AN: Just a plot bunny/first chapter of a story that has refused to leave me be until I got it out of my system. Please don't get your hopes up too much, as I still need to finish Emperor and Legacy of Uzushiogakure before I could ever possibly commit to this one. However, I figured that if one of you wonderful people felt inspired enough by it to try your own hand at this sort of storyline, I would be remiss to keep it in the vault, so to speak.

So, without further ado, I present the first chapter of Sith'ari.

Lore considerations will be at the bottom of the chapter.

Standard author's page disclaimer applies.

Sith'ari

~ Chapter I: Shooting Stars ~

Staring up at the starry sky above Salisbury Plain, 7-year old Harry Potter couldn't believe his incredible luck.

A month ago, his homeroom teacher, Professor Artest — or "Art," as he preferred — had announced an overnight camp for all his students, to learn more about the stars. For Harry, this normally meant that Dudley would easily get permission from his parents, and Harry would be forced to stay home.

However, Art had made this trip different — first, it would be on Friday night; and second, parents were encouraged to come.

At first, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had simply dismissed the idea, until Dudley pointed out that most of the other parents would be going. Now, given the enormous effort Vernon and Petunia had put into appearing to be the perfect, normal family, it was therefore impossible for them to refuse to go any longer, which left them with a problem:

Harry.

Ordinarily, it was a matter of dumping him with Mrs. Figg, across the road. She'd babysat him often enough, after all. However, in a remarkable case of serendipity, Mrs. Figg had injured herself and was in convalescence, wholly unable to take care of him.

Which meant that, for once, Harry was going to actually go on one of these field trips!

"Move it, Potter."

Harry grunted as he was shoved aside by one of Dudley's gang, almost falling to the grass, but managing to catch his footing before then. He sighed as he straightened his tape-fixed glasses. Of course, with good fortune came the bad, too. While there were far too many adults for Dudley and his friends to do anything too harsh to him openly, they still found ways to harass him.

Harry chose to ignore it in favour of relishing the opportunity to enjoy the activity.

"Come, children!" Art called out, drawing Harry's attention. "Come, come! The show's about to start!"

Harry all but bolted to the teacher's side, knowing it was one of the few safe spaces in camp, and he'd be able to listen to Art's lecture better. He'd have to fudge up his notes later, though, since he was sure Dudley would either steal them, or toss them out. "Big D" couldn't handle someone being smarter than him — and Harry even less.

"Now, who remembers what we're here to see?" his teacher asked with a wide, friendly smile.

There was a moment of silence — with the parents looking on in amused toleration — before one of the girls in his class raised her hand.

"Yes, Annie!"

"M-Meteor showers?" she asked softly, looking embarassed from speaking up in front of such a big audience.

"That's exactly right, Annie! Well done!" his teacher praised; Harry liked Art — he was always nice to everyone in class...even those who didn't deserve it.

Personally, he wished he could've answered, too, but knew that any attention he drew to himself was bad. Even though he'd known exactly why they were there, and the fact that he'd snuck a read from one of the books Art kept in the classroom for everyone, he also knew that any attempt to look smart would result in intense bullying from Dudley and his parents later on.

Better to stay out of sight.

So instead he listened. He listened to Art talk about what many apparently called shooting stars — streaks of light in the starry sky. He learned that they were meteors, not stars — big rocks that floated through space until they burned up in something Art called an...amosfeer?

He'd have to look that word up later, in case Art wanted to quiz them.

He also learned that there were literally thousands of such rocks that burned up in the sky, but many did so when no one could see. Harr found that sad — while he didn't exactly love space like Art did, he always did find some comfort in the night; it was the one time when no one was hitting him or yelling at him.

"Now, did you also know that many people like to make a wish when they see a shooting star?" Art asked suddenly, drawing Harry's perk attention.

"Why's that?" one of the boys asked.

Art smiled at his students conspiratorially. "They say that a wish made upon a shooting star comes true!" he mock-whispered. "Like magic!"

Harry winced almost by default. In the Dursley household, magic was the forbidden m-word, and for some reason, they always seemed to think any mention of the word was his fault. Even now, he could feel Uncle Vernon's glare boring into him, even though all he'd done was just stand there quietly for the whole lecture.

He hoped Vernon would forget the whole thing by the time they got home, given he couldn't indulge in some "Harry yelling" amidst all these people.

If his luck held out, however, he knew that was probably impossible.

