Trinity II: The Chamber (Type-Moon/Harry Potter X-over)

[Kieran]

DISCLAIMER: Lunar Legend Tsukihime, Fate/Stay Night, and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of Kinoko Nasu and Type-Moon, along with anyone who's happened to license them, like Geneon or Funimation. Harry Potter and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of J.K. Rowling, along with her publishers and Warner Bros., as regards the movie material.

This is a not-for-profit, just-for-fun project.



Writer's Note: Certain dialogue sequences in this story are lifted from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, but I trust in the intelligence of my readers (and the availability of the books) to recognise them when they see them.



Chapter 14 - Conflicts



November 12, 1992






Galen was not a happy camper. In fact, saying that was an understatement which was nearly criminal in its intensity. The source of this unhappiness could be summed up in three succinct words: Ronald Bilius Weasley. Unfortunately, it wasn’t for the reasons he’d prefer - or rather, not only for those reasons.

Shirou had pulled him aside as they left the library, and said three succinct words of his own. “You can’t come.”

If the redhead had been offering to bear his child, Galen couldn’t have been more shocked. It was only because of proximity to the library that he managed to hiss, and not roar, “Why?”

“Because you want this too badly,” Shirou had replied grimly. “You’ve been frustrated by our lack of progress since August, and now you finally have an outlet for it - and it happens to be a guy you’ve wanted to tear into pieces since we got here. You’ll use the slightest refusal or hesitation, the weakest excuse, to start breaking bones until he tells us what we want to know, or what he thinks we want to hear. And that’s not keeping a low profile.”

He wasn’t sure what look had been on his face, but Shirou had added, “I’m not judging. There are more than a few people I’d happily do the same to - if someone handed me Kotomine practically on a silver platter, for example . . . But you were the one who said we had to stay under Aozaki-san’s radar, and torturing a student nearly to death isn’t going to do that.”

Shirou’s look had firmed. “If you can promise me you’ll hold your temper, that you’ll let us try every means at our disposal before resorting to physical force, you can come.”

Galen had considered it, and concluded that he could probably keep himself under control, but depending on Weasley’s responses, it wasn’t certain.

“I can promise that I’ll try,” he said.

Shirou’s eyes had glinted. “Are you still willing to promise, knowing that if you fail to keep it, it’s Hermione’s life you’ll be endangering?”

Galen had to hand it to Shirou - the son of a bitch knew which buttons to push. Takara, Ilya, Hermione, Luna - the girls’ names were the ones to conjure with, if you wanted him to do something. And the redhead wasn’t wrong. The basilisk was being set upon the mundane-born students, which meant Hermione was at risk the longer it was loose. If there was a chance to get something out of Weasley that might stop it, and he blew it . . .

Further proof, if any were needed - and it isn’t. Look at what’s happened already. Ignore the damage you’ve done to her psyche with your lies - as though that isn’t bad enough - and just look at her behaviour. She doesn’t study as obsessively, because you’ve got her exercising, and told her you know everything she needs to worry about. She’s been following you around like a puppy for over a year! Hermione Granger, who “would never lower herself to settle, or change herself, for a boy.” Taking that as true . . .

A treacherous whisper pointed out that it wasn’t quite accurate, given some of her behaviour over Weasley.

TAKING THAT AS TRUE, repeated his inner voice, what does that say about what you’ve done to her? What does it say about what you will do to her? You’re fanatically overprotective - you’ll wrap her in cotton, and box her in, until there’s nothing left in her world to focus on but you. You’ll stifle her, when she could do - could be - so much more.

It’s already started, hasn’t it? How much time does she spend around you? How much does she do, just because you do it? How much time does she spend with her other friends, if you’re not there?

I’ve hurt her since I met her - with the best of intentions, perhaps . . . Or, in all honesty, perhaps not. The fight we had almost destroyed her, but she was safe. She was away from me. And then my idiot friends decided that I had to fix that - and now if things end up not changing like they should, she’ll be destroyed anyway.

. . . You’ve got to get her out from under your influence before it’s too late. Before there’s nothing of Hermione left, just this little doll she made of herself for you. She’s not a prize, she’s not a toy - and she’s not yours to play with!

The proverbial $64 000 question, of course, was how? How in the world could he make this right?

How do I get her to break away from me without breaking her in the bloody process?

Galen didn’t know much of anything about destroying relationships of this kind - in his case, they just never materialised in the first place! In fact, the only expert he could think of -

- Is on his way to question Weasley. Damn it, Shirou - where are you when I need you?!

Galen paced around the corridors, still quietly seething. Lunch was almost over, which meant Defence Against the Dark Arts was up next. Unable to think of a better way to spend ten minutes, he stalked over towards the classroom, turned a corner, and grunted as a smaller body abruptly collided with his own.

Galen grunted at the impact, but remained standing and relatively steady. It was also a testament to the results of his training that he was able to grab at the other person before they could fall too far off-balance.

“Sorry about that,” Galen muttered automatically. “I wasn’t paying - “ Recognition hit, and he stopped short. “Luna? What are you doing here?”

Silvery-blue eyes blinked guilelessly as she answered, “I was following the Wrackspurts. There are a great many of them around you, suddenly - your thinking must be very fuzzy.”






Shirou could feel Takara’s eyes on him as they headed out of the Great Hall, and towards Gryffindor Tower. As Weasley wasn’t accessible at lunch - and for this kind of conversation, they really wanted privacy, anyway - the dorms were the next most likely place to find him.

Finally tired of having a pair of holes burned between his shoulder blades, he turned to the girl and said, “What?”

“Why did you leave Galen out of this?” Takara said quietly.

Shirou didn’t have to look at Hermione or Neville’s expressions to know that they had the same question on their minds.

“We need cooperation,” Shirou said calmly. “If Galen even suspected that Weasley was holding something back, or outright lying, what would he do?”

Takara grimaced. “I withdraw the question.”

Neville frowned. “Would he actually . . .? I mean, I know he’s scary, but Weasley’s not exactly a threat, is he? Galen wouldn’t really -”

“Either way, I’m not about to tempt Fate,” Shirou snapped in reply, as they walked through the portrait. Scanning the common room, he scowled. “Neville and I will check the boys’ dorm - wait here.”

The acoustics of the tower staircase, and the girls’ proximity to the foot of it, allowed Shirou to follow the conversation as he and Neville ascended.

“He would, wouldn’t he?” Hermione said quietly.

Takara answered, “If he thought that we weren’t hearing the full truth, and the answers were needed urgently enough? In a heartbeat. He might feel badly about it, afterwards - but in Weasley’s case, he’d enjoy it.”

“Why? I mean, Ronald Weasley isn’t my favourite person, either - certainly not after Hallowe’en last year. But Galen’s barely spent any time around him - so why does he seem to inspire such hatred?”

Takara was silent, at first, and Shirou could picture the conflict in her head, imagine her expression as she debated what to tell Hermione. He didn’t know what, exactly, the problem was, but it had to be something big if Takara needed to actually think about her response.

“. . . Because of you,” the Japanese witch said finally.

“Me?” Hermione’s puzzlement was evident in her voice. “Why? I mean, yes, there was the troll, but that was one incident - ”

“There are records of more,” Takara said heavily. “Galen takes them very personally.”

Shirou popped open the dormitory door, and scanned the room. No sign of Weasley, so unless he’d managed to get his hands on Galen’s cloak . . . Yielding to paranoia, Shirou checked its hiding place, and found it present.

“He’s not here - let’s go,” Shirou said to Neville.

Back in the staircase, they rejoined the flow of conversation, though they’d obviously missed the conclusion, as the girls had moved onto another topic.

“What kind of things do you think your mother will be teaching us next term?” Hermione asked. “Will she be as thrilling a professor to deal with as Professor Lockhart has been?”

“Mother takes her duties as an instructor very seriously,” Takara said solemnly. “Believe me, she taught me half of what I know about fighting.”

“And the other half?”

“Father, of course.” Shirou could picture the smile accompanying the answer. “Between the pair of them, I was in pretty good shape when I got here. Working with Flitwick-sensei has only improved that.”

“I wouldn’t want to fight you,” Hermione said. “Any of you. I’m not sure which of the three of you is more dangerous.”

“Me,” Shirou said, entering the conversation as he and Neville hit the last step. “That is, if you let me hit you. Takara, if you let her make the first move. And Galen, if you don’t take him down fast.”

“He’s right,” Takara agreed. “Shirou’s spells have power - even a glancing hit can take you out. I’m the fastest of us - I can have two or three spells off before most people cast one. And fighting Galen is an endurance match. He’ll cast Shield Charms and counterspells until you start to tire, make a mistake - and then he has you.”

Shirou grinned. “In terms of fights to watch - and this applies to physical as well as magical combat - Takara’s are over pretty quick unless we manage to surprise her. If I don’t strike first, or Galen doesn’t time his counters just right, we’re pretty much done in the first exchange. On the other hand, Takara’s fighting style requires her to be mobile - if we can box her in, she can’t rely on a lot of her usual techniques.”

Takara nodded. “Galen and Shirou are usually the fun ones to watch - neither of them is really faster than the other, so it’s always a question of which one of them will break first. Either Shirou will land a spell hard enough to penetrate Galen’s shield, or trying to keep up the pressure will exhaust him enough that Galen will manage to get his shots in. Applies to hand-to-hand, as well. Shirou hits like a wrecking ball - you would not believe the amount of bruise remover I go through after a sparring session. And that’s when I’m lucky enough that he just grazes me - I’ve broken bones a couple of times.”

“And it almost doesn’t matter, because Galen’s so damned stubborn,” Shirou muttered, shaking his head. “I swear, even if I ever managed to crack that thick skull of us, he’d still get up to try and kick my ass.”

“Language!” Hermione said sharply. Her eyes were drawn to a clock on one of the tables. “And we’re going to be late for class - come on!”

The group ran out, and Shirou noted that they’d have to try and corner Weasley after class - but it was odd. If he wasn’t at lunch, or in the dorm, then where, exactly, had he been?

. . . And why did Shirou have a sinking feeling that he wouldn’t like the answer?






If asked, Takara would admit to some nervousness about Defence Against the Dark Arts. Having her mother and her professor in the same room would make any student nervous, she expected, though she doubted it would really come to anything. The only time Lockhart had ever crossed swords with her was the pixie incident - and it wasn’t the kind of thing she could see the egomaniac mentioning. He didn’t exactly come out of the incident looking well. Still, knowing that her mother was going to be watching in some corner of the room caused her some worry.

Apparently, however, it wasn’t as much worry as the elder Aozaki caused Lockhart. The man was positively green. Or maybe it wasn’t the presence of an ICW Security Division instructor - perhaps Lucius Malfoy had threatened him. Subtly, of course (unlike Draco, he knew the meaning of the word), but it was a good possibility. The man probably couldn’t do much to Lockhart inside Hogwarts - but Lockhart wasn’t going to be in Hogwarts much longer, was he?

Defence classes had become terribly boring since the pixie incident. They just ended up reenacting scenes from Lockhart’s books, and if they were reading them anyway, what was the point of that? This wasn’t a drama class.

However, today Lockhart put on a serious mien, and addressed the class.

“Ladies and gentlemen, as you’ve been told, I will be leaving Hogwarts come the end of December,” he said solemnly. Amidst the groans of several female students (Takara was polite - she refrained from rolling her eyes), he continued, “I realise this will be a terrible loss to many of you, but I’m afraid I have responsibilities to attend to that I simply cannot put off any longer. Fame brings with it certain duties, after all - noblisse oblige, and all that.”

He flashed the award-winning smile. “However, I’m pleased to announce that in light of recent events - ”

A low murmur swept through the classroom, then - Dean Thomas’ condition had become well-known, thanks to the Hogwarts grapevine. Even knowing that Professor Sprout’s mandrakes would cure him soon did not relieve the tension which had begun to grow in the student body.

“ - Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start up a little duelling club, to train you up in case you ever need to defend yourselves, as I myself have done on countless occasions - for full details, see my published works.”

This time Takara did roll her eyes.

“Now, I realise not all of you may be interested in duelling,” Lockhart continued heartily. “Nonetheless, a little knowledge of the basics can’t possibly do you any harm, and will serve as an excellent way to introduce yourselves to my eventual replacement - Senior Master Auror Aozaki.”

Most of the Gryffindors glanced her way at the name, and Takara sighed. Between the last name, and the hair and eye colour they shared, she would’ve thought it obvious. Why, then, did so many of them look curious?

“Ciel-sensei will do,” her mother said, drawing those same eyes to a back corner of the room, where she’d been unobtrusively observing.

Mother always did like high vantage points, Takara thought wryly. As it filtered through her head, her mother walked from the rear of the class to stand beside Lockhart. She was caught between amusement and disgust at how many of the boys’ eyes followed the movement.

“The lovely Auror has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration of duelling practices and etiquette,” Lockhart said winningly. “Now, I don’t want any of you youngsters to worry - she’ll still be able to teach when I’m through with her, never fear!”

Knowing full well that her mother could kill Lockhart bare-handed, fear was the last thing to cross Takara’s mind.

The two adults stood on opposite sides of the blackboard at the front of the room, a few feet from its edges. They bowed - Lockhart with flourishes, and her mother with polite grace. Their wands were raised in an upright position, as though saluting with European swords, instead of wands.

“As you can see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position,” Lockhart announced. “At the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course.”

Lucky for you, Takara thought.

“One - two - three . . .”

Ciel Aozaki’s wand flicked out, almost negligently, and her silent Disarming Charm sent Lockhart’s wand skittering towards the edge of the floor.

“. . . Very good!” the teacher cried. “Silent spells are very difficult to master - not that I didn’t know what you were doing, of course. That was a Disarming Charm - as you can see, I’ve lost my wand - ah, thank you, Miss Brown. Yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Auror Aozaki, but if you don’t mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would’ve been only too easy. However, I felt it would be instructive to let them see . . .”

Having been on the receiving end of the look Lockhart was receiving before, Takara almost felt sorry for the man.

“But enough of that!” Lockhart said with a laugh - though it had a hollow tone to it. “Who else would like to try their luck against a Senior Master Auror, eh? See if duelling’s really for you, and it’s worth attending the club?” He paused. “Tell you what - if one of you manages to disarm her, or even score on her, I’ll autograph your textbooks for you, personally!”

That, of course, had every girl in the class straining to try. And in true male fashion, the boys lined up to give it a shot, under the belief that anything girls could do, a boy had to be able to do better.

Her mother had shifted position to face the aisle that led to the classroom door, in order to make certain that the field of fire was clear for both. The waiting students clustered in the two corners at the front of the room, and the prospective dueller stood in the aisle. There was plenty of room to fall, if it came to that.

For a number of the students, that room was needed. Her mother was being gentle - silent spells, as a rule, were less powerful, and Takara knew that even then, they were weaker than they were in her usual spars. Then again, this wasn’t a proper duelling ground, and a first-aid kit wasn’t on hand. Had that not been the case, no doubt the spells would’ve flown faster and hit harder. Then again, maybe not - this was just to give them a taste of duelling, after all.

Still, even with her precautions, Ciel couldn’t help but disarm every student. She wasn’t as fast as her husband - Shiki Aozaki was arguably the fastest spellcaster alive, a title his daughter seemed destined to inherit - but she was up against twelve- and thirteen-year-olds who had never before wielded a wand in combat. It didn’t require much effort to overcome them, and more than a few hit the floor as the Disarming Charms proved overpowered for the effort.

By unspoken consent, Takara clustered near the back of the line with her friends. She figured she’d let everyone try, and probably feel bad, then try to make them feel better by giving them a show. Lockhart wasn’t much of an example - let them see what a real duellist was capable of, and maybe they’d be inspired.

She locked eyes with her mother, and mouthed “last.” The elder Aozaki gave a subtle nod of agreement - the final fight would be mother and daughter.

Of the five second-years, Neville went first. As might have been expected, he was easily disarmed - but though he tottered a bit with the spell’s impact, he managed to stay upright. It was actually fairly impressive, considering most people were at least thrown off-balance, if they didn’t fall outright. Neville had just shaken a bit, as though someone had brushed by him.

Hermione went next, eyes ablaze with determination. Takara wasn’t all that surprised - a chance for personalised autographs on all her Lockhart books? The British witch, determined by nature, would no doubt throw everything she had into it for her crush’s sake.

After bowing, the elder Aozaki’s wand flicked out in a silent Expelliarmus.

“Protego!” Hermione cried, making the movement for a Shield Charm - but she couldn’t quite get it fully formed. Still, the makeshift shield blunted the spell’s impact, so that she only lost her wand.

“Very good,” Ciel commented with a raised eyebrow. “A Shield Charm isn’t taught until the fourth year at Hogwarts, normally - that you were able to even attempt it at such a young age speaks well of your abilities.”

To judge by the brightening of her expression, any disappointment Hermione might have felt over the loss of her potential books was quickly banished by the praise. “Thank you, Ciel-sensei - I haven’t actually tried it before, but I’ve seen them used a lot.”

“Perhaps you should get the person who uses them to help refine your casting,” the Auror suggested, following Hermione’s gaze back to Galen. “Ah. Mr. Salvatore, please present yourself next. Perhaps you can properly demonstrate a Shield Charm - according to the report last year, yours is quite powerful.”

Which you know very well, considering that you wrote the report yourself, Takara thought.

Still, this would be an interesting struggle. Her mother would still take it easy on him, of course, given the setting, but at the same time, she’d also need to put a fair amount of punch into her spells to get past that shield. The one saving grace Takara could think of was that with the power of his lignum vitae wand, Galen’s shields tended to disperse spells, rather than deflect them - there would be little chance of her mother or anyone else being hit by a rebound. And the flash of a broken spell was typically dazzling, which could buy one side or the other an advantage, if they were quick enough to use it.

Galen strode the front of the room, his tread slow and steady, robes gliding ominously behind him. It was, Takara had realised after several duels, a deliberate affectation on his part. The walk was meant to unnerve his opponents - to give them the impression of an inexorable enemy, like a glacier, calmly and unrelentingly advancing. Combined with his usual expression, Takara admitted that he made a fairly imposing picture.

With a start, she realised that she was looking forward to this show. Her mother rarely sparred with anyone but her father and her - it would be interesting to see how she handled an opponent with a higher level of patience, instead of one that preferred lightning-fast combat. And it would be interesting to see how Galen’s speed and defensive spells stacked up against an Auror who taught combat for a living. She could learn a lot about both her partners’ styles and weaknesses, watching them fight each other.

Takara watched as Galen’s wand slid from its holster, and he brought it up in salute. Then he assumed the stance she’d seen him take dozens of times - the prelude to casting a Shield Charm. She began assessing the likely flow of combat.

Mother wants him to cast a shield, so he’ll throw everything he’s got into it, hoping to surprise her with its strength. She’ll probably cut loose a little more power than she has been, hoping to do the same - or at least figuring that the strength of his shield will hold, and make for a flashy demonstration of how the spell works. After that, though . . .

Well, either way, I’m betting Mother’s in for a surprise.

“Expelliarmus,” her mother called, the first word she’d spoken in any duel.

“Protego,” Galen snapped.

The scarlet Disarming Charm blazed forth like a missile - and its impact launched Galen off his feet, sending him literally tumbling through the air, hurtling up the aisle until his momentum was halted by slamming his back into the doorframe, and then into the stone floor.

The lignum vitae wand silently rolled to a stop at Takara’s feet.

[Kieran]

DISCLAIMER: Lunar Legend Tsukihime, Fate/Stay Night, and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of Kinoko Nasu and Type-Moon, along with anyone who's happened to license them, like Geneon or Funimation. Harry Potter and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of J.K. Rowling, along with her publishers and Warner Bros., as regards the movie material.

This is a not-for-profit, just-for-fun project.



Writer's Note: Certain dialogue sequences in this story are lifted from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, but I trust in the intelligence of my readers (and the availability of the books) to recognise them when they see them.



Chapter 15 - A Birthday, Bundled Up



November 22, 1992






“What do you mean, ‘nothing’s wrong?’” Shirou demanded.

“Exactly what I said,” Takara shot back. “According to Madam Pomfrey’s tests, aside from the concussion and some spinal bruising, nothing was wrong with Galen when he went in that day - and there’s nothing wrong with him now.”

“But there has to be! People don’t normally go from being a powerful wizard to almost completely useless overnight - do they?”

“Not without help,” Hermione said bluntly, without looking up from her book - her fourth, that day. “But while there are a few ways to debilitate a witch or wizard like this, none of them are that fast-acting - at least, not without obvious symptoms. He seems perfectly healthy - “

”Just almost totally unable to cast spells,” Shirou finished.

It had come as a complete shock to all of them when Ciel’s spell hit squarely. Had it been anyone else, or any other spell, they might have believed Galen had failed to cast it properly - but not a Shield Charm, not from him. It was, to all intents and purposes, his signature spell. He’d cast it hundreds of times, in practice and under pressure, flawlessly. And from the look of shock on his face, he’d expected to do so this time, as well. Instead, he might as well have held a stick, instead of a wand.

But the problem hadn’t ended there. His spellwork as a whole had suffered - they worked barely, with a more intensive effort than should really be required, and anything combat-related failed completely. One of Hogwarts’ most promising and powerful duellists now ranked near Neville Longbottom, at the beginning of last year, in ability.

Neville, Ginny and Luna were clustered on one side of a long table in the Room of Requirement, poring over other tomes the Room had provided on magical ailments, their causes and cures. The other three second-years were on the other side of the table. Luna and Ginny had been suitably impressed by the Room, and readily agreed to keep its existence secret - why spoil a perfect hideaway? It was one of the smaller secrets, perhaps, but it was a start. Nobody thought dropping everything on them at once was a good idea.

Takara shook her head. “Mother keeps trying to get him to go to St. Mungo’s for a more comprehensive battery of tests, but he refuses. He says it’s ‘fine.’ On the plus side,” she added, “I did find out why we couldn’t find Weasley at lunch last week - he was in the Hospital Wing, visiting Dean.”

Shirou grunted. Weasley had been sullen and shifty lately, but Thomas was his best friend - practically his only friend, really. When they finally had cornered him, the redhead had said something about Thomas going out to distract Percy Weasley so that Ron could slip away with some choice tidbits before the prefect caught them. Reasonable enough, except that a subtle question to Percy revealed that the older Weasley had never seen him. Was it just bad luck that the basilisk had caught him first, or was Ron lying? Shirou was pretty good at spotting lies, so he assumed the former - but he’d been wrong before.

Going to where Thomas had been found had shown a highly reflective window at just the right angle in the torchlight to allow the boy to catch its image, explaining why he hadn’t been killed. But that still gave them no real clues as to the culprit behind it. They knew the basilisk was travelling through the pipes in the castle - though how it was revealing itself was another matter. Sixty-plus-foot-long snake monsters did not just slip through drains to spook people. The Chamber of Secrets had a specially-constructed entrance for a reason, after all. But unlike Dumbledore, they were less concerned with “how” than they were with “who” - especially since time was running out for the next attack.

And yet another problem with Galen was a distraction they didn’t need.

No sooner do we solve one problem, and another one pops up. Was his luck always like this? If so, how did he survive the Grail War as long as he did? Or is it because I’m here, too - some kind of synchronicity effect set up by our mutual bad luck?

And he’s “fine” with it . . .

“Wait a minute,” Shirou said aloud. “Galen doesn’t do ‘fine.’ He should be freaked out and helping us research, obsessively. The only reason he wouldn’t is if - ”

“He already knows what’s behind it, or thinks he has a pretty good idea of it,” Hermione finished. “I worked that much out days ago - I’m just trying to figure out how it was done, and why he’s allowed it to persist.”

“I just h - hope it’s not c - contagious,” Neville said, his stammer returning in his nervousness as he joined the conversation in progress. “I’m u -useless enough as it - it is.”

Hermione shook her head, closed the heavy tome with a thunk, and closed her eyes, while musing aloud, “He’s not sick. Poison would leave more obvious symptoms - loss of appetite, jaundiced skin. A curse isn’t exactly subtle, either. And any of those that suppress or remove magic do so entirely - whereas he can still use it.”

“Sure,” Shirou snorted. “In Potions, Astronomy, and History of Magic - ” He paused, eyes widening in realisation. “None of which uses a wand.”

Silence reigned for a moment as they absorbed that, before Hermione said, “But I don’t understand. He’s been using that wand for a year - why would he have problems now?”

