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 11. Up in Flames
It had all begun innocuously enough. Murmurings of discontent picked up by those who had the power to act, petty mischiefs worked on one person or another in the privacy of their dormitories, people who normally excelled making mistakes one after another.
Nothing concrete, nothing that could provoke a large-scale response – nothing that the victims would talk about, given that the small things had been embarrassing, nothing that could conclusively be tied to someone else's machinations…
But it was enough.
Enough to send a frisson of anxiety through the general population. Enough for everyone to be on edge, to think that something was wrong, to wonder who would be next.
Shinji himself had been hit a few times by odd happenings. On one occasion, his hair had been turned into wakame seaweed during lunch – though it had changed back by dinner when he hadn't said anything.
Yes, he'd been annoyed. He knew it was probably someone from Slytherin who wanted to curry favor with the Malfoy family, or possibly one of the Weasleys, given the perception that he was a Slytherin supporter. While Hillard was a prankster himself, he didn't think the prefect would prank someone of his own house.
(Though privately, he wondered how many people thought him to be a practitioner of Dark Arts and seeker of forbidden knowledge – and why, if they thought so, they would be willing to prank him. Wasn't Hogwarts' motto to "Never tickle a Sleeping Dragon"?)
The prank was petty – though Shinji admitted that he was a bit vain – but hadn't inconvenienced him much, aside from some curious looks. His clothing hadn't been damaged, his books were fine, his ofuda were intact – and his wand was untouched.
And in a way, it meant someone at Hogwarts had bothered to do some basic research. After all, there was a Shinto festival called mekari shinji (of which the similarity to Makiri Shinji had not escaped him), where wakame seaweed was cut from the ocean at low tide and offered to an altar on New Year's Day for good fortune.
Frankly, given the cuisine, the manners of some of these folk, and such, Shinji was finding that he missed Japan, and whoever had pranked him almost reminded him of home.
Not the Matou home of course, given that he didn't care much for either his grandfather or his…sister, but just Japan in general. The culture. The food. The convenience and richness of tradition. The freedom to explore – which he knew was limited here.
So that particular incident hadn't bothered him too much.
Getting constipation several days in a row, however – which he would have attributed to the alien diet at Hogwarts, except for the fact that everyone else was reporting it too, was much more irritating.
And as the incidents intensified, he could feel it. The worry, the subtle stiffness everyone seemed to be displaying, the anxiety like a fish suffocating in a tank.
Some of the rumors had even spoken of issues happening within the Common Rooms themselves – people itching when sitting down on something, or vomiting up slugs – leading Shinji to think that he'd been right, internal security at Hogwarts was itself something of a joke and some prankster had gotten into all the houses – either that or people were pranking each other in each house. Either way, Shinji was very glad his corridor and study room were places others could not intrude, where he could throw himself into work and not think about the madness brewing.
With the benefit of something resembling a proper workshop, his ofuda-crafting had improved slowly but steadily, with him managing a bit more variety in the mix of light to heat to concussive force in his destructive ofuda.
Unfortunately, he'd made no progress towards making shikigami as of yet, but he hadn't expected that anyway. What he had done though, were rework some of the sealing ofuda into binding ofuda – though he had no way of testing those yet.
Potter would help him with that, he was sure, would jump at the chance to learn this "subtle science and exact art", to copy of one of Professor Snape's favorite lines. Perhaps not so strangely, Shinji actually liked the head of Slytherin House, since there was nothing soft about the man.
Snape was cold, practical, business-like – someone who did not suffer idiocy, insult or intrusion into his private spaces. Someone who didn't mind letting others take risks, because they would not learn without it. To be honest, he reminded Shinji of what a magus should be – and it wouldn't surprise him if Snape had an area of the dungeons he had made into a workshop – or a laboratory at any rate.
Shinji thought he would have made a better father than the drunken lout he'd been stuck with. He hated Byakuya, the broken, weak man who had hidden the truth from him, the disfigured, one handed man who had given him false, twisted hope.
If it weren't for him. If he's known to begin with.
No.
Such things were behind him. He wasn't his father. He wasn't his grandfather. He was Matou Shinji, a practitioner of Witchcraft and an Onmyouji, not a failure of a magus.
Or so he told himself, since such thoughts made it difficult for him to shape prana, to keep the violently agitated prana of destructive ofuda under control. He hadn't taken any out of his room yet, as he didn't see a reason to use them, just some of his (untested) binding ofuda and the usual sealing and warding varieties.