In any case, Art's lecture didn't last much longer, as the very best thing Harry had ever seen in his life interrupted him — the meteor shower itself. It was honestly the prettiest thing he'd ever seen in his life.

Streak after streak of light criss-crossed the night sky, punctuated by the "oo!" and "ah!" of his equally impressed classmates. Even Dudley seemed suitably impressed — and very little ever did.

"Can you imagine, children?" he vaguely heard Art speaking again, "All these hundreds of meteors roaming the galaxy until they happen to come to our world, at this precise time, for all of us to enjoy?"

It was certainly quite unbelievable, and yet the evidence lay before his eyes. Idly, he wondered what it would be like to be among those shooting stars, as Art called them. He knew that Art said their light was simply them burning up in the sky, but even so — what it must be like to even soar across space, freely!

He eyed the other children — and Dudley in particular. He had never truly known what it felt like to be normal, to be free of harassment. He knew his situation was irregular — even if he was unable to put it in words. He knew other kids didn't have to deal with the things he experienced at home — he overheard enough conversations to know he wasn't supposed to have his birthday ignored, for example, or be forced to cook for the Dursleys at their whim.

He knew he ought to have been playing with the other kids, allowed to have a room of his own, like Dudley; he knew he should be included in family nights and outings. He knew that being yelled at for the smallest grievances wasn't supposed to happen to him.

He knew the bad feelings stirring inside him weren't supposed to be there.

And it manifested, sometimes. At the worst of times, regularly — like when Uncle Vernon was yelling at him, or threatening him with bodily violence. Sometimes, when his feelings ran darkest, Harry imagined hurting them in return, and something….weird would happen.

Once, a vase blew up near Aunt Petunia while she glared at him as Uncle Vernon screamed at him for not tending to his aunt's garden perfectly. Another time, Dudley suddenly slipped while stomping up and down the stairs to harass him, breaking his nose. His cousin swore the normally carpeted stairs had turned to ice, then back to rug.

Ridiculous, of course, but it got Harry yelled at nonetheless — and foodless for a day and a half.

Harry shook his head. He mustn't let the bad thoughts ruin this perfect outing — for any situation where he was not under the Dursleys' power was perfect to him. Heck, a meteor could flatten the Dursley's tent right now and….

No! Those were bad thoughts! He'd heard Art's lectures long enough to know that wishing harm upon others was wrong.

But it was hard to agree….and every passing day, it became harder still.

"Alright, children, that's about enough for tonight, I think!"

Harry felt his stomach drop as Art announced the end of the show. It meant it was time to sleep, and that invariably meant that in the morning, it was time to return…"home."

"Off to bed, now!" Art was announcing, and Harry watched as parents began to herd their protesting children away to their tents. Harry was fortunate enough that the Dursleys didn't care enough about him to do the same. Instead, the raven-haired boy silently made his own way back, ignoring the occasional elbow shove from a passing bully.

However, as he reached his ratty little tent — just one tent away from the Dursleys' extra-large deluxe tent — a mischievous thought crossed his mind. Everyone else had seemed ready to sleep, but Harry didn't want to waste any of this precious free time by following the Dursleys' lead. Not this time.

So, instead, he waited inside, lying down, until Art passed by for his check and shone his flashlight on the tent. He heard the man mumble something in what he thought was a disapproving tone, and then move on. Once he was sure Art was out of the way, Harry unzipped his tent as quietly as he could and snuck out, walking away from camp to get a better look at the meteor shower by himself — without anyone to bother him.

Finding a nice, comfortable spot on the grass, Harry lay down on his back and spread his limbs out, enjoying the feeling of the cool grass on his skin as his jade-green eyes roamed the clear night sky — the galaxy's wondrous image burning into his memory.

Once, during Science class, Art had tried to get their interest going by mentioning that every star in the sky was actually a sun, around which many planets circled. He'd even mentioned that some believed these planets had alien life upon them, who could have lives very much like their own.

The trick had worked, of course. Children Harry's age loved tall tales, and stories about starships and lasers and aliens sounded cool.

For Harry, however, it made him think if perhaps that meant there was someone else out there who'd experienced the kind of pain he had. The kind of loneliness he felt every day. He wondered if someone out there knew what it was like to be told your parents were drunks who died selfishly in a car accident, leaving him on the doorsteps of mean relatives.

Harry snorted. Of course not. No one was that unfortunate.

He sighed as he kept his eyes glued on the sky, tracking each falling star as it whisked by. He wished he could be among them, leaving behind the Dursleys and all those bad feelings behind. He wished he could be free like a bird, going wherever he wanted.

