Chapter Three

All for a light and fluffy feeling

By Kaori

X

"What have you done with him?" Ron demanded fiercely.

Syaoran blinked at the wand thrust in front of his face, but forced himself to focus his gaze on the wielder lest he become cross eyed. His brows furrowed with annoyance as he regarded the angry male. "Who?" he asked innocently, well aware that it would get on the wizard's nerves.

"Harry!"

"Harry," he repeated slowly, as if trying to place a face with the name. "You're other companion?"

Ron glared at him, feeling extremely protective. "Where is he?" he stressed threateningly.

"Harry Potter?" The sorcerer saw the wizard's hand twitching and smirked. "I have no idea."

Just as Ron moved his hand in the beginnings of a wand movement, a hand clamped down over his wrist. The hard grip forced him to release his wand with a pained gasp.

"Weasley," Syaoran said, face coming alarmingly close to the redhead's. Amber eyes pierced into shocked cerulean. "I do not tolerate threats," he murmured lazily, "nor do I tolerate false accusations. Do you understand?"

Ron stammered a reply and was relieved when the death grip around his wrist was gone. The sorcerer walked calmly up the stairs.

When he was out of site, Hermione rushed over to her friend's side, worriedly checking over the damage. She gasped when she saw the dark purple bruising around Ron's pale wrist. Hermione visibly flinched. "That's got to hurt. I'll go get some ice."

"Yeah," Ron picked up his wand as Hermione closed the front door. They both wandered into the kitchen, with Ron wincing in pain. He muttered, "The guy's bloody terrifying."

"Defensive too," Hermione agreed, walking to the freezer and retrieving the frozen ice pack. She wrapped a tea towel from one of the drawers around the pack and handed it to Ron. He placed it on his wrist uncertainly.

Hermione sat down next to him, holding the pack in place as she stared at the lunch they had prepared. It was still steaming hot, having placed the necessary heating charms upon them, but it was way past noon, but still too early to be sunset.

Hermione sighed, concerns of the dangerous stranger filtering through her thoughts. Right now she was more worried about Harry's wellbeing to care for the possible threat upstairs. Harry seemed to have plenty of trust in the man, no matter how blind that faith was. That had to count for something.

"I think we should've gone after him," Ron said, sending a baleful stare towards the food.

Hermione cast him a look. "He doesn't need us crowding around him," she said, not completely certain. "He can take care of himself." She sat down in a seat, fidgeting worriedly.

She wasn't sure if she was trying to convince Ron or herself.

"Besides, what's the worse that can happen?"

X

It was as if time froze, but somehow he had been allowed the mercy of awareness. Actually, that sounded very much like the Freezing Charm, and he would've thought it was if it weren't for the fact that all of his body was frozen, sans his head. On the upside, Bellatrix was in the same position.

The Cruciatus Curse had no light to indicate where it was, but Harry was able to feel the rippling power of the curse distorting the air between him and Bellatrix. Whatever had happened, he was thankful. He wasn't quite up to feeling the pain of the curse any time soon, not ever for that matter.

The look on Bellatrix's face was priceless. Harry would've laughed if it weren't for the fact that there was a curse frozen in mid motion unbearably close to him.

"What's going on?" she bellowed, frantically rotating her head around in hopes of catching a glance at the culprit. "Snape! If you've double-crossed—"

"I did not." The quiet disdainful voice full of slime ignited the anger within Harry yet again.

Harry snarled, face swinging to the right. He struggled against his confines, desperate to get to his wand. Suddenly, as if hearing his plea, he fell to the ground, regaining full control of his body but losing his balance. Wasting no time, he grasped at the ground for his fallen wand. He couldn't find it anywhere near him. That was impossible. He darted his eyes around, trying futilely to catch a glimpse of the stick while keeping his front facing the two Death Eaters (constant vigilance, after all). No one had come near him when he dropped it, and he would've seen if Bellatrix or Snape had taken it magically.

Harry stumbled to his feet, disorientated. "Where is it?" He demanded, trying desperately to keep from becoming hysterical. "Where's my wand?" He glanced from between the two Death Eaters, but they were preoccupied with trying to break free from the invisible bindings.

