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 16. Unsettling Confirmations

Severus Snape froze, his face becoming a polite mask at the words spoken by the Boy-Who-Lived, words asking about people who were never far from his mind – the tormentors who in many ways had made him who he was, driven him to further and further into the arms of the Dark. Part of him had wondered when this day would come, when Potter would become curious about the people he admitted to dreaming about – whose deaths he saw each night he slept; but part of him had hoped the day would never come, or at least that he'd ask someone else.

Yet, as the boy's Head of House – and someone who was concerned about the boy's survival and sanity (even to the point of giving him supplementary lessons in the Dark Arts), this was a responsibility he could not simply shirk.

"You are curious about your parents and…Black," he repeated, saying the last word with more than a hint of venom. "Particularly their history together."

"Yes, Professor Snape," Harry confirmed. "I thought you would know since…"

"Yes, Potter?"

"…you're younger than the other Professors, so I wonder if you went to school with them?"

Snape shook his head, finding this line of questioning particularly foul, as it was Black – and James Potter – who had been the ringleaders of the group so aptly nicknamed the Marauders. Bandits, essentially, who operated outside the rule of law, tormenting the innocent, stealing the hard work of others, turning friend against friend and brother against brother...

"You are acquainted with the Weasley Twins, and you are aware of their penchant for…mischief," he said instead.

"Yes, Professor, though they haven't pranked anyone since we created the Stone Cutter Society," Harry stated, just to set the record straight. "In fact, since our confrontation with…"

But the Boy-Who-Lived trailed off, unsure of what to say, exactly.

"…with Professor Quirrell in the Dungeons?" Snape asked mildly, his dark eyes staring into the vibrant green of Potter's – eyes that looked so much like Lily's in their shock and surprise. "And yes, I know the true nature of who you faced."

"…you knew, sir?" Harry repeated, swallowing. "That he was…?"

"The Headmaster informed me of the true story, not the…convenient tale the others know," the Head of House Slytherin related. Dumbledore had had to, since Severus was the tool he used to spy into the affairs of the Dark, given the Potions Master's connections. In particular, the Headmaster had been wary for any sign that the Dark Lord might be returning – but as of yet, there had been none.

"…ah," Harry said simply.

"It was either remarkably brave of you – or incredibly foolish – to challenge the Dark Lord," the Potions Master remarked, shaking his head. "You would have died that day, save for the Dark Lord using the very spell that had failed…the day you received your scar. You can trust he will not do so again, however. There are ways to kill other than the Killing Curse."

"So I have been informed."

Snape simply grunted at this.

"No doubt. But to return to the topic, Black and his fellows – including your father – could be compared to the Weasley Twins, did the Twins lack any restraint, morality, any human decency." And here he smiled sardonically. "Indeed, their gang of four – marauders one and all – were inveterate bullies, thieves, monsters, who tormented their fellow students without much in the way of punishment, due to the Headmaster's…unfortunate favoring of Gryffindor."

"…bullies?"

His father…had been like Dudley? Part of a gang which picked on those weaker than themselves? He supposed it was possible, since he didn't remember much about the man, only that he'd died trying to hold off Voldemort.

"Bullies, did I say? Worse," Snape continued. "On at least one occasion, Black attempted to murder one of his classmates by subjecting him to the mercies of his confederate Remus Lupin – a werewolf. The Headmaster believed him to be a useful tool for the coming War, however, so he was spared any punishment. Sadly, Albus was…mistaken."

"…and so my parents died," Harry concluded. "Even though my father was…one of his gang, you say?"

"Indeed, though your mother never cared for him," the Potions Master noted blandly. "Or for any of the 'Marauders.' She and I were friends, you know."

Harry's eyes widened at that revelation, as he hadn't in fact, known that.

"Oh yes," Snape confirmed. "Best friends, in fact – until interhouse rivalries and the affections of James Potter, rich sod that he was, came between us. She chose…that man, over her oldest friend. But she chose him over her sister Petunia, as well. Just as she had chosen me, once…"

"…that's how Aunt Petunia knew who you were," the Boy-Who-Lived whispered, thinking back to the day when the Potions Master had taken him out of the Dursley house and over to Japan. "Was she…was she always so…"

Awful, Harry wanted to say.

