First comes the day,

then comes the night.

After the darkness

shines through the light.

The difference, they say,

Is only made right

by resolving the gray

through a Jedi's keen sight.

Journal of the Whills, 7:477

Chapter 1 - The Crash

'Be-boo weew!' The shrill pitched binary shattered the quiet of early morning laying thick over the one room house (calling it a 'house' was really overstating things, to be quite honest, but it sheltered him from Jakku's extremes and that was what really mattered) and the young raven on the stone slab which was all he had to pass as a bed shifted with a low groan. Unsatisfied with his reaction the little droid rolled a bit closer and repeated its message only to receive a similar response: this time the youth turned onto his side and nestled closer to the rock. Emitting an annoyed stream of beeps and whistles, the Astromech reached up with one of the spindly arms stored in the compartment on its front and delivered a sharp prod to his exposed calf.

"Yow!" The raven jumped, flailed around a bit in an artless attempt to get away (which only resulted in him becoming tied up in his own sheets) and toppled to the floor with a thump.

'Fee-oo.'

"What do you mean 'nice landing'?" he grumbled as he sat up, massaging his leg with one hand and rubbing sleep from his emerald eyes with the other. "Suns and stars, B-95, did you have to poke me so hard?"

'Fee-oop.'

"You're worse than your Master!" He said it without thinking and promptly had to grit his teeth, bracing himself against the onrush of unpleasant feelings. Anger. Regret. Loss. All of it still just as sharp and vivid as they'd been the horrible night when the Empire had come and stolen everything that he'd had left which truly mattered. He hadn't succeeded in the revenge he'd sworn to take that night. Yet. But he would, he told himself, one day very soon. Statistical likelihood of success be damned!

Harry James Potter was nothing if not so incredibly determined that he was capable of breaking logic through sheer force of will. Tom had always said he had a head like a Luggabeast. Painful as the reminder was, he couldn't help but smile sadly as he pushed himself up onto his feet and started in on his morning routine. Pausing as he passed to peer out the window at the level of light he noted "you let me sleep in?"

A string of binary was swift to inform him that it'd been trying to wake him for the better part of two hours. The little raven sighed and let the matter drop, leg still throbbing where the droid had poked him. Aware that he had very little time to spare if he was going to get to where he needed to be before the heat set in and the stretch of open desert between Niima Outpost and the old wreck he was well into the process of stripping of its useful parts became impassable he ate quickly, packed away a bit of food and plenty of water for later, changed into his gear, grabbed his stun-staff from where it rested propped against the wall beside the door and whistled to B-95 before trotting out the door.

The thick cotton and straps of leather that he wore beat back the below freezing early morning temperatures as Harry headed around the back of his badly beaten land speeder and dropped his bag into the compartment he found there, leaving it open for the droid to settle into. He pulled himself onto it, secured the shemagh around his face to keep out the wind and sand and started the vehicle up. The motor caught and growled, the land speeder lurched forwards and the young scavenger began maneuvering free of the outpost where he'd spent most of his life.

With nothing but red sand in front of him for miles, the green eyed raven opened the clutch and pushed the aged speeder to its top speed. Listening to the metallic pinging sounds of the sand bouncing off the scratched and rusted metal. Feeling the wind, still frigid but rapidly warming as the sun began to make an appearance on the horizon behind him, brush against what little of his skin wasn't covered by his protective gear. Listening to the roar of the engine.

The past sank its claws into him and tugged. Color faded out and blurred together, edges softened by a dream-like quality; sensations dull but still distinguishable for what they were. Large hands, warm and calloused and pale despite all the sun they'd been exposed to, keeping the vehicle upright and on the proper course while he only pretended to drive as at the time he wasn't tall enough to even reach the pedals. The safety of the solid chest behind him and the knowledge that the older boy wouldn't allow him to fall and get hurt. Closing his eyes and imagining that, instead of riding a land speeder, he was flying across the desert on wings of his very own.

