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 17. The Last Enemy

Given the lack of information that was generally known about the incursion of Sirius Black with regards to how he'd gotten into the castle and why he had attacked a student in Gryffindor Tower, most of the students – especially the younger ones – had become quite anxious, wondering if Black would come for them next, with no one able to stop him, no matter what they did. After all, the combination of Albus Dumbledore and Alastor Moody – the mightiest wizards of the light – along with squads of Hit Wizards – had been unable to keep him from entering Hogwarts.

And even if the Boy-Who-Lived was immune to the Killing Curse and had fought off a Dark Wizard in his first year – something which Black had probably learned of by now, explaining why he hadn't attacked the boy, the rest of the students had neither that special immunity or level of power – and so they worried.

After all, their parents had warned them of Black from the time when they were very young, used his name as a talisman to enforce good behavior. If they were bad, their parents would say, then Sirius Black would come for them, doing the work of You-Know-Who, the Dark Lord whose name many still feared to speak to this day. As they grew older and (presumably) wiser, they gradually stopped fearing him after learning that he had been captured and imprisoned in the fortress of Azkaban, from which no prisoner had ever escaped.

(It was one of the ironies of European Wizarding Nations that when powerful Dark Wizards inevitably fell, their fortresses – like Azkaban or Nurmengard – tended to be repurposed into prisons for other Dark Wizards, with their former inhuman minions tasked as prison guards, thus saving the various Ministries or Councils involved a tidy sum in time and effort – and proving that they were not so different from those who opposed them, and did not shy from using the same means upon their enemies.)

But then, Black had proceeded to break out of Azkaban, vanishing from his cell without a trace – only to appear at Hogwarts, a location considered by the inhabitants of Magical Britain to be safer – and more secure – than even Gringotts, as it, too, was an ancient wizarding fortress, and for years had been the seat of power of Albus Dumbledore, the only wizard that even Voldemort had been said to fear.

The implications of this, given that even Voldemort in the height of his power had never attacked Hogwarts, were unnerving, for why would Black risk the wrath of not only Albus Dumbledore, but Alastor Moody and all of Magical Britain, if he didn't have a powerful patron backing him? He'd only been captured after his Master's death, after all – or was it that he'd let himself be captured, knowing the incredible effect on the nation's morale his escape would have later?

Even Ron Weasley's encounter with the man had taken on rather sinister implications, especially in light of the Stone Cutter Society's silence on the matter – and their failure to induct the boy into their ranks. Taken together, it suggested that the Stone Cutters – the one group of students who were known to have fought off a Dark Wizard, at terrible cost – did not believe him, and refrained from commenting due to how absurd the rumor was.

And on further thought, the students concluded that Ronald Weasley's claims had indeed been absurd – that if a group which consisted of the Boy-Who-Lived, the Prefect Watch Captain, the Weasley Twins, and the boy from the East had only barely defeated a Dark Wizard, there was no way that he could have faced Sirius Black and lived…

…unless Black had wanted to leave the boy alive, with the knowledge he had entered Hogwarts, because the Dark Wizard didn't care if Dumbledore, Moody, and everyone else knew he'd been there.

Or perhaps Black did care. Perhaps Black wanted his foes to know he had breached the defenses of Hogwarts – and that despite their power, despite their precautions, despite anything they tried, they were helpless against him.

Perhaps that was why he'd attacked on Halloween, the anniversary of the night his Master fell so many nights ago, infiltrating the very stronghold of Light, so as to show them that their most powerful defenses meant nothing to him – that he could strike when and when he chose, with no one safe – except perhaps the Boy-Who-Lived.

And if Alastor Moody's most recent initiative helped preparedness, it did nothing to prop up the student population's already plummeting morale. But then, "Dark Wizard Attack Drills", where prefects or Hit Wizards were tasked with testing the vigilance of students in the middle of the night by sneaking into their dorms and accomplishing an objective of some sort, weren't the sort of thing that garnered approval from most students, since it cut into their sleeping hours and made them realize just how helpless most of them were.

