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 17. Hidden Things

As the weeks ticked by without further incident, the student body at Hogwarts allowed themselves to breathe a sigh of relief. While the Boy-Who-Lived and the Stone Cutter Society may have been involved in much of the chaos in October and November, it seemed that even they respected the magic of the holiday season. And so chill grey November mornings gave way to December, with many young wizards and witches waking to find the grounds of Hogwarts covered by over a meter of snow and the lake frozen over at last.

Truly, Christmas was in the air on the Scottish highlands. The Halloween decorations had been taken down at last, and the smell of fresh pine boughs, holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, with the Great Hall festooned with towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.

There was indeed a certain magic to winter time not described by any magical foundation, a magic that quelled trouble, brought peace to human hearts and generally kept people better behaved…

…though some of this lack of trouble could be attributed to the fact that the drafty corridors of the castle had become icy, with the bitter chill of winter nipping at the noses and bums of unprepared students and errant gusts rattling the windows of the classrooms.

These, for the most part, were kept nice and toasty, and for once, no students could be seen scrambling to take their seats in the few moments between the time classes officially started and the Professors actually began their lectures or demonstration. While other classes captured students' attention now and then, Professor Flitwick's Charms class was a perennial favorite around this time of year, as he taught (or reviewed) practical spells such as Incendio (the Fire-making Charm), Reparo (the Mending Charm) and the Hot-Air Charm, which as the name indicated caused hot air to stream from the tip of the wand – quite useful for drying off wet clothes or to melt snow.

Professor Snape's Potions Classes, on the other hand, tended to be the last thing students wanted to attend – but knew they had to, else they lose house points and suffer the ire of their peers. For unlike the others, the Potions classrooms were not heated, so students shivered helplessly, forced to huddle close to their hot cauldrons – but not so close their robes caught fire.

Now, there was good reason for this, as even Severus Snape did not believe in cruelty for cruelty's sake. It was simply a fact that one prepared potions by mixing together magical substances that had been prepared in a precise order, quantity and fashion to break down what was there and create a new substance – a mixture with its own magical effects. In essence, creating a potion was a way of reprocessing the inherent magic of its components into what was essentially a drinkable spell.

Students had of course seen the disastrous effects that often resulted from adding ingredients in an improper order or quantity, with the explosions and melting of cauldrons by Longbottom or Weasley earlier in the year serving as spectacular examples of such – though he would admit that even Longbottom had started to improve after Snape had forced him to work with the Dunbar girl instead – the one Gryffindor whose work he found more than simply passable.

But these effects did not compare to the dire consequences of contamination by foreign magic – which included wand magic unless the aspiring potioneer knew exactly what he or she was doing. Given that most students preferred to just follow directions, without understanding why those directions were the way they were, or the underlying theory of how the ingredients interacted…

Well, suffice it to say that this was the reason that Severus Snape did not allow students to use wands in class, as reckless use of magic could result in much worse than simply a melted cauldron, which was, in the grand scheme of things, minor, even if it reminded him how idiotic many young children were.

Not that his scorn was limited to young children, for too many who came through his classroom saw following the textbook prescribed formulae for potion-crafting as the key to mastering Potions, when doing so would merely make one adequate. Textbooks, after all, provided functional recipes that even a complete dunderhead would find it difficult to get completely wrong – not necessarily the formulations that would produce the most potent potions.

He and Lily had both suspected this after none of their own potions had turned out with the hue, smell or other qualities the book had described. Determined to fix this, they had done some experimentation, daring to explore somewhat heterodox combinations once they had assembled a working knowledge of the theory behind potioneering. How different methods of preparation affected the potency and volatility of an ingredient, what the logic behind the order and ratio of ingredients added, and how these ingredients interacted with both each other and with the world around them. Understanding these took more work than most wizards were willing to do in a lifetime, as one needed to not only memorize and recite – but apply and derive, which was far harder than mere memorization.

Hence he had called potion-making a subtle science and exact art, as there was far more to it than the simple wand work that most of his colleagues taught as magic. To be fair, he recognized that some of his colleagues were competent in their chosen field, and that Filius and Minerva at least were willing to experiment and learn new things, but their students were generally mediocrities.

Severus Snape had never aspired to mediocrity – not for himself, and certainly not from his students. Quite frankly, he hated it.

