Matou Shinji and the Heirs of Slytherin
A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story
Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.
Summary: Trouble is brewing in the Wizarding World. In the wake of the Stone Incident, Albus Dumbledore has begun quietly preparing Britain to survive the coming war. The Stone Cutters, a new organization at Hogwarts for the most talented and distinguished of students, seek new blood to bolster its strength. The Boy-Who-Lived seeks his destiny as the Heir of Slytherin. And a boy from the east meets a specter of the past.
Chapter 14. Perspective and Circumstance
To say that Alastor Moody was angry about the current situation would have been gravely understating the matter. For the old Auror was furious – apoplectic, even – though mostly at himself for not having prepared for this eventuality. Like everyone else, he had assumed that if Sirius Black was to infiltrate the castle, he would go after Potter, given the decisive role that the Boy-Who-Lived had played in defeating Voldemort, though Moody acknowledged that Dumbledore could potentially have been a target as well.
Instead, Black had broken into Gryffindor Tower – where none of the primary targets were, proceeded to interrogate a student (who had appeared in the Daily Prophet, receiving the Order of Merlin on behalf of then-hospitalized George Weasley, but was not considered a priority for protection), and then simply left the castle unmolested, presumably using the same unknown means by which he'd come.
At first, when the boy was discovered laying in a crumpled heap by the fire, it was assumed that he'd simply fallen asleep and slipped off the couch, but upon being roused, he'd begun to beg "Mr. Black" not to hurt him – until he saw it was his brothers standing above him and had promptly shut up. Concerned for him, they'd insisted that he go to the Hospital Wing for an examination, where Madam Pomfrey had discovered injuries to the boy's neck consistent with strangulation as well as shallow cuts on his stomach.
Upon being notified of the injuries and of what Ronald Weasley had said, Moody hadn't taken any chances. His adjutant, Tonks, had cordoned off Gryffindor Tower immediately, with its residents being escorted to the Great Hall by a contingent of Hit Wizards, where they would be sleeping for the night. Given that the Tower's security had been compromised, it was not safe for them to remain there in case Black struck again (no matter how unlikely Moody thought that was – but then, he hadn't thought Black would strike Gryffindor Tower to begin with).
His team would be cordoning off the Tower for the next few days as they scoured the Common Room for clues, in addition to asking the Fat Lady if she had seen any individuals entering the Tower who matched the appearance of Black.
Having dealt with Dark Wizards before, however, Moody thought it was unlikely they'd discover anything. Black, in particular, had always been careful to cover his tracks, with no one, not even Snape, the Order's spy among the Death Eaters ranks, even knowing he'd been working for Voldemort until it was too late.
Which made it all the more curious that he'd left a witness alive and able to identify him, though perhaps that in itself was the message. Or perhaps there was some other more sinister motive at work? Had he perhaps used an Imperius Curse on the boy to force him to perform a certain task – perhaps without him even knowing? Was the boy perhaps been made into a sleeper agent, with instructions to assassinate some individual, or to cast the Imperius on yet another individual?
After all, that particular Unforgiveable was quite insidious in that it could endow the victim with whatever skills he or she might require to complete their assigned task, even increasing their strength or allowing them to cast spells far above their level.
…and of course, the boy might not even realize he'd been affected by the curse, as the most effective agents of the enemy were those who didn't know they were agents. Plus, most professors wouldn't think to suspect that a so-called victim of Black's might actually be one of his tools – but Moody knew better.
One who espoused the philosophy of "constant vigilance" had to mean it, or it meant nothing, after all. So he'd have to question the boy thoroughly – and of course, get a copy of the memory in question to ensure that his mind hadn't been tampered with.
And so, after being treated in the Hospital Wing, Ronald Bilius Weasley had been ushered to a small, normally unused classroom by a small squad of Hit Wizards, all but one of which departed once they arrived. The room had been cleared of everything except a single empty chair, with lit torches ringing the room illuminating it starkly.
Waiting for him within was the intimidating form of Alastor Moody, whose monstrous blue eye looked over him and bade him sit. Weakly, Ron did as he was told, only to find the Auror glowering at him, the door closing behind him with a muffled boom.
Why was…oh, of course, Mad-Eye Moody must want to learn what happened with Black—
"Where's your wand, boy?" the man asked gruffly, beady black and great blue eyes both staring at him with baleful intensity. "Shouldn't be out and about without one."