…needless to say, this sort of event made Shinji – and the rest of the Stone Cutters – quite thankful they had alternate housing arrangements.

But if the mood among the general student population was foul, that of most members of the Order of the Phoenix was even worse, given the information they were privy to. For Severus Snape had indeed passed on the information that the Boy-Who-Lived had shared with him, with predictable consequences – chaos, utter chaos, tinged with a hint of despair.

For if Voldemort had made Horcruxes – and yes, Severus Snape would say Horcruxes, since if he were a Dark Lord, he wouldn't have made just one, much less trusted it to Lucius Malfoy – then he could never be truly defeated until they were destroyed, as otherwise, they would anchor him to this plane of existence.

Most in the room had never heard of them – so Snape had been forced to explain the very basics – whereupon most of the room had gone into a panic. Since Horcruxes, after all, could be made from perfectly mundane things like…well, like diaries, how were they supposed to find them?

Moody advanced the theory that perhaps Voldemort – or Tom Riddle, rather – had given some of these items to his closest followers – Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange, Sirius Black, along with keeping at least one secret. Dumbledore had added that since Tom seemed to like…trophies, he probably would have chosen items belonging to powerful wizards – perhaps even artifacts from the Founders – that already had great value.

…though knowing that didn't really help matters, that they had no idea where these artifacts might be, and they could hardly barge in and demand to look at other citizens' private collections. Well, technically the Ministry could make unannounced raids for Dark Artifacts, but do too many of those and the populace would be rather unhappy – something which Cornelius Fudge wished to avoid.

It was also possible that such items would be stored in Gringotts in various family vault – or high security vaults – which also posed a number of difficulties, not only legally, but practically. They had no wish to offend the goblins, after all, given that relations with that race were difficult at the best of times – and the fact that they were trying to court them as allies.

Moody promised to do what he could, but warned that unless more information came forth, there wasn't much he could do with regard to the Horcruxes. To him, the more interesting matter was the Wormtail – Pettigrew connection, and what it might mean that Sirius Black sought to find him after escaping Azkaban, even braving the risks of breaking into Hogwarts to do so?

The Auror could think of no innocent motive for it. Certainly, if Pettigrew had faked his death, leading to Black's imprisonment, Moody could see how Black might hold a small grudge over his decade-long stay in Azkaban, but surely Black's reasoning went deeper than that. For if revenge was his primary motive, surely he would have gone after Potter. No, perhaps Pettigrew, too, had been a spy for the Death Eaters, who had faked his death so his background might avoid undue scrutiny.

…but if this was so, what was he hiding?

One of Voldemort's Horcruxes? The Dark Wizard's wand – which had after all, never been recovered? Or something else entirely, some potion or piece of information that the Dark Lord needed for his revival – such as where his weakened soul might be found?

Needless to say, capturing both of them was a priority – and so he added to the description of Black the Aurors and Hit Wizards were using, updating it to include information on his Grim-like animagus form – and the rat form of his "unknown accomplice" (courtesy of Remus Lupin, who had admitted in a letter to Dumbledore that both Black and Pettigrew had been animagi, and that he was so very sorry for betraying his trust).

This, of course, did nothing for morale either.

Help for that would come from a most unlikely source, with Gilderoy Lockhart of all people approaching the grizzled Auror with a…proposition of sorts, one that that was an extension of his plan to keep history relevant and engaging, which he thought Moody would find interesting as well.

…which the Auror had, even if he did not care much for the man who had proposed it, seeing him as too focused on his own ambitions, though Moody conceded that Lockhart hadn't seemed as unreliable as Dumbledore would have had him believe, and anyone who could command rapt attention in History of Magic deserved some respect.

It didn't hurt that his Consul system was actually being used to help organize study and practice sessions for Defense either, showing that the man knew the value of leadership and organization.

His only qualms had been the security risks the proposal entailed, but Lockhart had pointed out that no place was truly safe if Black had intruded into Hogwarts itself, and so in this case, the impression of confidence was important to raise the school's flagging morale.