"She was not so bitter until Lily was invited to come to Hogwarts and she was not," Snape related, a mirthless smile on his lips. "She even pleaded with the Headmaster to be allowed to come, and was denied."

Try as Harry might, he simply could not picture Aunt Petunia at Hogwarts – but then, he couldn't exactly picture her as a little girl either. Nor could he picture what inspired her to marry Vernon Dursley, but that was neither here nor there.

"I was asking about Black, Professor," Harry noted, wanting to return to the reason he'd brought up the past to begin with.

"You wanted to know about his friends," Snape recalled. "James Potter, your father. Remus Lupin, a werewolf. And Peter Pettigrew, a little rat of a man who scampered in their shadow. I confess I was…surprised when Pettigrew confronted Black after the death of your parents, though as one might expect, Black destroyed him with a blasting curse powerful enough that it left behind only one finger."

Harry blinked at this, dark suspicion filling his mind at this piece of information.

"…did you say one finger, sir?" he asked carefully.

"Indeed. What of it, Potter?" Snape questioned.

"Sir…just between us, you should know that Ronald Weasley wished to join the Stone Cutter Society, given that he survived a confrontation with Sirius Black," the Boy-Who-Lived related. He figured that if the Potions Master could be trusted with the truth by Dumbledore, perhaps Harry could trust him as well. Besides, Snape had been one of the few people to show him kindness without having any ulterior motives. "He mentioned that Black – who called himself Padfoot – was hunting a rat he called Wormtail."

"I have not heard this name before," Snape conceded. "What is the significance of it? Or Black hunting a rat, aside from the fact that he was likely driven mad by Azkaban."

"Sir, I don't think that's it at all. You see, I came across the names Wormtail and Padfoot – along with those of Prongs and Moony – on an old piece of parchment, with the four identified as Marauders," Harry related. "That's why I asked about Black and his friends." He paused for a moment, shaking his head. "He called the rat an animagus, sir. And…the Twins tell me that the rat that once belonged to their younger brother – the rat that went missing since early in this term – had been in their family since just after the War. And that their rat was missing a toe from the beginning."

Being a learned wizard, Severus Snape knew at least a little bit about animagi – including the fact that injuries sustained in one form were reflected in the other. And given everything else…

The Slytherin Head of House went perfectly still.

"Do you mean to say that Pettigrew might be alive?" he asked sharply, his expression unreadable. "A man who was posthumously awarded membership in the Order of Merlin for his bravery? If that is true, then…"

"I don't know for sure, sir, but clearly Black thinks so. And if someone has been in hiding, living as a rat for ten years, there has to be a reason," Harry concluded. "Given that that reason is serious enough that Sirius Black is hunting him and not me..."

"…I see your point, boy," Snape agreed, looking over at the boy as if trying to look into him. "Are there any other…disturbing observations…you wish to share?"

"Only that Black himself was probably an animagus—"

"—an unregistered animagus, which is also against the law—"

"—and that Matou, in talking with the Grey Lady, found that Voldemort's real name was Tom Marvolo Riddle. And that the diary he gave you earlier in the summer, the diary which contains the spirit of Tom Riddle, was probably the Dark Lord's."

It was not a common thing to see Snape, if it were possible, grow pale. Yet that was exactly what happened, with his already pallid complexion growing even more so as the blood drained from his face, his eyes tinged with incredulity as he looked at the boy.

"…the Dark Lord put his spirit in…a diary?" Snape asked. Voldemort had made…a horcrux? If that was true, it explained quite well how he hadn't died that day, a question that had never been fully answered. "And more than that, you learned the Dark Lord's true name?"

"Matou did, sir."

That a boy from the east had gotten this information from the Grey Lady was…surprising, to say the least, since she'd never revealed what she knew to the Headmaster over these many years. Likewise, that he now had a diary containing part of the Dark Lord's soul…?

A Dark Lord who had once been Head Boy of Hogwarts. A boy honored with an award for special services to the school. A boy who had been thought of as the Heir of Slytherin.