"Shh…" A warm breath whispered against his ear, soothing him quietly. Harry felt himself becoming less tense, no longer panicking about the missing wand. He felt a hand sliding down his arm and a warm tingling feeling sparked across his bleeding hand. Harry sucked in his breath. His hand was healed. A hard cylindrical object was forced gently into his hand—his wand, he realized—and then the person disappeared.

Suddenly, he could make out the blurred silhouette streaking across the distance of the spell. The ominous pulse of the curse shuddered, and then disappeared completely. The Death Eaters didn't notice.

The Boy Who Lived watched curiously as the blur stalked towards the insane Azkaban escapee. His anger was currently forgotten and all he could do was watch with morbid fascination as Bellatrix was suddenly choking on her breath. Her limbs slackened, but her hands moved to tighten around the invisible grip around her neck. With a strangled gasp, she was thrown backwards, as if hit with the Blasting Curse. Harry's eyes traced the blur in the daylight as it moved towards the man shrouded within the trees' shadows.

Harry narrowed his eyes. He could feel no constant afternoon breeze brushing against him as it usually did every time he visited the graveyard. More curious were the trees. Not a single leaf twitched, and the strands of grass stayed frozen. Perhaps that time freezing theory held some merit. Unfortunately, he wasn't the most trustworthy when it came to details of sight. His glasses were in dire need of a new prescription.

A loud thud knocked Harry out of his musings as his eyes traced the source of the noise. Harry couldn't stop himself from laughing when Snape followed Bellatrix's example. The traitor landed in a heap beside his comrade, whom, unfortunately, had already gotten to her feet, wand wielded threateningly. Her eyes locked onto him the minute she heard his laugh. "You!" she hissed, eyes flashing, "What did you do?"

He was just as clueless as she was and shrugged calmly. She couldn't blame him for being honest.

Bellatrix was becoming frantic, not wanting to accept his answer as truth. Something had effortlessly unarmed her and she wanted to know what it was. And Harry was the only suspect. "Crucio!" With a shriek, she aimed her wand at him once again, sending the illegal curse in his direction. "Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!"

Harry ducked to the side, but found that it was quite unnecessary. The curse stopped a few feet from where Harry had been standing, rippling against an invisible shield. The moment the violent ripples stopped, her wand exploded with a blinding burst of light. An awful, ear-piercing scream erupting from her throat and Harry had to cover his ears with his hands. As much as he wanted to see her suffer, hearing it was a little unsettling.

Bellatrix panted and stared disbelievingly at her bloodied hand. Splinters of wood were embedded deeply in her palm and fingers, and her hand trembled. "No," she whispered, "NO! DAMN YOU!" She lunged at the equally stunned boy.

"BELLATRIX!" Snape moved from the shadows and grabbed hold of her dark robes. With a loud crack, they were gone.

And then a comfortable silence settled over the deserted clearing in front of the cemetery entrance.

Harry's legs were suddenly feeling weak and he fell to his knees. Harry breathed in slowly, and then exhaled, trying to process the current events.

"Alright," he breathed, "Death Eaters attack me, something stopped them and I'm relatively unharmed."

He pinched himself. Ow! Okay, it wasn't a dream. It felt like a dream, but it wasn't. Maybe he'd been sleepwalking, or was hallucinating. A cold gust of wind brushed past his face and he dismissed that idea.

He furrowed his brows. What did happen? It couldn't possibly be wandless magic. Every other time he had attempted it he had been even more desperate than now and that had resulted in a little less than nothing. He also didn't feel magically drained. Wandless magic was out of the question. Accidental magic was as well.

Harry could clearly recall the warmth on his arm, healing his hand, and he remembered the hard chest against his back. It was definitely a male, a very tall male. Maybe Ron had taken his invisibility cloak, or perhaps an Order member had used one, but the man was even taller than Ron, and he didn't know anyone who could block the painful Unforgivable. Harry furrowed his brows, the blocking of the Cruciatus curse, it wasn't possible, unless… Harry frantically got to his feet, feeling around the area for a body. Minutes later he turned up with nothing and sighed with relief.

Then he remembered his entire body being frozen. Harry couldn't think of a spell that had that effect unless someone had modified the Freezing Charm, and if someone had cast it, they'd have to be efficient with wandless and soundless magic. Harry leaned against the gate, thoroughly confused.

