The Quest
It didn’t stop. By now, the Dursleys barely pretended to be subtle. Harry could tell the difference between a “punishment” and a message—and the message was loud and verbalised:
“Freak.”
He had a black eye from the last encounter. He had brushed it off as a bike accident to a concerned neighbour. Belt marks curved along his ribs like a slash from a vibroblade. And numerous bruises scattered his arms and legs causing his class mates to go quiet when he changed for PE. Their eyes wide as Harry had explained a mugging gone bad.
But still things slowly grew worse, tonight had been typical. Petunia shoving him in the shed again despite the frost on the ground . His little green friend was there waiting for him, he had nicknamed him Yoda. His own quiet guardian in scales, his only friend really. Harry lay curled on a pile of old rags, his notebook tucked beneath him like a datapad of secrets. His limbs ached. Breathing hurt.
The snake slithered closer, tongue flickering. “They beat you again,” it hissed. “Why do you sssstay? Thisss isss not your nest. Not your kind.”
Harry blinked. “Where would I go?”
“Anywhere. A new nest. A better one. Find your blood… your sssire.”
That made him pause. His father. He had always assumed his parents were dead—because the Dursleys said they were. But what if… what if they lied? What if his father was out there, like Anakin...Vader had been, waiting to be saved by Luke?
His breath hitched. The idea lodged in his chest burning bright. Why not leave? Why stay here, when he could be on a quest?
Like Luke, leaving Tatooine.
Like Ezra, following whispers.
Like a real Jedi seeking his destiny.
The next day, he stood in the hallway, heart pounding. The house was still, only the clock ticking and the hum of the refrigerator breaking the silence. Petunia stood in the doorway of the kitchen, surprised to see him. “What the—”
But he raised his hand. Calm. Controlled. He focused. Felt the ripple of her thoughts. The shallow current of her mind. “You don’t need to worry,” he said softly. “I’m leaving.”
Her expression went hazy.
“I’m going to look for my father.”
Vernon stepped into view, mouth opening to shout—
Harry turned to him and raised both hands.
“You don’t need to stop me. You won’t even remember I was here.”
A pause. Then: They blinked. Looked around. Petunia murmured, “Did you hear something? Vernon grunted. “Must’ve been the wind.”
Harry slipped out the front door without a sound.
The snake curled inside his jacket pocket, flicking its tongue excitedly. “Yesss… yesss. A journey. You leave the bad nest now.”
Harry pulled the hood of Dudley’s old coat over his face and stepped into the night. He didn’t have much, some money he had stolen from Vernons wallet, his notepad, a rucksack packed with what he had scavenged. And the force. It was time to meet his destiny.
O|O
Getting to London had been surprisingly easy. He had just walked into the train station, head down, hood up, small and invisible in Dudley’s old coat. When the conductor came around asking for tickets, Harry barely hesitated. He waved a hand, steady and calm.
“You’ve seen my ticket. Move along.” The man blinked, muttered something under his breath, and shuffled off down the carriage. Harry sat back, heart thudding. It had worked. Again. Mind tricks came to him as easily as breathing now. Maybe too easily.
O|O
London was… intense. He arrived at King’s Cross just as evening fell. The city glowed in golden streetlight and flickering neon, but to Harry it felt like stepping into Mos Eisley. A wretched hive of scum and villainy, he whispered to himself. So many people, So loud, so chaotic.
He felt eyes on him from the moment he stepped off the train. Real or imagined, it didn’t matter—the force screamed danger. He kept his head down, slipped out through a side exit, and bolted from the main roads.
He didn’t stop running until he found a small, forgotten churchyard. There were bushes, at least. Shelter of a sort. He crawled into the undergrowth, curled up beneath a bush, wrapping his blanket around him and tried to stay warm. It wasn’t much colder than the shed, and the snake in his pocket hissed irritably.
“Bad nessst,” it said. “Cold. No walls. Sssmells like cat.”
“I’m working on it,” Harry whispered. “Tomorrow. We do better tomorrow.”
When morning came, he was stiff and hungry and slightly damp. But he had freedom. And a mission. Sitting cross-legged on a patch of sun-warmed pavement behind a bakery, he crunched his way through a stake loaf he had rescued from a dumpster. Harry pulled out his notebook.
He tore out a fresh page, wrote “QUEST OBJECTIVES” across the top, and underlined it twice. He liked lists. It was like setting his mission parameters.
