The Jedi High Council Room in Tython buzzed with anticipation as the nine members of the council settled into their respective seats. The room was adorned with ancient tapestries depicting the history of the Jedi Order, their vibrant colours illuminated by the soft glow of floating hololamps.
Satele Shan, a white-skinned human female with short black hair and piercing green eyes, took her place to the left of the central seat. Her Jedi robes draped elegantly around her as she exuded an aura of wisdom and grace. Her presence commanded respect among her peers.
At the center of the council sat Grand Master Zym, a tall Kel-Dor whose wrinkled skin hinted at his age and experience. He wore a mask that covered his nose and mouth, filtering the air he breathed, while goggles protected his sensitive eye fluids from evaporating in Tython's arid climate. Zym's presence exuded a serene authority, and his deep, contemplative eyes seemed to hold the wisdom of countless years.
To the right of the central seat was Bela Kiwiiks, a vibrant orange skinned Togruta. Her montrals, adorned with intricate patterns, blended seamlessly with her head-tails, giving her a unique and regal appearance. Bela's coloration allowed her to blend effortlessly with her surroundings, a natural camouflage that enhanced her skills as a Jedi.
Next to Bela sat Orgus Din, a tan-skinned human with greying hair and warm brown eyes. His calm and reassuring presence made him a trusted advisor among the council members. Orgus had faced many trials during his time as a Jedi Knight, and his experiences had honed his wisdom and understanding of the Force.
Beside Orgus was Nikil Nobil, a Thisspiasian with an abundance of facial hair and a long tail that gracefully coiled around his seat. His four powerful arms, each tipped with sharp claws, displayed his physical prowess. Nikil's imposing stature was complemented by his gentle demeanour, a testament to his mastery of the Jedi teachings.
Nikil's gaze drifted over to Silandra Camoran, a striking figure whose bronze skin seemed to glow in the dim light of the council room. Her long black hair was intricately braided, cascading down her back like a waterfall. Silandra's forest green eyes, filled with determination and passion, hinted at the fire that burned within her.
Bela turned her attention to Giffis Fane, a towering black man whose muscular physique exuded strength and power. His greying hair crowned his head, framing a short beard of the same colour. Giffis's piercing blue eyes sparkled with intelligence, a reflection of his sharp mind and strategic thinking.
Giffis nodded towards Jaric Kadan, an unassuming figure with a bald pate and slate grey eyes that held a keen wit. Despite his unassuming appearance, Jaric possessed a deep understanding of the Force and a sharp intuition that often led him to unexplored paths of wisdom.
And finally, Jaric gestured towards Tol Braga, whose elongated snout and large red eyes displayed his Kel-Dor heritage. Tol's serene expression conveyed a sense of tranquillity, and his deep understanding of the Force made him a valued member of the council.
Satele Shan turned to Grand Master Zym, a questioning expression on her face. The council room fell into a hushed silence as all eyes turned to the central figure.
"I have a feeling I may take on a Padawan soon," Satele said, her voice carrying a mix of excitement and responsibility.
Zym, deep in thought, remained silent for a moment before responding. "Are you sure, Satele?" he asked, his words carefully chosen.
Satele nodded firmly. "Yes, I keep having visions of a human boy with bright green eyes, black messy hair, and a lightning bolt scar on his forehead," she replied, her voice tinged with the weight of premonition.
Silandra Camoran interjected, her eyes glowing with an inner fire. "I too have been having a similar vision of a girl with a lightning-shaped scar on her hand, fiery red hair that's quite unkempt, and brown eyes that seem to sparkle in the light," she said, her voice resonating with conviction.
Orgus Din smiled at the two Force users, his voice filled with wisdom. "It would seem the Force is moving in mysterious ways yet again," he murmured thoughtfully. The council members exchanged knowing glances; their hearts open to the will of the Force.
Giffis Fane nodded gravely, his voice filled with a sense of urgency. "I too have been having visions of an unfamiliar blue and green planet recently," he trailed off, his eyes scanning the room as if searching for answers in the air.
Jaric Kadan and Tol Braga exchanged glances, their connection as Jedi Masters silently acknowledging the gravity of the situation. Satele glanced around the silent room expectantly, awaiting any further input from her fellow members of the Jedi High Council.
Just then, two ghostly figures materialized in the center of the room, their ethereal forms emanating a gentle luminescence. The council members watched in awe as the room's atmosphere shifted, the presence of the Force intensifying.
