I own neither Harry Potter nor Star Wars. I promise to do nothing with other people's characters they haven't had them do themselves. Of course, for Harry Potter, that means I could let the leader of the good guys dump an infant unprotected on a doorstep in the middle of the night, but we all know how that worked out.

9-1/2 Years Previously

Jedi Knight Toma Kendet was on a special assignment for the Jedi Council. The backwater planet he was assigned to investigate was located far out beyond the outer rim. He was so far beyond the civilized areas of the galaxy that the inhabitants of neither this system nor any in its vicinity had even heard of the Republic.

Toma had come here in search of a Sith Lord. Before falling to the Dark Side, Kerk Yavok was a talented and intelligent Jedi. Like nearly all members of the Order, he had been taken from his family as a toddler and sent to Coruscant to be trained in the Jedi temple. He excelled at lightsaber combat and Force Healing. He faced the Jedi Trials at the age of 20 and advanced to the rank of Jedi Knight.

After 22 years of service, Kerk was seduced by the Dark Side of the Force. On an assignment to assist a group of archaeologists who had uncovered an ancient Jedi artefact on a distant world, Kerk became possessed by a soul fragment of a Sith Lord. The Sith Lord had attempted immortality by transferring a portion of his own soul into a Holocron. It lay dormant for over two thousand years until Kerk accidentally activated it. Consumed by the Dark Side, he emerged from the ruins as the reborn Darth Agen.

Agen's goal was to bring back the reign of the Sith. Kerk's Padawan, Morric Sanin, became the possessed Jedi's first victim when he refused to join the Dark Lord. The horrified archaeologists who witnessed the brutal murder were quickly slaughtered. Darth Agen spent the next ten years avoiding the Jedi while engaging in a guerilla war against his former family using an inner circle of Jedi he lured from their true path. Together, they led an army of non-Force using cannon fodder. After a series of vicious battles that cost the Jedi dozens of knights, and Agen's army their existence, the war was over. The only one remaining was the cowardly Darth Agen, who fled the Republic to try to rebuild his army.

The Council believed Agen was hiding somewhere within the Republic. A tip was received from a former follower of Darth Agen. It suggested that the defeated Sith Lord had instead departed beyond the Outer Rim to a distant system outside the knowledge of the Jedi. The Council, not believing the report, still thought it prudent to follow up on it. Toma, who had lost his own Padawan in one of the final battles of the war, was sent to investigate.

The mistake of only sending one Jedi nearly cost Toma his life when the tip turned out to be accurate. After the initial contact and lightsaber duel, Darth Agen fled. Toma chased his former friend across the country known as Britain. The local residents were out walking the street and visiting each house they came to in turn. Typically, this would present a problem, as Toma wanted to avoid any contact with the locals. However, since many of them were dressed in odd costumes, Toma did not end up standing out. He was able to determine it was a local holiday where children and some adults would dress as monsters and popular public figures in celebration. It wasn't the strangest custom Toma had come across in his travels, and he was grateful for the cover it granted him.

He finally caught up to his quarry deep in the industrial centre of a city called Surrey. The dark lord was hiding in a drill factory called Grunnings. Kerk was beyond redemption at this point and forced Toma to kill him in a lightsaber duel. Toma was the victor, but his former friend was dead at his hand.

Evading the local authorities, who had been alerted by the lights and sounds of the duel, Toma travelled on foot and exited the business sector of the city. Eventually, he reached a residential area in a small neighbourhood.

Stopping to rest, he sat on a park bench to meditate and try to find his centre. He had killed opponents before in the service of the Jedi but never before had he killed someone who had once been his friend. It was midnight, and all was quiet. He considered just sleeping in the park and continuing the journey to his ship in the morning. He could hide better in the crowds, and it would give him time to regain his strength and energy. The duel with Darth Agen had drained him, both physically and emotionally.

His meditation was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a man on the street in front of him. Toma had been sitting on a bench with his eyes closed when he felt a surge in the Force. Opening his eyes, he saw nothing at first. Suddenly the nothing turned into a man. He was wearing dark robes and a pointed hat. His white beard and hair were so long they reached below the large gold belt he wore. The man, not noticing Toma, walked up the street and pulled a device from his pocket. Pointing this device at a streetlamp, the light from the lamp suddenly flew into the handheld device.