1. Shelter - Permanent. Safe. No cat smell.
2. Food - More than stale bread. Learn to cook over a bin fire like Obi-Wan probably did in exile.
3. Camouflage - Blending in. Find proper clothes. Jedi robes? Or hoodie + jeans = modern Jedi look?
4. Find Father - Possibly alive. Possibly Jedi. Must investigate. Clues? Names? Library? Archives?
5. Training - Push harder. Like Luke on Dagobah.
6. Find a Teacher??
He took a bite of bread and scribbled in the margins. His hand hovered over the page before he added,
7. Don’t turn to the Dark Side. No matter how hungry. No matter how scared.
O|O
THREE MONTHS LATER
London had been an absolute blast. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he had so much fun. Sure, the first few days had been a bit dicey, but with the Force on his side, he found his rhythm soon enough. He had soaked in the city—not just for the sake of his quest, but for the sheer joy of exploring it.
He hit all the museums (they were free, after all, and perfect for rainy days), and over the past few months, he was steadily ticked off the major sights like a Jedi on a side mission, all it took was a little force persuasion and he would be through the ticket lines. Sadly, his adventures had diverged from Yoda’s path at the Botanical Gardens. The little snake had fallen in love with the hot houses—plenty of mice, warm glass, and cozy leaves. Harry had been a little sad to see him go, but he didn’t begrudge his friend a shot at happiness. Besides, he could always visit when loneliness hit too hard.
But the best part of London? His new sleeping arrangements.
With 1,570 hotels in the city, Harry had made it his personal side quest to stay in as many of the big ones as he could. And honestly, it was shockingly easy. He would tail a family through the lobby, act like he belonged, and let the Force nudge him toward an unoccupied room. A quick flick of the fingers, a soft click, and—boom—base secured. Sometimes he stayed a single night, sometimes three.
The posh hotels were the real prize though, for two glorious reasons: minibar snacks and breakfast buffets. He raided breakfast like a seasoned Jedi marauder—pockets stuffed with bacon rolls, mini pastries, and apples wrapped in napkins like sacred relics. He always also snagged some fruit for later - a Jedi needs a balanced diet!
His favourite so far had been the ritz but they were a lot more attentive to strange children running around so he probably would not be back..
His clothing situation had been handled in much the same way as his lodging—quietly, efficiently, and with a little help from the Force. Early on, during one of his first hotel escapades, he had spotted a kid about his size. One quick nudge to the lock, and voilà—problem solved.
The room had yielded a full school uniform from one of the fancy boarding schools, along with a decent weekend set of civvies. Just like that, Harry had a wardrobe upgrade. He told himself it wasn’t stealing, exactly—more like strategic borrowing from the privileged. Besides, the kid probably had five more of everything. A Jedi adapted. A Jedi survived. A Jedi, apparently, also wore Ralph Lauren polos now.
And the uniform? That thing was magic. He could walk into the poshest parts of London now—museum cafes, hotel lobbies, even Harrods—and nobody questioned him.
But despite his growing skills—food, shelter, camouflage—Harry’s real mission was hitting dead ends.
His parents? No clues. No records. Nothing useful.
A Jedi teacher? Still no sign of one.
But his Jedi research? That was thriving.
Madame Tussaud’s Star Wars exhibit had been amazing—he spent hours slack jawed as he viewed his hero's. The Star Wars exhibitions were hit or miss. There was even a theatre performance that left him howling with laughter because they had casted Darth Vader with a Yorkshire accent.
But the real treasure? Forbidden Planet. He wandered into the famous bookshop out of pure instinct, only to be told to bugger off by a grumpy clerk when it became clear he wasn’t going to buy anything. So Harry waved a hand.
“You don’t see me.”
From then on, Harry spent hours hidden in a comic alcove in the back corner. He munched crisps from hotel mini bars and devoured comics and lore books. Sure he knew a lot of this must be fiction. But these stories were obviously heavily influenced by real Jedi's.
The Jedi Code. Lightsaber forms. Legends and myths and tales of ancient orders. Every now and then, he wrote in his notebook—still the same one he brought from Privet Drive. It was now dog-eared, scribbled over, and sacred.
And then, on a rainy Tuesday in Covent Garden, it happened. Harry spotted a small, weather-beaten poster taped to the side of a kiosk.
'Become One With the Force – Real Lightsaber Training!
Jedi Master Auron. In Hyde park – £60 per session. Stag & Hens welcome. Call 079714562110'
Harry froze. Mouth open. Eyes wide. This was it! This was HIM! His teacher! His Obi-Wan. His Qui-Gon. Granted it was a strange way to find a Jedi but he supposed even Jedis needed to eat. He had just enough left to book a session.
