Chapter Four
Second oldest sister, Fanren
By Kaori
X
At the break of dawn, sunlight drifted through the wooden framed window, large rays darting across the room. A shaft of light danced upon the occupant's face, coloring the chestnut brown hair a light dusty grey. A dark brow twitched and a hand moved up to block out the light.
A loud rumbling emitted from the bedside table, or more specifically, the little machine moving across the surface, green light flashed rapidly.
The hand covering the face twitched, brows creasing. Another violent rumble sounded, before being cut off abruptly. The hand darted out quickly, catching the device before it hit the floor. With a grunt, Syaoran cracked open a sleep crusted eye. With his free hand, he rubbed the back of his knuckles over his eyes, blearily blinking and checking the time. "Six," he muttered. "Who the hell calls at six in the morning?"
With a stretch and a yawn, mindful of the vibrating mobile in his hand, he threw his legs to the side and stood up. Rubbing his neck to ease the tension, he eyed the flashing screen. "Ah, checking up on me are you?" Syaoran rotated his body around, satisfied to hear consecutive cracks as he realigned his vertebrae. "Can't be helped," he murmured. Fluidly, the phone was flipped open and he pressed the red button, effectively cutting off the vibrations.
With a final glance of the room, he exited. Feet bare, he padded quietly through the carpet of the wide hallway. Descending the stairs just as effortlessly, he quickly navigated his way to the living room. In no time, he was on the phone, dialing a familiar sequence onto the number pad after the necessary international code of the phone card he had memorized.
Syaoran reclined back on the couch, letting his head fall onto the cushioned backrest as he listened to the repetitive ring tone. At least it wasn't the horrible piano music he heard the other day. The person on the other line picked up.
He switched his mind frame from English to Cantonese effortlessly. "Why did you call me?"
A silent pause as he waited to hear the reply.
"Self-proclaimed," he reminded dully.
A few seconds passed.
"What makes you think I'm on a new mission?" He traced the spiraled cord of the phone lightly. A moment later he scoffed but said nothing else.
Muted, high-pitched ramblings sounded from the receiver.
"I'm not so sure, a while I assume."
A question was asked.
"Not them, my mother," he answered tightly.
The person on the other line replied.
Syaoran glared at the glass table, barely able to refrain from yelling. "When will you and your damn group get over your immaturity?"
The chipmunk voice rose a few decibels.
Syaoran breathed deeply, repressing the urge to hit something. "It's my business," he growled. "Leave it alone."
The person on the other line obviously lacked the self-control needed to keep from yelling.
"Sessions?" He laughed with disbelief. "There's nothing wrong with me!"
There was a shout.
"Her word against the Elders Meiling; who runs this clan?"
And then there was silence.
Why he bothered to call her was beyond him. She always did have the ability to give him a pounding headache.
Syaoran smirked, eyes hard. "It'll do you good to remember who I am Meiling. You don't want to suddenly find yourself disowned do you?"
"You can't do that!"
He jerked the phone away, wincing at the shrill volume of her voice. Syaoran gingerly returned the phone back to his ear. "I was under the impression that I was clan leader."
She shouted something but he cut her off. "The elders would have been lenient, yes, but you've been gone for the past ten years with barely a word," he bit out venomously. "Give me a reason not to!"
At least she had the decency to stop screaming.
"Oh right, I forgot about your tendency to leech off clan resources."
"I do not leech!"
"When will you ever leave me alone?"
"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND."
A dull beep echoed from the earpiece. His brow ticked noticeably and he glared at the phone before setting it down back in its cradle. "That idiot," he muttered in English, sick of his mother language after speaking with his cousin. Not like English was any better, in fact, he found Japanese more likable than English, and he hated the Japanese language.
"Here."
He blinked with surprise at the steaming mug of coffee. He's gaze drifted up to the sleepy face of the only wizard he found tolerable in the house.
"I'm not sure how you like it, but you look like you need it."
Syaoran accepted, murmuring a small "thanks". Harry smiled and sat down next to him, drinking from his own brew. Syaoran stared at the hot brown liquid with suspicion. He dipped the tip of his finger inside and swirled it around, ignoring the look Harry gave him. He released a pulse of magic and green rings of light rippled from his finger to the edge.
"Did I wake you?" he asked, retrieving his finger from the drink and licking off the beads of coffee. At least nothing suspicious was added to the drink.
"No, I tend to wake up early." Harry absentmindedly rubbed his forehead, wincing. "Who's got you so agitated so early in the morning?"
Syaoran studied the mild teen, not quite understanding how his mind worked. He was sure that his message was pretty clear last night.
"My… cousin," he answered hesitantly.
Harry winced in understanding. "That bad?"
