First, I'd like to say that I'm not abandoning 'The Timelord Potter', so get that thought out of your head. I've decided to take a page out of JustBored21's notebook and write chapters as I get in the mood to write them, that way if I run into a block in the writing I can just jump ship to another story while the juices stew(Btw go read Justbored21's work, it's a bunch of entertaining nonsense that fanfiction should be).

Secondly, I guess I have to point out that I don't own either Star Wars or Harry Potter. I'm told by my legal department that there's a lot of stupid people out there(aka corporate lawyers), who think that you and I are too stupid to figure the basic concept that fanfiction is made by the fans, not the studio. So thanks to WB and 20th Century Fox for being cool enough not to shut down this site(I refuse to acknowledge the House of the Rat).

Rise of the Mages

Prologue-A Tale of Two Slaves

It was a rare, cold night that greeted the sleepy town of Little Whinging, Surrey in the summer of '83. In this quiet little town tucked onto the British Isle, on the quiet street of Privet Drive, there stood a quiet little house identical to all the rest. Number Four, to be exact, was home to the Dursleys, and if you were to ask anyone who lived on that street, they would tell you that the three members of the Dursley household were perfectly normal.

However, if one knew where to look, they would find that not everything was right in the Dursley home. You see, there was a fourth member of the family, one whom the others would rather hope to forget. This fourth member was, in fact, a boy, no older than three, the nephew of the Dursleys and the source of the family's contempt.

This little boy's name was Harry Potter, not that he knew that. To him, he had only ever been known as 'the boy' or 'the freak'. One may wonder why the Dursleys would treat a child this way, and indeed if any of the neighbors paid attention it would urk their puzzlement. To anyone looking in, there was nothing wrong with little Harry. He was quiet and polite, and well-spoken when addressed. He, unlike his fat cousin who was only a year older than him, never threw tantrums and had a kind disposition. And as for his looks, he was certainly a handsome child, what with his soft features and raven hair, to his magnificent green eyes that shone innocently like emeralds. Yes, one may wonder why the Dursleys treated him so unkindly, and if they knew, they would scarcely believe it.

You see, young Harry had a unique gift, one that could be described as a blessing or a curse, depending on who you asked. This gift was magic. Not that nonsense Wickens or New Age idealists rambled on about, but pure, unadulterated magic. Not that he knew this either, the Dursleys made sure of that. Oh, he knew, even to his immature senses, that strange happenings seemed to go around him. But as far as he was concerned this was the result of his 'freakishness', and only further proof that he deserved the ill-treatment he was provided.

But it hadn't always been this way. Once little Harry had been wanted and cared for. Once he had a mommy and daddy who had loved him very much. So much that when a very bad man came to hurt the boy, Harry's mommy and daddy gave their lives to keep him safe. Once Harry could even remember their faces, remember the smiles they shared. Once he could remember his 'Unca Pafoo' and 'Unca Mooy'. Once, he could even remember flying in the air on a motorcycle under the moonlight. But as time passed and the harshness and cruelty of the Dursleys grew, so too did the memories fade as nothing more than the imaginations of an unhappy child.

So Harry, since he had been left on their doorstep a year and a half ago, had all but forgotten about his mommy and daddy, replaced by the lies the Dursleys fed him. After all, who could love a worthless freak like him? Certainly not his 'deadbeat' parents, who had 'gotten drunk' and ended up wrapping themselves around a tree. That was of course how he had gotten the scar on his forehead, an ugly reminder of his parent's carelessness and irresponsibility. How often they pointed it out to him, sneering how he had been dropped on their doorstep in the middle of the night, and how he should be grateful they had kept him 'out of the goodness of their hearts'.

So to show his gratitude, they had set him to work around the house, doing all the choirs while they ate and relaxed. Dust the house, weed the garden, wash the clothes. Aunt Petunia had even started to teach him how to cook their food, not that he was allowed to eat much of it, and God help him if he broke anything. He was lucky if he was able to get the migger piece of toast for breakfast and the plain ham sandwich for lunch.

He deserved it though, he thought sadly at the idea, a phrase he often heard from his Aunt and Uncle. Penance they said it was, penance to atone for his own freakish nature, so that when he died his soul wouldn't go to Hell. After all, all freaks go to Hell, unlike good, upstanding Christians like the Dursleys who would get to go to Heaven.