This Moody knew to be true, given that he was a veteran himself and a leader of men. He knew well how conflict was not a thing limited to the battlefield, how martial might was not the only thing that determined whether or not one would have victory.

For combat was not a game of pure numbers or abilities, but of hearts and minds. Both the hearts and minds of those who fought – and those who could not; those who protected and those who relied on others to protect them.

Which was why for all he respected Albus Dumbledore for the wizard's sheer power and ability, he often disagreed with him, as the man did not understand such things. He kept too many secrets from his allies, believed that people should agree with him simply because was right, and sometimes thought he was above the law.

Granted, the Ministry did not always inspire confidence either, but if Dumbledore had taken the Minister's seat – something which had been offered to him multiple times – Moody thought some of these issues might be assuaged, given that his considerable power and influence would have supported the institution.

And more to the point, his sphere of influence would have been constrained, given that even a position as lofty as that of Minister came with limits, checks, balances against excesses. Such was why Voldemort had never sought to become Minister, and why Moody didn't think he would have taken the position if it had been outright offered to him.

Because neither Dumbledore nor Voldemort believed in limits.

Dumbledore, however, had been humbled following Rubeus Hagrid's arrest for illegal dragon-breeding – something which had not looked very good, especially as all Britain knew that the half-giant was Dumbledore's ally, allowed to remain on school ground following his opening of the Chamber of Secrets solely due to Dumbledore's intervention, spared from Azkaban for his crimes due to a deal that the Headmaster had been forced to cut.

While the greatest wizard of the light was still a potent force to contend with, he'd unfortunately underestimated his enemies, who – if they could not confront him on the field of battle – would seize whatever advantages they could to bring him down. And that more such machinations would be coming, Moody had no doubt, just as he knew that his own presence at Hogwarts – a favor his old friend had asked of him – was one of Dumbledore's countermoves, to show he was not helpless yet.

He suspected that the hiring of Lockhart had been for similar reasons, though he wondered why the man had accepted, given that he owed Dumbledore no allegiance. Most likely, Moody thought it was the presence of the Stone Cutters that had drawn him, but either way, the man had proved surprisingly competent…not that that was difficult when his predecessor had been so inept, not just with History, but with reading the mood of the students.

This was a man who knew the battlefield of hearts and minds as well as he – if not better – who knew how to win popularity and inspire faith, a man who knew the value of reputations, actions, and impressions.

For if people were coming to believe that Hogwarts was no longer safe, that neither their professors nor law enforcement personnel could no longer guard them, then Sirius Black and his Master would have won. People needed to know that their protectors thought things were fine, that Black's incursion was a one-time affair, that their teachers were confident that they would be able to protect them – even if they weren't.

So Alastor Moody had backed Gilderoy Lockhart to the hilt when the man presented his proposal to the Headmaster, arguing that part of Defense was knowing why it was necessary and what was price of not being vigilant enough.

The argument had left Albus looking like he'd bitten into a particularly foul-tasting Every Flavour Bean, but in the end, the Headmaster had signed off on Lockhart's proposal, since he didn't want to alienate his closest ally among the Aurors.

And so it was that Moody found himself at Godric's Hollow in the dead of night, standing alongside History of Magic Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, welcoming the Boy-Who-Lived and his classmates to the village in the first of several joint History-Defense school trips to come.

The stars shimmered in the sky above, and some distance ahead of them, a glow of golden streetlights marked the center of the village.

"Welcome to Godric's Hollow – one of the most storied places in all of Magical Britain," Lockhart intoned quietly, watching his students shiver as a light snowfall came down around them. "A place where legends were born, where legends were forgotten – where people, great and terrible, met their end. For in this little town, Godric Gryffindor was born, the Peverells – the Three Brothers mentioned in the tales of Beedle the Bard – lived, and the first Golden Snitch was forged. In this town Gellert Grindelwald, grand-nephew of Bathilda Bagshot, hatched his plans to overthrow the wizarding governments of magical Europe, only a house or two away from the man who would one day defeat him. And in this town, on October 31, 1981 - Lord Voldemort met his end, marking the end of Britain's Wizarding War."