Syaoran folded an arm across his torso, resting the one holding the cup on it. He ran his thumb across the ceramic, unaffected by the heat. "Hm."
Harry was unsure of what that meant, but decided not to pry. He always hated people intruding in his personal life and he wasn't about to become a hypocrite.
They lapsed into another comfortable silence, both content drinking their coffee as the morning light streamed in through the wide windows.
"Do you have anything planned for today?"
Amber eyes locked with emeralds, jaws taut. "You don't give up do you?"
"Nope," he chirped cheerfully. "You're helping us, and frankly, I'd like to be able to trust who's helping me with the Horcruxes." Eyes became downcast and he stared at the swirling liquid. "No one else besides us knows. Voldemort doesn't even know what I'm up to and I'd like to keep it that way." The teen's hands clenched and unclenched around the cup, knuckles turning white. Behind long black bangs, Syaoran saw the emeralds contemplating something and having difficulty deciding. Hesitantly he made eye contact with Syaoran. "I… I placed a secrecy charm on you the minute you came. I hope you don't mind, but I can't afford him finding out."
"What?" Before he could blink, Syaoran had him pinned against the armrest, holding his upper arms in a painfully tight grip. Harry gasped with pain as the burning coffee splashed onto them both; the other man was unaffected. Syaoran's eyes narrowed as he regarded the younger man. "Without my permission?" he asked, tightening his grip on the wizard. "You placed a spell on me without my permission?"
"Would you have agreed to it otherwise?" Harry shouted, struggling with the vice like hold keeping him down.
"I agreed to sign the damn parchment, what makes this different?"
"Exactly! What's so different about it?" Harry glared at him and stopped struggling. "You agreed to sign the parchment, so why are you so worked up about this?"
"The fact that you didn't ask me—"
"You were a bloody stranger then! How was I to know you could be trusted with knowledge of the Horcruxes?" Swiftly Harry lunged forward and pushed the man back, trying to get his arms free. Syaoran, surprised at the unexpected assault, was knocked backwards. Instincts overrode his mind and he twisted over and off the couch, dragging the wizard with him. Harry landed on his back with a cry, giving Syaoran enough time to reestablish his grip. He had Harry's hips pinned down with his knees and his forearms held on either side of his head.
The sorcerer's death glare was reflected evenly by the wizard, green eyes blazing dangerously.
They remained in that position for a long time, both too stubborn and neither willing to give up the glaring contest; it was a matter of pride.
A polite cough sliced through the chilly room, drawing the attention of both men. In the doorway stood a blushing Hermione dressed casually in a simple shirt and jeans. "If I'm interrupting something…" she trailed off, looking pointedly at them, or more specifically, their position.
For the first time, Harry noticed that Syaoran wasn't wearing a shirt; the Boy Who Lived blushed deeply, the flush almost rivaling Ron's infamously red face. "Hermione!" He cried, scandalized, "It's not like that!" He writhed beneath the sorcerer, frantic to be freed of the position. Syaoran stood up almost instantly and, for reasons unknown to him, held out a hand for young man. Harry grabbed his forearm, allowing him to pull him up. Unfortunately, Syaoran miscalculated. Harry was a lot lighter than he assumed and the force he exerted was a bit excessive. Harry stumbled clumsily into the Chinese man. Immediately his blush darkened and he leaped away, babbling apologies.
"I'm going to go take a shower," he mumbled, running towards the stairs.
Hermione laughed lightly. Harry was always too endearing for his own good. As he ran past her, she noticed that his white sleeping shirt was stained brown. Confused, she looked at the stoic sorcerer and saw two abandoned mugs tipped over on the floor. Her brows shot up as she watched the man curiously. Syaoran returned it with a glare. Hermione brushed it off (a few days facing that glare had made her, for the most part, immune) and pulled out her wand.
"Nice tattoo," she commented as she aimed a scouring charm towards the floor and, after a moment's deliberation, whispered "Tergeo" towards the glaring man who's whole demeanor screamed "Mind your own business!" Syaoran was surprised when the sticky coffee was wiped clean off his body. He diffidently thanked the witch and ignored her smug smile. Falling back into his previous seat, he picked up the phone again. After checking the clock to see that it was just past seven, he dialed a short sequence into the number pad.
Hermione, seeing that she had been dismissed, left with a huff towards the kitchen to start with the breakfast.
Syaoran sighed when she was gone; he always valued his solitude, it was when he was able to think most clearly. He tightened his fist and listened to the dialing tone patiently. All of a sudden he heard static. With a wince, he pulled the phone away from his ear at the loud sound. A second later he heard silence. He blinked with confusion and set the receiver down in the cradle. A second later he picked it up and heard the familiar beep. Frowning, he dialed the number again and waited cautiously. He quickly set the phone down when he heard the beginnings of the earsplitting crackling.
