Matou Shinji and the Heirs of Slytherin
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: Trouble is brewing in the Wizarding World. In the wake of the Stone Incident, Albus Dumbledore has begun quietly preparing Britain to survive the coming war. The Stone Cutters, a new organization at Hogwarts for the most talented and distinguished of students, seek new blood to bolster its strength. The Boy-Who-Lived seeks his destiny as the Heir of Slytherin. And a boy from the east meets a specter of the past.
Chapter 11. Specters and Shades
There were days when Remus Lupin wondered if he'd ever really been young, or if his merrymaking with the Marauders – if his life up till now – was part of one long fever dream. After all, he was a werewolf, and everyone knew werewolves weren't allowed happiness. They were creatures of the Dark, foul beasts (or beings, if the Ministry was feeling generous during some particular month) who served as a reminder that there were cases where magic was no cure.
In fact, where werewolves were concerned, most who were bitten and knew what awaited them begged to be allowed to die. And sometimes, the victims were allowed this mercy, as the bite of a werewolf was invariably fatal, unless a mixture of silver and dittany was applied to the wound. The potioneer who had first discovered that had been hailed a hero for snatching a child from a jaws of death – until the full moon rose and that child became a monster, turning the one who saved him and slaughtering the rest.
No one knew how lycanthropy first arose, only that it had existed as far back as Ancient Greece, and so some thought it was the result of either magic gone awry or of a wizard who sought power through forbidden spells and rituals who had corrupted his very being.
And until the talented wizard Damocles invented the Wolfsbane Potion in the late 1970s, there was nothing that could be done for those afflicted with lycanthropy, nothing that would stop them from being a danger to all those around them, nothing that would stop a witch or wizard from becoming a beast in mind and form.
So they were cast out whenever they were discovered, treated with fear and disgust, with those afflicted believing they were unclean, that they did not deserve anything, for monsters did not, and werewolves were, as everyone knew well, monsters.
Monsters who did worse than kill.
Monsters who corrupted innocent witches and wizards into beings like themselves.
Monsters who were living symbols of the Dark.
It was perhaps ironic that this was not dissimilar to the behavior of Muggles during the many witch hunts of the past millennium, but then, humans – and human derived fey - were never good at being self-aware.
Even after the development of Wolfsbane, the attitudes of wizards did not change, for how could a relatively unknown treatment that had been around for just over a decade – which could only be brewed by Master Potioneers and was effective only if a wizard remembered to take the potion every month – trump a deep-seated fear which had been around for over two thousand years.
After all, should a werewolf ever forget to take their monthly dose of potion, the community would once more be in danger, so it was safer for them to be shunned, for them to know they were not welcome. It was a bit of a moral dilemma really.
Should the victims of werewolves be saved? Certainly, most Healers thought, as it would be against their oaths to let people die when there was yet something they could do.
But then, having been saved, were these survivors not condemned to lives where they were shunned, treated as subhuman beasts who couldn't work, couldn't go to school, couldn't be involved with the community if they were known to be werewolves?
Wouldn't it be more merciful then, both for the victims and wizarding society at large, if wizards bitten by werewolves were allowed to die in peace, like the Muggles so afflicted? Since lycanthropy could only be passed down by the bite – or blood – of a lycan in wolf form, not from parent to child or by any other means – letting victims pass away would mean fewer would be around to carry and transmit the curse.
And when there were few enough, eventually, the curse would end naturally, without any more victims, or the few remaining werewolves could be exterminated, as wizards had done to other societies they had seen as threats.
Unfortunately, those who advocated extermination were unwilling to do what was necessary to see that agenda done. Even Lyall Lupin, who believed werewolves were soulless and evil, deserving nothing but death, did not allow his son Remus the mercy of death.
Even knowing there was no cure, no way to treat him, he attempted to hide his son's condition, isolating him, to teach him on his own – until the day when Albus Dumbledore came along and offered Remus a spot at Hogwarts out of what he said was kindness, with the headmaster thus guaranteeing himself Remus' loyalty.
Those years…those wonderful years at Hogwarts had meant everything to him. For the first time had classmates he could talk to, work that could challenge him, the assurance he could be safe – even if he still had to keep his secret or risk social suicide. He'd had friends – James, Sirius, and Peter – friends who for all their faults, defended him, accepted him – even if they used him. He had authority figures who believed in him, with the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall even making him a Prefect – though of course he betrayed this trust by allowing his comrades to torment another student, by joining them in their mischief, and by allowing them to break the law and become unregistered Animagi.
