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 12. Pranksters and Trolls

"I believe in subtlety – but then, subtlety is a lost art among pranksters."

Thus spoke Robert Hillard, a prefect of Ravenclaw, as he made his nightly patrols to make sure other students weren't out after curfew. As a student leader, prefects had certain responsibilities to the school – supervising the decoration of the castle, enforcing the rules (more or less), and of course, keeping younger students – especially those of their house – safe. It was this last that drove him to do what he did, more so than any of the others – a sense of responsibility, particularly when someone in his House had been so badly pranked.

…granted, there was a not-insignificant part of him that enjoyed being a prankster, but that was secondary to his House loyalty.

Really.

"You mean like changing someone's hair to seaweed instead of setting them on fire?" came a dry voice from what seemed like a patch of wall behind him.

A moving patch of wall trailing him no less, at that, a slight irregularity against the backdrop of the castle interior.

"Something along those lines," he conceded. "And Matou, do try to keep quiet – you never know who else might be listening."

He was taking a risk with this particular patrol as it was, since nowhere was it written that prefects should be taking others along with them on patrols. Then again, there'd been other prefects – mostly in Slytherin - who had abused their positions by being unnecessarily rough on first year students and docking points from students they didn't like or were not of their house, so Robert didn't exactly feel that he was doing anything unforgivable.

If someone like Filch could stay employed in spite of his cruelty, and other prefects kept their positions despite using them for personal gain – well, then he felt justified in looking out for his own.

In the pranking history of Hogwarts, Gryffindor and Slytherin were normally the houses at odds, though the occasional brilliant Hufflepuff would leave their mark on the school. Ravenclaw, however, was generally regarded as neutral, and aside from personal vendettas, like his low-grade war against the Weasley Twins, was not normally pulled into the affairs of the other houses, due to their very reputation as being the House that sought knowledge.

After all, knowledge that someone else did not have could very well take the form of very nasty spells, and one did not need to be a Ravenclaw to know that having an exceptionally bright – and vindictive – opponent out for one's blood was a very bad idea.

Which is why he'd approached Matou Shinji in the Hospital Wing, after the first-year had been pranked – because personally, Robert felt that pranking a first year – even one who had abilities like this one - was unacceptable, as it set a bad precedent for future prank wars and altercations. And as a prankster himself, he knew that if the House did not strike back, Ravenclaw would be considered fair game for coming pranks

And that was not a thought he found palatable.

"Homenum Revelio," he said, pointing his wand before him, with no apparent result or reaction.

Good. If there had been, that would mean other people were in the area, perhaps Disillusioned – as Shinji was – concealed by an invisibility cloak, or simply hidden from sight behind an object. As it was, he could continue.

"And that's one easy way invisibility can be defeated," the prefect noted, glancing about. "As the Latin says, it reveals hidden human presences, though like any other spell, you have to think of using it."

"…do you have something against invisibility?" Shinji asked, looking down at his body – which was not invisible, but had taken on the exact color and texture of what was around him, making him something of a human chameleon. "I mean, the spell you cast on me on me…"

A rather strange spell, too, one that made Shinji feel as if a raw egg had been cracked over his head as it traveled down, his form changing color and texture to match his surroundings.

"Well, yes, it's the next best thing to having an invisibility cloak," Robert agreed, but shook his head. "But it's not perfect. And to me, that makes it better."

"Why?"

Shinji didn't quite understand, since wouldn't it be easier to be unseen at all, rather than just blend in?

"There are several things true invisibility I find problematic," the prefect explained, keeping a wary eye out. "First, they make you sloppy. Once you think you're invisible, you tend to be more reckless, forgetting about things like the noises you make, if you have on any distinguishing scents, or the abilities of people around you."

"What else?" Shinji asked. Become invisible using magecraft was something that required quite a bit of prana, he had read, so he was curious about what these practitioners of witchcraft had come up with.

"Many people, when they're invisible, don't bother to check if there's anyone else around – especially anyone else who could be invisible," Robert continued as if speaking to the empty air, frowning as he remembered one particular incident he had no desire to go into. "The power gets to your head, and then you mess up because you're too comfortable."

"Huh…" Matou Shinji digested that with a grimace. He hadn't missed the implied warning in the last sentence. Or at least he thought it was directed at him. "And disillusionment is better?"

"Yes. Because its imperfect – and you are aware of it, you have to stay on your toes. Invisibility only works so long as no one realizes you're there, after all," the prefect said, smiling ever so slightly. "Also, with Disillusionment, you don't need something like a cloak – which is all too easy to forget, snag, or otherwise leave behind. You just need your wand."

"…you sound like you speak from experience," Shinji replied, pressing himself against one of the castle walls just a little harder as the pair made their way along a corridor.

"You could say that," Hillard said, not revealing any more than he had to. "Anyway, when planning an operation, it is key to have accurate information. What a target's habits are, the places they have to pass, the number of people they are likely to be around, what their likely reaction will be, and so forth. A prank master doesn't just act – he anticipates."

Shinji's face, the very texture of grey stone, soured as he thought back to the events of the Great Hall.

"…you mean like using waterproof flames and a spell that…"

"Yes, exactly," the prefect acknowledged quietly. "There is a reason the Weasley Twins are known as the greatest prankster of Hogwarts."