Harry was told this many times, regardless of the fact that the Dursleys rarely went to church or adhered to those ideals. Harry often wondered if anything they said about that was true. He wasn't sure if he believed in all that, but he had heard how Jesus had been nice to sinners and kind to the outcasts. Harry knew he was a freak, but surely this Jesus loved him too regardless?

This particular line of thought ran through the little boy's mind as he lay in his small cot in the cupboard under the stairs. He had been made to sleep there since the night he had been left with the Dursleys, and everything he owned, how little that was, was left in there with him. It was cramped and dark and he hated it, and soon it would get even worse. Earlier that day Harry had dropped one of Aunt Petunia's expensive china pieces, spilling Uncle Vernon's breakfast all over the floor. Nevermind that it had been cousin Dudley who had pushed him and caused him to drop the plate, it was, of course, the freak's fault for being so clumsy, and he had earned a cuffing upside the head for it. Moreover, Vernon would be installing a lock on Harry's cupboard tomorrow, and he would be locked inside at night and when he was in trouble 'in order to teach him to pay attention to his surroundings'.

Tonight would be the last night he would have the freedom to leave his cupboard whenever he wished, and the realization of this made him cry. He tried so hard to gain his relative's approval, yet he always seemed to find a way to make them angry with him. Now he would be trapped inside this claustrophobic space, with no hope of being released unless he had choirs. With this thought in mind, Harry Potter crept out of his cupboard on his own terms for the last time, tip-toeing toward the back door of the kitchen. He had to be quiet as the Dursleys were asleep and he'd be in big trouble if any of them awoke.

Harry reached the back door and carefully slid it open, stepping outside to look up at the stars. The cool night air caused him to shiver slightly, but he tolerated it to marvel at the infinite lights that twinkled above him. His tear-streaked eyes sparkled for a moment as he gazed at their beauty, momentarily silent as he just stood and appreciated them. He had always loved the night sky, wishing he could fly up there and forget about his problems. Leave the Dursleys home behind him to see what was beyond Little Whinging. Alas, he was only three years old, and didn't have a clue where he could go.

Now as I said, despite what his relatives tried to install in him, little Harry Potter was not necessarily a religious person, nor did he know if he believed in God or not. But for a moment, just a moment, he wanted to believe that it was all true. That there was a God above who knew him and loved him regardless of how much of a useless freak he was. And in that moment of desire and conviction, as he looked up at the stars in wonder, he prayed.

Harry prayed that someone would come for him and take him away from this place. That someone would come and show him that he was loved and give him a hug, and tell him it didn't matter that he was a freak. Harry prayed that he could have friends who cared for him and stood up for him, and that someday he would be treated as an equal to everyone else.

Now across the infinite realities perhaps there is such a God who would have been looking down at him and heard this prayer, and been moved to help this small anguished soul. As it was, in this reality, it was not necessarily God or a god or a group of gods, and one would be pressed to argue if such a thing could even be considered sentient. But something, what many would have referred to as Fate, whom from the moment of his birth had dealt young Harry to live with a rather bad hand, looked down at the child with its usual cold indifference, and decided that for once, just once, it would answer that prayer.

-/ↀ\-

Deep within the bowels of a Baleen freighter, far from Earth across the vast expanse of space, a woman caressed the cheek of her three-year-old son. Around her, in other holding cells that could better be described as cages, slaves of different races slept on their long journey across the Outer Rim toward Tatooine. The Weequay Slavers who were transporting them were making the rounds checking over their 'inventory', which consisted of them having some fun with their captives. The ship they were on would be making multiple hyperspace jumps at predesignated drop points, so it would likely be a few days before they would eventually be given over to their new master, Gardulla the Hutt.

Shmi Skywalker tenderly brushed aside a strand of her baby boy's unruly blonde hair, unable to keep back a sad little smile to cross her lips. Shmi could scarcely recall the last time she had felt pure happiness. Once she had been a happily innocent young girl with parents who loved her, living from spaceport to spaceport until they gathered enough credits to pay for a quiet little home on a peaceful Mid Rim world. Sadly, that dream had been shattered when the ship they were using to get to that planet had been commandeered by pirates who force her and her parents into slavery. Quickly she had been separated from her parents by way of being sold to different masters on Zygerria, never to see them again.

