(A/N: For those who have been wishing some payback against Dudley… Well, this chapter should make you happy. At least slightly.)

HARRY POTTER and the ART of WING CHUN

4
a new rebel

The Dursleys won.

Ironically enough, the day where Wu Sifu was forcefully removed from his legal guardianship was Harry's tenth birthday.

Hermione Granger, who had been convinced that they would win, was seething at the news. The moment she heard about the outcome of the trial, she raced to the library and checked out every law book pertaining to the guardianship rules of children. She sought Harry out the next day, looking defeated.

"My… my parents were right," she mumbled. "They said that there was a good reason no one tried to help you."

"Why?" Since the Dursleys had won the trial, Harry had felt constant anger pulsating deep inside his gut. He managed to temporarily cure his violent urges by getting up early, sneaking out of his cupboard, and doing some heavy conditioning outside—but his time with Wu Sifu had begun to turn him rebellious against the relatives he once obeyed without question.

"The Children's Act—the one Wu Sifu was studying—the one of 1986." Harry had never seen Hermione look so downcast before; perhaps it was because one of her beloved books had failed her for the first time in her life. "Part five, Section 44: 'Where any person applies to the court for an order to be made under this section with respect to a child, the court may make an order if, but only if, it is satisfied that: a) there is reasonable cause to believe that the child is likely to suffer significant harm if: 1) he is not removed to the accommodation provided by or on behalf of the applicant; or 2) he does not remain in the place in which he is then being accommodated.'"

Harry blinked.

And blinked again.

"English, 'Mione?" he prompted.

Hermione pursed her lips. "Harry, has your uncle ever hit you?" she asked very seriously.

Harry frowned. "No, but I reckon he's come close to it."

"That's the problem," Hermione said, giving a very big sigh. "Technically we can't forcibly move you away from the Dursleys, because you're not likely to 'suffer significant harm.' Technically they aren't starving you, dehydrating you, throwing you out on the street… and technically sticking you in a cupboard isn't child abuse." She pursed her lips again. "I can't believe I'd ever see the day where the law is not on my side!"

"That's because you've never tried to defend me, 'Mione," Harry said. Significant harm? Maybe he could argue that he was suffering significant harm on his emotions. Or, or maybe he could make himself likely to suffer significant—

Then it hit him.

"Hermione," he whispered. "Hermione, I think I have it!"

Hermione frowned. "Have what?"

"I know how to get out of the Dursley's house!" Harry said, jumping to his feet. "I just have to get Uncle Vernon to hit me, right?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "H-hit… Harry! You are doing no such thing!"

"But it'll solve everything," Harry said, feeling rather wounded.

Hermione shook her head violently. "Not if they have a lawyer that knows what they're doing," she said quite hurriedly. "The Dursleys could argue using the 'discipline' clause. If they see you as 'misbehaving' then they could technically…" She saw Harry's face darken as he dropped back down.

"Reckon I could just run away?" he mumbled.

Hermione gave a long sigh. "It does make me wonder," she said, staring up at the cloudless sky. "Why are they keeping you, anyway? Don't they hate you?"

Harry had wondered this many times himself. What would make the Dursleys keep him at their house—keep him with Dudley—when they could just hand him over to Wu Sifu?

"I don't know," he said, "but I wish they would kick me out already."

Hermione drew her knees to her chest. "Everything would be in your favor if you're likely to 'suffer significant harm'… And there is part three, provision of accommodation for children, Section 20: Before providing accommodation under this section, a local authority shall, so far as is reasonably practical and consistent with the child's welfare: a) ascertain the child's wishes and feelings…" At Harry's confused look: "That means that the government will ask you where you want to go if you're going to leave."

"Can't we use that?" Harry asked eagerly.

"I don't think it's a strong enough argument by itself," Hermione mused.

They fell into silence—Harry's brooding, Hermione's introspective.

"Reckon I could just run away?" Harry repeated.

::-::

Shortly after the school term began, Harry was forbidden from seeing either Hermione or Wu Sifu.

"They are poor influences," Petunia (Harry didn't consider her his aunt anymore, not after Uncle Wu) said in that awfully stuffy way of hers. "I don't want them anywhere near my Duddy-dums."

Harry pointed out that they never even came by number four, Privet Drive, but Petunia refused to listen. Harry had the feeling that she had only made this rule because Dudley didn't like the thought of Harry having friends.

Multiple times throughout the months that followed, Harry seriously considered running away from home. The lock on his cupboard door was easily picked—given the right tools, of course, which Hermione had snuck him through his birthday gift (disguised as a package for a homework assignment). He wouldn't have to bring much, either; as usual, the Dursleys never gave him any more than what was necessary.