Lockhart's use of the Dark Lord's name did not go unnoticed by Alastor Moody, who narrowed his non-magical eye slightly. Very few people alive today dared to use the dark wizard's nom de guerre – and fewer still could do it without so much as a flinch, which made him wonder as to the nature of Gilderoy Lockhart.

"These are the things people remember when they think of Godric's Hollow, because it is greatness and glory people remember. Victory they savor, triumph and heroism they raise to the skies, all the while forgetting the terrible price others pay in their place, the blood that is shed so theirs is not. They forget that legends are not born but made, that path to becoming a hero is one of pain and loss. People love happy endings, you see, and so use the name of a savior as a talisman against terror, forgetting that their heroes, their idols are human – that they too can feel, can die, can bleed."

His eyes sought out one student in particular, one who stood at the forefront of the class as the head of the triumvirate that ruled it.

"Isn't that right, Mr. Potter?"

The question came soft as a whisper, but no one had any trouble hearing, as the rest were silent as the grave.

When Harry had heard that Professors Lockhart and Moody had planned a class excursion, he had thought that they might be going to Hogsmeade or such, given that there had been a goblin rebellion headquartered there long ago.

Oddly enough, he would have wanted to see that, given that under Lockhart, goblin rebellions were actually interesting to study, as he didn't just tell them what had happened, but asked them why things had happened, or how they would have reacted in certain cases – as well as why the events were called what they were – a rebellion or a riot instead of an uprising or demonstration.

Why, most of the Slytherins certainly remembered one class quite vividly. In that session, Lockhart had asked how Draco Malfoy would feel if the Ministry forbade his family from using wands. The indignant co-consul had of course replied that he would feel outraged, that they would have no right to just take the right to use a wand away from those whose birthright was magic, leaving them little better than Muggles.

"And what would he do?" Lockhart had wondered.

"Protest. Refuse to obey because it wasn't right," Malfoy had said.

Lockhart had proceeded to ask what if the Ministry then proceeded to imprison the Malfoy patriarch, with the Wizengamot stripping the Malfoy family of its seat – never mind that the Minister would never let that happen.

When the response had been even more aggressive, with Draco claiming such a regime that took away the rights of the old families like that had no legitimacy whatsoever and should not be obeyed, Lockhart had asked if the Malfoy scion was a goblin sympathizer, to which the boy had recoiled, saying that of course he wasn't.

Of course, Lockhart wasn't about to let the boy squirm away from his previous position so easily, and going through his claims point by point, had established that his opinion was essentially that of the Brotherhood of Goblins and that he would make an excellent goblin rights activist.

The class had begun to laugh, until they remembered that if they did, it might be them he made an example of next, and it made them thoughtful.

"...but Goblins don't need wands to do magic," Pansy Parkinson had pointed out, only for Lockhart to raise an eyebrow as he mentioned that strictly speaking, wizards didn't either – or what was accidental magic? He'd also mentioned that yes, much of Magical Britain liked to characterize goblins as bloodthirsty savages, but such could hardly have built a civilization or be trusted with their wealth, now could they? It was a case, really, of convenient characterization.

Getting back to the matter at hand though, Lockhart and Moody had not announced the destination of the Portkey they had created – with the Minister's permission - for the students, due to concerns of security. After all, fewer people who knew where they were going beforehand meant fewer people who might accidentally say it in the eyes of someone who really should not hear.

And so, until they landed in Godric's Hollow, Harry had had no idea that he would be returning to the place where the innocent child named Harry Potter had died, with the Boy-Who-Lived taking his place.

"Yes, Professor," was all he could reply to Lockhart's query, the words seeming to open his wounds anew.

"To most of Magical Britain, Mr. Potter, you, in your identity as the Boy-Who-Lived, are a symbol of victory – of the inevitable triumph of light over darkness, good over evil," the man continued. "But it isn't that simple, is it?"

"No, it isn't."

"Would you agree, Professor Moody?" Lockhart questioned, drawing the taciturn Scot into the conversation.

