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For the Love of a Boy	By : CynFinnegan Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Crossovers Views: 1066 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing characters � Sunrise. Used Without Permission and NOT for Profit. Harry Potter & related characters � Joanne Katherine Rowling. Used Without Permission and NOT for Profit.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
Disclaimers & Copyright Info: See Prologue.

Warnings: Violence and references to Barton's sexual assault of Nanashi from last chapter.

Chapter Summary: Fudge blows his top at Dumbledore over Harry's supposed "abduction," Nanashi is treated for his injuries while he and Harry start displaying "Newtype abilities," and Trowa Barton gets what's coming to him.

Inspired by "Everyone Needs A Hero" by SC Round Robins.

This chapter is dedicated to my dad, Patrick Finnegan.

Italics - Thoughts, emphasis.

CAPS IN BOLD ITALICS - Shouting/screaming.

:Italics between colons: is for telepathic conversation.

"Italics in quotation marks" is for written messages; TV and radio transmissions, telephone conversations.

Chapter Two: Battered and Bloodied

The Offices of Cornelius Fudge, Ministry of Magic, London, 7 March, AC 195

Albus Dumbledore could feel the beginnings of a migraine coming on even as he appeared at the London offices of the Ministry of Magic. He had no idea why he'd been summoned to the Minister's office yet, but he was about to find out that something was very wrong indeed.

As he sat down in the proffered chair, Dumbledore noticed that the current Minister of Magic, Cornelius Oswald Fudge, was livid. He found out why a moment later. Fudge had just received a report from one of the many watchers he had assigned to Scotland Yard that Vernon and Petunia Dursley returned to Surrey from a family trip, minus one Harry Potter. Once there, Vernon, visibly upset, sporting a dislocated shoulder, filed a kidnapping report on the boy. After spouting off some nonsense about space colonies and teenaged boys with ninja skills, that is.

Fudge could feel the plans he'd made for little Harry's future, plans that he'd nurtured since the day the boy was born, starting to fall apart at the seams. If the boy couldn't be found and returned to the Dursleys, then he couldn't be brought under Ministry control. He wouldn't be able to face and kill Voldemort, if he ever returned, and then be declared a Dark Wizard himself. Then Fudge couldn't have Harry sentenced to a fate worse than death; given the Dementors' Kiss.

"I don't care how or why it happened!" Fudge started, his voice getting louder with each syllable. "Our savior from You-Know-Who is missing, possibly kidnapped, and his aunt and uncle are beside themselves with...!”

"Most likely with glee," Dumbledore replied with deceptive calm, steepling his hands in front of him. "I warned you that this would happen, Cornelius. I've told you many times over the past six years that placing Harry with the Dursleys would be a grievous mistake, and this incident in the Space Colonies proves me... "

"I've already told you that there are no wheel-shaped metal structures in outer space, Albus! There is no possible way for anyone to live out there!"

Certain wizarding families notwithstanding, very few pure-blooded wizards believed that such things as tablet and laptop computers, cell phones, the Internet, mobile suits, Space Colonies and the shuttles to take folks to and from them even existed, much less that they were invented by Muggles. Since, to their minds, the intelligence of the average Muggle was little better than that of an ape, most pure-bloods simply couldn't accept the fact that lowly Muggles could ever be that creative.

Then again, some pure-blood wizards, like Arthur Weasley and Dumbledore himself, were utterly fascinated by the technology of this day and age, almost to the point of obsession. Arthur himself was known to have a collection of electrical plugs, old cellular phones and batteries of various shapes and sizes, and Dumbledore's love of mobile suits would rival that of any child.

But now was not the time to ruminate on those things. Now was the time to worry about little Harry Potter, and to wonder why Fudge was so desperate to get him back to the family who despised him for what he was. Albus had the feeling that, wherever he was, Harry was far safer there than he was with the Dursleys. The Minister of Magic was playing ostrich again by refusing to see the reality that the Dursleys were abusing their nephew for being born a wizard.

"No wonder they called you "Cornball" while you were attending Hogwarts," a frustrated Dumbledore muttered almost too softly to be heard.

"What was that?" Fudge demanded angrily, his face turning puce.

"Nothing at all, Cornelius, nothing at all. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to Hogwarts. A school cannot run itself, you know."