“Remember Ilya’s note when she gave it to him?” Takara said, her tone suggesting she was thinking out loud. “It said the wand was ‘very passionate.’ Do you suppose it’s - I don’t know how to say it . . . Do you suppose that it’s having a temper tantrum?”

“Maybe the Wrackspurts were affecting it, and not Galen,” Luna mused. “I was quite sure that it was him, though.”

Takara’s voice was sharp. “What do you mean, Luna?”

“I saw him, just before he got hurt,” Luna explained. “There were clouds of Wrackspurts all around him. I thought it was strange, because he quite clearly frightened them earlier, but when I asked what thoughts they might be affecting, he gave me a smile and said that it was nothing I could help with.” She paused. “It was a very sad smile.”

Shirou felt Takara’s eyes boring into his throat before he turned to look at her.

“What did you say to him?” she demanded. It was a frightening demand, because her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Nothing that should have caused this,” he said, a little defensively.

Takara enunciated her next words very clearly. “We left him alone for twenty minutes. He was fine when we left - in fact, he was angry, which usually makes his spells stronger. Between our leaving and that class, he suddenly became completely unable to use his wand. Whatever you intended, it sure seems to have had a very different effect. What. Did. You. Say?”

“I pointed out that he shouldn’t come with us if he couldn’t hold his temper,” Shirou said flatly. “That it would be hard, if not impossible, to get information out of Weasley - and trying to beat it out of him, which he so obviously wanted to do, would be counterproductive. He was willing to promise to try and hold his temper, and I asked him if he’d still promise, knowing that the thing we’re trying to stop could kill Hermione if he couldn’t. He obviously didn’t think so, because he just let us leave.”

Takara’s skin paled, becoming almost Caucasian in tone.

“Are you out of your bloody mind?!”

Everyone turned to stare at the source of the unexpected outburst, to witness the seething fury that was Hermione Granger.

Her cheeks were flushed, and her chest heaved as though she suddenly found herself desperate to draw in oxygen. Every muscle was tensed in anticipation of explosion - whether in simple motion or brutal violence, no one could be sure. Her eyes were dancing with hints of amber, illuminating pupils that were suddenly slitted, and her bushy hair was gradually acquiring tawny streaks.

“You can’t do that!” she protested. “You can’t tell him that - use me - and not expect him to . . . You have the emotional range of a teaspoon! Don’t you remember what happened last year?!”

She whirled on Takara, demanding, “Where did he go after he left Madam Pomfrey?”

“Hagrid’s,” Takara replied calmly, with just a hint of frost. From the direction of her gaze, however, that chill was not intended for Hermione. “Try to keep him out of the Forest this time.”

The last sentence had been a waste of breath - Hermione was gone after the first word.

Shirou would’ve sighed in relief, except the look on Takara’s face was just as murderous as Hermione’s had been - and she fought better.

“You told him that he was, and would be, a danger to Hermione’s life,” Takara said icily. “And then you left him there alone, to brood about it. You never thought about what he does to things that threaten her! He might not be able to eliminate himself, but his wand obeyed its master’s wishes, whether conscious or unconscious. Without magic, he’ll have to leave Hogwarts, disappear back into the mundane world - protection by isolation, assuming someone or something doesn’t kill him first.”

Shirou said weakly, “But he swore to Ilya. He can’t kill himself, or let himself get killed -”

Luna said quietly. “But is it really suicide, if you can’t defend yourself?”






Galen smiled at Fang tentatively. The big boarhound was just about his weight - probably a little more - and only his cowardly nature kept Galen from being more afraid than he was. Large dogs had always made him a little nervous, but most of the ones he’d encountered were friendly enough. This, however, was an area in which lycanthropy worked against him. While the werewolf preferred hunting humans to animals, it was still a large, vicious predator. Most animals reacted poorly to its presence, and thus to him. It was part of the reason Crookshanks disliked him so.

It also meant no fur therapy from dogs or cats - basically, ever. That hurt more than the loss of any human contact. He was used to being ignored or despised by people, but the fact that he was more likely to be attacked than allowed to pet anyone . . .

Even if my Samoyeds were still alive, they’d never let me near them, he thought sadly.

Still, Fang wasn’t doing more at the moment than shying away and whimpering, so he’d have to settle for not being barked at, and maybe hope the dog would one day learn to relax around him . . . Assuming he stayed, of course.

Hagrid set the cup of tea in front of him. The big man couldn’t bake worth a damn, but tea was hard to muck up - especially since the half-giant liked it strong, as he did.

“How’ve you been, Hagrid?” he asked quietly. “I’m sorry I haven’t been by sooner. Things have been - hectic.”

“So I hear,” the groundskeeper said gruffly. “Ye’ve been havin’ trouble with yer magic.”

Galen blinked. “Who told you that?”

“Takara’s Mum,” Hagrid admitted. “She was by, couple days ago.”

“Asking about the Chamber,” Galen guessed, and mentally wincing when Hagrid froze.

“How’d ye know that?” he demanded.

“I read, Hagrid. Especially when I overhear Dumbledore say the Chamber’s been opened ‘again.’ You told me you’d gotten expelled last year - looking through the school records wasn’t hard.” Galen’s voice hardened. “Your expulsion was complete crap, of course. They never proved you were actually responsible for Myrtle’s death, did they? And even if you were, why reopen the Chamber now? Why wait fifty years?”

Hagrid blinked. “Myrtle?”

“Also known as Moaning Myrtle. Certainly, she doesn’t seem to blame you for her dying - which is a fairly good indicator you’re not, to my mind. Myrtle’s not exactly shy about handing out blame. But because it’s on record that you did it last time, true or not, of course Aozaki-san would come calling. She’d have to.”

The massive man shook his head, sending his shaggy beard into rippling waves. “I didn’t do it. Not then, an’ not now.”

Galen laughed darkly. “Hagrid, if I honestly believed you had, I wouldn’t be here for tea.” He locked eyes with the larger man. “I’d have set this place on fire, waited to see if you’d get out, and if you did . . . Well, I know where you keep your gardening tools.”

Watching someone Hagrid’s size shiver was actually kind of interesting.

“Ye’re just wrong, you are,” Hagrid asserted with a shake of his head. “No kid should be so bleedin’ scary.”

“Only to people who threaten my friends,” Galen assured him, keeping his voice gentle.

“Or one in particular?” Hagrid said with a sudden, knowing grin. “Ye’ve only got the one Muggle-born friend, far as I know.”

A sudden, fierce pounding on the door startled both of them, and they turned to stare.

“Mr. Hagrid!” Hermione’s voice, slightly muffled, called from the other side. “Mr. Hagrid, I need to talk to you!”

Hagrid chuckled. “Well, if it isn’t the little lady herself! Her ears musta been burnin’, don’t you - eh?”

This last was a startled exclamation, because Galen was no longer in his seat. Nor anywhere that Hagrid could see. Even the teacup and plate set out for him had vanished.

“How’d he do that?” Hagrid mumbled, before a renewed attack on the front door turned his attention to it. He opened it to find a wide-eyed, out of breath Hermione Granger.

“Is he here?” she demanded. “Galen, I mean!”

“He was,” Hagrid admitted. “Soon as you knocked, though, he up and disappeared. Dunno how he managed it - “

Hermione’s ears just barely heard a soft click, somewhere behind the groundskeeper.

“ - he was just gone,” Hagrid continued.

“Oh no he doesn’t,” Hermione growled, before darting off herself.






The thick November snow - what was flying through the air, and piling up on the ground - presented a challenge to Galen’s escape. On the one hand, the flying snow would fill in his tracks as he moved, but not swiftly. That required him to wait for a handful of seconds before taking his next step, lest his trail give him away. On the other hand, if he paused for too long, the diverted snow would reveal his outline. It didn’t seem to accumulate, though - whatever the cloak was made of seemed to naturally repel it. Still, maintaining stealth required a careful balance of stillness and movement.

Galen admitted, if only to himself, that he would miss the cloak. He felt comfortable under its auspices - protected. He imagined it was something akin to what being allowed to take spirit form would have been to him in the Grail War, had he been capable of it. Still, if he ended up leaving the magical world, he’d have little use for it. Which was not to say that it couldn’t be useful, but surely someone else could make more of it.

Maybe I’ll leave it to Luna. She’ll have times when she’ll want to hide - and hopefully, the wisdom to know when not to. It’s just a pity I won’t get to see the look on her father’s face if he ever realises what she has . . .

The attack took him completely by surprise. A swift, silent impact drove him to the ground, sending him tumbling face-first into a snowdrift. He rolled quickly onto his back - and was hit again, just as suddenly, driven into the ground by a great weight that crushed the air from his lungs. Points of red-hot pain erupted along the edges of his shoulders and his kneecaps, along with a matching fire at the sides of his throat. Galen’s vision was filled with obscuring gold, his ears with an ominous rumble, and his nose with a wet, animal musk.

Suddenly, the pressure on his body eased, and it was easier to breathe again - though he suspected that the impacts had at least bruised his ribcage. The pain along his shoulders increased, however, as nails less sharp and naturally built to tear dug deeper to maintain their suddenly weakened grip.

“Caught you,” Hermione said smugly. Then she shivered, suddenly exposed to the cold and blowing snow without the benefit of a winter cloak or proper boots. Galen realised that she must’ve run all the way from the castle in her lioness form, which wasn’t really suited for winter climes - or long sprints, either, come to that. Further thought, however, was derailed by the distraction of her sudden wriggling and shifting atop him - the next thing he knew, the invisibility cloak was no longer a barrier between them.

“Much better,” she declared, before a surprised note entered her voice. “It’s warm under here.”

“The cloak seems to mitigate environmental conditions in much the same way as it does sounds and scents,” Galen said, glad to have something to focus on besides how very close, warm, and soft Hermione was. “It’s not an absolute impenetrability - not like sight - but it does render me very hard to detect.” He paused. “How did you find me?”

Her smile was slightly predatory. “My senses are sharper as a lioness. Your scent was muffled, but not gone - and in all this cold, clean air, there wasn’t anything to cover it.” She frowned. “It’s odd - I’ve never heard of an invisibility cloak that does that before.”

Another difference in the timeline, Galen noted, as Harry’s cloak never seemed to have that effect. I wonder - does that mean that this universe has true Deathly Hallows, rather than some ancient wizard-wrought artefacts, as Dumbledore believed them to be? It certainly seems that this might be a cloak capable of hiding its owner from Death itself - rendering one unnoticed, as Death is. And if the cloak has this much power, what additional traits might be attributed to the other two Hallows?

“But you won’t distract me with mysteries,” she said sharply, and her brown eyes flashed dangerously. “We are going to talk about what an utter prat you’re being.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“No, I won’t! Shirou had no right to suggest what he did - ”

“He had every right, because he is right! I’m a danger to you, and not just physically. Hermione, you’re changing, and you don’t even see it. You don’t study as fanatically - ”

“And my grades remain the same,” she countered. “I just don’t put as much pressure on myself, because you’re sure I’ll do well - “

”And there’s the heart of the problem. You focus every aspect of yourself on me - you’re practically in my shadow every waking moment! I’m swallowing you up, whether I intend to or not, and if you’re ever going to get the chance to be Hermione, then I need to - ”

“To what? Leave for my own protection? And who’ll protect me when you’re gone?”

“You shouldn’t need protection! Hermione Granger is a strong, brilliant, and independent witch who’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself!”

“And I’m not?” Amber flecks danced in her eyes.

“Not for much longer, at this rate,” he said heavily. “Hermione, you need a life that involves more than just me - and if I don’t go, you’ll never get it. Look at what I’ve done to you, in just a year - ”

“Yes, let’s,” she said sharply. “To begin with - I’m alive! I’d be long since dead without you here.”

“Shirou and Takara would’ve saved you - “

”Not unless they know how to cast a Shield Charm that can knock out a mountain troll.”

“They’d have found a way - ”

“They’d have tried, but whether they could stop it before it killed me is another matter entirely. But let’s move on. I’ve been exercising regularly, and studying martial arts, instead of reading every waking hour until my eyes are blurry - ”

“And who knows what you’re missing out on - “

”My memory is near-eidetic,” she informed him coolly. “If anything, I’m not re-reading books that I really don’t have to, because I have absolutely nothing else to do with my time. I also have friends - ”

“Which you don’t spend time with, other than me.”

“How much more time do I spend with just you?” she countered. “We’re almost always a group more than a pair - even in the library now, with Luna joining us. I don’t focus only on you, however it seems. Moving on, I’m an Animagus, now - ”

“Because I gave you the idea.”

“If I’d realised how much fun it was, I’d have tried it on my own. You just gave me a reason to.” She looked at him intently. “And that’s the biggest thing: I’m having fun. Do you know how much my parents love you for visiting over the summer? For insisting that I go out to a movie, mini-golf or laser tag, and not shut myself in my room with homework? For years, if I did anything that didn’t improve my grades, it was because they forced me to. The first time I offered to take Miranda out to a park instead of being asked to, I thought my father was going to have a stroke. When I explained that I missed the fresh air I got on our morning runs, I was sure he would. And Mum joined me to go jogging the next day.” She giggled. “The look on her face when she realised I was going easy to let her keep up!”

Hermione sobered. “How often does the Hermione you think I should be laugh, Galen? How panicked does she get over her exams, because her grades are all she has to make her feel like she’s worth something? How many friends does she have?”

“Quite a few,” he said absently, even as he tried to remember - how often did Hermione laugh in the series? Tears were more common, he thought.

“At this point in her life?” she pressed.

“Two really good ones, maybe two or three more.” Hermione hadn’t really met the Weasleys at this point.

“I have four good friends, and two more I think will be - provided Ginny is willing to work a little harder to join us. I’d call that an improvement in my life, not a danger to it,” she added acerbically, before her voice and face softened.

“I still want to get the best grades I can. I still love to read. I want to take care of my friends, now that I have friends to take care of. In every way that matters, I’m still exactly the same Hermione Jean Granger I’ve always been. If I’m not who you expect me to be, it doesn’t make me less myself.”

“Says the girl who should be utterly mortified at the fact that she’s currently lying on top of a boy,” he pointed out, but there was a teasing glint in his eyes.

Her cheeks flushed, but her smile was mischievous. “I’m part cat, now. The lioness likes body heat and skin contact, and you’re warm and comfy. Besides - it is your birthday.” At his surprised blink, her own eyes widened. “You forgot?”

Shrugging was hard in a horizontal position, especially with Hermione’s hands on his shoulders, but he managed to twitch a little. “It’s been a rough week.” And in all honesty, birthdays had lost their lustre after he’d passed thirty.

“Well, I hope you remembered beforehand to ask somebody for a chocolate cake,” she said seriously. “Takara wasn’t any happier with you or Shirou than I am - you may need to trade it for your life.”

“I suppose I ought to go face the music,” he sighed.

Hermione grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you - and I like it that I can.”

“That’s definitely something Hermione would say,” he murmured, prompting her to punch his arm.

“Prat,” she muttered, but her smile said her heart wasn’t in it.

Galen snaked his arms up and around her waist, startling her. “Hold tight,” he warned, before doing a kick-up that would, were he by himself, have propelled him to a standing position. As it was, he crouched for a moment before being able to spring upright, and gently lower Hermione down to her feet.

“So, all better now?” she asked.

In answer, Galen drew his wand, and said softly, “Lumos.”

Pale blue-white light emerged from the tip - soft, but bright.

[Kieran]

DISCLAIMER: Lunar Legend Tsukihime, Fate/Stay Night, and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of Kinoko Nasu and Type-Moon, along with anyone who's happened to license them, like Geneon or Funimation. Harry Potter and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of J.K. Rowling, along with her publishers and Warner Bros., as regards the movie material.

This is a not-for-profit, just-for-fun project.



Writer's Note: Certain dialogue sequences in this story are lifted from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, but I trust in the intelligence of my readers (and the availability of the books) to recognise them when they see them.



Chapter 16 - Duelling



December 12 - 17, 1992






“So,” Ginny asked conversationally, “how much longer are you going to stay mad at them?”

Takara blinked. “Excuse me?”

The redhead smirked. “I know arguments - my family’s really good at them. It’s been what, three weeks? How much longer are you going to stay mad at them?”

The Japanese witch sighed, and set down her shinnai. Technically, she ought to be using a bokken, but Ginny had just asked to start training a week or so ago, so she wasn’t ready to handle the heavier practice blade. The girl’s request had startled her, a little - she seemed uninterested in running, or other martial arts. But when pressed, the youngest Weasley had admitted that she’d heard Fred and George rave about Takara’s speed and reflexes, and she hoped to improve on her own. Kenjutsu would do that - most of the work was based in the hands and arms. Hence, Ginny started training to use a sword.

So far, Takara admitted, the girl showed promise. Her athletic experiences had trained her to use entirely different reflexes - broom-riding and wand-waving were very different from the sweeps and blocks of wielding a two-handed blade - but she was innately physical, and surprisingly eager to learn.

“A while,” Takara answered after a moment’s thought. “I’ve sort of grown to expect this kind of thing from Galen, but Shirou should’ve known better. He did know better - he’s the one who made me realise how fragile Galen was last year. He told me that healing would be a long process, if it ever happened - and then he goes and rips open every wound Galen’s got, as brutally as he possibly could, without even thinking.”

“So you’re madder at him?” Ginny prodded.

“Yes,” Takara answered. “Which is not to say I’m not mad at Galen - I’m getting so tired of this. He blames himself for everything, as though the rest of us shouldn’t have any say in our own lives. And when it gets bad enough, he tries to kill himself. And he’s been doing it as long as I’ve known him.”

Ginny tilted her head curiously. “Then why are you friends?”

Takara shut her eyes. “Because when I’ve needed him, he’s been there. He’s fought, and bled” - And died, she added mentally - “for me, and my family. As much as I hate the shadows lurking in his head, I’ve used them to my advantage, too. I don’t really have the right to complain.” She paused, and added softly, “And because a very long time ago, he told a lonely little girl she was pretty.” And not as long ago, that he loved her.

“Kitty eyes,” Ginny supplied, grinning at Takara’s sudden glare. “I do talk to my brothers, remember? Well, not Percy so much - he’s too busy with Prefect duties and NEWT classes - but Fred and George, sure. They think you three are loads of fun, you know that? They haven’t given up on the idea that Shirou’s a lost Weasley brother.”

Takara gazed at the younger girl shrewdly. “Planning to bring him into the fold, Ginny?”

Now it was Ginny’s turn to be startled. Her cheeks began turning to match her hair.

Takara smirked. “I thought so. You’re not as obvious about it as Hermione, but . . .” She stopped. “Did you really want to improve your reflexes - or were you looking to check out the competition?”

Ginny’s face could have doubled as a stoplight, and its expression could have been a textbook illustration of “mortification.”

The Japanese witch laughed - she couldn’t help it. Still, Takara forced herself to swallow her amusement, as it really wasn’t fair to Ginny. The girl was only eleven, after all. She couldn’t appreciate the subtleties or ironies here, even if she knew about them, which she presently didn’t. At the moment, Ginny would assume Takara was laughing at her, rather than the situation - and that wasn’t fair at all.

“Relax, Ginny,” Takara assured her. “I have no interest in Shirou. We’re old friends, and that’s all.” The redhead’s brown eyes narrowed suspiciously, but Takara was firm. “Trust me - if I dated Shirou, it would be a disaster.”

Although, given the memories of our last date, another one isn’t ever likely. Sure, he’s a lot nicer now that he’s not an obsessive psychopath, but that image isn’t likely to fade any time soon.

“So you’re Hermione’s problem,” Ginny said thoughtfully, causing Takara to rock back a little.

Why does everyone assume -?

The redhead’s eyes narrowed again, and her next words disrupted Takara’s thought. “Then where did you and Hermione go, a few nights ago? You were with the boys, weren’t you?”

Takara blinked. She hadn’t thought anyone had noticed . . .

“Luna has nightmares, sometimes,” Ginny admitted. “Less, since she came to Hogwarts, I think - but we were awake when the two of you snuck by our floor. You didn’t come back until just after dawn, in time for your run. Where did you go? What did you do?”

Takara bit her lip, stopping when she realised she must have picked the habit up from Hermione. “It’s a long story - and another secret. We did plan to tell you.”

Ginny folded her arms, a stubborn expression on her face. “Now seems good.”

Takara sighed. “Let’s round up the others, first. It’ll be easier with all of us.” A wicked smirk crossed her face. “I’ll get our Library Trio, and you can go collect Shirou and Neville. If you get them in the right order, it’ll be the perfect chance to have some alone time.”

The youngest Weasley’s face flamed again, and Takara laughed silently. I’m older than you, Ginny - I can tease even better than you can, and faster, too.

But really, you’d think a girl who has Fred and George for brothers wouldn’t embarrass that easily . . .






They gathered in the Room of Requirement, which had configured itself into a replica of the Gryffindor common room. Galen claimed one end of a plush scarlet sofa, half-leaning on its armrest - the full moon had been days ago, but it always took him time not just to recover from his transformations, but to regain the physical and mental equilibrium the transformations disrupted.

Hermione sat next to him, and Takara claimed the other third of the seat for herself. Neville and Shirou had armchairs to themselves. Given that this was going to be a time for revelations for both Ginny and Luna, she’d sat both girls on a love-seat in between all the other chairs. Ginny had an expectant look on her face, tinged with a hint of “tell me or else.” For her part, Luna looked merely curious - though someone who hadn’t spent a great deal of time with her might choose “oblivious” to describe her expression instead. Everyone in the room, however, knew better.

Galen smothered a yawn with his hand before glancing at Takara and asking, “So - what’s up?”

“Ginny wanted to know why we weren’t in our beds a few nights back,” Takara answered calmly. “We had discussed talking to them about this, hadn’t we?”

“Hm,” Galen grunted neutrally.

“It’s all right if you don’t want to include us,” Luna said quietly. “I don’t really approve of unicorn-hunting, anyway. But I would like to know how you manage to grow your hair back each night.”

Most of them stared at Luna in confusion - Galen and Hermione immediately turned red.

“Care to share?” Shirou said dryly.

“Unicorns like full moons, and purity,” Galen mumbled, “and according to some legends, you can catch them in a net woven of a maiden’s hair.”

Hermione blushed harder, and said very quietly. “. . . She thinks Takara and I are bait.”

Ginny’s eyes were suddenly the size of saucers. “. . . Aren’t you?”

Now Hermione went pale - and Neville picked up the blush. For Takara’s part, she channelled her mother at her most teacher-like - disciplined and no-nonsense.

“We would be, if we were dealing with unicorns,” she said, in a voice laced with asperity. “However, you should have looked at the next page of Fantastic Beasts.”

Luna’s eyes widened, and she said, in a very small voice, “Oh.”

“Oh?” Ginny repeated, turning to her friend. “I don’t have the book memorised - what’s on the next page?”

“The entry on werewolves,” Luna replied, in as matter-of-fact a voice as her natural tones could produce.

“Werewolves?” Ginny repeated in disbelief. “Are you telling me Professor Dumbledore let a werewolf into the school?”

“Is that a problem?” Shirou asked flatly.

“They’re monsters,” Ginny said. “And if it doesn’t kill you, all it takes is one bite, and you’ll be one, too.”

“And the other twenty-seven nights of the month?” Takara asked carefully. “Or the twenty-eight days, for that matter?”

Ginny shook her head. “My brother Charlie works with dragons. We visited him last year, on his preserve. Dragons are huge, with really big fangs and claws, and they breathe fire - and the Ministry classes werewolves as being just as dangerous as a dragon.”

“And yet,” Hermione riposted, “if we hadn’t told you, would you have known there was one here?” She fixed the youngest Weasley with a gimlet glare. “You’ve been at Hogwarts for four months, Ginny. Four full moons. Noticed any savage murders so far?”

“Mrs. Norris - “ she began weakly.

“Was killed without a mark on her,” Hermione retorted. “Werewolves use fangs and claws, not Dark magic. And Professor Lockhart, Headmaster Dumbledore, and Takara’s mother - an Auror - are here. You don’t see them worried, do you?”

“Not about werewolves,” Luna said abruptly, startling most of them. “I can only conclude that the rumours of Minister Fudge trying to breed controllable werewolves for use against future goblin uprisings are true.” She peered at them in confusion. “I would’ve thought you were all too young . . .”

More than one face went scarlet - especially among those who were old enough to understand what she was talking about.

