Prologue

Here is a tale of fortune. An epic, or it would be if the author was not so lazy. It has the potential to be a tale seen by countless people. Heard and felt by all. But I doubt it. I'm not as good as Homer, no where near Aristotle. In fact There's no way I'm anywhere near any of them. The epic of Gilgamish is a work to aspire to, but in the vein of slapstick, I shall just fall short of. So instead listen, or in this case, read and hopefully be entertained.

If the gentle reader does not know of what has gone on before, please refer to the ancient texts of "Harry 'It's Saotome' Potter." A Fine piece of mediocrity if I have anything to say about it. It is in that work that the kind reader shall learn the history. A fine history of the solitary figure perched atop an old style thatched roof. Not just any roof, but one of integrity that seems to be out of place amongst the sky towers of the land known as London. A roof that is a gateway in space. No matter how one circles the block, it would never be conceived that beyond that roof lies near two square kilometers of fine establishment. An Ice cream parlor, A tailor, A crack dealer, or rather a book seller (I still maintain that they deal in highly addictive substances, knowledge and entertainment.), a bank also is amongst the shops and curio dealers that rests nestled in a pocket both within and outside of London.

Spread about the figure rested a collection of books and papers. A frown spread across the face.

"Baka sensi" He complained as he continued to write. Grumbling to himself, he looked at his half hearted attempts at the essays that had been assigned for summer homework. He noted that he had the required number of papers and writing to go with them before nodding and collecting them. A quick hop, twist and flip and he was in a room of the building. He laid his work in the trunk and shut it. He had the night free before he would get to go home.

Dumbledore had said that he would be meeting up with his family and he was excited. He knew he was out of shape and just hoped that Ranma and Ryouga would not beat him too badly. Maybe he could gain his edge back. Harry glanced at the back of his hand, the scar from the spirit charm still shown bright red. As if it continued to try to protect him.

A loud grumbling noise distracted Harry from his thoughts, He looked down past the translation pendent he kept on at all times and patted his stomach gently. A smile lit across his eyes and he bounded down the stairs in mere seconds. The customers by the door to the rooms looked around as they felt a slight breeze.

Tom jumped slightly when Harry appeared in front of him. Harry smirked and gave him his best pleading look..

"Please sir, I'm hungry." Tom smiled.

"Right, I'll get you something right away." The toothless grin flashed before he disappeared into the back.

Harry ignored all the whispering from the crowd. The regulars had learned in the time the boy was there not to mess with him. They had not seemed to realize that this was their savior though. Probably they were expecting the boy-who-lived to have a little more manners, or maybe to speak English. Or maybe it was that they expected to see a lightening bolt shaped scar predominantly displayed on the forehead, and not a mop of black hair covering half of his face. And why am I going on and on like this? This is a story, not an encyclopedia. I must get a move on.

The night soon passed and Harry left his possessions at the train station before being port-keyed to a remote part of China.

AN:

So I finally decided to get off my bum and post what I have so far of the sequel. Mostly because I found out that people are still reading this piece of less than stellar wish wash. Oh by the way, be wary of the NANOWRIMO, It can ruin your creativity. I've been so horrified by my output from that that It's stymied my creativity for over 5 years.

Oh and I'm open to suggestions because I'm not overly fond of year two, so that is another sticking point on writing it.