Shemagh muffling his growl and the wind ripping it free and flinging it behind him Harry shook his head harshly. Freeing himself from the crushing grip of the memory and focusing all of his attention on his surroundings instead. Red sand. Towering dunes with long shadows stretching yards from where they stood. Blue sky, devoid of clouds. Blazing, pale sun. Hard to believe this place had once been lush and flourishing. Green. Covered in deep forests and even deeper lakes and seas. What sort of horrendous catastrophe must have happened to reduce Jakku to this? How long ago must it have taken place for there to be no traces left?

The sun was near to halfway through its journey towards the crown of the sky and the heat had long ago reached the point of becoming unbearable. Sweat trickled down his back and dripped into his eyes. The speeder snarled as it slowed and Harry swung around the base of yet another dune, much relieved to pull to a stop in the looming shadow of a near-to-gutted Star Destroyer.

"Is it me," he asked as he dismounted the vehicle, B-95 landing with a thud in the sand beside him "or does it seem to take longer and longer to get out here every time we make the trip?"

'Bee-beep.'

"Yeah, yeah. 'Get to work Harry, we don't have all day'." He pulled his stun-staff free of where he'd stowed it during the trip and started towards the massive hole punched into the ship's side. "Slave driver."

The droid refused to dignify his behavior with a response but still followed him into the slowly corroding husk which blotted out all view he had of the sun and the sky. Pulling a lantern from his bag and turning it on, Harry hitched it to his hip for light and strolled forwards with just enough confidence to make it obvious to anything that might have been lurking there (be it rival human scavengers, Jawa, an Acklay or something else) that he wasn't something it was wise to mess with. No longer in need of his shemagh the raven pulled the cloth wrappings down around his neck and ran his fingers through his sweat soaked hair.

Where to start? He'd already spent most of the week before scrapping out the contents of the section of the ship which lay to his right (towards the prow and consequently, with the placement of the hole he'd entered through, was the shortest walk from where he now stood) so the little raven made the decision to move deeper into the wreck.

"Come on B-95, we're charting some new territory today." With any luck his swing of good fortune would persist and he wouldn't discover that such 'new territory' would be rife with trouble. Badly as he missed Tom he doubted that the older boy would have been pleased to have him die doing something stupid after all the effort that he'd put into teaching him to survive, and he couldn't leave poor B-95 all alone in the world. At least, not before he didn't have any other choice.

Tightening his grip on the stun-staff relieved a good portion of his tension. Harry turned his attention to their surroundings, scanning the mess of tangled wires twisted bars and hunks of metal which had once been the cavernous halls and wide decks of an Imperial Starship for anything worth the effort of harvesting. Scrap metal and copper rich wires were all well and good in a pinch to keep him scrapping by, but if he really wanted to eat well that night without worry about going hungry for weeks because of it (and, sun and stars, he did) then he needed something impressive and rare, or at least valuable, to show for his efforts. A hologram projector. Parts from a shield projector. Any weaponry or tech, like Climate Disruption Arrays or pieces from broken droids.

Spying what appeared to be some manner of control panel or computer (which was considerably far beyond his five feet five inches of reach, given the Star Destroyer's belly-up position) Harry felt that his prospects for coming upon just such an object were fairly high. All that remained for him to do was rip the thing apart and sort the diamonds from the coal, metaphorically. Oh, and the simple to solve problem of the fact that the system was about thirty feet above his head.

'Bee-oo-beew?'

Harry looked down at the little droid and nodded. "Yeah, that's what I'm going to be focusing on today. Better we reap the benefits of it now than risk losing it to someone else." He said. "Keep sharp, since I'll be tossing what's not useful anyway. I don't want you getting damaged by any fallen debris.

'Beeew?'

"Strenuous?" he glanced up at the system again and shrugged. "You're probably right, I've never used the Force for such a prolonged period before, but I'll be fine. And I promise to take breaks if I need to."

Tom wouldn't have needed to take breaks had he been there. He always had been stronger than Harry. Constantly pushing himself in search of more and more power. Clawing at limits. Leaping over boundaries without looking first. Teaching Harry to do what he could whenever he learned something new, or at least attempting to teach Harry (he took to some things, like lifting and pulling objects around him with only his thoughts, better than others, like using his bare hands like the shock-staff he was now armed with) and just causing general havoc.

