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 unfathomable 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 7. Alchemist and Onmyouji
"Ah, what do we have here?" a voice had whispered in Shinji's ear, after his name had been called and the Sorting Hat, as the professors had called it, had been placed upon his head. "Knowledge, certainly. The knowledge of a lost bloodline and that of the East. But there's more."
In a way, Shinji had been relieved that there were in fact, no hidden initiation rituals or trials by combat. Given what he'd read about this style of magecraft, he was sure he could have won such a trial by simply sealing his opponent's lips with his ofuda if he needed to fight a classmate, as whatever spells a first-year knew, he or she should not be able to do non-verbally. However, there was no guarantee such a trial would have been against humans, so perhaps it was for the best.
On the other hand, the fact that his destiny was to be decided by a tattered old hat which had probably been made as some magus' experiment disturbed him. Why, look at the horrible performance it had just put on, the way it tried to grab everyone's attention...
"...I'll have you know, I resent that remark."
Hm? Wait. The hat…could understand what he was thinking now? Even though it had been created by Westerners, and his mind operated in Japanese?
"Of course I can," the now-identified voice muttered. "After all, I am borrowing some of your mental capacity to process the knowledge you possess. Spiritual Hacking, I believe the Founders called it."
Shinji froze when he heard that statement. For something to just casually enter his mind and just take over a portion was…
"Oh don't worry about it too much. I have very limited access permissions, as well as restrictions on reporting. The Founders made sure of that. Basically, once this is over, I won't remember a thing about you. Besides, aside from your surface thoughts, I'm just getting a high level summary."
Fine, that was a relief, but if these practitioners of witchcraft could break into his head this easily, could translate his thoughts using his mind itself, that meant—
"Again, don't bother. It's a lost art now, from when the Wizarding World worked with outsiders. It really has forgotten much since we went into hiding to escape the Holy Church, though you didn't hear that from me."
Shinji blinked. That would…make sense, actually.
"But you know of the wonders that multiple Crafts can achieve together – you've been to Mahoutokoro, the jewel of the East. My, I wonder if they could patch me up – ah, sorry, sidetracked."
The Hat seemed to hmm and hummm and huh for a while longer.
"Such a thirst to prove yourself. To be the very best, to forge your own path. Such ambition, to bridge the arts of East and West, to delve deeper than any into lost and secret workings. Yes, I daresay you are more ambitious than most who have passed under my brim. Slytherin of course is the house of the ambitious, but your goals lie in gaining knowledge, for like a true magus, you believe Knowledge is Power."
Shinji nodded at this, as it was true.
"Very well. In that case, the only choice I see for you is….RAVENCLAW!"
As expected, the last word was shouted into the Great Hall, with his new housemates politely applauding as he doffed the Hat and walked over to them, taking a seat at the end of the table. So far, he supposed he was mildly impressed by Hogwarts. The train and station had been no great shakes, but the castle was properly intimidating, with its silvery apparitions, enchanted ceiling and such.
It was no Mahoutokoro, but if this world of witchcraft practitioners had been on the run from the Holy Church, he could see why they would have to scale down. The Church had never been able to get that much of a foothold in the East, with the exception of hidden Christians like the Tohsaka family, and practitioners of thaumaturgy had been much more accepted there.
…he'd just have to adjust his expectations accordingly and hope the foreign connections he made would be useful. After all, he'd already made a small investment into that by sharing more than he normally would have with the boy whose Sorting most were looking forward to tonight: the so-called "hero" of the Wizarding World.
He almost laughed, really – due to his upbringing, he recognized what it meant to be scared, what it meant to hope something better waited – that whatever the future held, it had to be better than the past.
They were alike.
Now, Shinji didn't pretend to know the exact circumstances of the other boy's upbringing, but he knew what it was like to be alone, to feel as if no one cared if you disappeared. And unlike his old acquaintance Emiya Shirou, he wasn't foolish enough to believe he could be a hero. People like that, people who gave and gave and gave, were just used up and thrown away like tissues, with no one remembering they existed.
Of course, as a Matou he knew about Heroic Spirits, the Throne of Heroes, and other such – but he also knew how many people in history had done great things and then were forgotten. Who cared about valor if no songs were sung about it? Who cared about standing up for what was right if it didn't change anything?
Because Shinji had never wanted to be a hero, one of those who worked tirelessly for the benefit of others and never received anything in return. One of those that society would worship while it was convenient, and then toss away as soon as he or she did something contrary.