Unable to get Fudge to see truth or reason, Dumbledore left the Minister's office. From there, he took the lift back down to the lobby and, upon exiting, once again grimaced at the statue standing there. It showed several species such as goblins, centaurs, werewolves, giants, veelas and house elves all looking up adoringly at a witch and wizard as if they were the superior race.

Fact was that only house elves viewed wizards that way, but that was due to centuries of conditioning.

Many of the rest viewed wizards and witches as either equals or somehow beneath them. Many in the Ministry of Magic looked down their collective noses at those beings they deemed to be "of near human intelligence." Albus knew many of those species: centaurs, veelas and goblins in particular, were superior to humans in terms of intellect. He thought most of the members of the Ministry were fools to treat them otherwise.

That foolish bigotry was a direct consequence of why many of those races fought against the Ministry during Voldemort's dirty little war a few years back.

The Colonies have been orbiting the Earth for nearly two hundred years, and yet you still dismiss their existence like many pure-bloods do, Dumbledore thought, shaking his head sadly as he headed for a bank of fireplaces. Your prejudice against Muggles is showing again, Cornelius. You've always been more willing to listen to the likes of blood bigots like Lucius Malfoy and your undersecretary, Umbridge, than to any Witch or Wizard who's ever had enough sense to read a Muggle newspaper.

Something beyond Voldemort's inevitable return is happening. I fear the unrest that's been brewing in the Muggle world these past few years will soon erupt into a full-blown war, one that will end up impacting all of us, Magical and Muggle alike. Most of all, I fear for Harry's safety.

Dumbledore grabbed a handful of green powder, heaved a heavy sigh, dropped the powder at his feet, and said "Headmaster's office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry" as he stepped into one of the tall fireplaces. An instant later, the old wizard vanished in a flash of green flames.

Gundam Factory Infirmary, Colony L3-8253, 7 March, AC 195

Nanashi slowly opened his eyes and found he was looking up at a white ceiling. It took the youth a moment to realize that he was no longer lying naked, beaten, broken and bleeding on the floor of his quarters, but wearing a hospital gown and tucked into a warm, semi-comfortable bed in the Infirmary.

I hate hospitals, the nameless teen thought ruefully while wanting to scratch the crook of his left arm. It itched terribly from the tape securing an IV line from his arm to a banana bag, which had a silvery liquid in it.

His body ached, and so did his head, but the pain was nowhere nearly as bad as he thought it would be. The cinnamon-haired youth raised his free arm to touch the spot where Barton caused his forehead to collide with the floor and noticed his wrist was covered with Telfa pads and his arm was wrapped in gauze and tape from his knuckles to just past the pads. Looking at the other, he saw that it, too, was similarly bandaged.

Feeling under his long bangs with his free hand, he found the wound on his forehead had a Telfa pad taped over it, absorbing any seepage from the injury. What he couldn't feel were the cut itself or the six "butterfly" adhesive sutures holding it closed under the pad.

A moment later, he began to weep and shiver uncontrollably, his tears running from the outer corners of his emerald green eyes and into his hair. He couldn't help it; the memory of his rape at Trowa Barton's hands replayed itself over and over again in his mind, all of it still as painfully raw as the skin of his wrists.

He knew what passed for the law on this colony would never arrest Barton for this crime; the cops might be a part of the United Earth Sphere Alliance, but it was Trowa's father, Dekim Barton, who signed their paychecks. Nanashi also knew he owed his surviving that ordeal to Harry. The little boy's cries for help alerted the entire base, especially the man with the prosthetic nose, Doktor S. He had been on his way to see the youth, was the first to hear them and come to their aid.

"Ah, you're awake," the Gundam engineer said, popping into the room as if he'd been conjured. "Good. Your little brother was worried about you."

Nanashi tried to speak, but all that issued from his throat was a hoarse croak and the sound of his dislocated jaw popping back into place. He swallowed and winced as his throat burned like someone had poured acid down it.

"Take it easy there, son. You'd almost stopped breathing when I brought you here, so they had to intubate you. Your throat was injured when they removed the breathing tube this morning, so don't try to talk for a while."

"If you need to say something, use these," Doktor S added, handing the nameless youth a tablet computer and a stylus.

"How long was I unconscious?" Nanashi wrote.

The youth showed what he'd written to the scientist, who read the question and replied with "Four days. You're lucky you brought that little boy back with you. He probably saved your life. Trowa Barton did this to you, didn't he?"

