Blue flame of the east, Red flame of the west

Chapter 11: The storms are coming …

Harry returned to the Gryffindor tower well past midnight. When he entered the common room, it was completely empty except for Ron and Hermione, who were sleeping next to each other with their heads resting on books. Harry smiled at the scene. It was just too cute, so cute and peaceful. He hated to wake them up, but he couldn't let his two best friends sleep in such an uncomfortable position all night.

"Hey Ron, Hermione wake up …"

Ron swatted his hand irritably, missing Harry's nose by only a couple of millimeters. He didn't get any response from Hermione: she just slept on. After several attempts of waking them up (and getting almost swatted by Ron with every attempt) Harry shrugged and gave up.

The rest of his dorm mates were snoring peacefully in their prospective beds. Harry pulled off his robes and Nakajawa's black shirt and dropped heavily into his four-poster topless, fully intending to snore his head off as well. He was dead tired after a very eventful and long day.

Only problem was he couldn't sleep. Something was bothering him, but he didn't know what it was.

It wasn't the message in the Chinese anagram he deciphered that bothered him. True, the message was disturbing and the circumstances in which the message was delivered only enforced the dread. Yet that didn't seemed to be what was making him feel this inexplicable feeling of uneasiness in the pit of his stomach.

Something was wrong …

What possibly went wrong that day? His brief meeting with Ryo early this morning (or yesterday morning) was as normal as it could get with a meeting with the man — frustrating to no end thanks to the ever-artful dodger of answers, Ryo. His first Defense against the Dark Arts lesson with the (hopefully) real Mad-eye Moody was an eye-opener that promised lots of pain in the future, but nothing went terribly wrong … at least he hoped not. His short duel with AanJi was dangerous, but there was nothing wrong with it. He helped out the twins with their practical joke challenge, which was a bit surprising considering he never participated in their prankster activities before. He had a three-hour-long out-of-class session with Professor Drow, and received a bit of startling news about his mother. Immediately after that, he had a very fruitful and eye-opening interview with Dumbledore. Harry couldn't help but feel very smug: after all, he managed to sound knowledgeable and resourceful in front of Albus Dumbledore and actually solved a problem even the adults had trouble solving. Maybe …

Then he faltered.

Wait a minute … I did all that?!

Harry went through his day again, this time trying to be objective and critical as possible. Soon it became quite apparent he was acting out of character throughout the day.

First off, he never participated in prankster activities. Though he never really minded being the butt of a joke, he never found the heart to actually pull a prank on someone unless it was absolutely necessary and/or safe. Yet that evening he quite calmly thought out rather dangerous pranks only Nakajawa, the Weasley twins and perhaps the Marauders were capable of thinking.

Second, going through three hours of lecture was totally not his usual self. To begin with, he neither possessed the concentration span nor the attentiveness to go through three hours of lecture. Even Jiho, despite his overwhelming lecturer's charisma and academic enthusiasm, could not teach him over 90 minutes regardless of topic.

Third, he was never good at discussions. Anytime he tried to argue against one of the older Kuzes, the adult of concern had him for dinner (or lunch) in a matter of minutes. He was just not knowledgeable in anything to really make good points when arguing and his eloquence had a great deal left to be desired. Yet he somehow managed to speak eloquently in front of Dumbledore; something that he never even dreamt of doing before.

Fourth, talking with absolute enthusiasm about his interest like a mania or an otaku was a Kuze clan quality, not his. But in the earlier part of the interview with Dumbledore, he sounded like one of the older members of the Kuze clan, chattering about linguistics like some obsessed scholar, which he was not.

Fifth, he managed to think all that on his own.

In short, he was acting like a Kuze.

Harry didn't know how he felt about this nor did he know why this made him feel uneasy. He loved the Kuzes. Then why did he feel uneasy of the resemblance?

The answer came to him at once. Do I want to be like a Kuze?

The very thought about loving the Kuzes and acting like a Kuze made him feel like he was betraying the Weasleys, like he was replacing the special part in heart he left for them and putting the Kuzes there instead. The Weasleys did so much for him for the past five years … telling him how to enter the platform nine and three quarters on his first day at Hogwarts, the time Ron and the twins rescued him from Privet Drive, the Quidditch world cup, coming to see him do the last task during the Triwizard tournament, the time when he came back after being captured by Voldemort … No, the Weasleys were irreplaceable. They will always be his family of heart.

