Flame of the West 2: The Chamber of Secrets

Chapter 2: The Life of a Martial Artist is Fraught with Peril

18th February 2006

"Faster! You're supposed to be good, not a wimp!" Harry raced through a 5 mile obstacle course faster than the human eye could reliably follow, but even that wasn't fast enough for Ranma's standards. Harry growled in pain as he was narrowly clipped by one of Ranma's prolific ki blasts, unhappy that he was still not allowed to return fire. He'd thought he was fast, but Ranma had explained, quite painfully too, that he was just quick.

"No, you're not fast, being fast is being quick over a good distance. You're quick, just like Tokiya, but your styles don't match because he puts out a chilling aura that tracks movements within it so he uses quick reflexes to win. It also helps that his chilling aura slows his opponent within the field of effect. Yours, though, does not slow your opponent or track his movements in the same manner. Therefore you will work on being fast, an extension of being quick.

Which had led to ten mile runs through the forest every morning before going through a five mile obstacle course with Ranma and Shampoo firing ki blasts at him constantly. Then after a brilliant breakfast by Kasumi and a shower he went through his katas before sparring with Shampoo or Nabiki, mostly coming off worse for wear. He hated his lack of weaponry and regularly brought it up with Ranma, but the man always made it clear that a weapon was a crutch, "What then would you do if you were disarmed?" Harry made it clear that he couldn't be totally disarmed, recalling his weapons into his hands instantly, but Ranma instantly knocked it back out of his grip and grinned that annoying grin of his.

Harry finished the course in good time, better than previously actually, but Ranma was not about to let him play rest on such a laurel. His own memories of training with his part-panda father taught him the true meaning of hard work, though it did disabuse him of several high-risk training ideas, hungry wolves readily came to mind. He was impressed though, Tokiya had always been a member of the "least movement" group, but Harry had adapted both his original teacher's philosophy and Ranma's training to form his own discipline of movement, one of speedy recognition and avoidance, but also that of quick reflexive blocking and countering.

He'd stayed with them for a week and a half, but had already moved closer to Ranma's ideal by leaps and bounds. While the Anything-Goes Grand Master had no intentions of teaching Harry the finer points and advanced forms of the school, he had every intention of giving his temporary student another approach to the fight.

…

Not so far away, two men were sitting quietly opposite each other. No words were spoken, but then they didn't need words to communicate. Finally the older one broke the silence, "so how is he?" he had long crimson hair and piercing blue eyes, a sheathed sword not far away. The younger one sipped his tea, "managing, as I'm sure you remember we all did at his age. Eager to learn, to jump into situations we didn't fully understand or appraise. He is now under the tutelage of a mutual friend of ours."

The older man nodded impassively, "And you do not intend to teach him your own school? He could do exceedingly well you know? Especially if even half the things I have heard on the winds are true." The younger man swept his long silver-gray hair aside and shook his head, "True, but then he would only do well. The true masters have their own styles, which is how you came by your own, no?" The older man smiled, "Indeed, I look forward to teaching this young man next summer." Tokiya just smiled back.

………

Certain Circles read and try to use news from as many sources as possible. Albus Dumbledore was one such man, but there were others, he knew, who didn't. His search, so far, for a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was becoming almost desperate as denials both vehement and violent came from each and every party he approached. Thinking about it, he was once again tempted to call in one of the many favors and debts owed him by one of the many respected wizards qualified to teach the subject. But he shook his head, no, there were sure to be times when those favors and debts were needed more than now.

On the other hand he did not, by any means, want to give his Potions Master the satisfaction of the Defense job. Much as he defended his professor and spy as a light convert, he really didn't feel safe trusting the man with such a job. Then of course there was the problem of finding a Potions Professor as competent and experienced, not to mention well versed in the art, as Severus Snape. Perhaps he could ask Rufus, he had recently resigned as it was, but he held great sway with nearly all the active and reserve aurors. Still, that would be a last-resort mode of action, preceding only the calling of debts and favors. That left perhaps the most distasteful route: an advert in the Dark Force Defense League newsletter. Just as long as one of the older members responded.