He tolerated it in some of his students, yes, but only because the alternative – being a danger to themselves and others – was too terrible to imagine. He would not be known as the man who failed to instill in his students a healthy respect for the dangers of potioneering.

That was the other reason he played the part of the villain – the stern taskmaster that no student enjoyed time with – to challenge them, keep them on their toes, make them want to prove him wrong. Sadly, he found that most students were spineless or defiant when challenged, that they never went the extra mile, never worked harder than they had to.

They had no drive, and that sickened him.

Still, a few surprised him every now and then, enough to make his job at Potions Master worthwhile while he waited to see if Albus would finally let him teach Defense against the Dark Arts.

This year had been especially difficult, since Potter had come to Hogwarts – had been in his House. Generally, he expected mere competence from first years, however much it grated on him, but he had hoped for more from her son. After all, he remembered the brilliance of Lily each time he looked at the boy and found him wanting by comparison. It reopened his wounds, reminded him that she was gone and it had been all his fault. His fault for passing on the prophecy.

That Lily's son had gone on to fight a troll – a reckless thing indeed – and gather a group of friends that were at least nominally pranksters brought up bad memories for him, since the Marauders had been like that. But then, the Marauders had all been Gryffindors – and this time, the group crossed the House lines, so perhaps there was some hope that the boy would not become his father.

Though Snape did smile a thin-lipped smile at the thought of how Potter would have reacted to see his son in Slytherin – and revered as the Heir of Slytherin due to his status as a Parselmouth, no less. Potter would have turned in his grave – and to be honest, Snape didn't mind that he was dead – just that Lily was.

But on top of all that had been the poor performance of Ronald Bilius Weasley, a boy who, true to his name, had a peevish, ill-natured disposition towards Slytherin House, and whose sense of entitlement and laziness was second only the memory of Potter. Still, Potter at least had been reasonably intelligent – this boy…well, Snape supposed he could be charitable and say that he was every inch a Gryffindor, all blood and bile and no brains.

At least two members of Ravenclaw House had shown themselves to have some degree of potential at his Art.

Not, however, the Granger girl that Minerva and Filius gushed about. He would grant that she was always proficient in brewing her potions according to the textbook methods, and could always give chapter and verse for how to prepare an ingredient, but that was it. Others might consider it intelligence, brilliance, really, but all Snape thought it meant was that she had a good memory. To his mind, she was so caught up on memorizing minutiae that she missed the big picture – how it all fit together.

It was the two foreigners who impressed him - the Sokaris girl in particular, as he could tell that the Matou boy was following her lead. From the consistent quality of their work and the way that their technique differed from that taught in the standard textbooks, he thought they might have a deeper understanding of the theory of potion-making than most displayed. He'd spent more than one class period observing them, and while their work wasn't perfect by the standards of a Master, it was far better than he'd expected.

Good enough that for the first time in several years, Severus Snape thought that Hogwarts might finally have a suitable representative for the next time the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship was hosted – the grand potioneering competition where the best student potioneers from schools around the world competed for eternal glory – and a golden cauldron. And while most thought potioneering competitions to be dry, dull affairs, this one was about as far from brewing in the safe conditions of the classroom as one might imagine, as it was held in an enchanted garden full of dangerous creatures, clever obstacles, and more.

Granted, the two would still be below the customary age of entry (seventeen, the age of majority in the magical world – the usual stipulated as such for reasons of law and liability) by 1995, when the next Championship was to occur, but unless one of the Weasley Twins were to compete (and here Severus shuddered at the thought of sponsoring those rabble-rousers in such a prestigious competition), they represented his best hope for Hogwarts to take home the Golden Cauldron.

Otherwise, victory would likely go once again to either the Uagadou School of Magic or to Mahoutokoro, the two favorites each time the Championship was held.

Indeed, Hogwarts had not even sent a Champion for decades now – something Severus Snape was determined to change, but only if whoever was sent stood a good chance of victory. And while it was certainly too early to choose a Champion, it was never quite too early to take note of excellence in this most mysterious and misunderstood branch of magic.

So this time, as the duo of Sokaris and Matou turned in their potions – the best in the class, as usual – he allowed himself to acknowledge them with a nod and a drawled out "Acceptable" – which was still more approval than he had shown to any other first year to date.

What could he say? Severus Snape had never been effusive with praise. To change that now would seem wildly out of character and make the students think he was up to something.