Because he was afraid. Because Remus Lupin was at heart, a coward.
But those years were long gone, and whatever happiness he'd known, snatched away.
Saddest of all, of course, was the thought that those he considered his dearest friends had never trusted him, that because of his affliction, the Potters must have considered him a spy for the Dark, and thus had not been willing to make him Secret Keeper. Instead, they'd chosen Sirius Black, a man who had turned – or perhaps always had been – a traitor. Now that he thought back on it, it was always Sirius who had done the most extreme things. Sirius who had nearly killed Snape. Sirius who was so insistent on pranking absolutely everyone. Sirius who had first wanted to make the Marauder's Map, so they could see where everyone was, as there was a power in knowing and never getting caught. Sirius who first wanted to become an animagus – and insisted they not be registered.
The truth was that it fit too well.
That as the first of his family to be in Gryffindor, Black had been a spy for the Dark all along, and they had fallen for his act. He should have known it was so when Black insisted on tormenting Snape, a half-blood in Slytherin, as opposed to either he – a werewolf – or his friends, all pure-bloods. With his connections, he'd infiltrated the Order of the Phoenix and fed his true Master everything Voldemort needed to win the war.
And the Dark Lord would have won, had Black's betrayal of the Potters not resulted in his destruction when he attempted to slay young Harry. Out of spite, Black had then gone on to hunt down Peter Pettigrew, the only Marauder then in reach, though Peter had stood his ground valiantly rather than flee, as Lupin thought he might.
Had fought the traitor in an attempt to protect Muggles, even though he knew he would die in the process. Had showed in the last moments of his life that he would not let his legacy be one of fear, that he had found the courage to face down his old friend, rather than dying a coward.
For die he had, with Black casting a mighty Blasting curse that blew him apart, along with a number of Muggles, and then losing himself to madness. Perhaps he could not believe that Peter, of all people, would have dared to face him.
Who knew?
All Lupin knew was that whenever he went out, he saw empty chairs and empty tables, where his friends were dead and gone; that when the tomorrow they'd talked about in Hogwarts finally came, when the long War was over, his friends were gone and he was once again alone.
And while Peter had received an Order of Merlin for his courage, it was not enough to assuage the feelings of loss and betrayal Black had left behind. In fact, for years afterwards, while he'd struggled to eke out a living, forced to go from one job to the next while living out of a tumbledown, semi-derelict cottage in Yorkshire, he'd wondered why they hadn't just sentenced Sirius to receive the Dementor's Kiss for his many crimes, instead of just being condemned to Azkaban.
Lupin knew he could have done more, could have mentioned how Black had used him, how Black was an illegal Animagus, and many things besides, but he was too lost in grief at the time, and he figured a life sentence in Azkaban would do, since no one had ever escaped the Wizarding Prison in its long, long history.
But Black, a powerful wizard already known for doing the impossible, somehow managed to do just that.
Despite knowing better, Remus was resolved to hunt down his old friend, to do what was necessary and put an end to the traitor, even if it meant his own death. He even looked the part, a shambling wizard old before his time, his clothing shabby and patched, his face drawn and lined with worries and cares, his once brown hair turned grey.
After all, to him, his life wasn't worth living. He was but a powerless corpse pretending to be alive, without the power to change his destiny, the courage to fight for what was right, or the decency to simply leave wizarding society and join one of the packs.
He would follow Peter's example and die to set things right.
Or he had intended, until Albus Dumbledore made him an offer he could not refuse. The great wizard had found him at his cottage, shortly after the escape of Sirius Black, and had shed some light on why Black might choose now to escape: the Dark Lord was not truly dead, having preserved himself through the darkest of arts, and after a decade, was nearly ready to begin his reign of terror once more.
The guard of Aurors stationed around Azkaban had been doubled in size following Black's breakout to prevent his escape from inspiring the other Death Eaters held there, and Hit Wizards had been stationed at Hogwarts in case Black came there, but if war came, that weak reed would not withstand the might of Lord Voldemort.
Not if that might was joined – as it had been in the last war – by that of the Giants and the Werewolves, who had long held grudges against the greater Wizarding World – and especially against Magical Britain, one of the most conservative of the magical nations.
