Blue flame of the east, Red flame of the west

Author's Note: I'm back from the dead!! No, seriously. Now, before you kill me for criminally neglecting this story, please hear me out: after several years of preparation and convincing my non-too-enthusiastic parents (mainly because of the expenses), I'm now living in the States to finish my university education. The good thing about this is that I can improve my English. The bad thing about it is that I have to work to pay my tuition. Anyway, I wrote this chapter between the bouts of various odd jobs, homework, exams, and a bizzare form of writer's block that wouldn't let me write the part that connects the first and second sections! I'm dead serious. ANYWAY, this is the result.

Another note: Since this is an incredibly long chapter, I seperated it into three sections and linked them. At the end of each section, there should be link that will bring you back here.

[1] Potions
[2] Ceremonies
[3] Meetings

Blue Flame of the East, Red Flame of the West

Chapter 12:
Potions, Ceremonies and Meetings

~~oo00oo~~

Harry woke up with another pounding headache. It was as if a metal ball of some sort was inside his head and was happily flinging itself against his skull, just to torment him. Groaning softly, Harry pressed his palm on his forehead. It came off clammily.

Why do I have to get sick now …? Harry thought as he tried to raise his upper body. He had to do it slowly because his legs burned and throbbed like hell with every careless and rapid movement. Despite his sleep, Harry felt drained and sluggish, and the pain on his legs and head weren't helping him to regain his energy.

Eventually the headache faded away and Harry somehow managed to put himself in a sitting position. The pain on his thighs, however, didn't subside. Though it wasn't as bad as it was when Dumbledore startled him god-knows-how-many-hours ago, it was too intense for his comfort. His cuts couldn't have gotten worse, could they? Guided by morbid curiosity, Harry carefully lifted the covers to check his cuts.

They were bad.

There were so bad in fact, Harry had to clamp his hand to his mouth to stifle a scream.

His cuts were, to put it short and ugly, in a state of disaster. Now they looked like a multitude of gnarled tree limbs with many sub-branches criss-crossing his thighs, some parts white because of the opening flesh, and most of them red because of the blood seeping out of. Harry watched with morbid fascination as another small sub-branch of a cut slowly opened right before his eyes. As soon as he sensed bile rising from his throat, Harry tore his eyes away from his cuts and relieved whatever meager contents he had in his stomach into the trash can besides him. He dry heaved several times even after everything came out.

After the onslaught of stomach juice, Harry wiped his mouth with his pajama sleeve. Shakily, Harry drowned several cups of water to get rid of the lingering acid taste in his mouth and cool his burning throat. After draining all the water, Harry slowly dropped into his pillow and covered his face with his arms.

His legs were in a worse condition than anything he ever imagined. The cuts seemed to be reopening on their own will and he couldn't move his legs without feeling excruciating pain. Obviously the healing spells Madame Pomfrey doubtlessly put on him weren't working. In fact, he was inclined to believe the spells were only making it worst. Probably it was Voldemort who somehow hexed him to be in this sort of fix. It was certainly a Voldemortic thing to do—make him unable to heal so he would die slowly in pain.

Then he stopped.

Hold it. That sounds like …

The sound of the curtains on his right drawing open reached Harry's ears, effectively interrupting his thoughts.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, you're finally awake," said Madame Pomfrey, as she briskly walked over to his bed. Once there, the nurse gently pulled off the covers and told Harry to cover his eyes while she checked his cuts. Harry was only happy to comply. The last thing he wanted was having another view of his injuries, and if he saw them again any time soon he'd probably rip his legs off in a fit of rage or insanity. He was certainly having that most irrational desire now.

Harry heard Madame Pomfrey take a sharp intake of breath.

"Oh dear … the cuts reopened again," she muttered, sounding worried. A soft rustle of clothing followed an incantation:

"Restituo Valetudo!"

Harry only felt a slight twinge around his cuts, and nothing more. Madame Pomfrey made a sound of frustration. She repeated the incantation again. This time Harry felt nothing. After a low growl from the nurse, Harry heard a bottle being uncorked and soon after smelled vinegar and something foul. His cuts burned and stung as a wet rag dabbed them gently, but that was about it.

"I really need Professor Snape now," muttered Madame Pomfrey, sounding very worried indeed. Then she slapped her brow. "That cura expus potion he invented last year!" He heard Madame Pomfrey stand up and dash towards somewhere.

Harry silently waited for the nurse. He really didn't believe the potion Snape invented would cure him. No potion was going to heal his cuts. Even if it could, Snape probably designed it so it wouldn't work on him.

"Here you go, dear," said Madame Pomfrey when she came back holding a small glass vial that contained some soft amber liquid. "You have to drink all of it directly."

Cura expus potion turned out to be the most evil tasting potion Harry had ever drank in his entire life, including Skele-Gro and Polyjuice. After taking it, Harry felt the potion zip through his veins, burning them as they went through. He did not, however, feel anything other than that. Either the effects of cura expus weren't instantaneous or the potion didn't work at all—most likely the latter.

"You won't feel anything with cura expus," explained Madame Pomfrey, seeing Harry's glum expression. "It just heals gradually and painlessly, getting rid of any toxins in the body it finds as it circulates your blood stream. That's why it's so powerful." Harry let out a sigh. "Now in the mean time, let's get some food in you so the potion can work better." She strode across the ward and came back with a dinner tray holding chicken broth. When Harry didn't move, the nurse spoon up some broth and held it in front of his mouth. Harry turned his head away.

"Mr. Potter, you have to eat," said Madame Pomfrey, trying to sound stern. Harry just clamped his mouth firmly shut. The broth was making his nauseous, and he didn't want to throw up again, even if there wasn't anything in his stomach.

"Harry, dear, why are you acting like this?" asked Madame Pomfrey, clearly exasperated at Harry's apparently childish behavior. Harry gave her a pleading look.

"Please, Madame Pomfrey … the chicken broth … the smell … it's making me nauseous, like I'm going to throw up," said Harry weakly.

Madame Pomfrey looked worried again. "Why don't you try something else? What about beef broth?"

Harry shook his head. "Sorry … but I don't think I can handle anything with meat."

Madame Pomfrey looked even more worried. "This isn't good. Cura expus works best with meat products, but if your stomach can't handle—"

BANG!!

Madame Pomfrey jumped a foot in the air as the infirmary door crashed open with an almighty bang. Harry turned around and saw Ryo standing by the door, his normally tidy low ponytail loose and wild as if from a run—and judging from the fact his kimono was open, and barely hanging off his shoulders, it must have been the case—and his obstinately clear eyes clouded.

Ryo looked frantically around, as if searching something, and when his eyes landed on Harry, he started scrutinizing him under fearsome eyes. After evaluating and confirming whatever he was checking, Ryo let out a sigh, and proceeded to glower down at Harry. Ryo also seemed to go through a list of things he wanted to say, and was trying to figure out what should actually take phonic form.

"Baka [fool]," growled Ryo at last. "WHAT—WERE—YOU—THINKING?!"

Ryo marched towards Harry, his kimono flying behind him and his eyes putting Snape's best glare into eternal shame. Ryo stopped advancing when he saw Harry wince.

"Gomen nasai [I'm sorry]," said Ryo quietly. "I should not have glared."

Harry relaxed his shoulders, wondering why he had feared Ryo even for a moment. He certainly never felt that way before … but then again, this was the first time he'd been subject to Ryo's glares. If looks could kill, Ryo's glare would certainly kill a person in a second.

"It's alright," said Harry, trying to smile. He hoped against hope it was convincing.

Ryo raked a nervous hand through his black hair. "I heard about what happened to you this morning a few minutes ago," said Ryo. He paused before he asked: "how are your legs?"

"They're not … that bad," said Harry, trying to assure the worried man. Harry wanted to hit himself when the tone of his voice betrayed the fact his legs were definitely not fine, and the desire grew exponentially when he saw Ryo's countenance darkened even more.

Madame Pomfrey made a false cough. "Mr. Potter has taken a healing potion, Mr. Kuze. He'll be fine," she said calmly.

Ryo's face instantly turned into an expressionless mask. He was obviously berating himself for his bad manners and was extremely embarrassed. Ryo quickly closed his kimono with his left hand and bowed.