It had been Tom's pride in the fact that they weren't just orphaned unwanted freaks after all but Jedi, or at least could have been had the Empire not eradicated them, and his resultant openness with their abilities that Harry now knew had drawn the Empire's destructive attention. In hubris, Tom had authored his own demise and come close to doing the same him as well.

Harry had been much more careful after being left all alone, again, at only twelve. Had never allowed himself to become rusty, had kept prodding at possibilities like he'd known Tom would have wanted him to (though he still couldn't come close to what the older boy had been capable of), but had kept it under wraps unless absolutely certain he was in private.

Or at least in a situation where any unlikely witness could be killed without any consequences falling back on him.

Leaving his stun-staff impaled upright in the sand which, over the passing of the many years since the crash of the imposing ship, had accumulated within the wreckage Harry closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. Reaching in towards the core of himself where the tether which linked him with all that surrounded him, all that was, and expanding himself to his immediate vicinity. Feeling each grain of sand beneath his feet, every small creature living in them, the droid which sat beside him and the ship which overshadowed them both. Seeing how each shown with different brilliantly colored lights. All attached to their own gently waving strings. Reaching out to him just as he was reaching out to them.

Mentally grasping the thread hanging down from the system Harry focused on pulling it towards him. Knowing he wasn't strong enough to wrench the thing free of its moorings or, stars forbid, drag the entire downed ship towards him. As expected the applied tug worked in the opposite direction and his feet left the ground.

Harry's body collided with the metal skin of the system with a loud clang and enough force that he almost lost his concentration then and there.

'Vee-eew.' Came the dry comment from below.

"Maybe just a bit." He groaned, chest aching from the blow. Harry had little doubt he'd end up with at least a few light bruises come morning. "I'm alright."

'Bee.'

"Yes, I know you didn't ask that!" Muttering under his breath about rude droids and with half of his attention fully devoted to keeping himself pinned to the formation of computers in front of him Harry opened his pack and pulled out his tools. Tearing away the metal panels until a good sized opening had been left behind and setting in on the mechanical entrails with thin, skillful (if unfortunately short, like nearly every other part of him thanks to a childhood of malnutrition) fingers. Ripping out wires, stripping them, and pocketing the ones that proved to be formed of valuable metals. Stowing a beautifully intact power cell. Tossing aside bits and bobs so badly broken by the Star Destroyer's impact with Jakku's surface that he couldn't even recognize what they were supposed to be any longer and hearing them clatter to the ground far below like shale knocked from a crumbling clifftop.

Feeling drained enough after four hours had gone by that he feared he might lose his focus and suffer a potentially fatal fall the raven lowered himself back to the ground by means of slowly releasing the mental string and plopped down into the sand to take a break. Eating his lunch and indulging himself in some of the precious water he'd brought out with him (not too much, though, as it was important to conserve such resources for unexpected times of need in climates as unforgiving as this one) while mentally taking stock of all he'd managed to acquire and its worth. Provided that bastard Borgin didn't insist on undercutting him again, he should have been enough to get away with only working lightly for the rest of the week. Not that he'd take that chance.

If he didn't keep himself busy with something his mind departed from the real world. Delving instead into the past. What he'd lost. What could have been. Sitting through his memories of Tom with the newly mature eyes of a seventeen year old. Noticing things he'd been too innocent and naive of, back when the older male had still been breathing. The way his eyes would rest on him too long, possessive and patient, waiting for something. Something he could guess at but would never truly know, now. The way that that look had steadily intensified with each year Harry grew older from more familial to more…something else. How the man he'd thought of at the time as an older brother and best friend, nothing more, had begun to glare at children Harry's own age in the handful of months leading up to his death. How those blue eyes, framed in long lashes and frozen glassy by death, had continued staring at him even after Tom had fallen to a glowing red blade through the heart.