"It won't work right now." A freshly dressed, slightly dripping, and clean Harry sat down opposite from him. "Magic interferes with the flow of electricity. Hermione used magic before right?"
Syaoran regarded him through half lidded eyes cautiously. Not wanting to deal with his emotions quite this early in the morning, Syaoran left the room, heading towards his bedroom. He was thankful that Harry had enough sense not to stop him.
In his room he relaxed his fist, quickly running through his calming exercises. The reason he had attacked the wizard… Syaoran smiled wryly. It had been a while since he had been caught unaware with magic. The fact that Harry was able to cast a spell on him without his knowledge unsettled him. He prided himself in being able to sense the most sensitive of magics. He could sense the thick barriers layering the house and felt the light touch of the cleaning charm that Hermione had cast feathering across his skin; heck, he could feel magic buzzing around the damn house. And yet he missed it when a simple boy had cast a secrecy charm on him.
Either it was because a secrecy charm had something that concealed its presence or he had underestimated Harry.
Even now with the knowledge of the spell on him, he couldn't feel it, couldn't sense it and couldn't root it out of his system because he couldn't feel anything out of the ordinary.
Perhaps it was time he reevaluated the magic of the wizards. That or his unfounded theory that green was powerful was true after all.
Once changed into his usual outfit, he pocketed his phone and wallet, slipped on his boots and tightened the laces and clasps. He headed back down the stairs, pushing the earlier incident from his mind to contemplate another issue. Harry said that magic interfered with the flow of electricity. He wasn't quite sure why, not when sorcery was complemented by it, but wasn't about to think too deeply on it. He shrouded his cell phone with his magic and flipped it open, punching in the same sequence for the third time that day.
When he reached the bottom of the stairs, the person on the other line picked up. Syaoran smiled, pleased. At least something was going right for once.
"It's Xiao Lang. I'll be dropping by London shortly." He chuckled at what the other person said. "You're right. So I'll be seeing you in a few hours, the most?" He glanced at a nearby clock. "It's late enough. If it's not open when I get there I'll break in."
A light admonish made him laugh again. "I'll be seeing you then." After hearing the reply, he pocketed his phone and walked to the front entrance.
Harry intercepted him before he could reach for the knob. "You're going to London?"
He sighed heavily. It was obvious that Harry had erased the incident from his mind and was being his usual persistent self. "Yes," Syaoran said curtly, still more than a little miffed about the spell.
"It's hours away from Godric's Hollow."
"I'm aware of that."
"Would you mind waiting? I'm heading there later as well."
Syaoran opened his mouth to decline but caught sight of hopeful green eyes. He cursed inwardly. There's definitely something about green, he thought moodily. "Fine."
Harry smiled appreciatively and grabbed hold of Syaoran's arm, dragging him into the kitchen. It took all his will not to yank his arm away by instinct. Manners, he thought firmly. Must be polite, even if it kills me. "I don't believe you've ever heard of Flooing have you?"
"No."
Harry grinned. "It's a form of magical transportation; a much faster way to travel."
X
"Magical indeed," Syaoran muttered bitterly. Simply not prepared after the fireplace had spat him out, he fell forward into Harry's back, knocking the young man over. They both tumbled ungracefully towards the floor in a heap. Harry cried out, catching himself with his hands; that unfortunately was little help when Syaoran's heavy weight knocked him over. Harry groaned. "That's twice you've landed on me."
"Third," corrected Syaoran as he rolled swiftly to his feet. He dusted off his clothes, making a face at the soot covering his hands. When Harry suggested Flooing, Syaoran had no idea it consisted of traveling fireplace to fireplace. At first he was dubious about walking into the fire. He realized that wizarding methods were a little crazier than the norm, but walking into a fire? A green fire? He had questioned Harry if the Floo powder was magically enhanced copper(1). He received a blank stare.
As much as he loved green, he didn't believe in coincidences. And so he concluded that there definitely had to be something about green. Like seven was the magical number, green had to be the magical color.
After depositing a number of silver coins into the tin hanging by the fireplace, Harry cast a cleaning charm on them both, getting rid of all the dirt and grime from traveling by the Floo Network. "I just need to go to Gringotts Li, after that we can go wherever you want." Syaoran was about to protest when Harry dragged him along, waving at the old man behind the bar as he quickly headed towards the backyard (to which Syaoran commented sarcastically). After a few taps on the bricks, the archway to Diagon Alley opened in the wall.
