Chapter Two

Progress is the next best thing

By Kaori

X

Once he was warm and dry, Harry all but threw himself upon the bed in his parent's old bedroom in Godric's Hollow. It had been a tiring experience, added with the fierce tug of the portkey dragging him across the continent to the other side of the world. Ron harping at him for details wasn't helping. "Ron," his voice was muffled by the pillow, "Would you mind letting me sleep? I don't think I can handle much else right now."

Ron blinked. "Er… mate, English, please."

Harry gave him a look and reversed the language spell. He quickly said the same thing again.

Ron was still staring blankly at him.

Harry, frustrated and obviously too knackered to properly counter the language spell, buried his face in the pillow again.

Only to be knocked hard on the head. "Not until you tell me what happened! All these books are driving me mad!"

Harry rolled over onto his back and stretched his stiff muscles, arching his back and purposefully knocking his fiery haired friend off the bed (Ron fell with an indignant yelp) to burrow beneath the warm covers. He flicked his wands a few times, testing out a few words after he cast the spell. On the seventh time he sat up with a glare and angrily stabbed at the air. He was successful.

Smiling, he drifted back down to the bed. "It went fine," he murmured contently, a lazy smile drifting across his lips as he pulled the covers over his chin. "I have their attention. Now we just have to wait it out. They have their pride after all." He yawned widely, clumsily pulling his glasses off his nose to rest them on the table. "Hopefully Hermione's more successful than me. I don't think I'd be able to work well with them." He blinked sleepily. "How is 'Mione?"

Ron sat up from the ground and glared. "Beats me, she hasn't come back yet." He glanced at the crackling fireplace, worried. "Maybe I should've gone with her."

"She can handle herself fine." The teen turned over onto his side and cuddled with the blankets. "Just as long as she doesn't go throwing punches at people who insult her."

Ron grinned at the memory and pulled himself onto a chair. "Seriously mate, why do you think it's taking her so long? You took well over seven hours, she left earlier than you and now it's… er… tomorrow."

A soft snore answered him. Ron glared at the covers. "Hey, Harry!"

No response.

"How can you be sleeping in the middle of the day?" Right after asking that Ron realized it was a stupid question. Harry had been on the other side of the world after all.

Now what was keeping Hermione?

X

Belatedly, Hermione thought that Harry should have gone instead of her. He was by no means a better wizard, scholarly-wise, but he had a naturally charm that compelled people to listen to him. Plus he had green eyes. The son of the Matriarch seemed to love green, what with his green robes and green jewelry. Even the teacup in front of him was greener than hers, and not to mention he was drinking green tea.

Did she forget to mention that the respectable woman's son was The Ride Man? No? Well… Hermione huffed with indignation. Her luck wasn't as abundant as Harry's it seemed.

It was the next day and Yelan had graciously allowed her to stay the night in one of the spare guestrooms. Right now, hours later at lunch, she was watching the regal woman converse with her son in their mother tongue. He appeared to be bored. Her brow ticked with annoyance. Stuck-up and arrogant, pureblood heirs; Malfoy came to mind and she bristled silently. If this man believed in the same prejudice as the pureblood extremists at home, then she was going to force Ron to take her place.

"You wanted an alliance." His deep voice violently dragged her from her musings and another shiver ran down her spine. "I don't see how we could benefit."

"Our magic—"

"Is useless to us."

"Xiao Lang," Yelan said warningly as she drank her tea.

"Is useless to me," he amended.

Hermione didn't know what to say and she felt it best to stay silent unless she said the wrong thing.

He set down his cup, eyes closed. "You said yesterday that a madman is running around killing off innocent people."

She nodded tentatively, unsure of where he was going with it. Belatedly she realized that his eyes were closed and opened her mouth to answer. He spoke before she could.

"If we get involved, then it will be my people at risk as well." Amber eyes opened, fierce and passionate. "What makes you think I'll be willing to take that risk?"

Hermione didn't avert her eyes; instead she glared back, "You clan has four virtues, your code of honor, so to speak; prosperity, power, principle and pride. Principle, Li, states that responsibility to one's surroundings is of utmost importance, especially in the human community. (1) It also states that one should maintain selflessness in order to—" she broke off seeing his glare intensify. It seemed her quotes were annoying him. Of course, who wouldn't be annoyed if their life teachings were thrown back in their face as if they didn't know what it was.

