Interrupta Vitae

Chapter Four: Developments and Demonstrations

Gohan watched the mixture in his cauldron boil away, silently ticking away the minutes in his head. As interesting as some of the potions in his book were, he could feel his eyelids growing heavier with every tedious second. It was Friday, and his body was bursting with pent-up energy. He hadn't had more than a few minutes of training time this past week between the dual adventures of homework and finding his classrooms. Gohan remembered, on his first day, thinking that whomever had designed this castle should've had their heads checked. Between the occasionally ornery talking paintings, the randomly-shifting staircases, and mind-numbingly labyrinthine hallways, it was a miracle anyone got to class on time. Hogwarts was a maze in every sense of the term, and it nettled him to no end.

"If," Snape began sharply, causing more than one student to jump to attention. "You have not neglected certain…critical steps, your Babbling Beverages should now be a translucent brown hue. Remove your cauldron from the flames and produce a sample for grading."

Gohan looked at his potion; he'd performed every step exactly as instructed, and his potion seemed to be the proper colour. As he removed some of the potion and put it into a bottle, Gohan got the faintest hint of fresh mud from the liquid. Why anyone would want a drink that smelled like dirt and made its users babble incoherently was beyond him, but he figured it was harmless enough. Unlike some of the poisons he saw in their book, which appeared to be quite debilitating, if not dangerous or lethal.

"Hm," Snape said, looking at Gohan's potion, eyes narrowed. "I suppose this one passes muster, Son. Acceptable."

Gohan bowed quietly and moved to gather his things.

He heard Snape sigh wearily. "Weasley," he stated dryly. "How finely did you chop your lavender petals?"

Ron shrugged. "Less than half a finger," he admitted, sheepishly.

"Abysmal," Snape replied, annoyed. "I and your book, both of which you have plainly ignored, specifically directed you to chop them finely into the thinnest possible strips. Poor, Weasley. Decidedly Poor."

"Don't you start," Ron told Hermione as them and Neville left the classroom.

"Start what?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Getting on about messing up my potion," Ron groused. "How am I supposed to know what counts as 'finely' chopping something?"

"Actually, I agree with you," Hermione replied, somewhat defensively. "The instructions could use proper units instead of leaving us to go off intuition."

Ron had no words. Hermione agreed with him. A week in, and finally, she'd agreed with him on something.

Lunch and Transfiguration passed without incident. Gohan was more than a little antsy to get started with his plans. He'd barely been able to pay attention to McGonagall's instructions, as he'd been preoccupied with how he'd introduce his friends to what he knew. He thought of how Mr. Piccolo would go about it, teaching a complete beginner the very basics of their power. The only extant issue was where to go for their training. Suddenly, an idea came to him. A certain large man would no doubt agree to let them train nearby. He'd been amenable when Gohan wanted to do so alone, before school began. He was as good a person to ask as any.

Around the corner, Draco Malfoy watched the mudblood and his little cohort. He just knew they were planning something. They were always together, and they liked to whisper to one another when they thought that no one was around. That freakish Gohan kid might have his weird power, but he was a Malfoy, no others had a better command of their magical gifts. Location charms might not work when one's target is in the confines of their Common Room or dormitory, but anywhere else on the castle grounds was fair game; a simple experiment on Crabbe and Goyle had proven that. All he had to do was follow them and, eventually, they'd slip up. Nobody outsmarts a Malfoy. Nobody.

Saturday was here, at last. Gohan was practically giddy, though he deigned to not show it outwardly. He needed some exercise, he needed more than image training.

"Where are we headed?" Neville asked Gohan as he met up with him, Ron, and Hermione just outside the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"I was thinking Hagrid's hut," Gohan replied as they walked. "He let me train nearby before the term started, so I think he'd be willing to let us do the same."

"Let's get going, then!" Ron said, practically bounding down the steps. He'd been looking forward to seeing this weird power for days; the anticipation was nearly physically painful.

The walk to Hagrid's hut was quiet and peaceful. The air was crisp and cool, and Gohan felt far more at home out of his normal school robes and in his new gi. He could tell Ron wanted to ask him about it, but a sharp jab of Hermione's elbow and a shake of her head forestalled his questioning. He wasn't sure if she could tell how much it meant to him, but he was grateful for her help. Thinking about his father was a little much, right now, and he needed to focus, right now.

"Of course ye can train here!" Hagrid replied happily at Gohan's query. "I'm always happy ta help out my friends, and yer one of the best I got!"

"Thanks, Hagrid," Gohan said with a bow.

"So, how's this work, then?" Ron asked quickly as they sat down in the pumpkin garden behind Hagrid's hut.

"My power," Gohan began, channeling Mr. Piccolo as best he could. "Is called 'ki.' It's a kind of living energy that exists in everything from plants to rocks to people."

"You mean that anyone could have this power?" Neville asked dubiously.

"If they know how to access it, yes," Gohan confirmed with a nod. "As for learning how to draw it out, it isn't easy, but it isn't complicated, either."

Gohan placed his hands in front of his chest. "First, you have to relax your entire body," he began, closing his eyes. "Then, clear your mind and draw your ki out from the pit of your stomach to your fingertips and, finally, out into the world, like this."

A small ball of ki gathered between Gohan's hands, glowing softly in the shade of the overhanging trees.

"Wicked," Ron said quietly.

"That is," Hermione added, at a minor loss for words. "Definitely impressive."

"Now, you give it a try."

After a few minutes, Gohan could tell his friends were struggling with finding their inner power. He couldn't blame them, most people on his world wouldn't believe a word of what he'd said, let alone have an easy time applying what he was putting forward.

"Hermione," Gohan began gently. "You need to relax, you're letting your frustration get to you."

