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 9. The Comfort of Routine

After the meeting in Flitwick's office, Matou Shinji had been shaken. His mother had gone to Hogwarts? How was that possible? He'd heard all his life how she had been utterly useless, a daughter of a third-rate magus family who his father had married solely for her Inheritor trait, in an attempt to preserve what little ability was left in the Matou bloodline. He'd never heard about her having power of her own.

…though it did answer the question of where this ability with Witchcraft had come from. He honestly wasn't sure if he wanted to know more. Just this little bit had unsettled him, shaken the very things he knew to be true.

But Hogwarts as a whole was doing that, from the presence of so many normal people learning to practice thaumaturgy, to unexpected bits of history, and…well, even his previous certainty that he had never met a meal he wouldn't enjoy.

At least breakfast had been lighter, he'd thought, as he'd helped himself to orange juice and cereal in silence. He and Sokaris had been among the first ones in the Great Hall that morning, along with – surprisingly – Harry Potter, who was talking quietly with two girls at the Slytherin table.

He thought their names might have been Davis and Greengrass, but he wasn't really sure. Aside from the Boy-Who-Lived, the only other Slytherin who had really made an impression was a blond, pale-faced boy who had swaggered over to the Hat, as if absolutely certain of where it was going to place him.

A certain Draco Malfoy.

Harry noticed the arrival of Shinji and the other Ravenclaw, and gave a tentative wave. He'd never really had a friend before, and wasn't quite sure what was involved.

Shinji, for his part, nodded and waved back – a move that was not missed by the two Slytherin girls, who glanced between Shinji and Harry with interest. Well, hopefully not the kind of weird interest that he'd heard some young girls – fujoshi – he thought they were called – took in Japan.

Sokaris didn't say much, but then he hadn't exactly expected her to. The girl quietly ate her porridge while taking in every detail of the room, seeming as if she was in deep thought.

Even so, he thought he could make some kind of conversation.

"So what's your wand made of?" he asked, glancing at the dusky-skinned girl. He'd been curious about that, since somehow he thought she had probably gotten hers from somewhere unique, like his.

Besides, she'd seen his, so fair was fair, right?

"Olive with Chimera scale," she replied, to which Shinji blinked. Olive? That was one he hadn't heard before, in the sea of walnuts, birches, vine and such.

"Olive Wand?" he echoed, curious. Then again, the olive plant was revered in Greek myth – and one could hardly be a Matou without knowing something about myth, since they were one of the Founding Families of the Holy Grail War. And Chimera? Does she mean Chimera as in the mythical animal, or in a Phantasmal Beast? "That's not used much, is it?"

"Not by Ollivander, the British Wandcrafter, though his ancestor was famed for having one. Hence Ollivander – 'Olive Wand User,'" she added with what he thought was a flicker of amusement.

"Ah," Shinji noted. He hadn't known that little tidbit, which he filed away in case it would be useful later. He also noted that she'd evaded fully answering the question, but he'd take what he could get with her. "You read about it?"

"Knowing the basics of a society is useful if one plans to enter it," she replied cryptically, that statement at once true – and having a deeper meaning that Shinji didn't quite grasp, though he noted that she glanced over at Potter when she said it.

"Ah…" He got the hint. "Sorry, but…"

"Go. I will wait for Granger," Sokaris answered, waving him off. Shinji narrowed his eyes slightly – wondering just what the relation between the two was…and now, whether what happened the first night had been…arranged. He shook it off, but then magi by nature were a suspicious lot. "Feel better, Matou Shinji."

Shinji grunted in acknowledgement.

"See you in class," he'd said, standing up and walking over to chat with the Boy-Who-Lived and the two girls with him – who apparently were indeed Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis. Unsurprisingly, they did have a few questions for him, where he was from, how he knew the Boy-Who-Lived, and the like. One of them had even asked if he had any secret reasons for being at Hogwarts, whereupon he'd only smiled, saying it wouldn't be much of a secret if he came out and admitted to having one, now would it?

They'd laughed. None of them said too much of substance, talking about the common rooms of their respective houses, schedules (Slytherin had Potions with Gryffindor, Herbology with Ravenclaw, Charms, and Transfiguration today, while Ravenclaw had Charms, Herbology, Potions with Hufflepuff, and Defense against the Dark Arts).

Still, from that conversation, two things stood out. Apparently, according to the Slytherin grapevine, the Potions professor liked to randomly quiz people on the first day to see if they were prepared. Nothing too unreasonable, just basic knowledge one could glean from a cursory survey of the textbook – unless someone caught his interest.