A darker thought crossed his mind then.

He wished he could hurt the Dursleys the way they'd hurt him.

It was at that moment that a booming noise tore through the sky — not unlike that of thunder. Harry jumped in place, but relaxed when he realised there was no storm. Then he frowned. There was no storm. He looked around and raised a hand — no rain, no flashes in the sky.

Behind him he could hear panicked voices coming from the camp, and felt some bubbling inside him, too. If they realised he'd left, he would be in so much trouble! Especially now that he'd given the Dursleys a reason to yell at him in public! Lights from flashlights activated, sending beams of artificial light into the sky.

He thought about making a discrete run for it back to his tent — it was fortunately on the edge of the camp — but settled down when he noticed that the lights were going out again. Had they decided against whatever it was they were about to do? That was fortunate. Sighing in relief, Harry fell to the grass and rolled back onto his back. That had been close.

Again, dark thoughts slipped into his mind.

'What if the Dursleys had found out?'

He snorted. 'They would've yelled at me in public..'

'Art would've been so disappointed. He'd let them, probably.'

'He wouldn't do that.'

'Yes, he would. Everyone says I'm trouble. He'd believe them.'

'Art is a good person, he wouldn't betray me.'

'Everyone always does! Remember Nina? Remember John? Where were they when Dudley and Piers had their fun?'

Harry rolled onto his side, feeling hot tears forming at the edge of his eyes. He really hated his life; it was unfair that everyone kept looking at him like he was the bad one, the troublemaker. It seemed impossible that no one else had noticed Dudley being mean to him and other kids who were...nice to him, but the teachers never seemed to.

Or maybe they knew, and didn't care.

Bad feelings swelled in him again as he thought of all the teachers in his school who looked down their noses at him. Like he was some sort of pest. Like he was unwelcome there. All he'd done was try to get their approval, but one conversation with the Dursleys, and he was less than a bug to them.

He curled into a ball.

'I hate them.'

His breath hitched as he bit back a sob.

'I hate the Dursleys.'

His hands curled into fists so tight his fingers turned bone white.

'I hate everyone.'

Harry Potter

Harry's eyes snapped open as he sat up, surprised at the voice he'd just heard. It wasn't his own — it was female!

He looked around fearfully, thinking someone from camp had noticed his absence and gone out to look for him. He wondered what lie he'd have to use to get out of trouble before the Dursleys found out. Yet, as he looked around, he noticed he was still quite alone.

Narrowing his eyes in confusion, 7-year old Harry Potter stood up and tried to look around again, but found no one else. What was going on?

Then, as he was about to give up and return to camp for some sleep, he caught a flash of red light in the distance. He blinked, thinking it must've been a trick of the mind, but soon enough, it flashed again. Frowning, he turned to leave back to camp when he felt...something compelling him to look back.

The flash returned.

Curiosity and self-preservation battled a fierce war inside him in which the former won out. Taking a hesitant step towards the distant flash of red light, Harry was rewarded by a stronger flash this time...as though it was calling to him.

Before he realised it, he was already halfway there, with the flash of red light guiding his steps. Looking back to the camp — at least, he thought that was the direction of the camp — he saw nothing but darkness. Fear began to well up in him — had he made a terrible mistake? Would he end up on the news, like those other missing children he occasionally saw on tv?

Surprisingly, that fear compelled him to move towards the red light. His small feet even began to hurt after walking so far. His tiredness, too, became more and more accentuated, yet his legs refused to give in.

When he got to his destination, all of his concerns faded away, replaced by wonder.

Lying in a small ditch that looked like someone had dragged it along the ground was a golden pyramidical object unlike anything he'd ever seen before. He cautiously walked up to it and was surprised when he saw it flash red — meaning, this was the source!

Awed, he knelt down by it and wondered if he could touch it, and where it came from. Had someone left it here? Maybe they'd lost it? He wistfully looked up at the sky. Maybe it was one of Art's shooting stars?

The pyramid flashed red again.

Harry started in surprise, but quickly settled himself back under control. Eyeing the pyramid suspiciously, he slowly extended his hand toward it, hoping to just touch it with the tip of his finger. If it hurt, he knew it was bad and would just leave it there. If it didn't, maybe it was harmless?

He closed his eyes as his finger neared the pyramid's surface, and bit his lip. He hoped it didn't hurt.

The finger touched.

Nothing happened.

