that she was rather short and rotund. However, in her mind her steps portrayed confidence and strength.

"Madam Umbridge," her secretary began, "an urgent memo just came in from the Minister's office requesting your presence."

"Of course, dear," Umbridge said. "Please let the Minister know I am coming shortly."

"Yes, madam." The secretary did not bother to ask how Umbridge knew there was a new minister—the girl despised her boss and secretly clapped in joy when she snuck a peek at the summons.

Umbridge walked out of her office, but not to the Minister's office suite. Rather she walked quickly to the central atrium. The walls still bore scorch marks—silent testament to the monumental duel between the Dark Lord and Dumbledore that it could still not be removed. Witnesses saw the old man fighting with tears in his eyes, while Voldemort cackled madly with glee upon finding out that Harry Potter had fallen through the Veil. Though Dumbledore drove Voldemort off, it felt most assuredly as if the Dark Lord had won the day.

"St. Mungo's," Umbridge said once she reached the floo. With a flash of green fire, she emerged into the casualty admitting room. She did not see a witch with an obvious glamour follow shortly after her.

At St. Mungos, a harried mediwitch saw that Umbridge was unhurt and ignored her for the next person through, who was also unhurt and thus quickly dismissed. Umbridge was familiar enough with the hospital from her recent stay, and so moved confidently out of the casualty area until she reached the central information desk. "Good day," she said in her most syrupy voice. "I am the Senior Undersecretary of Magic. I have been sent by the Minister to interview Mr. Harry Potter. What room is he in?"

The receptionist stared at her as if she had two heads. "May I…may I see your wand for security, madam?"

"Of course, dear," Umbridge said. She handed over her wand and let the addle-brained girl register it into the hospital records.

"Madam, you should know that the head of the DMLE has placed security around Mr. Potter's suite and issued very clear orders than no one not on a set list was to bother him. I must advise you madam that you are not on that list."

"Don't worry, child," Umbridge lied with a patronizing smile, "the guards know to expect me."

Although Dolores could not have been aware of it, at that very moment the witch that followed her from the Ministry walked calmly up the back stairwell to the top-floor where Potter was being treated. She burst onto the floor like a mad whirling dervish, lashing out with spells that did not give the four aurors on guard duty any time to respond. Once the four were stunned and bound, the figure tossed them in to the stair well with negligent flips of her wand, and then left the same way she came.

Umbridge arrived moments later to find the hall in front of Mr. Potter's room free from any guards. Rather than be suspicious, Dolores smiled happily at what she saw as a coincidence. She did not hesitate to enter his room and pull her wand.

And there he was. He looked thinner than when she last saw him, with shadows under his eyes. He was especially pale and wore a slight frown in his sleep, as if something bothered him. If only he knew. Part of her wanted very much to wake him so that he could see what was coming. But then again, that would have been cruel. Dolores did not see herself as cruel. She did what she did for the betterment of wizard-kind. Sometimes cruelty was necessary for the good of everyone. That's what this was—a necessary cruelty. Better, she thought with a beneficent smile, to let the boy die in his sleep.

She raised her wand and summed the lifetime of hate necessary to cast the killing curse. She had never successfully cast an Unforgivable, but she knew in this one instant she would be successful. She began the incantation only to stop as a pair of bright green eyes opened and stared at her.

"Just as well, Mr. Potter," she said with happy resolve. "It is appropriate this way, I think, for you to know where your death comes from. Not the Dark Lord or even his followers, but from the wand of justice. For all your crimes—for Cornelius—you deserve this most of all. Avada… aaaahhhhhhh!"

Sudden, unexpected pain surged through her body, as if fire were burning her alive from within. She fell on the floor screaming in agony as the fire continued. On the bed, Harry Potter sat and continued staring at her as the pain multiplied until her mind shattered.