He frowning as he performed the Homenum Revelio spell again, with the spell returning a negative result. He knew the other prefects' patrol route, to be sure, but he wasn't sure if there would be teachers out of bed – or Filch, though Hillard thought that less likely after the man's traumatic experience – or if there were other troublemakers around.

It would be spectacularly bad to be discovered by Fred and George Weasley, to name the ones he was particularly concerned with, as they were both clever and powerful.

He knew, as he'd never caught them. No one had, after their first year.

It was as if they had some way to know people were coming from a good distance away, and respond ahead of time, though as far as Robert knew, no spell was capable of that. Even so, he'd taken a few precautions himself, such as casting a spell to fill the ears of those within earshot with a sort of white-noise.

Shinji, for his part, was cautious himself, but found himself reassured by the older practitioner's manner as they continued on the patrol circuit, taking care to avoid the Forbidden Corridor. He looked around, noting the various choke points Robert pointed out – the places one had to pass through if headed to the Great Hall from one of the dormitories.

But…

"…that spell they pranked me with," he said after they'd been walking for a while. "The one which set me on fire when I sat down."

"What about it?" the prefect replied. He seemed to get the wrong idea though, as he continued with a caution. "No, you shouldn't go about using it on the Weasleys. For one thing, the spellwork is probably beyond you. For another, it's so…uncreative to just reuse a prank like that."

"That wasn't what I meant."

"Oh?" Now Robert was interested. "What did you have in mind?"

"Being able to burst into flame whenever I wanted could be very useful," Shinji explained, looking down at his camouflaged form. "With the fire a bit further away from my body, of course."

Robert whistled.

"I don't think I've heard of anyone using that before, but that's probably because it wouldn't do any good in a duel," he noted, keeping a wary eye on the hallway. "Most spells would probably pass right through it. A Shield spell is generally more useful."

"…except for the Unforgivables."

"Well, yes, but you're not going to stop those with fire either," the prefect replied tersely. "I mean, there are very few…" But he trailed off then, his thoughts flickering back to the rumors about the spell Shinji had wrought on Granger – which had involved a slip of paper. "…nevermind, I see what you mean." He shook his head then. "Look, I don't want to know. The less you tell me, the less I'm culpable for if something happens."

Shinji eyed the prefect speculatively. He'd thought Hillard was just an authority figure before, maybe one with a vendetta of his own, but…this was interesting.

"If you're serious about doing that though, knowing the basic spell would be useful," Robert said after a while. "That means asking the Weasleys directly, which will only work if you impress them. And well, you have your work cut out for you, given that half the school thinks you're a Slytherin in Ravenclaw clothing."

Which was not a wonderful thing as far as Shinji was concerned. While he admitted – now – that he may have overreacted to Malfoy's taunts, given the state of mind he'd been in – though really, any magus who had had his property destroyed in that manner would have acted to pre-empt any insult – he had wanted to be acknowledged as someone with skill and power from the East.

…and not as a ruthless monster, as the Headmaster seemed to think of him. Inwardly he seethed. How dare that old man try to claim Shinji had been wrong when he hadn't even tried to understand how he had felt?

For how could he? Albus Dumbledore, as Shinji had heard and read repeatedly, was one of the greatest practitioners of witchcraft of the western world, holding many positions of power and responsibility. He was used to obedience, used to having others do what he asked without challenge, so of course he would say there was another way.

Because there would have been – for Albus Dumbledore, who would never have been in that situation to begin with because of his power. Not so for Matou Shinji, who had genuinely feared for his life and had been a victim.

So of course it was easy for Albus Dumbledore to say Shinji should care about the losses of his enemies. Of course it was easy for Dumbledore to say that he worried Shinji was going down the wrong path by not showing mercy – when for Shinji, this was a matter of survival. Mercy was useful when one had options – when one was more powerful than one's enemy.

Shinji had had one ofuda and no wand. Filch had had a length of chain, and had demonstrated clearly lethal intent.

There had been no time for mercy – and no place for it. And compassion – Shinji didn't understand why he should care what a foe had lost. So what if Filch had lost everything in the world? Filch had tried to kill him, and Shinji had responded with decidedly less than lethal force – so what exactly was the problem?

The way Dumbledore had pressed the issue, Shinji almost thought that the old man wasn't really talking to him, but to someone else in his head – kind of like Binns, really, who kept mistaking his students for those of a hundred years ago.

But back in the present,

"…you enjoy this, don't you? Even though you're a prefect."

Hillard looked a little sheepish at the observation – which was, after all, true.

"Well, there's a certain thrill to it, I admit," the older boy said, with a bit of chagrin. "I mean, look at what we're doing. We're learning – or you are, at least – by planning out a campaign, gathering intelligence, helping us in Ravenclaw to defend our sacred honor. As a prefect, I can't get directly involved myself, but that doesn't mean I can't point you in the right direction or show you a thing or two. After all, if I have no idea of what exactly you plan to do."

Shinji eyed the prefect from his vantage point behind and to the side of the boy, more or less unseen unless someone was looking closely at him, and fought down the urge to laugh.

"What is your ambition, anyway?" he asked, curious as to what the older boy had to say.

"Me?" Robert echoed. "Well, I want to be an Auror. Failing that, a Hit Wizard. You?"

While Matou Shinji had no idea what either of those were, having not paid attention to things such as jobs in the "Wizarding World" – he was a first year, after all – and being from Japan where things were run differently, he supposed he could be honest without revealing everything.

"To reach the limits of what is possible through witchcraft and other arts," he replied.