He saw her shoulders lower a bit and the muscles in her face lose their tension, which was a good thing. On to his next student.

"Ron," he said kindly, but with a bit of sharpness. "You have to focus, your mind's wandering."

"Whoa," Gohan heard from behind him. It was Neville, he'd done it.

The warm light coming from between Neville's hands was faint, but noticeable. Gohan blinked. It'd taken him much longer to learn how to draw out his ki without an emotional trigger. That Neville had managed it so easily was…almost alarming. Now that he had a better feel of it, Gohan could feel something in Neville, was it elation? Awe? It was like he'd achieved something major; not that learning to use one's own power wasn't cause for celebration, but there was a longing that Gohan could feel that just didn't quite mesh. Still, he was proud of his friend, just as Mr. Piccolo had been when he'd finally gotten the basics down.

"Did I do it right?" Neville asked, snapping Gohan back to reality.

"I think you might've set some kind of record," Gohan replied, at something of a loss for words.

It. Was. Absolutely. PREPOSTEROUS. Draco could scarcely believe what he was hearing thanks to his Supersensory Charm. That bumbling moron, Longbottom, had learned this crazy new magic in minutes?! The fool could barely brew a passable potion! He couldn't even use a broom, for Merlin's sake! The idea of that loser learning something so readily was almost too much to bear, it was absurd!

But, what was more absurd was what he'd heard before. This was a kind of magic everyone had? All he had to do was meditate?! If it were that easy, everyone would've done it ages ago! Something snapped in Draco's mind. Maybe that was it. Wizards had their magic, why would they go searching for something else? Real wizards could reduce entire castles to rubble, make themselves invisible, and ensnare the minds of the unwary and the helpless. With that kind of power, why would they go looking for something else?

It hurt him, somewhere deep inside, to think these things, but the more they wormed their way into his head, the more sense it made. Wizards loved magic and magic loved wizards. A grin grew on Draco's face. With the knowledge he'd gained, he could master a whole new branch of magic; he would become a legend like the Dark Lord, himself! Surely, one of his elite pedigree could command this new power with ease. He just had to draw it out, just as he did magic with a wand. Though the blueprints of power were now etched in Draco's mind, he remained. There may yet be more information he could glean from this fool. His Slytherin cunning would serve him well, as it already had.

It had been just over two hours, and everyone had managed to draw out their ki. Gohan smiled, it was amazing how quickly they'd gotten it down. Hermione had followed half an hour after Neville, and though her ki seemed a little shaky, it was no less potent that Neville's. Despite some frustration and wandering attention, Ron had finally drawn out his ki an hour after Neville. It had nearly detonated in his hands when his excitement got the better of him, but Gohan managed to get it under control before his friend had to explain singed hair and burned clothes. He had each of them repeat the exercise for the last half hour, ensuring that they'd gotten it down pat. Nobody had any trouble summoning their ki a second and third time.

"Alright," Gohan said, standing up and stretching out as the others did the same. "We've got some time left, let's see if we can't get you flying!"

"F-flying?" Hermione gulped, her eyes wide. "Like, through the air flying?"

"Like, without a broom flying?" Ron asked, positively bounding with excitement.

"Mhm," Gohan said, nodding. "Don't worry, Hermione, I'm not going to ask you to do anything dangerous, just get off the ground."

Hermione was still sweating a bit at the prospect, but she nodded. If there was one way to overcome her fears, it was with her insatiable desire to learn new things.

"This requires a little more work than what we've done, so far," Gohan began, relaxing. "What you have to do is draw your ki out, wrap it around your body, and lift; like so."

Gohan floated slowly upwards, stopping about a meter in the air.

"So long as you keep your ki around you," Gohan said, crossing his arms and looking down at them as Mr. Piccolo used to do. "It'll support you and keep you safe. You just have to stay focused until it becomes natural!"

Neville was proving to be a natural with his ki, it was amazing. As Gohan watched, the boy looked at his hands and saw a faint aura glow around him. He looked at Gohan, unsure at first, but his anxiety gave way to a look of fierce determination as Gohan nodded at him, smiling. The grass swayed a bit around Neville as the boy slowly lifted off the ground, his face screwed up in determined concentration. A few seconds later, he was level with Gohan, who was positively beaming.

Gohan floated over to Neville and patted him on the shoulder. Neville, for his part, was just as amazed as his friends. All his life, he'd never been good at much of anything. He knew he didn't have to command of magic that his friends did, and even before he'd gone to Hogwarts, he'd had problems even doing accidental magic. For the longest time, his relatives had thought he was a squib, and made their disappointment in him apparent. He was good with plants, but his gran had always seemed disapproving when he talked about it with her, something he'd stopped doing once it'd become apparent she held little interest in such "soft subjects." His father had been an excellent Auror, and everyone in his family had expected him to follow in his footsteps, he'd even been given his father's wand.

Up until recently, he'd felt worthless, like he'd never accomplish anything that would meet with his family's approval. Finally, he had something other than plants at which he excelled. Neville couldn't explain why, but this "ki" stuff inside him just felt so…normal, so natural. Calling on it for the first time stirred things inside him he never thought he'd had. If he had to put a word to it, he'd call it "courage." It steeled him and built him up. When he used his ki, he could feel it raising his spirits, and he wanted to prove he could not only do something, but do it well.

