.
CREATED,
HARRY POTTER
By JBean210

Chapter One
The Men from Sinanju
Published beginning June 14, 2014

"Get out of the car, boy!"

Harry Potter slid from the back seat of the Dursleys' car, the birdcage holding his owl Hedwig clutched tightly in his hands. As Harry stepped out of the car his uncle slammed the door shut, narrowly missing him. His uncle grunted disapprovingly — whether it was because he'd missed or because Harry shouldn't have been in the way in the first place, Harry couldn't tell. Uncle Vernon stepped past him to the back of the car, where Harry's trunk was locked inside the boot.

Harry turned to follow his uncle, expecting to be forced to carry both the cage and the trunk into the house, but his uncle pointed furiously toward number four Privet Drive, the house where the Dursleys lived, and snarled, "Get inside, boy! I'll bring your stuff, never you mind about it. Wait for me by the cupboard!" Harry stared at him a moment, then turned and walked toward the house where his Aunt Petunia, a thin, horse-faced woman, and his cousin Dudley, a vast blond-haired boy the same age as Harry, already stood watching him. Dudley was trying to hide behind his mother, an attempt doomed to fail as he was nearly twice as wide as she was. It would have been laughable except that nothing had been funny since Harry arrived back in King's Cross after returning from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Nearly a year ago Dudley had been on the receiving end of the first magic spell Harry had ever seen — he'd been jinxed and grown a pig's tail. Since then Dudley had been deathly afraid of Harry; he'd spent the trip back from King's Cross huddled in the back seat as far away from him as possible.

Petunia opened the front door and pointed toward it as Harry approached. "Get inside," she ordered, and Harry sidled past her and into the front hallway. He stood there, still holding Hedwig's cage as Petunia and Dudley entered, her arms wrapped protectively around his shoulders.

"Duddikins," she said in the sickeningly sweet tone she used only when speaking to him. "Why don't you go in the living room and rest while Mummy makes dinner for you and Daddy?" Dudley glanced furtively toward Harry, making sure there was no wand in his hand, then turned and waddled into the living room. He plopped down on the divan, picked up the remote control, and began switching through the channels.

His aunt then rounded on Harry, her eyes narrowed, as if she wanted to look at him as little as possible. "You wait here for your uncle," she said harshly, then spun around and with a sniff of contempt disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Harry alone. Harry sighed unhappily. How differently he had imagined, only an hour ago, how much fun this summer was going to be!

He, Ron and Hermione had just returned from Hogwarts to King's Cross and had passed through the barrier that separated Platform 9¾ from the rest of the train station. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny had been waiting for them, and Ginny seemed more excited at seeing Harry than her own brothers. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley had been there as well, all looking at him rather unpleasantly. His uncle had spoken rudely to Mrs. Weasley then walked away, and Hermione had looked after him uncertainly, shocked that anyone could be that ill-mannered. She told Harry she hoped he had a good holiday. Harry had grinned and replied, "Oh, I will. They don't know we're not allowed to use magic at home. I'm going to have a lot of fun with Dudley this summer…"

But his hopes had been dashed even before the trip home began. At the car Vernon dropped Harry's trunk next to the boot and pointed at it, demanding that Harry open it. Hesitantly, unsure what his uncle was going to do, Harry did as he was told, and Vernon stared with growing anger at the cauldron, books and school robes in his trunk.

"Put everything in your pockets into the trunk, boy," Vernon ordered. Harry complied, stacking the contents of his pockets on top of his robes. There wasn't much — three Knuts, a couple of pieces of string, two Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans and a Chocolate Frog package (Dudley had eyed these last few items hungrily but kept his distance from Harry) and lastly, Harry's wand. Dursley stared at everything as if it were a bomb that might go off at any second.

"Is that all of it?" Vernon demanded, and Harry nodded reluctantly. His uncle closed the trunk then picked it up and dropped it into the boot, along with Harry's Nimbus Two Thousand broom. He turned to take Hedwig's cage as well but Harry pulled away.

"You can't put Hedwig in there!" he said, adamant despite the glare his uncle was giving him. "She'll suffocate!"

"Don't be ridiculous, boy," Vernon growled, but seemed to relent. "That cage is too big, anyway. But mind nothing gets on the back seat or you'll be washing and cleaning the entire car tomorrow!"

The drive home had been silent except for his uncle muttering in the front seat, comments like "no funny business this summer" and "there'll be no freaks come round to see the boy, that's for certain!" His aunt kept shooting glares at him from the front seat, and Dudley stayed as far away from Harry as possible, staring at him as if he thought Harry might say something and another pig's tail would pop out of Dudley's backside.

Harry himself merely sat holding Hedwig's cage, wondering what was going to happen when they got home. He found out soon enough when his uncle stopped at a hardware store, returning to the car with two padlocks and a heavy steel latch. He put one padlock on Hedwig's cage, muttering, "That should hold that ruddy bird," then drove the rest of the way home in silence. Now Harry was standing in the hallway of his aunt and uncle's house waiting for his uncle to bring his school trunk and broom inside.

His uncle finally appeared at the door, dragging Harry's trunk behind him, the broom in his other beefy hand. Harry wasn't happy about the way his things were being treated but he dared not say anything to his uncle. Vernon dropped the trunk and the broom on the floor and told Harry, "Wait here," while he went into the kitchen. He returned a minute later with an electric drill, and fastened the latch to the cupboard door.

Opening the cupboard, Vernon tossed Harry's trunk and broom inside, then closed and locked it with the other padlock.

"There," he said at last, grinning triumphantly at Harry. "Now there'll be no funny business going on here this summer, you hear me, boy? You're not reading a single page of a single book in that trunk of yours, and you won't be getting up to any of that freak stuff in my house. I don't even want to hear one word about any of that stuff from you, do you hear me? Now get up to your room — you look like they fed you quite a bit at that freak school, there's no need for you to eat anything else tonight."

Harry trudged up the steps, carrying Hedwig's cage, with Vernon right behind him. Harry went into the smallest bedroom, placing Hedwig's cage on the chest of drawers, then sat down on the bed, staring at his uncle. Until last year this room had been Dudley's second bedroom, where he kept all his extra toys, but after the first letter had come from Hogwarts his aunt and uncle had moved him from the cupboard under the stairs, where he'd slept for the first ten years on Privet Drive, to this room, believing that "they" were watching.

"I don't want to hear a peep out of you or that ruddy bird of yours," Vernon warned him. "Or there'll be no breakfast for you in the morning. Oh, and your aunt will want you to mow the yard and weed the garden tomorrow, and I don't want to hear that you've given her any lip about it." Harry nodded resignedly. His uncle grunted then pulled the door closed. Harry heard the key turn in the lock with a click, then the sound of his uncle stomping back downstairs.

Harry dropped his face into his hands and sighed dejectedly. This was not how he'd imagined his first holiday back from Hogwarts was going to be! Once his cousin realized Harry couldn't use magic against him he'd get over his fear; Harry wondered if there would be more Harry-hunting with Dudley and his gang. And with Hedwig locked in her cage Harry couldn't send owl posts to Ron or Hermione, and couldn't answer any posts he received unless he sent them back with the owls that delivered them. He'd have to hope that any letters that came to him wouldn't come down the chimney or through an open window where his aunt or uncle could see them, or he probably wouldn't even get to read them at all.