Hillard whistled softly at this, raising an eyebrow.

"An Unspeakable then, or whatever the equivalent is in your homeland? You certainly don't aim low, do you?"

"And what would be the point of that?"

Hillard chuckled.

"Point. I've always thought we Ravenclaws were the more ambitious ones anyway, since what is a thirst for knowledge if not ambition in its purest form?"

During the long patrol, Hillard casually pointed out how several corridors converged, what the main intersections of the school were – with a caution that since the placement of the staircases changed on their own, one had to be careful just in case students began to divert to an alternate route.

This was interesting to Shinji, but more interesting were Hillard's comments about each of the Houses, where he believed each of the Houses' common rooms were and what was known about each one

Take the Slytherins, for instance.

It was known well enough that the entrance to their common room was located behind an unmarked stone wall in the dungeons of Hogwarts, which only slid open to reveal a passage with the right password. Now security through obscurity, coupled with a password system, should have been fairly powerful - it was just a shame that the password was usually something as simple as "Pure Blood" or "Always Pure", and that the current password could usually be obtained if one knew the right people and was willing to pay the price.

For the Gryffindors didn't bother with obscurity.

Their Common Room was located in the eponymous Gryffindor Tower, and all knew it to be on the seventh floor, where it was guarded by a well-known oil painting named "The Fat Lady", which portrayed…well, a rather fat lady in a pink silk dress. The painting only swung aside with the proper password – which regularly changed every month or so – though as most Gryffindors were not observant of their surroundings – Fred and George Weasley being rare exceptions – one could easily overhear the password if one was good at sneaking around.

…that or get it from Penelope if she was in a foul enough mood at something the Twins had done, given her close association to Percy Weasley, one of the Gryffindor prefects and decidedly off-limits to prank unless Shinji was interested in Penelope making both his and Robert's lives a living hell.

As for the Hufflepuffs…

"You know, it's funny," Hillard remarked, as they passed by a corridor down on the ground floor. "Out of all the Houses, Hufflepuff's Common Room is the only one that's never been seen by an outsider."

"Oh?" Shinji hadn't expected that, though he was curious how the House managed to remain unseen so far.

"It's something of an open secret, but part of it is because Gryffindor and Slytherin are caught up in their feud – rather like the Founder who established them," the prefect commented, casting yet another Homenum Revelio. So far, the patrol had been rather uneventful, which meant that either there really was nothing going on, or that whoever was out there had more than a healthy degree of caution. "Part of it is because of Hufflepuff loyalty."

"Loyalty?"

"Oh yes," Hillard answered, a rather thin smile on his face as they walked past a pile of large barrels, all stacked in a shadowy stone recess near the kitchens. "No non-Hufflepuff has ever managed to get the exact location of the entrance to their common room, either from asking – or following a Puff. We know it's somewhere around this area, close to the Kitchens, but more than that..."

The prefect shrugged.

"They're not usually known as great pranksters. Most of the master pranksters like the Weasleys, or the Marauders before them, have Gryffindors, since they're the House whose members are most willing to bend – or break – ruled," he said, shaking his head. "But every once in a while, there's a Puff you have to watch out for, like Tonks."

He laughed, just a little, at the memory of the older girl whose antics had graced these halls.

"Shame she isn't here for this prank war – just missed it too, graduated the year before you came," Robert mused, just a bit wistfully. "Bit of a troublemaker she was, even if she kind of a klutz – in public."

"In public?"

"The thing is, Tonks was a Metamorphmagus, so she could look like whoever she wanted, year or gender be damned," the older explained, chuckling a bit. "She was always showing it off too, which definitely caught people's attention, since well, someone who could look like anything, anyone you ever dreamed of? Yeah, she didn't like that."

Shinji could well imagine that.

"What did she do about it?" was what he asked though.

"Well, no one can prove anything, but bad things had a habit of happening to people she didn't really get along with," Hillard said after a moment. "She even took the Weasleys by surprise once, we think, after which they never tried to prank her again. Good girl, Tonks, training to be an Auror now."

"…someone sounds like he has a crush," Shinji teased, knowing he'd hit a mark when the older prefect paused in mid-step. It wasn't for very long, but it was enough to confirm what he'd thought. "…don't tell me you became a prankster to try to impress her."

The pause that came next was just a heartbeat too long.

"No. Of course not," Hillard said in clipped, business-like tones as he began walking again. "Now where was I?"

"Metamorphmagi?"

"Right. On that note, I have to say I'm rather impressed with Sokaris," the prefect continued, brushing past the somewhat awkward question from earlier. "Rumor says she's a Metamorphmagus, but she always looks like…well, herself."

"…because she looks like herself?" Shinji echoed.

"Yeah – from what I know from Tonks, it takes a lot of control not to let your body change with your emotions, but I've never seen Sokaris look like anything besides how she always does around us," Hillard noted. "Which just makes wonder what mischief she's up to, since she disappears about as often as you do."

Mischief? Now, this was news.

"You pay attention to these things?" To me?

"Of course. I'm a prefect, it's my job to pay attention," the prefect confided, waving his wand around a corner. "And frankly, inside Ravenclaw, she's talked about as much as you are in the rest of Hogwarts. Foreign students are pretty rare, after all, with most going to their home magical schools, though I imagine both of you have your circumstances."

