And not long after I posted a potential Harry/Medusa fic, I've posted a Harry/Medea one. Eagle-eyed readers might remember Match Made in Purgatory, my prior attempt at reviving this pairing. This, I hope, has more legs, as I found a way for Harry to be able to trust Medea more quickly than he normally would have reason to. And like Love and War, this is based on DZ2's 'Prodigal Son' challenge.

Again, no guarantees of it becoming a full fic, but I hope it will, eventually.

Oh, and this fic is dedicated to the memory of Atsuko Tanaka, the original Japanese voice actress for Medea, along with so many, many iconic characters in anime. Ave atque vale.

ŌTEILAÍ

CHAPTER 1:

TAKEN

Where do we begin the story, my little piglets?

Hmm, that's a bit of a tricky thing to do. All stories start in the middle or at the ends of other stories. People forget that, and that people's stories are not always neat little things. We could start with a race of machine-like beings from the stars who settled here, got dunked on (is that the right slang these days?) by another alien, and got reborn as lesser gods, not that they'd let you think of them as lesser. Mum was all right, I suppose, but seriously, the rest of the family were dysfunctional.

Or maybe we could start with my older brother, and his kids, and how my adorable if ditzy and annoying niece got her head messed with by a certain slut of a goddess, and fell in love with a man who traded her in for the new model when the opportunity arose. That wasn't a fun experience to learn about, and honestly, I wish I tracked that bastard down and turned him into an adorable little piglet. And then turned him into ham and bacon. Hahahahaha!

Then again, perhaps we could start with a group of ambitious men. An old man afraid of power, and yet seduced by it. A man afraid of Death's grasp, yet eager to consign many to it on spurious grounds of blood and obedience. And a spoilt brat who was given almost everything, yet he hated that it was 'almost'.

Hmm…well, we could start there, but it'd be boring to recite all that. Let's start with the son of the spoilt brat. Well, he wasn't his real son, just a Homunculus decoy. Yet the wife he ensnared with love potions sacrificed herself to save said decoy…and to spite the bastard who effectively raped her, I'm sure. The decoy was left to live a hard life, while the spoilt brat and his brat lived a relatively good life in hiding, waiting for the right moment to arrive.

Unfortunately, the boy learning that not only was his father alive and well, but that said boy was used as a decoy…well, it hurt him. And he rejected his so-called father's rather flimsy overtures of conciliation. Scars were inflicted that day, some on the body, others on the mind.

The boy managed to escape prison, becoming a falcon. Aptly, he ended up on my island. I like falcons, I really do, and while I knew it was a boy pretending to be a falcon, I didn't mind. I hadn't had decent company for years, and I welcomed his presence. I didn't even turn him into a piglet!

He reminded me a little of the man I held a torch for. But instead of desiring him as a lover, I felt maternal yearnings stirring for the boy. I healed him as best as I could, taught him what I knew, and while the flame of vengeance festered within him, it was yet to consume him. The boy became a man.

Then, he rejoined the world, but he always came back to visit this old witch. Geh, don't say I said 'old', okay? Otherwise, you're in the pigpen! Anyway, he rejoined a changed world. And he became a mercenary.

Between free will and the forces of fate and destiny, so many things can happen, by accident or design. But I have to wonder, what would bring two of my best students together? Was it fate, or mere happenstance that brought these damaged souls together? I don't know. But honestly, their meeting would shake things up in that stupid tournament for that cup! Hahahahahaha!

"WHERE IS HE?!"

"GAH! Fuck, man, what's your problem? Why do you want to know so badly? He's just the son of some werewolf!"

"He's my godson. That's all you need to know. Now, WHERE IS HE?!"

"I ain't talking, I…ARRRRGGHHH!"

"We can do this the hard way or the easy way. Well, it would have been easy if you told me right away. But now, the only thing you have left is how many bones will remain intact after I'm done with you."

"Fuck you, I…GAAAARRRGGHH!"

"No thanks, you're not my type. Now…where is he?"

"…Atrum Galliasta! He bought the brat! A Magus! But he'll be long dead by now! You know what he does with the brats he buys? He melts them down for their mana. And Clock Tower will never help you find him."

"…You want to bet? Thank you for the information. Now, I'll just break one more bone. Specifically, your spine. You'll never be able to walk, go to the toilet, or even have a wank ever again. That's what you get for kidnapping my godson."

"Wait, wait, wa-AARRGGHHHH!"

The woman currently known under the pseudonym of 'Caster' sighed quietly to herself in the burning Workshop of Atrum Galliasta. She was waiting for her Master to return from whatever errand that cowardly, libidinous prick who reminded her too much of her first husband was running. Playing the Holy Grail War on the defensive was a prudent decision to a degree, but the arrogance and his inability to view her as a partner or his superior in magic rankled at her. And that was before he punched her in the face.

She looked around the burning Workshop. So inefficient. She was willing to give him a better way of getting the mana crystals he sought, but no, he saw that as an affront to his pride. She had done many atrocious things in her life, but killing kids for their mana made her sick. Hence why she had released them.