Worse, without his school books Harry was going to get behind on his holiday studying. He was going to be hopelessly behind when he returned to Hogwarts this fall — and that was if his aunt and uncle let him go back at all! Harry would have to hope someone at the school would come looking for him if he didn't show up. He should have told Ron or Hermione more about what went on here — they'd seen how rudely Vernon had acted toward Mrs. Weasley, but that was nothing compared to what Harry had to put up with. If they'd known, maybe they might come and rescue him from Privet Drive before the summer was over and take him — take him —

Er, but where? Back to Hogwarts? Students weren't allowed there during the summer holidays, he'd been told. Maybe he could stay with Ron's family, Harry decided. Mrs. Weasley was very nice, and she seemed to like Harry a lot. He hoped it wouldn't be much of an inconvenience — he wouldn't take up much room, and he could sleep on the floor with just a blanket and a pillow.

And they could practice Quidditch! Harry groaned softly, realizing that he wouldn't be able to practice his flying at all while at Privet Drive. An eleven-year old boy flying around the neighborhood on a broom would not be approved of, he was certain of that! Ron had mentioned that he and his brothers Fred and George practiced in an orchard near their house. Fred and George were on the Quidditch team, too; they were Beaters, which meant they carried heavy wooden bats and hit Bludgers — iron balls that could knock you off your broom if you weren't careful — at opposing players to keep them off-balance and dodging.

There was a soft hooting sound from Hedwig's cage, and Harry got up and walked over to where his snowy owl perched in her cage, watching him expectantly, waiting to be let out for the night. Harry shook his head morosely. "Sorry girl," he said unhappily. "I can't let you out." Hedwig tilted her head at him, as if she thought he was just joking with her. Harry reached up and took hold of the padlock on her cage, wishing he could somehow make it open.

Sometimes unusual things happened around Harry, things like having his hair cut off and growing back in a single night, or being chased by Dudley and his gang and suddenly finding himself on the roof of the school, where they couldn't reach him. Maybe the lock would suddenly pop open in his hand, and he could open the window to his room and let Hedwig fly free.

But the lock didn't open and Harry finally let it go. "I'll try to talk Uncle Vernon into letting you out tomorrow night so you can get something to eat and some exercise." But even as he said this Harry knew it was useless, that his uncle would never agree to let Hedwig out. Hedwig seemed to realize this, too, because she shook her head and turned around on her perch, away from Harry. Miserable, Harry slouched back to his bed and fell across it, wishing he could get in touch with Ron or Hermione and have them come and take him out of here. Surely his aunt and uncle wouldn't object if someone came and asked if Harry could stay with them for the summer! After all, they didn't want him here in the first place!

Harry had no idea how long he lay there, stretched out across his bed, wishing for a way out of the mess he was in, tears threatening to well up and spill out of him, when he heard the doorbell downstairs ring. He sat up, curious. Outside his window he could see that it was nearly dusk — the sky was a deep blue and there were long shadows cast by the other houses in the neighborhood. Who would come calling this late? Harry experienced a momentary thrill of hope — perhaps his wishes had been answered after all and someone had come for him!

Harry sprang from the bed to the door, pressing his ear against it so he could hear what was happening downstairs. He could hear the television — a show Dudley liked was on — and his uncle was loudly complaining about inconsiderate people showing up at all hours of the night. Vernon stomped to the front door and opened it, demanding to know what the person standing outside wanted at this ruddy hour of the evening.

Harry pressed his ear even harder against the door, hoping to hear Ron or Hermione asking to see him. He would even be happy to hear Professor McGonagall's stern, Scottish accent or Professor Dumbledore with his deep, gentle voice requesting a word with him. But whoever was outside the door, it wasn't a voice he recognized.

"I'm Remo Pelham," Harry heard the person say. "And this is Mr. Park. We're from the DCSF." That was the Department of Children, Schools and Families, the agency that oversaw the protection of children in England and Wales. Harry, however, had never heard of the DCSF before, so he knew nothing about it.

Vernon Dursley had heard of it, though no one from that department had ever visited his house before. "What do you want?" he asked gruffly.

"We want a word with Harry Potter," the man outside the door answered. "Is he here?"

"He, er, won't be back until tomorrow evening," Vernon lied, trying to bluff his way out of this predicament. What a bother! One of their nosy neighbors must have seen them come home and decided they didn't like what they saw, despite Vernon and Petunia telling everyone on Privet Drive that the boy stayed at St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys during the school year, so they ought to know he was a problem to deal with!

"We saw him arrive," the man said. "We've been reviewing his case and we have a few questions for him. It shouldn't take long."

"It's late," Harry heard his uncle say. "We were about to go to bed."

"At 8:45? Isn't that a bit early?" the man asked.

"It's been a long day," Vernon snapped. "Now really, I must ask you to — now wait a minute! You can't just barge in here —"

There was a sudden thud and a groan. It sounded like Uncle Vernon had fallen. "Actually, we can just barge in here," the man who'd called himself Remo said. "Now I'm going to go upstairs and bring the kid down to talk to him. Mr. Park will stay down here with you. I suggest that none of you say or do anything to upset him while I'm gone."

"Or what?" Harry heard Uncle Vernon snarl, anger in his voice, then suddenly — "Owww!"

"Or," the voice of the man who'd called himself Remo went on, "the pain you're experiencing right now is going to feel like a summer breeze compared to what you'll feel if you annoy him in any way. I don't recommend it."

Harry began to panic. Could these men be here to hurt him rather than help him? Whatever they'd done to Uncle Vernon, it hadn't sounded pleasant. Harry looked around the room, trying to decide what to do. He didn't hear any footsteps, but the doorknob suddenly jiggled, as if the man was trying to open it. Harry jumped away from the door, falling back onto his bed, and watched as the doorknob began to turn. The door was locked. Harry looked about the room wildly, trying to decide what to do. He could race to the window and open it, then grab Hedwig's cage and jump to the ground. Hopefully he'd still be able to run after that. It was the only thing he could think of doing. But he didn't run — he just continued to watch the doorknob jiggle back and forth.

The doorknob stopped turning, and Harry waited breathlessly to see what would happen next. Would the man give up and go back downstairs, or would he break the door down? However, neither of these things occurred. The entire door seemed to bow inward, then snapped flat again. Harry gasped — the locking bolt was out of the door frame! It began to swing open.

Was that magic? Harry had never seen an entire door bend like that. He looked back at the window, trying to decide what to do, but he couldn't —

A man's head came around the edge of the door and looked at him. "Hey, kid," he asked. "Are you Harry Potter?"

The man was tall and thin, Harry saw, with hair almost as black as his own, and eyes that were dark brown and deep set. He stepped into the room, glancing to the left and right, then back at Harry. He had high cheek bones, and a face that did not seem dangerous or intimidating at all.

But then, he remembered, neither had Professor Quirrell when Harry first met him, nor did the wizard seem threatening or dangerous for most of first year, until Harry found him in the room with the Mirror of Erised. That man had been very dangerous, being both Quirrell and Lord Voldemort. Harry had luckily escaped them, and Voldemort disappeared, leaving Quirrell to die.