Ron swallowed under the pressure of the Auror's gaze. Normally, the man would look with one eye while his other scanned the room for any threats, but now, both eyes were quite still – both eyes were looking at him. The young Gryffindor found himself unwilling to meet the powerful wizard's gaze, his eyes trying to look at anything but the other's eyes.
And so he found his eyes looking at the man's scarred, disfigured form – the way his face was a jagged ruin, how one of his legs was a wooden peg, and how the man's mouth seemed like a simple slash of scar tissue – making him look far more like a monster than anything he'd seen in Defense class – far more, even, than the maddened form of Sirius Black.
"Well, Weasley?" Moody asked, since the lad wasn't answering. Perhaps the child was intimidated by him – it wouldn't be the first time, and he admitted he wasn't the best at dealing with children.
"I-its back in my room," Ron said, his voice wavering in the way an inexperienced liar's might. "In my bag."
"I see. Jenkins, go fetch it for him, would you?"
"Yes, sir."
The Hit Wizard had just opened the door when Ronald Weasley changed his tune, not wanting to be left alone with the intimidating Auror.
"…actually I'm not sure if it's still there."
Jenkins paused, looking over at his superior, who had stumped closer to the boy, his expression fierce and almost…predatory. This was going to be ugly, but then, Mad-Eye wasn't much known for his restraint…
"You're not sure," the veteran Auror repeated slowly. "Then where might it be, lad?"
Ron swallowed, feeling his body tremble uncontrollably as the magical eye just stared at him.
"Or should I say…who has it?" Moody rumbled, glowering at the boy.
"I…"
But Ron was finding it hard to speak, that the air seemed to choke him, that Moody in the darkness of this room was far more terrifying than in the classroom.
"Tell me, Weasley, did you encounter the fugitive named Sirius Black?"
"I…yes."
"You found your tongue I see," the Auror noted, perhaps somewhat uncharitably. "And you gave him your wand?"
"Ye—I mean, no, I didn't."
"'Ye—I mean no?'" Moody repeated. "Contradicting yourself, boy?"
"He took it. I didn't give it to him."
Ron felt his heart pounding in his chest faster, faster, faster, his breathing becoming shallower, more ragged, his hands opening and closing spasmodically.
"Then why didn't you say that to begin with, hmm?" the old wizard growled, his breath hot and rank in the poor Gryffindor in the face. "Hiding something from old Mad-Eye, are ye?"
"No. No, please, I—"
"You get one lie, Weasley," Moody intoned, his eyes cold as he straightened, his wand drawn but not quite pointed at the boy. "And you used it. Don't try it again."
The Weasley boy was almost gasping for breath now, try as he might to stay calm. For the way Moody was talking – it reminded him somehow of Black. Of the way Black had hurt him over and over again. Of how Black…
"What did Black want?"
Ron couldn't answer. Not that he didn't want to, but he didn't have the breath to, with his heart pounding faster, faster, faster.
"What did he want, boy?"
The darkness – the darkness was closing in. Spots of black swam in his vision and he felt cold, cold all over. He…he…
"Boy?"
But there was no answer, as Ronald Weasley had passed out.
"Hmph. Well, Black apparently didn't ask him for tea and crumpets," Moody noted. "What do you think, Jenkins?"
"I think he's a scared kid, sir, whatever else he is," the Hit Wizard answered from his vantage point at the door. "But I don't suppose you remember what that's like, sir."
"Been too long, Jenkins. And it's that whatever else that I worry about. The things I've seen…well, let's hope You-Know-Who isn't really back, or you'll get to see them all yourself. Maybe become the next Mad-Eye, eh?"
"Ah, let's hope not, sir."
Moody just grunted as he stumped back to the unconscious boy, who had half-fallen out of his chair and growled out Rennervate.
There was a flash of red as Ron stirred feebly, groggily looking around until he caught sight of Mad-Eye Moody and froze, like a mouse that had seen a snake.
"Welcome back," Moody growled, a hint of menace in his voice. "Are you ready to talk now, boy?"
And talk he did, spilling the details of how Sirius Black had asked for the whereabouts of someone called Wormtail. At first, claimed that had been all that transpired, though after being pressed, he admitted that he'd basically sold out the Boy-Who-Lived, that he'd offered Black the whereabouts of Harry Potter in exchange for his own life.
