by Draeconin

Mrs Mountbank was almost always rather busy: if not with internal school affairs, then with raising money to keep the school running. Like Hogwarts, they couldn't lay off all operating expenses on tuition, or few would be able to afford to attend, which would drive up tuition fees, which meant fewer could attend... A vicious, self-defeating cycle. So they, like Hogwarts, depended quite a lot on donations. Unlike Hogwarts, Mount Carlen School of Magic received nothing in the way of funding from the wizarding government, and had few alumni with old money: fewer who were also willing to part with any of it. Of those who were, most were vampire elders who had attended, or whose children - or grandchildren to one degree or another - had benefited from the education received at the school. It took a delicate hand and quiet finesse to keep their coffers open and money flowing to Mount Carlen's year after year.

Even so, as the school's representative of Harry's guardian, Mount Carlen's School, Mrs Mountbank usually did manage to look in on Harry at least once a week, although which day or at what time was hit or miss. She did seem to be genuinely interested in Harry's progress, however, and was free with her encouragement and the rare bit of praise on those occasions that she felt it was deserved. If Harry had erred, either in his behaviour or studies, she let the instructors handle it and deal with any correctional steps, but would take the time to listen to the boy's excuses or version of events, just so Harry would know someone was there and willing to listen. However, upon investigation of those incidents, she only ever overturned one decision that had gone against the boy. (The instructor, although admitting the mistake, was understandably embarrassed, and resented it. It took him a couple of weeks, during which Harry was subjected to mild displays of the instructor's displeasure, to let the incident go.)

And although Harry pouted, he was gratified that she at least cared enough to find out the facts, even if she didn't always put a lot of credibility in his interpretation of them.

As for friends... well, unfortunately, Harry had never learned how to interact with others in a social setting - had never been given the chance to learn - so in general he was quite reclusive, in fear of making a fool of himself or being rejected: something he was too used to experiencing. Kit and Alex were quite friendly with Harry and would stick by him against any would-be bullies, but while all three could, and would say they were friends, the two who knew what friendship was would be unable to say that they were the closest of friends.

And why might that be? Harry was keeping secrets. Or at least, he thought he was keeping secrets. Everybody in the school knew he was a vampire, although nobody mentioned it. Why would they? There were vampires in plenty at the school; they were common. Those who knew he was a living vampire, though, could be counted on the fingers of his hands, and have fingers left over. And so Harry thought nobody knew, and he was afraid of anyone finding out. That being so, he held back: didn't allow himself to get too close, just in case they'd reject him when they found out.

Of course that excuse didn't work when it came to the vampires who had decided that Harry needed to be taught and trained in everything that they considered it took to be a 'proper' vampire (plus a good few other things). He learned hunting techniques, including seduction, how to feed without permanently harming your prey (a relief to Harry, since he'd never managed to feed off a rabbit without killing it, although that was because a rabbit didn't have enough blood to satisfy any vampire without killing it), blending into the shadows, climbing walls, and so on.

In their enthusiasm, however, they rather lost sight of the fact that Harry wasn't just a pet project, but was also a young boy who needed nurturing. And so while they were happy to have Harry around, and while they never truly ignored him, they also never really tried to interact with the boy in any meaningful way. They'd brag about how smart Harry was, how quickly he learnt most things, and had Harry show off what he'd learnt, but the pride they showed in him was more along the lines of the pride one would show for a well-trained pet, rather than a person who was valued for themselves.

And Harry was well aware of it. He put up with it though, not only because of what he was learning, but because he secretly craved the praise and acceptance that he was also given.

That didn't mean Harry was happy about either situation, or with himself. He ignored the suggestions of the mind healers to be open about himself, and disbelieved those who said everyone already knew. How could they? He hadn't told anyone other than the small group training him - who already knew in any case, since they couldn't sense him as a vampire - and other than the healers, Mrs Mountbank and a few instructors, nobody in the school had ever said anything to him about it. And Harry was certain his being a vampire would have been thrown in his face, had any of his fellow pupils known - other than the other vampires, that is. It made him even more of a freak than having magic had (he had figured out that his aunt and uncle must have known, since Aunt Petunia was his mother's sister, and that was why they'd hated him).