"My humble apologies …"

Madame Pomfrey's just gave Ryo a knowing smile. "It's all right Mr. Kuze; obviously you were worried. After all, Mr. Potter stayed with you for a month—he's bond to have grown on you."

Madame Pomfrey started to chuckle when Ryo let out an awkward grunt in response. She gestured Ryo to sit down on a chair besides her, which he did, if a bit awkwardly. For the next few minutes Harry watched, rather than heard, Ryo sharing pleasantries with the school nurse while he absently twisted the bed sheet between his fingers. His ears seemed to have shut down most of it functions after hearing Madame Pomfrey words, and an unfamiliar and almost giddy feeling was rising in his chest.

"I didn't know you'd come," said Madame Pomfrey. With Harry's numb ears, it she sounded like she was talking from a distance rather than a foot away. "I was told Professor Wu needed you as a translator, so you were very busy."

Ryo frowned. "I just heard Hari-kun collapsed from Kim-san a few minutes ago," said Ryo. "And Wu-sensei-sama would never need me as a translator—I cannot even speak a child's worth of Chinese."

Madame Pomfrey blinked.

"Really?" she said. "Isn't that odd …"

Ryo's expression became unreadable again. Slowly his eyebrows twisted down into a slight frown, like he always did when he sensed Nakajawa planning some elaborate prank behind his back.

"There must have been some miscommunication," said Ryo at last. His voice was calm and held some degree of conviction, but something about his eyes told Harry he didn't really believe this. Ryo continued to talk:

"I also heard Hari-kun was poisoned from Kim-san. I took the liberty to contact Abe Genmotsu-dono for an antidote. He will be sending it any moment now."

Madame Pomfrey gasped.

"You know Sir Abe, the Japanese Emperor's food taster and toxicologist?!" She exclaimed, sounding quite shocked.

Ryo shook his head. "The Abe-dono I know is the Shogun's food taster and toxicologist," he said. "The Abe-sama who serves the Teno-haika (his highness, the Emperor of Japan), I know not."

Madame Pomfrey gawked at Ryo.

"The Shogun?!" she squeaked.

Harry stared at the two adults before him. None of the words in their conversation was making any sense to him. In essence, they said Abe Genmotsu-sama was the Shogun's food taster and Ryo asked him to make an antidote for Harry.

But if Harry remembered Jiho's lectures on Japanese history correctly, didn't Japan get rid of the position 'Shogun' at 1867 when Shogun Tokugawa Yoshinobu gave up all his governing power to Teno (the Emperor of Japan), therefore officially eliminating the existence of bakkaku (government run by the shogun and his councils) and mark the beginning of the Meiji era?

And then there was the food tasters. Oh, there was a family who were the official food tasters of the Shogun's family—the Japanese called them kuchiyaku, or "official mouths," because they checked for poison with their own tongues—but weren't they replaced with lab rats and such a long time ago?

But everything I know about the Tokugawa shogunate (government) is Japanese muggle history … the Japanese sorcery community would have a different history if it's anything like the wizarding world … And didn't Ryo just use the archaic honorific '-dono'?

If Japanese Sorcery community was like the wizarding world—totally separate and secluded from the muggle world—then it was perfectly plausible for the current Japanese magical government to be reminiscent of the Tokugawa shogunate. As for the position of food tasters, he really didn't have anything to say about it. But since Madame Pomfrey knew about Shoguns and food tasters, it was likely Harry's speculations about Magical Japan were a relatively well-known fact to at least medi-witches and healers like Madame Pomfrey.

Wait a minute … if that's the case, and Ryo knows the Shogun's own food taster well enough to ask him a favor, does that mean Ryo is a high ranking government official in Magical Japan??

Harry's speculations were interrupted when a buzzer rang through the infirmary. After the turning off the buzzer, Ryo conjured a small packet with a large letter attached to it after making some weird hand gestures, very similar to the ones Aanji made to conjure a test tube before Harry fell asleep. Madame Pomfrey let out a startled squeak and the sight.

"Prompt and always, Abe Genmotsu-dono," remarked Ryo, more to himself than to anyone.

Ryo read the accompanied letter out loud:

"…to be swallowed with cold water. Do not let the patient eat anything hot for the next two hours after consumption if patient does not want to die with their tongue protruding three feet out of their mouth."

Harry blanched and Ryo winced after reading that part. "Typical of the man," Ryo grumbled.

Ryo continued: "Do not eat after drinking, consuming, or applying any other western healing substances that has Aloe as main ingredient until the effects are over unless the patient wants to … Oh," Ryo looked visibly disturbed.

"What?" Harry asked warily. Ryo coughed, opened his mouth, pondered for a moment, and started to talk.

"… If a man, wants to loose a vital function of his manhood for seven months."

Harry blinked several times before he comprehended what Ryo was referring to. He blanched again.

"But … that's …" Harry couldn't continue. The implications were just too embarrassing. Ryo sent his eyes heavenward with a grimace.

"I could never understand the Genmotsu-dono's machinations. But one thing I do know him is that his threats and warnings are never empty." Both Ryo and Harry shuddered. Ryo gave the packet to Madame Pomfrey, who by then looked like she was hit by a freezing charm.

"Please administer this as directed when the … healing potion … is completely digested," said Ryo with a grimace. Ryo didn't seem to like the concept of potions. Probably it reminded him too much of the vile concoctions Jiho always brewed and forced him to drink; or of Abe Genmotsu-dono's medicine; whichever he considered more disgusting.

Madame Pomfrey took the little packet like she was receiving a live poisonous snake. Judging from the look on Ryo's face, it was as if he was handing over a poisonous snake. The nurse eyed the packet in her hand with a wrinkled nose.

"I heard about the rumour of Sir Abe creating medicines with hideous hormonal and sexual side effects, but I never thought they would be to this extent," commented Madame Pomfrey. Ryo waved his hand dismissively.

"This is nothing. You should have seen the medicine Abe-dono tried to feed my cousin Nakajawa." He shuddered. "Nakajawa suspended Abe-dono by his toes on the top of a bamboo tree when he found out that he would be permanently infertile if he ate the medicine with any beverage other than water."

Harry didn't know whether he should laugh at the latest update on Nakajawa's acts of iniquity or wince at the description of the torture Nakajawa perpetuated on Sir Abe. Madame Pomfrey seemed to have similar troubles as well. They looked at each other. Harry laughed and Madame Pomfrey winced.

"I observe the generation gap in the wizarding world. Quite a remarkable difference," said Ryo, smirking at the two of them.

For some reason, Ryo's comment struck Harry as extraordinarily amusing and he started laughing again. Madame Pomfrey bristled half-heartedly at Harry at first, but soon she was infected by his laughter and started laughing as well.

When Harry and Madame Pomfrey was finished laughing, Ryo said he had to leave — the Potential Announcement ceremony for Foreign Magic Studies will be held next evening, so he had a lot of work to do. Harry couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret and a sense of loss at this, though he couldn't explain why he felt that way.

"Make sure you rest as soon as you take that antidote," warned Ryo. "I do not want Jiho coming here after my blood."

"I will. Don't worry," assured Harry.

Ryo gave Harry a noncommittal "Mm" a quick nod. Then he bowed to Madame Pomfrey, who rather awkwardly tried to return it, and silently left the Hospital Wing.

A small happy smile lingered on Harry's lips even after Ryo left the ward. He couldn't say how or why, but the visit from Ryo lifted his spirits considerably. The strange giddy feeling was still there in his chest, not really fading away.

But a slight twinge on his thighs wiped the smile off his face in a second.

Reality check Harry thought bitterly as looked down at legs. He sighed heavily. Why did good things have to be so temporary for him? It was as if some universal rule made it so that he would only have some small sips of happiness just to make the pain that inevitably followed much more unbearable in comparison. Did the gods hate him that much?

I'll get my answer as soon as I learn the cura expus potion couldn't heal my cuts Harry thought cynically.

~~oo00oo~~

It turned out the cura expus potion could heal Harry's cuts. Four hours after taking the potion, and two hours after taking the antidote Ryo gave to Madame Pomfrey, Harry's cuts slowly sealed up after oozing some unidentifiable watery-gray substance along the multitude of cuts. When the substance was wiped off, all of that was left of Harry's cuts were thin white lines, most of them hardly visible.