"That still doesn't tell me why I should help."

Suddenly Hermione was uncontrollably angry. She shot out of her seat and slammed her hands onto the table. "Voldemort is trying to take over the world. He may only be focusing on the Western world right now, but sooner or later he's going to move to the Eastern world as well! If he stays alive then the whole world will be dragged into it no matter what you do!"

And he was not to be bested by a girl who had no rank in his clan. He glared disdainfully from his seat, teacup abandoned. "Are you saying that I am incapable of protecting my clan?"

He was aggravating and she so wished she could smash her fist into his face. "I'm saying that powerful or not, every clan in the world will have to rise up to him sooner or later! Either that or join him as his servants!"

"That is enough," said Yelan, setting down her cup as well. Her son turned his head to the side, refusing to meet anyone's gaze. Hermione flushed and meekly sunk down into her seat, weakly muttering an apology.

"Miss Granger." Hermione turned her attention to the regal woman. "Your situation has been considered by the clan." She folded her dainty hands in her lap. "We will help you."

Before she could show her gratitude, a loud burst of angry Cantonese exploded from the young heir as he argued with his mother.

Kohl lined eyes narrowed warningly, effectively cutting off his protest. "Xiao Lang, you will go with her."

The Muggle-born witch wished for the umpteenth time that she learnt Chinese, though she realized that at her old school they taught Mandarin instead.

"I will not—"

"You will, Xiao Lang." Onyx eyes hardened considerably and the lines of her jaw tightened.

Abruptly he stood and stalked off into the large temple-styled manor.

"I did not dismiss you," she said loudly, not expecting a reply. One of the doors slammed shut, sending a violent shudder throughout the garden.

Yelan reached out for her cup and sipped. Hermione fidgeted in her seat, uncomfortable.

"I apologize for my son's behavior. He cannot keep a firm hold over his temper," she said mildly, as if commenting on the weather. The stern lady from before was gone, replaced was the warm Matriarch that Hermione had acquainted herself with. Hermione mentally noted never to anger the woman.

Yelan smiled, her red painted lips lifting. "He will go with you. He is the best we have." Hermione could practically see the pride bursting from Yelan's eyes but didn't dare comment. It was obvious to see that mother and son had some issues to sort out.

Hermione grinned gratefully. "Thank you, very much Mrs. Li, I—" Brown eyes blinked when Yelan held up a pale hand.

"No need Miss Granger. You are right about our virtues. Principle is of utmost importance," said Yelan warmly. "Now, would you mind showing me that spell again, the one to conjure the birds?"

Hermione gladly complied and palmed her wand, "Avis!" Following the loud gunshot-like blast, a flock of small twittering birds flew out from the glowing tip. (2) The avian creatures ascended above the trees and into the cloudless, blue sky.

X

It had been nearly two days since Hermione had gone off to Hong Kong, and since then they had received no reply. Harry was worried, but Ron was frantic.

"Did she tell you the number of the hotel she was staying at?" Harry asked offhandedly.

Ron stared with confusion. "Number?"

"You know, teleph— Wait, never mind. Did she say where she was staying?"

Ron frowned. "No, as far as I know she was going to apparate right into there. She didn't even bring anything with her but her wand and portkey."

Harry's brow shot up. That was completely unlike her.

"We didn't think it'd take that long. Thought it'd go shorter than you, that's for sure."

Harry rubbed his eyes from beneath his glasses. "Think we should go over there?"

"I would've gone a long time ago if she had told me exactly where she was going."

"You mean you didn't ask?"

"She said Hong Kong," Ron defended.

"Ron, I already knew that." Harry narrowed his dark eyes. "So you just let her go off by herself without telling you exactly where she went?"

"It's not my fault! She left before I could ask! And you were still asleep! I was barely awake myself!" Ron was becoming frantic again.

"Bu—"

Something slammed into Harry. The boy lost his balance and toppled onto the floor, the heavy weight keeping him pinned.

"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed, seeing the girl sway unsteadily in front of him. "What took you so long?"