By the time they returned to the Leaky Cauldron just over an hour had passed. Syaoran, as much as he claimed to disregard wizards, wanted to memorize the route of the street and familiarize himself with the shops—it could prove to be beneficial in the future—and Harry had given him a brief tour of Diagon Alley. After seeing the main shops on display, Syaoran quickly grew bored and they went back to Muggle London.
From Charing Cross Road, Syaoran had to rotate around, looking up at the skyscrapers in order to figure out which way to go. The walk to the London Underground was short, and two tickets, and two stops later, they were at the heart of the City of London. Harry's neck hurt because he was staring up at the tallest skyscraper in London from the entrance. (2)
To say Harry was curious was an understatement. "Tower Forty-Two?" He turned his head to the right and blinked when he saw nothing but air. Syaoran had already entered the building. "Hey wait!" He sprinted through the automatic rotating doors (3) and only barely made it past the elevator doors before it closed. He glared at Syaoran. "You could've held it open for me." He muttered something rude under his breath when he saw the sorcerer's brow rise.
Minutes later a twinkling ding sounded and the doors opened to floor thirty-nine. Syaoran confidently strode through the building, catching the stares of the employees. Harry followed meekly, blushing as he passed a few gossiping workers. He could understand why they would stare, after all, a tall man dressed suspiciously in black with chains dangling off the flowing coat with a scruffy short teen garbed in old and tattered hand-me-downs; they made the most unlikely pair.
Syaoran walked through twisted hallways, passing random offices, turning left and right until he reached a room with more glassy doors. He headed towards the largest one, directly beside the door with a plated rectangular marker, the words Director displayed in thick bold letters. He briskly walked towards the desk on the left, Harry stumbling in after him as he tried to rid himself of the dizziness.
At the desk was a man with a haughty expression, studying them over rimless glasses. He twirled the fountain pen around his fingers. "How may I help you?" he asked politely.
"The director," Syaoran said evenly.
The man's hand covered the mouse, clicking through several programs as he brought forward the director's timetable. "Do you have an appointment?"
"No, but she's expecting me."
"Is she now?" The secretary narrowed his eyes and regarded the computer monitor. "Is your name Vernon Dursley?"
Harry choked on his breath from behind Syaoran. Vernon? Harry was sure that this wasn't Grunnings, or anywhere near it. He hadn't even seen a single thing related to drills as he nearly almost ran after the sorcerer (Syaoran was well over a foot taller than him and hand longer strides). Harry took a few tentative steps towards the desk, mindful of the secretary's sharp glance, and picked up the business card residing in the card holder. Li LLP (4) Harry furrowed his eyes and turned the card over, scanning quickly through the words. A law firm? Well that made sense; unfortunately he was feeling a bit edgy. Why would Vernon be desperate enough to go to a law firm in London when there were quite a few in Surrey?
Meanwhile, Syaoran narrowed his eyes. "No."
"Then I'm afraid you'll have to make an appointment. The next time available is three in the afternoon."
Syaoran glared. "I would like to see her now."
The secretary quivered slightly under the hard stare but glared right back. "Name?"
"Li."
The secretary's lip curled back and he said mockingly. "Really? Li is it?" He sat back, crossing his arms across his chest. "Well then Mr. Li, the director is a busy person and appointments are made for a reas—HEY! What are you doing?"
Harry was close to gawking when the Chinese man leant over the desk, pressing the intercom button on the phone. "Fanren, get out here now!" They heard a thud from the speaker and then the door bearing the Director plate slammed open shocking Harry back a few steps. Something green and brown blurred past him and landed on his companion. A few seconds were needed for his mind to register the blur to be a woman, more specifically, the director (who defied Harry's stereotype of lawyers). She had her arms around Syaoran's neck and was squealing with excitement, "Little Brother!"
Syaoran, disgruntled, quickly disentangled her from him and growled, "Why didn't you tell your damn secretary ("Hey!" The man at the desk stood up, slamming his hands against the desk.) I was coming?"
The girl with a jagged-style bob cut and a rattail (Harry mentally stabbed at the reminder of the traitorous rat) that reached past the middle of her back grinned impishly. "Aw, the big bad wolf can't handle the poor little secretary?" She sniggered, but for the life of him, Harry couldn't figure out what was so funny.
"Come, come," she said after a cough. "Let's leave my cute little secretary alone with his work. My office is much cozier!" She ushered him into her office rather forcefully and Harry followed hesitantly, closing the door gently. Turning so his back faced the door, Harry watched as the lawyer literally shoved Syaoran onto the large leather sofa. Harry cleared his throat awkwardly; she seemed rather oblivious to his presence.
The woman turned towards the sound and caught site of him. Her eyes brightened and the large smile stretched across her lips made him nervous.
