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 10. Butterfly Effects
In his office, Dumbledore closed his eyes as his mind went back to the interview with Sybill Trelawney – an applicant for the post of Divination Professor - so many years ago, and the utter farce it had been. And a farce it had been – it had been obvious from the start that she had had none of her renowned ancestor's divination skills, something which had disappointed him, as her relation to the renowned Cassandra was the only reason he had agreed to meet with her in the first place.
Frankly, he'd been planning on discontinuing the subject anyway, as Divination was obscure and inaccurate when performed by most, especially those born without an innate gift for prophecy. As such, while one could certainly teach methods of divining the future or gathering insights into future events using various rituals and tools, the practical value of what was learned was minimal.
Now, if a Seer was to take up the position of instructor, perhaps that would be different, as one who possessed an Inner Eye could certainly check a prediction or verify if a student had a gift for the subject. Alas…he had found Sybill wanting for the position, and had just started telling her so when she entered a true prophetic trance.
The words she uttered then held power, making his hair nearly stand on end. He'd heard prophecies before, but this…
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...
born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...
and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...
and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies"
This had been more relevant than most he'd heard…as it meant the war might be over at last. Tom Riddle and his followers had claimed so many lives, sunk to such depths of depravity, almost brought Magical Britain to its knees.
No outside help had come in that war – but thankfully no threats either. During the Grindelwald conflict, Albus Dumbledore had learned that at least one magical organization existed outside the Wizarding World.
They called themselves the Association, and they were utterly ruthless – even more so than Grindelwald himself. They lacked morals, consciences, human feelings; they cared not for such things, only that the existence of magic was not exposed to the Muggle world.
That was how he had met one of their agents.
While the man who had been Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts was taking a rare dinner in the Hog's Head tavern, a cloaked man who had identified himself as an Enforcer of the Association had sat down across from him.
He had been about to tell the man to leave him in peace, when this Enforcer casually mentioned Gellert Grindelwald, wondering what Dumbledore thought of his philosophy of atrocities "for the greater good."
Dumbledore tried to dismiss it – but then the man had brought up Dumbledore's own acquaintance with the dark wizard (and he had not forgotten how he had said wizard with such…disdain) – and wondered if the reason why he, known as one of the most powerful of wizardkind, had not gone to fight his old friend, was that he still agreed with Grindelwald's actions – tacitly supported them, even.
When Dumbledore sputtered an angry denial of this, the Enforcer had only smiled – an expression that had been anything but friendly.
"Words are easy, Dumbledore," the man had said then. "You have had ample opportunity to face Gellert Grindelwald in battle – and yet you have not. Some would say that this proves where your loyalties lie – but the Association is not so unreasonable. Thus we offer you an ultimatum: stop your comrade from revealing the existence of Magic."
"Or what?" the powerful wizard had replied sharply. No one – no one – had the gall to threaten him.
"Or we will do so in your place," the man had replied with utter certainty. "We will end the threat of Grindelwald by killing him and everyone he has ever known, to make sure his vision will have no heirs, starting with you and ending with the students of both Hogwarts and the Drumstrang Institute."
"Stupefy!" Dumbledore had roared, furious at the threat to his students, a stream of red light hitting the man square in the chest, but the man was utterly unfazed.
But that's…impossible.
"Try that again, Dumbledore and we will consider that a rejection of our terms," the Enforcer had said chillingly, as he turned his back and walked out. "Even should you succeed, should I not report back, the Association will consider you an ally of Grindelwald and act accordingly."
Albus Dumbledore had been tempted – tempted beyond words – to stop the man even so, to capture and question him, see what black arts he practiced – but he did not.
Could not.
Not when every student at Hogwarts might die for his curiosity. Hundreds of bodies laid out in the ruins of the castle, each of them staring at him with accusing eyes. Ariana's eyes…
He couldn't do it.
As much as he sought knowledge, sought to go beyond anything anyone knew, to delve into the secrets of magic – he stayed his hand for the greater good.