Harry surveyed himself. He found no trace of the Weasley family on him. Feeling a bit sheepish and guilty, Harry pulled off the wig Nakajawa gave him.

"I'm sorry Nakajawa … but you can't replace the twins …"

Harry scratched his still too short hair. He still wasn't comfortable with his haircut and he wasn't sure if he wanted the female population of Hogwarts to have a clear view of his eyes, which they claimed to be … augh. An inspiration suddenly hitting him, Harry pulled out his wand and whispered a spell. Instantly his hair grew longer. He looked himself in the mirror. He looked like he always did, though it looked messier than usual thanks to the unevenness of its length.

He put the wig inside his trunk. While he was doing it, he lamented over the fact he no longer had any Weasley sweaters to wear, as Ryo didn't bring any clothes with him when he rescued Harry from Privet Drive. Every stitch of clothing he now had once belonged to Nakajawa. This made him a trifle uneasy. A trip to a clothes store is in order as soon as I go to Hogsmeade.

Then Harry noticed the copper necklace Jiho gave him on his fifteenth birthday inside his trunk.

Harry held the mirror in front of him, staring at his blurry and coppery reflection in it.

Unlike the wig, he took the necklace out of his trunk and hung it on his neck.

---oo00oo---

Harry Potter was dreaming again.

It was pitch black.

The place Harry was standing looked familiar. He had been here before; only he couldn't remember where he was.

Harry looked down. He saw no floor yet he was standing just fine.

I wonder where I am …

He tried to walk, but he couldn't move his legs.

My body won't move … I feel so cold …

Harry looked around. Something was forming out of nowhere. Spectre like figures were forming and circling around him. He counted three. The spectres started to take form … now they took a humanoid shape.

Who are you?

The figures don't answer. They just silently circled around him, as if guarding him.

In a distance he saw a larger spectre. Unlike the spectres around him, this one was decidedly dark and sinister.

The large spectre roused, forming itself into a great hand.

~Come …~

~Come … Come to me …~

A familiar voice, though it wasn't very welcoming … Who was it?

~Come to me …~

Why?

~Just come to me …~

As if drawn to the voice, his body started moving towards the hand.

Then he heard the three smaller spectre's shouts.

[Don't go!!]

[You must not go!!]

[Don't go!!]

Their voices were familiar as well … who are they?

~Come to me …~

The hand became larger, ready to grab him in whole.

Then something on his chest started to shine brightly. Harry looked down and saw the copper mirror necklace Jiho gave him on his birthday glowing like heated gold. The mirror continued to shine more and more brightly.

The hand lurched over, pushing the smaller spectres aside. But before it got too close, the hand was blasted away to oblivion by the mirror's light.

Harry almost collapsed to the floor by the impact. He just stood there, breathing hard. But as time went past, his vision became more and more blurry rather then becoming more focused.

One of the spectres of the remaining three approached him.

The spectre looked at him with sad eyes. The face looked very familiar.

Cedric?

[Get up …]

Cedric is that you?

[Open your eyes …]

Why?

[Open your eyes …]

Cedric …?

…

.

.

…

Harry eyes snapped open. His head felt heavy and clogged because of a massive headache. Then he realized his eyes were crying of their own free will.

Why do I feel so sad?

Slowly, Harry pulled himself into a sitting position. Unconsciously he clasped the necklace hanging on his neck with both of his hands. It felt unnaturally warm.

For the longest time, Harry just sat there holding the necklace tightly in his grasp.

What was that dream?

After a long last, Harry let go of the mirror and massaged his temples, trying to lessen his headache and trying to remember what he just dreamt. He only had the vague remembrance of being afraid of something and having felt the presence of something evil. But what did that have to do with Cedric? Why couldn't he get him out of his mind?

Harry continued to feel the tears escaping from his eyes. He couldn't understand why he was crying like this. The last time he cried was when he finally spoke his first word after losing his ability to speak for nearly a month. Those tears were tears of relief. What kind of tears was he releasing now?

Sighing heavily, Harry glanced at the window. It was still quite dark. The grandfather clock in the corner showed it was almost five in the morning. Finding himself in no state to fall asleep again, Harry got up and dressed himself. His clothes were as Gothic as one could possibly get: a black long sleeve shirt that had the words: All I ever loved with a ghostly picture of a gray cathedral, black jeans, black socks, even his shoes were black. If anyone were to see him, they would think he was mourning.