For all Harry knew, this man could have Voldemort inside him as well!

"Er — yes," Harry said at last, wondering whether Voldemort would try to trick him by pretending not to know him. But if he was just going to kill Harry why even bother with that? "Who are you?"

"I'm Remo," the man said. "I want you to come downstairs. My teacher wants to ask you some questions."

"Your teacher?" Harry asked, now curious. What would a man as old as this Remo looked need a teacher? He looked long past school age.

Remo shrugged. "I don't know, he wouldn't tell me." He didn't seem pleased by that fact. "Come on."

But Harry wasn't ready to go downstairs yet. "I heard someone fall. You didn't hurt anyone, did you?"

The man called Remo smiled thinly. "Your uncle tried to get tough with me. That didn't work out too well for him."

"He's okay, isn't he?"

"Don't worry," Remo said, reassuringly . "He's fine. He had plenty of padding to fall on."

Harry tried to suppress a smile at that. This Remo seemed okay, but there were still a lot of things going on he didn't understand. "Who's your teacher?"

"His name is Chiun," the thin man said. That didn't really tell Harry anything, though. "Are you ready to go down and talk to him now?"

Harry didn't move. "Who is he," he asked again. "I mean, why does he want to talk to me?"

"Like I told you, kid, I don't know," Remo said, impatiently. "All he's told me is that you might be the fulfillment of some ancient prophecy."

"What prophecy?" How could he have anything to do with some prophecy? "Someone tried to kill me a few weeks ago, but nobody ever said anything about a prophecy!"

Remo shrugged. "Chiun told me a little about it, he said the prophecy foretold that you would be in danger, but that the Master of Sinanju would protect you and save you, and you would defeat the evil that came against you."

This was getting weirder and weirder, Harry thought. "Who's the Master of Sinan — Sinanju?"

"That's Chiun," Remo explained. "He's the Master of Sinanju. But all that prophecy stuff he believes in is just bulldookey. I brought him here because he wasn't going to stop carping about it until he came to see you. So let's go downstairs and he can ask you his questions and he and I can leave and everybody will be happy. Okay?"

"Okay, I guess," Harry agreed, and he followed Remo out of his room and down the stairs. On the way down he noticed that Remo's footsteps were silent, even on the steps that creaked when Harry stepped on them. How could anyone move that silently?

In the hallway at the base of the staircase Harry found the Dursleys gathered in a tight little clump —Vernon was standing, red-faced and breathing heavily, in front of his wife and son, one hand clamped over an ear. Petunia stood at his side, an arm wrapped protectively around Dudley, who was again trying to hide behind her. In the center of the hallway there was another man, who Remo addressed, gesturing to Harry. "Here he is, Chiun," he said. "Harry Potter."

Chiun was a small Oriental man who looked incredibly old. He was nearly bald, with a mere wisp of a beard on his chin, and his face was as wrinkled as a prune. He was dressed in a red robe that Harry thought at first glance was a wizard's robe, but he realized it was probably Chinese or Japanese clothing. He was hardly taller than Harry himself.

Harry had heard Remo tell Uncle Vernon that he wouldn't want this man to hurt him, but it looked like his uncle could break the old man in two with no effort. If this man was Remo's teacher, though, he must be capable of more than what met Harry's eye. After a moment Harry intuitively bowed respectfully to him.

Chiun looked at Remo. "You see, Remo? There are manners even here, in this backwards place. This boy understands, unlike his buffoon of an uncle."

"See here, now —" Vernon began, but stopped abruptly when Remo held up a finger for silence. Petunia and Dudley each gave a small shriek of terror and threw their arms around one other.

Harry blinked in surprise. The only person who could make Vernon shut up like that in his own home was his sister Marge!

He turned to find the old Oriental studying him. The little man seemed to look him over very carefully, then suddenly asked, "Your parents lived in a small town in the West Country of England?"

"Uh —" Harry had not expected a question like that. "Er, I don't know, actually, nobody's ever said where they lived," he told the old man. "I've got photographs of them. My friend Hagrid made a book out of them for me."

"May I see it?" Chiun asked.

"Sure, it's —" Harry faltered as he remembered where his book was. He pointed toward the cupboard. "It's in my trunk. In there."

Chiun looked at the cupboard, seeing the newly-installed latch and lock. He turned toward Vernon. "You will allow the boy to get his photographs."

Vernon didn't look very happy being ordered about. "This is my house, isn't it?" he said loudly, the volume of his retort an attempt to hide the fear he felt. When the old man said nothing he grew bolder, adding, "You can't make me show you anything without a search warrant!"

Remo snorted. "You know, sweetheart, I've already proven that you're wrong about that. Do I need to show you again?"

Harry had no love lost on Vernon Dursley, but he couldn't stand by and see him threatened like that. "Please don't hurt him," he said, pleadingly, looking from Remo to Chiun. "This is his house, after all."

Remo started to move toward Vernon, but Chiun held up a hand, stopping him. "The boy is correct, Remo," he said, quietly. "We will observe proper behavior as guests of this house." He turned to Dursley. "Do I have your permission to retrieve the boy's trunk from the cupboard?"

Vernon took this as a sign of weakness. "If you think you can get past that lock and latch," he said, challengingly. "I bought the strongest ones available — you'd need a crowbar to break in there!"

Chiun said nothing, but moved next to the cupboard. His aged, wrinkled fingers reached out, seeming to gently stroke the bolt of the padlock. It fell to the floor in two pieces. Wandless magic, Harry thought. That was exactly what he wished he could do to the padlock on Hedwig's cage not long ago! Chiun then tore the latch off the cupboard door with one hand. He walked over to Vernon and put the piece of metal in his hand. "Remo, will you get the boy's trunk from the cupboard?"

Remo went in and pulled the trunk into the hallway, then motioned for Harry to come over. Harry opened the trunk and rummaged around until he found the book of photographs. He brought it over to Chiun, who looked through a few pages before saying, "Yes, these are your parents, James and Lily Potter. I remember them."

"You remember them?" Harry asked, shocked.

Remo was equally surprised. "How do you know who these people are, Chiun? When were you in England without me?"

"It was the day I told you I would be returning to India with the fat little boy who thought he was a maharajah," Chiun replied. "At the end of October in 1981. That was merely a ruse so I could leave you for a while — Emperor Smith asked me to perform a service for the Princess Elizabeth. She had asked specifically for my assistance, and Smith didn't want you to know that I was performing this service for her."

"The Princess Elizabeth?" Remo was confused for a moment. "You mean Queen Elizabeth?"

"Yes, as you say," Chiun nodded. "When I last saw her she was but a princess. She called Emperor Smith's servant, the one they call President, to ask for advice about a madman who had been terrorizing the British Stick Wigglers —"

"Wait a minute," Remo interrupted again. "What are they?"

"It is the name Sinanju has given to magical humans in Britain and Europe," Chiun explained. "I flew to England from San Francisco to perform a service for the Princess, to remove the Stick Wiggler called Voldemort before he killed again. Smith gave me information that this Voldemort would be in a town called Godric's Hollow on the thirty-first of October, to murder James and Lily Potter and their son, Harry. It was there in the town square I saw this so-called Dark Lord appear and followed him to the house where Harry's parents lived. But I could not enter — powerful magic prevented me from doing so. Unfortunately, I was not able to stop him before he killed the boy's parents. Then there was a sudden vibration in the ground, and the house appeared, damaged as if from an explosion. But I found the boy, unharmed, in the wreckage of the house."