Hermione smiled wryly. "Glad to know you weren't worried. But—" Her eyes widened. "Ah! Harry, are you alright?" She rushed to his side and pushed the man off her friend. The Chinese man rolled away willingly into a crouch and quickly got to his feet. He brushed off his pants and glared at the girl who was fussing over her friend. He wasn't happy, and their mode of transport put him in a worse mood than earlier. He rubbed his nape, grumbling silently.

"You sure you're fine?" Hermione pulled the black haired wizard upright, checking him for injuries.

"Eh, no worries 'Mione," he rubbed his sore head, wincing as his hand passed over a small bump, a bruise no doubt. "I take it everything went well?"

Hermione grinned and nodded cheerfully. "This is…" She furrowed her brows. "…Shaolang Li, I think," she muttered the last words under her breath, gesturing towards the scowling man standing close to the far wall of the living room.

The heir's scowl deepened. "Xiao Lang Li," he corrected.

"Well then," Ron held out a hand and grinned, "Ron Weasley, nice to meet you Sh—"

"Li," Syaoran said before they could speak his name. He blatantly ignored the proffered hand.

Ron's hand dropped back to his side and his smile slipped off his face. "Er… right, Li then."

"Harry Potter." Harry smiled weakly. Syaoran eyed him, but said nothing else. The tension in the room was building steadily and the silence was becoming a tad bit awkward.

Hermione briefly cast a glare in the brunette's direction. "How'd it go with you?" she asked Harry.

Harry grinned sheepishly. "As well as could be expected. Hopefully they'll contact me this week."

"And you?" Hermione turned to Ron, gaze piercing. "What did you manage to do these past few days? Get through any books?"

Ron backed up a few paces. He was nervous, and rightly so. "'Mione, I-I—"

The sound of someone clearing their throat distracted them. All three wizards turned towards the disgruntled man.

"I don't take well to being ignored," he stated coldly.

Hermione glared at him and opened her mouth to retort. Harry, however, beat her and scrambled forward apologetically. "I'm sorry, you must be tired. I can get one of the spare rooms cleaned up for you right now." He grabbed hold of Syaoran's arm and bag and dragged him off towards the spare guestroom, leaving behind a fuming Hermione and a lost Ron.

"Strange guy, that," Ron commented mildly, sitting down heavily on a chair. "Couldn't have chosen a better one could you?"

Ron was pierced with Hermione's death glare before he could say anything else.

X

Syaoran was anything but pleased; in fact, if he was able to get away with shooting lightning and fire at anything that moved, that wouldn't even scrape pleased. In other words, he was in a foul mood. His fingers were twitching to do some damage.

If only he had agreed to shield every single room of the manor from outside interference, that way the idiot girl—"Hermione Granger," he mocked inwardly, altering his mental voice to a higher pitch—wouldn't have been able to enter in the first place. He knew that decision would turn around and bite him in the ass one day.

And because of that little mistake, he had once again gotten his mother angry at him with another burden thrown onto his shoulders. Normally he'd love to go on a mission—anything to get away from his harping sisters, overbearing mother, stiff Elders and worshipping cousins—but those missions were normally something that benefited the clan. This mission did not; in fact, it would probably bring more grief than none.

Not to mention the sting of Western magic still got to him. He never really understood his hatred towards Clow's other blood half; he was aware that Clow's father was of Western decent and that their magic was different. One stage in his life he was awed by the contrasts of the other world, he even remembered—god forbid—begging his mother to show him some of the Western spells; she locked him in the training room, not letting him out until he had exhausted himself to the brink of delirium. He was ten then, and she was bitter because the Clow cards hadn't chosen him as their master. Instead they chose some weakling girl who knew nothing of magic. He never could remember anything else of that time, everything he knew he learnt from his sisters and by listening to the rumors circulating around the house. His past and childhood was a blur and the only thing he was sure of was that he hated Clow and everything he represented.

And so he hated—disliked—wizards and witches. Illogical, yes, went against everything he was raised to be, yes, but he long ago abandoned the need to justify his actions.

His opinions, however, did nothing to help him. The minute he touched the foreigner's coin (forced to under his mother's stern gaze, of course) he felt something tugging violently at his nape while his feet was swept out from underneath him.