Of particular concern was the status of Fenrir Greyback, one of Voldemort's most powerful allies in the last war, and perhaps the most savage werewolf of modern times.
This would-be revolutionary regarded it as his mission in life to infect as many as possible with the lycan curse so as to build an army to overcome the wizards, reasoning that the wizards should be made to suffer as they had made werewolves suffer due to British oppression.
For too long, he claimed, wizards had ruled over other magical beings, claiming the sole right to class others as beasts or beings, to decide who would be allowed to have jobs or magic, to decide who would live and who would die. For too long, the Ministries of Europe had been judge, jury and executioner over those who were once their kin, without even once officially trying to make accommodations for those who were only victims. For too long, the werewolves had been victims of fear, prejudice, and more from an unthinking, unsympathetic populace who would not give them the dignity of dying as humans – and then, once they were turned, shunned them as monsters and beasts.
Fenrir had resolved that if Magical Britain was going to treat werewolves as monsters, despite most of them wanting to live out their lives in peace, then they may as well become monsters, and use the power they had been cursed with the overthrow their oppressors.
He'd done as he'd promised too, rallying the disaffected, the brutalized, the disenfranchised into a powerful army that utterly terrified the wizards of Britain with their savagery.
Had Voldemort not died that day…well, it didn't take an Unspeakable to calculate what would have happened. The Ministry overthrown. The Goblins likely rising up at last. The Death Eaters and werewolves destroying each other. And the Dark Lord acting as dark wizards had always done and betraying the agreements he'd made, destroying his allies to become the one true power in all of Britain.
It was not a pleasant thought, and Dumbledore's warning of another war brought all this back in full detail.
"What do you need of me, Albus?" Remus asked the old wizard when the man finished giving his dire news, his already worn face seeming to age a decade in the span of an hour.
"I need you to live among the werewolves, Remus." Such was as the werewolf had expected, given who and what he was. "To find the hidden society Greyback rallied once."
"To be your spy."
"Say better, my agent," the old man answered, his blue eyes icy and cold. "I need you to find out if Grayback still lives, and if Voldemort has been in contact with him. If he does not, I am willing to do what I can to get werewolves better treatment, in return for registering their status with the Ministry. I have been speaking with Cornelius as of late, and he is concerned about his…legacy, for lack of a better word."
"Mandatory registration, Albus? You know they won't like that," Lupin replied, knowing full well that even he who had gone to Hogwarts, who had been given special treatment and consideration from the Headmaster, did not like it. He knew how werewolves feared to be discovered, to be exposed, as it meant their ruin.
"Wolfsbane," was all Albus said in reply.
A powerful potion indeed, if fairly disgusting, Damocles' invention was a great boon to those who could afford it, as it allowed werewolves to retain their minds during a transformation – but no one dared, given the fear of exposure.
"That won't stop Greyback, or those like him," Lupin noted reproachfully. "It will just give them the advantage of being able to plan when transformed, to use their strength, speed, and power with human cunning. And it won't change what other wizards think of werewolves. You know that."
You know how wizards treat those who aren't human, he left unsaid.
"Fudge is willing to provide enough land for werewolves to have their own territories and villages, and the resources to set up a local economy, open to those who register with the Ministry," Dumbledore said quietly, shaking his head. "All of the Herbides would be open to you, as well as some of Orkney and the Shetland Islands."
"The Minister wants to exile us, then?" Lupin asked bitterly, noticing how those were far from the main isle of Britain. Now that he heard about that, he wasn't exactly surprised that Fudge was willing to offer support – a Minister who solved the "Werewolf Problem" would go down in history as one of the finest Magical Britain had ever known. "So that at last, we are no longer his problem?"
"Is it any worse than how you are living now, Remus?" Dumbledore asked gently, gesturing to the shack Lupin had been living in – all he could afford. "What werewolves there are could have their own society – their own Magical nation."
"And what would he ask in return for the supplies and Wolfsbane, Albus? You of all people know registration won't be the end of it."
"Those who register would be made to take Unbreakable Vows to take their Wolfsbane and take shelter during the Full Moon – and also, to turn no more into Werewolves."
…thus leading to the eventual extinction of the lycans and the ending of the curse.
"Greyback won't stand for it, if he lives, Albus," Lupin noted, meeting the other man's gaze unflinchingly.