His breath caught, eyes widening. Dumbledore! He had told him once, "I don't need a cloak to become invisible." (1) And surely Dumbledore was powerful enough to evade the Cruciatus Curse. Harry was sure he was adept with wandless magic, and he was tall. But—his emerald gaze dropped to the ground—Dumbledore was dead, he had seen with his own eyes, trapped within his own body, as the almighty Headmaster was thrown off the Astronomy Tower.

"Dumbledore's dead," he whispered as he stared into the starry night sky, no longer seeing it. "He's gone and I just want it all to end."

Suddenly, a strong wave of anger washed over him, filling the hollow emptiness of his heart. He wanted to hurt someone, cause some damage, and destroy everything in sight. He tightened his fists, uncaring if his nails caused abrasions on his smooth palms. He wouldn't—he closed his eyes to block out the brightly burning stars. This was exactly like after Sirius had died, when he had destroyed the trinkets within Dumbledore's office.

With a considerable amount of effort, he forced himself to relax, breathing in and breathing out deeply to clear his mind. He couldn't afford to indulge in anymore petty temper tantrums. He was much too childish back then, and now, being seventeen already, he had to be an adult, for Dumbledore's sake.

And so he lay back against the rocky ground and singled out the star he knew was Sirius, staring dazedly at the brightest star in the sky. A small sad smile was on his face as he remembered his loud and brash godfather. With a blink, realization dragged him back to reality. Since when had it gotten so dark out? It was barely noon a few minutes ago. Or was it?

Mind numb, Harry slowly ventured back to Godric's Hollow. His friends would want an explanation for his absence, but he didn't feel quite like telling them. He didn't feel like he was in the right frame of mind either. He could barely recall the recent events because they felt too much like a dream, he felt like he was dreaming, walking through the peaceful night, just waiting for the nightmares to jump out of the shadows.

The minute he was back at Godric's Hollow, he was going to sleep.

X

"So…"

Harry blinked slowly, lifting the coffee to his lips.

"So uh…"

The wizard sipped from the steaming mug, eyes briefly flicking to his friend before dropping back down to the thick book resting on his lap.

Ron shifted uncomfortably from his seat. When Harry came back last night it was well beyond late and he looked like a mess. His unruly hair that was more ruffled than usual, his robes were wrinkled and disheveled, and his glasses were askew. It was as if he walked through a tornado and survived, and, being the Boy Who Lived, Ron had no doubts of that possibility. It was reasonable for Ron and Hermione to be worried. Unfortunately trying to make Harry talk about his feelings when he was dead on his feet was the wrong thing to do. After an icy glare thrown in their direction, the Boy Who Lived stormed up the stairs, brushed past an amused sorcerer, and then entered his room. Surprisingly, no doors were slammed.

"Where'd you go off to yesterday?"

Green eyes flicked to his friend again, this time lingering. His gaze dropped back to the crisp pages within the old volume. "The graveyard," he murmured absentmindedly, setting the mug onto the table and turning the page over.

Ron was able to breathe easier, relief flooding his face. An uncomfortable silence flittered through the room as realization dawned. He wanted to kick himself for being so stupid not to realize that. Or maybe kick Hermione. She was the one who was supposed to figure everything out. It was understandable that he wanted to visit his parent's grave, but why would he want to spend hours on end in front of a couple of tombstones?

"Why'd you take so long?" Ron immediately winced the moment the words left his mouth. Sometimes he wished he could just keep his mouth shut. He didn't know how it felt to lose a parent, and he certainly didn't know how it felt to lose someone close to him. When Sirius died, he felt sad and angry, angry at Sirius for leaving Harry and sad for his friend for losing the closest person he had known to be family. When Dumbledore died, he felt oddly detached. A bit of despair was festering within him, worried about the fate of the world and the burden that Harry would be forced to carry, this time without anyone to look up to. Both times he felt something, but he wasn't devastated, not like Harry. Situations such as these did not bode well with him, especially when it concerned his disaster prone friend.