Ron screwed up his face in concentration. Neville might be freakishly good at this stuff, but he wouldn't be beaten, not even by a friend! He cudgeled his mind, forcing it in line. He could feel his power filling him, and it reminded him of his first time flying on a broom. On a lark, Bill had let Ron borrow his old broom. He remembered flying through the sky around the Burrow, the wind in his hair. He had never felt so free in his life, so happy. It was two hours until his mum had come rushing out of the house, ordering him to the ground whilst simultaneously scolding his older brother for "doing something so reckless." He knew his mum fretted about his safety, but he'd been fine! Better than fine, he'd flown! Remembering that feeling, Ron opened his eyes, and was surprised by what he'd seen: the ground was clearly beneath him, and his feet were firmly planted on thin air!

"By Merlin-," Ron managed to get out before he fired off straight into the air as if he'd been shot out of a cannon.

Before Gohan could react, Ron had stabilized himself, now hovering over fifty meters in the air. He laughed, knowing full well what had gone wrong: Ron had let his ki flare out of control in excitement, again. Ron waved down as he descended, laughing awkwardly. Still, congratulations were in order! He'd managed to regain control mid-flight, and that was a good sign!

Ron swore up and down he couldn't help it, that time. Truth be told, he'd been feeling giddy ever since he first drew out his ki. In fact, every time he called on the power within him, he felt energized and invigorated. It brought him to life! This was better than flying on a broom! He didn't know of any witch or wizard that could fly on their own power like this! This was easily the coolest thing he'd experienced since coming to Hogwarts! He grinned as he watched Hermione, unable to help the ecstatic energy filling him.

Truth be told, Hermione was terrified of the thought of flying. Watching Ron rocket off like he did had not done much to help with that fear until she saw him catch himself in midair. If one could stop themselves after going out of control like that, then maybe it really was safe. She sighed. Gohan wouldn't let them do something dangerous, and she knew how fast he could really be; as quickly as Ron had flown off, she knew Gohan was much faster. She blew the tension out of her body and redoubled her efforts, feeling her power surround her. If it was anything like magic, ki was at least partially influenced by the user's state of mind.

The odd thing was, it seemed to be working the other way around, as well. Whenever she called on it, Hermione could feel her mind sharpening, even if it was only just a bit. Things came into sharper focus, and it seemed to be more responsive when she was calm. Hermione just barely registered the feeling of her feet leaving the ground as she pulled herself up. It was frightening, at first, being even just a short distance off the ground. She'd known other students in her early years that had fallen from shorter heights and badly hurt themselves. Shaking her head, Hermione cleared her mind of such thoughts and willed herself level with the others, smiling shakily, happy that she'd not only learned something incredibly interesting, but at least somewhat overcome her fears.

Draco stalked away, dispelling the charm he'd been keeping up. He'd heard enough to figure out how things worked. He had a new set of goals as he walked back to the dungeons. If a pair each of wizarding embarrassments and mudbloods could manage to use this magic within hours, then the Scion of the House of Malfoy would surely find it to be child's play. What was more to the forefront of his mind was whether or not he'd inform Crabbe and Goyle of his discovery. He knew that they were likely far too simple-minded to even know how to begin; they were, like their fathers, mostly just dumb muscle. Even if they could manage it, Draco also knew that they had…issues with keeping their mouths shut when they thought they had the upper hand on someone.

No, it was best if he kept this to himself, for the time being. It was a tactical advantage, and he couldn't risk tipping his hand to that freak too early. What's more, he knew that if any of his father's rivals got wind of this, they could learn it, too, and use it against his family. Draco doubted, too, that he could so much as breathe word of this on parchment when he wrote to his father. Owls could be intercepted, after all. Draco resolved that, were he to tell his father, he'd tell him in person during the holidays. He quirked an eyebrow and smirked. Besides, it would be far more impressive if he could showcase some…practical uses, as well. As his father was often quick to remind him, Draco knew that actions spoke louder than words.

Crabbe and Goyle were blessedly absent from the Common Room as Draco walked in. No doubt, they were harassing some smaller students for pocket money or candy. They were painfully predictable, but still useful, for now. Draco drew the curtains on his bed and sealed them shut with a wave of his wand, using a second to apply some simple privacy charms. Just enough to keep prying eyes away without being too obvious that he was up to something. For all anyone knew, he was just studying and didn't want to be bothered.

Draco sat cross-legged on his mattress, recalling what he'd overheard. He closed his eyes and relaxed as best he could. He tried to blank his mind as best he could, and then the moment of truth came. As he tried to pull, Draco could feel something inside him, it just wasn't responding. He tried again, pulling harder, but was again met with nothing for all his efforts. Many minutes later, Draco was becoming extremely frustrated. He wanted to curse. This damned power wasn't obeying him! He was telling it to make itself known, but it was refusing him! His tension was almost at a breaking point when he remembered what he'd heard about that mudblood girl, Granger. She was tense, too, and she was failing.

"Fine," Draco said to himself, quietly as he blew the tension and irritation out of his body.

After nearly an hour of fruitless labour, Draco was about to give up when he felt the little ball inside him move slightly. If it was responding to one's tension, maybe this power was tied to the mind? If that was the case, what was he thinking about before his power began to respond? Nothing. He hadn't been thinking about anything, but he'd certainly felt something. Calm. That was the only word that made sense. He'd been completely calm, focused on a singular objective. As he recalled that feeling, he pulled, and he could just see a faint light from behind his eyelids.

Opening his eyes, Draco nearly wanted to jump for joy. After all that work, he'd done it! What's more, it was unlike any magic he'd ever felt before. It was calming. He held the little light up in his palm, staring at it. There was something…capacious about it. There was more power here than any of the curses he'd managed to learn. Draco closed his hand around the little ball of ki and felt it flood his body with a warmth not unlike that of a hot bath. It was his. He'd been calling and, at long last, it'd responded.

