Matou Shinji and the Philosopher's Stone
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: Ladies of Eternity, magi of the past hiding in the present, with ancient, nigh unimaginable crafts at their command. That is the destiny of a Witch in the Moonlit world, with the female child of a witch bearing the destiny of inheriting the blood and history of their line without any exceptions, upon which the mother will expire, her task done. But this is a story of a Witch's son – a boy tossed aside by destiny – a boy determined to become someone special, with blood, sweat, and wand. This is the story of Shinji Matou, and his newfound path in the Wizarding World.
Chapter 6. Fast Train to Nowhere
As he had promised himself in Mahoutokoro, Shinji spent the next two months training, working as he had never done before. He became something of a recluse, actually, spending his days and nights in his room – save for what breaks his body made necessary – poring over the Onmyoudou tome he had acquired in a quest to unlock its secrets.
At least, enough of its secrets that he could reasonably claim to be the heir of a magical family, with the influence that would follow from that. Power commanded respect – even if one had nothing else, no riches, no fame, no knack at reading people and using leverage. Power, backed by tradition, was even better, as tradition implied knowledge, secrets, hidden cards.
Consider the dwindling fortunes of the Tohsaka family – the Matou were far richer, given his grandfather's…timely investments, and its patriarch far older, but with the Tohsaka bloodline still strong, while the Matou blood weakened generation after generation, so much that they had needed a Tohsaka to become heiress…
…well, that alone spoke volumes about which family held the dominant position, despite whatever monsters the Matou had hidden away.
Still, that just spoke to the weight of tradition and power alike, and as isolated as the western sphere of witchcraft undoubtedly was, given comments Aozaki Touko on how there was "they have forgotten and much they do not know", he thought he would be able to pass himself off as what was essentially the scion of an elite magical tradition.
The mannerisms Shinji could pull off – all he had to do was mimic how Touko had acted around her peers: the easy, casual manner that she wore – the wisdom she dispensed - the way she did not ask for recognition or respect, but simply acted as if such was natural. That expectation – that confidence – was something very few could refuse – and even then, most would not, recognizing the skill and power that backed it.
Asking for things, demanding other people give respect, actually using force to make someone else bow – only those weak in spirit were forced to do that, and the results showed. Those who did not believe in their own strength, who were insecure, who constantly forced others to recognize them might get obedience, but that was an unwilling obedience based on fear.
And unwilling obedience eventually turned, as resentment built and rebellion festered, until eventually things came to a head, either with the emergence of some alternative whose yoke might be lighter, or with people reaching their limits at last.
Respect, on the other hand, went much further. To those who were respected, seen as reasonable and commanding, power was simply given. Favors were offered, special deals available, secrets given freely, because people implicitly trusted them.
And that was what Matou Shinji wanted.
Not just the power to crush those before him. He'd certainly claim that, but he wanted more. He wanted people to recognize him as special, as someone worthy, who they deferred to without thinking about it. He supposed in some twisted manner, he wasn't too different from that Emiya kid, who wanted to be a savior of humanity. Well, maybe there was a difference, since in his case, actually being a savior didn't matter so much as people believing he could be one.
He held up his wand, the powerful instrument that the miko had said could bring salvation or destruction at the user's whim, crafted from wishes.
Wand and brush were the tools he used to create ofuda, the foundation of his version of Onmyoudou – a wand to infuse a slip of paper with stored power, a brush or other tool to give that power purpose, creating a stabilized spell.
He'd found that it took strong visualization to make it work – that he had to picture what he wanted in his head, and bind that vision to the power in a piece of paper with the written word. Later, he imagined he might be able to craft ofuda on the fly, or at the least, mass produce the basic templates for ofuda, with purpose and will, but no power - but for now he was stuck with making them one at a time.
One by one he crafted them of prana, paper, ink, and will.
Ofuda of sealing, based on the concept of sealing the physical. He'd had much practice with these, as they had been the first things he'd learned – since he needed better ways to prevent intrusion than a mere physical lock. Any magus worth his or her salt had a workshop, after all, so to protect his research. And while Matou Shinji might well be a failure of a magus and barely a practitioner of witchcraft, the work he was doing on blending schools of Craft, building a specialty of his own, could well qualify as research.