"Oh Little Brother," she cooed sweetly. "Why didn't you tell me that you had such an ADORABLE little kid with you?" Said adorable little kid winced at the shrill level her voice reached with the word 'adorable'. Before he could even think of glowering at being called an "adorable little kid", a piercing squeal sounded and he found himself being suffocated in a tight hug. Fanren rubbed her cheek against his and disjointed words mixed with squeals were the only sounds he registered.
"Ack!" he gasped, clawing at her arms. And he thought Hermione was bad…
What the hell was wrong with this lady? It wasn't normal for women to act this way. He was sure that she didn't know who he really was, so there was absolutely no reason for her to fawn over him. Absolutely none.
"Fanren," Syaoran called from the sofa. "Act your age."
Fanren stopped squealing and her grip relaxed, much to Harry's relief (he greedily inhaled a hefty amount of air). She shifted to the side so that she hung off he's side, bumping the side of her head with his so she that Syaoran was in her line of view. "You act your age!" She stuck her tongue out.
Syaoran scoffed.
The suit-clad woman grinned and then pulled at Harry's cheeks. "And what's your name little boy?"
Harry was offended to hear her talking like Aunt Petunia did with Dudley; the damn baby talk was unbearable. He glared at her from the corner of his eyes. He didn't like being touched by strangers, especially crazy ones who thought he was a poor helpless kid (he could see it in her eyes). "I'm not a little boy," he hissed angrily.
Fanren pulled back, surprised. A slow humoring smile spread across her lips. "Well, you can't be older than fourteen, maybe fifteen the most. Xiao Lang, what do you think?"
Harry squirmed uncomfortably when the amber eyes landed on him. "I think you should stop harassing the poor kid." His lips quirked into a knowing smirk.
Harry understood that he didn't look his age (he was the shortest in his year including the girls) and hardly had any skin on his bones (something he blamed on the Dursley's). That was why he tolerated it when people mistook his age, even found their reactions funny when they discovered his true age. This however… It was downright rude. He had been treated as if he was too young to understand anything by too many people already—Dumbledore for example—and even then he was able to take it all in stride (to some extent) after being allowed time to cool down. However, to speak about him when he was standing right next to them…
He roughly pulled away from the woman's arms, breathing heavily as emerald eyes flashed. "I am still here you know! My name is Harry and I am not a bloody kid! I'm seventeen for Merlin's sake!"
The room lapsed into silence and Syaoran's brow lifted up a fraction. He could practically hear the thoughts running through their head. In his peripheral vision he saw long lashes rise and fall repeatedly as the girl blinked owlishly. He winced, knowing that he had let his temper get the better of him yet again.
And of all the things he had expected, what happened was anything but. Fanren squealed and tackled him (again). Harry, unsuspecting of the attack, stumbled back and lost his balance. He moaned when his already aching back connected with the ground for the third time that day. He cursed the thick carpet for not being a better insulator from the hard floorboards beneath. What was it with Lis and knocking him to the ground? Honestly!
"Kyaa! He really is adorable! Xiao Lang, wherever did you find him?" Fanren gushed, yet again rubbing her cheek with his. Harry sighed heavily, resigning himself to the fate of being ignored and thought of as a bloody mindless child. Life probably would be much easier if he played the puppet.
Or if all of the insane people in the world were locked up in a place far, far away from him.
Wishful thinking, Harry dismissed.
"Fanren, that's enough," Syaoran said, voice steely.
And the harassment stopped, surprisingly.
Fanren sat back, lips pouting and eyes large. "But Xiao Lang!" she whined.
The glare stopped her whining and she rolled her eyes, crawling to sit next to the fallen boy, legs crossed. She sniffed tearfully. "Fine, ruin my fun." She sighed wistfully. "It's not the same without the others. I feel so old by myself."
Syaoran scoffed and Harry struggled to sit up properly. His back tensed when he saw hazel eyes watching him. Fanren smiled cheerfully, holding out her hand. Harry flinched back, almost expecting to be attacked once more. "Harry," she sung, beaming. "Such cute name! I'm Fanren, as you've gathered, that big grouchy wolf's older sister." Harry blinked questioningly. Part of him was astonished (and thankful) that there was no more squealing, another part flabbergasted that Syaoran was related to someone who was his polar opposite. That explains where all the happy genes went, he thought fleetingly. He reluctantly took her hand and was stunned when she shook his hand firmly (a part of him predicted a mad, enthusiastic shake).
Fanren laughed. "That," she said, referring to her 'attack', "dear Harry, was the customary Li greeting for everything adorable."
He was unconvinced. Li (that is, the menacing man lounging on the sofa who seemed to despise anyone using his first name) hugging and squealing people who were 'adorable' was inconceivable.
Fanren grinned knowingly, seeing the skeptical look in his eyes. "I meant my sisters and me, not that big grump over there."