Harry watched the curing process from the beginning to the end utterly mesmerized. For the first time in his life, he actually wanted to ask Snape (gasp!) on how the hell he managed to brew a potion like cura expus.

Unfortunately, Harry winced. Snape would skin me alive if I dared to ask him a question!

Well, maybe not immediately. Skinning Harry alive probably wouldn't be enough to appease the Potions Master. Snape would probably make full use of the opportunity and ridicule him long and loud in front of the Slytherins for being a complete, utter, contemptible, incorrigible, arrogant brat for even thinking he could understand complex potions like cura expus with his practically non-existent potions knowledge and feeble brain. By the time Snape finished his diatribe, Harry would either have long forgotten his original question or shipped to Azkaban because he attacked or killed Snape in a fit of rage.

And that's another thing, thought Harry ruefully. I always blew up on Snape because he pushes my buttons with ruthless efficiency and I always have to deal with the resulting mess. Look at me now: I'm in no position to ask Snape anything without the direst of reasons and gravest of situations and even THAT wouldn't be enough for the greasy bastard.

Jiho once told him even the biggest son-of-a-bitches can be helpful to many, and even the king of fools can bestow great wisdom. Therefore: "treat others with decency and fairness." Truth to be told, if Harry hadn't risen to Snape's bait for the past four years and treated him some degree of respect, he could have had at least some semblance of a workable teacher-student relationship with Snape and never had this problem.

But what was done was done; and he couldn't change the past.

Besides, even if Harry could somehow condone his past acts of iniquity (as the Potions Master must think of Harry's numerous scrapes), Snape still held a grudge against his father, which was transmitted to him by association. Since that association wasn't going to change any time soon, he might as well have to prepare for a long haul if he wanted to have any workable relationship with Snape, something he'd probably need with Voldemort living and kicking.

Then Harry mentally slapped himself.

Oh my God … Now I know I'm not acting like my old self—Since when did I wanted anything to do with Snape?!

Disgusted at himself, Harry turned his thoughts back to his thighs. It was late at night, and the faint white lines on his legs stood eerily in the moonlight. Feeling a bit queasy at the sight, Harry stared at his hands. The cura expus potion somehow (with the help of a newly improved burn-be-gone cream Madame Pomfrey got from St. Mungo's) managed to cure his left hand while curing his cuts, but … not perfectly.

He knew now why Madame Pomfrey used such colorful and unprintable language when she first opened his bandages. From the current setting and angle, it looked like his left hand was infected with leprosy—plaster white, skin grossly disfigured, with some flesh missing in a hideous pattern. Jiho's quick and expert muggle medical treatment had prevented further infection and more permanent damage, but he couldn't prevent Harry from having scars that would last for life. The only consolation Harry had was the fact he wasn't maimed … yet.

Then Harry mentally slapped himself for the second time.

You ungrateful brat … Jiho saved your left hand from permanent maiming and all you can think about is your own misfortune. No wonder Snape thinks you're a big headed …

Another mental slap was applied.

Bloody Hell!! I'm thinking about Snape again!!

~~oo00oo~~

Harry woke up early next morning feeling groggy and lethargic, like he always did in the mornings these days. Under Madame Pomfrey's scrutinizing eyes he walked around the infirmary, and after several revolutions, he got her grudging consent.

"Now take care of yourself, dear." Madame Pomfrey said sternly. "As much as I like talking with you, I'd rather NOT see you in an infirmary bed."

Then she pulled out a pair of black fingerless gloves and placed them in Harry's hands.

"These are for your left hand. I dare say you don't want it out in the open for everyone to see."

Harry let out a sigh of relief. He'd been worrying since last night on how he was going to coop with people staring at his disfigured left hand. With the gloves, the uglier parts of his left hand were covered, but his only slightly scared fingers were half exposed for anything that needed a delicate touch.

After politely listening to Madame Pomfrey's lecture on the evils of over taxing oneself, Harry left the Hospital wing in a contemplative mood.

For reasons he couldn't fathom, the elves decided to bring him clothes that were suitable for a funeral — a black satin Y-shirt, black semi-formal slacks, black socks and black shoes (shined to gleam). Not that he had any options with the colour of his clothes (all the clothes he had did belong to Nakajawa), but still, the combination was a bit too formal. The only thing that didn't look like it was for a funeral was the black band attached to the upper arm portion of the shirt.

Well, the band is quite appropriate for mourning Cedric, thought Harry somberly. Just put: 'Remember Cedric Diggory' on it and it'll be perfect.

Harry hobbled down the corridors in silence. He didn't see many people as he headed towards the Gryffindor Tower, but the people he did meet blatantly stared at him as he walked passed them. This didn't surprise Harry the slightest. He'd be surprised if the students didn't stare, especially after him fainting in front of the Great Hall over a pool of his own blood. Most of the students would probably think he planed the whole thing beforehand. The rest would think he was cursed (again). Whatever the other students thought of the incident, it probably was going to affect him in a not-so-good way. It always did.

Feeling a too unstable to face his housemates, Harry changed directions and headed towards the Great Hall. He'd probably meet fewer people there due to the earliness of hour, thus be able to eat his breakfast in relative peace — if his stomach will allow him.

As expected, the Great Hall was mostly void of students. Those who were there stared at him as he limped towards the Gryffindor table. Much to his surprise and relief, Ron and Hermione were already sitting on the Gryffindor table, both eating furiously fast. Harry approached them.

"Good Morning."

His two friends jumped almost a foot in the air.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, her expression both relieved and shocked. She looked at him up and down. Her eyes lingered on his gloved hands, but in the end she just said: "You can walk!"

"As you can see," said Harry as he sat heavily next to Ron, who let out an audible sigh of relief.

"Thank Merlin for that," said Ron. He started to look sideways. "We heard a rumour saying that you wouldn't be able to walk 'cause Madame Pomfrey couldn't heal you."

Harry blinked. "People think I am actually hurt?" He asked.

Ron looked simply bewildered at this statement. Hermione, however, looked at him rather sadly.

"Yes, most people think you were cursed or something," she said.

Harry stared at her. Hermione let out sigh and elaborated:

"Everyone in Gryffindor are worried—and most of the people in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff." Hermione gave him a sad smile. "Give them some credit, Harry."

Ron waved his long arms frantically to get Harry's and Hermione's attention.

"Wha-wha-what are you two talking about?" stuttered Ron, still quite bewildered. Hermione let out another sigh, this time that of exasperation.

"Harry thought the whole school would think he planned the whole thing," she said very quietly.

Ron looked even more bewildered and shocked.

"Why did you—Uummph!"

Hermione stuffed a muffin in Ron's mouth and glared at him. "The Slytherins Ron," she hissed under her breath. "Wouldn't they try to make everyone believe Harry planed to whole thing to get attention or sympathy?"

Finally comprehension started to dawn on Ron's face. He pulled out the muffin in his mouth and looked at Harry ruefully.

"Getting really pessimistic, aren't you?" said Ron, shaking his head. "But then again, what else could you expect from the Slytherins?"

"Nothing less," said Harry tonelessly.

The three of them sat in silence while they played with their breakfast.

"So, are your legs really OK?" asked Ron tentatively. Harry looked at him.

"Yeah," answered Harry. "Madame Pomfrey said I fully recovered. I shouldn't have any problems."

Ron's face broke into a wide grin.

"Good," said Ron, still grinning. "Fred and George were on their toes worrying whether Gryffindor lost their best seeker."

Harry sent his eyes heavenwards. Ron was really bad at hiding things.

"Alright, what did Malfoy say this time?"

Ron choked on his pumpkin juice. Actually Ron wasn't holding his goblet, but it was nicer to think it was the juice rather than thinking he was choking and sputtering for no apparent reason. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"What else could it be?" She said, looking exasperated.

Ron sputtered some more before grumbling. "I guess you're right…" Then Ron glowered down at his plate.

