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 24 Heda! Heda hedo!

Despite the difficulties of the mission he had been tasked with, and the bile that rose in his chest every time he thought of Fenrir Greyback, Remus Lupin found that living outside the strictures of the Ministry, without having to deal with the thousand small slights he was normally subjected to on a day to day basis for being who he was, suited him.

All of his life he'd had to hide who he was – and when people inevitably found out, he was hated, ridiculed, treated as a monster because of something that he had had no control over. And slowly, as the years after Hogwarts passed, as he was turned down for one legitimate job after another, he began to believe that the whispers were right.

That he was a monster with no place in civilized society, a Dark Creature biding his time before he revealed his true nature.

Even his so-called friends had thought so, even they found him useful. After all, for a band of troublemakers and miscreants, there was perhaps no better protection than the friendship of a Prefect, who would, after all, know the patrol routes, have authority to be where most students did not, and was generally trusted by the Professors – a trust he betrayed time and again.

Years after Hogwarts, he regretted many of the things he'd done – the way he'd simply let his friends so what they wished because he was afraid they'd reject him otherwise, cast him out.

Perhaps that was why the Potters had thought he was a spy, because he'd always been too compliant, too desirous of belonging – and Voldemort had offered werewolves freedom, had offered them a place to belong. To them, he was just another Dark Creature who had proven he couldn't be trusted because of his complicity in the Marauder's schemes, a being to be used, used up, and discarded.

Even now, Lupin still shivered at the thought of what would have happened if James had not stopped Snape from entering the Shrieking Shack on a tip from Sirius. Snape would have died, torn to pieces by a frenzied werewolf seeking to hunt, to kill, to hurt after his transformation…and Lupin would have been sent to Azkaban as a murderer.

As for James and Sirius, there was a good chance the two would have gotten off scot free, since no one would have been able to connect them to the crime. A perfect crime, with the only witnesses being the murderer and the victim. Even Dumbledore wouldn't have known – the only reason the man knew now was because Snape had told him years after. And so he suspected it wasn't loyalty – or self-preservation – that had moved James to intervene, only a desire to have Lupin's services available to them, since James had not yet become Head Boy.

Thrilling as it had been to have friends for the first time, he was not blind to how they used him, to how they had coerced him into doing things he didn't agree with, given that they held his secret in their hands. If he could do it all over…

'But I can't.'

The hands of time could not be turned back. Or rather, they could, but at a cost no one was willing to pay, given that altering the past would result in not only drastic changes to the present, but the death of the one who changed things, given how the world did not like paradoxes.

…and well, with Time Turners limited so that one could not travel back beyond 5 hours into the past anyway, it was something of a moot point.

So he'd survived by taking what few jobs were offered to him – usually unscrupulous or quasi-legal arrangements which paid far below what legitimate work would have – until Dumbledore had decided to make him his agent among – his ambassador to the werewolves, simply because he was a werewolf himself.

Frankly, Remus Lupin thought it was ridiculous. Yes, he was a werewolf, and yes, like every wizard child he'd heard the stories about the hidden societies of werewolves, the villages and collectives they formed for themselves, but that was all he knew.

The stories.

No two accounts were the same, but there were running themes among them. Some spoke of incredible savagery, of a collection of brutes that would turn on themselves as easily as outsiders. Some spoke of packs of cold blooded killers who bided their strength in the shadows, waiting for a new Dark Lord to lead them to glory. Some spoke of beasts more animal than human, who would run in the woods, rut freely with one another, and spoke no human tongue.

And a few, a very, very few, spoke of people who just wanted to be left alone, an itinerant band of nomads who never settled in one place for long.

None of them, of course, gave any clear directions on how to find the werewolves, but then he supposed they wouldn't exactly be hidden societies if they did. And as someone who had always lived among wizardkind, trying to fit in, to be granted a seat at table called acceptance, Remus Lupin had never tried. Had never actually thought about leaving wizarding society – about accepting his status as an outcast and seeking another place to belong.