Well, more than usual, that was. He was only grateful no one had commented on his still-lingering limp. A Cerberus' bite was difficult to heal, given the dark nature of the beast which in lore had guarded the gates of the underworld.

And then there was Defense against the Dark Arts.

Frankly, given how mixed a record Defense had throughout the years, with no teacher lasting longer than a year, most of the students hadn't expected much. Especially not from the man who used to be the Muggle Studies Professor, given that he wasn't a decorated dueling champion (like Flitwick), didn't have an obviously villainous bent (like Snape), and wasn't an honored hero of the wizarding world (like Dumbledore, though many thought he was going a bit senile too – after all, the old saying did go that those who could did, while those who couldn't, taught).

They certainly hadn't expected him to cover the theory and practice of the Unforgivable Curses, explaining in detail how each one worked, the myths surrounding each one, and how one might defend against them (having strong willpower in the case of the Imperius Curse, and either getting out of the way of the other two, or intercepting the spell with another spell).

And after his demonstration against Professor Flitwick, where a simple spell like the Knockback Jinx – the basic of all offensive spells – had blocked a number of others – they were eager to learn. They too wanted to know how to "fence" with spells, how to stand fast in the face of danger and be great.

His response had been that effective use of this technique generally required the ability to use non-verbal spells (or the use of legilimency to predict what spell a person was about to use) due to the reaction speed and precision one needed, but that nevertheless, he was willing to instruct the best student of each year in the basics of the technique immediately before the exam revision period. But of course, he would be the one to determine the best – and that it didn't mean necessarily mean being the best at written tests, as one's practical performance and willingness to learn would be taken into account.

Naturally, given the chance to learn such a rare and – potent – skill, the students redoubled their efforts to prove themselves worthy. After all, it was rare enough that a year-agnostic skill was offered. One that could block even the Killing Curse though? Something like that, every young witch and wizard coveted more than fame, more than gold, more than almost anything else they could imagine.

After all, it all went back to fear, and there was nothing most feared – most wanted to run from – more than Death. Whether it was biological death, social death (with one's reputation and name utterly destroyed), or the death of one's will (which was possible enough given the thousand natural shocks the flesh was heir to). Now, to Quirrell, some fools might call death the 'next great adventure,' but then he considered those people already dead in spirit, pale shadows of what they had once been, now that they were utterly unwilling to fight against ruin and decay, simply accepting it. In a way, he thought those people wanted to die, overburdened with the weight of their sins, but lacked the courage to simply take their own lives be done with it.

And so they dragged a world down with them.

So the one lesson that Quirrell hoped his students learned was to never simply be paralyzed into simply accepting death by fear – fear of a name, fear of what one had done wrong, fear of one's future sins and failures.

To him, that was the greatest crime – the greatest tragedy – of all.

He'd studied Muggle culture as well as that Wizarding World – which was only natural, for he'd been the Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts – and one thing that had always struck him was how Muggles advanced, overcame obstacles, developed new and greater ways to solve their problems, while wizards and witches relied on age old magic and thought themselves better, with their society a rotten one, based on lies, racism, willful ignorance.

Such things had brought about the tragedy of Grindelwald – the great idealist and would be revolutionary who had been so misguided, thinking that the way forward had been for Wizards and Witches to rule over Muggles, that this would end cruelty and xenophobia – when Wizarding Society as a whole was built on cruelty and fear of the outside world. Fear, which in Grindelwald, had turned to anger, anger to hate, hate to a desire to rule.

Most wizarding historians recorded Grindelwald as being responsible for what the Muggles called World War II, with the man named Hitler merely his Muggle pasty, but Quirrell knew better than that. That kind of tripe, that casual disdain of Muggle society, was easy enough for most wizards to swallow because on some level, most of them agreed with Grindelwald – that Muggles were lesser beings, and acted accordingly. This even carried over to Muggleborns, where they were assumed to be less, to not have the same capabilities, as a group, and were not taken on an individual case.

It was this research that had led him to examine Voldemort's reign of terror in detail – as on the surface, the Dark Lord's desire to rule had seemed to conflict with his followers' desire to wipe out the Muggles and the Muggleborns. But considering who his followers – the Knights of Walpurgis – and later the Death Eaters – had been, the most radical of the Pureblood Supremacists, Quirrell thought that perhaps he had only espoused such beliefs in order to gather his army – and that his true intentions had not been as simple and crude as the oppression of Muggles.