What could he do with it? He knew from what he'd heard that he could wrap it around himself to fly, but there had to be more to it than that. That freak mudblood was faster than anything he'd ever seen in his life; not even a Nimbus 2000 could keep up with him. At first, he thought maybe he'd somehow learned apparition, but that was absurd. A mudblood orphan wouldn't even have known where to begin with such advanced magics. By Merlin, he was a Malfoy, and even he wouldn't dare mess with apparition, yet. There was only one logical solution: this weird magic had made him faster. Maybe it could even make him stronger. He'd be damned if he were going to be caught fighting like a Muggle, but he knew that physical strength could be just as effective as spells, when applied properly. For all their combined idiocy, Crabbe and Goyle were living proof of that particular concept.

The journey, it seemed, had just begun.

It had been a very odd thing for Harry, spending most of his day at Capsule Corp. His first visit had been very interesting, to say the least. Seeing duplicates of the same person, the idea of time travel being a thing, in this world, not to mention all the crazy tech he'd seen the three scientists of the Briefs family carting around was beyond surreal. Things had settled somewhat since then, it seemed, and Chi-Chi said it'd be good to "get out of the house," as she put it. Harry didn't really mind living with her and her father; outside the training he'd been doing, it'd been very quiet and peaceful. No Aunt Petunia trying to strike him with a frying pan, no Vernon growling threats or striking him for the slightest misstep, and no Dudley casually tripping him or loudly gorging himself on the inordinate amounts of food he stuffed in his face.

Indeed, Harry Potter was more relaxed these past few days than he'd been in his entire life. Granted, there were still times when he'd wake up in a cold sweat, alarmed that he'd slept in too late and would soon be facing the wrath of his "family" for making them wait a few extra minutes for breakfast. It was only the still-unfamiliar room in which he slept and the calm quiet that reminded him that he was in a completely different world.

Silently, he was beginning to curse what remained of his family. He'd lived it all his life; to him, misery had simply been a matter of course, it was his normal state. It took being around people that didn't hate him for being alive to realize how abnormal the Dursleys really were. Chi-Chi never attacked him with kitchenware. She never yelled at him or made him feel worthless. Never once had she bullied or belittled him. If anything, she seemed very sad, but it wasn't hard to see why. Her son was off in some alternate reality, her husband had passed away, and if what he'd overheard her discussing with her father was correct, she had a baby on the way.

However, for all her sadness, she was still easily the kindest person he'd ever met. That's not to say the others he'd met in this world weren't every bit as good as Chi-Chi, but none were as gentle as her. There were times when Harry wondered if she was what his mother had been like before she'd died. Maybe, once the Briefs family found a way to bridge the gap between their worlds, he could find out more about them; he'd always had a sneaking suspicion that Vernon and Petunia were lying when they said his parents were worthless drunks that got themselves killed in an accident. Now that they couldn't intimidate him, anymore, he'd be more than ready to get some actual answers from them.

But, for the time being, Harry was enjoying sitting in the living room of Capsule Corp with Trunks, Yamcha, and two other people he didn't know as Chi-Chi and Mrs. Briefs prepared lunch. Apparently, the strangers, Tien and Krillin, were also friends of Chi-Chi's late husband as well as Bulma. Tien was tall and bald, with three eyes and a physique that was truly impressive. He was nice enough, but quiet, a lot like Piccolo. Krillin was shorter than him, and also bald, but was far more outgoing and friendly. Everybody seemed to like Krillin.

Harry never had much of an opportunity to watch the telly when he lived with the Dursleys. They usually either had him working or in his room under the stairs; out of sight, out of mind. At least until his being absent became inconvenient for them. He heard it through the thin walls that separated him from them, from time to time, but it wasn't quite the same as watching it, himself. It was relaxing. Normal. Even watching the weather was calming. The stories, the characters, the bombastic adverts, he enjoyed it all. It was a small thing, something he knew other kids his age didn't even really think about, but to Harry, it was something to treasure. He was being included, and it felt like nothing else he'd had before.

Speaking of bombastic adverts, one had just appeared on the screen. It showed a man with slicked-back, blonde hair and sunglasses that seemed to get an instant reaction out of everyone in the room except him and Trunks. It was apparently an announcement, of something called a "Galactic Tournament," with a prize of 100 million zeni for the winner.

"And," the announcer continued, exuberantly. "as an extra-special treat, the winner will get to go a round with the World Champ; none other than the exalted Mr. Satan, himself!"

From the helicopter that had dropped into frame, Harry saw a man leap out and split what had to be a hundred concrete blocks with a single blow. Had he not met Mr. Yamcha and the others, that feat would've been extremely impressive. In a way, it still was. This Mr. Satan did look well-built and was every bit as bombastic as the announcement, if not moreso. But, he was charming, in his own way, and Harry would be lying if he said he didn't get caught up in this guy's personality.

"You hear that?" Yamcha said as the announcement ended, a wide smile on his face. "A tournament's coming up in just a couple of weeks, you guys!"

"A hundred million," Krillin said, trailing off at the thought of that much money being in his hands.

"It definitely sounds fun," Trunks added, somewhat puzzled.

Harry was of two minds. On one hand, he did like the idea of having a chance to show the fruits of his training with Yamcha and Piccolo. A chance to prove that they hadn't wasted their time with him, as well as proving that he'd come a long way from being the scrawny child that cowered at the slightest angered twitch of his relatives. However, he didn't really know if he liked the idea of it being televised, especially if he ended up giving a poor showing. The last thing he wanted was to be publicly humiliated and have his friends think that they've been wasting their time with him. The deciding factor came from an unexpected place.

"So," Tien piped up, looking at Harry, smiling. "Are you going to enter?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted slowly. "I don't know if I even have a chance..."