He wanted to rise above such mundane things, such everyday titles of hero or villain. He wanted to surpass such confining roles and simply be recognized as great, to be the undisputed master of his craft.
…and he was pretty sure that allying himself with Harry Potter, who already had such influence in the world, would be a good start. His offer of friendship had not been altruistic, after all; what better position could there be than being the friend of the Boy-Who-Lived, especially if said Boy was grateful for the support?
Given this, it was really no surprise that when Potter was sorted and the Hat had shouted "SLYTHERIN!", when the hall had gone silent in shock, that Matou Shinji had defied expectation by standing and applauding.
While he would have preferred to be in the same House as Potter, Shinji was sure that he could find a way to make use of this. Why, Potter had seemed grateful for the support, his back straightening, his posture a little more confident as Shinji began to clap.
And others too had noticed, conversations shifting, glances made, rumors starting.
Exactly as he'd planned.
…except perhaps for the interest of a certain wizard who some considered the greatest since Merlin, and that of a dour Potions Master, whose eyes narrowed as they took in the well-appointed figure of the boy from the East.
That night, after being walked to Ravenclaw Tower by Ravenclaw Prefects Penelope Clearwater and Robert Hillard – both of whom were new to their roles, it seemed – and having the rules explained, the first years were given some time to choose rooms and otherwise get settled.
It was best to mingle and get to know one another when one had gotten that business out of the way, and were no longer in school robes. Shinji had taken advantage of this to choose a room, and freshen up slightly. When he came down to the Common Room, an elaborate circular chamber with midnight blue carpet, arched windows hung with blue and bronze silks, and a domed ceiling painted with stars, he was ready to meet others, dressed in his finest as well, an all-black ensemble of shirt, slacks, and jacket.
To be honest, Shinji didn't feel up to too much talking, since with the time difference, he'd already been up more than 24 hours, but he knew he had to at least pay lip service to the traditions. Not showing up at all would have made him seem anti-social - and worse, would have deprived him of the gossip that he was sure was spreading about him. Still...it was getting to be nearly 6 am back in Japan, and with the new environment, the large amounts of food at the Welcoming Feast, and everything else, he knew he wouldn't be able to stay for long.
Idly, he wondered just how much an average British child ate. And for that matter, why weren't more of them fat, with such quantities of fatty meats, gravies and starch in their diet?
Why at this Feast alone, the menu had consisted of roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, hard boiled sweets flavored with peppermint. And that had just been the main courses. For dessert, there had been blocks of assorted ice cream, apple pies, spotted dick, chocolate gateau, treacle tart, pumpkin tart, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, jelly, and rice pudding.
Oh, and liberal amounts of pumpkin juice.
…where was the rice? Where were the vegetables? Where was the soup? Where was the milk, even? Or the tea?
Why was everything greasy or sugary?
'Touko was right about British cuisine,' he groused to himself. 'Too much in the way of meats and oils and sweets. No wonder they went and conquered the world.'
While he had certainly had a penchant for Western food as the Japanese knew it – that had been for cuisines like Italian, German – even American – not this meat and starch laden affair that made him feel bloated and heavy.
Shinji shook his head, blinking back the fatigue that came from a too-heavy-meal.
He'd have to speak with Professor Flitwick, his Head of House, about making some kind of arrangement for cuisine variety, if this kept up. Still, since this had been a Welcoming Feast, he supposed he could give it a few days before coming to the man with a complaint, instead of bringing it up at his appointment with the Head of House in the morning.
Apparently Flitwick had a tradition of meeting with students from abroad to welcome them to Ravenclaw House and see if they had any special needs, since as someone with Goblin blood – and a world traveler – he was more sensitive to these sort of things.
But that could wait for tomorrow.
What couldn't wait – despite his fatigue – was capitalizing on the impression he'd made earlier and satisfying his curiosity. So far, it seemed his actions in the Great Hall had caused a stir, as most of the conversations in the room kept going back to him. Some, of course, had another topic, the enigmatic purple-haired girl who had been identified as one Sialim Sokaris - who was incidentally the person he wanted to see.
Speaking of which…
"You seem have made an impression," a voice said from behind him, with Shinji turning to see the very girl in question. "Just as you desired, Matou Shinji."
His first thought about Sokaris was he was inexplicably reminded of Aozaki Touko. Not physically, of course, as the two looked nothing alike. Sokaris was much shorter than his one-day chaperone, with long, purple hair kept in a long braid, bronzed skin, and sharp purple eyes, and her features that were of course, not Japanese. But the confidence, the way Sokaris carried herself, the way she looked at the world around her – those were unmistakable.
