"Blah" -- normal speech
Blah -- thoughts
(Blah.) -- parseltongue/mind talk

Chapter Three

"Good night, Maverick," Ms. Banderwell said and tried to kiss the boy's forehead. Maverick rolled to his side, avoiding it, and snuggled closer to the bear he had wrapped around his arm.

The old woman sighed, closed the lights and walked back to her room. Once she was gone, Maverick slipped off his bed and quietly moved down the stairs. Wincing as he heard the floorboards creak, he went down the last couple of steps as fast as he could.

Moving slowly, he approached his brother's door and opened it. He climbed on top of Harry's bed and pulled the covers. Curling, he closed his eyes and reminded himself to wake up early; he had to go back to his room before Ms. Banderwell came to wake him up. Smiling a bit, he yawned. "Good night, Bro."

Two months had passed since Harry had arrived in Balamb Garden. Right now, he and Simon were trekking along a forest trail, listening to Donovan talk about different medicinal herbs found in the forests of Balamb and the value of these plants in the market.

As future mercenaries, they have to know methods that will put some gil in their pockets. After all, not many hired mercenaries. Not when the world was at peace, anyway.

Harry let his eyes drift along the trail. He didn't understand why he had to learn about plants. He was from another world which meant that he wouldn't need the knowledge once he got back.

(Meat. I smell meat. Two-leggers are about, brother.)

(One of them reeks of power. It is better to avoid them.)

(I don't care if they reek of piss! I'm hungry, brother. Let me eat them.)

(Very well. I'll provide the distraction. Grab the two weaklings.)

Harry blinked. Tilting his head, he frowned. "Did you hear something?" Harry asked.

Simon shook his head, "Nope, not a thing."

"But—"

(Let's go!)

Harry stopped in mid-sentence and closed his eyes, concentrating on the voice. His eyes snapped open as he fell to his knees, clutching his head and breathing hard. He could feel it now, there were no longer words coming from the fiends but images of former hunts. Blood dripped from their mouths as they devoured humans and beasts alike.

One image clearly came to mind. Harry found himself standing inside what felt like a moving vehicle. With him were two Anacondaurs and three Geezards. The larger of the two Anacondaurs wrapped his tail around a Geezard, biting its head of before moving to do the same to the other two. The smaller one devoured his share of the meal.

The vehicle suddenly stopped. The doors from Harry's left swung open. Harry saw two angry men who carried guns, shouting at the Anacondaurs. One of them kept complaining about his pay already short enough as it is.

The two Anacondaurs didn't seem to mind having guns pointed at them. They slithered towards the two and each grabbed a man. Harry looked away as he heard the sickening crunch of bones.

He heard a crash but couldn't see what it was; his vision was still blurred by the images.

(Stop! Stop, damn it! Stop…)

Tears fell down his face as the images slowly dissipated. He wiped them away and blinked. Two Anacondaurs stared at him.

(The little one speaks, brother.)

(He does, doesn't he?)

(Should we eat him, brother?)

(The strong one has spotted us. It's better to run away.)

Donovan frowned as the two fiends slithered away. "What's two mid-level Anacondaurs doing here?" He asked the air, as he slipped his sword, Titan, back in its place. "And more importantly, why is my student able to communicate with them?"

"You can hear them speak?" Harry asked, startled.

Donovan shook his head. "No, but I can determine the type of fiend through the sounds they make."

"You must have really sharp ears then!" Simon chirped. "Do you think I can get mine sharp as well?"

"Eh?" Donovan blinked. "I guess…"

"Awright!"

"But what about me?" Harry asked. "Why can I talk to monsters?"

Donovan shrugged. "I honestly don't know, Harry. Perhaps it's a gift that only people from your world have."

"Maybe…" But what about the other thing I did? Harry wondered. Perhaps it's a "gift" as well. He looked at Simon who was examining a plant Donovan had pointed out earlier. Let's try it on him…I doubt he'll mind.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated, thinking of Simon.

He found himself in a web of black willowy tendrils. He tried to clamber upward, but the strands were slippery and he found himself slipping downwards instead. In attempt to stop himself from falling even farther, he tried to jump up.

It didn't help.

Harry shook his head, bringing himself back to consciousness and sighed. Well so much for that. Perhaps, I could find some books on mind reading, Harry thought, trudging forward so as not to get left behind.

