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 Star Wars, that means I could have a leader of the rebel alliance, who knows the ship she is on is being tracked, make a beeline for the hidden base the Empire otherwise cannot find with their planet murdering, handrail lacking, murder moon. Like, straight there. Not even a stop at a 7-11 for some frozen space burritos.

On the first day of his new responsibilities as the guardian of Harry Potter, Toma Kendet was wondering if he was truly up to the task. He had helped care for younglings before, of course, but never one so young as this. He hadn't chosen his Padawan until the lad was six years of age, and Toma was not initially prepared to have to do so many things to keep the young child healthy and happy.

When young Harry had awoken, he was understandably upset to find himself in an unknown environment. The familiar people were replaced by a strange man who could not produce his Mama and Dada on demand. Toma, however, was patient and showed the child kindness. He kept him clean and kept him fed. At first, Harry was not impressed with the food Toma offered him.. 'Hunger strike', however, had not yet been added to his vocabulary, so he ate.

After a week, Harry stopped waking up screaming. He began to expect that it was Toma who checked on him instead of his mother. He still missed his mother and father, of course, and asked for them frequently.

The cut on his forehead had healed, helped along by a bacta bandage Toma applied in the medical bay. The cut healed into a scar of the same shape, which was a bit odd. Bacta applied to a wound as fresh as the one on Harry's head usually healed without leaving scars. In the war, Toma himself had been healed of wounds far more grievous with no sign of them afterwards. Toma decided to do nothing more for it since it was at least not hurting Harry anymore. The Jedi healers could take a look when they arrived at Coruscant.

The journey from Earth to the capital planet of the Republic would take about two weeks. It would keep for that long, at least. Toma continued to bond with Harry, and Harry seemed to accept Toma as another uncle.

At Hogwarts, Dumbledore was growing frustrated. He had told himself that he would go to Little Whinging to check on Harry if the blood wards did not establish by the next day, but that was not to be. Albus had every intention of doing so, but his plans were laid to waste by the unexpected and vicious attack by Death Eaters on the Longbottom family. The Longbottoms had gone into hiding just like the Potters, but when Voldemort disappeared, they made the decision to rejoin the world.

That decision was premature, it seemed. Alice and Frank were both tortured into insanity by the Cruciatus curse and only the timely assistance of the Aurors that Frank Longbottom had managed to summon prevented Bellatrix Lestrange from doing the same to young Neville.

The cleanup and investigation of that attack kept him out of his office all day, and by the time he returned, it was already far too late to call on the Dursleys. At least, it was far too late if he wanted to actually talk to them. The ward indicator was as unmoving as if it hadn't been set up at all. The health indicator was still spinning madly away. If anything, it was spinning even faster now, showing that wherever Harry was, he was being cared for.

It was only this that had convinced Albus that he could wait until another night had passed before beginning the search. If the health indicator showed anything but healthy and alive, he would have gone at that moment. Dumbledore sighed. There was nothing else for it, though. He would have to go back in the morning. With that, he turned in for the night.

Mr and Mrs Dursley of 4 Privet Drive were not used to things going anyway but precisely as they dictated them. Up until a few days ago, they would have said their lives were just about perfect.

Vernon made a very respectable living as the director of Grunnings, a firm which made drills. He loved his job, as it allowed him to yell at people most of the day. Yelling at people was his favourite pastime, after all. He, of course, never yelled at home. His wife, Petunia, never did anything to make him angry. And who could possibly yell at his precious son, Dudley?

Petunia, who would be scandalized if any of the neighbours deigned to try to peer into her own life, spent her days peering into all of theirs. She was thin, blond, and had a very long neck, which was convenient as she peered over fences to spy on everyone around her. Any time not devoted to gossip was spent doting on their perfect son, Dudley.

Vernon's day yesterday had not gone well at all, though. Vernon arrived at his office on the ninth floor precisely on time, only to receive a call from the production floor. A dead body had been found in the factory. The production crew had arrived to start their shift and found an oddly dressed corpse.

If Vernon could have gotten away with it, he would have ordered the body thrown into the dumpster and had the work crew get on with their shift. Even he knew he couldn't get away with that, though, and had called the police.