"Then he must not, Remus."
Lupin swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry as he realized what Dumbledore was truly asking of him. Not only for him to infiltrate the hidden society of werewolves, and convince them to agree to this deal – but for him to find if Fenrir Greyback yet lived – and if he did, ensure he would no more.
There was a part of Remus Lupin that had always wanted to prove himself against the man who had turned him, just as there was a part that was deathly afraid. But then, if one really thought about it, Remus Lupin had nothing to lose.
"I…understand."
Heading back to the Ravenclaw Common Room that night, Matou Shinji found himself rather exhausted by the events of the first day of classes. Transfiguration and Potions he'd expected to be difficult, but he had not expected to be appointed a Consul, of all things, in History of Magic, nor to deal with deadly plants in Herbology.
Indeed, the boy from the East had stopped cold when he heard what they would be working with, as he recalled that Neville Longbottom had slain his assailants in Quirrell's Challenge with the cry of an uprooted mandrake – and that a former Minister of Magic had died in a Mandrake-related gardening accident.
It made him wonder if these were being grown as a last defense against Sirius Black, one the dark practitioner of witchcraft would not be expecting. Or if perhaps the Headmaster – or the Defense Professor – wanted a powerful restorative around in case students or Hit Wizards were subjected to strange and powerful curses, since mandrake essence could easily return people to their natural state, in effect, killing the magic used on them.
The downside to this, of course, was that students had to grow the plants, since Professor Sprout apparently couldn't do it alone, a prospect fraught with danger, or at least embarrassment, since the cry of immature mandragora would only knock someone out for a few hours.
In the mad scramble, he'd not had a chance to talk with Harry about what to expect in History class, since he thought it was likely that as Heir of Slytherin and member of the Order of Merlin (First Class), the Boy-Who-Lived would also be chosen as a consul.
…and he knew Harry would not enjoy being put in that position, since he wanted nothing to do with the politics of Slytherin House, and wished instead on matters related to the Stone Cutter Society, training himself, and spending time with those who were close to him.
So Shinji had taken his leave from Hermione after Herbology so he could talk to Harry in private. He had considered having her join them, but Harry seemed quite uncomfortable around Hermione – and this wasn't really a matter she had anything to do with anyway.
The Boy-Who-Lived had been uncharacteristically silent as he led the way towards…wherever they were headed, walking swiftly and at an agitated pace until he arrived in front of the golden statue of the Architect.
Harry tapping the statue with his wand and muttered something under his breath, as four thin slots appeared, whereupon he withdrew a series of four cards from his robes and inserted them into the slots, with the statue itself swinging open to reveal a secret passage.
Shinji raised an eyebrow at this display but otherwise said nothing as he followed his friend through the passage, torches lighting as he approached, with the door at the end swinging open to reveal a chamber lined with books.
The smell hit him first: the heavy, spicy aroma of slowly, imperceptibly decomposing leather and paper, of ton after ton of dry ink.
And all around him, there were books. The walls themselves were bookshelves, with most of the shelves crammed full of tomes – most quite ancient – with windows set high above.
Creamy spines, leather spines, knobby and ribbed spines, jacketed and bare, gilded and plain, blank spines and spines crammed with text and ornament in languages older than Shinji knew, and mostly beyond his ability to read. Some were as thin as magazines, some were wider than they were tall.
There was a vast table in the middle of the room, carved from rich, warm oaks, with chairs enough for the Stone Cutters and then some, and its rune-carved surface gleamed as light played over it – light from far above, mimicking the appearance of the night sky, much like the Great Hall.
"This is the Founders' Tower," Harry related, a brittle smile on his face. "Which we as Stone Cutters have access to, thanks to the Headmaster."
He handed a set of keycards to Shinji, who pocketed them wordlessly.
"A fine room," the Easterner noted.
And it was.
The very air here seemed to hum and sigh with prana and old secrets, and he marveled that it wasn't covered with dust and cobwebs – though he supposed the house-elves had probably cleaned it out beforehand.
Speaking of which…
"Let's talk over dinner. Kizzy, are you there?" Shinji spoke into the empty air, only for the house elf he'd last seen in the Kitchens to pop into existence in the Tower.
"Ah, young masters, how is Kizzy be helping you today?" the elf asked, with a low bow.
"We'll take dinner in here, if you don't mind," Shinji answered. "Is my usual available?"