Nanashi looked down at the tablet for a moment, his full frontal cowlick hiding the pain and shame that was clearly etched on his handsome face, and then nodded.

Doktor S went on, telling Nanashi about the treatment he was undergoing, but the teen had tuned him out after he said concussion, a black eye, bruised ribs and ruptured diaphragm. He didn't want or need to hear a recap of that night, even if it was a third hand one.

Finally, when the scientist finished, Nanashi wrote down the question that had been plaguing his mind since waking up.

"Where's Harry?"

"The little boy?" the scientist asked, and the youth nodded. "He's sleeping in the bed next to yours. He refused to leave you, even though some of the other techs offered to take him in for a while. You're going to want to talk to him when he's wakes up, so I'll leave you alone for now."

Doktor S then turned and left the nameless teen to his thoughts, leaving the tablet with him.

Harry... Nanashi thought sadly as he looked at the sleeping child's sweet face. He's still just a baby, too young to have seen the results of what Barton did to me...

"I'm not a baby, Triton," Harry said sullenly, opening his emerald eyes and causing Nanashi's own deep green eyes to widen in shock. "Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia never hurt me like that bloke hurt you, but they used to hit me all the time, an' they let Dudders and his friends beat me up every day... told me I deserved it for being a freak."

:You... you HEARD me?:

"Uh-huh."

If the cinnamon-haired youth could have laughed at that moment, he would have; it was all just too funny for words. He hadn't been able to communicate like that since he was four, and that had only been with some other children in that hellhole the Alliance called an orphanage. An orphanage which was, in truth, a testing facility the Romefeller Foundation financed to locate children with special gifts, or what they called Newtype abilities.

Only he and one other Earth-born child, a little girl he and the others who were trapped there called Lee-Lee, tested positive for the abilities the scientists were looking for. The other children who tested positive were all Colony-born, and the only one he got close to was a little blond haired boy he called Cat-Cat.

:If you're a freak, little bit, then so am I,: Nanashi "said," this time purposely projecting his thoughts to Harry. :I'm thinking to you, Harry, not talking. It's called telepathy. You see, they took out a tube that was helping me to breathe, so my throat's too sore for me to say anything.:

"Wow, brilliant! D'you think I can do it, too?" Harry asked hopefully. He really wanted to know if he could.

:It wouldn't hurt for you to try it, and it'll be a big help if one of us winds up in trouble. You'll have to concentrate a little, though.:

Harry screwed up his face, trying to concentrate on getting Nanashi to hear him through his thoughts. He tried and tried, then finally thought :Can you hear me now?:

:Loud and clear, Harry,: the teen thought back with a slight smile. :You did it!:

:I did, didn't I?:

:You sure did. I'm proud of you, Harry.:

Harry's cheeks turned pink at the compliment. Nanashi was the first person who ever told him they were proud of him and it felt good, but he knew better than to let it go to his head. The Dursleys made sure of that by accusing him of cheating every time he did better in school than Dudley. Because of that, Harry started pretending he wasn't all that smart by "forgetting" to turn his homework or deliberately writing down the wrong answers on tests. That way, Dudley would look good no matter how abysmal his grades really were.

But Harry knew he didn't have to act dumb around "Triton"; the teen accepted that Harry was a bright little boy and wouldn't allow him to pretend otherwise. That was why Nanashi started teaching Harry how to use a computer.

A moment later, Harry yawned. They were both still very tired and needed more rest. Nanashi scooted over a little closer to the IV stand and drew the blankets aside. Harry hopped in beside his new big brother, snuggled in against him and fell back to sleep while the teen replaced the covers over them both and closed his eyes. It would be a rest period devoid of nightmares for both boys.

Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland, 7 March, AC 195

Upon returning to the fireplace in his office, Dumbledore stepped out, walked across the room and sat down behind his desk. He was aggravated and exasperated by Fudge's blind stupidity, but what could he do? The Minister was convinced that Harry Potter was kidnapped on Earth, that the advances of the Muggle World were the products of someone's overactive imagination, and there was nothing anyone could do or say to make him see otherwise.

After settling into his chair better, Albus pet his familiar, a phoenix he named Fawkes, and then asked Hogwarts' four Heads of House and the Keeper of Keys to come to his office. He needed their advice, and they needed to know what was truly going on. Harry's disappearance from the L3 cluster was one story that would never appear in the Daily Prophet. They followed Fudge's lead on most everything.

