AN: After a long one, a shorter chapter, I'm afraid. My thanks to TheZeitgeist for beta'ing this chapter.

For anyone expecting Harry to get his lightsaber right away - be patient. Technological leaps take time, even with all of Harry and XoXaan's advantages.

July 31st, 1992, London, UK…

Building his first lightsaber proved to be quite a challenge for Harry. Most of the components, according to XoXaan, weren't that difficult to acquire one way or another — though some of the more exotic metals she described were elements he'd never heard of in his life. The problem, if anything, was the power source.

To his understanding, and a cursory check with the library confirmed it, there was no such thing as a power cell on Earth. There were batteries, sure, but nothing strong enough to power a lightsaber.

Which is what led to him bullying his uncle Vernon to find him a solicitor, having discussed the issue a priori with his Master. After a bout of complaining about how much of a backwater his planet was, Harry and XoXaan had managed to cook up a plan to give the Earth a nudge in the right direction.

Yet, at the same time, they recognised that Harry was too young to be taken seriously. That left two possibilities: either find an adult to work as his go-between, or find a way to look older. The former was not really a possibility because Harry would have to trust the adult implicitly, and he had no one he could trust to that extent. The latter, according to XoXaan, was actually quite possible.

And that's how he received his first instruction into what XoXaan called a Force illusion. It took the better part of a month to get it down, but Harry could now appear to others as anything he wanted, within reason — and within a time frame of no longer than two hours thus far. Any more than that and he'd collapse from the exhaustion.

And that's how he now stood before the offices of Howe & Partners, LLP, a mid-tier solicitor that his uncle knew through Grunnings, all the while appearing like a twenty-something-year-old man. As they waited outside Howe's office, Harry glanced at his uncle, whose face was set in a permanent glare. Harry smiled to himself at the sight — he knew Vernon would much rather stay at home preparing for his dinner party with Mr. Mason, whom he hoped to land as a client. The man's rage and frustration were nectar to Harry, however, so he relished in the feelings he felt emanating from the large man.

Eventually they were called into Howe's office, where they were met by the sight of a gentleman of about 50-or-so years of age, his fine, greying hair combed back and a neatly-shaven beard equally peppered in greys. Sitting behind his desk, Howe emanated an aura of authority that surprised Harry — it was the sort of aura he expected from a high-powered solicitor, not a mid-tier one.

Howe stood up from his seat to greet them, showing that he was also of average build, dressed in a perfectly pressed and tailored black suit.

"Mr Dursley," he greeted, shaking Vernon's hand. "I confess, I was surprised to hear from you. Everything well at the factory, I trust?"

Vernon was nothing if not an accomplished liar, and his expression had switched from scowling to amiable the moment Howe's door had been opened by his secretary. Smiling widely, he shook Howe's hand vigorously.

"Of course, Robert, of course," he said. "I'm here on other business today."

Harry eyed the lawyer patiently, taking a proferred seat next to Vernon as the two men made small talk. Eventually, however, it started grating on his nerves and he sent a small Force bump at Vernon, who all but jumped in his seat and almost scowled at him, but for his well-honed sucking-up instincts.

"...but we can schedule something for Petunia and Olivia later, Robert," Vernon said, one hand instinctively going to his side, where Harry had prodded him with the Force. "I'm here because I'm interested in expanding the plant's manufacturing, with the help of this man..."

"John. John Grimsby, sir."

Harry almost grinned. Vernon had been so, so mad when he'd come to him with the plan initially. It had led to quite a row in which Harry had won simply by virtue of choking him into subservience. Eventually, Petunia had interceded on Vernon's behalf, urging him to cooperate — that had been enough to break the older man's will.

"Expand manufacturing?" Howe asked after shaking Harry's hand, curious. "It was my understanding that the plant is doing quite well, is it not?"

Vernon nodded, his double chin wobbling. "It is, but we—I feel that perhaps it's time to diversify. Changing times and all that."

Howe looked positively nonplussed by the turn of the discussion, then glanced at Harry. "I see. Perhaps we should continue in private…?"

Vernon seemed to consider it for a moment, so Harry sent a spark of electricity his way, making him jolt upright and shake his head vigorously. "NO! No," he repeated, more softly. "That's fine. It was actually the b—John's idea," he said. "He's quite...intelligent. A real...knack for this kind of thing."

