A/N: Aaaand, another story for you, dear readers, posted at virtually the same time. Review to let me know if you like it, because i have three other stories, and I'd rather not waste my time on a story that no one appreciates. And for all you skimmers:
REVIEW!!!!

Disclaimer: I do not own the "Harry Potter" franchise, nor "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" franchise, and i make no money from these writings. I do it exclusively for fun.

Chapter One: Identity

He was emerging from a dream. As conscious thoughts started to form in him mind, he started grasping for the memories of the dream he had. He tried to remember what he dreamed of, but it was as if he dreamed two dreams simultaneously. One featured a tall man with dark hair and hollow eyes, dressed in some kind of black robes falling through an eerie veil of glowing white smoke; and a boy, no older than seventeen, getting struck in the chest with a green light, the glow from the candle of life fading from his eyes.

The other dream… He couldn't remember the other dream now. It seemed that out of two dreams he had the luck to pick the one that was a nightmare. Two people dying in mysterious ways. Well, not really mysterious, since both of them were hit with the Killing Curse.

But how did he know that? And on another note, how was he still alive? His left hand sneaked up and touched his neck, but he didn't feel a puncture wound that the poisoned dart would surely leave on it. It was all so confusing. He opened his eyes, and looked at the white ceiling above. He propped himself up, and was confused by the weakness in his body. Perhaps the poison didn't kill him, but had left him extremely weakened? Yes, that was probably it. Even his vision was blurry, and the room wasn't in focus.

"Shu-lien! Shu-lien! Where are you?" he asked in Mandarin as he slowly turned his neck around the room, looking for his love. But she wasn't there to help him. He didn't move, not wanting to make the poison spread stronger, and instead went into a deep meditative state. As his heartbeat slowed down, he started reviewing his memories, his entire life. His early life, his adolescence and his training, his master, Shu-lien, the way the candle of affection he had for her build up into a roaring volcano. He was foolish, thinking that the love he had for her was better to be put aside, and he finally reviewed his last moments, his last memories. Or at least what he thought was his last memories.

Another huge group of memories assaulted his mind, and he struggled to find the one that would reveal to him what happened right after he passed out from the poison. But he found nothing that was connected to his life. The people were strange and the language was different, very different than Mandarin Chinese, but he could still understand what everyone was saying perfectly. He started sorting the memories, one by one, and after several hours passed, he finished with the last one, of him going to bed.

It was still confusing, even after reviewing all the memories in his head. It was as if someone had taken all the memories from a person, from this Harry James Potter, and thrust them in his head. It was as if he was two persons in one. If that was so, then what was his real identity? Who was he really? Was he Li Mu-bai or Harry James Potter? The Li Mu-bai persona was more dominant, but then again, he had more memories from Mu-bai than from Harry.

He opened his eyes and sighed before he stood up. He got up from the battered bed and took the glasses on the nightstand in his hands. He neared them to his eyes and looked in them until he could see his eyeball staring back at him. His iris was light green. So, it appeared that he was in Harry Potter's body, and therefore he was actually Harry Potter. But how did he end up with Mu-bai's memories?

Magic, was the obvious answer that popped in his mind, but that didn't explain how, who or why. How did one send memories from someone that was dead more than two hundred years in the future, who sent them and why? He sighed again, for he only knew of two persons that might do this, and one of them, Albus Dumbledore, would ask for his permission to go ahead with a procedure of this magnitude and insanity. So that left only the other person with the ability to do this – Voldemort.

But it still didn't make any sense. What would Voldemort achieve with giving him the memories of a master swordsman? If he was trying to confuse him, wouldn't it be better to give him the memories of someone who had no fighting skills whatsoever? And how would he get the memories of a man that lived and died more than two hundred years before Tom Marvolo Riddle was even born? It just didn't add up. Voldemort couldn't be the one that gave him the memories.

Perhaps the fates had decided that this was the power he knows not? That seemed more reasonable, even if both Harry and Mu-bai had never met the fates, or the powers that be, but both had a sense, a feel that there was something more powerful than they could ever imagine guiding them through their destinies.