One after another, the man extinguished the light from the street. Intrigued, Toma used the cover of the sudden darkness to silently move closer to the man. Hiding behind the shrubbery of a neighbouring house, Toma watched as the man was approached by a four-legged feline of a type he had seen frequently on this planet. Instead of ignoring the animal as Toma had expected, or even petting it, the man addressed it by the title of "Professor," and greeted the cat. Toma was shocked when the cat stood up on its two hind legs and rapidly grew into a human woman.

"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore. Are the rumours true, Albus?" the woman asked.

"I'm afraid so, Professor. The good and the bad," Dumbledore answered. They spent a few minutes discussing the deaths of a couple named James and Lily, and the aborted attack on their small boy named Harry Potter. To Toma, it sounded like this world was plagued by their own Dark Lord of the Sith.

"And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places," McGonagall asked.

"I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now."

"You don't mean – you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall. She went on to detail the surveillance she had performed on the residents of the house, and Toma quite agreed that the people she described were not at all suitable guardians. He was surprised how strong his feelings were on this issue, as he reminded himself that he was not involved.

"It's the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter." McGonagall expressed her shock that he would explain something of this magnitude with a letter. Toma quite agreed. He also thought it odd to write a letter to people you were going to meet face to face with anyway, but perhaps that was the custom on this strange world.

Surprisingly, the woman suddenly dropped her protests. Toma was confused at her abrupt change of heart.

"Yes – yes, you're right, of course. But how is the boy getting here, Dumbledore?"

"Hagrid is bringing him," said the old man. The woman appeared shocked at this news, and somewhat distrustful.

"Do you think it wise to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?" she asked, her tone of voice making it clear what the answer was, at least to her mind.

"Ah, Professor. I would trust Hagrid with my life," answered Dumbledore.

"That doesn't actually answer my question," protested Professor McGonagall. She started to build up another head of steam in her argument against the wisdom of leaving the child here but was interrupted by the roaring of an engine.

Toma, getting somewhat used to the shocks this strange night was presenting, was none the less surprised to find a two-wheeled speeder bike descending onto the street with a giant of a man astride it. The large man was carrying a small bundle. He dismounted from the speeder bike and addressed the man and woman.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall."

"No problems, I trust, Hagrid?" asked Dumbledore.

"No, sir. Little tyke fell asleep just as we were flying over Bristol." He handed Dumbledore the blanket-wrapped bundle he was carrying. "Try not to wake him."

Dumbledore looked down into the wrapped blankets now in his arms and began to bring the bundle to the house they were standing in front of. To Toma's shock and amazement, they did not go in or signal the residents that they were there. Dumbledore laid the child gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it into the blankets, and left him there. The giant man gave out a howl and a cry at the thought of leaving the child but did nothing else to prevent it.

"Well, that's that," Dumbledore said. "We have no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations." This rocked Kendet to his core. They were not only going to just leave him here but leave him here unprotected? Without even letting the people they were leaving him with know? So they could go off to a party? Still sniffling and upset, the giant named Hagrid swung himself on to the speeder bike and roared off into the sky.

The woman named McGonagall was visibly upset.

"Surely we cannot just leave him there, Professor!" she exclaimed.

"There, there, my dear professor," he said. "I know that it may seem unusual, but it really is for the best. I have met with his aunt before, and do not believe actual contact between us is advisable. I ask that you trust my judgement."

"That assessment does not make me feel better about this," huffed Professor McGonagall. She turned herself back into a cat and slunk off into the darkness. Dumbledore took out the strange device he used when he first arrived on the street and returned the lights back to the lamps. Toma, still hiding behind the bushes, could just make out the bundle on the doorstep.

"Good luck, Harry Potter," Dumbledore said quietly. With that and a small pop, Dumbledore vanished from the street.

Toma waited to see if any of them were going to come back. Surely this was a joke, wasn't it? When no one appeared for several minutes, he crept up to the bundle on the doorstep. There, his fingers curled around the letter Dumbledore had left, was a male infant. Wrapped only in a blanket for protection, the child was shivering slightly. While it wasn't as cold as it could be this time of year, it was still far too cold for a child this young to be sleeping on a doorstep!