Harry eyed him once again, a small humoring smile lifting up one side of his lips. "Oh, you know, got distracted; Bellatrix decided to drop by, threatened to Crucio the hell out of me." Harry shrugged, flipping yet another page of the book as his gaze drifted down again.

Ron barely managed to stop himself from choking. He had expected his friend to become angry or to ignore him, maybe shrug the question off if he was in a good mood. Perhaps Harry needed more help than they had hoped. Seamus said that the emotional trauma building up throughout the years wasn't a healthy thing, but he never said anything about a morbid sense of humor developing. Harry never joked about such things, at least, not quite so seriously at a time like this. The look blazing inside those dull emerald eyes… Ron resisted the urge to shudder. Sometimes he couldn't tell if his friend was joking or not. Considering the situation however, he had to be.

"Well, er…" The youngest male Weasley cleared his throat nervously. "That's… nice."

Harry made a small sound of agreement and turned the page.

Minutes passed in silence and the tension in the air grew beyond the point of unbearable. Ron wished Hermione would hurry up and return from the library, or for something to come by and knock him out. Hell, even the Li guy would be a welcome distraction.

"Do you mind if I use the telephone?" A deep voice Ron found irritatingly commanding sliced through the tension from the direction of the stairs.

On second thoughts, no, he was not a welcome distraction. Ron scowled, catching sight of the Asian man. Blue eyes widened the minute his brain managed to process the sorcerer's appearance. The day he arrived he was wearing a rather interesting robe, predominantly green and white. Ron chose not to question, assuming that the magical clothing of the Asian counterpart would vary from what he considered normal robes.

However, since his father was so enraptured with muggles, and Hermione was a muggleborn, and Harry grew up with muggles, it was not unusual to see them adorned with muggle clothes, simple jeans and shirts, the casual things. This however… Ron gaped staring at Syaoran's outfit. It was all black, but the most predominant thing was the long black coat. The coat itself would have been considered normal in muggle standards (or so Ron assumed) but it was the vast amounts of chains and buckles that dangled off it that made his eyes bulge. The same was with the man's boots; mid calf, black, heavy-looking and full of buckles, laces too, but that could hardly be seen behind the buckles.

And his mum thought Bill was bad! He grinned, imagining his mum's reaction to Li. As blissful as his thoughts were, the nagging presence looming over him was irritating.

Ron glared at the man who dared intrude his quiet time with Harry (as awkward as it was). Someone who dressed like that was bound to be like Lockhart; not exactly in the flair-ish-pretty-in-pink sense, but the vain-arrogant-fraud-and-hopeless sense. His attire was ridiculous, no respectable wizard would even think of touching anything the man was wearing, well… excluding Bill. Not to mention, anyone who wore all black constantly was not one to be trusted (like Snape). Ron shuddered. "What do you want?" he asked rudely.

Syaoran leveled Ron with an even stare. "Telephone."

Ron glared back, but confusion settled in. Telephone sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite remember what it was. Must be a muggle thing, he surmised. Oh wait! Right, that thing he used to call Harry before their third year at Hogwarts. Ron grumbled. That thing hurt both his throat and his ears. He didn't know why muggles liked it so much.

"Ah!" Suddenly Harry beamed brightly with cheerful grin lighting up his face. He gestured to the phone on the stand by the couch he was occupying. "Feel free Li. Don't worry about the charges." He assumed that the call would be long distance.

In Ron's opinion, Syaoran stalked into the room as if he owned the place and everything inside was beneath him. The chains rattled, and the heavy thumps he expected from the monstrous boots were amazingly light and quiet. He was not, in any way, jealous of the natural grace that Li exuded. His scowl deepened when Li gave them both a look. The Chinese man quickly set about to dialing a long series of numbers that Ron didn't bother try to see, much less remember.

"Oh." Harry closed his book, sending an apologetic look to the sorcerer. He wasn't even fazed by the man's drastic change of attire. "Sorry, I'll leave." He placed his feet onto the floor, moving to stand.

"There's no need," Syaoran said. "Not like you'd be able to understand."

Harry hesitated, and after a moment's deliberation, he stayed. He chose not to return to his previous sprawl but picked up the discarded book once again, clearly leaving the seat open for their guest to sit.

Syaoran, not one to be rude (to someone he found somewhat likable), sat down.