For what was one life when pitted against ten, a hundred, thousands?
Nothing.
And so Albus Dumbledore had let the Enforcer go, and had fulfilled the Association's request by taking the field against Grindelwald – had dueled his old friend in a fight some called legendary, had defeated him and claimed the Elder Wand – with the help of Fawkes, his phoenix familiar, which had taken a Killing Curse meant for him – and had stopped the Great Wizarding War.
In its wake, he was hailed as a hero, but he knew better.
Deep down, he knew the only reason he'd fought his old friend was because he was afraid. Afraid for what would happen if did not. He was no hero – he'd just done what he needed to do.
He'd never heard from the Association again after that. He'd gone looking for whatever information he could, seeing what he could find about this organization that had all but given the wizarding world itself an ultimatum. But all he'd found were mostly rumors and fragmented pieces of information. And yet even those added together to form a fairly scary picture. In the ancient history of the wizarding world, a group had refused to hide from persecution, thinking that for wizards to isolate themselves from society was the more dangerous of the choices before them. The very oldest records spoke of them fighting back against some enemy, hiding among the Muggles, developing powerful Dark Arts to use against their foes. It was believed that they had fought against an extention of the Church at the time, though information from the period was lacking, since the Wizarding World had been almost completely removed from the other elements of the supernatural world. Now, if this group had survived and had no use for wizardkind in general - why, who knew what they were capable of. They might all be the equivalent of dark wizards, with no use for the rest of the wizarding world. What he had read of them and how they were bent on developing their own arts further than anyone had done, in the very tradition of the Dark, seemed to prove this, as did their objection to Grindelwald being that he might reveal magic to the Muggles, not anything more moral in nature. The Enforcer they had sent had been decidedly an amoral man at that.
But he hadn't found any other evidence of them, despite his wanderings, as they didn't seem to exist in the Wizarding world - in wizarding society in general. Possibly, very possibly, they worked among the Muggles, hid among them, lived among them, making muggle-baiting much more dangerous than one might originally assume.
In such encounters, he'd come across practitioners of other arts, crossing paths with a few now and then, but he had no great knowledge of how they worked. His focus as Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards had been on the magic of wizards and witches, and his concurrent positions as Headmaster of Hogwarts and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot had left him too busy to pursue other inquiries in that line.
Nevertheless, he had been very cautious over the next few years, wondering if he would hear from them again, wondering if he should try and make contact. But then had come the rise of Tom Riddle – the self-proclaimed Lord Voldemort – who reminded him much – too much – of himself, and priorities had changed. Brilliant, powerful, even arrogant, believing he had the right to rule even while trapped, Dumbledore had not been blind to the parallels between Riddle and himself.
Several times, he had tried to warn Tom from his path – but this only made Riddle more guarded, more secretive. And in the end, Tom had risen up, claiming the loyalty of the beings the Wizarding World had cast out.
Tom – Lord Voldemort by then – had nearly destroyed Wizarding Society, leaving only Hogwarts untouched. Many said it was because Dumbledore was the only wizard that Voldemort had ever feared – and with the Elder Wand, he was indeed formidable – but Dumbledore himself knew better.
Tom was baiting him.
For his wayward student knew how he'd resisted taking up arms against Grindelwald, and how for all of his power, Dumbledore knew the weight of his crimes. His complicity, as it were. And even as Dumbledore's presence kept Hogwarts safe, with the Order fighting in his stead, it mattered not.
Tom steadily rose in power, grinding down the forces of those who would oppose him, as Dumbledore could only watch.
If he left Hogwarts…
The vision swam before his eyes. Hundreds of bodies, burned and blackened. Hundreds more laying still in death caused by the killing curse.
He couldn't abandon them – and so instead the world burned, because Albus Dumbledore himself was afraid.
The prophecy had been a boon – shortly thereafter the War had come to an end with the death of Voldemort, and only one family had had to die, or so it seemed. But Dumbledore knew better – the Prophecy meant that Harry Potter's destiny would be entwined with that of Riddle's, but…
"…the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not..."