He'd found the sound ward to be quite useful in History of Magic, where he could block out the ghostly professor's bone dry recitation of the events of the Goblin Rebellions and Giant Wars. It was funny, under anyone else the topic of Dark "wizards", goblins, and wars would have been thrilling to any eleven year old boy, but the specter that went by the name of Binns had a way of draining the life out of everything.
The way Binns mixed up the names of students, calling them what Shinji could only assume were the names of students he'd had when he was yet alive, made it worse, as it only served to emphasize how disconnected the ghost was to reality.
Was it was because he was a Wraith, and was feeding off of students' happy emotions, consuming their enthusiasm unsuspectingly?
He didn't know, but while the nature of ghosts at Hogwarts was an interesting puzzle, it wasn't immediately relevant to his objectives, so he didn't think about it.
The boy from the East had showed incredible caution in the first few days after he deduced the mixed heritage that he was sure lay at the root of these practitioners' abilities, but after a while, had relaxed. Ultimately, whatever their background, it didn't change anything. He was here to learn, and if he was here, with the ability to use their gifts, it meant he shared some of this ancestry.
…he supposed that such a thing might have excluded him from possessing Magic Circuits, but he wasn't sure. It must have been possible in the past – though he wasn't sure about that. The time when such mingling might have occurred was long, long ago, back when many magi simply used Divine Words, before memory and recollection had become myth and legend, the truth lost to the ravages of time.
In retrospect, he'd expected that with the attention he'd received, he'd be pranked sooner or later – as he had been, but had assumed that so long as he stayed above the fray, not commenting, not reacting, the storm would pass, right?
…but Matou Shinji had been wrong.
He saw this now as he stood in the middle of the Great Hall, his robe and other clothing a charred, tattered ruin of its former self – the mere fact it had survived being a testament to the quality of the materials used—and his hair an unbroken mess of rippling azure-silver flames.
The earlier pranks had been nothing compared to this.
He'd ignored these, thinking they were beneath him, and besides, the effects of the spells had faded soon enough.
But this…someone would pay for this.
This time, he hadn't just been embarrassed due to a cosmetic change – hadn't just suffered a blow to his dignity, as significant as that was. No, this time, they'd made it personal.
The robes he had spent so much time being fitted for – robes enchanted against the weather, made to be self-repairing and self-cleaning – were a smoking wreck. He was only thankful that he'd left his wand and books in his room, given that Charms and Herbology didn't hadn't begun teaching spells yet, but his ofuda – most had been consumed or charred, rendered useless by the sudden blaze of blue fire that had washed over him.
Only one had survived in usable form, its position in the center of the packet making it so that it had only been lightly singed.
He wasn't exactly sure how this had happened – all Shinji knew was that he'd just sat down for breakfast when he'd felt a surge of prana – and something like a warm summer breeze - wash over him, with Sokaris' eyes reflecting something blue.
He'd looked down to see that he was on fire, that eerie blue flames were licking at his robes, his hair, everything – and bolted upright.
The fire went out scant seconds after he did, just in time for a jet of water from a quick-thinking, but not quite quick enough Aguamenti cast by Hermione Granger to soak him to the bone.
…and then a voice started to sing:
"Liar Liar, Your Pants are on Fire!
You're just a worm without your fancy attire
Dark wizard wannabe don't you get mad!
Pining for Potty, oh you've got it so bad, ohoho!"
And then it began to repeat, with Shinji trembling in utter incandescent rage, looking for some kind of outlet. That was it – the last, bloody straw. He'd been the soul of restraint up until now, ignoring the transfiguration of his hair, the constipation and such. Even more so than Sokaris, who'd been visibly annoyed after her hair had been recolored green and silver, with an additional enchantment adding a bit of sibilance whenever she spoke, so that she sounded like a snake.
Shinji gripped his one remaining ofuda tightly in clenched fists, hoping that if he gave the magical fire no space, it wouldn't burn these last, precious bits of stored power he had worked so hard to prepare, and sat down.
Some of his Housemates edged away from him as the blue fire blazed into existence again, quickly spreading from his hair to the rest of his body, but Shinji didn't say anything, just focusing on keeping one of his fists clenched so tightly it almost drew blood. The flames slowly ate at his already charred robes, and began to blacken the table where he sat, but at least the song fell mercifully silent.