In turned out Jedi Matster Auron was actually Ken Loach from Watford, a drama student looking to earn a few quid from tourists . Harry was disappointed but didn't let that deter him and still signed up for lightsaber lessons even if it was with a cheap plastic toy. It was still brilliant. His first actual lightsaber dual and he did awesomely well - Ken said. So well Ken let him keep the lightsaber as part of the lesson. And solemnly bade him may the force be with you. Harry was buzzed. Best Day Ever!
And then of course it all went terribly wrong.
He had been pottering along the pavement, wondering whether it was time to visit the Strand as his next accommodation choice. When the hairs on the back of neck rose. With super fast jedi flow he ducked into a nearby alley. Something was out there. His force senses were screaming at him. And then two figures appeared at the entrance dressed in flowing back robes . Harry stiffened ...inquisitors ? Here in London?
They pointed some pointy device like an antenna.
Harry closed his eyes , immersing himself in the force ... 'I'm not here, Im not here Im not here,' he whispered fiercely
O|O
HOGWARTS
Dumbledore handed a muggle newspaper to the man standing before him. Severus Snape took it without a word, his eyes scanning the contents in silence. The silence grew heavier with each second, until his lip curled and he lowered the paper with icy disdain.
“A missing muggle child, called child A” he said flatly. “Abused by their guardians. Sad but I fail to see what this has to do with me.”
Dumbledore sighed, weariness etching lines deeper across his face. “It’s Harry Potter.”
Severus froze.
Then slowly, he looked down at the newspaper again. This time he read it differently.
“We’ve managed to keep it under wraps for now,” Dumbledore continued, voice heavy. “But if word gets out—especially to the Prophet—it would be disastrous. The Muggles what they did ...the police … they were digging up the garden, Severus. They thought the boy was buried there. The abuse was—” He swallowed. “Significant.”
Severus didn’t move for a long time. His fingers curled around the edge of the paper until the tips went white. Then, softly, almost too softly: “Who were the guardians?”
Dumbledore didn’t answer immediately.
Severus’s voice dropped, dangerous and dark: “Albus. Tell me you didn’t leave him with her. With Petunia.”
The silence that followed was answer enough.
“Her sister, Albus?” Severus whispered, hoarse. “The one who spat on Lily’s name? The one who called us freaks? The one who hated everything her sister was?" His voice rose now, shaking with fury. “You left him with that woman?!”
Dumbledore winced, eyes closed. “Yes.”
Severus surged to his feet, the chair scraping violently behind him. He began to pace, cloak billowing, every step like thunder. “I swore to protect that boy. I gave you everything—my loyalty, my very soul—and you, you....”
He turned on Dumbledore, fury burning in his eyes. “You think you’re his protector? You fed him to the wolves!”
Dumbledore wiped at the corner of his eye, a single tear slipping through. “Everything you say is true.” His voice was barely audible now. “I didn’t leave him with a magical family because I feared he would grow up spoiled. Idolised. Worshipped. I thought… I thought he needed to be normal.”
Severus bared his teeth in something like a snarl. “Or perhaps you thought that if he was neglected, he would always look to you for affection. For approval. You wanted a grateful weapon.”
The accusation struck deep.
Dumbledore drew a sharp breath, pain flashing behind his spectacles. “No… That’s not true. I made a mistake. A terrible one. And now I must bear the weight of that guilt. But Severus—I need your help to find him. We managed to suppress his name in the reports. The Muggle authorities don’t have e a clue. But we believe he’s alive. There was a magical ripple in London. A possible sighting.”
Severus’s fists were clenched. His jaw was tight with rage—and something else. Severus was silent for a long moment. Then he spoke, voice quiet and full of venom. “I will help find Harry Potter. But not for you, Albus.” His eyes blazed. “For her. Lily would weep to know how you betrayed her.”
Dumbledore nodded slowly, bowing his head. “Thank you, Severus.” He reached into his robes and withdrew a parchment, handing it over. “There is a team of ten Aurors assigned to this task. They’re sworn to secrecy. You’ll have their full cooperation.”
Snape glanced at the list. Then folded it. “He’s a child, only ten,” he murmured. “And you let him suffer for nine years. Merlin help you, Dumbledore, if we don’t find him.”
And with a swirl of black robes, Severus Snape was gone.