Harry's Mind Healer was slowly helping him work through and abandon his feelings of self doubt and worthlessness, but it was a slow, ongoing process.

So to distract himself from all that, Harry threw himself into his studies and became one of the best students in his year.

He'd looked up the 'histories' written about him in the books, of course: how his mother and father had gone into hiding after learning the dark wizard known as Voldemort (nobody he knew would give a child a name like that, so unless he had been of one of the non-human races, he had to have named himself) had decided to hunt down and kill those who had defied him too many times, although there had been rumours of a prophecy that was driving him also, and had been quite successful with that endeavour, until the madman had gone after Harry's parents.

According to the histories, Sirius Black had been the secret keeper for the Fidelius Charm put on the Potters' residence, and had betrayed the family to You-Know-Who, as the books named the dark lord known as Voldemort. The dark wizard had destroyed the door into the house at Godric's Hollow, prompting James Potter to urge his wife to 'take Harry and run', before attempting to duel the intruder and falling to the killing curse: the Avada Kadavra. The man had then tracked down Harry's mother to the nursery where she had begged for her baby's life, offering her own in exchange, before herself falling victim to the AK. Apparently he had then attempted to kill Harry himself, but the spell had rebounded, causing a cut on Harry's forehead, destroying the dark wizard's body, and a great deal of the house.

It all smelled a bit whiffy, to Harry. First of all, no mention of any of the dark wizard's followers being present was made. So who had witnessed the incident? Who had reported it? Even if there had been Death Eaters present, they couldn't have repeated the tale without incriminating themselves. So who could have spread the story, and to what end? What would it have gained them?

And from what information Harry had gleaned of the Avada Kedavra curse, it killed without a mark. So what had caused the scar on his forehead? The curse would either work, or it wouldn't - even being reflected, by whatever means, should not have changed the magic of the curse enough to cause physical damage - except, perhaps, for his scar. Conflicting magic might have done that, but that didn't account for the so-called 'rebounded' curse disintegrating Voldemort's body or causing such extensive damage to his parents' house. Logically, then, it could not have been the Avada Kedavra that was used: or if it was, it was not what had caused the damage, either to Voldemort or his parents' home. The preponderance of logic argued against it having been the AK that was used.

Harry had regretfully decided that all of the published histories were at least flawed, if not outright wrong - they all disagreed with each other on several points - and so he put the mystery aside until such a time that he had the time, money, and the physical maturity to properly pursue it. He was almost certain that although he had every right to know, people would refuse to divulge such information to a child in a mistaken effort to 'protect' him. He sneered at the thought. Until he got here, no adult had ever made any serious effort to protect him or take care of him; he'd been forced, out of necessity, to take care of himself. And he still didn't trust that such protection as he was receiving would last. He'd enjoy it while it did last, but he wasn't about to let his guard drop, just in case that protection failed.

A good attitude, actually, considering there were usually at least one or two fights between the pupils every day. With so many races and personalities crowded together in one place, it was almost inevitable. Such fights were always punished, of course, but that didn't stop them from happening.

And in History of Magic...

Harry raised his hand, and after being recognized by his teacher, a vampire named Romilda Stack, he said: "About all these goblin rebellions, Professor..."

"Yes, Mister Potter?"

"Well, they're all rebellions, aren't they."

"Yes?"

"What were they rebelling against?"

Professor Stack smiled, mouth closed. She was pleased. It had been almost a hundred years since the last student had noticed and asked about that.

"The same thing most rebellions are against: oppression," she answered.

Harry thought about that. "Wizards?" he asked, venturing a guess.

"They are the most numerous, Mister Potter."

"But we didn't start the wars!" a human witch protested.

"You have seen a photo or painting of the statuary frieze called 'The Fountain of Magical Brethren' in the Ministry of Magic, Miss Tocksbridge?" Professor Stack inquired.

"I've seen the statue itself," the girl replied proudly. "My father works in the Ministry."

