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 22. A Witch's Wonderings

As a young witch who'd grown up after the fall of Lord Voldemort, Daphne Greengrass had found it all but impossible to avoid running across the name of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. He was a very common topic of conversation for as long as she could remember, with speculation rife about where he'd gone, how he'd survived the Killing Curse, and what kind of wizard he'd be. And of course, more than one young witch had admitted to having a crush on the young hero – even wanting to marry him, based on the admittedly flattering portrait the books painted of the boy.

Mostly because he was a mystery to them, someone they were unfamiliar with – a prince in a faraway castle who they dreamed would take them away to his fairy tale kingdom.

Away from the mundane world of Magical Britain, which wasn't nearly as magical and wonderful as most liked to believe, especially for those born into the wealthier families, those styled themselves Ancient and Noble. For as with Muggle nobility in times past, children's lives were not their own – they were but pawns of their family for political advantage, to be used and used up in arranged marriages, plots and things of the sort.

By the time she was of age to attend Hogwarts, Daphne had been introduced to all the male children her age from families of comparable rank – those who might make suitable suitors for the heiress of the House of Greengrass.

All but one.

Harry Potter.

The Boy-Who-Lived.

(Or as she sometimes called him, The Boy-Who-Could-Not-Be-Owled, given how not a single family – not hers, not the Parkinsons, not even the Malfoys – had managed to reach him).

They knew of course, that his father and mother had been Gryffindors, with James Potter being something of anti-Slytherin bigot and notorious bully, but they also knew that he hadn't grown up with his parents, since they'd died the night of the attack.

In fact, no one knew who he'd grown up with, or where he'd grown up, even.

So no one knew what to expect of him – of the boy who might one day come to rule them all – and this made him both dangerous and exciting.

But no one learned anything about him on the Hogwarts Express, for the compartment he was rumored to occupy was inaccessible. The door was…well, it hadn't been locked, exactly, which was the puzzling thing. It was as if what was on the other side simply didn't exist.

Even the knocking of Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle – to say nothing of Draco Malfoy's request for an audience – had been for naught, with the son of Lucius noticeably frustrated that anyone – even Potter – would just ignore him.

Because of who he was and how he had been raised, Draco Malfoy was not used to being ignored.

Respected, yes. Hated, yes. Envied, certainly – but never simply ignored, as if he wasn't worth paying attention to. If nothing else, the name Malfoy carried a certain gravitas that others paid attention to, because they knew that one day, he would command the family fortune and inherit the connections his forebears had made – that he would be a dangerous enemy.

Potter hadn't even seemed to notice he was there, which made Daphne wonder what the Boy-Who-Lived was up to in alienating Malfoy, especially when he was sorted not into Gryffindor, but into Slytherin, the house of the ambitious and cunning.

…surely if he wanted to get ahead, he would know the rules of the game and the major players…wouldn't he?

But Potter had surprised her – and the rest of his House – by staying above the fray, refusing to engage in the petty squabbles and skullduggery that marked most members of Slytherin House. Others bargained for favors, schmoozed, flattered and were flattered, but he did not. He did his work diligently, refusing to rise to barbs or taunts, seeming nothing but an above-average student.

They'd wondered then if his defeat of You-Know-Who had been some cosmic accident, some fluke of luck…but then Halloween came, and when the other students ran in fear from a troll, the Boy-Who-Lived had simply gone and slain it.

Not just defeated it, but slain it, leaving its skin burned to a blackened crisp and beheading it with some powerful spell that was far beyond them.

So she'd heard from the ghosts, at least, and Professor Snape, who was usually quick to correct any…factual errors, had remained silent.

What had sent chills down her spine, however, was the formation of the Stone Cutter Society, a group composed of the notorious Weasley Twins, as well as two of the Ravenclaws – even a prefect, who had stood with him against the troll – and against the arrayed students of Hogwarts after the Boy-Who-Lived…no, the Heir of Slytherin, had revealed who he was by way of his gift.

…and how mercilessly he would crush those who stood against him.

