Blue flame of the east, Red flame of the west

Chapter 2: The Birthday Trip

Harry was in his bedroom again that day. When he came back from the library, his uncle was waiting for him. Uncle Vernon was more creative with his punishment: he dragged him to his bedroom, pinned Harry to the ground and made Dudley sit on Harry's back for 30 minutes while he walloped his shins with a leather belt. When it was done, Harry couldn't breathe or move properly for several hours (needless to say, he wasn't given any lunch or supper).

Harry suddenly thought about the implications of this punishment: did Uncle Vernon finally accept the fact Dudley was just too heavy? Telling Sirius about this punishment came to his mind for a brief moment, but he pushed it away as just as fast as it came up. I can deal with this. He doesn't have to worry about me.

Harry sent the rest of the night writing down everything Ji-ho told him at the library and replying letters from the Weasley's and Sirius (leaving out the punishment). He was just about to write meeting Ji-ho at the Little Whinging public library to Sirius then he paused for a moment.

"Shim-yun-ui-noon in a boy. Namu …"

Ji-ho said these words twice, though he wasn't totally certain at the first time he said it. What did it mean? It seemed important. Why, Harry didn't know. Harry just knew the statement had nothing to do with his scar. His hair was growing ridiculously fast this summer, and he didn't take the pains to cut his bangs at all. His hair looked like a hedgehog in a peachy mood, and his forehead was covered with long messy bangs that went pass his eyes, totally obscuring the scar form view. All Ji-ho could have seen was his face. What did Ji-ho see? His quill was poised ready to write. Then he started to scribble:

Sirius, do these words ring any bell to you? I don't know what kind of language it was spoken in, Cherokee or Apache for all I know, but I met this Native American man called Ji-ho at the public library in Little Whinging and said it when he looked at me. I think this is how he pronounced it:

Shimyun-E-noon in a boy. Nah-moo.

The only English parts of his words were 'in a boy,' the rest I'm sure is a foreign language. Tell me if you know. I got this gut feeling that it's important.

He then took another piece of parchment and started to write to Hermione, asking how her summer was and asking the same question he asked Sirius. If Sirius didn't know, then Hermione would, or, she'd find out somehow. He made a mental note to ask Ji-ho when he met him next morning.

He looked down at his letters. His hand wasn't working well. His writing was thin and spidery. He rubbed his right hand with his left, and flexed his right fingers. But the strength didn't come back.

That night Harry's body seemed to have declared that it had enough of no sleep. He fell into an uneasy slumber. But the nightmares that inevitably came weren't as bad as they normally were.

However, next morning when he woke up he didn't feel refreshed or lively as he hoped he would be. He's energy didn't deteriorate even lower levels like it did in previous nights, but it wasn't restored. He just wanted to lie down for the rest of the day. Will I ever have rest again?

He was tired. As if to reflect his rather gloomy mood, his bedroom looked grey and damp. The air was thick and stuffy. It made him uncomfortable and lethargic. He didn't want to move from his bed. Moving seem to take an inordinate amount of effort.

Just lie down. Have some rest … maybe this time…

[I don't thinks so,] said a voice in the back of his head. [You don't like the feeling of this room. You want to get out.]

You're too tired … Just lie down …

[No, you can coop with this] said the voice, more firmly. Harry suddenly remembered resisting the Imperious curse: the feeling was vaguely familiar. He shook his head violently and sprang up from his bed.

Damn?! What is this??!! What's the hell is happening??

Harry couldn't figure out what was happening to him. Whatever it was, he didn't like it one bit. He had to get out of the room, out of the Dursley's house. He quickly changed his clothes, grabbed the notepad Ji-ho's gave to him yesterday, and ran out of the house. When he was about several blocks away from the Dursley's, Harry felt the heavy lethargy leaving his being at once.

This is so strange … I never came across this sort of enchantment in any of the schoolbooks. Can it be possible someone tried to put the Imperious curse on me?

But that can't be. I know how it's like to be hit by the Imperious curse. Even if I was hit, I didn't succumb to its power before … I know how to fight it back.

He looked back to #4 Privet Drive. It looked perfectly normal, as it always did. But Harry swore he felt a sinister aura coming from the house. If he had a choice, he wouldn't be going back there, ever.