"Did anything about it stand out to you?"

The girl thought about it, but Harry had his hand in the air again.

"Yes, Mister Potter?"

"I've only seen a photo, Professor, but the other races have to look up at the wizards, don't they?"

"Yes, Mister Potter. And in their arrogance, the artist was told that the other races depicted were to have expressions of admiration on their faces as they looked up at the humans."

"But what does that have to do with the rebellions?" Harry inquired, getting back to his original question.

"Humans believe they have the right to restrict the rights and freedoms of not only their own race, but all others, as well. Vampires get around this by the simple expedient of ignoring the human government. We have our own laws and ruling body, very few permanent locations, we can easily relocate if necessary, and we are natural predators, quite able to fight and defend ourselves. This makes the wizarding government less eager to pursue a vendetta against the vampire race, although they do try, every few decades. Unfortunately, very few other races have those advantages, lacking a support structure, being too large or too numerous to easily relocate, lacking a ready means to defend themselves, or have other factors that make ready independence difficult. This allows their Ministry of Magic to send out their aurors to subjugate any group that-"

"They're only trying to keep the peace!" Kina Tocksbridge protested.

"Are they, Miss Tocksbridge?" Professor Stack rejoined, somewhat tartly. "Or have they merely used that as a pretext for their greed and bigotry? And that will be one demerit for interrupting your professor."

The girl slumped in her chair, unwilling to risk further punishment, but her face was a mask of stubborn, petulant indignation.

"As I was saying," the professor continued, "the wizarding government, over the centuries that they have been in power, have been taking more power out of the hands of the magical races, including their own, and accruing it for themselves. However, their bias against non-humans has led them to enact their most restrictive laws against those races. And since goblins could, and did compete with humans in almost all areas, the most restrictive laws were enacted against them. No self-respecting people will stand for that sort of oppression for long without rebelling: if they have any means to do so, that is."

"I don't believe it," Kina said flatly, unable to remain quiet in the face of this speech.

"Do you have anything to back up your disagreement, Miss Tocksbridge," the professor replied, "or is this purely an emotional reaction?"

"I- I..." the girl stammered, her face turning a deep red.

"Yes, Miss Tocksbridge?"

"Emotional, Miss Stack," the girl said in a defeated tone.

"In that case, that will be another demerit. Do not disrupt my class without reason."

"Yes, Miss Stack," the girl replied.

The woman faced the class at large, and addressed them. "I want at least three feet of parchment - five feet maximum - on the restrictions the British Ministry of Magic has enacted on the non-human races and why those restrictions may have led to rebellion by end-week next, and another two feet on the restrictions on their own people two weeks later. Double spacing and large print will earn you demerits, and you will be required to repeat the assignment."

The class groaned, and a few sarcastically called out, "Our thanks, Tocksbridge!"

"Don't blame me," she retorted, "Potter brought up the question!"

"Ah, yes," Professor Stack put in, baring her teeth in subtle threat and reminding the class she was still there. They immediately quieted down and pretended they had not just lost their decorum. "Thank you, Miss Tocksbridge."

"Mister Potter," she continued, talking to Harry, "it has been many years since anyone has noticed - or if they have noticed, asked about - the fact that the strife with the goblins were, indeed, rebellions. Two credits, Mister Potter."

Harry was very pleased, but tried to hide the smile that threatened to break through to his face. He didn't want the negative attention that Tocksbridge received transferred to him. But he subtly nodded his thanks, anyway. The more credits he accumulated, the more he could do. With three, he could order a special meal. With ten, he could go on at outing to the nearest magical shopping district: Diagon Alley. Not by himself, certainly, at his age, but with a group of others who had also earned the points. Private outings could be had once one turned fifteen. Twenty-five credits could earn you a private room for half a year, or forty to get a full year. As you can imagine, credits were not given out lightly.

Three demerits, on the other hand, would earn you detentions at first, and then more odious punishments after five detentions, such as serving as a 'teaching assistant' in one of the magic classes, where the miscreant would serve as a target to demonstrate the effects of spells, charms, or other magical applications: nothing irreversible, but the lesson could be a quite painful one.

