Matou Shinji and the Master of Death
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: In the wake of Dumbledore's death, Lucius Malfoy has become the most powerful man in Magical Britain. Hogwarts undergoes reforms under the rule of Headmaster Flitwick. Severus Snape learns that some wrongs cannot be set right. And driven onwards by eerie dreams of shadow and flame, Matou Shinji walks the path of destruction.
Chapter 25. Wolf in Winter
On his first real exposure to London, Matou Shinji was not at all surprised to find out that it was not entirely unlike Kyoto, a city in which he'd spent a considerable length of time since leaving Fuyuki, at least in its sense of age. In some respects, the city, like so many others in Europe, was a living monument to the past, but at the same time, the tension of the encroaching future could be felt from the glass and steel edifices that dominated the skyline.
It was radically different from say, Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley, places which seemed isolated from the flow of time, as if things would be the same in a century no matter how the world moved on, with mystery proving a sharp counterpoint to modernity.
At least Mahoutokoro, a place of refuge and sanctuary for those of the Moonlit World in Japan, acknowledged the events and importance of the happenings of the outside world, training its acolytes to be able to function in modern society, but then the supernatural had always been a part of the culture of Japan.
Here, though, as he emerged from the Leaky Cauldron out onto Charing Cross Road with the Boy-Who-Lived besides him, he was surprised to see Harry's reaction to the city: a sense of surprise and unfamiliarity, though he'd grown up in Surrey, not too far from London.
"You don't really come here often, do you?" Shinji asked quietly as they walked from the dimness of the tavern into the morning light, noting the cars passing by on the road.
"I don't," Harry confirmed. Except for trips to and from King's Cross – and that rather ill-fated trip to the Zoo, this marked one of the first times he had set foot in what used to be the center of the world, the capital of an empire upon which the sun never set. "I've spent more time…" 'In the wizarding world.'
A world where he was acknowledged, even if that acknowledgement had come at a high price. A world where he was a hero to people. A world where he was someone instead of just another face in the crowd.
…even if had learned to move quickly through crowds and tried not to draw undue attention to himself, lest he be accosted by someone seeking a picture or an autograph.
"So where are we going today?" he asked Shinji, who seemed somewhat more comfortable here. "And why are we going into London?"
"Well, since one of my friends is coming over from Japan, I thought it would be good to get to know the city a little bit," the Matou scion answered with a smile. True, he had received a small hand-written guide to the City – including who to talk to at the Museum for more information about the gala – this morning from his Master, but having a book about a place wasn't the same thing as knowing a place.
Feeling the rhythms with which the city moved, the atmosphere of it, the pace and energy of its denizens – how it felt to walk from place to place or take the Tube. The best travel guide might capture a sliver of all this, offering hints and tips as to where to go, what to take, and other such, but it was at best an overlooking view, just information without context.
'There is a danger from being too separated from the world, from the present…'
So his Master had taught him when he'd stepped into Kyoto Station all those years ago, and it was a lesson that remained with him even now.
"Right. You mentioned Tohsaka," Harry recalled, shaking his head as he remembered the girl who Shinji had described as the Second Owner of Fuyuki – someone nominally in charge of the land, almost like nobility. Though that raised questions in and of itself… "Why is she coming to Britain anyway?"
"To study," Shinji replied, glancing down the road towards Trafalgar Square, the great public heart of London once called Charing, and then Charing Cross, after a memorial cross that had been raised on the square. "Both of our families have ties to Britain, after a fashion."
"Will she be…at Hogwarts?" Harry asked, his brows furrowing in confusion. He didn't think the school took transfer students, after all. Matou's mother had gone to Hogwarts, so he had a direct connection to the school, but the other…
"No," the Matou scion answered, shaking his head. "Not there."
"Not…the Wizarding Academy of the Dramatic Arts then?" Harry knew that was a stretch, since in his brief meeting with her, Tohsaka Rin hadn't seemed like someone who liked the limelight. Still, it seemed more likely than the Euro-Glyph School of Extraordinary Languages or the like – though Tohsaka did need work on her English.