Takara tried hard to regain her poise. “With the aid of a certain potion made available at Hogwarts, a werewolf can retain their human mind while transformed - and if the werewolf has no particularly inclination to bite or kill anyone, it’s perfectly safe. We’re practising for those times when the potion isn’t available. We can keep the werewolf . . . Well, not human, but calm. Less likely to attack.”

“How?” Ginny demanded.

Now she smiled. “Has Professor McGonagall used her cat trick on you yet?”






Galen admitted to himself a couple of days later that while that could’ve gone better, it could’ve gone worse, as well.

Neither of the girls seemed inclined to reveal his secret - but Ginny wasn’t exactly comfortable around him, anymore. Not that she’d spent much time with him specifically, but she always made a point of keeping someone between the two of them - usually Shirou, but Takara or Neville worked, too. Of course, having seen Neville turn into a four-hundred-plus-pound bear, Galen admitted that he’d want Neville between him and a threat, too.

It was the damned wizard prejudice again, just as it had been with Neville. For all that the Weasleys were progressive, holding no particular animosity towards mundanes or mundane-born, they had moments where they could be shockingly conservative, too - witness Molly Weasley’s reaction to her eldest son’s choice of bride. Granted, Fleur might have tried harder to endear herself to her future in-laws, but they hadn’t exactly been welcoming, either.

And Ginny and Hermione had shared that reaction. In Hermione’s case, it was almost understandable, given how Ron reacted to Fleur’s Veela allure, but Ginny had been just rude. And that was when she was sixteen - now, at eleven, she’d effectively found out her friends hung out with the Big Bad Wolf. He could hardly fault her response. Werewolves had the reputation they did for a good reason - the wolf was a monster. It was only when it carried over to their human lives that it was unfair.

And to be fair, Ginny didn’t have the experience with him that the others did. He hadn’t had to fight trolls or three-headed dogs in her defence. All she really knew of him was that he was powerful enough to do so - and prone to making dire threats. Not exactly a good basis for a friendship.

Galen shrugged. It would take time, he supposed. At least the girls had taken the Animagus potion - or the phials of it, anyway. They weren’t yet prepared to actually drink them, but they were willing to consider it, which was more than he’d honestly expected.

Well, no - Luna had reacted more or less as he had expected. If his being a werewolf bothered her, she showed absolutely nothing to indicate it. On the contrary, she was now trying to get him to help her with a study for the Quibbler on whether or not lycanthropic senses made it easier to hunt Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, or whether his presence would make it harder by scaring them.

A nature hike might be fun for the summer, he admitted. He’d always enjoyed them when going with his family. And wizard tents are a hell of a lot more comfortable -

A shudder suddenly ran through him - and with it, a memory of camping when he was four. The dark, the beast, and the blood . . .

Galen leaned against the wall until the shaking stopped.

“Right,” he whispered. “No camping - bad memories.” Damn you, Greyback.

It was one reason he hadn’t really integrated well with this universe’s version of him - while he might not have been strictly human for a while, Galen Salvatore had no memories of ever being human. He’d been turned too young to retain anything before the moon dug her claws into him.

Still, bits and pieces kept skittering around his psyche. Not just memories of Shirou and Takara, but also feelings. As Avenger, or Jester, he’d been largely immune to fear - death had burned it out of him, literally. He could face or fight anything, with no trepidation or hesitation. If a cobra had launched itself at him, he’d have plucked it out of the air in an eyeblink. But now . . .

Galen has so many of my old habits, my fears and reactions - and they keep trying to make me stop thinking like I’m dead. They want me to think of myself as alive - and living things fear.

I can’t face the basilisk. I was all right with it on a screen, because it didn’t really look like a snake. The Acromantula freaked me out more. But faced with the living, breathing article? I might freeze - and get somebody killed. I have to let them fight it, because I’m not sure I can . . . Some Gryffindor I turned out to be. Then again, there really wasn’t anywhere else I could go, was there?


As he walked into Gryffindor Tower, a notice on the message board caught his attention.

The official duelling club start - two days from now, at eight PM. The rooster dies the same day, and that Hufflepuff kid is attacked the next day . . . Two days, and it’s our last chance to end this quickly. After that, it has to be the Polyjuice plan.

Galen hoped they were ready.






Shirou gazed at the crowd around the Great Hall - at least half the school had to be here! Obviously Lockhart had built up anticipation for his little duelling club . . . Well, the man was a marketing genius.

In place of the usual House tables was a set of raised duelling platforms - Shirou had used them at home, so he was familiar with the design. Atop them were Lockhart and Flitwick-sensei, which was a surprise - he’d been half-expecting Aozaki-san or, from Takara’s comments, Snape.

Unfortunately, neither she nor Galen was available for an explanation - the pair had taken the Invisibility Cloak and posted themselves by Hagrid’s hut to keep watch for the rooster killer. Hermione likely would’ve preferred to go with him, but Galen had pointed out that the cloak could hide him and an owl perched on his shoulder much more easily than two full-sized people. In any case, Shirou didn’t expect to see them back for some time.

He would’ve preferred to go himself, but Takara had pointed out that her night sight was better, and with Galen to defend her against potential attack, she could probably take out whoever it was quickly and quietly. Then, too - he was more likely to be missed, whereas Galen had a history of absences for medical reasons, and she had her mother as an excuse. So, grumbling all the while, Shirou had rounded up the kids and headed here to keep an eye on things. Although, he had to admit there was an upside: he had an excuse to clobber Malfoy, something Galen and Takara would otherwise have paid money for.

Truth be known, Shirou had about as much problem with Malfoy as Galen normally had with Weasley. The blond was an egotistical, bigoted, pompous little weasel - but Shirou rarely got involved with him, so it didn’t really matter. They barely interacted at all, and while Shirou wouldn’t hesitate to knock out a couple of Malfoy’s teeth as a matter of principle, there wasn’t actually much call for it on a personal level.

On the other hand, he was rude and insulting to Takara, and Neville, and Hermione. Shirou was fairly sure, from descriptions he’d been given, that Ginny would be a “blood-traitor,” and Luna “Loony,” as well. In which case, an object lesson in not insulting his friends (or at least, the consequences for doing so) would seem to be in order for one Draco Malfoy.

Galen had made him promise Pensieve memories afterward.

The pairings for the first round of duels was fantastic - he got Malfoy right off the bat. Hermione was paired with a Slytherin girl named Millicent Bulstrode (and as if the name wasn’t unfortunate enough, her appearance was worse), and Neville with Weasley, the latter looking fairly confident. Ginny and Luna were against one another.

I foresee a bad day for redheads, Shirou thought. Ginny might have started training with Takara, but Luna had been doing so for four months. Her aggression level wasn’t exactly staggering, but Luna’s confidence and competence were both impressive. And Neville had been working with them for over a year. If Weasley was expecting the same kid as last year . . .

Definitely a bad day for redheads.

“Wands at the ready!” Lockhart called. “When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponent - only to disarm them - we don’t want any accidents . . . One - two - ”

On “two,” Shirou snapped, “Protego!”

Like Galen, Shirou was more powerful than the average second-year student, and thus capable of casting a Shield Charm ahead of the normal development curve. He wasn’t as good at Shields as Galen was - but that was like saying an operatic tenor wasn’t a rock-and-roll singer. The base skills were the same - the two just had different focuses in how they applied them. Against most spells a second-year was likely to encounter, and quite a few they weren’t, his Shield Charm worked just fine. In fact, his did something Galen’s didn’t do - they deflected spells on impact, rather than break them to pieces.

Shirou savoured the look of surprise on Malfoy’s face as his own spell rebounded, and sent him flipping like a coin.

“. . . Three!” Lockhart added, pausing as he suddenly noticed the commotion. “Eh? What’s going on?”

“He attacked me!” Malfoy claimed, staggering to his feet.

“He did?” Lockhart said incredulously.

“Did he?” Professor Flitwick murmured, approaching. “Most uncharacteristic of him, I must say.”

Shirou held out his wand. “You are welcome to check my last spell, Flitwick-sensei.”

The diminutive Charms professor took the holly wand murmured a few words. Glowing residue simmered above it, resolving into patterns Shirou couldn’t read - though evidently the teacher could.

“A Shield Charm,” Flitwick pronounced. “Quite difficult to knock someone down with one of those.” His lips quirked into a smile as he glanced at Shirou. “Provided one’s name isn’t ‘Galen Salvatore,’ of course. If it was, I assure you, Mr. Malfoy - you wouldn’t have gotten up again under your own power. Your wand, please?”

With obvious reluctance, the blond Slytherin handed over his wand.

“Ah,” Flitwick murmured. “Strangely enough, Mr. Malfoy, your last spell produces identical effects to what you’re currently experiencing. That will be five points from Slytherin for disobeying a professor’s instructions, ten points from Slytherin and a week’s detention for attacking a student unprovoked, and a further fifteen points, and another week’s detention, for lying to a professor. I will see you after classes, beginning tomorrow.” He handed back Malfoy’s wand.

As the teachers withdrew, Malfoy glared at Shirou. “You’ll pay for this, Einzbern.”

Shirou shrugged. “You must have been sorted into Slytherin on ambition alone, Malfoy - you’re entirely too predictable to be cunning.”

Draco’s face purpled, and he raised his wand -

“I wouldn’t,” murmured a quiet voice, and the Slytherin whirled to face Takara, wand casually in hand.

“I was wondering when you’d get here,” Shirou murmured. “Galen make it back OK?”

“Sure - he’s checking on some of the other duels.” Takara smirked. “I’ve got to say, Malfoy, if you and Bulstrode are examples of Slytherin’s best - I’m not impressed.”

As Takara had no doubt intended, both Shirou and Malfoy’s attention was drawn to the duelling platform where Hermione and the named girl were duelling. It was clear that in the month since she’d first attempted it, Hermione had perfected her Shield Charms - everything thrown at her was bounced back at Bulstrode. And given the other girl’s relative size, Hermione could hardly miss.

Shirou allowed his eyes to briefly rake over the others. Neville was demonstrating why slacking off on one’s homework - including learning spells - in favour of snacks and chess was a bad idea, especially when fighting someone who’d been training to fight for a while. Neville was still more heavyset than Weasley - but the muscle-to-fat ratio was different, now. He was still a pudgy kid, for the moment, but given another few years of exercise, Neville would probably come to resemble his Animagus form.

He had strength, and endurance - though Shirou still outclassed him in the former, and Galen in the latter. Nonetheless, his higher physical conditioning meant he could last longer in a fight, and take more hits. And they hadn’t neglected speed in his training, either. He’d never match Takara - and maybe not even Shirou or Galen - but Neville wasn’t as slow as someone his size usually was, either.

Ginny was faring better - she’d been in better shape than Luna at the beginning, and she was naturally more aggressive, but Luna’s experience was starting to tell. Ginny telegraphed a lot of her spells and movements, and Luna was nothing if not perceptive. In an endurance match, Ginny would probably win, but Luna was quick, careful, and always watching for that fatal mistake. For the time being, it could go either way.

“Hello, Malfoy,” Galen said pleasantly as he emerged from one side. “Professor Flitwick tells me you need me to demonstrate the offensive capabilities of a Shield Charm?”

Draco trembled, and raised his wand again - before suddenly noting three wands at his throat.

“Run along,” Shirou advised with a smirk.

Malfoy whirled and stormed off, muttering.

“‘My father will hear about this,’” Galen quoted.

“So, you’re back early,” Shirou said.

His two friends scowled, and Takara spat, “It was already dead when we got there. And with the blizzard starting up, it washed away any trace of who might have done it. No tracks, no scents - nothing.”

“Damn,” Shirou swore. He glanced at them. “OK, Galen, now I believe it - the universe is out to get us. Should we even try to save the kid, or just go on with the Polyjuice plan?”

“Try, of course,” Galen sighed. “But I think we’re going to have to accept the fact that we’ll need to use the damned potion.”

A sudden thump drew their attention - Luna had finally managed to disarm Ginny, and had taken the further step of tripping her up with a leg sweep.

“Five Galleons says she joins our morning calisthenics tomorrow,” Galen murmured.

“No bet,” Shirou and Takara replied.

Galen sighed again. “Why is there never anyone willing to bet money when I can win?”

[Kieran]

DISCLAIMER: Lunar Legend Tsukihime, Fate/Stay Night, and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of Kinoko Nasu and Type-Moon, along with anyone who's happened to license them, like Geneon or Funimation. Harry Potter and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of J.K. Rowling, along with her publishers and Warner Bros., as regards the movie material.

This is a not-for-profit, just-for-fun project.



Writer's Note: Certain dialogue sequences in this story are lifted from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, but I trust in the intelligence of my readers (and the availability of the books) to recognise them when they see them.



Chapter 17 - The Polyjuice Plan



December 18 - 25, 1992






Galen spent the morning silently grumbling over lost opportunities to earn money - Ginny Weasley was present, eager, and utterly astonished at how out-of-shape she was, comparatively. Fred and George, who’d decided to join them this morning, weren’t a lot better, but that would hardly make Ginny feel good. The Weasley family pride was taking a real beating.

Fred and George, however, were ecstatic. They’d decided to use the Room of Requirement, rather than run in the blizzard - which of course, necessitated revealing it to the twins. They had “solemnly sworn” to keep its secret, no doubt thinking of dozens of ways to use its capabilities in the future, and begun hailing him as “the Discoverer of the Room.”

The good cheer he liked, but Galen thought the kowtowing was really unnecessary.

After her fourth lap around the track the Room of Requirement had generated, Ginny wheezed, “How - do . . . You all . . . Do this . . . So - easily?”

“Practice,” Takara said. “Luna’s been doing runs with us for months - Neville and Hermione for over a year. Shirou and I have been doing calisthenics and combat training almost since we were old enough to walk. We taught Galen, and while his skills didn’t progress much without us, he kept in the habit.”

Galen shrugged. “It was all I had of you.”

She blushed delicately, but Takara continued, “There’s also the fact that witches and wizards are generally lazier than mundanes. You Apparate or broom-ride rather than walk or bike, use wand-work instead of physical labour . . . Magic is probably the only reason you aren’t all withered or grossly overweight.”

Ginny bit her lip. “You sound like you don’t like being a witch.”

Takara shrugged. “Mother raised me to be able to live in either world, and I think witches and wizards are, on the whole, bloody stupid about a lot of things regarding mundanes. There are definite advantages to the mundane world that so few magicals ever even consider.” She grinned. “For example, I could walk into Auror headquarters and be almost guaranteed to clobber four out of five of them with my bare hands.”

“Unless your mother trained them,” Shirou pointed out dryly.

“Unless that,” Takara agreed ruefully.

“Mundanes do have some useful tricks,” Fred said, emphasising the word, as if to remind himself to use it.

“We feel they’re skills worth learning, even if they are a bit slow,” George agreed.

“On the other hand, any wizard who takes your wand before locking you in a dungeon isn’t likely to search you for hatpins,” Galen pointed out with a grin.

“Correct, oh all-seeing Discoverer,” Fred replied flippantly. “Hey, don’t suppose you’re going to uncover the Chamber of Secrets next?”

Galen’s grin widened into a full-blown smirk. “Only if I absolutely have to - I really don’t want to go down there.”

“Really?” George asked.

“Would you, with a monster bred by Slytherin himself waiting for you?”

“You wouldn’t feel right at home?” Ginny muttered under her breath. Only the fact that Galen’s hearing was sensitive to quiet sounds like that let him hear it, he suspected.

Just the same, he added firmly, “I’d rather piss off a werewolf - it’s much safer.” To his satisfaction, Ginny flushed, but nobody seemed to have noticed anything unusual.

He was willing to cut her some slack - she was eleven, and a product of her environment. However, he wasn’t going to put up with five years of name-calling, veiled insults, and general rudeness. He already got enough of that from dealing with Snape, to say nothing of Malfoy.

Maybe I ought to see if Hermione can improve her manners - she’s got a proven talent for intimidating Weasleys . . . The thought made him grin.

“In any case,” he assured the twins, “I’m hoping Aozaki-sensei can deal with the problem, before I need to worry about it.”

“Right,” Fred grinned. “Let her handle the big stuff - ”

“And you’ll just worry about the odd troll wandering about!” George finished.

“Not to mention, say - “

” - a stray firework or twelve?”

These two always were the brains of the family, Galen reflected, even as he asked, “Whatever gives you that idea?”

“Oh, we’re not mad,” Fred assured him. “Once we thought about it, it was a brilliant display of pranking talent.”

“After all, who’d suspect you when we’re on the premises?” George grinned. “Chaos, mayhem, ready-made fall guys and not a single injury - ”

“Fantastic!” Fred finished. “Takara and Shirou we love already - they make Gryffindor look brilliant on the pitch - ”

“But now we understand why they hang out with you!” George finished. “A barking mad genius, you are -”

“The best kind!” they chorused.

Most of the group laughed, though he noted Ginny had an odd expression on her face.

Probably not sure whether she ought to laugh, or cry.

Galen paused as an idea occurred to him. “Guys, now that I think about it, we could use a hand - ”

Takara and Shirou both shot him incredulous looks. He just smiled.

“See, we’re planning to bust into the other dormitories, but we need some materials collected that you might be able to help us with. In return, if you can think of anything in particular you’d like to see ‘accidentally’ left behind, we could probably see our way clear to delivering it . . .”

“Like a case of Dungbombs, say?” George asked. “Under Malfoy’s bed, maybe?”

“It’s certainly possible,” Galen grinned.

“And if they figure out it didn’t come from one of them - ” Fred mused.

“- They’ll probably suspect us - ”

“ - And we can honestly say - “

”We had nothing to do with it!” George finished, trading looks with his twin.

“And if we time it right, one of the teachers can alibi you,” Galen pointed out. “Like, when Filch has you in detention, maybe?”

“Brilliant,” the twins chorused. “You’ve got a deal!”

Galen smirked.






“What was that all about?” Hermione demanded.

Shirou was curious, too.

“Fred and George are well-known pranksters, but fairly popular, too,” Galen replied. “They’ll be able to collect hairs or skin samples for the Polyjuice with a lot less suspicion than any of us would. If the price of that means we have to prank a couple of people ourselves, it’s worth it.”

Shirou snorted. “Admit it - you’d pay them for a shot at Malfoy.”

“And you wouldn’t?”

Shirou shook his head. “No - but on the other hand, I won’t turn down a free shot, either.”

“Same here,” Takara muttered. “I’m getting tired of being called ‘Slant Eyes.’”

“‘Kitty Eyes’ is so much nicer, isn’t it?” Shirou drawled, smirking when Galen and Takara turned red. The joke was getting a little worn - but since it never failed to get a rise out of one or both of them, it was still fun.

The Gryffindors had split off on leaving the Room of Requirement. The twins had gone to work on their list of targets to get samples from, and their list of targets they wanted pranked. Ginny and Luna, not having Herbology first period, couldn’t take advantage of the break offered by the cancelled class - as the blizzard had made the greenhouse impossible to get to. That had left the five of them, heading for the place where Justin Finch-Fletchley would be found prior to Transfiguration class.

The trick was, again, one of timing. They didn’t know when the attack happened, only when the aftermath was discovered. As with the rooster, it might have occurred too early for them to stop - but surely, one of the prefects would’ve discovered them on their rounds if it had happened during the night.

It was, Galen had said, the oddest of all the incidents in the book. Mrs. Norris had no doubt been attacked because she was on the scene when the Chamber was opened. Colin Creevey was a boy Ginny Weasley had known, in her own year. Hermione Granger was Harry Potter’s best friend, an acquaintance of her brother’s, and dedicated to stopping the attacks. Penelope Clearwater had been with her at the time, which made her Petrification more a case of collateral damage than a deliberate assault. But Justin had been a Hufflepuff, whereas all the other primary targets were Gryffindors, which Ginny had easy access to. And he’d been in the company of Sir Nicholas, which had ultimately saved his life - but why had a mundane-born Hufflepuff been with the ghost of Gryffindor Tower?

As much as the question frustrated Galen, however, Shirou didn’t care. All that mattered was preventing him from being attacked. Fortunately, they had a way to do that - and as he spotted the Hufflepuff boy in question heading down a corridor, he put it into action.

“Justin!” Shirou called. “We were wondering - as Herbology’s been cancelled, did you and Hannah want to meet us in the library to review our notes?” As the boy hesitated, Shirou added, “Galen says he’s also willing to part with his history notes, if you need them!”

That did it. Galen and Hermione were apparently the only two people who could actually stay awake in History of Magic - not just in Gryffindor, but Hufflepuff, too. With a nod, Justin dashed off to the Hufflepuff dorm to grab his Herbology partner, and incidentally, away from where his body would have been found.

Shirou smiled. For once, something seemed to be going right for them.






A couple of hours later, following Transfiguration class, he was revising his opinion. Once again, the trio found themselves in the Room of Requirement, for privacy and security.

“I do not believe this!” Shirou seethed. “We did everything right - and there was still an attack! Why is it that for every step forward we manage, we take at least one back?”

Galen laughed darkly. “I’m used to that. It’s the identity of the victim that concerns me.”

“Why?” Shirou asked.

“Because it’s Penelope Clearwater - and she and Hermione were supposed to be the basilisk’s next victims.”

The Ravenclaw prefect had been found in the fifth floor corridor, with the frozen form of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington. As with the original assault, apparently Nearly Headless Nick had taken the brunt of the basilisk’s gaze, but Clearwater had still managed to be affected by it. Adding insult to injury, the two had been found by the Ravenclaw’s secret boyfriend, Percy Weasley. The redheaded prefect was still in a state of shock, and nearly incoherent.

Shirou blinked. “You’re thinking that because we had Justin and Hermione with us, the universe just moved on to the other two and arranged things?”

“Scary thought, eh?” Galen muttered. “I don’t like this, I don’t like it at all.”

“Mother’s not any happier,” Takara said grimly. “She’s absolutely furious - evidence of powerful Dark magic, and the wards don’t register a thing. And she was picking up Christmas presents in Hogsmeade when it happened, so she feels responsible. She’s sure she could’ve stopped it, if she’d been here.”

“Not without preparation, she couldn’t,” Shirou answered. “And we know she didn’t have that. So what does she think it is?”

“A powerful Dark wizard, between what looks like a spell capable of harming ghosts whose backlash Petrified the prefect, and Confunded Weasley.”

“Confunded?” Galen asked suddenly.

“Yeah - Percy’s shock is really deep. Mother suspects mental tampering.”

Galen’s reply was sharp. “Like a Memory Charm, maybe?”

Shirou remembered what they’d said earlier, when briefing him on the year to come. “You suspect Lockhart?”

“It’s a possibility - he might have found the diary when it was blasted into the street. And he is a writer, so using it would be perfectly natural. And being Lockhart, he’d try to get the most out of it. All the Horcrux would have to do is tempt him with the tale of the Chamber of Secrets - the newest potential best-seller, with all the involved principles here at Hogwarts, waiting to be Obliviated. And worst of all, we can’t alibi him for the attacks, because we weren’t watching him closely - we had no reason to suspect him more than anybody else.”

Shirou frowned. “Will the Polyjuice Potion be ready in time to search his things, though? He’s supposed to be gone by the end of the term - and everyone goes home in three days.”

“No,” Takara said. “This can’t be rushed. If we search his rooms, we’ll need to find another way.” She tilted her head. “Although, if Lockhart leaves, maybe the attacks will stop?”

“We can’t guarantee that,” Shirou said, shaking his head. “There’s also the possibility that Lockhart’s departure will cause the Horcrux to give up the subtle approach as a farewell - just let the basilisk loose completely.”

Galen shuddered, and Takara cast him a worried glance.

“You really don’t want to do this, do you?” she asked softly. “I’ve never seen you back down from anything before.”

“It’s a giant snake. I hate snakes, always have. When I died, fear pretty much went with my life - I wouldn’t have liked it, but I could’ve handled it. But he’s got the same fears I do, mostly, and I feel them all over again . . .” His shudder repeated itself.

“All the more reason to get the diary as quickly as we can,” Shirou said. “Somebody will need to get detention with Lockhart, or otherwise distract him - long enough for us to search his office and quarters for the book. As long as it’s not actually on him, it shouldn’t be a problem. But we have to hurry - term ends in three days.”

“Right,” Takara said with a grin. “Sounds like a job for his least-favourite student again.”

They spent the rest of the time before lights out outlining a workable plan.