Harry shook his head, shocked almost beyond speaking. "But," he finally said, "but I was told — they said Hagrid took me out of the house. Hagrid told me so himself!"

Chiun nodded. "The half-giant, yes, he came after the house exploded. So did another man, who arrived on a flying motorcycle."

"Preposterous!" Vernon rumbled, unable to contain himself. Both Chiun and Remo ignored him.

"The two men talked for a few minutes," Chiun continued. "Then the man on the motorcycle gave it to the half-giant, who left with you."

"Who was the man on the motorcycle?" Harry asked.

"The half-giant called him Sirius Black," Chiun said. "He stood in front of the house for several minutes after the half-giant left. He muttered to himself that someone named Pettigrew was behind this, then disappeared in the manner of the Stick Wigglers.

"Afterwards I continued on to India, where I dealt with the fat little false maharajah, then returned to America. I planned to find you again, Harry Potter, after some personal affairs I had to attend to, but events conspired to keep me occupied for many years. I only learned of your whereabouts again a few days ago."

"What do you want with me now?" Harry asked, wondering what had happened to the maharajah the old man mentioned.

"There is a prophecy," Chiun explained. "A prophecy that concerns the demon Tarakasur, a powerful enemy of the gods. No one, not even Shiva himself, can defeat Tarakasur — only the son of Shiva can accomplish this."

Remo snorted derisively. "And that's not going to happen anytime soon," he said.

"How typically white of you," Chiun complained. "You refuse to show proper respect and sire a child, as was foretold in the prophecies. Must I do everything for you?"

Remo shrugged indifferently.

"But," Harry ventured back into the conversation. "What does this have to do with me?"

"An apt question," Chiun replied. "When Tarakasur attempted to kill you, you turned his stroke back upon him, forcing him to flee. In doing so, you have proven yourself to be the son of Shiva."

Harry shook his head, not understanding, but Remo had more to say. "How do you figure that, Chiun? You couldn't see inside the house — how do you know that's what happened?"

"It is the prophecy," Chiun said adamantly, as if that settled things.

"But what does all that stuff mean?" Harry asked.

"It means," Chiun answered him, "that you, Harry Potter, are the avatar of Murugan, Shiva's son, and that you must be the one to destroy Tarakasur. Therefore, I wish for you to leave this place and come with Remo and myself, to learn Sinanju."

"Huh?" Harry said, perplexed.

"What?!" Remo exploded. "Chiun, what the hell?! Is that what we're here for? Why didn't you tell me?"

"The decision is not yours to make, Remo," Chiun replied. "It is the boy's."

"He doesn't even know what you're asking of him!" Remo snapped.

"That is why I am trying to explain it to him," Chiun retorted. "Except that you keep interrupting."

"And all these years," Remo pointed out, "you've been telling me that you couldn't find anyone worthy in your own village, or in all of Korea, to receive Sinanju, and now you're offering it to some kid —"

"Remo," Chiun said curtly, cutting him off, and Remo stopped talking.

Harry was looking back and forth, from Remo to Chiun. It was true — he had no idea what this Sinanju was or why the aged Oriental wanted to teach it to him.

"I know what I am asking of him," Chiun said to Remo.

"Oh, really?" Remo retorted sarcastically. "How do you know he's worthy?"

"He is worthy," Chiun maintained.

"How?" Remo asked hotly. "How do you know that?"

"He fulfills the prophecy of the son of Shiva."

"Aaah. More of that prophecy crap," Remo grumbled. "You've never mentioned anything about a 'son of Shiva' prophecy to me before."

"Be silent, Remo," Chiun said, with a tone of finality. "I will explain after I have examined the boy."

"Examine me?" Harry repeated. He looked at Remo. "Why does he need to examine me?"

"That's what I'd like to know!" Vernon snorted.

"Silence, white thing," the old man said sharply, and all three of the Dursleys pulled back in fear. Harry blinked; he'd only seen his uncle act this way once, when confronted by Hagrid, who was nearly twice his size. This small Oriental man was barely taller than Harry. Harry watched the old man carefully, wondering what it was about him that Vernon Dursley feared.

Chiun was looking at Harry's feet. "The feet are typical white," he muttered, directing his words to Remo. "Much like yours were when I first saw you. And he is a meat-eater, of course."

"No surprise there," Remo remarked. "I suppose that disqualifies him?"

"You were a meat-eater, too," Chiun reminded him. "Though it took you nearly a decade to quit that disgusting habit for good."

"So I liked steak and hamburger," Remo shrugged. "They didn't kill me."

"They came close," Chiun retorted. "Closer than the chair that burned your wrists and feet did."

Harry was completely lost in this conversation. He looked back at Remo again. "You were almost killed by a chair? A chair that burned you?"

"It's a long story," Remo muttered. "Don't talk, just stand there."

Harry turned back to the old man, whose eyes were still moving slowly up his body. "He appears underdeveloped," Chiun said, "though I see new muscle in his arms and wrists."

Harry looked at his arms. They didn't look any different to him, but — "I started playing Quidditch last year," he said. "You use your arms a lot when you're —"

"Silence," the old man ordered, and Harry quit talking, feeling put upon. He was just trying to explain why his arms might have more muscles now. Flying a broom was a lot of work, even if it was like second nature to him.

The old man's eyes continued to rise. "His breathing is atrocious." He shook his head. "But that is to be expected as well — none of you whites understand proper breathing or its importance."

Harry was beginning to feel really insulted now. What did it matter that he was white? Skin color didn't have anything to do with what kind of person you were! "How can there be a proper way to breathe?" he asked, impulsively. "Isn't breathing the same for everyone?"

Chiun's eyes finally met his. "It is not," the old man stated flatly. "Breathing is everything. It is the first thing you do in life, and the last. Very few understand proper breathing. It is well for you to hear this, young white man, if you are to follow the path that will lead you to Sinanju."

Remo snorted derisively.

"Why — why would I want to learn this Sinanju, whatever it is?" Harry asked. "What's it going to do for me?"

Chiun's nearly nonexistent eyebrows rose. "What will Sinanju do for you? It is the most precious gift in the world! In thousands of years, only a few have been given the honor of possessing it. My son Remo here is the first non-Korean to be taught Sinanju."

"But what am I supposed to do with it?" Harry wanted to know.

"To destroy the demon that killed your parents," Chiun answered. "Only you can do this."

"I —" Harry didn't know what to say to that. "But what if I — I don't even know what Sinanju is. Or what demon you're talking about." Harry pointed at Remo. "Does your — er, does Remo know anything about Sinanju?"
"Of course I do," Remo said, irritated. "Chiun, I don't know why you think I couldn't handle this 'demon' you're talking about."

"Of course you do not," the old man replied placidly. "Your white arrogance blinds you to the prophecies of Sinanju. It was foretold that not even Shiva himself could destroy the demon Tarakasur when they fought one another."

Chiun turned to Harry. "But when Tarakasur tried to kill you, you did not follow your parents into death. You cast death back upon him, causing his body to explode, destroying half of your home. But even that did not harm you, for I found you alive and whole within the wreckage. And I have found you again this day."