Maybe it would have been different if he hadn't gone to Hogwarts, but as it was, Magic was all he had, and for years he'd settled for what scraps Magical Britain would deign to give him.

Which had left him wholly unprepared for the task of finding the hidden societies of werewolves that Albus Dumbledore saw as a possible threat.

After all, where did one even begin?

His journey had taken him from the heart of Magical London – where the Ministry had been singularly unhelpful, to no surprise, since they'd never managed to find Greyback themselves – to the British countryside; from Wales to Scotland and many places between.

He'd had to do it on foot, too, without the conveniences of magical travel. Since they had once been wizards, they knew how others might try to hunt them, and knew too the sounds of most magical conveyances. And it wasn't as if apparition was useful here, since he didn't know where to go to begin with.

In the end, he hadn't managed to find them.

He hadn't found anyone, really, as he wasn't a very good spy or investigator, if he wanted to be honest, with his experience as Marauder proving singularly unhelpful. Evading the surveillance of less-than-perfectly watchful teachers whose habits he was familiar with – and who already trusted him – hadn't exactly prepared him to find a group of individuals who likely detested the society he stood for and had been in hiding for a very long time.

Someone had found him.

Or so he surmised when he woke up in a bed not his own, looking up at an unfamiliar ceiling the morning after one of his monthly transformations.

"You slept for a long time, young wolf," a voice spoke, the first beside his own he had heard in a long time. "I wonder if perhaps you were poisoned."

Gingerly, Lupin opened his eyes, blinking as he saw the figure of a young woman leaning over him. She looked as if she was in her teens, with long chestnut hair falling to midback, piercing eyes the color of blood.

"You…" he croaked. "Who are you?"

"Is that the way you great your benefactor, young sir?" the woman quipped, the corners of her lips quirking into a smirk. "The one who found you after your transformation?"

"You found me…?"

"Unaware of the world, sleeping in the forest, which few of your kind do after their transformation," she explained, her nose scrunching up. "With your breath smelling foul indeed, as if you'd eaten aconite."

"I'm…sorry," he managed, not knowing where to start. He settled for examining the woman more closely, his eyes widening as he noticed that what he'd thought was just her hair arranged oddly were wolf-like ears, and that behind her, she sported…

…a tail?

Remus swallowed.

"The smell was from a potion," he explained quickly. "It lets me stay myself after I transform." He glanced around, but couldn't see his satchel from his vantage point on the bed, simply what looked like the interior of a decently appointed den, burrowed into the side of a hill, with a fire going into the hearth and such as that. "My bag. Where is…?"

"Nearby, along with your wand," the woman answered softly, straightening and crossing her arms. "You still haven't introduced yourself, young wolf, though you spent many moons wandering the lands, asking questions."

"I…my name is Remus Lupin," he replied. "I…"

"You were sent, weren't you?" the other concluded, seeming amused as shock blossomed on his face. "You weren't desperate enough to be running from something."

"…I was," the werewolf admitted. "Albus Dumbledore sent me."

"Did he now?" the other questioned, raising one slim eyebrow. "And without any idea of where to go or what to do, I imagine. Perhaps instructions to deal with the rogue called Greyback and to make what werewolves an offer. Something of the sort, yes?"

Lupin fell silent, as that was exactly what Dumbledore had asked him to do. Was he – were they – so transparent?

"It's always the same in almost every age," the other spoke, shaking her head. "Those who call themselves wizards, or humans, or the like ignore those who are changed. They make promises they do not keep. They offer boons, which they later renege on. They ask much, and in time fail to honor their bargains." She smiled, but it was a sad, crooked smile. "Is this not so, young wolf?"