The laughter from the Slytherin table – from Malfoy and his gang – didn't exactly help, with the pale-faced blond boy making snide remarks about how Shinji, far from being powerful wizard from the East, was obviously barely more than a squib – and one who couldn't control his powers.
Why, Malfoy said, the foreigner was obviously worse than Weasley or Longbottom, as one could obviously see from the display of accidental magic just now. And he'd heard that even the mudblood Granger had outperformed the Eastern boy in Transfiguration.
'Accidental Magic, Malfoy?' Shinji thought venomously. 'I'll show you accidental.'
It was then that Harry and his group of Slytherins broke the cardinal rule of the snakes, by disagreeing with other Slytherins in public.
"Oh come off it, Malfoy," Parkinson spat at the boy she'd once seen as a ticket to the top. "If he's a Squib, why did you run off with your tail between your legs last time you talked to him?"
"Because, Parkinson," Malfoy drawled, enjoying the moment too much for his own good. "Anyone thinking he's better than a Malfoy is obviously crazy, and who knows what a crazy person would do. Especially one who obviously likes blokes as much as that one. Foreigners and their strange traditions."
The blond had gotten another round of laughter for his crude joke – and Shinji had a target he needed to silence.
Shinji got up then, his clothing now mostly burned to rags, noting that the song did not start up again.
'…maybe it only starts if someone tries to put the fire out?'
With the air of a dangerous predator, he stalked over to the Slytherin table, to where Malfoy sat and laughed, flanked by the heavyset Goyle and Crabbe. Utter menace was in his eyes, though with his hands in the open, and no wand visible, no one stopped him.
…well, Goyle and Crabbe stood up as he approached and tried to bar his way forward, but Malfoy waved them off.
"Let's see what the foreign Squib has to say for himself," the blond drawled, smiling viciously at what had happened. "Look at him, unable to control his magic, coming to his betters for help. Why—"
"Kono yarou,"Shinji snarled quietly – but it was pitched in such a tone the entire Slytherin table could hear.
"What did you say, Squib?" Malfoy jeered, standing up to look the other boy in the eye, though he purposefully glanced at the boy's flaming hair with disdain. Oh, he was enjoying this, seeing that eastern bastard taken down a peg. "That didn't sound like much of an apology."
That smug tone. That tone of insolence.
Oh, if only Shinji had had his wand, a curse might have flown – perhaps even something of the sleeping darkness – but as it was, he had nothing.
"Stop it Malfoy," the boy from the east replied quietly, a dangerous undertone in his voice. "Or you won't like what happens next."
"What? Are you threatening me?" Malfoy asked incredulously, taking out his wand and pointing it at Shinji. It was early and the teachers were not yet there, except for Quirrell, who didn't seem to care about the mess developing below. "You who can't even control your magic?"
"Of course not," Shinji said, that terrifying smile on his face once again. "I'm just going to give you a hug."
"…what."
But it was too late for "what", as Shinji closed the distance between them and caught Draco in a big hug…right before sitting down and erupting once more into flames – flames that quickly spread to Draco's robes and wand – but not his hair.
"No! No! What are you doing?! My wand! Crabbe, Goyle, stop him!" Draco said as he flailed about, trying to escape – but it was no good. The blond knew fear then, knew panic, knew what it was like to vent his bowels as he imagined the flames burning him to ash.
Shinji's strength, maddened by anger, was like iron, and his expression was murderous.
The two large boys grabbed his arms, trying to make him let go of their 'boss', but that only made their robes catch on fire as well, blue flames licking hungrily at the material as they jumped backwards, trying to pat it out – but to no avail.
Shinji knew there would probably be consequences to this, but for the moment, he didn't care, as he just stared at Malfoy's suddenly fearful face as the flames consumed all in their path. Oh, the flames didn't hurt him as he was apparently the one they were centered on, but…who said the same was true for someone touching him?
"Apologize," Shinji ordered, with Draco just opening his mouth to either comply or violently deny him – only to say nothing at all – as streams of red and gold sparks shot out of Draco's every orifice, pairing nicely with the blue fire that was now spreading across him without pause.
Shinji, surprised by this, let go and stood up, the flames going out around him – but not around Draco, as they were not part of the original prank. With a look at anyone else who would challenge him, he strode out of the Great Hall, his hair burning blue. Crabbe and Goyle, who were busy trying to stomp out the flames on their own robes, notably gave him a large berth. They did not want to be touched, did not want him to do whatever he'd done to Draco.