"Not exactly." For a moment, Shinji frowned as he sought to find a way to explain it without giving away too much about the Moonlit World, as his thoughts turned to the Tower – and the Museum which served as its public front. 'Aha.' "Have you heard of the Grand Tour?"
"The Grand…what?" Harry echoed.
"The Grand Tour," Shinji repeated. Seeing no sign of recognition on his friend's face, he proceeded to explain, in effect passing on what Lockhart had told him about the adventurer's own trip around Europe. "Apparently, it used to be a tradition where young nobles and other well-to-do people would travel around the known world to learn about art, culture, fashion and history. A rite of passage as well."
"Huh," Harry noted thoughtfully, recalling that Magical Britain had no such tradition, with many young people never leaving the country where they were born at all. "Is that what she's doing here?"
"Yes," Shinji confirmed, nodding at his friend's question. "As the heiress to her family, she's been well trained in her craft. Now her priority is learning more about the world and what masters of the art have to offer."
"Huh, so she'll be something like an artist-in-residence?" Harry inquired, as the picture of Tohsaka Rin as an artist in her workshop, clad in a paint spattered smock, with a brush in one hand and palette in the other, came unbidden to his mind. The image was surprisingly charming. "That sounds wicked."
"Close enough," the boy from the east allowed. And it was, really, given that during her time at the Tower, she'd be given a studio space to work on her craft, with special access to the Association's resources and faculty.
"Mm, I wonder what that must be like…" Harry mused, shaking his head with a sigh. "I've never really seen much art before, aside from the things in Hogwarts. I've never even been to a museum."
"Never?" Shinji asked, blinking in confusion.
"Never," Harry repeated. "The Dursleys – they never took me anywhere if they could help it. And I don't think I've seen one anywhere in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley."
"I don't think that side of the world cares much about preserving the past, or about things like art too much," Shinji reflected distantly, remembering a conversation he'd had with a somewhat melancholic Pansy Parkinson on the matter. "After all, it's a world where everything will be the way it was, more or less. Just look at how History was until Lockhart showed up…"
"…you have a point," Harry muttered. "A world where no one remembers what really happened, where the knowledge of the past isn't valued. Isn't there a saying about those who fail to learn from history being doomed to repeat it?"
Lockhart had mentioned this as one of the reasons Dark Lords kept rising again, and again, and again, because the system was broken. As terrifying and cruel as they had been in their own right, Dark Lords were but symptoms of an underlying disease, their reigns of terror made possible by the corruption of this society in hiding – the lies of natural superiority and hypocritical self-righteousness that Magical Britain was founded on.
Beliefs, Lockhart pointed out, were dangerous things, especially beliefs about people being naturally superior or naturally evil. Why, after all, was one House at Hogwarts singled out as being a hive of Dark Wizards in training and shunned by the others? Why were those who didn't fit in with wizarding society – which by its own admission was a culture of oddballs and recluses – shunned – unless they proved themselves powerful? Why did the Fountain at the Ministry depict other magical races effectively worshipping wizards and witches when the reality was far different?
So much of what was held to be tradition just didn't stand up to close scrutiny.
"There is that saying, yes," Shinji murmured, shaking his head. "It's why I don't plan to stay in Britain after I finish my studies at Hogwarts. It's only a matter of time before everything comes crashing down."
"You're not? Why the house then?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. "You…you didn't buy it just to impress Tohsaka, did you?"
"Of course not," Shinji replied. That had been only one of his motives in doing so, though admittedly the prospect of seeing her reaction to the house was a very amusing one. "I'm just…I'm keeping my options open."
"…of course you are, Matou," Harry said, his lips twitching into a crooked smile as he thought of a different set of 'options' the boy could be holding onto. "I understand."
"Besides, I might stay for a while," the boy from the east added, missing the implications of his friend's jibe entirely. "Who knows? Four years is a long time. Four years ago…"
Four years ago, he couldn't have imagined being where he was today. Back then, the world began and ended with Fuyuki, and it seemed his destiny would be to live out his life in that town, in the shadow of Tohsaka, his sister, and everyone else. To be used by his family for whatever they needed, and no doubt used up in the process.
"…yeah," Harry agreed. "Four years ago I was back at the Dursleys. I didn't have a clue about this…other world."