The rest of the patrol was uneventful, but then that night was meant to be. To defeat an enemy, one had to learn how an enemy thought, an enemy planned, an enemy responded. One had to know what an enemy knew and get inside an enemy's head.

But one also had to know one's strengths, gather allies, and learn just what one could do before coming up with a plan. To do otherwise was not only reckless, but almost certainly doomed to failure.

And so marked the outbreak of battle – the beginning of a true Prank War, not the skirmishes that had been, the small-time games that could be explained away by misfortune.

Ron Weasley had sat for breakfast and bitten into a sausage with his usual ardor for food down one morning, only for his hair to turn a deep, oily black – styled like Snape's no less - and his robes to change into a long cloak.

"Five points from Gryffindor for mocking a teacher," had been Snape's drawled out comment on the affair, something that had caused some of Slytherin House to laugh.

Biting into toast, Shinji had begun throwing up slugs and bat-winged bogeys.

Sokaris' hair had been recolored red and gold, with an enchantment making her roar like a lion when she spoke. She stopped coming to breakfast after that, but the Weasley Twins had found their food portions replaced with worms for three days. No matter where they sat, the plates that manifested in front of them Weasley Twins had been covered in worms.

Baked worms, fried worms, minced worms, and more.

When they asked the house elves why this was happening, they had been confused. After all, the Weasleys had asked for this, right?

They didn't mess with Sokaris again, for like any Weasley, their weakness was their stomachs, but most of the Ravenclaw table had their hair standing on end after eating one of the chocolate confections served at desert.

Malfoy received a Howler claiming to be from Lucius, warning him against throwing his name around casually, mentioning that it was utterly intolerable for a scion of the Malfoy family to just lose a wand.

No one knew if it was a prank or not, but most people laughed anyway.

Angelica Johnson received a letter from what was purportedly George Weasley, and incensed at its contents, had slapped him.

And Peeves, the castle poltergeist, had started lobbing enough dungbombs around that Quirrell had broken down and taught the class the use of the Skruge and Langlock charms. The first could be used to clean up ectoplasm and give a nasty poke to spirits, while the latter was a means to shut the ghost up.

…and well, to stop an opponent in a duel from being able to cast verbal spells, as Quirrell had explained later, though a powerful enough Finite Incantatem would cancel its effect.

Even the common rooms were not safe.

The Soap in Slytherin's bathrooms had been switched out for Frog Spawn Soap, with an irate Severus Snape having to eliminate the resultant infestation of frogs, and a very unfortunate Draco Malfoy caught alone in the showers, buried under a heap of the relentless amphibians.

For days afterwards, all it took to make him jump was someone going "ribbit."

Shinji had been covered in glue and feathers on coming out of the corridor to the private study rooms one morning. Glue and feathers that had, on coming into contact with water, transfigured itself into a very small wyvern ala a delayed Draconifors Spell (much less powerful and resistant than an actual wyvern, of course).

Shinji, after knocking the false wyvern to the ground with one of his explosive ofuda and binding it in place with another, had attempted the difficult feat of untransfiguring the object with the common Reparifarge spell, but alas, such a spell was normally only used for partial transfigurations.

In the end, he had had to ask Hillard for help, with the prefect using the Herbifors transfiguration to transform the creature into a bouquet of flowers, which he then gallantly presented to the Ravenclaw Seeker, Cho Chang as she headed off to practice, wishing her luck for their first match against Hufflepuff.

She'd blushed, and he had to good grace not to mention that it had been transfigured from feathers and glue used as a prank.

In retaliation for this incident, one of the toilets in the Gryffindor dorms had been enchanted to regurgitate instead of flush, as Fred Weasley and George Weasley had found out, much to his chagrin.

The Hufflepuffs were of course untouched, but then, no one knew where their common room was, and there was nothing to be gained from bringing a fourth party into the clash – a fourth party whose occasional pranksters had been notorious for subtlety and…inventiveness.

So far, no obvious culprits had been identified, as the Houses were not talking, though all suspected who they were. In Ravenclaw alone…

Hermione Granger, for instance, looked upon both Shinji and Prefect Hillard with flat disapproval, given that she thought their actions had brought disaster – and loss of points – on Ravenclaw House. Yes, what happened to Shinji had been cruel, but to attack the caretaker and move on to prank others, perpetuating the cycle of violence was uncalled for, she thought. Breaking the rules and possibly getting hurt – or expelled! – was not the right thing to do in any situation.

Penelope had held her peace, as the other houses were losing points as well, and Percy had remained untouched, which was all she asked. The other prefects, while not entirely happy about the situation, were amused that Ravenclaw was giving as good as it got – for once.

As for Sokaris – well, Sokaris sightings had become rarer than ever.

After the second time her hair had been pranked, she had all but vanished from sight, with no one having seen her outside of class – except for perhaps the occasional appearance at dinner – in over a week.

And then came Halloween…

Twas one of the biggest holidays in all of the wizarding world – both for its nature when witches could dress up and make merry among mundanes without the latter realizing the nature of the former, as well as for the fact that on this day, a decade ago, the war against Voldemort had ended.

Had been ended, rather, with the death of Voldemort when he had attempted to kill Harry Potter, but had himself been killed, with Harry becoming the Boy-Who-Lived, but losing his parents in the process.