Unfortunately, credits could not be used to offset demerits, so most students served at least one detention in a school year.

And then in Harry's Theory of Magic class...

"According to the best scholars of all the races capable of using magic, magic is classified into three main categories: Ambient, Wild, and Primal magic. Think of them as thick layers, one atop the other. Human wizards and witches tap into ambient magic - that magic which radiates from the main source, much like heat from a fire. How deeply into that layer they can tap depends on their innate power and ability. Most other races also make use of this layer, but the older vampires, naga, chinese dragons, and a very few other races can tap into and make use of at least some wild magic. This can be likened to the flames of the fire, to continue that analogy. However, insofar as we are aware, there are no races or individuals now alive who can tap into even the lightest levels of primal magic: the coals of the fire, where the heat is highest."

"There used to be?" Harry asked in amazement, before clasping a hand over his mouth in mortification.

"One demerit, Potter. Raise your hand and wait to be recognised before asking your questions."

"Sorry, sir."

"But to answer your question, yes: at least in legend. Amongst the Ancients were beings said to have had the ability to tap into the lightest layers of primal magic. But if so, that information is lost in the mists of time."

---

As for the old man, Dumbledore: he hadn't forgotten Harry. Indeed, he'd sent a representative to see Harry a few months after his own visit, correctly assuming that it would be awhile before he'd outlive his persona non grata status.

Harry had been quite surprised when he had been called to the Headmistress' office and found a strange-smelling man awaiting him with her. It was a wild, slightly sick smell, reminding him of dogs and stagnant pools.

"Ma'am?" Harry said, with a questioning glance at the stranger seated there, who had just tensed up as Harry entered.

"Mister Remus Lupin," Mrs Mountbank replied, beginning introductions, "this is Harry Potter."

"Harry," she continued, "Mister Lupin claims to have been a friend of your father's." And if she wasn't mistaken, this was the person - a werewolf - that her cousin had worked with during the last war, in a clandestine group led by Dumbledore. Whether she was right or wrong, however, she was wasn't leaving her ward alone with him.

"Quite good friends, actually," the man said to Harry, with a reproving glance at the headmistress for the use of the word 'claims'. "We were best friends all through school, and up until... Well, I'm sure we don't want to go into that," he said uncomfortably.

"Until they died?" Harry said bluntly, having his own suspicions about the man. Of course, since his experiences with Dumbledore, he would have been suspicious of anyone who was or had been associated with the old man's school. "I don't remember them, sir, so you needn't walk on eggshells with me. I do wish they hadn't died, of course - it would have been nice to have a family - but wishing won't bring them back."

"Yes, well... I wish I'd been there," the man said, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

Harry took a seat. "Tell me about them?" he politely asked.

"Ah... Perhaps somewhere else, where we won't be taking up your headmistress' time?"

Harry looked at her, uneasy with the suggestion, although it was a good point, and received a small shake of her head.

"I assure you, Mister Lupin," she said, "that I don't mind at all. Harry is my ward, after all."

Remus looked startled at that. "I... I thought he- You," he said, changing his focus to Harry, and then stopped and changed it back again to Mrs Mountbank. "You raised him?"

"No, Mister Lupin. My guardianship only started this year," she replied, "although technically he's a ward of the school."

Bewildered, Remus said, "I was under the impression that..." Caught in a morass of conflicting thoughts and emotions, the man sought escape, and found it in the strange smell that had been present ever since Harry had entered.

An expression of exasperation crossing his face, he said, "What is that smell? Do you have vampires here?"

"As well as representatives of several other intelligent races, yes," Mrs Mountbank replied.

"And you hang around them?" Remus questioned Harry.

"Yes," Harry replied, bemused.

"They're dangerous!"

Harry smirked. "So are you," he replied, having figured out the strange smell coming from the man. "Come to that, anyone and anything can be, under the right conditions."

Lupin froze. "What do you mean, 'so am I'?"

"Well, you're a werewolf, aren't you? Rather the pot calling the kettle black, isn't it?"