"Yes, young master, it be," the House-elf answered, nodding. "Other young master would like the usual Hoggywarts food?"
"Yes, please," Harry answered. "And thank you."
The elf disappeared then, with Shinji and Harry taking their seats at the vast table.
"What's going on?" Harry asked warily, expecting the worst. Shinji wouldn't want to just talk to him in private without a good reason – not on the first day. "You don't have information on Black or something, do you?"
"What? No," Shinji answered, confused. "Why would you…?"
Harry smiled slightly, but sighed.
"Quirrell. You…knew about him first."
"Only because of Sokaris," Shinji noted, not missing the wince the name elicited from the Boy-Who-Lived. "Harry…"
"I'm fine," the Heir of Slytherin rebuffed. "Really."
Which didn't fool the Boy from the East at all, but there was no point arguing over it, as the food appeared.
"It's Lockhart, actually."
Harry stiffened, his body tensing at the name, with his hand twitching.
"What about him?"
"Nothing like what you're thinking – eat, Harry," Shinji said, giving a meaningful glance towards the wand the other boy had been about to draw.
"Sorry," the bespectacled boy grimaced. "It's just…"
"Don't be. I was there."
But Harry only shook his head.
"We're getting distracted. So, Lockhart…?"
Shinji explained what had happened in class – how Gilderoy Lockhart seemed to not only care a great deal about History, but was every bit as serious as Tomas, from the look of it. And that was saying something, as Tomas was perhaps the one practitioners of Witchcraft who had truly intimidated him. Others he'd seen as peers or as teachers who would further his path to power, but Tomas was something else altogether.
The puppet whose soul had been severed from his body by Lord Voldemort was quite casually terrifying, with his obvious skill and power, and how little he thought of Shinji. Gilderoy looked at him in the very same way: as if the boy from the east was a fraud, someone who was supposedly great at what he did, but had no substance to back up his act.
It was obvious that the offer of rulership was a test – but had he passed it, failed it, was it still going? He didn't know, and that was really what bothered him.
For even Severus Snape, who so many feared and loathed, was quite clear about what he expected. Even Professor Quirrell, whose lessons had tested the limits of his skills and challenged him to think creatively, was clear on that.
Lockhart had given him this large, freeform assignment as Consul – and he didn't know what to do with it. He couldn't deny that he wanted power, but at the same time…he could see how power could divide, could isolate, could make people jealous.
Not for the first time, Shinji was quite grateful he'd been sorted into Ravenclaw, as most of his peers tended to be reasonable about homework, and so he thought it wouldn't be too much work to discharge his duties well. If he was in Gryffindor and had to deal with someone like Ronald Weasley, on the other hand, he couldn't imagine what he'd do.
He felt quite sorry for Neville Longbottom, the Consul of the Second Year Gryffindors, in fact, as he was sure the second youngest Weasley would soon rise in rebellion.
But on that matter…
"He'll probably pick you as Consul," Shinji concluded, watching as Harry's face became an expressionless mask. "At least, I wouldn't be surprised."
"That's the last thing I want," Harry answered. And it really was, too, as there was little enough benefit from it, and the possibility of schism. "Sure, Malfoy's kept his distance, but…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Actually, Daphne would be better at this than I would. She's good with dealing with people. Me, I…"
Both of the boys were silent for some time.
"…well, what about a triumvirate?" Shinji suggested, since Lockhart hadn't forbidden the sharing of power – had encouraged it even.
"Oh?"
"You, Malfoy, and Daphne," Shinji elaborated. "That way, you appease Malfoy and reduce his chance of rebellion, but make sure you have an ally on your side in case he tries to abuse his power."
"That's…" Harry began, only to fall silent as he mulled over the proposal. "Actually, that's not a bad idea."
"Of course it's not, I came up with it," the Ravenclaw quipped, with Harry smiling weakly at this.
For a time, they talked about nothing in particular, until Harry spoke up about a class he'd had on the first day.
"Actually, I'd say the one to be careful about is Moody," the Slytherin noted grimly. "He didn't seem to like my class very much. Occasionally, he'll even send a hex or two our way to see if we're paying attention. Even I would have gotten one, except I blocked it with my book."
"I see."
"And then he laid down a challenge – for us to hit him with a spell, if we could. And if any of us succeeded, he wouldn't assign homework."