Harry had mentioned this in some of the letters Shinji had traded with him, in which the Japanese boy had mentioned interesting tidbits and laid out the basic instructions on how to make ofuda, along with sample ofuda so Harry to mimic, which he hoped would make it easier for Harry to make his own, especially as they had now started learning some spells and knew what casting felt like. Harry, for his part, had given up the passwords to Slytherin as well as mentioning the current conditions in the House of Snakes.

Apparently Halloween was a tense time there, as Harry's presence ruffled the feathers of the children of those who had followed Voldemort – Draco Malfoy chief among them, though his standing had been greatly diminished as of late. And though Harry found classes interesting, and had enjoyed actually learning a few spells in class – most recently the Levitation Charm - wingardium leviosa – he had been struck by how lonely Slytherin was.

In many ways, once sorted into the House of Snakes, one was on one's own, jockeying for advantage, learning to protect oneself, and building a powerbase – the last of which Harry had had a leg up on due to his influence.

There were not a few people who thought that he might be either the next Dumbledore – or the next Voldemort – and so were eager to curry favor with him, something he was uncomfortable with. There were a few people he was on relatively good terms with – Parkinson, Greengrass, and Davis – one of which he was almost always seen with at classes or meals – but with whom he feared to share too much, lest people look at him like the Boy-Who-Lived-Under-The-Stairs, a "Mudblood" who hadn't known about magic until he got his letter.

And then there was Shinji, who knew his secret – who right now, was the only one who knew his secret. Shinji who had defended him, Shinji who was thought to be an exotic foreign wizard with dark knowledge, Shinji who many in Slytherin were impressed with for his utter ruthlessness and how he had gotten away with nearly burning Argus Filch alive.

…the fact that Shinji had not intended to set the fire notwithstanding, and had acted to protect himself notwithstanding, as rumors had a life of their own.

The same Shinji who had given the Boy-Who-Lived basic instructions for sealing and destructive ofuda so that Harry would be able to get some privacy in Slytherin House by sealing his bed curtains. He'd done so via owl, as with the ongoing Prank War, the Matou boy had judged that meeting with the Boy-Who-Lived in person outside of class was not a good idea.

To his way of thinking, no one had yet dared to prank the Boy-Who-Lived, and he wasn't about to let Harry become a target of opportunity in the war.

A War that Shinji intended to end today, once and for all. The Halloween festival and decorating for it had been wonderful cover for the masterful works of pranking to be done, with the Great Hall festooned with sweets-filled pumpkins, bats, orange streamers, water snakes and all sorts of Hallowe'en-related decorations.

Even the ghosts were in a jolly mood – sans Peeves – whose own mood had been rather foul, given the number of times he had been poked and prodded by Skruge or made to stop his foul taunts with Langlock.

But not so the humans.

To those who were sensitive to such things, it was one of those nights when the very air seemed fey and fell, the atmosphere charged, nerves frayed and moods fraught with tension under strained veneers of happiness.

For most, it was the psychological cost of the Great Hogwarts Prank War taking its toll at last – the fact that anyone might be struck down at any time, that nowhere was safe, not even the Common Rooms.

Paranoia was rife – but most expected – hoped that the Halloween Feast itself would be safe. Yes, the pranksters had proven that they respected (almost) no boundaries. Yes, they had made their point, that every action would lead to retaliation, that no House could be dismissed as an easy target, but surely the Feast would be an end for it all.

After all, soon there would be Hogsmeade visits, club meetings, and other things to spend energy on.

And really, wasn't enough, enough?

Shinji and Hillard both agreed, as the Ravenclaw contingent in the Prank War had stayed clear of doing anything at the Feast itself.

…the main corridors of the school though, were considered fair game, and they had prepared enough in the way of various traps and pranks to at least annoy a small army – and to be fair, changing hair, robes and such to orange and black, and giving people pumpkin heads was very much in the spirit of the festivities – though more of their works was intended if there was retaliation.

Still, for all their preparation, the boy from the East was worried. As the days had ticked closer to Halloween, Harry had seemed more and more haggard each time Shinji had seen him in Herbology, with dark circles under his eyes suggesting he hadn't been sleeping well.

The Boy-Who-Lived had, of course, said and kept saying that nothing was wrong…

Until on this last day, when a note had come, the handwriting distinctively Harry's.

"Can we talk? Grand Staircase, Second Landing, by the painting of Anne Boleyn. I don't feel like going to the Feast."

Worried about the Boy-Who-Lived, the boy he supposed he could call a friend, Shinji had gone to the designated place before the Feast, where he saw Harry standing alone, looking down upon the rest of Hogwarts, a melancholic look upon his face.

"It was my fault," Potter spoke, as Shinji's footsteps came up behind him.

"What was, Harry?"

"Everything," the Boy-Who-Lived sighed, seeming utterly miserable. "Starting 10 years ago when…" He stopped for something close to a minute before continuing. "They're dead because of me. My parents. I know it, somehow."

"Harry," Shinji began. He wasn't very good at reassuring people, since he'd never really had to do it before. "It wasn't your fault."

But Harry's hands balled into fists, as the bespectacled youth trembled.

"But it was…I can see more of it than I used to. That night, I mean," he managed, his eyes looking somewhere far away. "It used to be just a flash of green light and then a burning pain on my forehead. But now I hear her…my mum…"

The Boy-Who-Lived looked utterly distraught as Shinji came up, gingerly putting a hand on his shoulder. Matou Shinji was perhaps one of the worst people to try and comfort someone, given his own past, but at the moment, he was the only one there.

"What does she say, Harry?" he asked gently.