Li having more than one sister, that was… not something he could picture. "Sisters?"
Fanren nodded energetically. "There's four of us, and then last (and definitely least) is our dear little baby brother, Xiao Lang (never could appreciate the cute things in life, a shame)." She was unfazed when Syaoran's glare reached murderous levels and brushed it off.
Thus Harry concluded that there was something very wrong with the Li genetic makeup; perhaps it was the inbreeding (if the Lis were pureblooded fanatics like the Malfoys), or Li had one too many blows on the head as a child (he did seem to be the odd one out; reminded him of Ginny and the Weasley family, not personality wise), or the sisters had an unhealthy obsession with sugar, or… well, the possibilities were endless. He smiled blandly.
The elder Li made her way to her brother and sat down next to him with a bounce. Harry was comfortable where he was and told them so when Fanren insisted he join them.
"So what business does Little Brother have with cute little Harry?"
Harry knocked his head with his palm (there were no hard surfaces within reaching distance), brows twitching with annoyance. He wanted to hex her but knew it'd be useless (she'd probably still keep addressing him as such).
Syaoran appeared unaffected. "I need a car, or a bike, whatever you have."
Fanren drew away from her brother, pouting, "Ehh, is that all I am to you?" She flung her rattail over her shoulder, of which Harry was slowly becoming accustomed to. The long strands of hair looked nothing like the traitor's wormlike tail. "I haven't seen you since New Years and now you come to me because you need transportation!" She whacked her younger brother across the back of the head.
Harry stifled his laughter with a violent coughing fit the second he was pinned with a murderous glare. "Really, you're almost as bad as her," Fanren said, voice a strange mix between scorn and teasing.
This "her" person obviously wasn't liked among the siblings. Syaoran stonily stared at the wall behind Harry's head, other than that he had no indication whether or not the man was offended.
"Which is why—" The brunette lunged forward, wrapping arms around broad shoulders. "—you are staying till dinner!"
"And your appointments for the day?" Syaoran asked indifferently.
Fanren waved a hand dismissively. "They can be postponed, no one important today."
"I should hope not," Syaoran said lightly, small sparks lighting up his eyes.
The woman laughed, swatting him on the arm. "Oh don't let that overgrown ego of yours burst Little Brother, you're not that important."
Harry, certain that he was not the topic of discussion anymore, averted his attention elsewhere to allow the siblings some private time (as private as it could get with a near stranger in the same room within listening distance). His interest with their conversation was waning significantly the moment his eyes met that of the crystal dragon, burning emeralds gleaming from the diamond like body. Mesmerized, he edged closer towards the quaffle sized figurine, sneakers squeaking lightly when carpet changed to floorboards. He ghosted his fingers across the seemingly randomly-placed pieces of gold scales reverently.
Harry, while not fond of them like Hagrid, did have a soft spot for dragons. From when he was in primary school, reading fairytales and myths from the books of the school library, to when Hagrid's egg hatched a tiny Norwegian Ridgeback, Norbert, to his first task in the Triwizard Tournament (though that wasn't quite as pleasant as the first two). During all those times (plus the books he had for Defense) he had never seen a long and coiling dragon like the one before him. That night with the Trackers he thought he had seen one in the flash of lightning, but his hallucinations didn't count for much.
From the dragon model Harry saw of the Chinese Fireball Viktor Krum battled, it was definitely not long winding like a snake.
Unconsciously tracing his fingers down the creature's back, he wondered if these people knew that dragons were a reality. The miniature dragon's long body was artfully twisted and coiled around a snitch-sized crystal ball in the center of the elegant oak stand. The small ball appeared to be floating within the dragon's claws and, after closer inspection, it turned out that he wasn't seeing things. It—
A high-pitched beep emitted from the intercom on Fanren's desk. "Director, Mr. Vernon Dursley from Grunnings is here to see you."
Harry's widened. He had forgotten that Vernon had an appointment with the law firm.
Fanren sighed, making her way to her desk to answer the call. "I'll see what I can do with clearing up the day."
"Grunnings?" Syaoran asked curiously.
"It's a drill company," Harry offered nonchalantly, running his finger along the dragon's claws. "Uncle Vernon is the director. I think."
"You think?" Fanren questioned, tearing her gaze from her computer screen while Syaoran threw a glance in his direction. "Never heard of it," he said.
Harry shrugged, face blank. "Didn't expect you to."
"Well, alright then!" Fanren beamed and pressed the intercom button. "Send him in my adorable little secretary!"
The secretary grumbled something in reply but Harry was staring wide eyed at the woman, something akin to horror washing over his face. "What? Didn't you say you were going to clear your day?"
Fanren grinned brightly. "He's you're uncle! I can make exceptions for adorable little Harry."