Those were not the carriage and stance of a novice – but a master.
He'd have to be careful. He knew that the other first-years would be watching him out of the corner of their eyes, trying to come to a conclusion about who he was. He couldn't afford to slip up, and so steeled his resolve.
Until he'd recieved the letter from Hogwarts, Matou Shinji been very much like a powerless corpse pretending to be alive. Being part of a magus lineage, but put aside due to his lack of Magic Circuits, he'd had nothing. No one would have cared if he'd died. But he'd denied that, fought it, threw himself into studying the Matou craft in the hope that miracle might occur.
But it hadn't - and then one day, he'd opened the forbidden door and found his sister being groomed to be heiress of the Matou family. And he'd broken - or would have broken - giving in to rage, despair, grief and more for everything he'd lost...had the letter not come.
Matou Shinji was a boy who had been granted a miracle after all, given a second chance to truly live...
...a boy who was still half afraid he'd wake up and find it had all been a dream.
So he focused on the here and now, noting how Sokaris' all-white ensemble of long skirt, white blouse, white stockings and even boots made her seem almost otherworldly, with a golden scarf tied in a manner reminiscent of a cravat and a bracelet on each wrist providing the only splashes of color. How she projected an image of refinement and sophistication that was at least the equal of what he was trying to project.
What was she up to? What was her angle? ...and how could fix his apparent issue with situational awareness?.
"Oh?" he decided to say, trying his best to play things cool. He had to maintain the image of a dignified master from the East. "Whatever might you mean, Sok—Sialim Sokaris?"
He frowned slightly. He'd nearly slipped up already, barely managing to catch himself before saying her name out of order. Western naming conventions were difficult to keep straight when he was tired.
"Your relationship with the Boy-Who-Lived, of course," the purple-haired girl said manner-of-factly, her gaze intent upon him as she spoke. Her voice was rich, smooth, compelling - the kind one wouldn't mind listening to. "Given your support of him at the Feast, it was not difficult to deduce that you were involved in his decision to join Slytherin."
"And if I was, what of it?" Shinji replied, matching her gaze evenly. He was wary, but then he had a right to be. After all, she had approached him, and seemed to be trying to solve the mystery of who he was. "Why should the Boy-Who-Lived not go to Slytherin?"
"Wouldn't the Boy-Who-Lived belong in Gryffindor?" a new voice broke in – the bossy know-it-all type voice of the bushy-haired brunette he had been seated near. "I mean, from asking around on the train, I heard Dumbledore himself was in it, and he's the greatest wizard since Merlin himself. Oh, I'm Hermione Granger, by the way."
Shinji kept his face impassive, but it took a bit of doing, between the unwanted interruption and the girl's cruel, cruel abuse of the word "wizard."
"We know. We all heard during the Sorting," he replied archly, trying to give the impression that he wasn't bothered - when really, he was.
"Oh. I see."
"And why does it matter to you anyway?" the Japanese boy continued, turning to regard the newcomer critically, knowing that Sokaris was bound to be observing him. "Are you personally acquainted with the Boy-Who-Lived?"
"Well, no, but…"
"Then why do you care what house he goes into?" Shinji asked, perhaps less than entirely reasonably. Still, that someone thought she knew what was best for a person without even knowing him? That...was irksome. Especially as Potter was somewhat similar to him. "For that matter, what qualifies you to have an opinion on the topic?"
"Well," Hermione said, trying hard not to fidget under the attention, "In The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, a majority of the British dark wizards covered were from Slytherin, including many of Voldemort's followers from the previous war. Many of the heroes of the war against Voldemort came from Gryffindor, on the other hand."
Most of the room, who had begun to pay attention by this time, flinched at her mention of the dark wizard's name. Twice.
"Have you considered that perhaps the book does not include all practitioners of the Dark Arts?" Shinji countered, doing his best not to be distracted by Sokaris watching him curiously. He rather thought she must be enjoying the opportunity to read his reactions, especially when her own were so well controlled. Well, he'd just have to impress her then. "If it simply covered the most powerful, then naturally many would come from Slytherin House, for that is the house of the ambitious. I'm sure the book did not mention what other fields those from Slytherin House have gone on to excel in, yes?"
Hermione frowned, not liking how the boy from the East was bringing up something irrelevant in an attempt to muddy the waters.
"Well...that's true, but..."
And then he had a burst of inspiration.