No. Like Grindelwald, Quirrell thought that Voldemort was a revolutionary – that he had had a deeper purpose, that what he aimed to do was nothing less than destroy the rotten foundations of Magical Britain, at least. While most focused now on how the Dark Lord had gone after Muggleborns, Quirrell thought that that had only been the goal of his followers, that he had considered them merely acceptable casualties. After all, had he simply wished to back the Pureblood agenda, Voldemort could have simply seized power or even legitimately become Minister of Magic in his own right, with the backing he had– but he hadn't. He'd fought – chosen to fight – a long, protracted war – a war which had inspired fear, had caused incidents the Ministry had been forced to cover up, destroyed many old families – both among his forces and those of the Ministry's supporters.

And then…the Dark Lord's reign of terror had been brought to an abrupt close by the Boy-Who-Lived, the noble revolution cut short, with society returning to exactly how it had been. As it had been before the war, most of the Purebloods who had served the Dark Lord with any inkling of intelligence had failed to be punished for their acts – with the most egregious offender, Lucius Malfoy, now effectively in control of the Ministry through his bribery of Fudge.

If that didn't speak to the corruption of Wizarding Society, Quirrell didn't know what did. Perhaps his extensive reading was why the Ravenclaw did not see the Boy-Who-Lived as a hero, but as an unwitting villain – someone who, simply by existing, had simply preserved a decadent, corrupt status quo. Even so, the group of friends the boy was gathering was an interesting one.

A prefect, two pranksters, and that odd boy from the Far East, where few wizards from the west had ever ventured, who had defeated a troll.

His troll.

And then there was the purple-haired girl, Sokaris, who was allegedly from Egypt and had an old – olive - wand. This had seemed odd to him, given the fact that the Philosopher's Stone – the greatest achievement of Alchemy – was also at Hogwarts. Perhaps if he were not interested in acquiring the Stone for himself, he would be able to overlook the oddities about her, but he was. Originally, he had planned on faking a stutter to lull Hogwarts into complacency, given the average intelligence of most wizards, but then, if Sokaris was what he suspected she was – a ringer – a secret guard for the Stone dispatched by the Centre for Alchemical Studies posing as a student – such a façade would have been incredibly suspicious.

That wasn't to say he minded showing off his true power – after all, he enjoyed showing off. Few knew this, but the one thing he'd ever wanted out of life was to become great. In his youth, he'd been entirely too timid, ruled by fear and a feeling of insignificance. People had laughed at him, made fun of simple, delicate Quirrell – they had even done so when he was the Muggle Studies professor, since that position had been seen with such disdain. But now, as the Defense Professor, no one laughed. His students looked at him with reverence, hungry for the knowledge he could provide – and he reveled in it.

Which was why, after teaching them a modicum of defensive spells, running them through a number of practice duels, and instructing them on the particulars of a number of Dark creatures, he thought it was time for a practical test.

"…and so in the spirit of the holiday season, I too have some gifts to give to the worthy," the Defense professor said coolly, moving to the front of the classroom and pulling on what looked like empty air – to reveal a desk laden with number of intriguing items – and an invisibility cloak in his hand, its fabric a shimmery silvery gray that caught the light. "Including the cloak of course."

Now this certainly grabbed the attention of his students, a fact he noted as he picked up the artifacts one by one, and showed them off.

"As for the other items available, we have a set of two-way mirrors," he said, holding up what seemed at first to be simple pocket mirrors, utterly unremarkable. "The trick of these is that they are magically connected so one can communicate with someone else, whilst in different locations. Holding one, simply speak the name of the person who owns the other, and they will know."

Not unlike a Muggle telephone in that way, though these were at least portable.

"Then of course, we have a magical penknife," Quirrell continued, putting down the silver backed mirrors and picking up the small tool. "But it is not just any penknife – it has attachments that allow it to open any lock and untie any knot, even if they have been protected against Alohomora or similar spells."

This he put down as well, picking up a black, leathery pouch that attracted a good amount of attention.

"Yes, I'm sure some of you recognize this item," he said, showing it off to the class. "This is of course, a Mokeskin Pouch. As you may know, an item is placed inside such a pouch can only be removed by the person who put it in to begin with."

The next item was rather less remarkable, but also fairly practical – a small box full of stonelike masses that those who had studied their Potions book recognized as bezoars.