Harry's newfound confidence from Wu Sifu was beginning to get him into trouble. He was no longer afraid to speak his mind and disobey the his relatives' excessive demands. Oh, he would agree to do the dishes and maybe cook some meals—but when Petunia stuck him outside to pull weeds, he simply started exercising. When Vernon locked him in his cupboard as punishment, Harry poured himself into studying Occlumency.

He was getting better at Occlumency; he knew it. Blockades, he learned, although stronger and simpler, took active energy to sustain, especially when under attack. Reflectors, on the other hand, were completely finished once they were constructed. No other energy had to be put into them—not even maintenance.

That was probably why Wu Sifu advised using few blockades.

Harry also began learning about another kind of seal: Trap seals. Trap seals were constructed in between layers of the mind—along the 'pathways,' as some might call them. They activated when they sensed a probe and would attack the probe until it withdrew from the mind. After these sorts of 'battles,' trap seals had to be 'fixed.'

Harry started constructing a few around his memory of the green light. It seemed like such a precious memory, although he wasn't quite sure why.

::-::

Dudley finally gathered his courage when the Christmas hols rolled around.

He had been quite cautious around Harry—something Harry found quite unsettling. Harry suspected it was because he had spent two years at the kwoon, and also because his lanky frame had filled slightly with wiry muscle.

Christmas, though, meant presents; and presents meant a happy Dudley; and a happy Dudley meant an arrogant Dudley; and an arrogant Dudley meant a bullying session.

The moment Harry went upstairs and saw that he was cornered by Dudley's game, he knew that it was showtime.

But I haven't been doing kung fu for two and a half years for nothing, Duddy-boy. Bring it on.

Dudley saw the challenging look in Harry's eye and didn't seem to like it. He didn't even say a single insult—he went straight to blows.

His first blow was just as Harry expected: A wide, clumsy side hook that was easily dodged with a simple step back.

Harry grinned and shook a single finger, clicking his tongue against his teeth.

"Aww, Dudley," he simpered. "Surely you can do better than that?"

Dudley's face twisted in anger. He pulled his right fist back and snapped it forward in a predictable front punch—incorrectly, Harry noticed; he could wrench this thumb holding his fist like that. Harry shifted left and guided Dudley's fist away with lop sau, then slapped Dudley right in the face with his other hand.

He was so getting into trouble for this, but he didn't care. At long last, he was able to defend himself. (And yes, perhaps slapping wasn't particularly in the Wing Chun curriculum, but he'd always wanted to try it.)

Dudley flailed his other fist. Bong sau. Wrap. Palm in the chest, back-hand slap in the face.

Dudley thrust his leg upward in a sad attempt at a kick. Shift right. Redirect. Knee in the thigh, slap in the face.

Dudley shoved his elbow forward. Shift left. Redirect. Hit twice at exposed shoulder and underarm. Slap in the face.

Harry had never felt so… so powerful before. (Granted, he wasn't actually sticking too closely to the proper Wing Chun that Wu Sifu had taught him… but Dudley was hardly the toughest opponent he'd faced.)

Dudley staggered backward, pain and rage intermingled on his fat face. "What are you doing?" he spluttered at the rest of his gang, who were watching the fight with their jaws on the floor. "Hit him!"

Harry was thankful that he had a corner of the wall behind him. Although it restricted the space he was able to use, it protected him from being surrounded.

Piers lunged first; he was the most loyal to Dudley, after all. He tried punching at Harry's stomach. Harry only sidestepped and swept his ankles, which were precariously off-balance. Piers crumpled to the floor.

Dennis came next. Harry could already tell that he was much more cautious than Piers. He started a calculated roundhouse kick—taekwondo, Harry thought—but Dennis was obviously a beginner. He took too much time raising his knee; Harry was able to snap his arm around Dennis's knee joint and pull his body weight upwards, simultaneously striking Dennis in the jaw with the heel of his hand. Dennis jerked over and landed flat on his back.

Gordon and Malcolm were a little smarter. They both attacked at once, trying to pincer Harry from the sides. Harry wasn't sure that he could take them down; they were bigger and stronger than him.

Then again, he had two and a half years of intense conditioning and training. Gordon and Malcolm did not.

Malcolm grappled at the front of Harry's shirt. Harry almost laughed aloud. Grabbing the front of someone's shirt? That's probably one of the worst things you could do in a fight.