"Young?" he echoed. By all respects, she seemed younger than he by almost a decade, and yet…

"Your kind lives longer than most humans. But my kind lives longer than even yours. I have seen the moon's children go through terrible pain. I have seen the struggle they face in keeping their children safe, as without the concoction of silver and dittany your kind empowers, the bite is fatal. Still – this is the first time I have seen the so-called wizards use a werewolf as a messenger. Or send a messenger at all, for that matter."

Lupin closed his eyes, not knowing what to say. There were so many wrongs that Magical Britain had committed over the years that he couldn't justify them. Sure, he could bring up Greyback and his crimes, but what worth was that, when compared to the world that had made him to begin with?

"Who turned you, child?" the other pressed, with Lupin letting out a long, shuddering breath as his mind flashed back to a day of blood and pain.

"…Greyback," he whispered. "Fenrir Greyback."

"Ah, that name," she said simply. "Not his true name, but one he chose himself after he was turned and cast away. After the wizards preserved his life, but not his dignity. One who has done terrible things, yes, but none so terrible as the wizards themselves."

"I…I didn't know."

"Of course not, young wolf – they don't tell you that point of view, do they?" she asked mildly. "But then they wouldn't. After all, they don't speak of what they did to the Elves and the Goblins, but simply expect them to bow."

"…what they did?"

"In any case, Greyback is not in this land, young wolf. He fled to the Continent years ago when Voldemort fell, but then, your kind never much cared to pay attention."

"…I see."

"Recover your strength, and perhaps we shall talk of your offer, Remus Lupin," the woman noted, as she turned to go. "And of what you seek."

"…what do I call you, at least?"

That much he needed to know, as she had him at a distinct disadvantage. The other paused for a moment and seemed to consider what to say.

"I am Holo, and Holo is all that I am."

"And you are a werewolf?" he asked. "Or…"

"A wise wolf that has seen her share of travels, and of travelers besides."

Back at Hogwarts, Christmas had come and gone for the Weasley twins, with what little excitement there had been over the winter holidays giving way to concern. It was highly unusual for Albus Dumbledore to be absent from any of the school's great feasts, after all, and none more so than the Christmas Feast, which he usually enjoyed with greater gusto than anyone.

But this year, he had not been in attendance, and worse, had not been seen around the school in nearly a week. Neither had he been seen at the Ministry, the Hog's Head, or any of his other haunts, with any owls addressed to him returning to their senders in confusion.

This would ordinarily be worrisome enough by itself, but it was compounded by the fact that Severus Snape had gone missing as well.

…as had the headmaster's phoenix, Fawkes.

Taken together, it made the front page of the Daily Prophet, with a number of students reeling in shock when they found out that Severus Snape was a former Death Eater who had escaped punishment only because he'd worked for Albus Dumbledore as a spy.

Naturally, speculation was rife.

With these revelations, some of the students – Gryffindors mostly – believed that Sirius Black's escape heralded the rise of a new Dark Lord, with Severus Snape proving once and for all that he was not loyal to the light – only to power.

Some thought that maybe Dumbledore had gone to face this new Dark Lord and had been struck down, with Severus Snape doing his best to keep the man alive.

A few thought they were on a secret mission to eliminate Sirius Black and whatever co-conspirators the convict had, before the man could rally the werewolves and other creatures of the night.

Most of the staff seemed visibly worried, with a rather distraught Hagrid needing to be reassured by Professor McGonagall and others, though it was fairly obvious she didn't feel confident in the words she said. Professor Moody had kept the Hit Wizard contingent on high alert, in the event that Black took advantage of Dumbledore's absence to act, but could not be reached for comment.

…and then there was Gilderoy Lockhart, a man who seemed completely unruffled by the situation, stating simply that what his colleagues got up to in their private lives was no affair of his. He didn't seem worried about Dumbledore's disappearance, nor that a Dark Wizard would strike, noting that with the concentration of force at Hogwarts – a group that included the great Auror in modern times, an undefeated dueling champion, a Hit Wizard squad, and of course, several members of the Order of Merlin, there was no reason to fear.