Shinji recalled a line from the book of Shakespeare's plays Hermione had given him that first Christmas – the one he'd traded away for his spare wand. While reading Hamlet, one of the passages stuck out to him…
"'There are more things in heaven and Earth, Horatio, / Than are dreamt of in your philosophy,'" he quoted, with Harry tilting his head as he tried to place it.
"That sounds like something Lovegood might say," the Boy-Who-Lived remarked.
"It's from a play actually," Shinji corrected. "Although it does sound like her."
"A play?"
"Hamlet, by William Shakespeare," the Matou scion supplied. "One of the great tragedies the man wrote."
"I've never read Shakespeare," Harry mused. "But then I haven't seen much Muggle literature in the last few years."
"Muggle?" Shinji repeated wryly. "Didn't you grow up in…?"
"It's not really my world anymore," Harry explained, shrugging. "It used to be, but everything I know, everything I've earned – everything that matters to me is…"
"I guess I can see that," Shinji allowed with a soft chuckle. "Well, in that case, shall we play tourist? Beats being mobbed by crowds in the Alley. And we're not wearing robes, so we'd fit in well enough."
"That…sounds like fun," Harry admitted. "Let's go."
And so the two wandered through the great city.
They passed through Trafalgar Square, home of the grand column commemorating the victory of Admiral Nelson at the Battle of Trafalgar, bordered by rich cultural spaces and museums, visiting the National Gallery, the old church called St. Martin-in-the-Fields (which had once indeed been in the fields, far from the city limits of Roman London, but now was in its very heart), and more.
From there they meandered over to Piccadilly Circus, a place named in honor of a tailor in the area that had popularized the piccadil – a large broad collar of cut-work lace that was quite fashionable in the late 16th century and early 17th century. Thus, Piccadilly Circus (circus indicating its circular shape) simply meant the roundabout closest to the tailor's house.
Of course, with the opening of new streets and redevelopment over the years, the area was no longer a roundabout, but it was still a highly trafficked area – the Times Square of London, with billboards and signs in neon lights advertising products from Coca-Cola, McDonald's, and more. Unlike Trafalgar Square, this area was not a place of museums, of reflection on the past, but of the glorious, eternal present.
Theatres, restaurants, and more surrounded the place – and even something as old and venerated as the Shaftesbury Memorial Fountain, erected in honor of the philanthropic works of the Victorian Era Lord Shaftesbury, had been ignored and even vandalized.
Though the fountain still stood in the square, it lacked its usual crowds, as the statue which normally topped it, one of the most famous in all of Britain, was missing – the aluminum statue most called Eros, but which had been intended by the one who commissioned it to be Angel of Christian Charity, and by the artist as Anteros, twin of Eros, the god of requited love.
So the two walked past the monument without making a wish, or even taking note, with Harry more surprised by the neon lights and the many, many signs.
"Shall we have lunch?" Shinji proposed.
"Sounds like a plan," Harry agreed.
Like many tourists, they ate at the Criterion, a historic neo-Byzantine restaurant complex that was one of the oldest and finest in the world – a veritable cathedral to food both in the delectable European fare it offered, as well as the sheer opulence of the gold mosaic ceilings, marble walls and sculptures, and sumptuous furnishings.
And then they wandered on, heading to the place Shinji had picked out as the ultimate destination of the day: the British Museum.
For Matou Shinji, the day had been fairly enjoyable so far, though it hadn't started off that way. He'd awoken that morning from dreams of shadows, blood and flames, one he hadn't had since he'd obtained a familiar. It had been strange, because in those dreams he'd known fear.
At this point, he wasn't afraid of simple monsters like trolls or giant spiders. They were powerful and brutal yes, but they were enemies he could fight, enemies he could face, enemies he could stand against, if not beat. They might best him. They might even kill him, but they would not destroy him, given the legacy he held now in Magical Britain.
No, the things he feared were far worse than monsters. They were the doubts he harbored in his heart of hearts, the thought that he might fail, might be dismissed as worthless by those whose opinion he cared about most.
People like Sion Eltnam Atlasia, the Director of Atlas, whose elegance and power was a goal for which he strived, as he wanted to be able to meet her as an equal one day.