No! No! Don't start thinking about that! Shoving the last bit of tasteless food into his mouth, washing it down with a bit more water and forcing himself to swallow Harry stood up. Dusting himself off and going to retrieve his staff. He couldn't let himself start thinking of that because it inevitably led to worse thoughts. Images of how the light of burning buildings had danced in those lifeless eyes. Of how his blood had looked almost black in the dark night as it dripped from pale lips, still parted in a shout for him to run which never fully left his mouth before being silenced. Of the fight they'd had earlier that night, and the lie he'd told him that now he could never take back. I don't hate you. I could never hate you. I'm sorry, Tom. He'd hidden in the desert that night, had barely survived the cold for long enough to make it to dawn, and had returned once the Empire's forces had left to bury his family only to discover his body had been stolen.

B-95 was all that he had left of him, now, aside from the painful memories he was as desperate to hold onto as he was to forget.

Harry was freed from the hellish spiral of his thoughts by an echoing boom from overhead, so loud it made the ship that they were standing in shudder and caused the little raven to jump a mile with a cry of alarm.

'Weew!'

"I don't know!" He shouted, taking off running back towards the hole they'd first entered through. "Let's find out!" His feet drew hissed protests from the sand as he ran through the darkness of the hull of the ship, the lantern on his hip bouncing wildly around and throwing dancing points of light across the twisted metal walls. Tearing around the corner and tripping over his own two feet, Harry spilled out into the boiling desert as another explosion echoed overhead. He looked up.

A smaller starship, an X-Wing or an A-Wing he couldn't tell between his position on the ground and the damage it had taken, spiraling down from the desert's white-hot sky like a shot bird. Trailing fire behind it as it fell.

Swearing loudly Harry ran to his speeder and, barely giving B-95 the time to get on, took off across the sand amid a peel of shrieks and beeping from the startled droid. He'd been a scavenger almost all his life, ever since having been taken in by Tom at five years old, and had long ago learned to recognize what ships were what and whom they belonged to on sight all to better gauge the quality of the expected haul to be gained. While, admittedly, he didn't know all that much about the political climate beyond Jakku Harry did know one thing. That was a Rebellion ship, and if time and luck were on his side he might just have an in-route to joining them: his best chance at avenging the family he'd lost.

The engine of the speeder below him roared and snarled as it was pushed beyond its limits but the sound was drowned out by the impact of the ship against the blistering sand just on the other side of a ridge of dunes. Flames shot upward amid a cloud of black smoke, the snap and crackle of the fire as it began to devour the ship fully audible and the chemical smell of fuel and burning rubber sharp against his nose.

The fastest way to reach the crash site would be to go over the ridge rather than around it. Even dangerous as such an action was (the sand was loose near the peaks, unstable, and the likelihood of capsizing the speeder was incredibly high) he didn't have a choice. If the pilot of that ship was still alive they wouldn't continue to be for much longer.

"Hang on!" He shouted over the rushing wind. "We're going over!"

The droid emitted a noise which sounded remarkably like a resigned moan as it braced itself in the speeder's back compartment. The raven let up on the clutch just slightly and shot up the side of the dune, losing contact with solid ground for a moment as they crested the peak and making a wobbling landing on the other side.

In that moment he made the determination that he was very glad it wasn't a sky-speeder which Tom had salvaged and repaired all those years ago, despite his fantasies of flight during his younger years. B-95 was probably thinking something along the same lines.

Harry killed the engine at the base of the dune and leapt from the speeder without waiting for it to come to a complete stop, heedless of the droid's shrill calls of warning from behind. A wall of smoke and fire reared before him like an angry serpent, lashing out with fumes and heat instead of fangs and venom. He threw an arm across his mouth and nose, hoping to filter the air enough through the thick cloth he wore to make it breathable, and felt blisters bubble up along his skin.

"Hello?" He knew, already, that there was very little chance that anyone who had been on the ship had survived the crash. The wreckage was so badly mangled it was left utterly unrecognizable and, from the look of matters when it had dropped from the sky it had been shot to hell, but he still called out. Expecting nothing. Trying regardless. "Hello? If anyone's still alive in there say something! Make a noise!"

