Matou Shinji and the Price of Victory
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: It is a dark time for Matou Shinji. Though his performance at the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship was certainly impressive, his achievement was not without cost, as his actions in publicly using the Killing Curse, acting as a spy for Durmstrang, and otherwise defying British Law have finally caught up with him. On the cusp of being outmaneuvered by the authorities, the lone rebel bargains for a last-minute reprieve, gambling his life and freedom on hope of singlehandedly facing down the forces of an invading army. Yet, in the coming conflict, the boy who calls himself Matou Shinji will soon learn that the line between friend and foe very easily blurs, and that even victory carries a hefty price.
Chapter 3. The Forbidden Truth
When he came to, opening his eyes upon a strange vista, the boy who called himself Matou Shinji found himself utterly alone, and what was more, far away from anything even close to familiar.
'This…isn't London,' he could tell. From where he was standing, he could see no rubble, no ruins, no signs that there had ever been buildings here, much less an entire city, only an endless expanse of black sand. But then, this wasn't some wild land either, as there was no grass, no trees, no moss – no wind. There was no trace of life here, no indication that the ebon desert wasn't all there was in all the world. No sun, no moon, no clouds – only a pitch-black sky studded with points of cold white fires.
A CURIOSITY.
The voice, if one could so name something he felt in his bones more than he heard, issued from all around him, reminding him of nothing so much as the slamming of coffin lids.
'Who?' He spun around, reaching for the fire within him, for the power that had now been eager to come forth and destroy – only to find nothing there. The draconic might he had tapped into just moments ago to rip apart his enemies was gone – and so too was the trickle of prana that he could usually draw from his core. 'What? How?'
He willed his anger to rise, for his body to change and take on a more monstrous form, as he realized he lacked his wand, but…nothing happened. His armored scales did not appear. His fingers did not change to claws. He remained completely and utterly human.
Had he come under attack just then, that would have been the end of the one who called himself Matou Shinji. But as the seconds dragged on into minutes and nothing happened, no ambush or explanation to follow-up on the cryptic words from above, the boy began to get rather nervous.
"Where are you?" the boy demanded, in a tone that he thought intimidating, though really, it was anything but. "Show yourself!" he shouted. "NOW!"
As if in response to his words, the world shook with a rumble that rattled his bones and scattered any thoughts of unruliness, and to his shock, he recognized the tremors as something like words.
YOU WOULD NOT REACT WELL IF I DID.
'...who...?' Such an answer unnerved Matou Shinji more than he cared to admit, though the discomfort was really only skin deep, as he didn't feel as…startled as he thought he should. Perhaps he was simply…tired, or had pushed himself too far, for he felt almost…hollow, body was but a thing of dirt, fashioned in the likeness of a man – a mud doll, as one of his enemies had once put it. "Who are you?!"
THE ASSASSIN AGAINST WHOM NO LOCK HOLDS.
Shinji blinked, trying to parse the words.
"The Assassin against...Professor Lockhart?" the boy asked, confused. "Are you the one doing this?" Was this perhaps the Book of Spells or something he'd been trapped in. "If it is, this isn't funny. Where are you?"
NO FURTHER THAN THE THICKNESS OF A SHADOW. So the voice rumbled. WITHIN EVERY CELL AND IN THE HEART OF EVERY START AM I. WHERE THE FIRST THINKING THING CAME TO BE, THERE WAS I ALSO. WHERE MAN IS, THERE AM I. WHEN THE LAST LIFE CRAWLS UNDER FREEZING STARTS, THERE WILL BE I.
There was a pause, seemingly as interminable as the universe itself.
AND I AM NOT YOUR PROFESSOR.
The last bit seemed almost an afterthought, and the boy opened his mouth to retort, only for his words to die in his throat as a figure materialized before him: a grinning skeleton in a very tattered black robe, wielding a scythe that gleamed in the cold light of the stars above.
A figure of fear and legend, from which every mote of essence in his body, every cell, every atom of his being screamed for him to run.
He…he knew who, no what, this figure was.
The inescapable end of all things. The being – the embodied concept – that would outlive the universe itself, if only by mere moments.
Truthfully speaking, in the presence of this entity, the boy was terrified, and at the moment, he would have liked nothing more than obey the impulses screaming through him – only he could not, for his legs were frozen in place, just like his arms, his eyes, his diaphragm.
As he looked upon this figure, he found that his legs could not move, that he could not look away, that he couldn't even breathe.
That simply being in the presence of this entity that was beyond even the gods was enough for him to understand that the place where he now stood was no place at all, that the color of the world, the light of the stars, that his voice and the voice of the being before him were all illusions which the other allowed to exist.
That in this place, nothing was true – that everything he could see was merely…permitted.