It was past midnight. Harry slid down his bed and changed his clothes. Careful not to wake Simon, who had been studying hard for a test, he grabbed a pair of boots and slipped his katana on. He was now eight years old, fifteen years if he placed the bracelet on, and a lot taller than he used to be. The katana he carried was still a wee bit long for him though.

Putting on a pair of boots, he walked outside the room and closed the door quietly. Now he could go to the training center for some monster hunting.

He jogged lightly towards his destination. Hiding from the students who were still up and awake, he ran for the room before they could see him and wonder why a small eight-year old was walking around Balamb Garden. At night.

He pulled the katana out of its sheathe and took a deep breath. "Here I go."

His mind alert and his ears sharp, he moved cautiously around the room. Something moved from his left. Immediately, he jumped to the side and rolled, moving into a fighting position. His dodging skills were near-perfect, thanks to Donovan's countless drills.

Tightening his grip, he ran forward and brought his katana down, slicing one of the Grat's tentacles. Wincing, he sliced another tentacle that had managed to wrap itself around his ankle. He jumped back before another tentacle could touch him. Dodging the two remaining tentacles, he slipped under the Grat's defenses, and cut the fiend neatly in half.

"Seriously, why is this training center filled only with Grats?" He grumbled.

"Well, considering the fact that NORG was such a cheapskate, he hired a bunch of grunts to look for fiends that can be placed here in the training center. I'm afraid the fiends they captured were too much for them though, because Donovan went to my office a little earlier with a report about misplaced monsters in the Balamb Forests."

Turning around, his eyes widened. "Oh, he-hello, sir," he stuttered, waving weakly at the headmaster.

The man chuckled. "Hello, Harry. How are your studies?"

"Great," Harry smiled. "I'm really enjoying my stay here." Except for Donovan's torture sessions. Harry thought wryly, recalling a certain event that involved running a hundred laps and rampaging beasts.

"Wonderful," Headmaster Cid said and smiled. "I was worried that you were falling behind."

Harry shook his head, "Not at all, sir."

"Can we talk outside the training center, Harry?"

Harry nodded and followed the headmaster outside the room. "Is there something you wish to discuss with me, sir?"

"Just the matter of your studies, Harry," Headmaster Cid said. "Your teachers tell me that you're doing extremely well in your classes. Is this right?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what are you currently learning?"

"The geography of this world, politics of the different Gardens, the history of the Sorceress wars, intermediate combat lessons including hand-to-hand combat and weapons training, the behavioral patterns of monsters as well as the theory behind Drawing Spells." Harry said and smiled weakly. "Gives me headaches just thinking about it."

Headmaster Cid smiled back. "Well, they are a handful, even for children older than you."

"Is that all, sir?" Harry asked impatiently. Dawn was nearing and he wanted to train some more before going to bed.

"Actually, I'm giving you a late birthday present," the man said and reached into his pocket. "Your own Guardian Force."

Harry couldn't help but gape as he saw the headmaster bring out a stone which looked similar to a Tiger's eye. "But, we're only supposed to get one during our final year, sir." Harry argued feebly. "Besides, Simon—"

"Is getting his own GF," the headmaster cut in. "You don't have to worry a thing, Harry."

The boy gulped and reached for the stone. "Thank you, sir."

"Tomorrow, Donovan will train you and young Simon in the art of Drawing and Summoning." Headmaster Cid grinned and ruffled Harry's hair. "You should get some sleep if I were you."

Harry sighed. "Yeah, it's going to be hell all over again."

The art of Drawing requires something more than just concentration. Spells are usually found inside the "magical" core of a human, a beast or even an item. Without the guidance of a Guardian Force, Drawing spells can be very difficult; some say that it is even impossible to do.

Harry closed the book he was reading and let himself fall against his bed. My brain is so tired, I think it's gonna blow any second now.

(Don't worry; I don't think anyone has ever died of mental fatigue before.)

(Q, I didn't know you're the chatty type.)

(I'm not.)

Harry smiled a bit and closed his eyes. Concentrating, he brought himself into his mind where his thoughts and memories resided.

His mind was modeled after the Potter Mansion. From the gardens outside where his childhood memories are kept to his room, where he was currently standing; it was a huge place, and had many rooms which Harry used to hide his thoughts, memories and whatever information he had acquired over the years. A miniature-sized Quezacotl was perched on top of a chair.