You were right, Minerva, he thought as he waited. We should never have entrusted Harry's safety to Lily's family. They were not worthy of the trust we placed in their hands...

Within minutes, four Hogwarts professors convened in Dumbledore's office: Minerva McGonagall, the Head of Gryffindor House; Filius Flitwick, Ravenclaw; Pomona Sprout, Hufflepuff; Severus Snape, Slytherin, and one Rubeus Hagrid, Groundskeeper and Keeper of Keys.

"I have been informed that Harry Potter was taken from the Dursleys' custody while vacationing on Colony 8253 in the L3 cluster..."

Hagrid and three of the four professors looked like they'd been poleaxed, but Snape, a tall, thin-faced man with greasy, shoulder length black hair and black robes, sneered snidely. He'd known the Evans girls since he and Lily were nine, so he knew just how petty and spiteful Petunia was. He also had a bad habit of treating Lily's only child with the same level of disdain he'd felt for James Potter during their years as students.

"Taken?" Snape interrupted in an openly spiteful tone, a malicious smirk creasing his features. "More like the arrogant little brat ran away from them..."

"Harry is not James, Severus, and you'd do well to remember that!" McGonagall snapped irritably, her Scottish accent slipping out. She was tired of him grafting James' behavior as a schoolboy onto a child who couldn't even remember who his father was, much less the pranks he'd pulled in his youth, but had long ago given up trying to tell him to grow up and get over it.

Snape could hold onto a grudge like a bulldog did a bone; that was an indisputable fact. That Lily chose James over him had been a serious blow to his ego, even though Snape's big mouth had cost him her friendship in their fifth year. In a roundabout way, to Snape, her choosing James Potter instead of him had been what signed her death warrant.

"Minerva is quite correct, Severus," Dumbledore interrupted sagely. "Harry is not his father; James and Lily are gone and it is long past time for you to let go of your grudge against them. Now, where was I...?"

"Harry Potter was taken away from his guardians," Professor Flitwick, a tiny, balding wizard with a turned-up nose and a full, bushy white beard, squeaked.

"Ah, yes. Thank you, Filius. As I was saying, Arabella informed me of the Dursleys taking Harry with them to the L3 cluster before I left for the Ministry, yet when I shared this with Cornelius, he scoffed just as he did when I warned him of what Petunia and her husband were like when he had me place Harry with them."

"So what do we do, Albus?" McGonagall asked.

"Though I imagine he's far safer where he is now, it is imperative we locate Harry before any of Fudge's watchers do. If they find him first, he'll be returned to the Dursleys and remain there until they decide to put him out of their misery."

Resource Satellite WDC-4632, 7 March, AC 195

A lone youth, armed with only a pair of slender wooden weapons, stood against four men in heavily padded body armor. His lean, fair-skinned body shone with the sweat of his labors, and his pale blond hair was dripping perspiration into his turquoise eyes and sticking to his oval face. The men were showing signs of tiring, but the boy looked like he could continue for hours.

Watching the youth from a control room was a man in his late middle years. He was short, plump, frumpy, jowly and moon-faced, the line of his slicked-back black hair was receding and the ends of his pencil thin mustache literally stood up on end. He was clad in an old lab coat, a button front shirt and tie, suit trousers and a pair of ratty house slippers.

Against his better judgment, the Instructor had grown very fond of the boy who chose to pilot the Gundam he designed. He watched the youth with a hint of pride as he went through his weapons practice. His weapons were a pair of weighted practice blades shaped to resemble Middle Eastern swords called shotels, and the blond-haired boy wielded them with the precision of a warrior born and moved with the grace of a dancer as he spun, ducked, kicked and slashed through these exercises.

The youth was a living contradiction; he was a natural mobile suit pilot, an excellent marksman with both a pistol and a bow and an effective fighter in his sparring sessions. He had strength and a fine mind for tactics and mechanics, yet he was also kind and caring. Almost too caring for what Dekim Barton, the mastermind behind Operation Meteor wanted for his "perfect soldier" program.

During his practice sessions, the boy also showed something of a mischievous side, either by taunting his opponents verbally or playfully slapping their posteriors with the flat of his blades, though he would seek them out and apologize to them for his behavior later on. That showed that he was concerned for his opponents.