People like Aozaki Touko, his Master, who had shown him a new world of possibilities, had accepted him as an apprentice, had acknowledged him as being worth something.
People like his grandfather, the patriarch of the Matou family, who had once dismissed him and his father as nothing, but had deigned to give him a second chance.
Even people like Luna, whose encouragement kept him on his path, who challenged him, made sure he did not, could not rest on his laurels, reminding him that while he was known and respected at Hogwarts, there was an entire world beyond it.
In his dreams, dreams so vivid and intense he didn't know if he was asleep or awake, he found himself amidst shadows and blood, fire and steel, running, and running…and running. Sometimes he fought, facing monstrosities made of shadow twice as tall as trolls. Sometimes he stood his ground and was killed, run through by an invisible sword. Sometimes he wore a wrist-mounted blade and plunged it mercilessly into his adopted sister's heart, as she stared up at him, eyes wide with betrayal and pain.
Sometimes, he stood atop the crenellations of a castle much like Hogwarts, and as red robed figures closed in across the rooftop, he threw himself from its ramparts towards the lake shining below.
He had woken up this morning exhausted, feeling that he hadn't slept all night, and for several long moments thereafter, he had frozen, thinking that he could hear something whisper from the abyss between the nameless stars.
He'd listened intently, trying to pinpoint where it had come from, or what it was saying, but there'd been nothing, so he'd forced himself to calm down –
Bzzt!
—before the doorbell rang.
Stifling a curse, Shinji had simply thrown on his Hogwarts robes and made his way downstairs to the door, where he peered through the peephole to see a regrettably familiar figure standing outside.
Shaking his head, he'd opened the door, as the puppet most called Tomas pushed his way inside.
"A nice house," Tomas had remarked, looking around at the furnishings. "Though I remember it as being…darker."
"…renovations." Shinji had not really been in much of a mood to talk. He had pretty much just woken up from a nightmare.
"So I read." The puppet had produced a copy of the Daily Prophet with a picture of Matou Shinji and Sirius Black on the front page. "You didn't mention your acquisition the other day."
"I didn't see the need," Shinji had replied, wondering why the puppet was even here. "You had your own errands to run for our Master, after all."
"I suppose I can grant that." Tomas's response seemed faintly…disapproving, but Shinji willed himself not to react. "In any case, I am here for two reasons today, one of which is an errand from our Master. Something about a message she didn't want to leave to chance."
"Oh. Well." The Matou scion had stiffened, startled to attention. "What can I do for you, Tomas?"
The puppet had handed him a packet of papers, along with a guidebook to London.
"From Aozaki Touko," Tomas had said. "She was concerned you would not know how to get around London, and would…look foolish."
"That's…very kind of Master," Shinji had noted, nodding. "Was there anything else?"
"She said that further information would be available at the British Museum. I presume she included the details in her letter," the puppet had drawled. "Though there was one other matter."
"Yes?"
"You went to Borgin and Burkes." There was no question in the puppet's remark, as he knew very well what had happened. "Where are the items you purchased?"
"Which items might these be?" Shinji had asked. He'd bought so many the other day, after all, something which he regretted slightly the morning after, given that after buying the Black Estate and all the other items he'd been offered, he only had something like a million Galleons remaining of the wealth he'd collected from the Room of Hidden Things.
'It won't last forever. There might be another couple million in there, if I take care to find valuables, but the majority of the easily harvested money is gone.'
The fight against the Acromantulas would probably prove profitable, if he found a place to sell the resultant carapace and silk, but there had to be something beyond that, something more sustainable.
"I think you know which items I mean." The puppet's expression had darkened at that, as his red eyes stared at the boy. "The locket, for one. Give it to me."
"No."
Shinji's response had been instantaneous, surprising both of them.
"No, Matou?" Tomas had asked, his voice mild but dangerous all the same, with Shinji intimidated by the utter intensity of the puppet's gaze. "Not even if I give you the 5000 Galleons you paid for it?"
"No," Shinji had repeated, his grey eyes defiant. "I bought that locket as a gift for someone special to me. I won't just give it to you."