A week later, it was Takara’s turn to curse up a storm. A month’s detention - with her mother after Lockhart was gone - for nothing! Shirou and Galen hadn’t turned up a thing! And she hadn’t seen any suspicious hints, either - Lockhart was clean, at least of being Voldemort’s puppet.

On the other hand, it was now Christmas. That meant food, presents, and the Polyjuice Potion, finally ready. But first, there was one final hurdle - family.

Her father had arrived on Christmas Eve, with a handful of brightly-wrapped packages. He’d said hello before her mother had whisked him away with particular urgency, and Takara had given wordless thanks that the distance between the staff quarters and Gryffindor Tower was such that silencing charms weren’t an issue. One thing she still wasn’t used to yet - her parents were younger, too.

Shirou’s family arrived with Ilya in tow on Christmas Day. Like her father, they had gifts with them, as well. The presence of a half- and full-blooded Veela caused some interesting reactions from the staff and students, and as a result, neither had done much more than say hello, offer a hug and kiss to their son (or brother, as the case might be), and drop off the gifts. Emotions ran high enough at Christmas as it was - no need to aggravate things.

Though Takara got a touch of amusement out of the Weasleys’ expressions, seeing Galen offer Ilya a full, sweeping bow and a gentlemanly kiss on her hand as a hello, and again as a goodbye. Ilya’s aura was pulling at them more than a little, to judge by the jealous looks. Nor was Hermione completely immune, either - but she simply looked sad.

Takara leaned over to the girl and whispered, “Liege lady, not lover. It’s no different from charming Myrtle.”

Hermione glanced at her, frowning, then turned back to the display with a speculative look.

After breakfast, they retreated to the common room - as the Weasleys were the only ones aside from them to stay over the holidays, it was deserted. Percy was still in a funk over Penelope’s condition - understandably - and his brothers and sister had herded him to the Hospital Wing for the wizard equivalent of anti-depressants, or maybe a Dreamless Sleep potion.

Takara sat between her parents on the sofa. Kiritsugu and Shirou had commandeered the armchairs. That left Hermione and Galen to sit on the love-seat, and Hermione was more than a little pink over it. As often as the two sat together, they were rarely so close without a book to study, or an assignment to do - and more often, facing one another rather than side by side. Takara was musing over whether she’d faint if they found mistletoe to put above them when her father spoke.

“We brought your family’s gifts, Hermione. They wish you their best.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hermione said sincerely. “I appreciate your help.”

“It’s no trouble - it’s Christmas.” He glanced at her, Shirou, and Galen. “As for you three . . . Given the problems here this year, the families decided we’d be better off to pool our efforts to get you each a single gift - one we hope will help you.”

He handed Takara a package wrapped in metallic red foil paper, and topped with a golden bow - Gryffindor colours.

Galen’s package had a red satin bow, and was wrapped in green paper festooned with teddy bears and candy canes - Takara smiled, remembering his Teddy. He’d taken it almost everywhere with him. She wondered if he still had it, as she glanced at Shirou’s package. It was blue, and decorated with snowmen, with a sparkly silver bow.

Kiritsugu chuckled as the three students examined the packages. “Well, go on.”

Trading glances, they eschewed taking turns in order to savage the wrapping paper, revealing three identical white boxes, such as were used for clothing. Carefully, Takara lifted the lid, and gasped at what was inside. Slowly, she lifted it out for inspection.

The duster was unmistakably leathery in consistency, looking scaled, like snakeskin. It was blue in colour, but with a silver sheen to the scales that glimmered in the firelight of the tower. Glancing to either side, she saw Shirou with a matching duster in red, and Galen’s -

Her heart stopped for a moment, as she saw him don it in a swirl. The duster was a gunmetal gray, such as he had worn as Avenger. For a moment, she half-expected a pair of pistols to snap into his hands.

“They’re made of dragon hide,” her father explained. “Takara’s is from a Swedish Short-Snout - their skins make the best protective gear. Shirou’s is a Chinese Fireball - very heat-resistant, which I’m told is good, considering how much he likes fire spells. And Galen’s is - ”

“Ukranian Ironbelly,” the named wizard interrupted, his voice slightly strained. “It has to be - it feels like it’s made of lead.”

Her mother nodded. “It’s about as tough as Takara’s, but heavier. She has the same level of protection, but is allowed more mobility. But your fighting style doesn’t require as much freedom of movement - and working with that much weight resistance will help build up your strength and speed.”

“Point,” Galen admitted, more grunting than speaking. “These must have cost a fortune.”

“They weren’t cheap,” her father admitted, “but they’ll help keep you safe, we hope. Although I’m still not sure why we went with coats rather than full armour . . .” He glanced around.

Kiritsugu smiled. “That was Ilya - she insisted that the boys’ gifts be like this. Even paid extra for the Extension Charms that’ll let the coats grow with them. Personally, I think she watches too many movies.”

Takara bit back the urge to laugh, especially considering the black duster that she knew he favoured.






The day went all too quickly. It was nice to reconnect with her parents, even if it was a bit strange to do so at Hogwarts rather than home. It wasn’t all pleasure, of course - all three parents were Aurors, and they spent a good deal of time consulting with each other and the staff about the basilisk attacks - but it was nice, just the same. Takara felt bad for Galen and Hermione both, having no one of their immediate family there. Oh, to be sure, Galen was considered an adopted member of both their families, and they liked Hermione well enough for one year’s acquaintance, but she knew it wouldn’t be the same.

They did have fun trying on each other’s dusters, just to see the difference. Both Takara’s and Shirou’s seemed fairly normal, but Galen’s did feel like it weighed a ton. She’d never have been able to move as she normally did in it, though Shirou’s natural strength seemed to give him the ability to do so, at least for a while, before he got tired.

Resuming bearing its weight, Galen shrugged. “It’ll be good endurance training, if nothing else. A good incentive to work on building my speed back up.”

“It has its advantages, too,” Takara pointed out, rapping the duster with her knuckles. “If we hit that wrong, we might break some bones. It’s tough stuff.”

Galen smiled.

Following the Christmas feast for dinner (in an impressively-decorated Great Hall), the parents said goodbye until the beginning of summer, and the Polyjuice plan could be put into motion. After knocking out Crabbe and Goyle, Galen went to fetch the invisibility cloak while Hermione finished preparing the potion draughts in Myrtle’s bathroom.

“I’ve only got hair from the one girl,” Hermione warned Takara, “so unless you feel like stretching your bra apart, you’d probably better convince Galen to hand over the cloak to you.”

“Right,” Takara agreed. “Whose is it?”

“Millicent Bulstrode’s.”

“Your duelling partner?”

“Yes, when she tried to pay me back for cleaning her clock the next day. She didn’t get very far - Galen was close enough to call for help - but I managed to snag a hair off her robe. Quite lucky, actually.” She handed Shirou a phial before taking one herself, and the pair of them marched into the bathroom stalls.

Takara nodded, suddenly bothered by something. Something about Hermione and Polyjuice - what was it . . .?

Galen’s arrival interrupted her train of thought, and Takara pressed a phial of potion into his hand. Before he could ask any questions, she herded them into an empty stall to down the potion.

Takara drew the cloak of invisibility around her with a sweeping movement. Truth be known, this bothered her - she liked being able to see her the limits of her reach, but the cloak hid her hands and legs unless she was fully concealed by it - and then she was looking through the veil of the hood. It would make fighting difficult.

Her ruminations were interrupted by the emergence of Crabbe and Goyle from the stalls - but not Hermione, or Hermione-as-Millicent.

A worried look crossed Goyle’s face - unsettling, as it was a wholly alien expression. “Hermione? Are you all right?”

The replying voice was unusually high in pitch. “I - I don’t think I’m going to come after all. You go on without me.”

Goyle winced - another odd expression. “Let me guess - you pulled a hair off Bulstrode’s robe?”

“How did you - ? You knew this would happen?!”

“I didn’t know you’d get hair from that source, and if you’d told me, I’d have warned you.” His eyes flicked to the space where Takara had been standing. “I expected Takara to have.”

“What did I forget?” she protested.

Goyle sighed. “You may as well come out, Hermione.”

“Forget it - you’re wasting time! GO!”

Another sigh. “She’s right - come on.”

Takara blinked, not that anyone could see it under the cloak.

“What did I forget?” she repeated.

[Kieran]

DISCLAIMER: Lunar Legend Tsukihime, Fate/Stay Night, and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of Kinoko Nasu and Type-Moon, along with anyone who's happened to license them, like Geneon or Funimation. Harry Potter and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of J.K. Rowling, along with her publishers and Warner Bros., as regards the movie material.

This is a not-for-profit, just-for-fun project.



Writer's Note: Certain dialogue sequences in this story are lifted from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, but I trust in the intelligence of my readers (and the availability of the books) to recognise them when they see them.



Chapter 18 - The New Defence Teacher



December 25, 1992- January 7, 1993






Shirou was still shivering slightly. Using Polyjuice Potion wasn’t at all like an Animagus transformation. An Animagus transformed smoothly, like water flowing down a hill, into a form it felt meant to take. The Polyjuice transformed you in fits and starts, suddenly adjusting height, or hair colour, as the stretching and contracting of your size and shape literally rippled under your skin, forcing you into an alien form. He suddenly had a whole new appreciation - and sympathy - for Galen’s transformations under the full moon.

Entering the dungeons was easy. They went down there for Potions, after all, and the Slytherins emerged as a group for breakfast each day. It was finding the Slytherin common room in the warren below that proved troublesome. As one might expect, the dungeons were poorly lit, and though none of them normally had much trouble with seeing in low light, their current bodies weren’t nearly as well-suited to it. And Galen’s mental map of Hogwarts faltered a little in this area - apparently they’d never gone so far as to include the Slytherin dorms in the video games he’d played. Still, he could make some reasonable guesses, so hopefully they’d find it before time ran out on the potion.

That was the key thing. As long as they could slip under the cloak before they started changing back, so none of the portraits could see them, they’d have no trouble. But that made time even more precious. They had to find their destination quickly.

A voice called out, and Shirou turned, along with Galen.

“There you are,” Draco Malfoy drawled. “Have you been pigging out in the Great Hall all this time? I’ve been looking for you, I want to show you something really funny.”

They followed Malfoy through the corridors, and Shirou didn’t even blink when Takara’s almost-inaudible voice hissed “Plan B, then” in his ear.

In front of a damp patch of stone wall, Malfoy asked abruptly, “What’s the new password again? Oh yeah - pure-blood!”

Original, Shirou thought sarcastically. And very secure. No one would guess that Slytherin House would use that as a password.

The Slytherin common room was very inviting, so long as one preferred to live in a cave. Light was sparsely emitted from a series of hanging lamps chained to the ceiling, and a fireplace at one side of the room. Glancing around, he spotted what they’d been expecting - a portrait abovef the fireplace, positioned to get a good view of the common room.

Dumbledore’s spy, Shirou acknowledged. Tempting as it was to set the thing ablaze, it would alert the Headmaster that something was horrifically wrong. However, if Slytherin’s layout followed Gryffindor’s, the actual dorm rooms would be empty of portraits. So all they needed to do was get Malfoy to head for them.

“Wait here,” Malfoy motioned to them. “I’ll go and get it - my father’s just sent it to me -”

Shirou and Galen settled themselves in as Malfoy headed for the stairs, and rose on hearing a sudden thump. They headed for the stairs themselves, and paused only when Takara whispered, “Piece of cake. Boys dorms are to the left. You’ve got forty minutes, tops.”

Shirou grunted in acknowledgement. It would have to do. Fortunately, Takara’s Stunner would last longer than that, at any rate. Malfoy would be out until someone revived him - hopefully one of them. In the meantime, the boys picked up his body and put him in a bed with a Nimbus 2001 by its side. As Malfoy was the only Quidditch player in his year, it was likely his own - and being seen “asleep” would decrease the likelihood of Snape coming across him and getting suspicious.

Shirou wasn’t a thief, or law enforcement officer - but in his travels over his lifetime, he’d managed to learn a few things about tossing a room. Galen, on the other hand, had years of experience in tracking down missing books, and knowing how to search the most unlikely places. Between the two of them, they tore through the Slytherin dorms level by level, quickly and methodically. And they were always careful to return things to the state they found them in. It meant they couldn’t check everywhere - anything hidden inside a pillow or mattress was going to stay that way - but given that the user should have easy access to the Horcrux (and vice versa), it was unlikely to be so fully hidden.

After half an hour, they’d completed all seven levels of dormitories, and found nothing. They returned to the second-year dorms, to wait for Takara. They really had no choice - Hogwarts’ wards wouldn’t allow boys into the girls’ dorms, and even if they did, no doubt the Slytherin girls had a few nasty surprises of their own waiting for unwanted male visitors.

The Polyjuice Potion wore off, returning them to their smaller forms. Fortunately, they’d had enough warning to move themselves out of Malfoy’s line of sight - Galen wasn’t sure whether somebody stunned was unconscious or simply immobile. If the latter, they wanted to give him no hint that “Crabbe” and “Goyle” were anyone other than that.

Finally, a soft whisper said, “Nothing - if a Slytherin has it, she took it with her.”

“Same here,” Galen murmured, and the cloak reached out to enfold them both.

Takara looked at them questioningly. “Should we interrogate Malfoy?”

“Not much point,” Galen said. “He didn’t know anything the first time around - Riddle never went to Slytherin for help, and the diary isn’t something he’d feel the need to hide here.” Galen frowned. “The article he wanted to show us, though, was interesting. Apparently Malfoy Senior is making some rumblings over Dumbledore’s fitness, given the attacks at Hogwarts. Nobody’s paying a lot of attention, yet - but if we don’t wind this up soon, Dumbledore could be removed as Headmaster.”

“You don’t like him,” Shirou pointed out.

“I don’t - but it doesn’t mean I’d prefer Snape, Malfoy, or another Death Eater in the job.” Galen frowned. “The original article was about Arthur Weasley, and the repercussions of the flying car - ” He stopped.

Shirou knew that look by now. “What is it?”

“The Weasleys - something tweaked about the Weasleys . . . But I can’t pin it down.” He growled in frustration.

Now it was Shirou’s turn to frown. That meant Galen had noticed something, or remembered something, but couldn’t dig it out of his subconscious mind. With their Occlumency training, that rarely happened - but when it did, it was always about something important.

“Keep trying,” he advised. Forcing it wouldn’t accomplish anything, but Galen would worry at it, and the odds were good that sometime in the night, he’d recall what was bothering him.

“In the meantime,” Takara inserted smoothly, “walk with me, boys, so we can be on the staircase before Malfoy wakes up.” They moved carefully and quietly - which was much harder in Crabbe and Goyle’s clothes, as they no longer fit properly - and at the dorm entrance, Takara pointed her wand and whispered, “Rennervate.”

They were down the stairs and through the portrait hole before Malfoy was fully aware of what was going on.

“So what now?” Shirou asked.

Galen shrugged. “We should get out of these clothes, and probably check on Hermione.”

“Yeah,” Takara agreed. “I want to know what I forgot about.”






Takara was disappointed, at first, as Hermione was still locked up in her cubicle. She began with, “Hermione, you might as well come out - “

”Go away!” came the squeaking response.

“Sweetie, the invisibility cloak’s out here, and I’m not slipping it under the door,” Galen informed her, causing Takara and Shirou to stare at him. Noticing the scrutiny, he glanced back and demanded, “What?”

“‘Sweetie?'” Takara and Shirou chorused.

“It’s just an expression to me, and you know it,” he snapped, but anything else was cut off by Moaning Myrtle shooting from the stall door to pounce on his face. Although initially startled, Galen responded quickly to the assault, and it was almost a full minute before Myrtle disengaged.

“I almost felt that,” she said dreamily. Then she giggled. “Oooooooh, wait til you see - it’s awful!”

“It’s not that bad,” Galen muttered. The tip of his nose was glowing like a cherry, and his lips were nearly blue. Still, he showed no other sign that the unearthly cold of Myrtle’s touch bothered him. Takara marvelled anew at his gift for acceptance - but then again, why should she be surprised? Her heritage had never bothered him, either, for all the grief it had caused her growing up.

The stall door slammed open abruptly, with a snarl of “Not that bad?!”

Takara winced. Hermione’s face was catlike - her lips were gone, and her nose nearly so. She was covered in black fur, her eyes were a gleaming yellow with slitted pupils. Sharp teeth were visible in her muzzle as the ears atop her head twitched and her new tail lashed in annoyance. She wasn’t even a nekomusume - the traditional Japanese catgirl. Her appearance was too animalistic for that. Beyond the voice and clothes, Takara would never have recognised her as Hermione.

“Oops,” Takara said, feeling her cheeks heat up. “Sorry, Hermione - I really should have remembered about this.”


“I can’t fathom how you’d forget!” Hermione wailed.

“You’ll be teased something dreadful,” Myrtle said smugly.

“Do you really want to see someone else picked on, Myrtle - the way you were?” Galen asked. His tone was gentle, but chiding, and Myrtle pouted.

Takara shook her head. She’d admit, she liked this Galen. Warm, caring, open to everybody - it was the one her childhood memories recalled, with a touch of maturity added. She didn’t have too big a problem reconciling it with the casual killer persona he employed - it wasn’t as though she didn’t have the same problem to deal with - but the suicidal one was harder to handle. If she could figure out a way to get rid of it . . . Well, he wasn’t going to be nearly so skin-and-bones as an adult, with the diet and exercise he was getting now. He could be quite fanciable . . .

Takara stopped her thoughts right there. That was years away, and she didn’t want to or have to deal with it right now. Galen came with a lot of baggage as a potential boyfriend - too much to make it worth considering. That was just the simple fact of things, no matter what other people thought.

She was startled to realise Galen had moved, and was now carefully scratching Hermione’s cat ears.

“It’s fixable, Hermione,” he murmured quietly. “Madam Pomfrey won’t ask, and she can undo it. With the cloak, no one even has to see you enter the Hospital Wing - and she’ll put up the screens, if you want. It will be all right.”

“Mmm,” Hermione responded, eyes closed. The moan deepened, and Takara was startled to realise that the girl was purring.

Shirou whispered to her, “She’s got kitty eyes now, too - looks like you have competition.”

Takara glared at him.

He shrugged. “I’m just saying.” Shirou raised his voice. “If we’re going to get her under the cloak, you’ll have to stop petting her, Galen.”

Galen snatched his hand back as if burned, and Hermione made a disappointed mew that had her own hands clapping over her mouth in obvious mortification.

“Sorry,” Galen apologised in a rough voice. “It’s just . . . It’s been a long time since any animal, much less a cat, would let me pet it.”

Takara winced at the obvious longing in his tone.

“Maybe Crookshanks . . .?” Hermione offered.

“Crookshanks is just smart enough to understand why he doesn’t like me,” Galen replied, “and I think it has less to do with my lycanthropy than the fact that I am constantly in his territory - the presence of his mistress.” He smirked faintly. “Anyways, you’re out, so here’s the cloak.” He handed over the mass of silvery fabric. “We’ll help check you in.”






When term resumed, the rumours flew fast and furious upon the student body’s learning of Hermione’s hospitalisation. Takara had to admit, it seemed suspicious - she supposedly wasn’t Petrified, but wouldn’t let anybody see her. Still, she handed in her homework in her own handwriting, even if one of her friends had to deliver it, so the professors never complained.

Takara did, a little. With Hermione out of commission, Galen seemed to decide it was her responsibility to tend to Crookshanks - and while she admitted it needed to be done, his near-fanaticism made it more of a chore than it really had to be. It was like Wood-taichou and Quidditch, except it wasn’t as though the cat would like him more for making sure she did it. And Hermione was already obviously crushing, so what was the point?

Still, it managed to keep her mind occupied to the point where seeing her mother at the head of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom on Thursday nearly gave her a heart attack.

“Good afternoon,” her mother said. “For those of you who don’t recall my introduction, my name is Ciel Aozaki. I work as a combat instructor for the International Confederation of Wizards’ Security Division - equivalent to the British Auror department, on a global scale. My rank, in British terms, is that of a Senior Master Auror. I’m expected to teach Dark wizard hunters how to survive against the nastiest perils the magical world can devise. My job is actually to teach them how to win, but at the very least, they’ll survive. I have been engaged in the same line of work, in one aspect or another, since I was sixteen years old - and for those of you keeping count, that’s almost twenty years on the job.”

She gave the entire class a hard look, continuing, “Therefore, when I tell you I know something - believe that I do. When I tell you to do something - do it. And when I tell you to pay attention, because the information I’m about to give you may one day save your life, understand that I am telling you the literal truth.”

Her mother paused to let that sink in.

“You may refer to me as ‘Professor Aozaki,’ ‘Auror Aozaki . . .’” She paused, smiling thinly. “Or for those of you so inclined, ‘Aozaki-sensei. Now, I’ve read over the class work of the last term, compared it to previous curricula for Defence Against the Dark Arts, and I will begin by telling you what I will not be doing. I will not be giving quizzes on the habits and purported exploits of Gilderoy Lockhart. In fact, if I refer to his books at all, it will be regarding the nature and actions of the Dark creatures mentioned therein, as they are supposed to be the focus of this class.

“I will not be teaching you how to duel. That is the purpose of the Duelling Club, and while those of you who attend have seen firsthand the results of my teaching methods” - here she nodded at Takara, who blushed and resisted the urge to sink under her desk - “I only plan to be here for a single term, and don’t have the time to put into developing your talents to that level.

“I will be teaching you about the Dark creatures and spells that a second-year student is expected to know about. It won’t be easy - you’ve basically wasted half the year with Lockhart - “

”We have not!” Lavender Brown shouted.

Takara winced as her mother’s eyes narrowed and chilled, becoming slits of blue ice.

“That will be five points from Gryffindor for interrupting me, Miss Brown,” was the frosty reply. “We’ll add detention tonight, as well - you and I can spend the time discussing this in detail.”

Takara said a silent prayer for Lavender’s soul. She’d never liked the girl much - too much of a flighty, gossipy type - but anyone that close to invoking the Wrath of Mother (second only to the Wrath of God, and only just) deserved some sympathy.

Her mother cleared her throat, and resumed, “However, as I regard this as a Defence class, first and foremost, I will also teach you some basic survival skills, usable not only against Dark creatures and magic, but mundanes as well - or as you call them, ‘Muggles.’” Her distaste for the last word was visible.

“What’s the big deal about Muggles?” Ron Weasley asked, in a tone that made Takara wince again. He was practically begging to be given one of Mother’s “object lessons.”

“It’s not like they can hex us,” Weasley continued.

The answering smile had Galen, Takara, Shirou and Neville all wincing - they’d seen it before, and it never meant anything good.

“I’m so glad you asked, Mr. Weasley,” her mother said brightly, drawing her wand and conjuring a dummy of human shape and size. “Let’s assume that this is the average witch or wizard, shall we? Proficient in magic, carrying a wand, and capable of any number of things a mundane person can’t possibly manage to do.”

She moved to her desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a pistol. “This is a gun - a standard weapon for many mundanes in this world. Unlike many of them, this gun is designed and intended for personal defence - it is not considered a weapon of war, or anything like what an Auror would use. At best, it’s equivalent to the sort of spell repertoire one might find in a second- or third-year student, much like yourselves - potentially dangerous if properly employed, but nothing truly spectacular, and very commonplace. Everyone with me so far?”

At the series of nods, she said, “Mr. Salvatore, will you come down here, please?”

Galen did so, and she handed him the gun. He glanced down at it, did the standard safety checks, and suddenly protested, “A .22? Seriously?”

“Yes. Can you still use it?”

Galen snorted. “Please - but if this is supposed to be an object lesson, why not a bigger calibre?”

Her mother smiled, and he finally shrugged. “When you’re ready, Aozaki-sensei.”

She waved her wand over the weapon. “I’ve just dampened the sound, because it’s quite loud when employed. Now, when I cast my spell . . .” Galen nodded, and turned to face the dummy.

“Protego!” her mother cried.

Galen fired two shots into the silver flash of the Shield Charm.

Another wave of the wand levitated the dummy and sent it floating around the room for all the students to see.

“As you can see,” her mother lectured, “any witch or wizard facing one of these weapons would now have two lead slugs lodged in their brain. The Shield Charm, powerful as it is, didn’t stop the shots in the slightest. No known Shield Charm can - and this is among the weakest, least damaging of the guns available to most mundanes, generally used only by people who are either too physically frail to handle the power of the stronger ones - or someone who is confident enough in their shooting skills to trade power for accuracy.”