The figure regarded him impassively, and something shifted, whereupon the boy found that the pressure on his throat and chest eased, with the paralysis lifting.
"…Death," he whispered, giving a name to the skeletal figure.
SO SOME HAVE CALLED ME, came the reply, which sounded like nothing more than two slabs of concrete rubbing against one another. EVEN MATOU SHINJI.
The boy blinked.
"...what's so special about me calling you Death?" he asked. "That's what you are, right?"
THE QUESTION IS NOT WHO I AM, BUT WHO YOU ARE.
"Um…what do you mean? I'm Matou Shinji," the boy stated, though the figure before him seemed to shake his head.
NO. THAT YOU ARE NOT.
"W-what do you mean by that?" the boy questioned, his voice quavering despite himself. Truthfully, he felt the the urge to step back, to run, to cover his ears, lest the answer of the ancient entity be his undoing – though he did none of it, partially because he couldn't, and partially because he knew none of it would do him any good.
After all, the voice of Death was felt as much as heard, processed by the mind as much as by the ear.
MATOU SHINJI, THE ONE WHOSE NAME AND FACE YOU WEAR, DIED ON THE ISLAND.
"Wha...t?" the boy's mouth went dry as he heard this, the words resonating with— "No!" he denied. "No...that's not true! That's impossible!" he said, denying the statement of Death itself.
SEARCH YOUR FEELINGS. YOU KNOW IT TO BE TRUE.
"No. No. Nonononononononononono!" Matou Shinji screamed, a sound of terror, of hate, of denial, of rejection, for he would not, could not, acknowledge what the other was saying, and so simply wailed to drown out everything in the world. For as long as he was screaming, he didn't have to think, and as long as he wasn't thinking then…
IT IS USELESS TO RESIST. THERE IS NO ESCAPE FROM WHAT YOU ARE.
Perhaps not, but Shinji tried anyway, thinking that if he could deny the truth of those words, push them away, refuse to accept them, then…then…
Then what?
For if what Death said was true, if he was not Matou Shinji...
'...then who am I?'
A QUESTION THAT FEW ENOUGH EVER THINK TO ASK.
"Wait I...you can read minds?!" the boy exclaimed. The stories…they'd never said anything about this.
YOU SPOKE ALOUD.
The boy didn't think he'd done anything of the sort, though he wasn't exactly planning on arguing with Death in the latter's domain, which this place was, or so he grasped.
"...do you know the answer then?"
NO. I ONLY KNOW WHAT YOU ARE, NOT WHO.
"And what am I, then?" he asked. "...not that what I am matters much if I'm dead." He shook his head. "I mean, that's why I'm here, right?"
NO. YOU ARE HERE BECAUSE YOU FELL THROUGH THE VEIL. FROM ONE SIDE OF THE WORLD ONTO ANOTHER - YET THERE WAS NO PLACE FOR YOU ON THE OTHER SIDE. YOU ARE NOT TRULY A SPIRIT, NOR ARE YOU HUMAN. NOT ALIVE, YET NOT TRULY DEAD.
"Not...dead?" the boy...the being asked, trying to wrap his head around this whole state of affairs. He didn't think he was dead, but then he supposed no one would. "But I…I remember…"
Fire and blood.
Fire and darkness.
The falling moon.
YOU BEAR SCRAPS OF MEMORIES TIED TO SCRAPS OF SOUL, TIED TO THE ESSENCE OF A DRAGON, THE SYMBOLS OF A HERO'S MIGHT, AND THE HEART OF AN ELEMENTAL BOUND A VESSEL OF MUD TURNED FLESH BY A POTENT ECHO OF THE LAST AGE.
"Scraps of memories tied to…" the boy repeated, parsing the statement of the entity before him. "That...sounds a lot like necromancy," he murmured, raising his eyebrows. "Are…are you're saying that…I'm undead?"
NO.
But Death disagreed with his conclusion.
YOU ARE A STRANGE AMALGAM WHICH CANNOT TRULY DIE, BECAUSE YOU WERE NEVER TRULY ALIVE. IN THAT SENSE, YOU ARE AN ENTITY DISTINCT FROM MATOU SHINJI. A VESSEL ALIKE IN NATURE TO THE ONE HE DESTROYED, THOUGH INHERITING HIS WILL, NOT THAT OF AN
OUTER GOD.
"…I see," was all the boy said in reply. That meant…what did that mean, exactly? That he was a vessel? Something like a mud doll after all, being puppeted by whatever bits of Matou Shinji remained? But then, the rest of the sentence began to sank in. If Death had said that he could not truly die, then… "Wait...does…does that mean I can go back?" he asked carefully. "That I can return to the world of the living?"
NOT AS YOU ARE, came the grim reply.