"What are you doing here so early in the morning?"

Harry jumped. He turned around wildly and saw Mrs. Figg looking at him with concern. He relaxed a bit. He tried to speak, but found his jaw was still clamped shut. So he started scribbling:

Sorry, can't talk. Very bad neck cold.

"Ah, I know a very good remedy for neck cold --"

Thank you Mrs. Figg, but I already took my medicine. I'd better go now.

He fled.

Harry spent the rest of the morning before the library was open running around a nearby park. He didn't feel safe just sitting in front of the library, waiting it to open. When he finally did return, to the library was already open. He went inside, sweaty and exhausted, and found Ji-ho sitting and reading on the same table as yesterday.

"Yo, Harry my man. Whassup? Did you run over here? You're drenched with sweat."

Ji-ho looked at Harry's stupefied face and began to laugh silently.

"Sorry. American ghetto English. I'll try to speak in British, but it'll be hard. Have a seat."

Harry nodded dumbly, and sat down.

"So, how's your cold?" Harry shook his head glumly. "Still bothering you, huh? Shouldn't you stay at home with some chicken soup or something?"

Harry shook his head violently. Going back to Privet Drive was the last thing he wanted to do or think about right now. Ji-ho looked at him thoughtfully with a furrowed brow.

"OK, I hope you know what you're doing to yourself. So, did you find anything interesting for your project? I've found some books that might be helpful…"

Harry spent another morning happily reading and discussing the books Ji-ho brought him. Ji-ho was a marvel: not only was he a great teacher, but he also seemed to transmit his boundless energy and enthusiasm to Harry effortlessly. When Harry commented that Ji-ho should become a College Professor not a doctor, Ji-ho seemed to consider it quite seriously.

"That's an idea. I hate the guts of this jackass, self-important moron of a doctor who's my lab instructor…hate to think about the possibility of myself turning like that…"

Harry, remembering Snape, nodded fervently. No way I'm going to turn into Snape.

"Geez, didn't realized it's almost two in the afternoon. Want to help me out with my lunch again? My Aunt was impressed that I managed to bring an empty lunchbox, but was latter convinced I needed to eat even more then that."

Harry nodded. He was really looking forward to taste the California rolls again. He wasn't disappointed.

He spent the rest of the afternoon with Ji-ho as well. Ji-ho owned a dark-blue Yamaha motorcycle, and drove all around Little Whinging with it as much speed as he dared, Harry sitting behind him. It was a wonderful feeling. Maybe he should get a motorcycle when he was of age…Sirius or Hagrid could instruct him how to ride one (making it fly was, sadly, not an option). They kept on passing Mrs. Figg, but since they were driving so fast Harry couldn't even wave at her without the fear of falling off.

They had stopped at a nearby sushi bar and Ji-ho introduced Harry to 'the wonders' of sushi. Harry was appalled when he found out that sushi was literally 'a slab of dead raw fish on steamed rice.' He wasn't too keen to eat them, but once he tasted it (Ji-ho kept grabbing his nose and force-feed him particularly large ones with white-fleshed fish, no wasabi included), he began to see why people were so crazy about it.

Ji-ho dropped Harry several blocks away from number four late that evening. Harry wanted to thank Ji-ho profusely for spending all his time (and money) on him, but Ji-ho (sensing it, Harry suspected) started to thank HIM profusely for spending so much time with a lonely man nearly twice his age. He kept going on until the subject and verb of the sentence was buried under an avalanche of subordinate clauses. While listening to Ji-ho's soliloquy, he remembered the question he forgot about asking.

Ji-ho, sorry to stop your excellent soliloquy, but can I ask you a question?

"Sure, but I don't grantee that I can answer it."

Alriiiight… You said 'shimyun-E-noon in a boy, Nah-moo' yesterday before I left, what does it mean?

If Ji-ho was surprised that Harry heard what he was saying, then he didn't show it.

"It's namu. N-A-M-U (he wrote it down); it's a Buddhist prayer. In Sanskrit namas it means 'take refuge in Buddah,' One of the most popular too."

The rest?