"Now, you may scoff at this choice, but those of you who have the misfortune to be afflicted with love potions, pranks, or other such, keep in mind that the bezoar is a very useful item to have around, especially if one has no time to brew a potion – not that Professor Snape would let you keep anything you made in class anyway."

After that was something mundane…a full set of Chocolate Frog Cards, all the finest first editions, of course.

And piece de resistance – a gold and leather bound book that was simply titled Book of Spells, and a piece of paper next to it authorizing the bearer to check the book out from the Restricted Section for the remainder of the year.

Now, some of the students began to whisper among themselves at this last item, as they wondered that the big deal was with a simple book, and why that was being offered as a prize. Some of the savvier students stayed quiet, however, waiting for the other shoe to drop, a sight that made Quirrell smile.

"You may be wondering, 'why has Professor Quirrell made a textbook' a possible holiday gift, especially if it is one that has to be returned by the end of the year?" the Defense Professor asked mildly, with more than one head nodding. "Well then, everyone, stand up, please."

The students did so, though some were puzzled as to why – but their puzzlement faded as he flipped the book open towards the end, and the world changed around them with a thrum of magic and a swirl of light.

The classroom was gone.

They were standing now on a platform – one of a series that descended into darkness.

"Lumos Maxima," Quirrell spoke, flicking his wand as an orb of bright light shot from his wand to hang in the air, cutting through the gloom.

"As you can see, this rare first edition of Miranda Goshawk's Book of Spells is more than just a simple textbook," the Defense Professor said to his stunned pupils. "It is a powerfully enchanted item, capable of conjuring various objects – or rooms – as you see here – to provide a safe environment for practicing spells from Lumos to Expecto Patronum. It is a living text too – with even the doodles and other embellishments added by previous users of the book added its contents for others to use in the future."

"P-Professor Quirrell," came the voice of Pansy Parkinson, who was now eying the tome greedily. "These are all…very remarkable things, but how will you choose who gets them?"

"Ah, a good question, Parkinson," the turbaned man replied, his gaze panning the room. "Naturally, as a Professor, it would be amiss of me to just give these away without some sort of test. But before you groan, know that this is not a written exam – and that it is, of course, strictly optional. It will be a practical challenge, with those who wish to obtain one of these items traversing a dungeon conjured by the book itself. Inside, there will be traps, puzzles, monsters – all of which you have learned about in class – and you will have the chance to put your skills to the test in the crucible of battle."

His voice trailed off, his tone almost reverent, and he could see his pupils swallowing. Some were nervous, some frightened – and some lusted for the objects in question – he could see it in their eyes.

"The one who demonstrates the best performance in each year – who completes the challenges fastest and most thoroughly, will have the right to choose one of my gifts, as well as winning twenty points for his or her House. I will of course allow the first years to have the first pick, given that older students will likely have had other opportunities to gain such items in the past. Still, I am not an uncharitable man. And so I offer an additional gift: every person who attempts my challenge – and you may do so only once and individually – will be given a House point for having the courage to face their fears. Every person who successfully completes it will earn four more, regardless of performance."

He smiled, a cold, hard smile that some found disturbing.

"After all, there is power, and then there are those too weak to seek it. In any case, those who wish to prove themselves will have two weeks to do so. The winner will be selected the day before the Winter Holidays begin."

The Castle was abuzz with news of Quirrell's Christmas Challenge – the nature of it, the wondrous prizes that could be won, the chance for students to test their skills against Dark Creatures and challenges, as opposed to just knowing what they would do in theory – and of course, the House Points that the Defense Professor had practically offered for the taking, for anyone who attempted his Challenge.

Shinji, of course, was sorely tempted by the prizes – especially the tome, which would offer a multitude of possibilities for training and a wealth of knowledge – but given that he knew Quirrell was likely a Dark Wizard after the Philosopher's Stone, he was suspicious of the man's motives. After all, the way he had structured the Challenge, giving points for participation and completion, meant that there would be huge amounts of House pressure for everyone to take the Challenge.

Which meant of course that Quirrell would be able to see how potential threats like the Stone Cutters reacted under pressure, particularly the Boy-Who-Lived. It was, Shinji had to admit, very cunning – and he gave the man credit, as despite knowing what the man was likely up to, he was tempted anyway. Tempted not just by the prizes, but the recognition…

…because if he was to participate, he would try to win. To do so would tarnish his image of being a young but powerful practitioner of witchcraft from the East.