…just as Sirius Black – a Gryffindor – had sold out the Potters for his own personal gain.
'No…I'm not. I'm not like him…I'm not like that…that…'
"Well, aside from your…unfortunate tendency to volunteer information to Dark Wizards, I can't fault you too much," the Auror summed up, with Ron Weasley flinching at the word too. "Luckily, from what you said, Potter wasn't the target this time. If he had been…"
Moody let his voice trail off meaningfully. If Potter had been the target, and had been killed, then it was likely the Weasley boy would be crucified by the Ministry and the Daily Prophet, as those in power sought a convenient scapegoat.
Far better that than blame the Ministry's own security forces.
"Can I go…sir?" Ron whispered, all but broken after what seemed like hours of questioning but had only been less than one.
"Just one more thing, Weasley. Think of the incident – bring it to your mind," Moody commanded, as he touched his wand to the side of the boy's forehead and withdrew some silvery strands of thought, capturing it in a vial he produced from his jacket. "That's all. Jenkins, take him back to the Great Hall."
The Hit Wizard moved to comply, gingerly helping the child to his feet and escorting him out of the room.
"You heard all that, Tonks?" Alastor Moody asked, looking at the vial of memory he held in his hands.
There was a ripple in the air, with a shock of pink hair appearing as Nymphadora Tonks shrugged the cowl of an invisibility cloak off her head.
"I did."
"Your thoughts?"
"You may have been a bit rough with him," Tonks began, somewhat amused at the half-sour expression on her mentor's face. "But I don't think he's lying, at least as far as he knows."
"And this whole 'Wormtail' business? This business with the rat sounds fishy. An animagus, you think?"
"Maybe," Tonks conceded, slipping the cloak off entirely. "But who?"
"I don't know. Have your assistant – Hillard, his name was? - pull up the issue of the Daily Prophet with the boy in it. And make alternate sleeping arrangements for the others. The ones who received the Order of Merlin as well as Granger, Clearwater, and the other Weasley Prefect. The Order of Merlin boys can sleep in their Tower. The others, we need to protect. Black slipped past us once and did something to Weasley. I don't want him doing it again."
"And you, sir? What will you be doing?"
"Going to see Lockhart," Moody growled.
Tonks just blinked.
"Whatever for?" she asked, confused.
"Well, Albus did say to check up on him – and that he knew a thing or two about Memory Charms. In any case, if the Weasley boy seems to get closer to either of the primary targets, take note of it – and be careful."
"Of course, Mad-Eye. I think you might be a bit overcautious about this though."
"Constant—"
"—vigilance. Understood, sir."
The investigations of Moody's Task Force with what happened in Gryffindor Tower hit a dead end, but where they lacked concrete data, rumor and speculation rose to fill the void, given that gossip was one of the student body's favorite past times. They'd started with a few major facts:
Fact 1. Ronald Weasley had been found unconscious.
Fact 2. Gryffindor Tower had been evacuated shortly thereafter
Fact 3. The Stone Cutters who belonged in Gryffindor had been assigned to sleep in the Founders' Tower, while the rest had slept in the Great Hall
Fact 4. Extra guards had been posted around the approaches to the other dormitory entrances
All of which suggested that something serious had happened on Halloween night; an impression that Ron Weasley acknowledged by saying he'd faced Sirius Black and lived, which caused more than a bit of a stir among the student population. Enough of one, in fact, that some wondered if he would be inducted into the ranks of the Stone Cutter Society.
After being ignored and singled out for so long, being the only one of his siblings not to achieve greatness, Ron saw this as a chance to finally earn recognition for himself. After all, he had faced Black and lived…in a fashion…because Black hadn't wanted to kill him…but that was beside the point. He had faced a Dark Wizard and lived, and if a girl had been inducted into the Order of Merlin for nothing more than dying, surely his feat would qualify him for the Stone Cutters at least.
His brothers had been shocked to hear of his encounter, thinking he'd only been feeling ill when they'd sent him to the Hospital Wing, though they couldn't help but feel he had left out a few details about what happened, since they'd known him all his life.
And Ron had, not mentioning anything about Wormtail, Padfoot, or that he had sold out Potter of course.
That and they were a bit miffed at his mention of Sokaris. His logic wasn't wrong, per se, but…she'd fought beside them, and to trivialize that was…
Well, it wasn't good. Still, he was their brother, so they promised they'd bring up the incident to the other Stone Cutters and see what would transpire.
