FIRSTLY: WARNING, USE OF THE F-WORD, ZUKO SWEARS IN THE STORY, DROPPING OF THE F-BOMB.

You have been warned. Also my writing style left so I used my backup. Sorry for this.

Secondly:no one be offended I didn't PM your review: no one got PM'd this week.

A few review clarifications:

Zekrom(to lazy to log in):

That's Wendy from the 'Zuko takes a train (or two)' chapter.

Lindril:

The idea for Zuko to do pyrography, or the idea for what each picture was of?

I've done some pyrography myself, and I head canon Zuko was better at the art thing than Sokka during Piandao's training – so that happened.

The pictures themselves just sort of evolved from 'what is Zuko's opinions/relationship of/with these people?'

{And yes Zuko researched Western Dragon's for Hagrid's picture. It was originally supposed to be a baby picture of Norbert but then I remembered: Timelines are a thing.

Also Neville's was based on a picture I drew years ago of a fairy on her war hamster.}

Platypuslover:

Do you mean like the fork thing? Or the Christmas thing?

Because the Spirits gave him a download of information for the mission – language(spoken and written), basic technology use, the names and faces of people Harry would/should know – but they left out a lot of 'superfluous' information that though wasn't needed or that Zuko could figure out for himself.

Christmas wasn't relevant to the mission so it was left out, and no one talks about it unless its coming up so … yeah.

The fork thing: Zuko comes from a word where everyone uses chopsticks, forks are not a thing there. Much like a young child he's been handed this thing and told what its for but not how to use it. While children learn by watching parents or caretakers, Zuko was isolated so his ability to learn by watching was negligible to the point of not existing.

There's going to be several things like that, to quote Disney's Pocahontas 'you'll learn thing you never knew, you never knew.'

Halloween. Just saying.

Thanks to: crazy dragon ninja, Yungsun, seth42, Parallel Parabox, The Richmaster, platypuslover, Andalumeni, Zekrom, Lindril, Guest


Zuko gets educated, angry and breaks things


Zuko had known that sooner or later, his luck would to run out; the whole mission thus far, had gone far too smoothly for anything else. (Not that he needed luck per se, it was just nice when things went his way for more than five seconds at a time.)

He just hadn't expected the small, ongoing events to start first thing the next day.

It started with snoring.

Zuko had woken early, as always, and settled himself to meditate; he preferred to meditate twice a day, unlike Aang who only meditated in the mornings. During his stay at the Dursleys' he'd managed at least once a day, even when he couldn't practice his bending forms, for fear of further damaging his already worn down body.

Of course at number 4 Privet drive he'd had a room to himself. (Or a cupboard.)

In the dorm rooms, he'd been interrupted by snoring, snorting and random sleep-talk. Every time he'd almost settled to his task, another noise would jerk him back to full, active awareness.

Every. Time.

He'd tried the bathrooms, but several of the older students were already getting ready for the day, and he wasn't even going to bother with the common room, for obvious reasons.

Zuko had postponed his meditation, until the evening, in favour of preparing for breakfast.

Evening meditation didn't happen.


Tracking down the classes he was required to attend should have been easy. Unfortunately for Zuko, wizards were incapable of giving decent directions.

Hermione seemed to be having a better time of locating classes than him, so he stuck with her as much as he could; of course sticking with Hermione meant sticking to Neville, whom she'd taken under her wing, which wasn't so bad...

but Ron seemed to think sharing sandwiches in a train car made them 'blood brothers for life,' or some such thing.

Ron followed Zuko almost everywhere he went, making noise. Always making noise.


Zuko's dream time revelation that 'Turbans are Evil' made more and more sense. Every time he stepped into Defence Against the Dark Arts: he got a hideous headache. Every time he was near Quirrel: he got a headache.

Whenever these two events coincided: Zuko wanted to cut off his own head, to spare himself the pain.


Friday though, Friday was the day Zuko's temper at last gave way under the weight of all the things-gone-wrong.

Oh it started off looking better, Hagrid invited him to afternoon tea. It was down hill from there.

Snape was an arsehole, Zuko could tell the moment he swirled into the classroom, cape billowing melodramatically.

Then he'd started going on about 'Potter's celebrity,' and asking questions Zuko had no real answer to.

"Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"I don't recall any potion with both of those from the book, but I'm fairly certain they're both sedatives... not an anaesthetic – some kind of sleep potion?"

"Where would you look if I asked you to find a bezoar stone"

"Top right hand compartment of any standard potions kit, as a cure all antidote its inclusion in potions kits is mandatory."

"What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"...may I confer with my college?" Zuko had officially lost the ability to give a shit.

"Clearly fame isn't everything. Sit down you insipid girl."

Zuko moved – as much as he could – to shield Hermione from Snape. The teacher sneered, but thankfully made no move to strike either student.

Regardless, Snape had just beat out everyone else on his shit list for the number one spot.

And Snape just kept getting worse.