"Harry," the Guardian Force greeted the boy amiably. "What brings you here?"

The boy smiled. "This place is mess," he explained, "so I thought I would do some cleaning."

The great GF bobbed his head. "I agree. Do you need some of my assistance?"

Harry nodded. "We could start at the library."

"Aah. That's where you store the knowledge you've acquired, am I right?"

"Yes, you are."

Quezacotl perched himself on top of Harry's shoulder. "You've been cleaning for sometime now." The bird noted.

"Well I'm used to it," Harry said, ignoring Maverick's room. It was filled with his most painful memories, and he didn't have the heart to clean it yet. "Back in my dimension, I would always do the cleaning in the house."

"What's in that room?" Quezacotl asked, pointing his beak at a room to Harry's left. "I sense something different about that place."

"That's because there's a doorway there, a doorway to Balamb Garden," Harry explained.

"A doorway? Don't you think this place is big enough for your memories?"

"Don't blame me," Harry said and shrugged. "When I first came here, the house…everything was already in place. The only thing I had to do was rearrange some stuff."

"Are you saying that you unconsciously created this place?"

"Can you think of a better explanation?"

"No," the great bird shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

"Cure," Harry said, his hand over his shoulder where a large ugly gash was. Feeling the skin knit back together, he breathed a sigh of relief.

(Hey, Q, how many Spells do I have left?)

(You have ten Cures, four Blizzards, five Fires and three Slow Spells stored, Harry.)

(Can you repeat that?)

(You have ten Cures, four Blizzards, five Fires and three Slow Spells stored.) The GF said patiently.

(How can that be possible?) Harry demanded. (I used up all of my Fire spells and at least half of my Cures.)

Harry could feel the GF hesitate before speaking. (Your magical core is different, Harry.) The GF said. (I think you better sit before I explain it all to you.)

(Alright.) Harry sat.

(Do you ever wonder why the fiends you fight always have an unlimited number of spells to Draw from?)

(I guess not.) Harry admitted.

(That's because their magical core is what we call a Producer core.)

(A Producer core?) Harry asked.

(There are three possible magical cores: the Producer core for plants and fiends, the Consumer core for us GFs and the Decomposer core for you humans.)

(Eh?)

Ignoring Harry's look of confusion, Quezacotl continued. (The humans believed that our role as GFs in Drawing, is to guide the Spells from one magical core into another. This isn't completely true. We are the ones responsible for locating the Spells, yes, but we do not simply place it in our humans' cores. We consume this Spells, breaking it down into components. Once we are done, we give the leftovers to our humans' magical cores. They are the ones responsible for rebuilding these Spells, adding a bit of their own magic into it.)

(What happens when a human casts a Spell?)

(Once the human casts the Spell, it is removed from the storage chamber of the magical core and converted from a Potential Spell into a Kinetic one or a Spell in motion as we like to call it. When the Spell is cast, a magical byproduct is also produced. The Producer cores strive on this byproduct to create their own Spells. In a way, I guess this is the Spell cycle of this world.)

(Sounds a lot like energy to me.)

(Well, in a way, it is energy, magical energy in a concentrated form.)

(Oh.) Harry scratched his head. (So what does this have to do with my core?)

(Your core is very different. It is both a Producer and a Decomposer. Like other human cores, your core rebuilds the leftover bits of magic that I have consumed. When you cast the Spell though, the magical byproduct produced is then consumed by your core and the Spell you used is created again and stored in the storage chamber.)

(So you're saying that I don't have to worry about ever running out of Spells again?)

(Yes. The downside is: your core is not a complete Producer core. You can only produce Spells with the magical byproduct that has your magical signature on it.)

(Magical signature?) Harry sighed. (Man, your explanation makes my head ache.)

(This is probably why we've chosen not to tell our humans about this.)

Harry seemed to perk up from this. (Oh, don't be so sure, Q. Headmaster Cid might find someone who's interested and can use this information!)

(Well, if you could convince them, I don't see why not.)

Harry, now nine and a half years old, was busy reading a book when he heard a knock at the door. Grabbing a bookmark, he slipped it on the page and closed the book. "Coming," he said as he scrambled off his bed, cursing at the books that were scattered everywhere. He fell to the floor and winced. Rolling, he moved to stand up and stumbled towards the door.