"I'm only dangerous three nights a month," the man replied stiffly. "Vampires are dangerous all the time."

Harry frowned. "I thought you said you went to school with my father?"

"What has that to do with vampires?" Lupin inquired exasperatedly.

"You can do magic then, can't you?"

"Yes," he replied with a slight frown, wondering where in the world the boy was going with his questioning.

"Then you're dangerous all the time, as well," Harry said in quiet triumph.

Remus opened his mouth to argue, found himself without a foot to stand on, and suddenly sat back in his chair, chuckling. "You might look a lot like your father, whelp, but you argue like your mother," he said with a grin. "But aren't you worried they'll feed on you?"

Harry shook his head, a small smirk lingering on his lips. "The school provides blood for vampires," he said flippantly.

"You do?" the werewolf said dangerously, putting the question to the headmistress. "Bleeding your other students, are you?"

Mrs Mountbank sighed. "Animals, Mister Lupin: we've a herd of specially bred cattle that are 'milked' for blood as well as dairy, as well as harvesting the blood from those animals slaughtered for meat."

Lupin turned back to Harry. "At any rate," he said to the boy, his voice tense, "I must insist that you stay away from those bloodsuckers. They are leeches, and serve no purpose but to kill."

Harry stiffened in his seat, then rose from it and, drawing on what he had learned in his lessons to allow him to act the proper young man, said, "I believe this interview is over, Mister Lupin. If you require more information, I suggest you inquire of Dumbledore." He ignored the man's calling to him to stay, and walked out the door with all the dignity he could muster. If he had been older, he might have challenged the man to a duel. As it was, he walked swiftly to his room, changed his clothes, and went hunting. He needed blood: if not Lupin's (which wouldn't have been good anyway, he knew instinctively), then a rabbit's would have to do. More importantly, he needed to rend something, and a rabbit was safer at this stage in his education.

---

And then Harry's first year of wizard schooling was over.

While Harry's studies hadn't exactly been easy, Whisper's powers had made them easier than they otherwise might have been. As it was, Harry was not only keeping up with his class, he was in the top percentages, and it helped that the instructors weren't averse to giving out the odd bit of praise for a job well done, although it had left Harry quite bemused the first few times that praise had been aimed his way.

But Harry's poor upbringing had made his body unused to physical activity, vampiric corrections notwithstanding, and in order to be able to keep up with the few vampires who were close to his age, he'd exercised and trained any time he had ten consecutive minutes or more that weren't needed for other things. He never skimped on his studies, however. That wasn't because he wasn't tempted, but because Mister Hou had made sure Harry got his priorities straight the moment he'd heard of Harry's zeal in this regard: sufficient food and sleep first, studies second, and then training and exercise.

What Harry didn't know was that those priorities would change just a few weeks into his second year, since his body would be in shape: studies, food and training, and then sleep.

Harry had been so proud of himself the first time he'd finished the course at a dead run: and then two months later, all three, at which time Mister Hou had nodded approvingly, and gave Harry an appointment to get fitted for the equipment he'd need to start weapons training. Mister Hou also told Harry that the runs wouldn't stop just because he'd reached the goal set him. In fact, obstacles and traps would begin appearing on the course: nothing deadly at first, the PE teacher told the boy ('At first?' Harry thought incredulously),  but he could look forward to some pain and humiliation if he didn't remain alert and cautious.

What Mister Hou didn't know was that Harry had found ways to incorporate studying whilst otherwise occupied. Harry had befriended a house elf named Juby (the house elf version of 'Jubilee'), who had agreed to spend what time she could reading Harry's textbooks out loud to him as he exercised and practised his other skills. While helpful, Harry didn't depend solely on the house elf's help to learn. Even with Juby reading to him and the aid of Whisper and occlumency, he still had to read the books himself in order to consolidate the information.