After that little demonstration, the House of Slytherin had reconsidered their stance towards Potter, deferring to him, granting what requests he made, accepting that he did not need to play their games, that as the Founder's heir, he truly was above such petty things. So people fought for his favor, with Pansy Parkinson trying to tie herself to him – a move that did not sit well with Daphne, since all Pansy had ever wanted was power.

Before Hogwarts, Pansy had set Malfoy as her goal; after Potter so thoroughly destroyed the scion of that noble house, she had set her sights on him instead.

Her own…courting of Harry, if one saw it that way, had begun more in protest of the way Pansy slandered her, claiming that she only spent time with Harry because of his fame and as a mere Greengrass wasn't worthy of the Heir's attention.

(This particularly galled her, as both the Parkinson and Greengrass families numbered among the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the lineages of Britain that were known to have remained pure to this day.)

The taunts and jibes had gone downhill from there, and the two girls had found themselves locked in a bitter conflict of their own, with Pansy trying to curry Harry's favor to bolster her own position, and Daphne spending more time with the Boy-Who-Lived to spite her erstwhile friend.

Still, as she spent time with Harry, she noticed how oddly driven the Boy-Who-Lived was, how mysterious he continued to be, and how sometimes, when he thought no one was looking, a sort of anguish flickered across his features, the expression of a grief he dared not show. As far as she knew, he didn't show that face to anyone else, seeming almost inhuman in how he was simply above such weaknesses, such flaws.

It had never occurred to her that someone who her peers had begun to see as their lord – their ideal – their ruler – might be lonely, that for all the power and respect that others heaped upon him, Harry Potter was also a boy who'd lost his parents, a boy making his way through the world and wrestling with his destiny. Yes, he was ruthless and cunning, and might very well have been born to rule, but he was also lonely.

And why would he not be, given that as the Heir of Slytherin, he had no peers. No equals. No true friends (except for Sialim Sokaris, apparently, who had been similarly revered by Ravenclaw while she was alive, and perhaps Matou Shinji, the boy from the east). He had people who sought his favor, people who he learned from, people who deferred to him or who sought to oppose him, but no one who truly understood him – no one with whom he could let down his guard.

…except her.

She wondered if he realized that he laughed more around her, that he was more…expressive, that around others, his face might as well have been a mask of stone. And then she wondered if it was mutual, as she would sometimes find herself forgetting her plans and schemes and masks, just being herself around him. As if with him, she didn't need to prove she was worthy of attention or respect, didn't need to posture, didn't need to defend her place, because such displays wouldn't matter to a…

'…to the closest thing the Wizarding World has to a prince…'

The events around Christmas had only confirmed to her that he was different, given what he'd said about his scenario, and how he'd apologized for what had happened to her doppelganger. That he had won was only to be expected, given that his ally Matou had achieved victory as well, but in the wake of victory, he had not boasted. He had been troubled, something which shook her to the core. For the Heir of Slytherin didn't need to ask forgiveness or apologize for the things that were necessary – especially if it didn't affect her in real life. The fact that he had, after he'd chosen her of all people, to stand with him against an army of foes – after he'd won, and that he had expressed sorrow for not being able to protect her…that scared her.

…because it meant he cared about her more than victory, more than rank, more than she was worth from the stand point of what she could offer him.

Which went against every rule she knew about how people interacted with one another, since the one thing she had always been able to count on when dealing with her peers was their self-interest. Their greed, for lack of a better word.

When someone's motivations were so different from what she expected, she didn't really know what to do – how to react. She could only think that Harry Potter played by a different set of rules, perhaps that of the faraway land of Japan where he spent much of his time.

In every way, the Boy-who-Lived was an anomaly, facing down Dark Wizards without fear, slaying trolls, gathering allies of multiple houses – winning the Order of Merlin and defying Death; yet caring for none of those titles or accolades, as if they meant nothing compared to the fate of a girl he had called his friend.

…it was what he'd said – how he'd looked – that day that had solidified whatever it was she felt for him, because she would have given anything for someone to look at her as if she was that precious, as if she was worth more than every honor in the world. That was probably why Pansy had stopped trying to provoke her, because even Parkinson realized this wasn't about political advantage anymore.

It was about Harry and what he wanted – who he wanted to be with.