"What if I were to give you a locket in exchange then?" Tomas offered, withdrawing a golden octagonal locket on a heavy gold chain from his robes. "An heirloom of the Black family, belonging to its late heir, Regulus Arcturus Black."
"My answer is still no."
The two had just looked each other, fighting a silent war of wills, before Tomas conceded, shaking his head.
"You've grown, Matou," the puppet had noted rather bluntly. "I suppose you intend to give the locket to the Director of Atlas, then?"
Shinji had swallowed. How had Tomas known that? Was he—
"No, I am not reading your mind," the puppet had continued dismissively. "I do not need such a thing to know who is most important to you."
Tomas had laughed then, a cold almost cruel sound in the morning light that went on for nearly a minute before he stopped.
"I suppose I do not understand such attachment. Nevertheless, I do recognize its power," the puppet had conceded. For a long moment, Tomas had looked at him before handing over the octagonal locket. "You have shown me something interesting, so I suppose this will be a gift. Merry Christmas, Matou Shinji."
The boy from the east had blinked, not knowing what to make of the puppet's change in mood.
"You're giving this to me?" he'd questioned, wondering why Tomas would do such a thing.
"Indeed," the puppet had noted with a cold chuckle, as he pressed the cold metal into the boy's hands. "Enjoy your day, Matou."
And with that, Tomas had left, with Shinji taking a long, cold shower to cleanse himself of the feeling of dread he sometimes felt around the puppet. Deciding that he needed something to distract him from his dreams, he decided to head to Diagon Alley to change his wizarding money for British pounds – and to write Harry, who might be available as a tour guide of sorts, since Shinji knew he'd grown up around London.
Overall, the day had been pleasant enough, with wandering the streets of London doing wonders for Shinji's mood, though he grew more somber as he and the Boy-Who-Lived approached the British Museum.
To the public, it was one of the most prestigious museums in the world, with a collection drawn from all from all continents of the world illustrating and documenting the story of human culture from its humble beginnings to the present day. And it was that, certainly, but for those of Moonlit World, it was far more.
For the British Museum was also the home of the Clock Tower, the current headquarters and main branch of the Association, with its departments and the workshops of its members located deep beneath the earth.
'…I wonder what it's like…'
If the splendor of the Museum was just the veneer that most saw, who knew what wonders it concealed. But then, Shinji would be the first to admit that he had a bias for institutions that were hidden beneath the earth, perhaps because in his youth, the basement had always been the place that was off limits, the place of power for his grandfather.
The worm pit.
Surely the Association wasn't a pit of worms trying to tear each other to pieces though, he thought.
Up the steps they went, towards the main entrance of the museum – which look for all the world like a Greek temple. And why shouldn't it? Literally speaking, a museum could be said to be shrine to the Muses, after all, the goddesses of literature, science, history, and the arts.
"So this is the British Museum?" Harry asked in a hush as he stepped through the doors, feeling a chill at the weight of history here. He'd been the National Gallery earlier in the day, but this was a place for more than just paintings. This was a place where the past was enshrined and studied.
"Indeed," Shinji replied, looking around and picking up a booklet on the way in. "It's my first time here too, so I can't tell you much."
Flipping through the pamphlet, he found that he had missed out on a number of Japanese-centric exhibits earlier in the year, involving the Japanese cartoon tradition, prints from the Ukiyo-e school, a collection of Noh masks, and an exhibit by Hamada Chimei, known for art based on his experiences in military services – the experience of suffering, absolute obedience, and absurdity, all captured on canvas with a sarcastic, scathing undertones.
Still, there were some exhibits that seemed interesting, such as an exhibition of gold and silver from Roman Britain, the artwork of Kawanabe Kyosai (1831-1889), an individualist and an independent, perhaps the last virtuoso in traditional Japanese painting, and an exhibition on chess pieces, including the famous Lewis Chessmen – pieces of elaborately worked walrus ivory and whales' teeth in the forms of seated kings and queens, mitred bishops, knights on their mounts, standing warders and pawns in the shape of obelisks thought to have been made nearly a thousand years ago.
And of course, there was the little matter of the Rosetta Stone and the colossal bust of Ramses II which had inspired the Percy Shelley to write Ozymandias.
There was no putting off the inevitable any longer though, now that he was here.