She had been a young girl then, and after so many years, passing from master to master from one star system to the next, she could barely even recall their faces. She had long ago given up on having any sort of happiness in her life again, until one day, almost four years ago, she discovered that she was with child. This confused her greatly, considering she had not been with a man willingly or not around that time, as one of the many rules of her previous master was that there would be no unauthorized breeding amongst their property. They had been very angry with her indeed, especially when she couldn't give the name of the one who had slept with her. She still had the branding marks as proof to the extent of their displeasure.

But time passed and their tempers cooled, and they reluctantly allowed her to carry out her pregnancy, if only that they could make an extra profit when they sold the insubordinate slave. She had gone into labor six months later and given birth to a screaming baby boy, whom she had named Anakin. Her little Anakin, innocent and oblivious to the harsh life he had been born into, quieted the moment he opened his eyes to look upon her. In that moment Shmi Skywalker felt a warmth inside her chest she hadn't felt in a long, long time. A warmth that took her a time to identify as happiness and love.

Things felt better from that point on, though admittingly a bittersweet feeling. For the first time in her life, Shmi had something to hold onto and anchor her to reality. She was given a short time away from her labors to take care of the babe while her masters scoured the market to find a buyer for both of them. That had bought them three years of peace together, a rare luxury that Shmi valued with the utmost appreciation. Sadly that time was now gone, as her masters had finally found a buyer in the Hutt Clans of Tatooine. Once more her peaceful existence was uprooted to be thrust back into the horrors of her existence, a life she now shared with her unaware son.

A silent tear rolled down her cheek as she realized the life of bondage that awaited him. The boy she loved with all her heart would be turning four in a few short months, but she knew that the moment that day came his fate would be sealed. For slaves born into the trade, they were outfitted with the explosive implant upon the age of four, forcing them to forever be subordinate on pain of death. This pained Shmi deeply as she knew deep down that her Anakin was destined for so much more.

Even at a young age, she knew he was different from the others. He was shockingly intelligent for his age, able to assemble small droid parts and machinery like a master mechanic. She, of course, kept this a secret from her masters as they would have immediately separated them to sell him as a high-value slave. He also seemed to… know things. It was hard to describe. His reaction time was impeccable, as if he knew what was going to happen before it happened. It reminded her of stories she had heard from when she was a little girl, tales of knights, adventure, and the Force.

Shmi couldn't help but give an indignant snort. The Force. The supposed energy field that bound all life together, and the main power of the Jedi, peacekeepers of the galaxy. 'Keepers of the status quo, more like' She thought bitterly. How often she had heard of how the 'Great Jedi' worked to save people throughout the galaxy and made life better. How often in her youth she had waited for the Jedi to come and free her and reunited her with her parents. Only, they never came, and as time went on she began to realize the truth of matters was that she could rely on no one other than herself.

Even so, seeing her innocent child she cradled in her arms, she couldn't help but want to curse the name of every Jedi in existence for allowing this sort of life to thrive in the galaxy. And the Force, the Force! The closest thing to a universal god she knew of, she wanted to curse that too. Curse it, spit at it, grab it and… and…

She wanted to beg with it, plead with it, give it anything if it meant that her little boy could have a better life than the one she had. She didn't know why she did it, but as her tears fell from her eyes, she offered up a prayer. She prayed to whatever was out there, to whatever god or goddess or life energy that held everything together, to take her boy far from here, so that he may grow up happy and free.

Unknown to Shmi, while there were no gods or goddesses who operated in this reality, there was, in fact, a higher power that operated throughout the universe. Some called it destiny, karma, and yes, even the Force. But at that moment, the most appropriate word to describe this force would be Fate. You see, Fate had a bit of a conundrum to deal with, as two of its chosen children were the subject of its attention. As you may understand by now Fate was neither cruel nor compassionate, though it could come across as rather heartless at times. Such was the case for the two children it now held in its strings, having seen their births, how they would live, and eventually, die. This pattern turned out to be an interdimensional constant across numerous alternate realities for both boys.

However, because of the prayer of two souls who held such importance to the individual fates of many a soul, added to the fact that both boys happened to share the same reality, Fate came to a rare decision. It would interfere with the life of not one, but two of its chosen, drastically changing the course of history in this reality.

And it would do it all in one crucial stroke.

-/ↀ\-

So, that's the prologue to this idea I had, hope you liked it and if it gets some attention, I'll upload more chapters in the future(that's a lie, I'll do it anyway). Leave a review on what you think, I'm particularly fond of Longmen reviews(I watch EFAP after all). Hope you all have a nice day.