"So long as you give it your all," Yamcha added, giving Harry a thumbs-up. "That's all that matters! It doesn't matter if win or lose, so long as you enjoy yourself! Though," he added with a wink. "Winning all that money wouldn't be a bad thing!"

Harry looked around the room, the others were smiling and nodding in agreement, serving to steel his resolve.

"I'll do it, then!" Harry said firmly, with a nod and smile of his own.

"Attaboy!" Yamcha exclaimed, slapping Harry lightly on the shoulder.

"I doubt father would want to enter," Trunks added, rubbing his chin. "But, I wouldn't mind joining in, myself. I don't think I'll be of much help to mother and grandfather with their work."

"We should tell Piccolo!" Krillin said excitedly. "I bet he'd want in on this, too!"

A tournament. A chance to prove how far he'd come, and more than that, the friends he'd made were standing behind him, no matter what. Harry honestly didn't know what to say. People that wanted him around, people that encouraged him...it was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. He definitely knew that he wanted to show off everything he'd learned under Mr. Piccolo and Yamcha, prove that he was worth every minute they'd spent training him. If he could manage to win, he could even begin to pay back Chi Chi for her hospitality, though Harry knew no amount of money could equate to the chance to have a proper home with people that cared about and even liked him. Still, who didn't like the idea at having a shot at so much money?

Suddenly, an idea popped into Harry's head. He could tell from his training that a lot of the people around him were a lot stronger than he was, but he had one thing that all but one of them lacked: access to magic. Mr. Piccolo had drilled into him the fact that magic and ki were two separate things; while the two could interact with one another (enough ki could disrupt spells and spells could alter the flow of ki), magic could be used with a great deal more subtlety with regard to its effects. Ki could destroy planets, but magic could create illusions and even change the shape of one's environment. Harry reflexively stroked the bracelet Mr. Piccolo had given him, the focus for what could be his greatest advantage. A few ideas were beginning to form inside Harry's head of things he could try to do with his magic.

Words Mr. Piccolo had spoken to him earlier came to mind: "You don't always need to be faster or stronger than your opponent. Being able to out-think one's foes can grant victory where even overwhelming force fails."

If nothing else, Harry had time. A few weeks for not only training, but finding ways to use his magic that could give him the edge he needed against his older, more experienced competition.

Paperwork was dull, but necessary. It helped that the forms Professor Dumbledore was filling out were ones he'd completed innumerable times before, so many that he could almost fill them out from muscle memory, alone. It allowed his mind to wander, which was useful, for a man in his position, especially given all that had happened, recently.

Harry going missing had thrown a remarkably large spanner into his plans. He knew that Voldemort was alive, in some capacity, that it was only a matter of time before he returned. There were a handful of means by which Voldemort could return fully to life, and while he'd secured at least one, it would only be a matter of time before Voldemort would find another way to return, even if the Philosopher's Stone were to be destroyed. Without Harry, the prophecy couldn't be fulfilled. Even if Voldemort were to lose his life again, it'd only be a temporary reprieve, and many would lose their lives. Gohan might be powerful, but Voldemort's soul would stay bound to this world as long as whatever Dark magic he used was still in effect.

Dumbledore had been studying the curious boy from afar. His grades, thus far, were excellent. Even Professor Snape, as legendarily difficult to please as he is, grudgingly admitted that the boy was at least decent in Potions. Indeed, academically, Gohan's first week at Hogwarts had gone quite well. The boy had struck Dumbledore as a cut above most his age in terms of thinking ability, but it was nice to have confirmation.

In terms of discipline, Gohan had done well there, as well. While he'd had more than one run-in with young Mr. Malfoy, Gohan only ever seemed to act in defense of himself or others; he never went on the offense. To Dumbledore's gimlet eye, Gohan had a more than functional moral compass and, while he could be provoked, he never used the full force of his odd abilities. Indeed, Gohan hadn't destroyed anything, if one didn't count a curiously cracked piece of stonework in Professor Flitwick's classroom; a tale that still brought an amused and somewhat bewildered smile to his face. Battle experience aside, Gohan seemed the world like most other eleven year-old boys with a proclivity for more intellectual pursuits.

One might think it odd that the Headmaster of Hogwarts has taken such a thorough interest in one particular student, but he had a feeling that Gohan would prove pivotal in the coming battles with the Dark. Having a feeling for whether or not he'd be willing and able to be a part of Dumbledore's overarching plan to finally put an end to the Death Eaters and their master. To that end, Gohan was definitely a good young man.

There was, however, one small bone of contention. Dumbledore had an hour or two's worth of free time, this evening, and he'd decided to spend it with Hagrid. He knew Hogwarts' gamekeeper tended to get a bit lonely during the school year, as he had very few visitors. Thus, Dumbledore had taken what time he had and spent it having tea with his old pupil. Naturally, they talked; between Dumbledore's care for the half-giant and Hagrid's insatiable urge for conversation, it was inevitable. Just as inevitable was the subject's turn towards their mutual friend, Son Gohan. Hagrid couldn't keep a secret to save his life, and told Dumbledore about the strange training session the boy had with his friends: Misters Longbottom and Weasley, as well as young Miss Granger. He'd revealed the secrets of his power and, Hagrid, unable to contain his curiosity, watched and listened to them from the window of his hut.

Dumbledore's eyes had narrowed slightly at the details he'd heard. Gohan was having a difficult time hiding his power, that much was known, but that he'd teach it to others...he wasn't just wanting to bond with his friends. No, the boy was far too experienced to do it for that small a reason. He was trying to help his friends become stronger. There were many possible explanations for this. One was that he saw how dangerous Hogwarts could be and wanted to help his friends in case they ever faced said danger. Another was that his friends had pressured him into revealing his secrets. The last reason, the one Dumbledore deemed most likely as he filed away the last of the paperwork for the day, was that Gohan had heard more details about a certain event in the wizarding world.