But Matou Shinji had other things to occupy his time – things such as finally exploring the Room of Hidden Things, which Sokaris had informed him about as her "present" to him. The boy didn't know exactly what to feel about it.

Certainly he was curious as to exactly what the Room of Hidden Things was – he imagined it was likely some sort of small cubbyhole, where people had left extremely valuable things over the years, but he was also surprised that she had given him anything. After all, magi did not generally like to share, and while they understood each other, he hadn't thought he had done anything worthy of a gift – unless this was something like a quest reward for doing research for her.

And well, he was somewhat embarrassed that he had not yet given any thought as to what to give his acquaintances for the holidays, when Sokaris, who was the last person he would describe as sociable, clearly had.

So, that night, after asking Hillard if he was going to compete in Quirrell's challenge – to which the prefect had responded that he wasn't quite sure under the circumstances – Shinji had asked the older boy to let him join him on patrol for a bit.

When asked why, Shinji had said he needed to take care of something important – something related to Sokaris.

Hillard had frowned at that, though he had indeed allowed Shinji to accompany him, even disillusioning him.

"With you going out and doing things for Sokaris, Granger might take this the wrong way, you know," the prefect had quipped. "Especially after you've been spending time with her lately."

"…why?" Shinji had asked, only for Robert Hillard to shake his head and sigh at the younger boy's innocence.

"You'll know when you're older, Matou," was all the prefect had said, going through his usual routine to make the younger Stone Cutter less noticeable. "Girls are complicated, that's all I'm going to say. Especially those like Penny and Granger."

'Penny…as in Penelope?' Shinji had thought, wondering if there had been more to the relationship between the two prefects than met the eye. But it wasn't really his business, and so he let that train of thought lapse, as he was once more Disillusioned, his form changing color and texture to match his surroundings.

He'd broken off from Hillard's patrol path when they reached the sixth floor, proceeding up the stairs to the Seventh Floor, where he'd turned left and stopped cold in front of a ridiculous tapestry that – true to Sokaris' words – depicted a practitioner of witchcraft in the middle of a group of eight trolls in frilly pink tutus and ballet shoes. They were dancing en pointe, even…even if some of them were hitting the hapless wizard with their clubs.

Truly the name Barnabas the Barmy was appropriate.

But goggling at the idiocy of ancient practitioners wasn't his purpose for coming here, and so he followed Sokaris' instructions, walking past the wall across from the tapestry three times, thinking of a place to hide something.

To his lack of surprise, a door appeared, with Shinji swallowing and opening it to reveal…

"Sugoi…"

…a cavernous room larger than even the Great Hall, resembling nothing so much as a cathedral with its vaulted ceiling, intricately carved support pillars around which mountains of items had been gathered, large, high-set windows that gave the illusion of it being day outside.

This, Shinji had not expected. Certainly he didn't think everything in here was valuable, but if even a fraction was…

…he could be looking at being financially set for the rest of his life, provided he managed to transport the wealth out of this room.

Still, his surprise didn't keep him from shutting the door – which vanished behind him – and walking forward into the room. It wouldn't do for someone else to find this place by accident. No, not at all, not before he'd seen if there was anything useful he could take – and any curios he could use as Christmas gifts.

He strode forward, giving the room and its contents a cursory once-over as he passed by.

Here were stacks of broken and damaged furniture – mostly chairs, tables, & various cabinets all haphazardly piled on top of each other, perhaps to hide spell or potion damage.

Here and there were tottering piles of books – thousands upon thousands of volumes, and a few bookcases crammed full to bursting. Some looked as old as they undoubtedly were. Others were new, almost untouched. There were textbooks here, books in Old English that must date back to the Founding of Hogwarts, storybooks and more. And he had a feeling some of these books had either been stolen, banned, or otherwise bad to be caught with in the distant past, though a pretty pale green volume entitled The Tales of Beedle the Bard caught his eye as relatively innocuous.

He paused to leaf through it briefly, finding that it was apparently a collection of what were essentially fairy tales but for young witches. Though of course, the main difference was that while in Muggle fairy tales, magic tended to lie at the root of the hero or heroine's troubles – magic was a tool of both hero and villain in these stories. That, and interestingly enough, the witches in these tales seemed more active about seeking their fortunes than most fairy-tale heroines.