With that, one of the girls had looked meaningfully at Shinji, who just managed to keep his features impassive. He supposed that his actions last night had probably been noticed by the professors, though he really hoped he wasn't made an example of.

The second piece of gossip was that the Defense position was rumored to be cursed, with no professor lasting more than a year. Good, bad, heroic, obviously evil – something happened at the end of every term to make them quit, or worse. Shinji had to wonder why, if this was so, why people even took the job, unless it was a relaxing one year teaching vacation from something more stressful…like being an Enforcer or something.

…though he did wonder what exactly the curriculum would entail. Would they really be teaching people new to thaumaturgy combat skills and offensive spells? Granted, magi could be trusted with them because of the levels of control they perfected, and the way they learned to be objective about things, but normal students….?

'…it's an accident waiting to happen.'

Some time later, he found himself sitting in his first class of the day - Charms - listening to squeaking voice of Professor Flitwick as he took attendance from the massive class register – nearly bigger than him – and gave the fresh-faced students a summary of what they would be learning that year.

Charms – the branch of witchcraft which added certain properties to an object or creature, changing what it did. It had some vague similarities to reinforcement and alteration magecraft, but differed in that it wasn't a matter of pouring prana into an object as much as casting a finished spell on an object.

…rather like Onmyoudou, now that he thought about it.

Personally, Shinji found the scratching of quill on parchment to be comforting in its near-familiarity. He did find pencils – and pens - to be more useful, but given that he'd been using a brush for his Onmyoudou work for the last two months, it wasn't as if a quill was much more difficult, even if the strokes were rather more angular.

…it was something of a chore to force himself to write in English though, since he was far more used to taking notes and thinking in Japanese, aside from the various other languages he had learned bits of to study the books in the Matou library. It was just one more thing he had to practice, he'd decided, as he glanced over at where Sokaris and Granger were sitting, writing away with what seemed like enthusiasm.

Not that he could blame them.

Shinji himself was excited to a degree. This was his first time in a class where thaumaturgy was being taught. Practically everything he'd learned to date had either been self-taught or taught to him in a more informal setting, as with Touko during the tour of Mahoutokoro, or Flitwick's demonstration of spells that morning.

The unlocking spell – Alohomora – which unlocked and opened doors and windows not protected against intrusion by magic.

The General Counterspell – Finite incantatem – which had dispelled one of his sealing ofuda.

And whatever spell the diminutive Charms Master had hit him with at the end, which had warmed and relaxed him, though not enough to dispel the shock of the information about his mother, coupled with the memories of the night before.

…at least he'd be getting a private study room, where he could practice his Craft…and at least try the first two spells he'd seen demonstrated. Shinji hadn't really been paying attention to the third, but he'd at least caught the wand motions for the others.

Given that Flitwick was now explaining that Charms would only be covering magical theory until Halloween – foundational material, such as how spells worked, wands amplified a wizard's intent, why precise movements and speech were important and so forth - Shinji felt he'd lucked out. Yes, he'd had a breakdown in the Head of House's office, but if he hadn't, would the Professor been as quick to agree to Sokaris' request for study rooms?

Probably not.

At least, unlike sleeping with so many others around, the structure of the academic environment was safe, since everyone had a role, a purpose. The teacher who disseminated knowledge, the students who learned. It was much easier to put on an act when everyone else was playing a role as well.

Still, he could feel the stares of his classmates – Granger's most of all - when Professor Flitwick noted that more advanced wizards could cast nonverbally, and that some of the most talented and powerful could even do so wandlessly.

Given that the Charms Master had just demonstrated the Hovering Charm by making a cat rise into the air, meowing plaintively as its paws lost contact with the ground, it was little wonder his classmates were doing so.

After all, they had no real idea of what he could do, only that his level was beyond theirs at this point.

This probably meant some of them would be asking to work with him in the future, which could be useful, but had its own risks. A partner would be very helpful in helping him refine his Onmyoudou skill, since some things he couldn't test on himself without substantial risks – and some he couldn't really test himself due to intent.

One obvious example was of course, something like binding ofuda.

Another was ofuda arrays.

Simple, continuous effect ofuda could be dispelled by the General Counterspell, assuming enough power was placed into it, but ofuda arrays - the most basic of which simply added a second ofuda to the first – the first carrying the spell's main effect, while the second was meant to protect against outside interference – could resist it.