The lead investigator thought it was a cult-related murder, as the victim had been dressed in outlandish robes, wearing a rather sinister-looking helmet. Vernon expressed his opinion that it was a drunk looking for a place to sleep off the effects of a Halloween party.

The policeman who came up with the cult murder theory did not think much of Mr Dursley's theory. Mr Dursley thought that was because it sounded much more likely than a cult murder. The lead investigator did not include it in his report and wrote that the suspected motive was drug-related gang violence.

Police reports were reviewed from citizens who had reported seeing and hearing a commotion in the area on Halloween night. Police had scoured the area but had not found anything. Of course, they hadn't had the authority to search inside the buildings.

The victim had been slashed with something hot that had gone straight through him, the police had found. Whatever it was, it cauterized the wound as it went, so at least there wasn't a lot of blood to clean up.

The investigation kept the plant shut down for a full day, and Vernon was up early this Tuesday morning with the intentions of driving his workforce unmercifully to make up for lost time. He also planned on firing the night watchman for allowing the murdered as well as the murderer on the premises without noticing, let alone allowing the murder to take place.

As he was finishing his breakfast, however, the doorbell rang. Petunia got up to answer it, and Vernon became concerned when she gave a squeak of horror and recognition. A wizard and witch were standing on her doorstep!

Both had made an attempt to dress as ordinary people did. In fact, as Petunia recalled from her childhood the outlandish outfits many of that sort put on when out with normal people, the pair on her doorstep had actually done a remarkable job. She recognized the old man, however, as the headmaster of the freak school that had taken her sister away.

"Good morning, Mrs Dursley," said Dumbledore. "I wonder if we could come in and talk with you and your husband about a matter of great urgency?" Petunia peered out the open door, making sure none of the neighbours was watching.

"Get in," Petunia hissed. "Quickly!"

With a prim look on her face, like Petunia would have if she were to step into one of the hovels downtown, the stern-looking woman entered the Dursley house, followed by Dumbledore. They were led by Petunia to a couch upon which they sat, while Petunia took a chair opposite a coffee table with the latest periodicals neatly fanned out. The freaks wouldn't have anything to say about her house, Petunia thought to herself as she waited for them to speak.

She had told Vernon of her sister being a freak when he was courting her, and she felt it an excellent sign of his character that he was able to forgive her having such abnormalities in her family.

"I am Albus Dumbledore," began the headmaster as Vernon came up behind his wife and squinted suspiciously at the odd pair in his living room.

"I know who you are!" interrupted Petunia. "My sister was never the same after attending your excuse for a school!"

McGonagall looked slightly scandalized at this but felt that she must offer sympathies to the obviously devastated woman.

"We are most sorry at your loss, Mrs Dursley," offered McGonagall. "Your sister was a valued member of our society, and one of my favourite students. She will truly be missed."

Petunia's eyes opened wide in shock at this.

"Whatever do you mean?" she asked in a shrill, panicked voice. "What has happened to Lily?"

Dumbledore and McGonagall traded glances with each other.

"I am deeply sorry to have to tell you this," said Dumbledore, "but she was killed along with her husband on Halloween night. They had gone into hiding as they were threatened by the most thoroughly evil man our society has produced in many, many years. Very unfortunately, he was able to find them."

Petunia put her hands to her face and sobbed.

"I knew it!" she cried. "I knew that your kind would be her end! I tried to warn her, but she wouldn't listen!"

It was some time before Vernon was able to calm her down, and it was clear to Dumbledore and McGonagall that this was the first she was hearing of the death of her sister.

"Did you not find the letter with your nephew?" Dumbledore asked Vernon. "I put it in his blankets myself when I left him here." Vernon sharply stared at the odd man.

"What do you mean, left him here?" he asked, his hackles rising. "We've never even seen the boy! I've certainly never seen you before."

Albus looked down, knowing what he had to say would not be well received by anyone in this house.