Mourning. That reminded him of something, or rather, someone.

Cedric Diggory.

Harry gripped his hair. He didn't mourn for the Hufflepuff sixth year who dead because of him. Hell, he didn't have the faintest decency to at least show up in his funeral.

"Stop it," he growled between his teeth. "He's dead. Yeah, you're responsible. But you're no use if you drown in grief. You got to move on."

Shakily Harry got out of his bed muttering: "Black clothes are in demand."

---oo00oo---

Harry quietly left his dormitory and walked towards the common room after wiping the last traces of tears from his eyes. He found the fireplace alight with a cackling fire and Hermione wide-awake reading a deeply boring looking book.

Trust Hermione to use most of her spare time with books Harry mused, as he walked towards her. She didn't notice him till he was near.

"Hey."

Visibly startled, Hermione looked up with a squeak. When she saw Harry standing besides her, she let out a sigh of relief.

"What took you so long? And why didn't you wake me up?" she accused.

"Professor Drow was a bit too enthusiastic. I had to see Dumbledore, and you didn't wake up immediately," said Harry, answering her questions in order as he dropped heavily on the armchair directly in front of her.

"It didn't have anything to do with my scar," assured Harry when he saw Hermione's eyes widen. "Professor Drow mentioned something about an unpublished article my mum wrote and Dumbledore had it. I just wanted to see it."

"Oh, your Mother wrote an article? What was it about?"

"Garim-to; it's an ancient alphabet of Korea. Apparently my mum was a Linguist and she visited Tibet and Korea for field study."

"Do you have the article with you?" said Hermione excitedly.

"No, I left it with Dumbledore. Taking them with me sort of slipped my mind for … one reason and another."

Harry paused. He just remembered the discussion he had with Dumbledore.

"There's something I got you tell you," said Harry in a low voice.

Hermione raised a curious eyebrow.

"What about Ron?" she asked.

Harry briefly looked at the stairs that led to the boy's dormitory before he faced Hermione again.

"Let him sleep a little longer. We can update him after he wakes up," said Harry. Hermione looked even more curious at this, but silently showed her agreement.

After collecting his thoughts, Harry told Hermione about the interview he had with Dumbledore last night. Hermione's eyes became as large as dinner plates when he was finished.

"Someone or some people kidnapped someone Dumbledore knew well and tortured them?" said Hermione in a hushed tone. Harry nodded his head briefly. True to his word, he didn't tell Hermione about Snape.

"Yeah, but Dumbledore doesn't know why this person was captured and what the kidnappers wanted from … them. What is really disturbing is that this person isn't the easiest person to kidnap. Anyway, this person was returned with this message pinned on their body. The message was a Chinese anagram. Dumbledore wanted me to decipher it and somehow I managed to do it."

Hermione's eyes grew wider, if that was possible.

"You deciphered a Chinese anagram, Harry? But how did you do that? You don't even know Chinese!!"

"Er … I actually do. Just the letters though. Jiho insisted I should memorize The Book of Thousand Words if I wanted to study about Asia, so …"

Hermione opened her mouth in a small 'o'.

"So you know the basic thousand. Well, I'm impressed. What did the message say?"

Harry sucked in a breath before he spoke:

"The prelude to the storm has begun. Red Flame of west, prepare to die in pain. There is no escape; accept your fate."

Hermione wrote it down on a piece of parchment. Harry saw her wearing the infamous I'm-thinking-very-hard-so-be-quiet look.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" she said at last.

Harry nodded. Hermione was obviously thinking was thinking on the same lines as him.

Could Ron be the 'Red Flame of West'?

Ron seemed to fit the description of this 'Red Flame' well enough … Personally Harry always attributed Ron as a burning furnace – his affinity and constant association with the fiery colors like maroon (less enthusiastically) orange (more enthusiastically) and scarlet, his fiery temper, and his red hair … a perfect personification of Red Flame.

"Well, Ron does fit the image of a Red Flame …" said Hermione tentatively, voicing Harry's own thoughts. "But then, it fits most of the Weasleys, doesn't it?"