From across the table, Ron snorted and glared down at the many books scattered across the tabletop, trying to ignore the clinks of chains against buckles. He was surprised to see Harry's mood change so quickly with the guest's presence and felt more than a little hurt. He sulked moodily and ordered the pawn diagonally across the board one square. He switched his gaze to the black pieces, deciding what his next move should be. Yes, he liked to play chess by himself, well, no, not liked per se, he just had no other choice. Hermione was adamant about their research while Harry refused to be beaten for the umpteenth time. Ron ordered the black bishop to take the sacrificed pawn. An angry yell distracted him from his game and he jerked up to stare at the irate man. Harry stared as well.

The phone was set down onto the cradle carelessly unlike the slam that Ron had anticipated.

Syaoran inhaled, quickly running through his calming techniques. Once he was sure his temper was in check, he turned his attention towards the wizards, noting one very rude and very noticeable gape as well as one curious stare. It was obvious which one he preferred. "Mind explaining to me exactly why I am here?"

Harry smiled, "I'm not sure what Hermione's told you, but we're searching for specific Horcruxes."

Syaoran nodded, picking up a discarded book. "Which are what exactly?"

"For someone as humanly paranoid as Voldemort—" Harry gave no indication that he saw Ron noticeably cringing at the name. "—A Horcrux is a way to ensure his immortality." He stopped to think for a moment, remembering the memory he had taken from Slughorn. "It's when you split your soul into pieces and, by murder, use the damage to encase that piece into an object." As brief as the explanation was, it was as simple as he could get it. Harry doubted Syaoran would want to know every single detail.

"Any object?"

Harry nodded distractedly, his hand straying to the locket around his neck. "Can be anything really, living or not. Could even be a grain of dust, but…" Harry smiled wryly. "I don't see how that would be practical."

Syaoran made a sound of agreement. "What is the purpose of a Horcrux? Besides having a piece of his soul in say, a cup, I cannot see how he would benefit if he were to die."

"For anyone it would be a rather pointless existence." Harry chuckled dryly as the memory of Riddle's diary flashed through his mind. "But Tom is undeniably afraid of death. And since he has quite a few loyal followers, resurrecting him would be easy." A dark shadow settled over his face and he flicked to the next page of the book with more aggression than necessary. "Or he could go about possessing anyone who touched it." Ron's mood darkened while Harry shrugged. "We don't know much about them—don't know how to destroy them, much less find them."

Syaoran ignored the sudden lapse in mood. He could clearly hear the bitterness in Harry's voice, but such feelings were none of his business. The relationship he had with these people, it was strictly professional. "How many do you need to find?"

"Excluding himself, four are left. Two of which is a cup and a locket, the other two," Harry shrugged helplessly, "we have a few hunches, but that's about it."

"Hm…" Syaoran scanned the text in front of him. "I can't say much on this right now—"

The emerald eyed teen beamed, eyes sparkling. "I don't expect to have an answer within the week, or even this month. I'm just thankful for the help."

Syaoran's brow twitched at the mention of the length of time. So they thought it was that hopeless to find the Horcruxes? Syaoran lounged against the armrest. He would have to get in contact with his sources some time soon. He had a feeling this task would bring more trouble than he expected, and he couldn't afford to fail this task, not when he was a representative of his clan. However… Syaoran allowed a small smile to creep into his expression. "Very well then." He shut the book and placed it on the neat stack piled dangerously on the edge of the table. He stood and proceeded towards the stairs. He had some unpacking to do now that he had a firmer grasp of the time frame.

He spared the steaming redhead a glance and quirked a brow at the site of the wizard's futile attempt of entertaining himself with chess. He noted the white rook moving to decapitate the black knight.

Well, he thought, I've seen much stranger things, for sure.

X

"I forgot to tell you." Harry rounded into the kitchen and blinked when he saw the black clad figure whisking some eggs, the coat replaced with one of the aprons that Harry bought. "Hm, you don't have to cook dinner."

Syaoran threw a gaze over his shoulder before turning his attention back to the bowl. "I'm only here to help you track down the Horcruxes," he said simply. "I'm surprised I was given a room."

