Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Star Wars.

Prologue: Awakening

Ten-year-old Harry Potter ran through the park of Little Winging, Surrey. He was sweeping his cane in front of him in search of anything he could hide behind, the sounds of his cousin and his gang getting closer and closer. For any normal boy, such a task would have been performed with gusto and with negligible difficulty. But Harry Potter was not a normal boy. Harry Potter was blind.

His aunt and uncle said that it had happened in the car crash that had killed his parents. Aunt Petunia would remind him almost daily about how she and Uncle Vernon had been forced to deal with the consequences of his parents idiocy and that he should be grateful for their kindness. But it was hard to be grateful when Uncle Vernon broke his arm for not cooking the family dinner. Harry had wanted to, he really had. But when he asked Aunt Petunia if she could please help him turn on the oven because he couldn't see the touch screen, she had shoved him toward the kitchen and told him not to be a layabout. His arm had somehow been fine by the next day and the Dursleys decided to lock him in his cupboard without food.

Dudley wasn't any better. He loved to trip Harry up at random points and chase him into a corner then beat the crap out of him. And since Harry couldn't see where the dead ends were, he usually always had a bruise somewhere on his body.

It hadn't been until primary school when he had been put in special classes to help him get by with his blindness that things started to change. The Dursleys weren't happy about it, but there really hadn't been anything they could do. So Harry learned. He learned to cook, clean, and do laundry. He learned how to cut meat with a knife without hurting himself, something he had done while making dinner many times. And he learned to read and write Braille.

But it hadn't been until he met his orientation and mobility teacher, Miss Melany that he started feeling like he was more than the burdensome blind kid just trying to get by. He loved to read and cook and whatnot, especially if he didn't have to do it for the Dursleys. Miss Melany had given him the ability to move wherever he wanted. She had said that if he was willing to work hard and learn how to use his cane with all his other senses, he could go almost anywhere. So Harry learned. And it was thanks to Miss Melany that he wasn't being beaten into a pulp right now, though she would say that it was all him.

Harry had learned the hard way that when his cousin and his cronies decided to play Harry Hunting, he needed to stay three steps ahead of them. It had meant losing the keychane Miss Melany had given him for his last birthday so he wouldn't give himself away. He'd had to tell her that he wanted to put it on his BrailleNote but just hadn't gotten around to it yet. It also meant honing his hearing to a point so he could stay ahead of his enemies.

His cane thwacked a tree and he froze.

Cursing canes for making so much noise, he ducked under the tree and listened.

"Potter!"

Dudley's voice.

"Come out, Freak. Wherever you are. We'll get you!"

Footsteps began running in his direction.

"Dudley," another voice said. It was Pierse Polkis. "I see him! He's hiding behind a tree!"

Harry laughed to himself as he ran out of his hiding spot. Part of the reason he had been able to stay ahead of Dudley and his gang for as long as he did was because he capitalized on their stupidity. He might be blind and a freak, but even he knew that you shouldn't tell people you're trying to catch that you know where they are or they'll run. And Harry ran.

He heard footsteps behind him. Multiple sets of footsteps.

"We've got you now, Freak," Dudley said.

Next thing Harry knew, his cane had been snatched out of his hand and he was doubled over from a fist slamming into his midriff.

He gasped as the boys laughed around him and felt the taste of bile in his throat.

"OK," Harry wheezed. "You won. Please let me go."

"But we just got here, Freak," Dudley said.

Ten minutes later, he lay curled up on the ground with vomit dripping from the side of his mouth. A searing pain in his chest told him that he'd broken ribs. Uncle Vernon wouldn't be happy about that.

Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he felt around for his cane. Nothing. Systematically, he searched the area and eventually found it on the ground underneath the tree where he had hidden at first. No doubt Dudley or Pierse had forgotten about it when they'd decided to practice being Jackie Chan.

He stood up and winced from the knives that tore through his chest. At least he knew the way home. It was one of the first things he had asked Miss Melany to teach him, how to get home from anywhere on Little Winging. He had adapted from there, learning where the best spots to hide were and who he could rely on to not ask questions if he showed up at their door gasping for breath. While most people thought he was a freak because the Dursleys said so, he could always go to Mrs. Figg's in an emergency and she wouldn't say anything.