Mildly torn between disappointment and relief, Harry opened one eye and observed the pyramid as his finger kept touching it. Nothing was happening — no red flash, nothing. Now with both eyes open, he reached out and grabbed it with both hands, wondering what he'd found.

'What's with the weird symbols?' he wondered as his hands touched the surface. 'It looks like something Dudley might've doodled.'

Oddly, the pyramid no longer flashed. He wondered why; had he broken it somehow? He hoped not — it was really cool! It was just the sort of thing he would've loved to receive as a gift — strange, but mysterious.

The thought brought him screeching back to reality as he realised there was no way he could keep it — the Dursleys wouldn't wear it. Either they'd throw it away, or give it to Dudley. Just the thought of it made a flash of anger rush through his system.

The pyramid glowed red in his hands.

Surprised, Harry nearly let the object drop, but when it failed to do anything, he kept his grip on it firm. Why had it flashed then?

He eyed the ditch where he'd found it. Perhaps it was better to just leave it here?

No. He couldn't.

Eyes glazing over, he was struck by the thought of bringing the pyramid back home, and hiding it in his room — a small act of defiance against the Dursleys' rules. It would certainly show them he wasn't completely under their thumbs!

Again, before he realised what he was doing, he'd started making his way back to camp. He idly wondered how he knew where to go, but found himself unwilling to question it.

All he knew and cared about was that he'd finally gotten to do what he wanted, and gotten a cool souvenir for it.

All in all, not a bad trip.

A month later…

Harry eyed the strange pyramid on his cot suspiciously.

Ever since they'd gotten back from the trip, Harry had stashed the object under the floorboards in a successful attempt at hiding it from the Dursleys. At the very least, they hadn't made a fuss out of it yet, so he hoped it really was outside their notice.

However, after their return, Harry had found his life once again dominated by the constant need to please his guardians as they treated him like little more than a small servant. He cooked — or tried to, occasionally failing and getting yelled at for it — and helped with laundry, and the garden, and with Dudley's homework whenever his cousin was too lazy to do it himself, and anything else that stroked the Dursley's fancy.

His only saving grace was that anything they wanted him to do had to be done within the house — he imagined even the Dursleys would have a hard time justifying why a 7-year old was out mowing the grass with a machine that was a head and a half taller than him.

However, by the end of the month, they had once again managed to abuse his patience to the breaking point.

He couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was that had made him snap — maybe it was Dudley doing his stupid stomping on the stairs again, or perhaps it was Petunia's snide remarks about his "deadbeat parents." Maybe it was Vernon yelling at him for apparently failing to cook the bacon just right.

Whatever it was, he'd felt bad feelings swell inside him once again — now identified as hate thanks to a school lesson on emotions — and the living room lightbulbs had all exploded.

He couldn't exactly say why they'd exploded, but it didn't seem to matter to Vernon, who purpled up, grabbed him by the scruff of his oversized shirt, and all but threw him into his cupboard under the stairs, yelling at him for apparently being an "ungrateful freak" who would have the "freakishness beat out of" him.

Hatred was then matched by fear, as he dreaded Vernon's physical punishments. However, as the feelings inside him coalesced into a whirlwind of emotional onslaught that all but paralysed him on his cot, he saw the floorboards in his darkened cupboard glow bright red.

It was then that he recalled his prized souvenir from the Salisbury trip.

Removing it from its hiding spot — and taking great care to cover the bottom of the cupboard door to prevent the flash from drawing attention — Harry placed the object on his cot and looked at it curiously.

What had made it flash again?

He tried to think back to the class trip, and found he couldn't remember finding any reason for its glow. The realisation frustrated him, as not knowing would mean that he had no control over its flashing ability, which meant the Dursleys could potentially find his hiding spot for all his treasured items, and punish him for it.

The pyramid flashed red again.

Harry blinked, a little more aware of things this time around. He'd been...angry, hadn't he? When the pyramid glowed, he was angry. But...what kind of object glowed when people got angry? He thought about asking an adult, and immediately dismissed the idea; they'd just tell the Dursleys, who would punish him for being "freaky" and "asking freaky questions."

"Why do you glow?" he asked the pyramid softly, feeling a bit like a berk for talking to an inanimate object.

He sighed when it failed to respond, and instead tried to test out his idea. Thinking back on all the horrible things the Dursleys had done to him and said to him, he felt the anger and hatred rise within him, like bile trying to creep up his throat.

Immediately, the pyramid flashed its brightest red yet, causing him to yelp at the suddenness of the reaction.