Harry nodded his head again. True, the Weasleys were renowned for their red hair, and all of the members of the Weasley family seemed to have a temper of varying degrees of intensity.

"But to play the devils advocate, the Weasleys aren't the only people with red hair. We might be automatically associating this 'Red Flame' with Ron because we know him well. Besides, we don't know all of the people Professor Dumbledore knows. Maybe there's another person he knows that has red hair. Who knows? This 'Red Flame' might not even have red hair."

Hermione's last idea didn't go well with Harry at all and he promptly argued against it. Hermione went on about the person might having a Fire sign for his/her horoscope and the lucky color being red. But Harry countered her saying that there were too many people who could fit such a description. After thirty minutes of arguing and shooting one explanation after another on who might the 'Red Flame of West' be, Harry called for a temporary stop.

"Hermione, I think we should leave the topic right here. We've running around in circles for thirty minutes and its obvious we don't have enough information to figure out he/she might be. So let's focus on why these people sent a Chinese anagram and what the message means."

"You have a point," agreed Hermione. "Well, what the message means isn't that hard. It quite clearly states the 'Red Flame' will die in pain, and there is no escaping that fate."

"But does that mean the 'Red Flame' will be murdered or killed?" said Harry darkly.

"I didn't think about that," admitted Hermione. "But both are conceivable possibilities. Either way, the message seems to guarantee the death will be painful."

"Which is very assuring," said Harry sarcastically.

"Yes, very assuring," said Hermione with equal sarcasm.

"OK … why did the kidnappers send a Chinese anagram … That's a hard question … Harry, can you tell me all the facts you know related to the anagram?"

"Sure," said Harry. "OK, the facts - the anagram was attached to the person who was kidnapped. The anagram itself was two lines long. The first line had only one word, which contained a vital clue to find the key to solve the anagram, and the second line was the actual anagram. Professor Drow tried to solve it before me, but he couldn't figure it out. The key of the anagram was to break down the letters to individual morphemes and combine them sequentially to create different words."

"Morphemes?" repeated Hermione.

"The smallest component of a word," explained Harry. "You know, like prefixes and suffixes …"

"Chinese letters have morphemes?"

"Of course they do," said Harry, frowning at Hermione. "All languages have morphemes."

Hermione blinked at Harry a couple of times.

"How do you know that?"

"It's the first thing you learn in Introductory Linguistics," said Harry. "All individual words are created by combining one or more morphemes. This goes with all languages."

Hermione stared at Harry a couple of seconds before she came back to the original topic.

"What was the clue?"

Harry told her all about the Chinese letter and the story behind the letter. When he was finished, Hermione was wearing her 'I'm-thinking-about-something-serious' expression.

"You know," Hermione said at last, "there's something very suspicious about this whole situation."

Harry leaned forward, waiting for Hermione to tell him her reasoning.

"First it's obvious the kidnappers wanted or expected to gain Dumbledore's attention since they kidnapped someone Dumbledore knew well. So Dumbledore would be the first person to hear the news if such a thing happened. The torture can be a warning from the kidnapper's part to indicate this is something deadly serious.

"Now, let's go back to the message itself. First, the language choice of the anagram is quite strange: why Chinese? As far as I know, there are plenty of people who can speak Chinese, but not many people can read and write it due to the nature of the alphabet."

Harry nodded his head to show he was following her reasoning.

"The second weird thing about the message is that it's an anagram. Well, it takes intimate knowledge in both the culture of the people the language is used and the nature of the language to solve a word puzzle. As Europeans, it's likely we won't have that intimate knowledge. I doubt even Dumbledore would know Chinese that well …"

"He doesn't."

"If that's the case, it makes things even more suspicious," said Hermione a serious tone.

"Why?"

"OK, try to answer this question: Did the kidnappers want Dumbledore to figure out the anagram?"

Harry knotted his eyebrows in confusion. Hermione, seeing this, elaborated in her reasoning.

"If the kidnappers wanted Dumbledore to figure out the anagram, then this implies the kidnappers knew Dumbledore had both the resources and ability to solve the anagram."

"Oh …" said Harry, comprehending at last. Hermione gave him a brief nod and continued with her explanation.

"Now, if the anagram was meant to be solved, which I believe to be the case, then it means Dumbledore has the resources at hand to solve it. One possible source the kidnappers might have known Dumbledore to have is Professor Drow. I can think of another source and this other source is what irks me."