Harry nearly burst out laughing at how much it seemed to physically hurt Vernon to admit that.

"I see," Howe replied, shooting Harry a curious look. "And you vouch for him, then?"

"I do," Vernon replied through a forced smile.

"Vernon's told me nothing but good things about you, Mr Howe. He was sure you could help us with this project."

Howe nodded in self-important gratification. "Of course, of course. Now, what's this idea to expand manufacturing at the plant?"

"Well, sir, I was telling Vernon about how electronics seem to be booming in America. Some of my friends at school," by which he meant Hermione, "raved about some of the things coming soon in that field. I merely suggested that, with how efficient my uncle's plant is, it could benefit from redirecting some of its production to that field."

Howe stared at him with a neutral face for a time after he finished before looking at Vernon. "Mr Dursley, if it's alright with you, may I have a word in private with your associate?"

Vernon looked as surprised as Harry felt, but the tone Howe used brooked no discussion. Understanding this — and probably not wanting to damage a good working relationship with a man who could make his legal life a living hell — Vernon excused himself and waddled out the door. The moment it closed, Howe rounded on Harry.

"Dursley's a fool," he said flatly. "And you're a poor actor, Mr Grimsby."

Harry said nothing, only narrowing his eyes slightly. "I don't follow, Mr Howe," he said eventually.

"Stop playing games with me. I've been a solicitor longer than you've been alive, and I've met every cheat, scam, and crook there is, and the body language dynamic between you and Vernon clearly shows that he's terrified of you. The only truthful thing I've heard so far, I think, is that you're the brains behind this idea of expanding manufacturing at Grunnings," he analysed. "Now, let's stop playing games and tell me what's really going on."

Harry eyed the man critically. "You don't seem to be too nonplussed at a person my age terrifying and ordering around a man over twice his age, Mr Howe."

Howe scoffed. "I practice commercial law, boy. It's the most cutthroat field there is. And I've learned not to judge a book by its cover, and while I know Dursley's an inveterate liar, I also know he was truthful just now when he said you were intelligent. I also saw how much it hurt him to say that, which means you must be brilliant. And I'm not about to turn away a chance at making money off the back of a genius."

Harry nodded slowly. This was already going better than he expected. Howe wasn't treating him as a child to be dismissed, but rather as a potentially profitable client.

Now, however, came the tricky part. XoXaan had warned him that they had to keep a low profile for the sake of protecting the Sith Order. At the same time, however, she admitted that they needed pawns in the know to facilitate their agenda. While it was far too early to let Howe into the Great Plan, it was both possible and necessary to test him first, and what better way than by helping Harry build his first lightsaber?

So, with that goal in mind, Harry outlined his vision for expanding Grunnings into cutting edge technology, bringing out of his knapsack the carefully detailed plans for each component of a primitive power cell that would, at the very least, get the lightsaber going. Even just that would revolutionise the world, however, as the power cell would have well over a hundred times the power capacity of a normal battery at a fraction of the cost, albeit not initially.

Fortunately, his parents had left him enough of a trust fund to invest part of it while he attended Hogwarts.

After finishing his pitch, Howe was silent as he contemplated the plans before him. These were clearly not the work of a normal twenty-something-year-old. And what this man was proposing was… well, ludicrous didn't cover it. Yet he also reminded himself that his only job was to facilitate the expansion of the company into making this… boondoggle, as the Yanks would say. If it worked, he'd be rich and representing the wealthiest upcoming company in the UK. If it failed, Grunnings went under and he had enough clients to weather that loss while he looked for a replacement.

"You would need engineers, highly qualified engineers — and scientists — to make this work, Mr Grimsby," Howe pointed out. "And while I will certainly help you with your endeavour — I believe I may even know a few of the people you need — I would point out that the start-up capital for such a venture will not be insubstantial."

Harry smiled. "I understand. Money shouldn't be an issue."

Howe clearly didn't believe him but shrugged and nodded. "Then may I have your contact information so we can continue this discussion at a later date?"

Harry waved him away. "I'm staying with the Dursleys for a while, so you can reach me through Vernon's home."