That part of the prophecy bothered him immensely. As his equal could mean so many things, after all. Did it mean equal in power? Equal in skill? Or equal…in desire, in want, in purpose?
That last thought was chilling.
The world did not need another Riddle.
Hence, Dumbledore had done what he could to keep the young Harry Potter from following in his steps – from following in Riddle's steps. Done what he could to keep the young Harry Potter unaware of magic, unaware of his fame, unaware of the legacy of Voldemort and his followers, while still protecting him from those who might wish to kill him even now.
But…had it all been in vain?
After all, Harry Potter had been Sorted into Slytherin, the house of the ambitious and cunning, with those of the House of Snakes either banding to his side – Parkinson, Greengrass, Davis to name three – or being cast aside.
A notable example of the latter, Draco Malfoy, the young son of Lucius Malfoy, the man who had been Riddle's chief lieutenant and even now controlled the Ministry. The boy seemed uncomfortable with the Boy-Who-Lived, making a point to stay away from him at lunch.
…he thought he had been careful, but the Boy-Who-Lived was already gaining followers. Merely a single day had passed, and yet the balance of power in Slytherin was already changing, even if Harry should not have the capacity to use his fame in such a way.
And then there was the boy who had applauded Harry's Sorting. A boy whose hair was a distinctive shade of black that almost seemed blue.
Had he been from Russia, Dumbledore would have worried, as that color of hair had been a trait of the long-vanished Zolgen family, but he was from Japan. Yet, despite almost certainly not knowing of the Boy-Who-Lived, he had aligned himself with Harry Potter very quickly.
…it was, to say the least, concerning.
After a long first day of classes – and somewhat better meals, Shinji had finally managed to relax as he returned to Ravenclaw Tower. True to his word, Flitwick had prepared two of the private study rooms of the Tower for himself and Sokaris, showing him where the hidden entrances were in the common room, how to tap along the wall to reveal them, and of course, giving them their personal keys.
Given the so-called protection against intrusion on the Tower itself – which required students to answer riddles of all thing (What goes on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening? Being the current one) to gain access to the Common Room, Shinji was convinced that security wasn't actually a concern inside Hogwarts, as anyone clever enough, or with a sense of logic could enter Ravenclaw Tower.
Then again, the Sorting Hat had said that this… 'Wizarding World' had gone into hiding to escape the Holy Church, hadn't it? If Hogwarts was built during that time, they would be concerned about threats from without, not within.
And well, perfect security was impossible with eleven-year old children anyway.
Which meant…this was all one big mind game.
The Sorting of people into four houses.
The "passwords."
All of it was like telling someone "you can't go here" or "you shouldn't do this."
…when anyone with a shred of common sense would know that making something forbidden only made someone more likely to want to do it.
Which made him wonder why Dumbledore had mentioned the Third Floor Corridor being off-limits, something that would no doubt make even students curious. There was something there – something he wanted someone to go after.
But what?
Shinji knew he didn't have all the piece of the puzzle. There was much of this world he didn't really understand, so he'd have to ask. There were plenty of people still milling about in the Common Room, and he didn't want to show them where the study rooms were anyway.
One particularly large group was camped out on the couches by the fire, talking energetically about the day's affairs – the excitement of the first day of classes and such. Some were seated at the study desks, chatting about Hogwarts, seeing magic for the first time, or other such.
And the third – well the third was most interesting to him, with as it consisted of two prefects - Robert Hillard and Penelope Clearwater if he remembered correctly – seated across from each other on the great armchairs.
"…Gringotts? Did you hear?" the prefect known as Penelope Clearwater was saying. "A high-security vault too."
"…go on, pull the other one," Hillard said, clearly skeptical.
"No, really. It's been all over the Prophet!" Clearwater insisted, her animated features quite striking by firelight.
"…fine then, who did it?" the dark haired Hillard replied. "I mean, the goblins should have caught the thief and strung him up by now, right?"
