Chapter 1
Harry had never seen anything like it. He was seven years old, sitting cross-legged on the floor in the corner of the living room, barely breathing, eyes glued to the glowing television. The Dursleys had gone out—some dinner party or golf club nonsense—and he had managed to sneak into the living room to watch something, anything, before being shoved back into his cupboard.
He hadn’t expected this. Star Wars. He watched all three films back to back. Entranced. He laughed, he cried, he cheered,
From the moment Luke Skywalker stared at the binary sunset with that yearning look in his eye, Harry felt something click. Like a missing piece sliding into place.
Luke was just like him.
An orphan.
Living with cruel relatives.
Feeling like he didn’t belong.
And then… the Force. Obi-Wan Kenobi. Lightsabers. Jedi. Power. Belief. The knowledge that you were meant for something more. That you were connected to something bigger.
Harry’s heart pounded. He didn’t breathe when Obi-Wan said, “The Force is what gives a Jedi his power…”. It made too much sense. The strange things that happened when he was upset. That time his hair grew back overnight. All the little clues.
It was the Force. He wasn’t a freak. He was a Jedi. Just like his father. (…Well, maybe not exactly like Luke’s father, but Harry decided to mentally erase that whole Darth Vader bit. It wasn’t relevant.)
Dudley was eating a chocolate bar when Harry decided to test it. Harry narrowed his eyes and concentrated like he had seen Obi-Wan do. He willed it with everything that he had.
“You don’t need that chocolate bar,” Harry said, trying to keep his voice calm and low. “It’s not the chocolate bar you’ve been looking for. Move along now… move along.”
Dudley blinked, his mouth still half-full of gooey chocolate. And then… something happened. His eyes went a little hazy. He blinked, mumbled something unintelligible, and—without finishing the bar—stumbled off down the hallway to his room, leaving the chocolate behind on the couch.
Harry stared. Then he grinned. He was a Jedi!
He spent that night sitting cross-legged in the cupboard under the stairs, holding a broken torch like a lightsaber, eyes closed, whispering:
“The Force is with me. I am one with the Force.”
And in the dark, something shifted. The air around him felt different. Brighter, maybe. Like the universe had turned toward him for the first time in seven long years and said: You’re not alone.
Age 7
It began with the chocolate bar.
And after that, Harry practiced. Quietly. Carefully. He never used his new Jedi powers where anyone could see. He was no fool. Jedi had to be subtle—especially ones living under the watchful, suspicious eyes of people like the Dursleys.
At dinner, when Uncle Vernon demanded Harry clear the plates, Harry would trail behind them… and sometimes, somehow, there would be an extra sausage on his plate. No one noticed. A small suggestion. A little nudge.
“You gave me this,” he whispered. Petunia blinked, confused, and said, “Well… eat it quickly, boy.”
He began training. Not with a lightsaber—yet—but with his body.
In his cupboard, when the house was asleep, he would kneel on the floor and try to balance with one hand. He watched Star Wars over and over when he could sneak it. Studied Luke’s flips, his jumps. Then Harry when his chores were over would run to the park and try them himself. He fell. A lot. But he got better. He became fast. Agile. His reflexes sharpened, and when Dudley and his gang tried to corner him, Harry would leap over fences or duck under swings before they could catch him. He called it Force Speed. And it felt like flying.
Age 8
He tested more Force tricks. The lock on his cupboard? It didn’t matter anymore. He flicked his fingers in the air—and it opened.
Petunia thought she was going mad the third time it happened. “The bolt must be loose,” Vernon grunted. Harry hid his smile in the shadows.
He used his “mind voice” to influence them in subtle ways. “You’ll let me take this blanket, Aunt Petunia. It’s cold tonight.”
Petunia’s lips thinned, eyes glassy. “Yes… well… don’t get used to it.” But she let him keep it.
By summer, he had a soft mattress (from the attic), two full blankets, and a working torch. He whispered, “This is my Jedi cave. My training chamber.”
When the Dursleys planned a summer holiday, Harry made his move. “You’ll let me stay behind this time,” he told Petunia one day while she made tea.
She blinked. “You’re too strange to take out in public anyway.”
That was the year he had the house to himself first three whole weeks. He built obstacle courses from chairs, broomsticks, and garden furniture. Jumped from couch to couch, pretending the floor was lava or a Sith trap. He meditated every morning, facing the rising sun through the kitchen window. He was becoming a Jedi.
Age 9
The bullies were worse this year. Bigger. Meaner. But Harry had the Force.
He would wave his hand just so—and one of them would trip over their own feet. When that didn’t work, Harry ran. Fast. Too fast. He was blurring past swings and benches, his feet barely touching the ground. He called it Force Flow.
Sometimes he could almost feel things before they happened. He knew when Dudley was about to punch him. When Vernon would open the cupboard door. And once—just once—he swore he moved something with his mind alone. A glass of water on the table, nudged an inch closer without a touch. His breath caught. He was getting stronger.
By the time Harry turned nine and a half, he was all in. It wasn’t a game anymore. It wasn’t even pretend. It was his life. He devoured everything Star Wars.
The local library—usually a dreary place for other children—became his secret Jedi temple. Tucked in the back of the children section were old, forgotten Star Wars reference books from the early 2000s. Lore, schematics, Force theories, biographies of Jedi Masters and ancient Orders.
Harry read them cover to cover. Took notes in a little battered notebook he kept under his mattress. Scribbles filled the pages: “Force Speed = adrenaline + breath control??” “Mind trick only works if subject is distracted!” “Jedi Code vs Sith Code – is emotion always dangerous?”
He copied Yoda’s quote in the front cover in blocky capitals:
“DO OR DO NOT. THERE IS NO TRY.”