"It was quite late on Halloween night, nearly midnight," he began to explain. "I knew the safest place for young Harry was here, as there are still those out there that would harm him. I did not, however, wish to disturb you. Knowing how Petunia felt about magic, I thought the best chance of you accepting him would be if we did not directly communicate. I left Harry on your doorstep with the intention of you finding him in the morning and taking him in. The letter I left explained all of this, and asked for you to care for him as if he were your own."

Petunia stopped her weeping, shocked into silence. She glanced at her husband, whose eyes had first gone wide with alarm, then squinted into slits as he looked at his targets.

"Let me see if I understand you correctly," Vernon said, his voice unnaturally calm and every word meticulously pronounced.

His employees could have taught the magical professors a lesson in damage control had they been there. Vernon was not naturally a relaxed man. When he suddenly grew calm, it was merely the calm before the storm as he gathered his energies for the onslaught. It was best in those circumstances to batten down the hatches and prepare for the worst.

"You thought it was best," said Vernon Dursley, "to leave a child on my doorstep, unattended. A mere baby. On my doorstep. At midnight. In November."

Albus Dumbledore could only nod his head in confirmation.

Mr and Mrs Pebbles of 6 Privet Drive were happy in their retirement. They minded their own business and tried very hard to ignore Petunia Dursley next door who tried to mind it with them. Aside from that, they had very few worries. They lived on a nice, quiet street and enjoyed a calm, stress-free retirement.

Well, mostly quiet, that is. Ever since Dudley Dursley was born, quiet wasn't really the norm. The child had quite the pair of lungs on him. They didn't let it bother them, though, as they could make allowances for babies. Sitting in their parlour after breakfast, Mr Pebbles was reading the newspaper while Mrs Pebbles worked on her cross-stitching. Their quiet morning was suddenly interrupted as the noise of a massive row blasted through the neighbourhood!

"The Dursleys must be having a fight," Mr Pebbles said, looking up from his paper in alarm. "That's unusual, they normally get along so well."

"I'm not sure they're yelling at each other," replied Mrs Pebbles. "My goodness, listen to that shouting! You can almost make out the words from here!" They listened for a few moments, trying to determine the nature of the row.

"Something about a child," said Mr Pebbles straining to hear. "And pregnant? That doesn't make sense. They love Dudley so much I think they'd be delighted to have another."

"No, I think he said endangerment, not pregnant," corrected Mrs Pebbles. Mr Pebbles was several years older than his wife, and his hearing was not the best. "And now the word 'criminal,' and something about being the most irresponsible something, it's hard to make out. Wait, they've stopped." The noise had vanished as abruptly as it had begun.

"Well, perhaps that'll be the end of it," said Mr Pebbles. He returned to his newspaper to finish reading the oddest report about a supposed flying saucer being reported above Surrey the other night. "The things young people came up with," he thought to himself. "Flying saucers, indeed."

Albus Dumbledore winced as he rubbed his ears. The sheer volume of the yelling was almost unbelievable. Minerva McGonagall was in shock. No one had ever screamed at her like that before. They were standing on the doorstep, having been thrown out of the house by an irate Vernon Dursley. Neither had even been able to go for their wands before the angry man ejected them from his home, slammed the door, and locked it.

"That could have gone better," Dumbledore said.

"Oh, Albus," McGonagall cried. "Whatever could have happened to him?"

"I do not know, Minerva," Dumbledore answered. "I can only say that wherever Harry Potter is, he is at least healthy. That alone proves he is not with the Death Eaters."

McGonagall brought out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

"We had best be off," said Dumbledore, taking Minerva by the hand. "That will have drawn attention."

With a pop, the two apparated to just outside the gates of Hogwarts. Trying to forget the verbal lashing they had just endured, Albus led the Transfiguration professor back to the castle and up to his office. Dumbledore looked forlornly at the instruments on his desk and knew that the ward monitor would never spin.

"We should never have left him there, Albus," McGonagall said, her cheeks still red from the vocal hammering they suffered at the hands of Vernon Dursley.

"No, that was not one of my better ideas," agreed Dumbledore. "I should have listened to you. I am sorry, more so than I can say. I can only hope that young Harry does not suffer for my mistake."

"What are we going to do?" Minerva asked.

