Harry realized that his momentum had almost completely dissipated and he noticed that he was no longer above the buildings, but rather he was within one of the houses, floating down towards a bed. As Harry found himself nearing the bed, Harry watched as the pile of sheets moved slightly revealing that the bed was already occupied. Before Harry could fully process this revelation, he witnessed his 'foot' make contact with the body in the bed.
In an instant, Harry was struck by a peculiar sensation, as if he had been standing too close to a lightning strike. As this sensation gradually lessened, Harry felt his mind start to fill with new knowledge … knowledge he knew for a fact he had not learned previously. All of a sudden Harry possessed an understanding of robotics, a comprehension of alien languages, familiarity with tools like a hydrospanner, … he knew what …
A profound sense of disorientation washed over Harry as he was roused from his current state when a voice called from another room, a voice that part of him knew he had never heard before and yet another part of him this was the most comforting voice in the world, it was the voice of … his mother.
"Ani, come down for breakfast. This is your last chance if you want to eat something before you head off to the shop …"
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Startled, Harry jolted upright, his gaze darting around the unfamiliar room. He realized that he was now in the very bed that, just moments ago, he had been hovering above. The sheer abruptness of the transition left him momentarily disoriented.
His eyes scanned the room, in search of the source of the voice that had called out moments ago. Harry's thoughts swirled as he grappled with the peculiar sensation that had enveloped him. One part of him, the essence that was unmistakably Harry, had never encountered the voice from the other room before. But another aspect of his consciousness, one that eluded his understanding, seemed to house memories that were certainly different from his own experiences. These recollections included fragments of growing up on an alien planet, forming friendships at a young age, and other perplexing fragments of a life he could not recall living.
A sense of unease settled over Harry as he sat there, frozen in thought, struggling to integrate both parts of himself together. His attention became riveted on the metallic bronze-colored door leading out of the current room, contemplating what he would find on the other side.
As he starred at the door, an additional rush of memories overwhelmed Harry, vivid recollections of growing up with a mother who was not Lily Potter. Tears welled up in his eyes as his head filled with these emotional and profoundly alien memories. Harry's heart ached with longing; he was able to understand that the woman in the other room was not the mother he had dreamed of meeting his entire life, but nevertheless, these new memories were undeniable, each one evidence to maternal love and care he had never previously experienced.
Harry recalled, with striking clarity, the first time he had sustained a significant injury while tumbling down a dune just beyond the borders of the settlement. He could vividly remember the woman rushing to his side, scooping him up in her arms, and tending to him with unwavering devotion until he had fully recovered. He remembered bouts of illness, including something known as the Rodian Flu, and the tender memories of her staying up through the night to ensure his recovery. He recalled times when their resources were scarce, and he 'remembered' her sacrificing her own portion of food to guarantee that he had enough to eat. Hundreds of such moments filled his thoughts, evoking a emotions that Harry was having trouble dealing with.
In the midst of processing these new memories, Harry found himself caught between a profound sense of loss – for never having had the opportunity to create such memories with Lily Potter – and a sense of joy at finally experiencing the warmth and care of a mother figure.
In an effort to regain control of his emotions and prepare for the day ahead, Harry paused, taking a moment to survey "his" room.
As Harry's eyes swept over various items in the room, his attention pausing on certain objects as fleeting memories surged through his mind, providing valuable context to his new existence. A fond smile graced his lips as he observed the workbench, strewn with partially constructed projects, each one a testament to his creativity and ingenuity. Plans and schematics for the complex machinery that lay in various stages of assembly flooded his thoughts as he gave the workbench a cursory examination.
Off to the side of the workbench, his gaze fell upon a protocol droid, a creation, currently in progress, that had been undertaken to assist 'his' mother, an attempt to repay her for the countless sacrifices she had made to afford him a chance in this life.
Harry took a step closer to the protocol droid, marveling at the existence of such technology. His previous knowledge of robots had been limited to a few films he had seen back in London when he had been reluctantly dragged to a theater for Dudley's birthday. Yet, now the sight of the droid triggered memories of advanced mechanical engineering and robotics.
However, his sense of awe at the new things surrounding him was temporarily eclipsed when his eyes fixated on an object that stirred previous memories. It was a Mokeskin pouch, an item from his life as Harry Potter, rather than this new existence. Harry's eyes lit up as he realized that it was indeed the very same Mokeskin pouch that Hagrid had gifted him as a birthday gift.