"You – Potter – why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost Gryffindor."

Zuko was 'content' to sit there and stew with rage, but Ron apparently though otherwise, because he kicked Zuko under the table, and told him not to push it.

He was really, really sick of Ron constantly taking liberties with Zuko's personal space.


After the potions class ended Zuko lagged behind the other students, the first open garden they passed, he handed off his bag and stormed into the area. He knew it was a bad idea to let himself get so riled up, but he couldn't help it. Everything was like ants under his skin.

"ARHG!" Angry flames leapt from his mouth as he punched a stone seat. The stone gave way beneath his rage. Of course Zuko had forgotten this body was weaker, younger than his own, neither honed nor hardened as his own was.

"I've heard the phrase 'so mad he was spitting fire,' but that was ridicu- Oh my god Harry your hand!"

Zuko looked down, frown deepening. With a mild grunt, he sat on the rubble of the seat, and placed his hand on his knee.

Grabbing one of his fingers with his undamaged hand, he fixed his gaze on the far wall, and yanked the dislocated digit back into place. Then he fixed the other one.

"Harry?" Hermione had gotten a lot closer while he'd fixed the fingers; she stood holding a bottle of water and a small bag, eyeing him nervously.

"May I take you to the medical wing?" Ah that tone of voice, Zuko knew it well.

'I want to help you, but I'm a little bit scared for my life.'

"It's fine," his voice wasn't thick with pain, but it was still heavy with rage. A single angry punch hadn't excised the week's anger from him.

"Will you at least let me rinse the blood, and wrap your hand?"

Zuko said nothing as he held out his hand for the bottle; Hermione looked like she wanted to protest, but she opened the bottle and handed it over anyway.


The highlight of the week came while he was at Hagrid's for tea. Between the tea and the inedible foodstuffs, Zuko looked through the newspaper cuttings on Hagrid's table. One article in particular called to him, a feeling of 'You should pay attention to this because it's important,' swept through him. So Zuko paid attention because it was important.

The article covered a break in at Gringotts, an attempted theft from an empty vault. Zuko recognised the vault number, he'd been eaten by that door.

The clue meant forward motion in his mission goals, though it was minuscule at best. Still, he was closer to figuring out what he was supposed to be doing.
This success did nothing to ease the building aggravation in Zuko.


The first Friday evening of term - shortly before dinner - would forever be known as 'That Time Harry Potter Epically Lost His Shit.'

Ron's cards exploded again, and Zuko didn't quite snap his quill, but it was a near thing, and he did smear a line through his assignment.

"RON! Would you leave!"

"What?"

"I have been in here working on my assignment for almost an hour, I was nearly finished and now I have to rewrite most of it because of your cards! I was here first, and I know you know that, because you greeted me when you came in! Surely you saw I was studying, so why would you create such a racket?"

"Oh come on Harry it's just a game."

"It's a distraction I don't need, and an hour I won't get back and have lost again, because of your damn explosions." His quill began to smoulder and smoke in his hand. (Heat against his face, cold water, he couldn't breathe, his ship, oh Spirits his ship.)

"I don't get why you're so worked up, it's first year, it's not like it matters that much."

"... so that's how you choose to distinguish yourself?"

"What?"

"That's how you choose to distinguish yourself. You told me on the train you had a legacy to live up to, but even if you did, it wouldn't matter because they did it all first. This, then, must be how you choose to be different from your brothers, by being a disappointment. I'm not asking you any more. Get. Out. And take your fucking cards with you or I swear by Agni I WILL BURN THEM!"


Harry had gone missing.

Minerva was not worried per say, but she had heard there'd been an... altercation with one of the other first year boys. A deck of exploding snap cards had – allegedly – been burnt. Harry had stormed out of the dorm afterwards with his work, and not been seen since.

The fight had been on Friday evening.

It was now late Sunday.

Harry couldn't have left the school grounds, so he was likely fine. Minerva wasn't worried.

The boy would turn up. It wasn't like he was stupid enough to investigate the third floor corridor, or go into the Forbidden Forest, or...

Minerva sped up, her nose twitching as her paws padded along the halls of the school, seeking out the scent of her missing student. She cursed the elves who cleaned the school, she'd be lucky if there was any scent left to find.

She almost passed right by the doors entirely. In fact, she wasn't quite sure what made her take a second sniff at the slight gap where floor and door met. But there, coming from beyond the door was the unmistakable scent of Harry Potter. Minerva had never changed back from her feline form so fast.

Grabbing the handle she eased open the doors - which typically only opened twice a year - and descended the stone steps into the pebbled bay of the underground docks. There she found her missing boy, sprawled out in the bottom of one of the boats taking a nap, looking as comfortable and relaxed as you please. A strange array of pulsing flames floated in the air above him.

She let out a quiet huff and his eyes flew open, in less than a second he'd caught sight of her, and his face had turned an impressive shade of pale.


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