Young Harry had already had a tough time of it, Toma saw. A lightning-bolt shaped cut, red and swollen, stuck out on the boy's forehead. Looking at the child, Toma found himself fighting with a strange compulsion to take the boy with him. It was obvious to him that the child was in danger. From the description of the residents of this house that he heard McGonagall give Dumbledore, the boy would have a miserable life if he were left here.

A connection was forming between himself and the sleeping child. This connection was not born of practicality or feasibility, but a link created by the Force itself. Toma, assured by the Force that this was the proper thing to do, found he was in a much better state of mind than he had been only ten minutes ago. He had someone to protect. He picked the bundle of blankets off of the cold concrete porch of 4 Privet Drive, tucked the letter into his cloak, and departed.

The Jedi made his way across the town to a large rain overflow drainage ditch that his ship was hidden in. It was an old Vaya class scout ship, perfect for long missions out beyond the assistance of the Republic. Once onboard, Toma put together a makeshift crib out of the blankets Harry was wrapped in and a parts container. The Jedi Council was going to be upset, he knew. He had been sent here to investigate the remote possibility of Darth Agen's presence on this world, but he now had another job to do. This assignment was not given or sanctioned by the Council, but by the Force. He could feel that the Force was strong in Harry. The Council would accept him. They would have to.

Harry Potter was a typical 15-month old baby boy born of magical parents. He had been quite well taken care of by his loving parents and wanted for nothing. Being 15-months old, of course, he didn't want much. A list of his favourite things would include His Mama, his Dada, his toy broomstick, some milk, a biscuit, and his favourite uncle, who also just happened to be his pet dog.

He knew more words than he could speak, but he was working on that. The list of words he could speak was unsurprisingly similar to his list of favourite things. Mama, Dada, Pafood, no, more, dog and boomtick. He was sometimes more successful than other times when trying to communicate these profound words to his parents and uncles, but he was working on that too.

This morning had not gone nearly as well as any other morning he could remember. He was used to waking up, finding the smiling face of his mother, be lifted out of his crib by his father, thrown into the air a few times, (always trusting his father to catch him, and he always did,) screaming with laughter, then downstairs to breakfast.

Not having the refined palate of an adult comes in handy as a toddler, as not many adults would like Harry's usual breakfast of mushed up cereal, but Harry thought it filled him up nicely. A changed diaper and some playtime with Pafood and his happy morning would be complete.

This particular morning, however, he woke up in a strange crib. The brightly painted and well-lit nursery was replaced by a rather dingy, metal room. It was very dimly lit, had a musty smell, and he could hear slight beeps in irregular patterns that were nearly drowned out by an odd hum that was steady and ever-present.

His toy bear was gone, and his diaper was dirty. His mother wasn't there, smiling at him and asking if her big boy had wonderful dreams. He was alone. Using the universal language of children everywhere, he called out for her to come and explain precisely what in the blazes kind of establishment she thought she was running. His displeasure grew as he realized his head hurt. It hurt a lot. When his mother did not answer, he started to call out for Dada. Not used to being ignored, he began to panic! Not able to summon his mother or his father, he continued on his list of people he knew. He called out for Pafood. His cries shrieked through the scout ship, but since sound does not travel in space, Pafood could not hear him. He could, however, feel him.

Sirius Black was also not having a good morning. His best friend on this planet had been murdered the night before. He had gone to Peter's hideout to check up on him and knew something was wrong the instant he found that Peter was not there. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he knew at that moment that they had been wrong. They had made a horrible mistake. Moony was not the spy and had never been. How much of an idiot could he have been? Wormtail was the one who was always hanging about, always trying to work every angle, always trying to be liked. The other three thought he was just a harmless, under-talented boy who deserved their pity. He was a Gryffindor, after all, that alone proved he must be good.

"He made fools of us all," said Sirius to himself. He leapt onto his motorcycle and rushed over to the Potter's house in Godric's Hollow, only to find the house was in ruins. He was about to try to find a way to enter when a section of the wall nearest the road suddenly exploded out. Hagrid emerged from the hole he had just made, holding a crying baby in his enormous arms.