She took the gun from Galen, who had popped the clip already, and handed him a second, larger gun.

“This, as you can see, is a much bigger weapon, and it does considerably more damage. Once again, it is not considered a true weapon of war, and can be purchased for use by any mundane with sufficient money or credentials.”

Galen checked the .38, hefted it - and as before, punched a pair of holes in the dummy’s skull, despite the Shield Charm. As before, he popped the clip when finished, and handed it back - and her mother handed him a gun of the type she’d seen him use before.

“This is the kind of gun used by mundane Aurors,” she said firmly. “Once again, its primary purpose is personal defence, not warfare. However, its ammunition is designed to punch through stone and steel barriers in order to reach its target. In that respect, it is more terrible than the Killing Curse, which can be blocked by the same.”

The shots, this time, took the dummy’s head off completely, reducing it to scattered fragments.

“These are the least of the weapons mundane people arm themselves with,” her mother said sharply, “and they are terribly common. The weapons they design to wage war among themselves with are far more horrible - capable of spewing out hundreds of these killing rounds in seconds to eliminate crowds, or making accurate hits from a mile away. And that doesn’t include the machines they build weapons into, which can be even more devastating. The mundane equivalent of an Unforgivable Curse can turn a city the size of London into a toxic crater within heartbeats, killing everyone within it and possibly thousands more from the aftereffects of its use.”

She fixed them with a steely glare. “Never think that because mundanes are ignorant of our world, they aren’t potentially dangerous. We hide our world from them for good reason. They have spent thousands of years working out more efficient ways to kill each other - and where there are thousands of us in Britain, there are tens of millions of them here. If they knew of us, and if they decided to, they could wipe us all out within weeks.”

She let the class sit in shocked silence for several minutes.

“This ‘Heir of Slytherin’ thinks wiping out mundane-born witches and wizards is a desirable thing, because so-called ‘pure-bloods’ are superior.” She shook her head. “Let me be quite clear: if he or she continues in these attacks, if the mundanes are given a reason to attack our world - and lest we forget, the Heir is trying to kill their children - the only things pure-bloods will proven be superior in, is their capacity for dying. At least, for as long as the magical world remains alive to remember it.”






“Your mother knows how to deliver a lecture,” Shirou remarked as they left the classroom.

Takara nodded.

Neville looked at his friends. “She was serious, wasn’t she?”

“Oh yes,” Galen answered. “Those ‘mundane Unforgivables’ she was talking about? They’ve been around for the last fifty years, almost - and every civilised nation considers their use Unforgivable, because it could potentially wipe out every living thing on Earth.”

Neville paled. “But - they don’t seem that bad.”

“They’re not - most of them,” Takara assured him. “They’re just people, like us. But all people have good and bad elements, and the bad mundanes, like Dark witches and wizards, are capable of terrible things.”

“And as fascinating as this discussion is,” Galen announced, “I need to head to the Hospital Wing.”

“Can’t wait to see Hermione?” Shirou quipped.

“More a case of my forgetting what a bitch the recoil is on those pistols when you’re just thirteen,” Galen muttered. “I think I sprained my wrists.”

[Kieran]

DISCLAIMER: Lunar Legend Tsukihime, Fate/Stay Night, and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of Kinoko Nasu and Type-Moon, along with anyone who's happened to license them, like Geneon or Funimation. Harry Potter and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of J.K. Rowling, along with her publishers and Warner Bros., as regards the movie material.

This is a not-for-profit, just-for-fun project.



Writer's Note: Certain dialogue sequences in this story are lifted from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, but I trust in the intelligence of my readers (and the availability of the books) to recognise them when they see them.



Chapter 19 - Overlooking the Obvious



February 7 - 13, 1993






“Well, that was certainly interesting,” Luna said brightly. “It did look rather painful, though. Does it hurt you as much to do that?”

“No,” Hermione said in a whisper. “And try to speak quietly, Luna. His hearing’s sensitive at the best of times, but today it’s going to be intolerable - or nearly nonexistent. It fluctuates.”

“S’fine,” Galen slurred, shaking off yet another full moon. “Jus’ don’ scream . . . S’fine.”

He tried not to lean too hard against Neville or Hermione as they held him up, tried to focus on maintaining his balance and walking. As tempting as it was to just collapse in the corridor, he really wanted to reach his bed first. The two younger Gryffindors had opted to see what all the fuss was about before taking the Animagus potion, and followed them to this month’s empty classroom of choice to watch his transformation. Galen hadn’t liked it at all, but there wasn’t much he could do about it - he was outnumbered, outvoted, and outgunned.


He wasn’t at all sure their reactions were positive, either. Luna seemed curious, still, but Ginny . . . The redhead trailed behind the two older Gryffindors, next to Luna. A flash of reflection in one of the windows showed her eyes as wide with what looked like shock, or fright, and locked onto his back. It wasn’t exactly an encouraging sign.

. . . And looking at her, there it was again. A niggling at the back of his mind, that said you should know this. He knew something, or had seen something, heard something, that was connected with the Weasleys . . . But still, nothing. He was sure it was important - what was it?

It was like looking at a word in a crossword puzzle, a word you knew, with enough letters in its configuration to make it seem familiar, obvious - but missing that key letter that would make it clear. His conscious mind couldn’t recall it, his subconscious mind didn’t seem capable of working it out, but every now and then, it surfaced, that certainty about something which was the key to this.

But he couldn’t figure it out - and he was so tired . . .

“Focus, Galen,” Neville said urgently. “If you drift off now, you’re more deadweight than either of us can carry without changing forms.”

“S’rry,” he mumbled. He tried to concentrate on walking.

“You are quite large,” Luna remarked. “Well, you two, anyway. Will we be like that?”

“No way to know until you change,” Neville said. “That’s what the potion’s for. It unlocks the capability, and from there, you have to practice.”

“Hermione must have practised too much, then,” Luna said blithely.

“I - what?” Hermione sputtered. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, you tend to start changing whenever you’re upset,” Luna said reasonably. “Therefore, it must be too easy for you to do, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to change without really thinking about it.”

Silence. Galen guessed there wasn’t much that could be said about that.

Luna resumed, “I think I’d like to try the potion. Shall we go to the Room after we put Galen to bed?”

A sudden sensation of heat near his arm - Hermione was blushing, he thought.

“Wait until Shirou and Takara are back from Quidditch practice,” Neville advised. “Less trouble that way.”

Luna made an affirmative noise, and Galen realised they were now ascending the steps of Gryffindor Tower. Soon, sleep would be his . . .






Shirou emerged from the Gryffindor changing room in a grim mood. Practice had been fine, as expected - they’d be all set for the game against Ravenclaw next week. But it wasn’t Quidditch he was worried about. Since the December attack, the Heir of Slytherin was laying low. Given the pattern thus far, Shirou had expected a January strike - but the spirit of the diary seemed content to wait . . . And they still had no idea where it was.

On Galen’s advice, they’d waited for Hermione to be released from the Hospital Wing before attempting to search Ravenclaw Tower - and once Shirou had understood how the entrance criteria worked, he agreed wholeheartedly. They’d done so yesterday, Polyjuicing themselves as first-years with a little help from Fred and George, the latter being delighted by the ruckus caused in Slytherin when the case of Dungbombs they’d left under Malfoy’s bed had gone off after the Christmas break. The timer had been charmed to disintegrate on reaching “zero,” so there was no evidence it had been planted in advance - and the twins were in detention with Filch for an hour before when it went off.

In any case, the Ravenclaws didn’t seem to have the diary, either. They’d managed to cut their search time a little using the Pensieve generated by the Room of Requirement, and concentrating on the faces of the people who’d been there on riot day. Ultimately, however, it hadn’t netted them any results.

It was odd that after monthly attacks, January had passed without trouble. Galen had said things went quiet for a while, because Ginny had rid herself of the diary and Harry Potter had acquired it - but they couldn’t count on the same thing here, because she never had it, and Harry died as an infant. That meant, if the Horcrux was lying low, it had a reason. But what?

Shirou’s musings were interrupted by the sound of Neville’s voice, “ - think he’s getting worse? Last year, he could at least stagger to bed or the Hospital Wing without help. Now we practically have to carry him.”

“It’s puberty.” Hermione. “As if the change wasn’t bad enough already, the hormonal and physical shifts that come with being a teenager are rendering him unstable to start with! He’s so out-of-balance that his system doesn’t know how to handle it, and basically crashes. He’ll be practically catatonic after a change in a few more years!”

“Is there anything we can do?” Shirou asked, as the group walked around the corner. “I don’t like the idea of his having set periods where he’s basically helpless.”

Hermione bit her lower lip, as she was wont to do when thinking, worried, or some combination of the two. Finally, she shrugged and said, “I’ll have to look. There must be a potion or a spell somewhere . . .”

“I hope so.” Shirou’s tone was grim.

Takara emerged from the changing room, hair straight and shining as recently washed tresses tend to, before she wrapped a red-and-gold scarf around her head.

“What are we talking about?” she asked.

“Ways to help Galen recover faster from full moons,” Neville said. “Speaking of, Luna’s decided she wants to try the Animagus Potion in our hideaway. Got some spare time?”

“Sure,” the two Quidditch players chorused.

As they headed up to the Room of Requirement, Shirou mused, We can’t predict when the next attack might be, we can’t find the source . . . And if we let this run all the way to its conclusion, we can’t get into the Chamber to stop things.

I’m almost afraid to ask what’s next.






Takara noted the grim scowl on Shirou’s face, and guessed the reason for its presence. She also knew why Galen hadn’t come with them, and made a note to tell him about Luna’s Animagus form later. She was pleased that the blonde had decided to join them, and a little sad Ginny hadn’t done the same, yet. Ginny was naturally athletic, and Takara related to her better than Hermione or Luna. Not to say that both girls weren’t great fun and excellent company, but while they were diligent in their martial arts training, neither of them were really interested in sparring outside of it, or Quidditch. Ginny, on the other hand, liked those things.

Suddenly realising that it wasn’t like Ginny to be so quiet, Takara dropped back to speak to her.

“Are you OK?” she asked softly.

Ginny jumped, startled, then shook her head. “I . . . I just . . .” She took a deep breath. “I thought he’d never stop screaming.”

“The Wolfsbane Potion might let Galen keep his mind when he changes, but it has its drawbacks, too,” Takara commented. “Usually, the beast takes over, and Galen just goes away - but the potion leaves his mind in control. There’s no way for him to avoid the pain.” She took a deep breath of her own. “It’s called a curse for a reason, Ginny - and he’s been living with it since he was four years old.”

Ginny paled. “Four?”

Takara nodded. “Picture yourself at four years old, screaming like that - worse, because you don’t understand what’s happening to you, or why. And living with that pain every month, of every year, for the rest of your life - and praying that when you wake up the next morning, you won’t have killed someone.”

Ginny’s skin tone turned a worrying shade of chartreuse.

“Then picture yourself being glared at by anyone you meet,” Takara said sharply, “or simply ignored. At worst, you’ll be threatened with violence. Picture mothers hauling their children away from you because they don’t want them anywhere near the ‘monster.’ Picture being subjected to government rules that say where you can or can’t go, where you can live, what jobs you can hold - whether or not you’re even allowed to marry.”

As far as Takara knew, those particular laws weren’t in force, yet - but if things followed the pattern they expected, they eventually would be. She continued, “Not that it’ll matter much, because most women would sooner hex you than look at a Dark creature like you. Imagine what it’s like to grow up, knowing that - and never knowing anything else, because you were turned too young to ever remember not being a werewolf.”

The green intensified in hue.

“Galen will throw himself into near-death situations without even thinking - and he does it, in part, because he wants to die. But the other part of him . . .” She paused, and looked at Ginny intently. “The other part of him casts Shield Charms that repel mountain trolls trying to attack little girls, spends ridiculous amounts of money to make people smile, and makes friends with people the world considers strange, or freakish, or just plain wrong - because he thinks they don’t deserve to be lonely.

“Galen is a werewolf, Ginny - and yes, the wolf is a monster. It will kill you if it can, and don’t ever believe otherwise. But he’s a wolf only thirteen nights of the year, and you need to find a way to deal with him for the time left over, because he’s never hurt you - and I won’t let you hurt him.”

“We,” Hermione corrected sharply, causing both girls to jump, as neither of them had heard her approach. The brunette’s expression was all the more fierce for the distinct lack of leonine traits in it. She was looking just as angry as she had in her last few outbursts, but not animalistic at all.

The door to the Room of Requirement opened, allowing them into a room with their customary scarlet chairs, but a great deal of space between them, sufficient to allow the sudden appearance of an elephant, if necessary. The group settled in, and waited for Luna to take her place at “centre stage,” as it were.

“So,” Luna said, “I just drink this?”

“Yes,” Shirou said. “The transformation will happen, last for a few minutes at most, and after that, you’ll have to concentrate and practice to make it happen again. It’s like learning to exercise a muscle you never realised you had.”

“The animal form has some instincts that get passed onto you,” Hermione warned. “Getting control over them can be difficult.” She paused, then added with a blush, “Especially if you like what they’re telling you to do.”

Luna nodded. “In that case, I hope I’m not a Crumple-Horned Snorkack - they like to hide, and no one might ever find me again.”

She removed the phial of potion from a pocket in her robes, popped it open, and drank it down. An expression of disgust crossed her features - which was quickly replaced by an expression of bewilderment.

The tips of Luna’s hair began to darken, spreading like a stain upwards and inwards. At the same time, the hair on the crown of her head seemed to lighten beyond its normal pale blonde. Her fingers curled inward, becoming thick and stubby. And then she began to shrink . . . In a matter of seconds, Luna Lovegood was replaced with a chubby, black-and-white striped creature, which carried with it a rather pungent scent.

“A skunk?” Ginny said in surprise. “I’d have bet on a lot of things, but not a skunk.”

The skunk in question glanced at each of them curiously, before beginning to waddle in Neville’s direction.

“I had a Galleon on her being a platypus,” Shirou muttered.

“Don’t startle her, Neville,” Hermione said carefully. “Skunks aren’t naturally aggressive, so just let her satisfy her curiosity, and we can all escape unharmed.”

Neville froze in fright as Luna sniffed cautiously at his feet, before she managed to hop up onto the armrest of his chair and continue her explorations of him up close . . . And then the potion wore off, leaving Neville with a lap full of warm witch.

Luna smiled disarmingly. “You have a very pleasant scent, Neville. So many flowers and plants . . .”

“I . . . I like working in the g - g - greenhouses,” Neville stammered, swallowing heavily.

“You were working with the mandrakes,” Luna agreed. “I can tell.”

Takara coughed delicately. “Luna, perhaps you should find a chair for yourself.”

Luna nodded agreeably, and got up, to Neville’s obvious relief. Then she paused. “Oh my - it appears someone else was curious.”

Everyone’s confusion was answered with a yip! It was immediately followed by a “Yeow!”

Shirou readjusted his posture to account for the sudden weight of the adolescent red fox which had found her way into his lap.

Takara and Hermione traded glances. Obviously, lessons on mastering their instincts was going to have to be a priority.






The week went by fairly easily, with nothing new developing in regards to the Chamber of Secrets. As of yet, they hadn’t attempted to search the Hufflepuff dorms, because they couldn’t find them. Like the Slytherins, their den was underground, rather than in a tower - and Galen had no idea where that might be.

I can sort of understand the passwords, for security reasons, but why hide the dorms? All this talk of inter-house unity Dumbledore and the teachers spew, and they do everything possible to separate the students. They even throw in the Quidditch and House cups to get the students to compete with one another - and then they’re surprised when the students fight, or turn Dark. Why shouldn’t they? Who is anyone outside their own house, but a rival at best, or an enemy at worst? And that’s assuming that those things aren’t to be found in their own house, as well!

. . . I mean, how many times did Harry have almost all of Gryffindor against him? The people who were supposed to be “like his family” while he was at school?

Ideally, he would’ve liked to say that he was missing the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw Quidditch match out of a protest for its detriment to school unity - but the fact was, he had a paper due that he just had to finish. The full moon the week before had cost him valuable time. Hermione, bless her heart, was helping him hunt down the last of the citations, though it was slower going when she had yet to look him directly in the eye. He wasn’t sure what was bothering her - did she know he knew about the “get well” autographed copy of Magical Me she’d kept under her pillow in the Hospital Wing? He couldn’t think of anything else that might make her as flustered as she seemed . . .

Still, it didn’t seem to hurt her skills at proof-reading, which Galen admitted he needed - he was usually pretty good at avoiding errors, but when rushed, he tended to make mistakes. Their materials were spread out all over the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.

Though I make fewer with a parchment and quill than I do with a keyboard . . .

“May I sit here?” asked a tentative voice, and Galen glanced up - it was Ginny. He blinked, surprised - she had the whole table to choose from, practically, and she was asking to sit with them?

“Sure,” he said, tilting his head. “You’re not watching the match?”

“I’d like to,” she admitted, “but Professor Aozaki assigned a paper I have to finish if I want to make up for my last test mark - she’s waiting in her office for me to hand it in.”

“Let me know if you need a hand.”

“Galen!” Hermione scolded. “It’s nice that you’re offering to help, but you need to finish your Charms essay!”

He shrugged. “My brain could use a change of topic, and Defence is one of my best subjects. Twenty minutes or so to help her won’t hurt me.”

“I appreciate it,” Ginny said ruefully. “Between Ron’s best friend and Percy’s girlfriend being Petrified, the last thing the Weasley family needs is more bad news.”

“Percy . . . And Penelope Clearwater?” Hermione said incredulously. “I didn’t know they were dating!”

Galen’s head snapped around to look at Hermione so abruptly that there was an audible pop in his neck, matching the snap in his voice as he demanded, “Say that again.”

“I . . . I didn’t know they were dating?” Hermione repeated hesitantly.

His eyes widened, and both girls could see thoughts flying fast and furious behind them.

“Christmas shopping . . .So obvious,” he whispered. Then, louder, “Idiot!”

“What?” Ginny demanded. She looked at Hermione. “What’s he talking about?”

Before she could answer, he left the Great Hall at a run.

Idiot! Galen berated himself. You should’ve had this solved months ago - by Christmas, at least! The clues were all there after the last attack!

You could be wrong, pointed out his inner voice.

How likely is that? Galen fired back. Too damned many coincidences, otherwise. No, this fits too well. It has to be -

A sudden sound caught his ears in the empty corridor. It was soft, particularly underneath the sound of his footsteps and breathing, but because it was soft, it was the kind of thing his hearing was attuned to. And it was familiar . . . Occulmency-bolstered recall brought the source immediately to mind - as well as its likely destination.

Oh God, no. We overlooked the obvious again . . .

I can’t do this.

You have to!

I can’t -

Have to -

- Can’t -

You promised! You have to try!

He thundered down the corridors without regard to stealth or safety. Panic bolstered his running speed to the point where he felt dangerously overbalanced with every step. A luck that could reasonably be termed miraculous kept him on his feet. His wand was in hand with a gesture.

Only one chance, if I’m lucky. It won’t be the door - I’m coming through it. Not the window - too high up. Sound was from this wall, which means it has to be coming from - there!

Please, God - let this work. Even if it doesn’t, let me be in time . . .!

He threw his weight against the doors - and combined with his momentum, they were sufficient. A peripheral glance took in the scene, and he responded the way he’d been priming himself to from the moment he’d understood what was going to happen.

“PROTEGO!”






Takara skimmed the pitch, carefully avoiding a Bludger as she searched for the Snitch. The twins were good, but Ravenclaw’s Beaters had obviously been training over the last year - that was the second time she’d had to duck one of the iron balls in this game.

Ah, well, she thought. It makes the game more interesting.

A sudden flicker of light to her far left caught her eye - not the yellow glint of a Golden Snitch in flight, but a silver flash, as though a lightning bolt had just struck.

Shield Charm, her mind registered. Hermione-is-about-to-be-squished-by-a-troll, more-accidental-magic-than-actual-spell Shield Charm.

She was in motion before she’d finished the thought, heading for the tower window where she’d seen the light at top speed. She heard the crowd cry out as she left the Quidditch pitch, but paid it no mind, overwhelmed by an entirely new sensation - a cold spot on her right hand, in the precise location of a certain mark.

Takara remembered what it had meant, the last time she’d felt anything through that scar.

Don’t be dead, don’t be dead . . .

She dropped to a lower window at the last second, not wanting to burst into the centre of a potential firefight. Pulling up at the right instant drove her feet-first onto the spiral staircase, where she landed. The broom was her only potential weapon right now - her Quidditch robes had no provision for wands, or even her knife. It would have to do.

“Galen?” she called. “Galen, answer me!”

Don’t be dead, don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.

“Hermione!” she cried - who else would he have been defending?

The answering silence caused the coldness in her hand to wind its way up her arm and around her heart.

Don’t be dead - you can’t be!

Ignoring caution, she raced up the stairs, through doors that had not fully closed - because they were blocked by a leg.

Galen lay deathly still, his expression one of sickened fear, clutching his wand in his hand.

“No,” Takara whispered. Nonononono . . .

How did you tell the difference between dead and Petrified? She couldn’t tell, she didn’t know -

Don’t be dead . . .

Then her eyes travelled upwards, and the ice around her heart abruptly filled her entire being. It numbed her very self with horror, to the point where she didn’t immediately recognise the cry that filled the air as human, much less coming from her own throat . . .

“MOTHER!”

[Kieran]

DISCLAIMER: Lunar Legend Tsukihime, Fate/Stay Night, and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of Kinoko Nasu and Type-Moon, along with anyone who's happened to license them, like Geneon or Funimation. Harry Potter and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of J.K. Rowling, along with her publishers and Warner Bros., as regards the movie material.

This is a not-for-profit, just-for-fun project.



Writer's Note: Certain dialogue sequences in this story are lifted from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, but I trust in the intelligence of my readers (and the availability of the books) to recognise them when they see them.



Chapter 20 - Parents and Children



February 13, 1993






Under the circumstances, it might be expected to find Takara in the Hospital Wing. Alternatively, it wasn’t unreasonable to assume she was in her bed in Gryffindor Tower, or even the Room of Requirement, had she a particular desire not to be found, or an urge to do violence and a need for something to vent it on. To Shirou’s amazement and dismay, she was in none of these places. He finally spotted her on one of the balconies of the Clock Tower, staring silently at something only she could see.

“Petrified,” he told her, when he finished climbing the stairs. “They’re Petrified, not dead. The Shield Charm couldn’t stop it, but it blunted it enough. When the Mandrakes are ready, they’ll be all right, Takara.”

“He didn’t know that,” she said softly. “He couldn’t have. He gambled, and he was lucky - again.”

“That’s still a good thing, isn’t it?” Shirou asked, surprised. “They’re both still alive.”

“Yes.” Takara was silent. “My mother didn’t have her wand out.”

“It must’ve caught her by surprise - ”

“She’s not as quick as Father, but she’s at least as fast as me,” Takara said sharply. “If Galen had time to draw his wand, then she had more than enough. He must’ve been on his way to her already - and he heard something, or smelled something, and he knew it was coming for her.”

She sounded angry, and Shirou was more than a little confused. “Takara?”

“He has been absolutely terrified of the prospect of facing this thing all year. Maybe since we left Hogwarts last summer - maybe even since we arrived,” she continued sharply. “Berserker, you, Illyria - none of that scared him, dying doesn’t scare him, but this did. A thousand-year old basilisk with a killing gaze, and no real way to stop it - and he went anyway.” She repeated the words Hermione had said to her, months ago. “He knew exactly what he was walking into when he did it - and he still came.”

“And isn’t that a good thing?”

“Don’t you get it?” she snapped. “He didn’t do it because he was trying to die - he did it to save my mother! For me! I owe him - again! If he was just a suicidal coward, I could ignore him - but he keeps doing this, and . . .”

Shirou stared at her, bewildered. “Takara, you’re not making any sense.”

She stared back at him, and finally shouted “Boys!” in frustration, before storming off.

Shirou stared after her, before finally shaking his head. “Women.”

A movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye - two black-clad figures approaching the castle in measured haste. They were accompanied by a third figure, very pale, whose outer edges were tipped with hints of gold.

“Oh good,” Shirou muttered. “Our parents are here.”