So far, the boy's "lessons" consisted of swordsmanship, firearms proficiency, archery and a form of martial arts from the Middle East called krav maga. He also endured training to resist the worst OZ could do to interrogate him short of rape, and genetic manipulation to make his body resistant to all but the most powerful narcotics or drug cocktails.

H had to fire the instructor who started the boy's torture resistance training. The man, who called himself Kronus, had shown an unhealthy interest in the boy because of his sweet face, his bright turquoise eyes and his gift of empathy, which the boy called his Space Heart. Initially thinking the boy weak, Kronus' interest in his pupil grew into a full-blown case of erotomania, going so far as to call the boy Sulmanu after the Assyrian god of war.

A vidphone chimed with a PI PI PI, interrupting his train of thought. Instructor H pressed the "answer" button and the familiar face of an old friend with a prosthetic nose appeared on the screen. Before H could greet him properly, Doktor S said "H, we have a problem here."

"Let me guess... the name of your problem is Trowa Barton, right?"

"Yes. He assaulted and raped one of my technicians, a boy he calls No-Name, four nights ago and left him to bleed to death in his quarters."

H reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb, fore and middle fingers and slowly shook his head. First Dekim Barton's friend, or rather flunky, tried to "break" his pilot, and now Barton's son attacked a young technician. It was enough to make a sane person crazy, if both H and S weren't considered so already.

"And we wondered why Dekim wanted someone like Kronus to train all of our pilots but Trowa. Those three are all birds of a feather. Do me a favor, would you? If Kronus shows up on your doorstep, shove him out an airlock for me."

"You should talk. I'm the only one whose pilot is a spoiled, arrogant child molester that I already want to eject into outer space. Worse, I recognized the boy Barton attacked; he was another one of the Newtypes the Alliance and Romefeller were holding for testing ten years ago."

"You're sure?"

"I'm positive. He's the one they called Subject 03. Your pilot is one of the others, isn't he? The one they called Subject 04? Does his family know?"

H blanched. From what he'd read about the experiment, the two boys called Subjects 03 and 04 were very close to each other; in fact, they were practically inseparable. What was done to them afterwards was part of the reason his pilot nearly became what people had already thought of him; yet another Winner born from a test tube. His overbearing father never found out who took his only son, or why he was taken in the first place, but if he ever found out...

"Are you out of your ever-loving mind, S?" H finally answered. "You don't know what the people of this colony are like! The head of Quatre's family truly believes that the only path to peace between the Colonies and Earth is to lie down and let OZ and the Alliance have their way. The Maguanacs accept Quatre as one of their own... but his own father's disowned him for not wanting to be a doormat. If he finds out what the boy is, he'll allow the people of the colony to behead him as either a witch or a heretic!"

"Behead him? Why? For being an Empath or his being...?"

"Take your pick. Either one is a death sentence for him here," Instructor H interrupted irritably, and then cut off the transmission. He then turned on the microphone on the computer console to speak to his pilot.

"Good job, Quatre," he told the tow-headed youth. "That's enough for now. Why don't you go grab some lunch, and after that you can hit the shooting range."

The tow-headed youth nodded once, set his practice blades back into their rack and then took off in a lope towards the door. The Instructor watched his pupil as he left and again wondered how long he could hold out before he would be forced to allow the Bartons to rob this boy of his kindness and compassion.

Gundam Factory, Colony L3 8253, 8 March, AC 195

Early the next morning, the physician came in to examine Nanashi, accompanied by a nurse carrying a bundle of clean garments sized for both him and Harry. While he started to unwrap the bandages on Nanashi's wrists to check the injuries to them, she handed Harry the smaller bundle and ordered him to take a shower and wash his hair.

A few minutes later, Harry came out wearing jeans, an emerald green long-sleeved t-shirt and shoes that actually fit his small feet. They'd also brought him a brand new pair of wire framed glasses, and Harry's eyes widened in delight at being able to see properly for the first time.

"What about...?" Nanashi started to ask.

"Your wrists? I'll finish redressing them when you're done and dressed," the doctor said. Nanashi then took the clothes the nurse handed him, then locked himself in the bathroom so he could take his shower.