Instantly, someone banged three times at his cupboard door, and he feared the jig was up.

"QUIET DOWN, FREAK!"

Frantically looking for a quick place to hide the pyramid from sight, Harry was nonetheless paralysed out of fear on his bed — only the sound of steps receding calmed him down; apparently, the Dursleys were content to leave him be this one time.

He knew he could not count on being this lucky again.

"You're nothing but trouble!" Harry hissed at the pyramid ineffectually as he grabbed it and made for the floorboards to hide it again. "I knew I should've left you where I found you!"

Is that truly what you wish, child?

Harry started at the voice that flooded his mind at that moment, only his tight grip preventing the pyramid from slipping out of his hands. Looking around, he half expected to find someone in his cupboard, or outside the door, but considering that Vernon hadn't made a racket, that didn't seem to be the case.

The bloated one cannot hear me, for I wish not to speak to it.

Getting slightly fearful, considering the scary stories he'd heard about ghosts, Harry all but dove for his cot and drew the covers over his head. Maybe the lady ghost would leave him alone?

I can sense your fear, child. Fear not, for I would not hurt you.

Peeking out from under the covers, Harry looked around the darkened room for the ghost haunting him. "W-Who are you?" he asked softly.

I am one who would help you. One who would set you free.

Harry slowly lowered the covers. "Free?" he whispered.

Yesss….free. Free from pain. Free from servitude. Free from the oafs and brutes who would see you at their feet forever.

There was still no sign of the ghost, and she didn't sound like she wanted to hurt him. Finally sitting up on his cot, he once again looked around. "Where are you?"

I am here, child, as I've been for the past solar cycles.

Harry blinked, feeling dumb for not understanding. "Sorry, I don't understand."

When there was no answer, Harry feared he might've upset the ghost, and frantically tried to think of something clever to say. "Sorry, I mean…"

Your ignorance is disappointing, little one, but not unexpected. The bloated one, his mate, and spawn appear responsible for this deleterious state of affairs.

Harry blinked at all the complex words the voice had used. He wondered what she meant.

"Are you talking about...the Dursleys?"

Names have power, child, and thus belong to the strong. They are not strong, and therefore deserve no name.

Harry found that made...a strange sort of sense? And yet, he was the weak one here — was that why she hadn't called him by name?

"I'm Harry Potter," he introduced himself naively. "Do I deserve my name?"

The voice sounded pleased with the question. In time, you will, youngling, if you seize it. As you are, you are but what your captors say you are. A burden.

Harry's breath hitched as his anger returned. He knew what that word meant — the Dursleys had said it enough times that he'd looked it up. He was not a burden. He was the one who did all the work! "I am not a burden!" he hissed.

...Good. Harness that anger. It will be your greatest ally.

The thought struck Harry as...wrong. Art and the other teachers at school had constantly told him and his classmates that anger was bad; that it led to fighting, and fighting was bad.

"But...isn't anger, bad?" he asked tentatively.

Do you feel you deserve to be hated, little one? To be hurt as you have been?

He was silent.

Then if not, why would it be wrong to be angry at those who hurt you? To want to teach them a lesson?

"But fighting is bad...isn't it?" he asked uncertainly.

Is it bad to defend someone you care about, child?

"No…"

Then why would defending yourself be bad?

Again, the woman's words were convincing, even though he could not see her. Still, the pertinent question gnawed at him.

"Who are you?" he asked softly, looking around for the source of the voice.

I am one who has travelled across the void of space through millennia. I have seen stars be born, and die. Across time and space, I have witnessed the beauty of creation and the despair of death.

Suddenly, the pyramid — which he'd completely forgotten he was cradling — glowed softly as wisps of smoke spewed forth from the top of the pyramid, prompting Harry to panic as he thought it might've caught on fire.

Before he could act on his panic, however, he was treated to the sight of the smoke coalescing into a blurry figure, and then into the definite shape of the strangest woman he'd ever seen in his admittedly short life.

Ethereally blue-white skin was offset by dark markings on the woman's face, making her look like one of those people Vernon liked to rail about on occasion. Piercing grey eyes stared him down without pity or compassion, seemingly contemplating his worth as strands of wild, loose dark hair flitted about. Bandages wrapped around her throat made Harry wonder if perhaps she was injured, or if it was supposed to be there on purpose, to match with the distinct robes her upper half wore.

But most worryingly of all? Her hands, whose long, bony fingers were topped by long, ghastly looking nails.