Takara was still seething as she made her way to the Hospital Wing. Shirou just didn’t understand! Galen had told her he loved her - and while he might pay a great deal of attention to Hermione, he wasn’t exactly stinting where she was concerned, either. But he was so self-destructive, so angry -

So not Japanese, a corner of her mind whispered.

- That she normally wouldn’t even consider it. But then he’d do things like this - sacrifice himself not in eagerness to end it all, but for her sake. For the sake of her family. He would do it without thinking, without hesitation - and she’d be reminded of what else he was: kind, loyal, and fiercely protective. She saw him so often at his worst, that she was always surprised to be reminded of his best - and when she saw that . . .

Entering the Hospital Wing, she paused just long enough to reach his bedside before completing her thought. People often thought that she and Galen were a couple - that they belonged together. Takara, for her part, disagreed - but in moments like these, she actually found herself wondering . . .

Damn you, she thought at his still form. My lifetime isn’t long enough to repay you for all you’ve given me. You saved my parents, just because I asked you to. You died for me - more than once! Even if I don’t love you, I owe you everything I have now, and will ever have. Worse, as deeply as I am in your debt, you’d give me more if I needed it, or wanted it - and every now and then, I start believing that maybe, just maybe, there’s something in you worth asking for.

You told me I have your love . . . And times like this - actions like these - make me think I might actually want it.

Damn you!

“The first day you brought him home,” her father’s voice said contemplatively, “your mother was very displeased.”

Takara whirled in surprise. “Father?”

Shiki Aozaki gave his only child a sad smile, as Arcueid Brunestud brushed by Takara, examining the prone form on the bed intently. Her long, silvery-blonde hair held unusual shadows as it moved through the light, like a tracery of feathers. Her pale blue eyes seemed unusual, as well - her irises were luminous rings, dancing like gaslight flames. Her long, delicate fingers were hooked into a position reminiscent of talons, and her nails seemed longer, too.

Takara’s brain restarted itself over the shock of their appearance, and caught up to the conversation.

“Mother didn’t like him?” she asked in surprise. “But she never showed any disapproval.”

“You were four,” Shiki said gently. “And you’d never brought a friend home before. You know your mother can be very judgmental when it comes to non- or part-humans - ”

“No joke,” Arcueid muttered.

Shiki continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “- and of all the children in the neighbourhood, her little angel had to bring home the local Dark creature! No, Ciel was not pleased. She was even less pleased when you didn’t drop him in favour of Shirou, once his family had moved in.”

“Why would I?” she asked. “He was my friend! He thought - ” She paused, blushing.

“He thought you had ‘pretty kitty eyes.’” Her father smiled, a little wistfully this time. “I remember, Takara. I was there, too. I hadn’t seen you smile so widely at anybody who wasn’t family before, or anything that wasn’t chocolate. It was then that I decided that Ciel wouldn’t ruin this for you. Your friend would always be welcome in our home, and in time, he proved that you chose well. He was quiet, polite - your mother couldn’t fault his manners, or his upbringing. He wasn’t perfect, but what child is? Eventually, she saw the little boy, not the curse.”

Takara felt a spurt of relief. She vividly remembered crying for days when they’d moved to Japan, and her mother comforting her. The thought that her mother might have been lying to her, might have been pleased to get her away from Galen while pretending otherwise, made her ill.

“You chose even better than we knew,” Shiki said grimly. “Based on the last victims, this - attack - Petrifies only as a fringe effect. It’s meant to kill, and it’s powerful enough to harm ghosts. Galen’s wand is out - ”

“And it cast a Shield Charm,” Arcueid said triumphantly, rising from her examination of said wand. “As before, one of great power - he has harmed himself again.” Her tone turned grim. “It is well that he is Petrified - the chevalier might not have survived long enough to receive care, otherwise.” She shook her head. “That is the wand’s doing, I expect - it desires so, and does not consider trivial things, like the limitations of mortal flesh.”

Takara laughed, a little bitterly. “Sounds like Galen exactly - he never worries about getting hurt or killed, he just throws himself in front of whatever trouble’s there. As long as he can stop it, he doesn’t care what it costs him.”

“A great - or terrible - match, then,” Shiki agreed. “In this case, though, I can hardly complain. My wife is alive because of it, and quite probably, only because of it.” His tone was grave as he looked over to the adjoining bed, where her mother lay, equally still.

He turned back to Takara. “I said before that Galen was always welcome in our home, Takara. With this . . . He’ll never be unwelcome.”

Takara looked at him curiously.

Her father took a deep breath. “The only thing I value enough to repay him for what he’s done is you. These days, you’re too young to consider it - but if this was fifty, or even twenty years ago, I’d be negotiating your dowry with his family right now.”

She stared at her father in astonishment as he continued, “I don’t even like to think about it, Takara - no father does - but if the day comes that you choose to marry, and you decide that it’s him you want . . .” He shook his head. “That’s all you’ll have to say. Whatever else Galen is, or might become, he’s already proven worthy of my trust.”

“. . . You’re telling me I should date him?” She couldn’t quite wrap her head around the idea of marriage yet, so she went with the lesser concept.

“I’m telling you that if you decide to, I won’t object,” Shiki corrected, before smiling slightly. “But I still reserve the right to terrify any other boyfriend you bring home.”

Takara’s jaw didn’t drop, but it was close.

Just when I thought he couldn’t make my head spin any harder, he’s gone and earned the Holy Grail of boyfriends - parental approval! Damn you, Galen!






“This is the fourth attack, counting the cat,” Kiritsugu said grimly. “It’s stricken a highly-respected member of the ICW’s Security Division, and one of your best friends. If there’s anything you know about this, Shirou, the time to say so is now.”

Shirou opened his mouth, and Kiritsugu responded, “Don’t bother trying to evade this, Shirou - you brought it to our attention in the first place! You’re not stupid, and you’ll have kept your eyes and ears open, even if we hadn’t told you to.”

His dark eyes measured Shirou’s face. “Arcueid is furious over this - the closest thing she has to a sister has been attacked, and two of her godchildren are suffering over it. In fact, it seems to be only sheer luck that they’re still alive. Would you rather discuss this with her?”

Shirou winced, childhood memories recalling a few incidents where an enraged Arcueid Brunestud had been in evidence. They had impressed firmly on his young mind the fact that he never wanted that anger directed at him.

“Based on what we’ve heard of the Chamber of Secrets, we think there’s a basilisk in the school,” Shirou said finally. This was a lie - they knew there was, but explaining how they knew would take too long. “It fits the legends of Slytherin - he was supposed to be a Parsel - A Parsel - ”

“Parselmouth,” his father supplied. “If true, then it’s not unreasonable to think that he or his ‘heir’ could control the so-called ‘King of Serpents.’ And a basilisk might be capable of surviving the thousand years between Slytherin’s lifetime and now.” He shrugged at Shirou’s surprised look. “I may deal in Dark wizards as a rule, son, but I’m not unfamiliar with Dark creatures, either.” An ironic smile graced his lips. “Certain circles would argue that I married one, after all.”

Shirou nodded, and Kiritsugu continued, “Still basilisk gazes kill - and all the victims but the first are Petrified. Why?”

“Galen figured it was because no one but the cat got a head-on look at it,” Shirou answered. “There were a lot of reflective surfaces where Thomas was found, and Clearwater probably saw it through Sir Nick, who couldn’t actually be killed again, so . . .”

“And Ciel and Galen?” Kiritsugu pressed.

Shirou almost smiled. “Takara saw the flash of a Shield Charm from her position on the Quidditch pitch.”

He had a moment to savour the rare look of Kiritsugu’s eyebrows threatening to vanish into his hairline.

“Damn,” the older wizard breathed softly. “He was always the quiet one of you three . . .”

Shirou shrugged. “Defences and counters are his thing. I’m mostly attack power - and range. Takara’s speed and evasion. If I hit hard enough, or if she hits soon enough, we can get through or around them. On the other hand, he can fight us until we tire out - and then we’re screwed.”

Kiritsugu regarded his son intently. “Pass your NEWTs, all three of you. If the British Aurors don’t want you, believe me, the ICW will. I’ll train you myself, if I have to - talent like yours is too good not to use, especially when none of you are idiots.”

“Gee, thanks Dad,” Shirou said drily.

“Speaking of idiots,” Kiritsugu said, “we got an interesting reply from the British Ministry when we were on our way here. Does the name Rubeus Hagrid mean anything to you?”

“He’s the groundskeeper,” Shirou said immediately. “A big guy - a nice one, too, if not too bright. Galen likes him, goes to talk to him every now and then. Why?”

“We received personal assurances from Minister Fudge that the matter was handled - a suspect implicated in prior attacks was going to be taken in.”

“Hagrid?” Shirou said in disbelief. “Not likely. He might be interested in a basilisk - he likes strange creatures - but if he’s a Parselmouth, I’m a Kabuki stagehand.”

“Unfortunately, we’ve got no evidence to prove that it is a basilisk,” Kiritsugu said. “But at least it gives us a line of questioning to start with. Let’s see if we can catch them before they give Mr. Hagrid over to the Dementors.”






Shirou heard a familiar, oily and distinctly unwelcome voice as they approached Hagrid’s hut.

“The appointment - or suspension - of the Headmaster is a matter for the governors, Fudge. And as Dumbledore has failed to stop these attacks . . .”

“Now look, Lucius,” said an unfamiliar voice, “if Dumbledore can’t stop them - I mean to say, who can?”

“That remains to be seen,” Lucius Malfoy said, and only a fool could fail to hear the undercurrent of malicious pleasure in his voice.

“But we shall certainly give it every effort,” Kiritsugu said in a full voice, causing the four men in Hagrid’s hut to whirl in astonishment. “Mr. Rubeus Hagrid?”

“Yeah?” asked the big man in some confusion.

“Excellent,” Kiritsugu said. “Rubeus Hagrid, you are hereby bound by law for the purpose of questioning in the matter of an attack on ICW Security Division personnel. You are allowed to retain a barrister in defence of your legal rights, and one may be appointed at your request if you unable to secure one. Any action, vocal or physical, may be taken as evidence in or against your favour. Do you understand these rights as I have declared them to you?”

“Er - I thought the Minister was arresting me?” Hagrid said, confused.

“No,” Kiritsugu said firmly. “As the latest attack involves Security Division personnel, this incident is now a matter for investigation under the Security Division’s mandate.” He glanced at the man in the bowler hat - whom Shirou took to be Cornelius Fudge. “Though on behalf of the ICW, I would like to thank the British Ministry for its assistance in holding Mr. Hagrid until he could be properly transferred to our custody.”

Minister Fudge sputtered. “Now, see here - I’m the Minister, and he’s a British citizen, attacking British subjects! The ICW has no authority here!”

“Alas, Cornelius, I’m afraid they do,” Dumbledore interrupted - though his twinkling eyes belied his choice of words. “Madam Aozaki is a highly-ranked member of the Security Division - and although her presence at Hogwarts was originally meant to be covered by her vacation leave, I found it necessary for paperwork purposes to have her assigned here as a detached duty. She was therefore not only a member in good standing of her department, but on active assignment when she was attacked. If you’ll review the mandate of the Security Division, Cornelius, you’ll find that places investigating the attacks at Hogwarts squarely under their auspices.”

Minister Fudge was turning all sorts of interesting colours. Shirou spent time mentally brushing up on his English by trying to remember the appropriate words for all the shades.

“Of course, under that mandate, Hagrid will be tried under the judicial system of Madam Aozaki’s home country,” Dumbledore remarked.

“If there’s enough evidence to charge him, yes,” Kiritsugu agreed. “The same applies to anyone implicated by our investigation. They’ll be tried under Japanese law, in accordance with Ciel Aozaki’s primary citizenship.”

Shirou was watching Malfoy, and thus noticed when his already-pale complexion turned slightly pasty.

Gosh - a system you won’t be able to influence through the old pure-blood boys’ network, hates foreigners about as much as you do mundane-borns, and still executes offenders. Better start praying that you’ve covered your tracks, Lucy.

It took all his Occlumency training to resist the urge to smirk, or show any emotion on his face.

“Come along, Mr. Hagrid,” Kiritsugu said. “Thank you for your time, gentlemen. Come along, Shirou - you can clear the way ahead of me, please.”

The two British wizards looked disgruntled as the Japanese wizard led Hagrid away, but Dumbledore had a subtly satisfied look on his face. Shirou caught the ringing echo of Dumbledore’s voice as he, Kiritsugu and Hagrid climbed the hill.

“If the governors want my removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside. However, you will find that I have only truly left this school when none here are loyal to me. You will also find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.”

I’ll have to ask Takara what the hell he’s talking about.






“Fawkes,” Takara answered as they walked along the corridors, heading for supper, as strange as it seemed after a day like this one - a familiar routine, in spite of all that had happened.

“What’s a fox have to do with anything?” Shirou asked in confusion.

“It’s the name of his phoenix. It can be called to those loyal to Dumbledore, and it helped Harry.”

“So to us, it’s pretty much useless advice?”

“Yes,” Takara said.

“So, how will we fight the basilisk?” Shirou asked. “Any ideas?”

“I’m going to nail its hide to my wall,” Takara said softly.

“Galen said” - she stiffened at his name - “that it was something like sixty feet long. I don’t think either of us has a wall that big.”

Takara’s voice was a pitch-perfect match for her Nanaya mode. “I’ll build one.”

The basilisk had taken her mother. It had taken her friend - and however confusing her feelings towards him, he was her friend. The basilisk was dead, no matter what she had to do to kill it.

“Speaking of useless advice,” Shirou said carefully, “did you, Hermione and Luna ever figure out what he was talking about - before?”

Takara winced at the memory. Hermione had joined her vigil in the Hospital Wing. She’d looked at Galen, reached out to give his fingers a tentative touch, and promptly burst into tears.

“It doesn’t feel like him,” she’d said, once Takara had filtered out the sobbing. “It feels like a department store mannequin. Galen’s fingers are warm, soft - he used the pads of them when he was scratching my ears, not his nails.” She blushed. “It felt - nice.”

“Is that why you haven’t looked him in the eye all week?”

Hermione’s voice was very small, and her face very bright. “I . . . I wanted . . .” She had taken a deep breath, and proceeded to compress an entire sentence into a single word. “Iwantedhimtorunhisfingersthroughmyhair.”

Takara had kept her face carefully neutral, while inwardly reminding herself of the fact that, even if she was interested in Galen, there was competition. Hermione’s crush from last year, far from fading (especially given some of the revelations this year, and contrary to Galen’s opinion), had appeared to grow more intense. Or at least, her feline forms had no problem expressing it physically. As for the human version of Hermione - she was still young, but she was obviously coming into her hormones, if she was beginning to fantasise.

“I wanted to see . . .” Hermione had explained hesitantly, “. . . I wanted to see if it was the fur that made it feel so good - or him.”

“He does have a gentle touch,” Takara had admitted quietly. “Warm hands, too.”

Hermione had looked at her.

“He traced my jawline, once,” Takara admitted. “Just before he said goodbye, and went to fight the last fight in that ritual.”

“I’ll keep my promise to you, because I said I would - and because I love you.”

Would she never escape those words?

Takara had shaken her head, and met Hermione’s eyes. “Did he say anything before he ran off? Do anything?”

“When I said I was surprised to hear that Percy had a girlfriend, he said, ‘Christmas shopping . . . So obvious,’” Hermione had recited. “Then he got mad at himself, like he was about the Room.”






“That’s the only clue? Christmas shopping?” Shirou exclaimed. He sighed. “Damn it, why couldn’t he have said something to Hermione before he bolted?”

“He was on his way to Mother - he would’ve told her,” Takara murmured. “Just his luck, the basilisk chose to attack then.”

Shirou had obviously picked up some habits from Galen, because he suddenly went still in the same way the older wizard did when something important occurred to him. Takara glanced at him curiously.

“Luck,” Shirou repeated sharply. “Christmas shopping and luck. Your mother wasn’t here for the attack on Clearwater because she was out picking up gifts in Hogsmeade. Bad luck, we assumed - but if it wasn’t?”

“The attack was timed, because whoever has the diary knew Mother was out of the castle?”

“And that has to be a short list of people,” Shirou agreed. “I can’t see telling anyone but the staff, really.”

“So we’re back to Lockhart?” Takara questioned. “None of the other teachers were in the bookstore, or outside in Diagon Alley - they couldn’t have picked up the book.”

“Maybe,” Shirou said thoughtfully. “I can’t see how that wouldn’t have occurred to your mother already, though. Galen must have picked up on something else . . .”

He began thinking out loud. “You’re after mundane-borns, and Dumbledore hires one as a Defence teacher - an ideal target, if you want to cause panic. After all, if even a qualified expert can’t protect herself . . . Aozaki-san had a target painted on her the moment she got here. But she’s not just another schoolkid, she’s an Auror, and a highly-respected one. So you tread carefully, stage an attack she can’t stop, just to see what she’ll do, measure her responses. Then you wait a while, until she drops her guard . . .”

“And it would’ve worked, if Galen hadn’t gotten there in time,” Takara said grimly.

Shirou nodded. “It’s clever - multiple reasons for the last two attacks. So what about the first one? Not the cat, I could buy that being coincidence, but Thomas? What did getting Thomas give this guy?”

“Aside from panic, not much,” Takara mused. “I mean, Dean’s a nice guy, most people like him, but he doesn’t really register much, aside from being Weasley’s only - ” Her eyes widened.

“What?” Shirou demanded.

“Malfoy - he gave Ginny the diary to discredit her father when she was caught,” Takara said. “Because he’d been getting close to catching Malfoy out. There might’ve been something about a new legal initiative, too - I think Galen mentioned that, but I don’t remember it being part of the movie.”

“All right . . .”

“Creevey was Ginny’s classmate,” Takara said, “and all the other victims were connected to Harry, because Riddle hated him . . . But Dumbledore killed him in this reality.”

“So he’d be looking to discredit Dumbledore - your mother really was the perfect victim. But, if we assume the Weasleys are secondary targets, then hitting Thomas makes sense. But why Clearwater? Other than her being a Prefect, which ties into Dumbledore - ”

“She was Percy’s girlfriend,” Takara pointed out.

“But how did Riddle know that?” Shirou asked. “Even his brothers didn’t know, until she was attacked . . . Oh, damn it.”

“What?”

“Percy. Weasley sent Thomas out to distract him on his rounds when they raided the kitchen - never saw him, my ass! And it’s his girlfriend who was attacked - ”

“And if Mother was going to be unavailable for consultation, she might tell the prefects,” Takara finished.

“No wonder Galen was ticked,” Shirou muttered. “We’ve been looking at this all wrong from the beginning. Luck had nothing to do with anything that’s happened - it’s always boiled down to Weasleys and timing.”

Shirou’s temper flared briefly. They could have stopped this months ago, if they’d only realised that Ciel’s absence during Clearwater’s attack hadn’t been coincidence. Ciel and Galen wouldn’t be lying in those hospital beds . . .

“I’m going to skin him alive,” Shirou growled.

“You can use my knife,” Takara muttered, as they made a turn towards the hallway leading to the Great Hall.

Suddenly, Professor McGonagall’s voice erupted from the air, echoing through the corridors.

“All students to return to their house dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staff room. Immediately, please.”

Shirou stopped. “What on earth - ? Another attack?”

Takara’s face was pale. “Shirou . . . When this happened before . . .” She swallowed.

“Ginny was in the Chamber of Secrets.”

[Kieran]

DISCLAIMER: Lunar Legend Tsukihime, Fate/Stay Night, and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of Kinoko Nasu and Type-Moon, along with anyone who's happened to license them, like Geneon or Funimation. Harry Potter and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of J.K. Rowling, along with her publishers and Warner Bros., as regards the movie material.

This is a not-for-profit, just-for-fun project.



Writer's Note: Certain dialogue sequences in this story are lifted from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, but I trust in the intelligence of my readers (and the availability of the books) to recognise them when they see them.



Chapter 21 - Into the Chamber



February 13, 1993






“It’s too soon!” Takara hissed to Shirou in Japanese as they joined their group of friends in as isolated a corner of the Gryffindor common-room as they could find. They had to resort to that language - there were portraits in the room, and too many people to overhear. Fortunately, Neville and Hermione were reasonably fluent by now (Hermione, in particular, had as much a flair for languages as anything else), as long as Takara and Shirou spoke slowly. The only people who wouldn’t be able to follow their conversation were Luna and -

“Where’s Ginny?” she asked suddenly.

That much Luna could translate, because she answered, “She went to see Percy for some help with her Defence paper.” She peered around the common-room. “I don’t see him, either.”

The two dimensionally-displaced students traded eloquent glances.

“Galen said this wasn’t supposed to happen until May!” Takara snapped.

“Galen didn’t count on the ICW getting involved,” Shirou pointed out. “Once they’re done questioning Hagrid, your father and mine will tear this castle apart trying to find the basilisk and the guy controlling it - literally, if they have to. That could be a matter of hours from now, or even less, and Dumbledore’s gone - if the Horcrux is looking to regenerate itself a body, it won’t get a better opportunity.”

“Why take Ginny, though?”

“She saw something, and there was no time to silence her any other way,” Shirou said, as though reciting from a list. “To increase panic, to regenerate faster by draining two people, to hurt the Weasleys - hell, it could be even simpler than that. The damned basilisk needs to eat, doesn’t it?”

Takara fought down a roiling nausea.

“Takara, your hair is dancing,” Hermione pointed out. “And there’s no breeze. You need to - ”

”Calm down?” she snapped. “Ginny is missing, and liable to be killed. It could be hours before the ICW arrives, or the governors’ board finishes reinstating Dumbledore, so nobody with authority or power is likely to show up in time to help. Even if someone does, it doesn’t guarantee they’ll ever find, much less breach the Chamber of Secrets. The bastard who went after my family is going to get away with this because no one will get here in time, and we can’t go after him, because speaking Parseltongue is a such a rare ability that nobody in Britain outside of Riddle seems to have it!”

“Could we fake it, somehow?” Shirou asked.

“They did in the movies,” Takara admitted. “Ron managed it, based on what he’d heard Harry use - but when he demonstrated it to Harry after explaining how he’d done it, he proved that it shouldn’t have worked.”

“What do you mean?”

“Harry hears Parseltongue as English,” Takara explained. “They’ve made a point of emphasising that. Even in the second-last movie, there was a conversation held in Parseltongue that Harry didn’t react to it as anything unusual - but it was deliberately held out of Hermione’s hearing.”

“Because I would’ve heard it as a different language,” Hermione agreed, and then she stopped abruptly. “Wait - movies?”

“The life and times of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived,” Takara said with a shrug. “It’s a famous story - did you think they wouldn’t immortalise it?”

Neville stared at them all in confusion. “What are you talking about? What does Harry Potter have to do with anything?”

“It’s a long story that we don’t have time for now, Neville,” Shirou said firmly. “We’ll explain later, when the crisis is over.”

“It has to do with why they’re acting so young, when they’re so very, very old,” Luna said gently.

Shirou and Takara looked at her sharply, but she just gave them a soft smile.

“Anyways,” Shirou said, “the reason imitating Parseltongue doesn’t work?”

“Because when Ron demonstrated how he’d supposedly done it, to open the Chamber, Harry heard a hissing noise, not the word ‘Open.’”

“Which he should have, if it had worked,” Shirou realised.

“Although, only Ron would think you could imitate an inborn magical ability,” Hermione scoffed. “I can use Compulsion and Confundus Charms on men, and even dye my hair silvery, but that doesn’t make me a Veela.”

No, it doesn’t, Takara agreed, having grown up with one.

Shirou sighed. “So what do we do?”

Luna considered. “Are Parselmouths common in your home country?”

Takara and Shirou exchanged glances.

“Not that I know of,” Takara said. “I’ve never heard of the Aozaki or Nanaya clans having the ability, at least.” Mother said that vampire she hunted did, I think - but he was European, wasn’t he?

“Nor the Einzbern or Emiya families,” Shirou agreed. He hesitated, as a sudden thought occurred to him. “Although . . . I don’t know about my relatives.”

Takara blinked for a moment, before she remembered. “That’s right - you’re adopted.”

Shirou nodded. “Speaking Parseltongue might be an ability in my bloodline, I suppose. It’s not like I’d know.”

“You wouldn’t know if you could do it?” Hermione asked in surprise.