A terrible thought occurred to him as he sent off the owl through an open window. A tragedy he, in his desperation, had failed to consider. A travesty of justice and education that should not have been allowed to pass: What if one of their honorary members responded? Or worse, Gilderoy Lockhart? Stopping to think now, any of the regulars would have been fine, by comparison, if difficult to work with because of their experiences and lifestyle. Honorary members were often simply in the wrong place at the right time. One of Grindelwald's aides, who'd grown tired of the fighting and was now a moderately respected moderate pureblood (Albus mentally laughed at the joke) had simply taken the opportunity to tell them that he had been instrumental in the then Dark Lord's defeat.

True the man had protected Dumbledore's back momentarily, but that was because he was too fat and slovenly to avoid the slicing curse he had had the unenviable position of being in the path of. Dumbledore sighed, better to let him have the status than to have him fall back in the dark for bitter revenge. But Gilderoy Lockhart? That was an unimaginable thought, oh the suffering he would have to put up with if the man came to Hogwarts to teach. Sighing and rubbing his brow, Albus summoned Minerva to his office, her advice had seldom steered him wrong, and then for reasons beyond their control. Yes, Minerva would know what to do.

………

Snakes weren't the most active of creatures, preferring to bask in the warmth, watching for predators and prey alike. In an underground maze of twists and turns, a snake slept, awaiting its master's return. It was old, very old, but the passage of time had been a friend more than anything, preserving it for some unknown purpose. A level above its nest, another slept, hibernating in its bronze frame and waiting for its heir's return. By extension, the enchantments behind it also stayed in their resting state, awaiting sweet release.

A good way away, a ghost felt something familiar and trembled. Not like ghosts were really known, even though they were all about in the more frequented places. She felt something familiar, but dismissed it quickly, deciding it was much better to fantasize about death instead of unknown, vaguely familiar feelings.

…

On the other hand, another creature with a master was hardly waiting for his master, having conned another unfortunate elf into carrying out his duties for the day. He was next sighted erecting anti-owl wards around the property of Ranma Saotome, a risky position at best and a death wish equivalent at worst. Fortunately, Dobby was found by Ranma's guest.

"Who are you and what do you want?" a cold voice growled in his ear while a large blade pressed against his throat. Dobby jumped, nobody should have been able to sneak up or away from a house-elf, it was one of their magical abilities for caring for the naughtier children. He stayed calm, it wouldn't help him to panic, "I is Dobby, I is here to helping Harry Potter." Harry sighed and released the house-elf which he incidentally didn't know was a house-elf, "I'm Harry Potter. Tell me what you're talking about."

Dobby fought to remain calm in front of his idol, "Troubles is waitings yous at Hogwarts Harry Potter sir, Dobby is trying to savings you." Harry groaned and sank into a crouch and rubbed his temples, it was far too late for something like this, "Look, it's far too late for this, it's not even 3am!" Dobby's ears drooped, "I's is sorry." Harry yawned and cricked his neck, "Look, how 'bout you come back in a few hours and we'll talk about it alright?" Dobby frowned, "Dobby not supposed to be seens Harry Potter sir, Harry Potter promise not to go back and Dobby leave?" Harry growled, "Look, I can remove your head faster than you can leave, so just stay out of my business alright?"

Dobby was quiet and Harry wondered what was going on, then his eyes welled up and he burst into tears, startling Harry, "Harry Potter sir cannot die, Harry Potter sir is becon for all us minority…" Harry clamped his hand over Dobby's considerable mouth, "Look, I'm not going to die, alright? I'll be fine, if you must speak with me come back in the morning, if not just stay out of my business." Dobby sniffed and nodded, "Dobby letting Harry Potter rest, coming back at 9?" Harry shook his head, "7, I have warm up and training at 8."

………

Sorry it's so short, I'm having trouble finding things to put in it. Rest assured, we'll be off to Hogwarts soon.