"Well…that's the thing…" Penelope hedged, hesitating.
"You're saying no one was caught yet?" Robert asked incredulously. "There hasn't been a single person in the history of the Wizarding World who has managed to steal something from Gringotts. Well…except the Ministry itself, when they seized control of the bank following one of the Goblin Rebellions. But that aside, it's the safest place in the world. Except, maybe Hogwarts."
"…he didn't actually steal anything."
Hillard's eyebrows shot for the heavens – and made a fairly credible attempt at it, too.
"Wait, you're telling me someone broke into Gringotts – one of their high security vaults, no less, and didn't steal anything?"
"Not for lack of trying. The goblins say the vault that was broken into had been emptied earlier in the day."
"Merlin," Hillard breathed.
Shinji frowned. He recognized the name of course, the name of one of the greatest magi of the past, court "wizard" to King Arthur himself, but the way Hillard had said it sounded off – it sounded more like someone would say "God" or "Kami."
Which bothered him greatly - after all, it wasn't as if magi swore by Zelretch (or the Root), or onmyouji by Abe no Seimei.
"Yeah, it makes you wonder if somehow, You-Know-Who didn't die," Penelope said quietly, shivering despite being close to the fire. "If he just went into hiding and is recovering his strength. After all, who but a powerful Dark wizard would have the power to break those wards?"
"Well, it could be a new Dark wizard too," Robert said, more for argument's sake than anything else.
"…you're not helping, Robert," Penelope replied, frowning. The thought of yet another Dark wizard rising was enough to make the stomach turn. After what You-Know-Who had done, the terrible things he had wrought so that people feared his very name…
But the other prefect had thought of something.
"You don't think…maybe whatever it is, it's at Hogwarts now?" the dark-haired older boy asked slowly, frowning himself now. "I mean, why make that corridor on the Third Floor – you know, the place where they normally have Defense – out of bounds…unless you were hiding something there."
"Robert…" the blonde said warningly, only for the dark-haired prefect to shake his head.
"No, think about it, Dumbledore didn't even tell us a reason we're not allowed to go there," Robert continued, brows knitting together as he concentrated. "We know why the Forbidden Forest is forbidden – it's full of dangerous beasts. And when something is closed for maintenance or repairs, they let us know. But no reason this time. Unless he just warned the Gryffindors, because they're just the sort to be reckless enough to go there otherwise?"
"No…Percy didn't mention anything," Penelope said slowly. "He was pretty annoyed about that himself, actually."
"…so, it's a trap. At Hogwarts," Robert stated, his face going completely flat. He looked around, seeing Shinji standing nearby and gestured for him to come closer. "Matou, was it? You're from Japan, right? Don't know much about Magical Britain?"
Shinji just shook his head, wondering where this was going.
"Ok, consider this then," the prefect said in a particularly dry tone of voice. "If you were trying to set a trap for a thief, but you didn't know who the thief was, how would you go about doing it?"
"…is this about the off-limits corridor on the Third Floor?" Shinji asked, causing Robert to shoot Penelope a triumphant look of 'I told you so.'
"We don't know," Penelope said, shooting her fellow prefect a more annoyed look. "Robert seems to think so, though."
"Penelope, a first-year can see it," the dark-haired prefect groaned, shaking his head. "Look, I have as much faith in the Headmaster as anyone, but this is going a bit far, don't you think?"
"Well…he did say it was out of bounds…"
"…and when has that ever stopped anyone?" the older prefect complained. "You know how many people we find on our patrols late at night. And I know bloody well you used part of yours to meet up with Percy, so don't try to be a saint."
Penelope Clearwater went red – an effect made quite dramatic by her very pale skin.
"Well, fine, what if you're right?" she asked, looking at her fellow prefect sharply. "What if it's a trap? Who's it a trap for? One of the teachers? I mean, with the exception of Quirrell—"
"—who was the Muggle studies professor for a number of years—"
"—everyone else has held their post for a number of years. And it can't be one of the students. I mean, imagine – a Dark wizard masquerading as a student – that would be ridiculous."
