Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Star Wars and Harry Potter universes. All recognizable characters, plots, and settings are the exclusive property of J.K. Rowling, Lucasfilm, and their various corporate partners. I make no claim to ownership, nor do I make any profit.
Author's Note: This chapter is rated T for usage of crude language. Please read the endnote for important information about this story after you finish reading the chapter.
Acknowledgment: A very big thank you to HRY, Athena Hope (a.k.a. The Owlverlord of Secretarying), and The Darkling for their incredible work on this story.
Across the Stars
By Luq707
Chapter I
Compared to many other parts of the country, London was a crowded city. A large metropolitan area occupied with people of diverse backgrounds, aristocrats called London home for a substantial portion of the year and immigrants came to make a better life for themselves.
Because of this, London traffic was a nightmare. And for twenty-one-year-old Harrison James Potter, he could not afford to be late.
Pushing through the congested sidewalk, he finally made his way to the entrance of the Bagnold Office Building, headquarters for the British Ministry of Magic, and hurriedly walked in. Checking in, he stepped into the lift, and with a quick intonation of "level nine," he sped off to the Department of Mysteries.
Stepping out of the lift, he greeted the clerk. The clerk replied, "Almost late, Unspeakable Potter. Director Croaker expects you in his office."
"Thanks," he replied. What could Croaker possibly want?
"Sir?" he said as he entered Croaker's office.
"Sit, Potter," said Croaker.
"For the past six months, you and your team have been studying the Veil of Death, correct?" he said when Harry had seated himself.
"Yes, sir."
"And have you gained a greater insight into its nature?"
Harry internally winced at this. In truth, the Veil of Death was an enigma that eluded him and his colleagues to an infuriating extent. Croaker would not be pleased.
Mouth running dry, he stated, "Well, you see, sir, the Veil is… the Veil has… continued to elude us for some time now. However, I think that we are close to a breakthrough. I need to test a few more things in order to prove my theory."
Croaker's eyes twitched. "Mr. Potter, you are aware that at the Department of Mysteries, we do not let ourselves fall into years of research with no end in sight. If results are not produced within a reasonable time frame, then we move onto the next project and let others resume where we left off. Should you fail to yield any conclusive results by next week, you will be reassigned to a different project and a different team will undertake your current assignment. Am I understood?"
Harry gulped. "Yes, sir."
"Good. Now get to work."
Harry stiffly nodded and walked out of Croaker's office and proceeded to the Death Chamber.
Access to the Death Chamber was only permitted to the most qualified unspeakables who demonstrated proficiency in all fields of magic. To get into the department itself, unspeakables were required to undergo a two-year training regimen in which their minds, wills, and strengths were consistently tested. It was a taxing and enduring process, and only a fraction of the applicants succeeded. And from those very qualified unspeakables, only the best were allowed access to the Death Chamber.
Harry's team was already present by the time he arrived at the floor of the Death Chamber. After informing them of Croaker's deadline, the team donned clothes with special protective charms to protect them from the radiation that was emitted by the Veil of Death—a finding from the first unspeakable unit that worked on it.
"Remember," Harry said as they approached the black door, "leave your wands behind. We don't want any of our magic to affect the results. Unspeakable Owens's team will be monitoring your vitals and the environment in the room from control. Are you all ready?"
Receiving nods from the group and the green light from Owens's team, Harry and his team entered the Death Chamber.
The Veil hadn't changed much from the previous Friday evening. However, Owens reported that there was slightly more radiation than usual being emitted. In addition, the room felt stiflingly hot.
"Owens," said Harry from the communications device attached to his clothes, "what does your temperature scan of the room say?"
Harry heard Owens's gasp of shock. "3-306 Kelvin and climbing. Potter, get out of there!"
Harry cursed. "Alright!" he shouted. "Everyone out! Move!"
By now, everyone could sense the magic in the room, growing thicker and thicker by the second. Rosewood—his deputy—was the first to move to the door, and the other twelve members of the team quickly followed.
As they made to move out of the chamber, Jeremy Hilton, a man one year Harry's junior, tripped. "Shit," he muttered.
Harry quickly moved to his side. "Can you stand?"
"I t-think so, s-sir," came Hilton's reply. He stood unsteadily, face white with pain, as he tried to take a step. He began to fall. Harry caught him.
"Alright, we'll take it slow. Come on." Harry slung one of his arms over his shoulder as he walked to the door. They limped together toward the door as the magic and heat in the room thickened exponentially.
Harry cursed. He picked Hilton up and ran to the door. Handing off Hilton to one of his colleagues, he turned to look back at the Veil.
And that was his fatal error.
Wind swept through the room with a frightening terror, making tornados and tempests seem tame. The door slammed shut, unspeakables outside looking from the viewing window in horror and attempting to open the door, but every time they tried, a gust of wind blew forth, pushing the opener back. They could do nothing but look on as Harry Potter, the Man-Who-Conquered, braved the fiendish scene.
Suddenly, there was a bright flash from the Veil, and Harrison James Potter disappeared.
"Shit," said Rosewood, vocalizing the thought running through all their heads. "Croaker's gonna be pissed."