The vicious crackle of fire. The loud pinging sound as metal grew so hot that the dents put into it by the impact popped out. The hiss of sand as it slowly gave way beneath the burning ship's weight. And then, there, a groan! Someone was alive after all, somehow, though were clearly too badly injured to talk. Without another moment wasted or a single thought spared to himself, much to B-95's clear frustration, Harry took a running leap through the curtain of flames and forged onwards through the conflagration towards where the weak sounds were continuing to come.

"Keep talking!" Well, it wasn't really 'talking' but that distinction hardly meant a thing at the moment. Removing the arm slung across his face to ensure his words were clear and immediately beginning to hack and cough on the fumes by consequence he squinted his stinging eyes and kept going. Edging delicately through the forest of jagged superheated metal and puddles of fire. "Keep talking, please, I'm almost there!"

The groans had been reduced to strangled whimpers now, issuing from only a few more feet in front of him. After clambering over a slowly melting hunk of metal and jumping down again he caught sight of them: a prone figure lying in the sand, just below the cloud of toxic smoke, pinned beneath what looked like an entire third of the ship.

Dark sky! He knew without even having to attempt it that he wouldn't be able to physically lift nearly four metric tons of Starship, would have to use the Force to even stand a chance of moving it enough to pull the man out, and that as much danger as that could potentially put him in later that he couldn't just abandon him to die. Huffing as best he could around the painful lump the chemicals he was breathing in had formed in his throat, Harry trotted the last few feet forward and rested his hands on the pinned figure to blindly feel for the extent of his injuries.

In his entirely non-professional opinion, it was bad. Not that he really knew terribly much about injuries this extensive. Of course, crunching sounds and an excess of blood usually weren't the greatest signs in the world.

The flames were rapidly growing closer, the smoke thicker, and the air around them was already hot enough to burn. It hurt just standing there, and he doubted it'd be much longer before all semblance of consciousness was lost. A quick retreat was paramount, but might be difficult considering the fact that the wreckage was sitting on the wounded man's legs. There was little chance of him just getting up and running out once he'd gotten it off of him. It was a good thing, then, that the little raven was a lot stronger than he looked because he was going to have to drag his wounded ass back on the speeder.

The sooner that he moved the nearly four ton hunk of metal the better because they were running out of time.

It was harder to focus with so much going on around him. With where he stood surrounded by various, rapidly encroaching dangers. His mind kept wanting to jump from the heat to the smoke to how hard it was to breathe to the fire and it was difficult to reign it in, having never managed to really muster up the necessary discipline to make it come naturally (not that he'd really had much occasion for life or death practice either). The threads, when they finally came into view after three wasted minutes of fruitless scrabbling, were thin and brittle. The lights washed out and faintly flickering. Harry grabbed hold of the proper one and tugged. The ship lifted just slightly. His focus strained, the thread snapped and the wreck crashed back down into the sand but the wounded pilot was free.

Now to get them both out of there. Dragging him wasn't an option with all the bits of twisted Starship which lay scattered about in the sand. Pulling an arm around his shoulder and helping him hobble away wasn't an option either as, on top of the aforementioned broken legs he seemed to have lost consciousness. He couldn't afford to have his hands full if he needed to climb over anything else, not to mention the fact that he still needed to cover his mouth with something if he was going to keep even a margin of the smoke away. That left him with little other choice but to throw the poor sod across his back and hope he stayed there.

Leaving a pair of broken legs to dangle like that probably wasn't the best medical decision but he couldn't do anything else. Harry would just have to deal with the repercussions of the choice later. Pausing only long enough to use the cloth length of the shemagh to tie the pilot's hands in place around his neck so he wouldn't have to hold them there himself Harry took off running back the way he'd come in. Ducking under busted pipes which had peeled back on themselves into razor-petaled flowers and skirting puddles of thick tar formed by the mix of burning fuel and sand only to find his path blocked by the wall of fire which was considerably taller than he remembered it being.

Without the breath to waste on swearing the little raven skirted the obstacle in the Northward direction until he discovered a bridge through the fire formed by a now unrecognizable piece of metal. It was about as hot as the surface of a red dwarf star and the definition of unstable, but at the moment Harry Potter was the definition of reckless desperation and jumped onto it anyway. It wobbled with a loud clattering sound, attempted to capsize him and almost succeeded, but both the raven and his passenger made it across and the young scavenger collapsed into the desert sand, gasping on the clean air as the blazing ground cooled his burned flesh from its exposure to the flames.