Now, Syaoran valued his ability to maintain his balance no matter what, so it was understandable that he wasn't in the most chipper of moods when he found himself sprawled awkwardly atop some poor unsuspecting soul who was fool enough to be in the way. That wasn't the worse of it. It took him quite a few precious minutes to regain his bearings, and during that time, the irritating girl (who was able to land on her feet) was arguing with some irritating male while he was immobile on top of a groaning, no doubt pained, male. Not exactly his ideal situation.

He steadied his left hand and leg on the floor and was just about to roll away when someone dared to push him away. Syaoran rolled into a crouch, careful to keep his face blank. He simply hated it when somebody touched him, but to show them that would mean exposing a weakness. The man brushed the dust away from his pants and glared at the insufferable girl. Annoyance ticked at his brow when he realized that she probably did that on purpose, the not warning him on their mode of transport part. Syaoran rubbed the back of his neck; he was, understandably, quite unused to the ruthless tugging at his nape, and his magical senses were going haywire with the interference. No wonder his people stayed away from Western magic. Only someone as crazy as Clow would dare mix the two together.

Syaoran grumbled silently when he watched Harry Potter cleaning up what was to be his new room for who knows how long. Begrudgingly, he acknowledged the practicality of the boy's magic. Eastern magic didn't focus on such mundane things, though it could if he really wanted it to. Syaoran frowned.

"Please excuse the mess, I've only recently moved in, haven't had the time to clean every room yet." Harry aimed a few more cleaning charms in all directions of the room, beaming as the dusty walls quickly became the epitome of cleanliness. The sheets on the single sized bed were pristine white and a small array of colors danced upon the sparkling window as the light of the morning sun drifted through.

Syaoran said nothing but went to his bag, the one that Harry had dragged in for him. He sighed inwardly. Now that he had a chance to calm down from the anger (the girl had caught him at a very bad time and his mother was as infuriating as ever) he realized that giving them the cold shoulder wouldn't help him any. If he wanted to get this over and done with, then he'd have to at least make an effort, or pretend to.

"Thank you," Syaoran murmured quietly.

Harry smiled kindly. "It's the least I could do, with you helping us and all."

"Hn." Syaoran zipped open his bag, ignoring the wizard. Just because he was going to be on speaking terms with them didn't mean he'd have to be friendly.

Harry, understanding that the stranger wanted to be left alone, quietly cancelled the spells once the room was entirely free of grime and dust, and left.

X

"Are you sure he can be trusted?" Ron asked, shoveling cereal and milk down his throat. It was late, and he hadn't eaten because he had been worried about Hermione, but it was still too early for lunch.

Hermione winced seeing the food in his mouth. "No, but I trust his mother, and he doesn't seem like the type to disobey her orders."

"Orders?" Harry questioned, coming into the kitchen.

"Well, I assume that's what it was, I can't understand Chinese Harry," Hermione stirred her spoon through her breakfast. "Too bad that spell couldn't accommodate."

Harry grinned, "Too bad eh?" He sat down on the stool and propped his elbows up on the counter. "Well, I guess that means that we don't need the Trackers' help anymore," he said, referring to the people he had gone to seek assistance from.

"I guess not, they're rivals aren't they? Would be pretty hard to get them to work together," Ron said.

"Well," Harry jumped out of his seat with a cheerful grin, "I'll be off to write the letter."

Once he was out of the room, and they were sure he was up the stairs, Hermione leaned forward. "He's been acting weird since, you know."

Ron winced and stopped stuffing his face with food, "Yeah, he's too happy. Did you see how thrilled he was to face the Trackers by himself? Bloody suicidal, he is."

Hermione nodded her agreements, remembering all the dangers and warnings the book had spoken of if one wanted to seek out the tracking foursome for help.

There was comfortable silence between the two until they heard a thump resounding from above. Hermione furrowed her brows. "That wasn't Harry's room."

"That Li guy then."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, suspicious. "He better not be up to something."

"Didn't you say he could be trusted?"

"Trusted in helping us with our mission, yes, but not with anything else."

"You don't like him do you?" Ron nodded, as if satisfied, "I don't either. He refused to shake my hand." He swallowed another spoonful of milk. "Say, he isn't afraid of touching people is he?" The youngest male Weasley pushed the rim of the bowl to his lips to drink up the milk.

