Got the hang of publishing...I think...now to get with the story. I will endeavor to bring this story to a satisfactory conclusion (more-so than the book 7 epilogue that made me wonder what they really accomplished). If this plot bunny is not brought to fulfillment, I have no-one to blame but myself.

A Few Decades Ago in This Very Galaxy...

Harry James Potter of Number Four Privet Drive was proud to say he was perfectly non-mediocre, thank you very much. He was the last person you'd expect to see cheating on a test, or beating up other children for their lunch money, because he just didn't hold with such nonsense.

His cousin, on the other hand...

Well, there was a good reason the young boy preferred the quiet library to the rather violent schoolyard. The seven-year-old boy had just been dismissed along with his fellows from their First Form classroom for lunch and recess, but as his overly stingy aunt had neither packed him a lunch, nor provided the necessary coinage to procure one from the school kitchen, he had, to his young mind, all the time in the world to immerse himself in the school's books. One hour, to a boy his age, was a reasonably long time.

He had just finished Matilda by Rold Dahl yesterday, and thoroughly enjoyed it, aside from the name of Matilda's jerk of a father ("Harry" should only be a protagonist's name) and was now on the prowl for new material. He finally settled on the Star Wars Trilogy novelizations, all bound into one volume.

Harry had heard only tantalizing snatches of the movie (he didn't know which one) through the door of the boot cupboard that functioned as his bedroom, and now here was a way to get the plot, though not the marvelous music.

50 minutes later, Harry had gotten as far as the Jawas capturing Artoo, when he decided to check the book out, and surreptitiously bring it home.