"I will start," said Dumbledore, "by calling in the Order of the Phoenix. I believe young Remus Lupin will be a great asset in the search for Harry."

Remus Lupin did not enjoy being a werewolf. Classified as a dark creature, it was tough to find and keep good jobs. In fact, most of the positions he held the longest were actually in the muggle world. He had worked as a shop clerk for a muggle pharmacy for several months until the events of Halloween night.

He had been forced to take off the entire first half of the week for the full moon only a few weeks before, and the sudden requirement of additional time off was too much for his employer. He was let go. Not that Remus hesitated, of course. With James and Lilly gone, Sirius in Azkaban for betraying them, and Peter blown to bits by Sirius, he felt he was all that young Harry had left. He would gladly give up any job to help search.

It wouldn't be the full moon again till November 11th, but even in fully human form, his senses were enhanced by being a werewolf. In fact, he was exceptionally talented at defence, as well as investigation. Ensuring he was alone, he took out his wand and performed a rather complicated spell typically only used by Aurors investigating crimes. His senses magically enhanced even further, he was now able to get a sense of what had happened magically only a few nights before.

Following traces of magic, he was able to see the signature of Albus Dumbledore appearing up the street in a flare of apparition. The traces were like glowing clouds of light overlaid onto his normal vision. He followed each streak of light as Dumbledore's Put-Outer extinguished the streetlamps. He was able to track the nimble footsteps of Minerva McGonagall as her cat form padded its way to join him. He saw the glow of magic as she transformed into a human.

And he saw something else. Something that was there before Dumbledore, originating from the bench in the park behind Privet Drive. Something that followed him up the street and hid in the bushes as the traces of the two known magical professors huddled together in what must have been a conversation.

Magesight was not like a VCR recording. He couldn't hear conversations that had taken place, nor could he see things or people as they appeared in real life. He could detect spells, and if he knew the person well, he could identify them by their magical signature. It was a very delicate ability. The more magic that was expended in an area, the more difficult it was to see individual events. For example, he knew he could never use it to determine what had happened when Sirius killed Peter. The magic of a duel was far too much for Magesight; it would be like trying to stare at the sun. It was also highly subjective to the user. Two different wizards using Magesight could see entirely different things. That's why, while it was advantageous to find clues, by itself it was not admissible as evidence before the Wizengamot.

Whatever it was that had hidden behind the bushes stayed there as Remus recognized Sirius's motorcycle streaking down from the sky carrying Hagrid and Harry. The signature of the unknown subject was quite unlike anything Remus had ever experienced before. Subtler than a witch or wizard, it was most certainly something magical. A muggle would not have made an impression at all, and a squib would be barely detectable. He watched as the Dumbledore trace took the Harry trace from the Hagrid trace.

Even though Dumbledore had told him in advance everything he had seen and done that night, he was nonetheless dismayed to see the Dumbledore trace leave the Harry trace on the doorstep to rejoin the other two adult traces. The trace in the bushes remained still and hidden. After a minute, the known traces except for Harry and the hidden, unknown subject went their separate ways. Remus sharpened his focus, as he knew what happened next would be critical.

The unknown subject in the bushes waited a few minutes, then approached the Harry trace on the doorstep. Remus wished Magesight would allow an impression of what someone looked like. It was very frustrating to see this strange thing staring down at the child Remus thought of as his nephew and not being able to do anything to stop it. He would have words with Albus over this. How could he just leave him unprotected?

After a few minutes where the unknown subject just stood there, it suddenly picked the Harry trace up and departed. Remus followed it out of town. It did not stop or deviate until it arrived at a large drainage ditch, where the oddest thing occurred. Both the unknown subject and the Harry trace departed. They did not apparate, nor did he find the trace of a portkey. Instead, they seemed to enter a structure that no longer existed. They hung about for around 20 minutes, and then rose into the air. Suddenly, like a meteor in reverse, the traces shot up into the sky and left, faster than Remus could track.

They were gone. Remus could find no other traces of either of them nor of anyone else. Remus cancelled the Magesight and looked around the drainage ditch with normal sight. He saw some odd depressions in the grass like something heavy had been placed on them recently. Some scorch marks indicated something hot had burned the grass around the depression, and Lupin remembered reading a newspaper story about a UFO being spotted in this area that night. "What happened here?" he thought to himself.