"Well, it can't be Snape," Hillard mused, shaking his head. "No Dark wizard would be that obvious about being one. You don't think he suspects Flitwick? I mean, our Head of House being part-goblin and all…"
"No, I don't think Dumbledore is one to discriminate like that," Penelope crinkled her nose at the thought, unhappy that her Head of House – a good Professor and a good man – might be coming under suspicion. "I don't know. I just can't think of a good reason for it."
"Well, I agree with you, but then Dumbledore has been getting odder every year. I mean 'Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!'? Really, Penelope?"
"…you might have a point," the blonde prefect conceded. Then her eyes narrowed. "But you're not going to go looking for trouble, are you, Robert?"
"Oh me? Oh no, not at all," Hillard replied glibly, trying his best to look innocent and not at all like the kid who was caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"Matou, don't learn from him," Penelope said, addressing the first year from the East. "Robert's a troublemaker at the best of times. He's not up to the standards of the Weasley Twins, but—"
"—for Merlin's sake, Penelope, it was one time," Robert argued back, groaning as he recalled the incident she spoke of. "Old Percy's hair looked better in blue and grey anyway."
"It did not! Robert Hillard, you…you prankster!" the blonde prefect exclaimed indignantly, drawing the attention of the other students. More quietly, she continued, her voice softening. "That aside, we're prefects. We're supposed to be setting an example to the rest of the students. What kind of example would it be if you went looking for trouble on the third floor and got hurt – or killed?"
Robert looked away.
"I suppose you're right – but you know the Weasley twins are going to try it anyway," he muttered, shaking his head. "Inveterate troublemakers."
"I'll get Percy to keep them out of trouble," Penelope said frankly, her lips twisting a bit as she remembered some of their antics. "You stay out of trouble too, alright, Matou? I know you're still pretty new but you're getting a lot of attention already, since you apparently know the Boy-Who-Lived."
"You even defended him pretty well last night in the Common Room," Hillard noted, smiling with approval at the younger Ravenclaw. "Something about how his ambition was to become the hero everyone saw him as. Impressive…" He frowned then. "– though I can't say the same about what I heard you did later."
…ah.
"You had her permission, so I can't really say much about it, but…Ravenclaws are supposed to look out for each other, you hear me? Even if being a bit too much of a know-it-all isn't really a good thing."
"Robert, you weren't any different back then, you know," Penelope said then, her voice laced with disapproval.
"And that's why I was the Weasley twins' favorite target for a while, until I learned to live a little," the other prefect responded. "I would have been better off if I'd listened for a while before just speaking up – especially when I wasn't sure I was right."
Penelope just huffed.
Shinji was getting the impression that this was an argument that the two had gone through a number of times, though they seemed friendly enough.
"Anyway, Matou, something you wanted to ask?" Hillard continued. "Couldn't help but notice you just standing there, not sure of who to talk to. And since you answered one of my questions, turnabout is fair play."
Well, now that the prefect asked.
"Actually I do have a question," Shinji spoke up. "What's a Mudblood?"
Both of the prefects frowned as he asked that, with some of the others in the room looking over at him sharply.
"…where did you hear that word?" Hillard asked, his eyes burning with sudden annoyance and suspicion. He hoped it wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived who was using that kind of language, because that would just bode ill for everyone involved.
"A Slytherin called Draco Malfoy," Shinji responded, thinking back to his encounter with the boy. "He called Granger one, said that people who didn't know about magic didn't deserve it, unlike purebloods."
"Did he really?" the prefect murmured, grip tightening on the armchair. "And what did you say?"
"…I got him in trouble, since I didn't like how he was standing around with Crabbe and Goyle and making Pansy do all of his work for him," Shinji replied frankly. The encounter had been satisfying – but what had happened after…?
"He wasn't happy about that, was he?" Hillard queried. He'd heard things about the Malfoy family and how proud they were, how they believed they were better than anyone else.