"I know I should know better then to listen to Ferret-boy," he muttered, still glowering at his plate. "Especially now," His face twisted into an angry snarl. "… But Malfoy had the gals to say Slytherin was going to pound Gryffindor right into the Quidditch pitch!!" He ended that by bring down his fork hard on the table, leaving three rather deep holes.

"And mention as a passing I might not be able walk." Harry rubbed his forehead warily. "Don't tell me you tried to deck him for it."

"I wanted to," Ron admitted. "But Dean and Seamus stalled me."

Harry cocked an eyebrow at him. "And you are supposed to—"

Thump-thump!

Harry received two hard thumps on his back, which nearly sent him face-first into the table.

"HARRY!! YOU'RE ALL RIGHT!!" shouted the voice of George (Fred?) Weasley. Fred (George?) Weasley was whooping and bouncing in the background with Lee Jordan and few others.

"Yeah I am," said Harry warily. The Weasley twin's enthusiasm was overwhelming him. Oblivious, the twins beamed and bounced some more.

"Excellent! That'll show the Slytherins they aren't getting a leeway for the Quidditch cup!!"

"Now we're going to pound Slytherin right into the Quidditch pitch!!"

Harry smiled feebly. The twin's confidence was a bit too much for his system. Hermione must have sensed this because she started telling off the overly enthusiastic seventh years.

"Sit down you lot!!" She hissed. They stopped bouncing. "Now quiet down so Harry could eat his breakfast." The noise dropped a couple of decibels. "Thank you."

Harry only had a half a minute to pick on his food before his classmates assaulted him with numerous—for them innocuous—questions.

"Harry, what's with the fingerless gloves?" asked Seamus, looking at the said gloves curiously.

Harry thought someone put a bucket of ice in his stomach and squeezed it with icy claws. The morning when Vernon forced his left hand into the gas stove flashed in front of his eyes like a bizarre movie clip. Hermione looked like she wanted to hit Seamus—hard.

"Yeah, I was wondering too," Dean chimed in.

"Is it a new fashion statement?" said Fred, sniggering, "Fingerless gloves with black formal attire?"

Harry actually started counting to ten in his head before he blew up on his blissfully ignorant housemates. They were acting exactly like the little-ones at the Kuzes; unintentionally asking the question that hurt the most. Only his housemates weren't as cute or young. Then he saw in the corner of his eye Ron was actually pulling out his wand. Uh-oh.

"Blame the house elves," said Harry. The slight tension in his voice went unnoticed by his housemates, but not by Hermione and Ron. They tensed. "And the gloves were a present from Madame Pomfrey," which was true, as far as it went. "I can't disappoint her, can I?"

His housemates seemed to buy this explanation. After a few more good-natured jibs about his clothes, they started chattering about other things they found interesting. Harry let out a sigh of relief. All that baby-sitting he did at the Kuzes was really helping him deal with his temper.

Or so he thought.

While everyone else happily chattered away helping him/herself with food, Harry desperately fought the urge to rush toward the nearest bathroom and empty his stomach. Unable to eat when he was hungry and sitting in front of a table full of food was infuriating to say the very least. Frustration and anger was welling inside his head and chest, stretching the rubber band called restraint to its utmost limits.

Finally he couldn't take it anymore.

"I have to go get my robes and books." Harry said tersely, pushing his untouched plate away.

"I have to get some more parchment too," said Hermione, pushing her plate as well.

"I'll go with you," said Ron immediately after.

Harry had the insane desire to say: 'fuck off!' at his friends. He barely managed not to say it out loud. Harry tried get up and run off ahead of them, but was only saved from the humiliation of falling flat on the floor in front of the Slytherins because Ron caught his arm.

"Shit," Harry hissed between his teeth. He couldn't help it. He really couldn't.

"Let's get out of here," whispered Hermione, looking awfully pale.

"Yeah," said Ron, hauling up Harry so he could stand up. They quickly headed towards the Hall entrance, trying to get out as fast as they could.

Too bad the Spirits hated Harry with a vengeance. In front of the door of the Great Hall blocking the way stood Draco Malfoy—he need not to mention that Crabbe and Goyle were with the blond. Where else could they be?—sneering at him maliciously.

"Running away, Potter?" He drawled.

Something inside of Harry's mind seemed to have finally snapped. Slowly, he cast Malfoy a truly evil and hateful smirk of his own.

"No," he spat with so much venom he could feel Ron tense under his arm. "I'm going to my dorm to get rid of the mental image of your parents performing a strip tease in front of Voldemort. Something your parents must have done countless times—especially your mother—I'm sure."

Malfoy's face turned even redder than Ron's hair. He plunged his hand into his robes for his wand. Harry made a grab for his wand too, but a sonorous baritone froze everyone on the spot.

"What's going on here?"

It was AanJi, one of the Korean T.A.s. He looked down at Harry and Malfoy beneath the dark shadows that always seem to hide his eyes from view, even in Harry's current position. The young man also seemed to radiate a powerful heat that overwhelmed him, physically and mentally. His friends and Malfoy and his henchmen must have felt it too; they backed away, shrinking visibly. Harry, however, didn't move from his spot. He looked at AanJi straight in the eye.

"We accosted each other and exchanged insults … sir," said Harry with complete truthfulness. He heard Ron gasp behind him.

AanJi merely lifted a brow. Unlike many others who seemed to be uncomfortable and shocked when Harry looked at them straight in the eye, nothing about AanJi's demeanor showed he was least bit disturbed.

"I won't take points off for exchanging insults," said the young man at last. "I think it's a natural part of human life. However, I advise you not to block entrances. It's rather rude. Go along now." He cocked an eyebrow at the six students in a manner that eerily reminded Harry of Snape.

Harry quickly stumbled out the Great Hall, Ron and Hermione close behind him. He didn't go very far when he fell, only to be caught by Ron … again.

"That was a close one!" Ron gasped.

Harry seethed under Ron's arm. Boiling anger was irrupting in his chest, though he didn't know who or what it was directed at. Harry banged his fist on the stone wall, achieving nothing but excruciating pain on his knuckles.

"Damn him," hissed Harry, massaging his swelling knuckles.

"Bloody Malfoy," agreed Ron. "Can't the stupid git show some decency for once? It's not like he's going to get anything out of that sort of shit …" Then he shook his head in apparent disbelief. "You really outdid yourself on the strip tease taunt, Harry. I never saw Malfoy so … well, red. Great show, by way," he added. The grin on Ron's disappeared when he saw the look on Harry's face.

They didn't talk much while they walked to the Gryffindor power. Harry went up to the dormitory alone to get his books and parchment while his friends waited for him in the common room. When he came back down, Harry dropped heavily in an armchair, drained beyond reason.

"This is getting tiring; and it's only the first week." Harry raked a hand through his hair. "I need a break—a long one."

"Well it is Friday," said Hermione cheerfully. "We can all relax this weekend … visit Hogsmeade and such. Fifth year and up can go there without an escort, you know."

That cheered Harry up a bit. "Good idea. But I'll have to go to the Owlry first—I want to see Hedwig."

Hermione smiled knowingly. "She recovered, didn't she?" Madame Pomfrey had told Harry so this morning. He nodded. "Then let's bring some treats for her—she deserves them."

"What should we bring her? A large slab of raw meat or a crate of live mice?" asked Ron half-jokingly. "I dunno if Pomfrey's going to do if we gorge her."

Harry flapped his hand dismissively. "Hedwig needs to be spoiled. And it won't hurt."

The three friends walked to their first lessons in considerably higher spirits. [TOP]

~~oo00oo~~

It turned out Harry had more pressing things to worry about that day. In the end of Friday Transfiguration class, Professor McGonagall made an important announcement:

"The Potential Announcement Ceremony for Foreign Magic Studies will be held today. It is the rough equivalent of Hogwart's sorting ceremony where Professor Wu will declare which T.A. you will be studying with, and what field of Asian sorcery you have the possibility of learning."

Hermione's face lit up the instant she heard this and now she was sitting on the edge of her seat, hanging on Professor McGonagall's every word.

"The ceremony will be held five-o-clock in the Great Hall," Professor McGonagall continued. "In Asia, this ceremony is the most important event of a prospective sorcery student, as it confirms where a student's talent lies. The original ceremony is extremely long, elaborate and grandiose for such reasons, but due to time constraints and other conditions, the ceremony held here will not follow the exact conventions and will be condensed."

