(Preshow) Preshow Facility

[Harry Potter]

CENTRAL HALL, then DOJO

Ron Burgundy was drinking scotch, leaning against a wall, and thinking about death again when Harry Potter wandered by in his black wizard's robes.

"Hey!" the anchorman slurred loudly as Harry passed, startling him.

"Yes, uh," said Harry smoothly as he noticed the camera behind Ron Burgundy. "Hullo then mate."

Rob Burgundy's face puckered in surprise, and then he burst out laughing.

"Hah!" he screamed in Harry's face. "You sound like the Queen of Scotland, HAH!" Ron roared, wiping away tears of laughter. "What, HAH! What's your name?"

Harry seemed only mildly put out. "My name's Harry Potter, I'm here-"

"Ahaha!" the anchorman screams again, yelping hysterically. "There you have it folks, Reginald Poofter! AH haha! Ah!" shouted Ron, doubling over at his own joke.

Harry shrugs as he smiles sardonically. "Oh yeah, I get it, you're having a go at me? You look like you're in a barber shop quartet called 'white noise'."

Ron Burgundy choked into his scotch. "What the-well, you look like John Lennon in a batman costume."

Harry shrugs. "You look like a serial killer pretending to be a bible salesman."

Ron Turns red. "You sound like one of Liberace's farts!"

Harry grinned. "Your hair looks like-"

***

DOJO/GYM

Harry Potter sat on a bench in the training room at the dojo, taping up his broken nose.

"Reparo," he mutters, and his broken glasses snap back together.

As far as first impressions go, Harry thought getting knocked out by Ron Burgundy on live TV (or as Ron called it, getting a little 'San Diego Thank You') didn't bode well for his chances of getting sponsors.

Harry Potter walked out of the changing room and into the dojo, his bright green eyes scanning the room nervouslly behind his glasses. The young wizard had left this robes behind, choosing a pair of comfortable trainers, basketball shorts, and a grey undershirt. He took note of the other competitors as he stretched, never having seen so many primes in one place before.

They seemed freindly, nice even. They talked casually as they honed their skills, joking amongst each other, and talking about the competition. It reminded Harry of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and he smiled a little. Then he bagan to train.

He ran on a treadmill. He did squats. He hit the bench press. He got back on the treadmill. Then he started boxing.

Harry chose a futuristic looking heavybag to practice on. He wrapped his hands just a bit, but he did not bring boxing gloves; he wasn't trained with them. Harry began to work the bag, slowly at first, then picking up steam. His stance was awkward, his feet too close together, but his strikes were consistent, well aimed, and powerfull.

The scrawny prime seemed to rock the bag every time he connected. Sweat start to pour into his eyes, but Harry pressed on. As he lost himself in the rythem of the punching, his hands began to glow a soft red color, and the crack of his fist against the bag bagan to echo more loudly.