"…this sounds like Tomas all over again," Shinji groaned, cradling his forehead in the palm of one hand. "Let me guess, no one could?"
Harry nodded glumly.
"He said if this was a real fight, we'd already be dead since we have no sense of how to work as a group." The Boy-Who-Lived sighed heavily, shaking his head. "He was right too. None of us were working together. Each of us was just casting spells on him, and since he can hear most of what we're casting…"
Shinji couldn't help but smirk at that last bit, but even that self-assuredness faded in moments, as he didn't think a silent Flipendo was going to be enough – and he didn't think using his Avada Kedavra "trick" against the most famous Auror of modern times was going to end well.
And then it hit him…
"You think maybe we can use the Consul position to get our classmates together to train?" he wondered aloud.
"Hmm, let's do it," Harry replied. "I'd be a lot happier if I knew my housemates were trying to see how they could help me, instead of looking for any weakness I might have. Even if they think I'm the bloody Heir of Slytherin."
Shinji had nothing to say to that, given that that sounded remarkably like Tomas' challenge. Had all higher level practitioners of witchcraft trained in a certain school of combat or something?
There was little enough to say after that, though they did agree that a meeting of the Stone Cutters should be convened on the weekend, and that this might be a useful area to practice some of their ofuda exercises together.
Mentioning the Room of Hidden Things slipped Shinji's mind, mostly because that wasn't something he was ready to share, and he hadn't explored its depths yet. And according to Touko, it was more than a vault of lost treasure, so he needed to plumb it secrets.
Speaking of Touko…he donned the gloves she'd given him, testing how well they worked, and interestingly enough, they did let him hold certain spells, like a fireball, after he cast it with his wand – or block a Flipendo.
It would be interesting to use, to be sure.
On his way back to the Common Room, he was distracted by the sing-song quality of a voice he thought he recognized. Luna's voice, coming from the opposite direction. Curious, he followed the voice, going up a flight of stairs and over towards a tapestry-hidden corner to find the blonde girl talking to a ghost – the Grey Lady in fact, the Ghost of Ravenclaw Tower.
He'd seen her once or twice, but hadn't talked to her before. He'd never had a need to, though Hillard had mentioned that she was helpful to members of her House, especially if they were lost – or had lost something. Still, Luna having a casual conversation with a spirit made him curious – it made him wonder who had sought who out.
He supposed the Grey Lady was beautiful, being the ghost of a young woman with waist-length hair and floor-length cloak, but her expression was an odd one – proud but serene, and her voice was not unlike Luna's, oddly enough. Not unlike Luna's.
As Shinji continued to approach, the ghost looked up, raised her eyebrows, and began to drift away, but paused when she took note of the blue trim on his robe.
"Hullo, Matou Shinji," Luna greeted him dreamily, her silvery eyes as mysterious as ever.
"Hello to you, Luna." Shinji nodded both to her and to the ghost. "And to you, Grey Lady."
"You are from the East," the phantom said without preamble, her grey eyes meeting his. "A boy with many secrets. Like him."
All at once, she began to float off, with Shinji suddenly certain that he didn't stop her, he'd never see her again.
"Wait," he asked, but she didn't stop, and so he lunged forward – and took one of her hands in his— the black material of his gloves capturing her hand and freezing her in mid-glide.
"What."
Her expression was a mask of perfect shock, as one of the living had somehow seized her without the use of any spells. Someone had laid his hands on her without regard for who she was. She could not blush, but her transparent cheeks became more opaque, and her voice was heated as she continued.
"You! How did you—?"
But she stopped as she considered the boy and the gloves he wore, feeling the echo of something she knew from a long time ago.
"…the diadem," she whispered, her eyes almost desperate. "Where did you find it?"
"The Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw?" Luna's voice broke in.
"Yes. My mother's diadem. Where. Where did you find it?" The ghost asked, her voice low and intense as she stared at him, her hand going limp.
"Your mother's?" Shinji repeated, with the ghost looking quite cross with herself, biting her lip. When she replied, some moments later, she said only this:
"When I lived. I was Helena Ravenclaw."
"Daughter of Rowena, the Founder," Luna added helpfully, though the ghost's face soured even more at this.
"You know where it is," the now identified ghost of Helena Ravenclaw said in a fey voice as she remained quite still, floating in midair, staring down at him.