According to standard Wing Chun, Harry could simply sock Malcolm in the face and not do anything about the grapple; but Harry wanted to have a little fun with this move. He shifted his weight and dug his arm around Malcolm's elbow hinge, then pulled back. Malcolm was captured in a very, very painful elbow lock and was driven to the ground—right at Gordon's feet. Gordon promptly tripped over him and planted face-first on the ground.

When Harry looked up, he saw—with no dearth of satisfaction—that for the first time in his life, Dudley was looking at him with fear in his eyes.

"I-I-I'm t-t-telling on you!" he spluttered, backing away.

Harry shrugged. "Go ahead," he said, echoing his words from two and a half years ago. "You always do anyway."

But this time, those words were said with much more satisfaction than before.

::-::

Harry was grounded.

He was so grounded that he couldn't even attend school. He got absent notices, but Petunia and Vernon ignored them. He got warnings, but Petunia and Vernon ignored him. He got parent-teacher conference summons, and Petunia and Vernon lashed out at him.

"The nerve!" Petunia hissed. "You went and got yourself a parent-teacher conference summon?!"

"INTO YOUR CUPBOARD!" Vernon bellowed, though Harry hadn't even taken one step out.

Harry had to bite his tongue very hard to stop from lashing out. Whose problem was it that he had gotten the summons? Yes; the very people who were blaming him.

Harry wanted to go back to Wu Sifu—now.

But Spring Break rolled around, and there was no sign of neither Sifu nor Hermione. Harry heard that they'd tried to get to him, but letters were intercepted, windows were barred, and doors were shut. (Perhaps he could use that in the court case...)

Spring was the only time where Harry was let out of his cupboard—only to be put under the supervision of Mrs. Figg, who tried to show him every cat she'd ever owned. Harry bore with these sessions because Mrs. Figg allowed him to see Wu Sifu and Hermione secretly. As long as he promised to be back by a certain time, he was free to go wherever he pleased.

Wu Sifu greeted him with a warm dinner and a ready conversation. He told Harry that he was trying his best to investigate the law however he could; he asked Harry if he was doing alright, if Petunia and Vernon weren't starving him; and when they settled down for an Occlumency session, Wu Sifu was flabbergasted by how much Harry had improved. (Long periods spent in the cupboard meant a lot of studying for Occlumency.)

When Harry told him that he wanted more books to study, Wu Sifu instantly whisked him to the bookstore and bought him five books: one on taekwondo; one on ninjutsu; one on aikido; and two more books on Occlumency. One of the books focused on techniques used in America, while the other focused on techniques used in East Asia.

"But Harry, why do you want so many books?" Wu Sifu asked.

"I sort of, er, spend a bit of time in the cupboards," Harry admitted sheepishly. "Vernon locks me in there when I misbehave." Which I've been doing a lot of, Harry added mentally.

Wu Sifu's face darkened. "Harry Potter, if it is the last thing I do, I shall get you out of that horrible place," he swore, and bought Harry a book on a more brutal form of self-defense: Krav Maga.

Harry couldn't wait to misbehave. He was going to have a lot of fun in his cupboard.

::-::

When the Dursleys returned from vacation, Harry found himself getting put into his cupboard much more often than before. He hadn't done anything outright rebellious quite yet—but his passive-aggressive defenses were bothering the Dursleys plenty.

During this time, Harry began to grow rather fond of his cupboard. His cupboard meant privacy. His cupboard meant, in some ways, security. And his cupboard meant no chores.

Since Harry was forbidden from going to school (lest he corrupt all the children there, according to the Dursleys) he poured himself into his books. He learned the American Occlumency technique of protecting memories with two layers of seals—and instantly began constructing reflectors on the outside, blockades on the inside. He found that ninjustsu was his favorite style of martial arts—second to Wing Chun, of course. (Krav Maga, on the other hand, made him feel a bit sick because of its brutality.)

Harry also began studying Hermione's late Christmas present: A self-defense book that talked about using one's surroundings to their advantage. It was very intriguing, since it had little to do with martial arts and more to do with creativity.

As Dudley's eleventh birthday approached, Harry also began to compile a list of offenses with the Dursleys. Now that they were withholding him from mandatory education, he suspected that he'd be able to bring them to the law—and bringing a long list of other (more minor) misdemeanors wouldn't hurt his case.

Excessive labor, confined living space, verbal abuse, encouragement of suicidal mannerisms…

Harry didn't completely know what he was writing, but the words that came from the thesaurus sounded fancy enough for court. He'd get Hermione to proofread his list before he submitted it. Hermione, and Wu Sifu.