Harry sent him an admonishing look, understanding a little bit of how Mrs. Weasley felt whenever he came over. "Nonsense! You're stuck with us for an indefinite time, it's the least we could do."

The cook picked up a bottle of translucent brown liquid and poured a teaspoon of it into the bowl. "I'm assuming you want me to cook for all of you as well then?"

"Er…" Harry scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, "If you don't mind I'm not stopping you. It's a nice break from cooking every night." He watched curiously as the man walked over to the cartons of a dozen eggs on the opposite bench.

"Where'd you get everything? I don't remember having any of that in the fridge."

He felt reasonably stupid for having asked that question if the stare sent his way was any indication. "Supermarket," Syaoran answered shortly.

"Oh," Harry murmured, watching Syaoran walk over to the fridge, taking out a few packets from the freezer. "What are you making?"

"Fried rice," he said, stopping mid-motion. He raised a brow at the younger man. "Unless you want something else?"

Harry shook his head. "No, no, fried rice is fine." He lounged against the counter. "It's been a while since I've had it." Aunt Petunia had made it when he was younger but he was barely allowed some of the leftovers, mostly the burnt parts. She forced him to watch as she made it since he usually made most of their meals for them. "Do you need any help?"

The wizard shifted uncomfortably when the amber gaze landed on him again. The eyes shifted towards the right, landing on a medium sized packet of rice. "You can boil the rice, all of it."

Harry did as he asked, keeping one eye on the boiling water while intently watching Syaoran work. He could remember the basics of the recipe, but it had been a while.

"What did you forget to tell me?" Syaoran asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Mm?" Harry stirred the rice around in the water with a wooden spoon, preventing it from sticking to the edges of the saucepan.

"You came in here saying you forgot to tell me something."

"Eh?" Harry blinked owlishly, thinking. "Oh! Right." He beamed. "By the end of the week we'll be researching at headquarters."

"Where?" Syaoran asked.

"Hmm… number twelve, Grimmauld Place. The Fidelius Charm is being replaced so until Remus gets back we're stuck here."

Syaoran was honest enough to admit that none of that made any sense to him. The stare he sent the younger man said as much.

"The Fidelius Charm is a spell that hides a secret inside one person. For example, for us, the location of headquarters is the secret, and the Secret Keeper will be the only person to know of its location. Only the Secret Keeper can tell anyone of the location." Harry paused for his new friend to process the information. "It also prevents anyone from speaking about where the place is." Harry stirred through the boiling water, watching as the grains floated around the bubbles. "Even if you know the address you won't be able to say it and unless you're the Secret Keeper, the location will be lost to you. You could be standing in front of it and you won't be able to see it."

While listening and chopping up the bacon at the same time, Syaoran grudgingly admitted that the spell was a genius invention.

"When we get there, everyone will need to sign a piece of parchment," Harry said seriously. "It has a secrecy spell on it to prevent anyone from revealing anything that's said in the house. You'll have to sign it as well."

Syaoran shrugged indifferently, murmuring, "Not like I expect you to trust me so quickly." Harry said nothing and turned off the stove. He moved over to the sink to drain the pot. Syaoran moved towards the cupboards, searching for a reasonable-sized pan to fry the rice. He quickly found it and poured oil onto the surface. He allowed it to warm up on the stove, checking over all the ingredients.

The next half hour Harry spent watching Syaoran cook, learning shortcuts and tricks for making fried rice. Soy sauce he knew was a vital ingredient, but Harry had no idea tomato sauce could be part of the recipe as well. He chose not to question the man. He helped out where he could with what he remembered, mainly chopping up the ingredients, unable to forget his dreaded potions classes. Unfortunately, there was not much else for him to do once everything was in the pan. All that was left was mixing the ingredients thoroughly around as it heated. He was surprised that nothing was burning since the oil had long ago been absorbed into the rice. Aunt Petunia's attempt had resulted in a little less than half of the rice burning.

The front door rattled, catching Harry's attention. A second later the knob twisted to the right and the door opened. Hermione shuffled in, stumbling with a few plastic bags in her hands. Harry hurried to her side, gently taking the bags from her hands.

Hermione ran a hand through her hair and shrugged off her jacket. "The shops were closing, so I got what I could. It should last us for the week."