"For example, since you mentioned heroes, what does the book say about them?" Shinji asked, following up. "Are those who dedicate their life to fighting the dark arts, to wanting to save everyone in their sight, not ambitious themselves? Wouldn't this also qualify someone for Slytherin house?"
Hermione's frown deepened. He'd even interrupted her!
"I see what you're doing," the brunette noted, seeming a little annoyed that someone was trying to twist her words. "You're trying to claim the book isn't credible, that it must be wrong somehow-"
"Not entirely wrong, just incomplete," Shinji pointed out. "After all, who is to say that if we take all who dabble in the dark arts, that suddenly the number of Slytherins wouldn't seem unusual?"
"Surely someone would have said so!" Hermione protested. "The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts is very widely read." She huffed then. "Anyway, you're wrong you know. You don't need ambition to fight evil – you just need courage."
"I didn't ask about fighting evil - I asked about heroes and what it takes to be a hero," the boy from the East corrected, smiling ever so slightly. He smiled because he thought he sensed victory - his opponent's argument was weak, and she was flailing. "I asked whether someone who wanted to be a hero would be considered ambitious. Besides, trying to claim that someone would have commented on whether a book is complete is missing the point. Every book has a message it is trying to get across or a topic it covers. In this case, yours focused on notable practitioners of the dark arts, so saying that Slytherin is a house of dark wizards is misguided because all your book talks about is dark wizards. You don't have the sources to back up your claim - and even if you did, those sources would need to be checked to make sure the writer had no hidden agenda."
He was channeling Aozkai Touko, in a nutshell. Her mannerisms, her questions, her insight.
"But why would a book lie?" Hermione persisted, her trust of authority becoming very clear at that moment. "Why would a book present something less than the truth? I mean, obviously not fiction books but..."
Shinji fought down a wave of irritation - how naive could someone be, really? Who didn't have an agenda in this world? Even this...Granger had something to prove.
"Because books were written by people, Granger," he answered after a moment, addressing the interloper by name for the first time. "And people lie."
Hermione flinched. She hated this - being made to look like a fool for pointing out the truth. But why was he so insistent that her books were wrong - or at least didn't tell the whole story? Did he have some objective, some agenda...ah, and there it was. He had convinced Harry Potter - or helped him decide - to join Slytherin, after all, so of course he was trying to talk his way out being seen as a villain.
"Writers wouldn't do that," she said with conviction, wanting to believe in the rightness of authority. After all, if those who had been teachers, doctors, and such lied, what would have been the point. "People who write books have no reason to lie. And even if ambition is part of being a hero, what about knowledge or bravery? What about loyalty? Being Slytherin implies you value ambition above everything, when even Dumbledore, considered a hero of the Light, was brave above all else - that's why he was in Gryffindor."
"And your point is?" Shinji asked languidly, not really seeing where she was going, but thinking he'd give her enough rope to hang herself with anyway.
Hermione flushed angrily at what amounted to a dismissal - a snub.
"You know my point, Shinji Matou," she replied harshly, looking at him and wondering why. "Why did you want Harry Potter to join Slytherin House?"
"Because that was his choice," Shinji answered, his voice sharp for the first time as the brunette kept pressing and pressing him. "I did not tell him which house to join - I told him to follow his heart."
"That's not possible - he's a hero. He must be brave, having faced death at such a young age," Hermione shot back, not understanding how the Boy-Who-Lived, the Hero who had defeated the Dark Lord, could end up in the same house as the one he slew. "There's no reason he would end up in Slytherin House - the very house Lord Voldemort came from!"
No way that a hero could become a villain.
"I can think of one," the boy from the East - who had known a would-be hero - replied. "He ended up in Slytherin House because he's a hero. Because he feels the weight of what it means to be a hero - what it means to want to be a hero."
"What do you mean?"
"What I mean is that someone who hasn't lived his life can't understand what he was thinking," Shinji said, not enjoying this continued line of questioning. "And those who don't understand don't have the right to judge Harry's choice."
"But why?" Hermione pressed, wanting to understand - wanting to fix on something to deny what this person said. This boy from the east claimed that heroes were ambitious - but they were just ordinary people in the right place at the right time, weren't they? Ordinary people who had the courage to stand up for what they believed in, even when hope was bleak. "Why would he...?"
"Because his ambition is to become a practitioner of witchcraft that will live up to the Harry Potter this world believes in," Shinji replied, freezing her with a almost exasperated look. "To become a hero through his own power, not through whatever fate let him defeat Voldemort as a child, so that if another dark arts practitioner rises, he'll be able to protect you all. Will you say that is wrong, Granger?"