"…what would it take then?" Shinji asked, knowing that to beg a favor from Death or any being approaching the embodied concept's level of power – especially in what must be Death's very domain – was very much a devil's bargain.
So, practitioners of witchcraft had discovered in Tales of Beedle the Bard, where the gifts Death provided were exactly what the three Brothers had asked for, if not precisely what they wanted. Likewise, those which were (un)fortunate enough to bind a Jinn to service, or who were in the practice of using wishcraft tended to get exactly what they asked for – and human beings tended to be poor at asking for what they actually wanted, as they rarely knew.
…but then, he wasn't human anymore – or maybe he never had been.
TO RETURN TO THE WORLD OF FLESH AND STONE, A SACRIFICE IS NEEDED. The Grim Reaper intoned in a voice like the very earth tearing itself asunder, as if an…earthquake was conversing with him. WHAT YOU WERE. WHAT YOU ARE. WHAT YOU MIGHT BECOME. THE SYMBOLS OF HEROISM YOU CARRY. YOUR CONNECTION WITH THE EARTH.
There was a pause.
THE PRICE IS ONE OF THOSE, Death added, almost as if an afterthought, though the very suggestion that Death could have an afterthought was utterly bizarre to the being which called itself Matou Shinji. IT IS NOT IMPOSSIBLE TO GRANT YOU A SECOND LIFE AS A HUMAN, BUT THIS WOULD BE EVEN MORE COSTLY.
The boy took a moment to try and puzzle out what Death had meant.
What he had been – that would the scraps of his human soul.
What he was – his memories, because without them he wouldn't be himself.
What he might become – this one was more difficult, though he imagined it might be the blessing that Gaia had bestowed unto him.
The symbols of heroism – the Noble Phantasms that had been left to him by Perseus – Harpe and the winged sandals .
His connection with the Earth – at first, the boy almost thought Death was referring to blessing of Gaia, but after going over what had been said, it seemed to be his earth affinity, something which had only been strengthened by having an elemental's heart be part of him.
Each of these was a terrible price indeed, representing something that he had fought and bled to obtain – and yet maybe that was the point, that Matou Shinji had obtained these things, but not the collection of odds and ends which bore the name.
Even so, he wanted to ask if there was something else he could do, if there was some way he could avoid...giving anything up. After all, choosing what to sacrifice...having to sacrifice anything at all...was difficult.
...and yet, as he looked upon the figure before him, fully intending to protest, to say something to try to persuade Death, his words died unspoken on his tongue, as something gave him pause. Perhaps it was the fact that he was looking upon the literal embodiment of the concept that everything that had a beginning had an end. Perhaps it was the fact that the figure before him seemed utterly unconcerned with whatever the boy had to say – not that the boy thought he was any great shakes at reading the expression of a cloaked skeleton.
Or perhaps it was merely the fact that all his rage, all his fire, all the power he had accrued over the years meant nothing here, as none of it would not respond in his hour of need.
Whatever it was, what indignation he'd mustered up fizzled out as if it had never been there to begin with.
CHOOSE, the Grim Reaper prompted him.
"...what happens if I don't?" the boy dared to ask. Could…could he stall for time, drawing things out long enough that Death would give him better terms?
YOU WILL EVENTUALLY, the Grim Reaper replied, seemingly unconcerned if the boy made up his mind or not.
"Are you sure you won't get tired of waiting before I do?" Shinji quipped, only to reconsider his words as Death looked back at him, the sight of the empty sockets in the grinning skull making him feel as if he was less than a worm crawling on the ground. After all, what did all of his experience, all his power mean in the face of the Ultimate Conclusion before him, that which waited for every living thing, for everything that even existed.
Oh, Death could wait.
More patiently than any living thing, more enduring than any work of man or civilization, beyond the span of time permitted stone or wind or the very stars, Death could wait.
Looking upon the figure of the end, Matou Shinji - or rather the being that called itself Matou Shinji – knew that there was no winning a stalling game with death, that even if he postponed his decision, his mind would wear out long before Death was willing to reconsider his terms, even if his body did not.
Faced with that truth, he chose.
"...I'll give up the symbols of heroism," he said bitterly, swallowing as he remembered just how it had come to pass that he – that Matou Shinji – had come to acquire it. How Matou Shinji had fought against the Echo of the Moon, pushing himself past his limits to land a single, decisive blow upon the monster – had, in Perseus' eyes – proven himself worthy of being called a hero. "Not that I know why you're making me choose," he added, unable to resist the temptation of a parting barb, no matter how foolish it might be.
But Death was ever reasonable. No doubt he had heard much worse in the aeons in which he had existed, with the dying cursing death as it approached, or those left behind cursing him for taking their loved ones away.
'What must it be like to be something like death?'
Matou Shinji – if that would be his name from now on, which he wasn't sure about – couldn't even begin to imagine that sort of existence.