"We don't have to worry about cooking tonight." Harry grinned as he walked into the kitchen. "Li's almost done with dinner."

"Li?" she asked incredulously. "He can cook?" She quickly followed her friend into the kitchen.

Syaoran pierced her with a look, one that made her feel about six inches tall. Though that wasn't what had her speechless, the result was still one witch frozen on the spot in the doorway, mouth agape and eyes wide.

"Hermione?" A head of messy black hair poked out from behind the fridge door, head tilted to the side with confusion. "What's wrong?"

Brown eyes blinked, and the witch shook herself out of her shock. "Er—Nothing Harry. Let me help you there." She hurried to the fridge, avoiding looking at the amused cook.

Perhaps his sense of fashion was a bit extreme for these people. His mother was always disapproving whenever she saw him out of his training and ceremonial robes. Ah, can't be helped, he thought, mixing the rice around. Even if she disapproved, there was nothing she could do to force him into the clothes she deemed appropriate (unless she decided to burn his wardrobe, fortunately for him, she was above such things), not when what he wore provided him extra protection against his enemies (something she failed to understand).

With a final flick of the wrist and a small burst of magic, the sticky rice fell from the wooden spoon. He turned off the stove and emptied the contents of the pan into a large bowl. He placed the still sizzling pan into the sink, watching as the steam rose the minute the boiling hot metal was submerged. He quickly set about to washing all of the dishes, ignoring Harry who told him to leave it for later.

Within five minutes all the dirty dishes and utensils were clean. While he was doing that, Hermione retrieved the plates and set them out onto the dining table, Harry following with spoons and a bottle of soy sauce that Syaoran had purchased.

Once the pan was set onto the drying rack, he eyed Hermione with annoyance. Sighing with exasperation, he grabbed the closest plate and replaced it with a small bowl. He opened the cutlery drawer, and wasn't surprised to find that there were no chopsticks. He refrained from sighing again and scaled the stairs. He still had the extra set of chopsticks from the box of noodles he brought with him the day before.

"Ron! Dinner's ready!" Hermione's voice called from the bottom of the stairs as he descended. He eyed her strangely, just for the sheer fact that he didn't like her thus far. He smirked with satisfaction when she flushed, an angry scowl marring her face.

Yes, be angry. Hopefully you'll find my service so dreadfully appalling and fire me. He snorted inwardly. Right, chances of that happening were close to nil—he heard Harry's outburst and knew that the man was still angry with his two friends. Syaoran couldn't bring himself to feel appreciative. He might have, if he were a nicer person, and his sisters would for surely be screaming with delight, claiming that bunnies were hopping around in their chest, but he wasn't remotely like them (thank the gods) and he was anything but nice, so he was safe from any (un)pleasant, fluffy feelings.

Syaoran furrowed his brows, unsure as to why he was thinking so much about trivial things. His lips twisted with disgust. Barely a few days with wizards and his mind was already starting to dysfunction. "Great," he muttered. He seated himself on the seat with the bowl and pulled the chopsticks out of the paper wrapping, snapping the wooden sticks in half. Not bothering to wait for the red haired wizard to come, he filled his bowl and proceeded to eat.

Harry followed his example, but Hermione was adamant to wait for the other male.

"Dinner smells brilliant. What'd you make Harry?" Ron quickly seated himself and filled his plate with a large amount of rice.

"Li made the fried rice," Harry said dryly, watching fondly as Ron shoveled a spoonful of rice into his mouth. When the answer registered through Ron's mind he choked, eyes bulging. Hermione quickly cast a spell, "Anapneo" or something like that. Ron was able to breathe easier after that, drowning himself with the glass of water that Harry conjured.

"What?" Ron exclaimed, seeing the humorless look in Harry's eyes. "It could be poisoned!" The spark ever present within the green eyes blanked out immediately and Ron knew that Harry was angry again. He winced when a foot collided with his shin and swung his gaze over to Hermione. Before he set eyes on her, Ron was locked in a gaze of bored amber from across the table. Syaoran pointedly brought the chopsticks to his lips. "Feel free not to eat it." He raised a brow challengingly and ate the rice.