"Who is it?"

"Professor Wu and his TAs."

Harry felt his jaw drop.

For the longest time he just stared at her.

"Oh —My—God," he croaked.

Hermione drew her lips into a grim line.

"I think the kidnappers deliberately created the message so that Dumbledore would ask help from either Professor Wu or one of his TAs."

Harry stared at her with his mouth hanging open. Then he remembered something.

"Dumbledore he told me it was strange for the Asian Confederation to voluntarily consent to teach us Asian sorcery. Then he asked me if I could trust the TAs or Professor Wu."

Hermione smiled grimly.

"Then Professor Dumbledore is thinking on the same lines as we are."

Harry shook his head before he sent his eyes heaven upward.

"Hermione, you scare me shitless. You really do. Are you sure your great-grandfather wasn't the great Sherlock Holmes himself?"

Hermione flashed a grin at him.

"I don't know. As far as I know, my great-grandfather's last name was Granger."

Harry pushed his bangs backwards with a sigh.

"All right, if your reasoning is true, then Professor Wu or one or more of his TAs could be in league with the kidnappers. But if that is the case, what is their motive?"

Hermione grinned at him again.

"Well," she said in a casual tone. "Do you know why the Asians don't want to teach the secrets of their Magical arts to us?"

"Dumbledore said there were historical reasons …" said Harry, not realizing at first where Hermione was going. Then he groaned and covered his face with his hands. "The library?" he moaned.

"The library!" she agreed.

---oo00oo---

"You should have waked me." Ron grumbled sullenly as he held on Harry's ankles.

"I —(huff) — couldn't — (wheez) — find — (gasp) — the heart — (hack) — to — (wheez) — wake — (grunt) — you," panted Harry between push-ups.

It was their first early morning running and push-up sessions with Professor Moody. As expected, Moody drilled them down to the ground. He limped around the students one-legged, making sure no one skived off the required five laps around the lake and 20 push-ups afterwards. Harry and Ron were one of the first people to finish their running requirement, and now they were busy finishing their push-ups while waiting for Hermione to finish running her laps (she was having trouble keeping up). While Ron was holding on to his ankles, Harry told Ron almost everything he and Hermione discussed early that morning.

"It's just grand and dandy isn't it? Some psychopathic coot group wants me or someone else in my family dead, and not just dead, dead after suffering in agony," said Ron, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Ron wasn't taking the news very well. Harry expected him to be upset with the news but not this much. At first, Harry thought it was because his family was involved. But something about that explanation didn't seem to be right.

"Well, at least now I know somebody thinks I'm worth targeting," said Ron, continuing his triad of sarcasm. "And what a shock would it be to the world if I were assassinated within a week …"

"Well, that will be one less Muggle-lover in the world, wouldn't it?" said a drawling voice, followed by foolish chuckling.

Harry clenched his eyes shut and grimaced. Of all times, why did Malfoy and his moronic cronies have to show their ugly faces to them now?

"I, for one, will be celebrating one less filth in the world. But that will be wanting too much, wouldn't it?" drawled Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle grinned foolishly.

Ron's face turned bright red. He abruptly let go of Harry's ankles and sprang up to face Malfoy, ready for a bloody free-for-all. Harry stood up with some difficulty to grab Ron's sweat drenched T-shirt.

"Say Potter, I heard you cut your own thighs. Weren't you actually aiming for your writs?" Malfoy said in a poisonous tone.

Ron turned into a deeper shade of red before shouting what Malfoy should do with his tongue in reference with certain unmentionables.

"Language, Weasley, language," drawled Malfoy. Then he turned to Harry again and smirked at Harry's pale face.

"Well, what do you know; Harry Potter looks like he seen a demon …" he trailed off. Malfoy smirked even more when he saw Harry turned even paler. "The dark shades of his past come to haunt him, hmmm?"

Harry said nothing. He was too busy preventing himself from falling in front of Malfoy as overwhelming nausea assaulted his senses. The memory of being attacked by the rebirth demon coming to him again, like it happened the day before …

There was a rush, sound of blows, and Harry felt someone holding him upright before he actually fell to the ground when his knees finally failed him. Harry was only dimly aware of the arms that were keeping him standing as he saw Ron pounding Malfoy on the ground.