They were afraid, for clearly the foreign wizard was not without his tricks even without a wand.
Malfoy himself tried to sputter, to curse, to say something, but only sparkles and streamers shot from his mouth with a hissing sound, as if he was a living launcher of fireworks, with blue fire eating at his robes, his garments – his wand.
The flames couldn't hurt him, but they could destroy his most precious things, with him powerless to stop them.
Crabbe and Goyle, with more intelligence than anyone would have credited, tried to use the water conjuring charm to put out the flames -
…only to find that the flames were waterproof.
Leaving the Hall, Shinji stalked towards the infirmary, thinking that perhaps the Healer there might know a cure for whatever…prank had been performed on him.
He couldn't sit down – couldn't even lean too far to one side – without fire materializing a hair from his skin, and his robes were tattered enough, with obvious holes now. For that matter, his casual wear too had been burned nearly beyond recognition, though his body had been untouched – except for his hair.
Later on, when this was behind him, he would appreciate the spellwork that had gone into this…prank, but for now he was furious. Furious at the destruction of his robes, of his clothes, of the ofuda he'd been carrying around.
It was just as well he hadn't been carrying around his newly made destructive Ofuda, or he might actually have been injured when they destabilized and went off next to him.
This was targeted – probably by someone enchanting the spot he liked to sit in for breakfast, or something he liked to eat. Someone had watched him, planned out this prank – and executed it well. They couldn't have known of his ofuda, of the work he put into preparing the talismans, but…even so…
…someone would pay for this.
Matou Shinji swore it would be so. Dropping Malfoy down a few pegs, looking at the blond's fearful face had only slightly assuaged the yearning for revenge.
Besides, anyone could see that Malfoy had pulled out his wand, while Shinji had just given the boy a hug. If anyone was in the right – surely it was he – the defenseless victim of a cruel prank.
Well, that was his story and he was sticking to it. After all, with Malfoy in a hug, the boy could hardly hit him with a spell, now could he?
Now though, Shinji just wanted this spell off of him, and the sooner the better, since he couldn't study, couldn't go to class, couldn't do anything really, if it wasn't gone.
"Well, well, well," a raspy, thoroughly unpleasant voice spoke then, "Doing magic in the hallways, are we?"
Shinji ignored the voice, as he just stalked down the hallway. He hadn't been doing magic, so he had nothing to be afraid of.
…or so he thought, until he was stopped by a painfully tight grip.
He turned to see Argus Filch, the hunchback holding him, his pouchy, pasty face and budging pale eyes too close for comfort, his brown coat seeming like it had seen much better days.
"Think you're too good to stop for ol' Filch, do you?" the caretaker of the Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft wheezed, his expression…unpleasant. "Think you can just break the rules without being punished?"
"Let. Me. Go." Shinji answered, in no mood to be manhandled. "I haven't done anything wrong."
"Don't lie to me boy," the cruel old man replied, squeezing Shinji's arm painfully for emphasis. "I can see your hair all fancily enchanted. Tried to duel and get away with it, did you? Well, you don't get past Argus Filch!"
Filch all but dragged Shinji over to his dingy, windowless office, all the while muttering what a pity it was that the Headmaster wouldn't let him inflict what he thought were just punishments on students.
It was a pity, Filch said, that they'd let the old punishments die out.
He spoke of things like hanging Shinji by the wrists for days from well-oiled chains. Or even better from their ankles and such. Thousands of students had been punished, disciplined because they thought they were too good to follow the rules.
Once at his office, decorated with various implements of torture and pain, Filch had all but shoved Shinji down into a chair, not expecting Shinji's form to blaze with azure fire at that moment, or for him to fall over onto one of his wooden cabinets from the force of the push.
The wooden cabinets containing his records, the things he'd confiscated, the many write-up he'd filed to get students detention.
The flame being magical, blue fire began to spread once more, the smell of smoke rising into the air as wood and dry paper began to burn.
Filch stood paralyzed, his expression aghast for a second as he took in what was happening and reacted in anger.
"YOU!" the caretaker snarled, picking up a length of chain from his desk and moving to attack the wayward student. "YOU DARE DO THIS? I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU!"
Shinji flinched then backwards as the man moved, his clenched fist opening on instinct – releasing the Ofuda of Binding he held in his hands – a seemingly innocuous piece of paper which flew forth and paralyzed Filch in mid-lunge, his residual momentum sending him crashing into the ground near the burning cabinet.