Suffice it to say that by the time Monday rolled around, the student body was both frightened that Black had managed to break in, and curious as to what he may have wanted – which made History of Magic all the more interesting.
Especially given the question Gilderoy Lockhart had just asked to his class of Ravenclaws, which puzzled most of them.
"What makes the Unforgivable Spells unforgivable?"
One hand went up immediately – which, to no surprise, was that of Hermione Granger.
"Yes, Miss Granger?"
"The use of any of these three curses on a fellow human being will result in a life sentence in Azkaban, unless there is sufficient evidence that the caster did so under the influence of the Imperius Curse," the girl recited, as if reading from a textbook.
"Which is what happens if you use an Unforgivable Curse, but not why they are unforgivable," Lockhart replied, his gaze looking over the room for another volunteer. "Mister Boot, how about you?"
"Because they're powerful Dark Magic, sir?" the boy ventured, but once more Gilderoy Lockhart shook his head.
"Incorrect," the man intoned, turning at last to the Class Consul, Matou Shinji. "And you, Mister Matou, do you have an idea?"
"Because the Ministry says they are," Shinji replied, whereupon the gold-clad Professor smiled.
"Exactly. The Unforgivable Curses are unforgivable because our Ministry says so, and for no reason besides. True, they are powerful spells, often associated with the Dark Arts, and have been used for many horrible things, but then so have many simple curses."
He smiled thinly as he gazed out into the room.
"Consider this. Avada Kedavra kills painlessly, while spells like Reducto or Confringo – which are also used in battle, cause far more damage. You would know about the latter, wouldn't you, Mr. Matou?"
Shinji nodded.
"The Cruciatus inflicts pain, but nothing else, and there are other ways to torture an individual if need be. And the Imperius may be strong, but so are love potions like Amortentia, which can inspire obedience just as obsessive and immediate. Yet those are not banned, are they?"
The class murmured at this, not having thought about things from that point of view before.
"Miss Granger, what year were these spells made unforgivable by the British Ministry?"
"1717, Professor."
"And when were they invented?"
There was no answer to that the class could provide, as they didn't typically look up the origins of such spells. Likely such things were in the Restricted Section, after all.
"Centuries before," Lockhart related, "when Magical Britain was still ruled by a Wizard's Council. To them, the Unforgivables were not unforgivable – they were like any other spell. The only things they felt strongly about were that Muggles should not find out about magic – that they were to be a society in hiding, which is why they signed the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, though it is more accurately called the European Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, given that other magical nations pay it lip service at best. Japan, for instance, where Mr. Matou is from, is not a signatory to this, and the Unforgivables are permitted there."
Some odd glances came Shinji's way at this remark, with the Stone Cutter wondering why Lockhart mentioned it.
"This says nothing of morality," Lockhart cautioned, "only the choices of each government, just as you may have seen with how differently each Consul rules. Likewise, the Ministry can – and has – changed its mind before, depending who is Minister. A good example is during the war with You-Know-Who, where what was unforgivable for others was not unforgivable for their Aurors. There was Azkaban, where a fortress built by a Dark Wizard was turned instead into a prison, with the torture inflicted to prisoners there worse than the Cruciatus. There is the famous affair of our nation asserting its right to party in defiance of the Statute of Secrecy. And of course, there was that messy affair in New Zealand, where we wiped out the Tōhunga – what the natives called their wizards and witches - for which we are quite rightly accused of genocide." He raised an eyebrow at a hand that went up. "Yes, Miss Granger?"
"…what did they do to be wiped out, sir?" she asked, clearly uncomfortable with the thought – and just as clearly thinking there had to be a reason. Had the Tōhunga been like the Death Eaters, or…?
"Simply put, they weren't us," Lockhart said grimly, his eyes meeting the gaze of each student in the room. "They were peaceful people who lived among the Muggles of their kind, but that didn't matter to us when we killed them, every last one of them, no matter how much they begged for mercy. They wouldn't submit to what became the Ministry of New Zealand, you see, and so were struck down - much as You-Know-Who struck down those who would oppose him. We like to speak of light and dark, of right and wrong, of things that are unforgivable, but the truth is, very little is that clear cut when it comes to peoples, powers, and pasts. Most things are simply a matter of perspective and circumstance."