“Galen hates snakes,” Shirou explained. “Refused to go anywhere near them when we visited the zoo, or the museum. I never got closer to one than rubber toys, because of that. And after we moved, I just never saw one. And it’s not like I would’ve thought of talking to one, anyway. But it’d be a hell of a coincidence if it turns out I can.”

Takara resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Improbable coincidences were a hallmark of this universe, it seemed - and it wouldn’t be the first time the universe worked to make things occur despite their efforts, just the first time it was doing so in a way they desired -

Something Arcueid had said came back to her.

“I think I know a way,” Takara said. “But we need to get to the Hospital Wing.”






“This is your plan?” Shirou hissed in disbelief.

“You’ve said yourself it’s a powerful wand,” Takara said. “We know where the door is, we just can’t open it - but maybe a strong enough Unlocking Charm will.”

“Did you or did you not get Ollivander’s lecture on how you’ll never get the best results with another wizard’s wand when you bought yours?” he demanded, still whispering. “‘The wand chooses the wizard,’ and all that?”

“It’s believed that when a witch or wizard casts a spell through their wand, part of themselves is put into it,” Takara said. “If that’s true, then while this wand might not choose me, there’s no way it wouldn’t know me.”

“Terrific,” Shirou muttered. “That still leaves the problem of actually getting it. Short of breaking his fingers - ”

Takara felt herself flushing, and Shirou stared at her.

“You were planning to break his fingers?!” Hermione gasped in horror.

Her cheeks burned hotter. “It’s not like Galen would feel it right now. He’d understand why we had to do it - and Madam Pomfrey can heal them easily enough . . .” She trailed off.

“He’s Petrified,” Shirou pointed out. “As hard as stone, and on some level, frozen in time. You’ll have to break them off, not just open.”

“Absolutely not!” Hermione snapped, forgetting to whisper.

Madam Pomfrey stepped into the Hospital Wing, and all three Gryffindors froze under the cloak, barely daring to breathe. After a few moments, the nurse left, obviously puzzled, and the trio breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Takara thought furiously in the meantime. They knew Galen’s wand was especially strong, and if Arcueid was right, it might be powerful enough to open the Chamber, if she wanted to badly enough.

But how to get it out of his hand? Even when he wasn’t Petrified, Galen had a grip like a vise - breaking it was far from easy. In terror and combat, he’d have had a death-grip on his wand, and now like this . . .

The wand jutted from his first, thrusting outward and upward like the legendary Sword in the Stone - and just as unreachable.

She reached out to take hold of it, hoping against hope that Galen’s grip wasn’t as solid as it looked - and suddenly recoiled, as soon as she touched it.

“What is it?” Shirou asked.

“It’s - warm,” Takara said in wonder. Movie scenes flashed through her head - Harry’s wand erupting in a Lumos spell without his holding it, so he could find it in the darkened underpass - and the same wand turning to face Voldemort in battle while Harry was barely conscious, because it recognised the Dark Lord’s presence. A wand that didn’t have the awareness of the Elder Wand, but was nonetheless deeply attuned to its owner’s will, and desires . . .

It was once believed that a samurai’s sword was his soul. Is the wizard’s, then, his wand?

“I think . . .” Takara said, before she paused to halt the tremor she heard in her voice. “I think it recognises me. The part of it that’s part of him, at least.” She reached out again, tentatively, and braced herself as she took hold of the wand again.

The wood once again warmed at her touch, and the scar on her hand abruptly pulsed, once, in response. Wild hope, bordering on desperation, flared in her chest, and she put that emotion fully into her voice as she spoke - to the wand, to Galen, to whatever bond might still exist between them, that the mark that she still bore on her hand symbolised.

“Help me,” Takara whispered - and she staggered, nearly fell, as the resistance was suddenly gone, and the wand released itself into her hand. In her surprise, she nearly dropped it - but quick reflexes and force of will maintained her grip.

“His hand didn’t open,” Hermione breathed, her eyes impossibly wide. “It’s still closed tight. How on earth could you have - ?”

“I didn’t - it did,” Takara said tightly. “He did, whether he knows it or not - and now we’ve got a chance. Come on - Ginny’s life is still in danger . . . And we’re running out of time.”






As he and Takara headed for Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, Shirou couldn’t help staring at the wand in her hand. He still couldn’t quite believe that had worked. But she had, and maybe that made all the difference.

Shirou wasn’t a Jewel Mage. He didn’t understand all the complexities that made up parallel realities, how they differed from one another, or what translating something from one reality to a second, quite variable one might be. But she and Galen were obviously still connected, and she’d been a powerful potential magus - sufficient to qualify to become a Grail. And he’d been a spirit of belief, whatever name he used. So perhaps the wand’s response to her wasn’t so surprising.

The wand itself intrigued him, he admitted. Artefacts, particularly weapons, were a core element of him, and always had been. In his original universe, that had manifested as his primary mage talents, culminating in Unlimited Blade Works. Here, he’d developed an interest in wandlore.

The materials used in the wand weren’t common in Britain, and so far as he knew, had never been used in combination before. Lignum vitae, the so-called “wood of life,” was an ironwood, and pretty much the strongest wood known, almost on par with steel in terms of hardness. Associated with holy, purifying properties, it also meant a rigid dedication to order - but the Veela hair that made up its core was temperamental, emotional, and definitely not well-ordered by nature.

It was, he supposed, a good match for Galen. Supremely, often wildly emotional, but dedicated to a series of core principles that were an absolute in his world, and capable of throwing everything he had into them, with surprising passion.

Which might explain why the wand yielded itself to Takara. Protecting her - helping her - was always his purpose, in any incarnation I ever met him in.

They’d returned to Gryffindor Tower to leave Hermione behind - fighting a basilisk in an enclosed space wasn’t something she was ready for yet -

I’m not sure I’m ready, Shirou admitted.

- and they couldn’t guarantee her safety. And so Hermione was entrusted with the truth. If anything happened to them, if they failed, Hermione would tell the ICW Aurors everything.

By then, our secrets won’t matter - we’ll be dead anyway, he thought.

The pair also wore their dragonhide dusters. There was no guarantee that they’d stop the basilisk’s fangs from penetrating, but every little bit helped.

They slipped into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom with nary a sound, but Myrtle somehow heard them coming anyway, because she emerged from a stall almost immediately.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, the ghost’s voice equal parts fear and annoyance. “If this is someone’s idea of a joke - ”

“It’s us, Myrtle,” Takara said quickly, throwing off the cloak.

“Oh!” Myrtle said, startled. “I haven’t seen an invisibility cloak like that since . . . A long time ago, anyway." Her dark eyes roved over them. “No Galen?”

“He’s been attacked, Myrtle,” Takara said. “He and my mother. They’re both in the Hospital Wing.”

“He’s not dead, is he?” Myrtle asked, a tiny bit of hope in her voice.

“No,” Shirou said, a little shortly.

“Oh,” Myrtle said. “That’s good, I suppose. But why are you here?”

“Because the thing that attacked them is the thing that killed you,” Shirou answered.

Myrtle let out a sudden shriek, sailed up over the bathroom stalls, and dove into a toilet with a splash.

“Subtle,” Takara said dryly.

Shirou shrugged. “We’re on a tight schedule, remember? I’ll apologise later, if there is a later - and I’m sure Galen will try to soothe her feelings, once he’s up and around again.”

The Japanese witch’s lips quirked, as though she was trying not to smile. Her eyes began darting around the bathroom, searchingly.

“That one,” she said at last. Taking a deep breath, closing her eyes, and visibly centring herself, Shirou watched as she raised the wand as if it was a bokken, clasped in a two-handed grip.

She stood there for a silent moment, and the entire world seemed to still itself, waiting. Suddenly, her eyes snapped open, and she brought the wand down like an executioner’s sword, crying at the top of her lungs.

“ALOHAMORA!”

This wasn’t the first time Shirou had seen the spell performed - Hermione had used it a couple of times last year, when they gone after the Philosopher’s Stone. When she cast it, there was a brief surge of light which centred on the lock it targeted, and a crackling noise as it was undone. Hardly worth noticing, really.

Therefore, seeing what amounted to a lightning bolt blast the sink in question understandably shocked him more than a little - especially when, after crackling around the target for a couple of seconds, it exploded the sink out of the way, revealing a human-sized pipe in the floor. Fortunately, those few seconds had given Shirou time to get his wand out and cast a Shield Charm to deflect the debris of the sink.

“I guess that wand likes you about as much as it does Galen,” he remarked. “None of you does anything by halves, do you?”

Hearing only heavy, ragged breathing in response, Shirou whirled to see Takara collapsed on the floor, leaning against a stall door.

“Overdid it . . .” she rasped. “Wand - really drains you . . . When it wants something.”

Shirou smirked, but he knew it wouldn’t reach his eyes. “Hey, at least half of that’s you - and hey, you just cracked a bloodline protection that’s been pretty much unbreakable for a thousand years. Not bad - what’re you going to do for an encore?”

Takara was pale, almost gray, as she staggered to her feet. She took several deep breaths before answering.

“Make it to the Hospital Wing under my own power,” she gasped, giving her head a sudden shake. “Sorry, Shirou, that took too much out of me. I won’t be able to help you . . . Take my duster.”

Shirou blinked. “What?”

“It’s as tough as Galen’s, and as light as yours - better protection without slowing you down. You’ll need . . . “ She paused, and took a couple of deep breaths before finishing with, “Every advantage you can get.”

Shirou’s expression turned rueful. “Makes sense - there won’t be much fire in the Chamber, will there?”

Takara didn’t answer, concentrating instead on removing her duster without collapsing back to the floor in the process.

Shirou looked her worriedly. “I need to get you to the Hospital Wing.”

“I can make it . . . I’m just tired,” Takara said wearily. “Ginny, on the . . . She could be dead. You need to hurry.”

Shirou traded dusters with Takara, and was startled as she pressed Galen’s wand into his hand.

It warmed, but sullenly. Shirou could no longer read the histories of weapons or objects with his touch, but a remnant of that talent, combined with his knowledge of wands in general and Galen in particular, made him understand what that meant. It didn’t fully trust him. He and Galen been allies in the past, and were even friends now, but they’d tried to kill each other, too, and Galen wouldn’t have forgotten that. The wand would serve him if he truly needed it to - it wouldn’t abandon Galen’s friends any more than Galen would, and the core had come from his mother - but in the end, not nearly so willingly or well as it did Takara, much less Galen.

Shirou spared a fleeting thought for how well it might serve Ilya, or Hermione. As well as it did Takara, worse, or possibly even better?

“I’m better off with mine,” Shirou said. “You may as well take this back to him. It’s done its work.”

She nodded. “Shirou . . . Be careful, if you can’t be safe. And good luck.” She surprised him then - she kissed his cheek.

From the look on Takara’s face as she pulled back, she’d surprised herself by doing that. He stared at her questioningly.

“You’re my friend, too,” she said defensively, not quite meeting his gaze even as her cheeks darkened. “And if this is anything to go by” - she glanced down at the mark that scarred the back of her left hand, and his eyes followed - “I’m connected to you, just as much as I am to Galen. The last time I was in this kind of situation, I didn’t say anything - and I lost him. And I . . . I don’t want to lose you too, Shirou. So please, be careful . . . All right?”

“I’ll be as careful as I can be,” Shirou promised, touched by her sentiment. It reminded him of how different his life was, now - that he had family and friends who cared.

For them, he’d do all he could, not to just accomplish his mission, but to come back alive.

With a last look at his one-time Mistress, Shirou wrapped the cloak around himself, vanishing from her sight - and then sight vanished from him, as he dropped into the pipe, and descended into the darkness.






Until that day, Shirou had never worn the invisibility cloak for any length of time - it had been given to Galen, and while the guy was certainly willing to share its use, they largely left it in his keeping. Almost any time which saw it necessary for Shirou to don it usually had two or three other people under it with him - and at one point, four. As a result, though he was aware that Takara was uncomfortable under it, as it threw off her reactions, he’d never had time to formulate an opinion about it himself.

Following the slide down into the Chamber’s entry tunnel, he was grateful that the cloak’s power repelled things that would make it or its wearer visible - such as, for example, the foul-smelling slime that coated the slide. By the time he hit the ground, he was extremely grateful for that fact. It meant that, with only a few steps, he could be well away from the stench, leaving it only as a memory.

“Lumos,” Shirou murmured. That was another neat property - under the cloak, the lit wand would be invisible, yet it illuminated just as well as it would in the open - though in this case, that wasn’t saying much. The tunnel had apparently been designed with the words “dank” and “gloomy” in mind. An endless stretch of damp gray stone, nearly black in the minimal light provided by his wand. Faint sounds of water were audible, but nothing else. The overall silence was oppressive, especially given the cramped size of the tunnel.

Shirou was well-trained in stealth techniques, and the little noise he might have made was muted altogether by the cloak. He moved unseen and unheard through the environment, a ghost to all intents and purposes. It reminded him, a little uncomfortably, of trailing Rin in spirit form, during the Grail War.

To distract himself from the unpleasant memories, even as his eyes raked the shadows, Shirou asked himself just how stupid Salazar Slytherin had actually been. For starters, would it have killed him to put in stairs? In fact, shouldn’t he have? Shirou had a hard time imagining anyone with an ego like his was reputed to be sliding down a slimy tunnel to get here. And why had there not been a security system triggered when Takara had forced the tunnel open? Was he that confident that no one could find or get into the Chamber?

Probably, he admitted. If the Malfoys are typical Slytherins, lack of confidence is not their flaw. Although I can’t see them climbing up that slide any more than I can seeing them going down it. I wonder how they got out of here? Or myself, for that matter.

He paused on spotting a flash of poison-green scales, but after a moment’s observation, Shirou determined that it was too still to be a living creature.

Only about twenty feet long - I wonder how long ago it was shed?

Walking past it, Shirou eventually reached a wall engraved with stone snakes, their eyes carved of eerily-glittering emeralds.

Another door locked to everyone but Parselmouths, Shirou determined. And from the ways those “eyes” are glowing, I’m betting this one is capable of “dealing” with unwanted intruders.

For a moment, he wished the cloak could grant him intangibility as well as invisibility. He wished he could generate a Broken Phantasm - or just about any normal Noble Phantasm, for that matter. Protected or not, he doubted the door could stand up to Caliburn, even a Traced one.

Unless I can figure out a way past this door, this is a dead end - Ginny’s dead end. Her brother’s, too. And without a certain lignum vitae wand, I don’t think a simple Alohamora is going to cut it.

Shirou pondered for several minutes, before he decided on the only course of action he could probably take.

If this doesn’t work, I’m liable to be killed. If it does, it proves that the universe is either highly unimaginative, or really out to screw me . . . And I’m not sure which possibility I dislike more.

Taking a deep breath, Shirou commanded, “Open up!”

The stone serpents parted from their tangle, withdrawing smoothly. The wall slid aside to let him pass.

His last thought before entering the Chamber of Secrets was, I think I’m going to prefer having been killed.

[Kieran]

DISCLAIMER: Lunar Legend Tsukihime, Fate/Stay Night, and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of Kinoko Nasu and Type-Moon, along with anyone who's happened to license them, like Geneon or Funimation. Harry Potter and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of J.K. Rowling, along with her publishers and Warner Bros., as regards the movie material.

This is a not-for-profit, just-for-fun project.



Writer's Note: Certain dialogue sequences in this story are lifted from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, but I trust in the intelligence of my readers (and the availability of the books) to recognise them when they see them.



Chapter 22 - The Serpent and the Sword



February 13, 1993






Shirou slipped inside the Chamber quickly and silently, before hiding himself behind a column entwined with snakes. He might be invisible, and virtually inaudible, but the door he’d entered through was not. There was no way for his entrance not to have been heard by anyone else in the Chamber.

Sure enough, within a moment of his concealing himself, a tall, black-haired boy in Hogwarts robes came striding towards the entrance. There was a prefect’s badge on his chest, and Slytherin colours denoted his house affiliation. His overall appearance was blurry, not quite in the manner of a ghost - more like an out-of-focus photograph.

“Who’s there?” the boy demanded in a cold voice. “Show yourself!”

Shirou sat calmly, patiently. It had taken him a long time to learn how, and he still didn’t like it, but he could embrace patience, when he had to. He kept his breathing minimal, where it would be hard to hear even in the acoustics of the Chamber. With the dampening effect of the cloak, it was silent.

The boy raised a wand - Percy’s, Shirou assumed, as it wasn’t Ginny’s - and shouted “Hominem Revello!”

A pulse of magic swept through the Chamber, and for a moment Shirou was truly worried. According to Galen, this was supposed to be a spell the cloak was vulnerable to, in the books - but it apparently had no effect on this version of the Deathly Hallow. More weight for the argument of its being the genuine article.

The boy looked puzzled, but finally relaxed. “I suppose it’s the solitude, my dear - I must have slipped into Parseltongue without realising it. Now, where was I? Ah, yes. I opened the Chamber of Secrets, and the basilisk did its work well. Unfortunately, I think Professor Dumbledore suspected me, despite the fact that I managed to shift the blame onto that oaf, Hagrid. Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did - he certainly kept an annoyingly close watch on me after Hagrid was expelled. I knew it wouldn’t be safe to open the Chamber again while I was still at school . . .”

Why is every evil person I’ve ever met in love with the sound of their own voice? Shirou wondered. Kotomine, Gilgamesh, Caster - hell, even Shinji bragged. Is it a requirement of being evil, I wonder, or a side-effect?

He slipped out from behind the pillar, keeping one eye and ear on Riddle, even as he surveyed the Chamber. The ceiling (some distance under the lake bed, he guessed) was held up by a series of paired columns, entwined with serpents. The floor was primarily a stone path, with a series of grooves for water to flow on either side, rather like an ancient aqueduct system. At the far end of the Chamber was an enormous carving of a face, presumably Salazar Slytherin’s. The whole design had a very cathedral-like feeling to it - or perhaps more accurately, an ancient Greco-Roman temple. It gave Shirou uncomfortable flashbacks to the fortress Caster had made of Ryudoji.

Still, the design was spacious, allowing him room to move, and the water would help his plan. He and Takara had only worked out vague ideas for dealing with the basilisk - the cloak’s potential shielding effect had been her contribution - and he had an equaliser that, he hoped, would handle its killing gaze - but water would help, too.

Preferably, he wouldn’t fight the basilisk at all - just destroy the Horcrux, and let the damned snake rot in here. But destroying the Horcrux was beyond his capabilities, at the moment, so he’d had to plan for the basilisk’s presence.

Near the sculpture of Slytherin, Shirou could make out the spirit of the Horcrux - becoming decidedly clearer as he watched - and the prone forms of Percy and Ginny. From her open-eyed expression, he suspected Ginny had been hit with a Stunner, or Petrificus Totalus - Percy was flat-out unconscious. Between them and the spirit was the diary.

“And then Percy found me,” the spirit was saying. “Ambitious, status-conscious Percy. He has such desires for his future, you know - such plans. And he studies his history - he recognised my name on the diary straightaway. Prefect, Head Boy, an award for special services to the school - he’d hoped my diary could help him on the path to success. And when he realised that I’d charmed a part of myself into the diary - well, Percy was quite certain of it.

“Your brother is an ideal Slytherin, in many ways - frightfully ambitious, and cunning enough to place himself in Gryffindor, where no one would suspect him of being what he is - cunning worthy of a Slytherin, indeed. He was a very willing student - and very shortly, became my unwilling puppet.”

Shirou walked closer to the diary.

“Of course, young Percy does have his flaws,” the spirit admitted. “He’s not all that imaginative, so he never connected what I was doing with the deaths of the roosters, or the cat - but when the basilisk came so close to harming his baby brother, Percy finally became more worried about the effect I might be having on him. I had to teach him a lesson about who was in charge - and a true wizard wouldn’t associate with a Mudblood in any case. So I took care of both problems at once, in the form of that Ravenclaw.”

“And then Dumbledore - Dumbledore! - hired that Mudblood as a Defence teacher! Of course, Percy had caught me up on recent history - how the greatest wizard of all time had been done in by that meddling old man. How could I resist so tempting a target? A Mudblood with an overblown reputation killed, and Dumbledore’s own reputation in ruins.”

The boy shook his head angrily. “I don’t know how that foolish half-blood anticipated the attack. Percy warned me of him - arrogant, intransigent, disrespectful of authority. I believe something the boy did frightened him, at some point. Whatever the case, Percy really didn’t like him, and was deeply concerned about your physical and moral health when you began spending time with him and his friends. Of course, given Percy’s personality, that indicated to me that the boy might be worth something - but even so, I never would have believed a simple Shield Charm could dilute the basilisk’s gaze to the point where it wouldn’t kill.”

Shirou was almost there . . .

“And now I need to rush my plans,” the spirit said bitterly. “Of course, you’ll do wonderfully to distract people, dear Ginevra. With your tearful proclamations to convince people, even if anyone realises your brother isn’t the Heir of Slytherin, I’ll be long gone beforehand. Of course, I’ll need to Obliviate you first - place the appropriate memories - but I’m quite good at that. Once I’ve taken everything Percy has to give, I’ll show you just how good . . . Not that you’ll remember it.”

He laughed, a high, cold sound. At the same moment, Shirou stepped over the diary, enshrouding it within the cloak, and bent down to scoop it up. Even through the Quidditch gloves he’d donned, on Takara’s recommendation, it still felt cold.

“What?” the spirit snapped, eyes darting around the Chamber of Secrets. “What happened? Where’s the diary? Who did that?!”

Shirou said nothing, merely moving out of the position where the diary had beenm and off to one side.

Tom Riddle’s spirit raised its stolen wand. “Stupefy! Stupefy! STUPEFY!”

The Stunners were randomly shot, their paths easily predicted, and never came close to touching Shirou.

“HOMINEM REVELLO!” Riddle roared, and again the pulse of magic shot forth, an order of magnitude stronger. Despite this, however, the Deathly Hallow proved proof against the spell.

Riddle stood frozen in place, eyes raking the Chamber, visibly seething at his failure to locate Shirou. Abruptly, he straightened, and assumed a maliciously smug expression.

“Very well,” the spirit said calmly. “I don’t know who, or what you are - or how you’ve managed to hide from me. But I’ll wager you’ll find it far more difficult to hide from this! Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four!”

Here we go, Shirou thought. He kept his eyes on the floor - more specifically, on the water, as the basilisk emerged from the opening mouth of the carving.

Even as a reflection, where he could see only the underside, Shirou understood just why Galen had been afraid to face the basilisk. Nothing alive on earth today existed on the that could truly prepare one’s mind for the idea of a sixty-foot snake. Even the closest creature he could think of, a Tyrannosaurus, existed only as a skeleton. Bones gave an idea of size, but not the coiling, sinuous movements - nor the reaction a reptile that size could provoke in a mammal.

This was no fossilised relic, or empty skin. This was a living, breathing, lethal creature, and for a brief moment, Shirou was terrified.

“Find the intruder,” Riddle hissed - literally, as the command was in Parseltongue. “Kill them.”

This was the biggest gamble of Shirou’s plan. If he wasn’t fast enough - if the Basilisk didn’t react as he expected to the bait - then it was all over. But more than that, it had to be able to find him.

The cloak was not impermeable, Shirou knew. It muted sounds, and scents, but didn’t erase them entirely. Only soft or subtle ones would be rendered as undetectable as the wearer was to the eye - or magic, it seemed. Even the Horcrux couldn’t find him, or its vessel, though he was holding the latter in his hand. But if he shouted, he’d be heard. And the basilisk might smell him . . .

The reflection reared back, as a snake always did when preparing to strike. Shirou tensed - and as it sprang forward, he rolled to the side, hurling outwardly as he did.

The basilisk reacted as all predators did when something entered their mouths - its jaws snapped shut, even as it impacted the stone walkway headfirst.

Riddle screamed, even as an echoing scream emerged from the basilisk’s mouth. He writhed and flailed on the ground, even as beams of light cracked through his body - and he was gone.

Part one - success, Shirou thought. Horcrux destroyed.

The basilisk rose again, and reared up and back . . .

Part two - failure, Shirou thought, even as he dove to the side again. Destroying the Horcrux did not neutralise the basilisk as a threat. Now it’s just free to do whatever the hell it wants.

He brought his equaliser to bear, before the basilisk could rise again - Ciel Aozaki’s demonstration model Desert Eagle. He blasted three .50 calibre rounds in the direction of its left eye without looking at where he was aiming. He knew by the frenzy of peripheral movement, and the agonised hissing, that they’d successful destroyed their target.