Shinji scrabbled to his feet, breathing hard.
This man…this man had tried to kill him. And for what? For something what wasn't his fault?
Well, Shinji wasn't about to let him out of his binds, since the man Filch would just come after him anyway. Filch had made his choice, so Shinji made his, walking away, leaving the caretaker in an office rapidly filling with smoke as flames spread all around, casting an eerie glow.
For his part, the caretaker couldn't move, couldn't cry out, couldn't even tremble as hungry flames grew and grew, a glare of mixed hatred and fear frozen on his face as the fire crept closer, closer, ever closer, his records, his possessions, everything going up in smoke...
'No. It can't end like this. No…please…no…please somebody…anybody help me…help me.'
But no one came.
He had no kind bone in his body, had never helped anyone in his life, in fact he'd made a living making people's lives miserable, so why would anyone spare a moment for him?
Without outside intervention, fire followed its natural course, burning until there was nothing left to burn.
Until at last, there was silence.
Shinji had been unable to go to class that day, as Madam Pomfrey had fussed over him, alarmed at his rather…singed appearance. She'd insisted on giving him a thorough examination with spells, and had been relieved to see that the fire which seemed to erupt whenever he was less than vertical had not actually hurt him, only burning what was on him.
When a simple Finite incantatem didn't work, or a number of other dispelling charms, the nurse frowned, removing his robe and dropping it to the floor, where it immolated itself, leaving behind only ashes.
Unfortunately, his hair continued to burn, so that hadn't been all of it.
"Let's try a purging potion then – it should neutralize any foreign magics from your system."
And it did, once he downed the vial of thoroughly unpleasant…fluid, noting that whether magical or mundane, medicines tasted horrible. His hair went back to its normal texture of black – almost blue in the light, and was thankfully no longer on fire.
"Nasty prank – can't say for sure what happened, since…well, the evidence is gone, but I'd wager someone put an enchantment on your robe."
"How...?"
"Do you normally sit in the same place every meal?" the nurse asked, to which Shinji's sour expression said everything. "There you have it then. An invisible rune or two would have done the trick."
She seemed very competent, but then she was matronly old lady, with greying hair, and had been in the position of healer for a long, long time.
"I'll have to run some extra diagnostic spells on you to make sure nothing stuck, so you'll have to stay for the day, I'm afraid," the Nurse said, not unkindly. "I'll have your prefect bring you something to wear."
"What should I…?"
"I suggest you get some rest, Mr. Matou," the matron said firmly.
With nothing better to do, Shinji lay down on clean, white linen sheets, enjoying the fact that for the first time today, he was not on fire. Not so surprisingly, he soon fell asleep.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Matou," a voice said, rousing the boy from his sleep. The unsmiling face of Albus Dumbledore swam into view above him.
"Headmaster," he replied gravely, sitting up in his tattered garments. "What seems to be the matter?"
Dumbledore's frown deepened as he regarded the bed-bound Ravenclaw whose guarded expression reminded him of Tom Riddle's. Especially given the circumstances which had brought him here. Oh, not the fire itself, but how he had simply left the man behind. Even if the student had known it wouldn't hurt Filch itself, the causal destruction of the man's property and the way he had forced the man to watch spoke of cruelty - cruelty he had seen before.
"Argus Filch tried to have you expelled, Mr. Matou," the old man said after a moment, dispensing with the pleasantries. "Do you know why that was?"
He knew that his words would be provoking a response, but wanted to see what the boy would come up with for justification.
"Because I wouldn't let him kill me," Shinji answered, not bothering to keep the bitterness from his voice.
"My boy, Argus Filch would not do any such thing—"
"—yes, of course you'd side with him, wouldn't you? It figures."
Yes...that bitterness, that desire for someone to believe him. Why...curious, the headmaster paused, looking into Shinji's eyes for a second before blinking, seemingly startled.
While, it seemed that the boy had no mental defenses, looking at someone's memories didn't work quite so well when there was a language barrier. Nevertheless, his objective tonight wasn't to seek truth, but to see how Shinji would respond.
"—and if you truly believed so, why didn't you go to a teacher afterwards?"
"And what would they have done? Professor Binns still teaches History when every student can say he's utterly useless. And since Filch mentioned asking you about chaining students up, it meant you already knew what he was like - and did nothing."