The war against Voldemort.

It was the only thing that made sense. It was known amongst those of the Order that Dumbledore didn't think that Voldemort had been truly killed that night in Godric's Hollow. That the war wasn't truly over. It was possible that either Mr. Longbottom's grandmother or Mr. Weasley's parents had told their children these things, or they'd simply overheard them when their guardians thought them out of earshot. One thing Dumbledore knew quite well was how sharp the ears of children could be; often far beyond their parents' estimations.

Given that possibility and its attendant likelihood, Dumbledore thought on how to proceed. The boy's senses were abnormally sharp, and his mind was every bit as keen. If he called on Gohan to discuss matters, it would be very likely that the boy would put two and two together long before he ever step foot in the Headmaster's office. That information, though, could prove useful, in its own way. It could lead to Gohan being somewhat more careful in how he conducts himself in the future; as Dumbledore well knew, there was no such thing as an overabundance of caution when it came to dealing with Dark wizards.

Presented properly, the information could also further the boy's trust in him. After all, he knew about his training regimen with his friends, had heard about the method behind his power. Despite all this, he hadn't told a soul, not even the staff; the only ones that knew were him and Hagrid, and he'd ensured that the latter would do his best to keep that particular piece of information to himself. If knowledge of Gohan's power were to be acquired by the one of the Death Eaters' children, there was little doubt they'd act upon it. Some would capitalize on it and hide the method behind their discovery, using it to gain leverage and status. Others, those with less...intellectual clout, would savour the opportunity to lord it over their comrades and the chance to cow those that had stations above them.

Worse still, if that information were to fall into the hands of Voldemort...Dumbledore shuddered at the very thought. The self-styled Dark Lord was formidable enough with only their magic at his disposal. With just a wand and his mind, he'd garnered an army of followers and nearly brought the magical world to its knees. If he had even a fraction of the power that Gohan professed to possess, it could very well spell extreme danger for not just magical Britain, but likely the entire world. That must not happen.

Sighing, Dumbledore got up from his chair. He still needed a plan, in case that happened. That plan had a name, and its name was Son Gohan. Heading to his private quarters for the night, Albus Percival Wolfric Brian Dumbledore resolved to call upon the boy. Strengthening his trust in him was paramount, now moreso than ever before. While he had little information to give him regarding his predicament, it was necessary to build rapport as soon as possible. It was necessary that Gohan be ready in case the worst happened. If he were any other boy, Dumbledore would be reluctant in the extreme to draw him into the fold so early. However, Gohan had already known battle. He was a warrior, that much was obvious. He'd seen conflict and death on a scale that even he, the Supreme Mugwump himself, could scarcely imagine.

"Son Gohan," Dumbledore said quietly to himself as he lay down. "I'm sorry you were dragged into this, my boy."

Chi Chi had been on quite an emotional rollercoaster, the past few weeks. Her finding out she was with child was made bittersweet when she found that Goku had decided that the best way to protect the Earth and his loved ones was to remain with the dead. Now, even her little boy, Gohan, was missing from her life. She didn't resent Harry for accidentally replacing her son; it wasn't Harry's fault any of this happened. But, to say that she was taking it hard would be a gross understatement. She let Harry visit Capsule Corp under the guise of giving him more time to socialize, and she even went with him, many times. Bulma, kind woman that she was, knew what state Chi Chi was in. There was always an empty room at Capsule Corp, in case she needed her space when she came to visit.

Chi Chi knew she pushed Gohan hard in his studies. She knew she likely came across as more than a little overbearing. But, she just wanted the best for her son. She didn't want him to have to end up living hand-to-mouth, or living off his grandfather's income, like she was. She wanted her little boy to grow up a well-educated man so that he could provide for him and his family, when the time came. She knew that the things her son had experienced had left their mark on him, that he felt personally responsible for his father's death. She tried a great many ways to convince him that wasn't the case, but it was just one of those things she knew he'd have to come to accept on his own.

But, he was gone. Whisked away somewhere she couldn't reach him. Where she wouldn't be able to dry his tears when they came. Where she couldn't protect him, should he need her. In his place was another boy.

In the short time she'd spent with young Harry, Chi Chi had learned a great deal about the young man. He was so tiny, for his age. The clothes in which he'd been found were little more than ill-fitting rags clearly meant for a boy more than three times his size. Though they were faint, she'd seen some bruises and even a few scars on the boy when he went to have a bath. Her heart hurt every time she laid eyes on him, in spite of how much he'd grown as a person since he'd happened into her life. There was still some fear in his eyes when he looked at the adults, though he did his best to hide it. It'd taken all but direct, physical force to get him to eat more than a little food. There was no way he was ever going to regain all the growth he'd lost at the hands of his relatives.

His "relatives."

The more she heard about little Harry's relatives, the angrier Chi Chi became. The stories he told. How they locked him up in a cupboard beneath the stairs for his entire life. How they forced him to cook and clean for them and fed him little more than table scraps. How his aunt and uncle had physically assaulted him, denied him whole meals, or just generally tormented him for even the slightest missteps. That was saying nothing of his cousin, who had made his life outside home as miserable as possible, too, often chasing the few friends the boy had made away by either starting vicious rumours or threatening them with violence.

Chi Chi hoped that she never got a chance to visit Harry's world; the things she wanted to do to Vernon and Petunia Dursley would likely see her being sent to Hell when she died.