"He threatened to sic his father on me," Shinji admitted, which left both prefects almost scowling now. To use Lucius Malfoy's influence against someone was…serious.
"…and what did you do then?" Penelope inquired. She was honestly quite curious about this, given how little gossip ever came out of Slytherin house.
"I laughed in his face."
Everyone in the room froze for a second. A very long second that stretched on and on and on.
"You…laughed in his face?" Robert echoed, vaguely incredulous.
"I thought Slytherins were supposed to be ambitious and cunning, but if that's so I don't know how Malfoy got sorted there," Shinji commented, shrugging. "Potter's ambition I understand, and he works hard. Malfoy's lazy, unambitious, and wouldn't know what cunning was if it hit him in the face."
Some of the other students gaped. For someone to just casually insult a member of the Malfoy family was virtually unheard of.
"Still," Robert said, looking faintly disturbed. "You should be careful. Lucius Malfoy is a powerful man."
"What's the worst he can do, expel me?" Shinji asked, more through bravado than anything else. "I could just go to Mahoutokoro instead."
'…I'd probably even like it more…'
"…right," the prefect said, sighing. "Well, to answer your question, mudblood is a foul name for someone with no magical parents, usually used by pure-bloods – people who can trace their lineage back through many generations of wizards. It means their blood is dirty and t-taints those they mix with." He looked hard at the Matou boy. "Don't let me catch you using that word. Ever."
"I wouldn't lower myself to Malfoy's level," Shinji answered, now thinking even less of the blond. "Even if he is in the same house as Harry. Besides, if he's calling his father all the time, he must be pretty weak himself."
"Maybe. I've used up enough of your time, Matou, unless you have any more questions?"
Shinji shook his head.
He'd gotten the answers he wanted, even if the information about the third-floor corridor didn't reassure him at all. With that done, it was time to retire to bed, especially since he didn't see Sokaris around – not that he thought monopolizing her time was a good thing. He was still catching up on sleep from the first night, after all.
And so Shinji turned towards the wall where the study rooms were kept, only for someone to walk up behind him.
"You stood up to Malfoy when he called me a Mudblood," the manner-of-fact voice of Hermione Granger spoke, almost confused. "Why?"
Hermione was sure the boy from the East had no reason to do so. He'd demonstrated his annoyance with her clearly enough the first night, so why had he done this? By all indications, he was probably a pure-blood too, with his abilities - his non-verbal, wandless casting, which Flitwick had said only most powerful could accomplish.
"I didn't do it for you, Granger," Matou Shinji said after a few moments, without turning around. "I did it because Malfoy was being a prat."
Hermione blinked at this. That was about what she'd expected. Still, whatever reason he had done it for, he had defended her so…
"Thank you all the same," she said quietly.
Matou…confused her. Made her feel like she was nothing one moment, and someone who meant something in the next. And that was something she'd never had to deal with before. She had always been able to classify people into neat little boxes - but not him.
Shinji just grunted as he disappeared through the suddenly intangible wall, sealing it in his wake.
He stood now in the quiet, dimly lit corridor from which the study rooms branched off. Sokaris was in room 4, at the end of the way, while he had been assigned to room 1.
Without further ado, he fished out the key he had gotten from Flitwick, and fitted it to the keyhole. With a heavy thunk, it opened, revealing the place he would soon turn into his sanctuary from the school's madness – his personal workshop (at least, for the year).
Entering it, he quickly took stock of the room, which didn't take long, given how small it was. It was rather Spartan, lacking the luxuries of the dorm itself, and from the look of it had been designed for students working on major projects who didn't want to be disturbed, not for long term habitation.
A small cot and desk stood in one corner of the room, with a small workbench and stool in the other, and enough floor space for him to stretch out if he needed to. There were no curtains, no soft carpets, no fire here – save for the small burner on the workbench, if he needed to brew something – just walls of cold, barren stone and what looked like oak paneling on the ground.