"I found him, Chiun," Remo pointed out. "But if I'd known you were planning something like this —"

"Jealousy ill-becomes you, Remo," Chiun reproached him. "The child will not replace you."

"That's comforting," Remo growled. "Especially since you keep saying that I'm the only one you've found that's worthy of Sinanju. No one, not even people from your own village, could do what I've done."

"Yes, your ability to complain is without peer," Chiun retorted. "Though I have managed to take a pale piece of pig's ear and make of it someone barely adequate in the perfection of the Sun Source."

Remo blew a raspberry.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," Harry said into the silence that followed. "Whatever Sinanju is, I don't need it. I'm going to be a wizard."

Chiun stared at him, incredulous. "A wizard? I offer you the most cherished gift in the world, the sun source of perfection, and you reject it? How typically white."

"Why do you keep saying that about white people?" Harry demanded. "What difference does it make what color we are?"

"It makes a great deal of difference," Chiun said seriously. "Have you ever heard the story of how the Supreme Being created man?"

Harry shook his head.

"Here we go," Remo said, putting a hand over his face. "Chiun, you've only told that story about five hundred times," he pointed out.

"But never to this boy," Chiun countered, reasonably. Remo just shrugged as if he didn't care.

"When the Supreme Being created man," Chiun began, "he put a lump of clay in the cosmic oven. And when he took it out, he said, 'It is underdone. This is no good. I have created a white man.'"

Harry frowned, but Chiun ignored him and continued. "Then he put another lump of clay in the oven, and to compensate for his error, he left it in longer. When he took it out he said, 'Oh, I have failed again. I have left it in too long. This is no good. I have created a black man.'" Harry looked at Remo, eyes wide in disbelief, but Remo just shook his head as if to say, You asked for it, kid.

"And then," Chiun went on, "he put another lump of clay in the oven, this time a superior clay, molded with more care and love and integrity, and when he took it out he said, 'Oh, I have done it just right. I have created —"

"Wait for it," Remo muttered.

"— a yellow man,'" Chiun finished proudly, then glared at Remo for his impertinence. "There is more, but the important fact is that the yellow man has been properly made, needing no further refinement."

"That sounds like a fairy tale," Harry replied skeptically.

"So do stories of wizards and giants," Chiun pointed out, "to those who have never met any." Harry didn't say anything.

"Do you believe this demon who tried to kill you is a fairy tale?" Chiun asked.

Harry shook his head. "I know he's not. He tried to kill me again, just a few weeks ago."

"What do you intend to do about that?" the old Oriental asked. "Will he succeed the next time you meet?"

"I — I don't know," Harry stammered. "I —"

"You don't know?" Chiun snapped. "Who protects you?" He pointed to the Dursleys. "Do they? These people do not even want you here!"

"They're my family," Harry protested, weakly. He knew the Dursleys had little use for Harry other than the work his aunt and uncle made him do around their home, and they begrudged him even the meager food they gave him to eat.

"They do not wish to be," Chiun insisted. "It is written clearly across their dull, white faces. They wish you to be gone."

Vernon, whose jaw had been clenching tightly whenever Chiun spoke about him, had finally had enough. "Too right we want him gone!" he shouted. "He should never have been left with us in the first place! That ruddy letter said we had to take care of him —"

Harry started. "What letter?" he asked sharply, forgetting that his uncle hated hearing him speak up, saying it was impudent for a boy to talk back to his elders (never mind that Dudley did so all the time). "What do you mean it said you had to take care of me?"

Petunia, who had gone pale when her husband mentioned the letter, wrung her hands for a moment then disappeared into the kitchen. She returned a moment later holding a parchment envelope similar to the one that Hagrid had given Harry, but with the words

Mrs. Petunia Evans Durlsey
The Largest Bedroom
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey

written on it in Professor Dumbledore's flowing handwriting.

Vernon Dursley's already florid face turned purple when he saw it. "I told you to destroy that!" he shouted at her. "What are you doing with it?!"

But Petunia only shook her head, stepping around Vernon to hand the envelope to Harry. Harry looked at her, then at the envelope. He slid the letter out and began to read,

1 November 1981

My Dearest Petunia,

I trust this letter finds you well. It has been some time since our last correspondence, and I hope there are no unpleasant feelings held over from my inability to allow you to attend Hogwarts with your sister, Lily.

Unfortunately, the situation we find ourselves in today is much more grave and troubling than educational eligibility. Your sister and her husband have become the victims of a dreadful attack by an individual calling himself Lord Voldemort — an attack that has left them both, tragically, deceased.

Their son, Harry, whom you have no doubt by this time found among these blankets at your front door, was able to survive an attack by Lord Voldemort due to the selfless sacrifice of your sister, who gave up her life to protect her son. His attacker has left England, his power broken, perhaps forever.

However, this leaves young Harry in the unenviable position of being parentless at a time when he requires much care, not the adulation and praise of our Wizarding community, who will certainly see him as a hero and will place him, needlessly, in the spotlight for years to come. It is my wish that Harry's life be as normal as possible, and to this end I request that you look after him in your home as if he were your own child, not as a hero of the Wizarding World.

I have another reason for asking this of you, Petunia — as his mother's sister, I have extended the magical protection his mother's blood sacrifice has given him to you, so that as long as he can call your home his as well, that protection will continue until he reaches his majority.

When the time is ripe, I will contact you once again, in order to give Harry the opportunity to return to the Wizarding world and to his destiny in our community. With utmost gratitude for your understanding and cooperation.

Your servant,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Harry looked up at his aunt. "You wanted to get into Hogwarts with your sister?" he asked, in shock. His aunt had never shown the least inclination or interest in magic — quite the opposite, Harry thought.

Petunia looked embarrassed. "Why should she be the only one to learn magic?" she said, tartly. "Lily was given everything she ever wanted, and I had nothing! She came home from that school every summer and refused to do any magic around the house, none at all! She said she wasn't supposed to — a likely story!"

"No, that's true," Harry told her. "We're not supposed to do magic out of school until we come of age."

Petunia shook her head, as if not believing Harry. "It doesn't matter anyway," she said dismissively. "She ran off and got married to that Potter fellow right out of school. My parents thought he was oh-so-wonderful, just right for her, but I could see he was no good —"

"Stop it!" Harry said, becoming angry. "You don't know anything about my father!"

"We know he was a freak, just like your mother!" Vernon shouted, but he quickly shrank back when Chiun turned toward him.

"Do you wish to remain with these people?" Chiun asked Harry. "Or would you rather come with us? I offer you the opportunity to learn Sinanju, a gift bestowed on only one other white man in its entire history."

Harry could see from Remo's expression that he didn't like that idea at all. Harry wasn't too sure about it himself. "What about school? I don't want to give up on being a wizard."

"I will find a suitable private tutor for your education as a wizard," Chiun promised him. "You will learn both magic and Sinanju."

"But — why?" Harry finally burst out. "Why do you want to teach me this Sinanju, whatever it is?" Harry waited for an answer, and Remo's eyes were on Chiun as well, waiting to hear what he would say.