"Where should we go first?" Harry asked, unsure of which direction – which gallery to choose. There was just so much to look through, so many possibilities…it reminded him of the first time Hagrid had taken him to Diagon Alley. The memory sparked something in him, namely an irrational urge to visit the gift shop, but he didn't want to bother Matou too much.
"…actually, if you wouldn't mind waiting in the gift shop, I have some business I need to take care of," Shinji noted quietly. "Unless you want to see the Rosetta Stone or something."
"Business?" Harry rejoined, nonplussed. What business could his friend have in a museum?
"I was invited to a function here by my Master, and I was told to come here for details," Shinji related, with Harry shaking his head.
"I see," he said. The Boy-Who-Lived supposed he shouldn't be surprised at this. "Alright, I don't mind waiting."
He wanted to go anyway.
"Great. I'll see you in a few then," Shinji said, walking over to a guard and flashing something that looked like a ticket, before he was escorted to an elevator and descended beneath the earth.
Most of the magi of the tower would agree that there were three great disasters within the Association – encountering Gazamy the Wraith, receiving a Sealing Designation or otherwise raising the ire of the higher-ups enough that Enforcers were dispatched to…neutralize a problem. But among the clerks and receptionists who worked for the Clock Tower, magi of passable talent but would never amount to anything exceptional, it was generally agreed that an unexpected meeting with Aozaki Aoko was pretty much the worst disaster possible.
After all, the Fifth Magician didn't exactly frequent the administrative levels, and when she came, she tended to be irate, as something had happened with her pay.
"…what do you mean the money was already wired to my account?!" the master of the Fifth Magic demanded, her hand slamming down on Octavia Leyland's desk with enough force to make the woman flinch. "I just checked. There's nothing in there."
"Miss Blue, please," the receptionist said, swallowing as she beheld the…annoyance of a True Magician. "I can show you a copy of the wire receipt if you'd like. Payment was rendered in full."
'She's not really angry,' Octavia told herself. 'She's just annoyed. If she was angry, I'd already be dead…'
After all, it was well known that magicians were monsters whose power extended far beyond that of any simple magus of the present age, and Aozaki Aoko in particular was known for her capacity for destruction.
"Ugh…" Aoko groaned, sighing. "This hasn't happened for over a month."
"Well, Miss Blue, we…."
"Right, right, I get it," the Magician huffed. "It's my sister again…"
A sister people knew better than to mention to her face, given that the Aozaki sisters hated one another. Why, the master of the Fifth Magic went so far as to dislike the entire discipline of Runes because her sister used them, just as the puppetmaster who had achieved the highest rank in the Tower disliked Numerology and related things because of her sister.
Before the Magician could say anything further, the elevator chimed, with a young oriental boy stepping out of it, his hair so black it was almost blue. This was fairly odd in itself, given that easterners were not common at the Tower, but his youth was also peculiar.
"He can go first," the Magician growled, shaking her head. "I know this is going to take a while."
"As you say," Miss Leyland said quickly, breathing a sigh of relief. Maybe today wouldn't be such a bad day then, if the Magic Gunner was going to take time to calm down.
Unfortunately, this was not to be.
Shinji, of course, bowed in thanks, thinking that the woman with the long red hair looked somehow familiar, though he didn't recognize her immediately.
"Good afternoon!" the receptionist greeted, flashing the boy a winning smile, which the youth returned hesitantly. "My name is Octavia Leyland, receptionist for the Tower. What can I do for you?"
"Good afternoon," Matou Shinji spoke. "My Master told me to report to the Tower for details on the Christmas gala?"
"Ah, that we can do," Miss Leyland said brightly. "Could you tell me your name, the name of your Master, and the one who invited you, please?"
And that was the moment everything went wrong.
"Matou Shinji, apprentice to Aozaki Tou—" he began, before an overwhelming wave of killing intent, greater than anything he'd ever felt before, brought him to his knees. This…this wasn't even like that false TATARI, or his grandfather. This was beyond his Master.
This could only be…
"…Blue…" he croaked out, as those terrible blue eyes bore into him, icy and cold, as if the specter of death before him was weighing his life in her hands.