"Then, Mr Grimsby, I hope this is the beginning of a fruitful relationship."

Oh, he had no idea.

URURURURURURURURUR

August 19th, 1992, Privet Drive, UK…

When he had told Howe money wouldn't be an issue, he hadn't been joking.

XoXaan had been a wondrous source of information about how best to use the Force to essentially cheat his way through it, but casinos soon had several of his personas banned after he ended up cleaning house thanks to a few dexterous applications of the Force here and there to make sure he got the desired result.

When the casinos no longer wanted his presence, he turned to the racetrack, where between Force visions and a few nudges to make sure his horse reached the finish line first, he ended up clearing another six digits. When that particular well dried up, he turned to the lottery.

All in all, Harry would no longer need to worry about earning a living if he so desired.

Which, of course, wasn't the point. Virtually all the money he won was funnelled into his venture at Grunnings, always under the alias of John Grimsby. What little he did not — and it wasn't that little — he invested into either procuring the materials he needed to forge the lightsaber or into the Dursleys.

Now, the latter sounded like an odd decision as far as Harry was concerned. However, he had begun to see how keeping the Dursleys happy meant he had fewer concerns to deal with. After all, it got boring having to choke Dudley every so often to keep them in line. Much easier just to bribe them. And once he let them in on the secret that he could essentially win at whatever gambling sport existed, they were much more amenable to his presence, even if his magic still disgusted them.

Money. It truly did grease the cogs of the world.

But not nearly enough to actually get him out of shopping for school. Bribing Vernon to take him to the Leaky Cauldron had been pathetically easy, and once there, he ducked into an alley and put up his illusionary persona of John Grimsby, as he wasn't that fond of the Wizarding public mobbing him like adoring fans. Only then did he sweep into the pub and make his way into Diagon Alley, where he was treated to the last people he wanted to see.

Weasleys.

The gaggle of redheads were unmistakable to him, especially with Ron's loudmouthed presence giving them away. For a moment, he worried they'd recognise him before remembering that he was under a Force illusion. Smiling to himself, he made his way through one shop after another, gathering his school supplies. Fortunately, everyone simply assumed he was a parent doing their child's shopping and never even bothered to question who he was shopping for.

Soon enough, he was done with his shopping, save for two stops. The first took precedence above all else: the crystals shop.

Last year, he'd come close to obtaining the cursed crystal that would power his lightsaber, and while the fragment of the Philosopher's Stone would do the job as well, he couldn't help the strong, pulling sensation that led him back to the shop.

Fortunately, this time unaccompanied by a Hogwarts chaperone.

"Ah, welcome, welcome!" a familiar, airy voice greeted him as the storekeeper came out from behind the counter to meet him. "How may I be of service, my friend?"

Harry smiled tightly. "I'm looking for a gem," he said. "A red crystal, to be precise."

The storekeeper smiled toothily. "Of course, of course!" he said, rubbing his hands. "We have a large selection of rubies and amethysts for your perusal!"

Harry already knew none of those would catch his attention, but to avoid suspicion he allowed the man to take him on a grand tour of the aforementioned shelves. Pretending to be interested in the useless gems wore on Harry's patience, but he held out long enough for them to reach the diamonds section, which the man promptly attempted to guide him past it.

"What about over there?" Harry said, motioning towards the diamonds section.

"Oh…" the jeweler said, a little nonplussed. "We do have a red diamond available, sir, but…"

"But?"

The man leaned in, holding a hand to his mouth in a poor attempt at subtlety. "They say it's cursed!"

"Cursed?" Harry asked, playing up the part of an intrigued customer.

"No owner of the diamond has been without misfortune, sir! Each and every one of them has suffered dreadful accidents! They say its original owner placed a curse on it, not wanting anyone else to have what he no longer could."

Harry nodded slowly. "I see."

"So you see, sir, there's no sense in buying this cursed thing. I have many other gems that might better suit your needs!"

Harry could understand the man's hesitation in selling the gem. If word had gotten out that he'd sold the item and the new owner suffered some accident, he'd be hit with some rather disastrous PR. Still, he could not be stopped.

"I'll take it," Harry said. "I don't believe in such tales."