Shinji didn't mind. He didn't need anything too large or too comfortable.
He just needed somewhere where no others could intrude without his permission. Somewhere hidden from the sight and sound of others, where he could not feel the presence of other humans.
Somewhere he felt safe.
This small place, this place surrounded by stone, warded by charms to prevent damage to the chamber, hidden away by sophisticated spellwork, was perfect. It might not work for practicing or teaching the art of Onmyoudou to the Boy-Who-Lived, but he'd think of something in the next few days.
Probably.
For now, he was tired, and so he'd sealed the door, both by locking it and by using one of his ofuda, before walking over to the cot and collapsing into a long, dreamless sleep.
Waking up that morning, Shinji had felt safe enough to restock some of his ofuda. It was a slow, gradual process, which involved sitting down and picturing what he wanted in his mind, channeling raw power into a piece of paper, and then binding power to form with a character using ink and brush. He knew he was taking a risk, as no user of thaumaturgy had infinite prana, and spellwork was required in class, he might not have the focus and energy for it, but he thought it was worth it.
Based on the first day, after all, none of the professors had asked their students to perform spellwork – with Professor Flitwick in fact, saying it was unlikely they would do so before Halloween – so Shinji thought he might as well study his Craft, something which one else at the school could do.
This time though, having heard about a possible Dark practitioner hiding somewhere in the school, he didn't just make Ofuda of sealing and binding.
He made offensive ofuda.
Not ofuda of binding or weakening, but ofuda of destruction.
These were perhaps the easiest of all to visualize – paper erupting into fire and light and sound, like miniature bombs. The most draining though, as the prana mix was not entirely stable – the prana wanted to flare to life now, to consume paper and air and become a ball of flame and power.
The others – sealing and separation – had been easier, since by nature, they closed, separated – and were meant to last, to be refilled.
And indeed, they were easier to fill a second time, though their capacity was slightly less than before, meaning there was a limit on how many times a single paper could be reused.
These single-use ofuda wouldn't have that issue.
In the process of making them though, he sometimes thought his wand was whispering to him, telling him he could do more than this – that he could make something which would burn the soul, tear apart the essence of a being, not just the body. He could feel the stream of prana from his core resonating with the core in his wand, as well as it - the darkness he had conjured at The Root of the Sky.
It lay there, coiled like a sleeping serpent, waiting to be used, to be awakened, to be turned against a foe in vengeance.
But he resisted.
He trembled, sweating, panting from the effort, his breath loud in the silence of the room – but he kept the ofuda focused on the physical, forcing the raging storm of prana down into the paper.
Binding the force of destruction itself with paper, ink, and will.
…at last, the first was finished, the storm receding.
Like any boy though, Shinji couldn't quite help testing the explosive ofuda – though he took the precaution of using an ofuda of warding – one of those that could seal sound and pressure – separating the inner and outer worlds, on himself.
When he could no longer hear what was going on, could only feel what he touched directly, he took up the first of the destructive ofuda, closed his eyes, and hurled it forth.
It moved through the air silently and erupted into an incandescent blaze that for one brief, shining moment, turned night into day.
Even with his eyes squeezed tightly closed, Shinji could see it – a pure, white light that seemed to burn away everything.
For a moment, at least, before it faded.
Shinji dispelled the Ofuda of Warding and smiled as he looked down on a large pile of talismans he had yet to fill with power, thinking about the darkness he could conjure to blind, the explosions of light he could bind into paper to disorient and confuse, and more potent bombs to destroy.
And with that in mind, Matou Shinji smiled.
Yes…this…this is a start.
Based on the previous day's misadventures, Matou Shinji had thought himself ready for anything. Anything, however, had not included the impossible, which Professor McGonagall transforming from a tabby cat into a human most certainly was.
Simple demonstrations – fine.
Theory, yes.
Alteration of a stick into bow, or paper into a sword (as a weapon), yes.