As she lay in a bath in Capsule Corp, relaxing as best she could, her thoughts drifted over once again to her son. She wondered what Gohan was doing. Was he in hiding? Maybe some nice people had taken him in and given him shelter, not wanting the boy to end up a vagabond. Chi Chi hoped Gohan was getting enough to eat, at least. She knew that, even though he was only half-Saiyan, Gohan had inherited most of his father's ravenous appetite.

"Please," Chi Chi said quietly to herself as she sank deeper into the steaming water. "Just let my boy be okay."

Trunks really didn't know what to make of the situation in which he'd found himself. Dealing with one instance of his mother was difficult enough, but now that the two of them were working together, he couldn't even hope to keep up between them and his grandfather. He had hoped that, with Cell gone, this timeline would finally have some safety and security. Now, however, Gohan was missing and with him, Earth's most potent defense. In his place was a complete stranger, a scrawny kid with barely as much power as Yamcha. With Goku gone, the strongest defender of Earth was his father, Vegeta. Normally, that wouldn't be a problem. Though his father was a rash, prideful man with a noted careless streak, Trunks knew that somewhere inside Vegeta was a decent man, one that would at least fight to protect his family, if not the rest of Earth.

The only problem with that was that Vegeta had become listless and downtrodden since Goku's death. The loss of his greatest rival, him having been taken to somewhere Vegeta could never challenge him again, had hit Trunks' father far harder than the young man had thought it would. His father barely said anything, anymore. He spent most of his time halfheartedly training in the gravity chamber, and the rest quietly eating or in his room alone. What passion Vegeta had was gone, for the time being. Try as he might, Trunks could barely get more than a word or two from his father. He desperately wanted to help the man, but...Trunks was slowly coming to the idea that he may be, for now at least, beyond his reach.

Young Harry Potter was another being, entirely. Trunks hadn't spent too much time with him, at least not alone. Yet, he could sense something oddly familiar about him. Trunks hadn't heard a great deal of Harry's story, but what little he did know had been enough to show the son of Vegeta that Harry had been through some truly horrible things, thanks to his relatives. Maybe that was it. Pain and fear were something with which Trunks was intimately familiar, having spent most of his life experiencing those emotions with great frequency thanks to the cyborgs. The little nuances of Harry's reactions had shown Trunks that, though he did seem a lot more at home than Trunks would wager he'd ever been, he could see Harry still wasn't used to the idea of adults with whom he was on friendly terms.

With the thought of the tournament crossing his mind, once again, Trunks thought about training. It wasn't as if he'd let himself grow sedentary, but there was a rather large difference between rebuilding and actual combat training. Trunks doubted his father would be interested; when he could sense his father training, it was always alone and Trunks had a feeling that Vegeta would prefer to keep it that way. An idea popped into his head. There was someone here that could use some more intensive training and, if Trunks himself needed something more taxing, said someone did spend a fair amount of time with Piccolo...

"Hey, Harry..."

Sunday morning saw a copious amount of activity for Gohan and his new friends. Though the Son of Goku was ready well before his dorm mates, he'd decided to wait up for them in lieu of simply heading down to breakfast on his own. Going down together just felt...right, for some reason. It was nice having friends closer to his own age, even if he occasionally acted like someone a decade older. Living out near Mt. Paozu was peaceful and relaxing, but Gohan had wished more than once that they lived somewhere with more people, especially those in his particular demographic. They were fun, simply put.

Training yesterday, basic as it had been, put a hole in Gohan's stomach the likes of which he'd not had since the term started. His Saiyan blood was particularly virulent, this morning, causing him to consume more than even Ron, whose appetite could at times nearly put Goku to shame. While this feat of gastric prowess did somewhat alarm those at the Gryffindor table, all of his friends appeared to be far more ravenous than Gohan could recall. Even Hermione, who normally ate rather conservatively and slowly, descended upon a remarkably laden plate like a starving wolf.

Idly, Gohan had wondered if learning to use one's ki altered their metabolism. While nothing compared to the likes of his father and Vegeta, Gohan had noticed that even Krillin and Master Roshi ate more than most people. After he'd defeated Cell, Gohan reckoned that he'd eaten more in the first few days afterward than he'd eaten in his entire life prior. Of course, there was also the physical exertion side of things, as well. Maintaining their physical capabilities required energy, and lots of it. Gohan, idly curious during the week leading up to the Cell Games, had once looked up different "strong men" in their world, and he'd noticed their diets, which often contained a great deal more calories than was normal for humans.

His reverie had been broken by Hermione's reminding them that they had assignments for their various classes due. While everyone, even the bushy-haired girl herself, wanted to train more, they couldn't well disagree with her. Well, Ron had tried, but had been mollified by the fact that, between Gohan and Hermione, he'd have more than enough help to get things done quickly. All told, their assignments had taken barely an hour and a half of their time. A lot of what they'd been given was little more than a combination of reading their textbooks and some basic reasoning. It was a far cry from the drills his mother had Gohan doing in maths and the sciences, much of which he knew was well above what most kids his age were studying. With the exception of History of Magic, which Gohan still found immensely dull, he did find their work engaging, at the very least.

However, all that was done. Now, was the time to do that to which they had all been looking forward since breakfast.

Far and away, sequestered deep within the void between the worlds, a being sat motionless. It had searched for untold millennia for worlds of great potential and power. Worlds of magic and understanding, of science and mystic strength. At long last, it had found a pair. Separated by an incomprehensible distance, yet intimately close, they had fulfilled every requirement it had set forth. Though unable to touch them directly, it could at least see them. It could watch their inhabitants and learn of them. It could observe the exact point at which to apply pressure to achieve its goals.

A moment was all it had needed. A small disturbance, a swapping and mingling, had put the pieces at last in motion.