"Hello, Harry," Simon greeted the boy brightly, "come on." Pulling Harry's hand, they ran towards the front of the Garden.

"Slow down, Simon," Harry said and tried to stop. "Where are we going?"

"I have to show you something," Simon said and tugged Harry's hand. "Let's just go."

"Alright," Harry said, "but this better be good."

"Oh it's good alright," Simon grinned. When they arrived at the front of the Garden, he moved his hand dramatically. "I present to you, Laguna."

"Laguna! Laguna!" A lion-like creature with red spiky hair said and ran towards them. "Laguna?"

Harry blinked. "Are you sure his name is Laguna?"

"What else could it be?"

Harry tilted his head, examining the Moomba in front of him. "The name doesn't really fit him."

"That's because his name is not Laguna."

"Oh, Headmaster! Are you here to say hello to Laguna as well?" Simon asked.

The headmaster scratched his head. "His name is not Laguna, Simon." Headmaster Cid said. "Moombas do not possess names."

Simon smiled. "Oh, I know sir. I just like calling him Laguna."

"Oh, right then. Whatever makes you happy, Simon."

"You brought me all the way here just to meet a Moomba?" Harry demanded.

"Actually, I asked Simon to bring you here, Harry."

"Oh," Harry smiled a bit. "Sorry about that."

"I have three things to discuss with you, Harry." Headmaster Cid motioned towards the elevator, saying, "Perhaps we can talk about it inside my office?"

Harry nodded and followed the headmaster. Simon, who was holding the Moomba's hand, trailed behind, pointing at the different school areas. "That's the canteen!" Harry heard Simon say. "Sometimes, we hold Triple Triad games there. I really want to try and have a go at that game but Donovan, that's our tutor, doesn't like giving out free time. Bummer? I know."

Harry smiled but did not join the one-sided conversation. He knew that Simon loved learning and was always enthusiastic in class. He and Simon were different that way; Simon wanted knowledge for knowledge's sake. He, on the other hand, needed the knowledge, because knowledge gave him power. And power is what he needs to stop Voldemort.

Voldemort. Back home, he couldn't even utter that name. Now…Well, Donovan did say that fear of the name only increases the fear itself. Besides, after Simon did that limerick… Harry sniggered. "There once was a man named Voldie, who didn't want to get oldie, he tried various ways, to immortalize his face, and ended up lookin' moldy."

Simon had heard Harry and pouted. "I don't like that limerick!" The boy grumbled and shuddered. "It's too childish if you ask me."

"Got a better version?" Harry challenged.

Simon thought for a moment before shaking his head. "Sorry, I don't do rhymes anymore."

"Your skills as a limerick master must've degenerated over the years."

Simon glared at Harry and crossed his arms. "Oui sicd pa dryd puo hysat Rynno, fru druikrd dra tyng munt fyc clyno, ra fyc y lusbmada fesb, clynat ajah uv csymm crnesb—"

"Tuh'd yld mega E lyh'd ihtancdyht oui, Cesuh! Yvdan ymm, fa cditeat dra Yhleahdc' myhkiyka dukadran." Harry cut in.

"Now, now, boys," Headmaster Cid said, laughing nervously. "No need to fight."

Harry glared at Simon and folded his arms, looking away. "Whatever."

Sighing, Headmaster Cid spoke. "There is much to discuss, Harry; please, continue your fight else where."

"I understand," Harry sat on one of the chairs, pointedly ignoring Simon who was complaining to the Moomba. "What was it you wish to talk to me again?"

Headmaster Cid sat down and said, "Dr. Windspeed, having heard of your special magical core, wants a part of it. This isn't mandatory though, so you needn't worry."

Harry screwed his face in concentration. "I've read about cores a bit," Harry admitted. Slowly, he said, "As long as Dr. Windspeed doesn't try to turn that bit of mine into a magical beast intent to feast on my body or—"

"I agree that you'll become vulnerable," they heard a voice from behind say. "But I assure you that I will not, in anyway, use my knowledge to harm others. I am simply a curious creature who wishes to understand the mysteries of your core."

Harry twisted his body to get a better look at the speaker. Standing just behind the Moomba was a thin gangly man in his late thirties. The man had an angular face and a pair of hooded eyes. Tufts of hair covered either side of his head, leaving the top completely bald. He smiled at Harry. "You must be Harry."