Ofuda of warding, based on the concept of separation. Sealing the doors and windows had not been enough – he wanted no distractions. No sound to leak through – and certainly no prana. These had been more difficult, needing more power than he was immediately comfortable with, and he had tried to use them only when he thought everyone else was out of the house, given that putting up what was pretty much a limited scale bounded field was certain to draw attention.
But no offensive Ofuda – none to bind, none to damage, none to explode.
And certainly no Shikigami, of course.
For one thing, he had only his room in with to practice his Craft, and he wasn't about to risk destroying it (in the case of explosive ofuda), or killing himself (in the case of binding ofuda, if he practiced on himself and couldn't dispel it – particularly when the seals on the door and his ofuda of warding were up).
And making familiars with paper, ink, and will – well, he hadn't even attempted that. Shikigami were far beyond him – and he knew it full well.
A familiar - something that could move independently, without being directly ordered to do so, something that could hide, something that could seek things for him, something that could guard; something capable of carrying out complex tasks – that was what he saw a shikigami as.
An extension of himself – a symbol of himself.
A milestone to being recognized as a practitioner of thaumaturgy. He wasn't about to waste his effort, and his time, no matter how tempting it was. Sometimes, in his darker moments, he could almost imagine his wand whispering to him, promising that he could make something if only he applied himself – familiars made to crush, to destroy, to explode and more.
Familiars of flash and bang and little polish.
...and he supposed it was true. If he wanted something as primitive as single-use familiars, who sought his foes and overwhelmed them with numbers, he could certainly make them. But those were little different than basic ofuda - prepared spells with a single, basic purpose – and not the best choice to impress.
Perhaps at Hogwarts, he would be able to find someplace to set up a workshop and experiment with more…violent ofuda variants, or trap ofuda, for binding or absorbing another's prana. Why, the tome even mentioned possibilities for using arrays of ofuda to absorb and re-emit witchcraft type spells, arrays of ofuda to cast elaborate illusions, or to bind spirit into matter.
…it was surprisingly in depth and yet easy to read. But he supposed he should have expected that of the surly Toroi individual, who did seem to love books more than he enjoyed the company of any humans.
And so he continued making a little pile of innocuous slips of paper, little bookmark looking things with the word 'Seal' written on them, each infused with prana and purpose.
Tomorrow would be his first time setting out on his own.
It would be the performance of a lifetime, and he intended to be the star.
True to Professor Flitwick's word, a portkey came for him on the appointed day, with an accompanying letter mentioning that it would take him right to Platform 9 ¾, from which something called the "Hogwarts Express" left, so he should have his belongings packed and be ready to go. Unfortunately for Shinji, who had already been prepared to go after finishing his ofuda crafting and deactivating his warding ofuda the previous night, a pesky thing called time zone differences meant that he would have to wait till 7:30 that evening for the portkey to activate.
Shinji had sighed as he read that letter, delivered by owl, as the original had been. In fact, it had been what woke him up that morning, excited for the journey ahead.
…and not at all eager to deal with the business of the life he would be leaving behind.
He didn't have many he could call friend, nor…anyone, really, who knew who he really was, so he wasn't pained about leaving his childhood acquaintances behind. Nor would he miss his family, such that it was. His grandfather was an inhuman monster, his father was a terrible drunk, and his sister…well, she wasn't even really his sister, just a Tohsaka usurper who had been given the name.
Months ago, he would have begrudged her that.
He didn't now. He had something that was his. It might not be great, it might not be backed by the weight of his family's tradition, but it was his.
The Matou craft…his...sister could have it, if she wanted it so badly. He wasn't so weak that he would fall into despair from not being picked as the successor.
He would make his own path, as had the magus he had met in Kyoto.
And like her, he would become glorious.
That said, he was less than comfortable with some of the consequences of that decision. If he was acting as the presumptive heir of the Matou clan, then his grandfather, as the family patriarch, could have informed the Second Owner that he would be leaving Fuyuki to study Witchcraft. As it was, however, that burden fell on him, as he stood at the door of the Tohsaka home, the Second Owner's cold eyes looking upon him as if in judgment.