"ALL RIGHT, BREAK UP YOU TWO!!" bellowed Moody as he clunked towards the fighting boys.

Moody hauled Ron and Malfoy by the ears with his gnarled hands and glared at them. Both boys visibly paled as the mutilated face of Moody inched closer.

"Explain." Moody growled menacingly.

"Weasley attacked me, sir," said Malfoy resentfully through a heavy nosebleed.

"He asked for it!!" shouted Ron, looking ready to punch Malfoy again in front of Moody.

"SILENCE!!" Moody roared, effectively silencing them both.

"Detention for both of you," he growled. Before either of them protested, Moody glared at them menacingly. "And thirty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin. Malfoy, you better watch your mouth or you might never be able to use it. Weasley, you should know better then to let your temper get the better of you. You two follow me."

Moody let go of their ears and marched towards the castle, Ron and Malfoy following reluctantly behind him. Before he left, Malfoy had his last word.

"You're pathetic," he spat. "You can't even protect yourself Potter … so how are you going to be the oh-so-holy savior of the light now?"

He made a derisive snort and slouched away.

The arms that held Harry in a standing position lessen his/her grip. The feeling on his knees didn't return when he/she did this and Harry went crashing down to the ground.

"Harry!!" shouted Hermione. So it was Hermione.

Shakily, Harry put himself in a sitting position.

"'M fine, Hermione," said Harry rather randomly as he tried to stand up again.

"No you're not, you're as white as a ghost!!" squeaked Hermione as she tried to support Harry again. Harry roughly brushed her hands away.

"I can stand on my own, Hermione." Harry hissed between his teeth. Hermione took a step back at his tone.

Harry got to his feet, seething with anger. He should be used to Malfoy's malicious taunting by now. He vowed not be aroused or distracted by the Slytherin's biggest git this year and focus on how to fight Voldemort. But like always, Malfoy somehow found a way to rub more salt on the wounds that hurt the most.

Madame Pomfrey confided only to Harry that his thighs weren't completely healed and might never completely heal. Apparently some of the muscle tissues were severely damaged as a result of the knife cuts and only the most powerful muscle restoration potions could heal them. But Professor Snape, who was the only person who could brew this complicated potion in England, was … indisposed, as he learned the night before.

Then there was his left hand. He didn't get to see nor learn what kind of condition his left hand was in, but Harry wouldn't have been surprised if Madame Pomfrey announced he had leprosy considering the colorful and explicit language the school nurse used upon seeing it. After the colorful diatribe, Madame Pomfrey bounded up his left hand again told him to come back this weekend for she had to contact other medical professionals.

All things considered, he might be disabled for life.

If he was permanently handicapped, how was he going to protect other people? Like Malfoy said – he had to admit it – he wouldn't be able to protect himself.

Harry couldn't believe how he took the news with nonchalance – almost boarded up to indifference – two days ago like it was nothing to worry about. It was certainly worrying him now.

The frown on Harry's brow deepened. Did this have something to do with acting like a Kuze?

Harry looked down to his thighs. They certainly weren't hurting him right now, and that was definitely strange, if not necessarily suspicious. If his thigh muscle were indeed damaged, wouldn't he have trouble running? Since he knew close to nothing about muscles, he might just being paranoid. But there was something he forgot about … something about being excused …

Someone tapped his shoulder, breaking Harry from his train of thought.

"Harry?"

Harry turned around sharply and found Hermione standing next to him, looking nervous.

"Sorry I snapped at you," said Harry apologizing. Then he sighed. "I really don't feel like myself these days."

"It's all right," said Hermione with a rather forced smile. "You've got a lot of things to worry about."

The two of them started walking towards the castle behind the others. Harry briefly wondered what kind of detention Ron will have to serve for Moody. Hopefully the real Moody wouldn't turn Ron into a ferret and bounce him around the DADA classroom as punishment … though Harry had no problem with Malfoy being subjected to that torture.

"You really should go to the Hospital wing, Harry. You still look awfully pale," said Hermione as they walked through the entrance.

"Yeah … I'll go after I ate breakfast," muttered Harry as he rubbed his eyes. For some reason, his vision was getting a bit bleary.

"I don't feel like taking any risks on this," explained Harry for Hermione's benefit after seeing her look a bit surprised at his willingness to go to the Hospital wing without much complaint. Hearing his explanation, Hermione nodded her head fervently.