"Yes, he is." Simon said, moving to stand from his crouched position. "And you are?"

"Gregory Windspeed," the man said and offered Simon his hand. "Nice to meet you, Simon."

Simon broke into a grin. "Nice to meet you too, sir," Simon said, shaking the man's hand. "I've read a lot of your books. They're really good, sir. How did you know my name, sir? I know! You must be a psychic. I haven't read anything about psychics though, so I'm not sure—"

"Headmaster Cid told me about you," Dr. Windspeed gave the boy a smile. "You've read my books about core manipulation and magical aesthesia?" When the boy nodded and beamed, he broke into a grin. "It's nice to know that I have fans, even little ones like yourself."

"Dr. Windspeed?"

He looked at Harry. "Yes, my boy?"

"Do I have to give you my core?" Harry asked, his brows furrowing. "Can't you just examine it?"

Dr. Windspeed sighed. "First of all, I am not asking you to give me your whole magical core; I just want a piece of it. Secondly, I need to conduct experiments on it, which means that there's a chance I might accidentally hurt or injure you. Do you want me to make you magically disabled?"

Harry shook his head. "Well, no sir. But I've also read, in your book if you must know, that it is possible for even a small fraction of the core to influence the original one—"

"Ah! But I know of a method to completely separate a piece from your magical essence or core." Dr. Windspeed countered. "Of course, you haven't read about it yet, because as it so happens, I haven't published it yet."

Harry sighed. "I'll only agree," he said, looking at Dr.Windspeed squarely, "if you give me something of equal worth."

"A smart choice," the man nodded, stroking his cropped beard. "What do you want? A piece of my magical essence?"

Harry shook his head. "A vial of your blood will do."

The man frowned. "Are you sure? I don't think my blood will be of any use to you—"

Harry shrugged. "My magic might clash with yours or I might absorb it. Q says I can only create Spells using magical byproducts that have my magical signature. It reacts differently to raw magic though." His shoulders drooped as he remembered what had happened to him that fateful October night. "My core really is a mystery."

"Headmaster Cid was kind enough to give me sleeping quarters and a workable lab here in Balamb Garden. If you feel that you are ready to give me what I need, you can find me at the basement area." Dr. Windspeed said curtly.

"Alright," Harry said and watched Dr. Windspeed leave. Turning to Headmaster Cid, he asked, "What were the two other things you wanted to talk about?"

Harry groaned and dragged himself on top of his bed. Curling into a tiny ball, he tried to ignore the headache that had plagued him all day.

Besides the usual training schedule, Harry had to go with Simon and Donovan to a menagerie to talk to some snakes. Can you believe it? He had to talk to a bunch of snakes because of some insane theory of Dr. Windspeed who had gotten wind of his little adventure with the Anacondaurs. Worst of all, Dr. Windspeed's insane theory was actually true.

Harry rubbed his scar and closed his eyes. After the discovery, they went back to the Garden. There, Harry had gone to the training center to have a little bonding time with Squall Leonhart, one of the headmaster's favorite students.

The young man, it seemed, was a bit antisocial and Headmaster Cid had hoped that with Harry's help, he would learn to open up a bit. Harry had tried to argue but the headmaster would not be moved by his decision.

When Harry had first landed his eyes in Squall's direction, he had been surprised to note that they had both looked eerily alike. If it were not for Harry's glasses or his cropped hair, he'd look like an older version of Squall.

The young SeeD trainee noticed the similarities as well because he had taken a step back and had tried to run away. Thankfully, Harry was nimble on his feet and easily caught up with the boy.

After a brief introduction, and a reassurance that Harry was in no way related to Squall, they had spent the rest of the afternoon fighting side-by-side inside the large training center. Twice they had encountered a T-Rex, one of the training center's newest additions, and twice they had to run away.

He didn't know if he had helped Squall; most of their time together was spent in silence as they fought off monster after monster in the center. The young man did smile at him before walking away, so perhaps the afternoon was not spent in vain.

His hand drifted downwards to rub the part behind his ears. (Hey, Q, do you think my body would stop aching if I used a Cure Spell?)

His silent Guardian Force stirred from within his mind. (I don't think it would be advisable, Harry. Your body is hurting because it is physically tired. If you try to use a Cure Spell, I'm afraid it would only pain you more.)