He could have done it via letter, certainly, but he thought that his first official action as a magus should be done in person.
"Second Owner," he had greeted her formally, even taking the time to bow, as eastern customs dictated.
"What do you want, Matou-kun?" the Second Owner had replied grumpily, her gloomy countenance and bleary expression at odds with how Shinji remembered her being at school. She had always portrayed herself as a model student, as perfect – so why was she not bothering with the act now?
"I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me this early in the morning," the boy continued, nodding in respect to the nominal supervisor of the spiritual land of Fuyuki. "You must be quite busy with your many duties."
"You said it was important, so out with it," Tohsaka Rin grumbled, folding her arms as she looked at Shinji critically. As far as she knew Shinji didn't have any talent at magecraft – that the Matous were a dying lineage, which was the only reason Sakura had been adopted into their family. So why was Shinji wasting her time by requesting a meeting with her in her capacity as Second Owner?
"I have come to pay my respects as a magus, Second Owner," Shinji continued politely, seeming every bit what he was at that moment - the scion of an old family that had long practiced their Craft. "And to inform you that I will leaving Fuyuki for Britain."
"You're going to the Tower?!"
This time, Tohsaka Rin could not hide her incredulity. What was the Matou boy thinking? True, his family name might get him in the door, and he might pass an entrance examination if it focused only on the theory of magecraft, but the first practical test he sat for would be his last.
"No, Second Owner," the boy corrected, though his expression seemed a bit strained at her outburst. "I will be attending an institute for Witchcraft."
Rin's eyes bulged.
She stared, her mouth falling open in shock as she looked at the boy in front of her.
Really, she couldn't help it.
Shinji…was a Witch? That…wasn't possible. The thought of him dressed up in traditional witches garb, with robes and pointy hat was just….
"Buahahahahahahah!" she burst out, peals of hysterical laughter echoing about the yard as she pointed at him. "Matou, that's just…hahahahahahahaha!"
Shinji didn't really know what he'd been expecting Tohsaka Rin to do. She'd seemed so far above him once, a superior magus, an Average One, someone with everything – who had been everything he had ever wanted.
Seeing her now, unable to accept what Aozaki Touko had with ease disappointed him. Was this really what he wanted to become? The Second Owner of a land – shackled to it, as much as he benefited from it? Someone who lived in a land without getting a sense of its crafts?
Was this it?
He felt an odd sensation inside of him, something he hadn't felt in a long time, since the first time he'd seen his eventual replacement - and not known why she was there.
He felt sorry for her, but at the same time felt profoundly grateful that he wasn't her. Yes, an accident of birth had left her with working circuits, while he had none, but who was the one left with an open mind? Who was the one who could make his own path?
She was part of a world he was leaving behind anyway.
So her laughter - it was nothing. It meant nothing. It was the laughter of an ignorant little girl who knew only the traditions of the Association.
His old self – he might have stormed off in a fit. This new Shinji just waited until she was quite finished, bowed, just enough not to be rude, and headed for home, leaving Rin rather nonplussed.
The rest of the day passed in a blur, with Shinji double-checking his preparations, donning his finest clothes, and making sure his trunk – which had apparently been included with the supplies he'd bought, given that it had been marked as a "first year bundle" – contained everything he'd need. Two things he did not pack, however: his ofuda and his wand, as he thought he might need them.
While he had read a little bit of Hogwarts: A History – a decidedly dry volume with little useless information in it – and learned of the four Houses of Hogwarts, he hadn't put too much stock in it. History books tended to gloss over such unpleasant things as initiation rituals and other local secrets, according to the unconscious biases of those who had written them.
Even if there were no unpleasant rituals or fights to the death that awaited him, there were still the informal rituals of power – and a casual display of such could go a long way towards establishing his place on the hierarchy that existed in any gathering of children.
7:28 PM.
The portkey was in his hand, a worn, old looking thing that might have once been a key, and his trunk in the other, with an ofuda to seal it, and another to soundly separate the weight of what was within from the outside world.