Professor McGonagall stared deliberately around the class.

"I believe I need not to mention that EVERYONE is expected to behave properly and show Master Wu and his T.A.s the respect they deserve. I will be extremely disappointed if a Gryffindor student embarrasses the school in any way."

The bell rang, and there was the usual scuffle of activity as everyone packed their bags and swung them over their shoulders. Harry, however, didn't rise from his seat.

"Harry, why aren't you leaving?" asked Ron, tilting his head curiously.

Harry didn't reply immediately. He was waiting for Professor McGonagall, who seemed to have said everything she wanted to say and was preparing for her next class. Harry frowned. That can't be right …

"I've got something to ask to McGonagall. You and Hermione can go ahead without me." Harry said quietly, jumping to his feet. Leaving Ron gapping behind him, Harry walked toward the Professor McGonagall's desk.

"Professor?"

Professor McGonagall looked up. "Yes, Mr. Potter?"

Harry searched for the right words. "I was wondering … do we have to follow a particular Asian etiquette for the ceremony?"

Professor McGonagall blinked. "Not that I know of, no. why do you ask?"

"Well it is an Asian ceremony," said Harry, not really sure if he could explain this properly. "And traditional Chinese people reign in propriety and etiquette—they have really high and elaborate standards for both."

Professor McGonagall looked a bit thoughtful at that.

"I didn't know that," she admitted, shocking Harry in the process. "But I don't think you have to worry; if the students were expected to follow Asian etiquette, the T.A.s would have warned me beforehand and taught everyone how to behave. Whatever the case, Master Wu does not expect the students to act like one of his Chinese students—Mr. Kim already informed me as such."

Harry frowned skeptically, but Professor McGonagall shooed him out, saying he would be late for his next class. Reluctantly, Harry left the Transfiguration classroom with Ron and Hermione to go to Potions. He tried to calm down all afternoon, but a faint sense of dread persistantly occupied his stomach.

~~oo00oo~~

By five in the afternoon, everyone in fifth year and lower taking Foreign Magic Studies congregated outside the Great Hall. Harry stood with his housemates in the small crowd, waiting nervously.

"How come we are sorted first, and not the seventh and sixth years?" whispered Harry.

"I heard Professor Wu's not going to especially assign the six and seventh years because they just can't learn everything required for Foreign Magic Studies within two years or less," whispered Hermione. "So they just got randomly assigned."

"Which leaves us in the highest seniority," remarked Harry. Seeing Ron's clueless face, he explained: "The oldest get and do things first—that the rule of thumb for Asians."

Ron made a face. "Bugger," he muttered. "Good thing I'm not Asian, or I'd gotten everything last in my family."

"You're forgetting Ginny," pointed out Hermione.

"Alright, second to last," grumbled Ron.

The Heads of Houses ordered their students into two lines. They seemed to rather nervous and on edge.

"Mr. Longbottom, pin your robe properly," snapped Professor McGonagall. "Miss Patil, if I see you with that ridiculous thing on your hair again, I shall confiscate it."

Parvati scowled and removed the large ornamental butterfly she tried to wear last year.

"Line up please," said Professor McGonagall. "Fifth years in front, forth and third afterwards …"

The doors of the Great Hall opened. The students made a collective gasp.

The Great Hall was rearranged. The long dinning tables were not there and long stage-like wooden platform had replaced the teachers table, with a small stone step leading to the stage. There were a large red silk drapes with the Chinese word 'education' written several times in golden ink were hanging on the ceiling. A number of ceremonial vessels burning incense were arranged on an altar behind a high seat. Vases filled with flowers—primarily Cherry blossoms, Chrysanthemums and some other flowers Harry didn't know—were placed around the edges of the platform.

Master Wu was kneeling behind a short-legged table wearing a snow-white Chinese robe with long swooping sleeves and an elaborate ceremonial hat. On his left hand he was holding a short ceremonial knife and in his right hand a rod with an odd looking leaf ornament on the end. The rest of the T.A.s were wearing their best respective native costumes and hats (if any), sitting on the platform on both sides—Ryo, Chen, and AanJi on the left in that order, starting from the back; JinHwee and Yimay on the right. Yuri was kneeling besides Professor Wu holding something covered with a blue silk cloth.

Harry couldn't help but gap at Ryo. Even the little conversation between Ryo and Madame Pomfrey didn't prepare him for this. He had thought Ryo might be some high-ranking Japanese government official, but this really clinched it.

Ryo was wearing like an Edo period Samurai, complete with a kataginu (essentially a sleeveless jacket or vest with exaggerated shoulders) that had the Kuzeyamashiro family crest drawn on the lines, a Kimono under that and a Hakama as the lower piece. Ryo's long black hair was tied up into a sakayaki (the topknot favored in the Edo Period; still seen on sumo wrestlers today). Ryo even had a small fan in his right hand, the end resting on his knee like the samurai officials did when they were in front of an audience. It wasn't just his attire either. Ryo's face, posture, mannerisms, eyes, and the warrior air he exuded … Ryo was Samurai bred, without a doubt.

The rest of the T.A.s looked just as formidable, especially AanJi, who was wearing a dark-blue do-rue-mari (long coats favored in Cho-sun period Korean gentlemen), which only served to sharpen his harsh and angular facial lines and deepen the shadows that perpetually hid his eyes from view. Chen looked solemn and forbidding in his official looking silk mandarin outfit. JinHwee looked calm and soothing as always in a pale azure do-rue-mari. Yimay looked nervous, but then again, she always did. Harry couldn't see Yuri's face from his angle, but she looked rather rigid, judging from her posture.

Professor McGonagall lined up the students tweenty feet way from the platform, and then walked towards the table set up for the professors to sit and watch. Harry noticed Dumbledore was watching with a benign expression on his face.

Master Wu stood up from his seat. Harry, who was standing in front, bowed his head respectably. Most of the students hastily followed his example, but in the corner of his eye Harry saw Draco Malfoy and some of the Slytherins just giving a quick nodding bow. That didn't bode well.

Master Wu crossed his arms Egyptian-style. For the longest time he just stood there—his face grim and forbidding as ever—looking at one very nervous face to the next. Finally he spoke (translated by AanJi):

"The Potential Announcement ceremony will be held soon after."

He paused, and deliberately looked at the students again.

"I must warn everyone that after this ceremony the battle will begin: the battle between you and yourself; the battle between the easy way and the hard way; the battle between the side that wants to give up and the side that pushes you to continue. The next three weeks will be your biggest trial of this course. It will determine who will remain till the end, and who will leave forever."

Everyone scarcely breathed after this dramatic statement. Master Wu signaled with a flick of his head, and Yuri placed the object covered with the silk cloth on the table in front of Master Wu. She pulled off the cover.

An old silver mirror was revealed. The reflecting side was not made of glass, but of white-gold and there were many strange symbols around the silver frame. It looked so old it might have been history itself.

"This is called the seeing mirror," said Master Wu. "It reveals the type of powers a person possesses by shinning different colors of light. Each type of power has its own unique color, and the intensity of the light will indicate how powerful the person can be in a particular area of sorcery."

Master Wu paused, and everyone held his or her breath.

"Many of you might be wondering why I have put you through all those test if I had this mirror. But you must know that the light this mirror would emit for certain people could be very ambiguous. To have more clarification, those tests were necessary."

"Now," concluded Master Wu. "When T.A. Kim calls your name, you shall come forth and look into the mirror. I will interpret the light and write the results and T.A. assignment on paper, and give it to you."

Master Wu straightened up and started enunciate a long incantation in Chinese. His hands, which were still holding the knife and rod, were held up high over his head, the small bells attached to the rod jingling whenever Master Wu shook it. The ceremonial knife shined eerily in the low candlelight.

Harry watched in awe as the silver frame of the mirror started to glow. Suddenly the reflecting side admitted a bright golden light that momentarily blinded them all. The students and Hogwarts professors let out a collective gasp as the light got brighter and brighter.

Then the light vanished. Harry looked at the mirror again and saw it was still glowing, the previously rusty looking silver frame now snow white. Harry swore the reflecting side was shimmering like water.