So Shinji said, but honestly, the thought of telling someone had never crossed his mind. Magi dealt with conflict on their own, without involving others if at all possible.
"This is no matter to just be brushed aside, Mr. Matou. He told me that you set fire to his office and then used some kind of magic to trap him inside," the old man responded. "That you tried to kill him."
"I wasn't aware that it was wrong to protect yourself from being killed, Headmaster," Shinji replied icily, his expression cold. "Which is what. All I did. If you ask Madam Pomfrey, she will tell you I was pranked and that the fire wouldn't have actually hurt anyone. And more, I didn't have a wand, so what intentional magic could I have cast? Just ask any of the people who were in the Great Hall."
"Mr. Matou, the fact that I asked is the very reason you have not yet been expelled," the old man said gruffly, looking intently at the young boy. "Your defensiveness is…troubling, however."
But more than his defensiveness was his coldness, his utter lack of empathy. That bothered Dumbledore more than the older man would admit.
"I stop someone from murdering me, and I'm the one who is troubling, headmaster?" Shinji asked archly. "By the way you talk, you'd think you fought with Voldemort, not against him."
Dumbledore flinched as if slapped.
"My boy," he began again. "I am just concerned that your actions are taking you down the wrong path. Poor Argus has lost all his worldly possessions, after all, and all over a small misunderstanding."
But Shinji had not a shred of human feeling towards whatever loss Filch might have suffered. To him, those were simply inevitable consequences, and who shed a tear for those.
"I don't think it was a misunderstanding at all. He attacked me, headmaster - made me fear for my life," he replied, his eyes hard. "And so if I acted, if I stopped him, and he lost everything but his life, why should I care? He tried to kill me. I couldn't care less if he died."
"That is exactly why I am concerned, Mr. Matou."
The two looked at each other for a long moment, both rather disturbed by the other. The headmaster that this boy from the east was so callous towards the life of another, the boy that the headmaster didn't understand that trying to kill someone meant one gave up one's rights to safety in return – that the only ones who should kill were those prepared to be killed.
Now, Dumbledore didn't have any conclusive evidence that the boy had been lying – especially as the ofuda of binding had burned up in the fire that had consumed the room and his thoughts were both clouded and in Japanese. But he remembered another boy had been very good about not leaving evidence behind while he did his cruel deeds, played his games for power.
And even if not, Matou's manner – his cold, icy manner – suggested he knew more than he was saying, which made his association with the Boy-Who-Lived all the more concerning.
Still, the two said nothing more to one another that night, with Dumbledore leaving as suddenly as he'd come.
Robert Hillard came in some time after that, bringing a bale of clothing for the victim of the most vicious prank yet.
"You certainly can cause trouble, Matou," he began without preamble. "Half of Slytherin thinks you're a dark wizard – You-Know-Who come back to life, even – the troublemakers of the school want to give you a medal for what you did to Filch, and Penelope wants to hex the living daylights out of you for costing Ravenclaw points to what you did to Malfoy. I even had to testify in front of Dumbledore that you weren't the one who caused what had happened."
Then he laughed.
"…that prank has the Weasleys' fingerprints all over it, I'd say," he sighed, shaking his head. "In fact, that bit with Malfoy, fireworks and explosions were always things they'd liked. I'm surprised there were no Dungbombs involved."
"…Weasleys?" Shinji echoed. He remembered Potter describing a red-headed idiot in Gryffindor, and also Hillard mentioning they were inveterate troublemakers.
"The biggest pranksters in the school, or so they like to think," the prefect sniffed. "It looks like they mean to have a bit of a prank war."
"...I see," Shinji grumbled. He wasn't in the mood to be pranked again, and really, just wanted to get back at the ones who had so tarnished his dignity, destroyed his very ofuda. Then inspiration struck. "You know..." he said slowly, remembering a conversation in the Ravenclaw Common Room "...the other prefect said you were a prankster yourself."
"Yes, what of it?"
"Want to help me get even?"
Hillard glanced at the singed clothing his Housemate wore and smirked a bit, holding out his hand.
"Oh, you want to give them exactly what they want, eh?" he said, as the two shook on it. "Well well, a War to the knife it will be. With your wandless skills and my knowledge of the castle, I think we can get the best of em, eh? String em up on their own pranks, I say. At least this time, we'll show why Ravenclaw isn't a house to be trifled with."
Shinji smiled – a predator's smile – as he shook his prefect's hand.
Now this, he was looking forward to.