The Art of Peace

Chapter 2:

Friends

Harry opened his eyes to a pounding headache that only got worse when the light in the room shone directly in his face.

"So you're awake," a voice said. "It's about time; you had me worried there for a while."

This voice spoke in perfect English, with only the hint of an accent to show that it was not the speaker's native tongue.

"Who... Who are you?" Harry asked, his voice abnormally hoarse and strained.

"You can call me Sifu; I am a friend."

"Did you save me?"

"You could say that, yes. Although if it weren't for the one behind you I think you might have gotten away all right. I didn't see him myself until the last second."

Groggily, Harry sat up. In front of him was a man. He looked to be in his mid thirties or early forties at the latest, although it was hard to tell. He had hair black as night that was shaved close to his head and a compact body that was obviously very muscular. His eyes had the ageless look that Dumbledore so often carried; a piercing grey that shook Harry to the core.

"You flew!" This came out as more of an accusation than it was meant to and Harry found himself stuttering. "A-A-Are y-you a wizard?"

"A what? What do you think this is, the Middle Ages?" The man laughed. "I though we stopped believing that nonsense years ago."

Confusion filled Harry's head. "But I saw you?"

"Well, that doesn't mean it is magic, my son. Merely an application of mind over matter. But enough about me, who are you?"

"Harry. My name is Harry."

"No last name?" The smile on Sifu's face grew wider, making Harry feel like an errant schoolboy.

"No, no last name."

"That's all right, I can accept that. Can you tell me where you are from?"

"Nowhere any more." And as he said it, Harry realized it was true. He no longer had a home, and with the announcement of his death he had no friends to hold him back. The only thing keeping him still right now was the massive bruise that was his body. That and the man sitting in the chair next to him drinking tea.

"Ahhh... Much like me then, I gather. I too am a wanderer, a man without a place to call home. But for me it is a choice. For you... well, it matters not. What matters is that you are safe. Perhaps you would like a companion for a while?" The smiling face had turned into a quizzical look of inquiry.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it seems we are both at loose ends at the moment, and while I would never presume to say you owed me something, maybe you could repay me by giving an older man some much needed company."

"Ummm... I suppose I could go wherever you are going, I have no plans." Harry's mind was spinning now. He had just met this man and already he was going to be traveling with him! Why?

"Marvelous! We'll get to know each other then." Sifu's broad grin was contagious, and Harry felt himself smiling as well.

They talked long into the night over tea and noodle soup, laughing like they were old friends. Sifu had amazing stories, so many that Harry wasn't sure if he was making them up or not, though he told them like he had been there. They involved places Harry had only heard of: Tibet, India, Tanzania, Australia and others. It was close to two in the morning before they finally got to sleep, having agreed to leave Calais in the morning. The next morning, they walked out into the streets, Harry carrying his duffel on his back as well as a bag of Sifu's things. Sifu had a large bag himself as well as a staff that looked like it wasn't just for walking. He moved like a cat, Harry noticed. A closer glance showed that he was almost constantly on the balls of his feet, ready for anything. It reminded him of Crouch/Moody and his constant cries of "Constant Vigilance!" Whatever the reason was, Harry felt safe with him. They walked quietly side by side to a train station and caught one to Marseille.

"So," Harry said, starting the conversation. "What do you do?"

"Oh this and that, never the same thing for long," Sifu replied evasively.

Harry didn't question him, it was obvious that he had secrets just as Harry did, and if worse came worse, he did have his wand in his coat pocket after all. He was sure that Sifu couldn't move faster than a simple Stupefy spell.

"Do you have any plans when we get to Marseille?" Harry asked.

"No, none really. Just going to settle down for a few months. Marseille is a great place to spend the summer, although I think we won't be seeing the famous sights the rich and famous do. We are traveling in third class after all," he said with a laugh.

"You act like you've been there before." A statement, not a question, as Sifu's comment had been the voice of experience.

"Oh, once or twice, a long time ago. I'm sure the old places are still there though." Sifu's face now had a look of fond remembrance.

They both settled into a companionable silence once more, enjoying the countryside as it flowed past. Harry was excited though. He had left his old life behind, and for now at least his friends should be safe. What would this new life have in store for him? He had no idea, but he did know one thing for sure. Whatever it was, it was going to be a journey worth remembering.

Meanwhile, somewhere in England:

Voldemort was frustrated. The entire wizarding world seemed to have been taken in by his ruse. If only it were true! He had yet to hear anything on the whereabouts of the Potter boy, and he couldn't just ask all his Death Eaters to mount a general search as that would just announce to the whole world that the boy was alive. He knew very well that somewhere in his Death Eater ranks there was a mole, he just could not find where, and the information that leaked out was general enough to make his entire cadre a suspect. It was that meddling fool Dumbledore up to his old tricks; he had no doubt about that. How the man could even string together a coherent sentence, let alone organize a resistance was beyond Voldemort's ken, but he had learned long ago never to underestimate Albus Dumbledore. In the meantime, however, all he could do was wait and contact some of his trusted supporters overseas. He was sure Potter was leaving England if he hadn't already as he had not gotten word of his contacting Hogwarts for help. Patience was one thing he had a lot of now, though. If Potter was truly gone he could take his time to gather support now instead of forcing a confrontation. Yes, maybe that is what he would do.