Master Wu sat down again. Then Aanji pulled out a long roll of rice paper.

"Blaise Zabini!" he called out.

Zabini walked towards the platform and stepped onto it without taking off his shoes. The eyes of Master Wu narrowed when Zabini sat cross-legged in front of him to look into the mirror. The reflecting side gave out a hazy gray light, which flickered blue and pink periodically. After scrutinizing the light for about twenty seconds or so, Master Wu started writing on a sheet of rice paper with a calligraphy brush. When he was finished, he folded it. Zabini looked up expectantly.

But to everyone's surprise (and probably shock), Master Wu flicked his brush, splattering Zabini's face with ink before handing over the results. Zabini received the paper sullenly with one hand and stocked off the stage with his back turned on Master Wu. Chen bristled in his seat.

Aanji continued to call out names after a pause. Apparently the T.A.s sorted the students by their first names in alphabetical order, probably because they mistaken it to be the family name. Everything went pretty much the same for the next few students—they would come up, look into the mirror, Master Wu would write the result, splatter the student's face with ink before handing over the results. The only noticeable difference was that the T.A.s seemed to get angrier and angrier with each student, and the amount of ink splattered on the poor student victim increased. The Professors were visibly worried and flustered, not understanding why Master Wu looked so offended.

Harry, on the other hand, was fighting the desire to pound his head against a wall or shout at Professor McGonagall. No need to follow Asian etiquette, indeed!! As for his fellow students … oh well, he guessed he couldn't blame them for not knowing something rather obscure.

It was clear that no student in the Great Hall realized they were offending the Master Wu because A) the they didn't take off their shoes before stepping onto the platform, B) they didn't to bow to Master Wu before approaching, C) they received their results with only one hand and finally D) they showed their backs to Master Wu when they left the stage. All of these were terrible breaches to Asian etiquette and considered quite unforgivable to the older generation. Harry should know—he had received enough infuriated cuffs from the adult Kuzes to teach him that.

"Draco Malfoy," called out Aanji, his voice weary with exasperation.

Malfoy swaggered arrogantly up the stage (not taking off his shoes), and stood before the small table, looking down at the mirror and, incidentally, Master Wu. Even to western standards he looked insolent. Malfoy's light (pale blue with green, red and yellow flickers) was brighter than the rest so far, and he looked almost criminally smug about it.

The students and professors winced in unison when Master Wu, apoplectic with rage, whacked Malfoy's knees with his staff. It didn't stop there: Master Wu practically threw his brush at Malfoy's face after writing his results. Malfoy grabbed his results and stocked off the platform, radiating disgust.

After Malfoy, Harry gave into temptation and pounded his forehead with his palm. Now Malfoy has done it, Harry growled to himself, I don't know what demon in hell possessed the stupid git to act like that, but he put us all in deep shit. He had to do something to ramify this situation and quick.

Frantically, Harry whispered to everyone within earshot what they had do. The only instructions he managed to get through the students before Aanji called Dean was: "Take off your shoes before you get on the platform!"

When Dean was called up, the boy heeded Harry's advice and took off his shoes before he stepped on the platform. Though Dean's conduct afterwards was more or less the same as everyone before him (except Malfoy), there was considerably less ink splattered on his face when he came back. Before Ernie MacMillan from Hufflepuff was called, Harry managed to spread the word about bowing. The bow Ernie made was a disaster—no words could possibly describe what he did—but the Hufflepuff had slightly less ink on his face than Dean's when he left the platform. Ernie whispered his thanks to Harry, surprising the Gryffindor in the process.

"Harry Potter," said Aanji's tired voice. By then, the Hogwarts Professors were practically dancing in their seats with worry, not knowing what they were supposed to do.

Harry took a beep breath before he separated himself from the other students. As he approached the wooden platform, he mentally went through everything he knew about Asian etiquette and tried to figure out how he should act.

By most standards, Asian etiquette was excruciatingly elaborate and intricate, each little action having a vastly different meaning and implication from another. For Harry, who never had a proper etiquette lesson in his life, learning Japanese and Korean postures and mannerisms had been a novel, but grueling and infuriating, experience. What Harry was about to do didn't even cover half of what Ryo and Aunt Imu covered during summer holidays, and that was saying something since those etiquette lessons lasted at least two hours.

Recalling those lessons in his head, Harry carefully toed off his shoes on the small step that led to the temporary wooden platform, making sure his shoes were arranged properly—lying next to each other, perfectly aligned. Having done that, Harry carefully climbed up the wooden platform with his glance kept firmly on the ground. Here he noticed a thin line that divided the platform with the teachers section and the edge. Seeing this, Harry carefully knelt before the line and bowed deeply, consciously making sure his butt didn't stick embarrassingly up in the air with his palms placed in front of him.

"Approach," said the voice of Master Wu. Harry couldn't ascertain his tone, but he didn't sound angry. Harry decided that was encouraging.

Inclining his head briefly to show he will obey, Harry lifted the folds of his robes of his either side and started approaching Master Wu while remaining in a kneeling position and not lifting his head, dragging his knees and shins forward. This particular (and peculiar) way of approaching was distinctly Japanese, archaic, limited to Japanese imperial palaces, and, under normal circumstances, completely unnecessary. But since Master Wu seemed to be angered to his limits, Harry thought it would be safer this way.

Fortunately, Harry managed to approach Master Wu without sprawling on the ground or falling flat on his face. But even after reaching the small table, Harry kept his head humbly down, but shifted his position so that his upper body mostly supported on his knuckles.

"You may lift your head," said Master Wu.

Only then Harry lifted his head, as looking up to ones elders or superiors can only be done with expressed permission in antique Asia. Master Wu looked at Harry keenly.

"Now look into the mirror."

Harry hesitated a brief moment before leaning forwards to look into the mirror. He saw a blurry image of himself for only a split second.

The mirror suddenly blasted a blinding white light. Harry heard stifled screams from behind, and a great deal of shifting feet and scrapping chairs. He could still see the mirror, which was emitting white light endlessly hot and yet endlessly cold; bright as the sun and pale as the moon. The small wooden table shook violently as the mirror vibrated.

The mirror shined the strange white light for a good twenty seconds. Before the white light faded away, a blast of golden light filled the Great Hall.

Then everything was back to normal, though the mirror still glowed like heated gold. Most of the T.A.s looked dazed. Ryo, however, looked old—like he suddenly aged another 20 years in a mere 2 seconds. Wu alone looked quite calm. He simply picked up his brush and started to write as if nothing happened out of the ordinary. Harry, who had been seething his seat after what appeared to be yet another event that separated him from the other students, took this as a comforting sign. He quickly banished that thought when Master Wu seemed to take an inordinately long time writing his results. Harry desperately fought the urge to plunge his fist into the mirror.

In what appeared to be a century, Master Wu put down his brush—NOT flicking it to splatter ink, thank God—and folded the paper. Mechanically, Harry held out both hands to receive his results, and, once he got them, he tucked it inside his robes.

By the time Harry had to make his exit—Master Wu gave him a noncommittal nod—he was more or less composed enough to force himself to think on how he should make his leave. He'd have to rejoin the student body to deal with the consequences of the latest—horrible incident, Harry mentally named it with disgust—and show the rest of his classmates and lower classmen how they should do it. Actually, Harry only had a vague notion on what he had to do, but he figured as long as he didn't show his back to Master Wu, it would be fine. He quickly ruled out repeating the approaching procedure as there was no hope in hell he could do it backwards.

In the end, Harry stood up with his head bowed and walked backwards. Once he reached the line that divided the teachers section and the edge, he knelt again and bowed. Then after turning sideways—still not showing his back to Master Wu—he put on his shoes. Harry continued to walk backwards even after he stepped down from the platform, just in case.

Everything went smoothly until someone tripped him.

Harry staggered, but was saved from the humiliation of falling down on his butt thanks to some Ravenclaws standing in front. Harry circled his head wildly to find whoever stupid enough to stick his/her foot out in this situation.

What the hell?! Goyle? Harry thought, noticing the boat size foot and the Godzillian body and gorilla-like face. Then he realized with a shock his results had fallen out of his robes after all that staggering and ...