"Wait. Run me through what happened again. You're telling me that somehow, the Veil acted up and Potter was sucked through it?" asked Croaker, incredulous. Potter was one of the most promising unspeakables the department had to offer, and he could not afford to lose him.
Croaker turned on Owens, also present. "And you. Tell me exactly why you and your team didn't detect the Veil's conditions beforehand." He glared at him.
Owens detachedly looked forward. "We only set up our equipment ten minutes before Unspeakable Potter and his team arrived. Conditions appeared normal until Potter entered the room."
Croaker ran a hand over his face. "And you both are telling me that we have no idea why this happened?"
The two grimly nodded. Croaker sighed. "Alright, find me everything we have on the Veil. I want to know if there's a historical precedent for this, and how we can get him back. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!" They both turned to leave but were stopped by Croaker once more. Turning questioningly towards him, Croaker said, "And inform both your teams as well as anyone assigned to this case that this does not leave the department. The last thing we need is for the media to find out that the 'Man-Who-Conquered' was sucked through the Veil of Death."
"Understood, sir," said Rosewood.
"Gather the most qualified unspeakables in the department. This is their highest priority," ordered Croaker. "We need to get him back."
The two unspeakables nodded and left.
Three hours later, Croaker heard a knock on his door. "Enter," he said absentmindedly.
"Sir, Unspeakables Rosewood and Owens would like to speak with you on-site."
"Very well. Inform them that I will be with them shortly," Croaker replied.
"Yes, sir." The unspeakable saluted and left the office.
Croaker signed the paper he was currently working on and then rising from his chair, he made his way down to the lower level.
Entering the section, which had since been partitioned off, Croaker walked towards Rosewood and Owens, who seemed to be in conference about something. Their heads rose as Croaker approached.
"Report," stated Croaker.
The two exchanged nervous glances. "Well, sir," started Owens, "we did find a historical precedent for what happened with the Veil."
"And?" Croaker replied impatiently. "Out with it!"
"In the early days of the department, the Veil 'absorbed' an unspeakable. That unspeakable hasn't been seen or heard from since. And when they tried to bring him back, the entire team was killed," explained Rosewood hurriedly.
"And this is what you called me down here to tell me?" asked Croaker sardonically. "Call me back when you find a solution." With that, he turned his back on them and began to proceed to his office.
"Wait, sir, there's more," Owens called.
Croaker whirled around. "This had better not be a waste of my time."
"On the contrary, sir, I think it will take quite a lot of it," quipped Rosewood. He then made an odd gesture to another operative. The operative nodded and brought forth a small box.
"We thought this might interest you," said Owens.
Croaker looked skeptically at the box as he took it into his hand. It was made from a material he could not identify, though it seemed to be some form of metal. There was little ornamentation, though there were many etches on it that seemed to be in regular patterns. Opening it, his eyes widened.
In the box was a letter—a letter and a vial. And on the letter, his name was written. Penned in a very familiar hand.
Hands trembling, he opened the letter and began to read.
Dear Croaker,
I hope this letter finds you well, who knows how many years into the future. Rest assured knowing that I am healthy and safe, but I will not be able to return.
Simply put, the veil is a wormhole. I do not know how it was created, but suffice to say, when I was absorbed by it, I was transported across time and space (quite literally) to a different planet on the other side of the universe.
The reason it is known as the Veil of Death is that more often than not, and the most likely scenario for a person that is sent through it, is that they end up in a random stretch of space where they die from a lack of oxygen. It was only through my sheer dumb luck, that I was able to land on a planet with hospitable conditions.
The vial enclosed with the letter contains memories from my experiences. I invite you, and anyone else who is with you, to watch it. Perhaps it will allow you to attain a greater understanding of the universe.
In addition, if you visit the ruins of the Library of Alexandra, you will find a crate that has withstood the test of time in the former west wing of the library. In it, I compiled my full notes and research on the Veil, as well as other items of interest.
The "Man-Who-Conquered" is dead, sir. I hope the ministry and the public won't kill you for it. Give my regards and best wishes to my friends and family, and I wish you the best of luck for the future.
Yours sincerely,
Harrison James Potter
P. S. I hope Hilton's okay. He's a fine man, and he'll go on to do great things.
Croaker blinked back tears as he read the letter. Gulping back the lump in his throat, he said, "Harrison James Potter was one of the finest operatives from the department. He alone demonstrated the potential to become director of this branch from his first day here.
"Potter was blown through space and time, and through his bleeding 'Potter luck,' he survived and made a life for himself in the far reaches of the universe.
"Tonight, we shall honor his memory. He was an unspeakable to the very end, expanding our research even while millions of light-years away.
"He wished for us to view his memories, and we shall acquiesce to his request. Hilton, bring my Pensieve."
Hilton went to retrieve Croaker's Pensieve. His foot had long since recovered from the events earlier that day. The thing that was special about Croaker's Pensieve was the fact that it was able to display the actual memories above, much like a Muggle moving picture, if Croaker so desired.