While they were simple enough to make, their effectiveness wasn't something he could test himself since he was the creator of the ofuda. As such, they responded to his will, so if he cast a charm to dispel them, it would work, whether it would be normally effective or not.

But who?

Sokaris would probably agree – but he didn't want to ask her. Though they might be somewhat friendly, magi never shared their secrets with each other if they could help it. That one's research was one's own was about the only code that most magi followed, in fact, and while he might not be a proper magus, he wasn't sure if she was.

If so, he didn't want to ruin his chances of earning her respect.

Granger...? Later. Maybe. He knew she was curious about what he could do, but that could be a bad thing. He didn't want to reveal he was…limited, after all.

He needed someone would keep his secrets. Someone who had something to gain from the exchange and would be grateful for the attention. Someone new enough to the moonlit world that he didn't understand what was powerful and wasn't. Someone—

'Of course. Potter.'

The Boy-Who-Lived wasn't in in his House, but from the train ride, he knew that the so-called savior of the Wizarding World would be useful. He'd already promised to show the Boy-Who-Lived a few things, and it was only to the better if Potter was seen as being more powerful, as having special abilities.

Reputations had a life of their own, and if one didn't live up to them, people would wonder why – wonder if their reputations had any basis in truth, even, especially in the house of the ambitious. Besides, Shinji himself had much to gain if he was seen as the friend of a powerful Boy-Who-Lived, one who was respected by his peers not just for what supposedly did in the past, but what he could do now.

From his brief conversation with Potter, he knew the other boy was terrified of disappointing people – much as Shinji himself was, after a fashion – so it was probably his best option. Then from there…maybe an inter-house study group or something, but that was for the future, once he had a grasp of what was being taught, and everyone's strengths and weaknesses began to show.

So far Charms was interesting, and if everyone else was disappointed at no magic being taught right away, the theory was interesting. There were actually a number of similarities to magecraft, suggesting a common ancestry at some point. Of course, the spell base was different and involved motion, not just words, but the base seemed to be intent, amplified by key motions and key words.

Formalcraft, with the magical ingredients of the wand as a catalyst, much as magecraft, as an intent based system, usually still had some key words due to the self-hypnosis component.

Maybe in later years, they'd be taught how to make new spells?

No, probably not – from the years covered, this was more like high school than university, whereas the Tower was more University, expecting people to have a certain degree of proficiency before even coming to its doors.

Now, if Charms reflected Flitwick's love of knowledge, his desire to make sure his students understood why they were doing things, and now just the how of it, Herbology – well, Herbology reflected Sprout's view that nothing could be done well without a commitment to hard work and individual effort.

Many people despised Herbology, not understanding why it was one of Hogwarts' core classes. What need did a practitioner of Witchcraft have for plants, after all, for mucking about in the dirt and grime? Even if they produced useful potion ingredients, that's what apothecaries and owl orders were for – fussing about plants was beneath them, a waste of their time.

Or so they thought.

Shinji didn't really agree. Yes, he knew it was grimy, messy work – but so was magecraft if one really thought about it, especially the Matou craft, which involved filling one's body with worms. Even Onmyoudou, his new craft, required hours of dedication, precise concentration and visualization and more.

It was just like normal people, he thought, to want to skip ahead to the fun things. To the flash, the boom, whiz-bang-blast of spellcasting or flying without putting in the effort. To them, anything that didn't take them close to that was just a waste of time.

But Shinji remembered Mahoutokoro.

He remembered the city beneath the earth, the trees lining the streets – the great tree at its center, whose magic itself anchored wards and held the memories of those who had come before. That didn't strike him as being something that could be done with just witchcraft, or with seals, but took blood, sweat, and work.

If he ever wanted to make something that grand, to understand how something like that was made, he'd have to learn – it was that simple.

The fact that the greenhouses – all seven of them, even if only two of them were used for

General student education – were beautiful, wrought of the finest glass, with long, serpentine dragons of gleaming gold running along their peaked roofs, was a plus.

First year classes were held naturally enough in Greenhouse One, where the plants were not especially hazardous to one's health. Apparently, Greenhouse Three had more dangerous species of flora, with the others being home to many rare and exotic magical plants which were especially difficult to cultivate and maintain, or deadly if one didn't know what one was doing.

Which again, made sense. Dead students were not something any school – besides maybe the Clock Tower, where death was always a possibility – could afford.

Sprout, a short, dumpy witch with grey curls and terrible fashion sense, warned them that there wouldn't be much wand work in this class. Magic, she explained, could be found everywhere in the world – but to recognize it, get at it, to cultivate and refine it, required preparation and tremendous amounts of hard work, not just the wave of a wand.