"That, I can't tell. Or rather, I'll have a bull of a time trying to explain it to you, so it's just not worth explaining -- I'd probably confuse you till you wear your shoes on your head."

You can try.

"I don't dare. It's getting late. See you again, Harry Potter-goon."

Ji-ho kicked the motorbike's engine alive and drove off.

Harry was lying in his bed after finishing all his summer assignments that night. Hedwig had returned. She didn't seem to be keen in staying in the bedroom, but didn't leave Harry all the same. For some reason, it brought him comfort. Hedwig brought another letter from Hogwarts, telling him to prepare himself for Foreign magic studies with research and reading (no specific books were listed and doing it was not required). He could just see Hermione burying herself under a pile of books, determined to obtain all knowledge about Asia and India within the summer. He himself as rather lost in where to start.

Well, I suppose I can ask Sirius and Professor Lupin … Maybe Ji-ho can help me a bit in history … He is half Japanese …He'll know something …

Harry started to stare at the ceiling. He took a habit of counting the holes drilled on his bedroom ceiling to pass time.

One … two … three ……fifteen! Huh? The last time I counted them it was sixteen - one … two … three … seventeen! What the hell? Why do I keep getting different numbers? Hold it, is the ceiling moving?!!

Harry froze. The ceiling was swirling and shimmering like the surface of a potion. A voice echoed in his head.

No escape. You can't move.

Harry tried to move his arms but they refused to even twitch. He can't move. He looked at the ceiling with horror as the ceiling stopped swirling and started to mold and take shape.

This is a dream. This isn't happening. Harry wanted to close his eyes, but he didn't have any control over them either. He let out a silent scream as the ceiling slowly became an extension of a huge snake. No, not just any snake, a Basilisk. And no, there was more: the Basilisk was surrounded by short spears. The spears got longer and sharper as the basilisk became clearer and clearer in form.

The basilisk slowly and deliberately lowered its head, looming over Harry. Its blank plaster white eyes were fixed on Harry's emerald green. They were slowly getting closer, now they were almost nose-to-nose. All the while the spears continued to elongate. Now it was pricking his body. Please let this be a dream.

No escape. You'll be a part of me.

He tried to move. He now couldn't even feel the rest of him body. His arms were being pierced by the spears, yet he felt no pain.

It was hopeless. The Basilisk was going to kill him. If the Basilisk didn't kill him the spears will pierce him. He couldn't move. No escape.

[Get up!] said a voice, low and clear. It sounded familiar [Snap out of it!]

The spears halted. The Basilisk stopped moving.

No escape.

It was the first voice, louder and clearer then ever, inside his head.

He could hear screams of pain and agony. It was everywhere: unearthly, hair-raising, and terrible. He could hear his mother screaming in a distance. Of all the screaming, he heard the two voices rising above it all, booming in his head.

NO ESCAPE

[GET UP!!]

He heard Hedwig's screeches. He felt her talons on his chest while she frantically pulled his hair with her beak, beating her wings against his face. Harry's eyes snapped open.

He was shivering and shaking like he had a bad bout of the flu. He was gasping for breath and was covered with cold sweat. Hedwig was sitting on his rapidly rising and falling chest, looking very scared and concerned indeed.

The ceiling looked perfectly normal. The sixteen holes where there. Was it a dream, or was it real? He looked at his arms: they were smooth for the moment.

For a long time Harry simply stared at the open space.

Why does this shit always happen to me? WHY?!

Hedwig hooted softly on his chest. He looked at her. The vision blurred.

The-Boy-Who-Lived wept that night, his arms bleeding from invisible wounds.

The following weeks were horrible. Whatever happened THE night (as he called it), the fact remained that next morning he had invisible wounds on his arms and other parts of his body that kept bleeding at the most random of moments. He was constantly tired, and his grip was getting weaker daily.

To make matters worse, the Dursley's were getting ever more harsh and creative with their punishments. He passed out one night and had another nightmare: his screams woke the entire household and Uncle Vernon, apoplectic with rage, repeatedly shocked him with the kitchen sink that had an electric current flowing. The last time he came in late with a meeting with Ji-ho, he was locked up in the cupboard for two days without food.