Destinies… The Green Destiny sword! Perhaps that was why the powers that be had sent him Mu-bai's memories specifically. Although the Green Destiny had many masters throughout the centuries, Li Mu-bai was undoubtedly the greatest master of them all. He had the more raw talent, willpower and discipline than any other master that ever held the Green Destiny. With the help of that sword, he had even defeated twelve dark sorcerers that had sprouted in China. He would have to find his sword.

He looked down his body, clad only in a pair of boxers, and was disgusted at what he saw. The body was one of a thin teenaged beggar, not of a strong and skillful warrior. The bones were all the right sizes and shapes, but the muscles were sorely lacking. He didn't have a gram of fat on him because of the starving in his childhood, but the muscles had suffered because of this as well. He couldn't pinpoint the exact cause of his neglect towards the money in his trust vault, but he would use them to allow himself better nutrition during his… stay in the Dursley household. A swimming and a fitness club would be a must if he ever wanted to be as proficient a swordsman as Mu-bai had been, so he would join the local fitness club, gymnastics club and swimming club in Surrey. He got up and sat on the rackety chair in front of the old and beat up desk and begun a list on a spare sheet of parchment.

Two days per week in the fitness club, Monday and Wednesday, two days in gymnastics club, Tuesday and Thursday, and Friday in the swimming club. Saturday and Sunday would be days for resting and studying magic and combat spells. He already knew some tricks from Mu-bai's memories, but it wasn't the same as magic. It was using your chi to perform tasks that your muscles alone would have severe difficulties to perform.

He looked down at the list and blinked. It was written in mandarin, the characters scratchy and ugly because they were written with a quill and not a calligraphy brush. It would be harder to read however, so he decided to write down all the plans he made in mandarin, because he was positive that none of the death eaters knew Chinese. In fact, he was convinced that they would think these were some kind of runes, and if this parchment ever got in the hands of Voldemort, he was positive that Voldemort would mistake the crooked mandarin as some ancient runes, and would waste a lot of time in deciphering a simple schedule.

He would need some money from hi Gringotts Vault, and he reckoned that he would get it when he went to the reading of Sirius' will. His heart ached at the thought of Sirius' death, and he sat back on the bed in a meditative position, resting and making peace with his godfather's death. After that he wrote a quick note to Dumbledore, asking him to meet him urgently on Privet Drive and sent the note to the headmaster via his trusty snowy owl, he laid down on the bed and went to sleep.

Perhaps for the first time this summer Harry woke up without cold sweat covering him and him shaking from the aftereffects of a vicious nightmare. He realized that Sirius' death was not his fault, even if he was the reason Sirius was in the Department of Mysteries that night. He stood up and took a warm shower, washing his body for the first time after he came back from Hogwarts. His relatives kept to themselves after Moody intimidated them in King's Cross, so he was free to do whatever he liked around the house, without having any chores at all.

He spent the time waiting for the headmaster's undoubted arrival by doing push-up and sit-ups, and consuming large quantities of food. He just had to gain Mu-bai's strength and quickness if he wanted to defeat Voldemort with the Green Destiny. Long after his muscles started shaking he laid down on the worn mattress and rested. Just then he heard the doorbell ring, but he stayed on the bed and rested his protesting muscles. He heard his uncle's unintelligible yells at what he guessed was Dumbledore, but the burst was short and not long after it ended he heard the door to his room open.

He saw Dumbledore enter the room in a light yellow muggle suit with lapels too large to be considered modern, and raised an eyebrow. Dumbledore looked around the room, the twinkle in his eyes gone. It seemed to Harry that the old man was sad that he had strapped Harry with whit his obnoxious relatives. Harry propped himself up on his bed, his muscles protesting in pain, and gestured towards the only chair in the room. Dumbledore took the hint and dragged it the short distance from its position in front of the desk to the edge of the bed, before he turned it around and set it up so it was facing Harry. He slowly sat down, at the ready to bolt up back again in case the patched up chair decided to give up on his weight and let him slam down on his behind. After assuring himself that the chair would indeed hold his weight, he put his hands in his lap and gave Harry an inquisitive look.