"Indeed. And you are my older sister's apprentice," the Magic Gunner noted coolly, icy cold killing intent pressing down on Matou Shinji even more, threatening to drive away his consciousness entirely, but with the tenacity of a cockroach, he hung on to awareness.
If he fell here, he'd never see Sokaris again. Would never see…the one whose shadow he chased. Would never catch u—
And then the killing intent lifted, as Aozaki Aoko folded her arms and sighed.
"I'm…I'm alive…" Shinji said, panting as his body was finally able to move again.
"Of course you are," the Magician replied rather grumpily. "I'm not my sister after all. I value human life."
Gingerly, the Boy from the East felt his arms and legs to make sure they were still there, and with supreme force of will, heaved himself to his feet. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done – his body still felt like stone, but he wasn't surprised. It seemed that he'd managed to anger – his Master had managed to anger – one of the monsters in human form who wielded a True Magic.
"I can see that," he said, bowing deeply to the red-haired woman. "Thank you."
"Feh, don't thank me," Aoko grumbled, though she couldn't hide a bit of curiosity. "What prompted her to take you as an apprentice anyway?"
"...the one who invited me to the gala," Shinji stated, re-centering himself by thinking that soon he'd see Sokaris again. Soon… "The Director of Atlas."
This caught the Magician's attention – with the Matou scion having no idea if this was a good thing or a bad thing.
"Oho, Sion Eltnam Atlasia herself, eh?" the Magician murmured, whistling slightly. "She has caused quite a stir lately, with the Philosopher's Stone of hers, curing vampirism and changing things to gold." Aoko smiled crookedly at this. "So, if you know her, think you could pay back what my older sister took?"
"How much?" Shinji asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.
"Oh, just four million pounds," Aoko mentioned off-handedly, as Shinji's eyes widened.
'Four million pounds? Master…why?'
"Do you want that in solid gold?" Shinji asked resignedly. That…would effectively wipe out most of what he left, leaving him with just over a hundred thousand Galleons.
"Wait, you can?" the Magician inquired, seeming somewhat surprised. "I'm surprised. You're actually a decent human being."
Shinji blinked.
"…what made you think I wouldn't be?" he asked.
"You're my older sister's apprentice," Aoko said bluntly, before shaking his head. She was silent for a moment, looking at him as if considering something, before she made up her mind. "Alright, tell you what, you don't have to pay me. Solid gold is too much trouble anyway."
Shinji nearly breathed a sigh of relief, but then the Magician kept talking.
"Just take her a message that I expect my money back by the end of the year," the Magic Gunner concluded with a smile. "She'll probably ask you for a loan, but that's hardly my problem is it?" Then, Aozaki Aoko smiled. "I'll see you at the Gala, Shinji," she said, "I'll be sure to let the Old Man know my sister's apprentice is in town."
And with that, she was gone.
"Old Man?" Shinji found himself asking.
"…she means Zelretch. The Wizard Marshal," Octavia Leyland supplied, thankful beyond words there had been no property damage or bloodshed. "Let me get you your papers."
With her usual efficiency, the Clock Tower's receptionist found the purple folder labeled with the golden seal of Atlas Academy, set aside for Matou Shinji.
"Here you are, then, your package as part of the Director's entourage," Octavia explained, flipping the folder open and pointing out the relevant items. "Information for the chauffeur service you have access to, two front row tickets for Tom Stoppard's Arcadia at the Lyttelton Theatre, access credentials for the diplomatic lounge at the Tower, a credit card to cover any expenses you have for the duration of your stay, and information we have regarding your guest, Miss Illyasviel von Einzbern."
Apparently, the daughter of the Einzberns would arrive on the morrow.
'…wait…Tohsaka arrives tomorrow. This could be bad.'
…though at least Illyasviel was due to arrive at Heathrow in the evening, and by that time, he imagined Tohsaka would be asleep, given that the trip from Japan to the UK would be much longer than the short hop from Germany – a short hop via private plane.
'…one can only hope.'
It was a somewhat more sober Matou Shinji that found Harry Potter standing in the gift shop of the British Museum, looking at a chess set with a thousand-yard stare.