That particular charm had been one of the last he'd made, as he'd realized just how heavy the trunk was, with his worldly possessions within.
7:29 PM
As the seconds counted down, Shinji wondered just what Sakura would think if she wandered into his room while he clutched this old key. He hadn't seen her, hadn't spoken a word to her, these last few months, and now it must seem that he was just going to disappear.
He supposed he'd have to find a way to make amends eventually, but it was too late now, and besides, she had not been home. Zouken would let her know where he went – maybe. The old man might just decide that she didn't need to know, that such a thing was irrelevant to her training.
Shinji really wouldn't put it past the man. Zouken was a creature of whims, after all.
Three seconds.
Two.
One.
7:30 came – and the Portkey jerked to life. Shinji felt as though a hook had caught him around the middle and yanked him irresistibly forward. His feet left the ground – but it was nothing like flying; it wasn't liberating at all – in fact, it was almost terrifying, as a howl of wind and sound and swirling color erupted before him, the key pulling him on and on and on.
He felt like was being stretched, as if he was going to be pulled in two!
And then his feet slammed into the ground, the world slowly becoming solid once again as he unsteadily blinked away the spots in his vision.
That…had been a trip.
He looked around, seeing more blonds and redheads than he had seen in his life, with some brunettes mixed in as well of all ages, shapes, and sizes – parents and children, he thought. Then this must be the platform, a suspicion confirmed by the sight of a scarlet steam engine with wisps of smoke rising from its smokestack, and many carriages that trailed behind it.
'Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.'
Matou Shinji was decidedly not impressed. Kyoto Station had been far more interesting than this, the crowds bigger, the trains presumably faster, and directions more clearly marked. He wondered what was on the other side of the wrought-iron gateway he could see, as he thought there had to be more than just blank stone behind it, but then saw a group of redheads emerging through the arch, as if from nothingness.
'Ah…a bounded field. Probably set to allow only those bound for Hogwarts to pass through…'
Which would make sense, he supposed. But that posed problems too - what if a mundane wandered in? Or perhaps, what if there was a child with potential for witchcraft who had no magical relatives? Would they be separated from their parents? Or was the barrier also keyed to allow the passage of blood relatives?
That had issues too, however, but he supposed given where Mahoutokoro was, he shouldn't be thinking about these things too much.
So Matou Shinji made his way slowly towards the train, and observed, as cats of every color wound here and there between his legs, owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled way over the bustle and scraping of trunks, and parents bid tearful or stern goodbyes to their children.
All in all, not very impressive, but maybe that was just the way of the English.
…and he supposed the lack of impressiveness would help with his Eastern Master Façade.
The way most of the children looked though, half of them uncertain, another half bright eyed and curious, he didn't think it would take much.
English.
He hadn't heard that tongue in a very, very long time – at least a few years. It was rather unfortunate that there were no translation spells, but he'd learned enough of the language to get by.
So it was that he picked up a few key words: "Harry Potter", "the Boy who Lived", "killed You-Know-Who as a baby", "Hero of the Wizarding World," "on the train", and "first year!"
He would have dismissed it as nothing, save that multiple people were talking about it – with two who had just come off the train mentioning that they had just seen him.
'There's a first year here who is believed to have defeated someone so feared they won't speak his name…as a baby?'
Shinji was skeptical at best, but…he wouldn't ignore the possibility that this was true. If there was someone his age who was regarded as a hero, he wanted to know this.
At the very least, if he could associate himself with this person – impress this person – he might be able to get a head start on gaining influence in his own right. He'd have to play up his role as wise and experienced practitioner of his family's Craft, but he thought he could do it.
Especially if he didn't have to use his wand.
He lingered just enough to get a brief description of this Potter boy before moving on, pausing only momentarily at the sight of an exotic-looking girl with tanned skin and purple hair, who was sitting somewhere closer to the front.
'…a magus?'
He didn't think purple hair was natural, after all, unlike his hair – a shade of black that seemed blue in the light. Only one person he knew of had that hair color: his adopted sister, and she had once had black hair.
This girl, this –Sokaris, he was hearing from the crowd- was apparently another foreigner, who some were calling a metamorphmagus, whatever that was.