One stayed behind, a boy calling himself Teddy. He had been insistent on staying until his godfather arrived, and for some reason, this struck a chord with Caster. For now, she had sent him to sleep, and ensured he wouldn't be affected by smoke inhalation, as well as concealing him with a spell.

The elevator activated, and she tensed. Was her Master returning? She hoped so. He was in for a surprise, especially if he decided not to acquiesce to her wholly reasonable demand and relocate to Ryuudou Temple. It was a strategically sound move, and…

HOOOoooo…PERRRR…HOOOoooo…PERRRR…HOOOoooo…PERRRR…

As the elevator door opened, a heavy, resonant and sinister breathing sound filled the air. And that was quite literal. Caster couldn't tell from which direction it had come from. Magic, she assumed.

Finding the source, however, was easy for a mage of her talents. She didn't see anyone entering, at least with mundane sight. In fact, it took a few spell attempts to see the figure, who wore a black mask with black clothing. How portentous and pretentious. It was casting some magic of its own (with a vaguely familiar, even nostalgic feel), the figure, before it turned to look at where Teddy was hidden.

As the figure approached, Caster decided to intervene, Deastralizing in front of them. "That's far enough. Who are you, and what is your business here?"

The figure seemed to glare at her from behind its helmet. "Neat trick, lady," it said, its voice distorted into a deep and tenebrous tone. "But I'm here for Teddy, to rescue him, and to put Galliasta and anyone helping him in the ground."

"If you're telling the truth, I won't stand in your way," Caster said. "My would-be Master has made it clear that he doesn't trust me, and I intend to give him an ultimatum, and a better alternative to his disgusting magecraft."

The figure looked to her, before asking, "You were the ones to free those people? They said something about a witch saving them, that Teddy, my godson, was still here. But…you said Master…you're a Servant, aren't you?"

"Indeed I am. You may call me Caster," Caster said with a sardonic bow, though irritated at those she saved calling her a witch. "I'll wake the boy, see if you're telling the truth. If so, I will cede him to you without delay."

The boy woke up, and looked at the mask, before seemingly doing a double-take. But there was no fear in the boy's eyes towards the sinister visage, only relief and joy. "You're here! I knew you'd find me!"

The figure nodded. "I'm sending you home, Teddy. Here's a Portkey. Hold on tight, and tell your Mum and Dad I'll call later." He took a small length of rope from his coat, and gave it to him. "Mischief managed."

With a surprised shriek, Teddy disappeared. Then, the figure stood, just as the elevator came down again. "Given your earlier words, do you have any objection to me making your Master scream in pain?"

"Ex-Master, and please, be my guest. I just want my own pound of flesh. Feel free to hide, I want to see the look on his face when he realises I am no longer under the control of his Command Seals. Once he uses at least one to try and attack me, feel free to launch your own ambush."

The figure nodded, casting a spell that felt oh-so-familiar, and fading from view. Galliasta entered, only to find his Workshop on fire, along with his Homunculi. "What the bloody hell is this?"

"A dismantling," Caster said. "I found your Workshop an affront to my professional pride."

"Oh, really?" Galliasta sneered.

"Indeed. Do not worry, I have a more than reasonable alternative. I did some research, and there is a natural fortress on Mt Enzou, the Ryuudou Temple, which also has a convergence of leylines and a pre-existing barrier against spirits that would keep other Servants out. You wished to win the Grail War in comfort? I can do that for you. Just say the word, and I will take you there forthwith."

Galliasta's sneer merely deepened. "That won't be necessary, Caster. In fact, you've outlived your usefulness, Witch of Betrayal. By my Command Seal, kill yourself!"

The red tattoo-like symbol flared, and then faded. But Caster felt no compulsion to end her life. She simply tilted her head quizzically, partly because she knew it would annoy him. His third and final Command Seal was used up trying to repeat the command. "I don't get it! Why isn't this working?"

"My Noble Phantasm allows me to render magical items down to their base components, and sever contracts. You may have forbidden me from using it on you, but you should have worded it so that I couldn't use it on myself, either."

"You used it on yourself?!" Galliasta screamed in horror. "That's tantamount to suicide for Servants, you need my mana to exist on this plane!"

"True, but if we're talking about suicidal actions…you jumped off a cliff the moment you called me a witch with such scorn. Though it's not the first poor decision you've made, right?"

As if on cue, the man in black appeared behind Galliasta, cocking a firearm, that quaint invention of the modern era, aimed at Galliasta's mostly vacant skull. And Galliasta paled. In fact, his pants darkened from urine when the figure said, "You abducted Teddy Lupin." The gun was lowered, and fired twice in quick succession, destroying Galliasta's kneecaps, sending him to the floor in pain. "You shouldn't have done that."

Even as he writhed on the floor in agony, Galliasta snarled, "You…you upstart doll! I know you! They should have let the Dementors Kiss you, and be done…GYAARRGGHHHH!"