Snape, not recognizing the name, had not looked at the diary immediately, figuring it was simply one of the many Dark artifacts that Lucius Malfoy had had in his possession, and that the man had wanted to eliminate Matou so his son could take his place by Potter's side, but now…now, there was a greater urgency to it.

If that diary was in fact a horcrux…that changed everything.

"Thirty points to Ravenclaw and Slytherin a piece for coming to me with this information," Snape said, finally managing to compose his features again. As a spy and double agent, he was not often flustered or confused, but the things Potter had said meant that the Order had new objectives, and that what they had taken for granted – like the death of Pettigrew and such – might not be true.

And after all the work of the Order, all his work, the Boy-Who-Lived simply delivered these facts into his lap?

…was this what the prophecy meant? That the Chosen One would bring vital knowledge to the fight against the Dark Lord? That Potter's information was the key? Knowledge was power, after all, from the point of view of both spymasters and Ravenclaws…

"You will look into this, Professor?"

"Better. I will inform the Headmaster – and the Defense Professor – and we all will," Snape noted gruffly. "And Potter…" He paused for a moment, but only a moment. "Report to me after your classes. If you are truly resolved to confront the Dark Lord, you will require…personalized training."

"Yes, sir."

In the hidden corridor branching off from the Ravenclaw Common Room, a different sort of confrontation was taking place, with Hermione Granger frozen at the sight of the person standing before her, petrified as if she'd seen a basilisk.

"You've been avoiding me, Hermione," came the voice – the oh-so-wonderful – oh-so-terrible voice of the Boy from the East as he looked at her. The way he looked at her…it made her feel like she was the only person in the world that mattered…it made her wonder if he looked at Lovegood like that, when they spent their mornings reading together or talking of strange animals from other parts of the world.

…it made her feel as if he saw right through her.

"I…no I haven't," she said in a very small voice, her legs trembling as she found it difficult to stand. "I just haven't…been around."

"Hermione, I know the difference," Shinji chided, taking a step closer to her. "I just wanted…well, I just wanted to talk."

"T-to talk?"

"Yes, Hermione, to talk," Shinji said patiently. It hadn't been easy finding her, though at least he'd found out from Flitwick that she'd been given a study room due to security issues. "I saw your boggart, you know."

…the boggart that had taken his form and accused her of killing him – because he would never be hers.

For the last few days, he'd been distracted by Stone Cutter business, given the need to follow up on what had happened with Ron Weasley and Sirius Black, but now that he had a moment, he knew he and Granger needed to talk.

"…that was…"

But she couldn't deny it – how could she when Shinji – when the entire class, had seen it? When people were talking about it, even gossiping about it. It was so…so cruel. Not that she was any stranger to cruelty, but she thought…she thought things would be different in a world of magic.

She…

Hermione looked down, eyes wet, hands by her sides, not knowing what to do. There was nothing in the books about this. Nothing about how confusing this was, how complicated – how much liking someone – if that was what she felt – could hurt.

"You're not….going to leave me behind, are you?" she whispered, only to be surprised by a sudden sense of warmth as he stepped forward and took one of her hands, giving it a comforting squeeze.

"Of course not, Hermione," Shinji answered, "why would I do something like that?"

"Because…because…" You have Lovegood, she wanted to say, but didn't dare. "You must…you must hate me, don't you?" Bitterness tinged her voice as fought back tears. "Potter seems to, and you're his best friend, right?"

He'd seen how she didn't really live up to the standards of what a Ravenclaw should – how she was ungrateful he'd invited her to a special event, how she wanted to monopolize him, how she was afraid of seeing people hurt. How she cared about the rules, when she knew he only cared about them for form's sake…

So surely, he must think she wasn't…

"Sokaris was my best friend," he said, as he lifted her chin so that they looked each other in the eye. "You miss her, don't you?"

Hermione nodded, blinking back tears. Sokaris, who had been her closest friend too – but one she'd been jealous of, insecure around – had almost wished was out of the way so things would be simpler.

Then Sokaris had died…and even after that, Shinji had found someone else, as if knowing she wasn't good enough, as if he knew her guilt. He'd never read with her, like he had with Lovegood, never spent time with her – did things especially for her – like he had with Sokaris…or Lovegood.