She'd gone on to say that even the magical woods that wands were made of had to be cultivated somehow, and that only a very few trees produced wood of a quality fit for a wand.

That had gotten a few people's attention, with a number of Ravenclaws seeming curious about this – especially when she said her first lesson would involve identification of magical plants.

…and it had, even if that lesson had been very brief, covering the main plants on the Hogwarts grounds and their basic properties. The rest of the time had been set aside for something rather less magical: mulching the soil.

Rather unglamorous – somewhat smelly work – to be performed without the benefit of magic, but…Shinji imagined that was the point. Professor Sprout was the head of Hufflepuff House – which valued hard work above all else, and where lions walked pridefully, snakes slithered unseen until striking, and eagles flew, badgers dug into the dirt.

From the sudden muttering that sprung up, Shinji had the impression that of the Slytherins and Ravenclaws, most disliked this, or didn't have any idea what they were doing.

Well, whatever.

He could set an example for what was possible, along with Potter, who didn't seem as put off by the idea as the others were.

"Potter, let's work together," Shinji said, walking over to the Boy who Lived and grabbing a bag of mulch from the indicated pile. He grunted – the damn thing was heavy – but smiled as Harry moved to help him over to the first row.

Mulching? Bad? Magi learned from the very beginning that there would be pain in their craft, that there would be toil, that there would be frustration and anguish.

…and students here flinched from mulching?

That made Shinji angry, even if he managed to keep his face pleasant enough. It was just another one of the many differences that got to him, how they'd never had to work for their gifts, and just accepted magic so easily. No one had wanted it, worked for it, given so much of themselves for it as much as he had, and half of them aspired to be great?

Shinji coughed – once – to cover a growl and took a breath, forcing himself to relax.

Image, Matou, image. If you can't handle it, create something that can.

"Done this before, Potter?" he asked the Boy-Who-Lived, to which the other nodded. "Good to hear."

And it was good. This way there might be a chance they could go to lunch on time, instead of being late and barely having time to get to the castle for their next class. Speaking of which…

"How was Potions?" he asked, genuinely curious as to what the experience had been like. He had a feeling that Harry's treatment might mirror his own, given the attention he had commanded after his arrival.

The Boy-Who-Lived grimaced, recalling the intense questioning he'd been subjected to by Professor Snape. Three questions, one on the heels of the other – he'd missed the first one, which covered the ingredients of the Draught of Living Death (an advanced potion one normally didn't get to brewing till sixth or seventh year), but had gotten the other two correct.

Snape's response to his performance had been to drawl a thoroughly bored "…passable, Potter, barely."

When one of the Gryffindors, a red-headed boy by the name of Ron Weasley, had sniggered, whispering about how the Boy-Who-Lived apparently wasn't the Boy-Who-Had-All-The-Answers, the Head of House Slytherin had proceeded to whirl on him instead.

"Think you can do better, Weasley?" the man had sneered, looking down the length of his crooked nose with cold black eyes that made the redhead flinch. "What would I get if I combined Ashwinder egg, squill bulb, and Occamy eggshell?"

But there was no answer.

"Fine, Weasley. An easier question then. Ginger Root, Armadillo Bile, and Ground Scarab Beetles?"

Still, no answer.

"Weasley, you test my patience. One final chance, or it's a point from Gryffindor. Lethe River Water, Valerian sprigs, mistletoe berries."

"Uh…"

"Even Potter at least opened his book, Weasley, despite being a…celebrity," the man had drawled, as Weasley turned an interesting shade of red. "For your information, Ashwinder egg, squill bulb and Occamy eggshell makes the potion some call liquid luck, or Felix Felicis, which you obviously did not imbibe this morning. Ginger Root, Armadillo Bile and Ground Scarab Beetles together make the Wit-Sharpening Potion, a brew you could no doubt benefit from. And a mixture of Lethe River Water, Valerian sprigs, and mistletoe can cause effects similar to what Weasley demonstrated for us in its form as a Forgetfulness Potion. And five points from Gryffindor for your idiocy."

Weasley had apparently proved his incompetence later in the lesson when he and his partner, Neville Longbottom, were sent to the infirmary after their potion exploded, destroying a cauldron and covering both of them in angry, painful boils.

Shinji's mouth fell open for a moment in astonishment, before managing to shut it with an audible click.