The hardest thing, oddly enough, had been learning penmanship. He had never in his life even seen a writing quill before Mount Carlen, let alone tried to use one: and his penmanship with a pencil or ballpoint pen had never been exactly neat to begin with. Harry had a long way to go when he'd first picked up a quill. His first attempts weren't at all legible. Not only was his writing a jerky scrawl, but there was smeared ink and splatters everywhere. Not to mention that he'd broken three quills before the first page was written! It had taken most of the year before his penmanship got a 'Satisfactory, Mister Potter,' from Professor Smith. To Harry, it looked rather 'flowery', but if that's what it took to keep Mister Smith from lecturing him on 'proper presentation of oneself, even in ones correspondence', then that's what Harry was going to do.

Thank the gods that was over, now.

Harry's biggest disappointment was the flying lessons. He longed to soar: find freedom in the clouds. But while the broom jumped readily to his hand, and he was able to get the broom in the air, the damned thing was almost unresponsive: it jerked, it stuttered, it slid in the air like an excited dog on ice. What it did not do was soar, although Harry was eventually able to get the broom to go in the general direction he wished it to go.

"I'm sorry, Mister Potter, but while these brooms are quite old, they are well maintained. I'm afraid the fault must lie in yourself: something in your magic, perhaps," was the response Harry had received when he'd asked.

Although Harry had no way to know it, his magic was actually overwhelming the spells on the brooms.

Harry also had a firm occlumency shield, now. He would need to continue to work on it as it wasn't all that strong yet, but he'd practically gone through hell in order to deal with all the emotional issues his old memories evoked before he could even begin to build it. The memories remained, as well as the ghosts of those emotions, but they no longer tormented or ruled him. He was now in control, instead of programmed responses.

He wished that someone had told him, when he began learning occlumency, that it would help him with information retention. Along with Whisper's aid, Harry was no longer so easily distracted, and didn't need to study anything half as hard he did before he'd learnt occlumency. He remembered facts and theory much better, leaving him more time for research and to practise practical applications.

And although he still had a problem with self esteem, he was now at least considering the idea that he might be better, and deserve better than his experiences with the Dursleys had left him to believe.

Harry had also discovered blood pops: or rather, he had been introduced to them by an older student. They weren't the only sweet he enjoyed, as various forms of chocolate were also a delight, but they were his favourite.

But now summer holidays had rolled around, and Harry was happy to have 'survived' end of year testing (having done quite well), and in a week or two Mister Hou was going to take Harry to London's Chinatown to buy his first real weapons. No more practising with boken! Even expertly weighted, the bamboo and wooden weapon substitutes felt clumsy to Harry.

---

Harry looked around himself in wonder. It seemed every surface in the shop was covered with weapons: mostly blades of one sort or another, but other sorts of weapons were present too, including a few that didn't really look like weapons. This being Chinatown, most of the weapons were of Oriental make, but broadswords, maces, morningstars, bows, and other sorts of European style weapons were also for sale. The 'disguised' weapons included silk fans with steel ribs, which were called tessen, the tips of some of which were quite sharp, and umbrellas with swords hidden in their handles, and with spring-loaded blades that popped out of the ferule. "Strictly for the tourists, that one," Mister Hou instructed Harry. "Hardly practical. The tip blade can only be used for thrusting, and is easily broken off. They're more or less a throw-away weapon."

When the owner, an older man named Chiang Hua¹, saw James Hou, he gave the PE teacher a slight, but respectful bow, which Mister Hou responded to by giving a forty-five degree bow, showing even more respect for the other man.

"You have a promising student, then?" Mister Chiang asked, not even glancing at Harry.

"It is possible," Mister Hou replied. "He needs to learn, anyway."

Mister Chiang didn't ask; he merely said, "This way, then," and led them into a back room.

"Here," Mister Chiang informed them, "is where I keep my best blades. Those out front are for the mundanes and tourists."

"Mundanes?" Harry inquired. He was also curious to know about the two different rooms of weapons, but the 'mundanes' comment was what he was most curious about at the moment.

"Muggles," Mister Chiang explained. "I prefer the term 'mundanes' because it is both more accurate, and less prejudicial."

"More accurate? How?"

"Think about it, Harry," Mister Hou interrupted, with a small bow of apology to the other man for taking over the instruction without warning. But this was his student, after all. "If it isn't magical, it's ordinary. And 'mundane' means...?"