Magical Britain did not rise and fall on the fortunes of Albus Dumbledore, he said, but by the courage of those brave enough to stand against the dark.

For it was not Dumbledore who had ended Britain's Wizarding War, but the sacrifice of the Potters. It was not Dumbledore who had stopped the last Dark Wizard to come to Hogwarts, but the Stone Cutter Society. So he was not worried – and why should he be?

His comments had also made the front page, with many of the more worried students reassured by his words and his seeming nonchalance. After all, if one of the greatest adventurers in modern times, who had faced threats in other lands unlike anything they knew, was not afraid, perhaps they should take their cue from him, as opposed to some of the others who had simply taught.

The Weasley Twins, on the other hand, found this slightly disturbing. Their family had always respected the Headmaster, even if given the events of the previous year, his stock with them had taken a bit of a hit, and his absence from the castle was concerning, given what had happened last time.

…neither of them particularly wanted to end up St. Mungo's again, or worse, have their lives cut short.

"I don't know what to think about Lockhart."

"Neither do I, brother of mine. He's just…"

"…confusing."

"He's a sight better than Binns as a History teacher. Even showed us the house at Godric's Hollow."

"…yeah."

That had been a very somber trip for them. They'd known in their minds that the Boy-Who-Lived had endured a great deal, even if he didn't talk much about his past. But to be confronted with it like that was almost horrifying.

…especially because they could well imagine what it might have been like had it been the Burrow that was attacked. How their Mum and Dad would try and fight – and lose. How they themselves had stood against Quirrell – and had been struck down. How Ron had been bested by Sirius Black, without even a wand. How helpless little Ginny would be…

Before, all they'd known of the world of mischief and shadows were the pranks they pulled, the hurts they inflicted all in "good fun." Sometimes a bit beyond that, if they were honest, but they hadn't meant too much harm.

Finding that there were people in the world who wouldn't bat an eyelash if they were killed, who didn't even see them as human beings, but as nuisances to be brushed aside, had been a sobering thing.

They could have died in the fight with the troll – would have, if Harry and Shinji hadn't intervened with whatever odd techniques they used. Just as they would have died facing Quirrell had Harry not defeated him at the last.

Sokaris, odd as she was, as powerful as she was, had died.

And they'd gotten medals for something they hadn't done. Medals that they didn't feel they deserved, quite frankly, but couldn't say no to, not when their Mum was so proud of them, not then it helped lift their family out of poverty – and had elevated the sport of Quidditch at Hogwarts.

Indeed, after learning that the Twins were Beaters for the Gryffindor team, the Nimbus Racing Broom Company had generously outfitted the House teams of Hogwarts with brand new broomsticks – each and every one a Nimbus 2001. Traditionally, Quidditch players had to buy their own brooms, leading to a mismatch in equipment when richer students bought nicer – and newer – brooms than those were less well off, but for the first time, this was no longer necessary.

For the first time in Hogwarts history, each team faced the others with no difference in equipment on the field, with luck and raw skill being the only thing that mattered.

For the first time in Hogwarts history, the divide between rich and poor meant little on the sporting field.

And for the first time in Hogwarts history, there were reserve teams in case something happened to the starting lineup, so no team had to forfeit if they were down a player.

These changes were huge – and they only happened, were only possible, because Fred and George had received the Order of Merlin (second class).

Just as Percy's internship with the Ministry was due to what they'd done, or had been said to do.

It was…odd. They were used to having a poor reputation, to being thought of as troublemakers and miscreants, not heroes who most of Gryffindor idolized, even their young sister, who wanted so badly to fight at the side of the Boy-Who-Lived.

She'd asked them a lot about him.

What he was like.

What fighting the troll and the Dark Wizard had been like. If they'd been afraid. The identity of the terrible creature his boggart had become after he'd used the Riddikulus charm (apparently the thing that Sokaris had most feared – and which he'd stopped).