... and Malfoy was picking it up!

Shit!!! Harry mentally screamed, though he didn't know why he felt so agitated. After all, the worse Malfoy could do was rip his results, and that wouldn't do the git any good.

Malfoy quickly opened Harry's results, apparently to read them. But when he opened it, his pale and thin face twisted in disgust for one reason and another, and he threw it to the ground. Terry Boot from Ravenclaw picked it up and handed it over to Harry.

"Stupid git," Harry heard Terry muttering under his breath. Harry nodded his head once to show his hearty agreement and muttered his thanks to the Ravenclaw. He received a good natured pat on his back as a reply.

Harry quickly rejoined his fellow Gryffindors in the crowd, who were oddly silent. Ron and Hermione in particular seemed to be beyond words. Seeing the inevitable inquiries coming, Harry muttered: "samurai movies; lots and lots of old samurai movies." That seemed to satisfy Dean, Seamus and Hermione at least, though it made Ron even more clueless.

Harry was able to relax a bit afterwards. His classmates and lowerclassmen took the hint and tried to follow his example except for the occasional rebel who didn't like the idea of bowing down to anyone. No one was splattered with ink afterwards (except Neville, he somehow fell on his face while bowing). Master Wu's good humour (if he had one; it was hard to tell since the man's face was always saturnine) seemed to be restored, and he also seemed to be entertaining himself immensely by watching the students make various disastrous attempts to emulate Harry. Harry himself was relieved when several students had similar results as himself (if different colors), and even more relieved when Ron's light was just as impressive as Hermione's (blinding neon red with golden beams).

Finally the last third year received their results. After chuckling a bit, Master Wu stood up again.

"The ceremony has concluded. You may go."

Master Wu clapped his hands once and instantly the drapes on the ceilings vanished and Great Hall became brighter as more candles lit up. Harry let out a sigh as he watched Yuri cover the seeing mirror with the blue silk cloth. [TOP]

~~oo00oo~~

"Thank god it's over," Harry muttered. "I thought we had it when Malfoy acted like that."

Ron didn't speak. He was too beside himself with glee as he watched Professor McGonagall giving Malfoy a savage tongue lashing for his conduct during the Potential Announcement Ceremony. Harry noticed the young Slytherin didn't look least bit repentant with his actions, though he did look very sullen and disappointed for some reason.

Hermione nodded her head pensively. "It was almost like he was deliberately being rude." Then her eyes widened. "Did he read your results, Harry?"

"He looked at them," confirmed Harry, enjoying the all too rare sight of Malfoy being told off as well. "But I don't think he actually read them."

One glance at his results paper showed exactly why Malfoy didn't read it, or rather, couldn't. Except for three labels that said: "Name: [Harry Potter], T.A.:, Areas:,' everything was written in Chinese. Ron tore his eyes away from the delightful sight of Malfoy getting yelled at Professor McGonagall to pulled out his own results.

"I can't read this," declared Ron. That seemed to the general consensus between the students. Surprisingly enough, even Hermione seemed to have trouble reading her results.

"I don't know these words," muttered Hermione. She sounded like she was about to become hysterical again. "And the words I know don't make any sense together!"

While Hermione drowned into a series of sad mutters, Harry looked at Ron's paper. "I think you're with Ryo," he said, pointing at the Chinese characters next to English letters: 'T.A.' Harry read further down. "And you're learning … I think it says non-paper talisman making, and marital arts."

Ron looked at him incredulously. "You can actually read this?"

"Nope," said Harry truthfully. "I just fish out the words I know and guess from there."

"Oh," said Ron, blankly. Then he looked back to his paper. "What else does it say?"

Harry squinted. "Err … something about battle stratagem." He squinted again. "And I think that's spear fighting," he said, pointing. Then, "yeah, and I think you're learning summoning."

"Cool." Ron looked very satisfied. He turned to face Hermione. She was livid for some reason or another. "Any luck?"

Hermione brandished her paper in Harry's nose as a reply. Obviously she couldn't read it.

"Erm … I think you're with Jinhwee," said Harry, reading the name. "And you're learning … huh, you're learning summoning too, Hermione, but a different type than Ron's."

Hermione looked intrigued, if still livid. Shrugging his shoulders, Harry deciphered the rest of her list.

"You're also learning Feng Shui … archery … paper talisman making … and … I think acupuncture," finished Harry, as handed back the paper to Hermione. Harry felt his lips tug into a smile when he saw his friend's glance become unfocussed as she turned her thoughts inwards. Doubtlessly she would scourge the library in the earliest possible opportunity and read every book related to her areas she can find for preparation.

"Come on, what do you have?" asked Ron excitedly as Harry finally opened his results.

"Hmm … I'm with Aanji," said Harry, slightly disappointed. He had been hoping he would be assigned to Ryo. "And I'm learning—" there seemed to one too many things under areas, Harry decided "—sword fighting and … Shui Yin? What the hell is that? … Summoning of all types … huh? Do-gong? Now what's that?"

Harry tried to read some more, but none of the jumble of words made any sense to him. He folded his results again irritably and stuffed it in his pocket. "They don't making any sense," he growled.

Ron shrugged his shoulders. "Well, Aanji would probably explain everything for you next week, so why bother?"

"Well—" started Harry.

"Mr. Potter!!" said the voice of Professor McGonagall.

Harry, Ron and Hermione swiveled around and found Professor McGonagall standing behind them. Harry had never seen her look so happy.

"That was the most admirable conduct, Mr. Potter!" she said happily. "I don't even want to know what could have happened if you weren't here to show an example." Harry didn't either. "Let see, make that seventy points to Gryffindor for saving the reputation of Hogwarts."

Harry felt his jaw drop. "But …" he started to protest, but Ron stepped on his foot and gave him a look that clearly said: don't complain!!

"Now," said Professor McGonagall, her voice much more composed. "Professor Dumbledore wishes to speak with the three of you. I believe you know where his office is, Mr. Potter?" Harry nodded. "Good, the password is 'Twinkies'." Hermione mouthed 'Twinkies' with an incredulous look on her face. "Off you go."

"Twinkies," muttered Hermione again as they walked towards Dumbledore's office. "Well, it's like him to use some obscure muggle confectionary for his office password."

"What's with Dumbledore and sweets anyway?" said Ron, shaking his head. "It's like he's a sugar addict or something—and that's just not possible, not for someone of his age."

"I don't put anything pass Dumbledore," mumbled Harry. "The next thing we know, we'll see him flying hand gliders or having a spear duel with Master Wu."

"A spear duel?" repeated Ron incredulously. "A spear duel?! Where did you get that idea from?"

Harry told him about a Japanese historical cartoon animation film which had been a battle scene between a seventy year old warrior and an equally old opponent, and how the opponent rather reminded him of Dumbledore. Hermione looked fascinated, but Ron looked only vaguely intrigued with the idea.

"I just can't see Dumbledore doing anything violent. Or looking angry," he remarked.

Harry, who had seen Dumbledore in rage first-hand last term, shivered.

"We're here," Harry said as they stood in front of the familiar Gargoyle. Hermione knocked once, and then uttered the password and all of them walked in.

~~oo00oo~~

Dumbledore greeted them warmly, and motioned them to sit down. At first, Ron and Hermione were very awkward and jumpy, as they had never been in such close proximity to Dumbledore in his own office before. But after a round of soothing hot chocolate, liberal supply of marshmallows, a plate of cream filled biscuits, and some very comfortable inquires about their families and summer holidays, they started to loosen up. Harry himself didn't pay much attention, but kept looking around to find the sight of Fawkes the Phoenix. For some reason, he didn't seem to be in Dumbledore's office as he usually did.

"Well," began Dumbledore seriously. "Now that we are assured the past month had gone as expected for you two, let's start talking about the important matters on hand."

Harry felt lost. From their dumbfounded expressions, so did Ron and Hermione. "Sir?" inquired Harry.

"Everything shall become clear later," soothed Dumbledore. Harry just nodded dumbly.

More serious than ever, Dumbledore looked them directly in the eye and said, "What means the Manji?"