The factors that a practitioner of witchcraft must take into account when transfiguring an item, with the intended transformation (t) directly proportional to bodyweight (a), viciousness (v), wand power (w), concentration (c) and a fifth unknown variable (Z), certainly.
The demonstration of what McGonagall had called one of the ultimate achievements in Transfiguration – becoming an animagus – had rocked Shinji to his core, because that kind of transformation – done so fluidly, so easily made no sense.
A being had a fundamental shape for which its soul was the blueprint.
Altering that on any significant level should be extremely difficult – it was why such things as self-reinforcement, or worse, reinforcing other people were considered difficult magecraft, while reinforcing something inorganic was simple.
As long as something was human, this was simply not possible.
This "Animagus" transformation; the rumored Metamorphmagus abilities that some of these practitioners were said to have – these were not things any magus could achieve. Nothing that anyone who was still a human could achieve.
Shinji froze then, his face going blank as his thoughts screeched to a halt.
…the only beings he knew of with the ability to change physical appearance at will, either between two forms or whatever form they chose – were not fully human at all.
Dead Apostles. Matou Zouken. Animal Spirits. Elementals.
Dragons.
Beings of the Transcendent Kind, who needed…
'…no Magic Circuits to actualize a mystery.'
None of these practitioners had circuits – if they did, they wouldn't be able to cast as easily, to live as normal people.
The Surein Toroi character in Mahoutokoro had said as much, saying what he possessed – what he assumed the rest of these people possessed – was something like a magic core.
Those did not occur naturally in humans.
Those were the byproduct of humans inbreeding with those of the transcendent kind – demons, faeries, even dragons.
Was that why the Church had hunted these practitioners of Witchcraft? Because the ancestors of these people hadn't been pure humans, but hybrids with nature spirits or demons?
He could see it.
Morgan Le Fay, the half-sister of King Arthur, had also been a Lady of the Lake once. Abe no Seimei, Japan's most famous onmyouji and credited for the development of Onmyoudou – had been half-kitsune. And Merlin – Merlin who these practitioners seemed to worship – had been half-incubus.
That must be it – the animal transformations – were reversions, with these part-humans tapping into the abilities of their long dormant blood to transform as animal spirits could.
And then there were the wands.
Wands that were not just mystic codes, not just commonly made amplification items but had to be matched to the user.
If each wand was capable of different things and only compatible with certain users due to the materials used – did this not mean that it was using something of nature to resonate with the long dormant blood sleeping inside of them, and to control it?
Was that why they could do "accidental magic" before formally trained? Because by nature their power was unconfined and responded to intent?
…it fit. Oh, it fit too well even.
It was startling, and did they not have his background, he didn't think anyone would have thought of it – but he knew it had to be true. This society which isolated itself, which discriminated against non-humans, was itself based on long-ago interbreeding between humans and the transcendent kind.
'Merlin…was he the one who established this society? With the help of Nimue?'
That he didn't know. There was much he didn't know.
Much he had to learn.
And learn he resolved to do, even as Professor McGonagall turned her desk into a pig and back again, explained the basic mechanics of transfiguration, and handed out matches for them to transfigure into needles. Shinji, having used up much of his prana beginning of the day, was unable to effect any change to his match.
To his surprise, however, neither had Sokaris.
Indeed, by the end of the lesson, only Hermione Granger had managed to make her match go silver and pointy.
And so things went for some time, day after day, routine setting in. Flying classes had been uneventful, with no incidents caused in the Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff session – though he'd heard later that Malfoy had attempted to make a scene, only to be stopped by Potter in the Gryffindor/Slytherin lessons.
Speaking of such, Shinji eventually found some time to dash off a missive to the Boy-Who-Lived about arranging a time to meet, along with some basic information about how to make ofuda and two of his sealing ofuda - one to assure his privacy in Slytherin when he was making these, and the other as a template he could use. Still, it was not until two weeks later when time opened up in both their schedules for a meeting.
That, unfortunately, was the very same day the Great Hogwarts Prank War went hot.