"Sir, I really must insist…"

"Money isn't an issue," Harry told the man as he drew out a bag of recently converted galleons, cutting him off. "And if you need a release statement, I will sign one."

The jeweler hesitated at the offer. Obviously, he wanted to be rid of the damn thing, but on the other hand, there was always the liability issue. But here was a generous customer willing to release him of any responsibility over damages incurred while in possession of the diamond and willing to pay him for the privilege!

Not an opportunity to pass up.

"Deal!" he said, pumping Harry's hand vigorously.

Harry waited until the man returned with the diamond, which he all but shoved into Harry's hands, wrapped tightly in a cloth as though mere contact would somehow curse him. Harry, in turn, handed the man the bag of galleons, the coins jingling at the movement.

"A pleasure doing business with you," Harry said with a smile before raising his hand and summoning the Force. "But you don't remember who I am or what happened to the diamond."

He felt a slight resistance in the man's mind at his manipulation before it gave way to the power of the Dark Side. His face went blank. "I… don't remember who you are or what happened to the diamond."

"And you honestly don't care enough to investigate."

"And I honestly don't care enough to investigate."

Satisfied, Harry released the man from his influence and swept out of the store before the man's conscious self resumed control. Dumping the crystal into one of his shopping bags, Harry was almost skipping as he made his way to Flourish and Blotts.

And it was there that he once again ran into his least favourite pack of redheads. Only this time, it seemed they were in the middle of what looked to be a scuffle with a blonde-haired man and a familiar blonde boy.

The Malfoys.

Harry rolled his eyes at the confrontation. He was well aware of the Malfoys and Weasleys' disdain for each other — he'd seen Draco taunt and fight Ron often enough at school to be bored of it. Yet, he had to admit, the rage and hatred flowing from the scuffle was a delight to behold — who knew the firmly light-sided Weasleys were capable of such delicious hatred?

But even as the man he assumed to be the Weasley patriarch got one over Draco's father — Lu-something, maybe Lucy, or Luscious — Harry noticed a sleight of hand from the elder Malfoy as something slipped from his sleeve and into the only Weasley girl's cauldron.

Something Dark.

Sithspit, he could feel the Dark Side flowing from the thing. It reminded him of the Sith relics that XoXaan once told him about, how they were permeated with the Dark Side to the extent that just holding one could eventually corrupt even the most diehard Jedi. This wasn't that powerful, but it was certainly pumping out enough Dark Side energy so as to be interesting to him.

For a moment, he contemplated taking it. A simple sleight of hand with the Force and the Weasleys wouldn't be any the wiser. But, instead, something held him back. Something dark and cruel.

The Weasleys were among the most light-sided family he knew. For all of Ron's bullying of Hermione and Neville, he knew that Ron was practically destined for the Light Side. But an artifact like that in the Weasleys' hands… it could open up interesting possibilities. What could be more delicious and cruelly ironic than a champion of the Dark Side arising from the most light-sided family in England?

Of course, the question now was: who would it be? Would the artifact end up in the girl's hands? In Ron's? Maybe Percy Weasley's?

Oh, he could hardly wait to see.

URURURURURURURURUR

September 1st, 1992, London, UK…

Aside from the incident in Diagon Alley, September 1st came far too quickly for Harry's liking. With the company project in Vernon's surprisingly capable hands, he'd thrown himself into his Sith training at XoXaan's metaphorical feet. The last year had shown him that as good as he thought he'd been upon entering Hogwarts, he was still a ways away from actually realising his full potential. The close call with the Sorting Hat, then the Troll… the way Quirrell had gotten the drop on him… all of that was unacceptable.

XoXaan was pleased with his renewed vigour, though she would never say it outright. Instead, she showed her satisfaction with his studies by pushing him ever harder, ever harsher, until he broke one limit after another. Towards that end, he bribed the Dursleys to bring him every day to an abandoned factory, where he'd be undisturbed as he practiced using the Force. By the end of August, he was certain he could handle a troll in the dungeons with the Force alone without any problems.

"Mr Potter!"

Harry looked up as, and through the crowd of people on Platform 9 ¾, he saw the Grangers standing behind Hermione's hovering wheelchair. The girl looked more gaunt than ever, and there was a sense of tension in the family as he drew nearer — like they'd just gotten out of an argument.