"Harry," Shinji said, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder, as the Boy-Who-Lived flinched at the sound of his voice.
"Wh—oh, it's you," Harry replied quietly, looking away from the chessboard at last. "Sorry, I was…"
"It's ok," Shinji answered, squeezing his friend's shoulder. "I know."
Harry shook his head, trying to clear it of his memories of Sokaris, and of the ill-fated adventure the Stone Cutters had gone on their first year, as they sought to keep the Philosopher's Stone out of Quirrell's hands.
"…do you think we'll ever see her again? Or that she'll ever forgive us?" Harry whispered. In his mind, he'd failed her.
"I'm sure she already has, because you remember her," Shinji replied, escorting his friend out of the shop and into the museum, towards the Egyptian galleries, where some of the finest exhibits were, and where he thought Harry might find a bit of peace. "Too many forget the past, even though the past is never truly behind is, even though the past shapes us even now. By acknowledging it, by remembering it, those we care about live on – in us."
"Mm."
Lucius Malfoy looked around at the group of wizards and…goblins that had gathered for the auction of the Black Collection, a once in a lifetime event – or perhaps even rarer than that, given how rarely families as powerful as the Blacks ever truly left Britain. Families died off, certainly, but that just meant property shifted from one family to another, given that most of the upper echelons of wizarding society were related in one way or another.
If Sirius Black died in Azkaban, without a will, the Malfoys would have inherited everything, as Narcissa Malfoy (nee Black) was his closest relation who had not been disowned from the family, leaving them as undisputedly the wealthiest pure-blooded family in Britain.
He had not however, with the man somehow managing to even escape Azkaban – the inescapable prison, a feat which brought to mind all sorts of stories of what Black had done, and how he had sold out the Order of the Phoenix.
Back then, Lucius Malfoy had assumed they were true, with Black having only worked with Potter and his ilk to give the Dark Lord an advantage, but as fortune had it, this turned out not to be the case, with new evidence (in the form of a still living Peter Pettigrew) being brought before the court after all these years.
Black had been set free, with Lucius pushing to have the last scion of the House of Black decorated as a hero for enduring unjust captivity in the hope of currying his favor.
But instead, Black had announced that he was planning on leaving the country, taking the Black fortune with him – after selling his estate to Matou Shinji of the Stone Cutters of all people, which raised quite a few questions as to how the boy had obtained the funds necessary to buy the property – or even learned it was on sale in the first place.
Worse, he had made this announcement – and the announcement of the auctioning of his worldly possessions – at the very last minute, when most families of any standing had already made plans for the holidays.
…Lucius Malfoy suspected that this had been done on purpose, as a way for Sirius to bite his thumb at the society that had wronged him.
For this event was something no wizard of proper breeding could afford to miss, given what the Black Collection amounted to – the single largest collection of magical lore, artifacts, and other items to go on sale ever in Magical Britain.
And so people had canceled their plans and gathered in this auction hall in droves, though as usual, there were a few goblins around, with those unsightly beings acting on behalf of individuals who did not want to be identified.
'They have a right to be concerned,' the man conceded. He could see Alastor Moody in the audience, no doubt paying heed of where the darkest books were going to, as well as Rita Skeeter, and of course, Gilderoy Lockhart, though only Merlin knew what he was doing here.
"Good evening, Lucius," the History Professor greeted, taking a seat next to him.
"Good evening, Gilderoy," Lucius Malfoy replied smoothly, though the sight of this man annoyed him. "Interested in adding to your collection?"
"As you are to yours, I'm sure," Lockhart noted. "Pity no catalog was released in advanced, isn't it?"
"For once, we agree on something," the Chief Warlock answered. "Out of curiosity, do you know how it was your student came to acquire the Black property?"
"He bought it, of course," the adventurer rejoined. "Didn't you read the paper?"
"…good luck on the auction," was all he said in reply, with the other nodding to him.
At least in the end, he managed to acquire the bulk of the collection, though Lockhart made away with some of the personal journals and letters of the Blacks, some others bought their collection of knives or house-elf heads, and one of the goblins was quite interested in a few early notes from Nicholas Flamel, Paracelsus and other books on Alchemy, as well as a few tomes on the forbidden art of necromancy.