The nightmares were getting more and more persistent. Harry tried to cut sleep again, but he couldn't. After midnight his eyes started to droop, and before he even realized what was happening he was asleep. The nightmares started to develop a pattern: He was in danger from an invisible source, screams of agony will fill the air and amongst the din, someone will yell [GET UP!] in his head. Sometimes the 'someone' was a man with a face so horrible he couldn't look at him for a split second. Sometimes it was his mother, though he never got to see her. Usually … it was Cedric.

Harry knew many reasons why Cedric would haunt his dreams. But telling him to get up in his nightmares was not one of them. It was beyond strange, it was downright scary.

The few refuges and consolations he had from all of the mess were the regular correspondence with Ron and Hermione, the not-so-regular correspondence with Sirius, and the sporadic meetings with Ji-ho.

Harry didn't know how he could have survived at the Dursleys a day without Ji-ho. He was now Harry's only escapade, oasis, and refuge from everything.

Ji-ho was a veritable mine of knowledge and resource: He knew about almost anything non-magical Harry wanted to know, and guided him through the way if it failed. (This was rare, however.) Ji-ho lent Harry various books on Asian mythology and legends after Harry informed him that he was going to take Asian studies (this was the best term he could cook-up). "Best way to approach a foreign country without going there is looking at their Mythology." Ji-ho said firmly (Harry didn't dispute the statement, though he was a trifle doubtful with it). The books were very interesting; they were like children books with epic and fantastic proportions, and Harry would read them late into the night. Ji-ho also taught him Chinese letters for Asian studies preparation ("It's the Latin of Asia"). Harry managed to memorize the entire the book of thousand words ("It's called 'chun-ja-moon.' got all the basic words") Ji-ho gave to him within three days and was very proud of it.

Also, whenever he spent a day with Ji-ho his strength seem to recover somewhat, and the nightmares weren't as bad as they use to. Harry wanted to meet him in daily basis, but Sirius warned him not to be so trusting. So, on the days he didn't meet Ji-ho, Harry had to console himself with the books Ji-ho lent to him for his benefit.

"Choo-ka, Choo-ka."

Today was Harry's birthday. He received his presents from Ron and company (they gave him a large box full of sweets and Mrs. Weasley's excellent cooking with a letter informing that Dumbledore still wasn't sure about him going to The Burrow, but thought the situation was getting better. The box was almost the death of Errol), Hermione (a must needed wristwatch and a large book on Asian magic), Sirius and Lupin (a pair of Quidditch goggles and a large birthday cake), and Hagrid (Another birthday cake and a Viking talisman) early this morning. He was now sitting on the same table outside the library with Ji-ho as they always did for the past few weeks.

"Happy Birthday Harry."

Harry didn't tell Ji-ho about his birthday. He felt Ji-ho did too much for him to give him a present, but since he thought Ji-ho wouldn't be thinking on those lines at all, didn't tell him. Ji-ho figured it out, however. Harry remembered all of the suspiciously irrelevant math riddles Ji-ho made him answer, and thought Ji-ho must have fished out his birthday from his answers. He was very grateful for it (if a trifle guilty). For the second time of his remembered life, someone came to him face to face to celebrate his day of birth.

"I hope you don't mind a rather Asianic birthday cake," said Ji-ho giving him a large chunk of pure white rice-cake which he called "beck-sul-gi" and a cup of what looked like seaweed soup ("mi-yuk soup!"). Harry grinned at him while he shook his head.

Harry stilled communicated with Ji-ho with writing. Three days after meeting Ji-ho, Harry had to admit he was having problems talking. He had no problem opening his mouth when he was eating, but when it came to talking, his jaw mysteriously clamped up and refused to open up without force. When he did open his mouth, all he could do was admit hoarse sighs. Ji-ho, thankfully, didn't push the subject, but Harry knew he was gathering data in more subtle and indirect ways.

"Nice watch by the way."

Thanks. My friend Hermione Granger gave it to me today.

"Her parent's are dentist?"

How did you know that?

"The watch is specially made from a dental equipment company as a gift, for I can see the company's logo of concern conspicuously on the band. Then it's not hard to deduce that her parents are dentist."