If so, all the better.

"Mr and Mrs Granger," he greeted them before turning to his potential apprentice. "Hermione. It's wonderful to see you!"

Hermione pinked up a bit, while the Grangers shot him weary smiles. Clearly, they were exhausted in some way, and Harry could guess why — as hard as it was to be the parents of a genius, he had to think that taking care of a disabled genius was much, much harder. Especially one that he'd subtly pushed into delving deeper into her own emotions.

"You as well, Mr Potter," Mr Granger said with a nod. "Hermione… well, she hasn't been able to stop talking about you all summer."

The words were meant to be nice, but Harry could sense the undertone of tension. He gave them a short bow. "I can only hope it was nothing but good things, Mr Granger. I count her as one of my dearest friends."

Again, Hermione pinked up at the compliment, her hands fidgeting on her lap, while Mrs Granger shot him a grateful smile.

"Yes, well, we're happy you're looking out for her," Mr Granger added. "We know she'll be safe in your hands."

Well, as safe as he wanted her to be, anyway. Harry couldn't discount the possibility of endangering her again just to get her in the right state of mind to cooperate with him.

"Of course," he said with an earnest smile. "I wouldn't dream of letting anything happen to Hermione," he half-lied.

As Hermione blushed for the third time since the beginning of their interaction, they said their goodbyes to Mr and Mrs Granger before he helped her onto the train, levitating his luggage behind him with his wand — no sense in raising suspicions, after all.

"So?" Harry asked as they settled in a compartment. "How was your summer?" he asked. "Did you get my letters?"

Hermione nodded, blushing slightly. She brought out her wand and, with a flourish, began to write in the air.

I DID. THEY WERE VERY NICE.

She then hesitated for a moment before her wand moved again.

SUMMER WAS FINE. YOUR LETTERS HELPED ME A LOT.

Which, of course, was a lie. Hermione was not one to mince words when things actually were fine — she was descriptive and enthusiastic. If she was being cagey now, it meant that things hadn't gone the way she wanted over the summer.

Good.

"I can only imagine. Being back home at last must've been nice, right?"

Ah, a flinch. Her home life must have really not lived up to expectations, then, unsurprising given her situation. And being unable to use magic at all also meant problems communicating and moving around.

YES.

"Lots of time to catch up with your parents?"

Another flinch, followed by a nod. Her parents were somehow involved in her barely hidden misery. Good.

"Well, I'm glad things went well. They are your parents, after all, I'm sure they understand what you're going through better than anyone else."

That led to the hardest flinch of all, confirming all of Harry's suppositions about how her summer had actually gone.

Oh, yes, this would be a fun ride to Hogwarts.

URURURURURURURURUR

Hours later, by the time the food trolley had gone by, Harry had managed to wriggle out the truth of Hermione's vacation. It was just as he'd hoped — she and her parents had been in one row after another over what had happened in Hogwarts and her injuries. More specifically, they had opted to try and convince her to go to a less dangerous institution — such as Beauxbatons — and she steadfastly refused, citing that all her friends were in Hogwarts and that it was the best school in Europe.

Apparently, those rows lasted days and invariably always ended in a truce that was soon broken after an otherwise innocent comment was made about Hermione's situation.

Harry couldn't have asked for a better result.

He was about to capitalise on this information when fate intervened, however. Just as he was about to drive Hermione deeper into that dark pit of resentment and despair, the door to their cabin opened up, revealing quite possibly one of the last people Harry had wanted to see at the moment: the Weasley girl.

"S-Sorry for the interruption!" the girl squeaked. "I just... I'm looking for Hermione Granger."

Harry stifled a glower as he asserted his cool persona. He eyed Hermione for a moment and, seeing no reason to be impolite, gestured at her. "You've found her."

Hermione, for her part, waved her wand about, forming the words, WHO'S THERE.

"Ron's sister," Harry answered.

"Ginny," the girl supplied softly, staring unblinking at Hermione. "So, it's true."

"What is?" Harry asked, curious despite himself.

"My brother did this, right?" Ginny asked, receiving no immediate answer.