Bela's eyes widened, and her jaw dropped at the sight before her. "Hello, Force Ghosts," she whispered in a hushed tone, a mix of reverence and curiosity in her voice.
The elderly man with an austere face stepped forward and spoke with a voice that carried the weight of wisdom and experience. "I am Fleamont Potter," he announced solemnly. "As you may realize, I recently passed away alongside my wife while we were on our way to visit our grandchildren, who were born not too long ago. I am here to entrust you with a mission of great importance—to collect them and bring them to the safety of the Jedi Temple."
An air of gravity settled over the council room as the Jedi masters absorbed the significance of the task before them. Nikil, ever practical, interjected, his voice laced with determination. "We will go to collect the children and conduct a test to determine if they are indeed Force-sensitive. If they are, I will personally escort them to Coruscant. If not, I will find a suitable place for them on a human-populated planet and ensure they are placed under the custody of someone I trust. But first, I need the precise coordinates of their location."
The young woman, her presence ethereal and graceful, stepped forward. "I am Euphemia Potter, née Black," she spoke, her voice carrying a mixture of strength and sadness. "The coordinates are written on the sheet of paper I have placed on your desk. According to the Force, James and Lily, the parents of the children, will meet their demise at the hand of a Dark Lord in exactly 92 days—on October 31st, 1980."
In Bela's trembling hands, a stack of papers appeared as if by magic. She held them up to the light of the room's dim lamps, her eyes scanning the contents. Among the papers were the precise coordinates, custody forms, and a sheet of parchment containing an ancient prophecy.
Bela's voice quivered with emotion as she read aloud the words inscribed on the parchment. "Is this the prophecy?" she asked Fleamont, her voice filled with a mix of awe and trepidation. "'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark them as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies'?"
Fleamont's expression grew grave as he affirmed her question. "Yes," he replied, his voice carrying the weight of an ancient prophecy.
Silence enveloped the council room, broken only by the faint humming of the hololamps. The Jedi masters exchanged solemn glances, their hearts heavy with the realization of the task that lay ahead.
Silandra, Satele, and Giffis, the three Jedi who had received the visions, shared a mutual understanding. It was their duty to embark on this mission, to safeguard the lives of these children who held the power to shape the course of the galaxy. Their voices, filled with determination, echoed in unison.
"We will collect the children and fulfill our duty," they declared, their resolve shining brightly in their eyes.
Grand Master Zym nodded, a mixture of pride and concern etched on his aged features. "Remember, you are venturing into unknown regions of space, facing challenges unforeseen. Trust in the Force, and may it guide your path. May the Force be with you," he said, his words carrying the weight of a thousand journeys undertaken and a thousand destinies entwined.
It is the night of the full moon, and outside the small house, a small tabby cat watches attentively. It has been observing the house since morning, while inside, the Dursleys are fast asleep.
The cat's eyes narrow and its tail twitches as it notices a man appearing out of nowhere, in a sudden and silent manner. This man is unlike any seen before on Privet Drive. Tall, thin, and very old, with long silver hair and a beard tucked into his belt, he wears flowing robes and a purple cloak. His half-moon spectacles reveal bright, sparkling blue eyes, and his crooked nose adds character to his face. This man is Albus Dumbledore.
Albus searches through his robes as if looking for something, and he realizes he is being watched. He gazes at the cat for a moment and mutters, "I should have known."
Eventually, he finds what he was searching for in his pocket—a large lighter-like object. Clicking it once, he extinguishes a streetlight, and he continues clicking until all the lights on the street go out. Only the light of the full moon remains, now blood red and larger than normal. Putting the object away, he remarks, "Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."
When he turns to smile at the tabby cat, it has transformed into a woman wearing square glasses, with markings around her eyes similar to those on the cat. He smiles back at her. She wears a cloak of emerald colour, and her black hair is tightly twisted into a bun. A worried expression crosses her face.
"How did you know it was me?" she asks.
"My dear Professor, I have never seen a cat sit so stiffly," Dumbledore replies.
"You'd be stiff too if you had been sitting on a brick wall all day," says Professor McGonagall.
"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here," Professor McGonagall says with an angry glare and a sniff of annoyance. "Celebrating, alright. I'd rather uphold the statute of secrecy. Even the muggles have noticed something."
"You can't blame them," Dumbledore gently responds. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."