"Hagrid!" yelled Sirius. "Is everyone alright?" Hagrid came up to Sirius, holding an upset and crying Harry in the crook of his arm.

"No, Sirius," the giant said, his voice hoarse both from the smoke of the ruined house, and the emotion of having found his friend's dead bodies. "Only Harry. They're dead, Sirius," Hagrid sobbed. Sirius closed his eyes, filled with grief.

"Give me Harry, Hagrid," he told the bawling giant. "He's my Godson, I'll take care of him."

"I can't do that, Sirius," Hagrid replied. "Dumbledore's orders. I have to take Harry to Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore is not his Godfather, Hagrid," Sirius pleaded. "I need to take care of him!"

"And I'm tellin' ya I can't do that," the large man said, getting his emotions under control. "Dumbledore said to bring young Harry straight to 'im, and that's what I mean to do!"

Sirius, hearing the determined tone and knowing how loyal Hagrid was to Dumbledore, decided to drop it for now. He could argue it out with Dumbledore later. Harry, at least, would be safe.

"Then take my motorcycle, Hagrid," he offered. "It'll get you there faster than you could on your own."

Watching Hagrid fly off with Harry on his motorcycle hurt Sirius far more than he thought he could be hurt. James and Lily were gone, and he couldn't even take comfort in protecting Harry. He had to do something. Anything. Anything that would help. Peter. He would track down the rat. Transforming into his Animagus form, he began to sniff out Wormtail's scent. Finding it, he followed. He would make it better.

It could not have gone worse if he had tried to mess everything up.

The next morning dawned cold and rainy on Azkaban island. Sirius woke with a start. Harry was calling for him. He could hear him.

"Pafood! Pafood! Dada! Mama!"

With consciousness rushing back into his brain, the voice of his Godson, sounding so close that Sirius was afraid they'd put Harry in Azkaban as well, faded into nothingness. He sank back, his back resting against the stone wall of his cell. He was alone. He would be for a very, very long time. Well, mostly alone. There were always the dementors for company.

Dumbledore's morning was quite frustrating. Despite his plans to hide the Potter family, they had been found. Betrayed by Sirius Black, no less. Sirius had been caught red-handed. He was found in the middle of the street, screaming and laughing, surrounded by dead muggles and the very few remains of Peter Pettigrew. Albus tried not to think about it. Instead, he pondered the mystery of Harry Potter.

He was staring at a curious device on his desk. It looked like a centrifuge, with four arms supporting silver balls that rotated around a central column. It was not spinning, however. Forlornly, he gave the arms a spin to try to prod them into starting, and they freely rotated a few revolutions before slowly coming to a stop. With each turn of the arms, a small puff of smoke was emitted from the centre spire.

A similar-looking instrument stood next to it, and it was spinning away normally, puffing smoke that floated a few inches above the spinning arms before disappearing. This was remarkably interesting, and more than a little worrying. According to Dumbledore's understanding, this meant that Harry was alive and healthy, but the blood wards he had placed on his Aunt and Uncle's house had not yet activated.

That was dangerous. Voldemort was gone, it was true, but many of his followers remained. Many of them were just as evil as he was, and they now had an exceptionally large grudge to hold against the little boy. While it was true that Voldemort was gone, Dumbledore suspected that he was not gone for good.

He grumpily gave the idle instrument another spin, trying to will it to start working. It came to another ominous halt. There were only two things Albus could think of that could account for this. Either the Dursley's hadn't yet opened their front door to find little Harry, or Harry Potter was not actually at 4 Privet Drive.

With more than just a little trepidation, he considered summoning Professor McGonagall to his office. Remembering how little she liked the idea of leaving Harry there in the first place, he knew how very much she wouldn't like having to return so soon. Thinking better of it, he realized she would actually like nothing better than to return immediately. If she did, though, Harry would not be staying there for another moment.

It was a Sunday today, Dumbledore realized. As a professor, he worked everyday school was in session, as he needed to be available for his students. The children lived at the school ten months out of the year, after all. It sometimes slipped his mind that some people liked a bit of a lie-in on Sundays. Deciding they must just be late getting up, he decided to give it one more day. If the instruments didn't indicate the blood wards were established by the next morning, he would have to take another trip to Little Whinging.

A/N Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone dialogue merged together from both the book and the movie.