Harry looked over at Hermione, who seemed to sense his attention and shrugged. He turned his eyes back to Ginny, who squirmed on the spot at being the centre of his attention.

"Indirectly, yes," he said carefully. On the one hand, he couldn't deny Ron's involvement without angering Hermione unnecessarily, but on the other, he didn't want to start a feud with the Weasley clan at this stage. His current level of relationship with Ron, Percy, and the twins was more than adequate, as they never really paid him any attention and he reciprocated.

Ginny nodded slowly before turning to Hermione and looking right at her. "I'm sorry!"

Harry's eyes widened slightly in surprise before turning to Hermione, who tilted her head curiously.

"She's apologising to you," he informed her. Again, Hermione traced the air with her wand, leaving behind a message.

WHAT FOR.

"Good question," he muttered before turning to Ginny. Was this some kind of selfless attempt at making up for Ron's mistakes? If so, she was being adorably and disgustingly ingenuous.

"My brother, he did this to you," Ginny told Hermione. "H— we can't make everything right, but everyone, I mean my family, wants to apologize"

Interesting. So the Weasleys as a whole were suffering some kind of collective guilt over what Ron had done to Hermione. Were he a man of the Light, Harry would've been impressed with their dedication to their fellow man. As it was, however, it just gave Harry ideas about how to exploit this weakness.

"Not that Hermione doesn't appreciate the apology, I'm sure, but why isn't Ron the one giving it?" Harry asked, smiling internally at Hermione's flinch.

"My brother... isn't good with words," Ginny explained slowly. "Percy is too cold, and the twins never take anything seriously, so my parents wanted me to be the one to apologise for R—for everyone."

Strange. Something about the way she'd expressed herself caught his attention — what was it? The words themselves were fairly innocuous. Was it the admission that the Weasley boys weren't perfect? No: a blind rat could see that. What was it?

Ah.

It was resentment.

Harry opened himself up to the Force and focused his attention on the only Weasley girl. And there it was. Resentment. Not very well hidden, either. Ginny resented being the one told to go apologise on behalf of her brother. Not very Light of her at all. That gave him an idea.

"Well, that's not very fair," Harry said aloud to Hermione while keeping his Force senses open and focused on Ginny. "I mean, it's not like she had anything to do with what happened, right?"

Even as Hermione nodded in agreement, Harry got what he was looking for — passion, resentment, and agreement all practically broadcasting from Ginny. This girl, he realised, wore her heart on her sleeve, and while she'd done very well to hide her emotional state from bubbling up to the surface, it was merely skin-deep.

And then he felt it — the Darkness inside her.

It took Harry aback for a moment, almost missing the part where Ginny apologised for taking their time and said her goodbyes before leaving him and Hermione alone, but for a brief moment, he'd felt it. A powerful darkness that he swore he'd felt before.

No. No, that wasn't right. Not a darkness; two.

Harry frowned as he cupped his chin pensively. He faintly recognised one of them but was unable to pinpoint from where exactly. The other, on the other hand, was far more recognisable.

Voldemort.

Like the darkness he'd felt from Quirrell during their confrontation months ago, Ginny seemed to possess a sliver of it inside her as well. But, oddly enough, her presence hadn't pained him the way Quirrell's had when they'd first met. Was she hosting Voldemort somewhere on her body? No — the darkness was too weak for that. When he'd felt it on Quirrell, the darkness had practically been overpowering, but here, it was barely a fraction.

Then, where could she have…?

A memory clicked in Harry's head and it was all he could do to stop himself from laughing out loud. The book. The result of the sleight of hand the Malfoy patriarch had performed in Diagon Alley! Oh, this was rich.

As he looked back to Hermione, who was beginning to hum for his attention, he privately thought to himself that this would indeed be an interesting year.

Post-AN: Inb4 I get questions about Harry's gambling streak: Episode 1 of the Star Wars movies clearly showed Qui-Gon Jinn using the Force to manipulate dice, and the use of the Force for gambling has appeared in other stories as well. Harry is merely using the most out of the Force's short-term precognitive abilities to manipulate chance. He's not all powerful (yet) or somehow becoming OP - a guy winning too much is still getting kicked out of a casino, undetectable cheating or not.