"I know that," Professor McGonagall snaps irritably. "But that's no reason for us to lose our heads. People are being outright careless, walking around in broad daylight without even dressing in Muggle clothes or exchanging rumours."
She looks sideways at Dumbledore, hoping he would say something, but he remains silent. Professor McGonagall continues, her voice filled with concern. "A fine thing it would be if the Muggles discovered about us on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have vanished. So, he's really gone now, Dumbledore?"
"It certainly seems so," Dumbledore confirms. "We have much to be thankful for."
"As I said, even if You-Know-Who has passed away," Professor McGonagall starts, but Dumbledore interrupts her gently. "My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name. All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense—I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort, for eleven years."
Professor McGonagall flinches, but Dumbledore, unbothered, produces two lemon drops and doesn't seem to notice her discomfort. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be intimidated by the name Voldemort."
"I know you haven't," Professor McGonagall replies, sounding both exasperated and admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one Voldemort was scared of."
"You flatter me," Dumbledore responds calmly. "Voldemort had powers I would never dream of."
"Only because you're too noble to use them."
"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."
"They say Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow last night. He set out to find the Potters. Rumour has it that Lily and James Potter are dead."
Dumbledore bows his head, and tears stream down Professor McGonagall's face. "Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..."
Dumbledore reaches out and pats her shoulder, saying heavily, "I know... I know..."
Professor McGonagall's voice trembles as she continues, "Besides that, they say he tried to kill Harry and Iris Potter, the Potter's children. But he couldn't. The little twins couldn't be killed. Despite not knowing why or how they're saying that Voldemort's power somehow broke when he couldn't kill Iris or Harry Potter—and that's why he's gone." Dumbledore nods solemnly, and Professor McGonagall asks, faltering, "Is this true?"
"In light of all the things he's done... all the people he's killed... he couldn't kill a little boy or girl? It's just astounding... of all the things that could stop him. But how in the name of heaven did they survive?"
"We can only guess," Dumbledore says. "We may never know."
Professor McGonagall dabs her eyes with a lace handkerchief, and Dumbledore takes out a peculiar golden watch from his pocket. The watch has miniature planets moving around its edge, with twelve hands but no numbers. Dumbledore seems to understand its peculiarities and puts it back in his pocket, saying, "Hagrid's late. By the way, did he tell you I would be here?"
"Yes," Professor McGonagall replies. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"
"I've come to bring the Potter twins to their aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now."
"It can't be the people who live here, can it?" Professor McGonagall exclaims, pointing at number four. "Dumbledore, you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they have this son—I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. The Potter twins, coming to live here!"
"They will thrive here," Dumbledore asserts firmly. "When they are older, their aunt and uncle can explain everything to them. I wrote them a letter."
"A letter?" Professor McGonagall asks faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Dumbledore, do you really think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand them! I have no doubt that they'll be famous—one day, it may even be referred to as Potter Day. Books will be written about them—every child in the world will know their names."
"Exactly," Dumbledore says, looking serious behind his half-moon glasses. "Any child would be overwhelmed by it. Famous before they can even walk or talk! They will be famous for something they won't even remember! What a better life they will have, growing up away from all that until they're ready to handle it."
Professor McGonagall opens her mouth, then changes her mind, swallows, and finally says, "Yes, you are right, of course. How is she getting here?" She glances at Dumbledore's cloak as though he might be hiding a baby underneath it.
"Hagrid's bringing them."
"You think it wise to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"
"I would trust Hagrid with my life," Dumbledore says. "I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," Professor McGonagall grudgingly admits, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He tends to—what was that?"
Their conversation is interrupted by a low rumbling sound. A massive motorcycle descends from the sky and lands on the road in front of them. Both Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall look up and down the street, searching for a headlight. The rumbling sound intensifies into a roar as they watch in awe.
While the motorcycle is large, the man riding it surpasses it in size. He is at least five times taller and twice as wide as a normal man. His wild, bushy black hair and beard obscure most of his face, and his hands are as large as trash can lids. His leather boots resemble baby dolphins on his feet. In his muscular arms, he cradles a bundle of blankets.
"Greetings, Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall," the towering man says, addressing the two professors. "No problems, I trust?"
"No, sir. The little tykes fell asleep just as we were flying over Bristol. Heh. Try not to wake her. There you go," Hagrid responds, handing the babies to Dumbledore.