Chiun was silent a moment before he spoke. "There was a prophecy in the history of my village that spoke of a dead man whom I would make whole once again, a man who would become the avatar of Shiva, the Destroyer." His voice became rhythmic. "And lo, though that man was a pale white man, a meat eater and a defiler of his own body, I the Gracious Master of Sinanju was able to transform that pale piece of pig's ear into a Master of Sinanju." Chiun's eyes flicked toward Remo. "There he stands before you now."

Remo folded his arms across his chest, looking stubborn. "You made that up, Chiun," he said, flatly. "That's not in the records of Sinanju."

Harry looked at Remo. There wasn't anything unusual about him, Harry, thought, except he did notice he had thick wrists, suitable for holding onto a broom or gripping a Beater's bat. Whatever the old man expected Harry to see, however, he wasn't getting it. How would Harry know what a Master of Sinanju even was, much less what one looked like?

"Then, one evening years later, as I further contemplated the wisdom of my ancestors," Chiun went on, "I found another passage, one hidden by an unfortunate fold in one of my ancient, delicate scrolls, a passage unseen for many years, perhaps for centuries, for none of the Masters before me had written of it. I read that passage and discovered there another prophecy of the Great Wang."

Harry blinked. Huh? The Great Wang? There was a giggle from where the Dursleys stood, suddenly muffled as Dudley disappeared behind his parents. Chiun looked at them, seemingly baffled by the outburst, then turned back to Harry.

"The Great Wang was the greatest of the Masters of Sinanju," Chiun continued. "It was he who first understood proper breathing and control, after meditating for five days and nights alone. It was he who made the prophecy of the dead night tiger. I read this new prophecy, one that had escaped the eyes of so many previous Masters of Sinanju, never dreaming that it would come to pass so soon after it was revealed to me."

"When did you come across this prophecy?" Remo asked, still skeptical. "You've never mentioned anything about it to me."

"Why would I? It was not about you," Chiun replied. "And as you consider the prophecies of Sinanju to be 'crap,' as you say, I saw no reason to give you further cause to malign the wisdom of my ancestors." Remo rolled his eyes.

"What did the prophecy say?" Harry asked.

Chiun's eyes took on a faraway look. "'And lo, though the avatar of Shiva will walk among men, the dead night tiger made whole by the Master of Sinanju, there shall come one after him, a man who cannot be destroyed by the demon of Death itself, the one demon not even Shiva can defeat. This man, the son of Shiva, shall deliver death unto Death itself, by the will of Shiva.'"

Chiun's eyes focused on Harry again. "The Dark wizard your kind calls Voldemort is the demon Death, though he fears it, and he was unable to cause your death, though he still attempted to strike you down, and will try yet again. One of you must prevail. I offer you Sinanju so that you will be the one, if you are worthy."

Harry didn't know what to say. He still didn't know what Sinanju was, though he had to admit, he had never seen his aunt or uncle so intimidated by someone who looked as harmless as this Oriental man who stood before him did. A mere look from the old man had been enough to make Vernon Dursley cower in fear from him; Harry wished he knew what had happened before he came downstairs.

And if the old man's promise was true and he would be taught magic as well as Sinanju, he would be out of this house and with someone who wanted him. Remo, the younger man with the old Oriental, didn't seem too happy with the idea of Harry going with them; maybe he was jealous, like Chiun had suggested, but even dealing with Remo's jealousy would be better than the hostility and isolation he would have to endure if he stayed here. Even if his aunt was following Dumbledore's request, she'd never treated him remotely like family, like the professor had asked her to. Harry finally made up his mind.

"I agree," he said to Chiun. "I'll go with you."

Petunia managed to look both horrified and relieved. "What will I tell Dumbledore?" she whispered.

Vernon and Dudley were both elated. "Hmph," Vernon snorted, folding his arms across his beefy chest. "Good riddance, then, I say. If you want to leave with these freaks, boy, then hurry up and get out!"

"I've got to get Hedwig!" Harry said, racing up the stairs.

"Get the boy's belongings, Remo," Chiun ordered. For a long moment Remo stood stock-still, as if he would refuse to obey; then he reached down and picked up Harry's trunk with one hand, following Chiun to the door. Seconds later Harry came down the stairs carrying a birdcage with a white owl in it. Chiun and Remo were standing at the front door waiting for him.

"My broom, too," Harry said, pulling the Nimbus Two Thousand out of the cupboard. "Okay, I'm ready."

"What did you do at that school, kid?" Remo asked, staring at the broom in his hand. "Were you the janitor or something?"

"Come, Harry," Chiun said, ignoring Remo's jibe, and the two of them walked out the front door, with Remo following behind, carrying the trunk.

Just outside the front door Remo stopped and looked back at the Dursleys. "See you around, Chuckles," he said to Vernon, who remained silent until Harry and the two men had gotten into their car and drove off up Privet Drive, heading back toward London.

"Good riddance," Dursley finally muttered, seeing the car disappear up the road. "Now things can get back to normal around here."

"I hope you're right about that," Petunia murmured, still worried what would happen if Dumbledore got word of what had happened with Harry.

"Course I'm right!" Vernon announced, really happy again for the first time since that wretched boy had been found on their doorstep. "And the boy's not coming back here again, no matter what! Come on, Dudders," he said, tousling his son's hair. "Let's go watch some telly."

At the corner of the block a gray-haired woman dressed in a tartan-patterned housecoat and slippers and carrying a string shopping bag filled with tins of cat food in one hand watched anxiously as the car carrying Harry Potter drove away. Harry, glancing out the window, saw her and waved as he went by. Oh dear Merlin, Arabella Figg thought, Dumbledore has to hear about this! She turned and hurried toward her home two streets away, on Wisteria Walk, to compose a letter to the headmaster. As far as she knew Harry was supposed to remain at 4 Privet Drive for most of the summer, until a few weeks before school began in September, when he'd be taken to the Weasley home in Devon. If Mundungus Fletcher had forgotten to tell her about a change in plans, she was going to wring his scrawny neck!

=ooo=

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, remembered the first time he'd really considered the various uses of the Trace, the enchantment placed on all newborn witches and wizards in Wizarding Britain. He had learned that the enchantment would allow a wizard to be located should he be separated or taken from his family. For that reason, young Albus had thought it a very good idea indeed.

It had been in his third year of school, also at Hogwarts where he attended, when he'd overheard one of the Muggleborn students complaining that he'd gotten a letter from the Ministry accusing him of performing magic in his home with Muggles nearby.

Wizarding secrecy laws forbade any underage wizards from performing magic where Muggles, the name witches and wizards had given nonmagical folk, could see them. The Muggleborn had objected, saying he was just practicing magic in his room, locked so no one could walk in on him, but the Ministry had said that no magic was supposed to be practiced outside of school.

At the time, Dumbledore had thought that strange, since he had practiced magic many times himself at home over the past two summer holidays, and no letter from the Ministry had ever come to him. The application of these rules seemed inconsistent to him. It was not long, however, before he realized that the inconsistency was deliberate; the Ministry discouraged the practice of magic amongst Muggleborn and half-blood wizards, but allowed pure-blood families like his own to practice magic freely. While the young Dumbledore had not exactly agreed with that disparity, he understood that Muggles must not learn that the Wizarding world existed. They had known, long ago, that witches and wizards were real, but once the secrecy laws had been put into place they became legendary, a part of the mythology and folklore of nations and cultures around the world.