The room flinched again, but there was murmuring this time.
Murmuring about the Boy-Who-Lived. About his ambition. About his choice. For of all the ambitions they had known - that was perhaps the most noble, and that was why he went into Slytherin, then...well, some of them felt bad for not doing the same.
Granger felt a little sore that she'd been shown up, so she decided to press just a little harder.
"And how do you know this anyway?" She knew she really shouldn't pick on this, but… "I mean, how do you know what the Boy-who-Lived thinks? By your accent, you're not from England. You couldn't have met him before Hogwarts, could you?"
That struck a nerve.
"Yes, I'm sure no one picked up on my accent at all," Matou Shinji intoned icily, quite irritated that she had brought even that up. His fingers twitched towards his ofuda, itching to take action, to do something - but he restrained himself. Barely. It wouldn't be dignified to just lash out. It would ruin his image, and without that he would be back to being lower than a worm. "And if you must know, Granger, I sat with him on the train."
"You were in the sealed compartment, I presume," Sokaris interjected, an odd - almost amused - expression on her face.
"Oh, you knew?" Shinji said, glancing over at the purple-haired Ravenclaw. "But yes, I was."
"It was simple to deduce, as many people on the train looked for the Boy-Who-Lived, only to find no sign of him," the girl in white related, studying the Matou onmyouji. "The only place they couldn't check was the compartment at the end of the train, which simply wouldn't open. No one saw you aboard the train either, ergo..."
"Yes, I remember that...after not getting an answer, some of us got a Prefect to try and open it," Hermione chimed in, frowning. "He failed." Then, a realization came to her and she looked at Shinji sharply. "Wait…did you have something to do with that?"
"Ah, yes, that would have been me," Shinji replied, bowing slightly, thinking that at least he could claim credit for the spellwork and raise his status in Ravenclaw house - the house of the Knowledgeable. "My apologies for the inconvenience, but as I mentioned to Harry, I had had a full day in Japan before arriving at King's Cross. So when I found a compartment, I sealed the door and put up a sound ward."
He sighed, thinking that would be it for the night. Surely he had answered enough questions to satisfy anyone's curiosity by now?
"Now, Granger, if you are quite finished, I was originally speaking with Ms. Sokaris," Shinji said, trying to be graciously and dismiss her politely. "I appreciate your questions, but perhaps we could finish our conversation later? I am actually rather tired."
And he was, at that, but Hermione would have none of it, caught up as she was on a detail he had mentioned - and she did not like being brushed aside.
"…a ward?" Hermione continued, as if his dismissal had not been said at all. "That's complex magic…especially for a first year."
"Yes it is," Shinji allowed. Unfortunately, now that he had claimed credit, he needed to follow through, "but its something I'm quite used to doing."
He smiled genially, though it was a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. All he had wanted to do when he came down was to have a chat with Sialim Sokaris without these...interruptions. Was that really so much to ask?
"No. No...that's not possible - you should only have gotten your wand around the same time as the rest of us, and no one else here can do such magic, right?" Hermione asked, looking around at the crowd. The first years all shook their heads, except for Sokaris, who was not in Hermione's line of sight, and Shinji. "How about simple spells?"
A few nods, but the rest...nothing.
"See?"
"Granger, you know this proves nothing," Shinji said, trying to be diplomatic about this. It wasn't easy. "I didn't say someone else put up the ward. I said that I did."
"Then prove it."
Shinji sighed.
"Is this really the best time for this, Granger?"
"So when challenged, you back off, huh?" the feisty brunette answered him. "Are you saying you didn't put up the ward after all? I mean, I can accept that maybe Harry Potter did, but he defeated a Dark Wizard. I'm sure he knows loads of spells. You - you're nothing but a fraud."
"No. Harry Potter did not cast a single spell during the trip to Hogwarts," the scion of the Matou answered, clenching his jaw slightly, his image beginning to fray. He was very tired of people belittling him, people who had no basis to criticize. This girl who was very clearly from a mundane family, for example, who learned everything she knew from incomplete books. "I put up the ward."
"So you claim," she scoffed, crossing her arms. "Why should I believe you, when everyone else agrees it can't be done?"
"Because I come from Japan, Granger," Shinji answered, no longer trying to be the soul of Eastern reserve. There may have been more than a little ice in his words, in his tone. "Things are different there – and with hard work I've become skilled enough at magic that I need neither wand, nor word to cast a spell."