…and after he came back from Japan, he'd chosen her, told her that he wanted her to know how he felt – that even if he lost everything else in this world, he didn't want to lose her. He'd asked her to stay beside him…and how could she refuse her prince, when he looked at her with such…intensity and sincerity? It was like one of the foolish dreams she'd had in her youth, a dream where the Boy-Who-Lived, the great hero, would come and rescue her from the casual cruelty of the fate her world had in store for her.

Thoughts of alliances, convenience, political advantage – all these crumbled away like ashes in the wind, as for the first time in longer than she could remember, Daphne Greengrass was truly happy. She'd never relished the thought that one day, she was destined to marry one of those in her peer group (of which the options were neither numerous nor exactly appealing – but now, that future was gone.

There was no way her parents would refuse the suit of the Boy-Who-Lived, after all, not when he was effectively Magical Britain's most eligible bachelor. With the honors he had earned and the power he wielded, there was not a single family with daughters around his age who wouldn't be putting pressure on their children to gain his favor. She hadn't been worried though, since she knew that those sorted into Slytherin would more or less accept the Heir's choice, if only because they didn't want to earn his ire, and traditionally, it was Slytherin girls who dated Slytherin boys – at least while at Hogwarts.

Afterwards would be an entirely different game of Quidditch, but it was in school where many alliances were made and witches and wizards came into their own.

Why, if You-Know-Who had gone to Hogwarts, she wouldn't have put it past him to have laid the foundation for what eventually became the Death Eaters while he was still a student. Given that Harry was essentially following in the footsteps of his old enemy, few who knew the terror of Dark Lord would dare risk his wrath.

But Luna Lovegood, the odd girl who was often seen around Matou and was rumored to be his love interest, had reminded her that there were others who might seek to claim the Boy-Who-Lived as a prize. Not directly, of course, since the pale blonde didn't seem to just come out and say things, but through the behavior of the other person she'd invited to the Deathday Celebration of Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington.

Ginvera Weasley, the Youngest Seeker in a Century, a girl whose blood was as pure as hers (and whose family also was part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight), a girl who had looked at the Boy-Who-Lived with adoration and worship – a girl who already had something of a connection to him through her brothers, who were his comrades in arms.

For the first time since she and Harry had begun their little relationship, she had felt…threatened. While the members of Slytherin might accept their Heir's wishes, there was no guarantee that someone from Gryffindor or Ravenclaw wouldn't try to seduce him.

…and that there were other girls to worry about, not just those in her year.

Hence the invitation to spend Christmas with her family – an invitation that Harry had accepted. He'd seemed uncharacteristically nervous at the prospect, which she'd actually found endearing, since it reminded her that the boy who had fought against Dark Wizards and trolls without fear could still be nervous – could still be human.

—that on her playing field, she still had an advantage.

"I admit I am impressed, my daughter," a voice asked from the doorway of the elaborately furnished sitting room, with the form of an older man in dress robes silhouetted in the light.

"How so, Father?" Daphne inquired, inclining her head.

"You know perfectly well, child," the man chided her. "After all, that the Boy-Who-Lived is staying in our guest bedroom is your doing."

"Only with your permission, Father."

Looking at her, one would think her the very picture of a demure, respectful daughter, though it seemed her father was not so easily fooled. At least, one could interpret his snort of laughter in that manner.

"It wasn't as if I could refuse under the circumstances, now was it?" he inquired, eying his elder daughter critically. "We both know that would have been…unwise."

"As you say, Father," she acknowledged, though the corners of her lips twitched upwards just a hair. "I take it you do not disapprove, however?"

"That would be…difficult," the man noted grimly. "Especially as the revelation that he may be descended from both Slytherin and Peverell has set all of Magical Britain astir, aside from his status as Boy-Who-Lived and hero. Your invitation – and his acceptance – have boosted our family's fortunes by association."

"Something that the Malfoys may not appreciate, I imagine."

"Most certainly not, though Lucius is careful to claim what successes he can. That man is much like a runespoor, plotting with one hand, criticizing with another, and dreaming of lost glory, which the Malfoys have in plenty. I have never entirely believed his claim of having fallen under the Imperius Curse myself, given that all that family respects is power."