Convincing Dudley to beg for the new Star Wars: Jedi Battle game had been easy. Harry planted the idea subtly. “Bet there’s explosions. Big ones. You would probably beat the final boss on the first go, Dudley.”
Hook. Line. Sucker.
A week later, the game arrived. And when the Dursleys were away—Cinema, eating out, dragging Dudley to the shops —Harry would slip into the living room, controller in hand, and test himself.
The game became his trial ground. Lightsaber duels, reflex tests, Force skill simulations. It was also like a list of targets he needed to achieve. Mind control. Acrobatics, force dash.
But other things were hard.
Moving objects with the Force—he was still awful at it. Lifting a pencil? Easier. A book? Only if he was lucky and hadn’t skipped lunch.
A car? He tried once. Stared and stared until his head throbbed. Nothing. He collapsed onto the grass like Luke in the Dagobah swamp, muttering,
“It’s too big… I can’t…”. But then he would shake his head and repeat Yoda’s words under his breath. “Do or do not. There is no try.” He went to bed that night with blood steaming from his nose, but the ruddy car still had not moved.
Mind control was still the easiest—and that’s what worried him.
He could feel people’s emotions sometimes and if he looked into their eyes he could sense their thoughts sometimes. What Petunia was thinking...usually 'freak freak freak just like his father.' Even teachers at school—he could pick up on boredom, annoyance, frustration like faint ripples in the air.
He could nudge them, too. Plant suggestions. “No, I already handed in that permission slip.” And it worked mostly. But the game—and the books—warned him. That was the Dark Side’s path. Control. Manipulation. Fear.
He wrote in his notebook: Only in emergencies. Never for fun (well sometimes for fun). Don’t be like the Emperor. Still… the temptation lingered.
What He Could and Couldn’t Do (Yet)
Can do:
Unlock locks with a flick of his fingers
Sense emotions and sometimes thoughts
Trip people with tiny pushes (especially bullies)
Force Dash (in bursts)
Hide better than anyone at school
Move small things—sometimes
Grow hair... though that seemed a particularly useless skill and not one listed in any starwars book.
Can’t do (yet):
Heal himself (he tried after a bad fall—no luck)
Move big things (like really big)
Use a lightsaber (still no saber—still just a painted broomstick handle)
Jump as high or flip as well as Luke
Not a Jedi yet!
Still, every night, when he curled up in his cupboard with his Jedi notes. Harry knew one thing:
He was getting better. Stronger. More focused. He was training. And someday, he would be ready. Because somewhere out there—he could feel it—there was something coming. And when it did, he wouldn’t be just a boy in a cupboard anymore. He would be a Jedi. Just like his father before him.
Age 10
At ten, Harry Potter knew he wasn’t a Jedi yet. Still jsut a padawan. He would need a Jedi master and a great many years of training. So not yet. But he was a a Jedi in training And he was trying—really trying—to be a good one.
He had discipline now. Routine. Training. Notes in his journal written in block capitals and colour-coded like holocron entries.
Every morning, before the Dursleys awoke, he meditated. Every night, after scarfing down cold leftovers, he wrote. “The Jedi path is not easy. Pain is part of it. Fear is part of it. I must not let it win.”
But then came the Incident.
A teacher had called his aunt in. Said they had concerns that Harry was behaving strangely.
Talking like a monk. Refusing to play games. Pretending to sense danger and saying cryptic things like, “Trust your feelings.” It had upset the other children. They whispered he was mad. Some laughed. Others pointed fingers.
Petunia didn’t laugh. She had gripped his ear in the car park and dragged him to the car like a dog on a leash. He tried—just once—to Force Suggest her. “You’ll forget this. You’ll calm down.” But the pain in his ear from trying was too much, he was too scared. His hands trembled. His voice cracked. He wasn’t strong enough.
She shoved him through the front door, screaming about freaks and lunacy, and then Uncle Vernon was there with his belt.
Harry took it. He could have pushed them. Could have tried to erased their memories, He felt that power buzzing just below the surface under his fear. But he didn’t. Because Jedi didn’t attack out of anger. Because that path… that path was the Dark Side.
So he took the blows. Gritted his teeth. Tears burned as they dragged him to the cupboard, locked the door, and left him in the dark.
He cried that night—not just from the pain but from the injustice. Later, by torchlight, he added a new entry to his journal: “I must go undercover. No one can know. Even the Republic had Jedi spies behind enemy lines. Keep the Force secret. Keep the training quiet. Blend in. Survive.”
But the Dursleys didn’t forget. The punishments got worse. They started locking him outside in the cold. Sometimes without shoes. Sometimes without food. He meditated in the shed behind the house. Shivering. Starving. The Force couldn't warm him. It couldn’t conjure food. Sometimes he cried and sometimes he was so angry.
And for the first time in months, he whispered, “Am I wrong? Am I not a Jedi?”
That night, something happened. .
A hiss... and then, "So Cold, yesss…”
Harry blinked. His breath fogged in the air. He looked down. A thin green snake was coiled in the corner of the shed, its eyes bright and ancient.
He tilted his head. “You can speak?”
It hissed again. “Naturally, You ssspeak like one of usss - two legged one.”
Something clicked. A vibration through his bones. The Force. A new ability unlocked. He could talk to snakes.
He added a shaking line to his journal the next morning: “New Force ability – Telepathy with animals? Snake-kind. Voice in mind? Not sure.”
“A sign? Or a gift?” He didn’t know yet. But he felt it wasn’t dark. It wasn’t like controlling people. It was connection. And Jedi understood connection.
"The force it binds us." He whispered as he picked up the snake and cradled it in his hands.