"And now you're claiming the impossible!" Hermione cried out, stunned at the boy's gall at coming out with what seemed like such an obvious lie. "First you claim you can cast a complex spell that no one else could do, and now you say you can do it without a wand or word. No. There's no way a first year is capable of something like that."
"I would say that what happened on the train proves otherwise," Shinji said, taking a deep breath, as he really didn't want to cause an incident in the room.
"Prove it then," the bushy-haired brunette challenged. "Right here. Right now. Without your wand, without saying a word."
'…damnit.'
And just like that, he knew he would have to.
This was not how Shinji wanted this to go. He didn't want to be put on the spot like this, didn't want to be pushed into demonstrating his Craft in front of everyone, but it seemed he didn't really have a choice – not if he wanted to keep his image intact. He had to back up his claims - but he had to be gracious, or it would look like he was bullying her, and that would have cost him more than he gained.
"If you say so, Granger, then I suppose I will," Shinji acquiesced, closing his eyes for a brief moment to make sure his control held. "I do have one request, though."
"What?" Hermione asked, thinking he was asking for some kind of out, adding some kind of condition.
"Once I demonstrate this, please allow me to finish my conversation with Ms. Sokaris," he asked pleasantly as he looked directly at her, cold grey eyes looking into brown. "I would like to do so before I retire for the night."
"What." Hermione had expected something...else. There had been no attempt to get out - just utter confidence that he would be able to do it - and setting the terms of victory. It felt presumptuous to her...at least, if he couldn't back it up.
"Those are my terms, Granger," Shinji replied. "If you do not agree to them, I will not bother."
"Fine," the brunette agreed in a huff. How dare he? How dare he try to imply that it would be nothing more than a slight inconvenience for him to have prove his half-baked claim. As if he had the power to do it in the first place. But...she admitted that she was curious. "And what will you be demonstrating this on?"
"You, with your permission," came the answer, as Hermione's face went blank.
"What."
Shinji smiled crookedly. Now, this was awkward – well, more awkward, he supposed, since Granger interjecting herself into his conversation with the other foreign student had already been such.
"You want everyone to see, right? Well, I can't do that with a warded room," he said, his voice taking on a small edge. "If you're fine with us doing this in front of all the witnesses gathered here, I'll give you your demonstration. But if you're not comfortable, Granger..."
"No…you're just bullying me," Hermione replied, frowning, her eyes flashing defiantly at the boy from the East. She knew what this was leading up to - an attempt to get out of having to show off his lack of skill. "You're trying to scare me for pointing out the truth – that you can't do this. You're trying to talk your way out of this, you fake, but you're not going to get away with it."
"That's a no then," Shinji noted, a bit disappointed, really. "Then I have your permission to continue?"
"Do your worst. Show everyone you're a fraud," Hermione all but spat, balling her fists as she stood tall. All her life, she'd had to deal with people pretending to be something they weren't. But this time, she wasn't going to cave in. She was going to stand up for what she knew to be true.
This was a new her. Someone – Sokaris – had thought her quest for knowledge worthwhile when they'd sat together on the train, noting her enthusiasm for books was refreshing. Someone had accepted her.
Because of that...she wasn't going to back down.
Not this time.
"Then let all present note that I had permission to do this," Shinji spoke, his tone cool, even, almost apathetic. He turned to the purple-haired girl beside him and bowed slightly. "Sokaris, if you would be kind enough to hold my wand?"
The purple-haired girl raised an eyebrow but accepted the pro-offered Mystic Code anyway, as Shinji turned back to Hermione.
"So that no one doubts, I will demonstrate exactly the spells I used on the train – and exactly how I did it," he said, withdrawing two of his ofuda from his pocket and casually flicking them towards the brunette.
They flew from his hands – and sealed her lips.
Hermione Granger tried to sputter in indignation, but could not. Her mouth would not open. Nor did any sound escape.
By all appearances, she had gone mute – and she could not hear.
She looked around frantically to see what was happening, as all had gone silent, except the sound of her heart, beating faster and faster in her chest.
What was going on? Why couldn't she hear? Surely pieces of paper couldn't…no. Apparently it could, and the boy had not been lying.
A frisson of terror shot through her, as she reached up, trying to remove the ofuda, but to no avail. The paper would not budge, would not be torn from her lips, would not rip.
This was magic at work – complex, powerful magic - and she hadn't the magic to undo this. She knew, as sure as she now knew he had given her opportunities - many opportunities to back out.
No. No. No.