Geez, you sound like Sherlock Holmes.

"Elementary, my dear Watson."

Marvelous Holmes, Marvelous!!

They laughed silently at first then got more and more gusto. Finally Ji-ho whipped his eyes and said:

"It warms my heart to know you're keeping up with your reading."

Harry quickly learned Ji-ho was a voracious reader and liked making puns that required obscure knowledge of the books he read. He was appalled when he learned Harry didn't know enough (none, really) to laugh or boo at his puns. There after he insisted he should read everything in his books-that-must-be-read list. Harry didn't particularly mind reading them: he felt like paying back all the favors Ji-ho did for him when he read them, and they were (surprisingly) interesting.

"Let's forget about studious duties for a while. I've got something for you -- somethings actually."

He gave him a present wrapped in red silk and a blue ribbon.

Harry stared at the present. He felt a mixture of emotions that ranged from gratitude to confusion. Ji-ho didn't have to give him a present. He didn't have to acknowledge he knew his birthday, since Harry never told him. He didn't have to be this good to him. He didn't have a reason to be this good to him. Yet Ji-ho treated him like a life long friend and a younger brother. Liquid came to his eyes. He did so much for me, but I'm doing nothing for him.

You didn't have to … I don't deserve this ….

"Yeah, I had to. Yeah, you do. This is how it should be."

But …

"You might be wondering. I wondered myself too. But I think I understand now."

Understand what?

"I can't tell you. You're too European to understand. Besides, it's an understanding in my point of view. Your understanding will be different from mine. For now, just know that this is Karma."

Car - WHAT??

"K-A-R-M-A. Just keep it in your mind. You'll know."

"Come on in. Nothings going to bite, though you might bite them."

Ji-ho, as a 'birthday trip' brought Harry to his kiln.

I didn't know you did pottery.

"I come from a family which produced potters for 3 generations. Only the males, I'm afraid."

Hermione isn't going to like that.

"I dare say she won't."

They went inside. His pottery studio walls were lined with shelves. The shelves were full of pottery of every description. All of them were either soft jade-blue or white, and they definitely looked Asian.

Wow, these vases …their not …

"These are chung-ja; blue vases of Korea. These are beck-ja; white vases of Korea."

But I thought you were half-Japanese.

"So I am. In the legal sense I'm half Japanese and half Native American. But my Japanese ancestors were rooted from Korea. They were proud of that, and so am I."

Oh.

"Japan learned, or stole as some people say, pottery skills from Korea. I'm not sure whether Korea learned pottery from China but it's a good guess. The shapes are basically the same for all three countries. What differentiates the three is the preference of color and decoration. I say these are Korean pottery because of the color: the soft Jade-blue in particular. Only Koreans can make this sort of blue: not strong and intense like Japan, and not flashy like China. The Pictures, if any, are very simple and elegant. It allows the form and color of the ceramic do the real job."

He gently caressed the surface of one of blue vases. Harry could see the love and passion Ji-ho had for pottery. He's truly at his element, thought Harry.

So are you the next heir of your family?

"No. My Japanese father wasn't the eldest son, so I don't get to inherit the family kiln. I don't have to; I have my own kilns in Korea and Japan and that's enough for me. I borrowed this one from one of my cousins, my motherly Aunt's first son. Anyway, I don't want to do pottery professionally. Doctor or Professor is fine with me."

So you plan to do it as a hobby?

"I don't know if hobby is the right word. I definitely can't live without pottery … but I don't want to make money or reputation out of it."

It's pure passion, right?

"Uh-huh. That sums up my thoughts quite nicely. Do you like pottery?"

I never thought about it. But seeing this, I think I'm starting to like it.

"Why?"

I mean, when you think about it, it's really … how should I put this … magical isn't it? All of these vases and china, all of them were clay, right? Then that clay turned into something … beautiful.

Ji-ho seemed to be surprised and pleased with Harry's words.

"Quite true. Pottery's like stone masonry and sculpture: You start from ordinary objects like stone and clay, refine and mold it with care, and the result is something … otherworldly and yet elemental, if you know what I mean. It has elements of its material, and something more -- the heart and soul of the creator."