'…curious.'
Certainly, she was someone to keep track of, given that she might be able to see through his act. And if not, perhaps if she was from the Middle East, as her coloration suggested – maybe she'd have some interesting spells. One never really knew.
For the moment though, his goal was clear – he needed to talk to – and get to know, Harry Potter.
Following the hints – the door the two red-headed boys had come of near the back of the train, the description he'd overheard of Potter, and such, it wasn't too hard to find the boy. Potter was sitting alone, leaning against the window. He was shorter than Shinji expected, with messy black hair, clothes that were obviously second hand, a set of glasses – and an overly thin frame.
…and really, he didn't look like a hero, or a great practitioner of the thaumaturgical arts. But then again, the best of them never did – except that this boy lacked the quiet confidence of the others he'd known.
Odd.
Shinji blinked for a moment, thinking he might have the wrong compartment. By now, he rather thought with Potter's fame, there would have been throngs of people clamoring to meet him. At least, he thought those two redheads from earlier would have capitalized on their knowledge, or sent their…younger brother…this way, but it was too late to do anything about it now.
The last thing he wanted was to come across as rude, after all.
"May I join you?" Shinji asked, glancing over at the seat across from the other boy.
The boy shook his head, so with a nod and a pleasant smile, Shinji slid his trunk smoothly into a trunk of the compartment – and then, his hands freed, casually flicked two of his ofuda towards the door.
Immediately, the compartment grew quiet, the dull roar of conversations on the platform fading away as his prepared spells activated, sealing the door and warding against sound.
"I hope you don't mind - I simply would rather not have to deal with too much noise. It was night when I came over from Japan a few minutes ago."
Shinji smiled then, shaking his head as he tried his best not to mess up anything - pronunciation, attitude, or any of it.
To his satisfaction, he found the other boy's attention was flickering between him - and the ofuda he had used.
'Excellent…my hard work is paying off already.'
Even if this wasn't Potter, it would make for a good test of his abilities, he supposed.
"Matou. Shinji Matou," the would-be onmyouji said by way of introduction.
"Harry Potter," the other boy answered softly, studying Shinji curiously. The casual way he'd just silenced the noise from outside. "How'd you do that earlier? You didn't have to say a single word!"
'Ah…so this is Potter.'
"It's a style of Craft that is fairly common where I come from," Shinji answered. "It helps that my family is descended from a line of magi, I suppose."
"Wizards, you mean?" Harry asked, then looked alarmed as Shinji twitched at the question. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bother—"
"No, it's not your fault," Shinji said, holding up his hand to forestall more apologies. "Where I come from, wizard means something else. Something beyond what even practitioners of Witchcraft can accomplish."
"Like what?"
"Oh? Travel through time, go to alternate worlds, bring back the dead, those sorts of things."
"You're having me on!"
"No. I'm not," Shinji replied quietly, his voice solemn as he looked very deliberately, very intensely at the other boy. "I'm not. It's no more ridiculous than the idea of a baby defeating a dark …practitioner who has honed his Craft for a lifetime, yes?"
Harry Potter swallowed, though he didn't deny it.
"I don't know," he replied after a while, turning to look out the window.
While they had been talking, the train had carried them out of London. Now they were speeding past fields full of cows and sheep, greenery having replaced the steel and concreted jungle of the cities.
"Honestly, until my invitation to Hogwarts came, I didn't know anything about being a wizard. I didn't know my parents. I didn't even know about Voldemort, the wizard they say I beat. I didn't even know how to get through the gateway at King's Cross." Harry slumped. "They say I did this incredible thing, but I bet I'm the worst in the class."
"Only if you don't try," Matou Shinji answered him, struck by the boy's honesty. "There seem to be plenty of people from non-magical families too, from what I've heard. And Hogwarts takes in all sorts."
"Yeah…but they won't expect as much of them," Harry said, grumbling. "Even you know my story, and you're from bloody Japan."
Shinji had to laugh at that, a sound that took the Boy-who-Lived off guard.