With the urgent rattling of machinery the Astromech appeared in his line of vision, tweeting a rapid insistence that he get up and keep moving at least a little further. As badly as he wanted to rest he knew that the droid was right, there was no guarantee the wreckage wouldn't suddenly explode (taking everything in its immediate radius which it) and the pilot was in terrible condition. Needed treatment, at least in some basic capacity, if he was going to stand any chance of survival. And then there were Harry's own wounds.

Still struggling to breathe with his stinging lungs the raven had to make two unsuccessful attempts before he managed to get to his feet, and then another three to lift the pilot under the arms and drag him back beside the speeder. A trail of soot and blood smeared across the sand behind them, glittering the deep red of precious gemstones in the unrelenting sun.

I wish you were still with me, he found himself thinking as he bent over the man; a pale blonde dressed in the tattered scraps of what had likely once been a uniform though it was hard to tell with all the blood that he was covered in. You'd know what to do. None of this would be any problem for you to handle. All it would take to get this bastard up and walking again would be a wave of your hand. Maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but not by much. When Tom had first discovered that, atop having the ability to burn cut and break bone all without lifting a finger, he could grow new skin heal torn flesh and mend shattered bone he'd begun to experiment with the extent of his power. First on animals. Then himself. Then, once he felt certain he'd mastered it, on Harry whose impulsive nature had left him with plenty of minor injuries. Once sure of his limits he'd opened his services to anyone in Niima who might need them.

For a pretty price, of course.

They'd never feared hunger again, after that. Sadly, healing had been one of the many things Tom had been capable of that Harry simply wasn't. Not to the degree he'd need to be to continue in the lucrative field of mending wounds. That was why he'd fallen back on scavenging, the profession Tom had taught him. It was something that he knew that he could do. Of course, even that had been running dry in the last few years.

'Bee-doo-oo-beep!'

"Yes, I know I have to do something! And I'm going to!" Harry snapped, resting cautious hands against broken ribs and closing his eyes. "I just don't know if it'll work."

Pressure was about as good for his concentration as a creeping wall of flames and, on top of that, he wasn't quite certain how he was supposed to go about manipulating what was in front of him in order to achieve the desired outcome. He tried envisioning the broken bones healing but that did nothing. Attempting to mentally push them back into what he thought was their proper alignment roused his patient long enough to let out a howl and promptly faint again. Even using the threads literally in an effort to sew the wounds shut had no noticeable effect.

Eventually, Harry at least managed to stop the bleeding. In order to do anything else it looked like he'd have to procure medical supplies back at Niima and resort to going about the matter the old fashioned way.

So much for having enough food to scrape by with a light workload for the rest of the week. Hopefully the rebel would survive, because all Harry would have achieved if he kicked it was a waste of precious time and resources. He pulled the cork out of his jug of water and carefully gave some to the unconscious blonde to make up a bit of the blood loss he'd suffered before hauling him off the ground and shoving him into the back compartment along with the day's takings.

'Voop?'

The raven looked down at the droid as he secured the hatch of the compartment back into place. "No, I'm not going to leave you out here and come back later." Not going to lie, he was a little bit offended that B-95 would even ask him that. "You're riding up front with me tonight."

An excited peel of trilling made him smile in spite of everything as he bent to pick up the little droid. Cradling its metal body in the crook of his less injured arm and then shifting it into his lap once he'd situated himself back on his speeder. Starting up the engine and hearing its familiar metallic growl, Harry turned the handlebars and started back towards the Outpost.

Travel back to Niima usually felt longer than travel away from it to one of the remaining crash sites, but with all that was on his mind that day it seemed as if his speeder had been equipped with Light Speed capabilities while he'd been rooting around in the smoldering wreckage. There was maybe an hour left of light by the time he puttered to a stop outside his tiny dwelling and the sun had been reduced to a deep orange globe which hung above the western horizon. Dismounting and setting the droid gently in the sand Harry dusted himself off and popped open the compartment, hauling the blonde out and into the house.