With painstaking effort, he started walking to the house on Number Four, Privit Drive.

His uncle Vernon started shouting the moment he opened the door.

"Boy!" He thundered.

I'm in for it now, Harry thought.

"Where have you been, boy?! We've been waiting for you to get your ungrateful self here to make dinner!"

"I'm sorry, Uncle Vernon," Harry said meekly. "It won't happen again."

"It ruddy well won't," he said. "What! are you standing in the doorway for? Get in the kitchen and make us some grub!"

Some, Harry thought, was a nice way of putting it since Dudley ate enough for five people. Still, he went to the kitchen to do as he was told.

When your family expects you to cook breakfast, lunch, and dinner and beats you if you get something wrong, you get quite good at making delicious meals. His teacher for the visually impaired had been shocked at how quickly he had picked up what she taught in that area. It was a pity that his report cards had told the Dursleys that information.

When he had finished making five mouthwatering roasts and slathered them with gravy, he announced that dinner was ready.

"We'll be eating in the living room, boy," his uncle said.

Harry knew by now that this meant he would be playing MaƮtre d tonight. He grabbed three plates and served up the roast.

Placing them on the coffee table in front of the Dursleys, he started to go back into the kitchen.

"Where do you think you're going, boy?"

"The kitchen. You know, in case you want more."

"Stealing our food more like," he growled. "Stay here and get Dudley more when he needs it."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," he said and sat on the floor beside Dudley.

They were watching a show that had lots of fighting in it. Dudley kept saying things like, "Yeah, tear out his tongue" and "cut off his nose".

Harry's stomach rumbled.

"Er," he said. "I need to go to the bathroom."

"Get out of here," Uncle Vernon said.

Harry left.

After he used the restroom, he went into the kitchen. The Dursleys weren't in the habit of giving him food beyond what he needed to live, but Harry had found a way to get some without being caught.

Making up a plate, he quickly ate a few pieces of roast before filling up the empty spots on the plate. He savored the rich flavors on his tongue as he worked.

"Boy!"

Swallowing his mouthful, he said, "Coming Uncle Vernon."

That had been a mistake.

Vernon charged into the kitchen and before Harry knew it, his uncle's large, meaty hands had closed around his neck.

"So you were going to steal our food," he roared.

"It was for Dudley," Harry gasped, clawing at the hands around his throat.

Vernon slammed a fist into Harry's gut and Harry was reminded that his ribs were still very broken.

"Stop," he gasped as the world went in and out of focus.

"I'll teach you to steal from us, boy!"

The hands grabbed him and hurled him against the wall and he slumped down, curling into a ball. A foot connected with his jaw and he felt something wet on his face.

Blood, he thought feverishly. My blood.

Blows rained down onto him from above and the last thing he felt was Uncle Vernon's boot connecting with his eye before falling into unconciousness.

Harry floated. There was no pain. There was no Uncle Vernon. There was only him. And yet, as he floated, he felt something. It was all around him and in him and was him. It was the peace he felt when he was in his cupboard and the anger when Dudley got him in trouble with the teachers. It was the pride of learning his way around Little Winging and the fear of Dudley's wrath. It was all of these things and more. And Harry was part of it.

He opened himself to it. It was so familiar, as if he had always known it. But he couldn't have. For a moment he hesitated and he felt it start to slip away.

No, he thought. Desperately, he reached out to it. Not with his body, but with his mind and heart. And it filled him. It surged through his body and Harry felt something inside of him begin to pulse rapidly. The power, the Force pulsed in harmony and Harry sank into it. He knew that as long as he trusted it, he would be OK. Bones began to reknit themselves and swelling went down.

He felt the Dursleys too. Somehow, the Force showed him exactly where they were. And he felt pure malevolence from them.

"Please," he said to the Force. "I can't do this anymore. Please help me."

And with an almighty blast, the Force surged out of him. It wove around him and formed a chain of pure energy. Faster than Harry could track with his senses, the chain had wrapped around the Dursleys.

He didn't hear their screams, but he felt their fear. And then, they were gone. Harry didn't have time to feel horrified at what he had done because at that moment, his mind let go of the Force and he passed out.