How she could become a part of the Stone Cutters.

Her enthusiasm…worried them. Not only because of how dangerous the situations they got into tended to be, but also because they didn't think she'd react terribly well to learning about Harry's relationship with the Greengrass girl.

She'd of course, mentioned that if they were going to let Luna Lovegood into the Society or at least involve her in its business, then they had little reason to exclude her. For wasn't she just as capable as her sometimes friend, since she too was a Consul, and was a Seeker besides?

Which was true on paper, but…

There was something about the relationship between Matou Shinji and Luna Lovegood that went beyond the bounds of paper. They both seemed to know things outside the norm, and they worked together very well, if truth was to be told. Well enough that there were rumors about Matou dating Lovegood, as there had been rumors about Matou and Sokaris' closeness.

Unsubstantiated, to be true, but then the best rumors usually were – and they knew Matou well enough to know that he, like them, excelled at never being caught.

In the end though, what was on their minds most this winter holiday had not been the gifts they received from home – the sweaters and homemade fudge – or quidditch, or such things, but Gilderoy Lockhart and the offer he'd made to be their official biographer.

Before the year started, they needed to give the man an answer.

Harry himself was asking for an answer.

But they didn't have one as of yet, largely because they didn't know if they could trust Lockhart. On paper, it seemed simple enough, since there was great opportunity in allying with him. He already had an established power base, and it would be far simpler to have him on their side rather than having him set against them.

On the other hand, he was a man who knew lies very well, so working with him meant trusting him with the truth…the less than glamorous truth, and trusting that he'd decide that his fame was to be found in working with them, rather than ruining them.

So were their thoughts as the New Year approached, and Fawkes was seen swooping into the Great Hall, where the phoenix sang a song of woe.

They'd never seen a half-giant turn pale before, nor one pass out in shock.

Until now.

It was late in the night, minutes before the New Year began, and the girl dressed in white found she could not sleep. Not out of any excitement for the year to come, of course, for what excitement could there be when each day was like the next, weeks, months, years blending into one another in the sterile environs of her hospital room.

The light of the moon streamed in through the windows, only highlighting the austere conditions of the white room, and the air smelled of nothing much at all, really. The window was never opened, and the hospital had put her in one of those positive pressure rooms, so no foreign smell intruded.

There was little for her to look forward to, ever since she'd been hospitalized years ago. No visitors, no messages, no letters; even the daily examinations were a formality at best, since her condition was terminal.

Her body, even blessed with unnatural vitality as it was due to her ancestry, was slowly failing. In some ways, as thin as she was, she resembled one of those long-haired ghosts, and like a ghost, she was cut off from the world around her.

For her, the world was her bed, and the room in which it rested.

The outside world – the world just outside the window where people lived and laughed and smiled – that world was so far away. Unreachable.

No one knew she was here anymore; no one cared. Her family died soon after she was hospitalized, with a friend of the family paying for the medical expenses, but that was all.

It wasn't as if there was any hope she could be cured. Tumors had invaded much of her body, and the rest seemed to keep going only by strength of will sometimes.

How long had she been here?

She didn't know. She had stopped keeping track long ago, because counting the days was meaningless.

There would be no escape for her until the day she died.

Until then, all she had was an overlooking view that was slowly fading as her eyes began to give out.

"Happy New Year."

An unexpected voice spoke into the gloom. A visitor? At this hour?

A woman at that, whose voice is almost husky. But her presence was weak - even from where she lay, the girl could sense that the other wasn't entirely there.

Still, whoever it was, she wouldn't turn someone away. She felt…happy inside, since it had been years since anyone had visited.

Since the door had closed on the cage of a bird who could not fly.

Turning her head, she tried to focus and see the visitor.

…a girl dressed in the traditional attire of a shrine maiden: a long, red, slightly pleated skirt tied with a bow, a white haori and white ribbons in her hair.

Someone she knew.

Had known.

Once.