"'Not Harry!'" Harry whispered, his voice shaking as he spoke those remembered words. Words that appeared night after night in his dreams. "'Please, no, not Harry—I'll do anything!'" He swallowed, his expression screwing up into a mess. "Right after…my dad…says to take me…" Then he opened his eyes again, his eyes hollow and cold. "…and run. So you see…it was my fault. Voldemort came for me – and my parents died in my place."

Shinji didn't really know what to say to that. If it were true…what did it mean?

"Why…"

Shinji didn't know what to say to that either.

"Why me…"

He didn't know, but…

"Because they cared about you, as any parents should," Shinji said, unhappily reminded of his own father – that broken drunk of a man with no talent - had never really loved him. His mother…he didn't know much about her, he was coming to realize. He only know she'd died too. Still… "Whatever happened, they would have protected you."

"But that doesn't…why me? Why did he come for me?"

"…that, I can't begin to say," he admitted. Whatever else he knew, he himself didn't know why the greatest practitioner of the Dark Arts would hunt down a child.

"…you got hurt because of me too," Harry said, as if Shinji hadn't spoken at all. "This whole prank war. You getting set on fire. Malfoy being a prat. Filch trying to kill you. Everyone thinking you're a dark wizard…it's because you were my friend."

Well, part of that Shinji could correct, so he did.

"Honestly, I think I would have been pranked even if I wasn't," the boy from the East said, shaking his head. "I stand out too much. Just not as much as you do. And just because no one would dare prank the Boy-Who-Lived doesn't make my choices your fault."

"…I…"

"Tell me, Harry, what do you want?" asked the Matou boy. "Say it's true, and your parents died for you. What will you do with that life?"

"...I…"

"You're in Slytherin, Harry, so what did the Hat tell you?"

"…that I could become great."

"And why do you want that?"

"…so I can live up to what everyone expects of me," Harry whispered, still shaking. "So my parents dying won't have been..."

"…in vain."

In the distance, an inhuman roar echoed, coming from—

"Shit."

—where Hillard had said he was going to be.

"What?"

"Something's wrong – I hear fighting. From where the pranking was going to happen. Let's go," Shinji said, his voice suddenly businesslike. "Potter, do you have your ofuda?"

"Some, but…shouldn't we tell the teachers?" Harry asked, uncertain. He knew he didn't know enough to fight something like that with his wand, but…

"There's no time," Shinji replied, breaking into a run. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Sokaris making her way up to the Third Floor, but while he was tempted to follow…no. She can handle herself. Whatever is happening, Hillard needs me more. "Follow if you want."

He wasn't entirely surprised to find that Harry started running after him.

"…did you really try to kill Filch?"

"No. But even if I did, he tried to kill me. Would you let Voldemort go if he tried to kill you?"

"…no," Harry said, his jaw clenching as he remembered that hated green light - that light that had taken his parents. "No, I wouldn't."

The intrepid duo arrived to see a most unexpected sight.

Fred and George Weasley, fighting alongside Robert Hillard, their sometimes friend and often foe, facing down…

Holy—

—a fully grown mountain troll, its skin a dull granite grey, its great lumpy body like a moving mountain, with thick stubby legs and a huge wooden club that it dragged along the floor.

And it was covered head to toe in rotten tomatoes, crushed pumpkins, feathers, and red and gold paint, and what looked like the remains of dungbombs. Pretty orange streamers that had once festooned the corridor now trailed from its arms and legs.

'…did that thing set off every trap we had set up?'

Fwoom!

With a speed that shouldn't be possible with its bulk, the troll spun around viciously, swinging the crude – but massive – club, nearly smashing the closest of the redheads – George or Fred – Shinji couldn't tell which.

The three pranksters gave each other a look and as one shouted "Expelliarmus", aiming for the club.

With a crack, three blinding, jagged jets of scarlet light flew through the air. Shinji was reminded for a second of lightning, but instead of killing the troll, or slamming it to the ground, the bolts struck the club, one after the other—

And the club flew free, spinning through the air towards – and past – Shinji and the Boy-Who-Lived, missing them by scant centimeters as it slammed into the ground with a resounding crash!

But the troll just roared, incensed that these…puny beings had managed to strip of its weapon.

Fwhoom!

Its arms made to grab them, even as they leapt back.

"Oh…that wasn't the best idea we've ever had, oh brother of mine," one of the redheads said.

"No kidding, brother of mine."

But it was Hillard whose eyes had tracked the motion of the club – who saw the first years it had flown past, and who was in full prefect mode now.

"Matou, Potter, this isn't a fight for you first years," he barked – the first time he'd actually spoken an order in Shinji's recollection. "Run. We'll hold it off!"

More coruscating spell beams shot through the air, pushing at the troll, with several mini-wyverns just formed from the rubble launching themselves towards it as a distraction, though they were brushed aside – smashed, rather - by fists like boulders.

"Glacius!" came a cry from the twin redheads, as a freezing wind howled, going for the troll's eyes. "Go. We'll get it somehow. Can't let the firsties down, eh brother of mine?"

"You said it, brother. Glacius!"

The troll reeled back, halted from continuing as the cutting ice winds lanced for its eyes…only to lower its head—

"Oh…bugger…"

...and charge, breaking past the pocket of resistance, only to be sent stumbling by a quickly conjured patch of ice, so that it crashed headlong into the ground. It raged and roared and thrashed, but it was having some trouble getting back on its feet.