YOU MUST CHOOSE BECAUSE THESE THINGS WERE ALL PART OF WHAT DEFINED MATOU SHINJI, the Grim Reaper explained. AND MATOU SHINJI IS NO MORE.
"...and without giving up something, I will be too close to the original to be allowed to return, is that it?"
AN OVERSIMPLIFICATION, BUT NOT INACCURATE.
"...I don't suppose I could just...get rid of the more draconic part of me," the boy asked, only for the world to rumble in that peculiar way that seemed to indicate Death being amused.
WERE IT NOT FOR THE DRAGON, YOU WOULD NOT BE...
Oddly enough, Death trailed off.
"...alive?" the boy suggested.
NO. The response was both instantaneous and absolutely certain. FOR YOU ARE NOT TRULY ALIVE. NOT YET. THE BEING BEFORE ME IS BUT A DOLL MOVING IN HALF-REMEMBERED PATTERNS, BELIEVING ITSELF TO BE MORE THAN IT IS. FOR YOU TO TRULY LIVE, YOU MUST CHOOSE WHAT YOU ARE, AND WHAT YOU ARE NOT, WHAT YOU WILL RETAIN AND WHAT YOU WILL SURRENDER.
Silence hung over the desert for a small eternity before the boy spoke, his voice almost a whisper.
"...I chose already, didn't I?" he asked, swallowing as he looked down at his feet, his hands balling up into fists at how cruel – how terrible all of this was. "I'll...I'll give up what Perseus left me."
WHY?
"Because I'm no hero, no matter what people call me." He closed his eyes then as he sank to his knees. "I'm just...I'm just..."
JUST WHAT?
"...never mind. You wouldn't understand."
A COMMON BELIEF MORTALS CLING TO, THOUGH THEY ARE USUALLY WRONG.
The being which called itself Matou Shinji looked up as he felt something stream forth from him, noting a silver wisp of something weighty that shot off towards the horizon, with the Grim Reaper turning to track its motion with its gaze.
THE PRICE IS PAID. PERHAPS WHEN I NEXT SEE YOU, YOU WILL BE ABLE TO ANSWER MY QUESTION.
"...your question?"
WHO ARE YOU?
Without waiting for a response, Death faded from sight, followed quickly by the cold stars, the sky, the endless sands, and then...even he, himself.
When he came to, Matou Shinji found himself in the air, borne aloft by a pair of slender, yet strong arms, with azure light rippling all around him, as he opened his eyes to see...
'...an angel...'
Or perhaps, a goddess, with eyes that seemed to glow with pale fire, and long, luxurious hair that was...silver? Lilac? He couldn't really say, only that in this moment, the woman in whose arms he was being carried was the most beautiful creature he'd ever laid eyes upon.
…except for Sokaris.
Which this person reminded him of, save that Sokaris had never worn form-fitting black armor, nor did she possess wings wrought of light/
Sokaris..
To the boy who was not a boy, the Matou Shinji who was not Matou Shinji, the being who wasn't sure if he was awake and delirious, dreaming, or dead and being carried off to the afterlife in the arms of a valkyrie, there was only one real answer to the question of where he wanted to be taken.
'To Sokaris...'
For even if everything else in the world was a lie, if everything and everyone else in the world became his enemy, she would be his ally. No. No, that was backwards, for was it not the other way around, that he would always be hers. In life or in death, in sickness or in health, for better or...no, there was no for worse. She was the one whose side he strove to reach, for whose sake and in whose name he did so much, and to deny that now would be...
It wasn't something he could do.
"Take...me..." he managed to say, his voice barely a rasp as liquid fire seemed to race through his nerves and vessels. "...angel..." he settled for saying, since he wasn't sure if this was the afterlife, and it wasn't likely he was in the presence of a true goddess.
"Take...you?" the valkyr—angel replied, eyes widening fractionally, as if surprised or simply curious.
But then, that was only to be expected, since he hadn't finished saying what he'd meant to say.
Words.
Words were...they kept slipping away, much as his consciousness threatened to with each passing second. It was like all of him wanted to collapse into some dark pit in the core of his being, a pit that was both infinitely cold and infinitely vast.
"Warm..." he found himself murmuring, as he nuzzled the smooth, unblemished skin of the angel's bare arm with his cheek, with the haze of power radiating from her form seeming gentle, almost comforting, like the flames of the unconquered sun.
...the sun...
"I...I want to see..." he managed eventually. His words trailed off as fatigue washed over him, but with one last gasp of effort, he was able to break through the mental fog for one shining moment to express his intent. "...Sokaris. I…"
And then the moment passed, with the consciousness of boy-that-was falling into the pattern of a dream.
A dream of elder days, of dragons and drakes, of fire and blood.