Ron glared suspiciously, but seeing that Harry was eating it with no qualms, he reluctantly followed. Who was he to pass up good food, even if a git made it?

A terse silence settled over the dining room, with only the occasional clink of spoons against plates. Hermione cleared her throat. Might as well give the man a chance, she thought. Harry was a great judge of character. If he approved of him wholeheartedly, who was she to question him?

"Who taught you how to cook?"

The Chinese man looked over the rim of the bowl. Everyone's attention landed on him so he was forced to put the bowl back onto the table. It was a matter of respect (even if he held little for her). "I doubt his name would mean anything to you," he answered shortly, resuming with his meal, effectively cutting off her attempt of a civil conversation.

From listening and studying the trio, he knew she was smart enough to get the hint. Unfortunately, getting it and taking it were two different things. She knew it would get on his nerves if she continued questioning him, so she did.

"Was he a chef?"

"No."

"A teacher then?"

He paused. "Yes."

"So you learnt it at school? You took Home Economics?"

He glared, "No."

"Oh, private tutoring?"

"No." He didn't consider it private if his cousins were being taught alongside him.

"Did—"

"Look." He interrupted her with a glare before she could barrage him with more question. "I don't see how my personal life concerns your hunt for the Horcruxes. Unless the knowledge will somehow save your damn pitiful life, refrain from speaking to me."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, feeling thoroughly insulted. Ron beat her to it. "What is your problem?" Ron said roughly, standing up. His voice steadily gained volume with each word and in no time, Hermione had no doubt he'd be shouting out insults. "She's trying to be nice—"

A warm hand gently rested on his forearm, squeezing reassuringly. Harry shook his head. "How about we just eat in silence? It'll be nice change from the chaos," he murmured, eyes grave.

Ron glared at Harry. "He's the one—"

"Ron," he said warningly.

"Fine," Ron snarled. He acquiesced, albeit reluctantly, and sat down with a heavy thump, shooting daggers at the man directly in front of him. He didn't know how long he could stand the infuriating sorcerer if he didn't bother to make an effort to be civil.

Syaoran, unperturbed, finished the rice in his bowl in a matter of minutes and stood up. Ron glared at him, Hermione was wary and Harry was completely expressionless. "I never asked for you to be nice," he said. "And last time I checked, you need my help, so we do things on my terms or this agreement is null." With a final disdainful glance directed at the couple across from him (Harry sat adjacent to him) he spun around on his heels and entered the kitchen.

Ron resumed eating, trying not to let the man get to him. Hermione chewed at her food slowly. The atmosphere was far too hostile for her to be able to enjoy the delicious meal. She glanced at Harry with concern, seeing him picking at the meager amount of rice on his plate. She sighed heavily and resigned herself for a tense and stifling dinner. Harry was still mad at them, and he had been in such a good mood earlier as well.

The dining room was quiet, so they were able to hear when the tap turned off. The flowing sound of clinking chains followed the dull thud of ceramic against plastic. A minute later, Syaoran emerged from the kitchen, apron replaced with his black coat. He brushed passed them noiselessly—an amazing feat with the heavy boots he wore—and continued towards the stairway.

Ron and Hermione exhaled noisily when he was out of sight. Most of the tension washed away with Li's departure, but it was still awkward. They could feel the burning glare from Harry and Hermione knew that the anger was blazing deeply in his eyes. She kept her eyes trained ahead, refusing to meet Harry's eyes. Ron on the other hand, was shaking with anger. He could never control his temper and always resulted in saying something that he never meant.

"You take his side—"

She didn't want to hear the argument between her two closest friends.

And so she focused her gaze on the steaming bowl of rice, watching as the steam floated off the red-stained grains.

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Footnotes

(1) From Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Chapter 12: The Mirror of Erised.

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I'm a little miffed that only one person reviewed the last chapter (and consequently, the newest version of this fic since I've modified it completely). Actually, I'm somewhat insulted. Unfortunately beggars can't be choosers, and since I've managed to stuff all the negative feelings and bad thoughts into a small tiny box, I thought I'd dedicate this chapter to AnimeObsessionFantasy who spared some time to give me a review.

Yes, I'm being petty, but I'm sure every author feels this way one time or another. -smiles wryly-