It's too profound to put in words, huh?

"Words are unnecessary and not essential in communication."

Harry nodded.

"Pity it's the easiest and most universally accepted form of communication."

Harry let out a mock groan. Ji-ho giggled.

"So, would you like to learn pottery Potter-goon?"

Oh yes, please.

Harry quickly learned that real pottery had much more to it then sitting in front of a spinning stool and start molding the clay. To begin with, there was earth selection: Harry was at first shocked when Ji-ho took a pinch of his newly delivered earth and tasted it. Ji-ho then explained that good earth (that is, good for pottery) pasted sweet and not very watery. The balance between elements in the earth were extremely important when it came to baking the dried 'drafts' and determining the strength of the final results. Then there was the initial molding: Large air-bubbles that might be trapped in the clay had to be released. Harry only participated this much in the process (Ji-ho told him that it sometimes takes months to master even these basics), but he watched Ji-ho make a simple vase with utter fascination. All in all, the process reminded Harry of potion making: exact, and meticulous. Only pottery didn't fill him with dread: the effects of different teachers were quite astonishing

"Now we have to dry this in the shade."

Why shade? If you put it in the sun it would dry faster.

"Very impatient, aren't you? If you leave these 'rough-drafts' in the sun, it dries too fast and they crack."

Oh.

"Slowly and surely, you know. Slowly and surely: this is a long-term effort art.

"After this vase is dry - it can take up to a day or a week depending on the weather and size - we cover it with this solution," He showed Harry a light chocolate brown solution, "and then we dry it again. After that, you paint or sculpture the draft if you want to. Then the final process: baking.

"Baking is more then just putting the drafts in an oven. Temperature control is the key to a failure and a success. Now a day's we have thermometers to keep track of the heat, but in the old days the potter had to find out by gut and experience. How much heat, where you heat it, and when you heat it, all contributes to the quality of the result."

Requires a lot of effort, doesn't it? Are there a lot of failures?

"Only about 1% of what I make is worthy of public view. 5% of the remaining are mediocre, the rest are failures. Like this one here," he took a large white vase from on of the shelves and a hammer, "is one of my many failures. The baking was done wrong: there's a hairline crack in it."

It looked perfectly fine to Harry. In fact it looked quite beautiful with the three deep blue Chinese dragons flying on its surface, entwined with clouds.

"This is what you do with failures."

Harry gasped as Ji-ho smashed the beautiful vase with the hammer, shattering it to many pieces.

But all the effort you must have put to it … and it was so …did you have to …

"Yeah, I had to. Appearances can be deceiving, you know. Despite all the effort, some vases go bad. Once it's baked, it can't be reversed, no matter what. Rather seeing what the bad one will do in this world, I have it destroyed. With my hands, so it will only be my fault."

I don't understand. How can a vase do things?

"I know it's very hard for non-potters and potters-in-training to understand this. After all, a vase is just a vase: an ornament as some dare say. But if you love and practice pottery long enough you'll know. More over, the destruction of the failures gives the true potter the will to further strive for perfection. For those who are not, despair."

I still don't get it.

"Then keep asking the question. If you ponder it long enough, you'll know."

So you keep telling me for the real question.

"Patience, my dear potter. Patience."

Oh, well.

"I won't touch this vase until you're here to see. Your face was practically flashing like a neon sign saying that you wanted to see the final result."

I AM impatient, as you keep telling me.

"Then try to be more patient. Now, considering the climate as of now … it will take about three days. That reminds me …"

What?

"I'm planning to go for a trip to London and Cambridge. There's a special ceramics exhibition I 'm dying to see. One day only event, so I dare not miss it. Do you want to come along?"

Harry thought about it. He really wanted to go. He could do almost ANYTHING to get away for the Dursley's for at least a day. And a special ceramics exhibition! But he had to ask Dumbledore and Sirius (the Dursley's opinion, luckily, didn't count. They'd do whatever Sirius wanted them to do. At least they still would).

I don't know … I really want to go, but I got to ask …

"-- for your guardian's permission? That's understandable. Tell me what they say as soon as you can. Same time and place right?"

Harry nodded miserably. Why can't I have a normal life?

(to be continued ...)