When Dudley's eleventh birthday came, Harry was prepared for the usual. Petunia waking him up; Petunia telling him not to burn the breakfast; Dudley complaining over the quantity of his presents; Petunia promising him more; Vernon applauding Dudley for his ambition; and every Dursley nagging at him before they dropped him off at Mrs. Figg's.

Everything went as Harry expected—well, except Mrs. Figg wasn't available. She'd broken her leg. A few years ago, Harry might have seen this as a wonderful opportunity, but now he only felt disappointment. When he stayed with Mrs. Figg, he could see Wu Sifu and Hermione. Now he was forced to be with the Dursleys.

Thankfully, Vernon was naïve enough to let Harry stay in the house—locked in his cupboard, of course.

"I'm warning you, boy," he hissed. "One funny move—if we come back and we don't find the house exactly the way it was—you'll be sorry!"

And the Dursleys piled into their car with Piers and drove away to the zoo.

Harry picked the lock in five seconds. He was getting rather good at it, given how many times Vernon tossed him in his cupboard. He knew he wouldn't be able to sneak outside; the neighbors would be watching. He did, however, condition himself in the lengthy hallway upstairs. Stretching, running, push-ups, sit-ups, squats, jumping jacks—whatever exercise Harry thought of, he did.

Because tonight—tonight, he'd escape from the Dursleys. And no one would stop him. Not even Vernon, who was thrice his size.

He made sure he was back in his cupboard long before the Dursleys arrived. They were in high spirits—especially Dudley, who had received four more presents on their outing. Harry thought they had forgotten about him until Petunia ordered him to make supper.

Specifications on excessive labor: regular preparation of meals, daily dish cleaning, bi-weekly weeding in weather that makes the Applicant subject to heat exhaustion…

Harry was half-inclined to grind up the laxatives Petunia kept in the bathroom drawer and sprinkle them into the meal, but he decided against it. He was going to be gone from this place by tonight anyway.

The moment he was finished with supper, Harry retreated to his cupboard and worked on Occlumency until nightfall. The Dursleys seemed too preoccupied with Dudley to notice his compliant behavior; any other day of the year, Vernon would be suspicious. This day, he was so oblivious that he went to bed without even checking the lock on Harry's door. (It was perfectly functional, if a little dented from all the picking Harry had done.)

Harry waited until midnight before he made his move. He tossed his books and moneybag into his well-worn backpack and, for what he hoped would be the last time in his life, picked the lock of his cupboard door.

Number four, Privet Drive was oddly quiet at this hour. It was almost completely dark in the hallway—the closest window was in the sitting-room—and there was no yelling Vernon, screeching Petunia, or raging Dudley. Harry found that he almost liked the house when it was quiet like this; Petunia did know how to decorate a house, after all, with lovely colour schemes and bright photographs hammered strategically over the walls. (There wasn't a single picture of Harry, but Harry liked it better that way.)

Harry slinked down the hallway, taking extra pains not to knock anything over. Thankfully, the Dursleys didn't have an alarm, so he could sneak right out the front door.

Harry deposited his backpack by the door and twisted the lock. He chanced one more glance behind him: No one in sight. Taking a deep breath, he flung the door open and stepped into the heavy night air.

Right onto an envelope that gave a loud crack.

Harry froze and whipped around, snatching up his backpack. No sign of the Dursleys. Breathing through his nose, Harry slipped off the entry mat and closed the door behind him, staring down at the envelope.

It was addressed… to him.

Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey

Harry stooped down and cradled the envelope between his fingers. He glanced back at the house. All was silent.

"Harry."

Harry jerked backwards, stifling a scream—but it was only Wu Sifu, who looked more surprised than anything else.

"Uncle Wu," he said in a small voice. "Why are you here?"

Wu Sifu held up a set of papers, a small grin lighting his face.

"You're free, Harry."

The envelope slipped from Harry's fingers. Wu Sifu's eyes shifted as he watched it fall.

"Oh, and you're a wizard."

('They have taken the text box below. They are awaiting moderation, but they cannot be held for long. The Internet shakes. Beeps… beeps in the deep. I cannot get out. They are coming.' The hate mail from sticking Harry back in with the Dursleys, that is. Well, sort of sticking him back.)

(I am incredibly honored at the response this story has received. My thanks to each and every one of you.)

Q: The letter came too early!

A: Yes, I noticed.

(On a side note, I've started creating an iBook version of this story. I have a question: Would you prefer for me to wait until I've finished The Philosopher's Stone before I post it? Or would you rather see it chapter-by-chapter and just update it along with me?)