He spluttered speechlessly, mouth mimicking that of a fish. It was too late. The office door had opened already and in came the large bulging figure of his uncle, the man he swore never to meet again even if his life depended on it.
Fanren gave the large, beefy man a friendly smile, to which he sneered after taking in her appearance. Vernon turned towards Syaoran and, while he was not too please with he's choice of clothing either, smiled widely, if not a bit too wide.
"Director—" Syaoran opened his mouth to interrupt but the man waved his heavy arm around. "Oh no, not to worry, I'm sure the delay was unintentional, I completely understand."
Well, Harry thought sarcastically, his eyes are probably too small to see me in this corner anyway. He rolled his eyes as the man continued speaking, not giving Syaoran or Fanren the chance to interrupt. From their facial expressions, Syaoran was annoyed and Fanren slightly miffed. Vernon also didn't appear willing to shut up any time soon either. Harry sighed dejectedly. It can't be helped, he thought, readying himself for the mental abuse.
"Uncle Vernon," he called loudly.
The man froze and shot around quickly (he was unable to turn his head, he barely had any neck). Harry noticed a vein throbbing dangerously in his temple, his beady eyes bulging from his purpling face. His fists shook and he advanced on Harry, his heavy weight stomping across the thick carpet leaving heavy imprints of his black polished shoes. When he was within reaching distance, his shoes clicked against the wooden floorboards, echoing off the walls. Harry stood his ground, glaring stubbornly.
"Boy!" he roared as loudly as he dared, aware of the other people in the large room. He grabbed onto Harry's arms, the same place that Syaoran had earlier, forcing him to back up against the podium. The dragon statue, shaking with the force, became unbalanced and slipped off the dais. It shattered into millions of pieces against the wood. "What are you doing here freak?" Vernon snarled, breathing heavily on his nephew. He was too angry to notice the broken shards of glass and squeezed his bulky hands.
Harry turned his face to the side, struggling to free his arms from his uncle's bruising grip. "Let go of me!" he shouted.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded again, shaking the boy violently.
Harry, knowing that Vernon wouldn't even hear what his excuse was, yelled, "You were speaking to the wrong person! She's (He indicated towards Fanren, who stared at them incredulously.) the director!"
Vernon glowered angrily. "You nasty little liar, you—"
"As a matter of fact, Harry is correct," Fanren said icily from her desk, voice freezing them both on the spot. Harry had no more doubts that Li and Fanren were siblings. The resemblance was astonishing. "I am the director of this firm and I believe you just destroyed my expensive statue."
Vernon's moustache bristled with both anger and embarrassment. He quickly released his hold on his nephew. Harry, surprised at the sudden loss of support, slipped backwards and fell onto the glass. He bit his lip, trying not to cry out as the shards dug into his thin clothes.
Vernon, unconcerned, smiled weakly at the Director, a large part of him still hopeful that he could restore his first impression. His large body hid the podium and Harry from view. "I'm terribly sorry," he said, voice regretful. "You see, my nephew, the poor boy, terribly clumsy and—"
"I am a lawyer Mr. Dursley. I can tell when someone is lying."
Vernon blanched, tiny eyes filled with panic. "Why I never!" he gasped with indignation, his great face purple. "How dare you—"
"I would like you to leave, Mr. Dursley."
He didn't move.
"I won't ask you again Mr. Dursley. It would be a shame if all I could talk about with my lawyer friends was this dreadful incident. I have quite a few, especially at Clifford Chance." (5)
Not sparing a second, Vernon sprinted out of the office as fast as his great beefy body would allow. Harry was too pained to laugh and sighed pitifully instead. Yet another instance where he could've enjoyed laughing crazily and he was in yet another position that didn't allow for it.
Quickly, Fanren ran to his side and pulled him to his feet, apologizing profusely when he flinched.
"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled then bit his tongue when Fanren gently brushed away the glass in his back.
"You're sorry?" Fanren stared at him with disbelief. "Whatever for?"
"I broke the statue."
Fanren scoffed and ruffled his already messy hair. "Silly boy, that… man broke it." She pushed him away from the mess and towards Syaoran, sitting him down onto the sofa, his back to her. Harry's knees knocked against Syaoran's legs and he was forced to stare at the calm man. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be dozing off, head resting against the sofa's backrest.
"But…"
"You're so adorable Harry. I'd hug you right now, but I'm afraid you still have some glass stuck in your back." She lifted his shirt, studying his bare back. Harry yelped at the sudden burst of cold air.
"Hey!"
"What?" she replied with the same tone, laughing. "Take off your shirt."
"What?" his head whipped around, staring at her.