It was almost - no, it was, claustrophobia inducing. The world she could sense, could feel, could hear, had shrunk to - her. She couldn't sense anything in the room, except for what she could see. It was terrifying, like she was just watching herself through a television, that she wasn't really there. She began to panic, her arms flailing about wildly as if in some twisted pantomime, but she made no sound – could make no sound – couldn't move her mouth at all.
The gazes of the entire room – the suddenly quiet room - were now fixed on Hermione Granger.
"An impressive display, but perhaps excessive," Sokaris commented on the affair, her voice pitched low enough that only Shinji could make out her words.
"Perhaps," Shinji agreed, matching the softness of her voice. He hadn't wanted to go this far, but... "I didn't have a choice."
"Perhaps. Whatever the case, you have a choice now, onmyouji," the purple-haired Ravenclaw murmured pointedly. "What will you do, Matou Shinji?"
Shinji startled slightly, his eyes narrowing as his companion identified him a practitioner of Onmyoudou. His eyes flicked between the helpless girl in the middle of the room and the intricately etched wand in Sokaris' hand, thinking about impressions - about in the end, what was right.
He could let Granger wallow helplessly in panic for a time – it was tempting, sorely tempting, even, as she had kept interrupting him, challenging him, testing him. But…no, there was nothing to be won from cruelty.
Only monsters were cruel for the sake of cruelty, and he was not Matou Zouken.
He never wanted to become the man.
So, in the sight of everyone, he walked towards the flailing, thrashing Hermione without his wand, noting how she looked at him with terror in her eyes, thinking he was going to do something worse to her, to hurt her somehow now that she was at his mercy.
...the thought was oddly disgusting, honestly. He'd given his terms and he'd keep them without demanding more. Was this how people looked at his grandfather?
He shuddered.
No. He was doing the right thing now.
Slowly, so as not to startle her, Shinji showed Hermione his empty hands, watching to make sure she could see. When she nodded, he reached out, taking one of her cold hands in his to keep her from pawing uselessly at the ofuda.
He was more successful than he'd anticipated, as she stiffened at his touch, going stock still as his fingers twined with hers.
He took the other hand as well, thinking idly to himself that it felt much colder than the miko of Mahoutokoro's, and with her hands in his, brought her arms to her sides, without any resistance from her part. He waited a long moment for her to calm down, to relax ever so slightly.
With that as his cue, he continued.
Keeping hold of one of her hands, he released the other, bringing his now free hand to her lips - and the ofuda sealing them.
Her eyes widened as his fingers brushed the ofuda, with her trembling at the unexpectedly intimate touch – as no one had touched her lips before - her heart pounding in her chest out of terror - or at least she told herself it was terror. She wouldn't allow it to be something else. Not now. Not with him.
"Release," he whispered, and just like that, the ofuda let go of her lips, falling limply into his waiting hand.
Hermione felt overwhelmed, almost stumbling as sound, sensation, and more returned, as she drew in a deep, shuddering breath. Only two constants helped her from being utterly overwhelmed: the fact that he was still there in front of her - that she could see him doing nothing...and the fact that he was holding her hand and keeping her steady.
"Are you ok?" Matou Shinji asked gently, his voice almost tender to her ears.
She flushed. Violently.
"I'm sorry," she said, snatching her hand away from his as if she had been burned.
"I'm sorry," she repeated, very quietly, humbled – more than a little terrified at Shinji's casual display of power - and how gentle he'd been in freeing her from her panic, in keeping her from falling.
He'd humiliated her.
She'd have to find a way to beat him. Somehow. She looked like a fool - he'd made her look like a fool.
"No," Shinji countered, slate grey eyes meeting those of chocolate brown. "It's not your fault, Granger. Are you alright?"
Hermione swallowed under his intense gaze, and looked away, unable to stand the attention any longer.
"I'm sorry," she whispered a third time, taking a step back. It seemed natural that another would follow. Then another, then another, and another still - until far enough away, she turned on her heel and headed up to the female dormitories, leaving the crowd murmuring once more.
'So this is what victory feels like. And mercy...' Shinji mused, as he watched her. It...hadn't been a bad feeling to free her of the ward, he admitted. In fact, it had been good to know that when it came to it, he didn't have to be cruel. He'd feared that he'd become his grandfather if he had power - but it seemed he wouldn't walk that path after all.
And for that, he was glad.
No one bothered him as he made his way over to Sokaris once more. In fact, most of the crowd began to disperse, as if Hermione's departure had been the cue for their own - and perhaps it was. They all had a few things to think about, Shinji included.