To be dressed down on the first day of class, and end up in the infirmary? They weren't dead, granted but…

'…so there is danger here after all.'

Danger that only hard work and concentration could forestall. His instincts as a would-be magus wouldn't guide him wrong in that regard. Plus, with Snape seemingly a strict teacher who suffered no challenge in his own classroom, and had little patience for idiocy, he thought the man rather worthy of respect.

"Not a bad class though?" he asked to follow up, as he spread out some of the mulch – a mixture of woodchips and moss, on the soil, taking care not to cover any of the smaller plants.

"Well…no," Potter replied. A teacher had gone out of his way to defend him, after all, in one of the first times of his life. And Potions was…interesting. "No wands and spells though," he added with a touch of disappointment. Snape had been rather clear that the class would involve little wand-waving.

Shinji laughed softly as he saw some of the stragglers finally beginning to move towards the bags of mulch. He was less than surprised to see Sokaris working with Granger, and Greengrass with Davis, but the others he didn't have a good a read for.

"That explains why your House looks so disappointed," Shinji noted, smiling crookedly. "But Charms was the same way. Professor Flitwick wants us to learn why things work before we learn how to do them."

"Oh," Potter said, a little disappointed to hear this. "Maybe Transfiguration? Or…Defense against the Dark Arts?"

"Maybe," Shinji replied. He really didn't know. "We can always hope, right?"

"Let's hope so then."

The two shared a wry smile as they continued to work at a fairly efficient clip. Harry was small, but he'd done his fair share of yard work for the Dursleys before, and Shinji was nothing if not willing to work hard for a worthy goal.

Unfortunately, they didn't have the opportunity to talk further, as a blond boy – Malfoy – sidled up to the two. He was flanked by two thickset, mean looking boys, each of which was carrying a bag of mulch, and a fairly pretty dark-haired girl who was crouched down and doing most of the actual mulching of the group of four

"Ah, Potter – and Matou as well!" the blond greeted warmly. Shinji was immediately on guard – no one was that familiar unless he wanted something. "Shall we work together and get this…unsightly business taken care of?"

Shinji just made a gesture for the blond to do as he wished, whereupon the other fell into step with the mulching duo. Perhaps the effect was to make him seem regal, above such meaningless work, but Shinji found the pretense annoying.

Why make the offer to work together if you weren't going to do any of the actual work, after all?

"The name's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy," the blond said in belated greeting. "I have to say, Matou, you are a rare credit to the wizarding world," Malfoy continued, noting how the foreign boy was stooped and mulching with his own hands. "After all, you recognize the greatness of Slytherin, although you come from the other side of the world."

…for some reason, 'other side of the world' almost sounded like 'the savage wilds' in Malfoy's mouth. Or maybe Shinji was just imagining things.

Shinji just gave a non-committal grunt.

"But of course you do," Draco noted with a sniff. "After all, you're in Ravenclaw – the other respectable house here at Hogwarts. Certainly more than Gryffindor or, gods, Hufflepuff." Draco seemed to shudder. "If I was sorted into there—" He quieted briefly as Professor Sprout – the Head of Hufflepuff – walked by, observing them critically. "—I probably would have left."

While Shinji agreed that Ravenclaw and Slytherin were probably the best choices of the four, he wasn't about to say that the others were worthless. After all, there was a certain value in bravery and hard work. That, and Draco somehow managed to rub him the wrong way. He reminded Shinji of himself, and not in a good way – Malfoy seemed to want people to believe he was in charge.

But unlike Shinji, he lacked the power back it up.

"Hard work has a value of its own, Malfoy," he said reproachfully, more to disagree with the blond than anything else. To make a point, he looked over at Pansy and smiled at her, since she was helping to speed things along. Even Crabbe and Goyle were, after a fashion.

Malfoy...not so much.

"Well, of course," Draco acknowledged impatiently. "But come now, there's no need to be modest. Everyone's already talking about how you're a wizard from the east who can already do non-verbal, wandless magic. That's not something you can do with just hard work – you have to have talent. So…Pureblood or Halfblood?"

While Shinji appreciated the comment about having talent, he didn't like the thought of someone demeaning the work he put into learning his Craft.

"Hm?"

"Oh, come now," Draco responded, unsure of what to make of the foreigner's lack of reply. "I'm sure you couldn't have done all that as a mudblood."

"Mudblood?" Shinji echoed, frowning. "What does that mean?"

Now it was Draco's turn to frown.