"It's impolite to speak about somebody behind their back," a deep smooth voice slithered up from behind.

The milk sprayed out of Ron's nose and he choked pitifully on his breakfast, spluttering incoherently. The witch next to him patted his back while casting a cleaning charm. She aimed a glare at the leader. "It's impolite to sneak up on someone unsuspecting."

Syaoran raised a brow but did not comment. He was above such trifling quarrels.

"Hn." He continued to find the entrance, a bored mask settling upon his face. If he was going to be stuck here for an indefinite amount of time, he wasn't going to stay caged like an animal.

"Where are you going?" Hermione demanded.

The only reply she received was the quiet slam of the front door.

The witch shook uncontrollably with anger, while Ron's face camouflaged itself with his hair. "You know what? I know exactly what you mean. He's a bloody arrogant, stuck-up git!"

For once Hermione didn't reprimand him.

X

"Trackers,

I thank you for sparing the time of day to meet with me however, due to some special circumstances I no longer require your services. Enclosed with this letter will be the remission fee. I apologize for any inconveniences.

Sincerely,

Harry Potter."

From her seat on the couch, Tomoyo closed the book she had been reading. Nestled on her head, Suppi did nothing but flick to the next page of his miniature book. Next to Tomoyo, Meiling stared, and from Meiling's lap, Sakura was dozing off. In the kitchen, above the loud clatter of pots and pans, Nakuru could be heard cackling. "What?" Meiling asked calmly.

Eriol blinked. "What?"

Meiling deadpanned. "In Japanese, please."

Eriol blinked slowly. "Oh," he said after a moment's deliberation. "Very well then." With an almost tragic sigh, he translated, reading infuriatingly slow, careful to pronounce every syllable to the point where it barely made any sense.

When Meiling managed to make ends meet, she glared. "You could've just said so." She shut the book she had been reading and threw it onto the table. "Researching Horcruxes is killing my brain. Hey!" She nudged Sakura's head from her lap, "Up! My legs are cramping!"

Sakura grumbled something unintelligible and sat up, careful with the weight of her legs resting across Tomoyo's. Once Meiling was up, she slumped back down.

"Meiling, really," Tomoyo admonished softly.

Said girl grinned before stalking off to look at the messenger. "Owls huh? How strange," she murmured, eying the snowy white owl curiously. She reached out a hand to pat her feathers. The owl squawked before launching forward to bite her finger. Meiling's eyes widened and she withdrew her hand quickly; thank the gods her reflexes were so good. She glared at the owl, but it matched hers with its own baleful stare. The white owl held up one leg, the one with a large sack attached.

"I guess that's the payment," Meiling muttered. She backed away from the creature and stared at Eriol. "You take it."

Eriol smiled and took the bag from a suddenly docile bird. Meiling gaped.

"Ah, thank you pretty little bird, you have been most helpful." Eriol ran his hand soothingly down the avian's back. The owl hooted receptively before hoping away from his touch. A second later, the small ring around her other leg glowed. The owl was gone.

Meiling took the bag that Eriol was holding loosely and unfastened the tie. Peering inside, her brows shot up, "Gold? Huh, imagine that. Primitive, wizards are." She threw the sack onto the table for Tomoyo to examine.

Tomoyo grabbed the bag and poured the contents out onto the table. She sorted through the gold and counted, "Fourteen pieces." Tomoyo traced around the edges of a coin, "With a serial number around the outer edge. A dragon on one side and a strange old man with a hat on the other. Their currency, I assume. One—" She squinted at the writing. "Galleon, I think. From Gringotts Bank." She slid the coins back into the bag, "What I don't understand is how they've managed to stay hidden so well, with a community that large." She tied the string in a neat bow with a flourish, "Now I'm really curious, ne Sakura-chan?"

Sakura sighed but didn't move the arm covering her eyes. "Hai."

Tomoyo's eyes softened. "You're tired again?"

Sakura made a sound of agreement.

"Come on, up," she said, pushing Sakura's legs off her lap. "It's time you get to bed, it's late." When Sakura was on her feet, Tomoyo ushered her towards the stairs, leaving Eriol with Meiling together alone with only Nakuru's and Kero's constant yelling in the background (Suppi was still on Tomoyo's head while Yue had gone off to some unknown place).