"Not something we are free of ourselves," Daphne commented, glancing around at the elegantly appointed room.

"Indeed not, but can a family ever afford to rest upon its laurels if it is to remain relevant?"

"You know how much I dislike that saying, Father," the girl replied a tad archly. "And not simply for the reasons of Muggle myth, as much as your naming sense."

"Should a man named Ladon not have a daughter named Daphne?" her father asked guilelessly to all respects.

"Then why is Astoria not named Syrinx?"

"Because laurels are a symbol of victory, while reeds are weak and waver in the wind, child," Ladon spoke, stepping fully into the room, where firelight illuminated his weathered features. "But we have talked of this before."

"I suppose we have, at that, Father," she conceded reluctantly. "Still, I hope you will not be too much trouble for our guest."

"'Our' guest, is it?" Ladon chuckled, brushing aside a lock of greying hair. "It seems I am growing old – or I must be, if you are already bringing a young man home for Christmas. Though not one I would have expected when your mother and I sent you to Hogwarts."

"I doubt anyone could have expected this particular outcome," Daphne replied.

"I suppose not. Your mother perhaps, but she was ever an uncanny one."

"One should expect no less of a woman named Circe."

"Too true. She was – is – an impressive witch. Much like you are becoming, my daughter."

"Thank you…Father."

There was silence for a moment as the man regarded his daughter, noting how well she filled her emerald green dress robes and how well they complimented her chestnut hair. And of course, he did not miss the necklace she wore – the emerald and diamond affair that had been gifted to her by none other than the Boy-Who-Lived.

The man smiled slightly, then snapped his fingers as a house elf appeared.

"Petros?"

"Yes, Master?" the floppy-eared creature inquired. "How is Petros being of help today?"

"If young master Potter has finished with his toilette, inform him that Christmas dinner will soon be served."

"I is doing thy will, Master," the house elf acknowledged with a bow, before shimmering from existence.

"You've chosen well, daughter," Ladon concluded. "Or perhaps he has, given how strong-willed you are. Either way, you two will make a handsome couple."

"Such is my hope, Father."

"And mine, child. And mine."

That night, Harry enjoyed Christmas dinner with the Greengrass family, which, if rather formal, was welcoming, nevertheless. While he did not have much experience with formal dinners, his Christmases being spent either locked in the cupboard or once at the Hogwarts feast, the Boy-Who-Lived knew enough by now to know he could follow Daphne's lead in these sorts of situations, with most excusing his slips as a product of him being brought up elsewhere.

As expected, the family asked him of the Stone Cutters and how they had been chosen; of his heritage, and of his plans – and he answered as best as he could, which seemed to be good enough, all things considered.

They asked, too, of the lands in the East, where they believed he'd grown up, and he spoke of Mahoutokoro and the wonders of the City Beneath the Earth, of the different beasts and magics used there, of the things he'd seen and experienced.

Not of his time with the Dursleys, of course, as that was not a good topic for Christmas, but of those which had become his family. Of Matou Shinji, who was like a brother to him. Of Sialim Sokaris, his friend who had been gifted beyond measure in potions. Of Severus Snape, the Potions Master who was his mentor and tutor.

Of the noble Tohsaka and the powerful Tsuchimikaido.

Of the Peverells and their legacy - that the last enemy to be defeated would be Death.

Afterwards, he wouldn't remember too much of the evening itself, just that for the first time in his life, he had felt welcome in someone's home. Hogwarts was one thing, as no student could be unwelcome in its halls, but to be openly invited into another's manor - and for Ladon Greengrass to extend to him a standing invitation to visit – which amounted to a tacit offer of alliance, was something else entirely. He'd worried that they might not accept him, might think him strange, but apparently he'd done everything right, at least on that magical night.

Or so at least he was assured after dinner, when he and Daphne were allowed to go onto the roof alone, where they held each other, sharing warmth and a kiss or two or three as they watched the shooting stars together under the silent sky.

Sadly, things were considerably more hectic back at Hogwarts, where for the first time in decades, Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape failed to turn up for the Christmas Feast.