"Oh, right. You come from the East," Draco realized, slightly chagrined, though he plowed on. "It means someone's family isn't of our kind. That they aren't Magical, I mean." He added this a hair later, remembering that since Shinji was a foreigner, he might very well take the "not of our kind" comment the wrong way. "I'm a pureblood myself – I can trace my magical lineage back almost to the time of the Founders."

"I see," Shinji said, getting an unpleasant feeling in his stomach.

"Just between you and me, I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you?" Malfoy related almost conspiratorially. "Mudbloods, I mean. They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways."

"Our?" Shinji echoed, only there was an edge to his voice at the blond's overfamiliarity. This was turning out like the encounter with Granger, only even worse, given his mood today. "Traditions are different in the East, you know."

"Ah, sorry," But the blond didn't look very sorry. "Just…look. Over in the East, where you're from, family matters, right?"

"Family matters," Shinji agreed, thinking of the Association and how certain families were pretty much nobles. But… "Talent matters more."

That was one of his sore spots, given he would have been the heir to a powerful family of magi, one stretching back hundreds upon hundreds of years – except for the fact he had no circuits.

"Yes, yes. Just as we say in Slytherin," Malfoy approved, thinking he was finally on the right track. "But as I was saying, I think magic should be kept in the old wizarding families. Why, some of these others…they don't even know about magic until they get the letter. You, I can make an exception for, since you're a foreign wizard, but mudbloods like Granger? Feh."

Shinji could feel wood chips digging into his palms as his hands clenched. He wanted nothing more than just make Malfoy shut up. Ofuda would be tempting – but well, his hands were otherwise occupied and using ofuda on a student without permission – in a classroom no less - would probably be problematic.

'Keep calm. Keep calm. Keep calm.'

"Malfoy, I think it would be best if you stopped standing around," Shinji said, a wicked idea popping into his head as he noted Professor Sprout coming around again. "After all, you shouldn't make a pretty girl like Parkinson do all the work for you…right Professor Sprout?"

Pansy, for her part, flushed at the exotic boy calling her "pretty" and worked just a little faster.

"Yes, well said, Matou," Professor Sprout said, hearing the tail end of the exchange. She'd noticed how quickly the two boys had set to work, and how others had taken their example from them. "Five points to you and Potter each for your hard work. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, I suggest you do as he says. The greenhouse won't mulch itself, you know."

Malfoy's mouth closed in a click, his face tinged pink with embarrassment as he took a handful of mulch from Goyle's bag and dropped it on the soil. He felt humiliated – but right now, he was powerless to do anything about it.

He could see why Potter hadn't said anything, since Slytherins were…discouraged from arguing outside the House, and he knew Matou but…he'd been made to lose face. This. This was unacceptable. This foreigner had humiliated him. Him. Why, who did this Matou boy think he was, snubbing the son of the man who held the Ministry in the palm of his hand? Why, he would…

"My father will hear of this," he hissed, stooping next to Shinji. "You'll see. You'll be sorry you ever—"

Shinji, hearing this, pulled a Rin. That is, he laughed in Malfoy's face.

It was too hilarious not to. This…boy was threatening to sic his father on him? One of these practitioners of Witchcraft? Did this failure of a Slytherin think this was going to bother him in any way when he had grown up with monsters like Matou Zouken?

Malfoy, for his part, was a little unnerved by this. He was not used to this reaction. No one had ever laughed in his face. People got angry. People became frightened. People apologized. People ignored it, maybe.

But no one ever laughed. Not at the name Malfoy. Not at a threat.

True, this Matou boy was a foreigner, but even he shouldn't be able to just ignore a threat that easily.

But this boy from the East was talking now, his grey eyes laughing in cruel, cruel mirth.

"Let me tell you a secret, Malfoy," Shinji whispered, leaning close to the blond, as the other leaned back to protect his personal space. "My grandfather could eat your father alive."

Quite literally, too, though he didn't take the time to explain that to Malfoy. Instead, he did the most terrifying thing of all.

He smiled.

That day, Malfoy realized two things. The first was that in every other species, those who casually showed their teeth were dangerous, were predators; the other was that discretion was sometimes the better part of valor.

He fled – over to another row, with Crabbe and Goyle in tow.

Pansy, however, remained behind, her mind a whirr as she did a bit of quick mental arithmetic.

If this boy from the east not only stood up to Malfoy but dared to laugh in his face wasn't bluffing, then his family must be powerful indeed. That and he had powerful friends in his own right, Pansy observed, glancing over at the hard working Potter, who had just listened to the exchange quietly.