Shinji thought that Granger might like this book, with her interest everything magical, and so held onto it. The others he'd have to look at in more detail, and he didn't want to sort through textbooks now.

'What are…those?' he thought, seeing a mound of slingshots with wings, some with enough life left in them to hover halfheartedly over the mountains of other forbidden items. 'And why would anyone make such things?'

Though the fact that there were toys meant for these practitioners suggested that they had a society all of their own, on top of what he'd already seen from the slang and the ignorance of mundane culture. It stood to reason that if they didn't interact with what they called Muggles, they had other ways of fulfilling their basic needs for entertainment.

There were of course things that were simply garbage: chipped bottles of congealed potions, broken, oversized eggshells, skeletons of animals he didn't recognize (none that looked human, thankfully), corked bottles whose contents still shimmered evilly, several rusting swords, and what looked like stacks of Frisbees with…fangs.

There were curiosities, like an enormous stuffed troll that he thought he'd send to the Weasley Twins' home for Christmas if he could get enough owls here somehow – maybe if he levitated everything he needed to the entrance (with or without Sokaris' help) and had the owls come get them? There were cages of various shapes and sizes, busts of ancient practitioners, statues all about, even broomsticks that looked far fatter and squatter than those they had used in flying class.

And then there were useful goods – mountains of ornate chests, trunks, and pouches – including some mokeskin pouches. Hats and cloaks that still seemed in serviceable condition, including a few black scaly coats that resembled wyvern skin, mountains upon mountains of jewels and gold (he made a note to fill a chest with jewels for the Second Owner of Fuyuki, as he thought it would show Rin how foolish she had been to laugh in his face).

Pyramids of cauldrons of all metals, many suits of armor – with at least one looking like it had been designed for a House Elf, given the size and proportions of it – trophies, elegant blades and pots and trays of silver. Tapestries of rich, lush fabrics.

A banjo. A set of dominoes. Masks of all shapes, sizes, colors, and makes. A great stone basin. Sculptures of magical beasts – some roaring or eying him as if alive.

Trophies.

Stacks of other miscellany objects that looked like feebly blinking tops, aerials, or other such. Perhaps some knives and other goods were in there – he hadn't had time to look in detail and would need to some back at a later date to look more closely.

And an artifact he could tell was enchanted, as prana lingered on it, even to his weak senses: a tarnished diadem that once had been a pure silver, housed in a wooden case lined with blue velvet. It was shaped like an eagle with intricately worked silver wings, with a blue sapphire the size of his thumb serving as the body. And etched upon its surface was the famous motto of Ravenclaw House: "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure."

…this, Shinji thought, had to be the most valuable single item in the entirety of the room, which in itself was a mountain of treasures that staggered the imagination (albeit with much junk mixed in). Especially because, since he spent much of his free time channeling prana into ofuda, he could feel a pulse of something like it in this.

He knew now that there was no way he could hope to repay Sokaris for the information about this room, or to give her a gift that would impress her with its material value – not if she already knew about this room. Which meant what he got her would have to be personal. From the heart, as it were, instead of a mere trifle.

After all, Shinji was not an ungrateful lad, and something of this staggering magnitude required something just as great in exchange.

His thoughts about being used, about Sokaris hiding secrets, he tabled, since if this was the result, he couldn't exactly complain. He would keep in mind that the girl had a penchant for understatement, and a very odd sense of humor.

He'd need to think about what to give Potter as well, since he didn't think the Boy-Who-Lived would be won over by a trinket from the room, though some of those coats had looked rather nice.

As for the Diadem, he wasn't sure. Certainly, he could sell it for a fortune, or perhaps win great fame if this was an ancient artifact from the Founders, but as he pondered, a scene from Mahoutokoro sprung unbidden to his mind: a conversation between Matsuo Hijiri and Aozaki Touko on the latter's habit of buying odd items.

'Would…Touko-san like this?'

He rather thought she might, actually. Perhaps enough to take him as an apprentice come the summer. Maybe, if it was interesting enough. All he knew was he didn't know what it was capable of, so he wasn't going to try it out himself.

Thus did Matou Shinji close the case containing the diadem, securing the fastening on the box and placing a sealing ofuda on the latch to make sure it wouldn't just fall open in transit. And with that under one arm and The Tales of Beedle the Bard under the other, he left the Room of Hidden Things for a quick visit to the Owlery.