Meiling sighed tiredly, slumping down into a chair. "Do you know why she's so tired all the time?"

Eriol glanced at her, his glasses glinting with the artificial light. "Saa," he murmured, not exactly completing the sentence.

The Chinese girl looked at him, though not a single trace of a glare or scowl lining her face. "Saa?"

Eriol smiled mysteriously. "Aa."

"I'm not going to get anything out of you am I?" her eyes sparkled wryly and she sprawled across the couch. She changed the topic suddenly. "I hate it how I'm always acting foolish and rash." She folded her arms under her head, mindful of the odangos.

"Surprise, Meiling-san, is the best advantage."

"Oho, you mean deceit don't you?"

"Call it what you wish," he slid his glasses of his face to wipe them clean. "Though it is only deceit when we are unaware of it, for everyone else, on the other hand…" He graced her with a small smirk. "Go to sleep Meiling, I expect you all to be up at dawn tomorrow, no excuses."

Meiling grumbled under her breath but complied, marching off into her room. She paused at the steps. "You know Eriol, as hard as I try, I can't see why he hates you so much."

Eriol closed his eyes and beamed, "Glad to know it's not hereditary."

She rolled her eyes. "On second thoughts…" Meiling shook her head with a laugh, disappearing up the stairs.

X

Harry blinked at the scene that greeted him in the kitchen. "What happened?"

"Li happened," Ron glared at his bowl of sodden cereal, watching as the small flakes drifted around what little milk was left. He stabbed the bowl with his spoon. Harry sent him a curious look. The redhead was too distracted to notice, Hermione wasn't. She at least had two days to deal with the cold, conceited man, and she had more patience than Ron would ever learn.

"Sorry Harry, he's… too much like Malfoy."

She was surprised to see the sudden glare aimed in her direction. She forced herself not to shudder, seeing the hardened green eyes. "He's a lot better than Malfoy," he spat out the pureblood's name venomously. The air around him pulsed and the plates began to shake. "He's giving up his time to help us."

"Only because his mother ordered him to!"

"And he's doing remarkably well for someone who doesn't even want to be here," Harry said. There was something odd with the way he spoke but Hermione couldn't identify it. "He's quiet, but at least he's polite."

Ron scoffed. "Are we talking about the same person Harry? He's glaring at everything that moves!"

"Just because he doesn't smile doesn't mean he's glaring."

"Harry, are you blind? He acts like he owns the whole bloody place! He looks down on us just like Malfoy does. I swear he's a pureblooded fanat—"

"Ron!" The glare froze the redhead mid rant. "No one who is willing to help us should be compared to that, that thing!"

Hermione reached out to touch his arm, suddenly worried and completely willing to drop the subject. "Harry, what's wrong?"

The boy flinched back, slightly panicked.

"Mate?" Ron glanced at Hermione questioningly. She shrugged helplessly.

"Are you feeling alright Harry?"

"I-I—" His eyes darted frantically between the two and the door. "I'm sorry." He ran out of the house.

"Harry!" Ron was about to follow him if it weren't for the restraining hold on his arm. "Hermione?"

"Don't. I—" she faltered, unsure, "I think he needs some time alone, to come to terms with some things."

Ron would've protested, but he understood all too well what she was feeling, what they all were feeling. They were all struggling to come to terms with Dumbledore's death. The wizarding world hadn't quite been the same with the news of the great wizard's death and it seemed Harry had taken it the hardest, just like he had with Sirius, and Cedric.

Sometimes Ron wondered what Harry ever did to deserve such bad luck, and, shamed as he was to admit it, he was glad he didn't have to carry such a burden on his shoulders. He had no idea why he used to be jealous of his dear friend; he was sure he'd have gone mental a long time ago and he wondered why Harry hadn't yet.

One could only take so much.

X

Harry ran, away from Godric's Hollow, away from his friends, away from the place his parents died for him. He clenched his eyes and tightened his hand around the locket around his neck, the fake locket planted by R.A.B., the one that Dumbledore had wasted his life for.

He didn't know where he was going, the only thought he had in his mind was to get away from everything.

Only when his lungs began to burn for oxygen and the muscles of his legs screamed with pain did he slow down; he panted, clutching the locket tighter and staring with glazed eyes at the small village cemetery.