Unable to contain his excitement, Harry picked up the pouch, his fingers brushing its smooth surface. But, his curiosity was quickly diverted to a piece of aged parchment lying beneath the pouch. The parchment was adorned with writing in a shimmering silver ink, and with a sense of anticipation, Harry hesitantly set aside the pouch and began to read the letter.
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Harry Potter,
I wish you luck on the journey you are about to embark on. There will certainly be joy and wonder. Love and friendship. However, there will also be terrible loss and heartache. I hope you are strong enough to bear what will happen and indeed I hope that you will be able to save the galaxy from what is in store for it.
Inside this pouch are several items that I believe will help you on your way. While you can certainly tell others about the items, I would caution you to not tell anyone of the contents of the bag until you are fully confident of who they are.
Additionally, while I hope you find your own way forward, I will just suggest that while there are a great many mysteries in the galaxy you find yourself in. I caution you that to date there exists nothing like the magic you have grown up learning … so while it certainly might make aspects of your life easier, magic will definitely bring attention that you might not be prepared to deal with just yet. But worry not there are … other mysteries out there in store for you that you will uncover soon.
As stated previously there will be no more interference or help from me, so you are on your own.
May these gifts and your memories be helpful in your quest young Harry and May the Force be with you!
Fate
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Harry scrutinized the letter, his gaze shifting repeatedly over its contents, particularly fixating on the last line. He couldn't help but wonder if there was a hidden meaning lurking within Fate's words. "May the Force be with him?" Harry mused, a sense of puzzlement knitting his brows. What was this 'Force' being alluded to? Why would he wish for this 'Force' to be on his side?
After a moment's contemplation, Harry found himself at an impasse and decided that understanding would likely come in due time. With a casual shrug of his shoulders, he dismissed the immediate mystery and turned his attention to the Mokeskin pouch, eager to discover what items Fate had chosen to bestow upon him.
Reaching into the pouch, Harry began to rummage through its contents, his fingers brushing against several books that he started to pull out … only to be arrested when his hand brushed the texture of a familiar object.
As his hand released the books, allowing them to settle back into the pouch, Harry's fingers closed around an object of extraordinary familiarity and profound significance. Drawing it forth, he unveiled the item that had captured his attention – the Elder Wand. Harry gazed upon the wand, feeling the comforting warmth radiating from it as the wand's energy seemed to infuse with him.
With the wand in his possession, Harry considered the idea of performing a spell, eager to reconnect with the magic he knew so well. However, caution prevailed, as he recollected the words of warning contained in Fate's letter … there are a great many mysteries in the galaxy you find yourself in. I caution you that to date there exists nothing like the magic you have grown up learning … it will definitely bring attention that you might not be prepared to deal with just yet.
Harry could see the wisdom in the words of caution, recognizing that, until he had a firmer grasp of his peculiar circumstances, it would be wise to refrain from practicing magic, or at the very least, wait until he was certain of privacy to reacquaint himself with the wand. With a hint of reluctance, he returned the Elder Wand to the pouch, relinquishing his immediate connection to the familiar world of spells and incantations. He continued his exploration, curiosity guiding his search for other treasures concealed within the pouch.
The next item he stumbled upon elicited a warm smile, evoking memories of his father and the adventures that the object had facilitated. Retrieving the Invisibility Cloak, he unfurled it and draped it over his shoulders. The smile on Harry's face widened, gradually enveloping his entire face as he observed his now concealed form. Memories of sneaking out after curfew with friends and the exhilaration of those adventures flooded back, filling him with a sense of nostalgia. After a moment of reverie, he neatly folded the cloak and returned it to the pouch, his excitement and gratitude still lingering.
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As his exploration of the pouch continued, Harry's hand came into contact with a series of objects so familiar that they didn't require extraction to identify. The handle of a broomstick – his Firebolt! he realized with a thrill of recognition. A golden snitch, the unmistakable shape of the Resurrection Stone nestled within the Gaunt Ring, and an array of other treasured items that had played pivotal roles in his past adventures. Each discovery rekindled a flood of memories and associations, further underscoring the extraordinary nature of the gift he had received from Fate.
As Harry continued his exploration of the pouch, he came across an item that was entirely unfamiliar to him. His fingers brushed against a heavy leather cover, realizing the object was bound with a piece of twine. Intrigued, he decided to withdraw it from the pouch to inspect it more closely. As the item emerged from the depths of the pouch, Harry realized it was a small folder. Curiosity piqued, he carefully undid the bow and began to open the folder.