"Stupefy!" Hillard shouted, the blazing bolt of red striking the troll and pausing it momentarily.

But it was not long enough, as it began to get its footing, snarling at the attempt to stop it.

"Come on – hold the line! We can't let it get past us," Hillard called out. "Otherwise, by Merlin's bloody balls, it has a straight shot to the Great Hall! Potter, Matou – go! Now!"

He didn't need to spell out what would happen if a troll got to the Hall while everyone was feasting and unprepared. Didn't need to say how many could be hurt – could die – if they failed. Yes, a teacher could stop it, but if they were surprised? There was a very real risk someone could die.

Fred and George scrambled ahead, taking up position beside him, glancing at each other. They were pranksters, it was true, but before that they were students of Hogwarts, who loved the school and the people in it.

And they were Gryffindors – the bravest of the brave – the ones who charged into the breach where the fighting was fiercest – who could not, would not stop in the face of death.

They would stop the troll – or they would die trying.

The wise thing to do for a first year – for any first year – would have been to run, to head to the Great Hall, to warn the teachers, obey. No spells they'd learned so far could stop the troll, after all, but—

"No." A voice said, firmly, though the body it belonged to was shaking, as it lifted its wand and pointed it at the troll. "No. No one else is dying in my place."

"Sod it, Potter, you may be the Boy-Who-Lived, but—"

"I'm staying too," Shinji spoke up, brandishing his wand as well.

Hillard looked at them as if he wanted to curse their names into the ground, but just took a deep breath.

"Fine. Have it your way – look out, it's coming!"

With a transcendent roar of rage, the troll barreled forward, as the five scattered, blasting it with five glowing spell beams once they were out of the way. These didn't do much either, as it just broke through.

"This isn't working – its resistance is too high," Hillard noted, glancing over at Potter and Matou. "Even with the extra help…"

Boom! Boom!

The troll halted in its steps as its face was hit by a foul – and foul-smelling – projectile. Off-balance, the troll reeled, another projectile or three sending it crashing into the castle wall, as the five took advantage of the opportunity to move past it once again, interposing their bodies between it and the Great Hall.

Backup had arrived.

The unlikeliest backup of all, a little blue man floating in the eye, dressed in loud, outlandish clothes including a bell-covered hat and an orange bow tie.

Peeves – the castle poltergeist - with a sack of dungbombs, no less.

"Peevesy, Peevesy, they all say he's droll
but twas Peevesy-weevesy who blew up a troll!"

Well, maybe he hadn't blown it up, he'd staggered it, taken it off balance from the unexpected aerial assault. And this meant that those down below had a chance.

But a chance for what.

"I tried stupefy, but I don't have the power to take it down alone," Hillard muttered. "Fred, George, ideas?"

"Kill it—"

"—with fire?" the twins suggested, much to Hillard's irritation. Yes, it might work, since Trolls didn't like fire at the best of times, but only if the beast was still.

"Matou?"

"Let me try something," Shinji said, as an idea burst into his head even as the dungbombs rained down.

The troll wouldn't be held back long by this attack, he knew but…

Darkness. That's what we need. Darkness – then maybe the flashbomb strategy I thought of. If we can disorient it, slow it down…then maybe bind it?

"Potter, use your ofuda on it!" Shinji ordered, as Harry blinked, thinking there was no way he would go up and slap a piece of paper on the oncoming troll. "Just picture it flying and sealing the troll. Release the paper!"

Harry complied, with a grunt, throwing an empowered strip of paper towards the troll.

The first one stuck – no effect.

"Again!"

The second one – no effect.

"Again!"

The third, fourth, and fifth – no effect.

The sixth, seventh, eighth—no, wait…is that it? Not enough.

But Shinji couldn't afford to second guess, not with only meters between them and the troll. He reached inside himself, to the feeling he'd had when he first picked up his wand. He opened the door to the power sleeping there and thrust the wand forward towards the troll.

There!

Darkness leapt forth from his wand, a thick, heavy mist that consumed all light in its path as it rushed hungrily at the troll, swirling about it, engulfing it entirely with an angry hiss, looking like nothing so much as a cloud of thick ink surrounding the behemoth.

"Flash!" he cried out then, two ofuda shooting into the congealed, living darkness and erupting into twin explosions of pure, white light.

The troll roared, flailing as it lunged forward – in the direction of the flashes – smashing a number of suits of armor flat.

Fred and George seemed to get the idea, rapid-firing Flipendos at the very center of the cloud of darkness - where they presumed the troll must be - to keep it off balance.

"The next intersection –"

"Flash!"

More ofuda flew out, for more explosions.

"- there's one more trap we think could work," they said between casts, beginning to move backwards as they cast, since there was not enough room in the corridor to really deal with it.

"Alright, Weasleys, we'll do this your way," Hillard grumbled, sending yet another stream of crimson light at what was hopefully the troll. "You'd better be right about this."

"Flash!"

A cluster of flashbombs this time, with the cloud jerking back - the troll within stumbling about as if drunk.

"Of course—"

"—who better to know our traps than us?"

"It would help if it was slowed down more—"

"—or it might get through before we can work it."

The three looked at each other.

"Arresto Momentum!" the three wand users cried out as one, their wands pointed at the oncoming mass of darkness, summoning forth what strength they had left to try and slow its movement.

"It's not working!"

"Well…not enough!"