"Good afternoon headmaster." Harry started politely. The old man was probably afraid that Harry would blow up at any moment, like he had in his office not even a full week ago.

"Good afternoon Harry. How are you today?" asked the headmaster.

"I'm as good as I can be, considering the circumstances. How are you doing?" asked Harry with a small bow of his head. It seemed that with Mu-bai's memories, he had inherited some of his mannerisms.

"I'm quite alright. Now, pleasantries aside, what did you wanted to see me for?" asked Dumbledore in his serious manner.

"Oh, I have many questions I like to ask you and many things to tell you headmaster, but first I must make sure you are really Albus Dumbledore." said Harry. Albus just raised his eyebrows.

"And how are you going to do that? You know that there are underage magic restrictions on you." said Albus in explanation.

"Oh, I'm not going to use any magic. Give me your hands." said Harry as he propped himself and sat up, his back fully straightened. He leaned over a bit and took the hands that Dumbledore offered wordlessly. He pressed his index and middle finger on the inside of the old man's wrists and pressed gently. He felt the pulse and the pressure under his fingers, and memorized the tempo.

"Is your name Albus Dumbledore?" asked Harry.

"Yes." said Dumbledore.

"Are you under the polijuice potion?" asked Harry.

"No." said Dumbledore.

"Is your favorite candy Chocolate Frogs?" asked Harry.

"No." answered Dumbledore.

"Do you work for Voldemort?" asked Harry.

"No." answered Dumbledore.

Harry pulled his hands away and nodded once towards Dumbledore. Dumbledore nodded back, and for Harry, that was the last straw. Far faster than the intruder could recognize and react to what was happening, Harry's hands speared forward and jabbed at several key points on the intruder's body. The intruder's hand sneaked towards his pockets, but before he could even touch his wand, his whole body got as stiff as a board. The intruder immediately went red in the face, so Harry tapped him on the side of the neck, allowing him to move his tongue, jaw, facial muscles, eyes and the muscles that controlled his lungs. This man would need to be killed, since he had performed secret Wu-Dang methods on him, and he undoubtedly saw the whole thing. Things were not looking up, and the intruder was already inside the house for ten minutes, which left Harry only forty five minutes to come up with a way to kill him without leaving any evidence for the muggle authorities.

"Okay, we'll start slow. Who are you and who sent you?" asked Harry. The man tried to spit in his face, but since he couldn't move his neck, all he could do was slobber all over himself.

"That worked out nicely. Okay, either you will start answering now, and get out of here alive, or you're going to suffer injuries, answer my question and then get out alive, or you're going to suffer injuries, refuse to cooperate, and get killed painfully. I got all day. Now, who are you and who sent you?" asked Harry more forcefully.

"The good fairy sent me. Who do you think Potter? The Dark Lord sent me to find out Dumbledore's plans and kidnap you in one fell swoop after he intercepted your letter to Dumbledore." said the Death Eater, glaring at Harry murderously.

"Is that so? Who are you then? Name and surname please." said Harry as he reached for a piece of paper. He concentrated on writing on English, and his scratchy handwriting quickly occupied half the page.

"My name is of no consequence mudblood!" spat out the shaking Death Eater. Harry sighed before he got up and took one of the man's legs.

"You tell me your name and I promise you will walk out of this house alive." said Harry and twisted the Death Eater's foot.

"Fuck you Potter. The Dark Lord will kill you for this." snarled the man. Harry sighed before tapping the man's neck, before he twisted the foot violently this way and that. Several snaps were heard, and the man got an ugly shade of purple that Harry had only ever seen on his uncle. He was shaking all over, and Harry was to concentrated on breaking the foot irreparably in order to be disturbed by the image of him twisting the foot of Albus Dumbledore while the man was getting close to a heart attack. He stopped when the foot was damaged enough so that the man would never properly walk again, and he waited for fifteen second for the man to calm down before tapping his neck again. The death eater took a big gulp of air before he started glaring at Harry.