The moment he peered inside, Harry was almost overcome with emotion. The first folder contained photos, the first of which was a picture of Ron, Hermione, and himself, all captured in a moment of pure joy, smiling and waving. He raised the picture slowly, his eyes welling with tears as he gazed at his best friends, knowing he might never see them again, yet taking solace in the knowledge that they would continue to live, and that they would be okay.
With a mixture of reluctance and longing, Harry set the photo down and moved on to the next one. If the previous picture had nearly brought tears to his eyes, this one succeeded in making him drop to his knees. Before him lay an image of his parents, along with a young Sirius and Remus, all of them wearing bright smiles and engaged in joyful laughter. The photograph depicted an infant Harry soaring around the room near the ceiling on a miniature broomstick. The emotional weight of the picture was almost overwhelming, leaving Harry to grapple with a sense of longing, grief, and profound love for the family he had lost but could now cherish through these captured moments.
Gazing at the photograph, Harry's heart ached with the realization that all four of the individuals in the image had given their lives to ensure his survival. He understood that, while he hadn't been able to fulfill their hopes, he himself had also made the ultimate sacrifice so that those he loved could go on living. The weight of this knowledge weighed on him, but he also harbored a fervent hope that, despite the unexpected turns of fate, they would be proud of the choices he had made.
With tenderness, Harry rested his fingers on the photo just above his parents, his smile filled with a silent promise. He vowed to make the most of this new life, leaving a legacy that would honor their memory and hopefully bring them a sense of pride.
Slowly flipping through the rest of the photos, he was greeted by the familiar faces of Neville and Luna, Ginny and the Twins, Professor McGonagall, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and many more beloved figures from his past. Each image stirred cherished memories and instilled a profound sense of pride. His friends … his family … had persevered, making the most of his sacrifice and emerging victorious.
Eventually, Harry decided that he had experienced enough of the emotional roller coaster ride. He carefully returned all the photos to the folder and tied it closed, making a silent promise to revisit these precious memories when he needed a reminder of home, a source of strength, or guidance for the mission that lay ahead.
For even though this was not his galaxy, Harry was acutely aware that it teemed with countless individuals, each of them deserving the chance to live a life free from tyranny, just as he had hoped for his loved ones in his own world.
As he carefully placed the folder back into the pouch, Harry's hand once again brushed against the stack of books. This time, he decided to withdraw them and examine the subjects they covered. However, his curiosity was abruptly interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps outside his room.
In a swift motion, he set the pouch on his workbench and took a step back, pivoting to face the door. With a soft, nervous breath, he watched the door slide open, revealing the source of the approaching sound.
"Ani ... for the last time, you need to eat a little bit before you head off to the shop," a voice gently chided. "You know Watto does not always ..."
The rest of her sentence was abruptly cut off by a little boy who, quite enthusiastically, darted across the room and flung himself into her arms, embracing her tightly in a bear hug.
Startled but clearly pleased, the woman paused and gazed down at the boy, her smile growing as she returned his affectionate hug. "Well, good morning to you as well, my little Ani. This is certainly a nice treat. You don't always greet me this way."
Harry took a step back, his heart full of emotion. Although he knew deep down that this woman was not his own mother, he felt a profound affection welling up within him — the same affection that the boy, Ani, had for her. When coupled with the lingering grief over the loss of his own mother, Harry was overwhelmed by his emotions. He found himself unable to resist the impulse that had driven him across the room to embrace the woman who, in this moment, felt like his mother.
As Harry held the woman in his embrace, he reflected on the complex mixture of emotions swirling within him. Deep inside, he sensed something more than mere memories from another life. It struck him that perhaps, instead of entirely replacing the boy Ani, Fate had somehow fused their existence.
Recognizing that this was a matter he would need to ponder more deeply at a later time, Harry refocused on the woman standing before him, a deep sense of affection enveloping him. He knew that he wouldn't be able to think of her in any other way, at least for now. He also recalled that she had come into the room for a specific reason.
"Sorry … Mom …," he began, his voice filled with sincerity. "I'm awake now and ready to come out. I was just looking at some things." He waved his hand absentmindedly toward the workbench behind him.
She looked down at him with an empathetic, gentle smile, recognizing this excuse as a familiar refrain from him. "I imagined as much, Ani," she responded warmly, her tone filled with maternal affection. "Remember, there's nothing wrong with indulging in what you enjoy, even for us. But there are always responsibilities that we must attend to. For example, you should have something to eat before you begin your day." Her laughter, light and affectionate, accompanied her warm smile. After delivering this gentle reminder, she turned and made her way out of the room, presumably to start preparing her own breakfast, leaving him to join her at his own pace.