"You heard me, unless you want me to leave the shards in there. I can't guarantee it'll be pleasant."
"I'm not taking off my shirt," he said stubbornly, turning his face away from her.
He didn't see her sly smirk. "Don't worry, Harry, nothing I haven't seen before, right Little Brother?"
Syaoran opened his eyes and glared.
"Besides, I like my guys with a little more muscle than you kid."
He flushed red and opened his mouth to retort. The sentence was muffled as she pulled the back of his tattered shirt over his face. He shouted something as she laughed.
"You're the one who didn't want to take off your shirt," she said. Fanren grimaced when she saw his back. "Some of them are a little deep. Wait here, I need to go get some antiseptic. And tweezers."
He sat there sulking, staring through the worn shirt fibers, trying to make out Li's form. Moments later, Fanren bounded back, bottles, tweezers and cotton balls in hand.
Harry winced throughout the process of her pulling the tiny shards out of his back. He asked a question, hoping to distract himself. "What was Uncle Vernon doing here?" He yelped when she practically yanked out a piece of glass.
Fanren remained silent, working carefully with the tweezers. She knew that there was no love lost between uncle and nephew and was saddened; someone as adorable as Harry obviously abused by his uncle (she had the man's file and knew that Harry was raised by him). "He's being sued for negligence and embezzlement," she answered. "He decided not to waste money on fixing up the workplace and a shelf collapsed on a worker, thought that he could take the money for himself." She shook her head, not at all sorry for the man. "Word's already gotten around though; hardly anyone's willing to work for him." Harry chuckled lightly, mindful of his back. They lapsed into a tense silence with Harry cringing from time to time.
Suddenly he yelped when his cuts felt like they were on fire. "You could've given me some warning!" he cried accusingly.
Fanren quickly dabbed the soaking cotton ball across his skin, laughing. "Such a baby."
Harry screwed his eyes shut, his whimpers inciting another laugh. She asked something in Cantonese, to which Syaoran answered. Fanren beamed. "Great! Now hold still Harry."
He rolled his eyes, biting his tongue to stop from saying something sarcastic. Feather soft touches ran along his back, her fingers he realized. Seconds later a warm tingling feeling crawled down his spine as she traced over each cut. Harry marveled at the pleasant warmth; whatever she was doing was working in stopping the stinging ache.
And then a hard slap on the back had him tumbling forward into Li's lap. He shot up again, turning to glare at the giggling lawyer but realized that his shirt was still over his head. He pulled it back down, still glaring.
"Sorry, I couldn't resist!" She leaned forward, warm palms holding his face. He blinked with confusion. Instantly Fanren pulled his cheeks, squealing. "You're just so cute!"
She was back to treating him like a kid again, Harry deadpanned. He swatted at her hands, trying to get her to release his sore cheeks.
"You need more skin on you!" she had said once he was on the opposite side of the room, far away from her. This resulted in a game of tag, to which Syaoran pinned a glare on his sister the moment she tagged him. Pouting, she raced after Harry, laughing as he streaked out of the office.
And so the rest of the day was spent having lunch, being dragged around shops for new clothes (complements of Fanren), playing games at the nearest entertainment zone (Syaoran flatly refused to partake but ended up playing anyway) and finally, dinner with ice cream for desert. When they returned to her house (via limousine), Fanren handed over the keys of a "spare sports car." It was only when Syaoran backed out of the driveway did Harry realize his back was completely healed.
He watched as Fanren waved enthusiastically from the doorway, soothing warmth spreading through his chest. He waved back, a genuine smile stretching across his lips.
For the entire day his thoughts barely lingered upon the topic starting with the letter H and, for the first time in his life, he felt like he had a caring older sister.
And it was in that moment that Harry he felt his resolve strengthening.
Even if it killed him, he'd destroy Voldemort, if not for himself, then for the ones he loved.
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Footnotes
(1) A flame will turn emerald green when copper(II) (non-halide) is sprayed onto it. To find out more, search "Flame Test" in a search engine or in Wikipedia.
(2) The tallest skyscraper in London is Tower 42.
(3) Having not found a decent image or been to London, I am only guessing that Tower 42 has automatic rotating doors.
(4) LLP stands for limited liability partnership. For more information, search for it in Wikipedia.
(5) Its main office found at Canary Wharf in London, Clifford Chance LLP is the world's largest law firm by people and by revenue. For more information, search for it in Wikipedia.
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I can't seem to get Harry's character right. Had to rewrite this chapter over so many times and I'm still not happy with it. Better than nothing though.
After this chapter, updates won't be as fast as it has been this month, it'll be sporadic at best. School's back again and I won't have as much time to focus on writing. I'll try my best though.
Glomps to everyone who reviewed! I really appreciate it! –beams-