Harry was taken aback. "Er…” He looked at his friends. Ron's jaw was hanging open, after a while he started mouthing something that suspiciously looked like: 'off his rocker'. Hermione looked frantic, nibbling her lower lip and bunching up her hair like she always did when she was stuck.

"It has recently occurred to me," Dumbledore stated. "That it is imperative for you three to know several important Buddhist concepts, the Manji being one of them. And I have reasons to believe at least one of you know what it means." Then the Headmaster sat back in his chair, folded his hands over his chest and waited.

Harry briefly wondered why he felt so guilty for knowing something that was just straight-fact. "I… heard that it is protection against evil. The source of infinite virtue." He began cautiously.

Ron and Hermione stared at him. Dumbledore continued to look stern for some reason.

"Strike one, Harry," He said. "Try again."

Harry sighed. "It's the Buddhist symbol of prosperity and good fortune, the svastika in Sanskrit. The clockwise "swastika" is a solar symbol in many mystic traditions, and was adopted by the Nazi regime as the "hakenkreuz." The Japanese Buddhist tradtion uses the "sauvastika," the counter-clockwise sign, which dates back more than a thousand years."

Hermione was gapping now. And Ron was staring at him like he'd grown a pair of mountain goat horns.

"That's good," said Dumbledore. "But please elaborate it in terms of Japanese Buddhism."

"Manji is the sign of all enlightened Bodhisattva," Harry began. He was starting to have a curious sensation of reading out of a book, though he had no book at hand—and certainly not the book he read all this information from. "These Bodhisattvas radiate the heavenly light of Dharma truth—which means sacred duty, order, and law in Sanskrit—from the breast of the virtuous and majestic Kongo Manji. Manji, also Kaimaen, are the destroyers of evil. With the hundred thousand lights, the Bodhisattva Asangra illuminates the world of those who follow the Buddha."

"Likewise," continued Harry, only dimly aware of the looks his friends were giving him. "Upon the breast of the virtuous and majestic Dharmakaya Bodhisattva, Manji extinguishes the heavenly light, revealing in an instant the hundred thousand wisdoms and virtues to all Bodhisattva."

Dumbledore regarded him carefully. Then he said in an almost challenging tone: "Then what about Kshitigarbha, more commonly known as Jizö?"

Something flaired inside Harry's head. "Kshitigarbha is a Bodhisattva comforting the common man."

"What are the Jizö Bodhisattva of the six paths?"

Harry looked right into Dumbledore's eyes, the sensation of reading out of a book increasing steadily as he answered:

"First, Yotenka Jizö, Bodhisattva of tendö, the way of heaven. Bearing in his left hand the nyöi hösö jewel of Dharma truth, and making with his right the seppo mudra of the dharma.

"Second, the Bodhisattva of Jindö, the way of man, Hoko Jizö. In his left, a shakujö pilgrim's staff, with his right the mudra of yogan, prayers granted.

"Third, the Bodhisattva of shuradö, the way of slaughter, kongödö Jizö, the flag of kongö diamond truth in his left, with his right the semui mudra, virtue to the masses.

"Fourth, the Bodhisattva of chikushödö, the way of the beast, Kongöhi Jizö—In his left, the Shakujö staff, with his right, the mudra of inse.

"Fifth, the Bodhisattva of Kigadö, the way of starvation, Kongöhö Jizö—In his left, the hökushu jewel, with his right, the mudra of manna, kandro.

"Last, the Bodhisattva of Jigokudö, the way of hell, Kongögan Jizö. The Kaenmadö in his left, with his right hand upon his right ankle, he signs the mudra of Jöben, hope fulfilled.

"In short," concluded Harry, now almost seeing the book opened in front of him. "The way of heaven, the way of man, the way of slaughter, the way of the beast, the way of starvation, the way of hell. The Bodhisattva is a manifestation of the six ways." Then he added: "The Bodhisattva of those who live in meifumadö in pursuit of their quest."

There was a stunned silence as Harry finished reciting everything about Rikudo Shisho—the six paths. His head felt almost impossibly full, and yet he could feel nothing emotionally. He seemed to be in an odd state of half-consciousness, every much like when he struggled to stay awake during his History of Magic classes.

Then foreign thought tickled into his mind.

~Take THAT old man …~

Harry's half-closed eyes strang open.

Who are you? Get out of my Head!!

A feeling of caught off-guard. Then—

BANG!!!

"AAaaauurrrrgggghhhhh!!!!"

Physical and Mental pain, fear, shame, avoidance, denial, despair, hopelessness, pain, pain, pain, and more pain ripped through Harry's head and chest, crashing down on him like a tidal wave, drowning him under its destructive folds. He convulsed in something so far beyond pain it wasn't even agony. The nerves around his hand and thighs were on fire, his blood vessels coursing with sulfuric acid, his brain stabbed by hundreds of needles, his lungs on fire, and his muscles tensed and twisted unnaturally. But most of all, the pain that was sheering in his chest, breaking and crumbling his heart into a million worthless pieces …

He had no idea how long that went on before he fell into merciful blackness.

~~oo00oo~~

He was in a black pit, hedious nightmares flashing by his eyes in series, like a film. This time, he could feel the loneliness and sorrow and anger and fear from them all.

Somewhere, sometime, in the depths of the blackness he knew that he had to get out of it. Climb up the slippery walls, out of the dark pit. Out of that beautiful and yet horrifying black place.

A voice was speaking over him like distant thunder. He made himself listen to it.

"He's moving!"

His eyes wouldn't open, but he parted his dry, cracked lips. "S," he managed. "J…"

A hand stroked his hair. The voice, not thundering now, spoke. "Yes, Harry. I'm right here. I'm right here."

It was unfamiliar hand, but a familiar voice. A long missed voice.

Something brushed against his lips. The surface of cold ceramic. Then liquid, but it burned his mouth. He tried to turn his neck, but he couldn't move. The incendiary liquid ran down his throat. He felt something hot spill over his cheeks.

"I know it hurts," a second voice said.

Hurt? That was pain? He remembered pain. Pain was breaking his arm playing Quidditch. This was—

"Go back to sleep, Harry."

The blackness swallowed him up again.

He stayed in the pit longer this time. He wanted to stay, but He clawed his way to the surface again. He had something to do. Someone to meet. Someone to see.

"Remus!"

"I don't understand it. He should have been out for at least twelve hours."

"S," Harry whispered. "S…"

"I'm right here," said the familiar voice.

"S… J…"

"Drink this," said the second voice.

"It won't hurt as much." The hot liquid tipped down his throat. Yes, regular, normal pain. He slid back down into darkness.

He didn't have to struggle nearly so hard to get to the surface this third time. "Sss," he said.

"Harry, you need to sleep." The familiar voice sounded worried, frantic. "Please, Harry."

"Sih," he said more urgently. He thought he would see if he could open one of his eyes. Blazing light attacked him, and he shut it again.

"Please, Harry. Go to sleep."

The second voice came back. "Is he awake again?"

"Yes. And he keeps—I think he's asking for me and someone else, but I don't know who this other person is."

"Si," he said. He tried again. "Ji." That was better.

"Oh!" The familiar voice exclaimed. Then, more quietly, it whispered to him. "Harry, Jiho will be coming soon. He was so worried he blackmailed Ryo. The samuari bastard gave in yesterday. He's coming."

He slipped back down into the comforting darkness, and stayed there for a long time. When he was ready to leave, he just opened the door and stepped out.

"Mm," he said for a change. He tried cracking an eye open. They'd dimmed the lights, apparently, because it didn't hurt nearly as much. He opened the other eye, too. He shifted a little, and saw someone slumped in the chair next to his bed. "Sirius?" His throat was dry.

His godfather shot awake. "Harry. Go back to sleep."

"Thirsty." He didn't think it would hurt to drink now.

"Good." Sirius retrieved a glass with a straw in it from the bedside table and held it to Harry's lips. "It's pumpkin juice. Not too much, or you'll make yourself ill."

Harry drank gratefully. His stomach cramped around the cool liquid, and he let the straw fall from his lips. "What hap—"

"Now have some of this."

'This' was the same potion they'd been giving him all along, Harry realized. It sent him right back down into his black pit.

He stayed there until someone brought him out.

To Be Continued. [TOP]

~~oo00oo~~