The latest scream came from the figure stomping down on the shattered knee. "I'd love to cause more pain to you, but I think I will allow Caster to have the final say on how you die."

Caster chuckled darkly, before casting a spell on Galliasta. He convulsed, and then lay back on the floor, whimpering in fear, staring into nothing, his mind trapped in a labyrinth for a very long time, subjectively. Though he would still feel his physical body burning alive after Caster set his body on fire with a gesture.

But that was enough to bring her reserves down to dangerous levels. As she sagged, the figure caught her. "What's wrong?" he asked. She guessed the figure was a man. Teddy had recognised him in spite of his disguise, and presumably this was his godfather.

"My mana reserves are depleted, for the most part," Caster said.

"I'll get you out of here, we'll go our separate ways after then," the figure said, only for the elevator to open, and a blue-haired man in a blue jumpsuit, wielding a crimson spear, walked in.

"Oh, what's this?" the Lancer Servant (Caster assumed) asked.

"Sorry, can't stay. Must dash!" the figure said. And then…

…They were somewhere else. Accompanied by a very uncomfortable sensation of being squeezed through a tube. Caster grimaced. "Apparition," she muttered. "The wizards have not improved their teleportation since my time, it seems."

The room itself seemed like a relatively normal hotel room. Yet she sensed magic and magecraft, some of it maddeningly familiar. A large trunk was near the bed.

"Yes, well, you should try the Knight Bus," the figure said, before lifting the helmet off his head. "It's like a roller coaster," he said, his voice no longer the deep, tenebrous processed voice it was, presumably some sort of voice-changing mechanism.

The man revealed was in his mid-twenties, with a messy shock of black hair. His face would have been handsome, had it not been for the ugly burn scar marring much of the right side of his face. A smaller scar, in the shape of a lightning bolt, adorned his forehead.

The young man fished around in his pocket, before throwing Caster a vial. "Here. I dunno whether it works on Servants, but it helps replenish my magical energy. Taste needs improving, though. Tastes like Mountain Dew."

Caster wasn't sure what Mountain Dew was, but knocked the vial back after a quick spell to confirm it was what it was. She grimaced at the taste, but she felt her existence becoming less tenuous. "How kind of you. What's the catch?"

"Honestly? I'd rather we go our separate ways. I've done what I set out to do in Fuyuki. As long as you don't go after innocents or anything like that, I couldn't care less what you do. Though…you look familiar. Do you…mind pulling your hood off, Caster?"

Caster, after a moment, obliged him. She had no fear of being recognised in this diminished modern era, far from the Age of the Gods. And yet, when she revealed her face, his eyes widened. At first, she thought it was in awe of her beauty, but then, she realised it was recognition. She tensed, readying herself to attack or escape, only for an unexpected sound to come from him.

Laughter.

Not jeering or sneering laughter, there was no mockery in that mirth. Rather, there was a kind of resignation, and yet a genuine joy. He even briefly shook her hand. "Of all the people to meet as a Caster Servant…you're her, aren't you? Princess Medea of Colchis!"

Well, at least it wasn't the 'Witch of Betrayal'. But Medea frowned. "And, pray tell, how do you know me? Indeed, if you know my name, it's only common courtesy for me to give me your own."

He nodded eagerly, surprisingly cooperative, before saying, "I'll show you something that will explain how I know you, and then, I'll tell you my name." And with that, he went to the trunk, and rummaged into it. One that had expanded space in it, given the way his arms reached in.

And then, he pulled out the staff. An elaborate, even beautiful thing. But she knew who made it. The feeling of some of his magic had been familiar…and now she knew why.

"Medea…my name is Harry Evans. Wizard, mercenary…and a fellow apprentice to Lady Circe of Aeaea Island…"

CHAPTER 1 ANNOTATIONS:

What the fuck is going on? Harry has been an apprentice to Circe? He knows what Medea looks like? And he's calling himself by his mother's maiden name? WHAAAAAA…?

Clues as to what are going on are in the opening narration, but if you want an idea of what's going on, well, it IS based on DZ2's 'Prodigal Son' challenge. In other words, a WBWL fic where James is still alive, even if Lily isn't for this fic. I also used a similar backstory in a previous Nasuverse crossover, Love and War.

And I hope I conveyed Circe's semi-deranged and childish tone in her narration. Yes, that is Circe narrating the beginning.

I adapted elements from my previous attempt at a Harry/Medea fic, Match Made in Purgatory. Because Delphi wasn't conceived in this timeline, Teddy Lupin was kidnapped.

Harry doesn't need breathing equipment due to injuries. He just likes using Darth Vader's breathing as a crude intimidation tactic. Because there's few sounds that convey how fucked you are than Ben Burtt breathing into a scuba mouthpiece with a microphone in it.

The Mountain Dew joke is a reference to Project Mouthwash's Fate/Stay Night: Unlimited Blade Works Abridged. In that, the mana harvested from men's love stinks of Mountain Dew for some reason.

No numbered annotations this time.