(Oh.) Harry sighed and pulled his pillow on top of his head.

(Dr. Windspeed has also extracted a part of your magical essence. Right now, your magic is busy rebuilding what you have lost. Even if you were to try, the success rate of casting a Spell is probably close to none.)

(Speaking of Dr. Windspeed…) Harry dug into one of his pockets and took out the vial of blood he had asked from Dr. Windspeed. He moved to place it on top of his desk before dumping his body back into bed.

(Why did you ask for the man's blood, Harry?) The GF inquired curiously. (I don't think your magic is the real reason.)

(What would I do with the doctor's magic?) Harry asked. (I do not possess his extensive equipment, or the desire to study magical cores.) Harry burrowed closer to his pillow, wishing that sleep would take him soon. (Besides, I've heard about blood magic when I was younger. If he does try to attack me, I might be able to use his blood as my defense.)

(What if he tries to attack you before you get a chance to study this blood magic of yours?)

(Then let's just hope he doesn't.)

Touching the Dimension Ball one last time, the Watcher of the Gates, Guardian of the Verses, strode towards his quarters. There, he moved for the mirror.

Staring back at him was the face of Dr. Gregory Windspeed. The Watcher touched his face and calmly watched as it shifted and changed until another face looked back; a much younger face, pale because he had not been under the sun for years. Hearing a crash in his living room, the Watcher donned on a cloak and pulled the hood up.

"Terribly sorry, Merritt," Mr. Elden, the Watcher's superior, said when he saw the Watcher enter the room. "I'm afraid my hands are not what they used to be."

The Watcher scanned the room and saw the broken pieces of a vase that had been given to him as a gift. He sighed, "It's alright, Mr. Elden. It can be replaced."

The old man nodded and sat on his chair nervously. "Are you well, my boy?"

"Yes," the Watcher said and sat primly near Mr. Elden. "What brings you here, old man?"

"I wish to inquire on the progress of the boy. Your…dimension traveler."

"Mr. Potter? He is doing well in his studies. I believe that staying there has given him the discipline and determination that his own guardians in his Home world cannot provide."

Mr. Elden smiled. "That is good to hear."

"Mr. Elden?"

"Yes, Merritt?" Mr. Elden asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"Why did the two Dimension balls converge?" The Watcher asked. "I mean, you told me it happens when someone Dimension travels. The problem is: it didn't happen when Simon, Harry's friend and a fellow traveler, arrived there."

"Oh," Mr. Elden scratched his head and sighed. "I'm sorry, my boy. I forgot to tell you about that." Looking at the Watcher closely, he said, "It only happens when certain key figures from a world Dimension travels to another one. The world, you see, cannot exist without its key figures. This is probably why the two Dimension balls converged."

"So you're telling me that Harry's a key figure?" The Watcher asked.

"Yes, my boy," Mr. Elden nodded. "This is why I had asked you to keep a close eye on the boy and provide him transportation when the time comes for him to travel back to his Home Dimension."

"Thank you for the information, Mr. Elden," the Watcher said. "Is there anything else—?"

"No, Merritt; I have nothing more to discuss with you," Mr. Elden said and was already by the door when the Watcher stopped him.

"Wait!"

The old man closed his hand over the handle. "Yes, my boy?"

"I have a favor to ask of you."

Mr. Elden turned to look at his former student. "Ask away, my boy."

A/N: Translations:

(1) "Oui sicd pa dryd puo hysat Rynno, fru druikrd dra tyng munt fyc clyno, ra fyc y lusbmada fesb, clynat ajah uv csymm crnesb—" -- "You must be that boy named Harry, who thought the dark lord was scary, he was a complete wimp, scared even of small shrimp—"

(2) "Tuh'd yld mega E lyh'd ihtancdyht oui, Cesuh! Yvdan ymm, fa cditeat dra Yhleahdc' myhkiyka dukadran." -- "Don't act like I can't understand you, Simon! After all, we studied the Ancients' language together."

These are actually Al Bhed translations. Why do I have 'em in a FF8 fic? Won't worry; you'll find out soon enough.

Note 2: Updates will be slow because of school and because I'm trying to write both Legacy and Jutsu Creation at the same time.

Note 3: If you have any questions regarding Harry's core or the mystery of Dr. Windspeed please leave a review. Chances are, I can probably answer it.