Yes. Potter had listened and watched like a snake in the grass, allowing someone else to strike down a foe. …Potter was dangerous indeed, proving more Slytherin than Malfoy. Now Pansy Parkinson was many things, but no one had ever accused her of being stupid. And well, one knew the old adage about friends and enemies…

"Pass me some mulch, please," she said to Shinji, who smiled and angled the bag so the vivacious girl could take some. After all, there was always work to go around.

After Herbology broke for lunch, with the greenhouse finally mulched, Shinji had quietly let Potter know he'd work out a time for 'studying', before leaving him to walk away with Parkinson of all people. He didn't exactly know what her game was, but the more allies Potter had in his house, the better, especially as he knew it would probably push the boy to do better.

…just as he knew that Potter was unlikely to talk about his past with anyone in his House, if most of them had views similar to Malfoy.

Granger annoyed him with her challenges, but that was something he could live with. Malfoy though – his overfamiliarity and presumptuousness came just short of pissing him off, and he was glad he had been able to get the other boy into trouble.

And then came potions, where Professor Snape was, true to the warnings of the Slytherins, grilling them to make sure they had read in advance.

"Sokaris. What does Golpalott's Third Law state?" Professor Snape asked the purple-haired Ravenclaw who was seated next to Shinji.

"Golpalott's Third Law states that the antidote for a blended poison will be equal to more than the sum of the antidotes for each of the separate components," she said blandly, as if this was absolutely basic for her.

…and it probably was, now that Shinji thought about it.

Shinji was very glad for this, given what he'd heard about Potter's potion class. He had no desire to work with someone with no idea of what they were doing, as having his cauldron melted and getting sent to the infirmary covered boils was not how he wanted to end his day. Oh, yes, there was Defense against the Dark Arts, but he serious doubted there was going to be any actual Defense on the first day.

"Matou then," Snape moved on, cold black eyes staring at the boy from the East, "what would I get if I combined snake fangs, billywig stings, and Wolfsbane in a potion?"

"The Wideye Potion," Shinji responded, having skimmed the book after hearing about Weasley's…misfortune. "The antidote to the Draught of Living Death."

"Hm," was all Snape said before turning to a redhead – a Hufflepuff, if Shinji remembered correctly. "Bones, tell me a use for Dragon Liver."

"Doxycide, sir?"

"Was that a question or an answer, Bones?"

"An answer, sir," the redhead replied, a bit nervously.

"And Macmillan," Professor Snape said at last, his gaze fixing on the blond boy. "What is the effect of the Wiggenweld Potion?"

"It…awakens people from magical sleep?"

"Hmm, good – at least you lot bothered to open your textbooks. Perhaps there is hope for you yet," the Potions Master allowed. "As you know, you are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking." He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but his students caught every word – especially after the impromptu grilling they'd just endured. "Many of you will hardly believe this is magic, since there is no foolish wand-waving here, but this art allows one to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you are willing to learn."

Severus Snape was of course the head of Slytherin House. As such, he wanted his students to have a drive of their own, to succeed and excel because they had ambition – not because he told them the answers.

That was why he quizzed his classes on the first day of class, why he didn't cover theory in class, but allowed students to read the particulars of that on their own, while he covered the practical side in class, observing their aptitude, their preparation and so forth.

After all, what was the point of giving his students all the answers? They would become complacent, thinking someone would always feed them what they needed to know for an exam, a competition, for life. Well, the world didn't work that way, and he had achieved his own Potions Mastery through sheer hard work – and perhaps a modicum of talent.

Still, how were his students supposed to come into their own if they were…coddled, as he considered the gentle treatment many of his colleagues gave them? How would they learn without danger, without…risk?

How would they be ready for life if they would not take responsibility for their success?

He was well aware that many students grumbled about his teaching methods, but they were effective, sorting the wheat from the chaff. When it came to something like potions, lectures weren't what worked – students would forget what he'd taught them and cause more accidents. No, it was the quizzing, the tests, the having to work without a wand or any other kind of…safety net. They didn't want to be humiliated, and even less to be hurt – so they learned, learned into the marrow of their bones.

Snape had been especially concerned about three students this year – Potter and the two foreign students from abroad, especially after the stunt the boy from the East had pulled. It smacked of wanting attention – and Severus Snape had loathed gloryhounds ever since his first run-in with James Potter and his…Marauders during his very first year at Hogwarts – no on the Hogwarts Express. They'd hounded him, insulted him, turned his spells against him, taken everything he cared about from him. They'd even caused him to lose the friendship of Lily, his first and only person he'd really cared about – and to turn to the Dark Lord for revenge.