Harry collapsed at the gate, despair seeping into his eyes. His breathing had calmed down, but his eyes blurred with warm tears. He knew with the blood protection provided by his aunt ineffective, he wasn't safe being by himself, especially at such a place as Godric's Hollow. It would most probably be one of the first places that Voldemort would search for him, and with the delay of the Fidelius Charm, he wasn't supposed to be in open spaces for very long.

He didn't care, not right now. He felt numb inside, and didn't know what else to do now that Dumbledore was gone. He knew he had to collect and destroy the Horcruxes; it was only then would he be able to destroy Voldemort. The only problem was that he had no idea where to start.

And that was where the Li Clan came in. Harry found a book down Knockturn Alley in Borgin and Burkes—slinking around under his invisibility cloak—when searching for devices that might be useful for tracking down an object. It was in that book that he read about the famous Li Clan that, if offered the right price, would be able to accomplish even the most impossible task (sans raising the dead). This lead to the book Hermione had found written by Nicholas Flamel, and then a few more recent books that introduced the Trackers who rivaled with the Li Clan.

Perhaps that was why he was so adamant about Li against the friends he had known for over six years. He was desperate for the help, not that he'd ever admit it, but he knew he couldn't do it alone, no matter how much he tried to convince himself that he could. However, dragging in someone whom he didn't know to help him weighed less heavily on his conscious than having his friends protecting him, it was selfish of him, but what did the world expect from a seventeen year old?—Ignoring the defeat of the Dark Lord.

By destroying Marvolo's ring, it cost Dumbledore his hand. Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of the age and Harry was just the Boy Who Lived because of his mother's sacrifice. What damage could he do besides escaping unscathed while those around him fell to their death? Harry was well aware that he was wallowing in self pity, but he was drowning, and he didn't quite feel like exerting the effort needed to swim back to the surface.

"Aaaah, little bitty baby Potter (3), all by his lonesome self without any of his little bitty friends around to protect him, how tragic for you."

His eyes snapped open; he recognized that mocking baby voice. Harry felt a surge of anger run through him and he spun towards the direction of her voice.

"Little baby Potter, crying! Thinking about my dear cousin are you? Or is it the old muggle loving fool?" Bellatrix cackled with triumphant laughter, delight shining brightly within her fanatical eyes.

He moved his hand into his pocket for his wand. His eyes widened with horror when he encountered nothing but the rough material of his jeans.

"Looking for this are you?" Bellatrix dangled a long piece of wood in front of his eyes, her lips curled up in a twisted and ugly parody of a smile. "Poor little Potter dropped it; decided that crying was more important did you?"

She leaned in close, a dangerous glint entering her blood thirsty eyes. "I won't forgive you—the prophecy," she hissed, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her cheeks were flushed and she had trouble containing her excitement. She pocketed his wand when he leaped at her. The tackle knocked her backwards into the dirt and she kicked him off of her. Harry rolled away, his wand safely in his palm once again.

Bellatrix was quickly on her feet, a wand sliding into her hand. With a snarl, she cast a spell. Fast as lightning, a jet of red light flew towards Harry. He recognized it as the beam that brought Sirius to his death and threw his body to the side, thankful for his seeker reflexes. "After I'm through with you…" Bellatrix closed her eyes with pleasure, face twisted and demented. Harry was sure that, whatever it was she was thinking, he wanted no part in it. It was disturbing enough having to watch her.

"Reduct—"

There was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the top of Harry's hand. (4) He yelped with surprise and dropped his wand. Blood splattered over his clothes and sprinkled across the cemented ground.

With Harry distracted, Bellatrix's eyes snapped open and she aimed her wand.

"Crucio!"

X

Footnotes

(1) Was searching around the internet to see what four concepts I could use as the Li Clan's code. Principle, coincidentally, happens to be li. For further information, search "Li (Confucian)" in Wikipedia.

(2) Avis is the spell that Mr. Ollivander used to test Viktor Krum's wand in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Chapter 18: The Weighing of the Wands.

(3) This is what Bellatrix calls Harry in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Chapter 35: Beyond the Veil.

(4) I'd be giving away too much if I tell you exactly where it's from, though I'm sure many of you have figured out who else is lurking in the shadows.