"I made my choice," he said without preamble, as he reached the purple-haired Ravenclaw, holding out his hand expectantly.
She raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking playfully for a brief second before her expression returned to its mask of neutrality.
"If I could have my wand returned, please, Sokaris," Shinji requested pleasantly, to which his fellow Ravenclaw produced the Mystic Code. She was toying with him to a degree, and he knew it, but she had also been right.
"Eleven inches, cherry, unyielding," she commented as she handed it over. "You would have fit in well at Mahoutokoro, especially with your knowledge of Onmyoudou."
Shinji's face went slack for a moment, before his neutral expression returned.
"You know about Mahoutokoro?" he asked, almost sharply. Had she seen right through him from the very beginning? "Have...Have you been there?"
"I have not," the girl replied, her face betraying nothing. "But I indeed know of it – the jewel of the East, it is said. Built by onmyouji and practitioners of witchcraft working as one."
That phrasing, 'practitioners of witchcraft' instead of 'wizard' - it had to be deliberate.
He looked at her, meeting her gaze, but her mask was perfect. Too perfect to betray anything she didn't intend.
"…whatever a Metamorphmagus is, you're not one, are you?" he settled on asking. He figured he'd get some kind of answers tonight, even if they weren't as...substantial as what he was looking for. "The rumors were wrong."
"Rumors often are. In this, you are correct, onmyouji," she confirmed, inclining her head slightly. "But then, many have trouble with irregular variables. Irregular variables such as myself - and you."
"Oh?"
"Your talent with onmyoudou, limited as it is," the girl in white commented, her gaze taking in Shinji, as they were the last two in the room. "Your acquaintance with the Boy-Who-Lived. Your views on ambition and heroism. As I said, Matou Shinji, you have made an impression."
Shinji was not entirely comfortable with how perceptive she was, but he knew her observation to be true - he just wanted to know if it had a good or bad impression he'd made.
"You'll find I'm full of surprises," Shinji said instead, smiling ever so slightly, as he was sure she wouldn't come out and say it.
"Indeed," Sokaris answered, allowing a flicker of amusement to pass her otherwise impassive mask. "Your actions tonight have drawn much attention. You have likely disrupted any number of plans and calculations with your words and your...meddling."
Shinji had the distinct impression that there was a layer to this conversation he wasn't picking up on, but in his defense, he was rather tired. It was almost all he could do to keep talking.
"I'm sure such things are just a coincidence," Shinji reposed, trying to seem at ease – and not entirely succeeding. "I simply did what I had to."
He was beginning to understand why Sokaris discomfited him. It wasn't only that she had Touko's sense of confidence - it was that she was utterly an enigma, that he didn't know the first thing about her. He had intended to get answers from her that evening - but she had gotten to see his abilities, his stance, instead. And she had a maturity to her that he found almost unnatural. She didn't say much so it was difficult to be sure, but...
"If coincidences occur enough, one may conclude they are not coincidences at all, but inevitable consequences," the Middle Eastern girl said with an odd expression. "And consequences there will be."
"Oh?"
"The two of us are alike you see," Sokaris allowed at last, in the privacy of a fully quiet common room. It was almost...intimate, the two of them, black and white-clad figures under a painted night sky. Almost. "We both are searching for something at this school. Even if we have vastly different objectives."
She knew, didn't she? She knew...but that meant…she had secrets of her own.
Secrets she knew how to keep better than he did his, because he still knew next to nothing about her.
"Perhaps we can be of help to each other, then," Shinji offered, reaching deep into what few reserves he had left and channeling the mannerisms of Aozaki Touko as best he could. After all, if this girl was on his side, or at least was willing to work with him, he was sure things would be much smoother. "If our objectives are indeed different, I'm sure mutual aid could be beneficial."
"Perhaps," the girl allowed, giving no definite answer. "We shall see, Matou Shinji."
With that, she turned to go, though the Matou scion couldn't resist a last parting question.
"You know I know of Onmyoudou, Sokaris, but what of your talent?" he inquired, deciding to just come out and ask, as she wasn't going to just volunteer anything. "What do you seek to master, beyond what witchcraft offers?"
She paused, turning just enough that he could see her lips quirk into a bewitching smile.
"Renkinjutsu," was all she said, before vanishing up the stairs to the first year female dorms.
It only struck him after she disappeared that she'd spoken the word in his native tongue, a thought that was both reassuring...and chilling all at once.
Renkinjutsu.
Japanese for Alchemy.