"Torturing me will get you nowhere. I was trained to withstand pain." said the Death Eater calmly.

Harry just stared at the death eater for several seconds before he jabbed the Death Eater at a certain point on the jaw line, making his mouth shut and his tongue rigid. Harry turned around and looked out the window, deep in thought. Five minutes passed before, suddenly, Harry turned around and left the room without a word.

He entered the bathroom and looked around, before he spotted his uncle's razorblade resting innocently with the toothbrushes in front of the mirror. He snatched it quickly and cut off several of his hairs, before making a shallow cut on his finger. The blood mingled with the hair as he tied the strand in a knot and used an adhesive bandage on the cut on his finger.

He went back to his room, tapped the man's jaw line and shoved the bloodied hair in the man's mouth. It was truly disconcerting for him to watch his hand sink into Dumbledore's mouth, but he knew this had to be done. After some stimulating of the throat, the man swallowed the bloodied hair and Harry started taking his clothes off until he was down to a pair of boxers. He quickly stripped the man and dressed him in his clothes before he put the out of fashion suit on and quickly packed his most important belongings, which wasn't much, in an old rucksack he used to wear while going in elementary school.

He took the Death Eater's wand and broke it, before jabbing the man across the body, using the counter of the secret Wu-Dang paralyzing technique.

"Listen to me well. What I gave you was a special poison called the draconian death. It is a crystallized mixture of several snake poisons, and it will kill you in less than fifteen minutes. I suggest you make haste to Voldemort, and then beg him to give you the antidote. I'm sure he has one lying around." said Harry, his voice and face devoid of any and all emotion. He grabbed the man by the scruff of the neck and dragged him downstairs, before he tossed him on the street.

Harry Potter dragged his mangled foot as he ran away from Number Four Privet Drive. His mouth was open and his tongue was hanging out, slobber dripping down on his T-Shirt. After several minutes he turned left on Magnolia Crescent, and there he saw Voldemort with two more Death Eaters, surrounded by a muggle repelling ward. He hopped faster towards Voldemort, but once Voldemort laid an eye on him, there was just a sickly green light, and then, darkness.

Voldemort looked down on his so called nemesis and smirked. The boy was slippery, and he had promised himself that there would be no more fooling around. He had finally learned that theatrics psyched out the opponent on one hand they gave him more time to find a way out on the other. And so his so called nemesis fell, with only two words from Voldemort's mouth. Avada Kedavra. He had always liked the sound of that curse. Ever since he had read it in a forbidden book in his sixth year, he knew that one of the most powerful curses in his arsenal.

Something cracked several feet in front of him. His reflexes made him jump and point his wand at the source of the noise, but all he found was a simple stone, shattered in two. He furrowed his nonexistent brow as he spotted a piece of parchment right next to the two halves of the stone. He walked over it and cast a detection charm on the parchment, but found nothing. He gently picked up the parchment which was almost split in two, settled the two halves together and read it.

Dear Tom

If you are reading this right now, it means that I have found out your plan and successfully evaded capture, while you have killed your own servant. I only wish that you would try the same thing again and again and again. That way I will have the chance to eliminate every single Death eater without using a spell. Wouldn't that be neat? By the time your slow mind have pieced this all together, I will be long gone. Anyway, I have to go. Take care and watch out for stones that fall out of the sky.

Always one step ahead

Harry Potter.

The parchment burst in flames from Voldemort's anger. The Death Eaters that were still alive backed off a few steps, just in case he burst out in flame himself. He looked up in the sky, but he couldn't spot anything but blue sky and white clouds anywhere.

Harry flew on his Firebolt towards Hogwarts. With the light yellow suit on him, it would be impossible for Voldemort to discern him from the clouds or the sky. He gave himself a mental pat on the shoulder for the polyjuice cocktail. Since they could only find Dumbledore's hair, his blood and hair together could nullify Dumbledore's single hair in the polyjuice that was still in the Death Eater's stomach. He steered north and pushed for more speed, trying to make it to Hogwarts before sunset.