"You are…"

"I am," the other replied, her long, loose brown-black hair swaying in a non-existant wind as she looked upon the bedridden girl with the color of blood.

"You're not really here, are you…Matuso-san?"

The other chuckled, a sound the girl had not heard in a long time.

"No, I'm not," the voice of Matsuo Hijiri, Maiden of the Tree, spoke into the stillness. "You know I cannot leave the City Under Earth."

"Even so, you have more freedom than I," the girl spoke with a hint of bitterness. "Even if the you who is here is only an illusion."

"In some ways," the other allowed, with no sympathy or reproach in her voice whatsoever. But then she'd always found Hijiri to be more than little disconcerting.

"I can only look down at the world from here. The trees changing color with the seasons, people coming and going from the hospital, people living," she said quietly. "They cannot hear me even if I call out, and I cannot reach them no matter how far I stretch out my hands. I have been suffering all this time inside this room. I have been loathing this view for a long time."

"At least for now, you yet live."

"Only because of my bloodline. I only wish…"

The girl grimaced, as a sharp pain stabbed into her chest. She fell silent, closing her eyes and trying to focus on the simple act of breathing, waiting for the pain to pass, as it always did in time. Surprisingly, when she opened her eyes, the other was still there.

"What do you wish?" Hijiri asked solemnly, walking to stand beside the bedridden girl.

"I wish I could be part of that world. I've been here so many years that reality means nothing to me. I wanted to walk in that world. But I hated that world – the world that would not hear me, the world that made me sick. The world I am separated from."

She coughed, a long fit that lasted minutes on end. It had been a long time since she talked at all, so her throat felt like it was burning, as if someone had scraped sandpaper across it.

"And soon I will lose even that," she concluded bitterly, once she could talk once more.

"Yes and no," Hijiri spoke then, intangible fingers passing through the body of the girl in white. "Whatever you lose, there is something you will gain. That is how it is for people like us. People of the moonlit world."

"And yet…nothing will change," the patient answered, trembling as ice welled up in her heart. She embraced herself, trying to cling to what bits of warmth she could, but there was little there. "I will have been left behind even by myself."

"Tell me, what do you want?"

"…I want to fly. I want to leave this place, to find a world where there is no end, where I can be free." The chill doesn't stop, and neither does her trembling. "...Every night, I'm afraid. I think…if I fall asleep, I won't be able to wake up the next day. I'm scared I won't live until tomorrow. I'm afraid, Matsuo-san…I'm afraid…"

The other sighed, but the girl's words continued to spill from her lips.

"Every day is the same. Every day is meaningless for me, this discarded shell of a person. But I…" she trailed off, closing her eyes. "I still don't want to die," she whispered.

Hot, heavy tears leaked from her eyes, tracing their way down her face.

"Then live," the other intoned solemnly. "I cannot heal you, though I wish I could. But there is something I can tell you."

"…what?"

"You may have another visitor soon."

"…what?" the girl whispered. "Who…? No one would come to see me. Even my family is…"

"…oh wouldn't say that."

She jerked upright, her body, so heavy and tired most of the time, responding in shock.

"…what did you say, Matsuo-san?" she said with wide eyes, her cheeks still streaked with tears.

"Your mother and father may have died, but you are not alone in the world," Matsuo Hijiri said gently.

"Then…Shiroe is…?"

What was the feeling blooming in her chest? Happiness? To not be alone – the thought was so beautiful it made her cry once more. It was the only dream she'd had in years. To have a friend. To have family. To have someone talk to her, care about her, care that she lived.

"Indeed, Fujou-san, your brother lives," the maiden of the tree answered, nodding to the girl who had been so happy long ago, before the hospital. Before the accident. Before…everything. "Happy New Year."

And with that, she was gone, leaving Fujou Kirie alone in her room once more, reaching for the world outside, the unfamiliar emotion of hope shaking her to her core as she wept in joy.

"Alive. He's…alive."