Understanding that he had little choice at the moment, Harry shrugged his shoulders and decided to follow her, carefully exiting the room through the mechanical sliding door.
As he entered the kitchen, Harry found his mother busy at work, serving a thick, paste-like substance into bowls. The concoction resembled porridge in appearance, yet it possessed the rather unappetizing consistency … and smell … of sludge.
"Umm ... Mom ..." Harry began tentatively.
She looked up from her own bowl, her eyes filled with concern. "Yes, Ani?"
He hesitated and then shook his head, deciding not to voice his concern. Instead, he reluctantly joined her at the table, his gaze locked onto the bowl of what he presumed qualified for food in this unfamiliar world.
With a distinct lack of enthusiasm, he scooped up a spoonful of the mush before him. He raised the spoon to his mouth cautiously, inspecting the unappetizing substance with great scrutiny, half hoping that something might intervene to spare him from the task. Alas, there was no such reprieve, and he eventually placed the spoonful into his mouth, pausing momentarily and rejoicing as he detected the absence of any discernible taste.
After he had finished chewing the unappetizing concoction, Harry let out a sigh of relief. The food, or whatever it was, was thankfully devoid of taste, utterly flavorless. It appeared to be nothing more than a cheap, industrial-grade nutritional filler. As he reflected on Ani's past memories, Harry decided he would gladly take this tasteless gruel over some of the bizarre food-like substances that were to be encountered in this world. From his recollections, there were several culinary oddities here that he had no desire to sample.
With the first bite out of the way, Harry focused on the task at hand and hurriedly devoured his meal, hoping to preempt any conversation with his mother. Despite his best efforts, his actions were in vain. As he neared the end of his bowl, he looked up to find his mother smiling at him.
"Well, look at you go. I think I now know what a rancor on a diet looks like after a meal," she said with a chuckle.
Harry paused and set his empty bowl down in front of him. "Sorry, Mom," he began earnestly. "I was hungry and wanted to get the day started. I didn't want to be late."
"We still have a little bit of time before we need to head out," his mother said, her tone warm and reassuring. "I'll be accompanying you to the shop today. Watto wants me to clean around the shop instead of his dwelling. It seems his slave in the shop is incredibly capable but not very keen on keeping things tidy," she added with a smile.
As he processed her words, a sudden unpleasant jolt ran through Harry. His mind raced, grappling with this newfound information. His thoughts spun in disbelief. 'A slave... he worked for someone who owned a slave.' He was about to respond, but the implications of his mother's words washed over him, and his expression shifted to one of shock. 'He was a slave? They were slaves?'
In this moment of realization, Harry dropped his spoon in astonishment, the utensil clattering against the bowl before falling to the floor. He feigned the act of picking up the spoon to conceal the turmoil of emotions surging within him. His mind was a whirlwind as he grappled with the memories that had suddenly been unlocked.
He was indeed a slave, laboring for a bizarre, winged alien named Watto in a salvage shop filled with mechanical parts and debris. As the realization settled in, Harry's stomach churned with discomfort. He couldn't help but wonder if Fate had a specific mission for him on this planet, perhaps involving the abolition of slavery. But as he contemplated the idea, he began to doubt its simplicity. While he found slavery abhorrent and he really couldn't wrap his head around the notion of being someone's property. He suspected that there was something even more sinister or complex at play, prompting Fate to intervene and bring him to this galaxy. This chilling thought sent shivers down his spine, and he couldn't dismiss the nagging feeling that his presence here was about more than just ending slavery.
Harry sat back down, his appetite gone, and sought solace in the memory of Watto, who, despite his demanding nature, had never subjected him to the kind of physical or psychological torment he had endured with the Dursleys. He found a glimmer of hope in this fact, grateful for his mother's presence in this alien world, a stark contrast to his lonely and tormented existence back in Surrey.
As he contemplated his situation, Harry's resolve solidified. He was determined to spend his days gathering information and devising a plan, with the ultimate goal of escaping this planet as soon as possible. Though he still didn't fully grasp why Fate had brought him here, he was certain that he couldn't resign himself to a life as a slave. With … a new hope … and a sense of optimism, he looked up at his mother and said, "That sounds great. I'm ready to go whenever you are!"
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Kind Regards,
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A large thanks to those of you out there who enjoy my stories, I promise to keep updating the stories as long as you all are enjoying them, and a special thanks to those of you who have taken the time to leave feedback or have reached out to me directly giving support.