"I did," Shinji admitted, in much the same tone.
"Where? Where did you see it?"
"I saw it at Hogwarts," the boy replied.
"Impossible," Helena said dismissively, her voice almost sneering. "When I—that is—it was in Albania, the last I knew of it."
Luna's eyes widened at that. Was the ghost of Ravenclaw saying the diadem was not truly lost, that she had known where it was? And now Shinji was saying he had seen it at Hogwarts.
"But…" Luna spoke then, her voice breaking the tension. "I thought the diadem was lost. But you knew where—"
"I stole it," Helena's ghost admitted in a whisper. "And I hid it in a hollow tree in Albania, a lonely place I thought far beyond my mother's reach."
A nagging thought in the back of Shinji's mind reminded him that Quirrell had gone to Albania in the past.
"But why?" Shinji asked. "Why did you – ?"
"Why did you?" the ghost asked, cutting him off, with the need in her eyes, the wanton desire on a face that was usually so serene. "I sought to make myself cleverer, more important than my mother. But you…you don't even have it. You didn't wear it. But how?"
"I needed a gift," Shinji admitted, feeling that the truth was probably the best thing in this situation.
"A gift," she repeated. "A gift?! You held in your hands the diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw herself and you gave it away?!"
She looked flabbergasted, unable to understand how or why he did such a thing. Surely any wizard – even a student – would have known of its importance. But then, he was from the East, from a place that truly had been beyond her mother's reach.
"You didn't even know what it was, did you?" she whispered hollowly.
"No, I didn't," Shinji admitted, as the ghost's body shook – though with anger or silent laughter he could not say.
"You…when Peeves said you helped him kill a troll, I had no idea what kind of person you were," she continued after some time. "But…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "Where is it now? The diadem? If it was at Hogwarts, he must have found it and brought it here. But why…"
"He?"
"…the wizard who calls himself Lord Voldemort," she explained, closing her eyes.
"You told him where it was."
She simply nodded.
"I had . . . no idea. . . . He was . . . flattering. He seemed to . . . to understand . . . to sympathize."
"You said he called himself Voldemort. What was his name…?" Shinji asked, his hair rising as he felt that he was on the edge of some great precipice.
"Tom," the Ravenclaw ghost answered in a hush.
"…Tom?" Shinji asked, barely able to keep his voice under control.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle, which rearranged spells, 'I am Lord Voldemort,'" she clarified, her eyes growing sharp again. "Why?"
"It's nothing," Shinji insisted. And it probably was, since Tom was a very common name. And besides, Tomas had trained both he and Harry, knowing that Harry was Voldemort's foe, so he was probably worrying over nothing.
More concerning was the diary that the Malfoys had possessed, one that had belonged to a certain Tom Riddle, which had clammed up at his claim of being Albus Dumbledore. That was quite suspicious, for as the woman in the odd shop had said: there was no such thing as coincidence, there was only the inevitable.
"If you say so," Helena said in a tone that indicated she didn't quite believe him. "Where is it now?"
"I don't know," was all Shinji could say to that, and it was true – he didn't know where it was, or where Touko was, not at the moment.
"I see. I see," the ghost noted. "Find out. Please?"
"I'll do what I can," Shinji replied, promising no more than he could. "But I had a request."
The ghost's face became a blank mask once more.
"I thought you might. Is this related to the Consul business I have heard of from Miss Lovegood?"
"…yes, actually," Shinji startled, looking at Luna. "You're a Consul as well? And you asked the Grey Lady to help you?"
"As I said, you're just as sane as I am," Luna replied warmly, moving to stand beside him.
"You…very well then," the Grey Lady answered. "To both of you, I will assist as best I may." And then she looked at Shinji, her cheeks going somewhat more opaque. "Now, if you would kindly release my hand?"
"Ah," Shinji said eloquently, his grip easing as the shade's hand slipped from his. "How will I find you?"
"Any house elf will do," came the reply as Helena Ravenclaw glided through a wall and vanished, with Luna looking at the boy beside her curiously.
Shinji, for his part, just noticed that even now, she wore the origami frangipani he'd made for her in her hair above her left ear.
"Still wearing it, I see."
"It was the first thing anyone has ever given me," she said dreamily, an odd smile on her lips as her eyes looked into his. "Lead me back to the Tower? You won't get me lost, will you?"
"Of course not."