"Yes, with all things considered …"

Harry didn't get to hear anything beyond that. His vision was slowly becoming more and more clouded and he started to feel distinctly light headed. He blinked several times and even shook his head hard to clear it all, but it only made everything worse. Harry took off his glasses and start rubbing his eyes tiredly. That didn't do any good either.

Dimly he heard high-pitched mewing somewhere near his ankles. From the sound of it, it was Mrs. Norris, though he couldn't see her. Seconds later, he heard wheezing and the sound of loud footsteps, without a doubt, coming from Filch, the caretaker.

"Potter!" Filch screeched. Harry warily turned around and saw the blurry form of Filch and Mrs. Norris, Filch pointing at a trail of dark footprints. Several confused blinks later Harry realized the footprints were his.

"Stepped on lake mud and didn't bother to wipe your feet, did you Potter?!" shrieked Filch, now pointing an accusing finger at Harry.

That's strange … I didn't step on any mud …

Harry looked at the footprints again. The color of the mud was rather curious. It was the color of bloodstones.

"Muck and slim everywhere, putting your muddy foot prints all over the castle!!!" shouted Filch, ranting on. Harry bemusedly noticed Filch's face had turned into a botchy shade of angry purple when Hermione let out a frighten squeak.

"That isn't mud," said Hermione hoarsely. She sounded awfully faint. Filch apparently heard her.

"What else could it be?" he snapped.

"It's blood," she whispered. Her voice hinted barely suppressed hysteria.

Harry looked down. A small puddle of thick crimson liquid was forming around his feet. Unconsciously Harry placed his palm on his heavy black-slacks. When he it drew back, his palm was covered with dark blood … So dark it was almost black.

Seeing the blood triggered the memories again. Images of the decapitated head of the hwe-seng-ma, the blood splattered walls, and the lump of blood drenched and decayed flesh on his palm assaulted him again, replaying the horrible event he'd rather forget …

Harry felt his knees buckle. He was only vaguely aware of Hermione screaming with many others, the sound of someone rushing towards him, and his head hitting the hall floor before the world swam away from him in a dark mist.

---oo00oo---

"Thank you for taking him here immediately, Mr. Kim."

"Thank Mr. Filch for being dedicated in keeping the castle clean."

"And thank Professor Snape for having a stock of Blood restoration potion in his stores."

Harry could here the voices whispering, but he couldn't understand a single word of it. He opened one bleary eye, but he had to close it again as the world came in and out of focus and swirled around when he did.

"How are his thighs?"

His thighs … the crimson puddle around his feet … the footprints …

Harry forced himself to open his eyes again. Everything was fuzzy. Someone must have taken his glasses off. From the smell of it, he was in the Hospital Wing.

"He awake," said a voice he never heard before. It was a deep bass; who was it?

"Give him his glasses Chen," said a more familiar tenor. The voice belonged to one of the Korean TAs. The name was … Jin-something. JinHwee. Yeah, it was JinHwee, his temporary potions instructor.

The Hospital wing became sharper and clearer when his glasses were put back on his nose. Harry looked around and was rather surprised to see all of the Foreign Magic Studies TAs except Ryo and the other female Japanese TA present in the Hospital wing with Madame Pomfrey.

"Well Harry, you gave us quite a scare," said a very familiar gentle voice from his left.

Harry almost jumped when Dumbledore came to his view. His abrupt movement caused his thighs throb with bright stabbing pain starting from his thighs to the tip of his toes. Harry managed not to scream but it was a close thing. He couldn't, however, help himself from gasping.

"Don't move, Mr. Potter! You'll reopen your cuts!!" cried Madame Pomfrey as she dashed towards Harry.

Harry bit his lower lip to stop himself from making any noise. The pain on his legs weren't going away. It fact it seemed to get worse and worse as the time passed. Harry tasted the coppery taste of blood when the pain doubled in intensity.

A hand gently placed itself on his stomach and a familiar and yet different wave of warm energy entered through his torso and flowed down to his thighs, circulating around his cuts and spreading through the entire length of his legs. Harry let out a sigh of relief as the pain on legs flowed away like water.

"Jiho …?" Harry croaked softly. Then he fell into a coughing fit. His throat was as dry as the Sahara desert.