And now, the Trace had been used to perform the function Dumbledore believed it was originally created for: discovering the location of an underage wizard separated from his family. He had received Mrs. Figg's owl warning him that Harry had left the Dursley home earlier that evening, and was now in a London Muggle hotel with the two men who had taken him. Why they had taken Harry, or even how they found him, was unknown; when he had talked to the Dursleys earlier that evening they could offer no reason for the men's appearance or why they had taken Harry, beyond remembering the words "Sinanju" and "prophecy." Dumbledore had no idea what "Sinanju" meant, beyond being a small village in the north of Korea, on the West Korean Bay, according to the geography he had learned more than a hundred years ago.

Nor was there a way any Muggle could know of the prophecy concerning Voldemort and Harry — of that, Dumbledore was certain. No other person on Earth knew the entire prophecy that Sybill Trelawney had spoken in his presence at the Hog's Head Inn that cold, wet night in 1980 — not even Sybill herself, who had been in a Seer's trance. Even Harry, too young yet to understand the danger that mere words had him put in, had not been told.

It was imperative that Harry be returned to number four, Privet Drive. The magic that had protected Harry from Voldemort had been extended to his sister's blood, giving him protection from the dark wizard and his followers as long as he could call her house his home as well. While Death Eaters would most certainly wish to take Harry, not even the most powerful of them could approach the Dursley home while the blood protection was in place. No one in the Wizarding world would have remembered the relationship between Lily Evans and Petunia Dursley neé Evans. Indeed, even though Dumbledore had placed a member of the Order of the Phoenix in the neighborhood with Harry, a Squib who understood Muggle ways, to watch over him, not one of Voldemort's followers had ever approached the home.

Into the dark, still hotel room where Harry slept, the tall, thin figure of Albus Dumbledore suddenly and silently appeared. He looked slowly about the room. It was very nice, as hotel rooms went, with a queen-sized bed, a fine oaken dresser, a writing desk, even a small Muggle refrigeration unit. Curious, Dumbledore wiggled a finger at the refrigerator door and it opened. Inside were several bottles of water and soft drinks. The door closed again on its own.

Harry was breathing softly and rhythmically, the sleep of the innocent. Dumbledore had decided he would quietly enter the room Harry was in and safely remove him to the Burrow, where the Weasleys would welcome him with open arms. He would then return to the hotel to find out what the two men who had kidnapped him from 4 Privet Drive wanted with him.

Albus Dumbledore moved forward silently, putting a hand out so he could cover Harry's mouth should the boy cry out when he awoke. Only one of the men was in the room next door, but it wouldn't do for him to hear anything going on in here, though Dumbledore foresaw no difficulty if something like that occurred. The man, after all, was old and frail, and only a Muggle.

As his hand moved toward Harry's mouth, however, a thin, aged hand suddenly clamped onto his wrist with surprising strength. Dumbledore's left hand instantly moved, reaching for the wand hidden within his robes. His fingers clutched only empty air, and he was spun around to face his attacker.

An elderly Oriental man stood before him, placing a finger to his lips to indicate Dumbledore should remain quiet. His other hand lightly held Dumbledore's wand. The Oriental took his finger away from his lips, whispering, "Do not wake the boy."

Dumbledore nodded agreement, but at the same time he silently called to his wand to return to him. The wand did not budge from the old Oriental's hand, though he held it with only two fingers. Dumbledore urged it again, but the wand refused to come. This was an interesting wrinkle in his plan, Dumbledore thought bemusedly.

The old Oriental put his hand on Dumbledore's upper arm, near his shoulder, and the headmaster felt his feet moving him away from the bed to the corner near the door to the room. It was as if his legs were moving of their own accord. It was quite fascinating, really, Dumbledore thought, even as he wondered what kind of control this ancient Oriental was exercising over him, to force him to move this way against his will. A non-magical Imperius curse?

Finally they were standing in a far corner of the room. The old man released Dumbledore's arm. "You are Dumbledore, correct?" he asked, in a very quiet voice.

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded. "I am the Headmaster of the school Harry attends. How do you know of me?"

"The boy's aunt gave him a letter you placed with him when you left him at their home," the old man said.

"Who are you and what do you want with the boy?" Dumbledore asked, staring into the Oriental's eyes, hoping to get answers from the man's mind even if he refused to answer.

But Chiun answered immediately. "I am Chiun, the Reigning Master of Sinanju. I wish to train him in the ways of Sinanju, according to the prophecy of my ancestors. If he is the one we have awaited these many centuries, he is the only one who can stop the death demon who tried to kill him eleven years ago."

"The death demon?" Dumbledore repeated. "Do you mean Voldemort?"

"The demon who killed the boy's parents in their home eleven years ago," Chiun answered. "He attempted to kill the boy, but the boy turned his death stroke back upon him, defeating the demon but not killing him."

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "That is in essence what happened. But what is this boy to you, if I may ask? And how were you able to approach me without my knowledge and take my wand? No Muggle has ever been able to do that before."

"I am not a Muggle, o wizard," Chiun answered loftily. "I am Sinanju."

"You can perform magic, then?" Dumbledore asked.

"Sinanju is not magic," Chiun replied. "It is life perfected by the sun source and experienced to its fullest. I offered it to the boy and he has accepted, but I will not know for some time if he will be worthy of it."

"If Sinanju is not magic, then what is it?" Dumbledore persisted, intrigued by this old man and his mysterious ways. Not unlike Dumbledore himself, for the headmaster loved to present himself as an enigma to be pondered over and guessed at by others.

"Sinanju is Sinanju," Chiun merely stated. "Could you explain magic in a mere handful of words to one who has never experienced it? So, too, is Sinanju something that only those who can accept it are able to understand."

"Then what do you do with it?" Dumbledore asked, trying a new tack.

"We bring beauty and elegance to the world," Chiun said, "by removing that which causes disharmony and conflict." Which was true, Dumbledore saw in the man's eyes, but there was something else he wasn't saying.

"How, exactly, do you do this?" Dumbledore further inquired, wondering just what the man was hiding from him. "If Harry is to triumph over this death demon, or Lord Voldemort as we call him, what will you teach him?"

"He will be taught how to live to the fullest of his ability," Chiun said. "That is what will triumph over death. Life."

That wasn't really the answer Dumbledore wanted, but, "Are you sure Harry will be able to learn this Sinanju?" he asked, his eyes still on Chiun's.

"Nothing is certain," Chiun said. "One cannot pour the ocean into a teacup. If the boy is worthy of Sinanju, and capable of learning it, I will know within a year or two."

"And if he is not worthy, what will you do then?"

"Then I will return him to you, so you may do what you can with him," Chiun said. "After all, it is possible he will succeed only with magic and whatever training I am able to give him. Or, if you wish, you may ask for my help with this death demon Voldemort of yours."

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "I am afraid, Master of Sinanju, that we have a prophecy ourselves, one that says that only Harry can kill Voldemort. You could not kill him."

"No need to be insulting," Chiun said warningly, though his tone was mild. "But as you do not understand Sinanju I will let it pass this time. Now, I will return your wand and allow you to leave."