"Ordinary," Harry acknowledged, his cheeks tinting a bit.

Mister Hou didn't rub Harry's face in it, changing the subject, instead.

"Look around, but don't touch anything. Some of these weapons are cursed."

"Cursed?" Harry asked curiously.

"For the wounds not to heal, or unable to heal with magic - only with time, like mundanes do - or they might actually deliver a curse that acts as a poison or a debilitating illness, among other things. None have deadly magic, as those would be illegal, but even a mundane weapon can be quite dangerous if handled improperly or without due caution."

"Oh." Harry was feeling just a bit sorry he'd asked, now. And the shine was off his excitement. This was no longer for fun. These weapons were actually for using against other people: for wounding, and... killing. For keeping others from wounding or killing him. He still wanted his own weapons, but this revelation had put it all into perspective for him.

"You do want your own weapons?" Mister Hou prompted.

"Huh? Oh! Yeah - yes, sir." Harry was embarrassed that he'd stood around, lost in his own thoughts like that - and then to forget his social training! He wandered over to the closest display, and started looking at the daggers, there.

"If you find something that calls to you, let me know: otherwise we'll just get you some working tools, for now," Mister Hou told the boy, frowning at Harry for his less-than-respectful address of him just then. He knew Caucasions weren't steeped in the traditions of honour and respect he had grown up with as an Oriental, but he thought he had instructed the boy in the basics better than this.

Mister Chiang was looking at the younger man with curiosity. "You expect him to find soul weapons?" he asked.

"Eventually," James replied, watching his charge.

"He is that powerful?"

The PE teacher paused in thought. "He is the most powerful in his class. Perhaps in the top ten percentile of the year ahead of him: and he started at the school a year early."

'As powerful as children two to three years older than himself?' Mister Chiang thought. He activated the mage sight which a ritual he had performed in his younger years had given him. It stung like salt thrown into his eyes to do so, which is why didn't use it often, but it only hurt for a few moments: and he was very surprised by the aura he saw surrounding the young Master Potter. Perhaps, he thought, he should invite the boy to return to his shop in two to three years. He would show the boy the heirloom weapons which had come into his possession, if the lad lived up to the promise shown in his aura.

Harry had picked out a matched pair of duelling knives which he'd been attracted to for their sleek, deadly lines. They were thirteen inches long, with a long, tapered tip which could slice or puncture an opponent with equal ease. Except for the last inch of blade, they were sharpened only on one side. Then with Mister Hou's assistance, they had picked out a katana. But Mister Chiang wouldn't sell it without the tanto, so Harry had wound up with both. And two dozen throwing knives: because while some could be lost in outdoor practise, they were more likely to be in battle.

There were, of course, sheaths for the blades - the knives would be strapped to Harry's hips, the katana hanging by his side, and the tanto between his shoulder blades, high enough to reach easily. The throwing knives were sold in groups of four, but they bought two forearm bands that held three knives each, and thigh bands, strapped just below the duelling knives, that held six each. Which left Harry with a problem: what was he to do with his wand? He wanted a sheath for it as well, but he had run out of body on which to strap it, and the weapons he now had equipped were very crowded on his almost-eleven-year-old body. And what about his ceremonial dagger - the one that showed that he was a lord?

"You're just a boy, now, Harry. You'll have more body as you mature. And you won't be going into battle with your dagger, nor will you be attending social functions armed for war - I hope," Mister Hou replied dryly, when Harry asked. "However, your wand can be held by the left knife band, with a little modification. When you start attending social functions, we will procure a wand holster for you, since other than that and your ceremonial dagger, it would be gauche to go armed. Later, when you are proficient enough with them, cores can be added to your duelling knives, and I'll train you how to use them that way as well."

"And in school?" Harry wanted to know.

"Once I am certain you know how to use them and that you won't misuse them, you will wear your weapons everywhere."

Harry frowned, trying to remember. "I don't remember ever seeing anyone in school going around armed," he reluctantly protested.

"Good. If you had noticed them, I would have been most displeased with that person."