"Oh, aye."

"As my companion usually says, if we hope to triumph against all that comes our way, constant vigilance is required – and not just against Dark Wizards like Sirius Black. We need to be mindful of our actions, our thoughts, how we see the world – how we treat others, for actions have consequences."

They explored the town after that, with Lockhart pointing out the war memorial, which none of them had ever seen before, an edifice that from a distance was merely a jet black obelisk carved with the names of muggles that had died in World War II, but up close, changed into the statue of three people – a man with untidy hair and glasses, a woman with long hair and kind, pretty face, and a baby boy resting in his mother's arms – the Potter family.

"This village holds our nation's only two memorials to the Wizarding War," Lockhart commented. "A decade long conflict where most people did not – could not – participate, with the Death Eaters and their forces fighting the British Ministry and the Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix. This statue is one of them. We will see the other at the close of our trip today."

Harry swallowed as he looked upon the faces of the people who he would have called his parents, had they lived. The same people he'd seen in the Mirror of Erised. The first people who he knew had died for his sake – but not the last.

Yet there was no longing he expected to feel, nor the nostalgia for a childhood that had never been. He didn't know this place, didn't remember this place. For all intents and purposes, he was a stranger here, looking back at the statue of a family that had died – a family that was like any other.

For though the baby in the woman's arms might be called Harry Potter, that child had no scar on his forehead.

And they were happy.

In his mind, the day his family had died, so had the boy they had called Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived was someone else, a boy who was called savior by some, freak by others, friend – or just Harry - by those who meant most to him.

People like Matou Shinji, who had been the first one to stand up for him when he chose to join Slytherin and become a hero. People like Daphne, who had always seemed to understand him – and even now, in this place, was openly holding his hand, in spite of their classmates observing this with feigned casualness. They hadn't been too open about whatever it was they shared, but when he needed someone to lean on, someone to talk to – she was there, beside him.

"Thinking about the past, Potter?" Daphne asked quietly.

"The future," he said, shaking his head. "About what it means to be a hero."

"Lockhart got to you, huh?"

"…he's good at that."

Especially since Harry knew of the Prophecy made about him so long ago, and sometimes wondered what it was that his parents had protected. Harry the child – or Harry who was the hope of Magical Britain? He didn't know, just as he didn't know what they were like, but he didn't see how it mattered, since they were gone and following in their footsteps was pointless.

He'd chosen his path – a path only he could walk, and he'd walk it, holding his head high for the sake of all those who had died for him, who lived for him, who believed in him.

The group ventured past a few houses – one where Grindelwald had lived, one where Dumbledore had lived, with the two practically neighbors, with Lockhart wondering aloud if the two had ever talked – if the two had ever been friends. One had believed that wizards should rule over Muggles, after all – a philosophy not so different from what Voldemort had once espoused. And the other – well, his father had been imprisoned in Azkaban for life for killing three Muggles, much to the surprise of many of the Slytherins.

Lockhart couldn't say what might or might not have happened, just that around the time Grindelwald left, Ariana Dumbledore died in what had been ruled a dueling accident, with Albus Dumbledore's brother holding him responsible at the funeral.

But a duel between who? Lockhart asked. Who might have challenged Dumbledore's already potent abilities to the point where he might err?

He did not speak the obvious name, but wondered if the confrontation that the Headmaster had become famous for had not been years in the making already.

Which made Harry wonder what else Dumbledore was hiding, and whether or not he'd actually told Harry everything about the prophecy. Because as he'd thought about it these past few months, what he'd been told simply said he had the power to defeat the Dark Lord.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..."

That was what the Headmaster had told him – but after sitting through many of Lockhart's classes, he was wondering if there was something more to that that had not been shared. Some clue as to what kind of power it might be, perhaps, but then prophecies were usually vague things…

Their next stop was the graveyard behind the church, a place with row upon row of snowy tombstones protruding from a blanket of pale blue.

There they saw the almost worn-away grave of Godric Gryffindor – a humble stone marker for one of the greatest wizards of Magical Britain, the weathered grave of Ignotus Peverell – a headstone that bore a marking he recognized from the chapters about Grindelwald.