Several long minutes later, Nanashi emerged wearing a dark blue turtleneck, faded jeans and a new pair of boots. The youth's body was still a little stiff and sore, but the hot shower helped with that. Soon, clean dressings adorned the still-raw flesh of his wrists and the quickly healing cut on his forehead was rebandaged. The doctor deemed that, overall, he was fit enough to go home and rest, and could go back to work at the factory in a day or two.

Nanashi and Harry left of the infirmary together, headed back to the small apartment inside the factory. When they got there, they found a note taped to the apartment door saying that his few possessions had been moved to a new building not far away. Picking Harry up, the pair headed towards the factory instead of to the new apartment. Concussion or no, Nanashi still needed money to support himself and Harry, and he couldn't afford to miss one day of work, even if it was doctor's orders.

When they got there, Nanashi went to his locker and found two sets of coveralls; one his size and one cut down to fit Harry. After slipping the suits over their clothes, Nanashi grabbed his toolbox and strode out to where Heavyarms waited, Harry following hot on his heels. The nameless teen gave Harry a pencil and several sheets of paper he'd found to keep the little boy occupied while he worked on a wonky servo in the Gundam's leg.

He worked in peace for nearly an hour when all Hell broke loose.

"WHAT?" A familiar voice bellowed angrily, and Nanashi froze. Trowa Barton was being confronted by Doktor S and his assistant, a man whose name the youth couldn't remember. Their voices were incredibly loud, meaning they were close by. "Target only OZ? You're changing the plan, old man!"

"Operation Meteor will kill over twenty billion people on Earth from the onset! Isn't that going too far?"

"Exterminating twenty billion leeches isn't going far enough! The Colonies have always been meant to rule over the Earth Sphere! When we finally take control of it, we'll take humanity to new heights!"

Doktor S sighed and retorted with "That sounds like your father Dekim talking."

"I get it now. You don't want us to take over the Earth, do you, traitor?! You're jealous that once we do, the Barton family will be in charge of everything! I'M TELLING MY FATHER ABOUT THIS! I'LL CARRY OUT OPERATION METEOR BY MYSELF AND THE PEOPLE OF EARTH WILL...!"

BANG! BANG!!

========================================================================

Author's Notes: If you're concerned that "our" Trowa is going to try to do to Harry what Barton did to him, relax. I've established that they have an big brother/little brother bond between them, and I've known a lot of people who've had a younger sibling crawl into bed with them because they couldn't sleep or had a bad dream, myself included.

I know I promised to have this chapter up on January 25th, and I apologize for it being so late. I'm worried about my dad, who has been in various healthcare facilities since December 23rd. I haven't seen him since the day of his double bypass surgery on the 27th, and getting any accurate information on his condition has been Hell.

Sorry to leave this on another cliffhanger. This chapter started out by pretty much writing itself, but my father's health concerns had me running up the phone bill and my eldest sister Diana, who pretty much kidnapped him so she could isolate him and con him into making another mistake, had been a real bitch towards me. Plus, having to rewrite it twice because the file got corrupted twice has been a lot of fun... not. Thank the Gods I uploaded a copy of this file on one of my websites, just in case.

In future chapters, I'll be referencing some of the events that occur in my AU Heroes of the Future timeline, such as "our" Trowa's problems with the real Barton and the references to Quatre's training, as background material for the pilots’ friendship and future relationships with their partners.

I always figured the boys either already knew how to use weapons similar to the ones on their Gundams (like Hiiro with guns and swords, Trowa with guns and knives and Wu Fei with a Glaive/trident) or learned how to (Quatre with shotels and Duo with a scythe). I also think each of the five old farts knew exactly what each of the others was up to. Doctor J practically said as much in the anime.

Speaking of Quatre, this is not an OOC portrayal; he's caring and gentle, yes, but he's also been trained as a fighter. While he's not as strong as Hiiro or Wu Fei, as fast as Duo or as agile as Trowa, he can hold his own in a fight, and that's not just my opinion; Rashid thought so, too.

About Instructor H's comment about Quatre's colony on his Empathy, many people in many countries of the Middle East believe that all "magic" is evil, including any kind of psychic abilities. Quatre's Empathy would likely be viewed as a form of witchcraft by many in his colony. Anyone suspected of practicing witchcraft is sentenced to death by beheading, and being anything other than heterosexual is also a death sentence in most of the Middle East, hence the Instructor's concern.

Next chapter: Harry and Nanashi return to Earth, get into their first battle with OZ, and join the circus.
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For the Love of a Boy