And then had come that blasted prophecy, and everything had gone wrong. Dumbledore had failed to keep Lily safe. The Potters' secret-keeper betrayed them. And the only one left alive in the house at Godric's Hollow was her son.

Harry Potter.

That boy who had come to Hogwarts this year, who had sat in his class and been sorted in to his House. What was he to do when Harry Potter's appearance – his face like his father's, but eyes…eyes like Lily's – brought the memories flooding back in force. He had never stopped loving Lily, and mourned her to this day. Seeing her son, the son she had with Potter was pain…pain worse than the most powerful Cruciatus he had ever endured.

And if he was harsher on the boy, using three questions on him instead of one, what of it? His mother had been a genius at potions; his father not so, and he'd wanted to see if the boy was one or the other.

But…neither had been true.

Potter had failed to answer the question about the Draught of Living Death – which Snape had never really thought he would get correct anyway, since that was a Seventh Year potion, but had known the others – the ones covered in the first year textbook.

So…competent, and not above opening a book despite his notoriety – perhaps there was hope for him yet.

But there had been something else – something strange. The look on Potter's face when Snape had given the Weasley boy a dressing down the likes of which he hoped the Gryffindor would not soon forget – a look of surprise and gratitude?

That had shaken the Potions Master more than he expected, though he had learned to keep what he felt from his face over the years. Besides, that had been overwhelmed by the subsequent accident by Weasley and Longbottom, which had given him the opportunity to act as a stern, unforgiving taskmaster.

Being the villain was more fun anyway.

With this group of students, including two from abroad, he wanted to make sure they were competent – and so they seemed, in theory. Indeed, Golpalott's Third Law was normally learned in advanced potions, as was the formula for the Wideye potion.

The other two – the Hufflepuffs – had been asked about first year potions, and they had gotten those easily enough. Snape expected, demanded no less, and often enough his favorite Houses to teach were Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs because they sought knowledge and were willing to work hard.

Gryffindors…the less said about them the better. They didn't study. They didn't learn. They were rude, arrogant, and proud – and they called it bravery.

But enough with that, Snape thought, as he set his students to work on a simple potion to cure boils.

To his pleasure, no cauldrons were melted this class, and he even had a pair – the foreigners – demonstrating proper technique and producing a fine potion at the end of it. Not perfect, but closer than he'd seen from any other students so far. He was tempted for a moment to examine their minds and see what they had learned, but after brushing the mind of one of them and running into what seemed a wall of pitch black darkness – he thought better of it – they had obviously had some kind of mental training, and it would be unwise to be caught.

Still, he said nothing, merely acknowledging the quality of their potion with a lack of comment – though he noted the subtle tightening of the purple-haired girl's expression as she turned the potion in. Clearly, she thought she hadn't performed as well as she'd like.

Which was…interesting indeed.

It almost made him laugh. Almost.

For who would have guessed that the most Slytherin of his students, the most ambitious and driven – would not be in Slytherin at all?

Defense against the Dark Arts was different than expected. Yes, the classroom smalled of garlic, and yes he wore a silly turban, but in the last few minutes, Professor Quirrell had made it a point to point out that while most feared the Unforgivable Curses, the mere fact that something was not a Dark Art, or Unforgivable, did not mean it could not control, hurt, or kill.

Yes, the three Unforgivables were powerful. No, that did not make them the end-all, be-all of the Dark Arts, for a clever person would likely use a different spell - a much more efficient spell for the same end result. Still, Imperio, Cruciatus, and Avada Kedavra had been covered, along with their effects. Utter domination of a person's will. The infliction of excruciating pain on an unwilling subject, with no magical counter. Instant death, unblockable by any shield charm.

They terrified many – but as Quirrell mentioned – there were counters. The Cruciatus and Killing curses could be blocked by a conjured object, for example; by taking shelter behind something solid; or by "fencing" with spell beams – that was, by attacking these spells head with other spells.

The last was particularly tricky, given that it required great precision to make sure the spell-beams connected – and Quirrell had promised a demonstration at some point – though not, he added, by trying to block Avada Kedavra itself – if his students paid attention.

He'd closed with this – that the most dangerous enemy one could face, the thing which one had to fear most of all was not any dark creature, or even a dark wizard, but fear itself. Fear which paralyzed otherwise capable wizards, fear which caused competent individuals to do foolish things, fear which caused age-old structures and societies to burn.