Sealed away in its tomb for time beyond memory. So long spent in writhing madness, in agonizing loneliness at the furthest edges of existence. How long? Centuries? Millennia? Eons? It no longer knew, the time before reason had breached the confines of its being were a thing it could no longer touch.

No matter, it knew that time had been rendered meaningless.

There was only one thing it needed, now.

Time.

A comparatively short amount of time and it would be able to move, once more. To finally reach out into the wider cosmos. To touch and feel and taste existence. To experience life itself. To feel something other than stale nothingness on its skin. To hear sounds that were more than the incessant howling of the void. To taste matter and being, to once again see light in all its wondrous splendor.

Once the pieces were in their proper positions, settled and ready to act upon their singular desires, it would only need the slightest pressure to finally feel being, again.

To once again experience the glory of freedom.

All that remained was time.

Author's Notes

Okay, so I know this one is a bit shorter than the chapters prior (8,770 words as opposed to the normal 10,000), but I had to call it a chapter, here. There are some plot developments I need to make, but I was saving them for the next chapter and, try as I might, I just couldn't quite hit my quota. Still, I got nearly 90% of the way there, so that's gotta count for something!

Also, I apologize for how long this whole thing took. I had to take a bit of an unplanned hiatus to refocus on university and life in general, and that left precious little time for writing, alas. For those that follow my other stories (in this case, The Bardock Effect), this is old news. Alas, I don't know what, if any, overlap exists between my stories bases, soooo...better to repeat yourself than leave folks in the dark.

Lastly, before I get to reviews, I have a new site up! Its linked in my profile (something tells me would just tear any links I'd make out of my document) and contains progress trackers, as well as general updates, for all my current stories. Check it out if you want to keep updated on various goings on! With that out of the way, reviews!

Jesse: At the absolute most? Around six to eight weeks. Chi Chi only recently realized she was with child, so she's kind of coming to grips with the whole thing...in pretty much the shittiest possible circumstances.

PappyOldGuy: I honestly don't even remember how this idea even got into my head! But, I do remember figuring that it'd be unique, and a hell of a way to screw with the canon of two universes, so why not, eh?

KeinNiemand: Nope, not abandoned. I just had to take time for myself because I was lagging behind in university and was just generally not enjoying things as I should.

Guest 13 April 2017: It ain't dead! It is very much amongst the living!

Boyzilla: Thank you! It can be a bit of a chore swapping perspectives, at times, but I would like to think that I'm getting better at it, thanks to this particular story. I hope I've given a little hint to what might be goin' down in the Dragon Ball world's future! There will be mostly peace, but I still have some room to screw around!

Zantetsuken Reverse: It'd be boring if it were just a rehash of canon for either worlds! Also, yeah, I like giving Chi Chi some more depth than what most folks give. Yeah, she has her Education Mama tendencies, and can be a bit of a stereotypically strict Japanese mother, but the folks that portray her has little more than screeching and a frying pan get on my nerves.

Blinded in a bolthole: Yeah, that's one of the downsides to not having a beta, little errors tend to creep in from time to time. I may be obsessive compulsive, but I'm not 100% right all the time. Also, I think you're referring to the title of the first chapter, no? If so, then its a reference to an old American reality show.

Great Saiyaman54: I dunno. I honestly haven't planned any pairings or anything. Mostly because it feels like I'm doing something highly immoral when I plan that kinda crap out with 11 year-olds. Also, re the troll: I'm of the opinion that trolls in Harry Potter are likely incapable of understanding speech. My guess on how that whole thing went down in canon is that Quirrel found a way to lure (e.g. with food) it into the castle while having it disillusioned, removing the illusion when it was able to actually cause damage and distraction.

Sailor Dragonball 87: Why was Yamcha his first trainer instead of Piccolo or Tien? The simple explanation is that Piccolo was the first to notice it and, while he's not Dragon Clan and capable of making Dragon Balls, he's gifted enough in magic (which has likely been helped by his fusion with Kami) to teach the basics. There's also psychological reasons that I'm sure Piccolo understands with regard to having him go to the Lookout on a regular basis. Of course, that's not saying that it can't (or won't) happen in the future.

Vangran: Yup. I figured that the Namekians, though a nominally peaceful people, know that something like a stick would be a prime target for anyone that might mean a fledgling Namekian mage harm. A piece of jewelry, especially a bracelet, though? Far more difficult to target and remove. Also, I do think Goku tries to be a good father, but he's just...not quite all there. Head trauma as an infant can do that to ya. Let's just say that I have experience living with someone like that, just with less bumbling tomfoolery and more...emotional instability. Doesn't always lead to the best results, if ya catch my drift.

Locothehood: See my reply above. Also, who exactly knows of Baba outside Goku and Master Roshi, at this point? Krillin might know and Bulma might, as well, but I'm not so sure about Piccolo or Yamcha. She hasn't brought Goku back for the World Martial Arts Tournament, yet. Though, I'll be totally honest, I don't remember very much of Dragon Ball, so you'll have to excuse any ignorance I might exhibit, there.

Gilgamesh the King of Heroes: Think I just answered your question, brotha!

Well, that's all, folks! I really do hope it lives up to you guys' expectations, at the very least. I'll try setting the minimum word count a bit lower (8,000 instead of 10,000) and see if that doesn't get things flowing a little better for the next update. On a side note, this is the last week of my summer break, so I'll be heading in for my final semester of university, next week. Throw in the subsequent job hunt (not too bad, since I'm a computer science major with tonnes of prior experience), house hunt...oh, and my wedding, I'll have a pretty full time for the next little while. So, I apologize if updates are slow, again, but I will do my best to at least keep writing during that time.

Either way, I'll see you guys later for the next installment of Interrupta Vitae: Training, Tournaments, and Science!