"How could I hate you for that?" Shinji continued.

"Because…"

…it was my fault. Because somehow, it was my fault she died. There had to have been something I could have done. Something…anything…

Even if in fighting a Dark Wizard, like the Stone Cutters did, she would probably have died herself.

She would have preferred that – than to living with this sense of guilt, that she because she wanted Matou, had somehow caused Sokaris' death. To being terrified that she'd somehow cause Matou's death in the same way, even knowing how irrational the thought was – how impossible. Because what was really impossible, with magic?

Hermione Granger didn't know – and that terrified her beyond words. To casually have the power to twist reality with a charm, to transfigure objects into other objects – she had once thought magic was limited in that way. But after Matou's demonstration in first year, and a number of other things, she had reconsidered…

Books didn't define the limits for her anymore – but without those – what did?

"…I killed her," she whispered.

Shinji looked at her, confused.

"How could…?"

"I don't know. But it…it was my fault. Somehow. Potter is right to hate me," Hermione mumbled, trying to look away, but finding that she couldn't – that she was mesmerized by his eyes – his slate-grey eyes. "Just like I'll hurt you too."

"Hermione, I don't think that—"

She swallowed, finding it hard to think with how close he was, finding it hard to do anything. But if she didn't say it now…would she ever have the chance?

"Matou…I…."

"Hm? What is it?"

His eyes were so gentle…he…no. She had to be strong. She had to tell him, and then push him away, before he got hurt too. Before he died, like Sokaris…

"…I'm in love with you, you idiot…" she managed to whisper, relishing the feel of his hand on her chin, as she knew it would be the last time. She took a deep breath, found her heart pounding, her breathing almost out of control. "I…and you…"

For one of the few times in his life, Matou Shinji found himself was frozen – and at an utter loss for words. Someone had just…just confessed to him? He knew that Westerners usually didn't talk about love, and had different traditions, but…

He vaguely remembered how suki or daisuki, which were sometimes translated as love and sometimes as like, didn't mean quite as much in his culture as in the West (as opposed to aishiteru, which was a word reserved for very special people and wasn't simply thrown around in confessions). But he thought Westerners didn't use love unless…

"You…love me?" he said numbly.

"Yes…" she answered, hope – and pain and disappointment writ upon her features. "…but you don't love me…do you?" She almost laughed, almost – but what emerged sounded like sobs, instead. "Good. Good. Forget about me. Leave me behind. Leave me alone. Then maybe you won't get hurt. …maybe it won't hurt so much."

But Shinji didn't go anywhere.

He remembered that night a year ago when Granger had cried into his arms, when she'd looked so fragile, like the faintest breeze could shatter her – like how she looked right now. He didn't know if he loved her – didn't know if he really loved anyone, quite honestly – he was only twelve, after all. He was fond – very fond - of Luna, and being around her gave him a sense of comfort and warmth he'd only known around Sokaris before, as if everything was right with the world - even when it wasn't; and of course, he had the deepest respect for his Master, but were any of these love?

Shinji wasn't even sure he knew what that was.

Still, he knew it would terrible to just leave Hermione alone now, even as she begged him to leave her, to go away, as she clung to his robes with one hand – and to his hand with another – like he was her last lifeline to sanity, and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.

Gingerly, he wrapped his free arm around her, letting her lean against him, causing her eyes to widen in surprise.

"…Matou…you…why?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Shinji voiced with all the confidence he could muster – which wasn't much – as he held her.

"Why…?"

"Because you're not alone – and you don't have to be alone. Because friends care about one another."

"But…but…" Hermione knew little about friendship – with the exception of Sokaris and Shinji, she'd never really had friends, but holding someone like this – that was something lovers did, at least in all the books she'd ever read. She felt so awkward, so unaware of how people were supposed to act. "But…"

"Why don't we start there?" Shinji asked, feeling his heart hammering in tune to hers. "And see what happens?"

"…ok," Hermione said weakly, in between her sobs and trembles. This wasn't him saying that he loved her, or anything, but…maybe…

She'd take what she could get, for such was the treachery of human hope.