"I don't, really. I just heard there was a Harry Potter who killed You-Know-Who – apparently this Voldemort - just before I boarded the train," he said with a shrug. "I had no idea if it was true or who you were." He stopped laughing then, his face taking on a more serious cast as he looked at Harry. "But this isn't the kind of attention you want though, is it?"
"…no," he said, his ears turning pink. "The way they look at me – like I'm a hero. I don't deserve that. I don't even remember what they say I did."
"And what do they say?" Shinji asked quietly. "If it's not too much."
"They say Voldemort killed my parents, and then he came after me," the dark haired boy said, shuddering as he lifted his hair, showing Shinji the scar. "They say he failed – that he died, and only left me with this scar. That's…all I know. Still better than what I'm leaving behind though."
"Harry – can I call you Harry?" Shinji asked.
The Boy-who-Lived nodded.
"We all have our circumstances," the Japanese boy sympathized, deciding to share a small secret of his own. "Compared to the rest of my family, I'm a disappointment. I couldn't do magic until a few months earlier, you know."
Harry stared. Someone capable of magic without a wand, without even saying a word was considered a disappointment?
"But…you just…how?"
"I know a little about not meeting expectations. I was supposed to be the heir, but I couldn't do their kind of magic, so they picked someone else," Shinji stated, his thoughts going back to the day he discovered hid adopted sister being trained in magecraft and the blow that had been to him. "But I found something to believe in, something I could do." He smiled a little bit as he thought forward to that day at Mahoutokoro when he had gained a wand, when had flown. "I found my own path."
"…it's not the same thing," Harry countered. "You came from a family that had magic. You knew it was there. And they probably taught you something, right? My uncle and aunt…they hated magic. They probably would have wanted me not to exist."
Shinji only shook his head.
"If you're not the heir, you may as well not exist to my family," the Japanese boy said. He wasn't especially careful sharing so much, but learning how much Potter didn't know, he saw a bit of himself in him – and could see how useful it would be to be his friend. "Everything I learned, I mastered on my own." He cracked a small smile. "And I'm not so terrible now, am I?"
"Heh…no, you're not," Harry admitted, smiling a little bit in spite of himself. "Do you think you could…?"
Harry trailed off, not knowing whether he was pushing too hard. He wasn't good with people – never had the chance to be.
"I'll show you a few things, Harry, if you remember one thing."
"What's that?"
"That it's not people's expectations you need to fear – it's your own," Shinji said, trying to express some of the wisdom Touko had shared with him. "Don't try to fit into a role others define for you – find somewhere you belong, and make your own path. Become someone you can be proud of."
"Huh. Do you really believe that, Shinji?"
The Japanese boy nodded.
"I do."
The rest of the trip passed in relative silence. The two talked a little about various things, with Shinji sharing his experience at Mahoutokoro and offering potter one of his ofuda – one of those made to seal away weight, and Harry giving Shinji the audience – the acknowledgement - he'd always wanted.
They parted ways from the Hogwarts Express as friends – or as close as one can come on a first acquaintance, with Harry feeling…glad…that someone hadn't asked him too much about his past, and Shinji glad to have made the acquaintance of the Boy-Who-Lived.
Shinji had talked to Harry about confidence, of being comfortable with who he was. He added too that no matter what houses they ended up in, he'd be glad to be Harry's friend, as Harry hadn't commented on his accent.
His friend ended up in Ravenclaw, much to Harry's lack of surprise. The other boy was bright and incredibly talented, even if he said it was just hard work.
Thus it was that Shinji's words about finding a place and becoming someone he could be proud of stuck with him. So when the time came to be sorted, so when his name was called—
"Potter, Harry."
—and the Sorting Hat placed upon his head, that was the main thought in his mind – what he wanted to become. A great wizard who would live up to the expectations he set on himself.
As such it took almost no time at all for the Hat to cry out:
"SLYTHERIN!"
…as the entire Hall went dead silent, except for Matou Shinji, who true to his word, stood and applauded Harry as he walked over to the table of the house of snakes.
Sokaris, the exotic foreigner whose looks had dominated any number of conversations on the train, was sorted into Ravenclaw and promptly forgotten, taking a seat between a bushy-haired brunette and the young Matou scion.