Whoever this woman was, she did not look friendly.

I am XoXaan, and I was once Dark Lady of the Sith, as I would have you become, little one, if you wish it.

Harry blinked — the difference between her looks and her gentle voice were really jarring. "S-Sith?" he asked softly.

Yes, Sith. Pledge yourself to be my apprentice, and I will teach you the skill to bend the world to your will; to right the wrongs inflicted upon you; to make things right.

"I…" he hesitated. He was unsure why, but the woman's words struck a wrong note with him. Something wasn't right...but at the same time, what she was promising was incredibly alluring. The power to make things right? "I don't know…"

To the woman's credit, she seemed unmoved. I have watched you all this time, child, learning of you and this world; you possess power beyond these fools' comprehension, and it scares them. You must know that they will never accept you; to them, you are the worst thing in their pathetic lives.

To Harry, each word was like a physical blow to his body, and he curled up in a ball on his cot. He knew she was right, which made it so much worse.

But they are wrong, child; they are blinded by their ignorance. Through you they had the chance to become part of a larger, greater destiny, and they threw it away. While they would refuse you your birthright, I would help you seize it.

"H-How?"

XoXaan's image gave him a small smile that somehow made her all the more terrifying.

Close your eyes, little one.

Hesitantly, Harry complied nonetheless.

Think of nothing, now. Focus only on my voice.

After a moment, Harry nodded.

Good...now, imagine your bed. Do you see it in your mind's eye?

Harry wondered if she meant his imagination, and he nodded.

Very good. Now, think of all it represents. Think about how there's a perfectly good bed nearby that the oaf refuses to let you use. Think about how they force you to live under the stairs. Think about all the pain they have caused you.

With every passing command, Harry felt his anger return in full force...and for some reason, he could feel something else within his stirring.

And now, child, imagine you could raise your bed with your mind.

It was a strange request, but Harry complied.

Open your eyes, little one.

Harry opened his eyes, and audibly gasped.

His bed was now, somehow, floating an inch over the floor. "What's going on?!" he exclaimed, momentarily forgetting about the dangers of having the Dursleys burst in.

XoXaan's image merely gazed at him steadily. You have tapped into the power that has always been within you, child. With my instruction, you could do much more.

Harry's eyes widened. More? It seemed unfathomable. Already, his bed was hovering an inch over the ground. What more could there possibly be?

The Force. That which connects all things, living and dead. It is everywhere and in everything. Even now, I can feel your presence glowing in the Force. What you choose to do with it, however, is now the choice I have laid before you.

XoXaan's image motioned to the door.

You may, for example, choose to ignore my offer, and I shall away from you for good, never to trouble you again.

Harry felt a bit of bile rise in his throat at the idea of being left alone at the Dursleys' mercy once more. Then, XoXaan motioned to the bed with her other hand.

On the other hand, you could choose the path of the Sith — of power, victory, and ultimately, freedom. I would teach you the mysteries of our order, and with them, you would become this galaxy's first Lord of the Sith — the one person capable and deserving of passing judgment unto all.

Choose, child.

Harry eyed his cupboard door, and then the bed. Honestly, it seemed like a no-brainer to him. Either be alone and bullied again, or take the chance that this woman was offering to turn things around.

It really was a no-brainer.

"What do I have to do?" he asked.

XoXaan's image smiled a little more widely, and she gestured for him to get off the bed and onto the floor. As he did so, he saw the bed slowly come back down to the ground.

Kneel, and we will make our bond official.

Harry complied, going down to one knee before her and looking up at her ghostly image.

Understand that there is no turning back from this commitment, little one. Once you have chosen to be Sith, you will remain so until the day that body perishes and you become one with the Force. If you agree, then from this day forth, you will be my apprentice, and I, your master.

XoXaan narrowed her eyes at him. Do you understand, child?

It took Harry less than a second to bow his head. "Yes...master."

XoXaan's smile sent chills down his spine.

Lore Considerations:

HP-verse: All Canon until Harry is 7 years old. Canon deviations begin there.

SW-verse: All Canon past the fall of the One Sith from the Legends continuity. This story takes place centuries after Star Wars: Legacy. I'm heavily basing lore assumptions on Wookieepedia, but if you know of other sources that might be helpful, I'd appreciate it. Assume Episode VII takes place in an AU (in other words, didn't happen).

Additional Note: Please keep in mind that just because XoXaan believes Earth magic to be beneath her notice right now does not mean Harry will be neglecting his magical upbringing in the future.