Dumbledore takes the baby wrapped in a pale pink blanket, a boy with a lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead emitting a pitch-black glow. The girl, wrapped in a blanket of a different colour, has a scar that extends from her knuckles to her wrist. Walking over to the doorstep, he places the babies there. Behind him, Hagrid can be heard sniffling, as if crying.
"There, there, Hagrid. It's not really goodbye, after all," Dumbledore says, turning to comfort Hagrid.
Nodding, Hagrid hands Dumbledore a letter before saying, "Good luck... Harry and Iris Potter."
Dumbledore, Hagrid, and McGonagall remain there for a few minutes before McGonagall apparates away. Hagrid leaves on the motorcycle he arrived with, and finally, Dumbledore departs via portkey after returning the streetlights to their normal state.
"Master Dinn, Master Shan, I see the children," said Silandra Camoran with a gentle smile, her eyes filled with compassion. The Jedi Masters had arrived at the doorstep of the Dursley residence, where two abandoned babies, Harry and Iris, awaited their uncertain fate.
"Who in their right mind leaves babies on a cold night on the front doorstep of a house?" exclaimed Satele Shan, her voice reflecting a mix of concern and disbelief. The situation stirred her empathetic nature, driving her to take action.
Moved by the sight, Orgus Dinn carefully picked up the infant boy, Harry, cradling him in his arms. Silandra followed suit, delicately scooping up the baby girl, Iris, her heart aching for their well-being. Meanwhile, Satele, clutching important documents in her hands, approached the front door and firmly knocked, patiently waiting for someone to answer.
After a brief moment, Petunia Dursley nee Evans opened the door, revealing a stern expression that softened slightly upon seeing the Jedi before her.
"Hello, are you Mrs. Dursley?" inquired Satele Shan, her voice filled with empathy.
"Yes, I am," replied Petunia Dursley, her tone cautious yet curious.
Satele continued, "Hello, Madam. I am Satele Shan, and these are my colleagues Orgus Dinn and Silandra Camoran. We have come here to ask if you have a sister by the name of Lily Potter."
Startled by the question, Petunia hesitated for a moment before finally responding, "I do."
Satele's gaze turned solemn as she delivered the news. "I am sorry to inform you that your sister and her husband were murdered earlier today. However, their children survived. We wanted to know if you would be willing to take them in or if you would prefer to sign your rights away, denying them."
Petunia Dursley's expression hardened, revealing a deep-seated resentment. "I will sign. I don't want any of her freakishness infecting my Dudley. Good riddance to that no-good whore. She's dead, and I don't need any abnormal freaks that deserved to be burned at the stake in my house."
Silandra Camoran, her eyes filled with empathy, stepped forward. "Well, all you need to do is sign these papers, and the children will no longer be placed in your care."
Accepting the papers, Petunia quickly signed them, her disdain evident in her haste. She handed them back to Satele, one of the Jedi, and promptly closed the door.
Once outside, the three Jedi masters hurriedly made their way to their ship. Silandra, utilizing her magical abilities, conjured up finalized adoption paperwork for both the muggle and magical governments. Orgus, focused on ensuring the children's well-being, took blood samples from Iris and Harry, placing them into a scanner for analysis.
"They are Force twins," announced Orgus with a mix of awe and understanding.
Curiosity shining in her eyes, Silandra turned to Orgus, seeking an explanation. "Master Dinn, what exactly are Force twins?"
"Master Camoran, Force Twins are twins created by the Force itself. They typically possess a Midi-chlorian count greater than 30,000 and act as balancers in a way. Force Twins often tap into both the light and dark sides of the Force, seeking to bring balance to the Galaxy. These are the first Force twins we have encountered in nearly a thousand years. Typically, there is a 100-point difference in their Midi-chlorian counts," explained Satele.
Orgus, having completed his analysis, shared the children's remarkable attributes. "Iris Lily Potter, age three months, has a Midi-Chlorian count of 41,000, while Harry James Potter, also age three months, has a Midi-Chlorian count of 41,100. Furthermore, they both possess substantial magic cores."
Determined to ensure the children receive the best possible training and guidance, Satele spoke with conviction. "We will take them to the Jedi Temple on Tython. When they turn eleven, we will bring them back here to learn the magic of this planet while they continue their Jedi training."
Silandra nodded, fully supportive of the plan. "That sounds like a solid plan. I will set up a course for Tython now. It should take us approximately two weeks to reach our destination."