Leaving a guest, especially an injured one, lying on the floor was hardly good manners so it looked like he'd be going without a bed for the foreseeable future. Not that there was really much difference between his bed and his floor but it was the etiquette of it all that really mattered. Giving him a bit more water and then covering him up with his thin blanket, Harry asked "will you please stay here and watch him? I'd rather one of us be here if something happens, and I'm not just talking about a turn for the worse."

The rebel hadn't shot his own ship down. Whoever was responsible (space pirates, bounty hunters, the Imperial Fleet or someone else) was bound to come looking for him soon, if they weren't already. And even if he had slipped away for the time being, which seemed to be the case considering he hadn't seen another ship in close pursuit when the X-Wing had crashed, they couldn't be that far away. After all, you didn't end up in a place as remote as Jakku without meaning to.

The droid seemed to share this sentiment whole heartedly and beeped a short farewell as he exited the building.

It was getting to be about the time of day when all of the scavengers working in the surrounding desert would converge on the area to sell off their finds but it seemed that the raven was still a few minutes ahead of the dusk crowds. Borgin and Burke's Scrapyard was as barren as the rest of Jakku save for the owner (an elephantine beast with a face capable of redefining 'ugly' across the whole of the galaxy whom Harry had never liked) who sat behind the open window.

"Potter." He drawled, nonexistent lips revealing a large mouth full of rotted teeth as he spoke. "You're usually one of the last to come in. So why are you here before everyone else tonight?

"Unexpected circumstances." Harry bit back. "Trust me, Borgin, I'm not exactly pleased to have to see your ugly mug early either."

Watery yellow eyes, tiny and set deep into his flabby face, narrowed. "Well then, runt, let's see."

"Half for food and water and half for medical supplies." Harry said as he unloaded his cargo onto the counter top in front of him. Watching with hawk-like attention as the alien's stubby clawed fingers picked through it all to make sure he didn't try and pilfer anything.

"Four ration packs and two aid kits."

"What?" the raven hissed, green eyes flashing. "The power cell alone would have been worth twice that a month ago you sun forsaken skive!"

Borgin's claws clattered against the counter top as he heaved himself up out of his chair, looming through the window at him. "Watch your mouth, runt! Prices change; you want something for that, you'll take what I give you or get nothing at all."

Harry gritted his teeth and growled. This went beyond being stiffed! What he was being offered wasn't even half of what the parts were worth, never mind the cost of the labor it had taken to harvest them! But he needed those supplies too badly to risk pushing the alien into making good on his threat. "Fine." He said. "Hand it over."

The gathered parts disappeared into the scrap yard and the ration packs and medical kits took their place. Harry snapped them up before Borgin could get it into his misshapen head to change his mind.

"You know, runt, I'd be happy to give you a better deal if you'd trade me something worth the loss."

"And what sort of parts are you looking for that would make it 'worth the loss'?" he drawled. As much as he hated the greedy plonker he'd be sure to keep a look out for whatever he was really after if it meant an end to being shorted.

"Not parts. Riddle's droid." Borgin fixed him with a sharp toothed grin. "He kept the best salvages to himself for almost a year to build the thing and it's not as if he needs it anymore. What do you say to one hundred ration packs and thirty aid kits?"

The stun-staff hit the overhang which shaded the window with a shuddering bang and showered the area in blue-white sparks. Borgin hissed and retreated further into the safety of the building as Harry glared daggers at him.

"B-95 is my last connection to Tom, you bastard! You could offer to sell me the entire bloody galaxy and I still wouldn't even consider selling him! To you or anyone else!" Staff in hand and supplies slung under his arm he turned on his heel and stalked back towards his speeder.

"I'd advise you to quite trying to be Riddle, runt!" Borgin snarled after him, though he didn't dare emerge from the building and put himself within range of the little human's weapon. "Not only is it a bad aesthetic for you, it won't land you any better off than he is: dead!"

Harry flashed him the rudest gesture he could think of, mounted his vehicle and drove away without looking back.