"Make yourselves comfortable, everyone," Croaker advised. He promptly conjured a chair for himself, causing the others to follow suit shortly thereafter.
Pouring the contents of the vial into the Pensieve, the Department of Mysteries sat back and observed the life of the late Harrison James Potter.
Harry tumbled through space and time, stumbling in and out of consciousness. Later on, he would remember the beauty of space, being simple yet incredibly complex at the same time.
Eventually, the spinning stopped, and he fell onto the ground with a hard thud, pain lancing through his body, falling unconscious.
Several hours later, Harry woke up. The sun was shining bright on his face and his throat was dry. Carefully, he stood up and examined his surroundings.
He was on a plain that seemed to be close to the edge of a forest. He could hear the quiet trickling of water from the forest and cautiously walked to it. As he walked, he devised a plan of action.
His primary concern would be with his basic survival. Finding proper food, water, shelter, and so forth. Then, he'd do his best to reach out to any unspeakable that might be in the vicinity. Thankfully, he was able to perform basic wandless magic, which would make his survival much easier.
He followed the stream until he came to a charming lake. Washing his face, he found a decent place to set up his camp. Attempting to levitate a fallen tree to clear out the area a bit, he thought as hard as he could and envisioned the tree lifting into the air and moving a few feet away.
But there was a problem: the tree didn't move.
That's weird. Alright, let's try again.
Doing the process again, with even greater clarity of mind, Harry attempted to move the tree, to no luck. Scrunching his eyebrows in frustration, he thought of something else he could try.
He decided to summon fire. Envisioning a fire sparking a few feet away, Harry attempted to direct magic to start it.
Only, there was no magic to direct.
What the… the magic… it isn't there. How…?
Harry began to panic slightly, before regaining his senses. Reaching out with his mind, he attempted to sense the "magic" again.
It was present, but different. Quite frankly, it was different than anything Harry had ever seen in two-and-a-half years of being an unspeakable.
The magic seemed to act differently. It was not conducive to his spells and his methods of casting magic, and he had no inkling of an idea of how to manipulate it.
Well, looks like I'll just have to do things the Muggle way. Walking up to the tree, he managed to move it a few feet down, while attaining a significant number of splinters. Hissing in pain, he slowly eased his hands in the nearby brook and worked to extract them. Ripping off a bit of his clothing, he bandaged his hands and set to making a fire and constructing a temporary shelter.
He would have to figure out his location when night fell. Years of Astronomy lessons, as well as training for missions, had versed him in the paths and locations of the stars. Until then, he would wait and determine his next move.
Harry had concluded that the Veil was a method of instantaneous travel. He had left London, England, to appear somewhere that must have been thousands of miles away from his home.
This was what he kept in mind as he viewed the night sky. He could be anywhere in the world, so he had to account for both the Northern Hemisphere and the Southern Hemisphere.
The easiest way to determine that one was in the Northern Hemisphere was to search for the North Star—Polaris. The last star of the handle of Ursa Minor. He scoured the skies for any sign of the Little Dipper or the pointer stars on the Big Dipper that pointed directly to Polaris.
Not seeing the Big Dipper or the Little Dipper, Harry concluded that he was in the Southern Hemisphere.
Because the weather was not tropical, by any means, he had to have been a decent distance away from the Equator. Searching for the Southern Cross, he looked for Centaurus and the other constellations that surrounded it, indicating its location.
Yet, he could find nothing. No Southern Cross. No Polaris. No indication of where on Earth he was.
So, he looked for other familiar constellations, and to his dismay, there were none.
At this, the blood drained from his face.
The Veil didn't just transport him thousands of miles away. He had to have been transported millions of light-years away.
This is great. How am I supposed to get home?!
Harry howled in frustration, tears leaking from his eyes.
His friends, the only people he could have considered family, were on the other side of the universe.
He needed to get home. He needed to reunite with his family.
Author's Endnote:
Finally, the long-overdue publication of "Across the Stars!" I hope you're all doing well and enjoying the holiday season. I am very pleased and excited to publish this, and I wanted to address a few things in this endnote.
First, this fic is a crossover. I understand that many of you may have reservations about crossovers (believe me, I do too), but cross-universe interactions will be limited for reasons you will have understood while reading Harry's letter to Croaker. How Harry came to these conclusions will be explained as you read on, but in essence, this is a fic in which Harry Potter is transplanted into the Star Wars universe.
Second, regarding chapter length, it's looking like each chapter will be approximately 3,000 words (though this chapter is slightly shorter). I have the next few chapters already written, and they're all about the same length.
Third, I plan to post chapters weekly, so you will get chapter II next Saturday. Currently, I have no idea how many chapters this fic will have when it's completed, but I do not expect it to surpass 25,000 words.
Fourth, this fic is written in American English, so you won't be seeing any of those single quotes or British spellings and whatnot.
That's all for now, folks. I'll see you in a few days, and I hope you're all excited about this as I am. This is the first time I'm trying a fic like this. If you liked the first chapter, please favorite/follow, and it would mean the world if you would leave me a review.
Wishing you a very happy new year and the best of health,
Luq707