Putting the Magesight on himself again, he backtracked to Privet Drive. Going back further, he watched as the unknown subject arrived at the park, and followed as it moved from where it originated. It took him to the factory of Grunnings Drills, which was aglow with dispensed magic. The news reports that informed him of the UFO sighting also mentioned a murder at Grunnings. This was very disturbing.

Officer Richard Roberts was standing with his fellow patrolman Officer Jeremy Hall on the factory floor of Grunnings Drill Factory. They were discussing the case.

The vic had been found lying on his back on the floor in the best Halloween costume Roberts had ever seen. It was simple, but from what he could tell, the quality was top notch. The medical examiner had taken the body to the morgue and was examining it, trying to determine the exact time and cause of death.

"So, Jerry," he asked his partner, "what do you think? Robbery gone wrong, gang violence, or drugs?"

"Hard to say," Hall answered. "Off the top of my head, I'm guessing robbery. No wallet on the vic, no money. No way someone is decked out for a party like that and has no money at all."

"Might have been going to a private party," Roberts speculated.

"Maybe," Hall responded, "but I've never heard of anyone going anywhere for a party with nothing on them at all. Just seems weird, and in my book, weird is where the answer lies."

"You're probably right," Roberts agreed.

The lead investigator, a steady man named Anthony Thatcher, received a phone call on a Grunnings phone that was on a small desk in the corner of the factory floor. It was an extremely heated conversation, where he was arguing with someone about jurisdiction. He hung up and approached the patrolmen.

"Ok, boys," the Investigator Thatcher said, "we need to exit the building now, seal it, and guard it. This investigation is being turned over to the Royal Air Force."

"The RAF?" asked Roberts. "Really?"

"The vic a serviceman?" asked Hall.

"They told me that's now been classified need to know," said Investigator Thatcher. "Apparently, the M.E. found something interesting, which got this whole investigation turned over to the military. We're handing all evidence over the RAF upon their arrival, per orders."

"What on Earth do you mean, closed?" yelled Vernon Dursley, purple with rage.

"By order of Her Majesty's Royal Air Force," explained Anthony Thatcher, "this factory must remain closed for now. Please direct your employees to exit, taking nothing with them."

"Look," said Vernon, "I have no idea why the Air Force has any interest at all in my drill factory, but we all have jobs to do. We all have families to feed. We cannot do either if this factory is closed!"

"I understand, Mr Dursley," Investigator Thatcher said. "Please understand that I have no choice here. I am as bound by this as you are."

"Christmas is nearly here," Dursley argued, "and you want me to keep my employees away from their jobs? Our Christmas bonuses rely on this month's production!"

"I'm sorry, Mr Dursley," placated Thatcher, " you'll have to direct all complaints or comments to the central office. Please cooperate, so we can get this settled as soon as possible and get you back to work."

After hustling the large and surly manager and his employees out of the building, the police secured all of the exits.

"Say," said Hall, "who left this door open?" He was examining a door that led to the outside directly from the factory floor. It appeared to be used for refuse removal and was ajar.

"You got me," answered Roberts. "Latch it, and we'll leave by the front exit."

"Done," said Hall.

On the other side of the now latched door were some dumpsters and a gravel walkway. The walkway led to a road that led from the public roads to the warehouses. It was intended for use by shipping trucks to deliver parts and pick up finished drills. Two footprints in the loose gravel suddenly were joined by more impressions as something invisible walked away from Grunnings. Once clear of the factory grounds, Remus Lupin removed the invisibility cloak he had been wearing as he eavesdropped on the officer's speculations. He was quite disturbed by what he had heard.

Whatever had killed the man in Grunnings then made a beeline straight for where Harry Potter was going to be placed, waited without being detected by the most powerful wizard of his time, and then took Harry immediately after he was left there. The magic of the duel that had obviously taken place here obliterated any traces of the arrival of either party. The trail had gone cold. He needed to report these findings to the Order. It was time to return to Hogwarts.