One that several people recognized in fact, from the stirring of the students.

"You recognize this symbol then? But I wonder, do you recognize it from the Tales of Beedle the Bard or from your textbook? For this is the symbol of the Deathly Hallows – the line is the Elder Wand, the circle is the Stone, the triangle is the cloak. Some say they are only legends – but I am not so sure, as Grindelwald made this symbol his own. Indeed, if I were to speculate, I would guess that perhaps he once sought the Hallows – that that was why he came to his place, the place where the Three Brothers – the Peverell brothers – once lived. If they exist at all, the wand is likely in the hands of a powerful wizard. The Stone, no one knows, given it could call only shades. And the Cloak – which in the tales was given to the son of the youngest brother – might have been passed on. Why, perhaps someone born in this very village might have inherited it."

Hearing that piece of lore, Harry felt a shiver go down his spine, given that he did indeed own the Cloak, as confirmed by…well, Death Himself. Had it really remained in Godric's Hollow for so long? And then…how had Dumbledore ended up with it? Had the Headmaster been involved at all with Grindelwald's search for the Hallows…? Was that how he'd ended up with the Elder Wand – or at least, Harry assumed he had the Elder Wand, given that Tomas, who had claimed to be descended from the Peverells, had suggested that fixing a completely broken wand was something only that wand could possibly do.

Daphne did not miss that slight tremor.

"You know something about this, don't you, Potter?" she whispered quietly.

"Later," he said tightly.

"I'll hold you to it," she murmured.

They passed a number of headstones, with Lockhart mentioning the origins of the Golden Snitch and how an enterprising wizard blacksmith – one of the very few in history – had created it to spare Golden Snidgets from being crushed to death in the cruel sport of Quidditch – something which made Draco more than a bit queasy. For the blond liked victory, to be sure, but to crush the life from a small bird to claim it each time?

…that seemed not only messy, but unnecessarily cruel.

And then they came to a stop at a grave carved of white marble – a grave everyone fell silent at the sight of. Harry knew, before he even saw it, whose grave it must be – that of his mother and father, but when he saw it, he felt…nothing except a distant sort of sadness – and a resolve that no more should die in his name. Sokaris' death had affected him much more because she had been his friend – and she had believed in him.

These people – they may have been given birth to him, but other than that, they were strangers. Strangers whose sacrifice he might respect, but still strangers. Not the people he missed, or cared for – for how could one miss what one had never had?

It wasn't the names that caused him to tense up though, but the caption – 'The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death' – which Tomas had told him was the family motto of the Peverells.

…am I…a Peverell then?

Was that his lineage? That of the crafters that had created the Hallows? Was that his power? To make as Voldemort's had been to destroy?

This time though, he didn't miss the meaningful look Daphne gave him, as she noted the curious expression that crossed his features.

"How about over Christmas, then?" she asked, this time not bothering to keep her voice too quiet. "My family would like meet you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Pansy Parkinson freeze.

"Ah….I…"

"Don't fall over yourself in your eagerness to see me, Potter," Daphne ribbed.

"I'd…I've never been…"

Daphne sighed, chuckling a bit.

"They just want to meet you. Unless you have to go to Japan again?"

Harry shook his head.

"No – I don't think so."

"Good," Daphne answered, giving his hand a tight squeeze. "Then it's settled. You're coming to Greengrass Manor for Christmas."

…well, it wasn't as if he didn't already know she was a confident girl. That was partially what drew him to her, really…

So in the end he smiled.

And so the tour continued, passing a few more points of interest, until they came at last to a half-ruined cottage flanked by still intact domiciles. Only this one had been long abandoned, abandoned for over a decade, really. Most of it was still standing, but the right side of the top floor had been blown apart completely.

I know this place…

As well he should. He had a flashback to the devastation in the chamber of the Philosopher's Stone – when the backfiring of the Killing Curse had wrought utter destruction – like it had here.

"You recognize this place, Mr. Potter?"