The troll had slowed a little, but the spellbeams had irritated it, and now it was following the sound of their voices forward - forward towards where the assault had come. Lumbering, grinding death advancing forward.

"Hey, wakame, whatever you used on Filch. Use it now!" Fred called, as Shinji and Harry moved to comply. "Staggering won't be enough - we need it stopped!"

The group fell back, the wand users pausing momentarily in their assault to scramble back, to avoid a lunge, with Harry and Shinji leaping backwards—

—and unleashing all manner of ofuda upon the beast making its way towards them.

Paper filled the air, strips of sealed power pouring from their sleeves into the gaping void before them.

Sealing ofuda.

Binding ofuda.

Anything at all that would be remotely useful to slow down the creature, to control its movement.

All these were hurled forth, with nothing held back, nothing left in reserve.

"Bind," Shinji whispered as he launched his empowered talismans into the approaching cloud of darkness, taking a step back at a time. "Bind. Bind. Bind. Bind. Bind. Bind. Bind!"

Harry did not speak as much as prayed, as his much smaller stock of papers – all that he had managed to scrape up and make over two weeks, shot forward as if with a life of their own, disappearing into the darkness.

'Bind. Please. Bind. Please. Stop in place!'

At first, there was no effect. What effect could little bits of paper have on a moving mountain after all? But they kept on, kept launching, kept hurling forth their stores of power.

No effect.

No effect.

No-hey.

But eventually, their persistence was rewarded. It was small, barely noticeable at first as they ran for their lives, but when they noticed it, a ragged cheer went up from the group.

Slowly, ever so slowly – the movement of the cloud of darkness - the jerkiness of it - seemed to be slowing down.

Shinji was heartened by this.

This plan - hurling everything he had at the Troll, wasn't a great one by any means. Certainly it wasn't one that would go down in the history books, but…it seemed like it was working. Since the troll was resistant to magic, he had gambled - hoped that he could overcome it with sheer power. Yes, individually, no single spell a first year - or even a third year - could toss at a troll could hope to effect it much, but this wasn't one individual spell.

This was tens of spells. Dozens of spells. A hundred and more spells.

Day after day after day Shinji had labored to make these ofuda, storing his power into these strips of paper until he had a need, bleeding himself nearly dry of prana every night…

…and a need was before him now, as paper flew, and flew and flew, all bearing his will to bind and seal the enemy, to stop its movement.

And bind, they did. The first two, five, ten, had no effect, but the twenty fifth, the thirty fifth, the fiftieth.

They worked.

The great mass of darkness began to slow, as his accumulated will and prana, stacking with the few Potter had made, built and built - until at last it overpowered the troll's innate resistance, and slowly began to lock up its muscles.

The three older pranksters blinked at this, marveling that first years had been able to slow this thing more than they, but were not going to look a gift horse in the mouth if it was working.

"Arresto Momentum!" the three wand users cried out at once, adding their power to the first years', exerting themselves to the utmost as they fell back, fell back, fell back…leapt back...

…until at last, they were through the intersection.

They were through, but the troll remained within.

"Peeves—

—do it now!"

With daemonic laughter, dung-bombs rained down on the troll, more dungbombs that Shinji had imagined existed in the world, the darkness-wreathed monster thrashing from the assault – lunging forward – was it slower now – as the ground beneath its feet crumbled, turning into a bog.

And the beast sank, its mass working against it as every move it made, every slow step it took forced it deeper and deeper into the watery mess of the bog, until it was waist deep.

Stuck.

"…that is one impressive spell," Robert said, looking at Fred and George. "We stopped it."

"That may be, but its still angry—"

"—time to finish it. Kill it—"

"—with fire now?"

"Alright. Well, lads, I've always wanted to say this once," Robert chuckled, a dark gleam in his eyes as he brandished his wand. "FIRE EVERYTHING!"

Light.

Fire.

Sound and fury.

Destruction reigned, chaos was unleashed as the five took vengeance on the troll, five brothers in arms who stood united.

Spell beams flew from Harry and the Pranksters, tearing apart the darkness with their sheer power, ozone filling the air as blasting curses, cutting curses, a redactor curse and more crashed into the troll.

Strips of paper, glowing this time, surged ahead from Shinji, detonating one after another in gouts of flame, light, and sheer concussive force.

A troll screamed in agony – a horrible, terrifying sound that was far more disturbing than its roars of fury had been.

And Peeves – seeing the last few ofuda launched – gathered a mass of them from the air, clumping them with his ectoplasm into a great glowing sphere of power, as the foul little poltergeist surged forward, crying out—

"Stay on target, stay on target peevesey-weavesy!

There can be only one, only one troll at Hogzwarts!"

—as he slammed the glowing mass through the darkness, into what must have been the Troll's gullet, as there was a muffled whoo-boom. The troll screamed—gurgled—and then fell silent. Finally, all was still, though an incredible stench resembling nothing so much as burning flesh and sewage, mingled with eau de burst septic tank now filled the clearing.

The wand users stayed on guard even so, watching for any sign of movement, listening for any trace the troll might yet remain…

…as the cloud of darkness dispersed to reveal its charred, headless, torso – and Peeves teabagging the corpse, singing "Oh, there's no kill like overkill…" over and over in an incredibly, annoying, off key voice.

It was this scene – this incredible, indescribable scene to which words alone could not do justice – that Professors Snape, Flitwick, and McGonagall walked in on, only to freeze in shock.