Chiun began to hand over Dumbledore's wand, but suddenly withdrew it. "Ah — I do have a question for you, Headmaster of Harry's school. Harry has asked to continue his learning in your ways of magic, and this is advisable in case he proves unworthy of the perfection of Sinanju. Therefore, I request the name of a tutor who will be able to stay with Harry and train him in magic while he attempts to master the Sun Source."

"Hmm," Dumbledore pondered that for a few moments. "I do know a wizard who would be able to tutor Harry in magic while he is with you. I can write his name down for you."

"Excellent," Chiun smiled for the first time since Dumbledore's arrival. "Please do so." Dumbledore took a piece of parchment and a self-inking quill from his robes and wrote a name down on the parchment, giving it to the Oriental. "I will have him get in touch with you, if that's convenient."

"We move about quite often," Chiun said, accepting the parchment from the wizard. "Will this man be able to find us?"

"I will be able to find you the same way I found Harry," Dumbledore said. "We are able to locate wizards who are not yet fully grown by means of an enchantment cast on them at birth."

"Ah," Chiun said, nodding. "Quite ingenious."

"I too have a request, Master of Sinanju," Dumbledore said. "I have grown quite fond of Harry in the year he has been at my school; perhaps it is just the sentimentality of an old man, but I would like to have a memento from him before I leave. With your permission, of course."

"What do you wish?" Chiun asked.

"A lock of his hair," Dumbledore said.

Chiun was silent, considering, but he could see no harm in leaving a mere lock of hair with the old wizard. "As you wish," he said, handing Dumbledore's wand back to him then moving toward the bed where Harry slept. As Dumbledore watched with keen interest, the old Oriental took a lock of hair by his fingtertips, passing his other hand over the boy's head. The hair came away from Harry's head, though Dumbledore had not seen a knife or scissors in the old man's hand. Chiun returned, handing the lock of hair to the wizard, who produced a small vial, placing the hair inside it.

"Let us leave the boy to rest for the night." Chiun took Dumbledore by the elbow, and again the professor felt his feet move of their own accord. Within moments they had slipped through the door and out of the room.

In the corridor, Chiun faced Dumbledore but did not bow. "Return in a year's time and we will discuss whether the boy will continue in the way of Sinanju or whether he should return with you to your Stick Wiggler training." Dumbledore noted the term the old man used for wizards but said nothing.

But as Chiun turned to leave Dumbledore spoke. "Master of Sinanju, I feel I should warn you of the danger Harry is in."

Chiun turned back to him. "Danger? Nonsense. As you say, he is with the Master of Sinanju now. He is the most well-protected child in the world."

But Dumbledore continued. "Nevertheless, there may be men looking for him, men who would stop at nothing to destroy him, including Voldemort himself, if he is able to regain his former power."

Chiun gave Dumbledore a penetrating stare. "If he was in such danger, o wizard, then why was he staying with those who did not wish his presence? If men seek to kill him, why was he so inadequately defended?"

"There were powerful enchantments placed on that home," Dumbledore replied. "His mother died protecting him from Voldemort, and she used to death to evoke a powerful protection on Harry, protection against the wizard—"

"The demon," Chiun corrected.

"As you say," Dumbledore nodded. "From the 'demon' that killed his mother. "When I placed Harry with his aunt and uncle, I extended that magical protection to his aunt's blood. Neither Voldemort nor anyone who follows him can enter or even approach that house, and if they try to touch Harry directly the protection will hurt them greatly.

"But that protection remains in effect only while Harry can call that house his home, while his aunt and uncle give him houseroom there," the old wizard explained. "Harry must spend at least a week in their home every year for that to continue. I therefore ask that you allow him to return to number 4 Privet Drive for one week so that he may be protected for at least one more year."

"That will not be necessary," Chiun said, gently. "I will see that no harm comes to him."

Dumbledore nodded but he was by no means giving up the argument. "Perhaps you judge the danger he is in by our current interaction. I assure you, Master of Sinanju, I am being quite pleasant compared to how the followers of Voldemort will act if they come to take Harry from you."

Chiun put his hands together before him, palms against one another. "And I assure you, Headmaster of Harry's school, that I have been quite pleasant as well." He bowed, leaning forward so Dumbledore could see the back of his nearly bald head.

But when Chiun stood again, he held an object in his hand that wasn't there before. Dumbledore's wand. Startled, Dumbledore reached for the pocket where he had hidden his wand. It was no longer there. "How could you —"

"I am the Master of Sinanju, o wizard," Chiun replied, handing the wand back to Dumbledore. "It is my business to know as much about my enemy as possible."

"I am not your enemy, sir," Dumbledore pointed out. "We should consider ourselves friends who wish Harry to be safe from the hands of those who would do him harm."

"He will be safe," Chiun assured him. "For if a hand reaches out to do Harry Potter harm, I will see that hand, and that will be the last thing that hand ever does." Chiun turned and walked into the door next to Harry's.

Dumbledore stood still for nearly a minute, thinking about the words and actions of the old man. He had to admit he was impressed, even if he still didn't know what this Chiun, this Reigning Master of Sinanju, as he called himself, intended to teach Harry. The old man had done things Dumbledore had considered impossible for a Muggle. Could the things he might teach Harry have to do with part of the prophecy, the "power the Dark Lord knows not?" Without knowing more about Sinanju, there was no way to tell.

But more immediate concerns were pressing, notably Harry's absence from Hogwarts in the upcoming school year. Something would have to be done about that, Dumbledore decided — and he had already taken steps to remedy that situation as much as possible. Time would tell whether Harry was worthy to receive this Sinanju or not — but for now Dumbledore would make sure he would receive regular updates on Harry's progress with the old man. Silently, he vanished from the hotel corridor, leaving it empty and still once again.

=ooo=

Author's Note: There are a few stories in fanfiction dot net that feature Chiun and Remo Williams. One of them is in chapter three of "Harry Potter Versus," one of my stories. Another one with only Remo is "Remo the Vampire Slayer" by Guy Fox, posted on Jan 13, 2001. This story is a de facto crossover between the Destroyer book series and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I also found a story called "The Destroyer vs The Sith," by RogerD, last updated on Feb 7, 2008. In this story Remo and Chiun take on the Sith from the Star Wars universe.

The most notable past entry is "Harry Potter and the Sun Source," by Clell65619, last updated on May 3, 2012. This fic asks what would have happened if Chiun had taken Harry from the Dursleys' doorstep the night he was left there, and Harry grew up being trained by the Master of Sinanju. I enjoyed this last story the most. If you dear readers know of any other fanfiction stories featuring Remo and/or Chiun, on this site or elsewhere, please let me and the other readers know.

This story will look at what might happen if Harry is exposed to both the British wizarding world and the training of Sinanju. Unlike the Sun Source fic, Harry doesn't meet Remo and Chiun until after his first year at Hogwarts.

Now that Harry is with Remo and Chiun, how will Dumbledore deal with his absence from wizarding Britain? I expect some of you have some ideas on that. So do I, of course. In chapter two, we will see how Dumbledore plans to keep tabs on Harry as he is trained in the ways of Sinanju. And don't forget about Remo, who does not seem pleased that Chiun has chosen to train another white man, something Remo thought only he was capable of.