Harry swallowed, finding it hard to speak.

"…yes."

"You should," Lockhart said – almost compassionately. "This was where the legend of the Boy-Who-Lived was born, after all. Not in triumph but in loss. Not in victory, but in sacrifice. Not through heroism – but through a family torn apart forever on Halloween Night by the betrayal of their closest friend."

And now…now the trembling began in earnest, as the terror of those nightmares came rushing back all at once.

"This house was once protected by the Fidelius Charm, one of the most potent spells of concealment in existence, which hides a piece of information in a confederate's soul," the Professor explained. "It is a remarkably difficult spell – and one of profound power. While it was active, one who did not know the secret would not have even known there was a house here, because their senses would not detect it. You can see why they believed themselves safe. But Fidelius Charm is one that requires loyalty, as you cannot hide the secret in your own soul – and Black was not loyal."

His voice became harsher then, as he began to weave his tale.

"You recall the statues we saw at the beginning of our trip? Imagine them as a family enjoying themselves on Halloween night, the most sacred of our festivals. Imagine a young mother and father playing with their son, perhaps showing him a bit of magic to amuse him, or letting him fly about on one of those toy brooms. A family believing themselves to be safe because they trusted their best friend more than anyone else in the world."

He looked from one student to the next, making sure he held their attention.

"Imagine they hear the door – and thinking it must be one of their friends, the father goes to see who it is – only to find that is not perhaps, Albus Dumbledore, Sirius Black, or Remus Lupin, or Peter Pettigrew – but the most feared wizard of the age. Imagine what they must have felt in that moment, knowing they would die – knowing that the one they sought to hide from had found them – knowing that that they were betrayed. You – Slytherins – know well the value of secrets. Imagine that your last thought is knowing every one of them was gone – spilled – shared."

His eyes found that of Draco Malfoy's, who flinched from the Professor's gaze.

"Before he can react, Lord Voldemort casts the Killing Curse, and a man who had once been an Auror died, wandless, helpless, alone."

His eyes moved to Sophie Roper, who too, could not meet his gaze.

"The mother tries to escape with her child, but cannot – perhaps anti-apparition wards had been put up. Perhaps there simply is no time. She doesn't have her wand, can't hope to protect herself at all. She tries to protect the little boy with her body, but she is thrown aside by a second Killing Curse."

Then he looked at Harry, who did not flinch, meeting Lockhart's steely gaze with defiance.

"And then he went for the child," Lockhart whispered, shaking his head. "We don't know what happened next, only that somehow, Voldemort died…and you lived, Mister Potter. So this house – this ruin – is a truer memorial than the statue, for it reminds us that victory has a cost, that there is always a price to pay and someone must pay it, that when we lose ourselves in the glory of triumph, it is because others have died so we might live. Mister Potter understands that, perhaps better than anyone else here, save maybe Professor Moody. And so those who survive – untouched, or nearly so - become symbols of a better tomorrow, become the heroes we seek to be, we put our faith in, we believe in. Observe."

And with that, Lockhart placed a hand on the snowy, thickly rusted gate, as a sign rose up out of the ground, up through the tangles of nettles and weeds, like some bizarre, fast-growing flower.

In golden letters, it said thus: 'On this spot, on this night of 31 October 1981, Lily and James Potter lost their lives. Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard ever to have survived the Killing Curse. This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters and as a reminder of the violence that tore apart their family.'

But more noticeable were the scribbles around the neatly lettered words, those added by witches and wizards who had come to see the place where the Boy-Who-Lived had met You-Know-Who…and lived.

The most recent of these, shining brightly over sixteen years' worth of magical graffiti, all said similar things.

'Good luck, Harry, wherever you are.'
'If you read this, Harry, we're all behind you!'
'Long live Harry Potter.'

"You see? This is how a legend is born."

Lockhart said no more that night, for what was there to say? They remained there, in the cold night for some time after, for them to pay their respects, to think, or to reflect on what conflict – what victory meant. And then, as one, they vanished, spirited away back to Hogsmeade – and Hogwarts.