A soft voice said something in Chinese. Harry bit down a sigh of disappointment. It wasn't Jiho. Of course it wasn't Jiho. Jiho wasn't at Hogwarts … It must be one of the Chinese TAs. It was probably the female TA. Yimay, if he remembered correctly.

Harry turned his head warily and saw Yimay standing on his right, clad entirely in white and holding a cup of water with her left hand. She held the cup to his lips and Harry drank gratefully. The water tasted better than elixir or nectar. Harry opened his mouth to thank Yimay. Instead of English, he said:

"Xiexie."

Harry had no idea what possessed him to say 'thank you' in Chinese. Yimay widen her eyes in surprised before smiling and answering:

"Bu keqi meiyou guanxi."

Someone tapped Yimay on the shoulder. The young woman turned around and faced JinHwee, who was standing behind her holding a basin of water. JinHwee whispered something and Yimay nodded. She lifted her right hand which was hidden from view by her dress. Harry gasped when he saw it was black, like it was poisoned.

Yimay dunk her blacken hand into the basin for a while. When she took it out, the color of her hand was more or less back to normal, though it was still a tad blue. AanJi said something in Chinese, but Yimay just shook her head giving him a small smile. AanJi's countenance darkened, but he said nothing.

"Wha-what just happened?" asked Madame Pomfrey, visibly shocked.

"Yimay extracted the poison in Mr. Potter's legs with her right hand," answered JinHwee quietly.

"Poison?!" squeaked Madame Pomfrey. "Mr. Potter was poisoned?! How could that be? I checked for toxins … it came out negative!! And how did she do that?!"

"It isn't possible for a single person to know and detect every poison that exists in this world," said JinHwee sadly. "As for extracting the poison, Yimay has healing hands. Poisoning is one of the many illnesses she can treat."

Madame Pomfrey gapped at JinHwee and Yimay. Harry himself was shocked at JinHwee's statement. Yimay had healing hands? He was poisoned? When? How? Harry turned to look at Dumbledore reaction to the news and was startled when he saw Dumbledore's eyes blazing with a hidden fire. The great man was angry. He could see that … but why?

"This is a very serious matter," said Dumbledore at last. "I must contact the ministry and inform them of this situation."

All of the TAs nodded their heads. Dumbledore regarded them carefully.

"I'm afraid if I do so, everyone in this room might be questioned, especially you Miss Wang. I don't think the ministry is aware about the existence of healing hands …"

AanJi muttered the translation to Yimay. After hearing what Dumbledore said, Yimay just shrugged and said something in her native tongue as a reply.

"Yimay says she understands and will do what is necessary."

"Thank you very much Miss. Wang," said Dumbledore solemnly, bowing slightly. Yimay immediately turned very pink and hid behind Chen in obvious embarrassment.

"And I thank every one else as well. I'm sorry you must go through all this in the beginning of the school year," said Dumbledore, addressing to the rest of the TAs.

"It's nothing. We are just fulfilling our duty," said AanJi bowing. Harry noticed he completely lowered his glance to the ground.

"Need not worry about us," said Chen, bowing Chinese style.

JinHwee placed the basin now holding black water on Madame Pomfrey's desk, turned towards Dumbledore.

"The water in the basin should contain the poison that was in Mr. Potter's legs. I dare say the Ministry officials will need it." JinHwee paused, and added:

"—Your permission to collect a sample to brew an antidote, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore considered the young Korean thoughtfully before making his reply.

"Do what you must."

After hearing this, AanJi made some odd hand gestures and conjured a small test tube out of thin air. He carefully filled the test tube with the water in the basin and sealed it with a rubber stopper. After collecting the sample, the two Korean TAs murmured their farewells and left the ward silently. When they were gone, Madame Pomfrey bustled towards Yimay and started treating her right hand with bottles of potion, Chen standing behind the two women, saying and doing nothing. Dumbledore let out a weary sigh and sat besides Harry.

"Sleep, my dear boy; you lost a great deal of blood so you shouldn't exert yourself anymore."

Harry never saw Dumbledore look so sorrowful and tired. The elderly Headmaster seemed to age before his very eyes. Harry opened his mouth to say something but Dumbledore stopped him.

"Sleep Harry; I'll answer your questions best to my ability when you wake up."

Harry nodded his head briefly before closing his eyes.

He was asleep before he could count three seconds.