Damn, Shirou thought, I didn’t penetrate its brain -

Watching the basilisk’s reflection in the water - which, when combined with the effect of seeing it through the cloak, appeared to nullify its eyes’ killing effect - Shirou snapped off another trio of shots at a nearby column. The rounds cracked the stone on impact, and whined as they ricocheted off the column, towards the right side of the basilisk’s head.

At least one round bounced off its thick hide - but the pained writhing indicated that at least one shot had hit its intended target.

Heh - anything Galen can do by luck, I can do by skill, Shirou thought. I still didn’t manage to kill it, but at least it’s blind. No more killing gaze. Still, I’ve only got one round left . . . And Galen was right, the recoil on this thing is a bitch.

His wrists were throbbing in agony - this was really too much gun for somebody his age to use one-handed, despite what he’d done. Even if he’d had extra ammunition - and there hadn’t been time to look - he wasn’t sure he could have made accurate shots. That left just one bullet -

“Is someone there?” a girl’s voice called suddenly - Ginny. The basilisk reacted by immediately whirling on the prey it had been reminded was there, lunging down - until Shirou fired his last shot, and the impact of the round caused it to flinch away, hissing madly.

Shirou wrenched off the invisibility cloak, and hurled it over Ginny and Percy. “Stay under this and be quiet!” he barked, leaping to one side as the blinded basilisk followed the sound of his voice to attack again.

No more bullets, Shirou thought frantically. No spells more powerful than a Stunner, which is nowhere near enough to kill this thing, even with the power I can put into it. I might be able to manage a Killing Curse . . .

The basilisk lunged again, and he dove again - this time, not quite quickly enough. He felt the fangs of the creature tear into the rear fringe of the dragonhide duster, and as the fang tore itself free of the leather, the momentum of the basilisk’s charge hurled him forward, towards the entrance to the Chamber.

Shirou sensed more than felt the impact - the air rushing from his lungs absorbed all his attention. A sound that seemed to echo throughout the Chamber told him he’d broken at least two ribs - and the abrupt awareness of a hissing sound had him shucking the duster before the midnight-black venom burned through it and began to devour his spine.

The corner of Shirou’s mind that belonged to Archer, that world-weary warrior, observed, Galen’s cloak is gone - and now, Takara’s duster. Images of Galen, lying Petrified in the Hospital Wing, and Takara, looking ready to literally drop dead of exhaustion, flashed through his head. My friends protected me - but they’ve taken me as far as they can - all I’ve got left now is me.

The part of him that was twelve-year-old Shirou Einzbern responded, And I won’t let them down!

He staggered to his feet, every breath a fiery effort, even as he launched the most powerful Stunner he could conjure in the basilisk’s direction. To his dismay, it failed to even dent the creature’s scales.

Damn it! Shirou raged. No spell I know will penetrate this thing’s hide deeply enough to do damage, if .50 calibre rounds couldn’t!

The basilisk, seemingly infuriated by his attack despite its ineffectualness, lunged again. While Shirou did manage to dodge it, the basilisk’s head collided with one of the columns, splintering it in two, and forcing Shirou to duck wildly as the top half landed somewhere behind him.

He stared at the snake, head buried under the remains of the lower half of the column. Please let that have killed it, or at least stunned it . . .

As if it had heard, the basilisk’s body thrashed wildly, realigning itself to dig its head from the rubble. Shirou was forced to back up frantically in order to avoid its oncoming coils as it attempted to worry itself free.

His own words, from another life, another world, came back to him, “If you can’t defeat your enemy, imagine something that can.”

A piece of advice meant to start Emiya Shirou on the path to Imaging, not simply Tracing weaponry - and it had worked. But without that power, those words seemed useless now. Otherwise, Shirou would’ve simply Traced Excalibur, or Caliburn . . . He stopped retreating abruptly, as his hand brushed something metal. Whirling around, he stared in disbelief at the source of the sensation.

A thin, gleaming sword stood proudly erect in the remains of the column, its length thrust point first in the largest piece of the wreckage. Massive rubies adorned its cross-guard, and even in the dim light of the Chamber, Shirou could make out letters etched on the silvery surface of the blade.

GODRIC GRYFFINDOR

If it wasn’t the sword in the stone he’d had in mind, it would serve nonetheless. With a will born of desperation and a grunt of exertion, Shirou grabbed the weapon with both hands and hauled it free. Immediately, he got a sense of its reach, balance, and quality. For such a slender-looking longsword, it was remarkably heavy - dense material composition. Despite that, however, it swung easily enough, and was balanced so that he wasn’t liable to fall trying to wield it.

He could use this. Muscle memory from wielding copies of Caliburn and their ilk would let him. However, at his current level of physical development, the odds of actually penetrating the basilisk’s hide were almost nil. He’d have to nail the basilisk’s soft tissues to kill it - drive the sword through its eye or mouth and into its brain. Either required getting awfully close to those venomous fangs . . .

Shirou shifted the sword to his right hand, and pulled out his wand. This was a long shot, but no more unlikely than the appearance of the blade he held in his hand. Shirou pointed at the piece of rubble which had contained the sword and concentrated. He brought to bear every lesson McGonagall had taught them, all the hours he’d spent practising, and the certainty that, in the end, he could do this because it was what he was.

Luck, fate, or stubbornness was with him - the stone became exactly what he required. He dropped his wand, picked up the Transfigured weapon, and positioned himself as he paired it with the sword.

The basilisk burst free of the rubble with a horrific grinding of stone, and a matching hiss of fury. Its head whipped back and forth, scenting, trying to locate the stubborn prey that had so maddeningly eluded it - that had hurt it.

Shirou intoned in a full voice, “I am the bone of my sword.”

The effect was immediate. The basilisk looped over on itself and lunged, letting gravity and weight as much as muscle propel it forward. Clearly, it meant to strike before he could move out of its way. But Shirou had no intention of doing that.

Staring into the gaping, fang-rimmed maw of his target, the boy who would be Archer loosed his arrow . . .

. . . And the Sword of Gryffindor buried itself in the roof of the basilisk’s mouth.

The great serpent jerked upward at the impact, its momentum disrupted. It wavered back and forth, unsteadily, as its primitive nervous system attempted to convey the notion that its brain currently had a length of sharpened metal lodged in it. As a reptile, it was capable of remaining unaware of death for a length of time . . . But it was dead, and eventually yielded to that fact, crashing to the floor of the Chamber. Shirou winced as a piece of stone from the broken walkway dug a bloody furrow across his cheekbone, just under his left eye.

Ow! That bloody stings - but considering the alternative, I’ll take it.

Exhaustion abruptly hit Shirou like a twenty-pound sledgehammer. He felt like he would cheerfully sleep for a week, if somebody would let him. Adrenaline crash, he realised. Despite the feeling, he staggered over to where he’d hidden the Weasleys and snatched the cloak off them, folding it back up and storing it in a robe pocket.

Duster’s ruined, and it’s not even two months old, yet. Takara is going to kill me.

“Was that an invisibility cloak?” Ginny asked. “I didn’t know you had an invisibility cloak!”

“I don’t - I borrowed this one,” Shirou said. “And no one knows about it, understand?”

Ginny’s eyes widened, and she nodded solemnly.

“How’s your brother?” he asked wearily.

“As . . . As well as might be expected,” Percy said sombrely. “I have a great deal to answer for. I expect I’ll be in Azkaban by this time tomorrow.” His tone was flat, but his complexion was ashen.

“Maybe,” Shirou muttered. “Maybe not.” He picked up the remaining, untainted portion of Takara’s duster, walked over to the dead basilisk, carefully reached into its mouth, and using the dragonhide as a protective barrier, ripped both the sword and the diary from where they were impaled. The sizzling venom ate more of the coat away, but Shirou was able to retrieve both items safely and tuck them into his belt.

“The . . . ICW - is in charge,” Shirou said, finding it hard to concentrate - God, he was tired. “Not . . . British. Might - avoid A . . . Az . . . Azka . . .That.”

“Are you OK?” Ginny asked.

“Tired,” Shirou wheezed. “Fight took a lot out of me.”

Percy raised a sardonic eyebrow as he surveyed the corpse of the basilisk. “No doubt.”

“Not sure - how we - get out,” Shirou admitted.

Percy’s face was grim. “The Chamber has multiple exits, assuming one doesn’t mind climbing through the piping. In your state, I’m not sure how likely the possibility is.”

Shirou resisted the urge to just collapse. Had he gone through all this, just to be trapped down here? Damn it, he’d managed to kill both the Horcrux and the snake - didn’t he deserve even a little break?

With a rumbling of stone, patterns began forming in the wall. Familiar patterns, shaping themselves into the form of an elaborate door. With a grinding of stone and a creak of metal hinges, it opened to reveal . . .

Hermione, Neville, Luna, and Fred and George, all with wands out and ready for battle.

“Oh!” Hermione said with a blink. “You’re all right . . . You are, aren’t you?”

Shirou stared at them. “Guys, don’t ever think I’m not glad to see you - but what the hell are you doing here?”

“When Takara came into the Hospital Wing and said she’d had to let you go on alone, I thought you’d need help,” Hermione explained. “So I went back to Gryffindor Tower . . .”

“And we were up for anything that involved rescuing our wayward sibs,” Fred said with a grin.

“Weasleys stick together,” George added.

“So do friends,” Neville said solemnly. “And we’re supposed to be Gryffindors.”

“The real trick,” Hermione said, “was figuring out how to get to you. We couldn’t take a large group down seven floors of the castle to Myrtle’s bathroom without being spotted, so we needed another way in - and I have to admit, Luna had a brilliant idea.”

The tiny blonde girl blushed. “There was already a room on the same floor that would give us whatever we needed, after all. All we had to do was tell it we needed a door to the Chamber of Secrets.” She shrugged. “It was only common sense.”

Shirou stared at her, slack-jawed. He could only think of one response to that, and it ran through his head with the force of prophecy.

Galen is going to be screaming at himself for weeks for not thinking of that.

[Kieran]

DISCLAIMER: Lunar Legend Tsukihime, Fate/Stay Night, and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of Kinoko Nasu and Type-Moon, along with anyone who's happened to license them, like Geneon or Funimation. Harry Potter and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of J.K. Rowling, along with her publishers and Warner Bros., as regards the movie material.

This is a not-for-profit, just-for-fun project.



Writer's Note: Certain dialogue sequences in this story are lifted from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, but I trust in the intelligence of my readers (and the availability of the books) to recognise them when they see them.



Chapter 23 - Three Visits



February 20, 1993






Air rushed into his lungs, and the world went dark. For a moment, the terror running through his system climbed even higher, until the utter absence of sound, or sight, registered with his conscious mind. There was nothing there that should frighten him . . . At that thought, long, delicate fingers began stroking his hair, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

But as time passed, and no further contact was forthcoming, he paused his panic again to consider the sensation. He didn’t like being touched, and whoever was doing this was obviously aware of that - the contact, while intimate, was so light as to be almost imperceptible, as delicate as a spider’s web. It was comforting, without being too close. There were only a few people who would know - and know how - to do this for him.

“Mom?” he tried, and his voice was a dry, rusted croak. He had trouble hearing it clearly - but from the immediate response, his caregiver obviously didn’t.

“Not quite, chevalier.” A deep but feminine voice, not whiskey-soaked husky like Urara Takano’s, but smooth, like dark honey. Michelle Ruff in her more ironically amused moments. A moment later, a small ball of blue flame appeared, cupped in an ivory hand. It illuminated eyes of a matching hue, and long, silver-blonde hair.

“Godmother,” Galen acknowledged. He considered shaking his head, but gave it up as a bad idea - he felt too tired to move if he didn’t have to. “Ilya’s Germanic, you’re Slavic, more or less - I’ve never understood why you use the French form of that title.”

“In my own case, I find it appropriate for one born under the sign of the Horseman,” Arcueid informed him, and even if he hadn’t been watching her face, he would’ve heard her smile as she said, “I believe my niece simply finds it prettier.”

He chuckled despite himself, and winced.

“You have done yourself great damage, chevalier - again,” Arcueid said in a severe tone. “Though, as ought to be obvious, you have done so in a noble, and successful, pursuit.”

“Ciel?” he croaked.

“She is well, and awake,” Arcueid confirmed. “You are the last of the victims to be restored - Takara insisted you would be most wrathful, if it was otherwise.”

“She knows me well.”

“She does - and my goddaughter has asked me to inform you that your Valentine’s gift, while thoughtful, will not save you from her wrath, for frightening her so.” Her lips formed that smile he’d come to know so well - amusement at the antics of her children. “I believe Miss Granger is helping her devise an appropriate punishment, though she seemed quite pleased by gift, as well.”

So the roses were delivered - good. Luna and Ginny had gotten one each, Hermione and Takara two. The younger girls’ were white, for purity and innocence, in the hopes that their new relationship as his friends might continue. The elder girls’ had received peach roses, for sincerity, devotion and friendship, and his gratitude for both. All of the flowers were blooming buds, symbolically appropriate for girls too young for the more intimate forms of love.

“How long was I out?” I remember the Mandrake Draughts being ready at the end of the year, so that means something like four months’ worth of class work to catch up on?

“A week,” Arcueid supplied.

“A week? I thought the Mandrakes - ”

“The ones in the school greenhouses are not yet mature,” Arcueid agreed, “but were you not taught that it is a powerful restorative, for a wide variety of transfigurations and curses? St. Mungo’s Hospital does keep a supply on hand.” Her voice chilled, and the fire in her hand burned correspondingly brighter. “And as Albus Dumbledore can no longer keep the attacks at Hogwarts quiet, requisitioning some was a simple matter of paperwork for the Security Division.”

“About the attacks . . .” Galen trailed off, hesitating. Arcueid, like the rest of the adults, wasn’t in the know about what they knew. If he wanted information on what was really happening, he’d have to ask Takara or Shirou - not that it sounded like Takara would be in a forthcoming mood.

Arcueid smiled. “All is well - though I expect you will wish confirmation of that. Your friends have asked to be informed when you awoke, and I shall do so now.” Her expression turned stern. “With strict instructions that they are not to tire you unduly, nor release your wand to you until I have deemed you strong enough to retrieve it. Nor are you to try and sway them - you have quite exhausted yourself, however successfully you achieved your task.”

“My wand?” Galen blinked, only now realising that the length of lignum vitae he’d had clenched in his hand moments ago - or so it felt like - was gone.

“Safe in Takara’s care,” Arcueid assured him. “And it responds to her touch nearly as it does to yours. It is a rare thing, for a wizard’s wand to serve so well, or so willingly, in another’s hand.” She gave him an insinuating smile. “The wielders’ magic must be very compatible, for it to be so.”

He closed his eyes and sighed. Arcueid had been playing matchmaker for her goddaughter since they were children. Being Veela, she felt no need to restrain herself to simple smiles and looks about it, either. But it was a patently ridiculous idea. Sure, Takara was beautiful, intelligent, kind, principled, and skilled - admirable and attractive traits, all of them. But what the hell would she ever want with him?

“Regardless of our potential compatibility,” Galen said carefully, “of which I harbour doubts, I feel I must remind you that her parents are two of the scariest people I know. I am quite sure that, however accepting they are of me as Takara’s schoolmate, and even as a friend of the family, their views of me as a potential romantic interest for their daughter will be in the resoundingly negative range.”

Arcueid’s response to that statement as she left the room was chilling, because it was absolutely the last thing he’d ever expected her to do.

She laughed.






Takara entered the room first, followed by Hermione. Galen stared at them from his bed, then paled slightly. She could read it on his face - he knew there was no one else coming. He was trapped with the two of them - and Arcueid had obviously made good on her promise to deliver the message Takara had given her.

His voice, however, was quite steady as he drawled, “Let me guess - I get a kiss and a shot to the groin again?”

Hermione whipped her head around to stare at Takara, eyes wide. “‘Again?’”

Takara felt her face flush, angry to find herself suddenly on the defensive when she’d been prepared to take a strip off his hide.

“I have a knife, now - and a wand,” she retorted, holding his in plain view. “In fact, I have two. I could make it so you’d prefer I knee you in the crotch.”

“Point. Or, you could just tell me what I missed.”

“After you scared me half to death, you mean.” Takara glared at him. “I thought you were dead.”

“Not for the first time,” he pointed out.

“No,” she agreed, “but when it be the last time, Galen? When will you finally stop risking your life - or take one chance too many, and stop having a life to risk?”

Now it was his turn to get angry. “What was I supposed to do, Takara? Walk away and let it attack your mother?!”

She flushed deeper. “Of course not!”

“Then what, Takara?” he said tiredly. “I barely had time to try what I did - if I’d yelled out a warning instead, we’d both be dead.”

“I . . .” She paused, and tried again. “I just wish you didn’t have to get hurt.”

He looked at her, and she saw something flash through his eyes - but she couldn’t read what it was. His voice, however, was softer.

“I keep forgetting that you had a normal life before all this,” he said quietly. “That you’re still not used to dealing with life-and-death battles on a regular basis, or supernatural creatures, the way your parents are. I forget how scared you were, when it all started.” He shook his head slightly. “I wish I could say things will be peaceful - but you know they won’t, Takara. Not on this world, not at this time. The Blood War is starting up again, unless we can stop it. People will be hurt, and people will die - and I can’t guarantee that one of them won’t be me.”

“I know . . . But I don’t have to like it.” She took a deep breath. “I’m glad you’re all right - and next time, take someone with you. We’re supposed to be a team, and you wouldn’t get hurt nearly as often, or as badly, if you’d trust us to work with you.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Galen said, and Takara left. As she reached the hallway, she head Hermione ask, “You really care about her, don’t you?”

Takara quickened her pace, not wanting to hear his answer. He would either tell Hermione that he loved her, or that he didn’t . . . And it was a testament to the confusion of her feelings right now that she couldn’t decide which response would be worse.






Shirou had barely sat down by the hospital bed before Galen said simply, “Tell me what happened.”

“Takara didn’t tell you?”

“No. What happened?”

Shirou gave him as much detail as he could remember.

“Damn it, I should’ve thought of using that way into the Chamber,” he muttered. “I only read the damned book once, that’s the problem. I couldn’t stand to read it again.” He shook his head. “Never mind - what happened afterwards?”

Shirou said, “Well, let’s see - I remembered you mentioning the Horcrux in the Room of Requirement, so I hacked out a fang, got to the Room, had it reconfigured, and stabbed the diadem - so we’re actually a Horcrux ahead of the game. We got back to McGonagall’s office, and I earned about a hundred points for Gryffindor for ‘bravery, daring, and skill.’ You and Takara managed twenty points apiece for your help, and apparently we’ll all be getting awards for ‘special services to the school.’ I was nearly killed by a hug from Ginny and Percy’s mother - ”

“Yeah, she does that.”

“And I turned over the remains of the Horcrux to my dad, when he arrived with the ICW contingent. They’re taking it, and the basilisk carcass - apparently, I’m going to be getting some bounty money out of killing the thing. They’re not just dangerous, their component parts are valuable and rare, too.”

“How much?”

“Depends on what can be gotten for it.”

“All right. And after that?”

“Takara’s dad took her mom to do a debriefing and full medical checkup,” Shirou said. “They’re currently on stress leave together - but Aozaki-sensei will be back to continue teaching Defence for the rest of the semester.” He took a deep breath. “The ICW is still investigating, but based on preliminary findings, Dumbledore’s in a lot of trouble.”

“Malfoy got his wish, then - Dumbledore out of the school.”

“Maybe, but he’s not enjoying it,” Shirou said with a smirk. “When Ginny and Percy went missing, the Board recalled him, handing over evidence of threats against the governors by Malfoy to get him removed in the first place. That’s causing the Security Division to look at him pretty hard - and he’s been suspended from the board, pending the results of their investigation.”

“You may want to mention a close look at the drawing room in Malfoy Manor to your dad,” Galen said. “I think there’s supposed to be a hidden door in the floor.”

Shirou’s smirk widened. “Will do. On the other hand, while Dumbledore’s back at the board’s request, there’s every possibility he won’t be reinstated as Headmaster - too many errors in his handling of the affair.”

“The man’s charismatic, and revered in Britain - I’d wager he’ll be back,” Galen grumbled. “What about the Weasleys?”

“No legal trouble for the family - with the Horcrux as evidence, it’s obvious Percy wasn’t in control of himself. It’s just a matter of discovering where it came from, and in the meantime, Dumbledore’s stirring up the Wizengamot, using the attacks as evidence for the need for Mr. Weasley’s Muggle Protection Act.”

“Oh, the Malfoys will love that,” Galen chuckled.

Shirou’s smirk became positively evil as he replied, “Yeah.” His expression sobered. “As for the Weasley kids, Percy’s shaken, understandably. The thing used his ambitions against him, and he got a good look at the kind of path they could lead him down.”

Unspoken was the fact that Shirou himself had experience with that kind of experience - plugged into his head was the memory of meeting himself as Archer, and the confrontations that had resulted.

“And Ginny?” Galen asked.

Shirou hesitated.

“What?” Galen demanded sharply. “Was she hurt?”

“No . . .”

“Then what?”

“. . . She won’t look straight at me,” he said finally. “She keeps blushing every time I catch her eye, she seems to be there every time I turn around . . .”

Shirou trailed off, seeing the widening grin on Galen’s face, and said sourly, “Yeah, I knew you’d react like that.”

“How could I not?” Galen retorted with a laugh. “A year and a half of putting up with your jibes about Hermione and Takara, and now you’ve got a little red-haired shadow of your own! Karma is finally working in my favour - and I’m going to savour every second of it!” He burst into almost five solid minutes of laughter.

“She’s a kid!” Shirou protested.

“I know! And just wait ‘til her mother cottons on!” More laughter.

“You’re a bastard.”

Galen’s laughter subsided. “Tell me about the Chamber again.”

“Why?”

“I’ve missed an awful lot of obvious things this year - I want to make sure I don’t screw up again.”

Shirou recited the tale again, from the time Ginny and Percy were taken. When he’d finished, Galen was frowning.

“What is it?” Shirou asked.

“We missed a lot, this year,” Galen muttered. “The Room’s a big one, but it’s not the only one - and some of it was really obvious. But more than that, it’s the parallels. Hermione discovers the basilisk’s nature, and how it gets around, but is Petrified before she can tell anyone. Ron and Harry go down to save Ginny, but Ron’s trapped, and Harry’s forced to go on alone . . .”

He looked up at Shirou. “The details are different, but the pattern’s the same. For everything we did, and tried to do, nothing really changed. More to the point, things we could have done to make things change didn’t even occur to us, even though they should have. The pattern not only didn’t change, despite our efforts, it’s almost as though it can’t be.”

Galen concluded, very softly, “And if nothing can be changed - if nothing we know, nothing we do, can make any real difference in how this all turns out . . . Then what is the point of us?”

Shirou countered, “Things are different. We’ve made some changes - ”

“Little things,” Galen spat. “Lockhart’s memories are still intact, and his reputation, relatively so. Dobby’s still enslaved to the Malfoys. And Dumbledore, who for all his faults is considered the most powerful wizard in the world, and someone the Death Eaters fear - even more than originally, given his defeat of Voldemort - is gone from Hogwarts, removing a major deterrent against open attacks.” He shook his head. “That argues that, what little we have managed to change, we’ve actually made worse. And if that’s all we can do . . . Then why try?”

Shirou was silent for several moments. He recognised the signs of a major depressive episode coming - but more than that, he recognised the point at which Galen found himself. This was the moment he had reached, long ago - a time when he found that all he’d done, all he’d sacrificed, meant nothing. Was ultimately for nothing. This was the moment when Emiya Shirou had become Archer.

Emiya Shirou had turned him from that path, once. He hoped Shirou Einzbern could do the same for his friend.

“If we had never come here,” Shirou said carefully, “what would have happened? Think carefully - use that imagination of yours, and tell me every detail.”

“Hermione would be dead,” Galen said tonelessly. It was no surprise to either of them that the first major detail to spring to mind was that. “Dumbledore would’ve tried manipulating Neville into playing the prophecy boy - and probably failed. Neville as he was last year wasn’t adventurous enough to do what Harry did without being forced to. Even if he did, Neville wasn’t confident or - and I’m sorry to say this, but it’s true - competent enough to survive it. Voldemort would’ve likely had the Stone, and revived, but even if Dumbledore stopped him, he’d have considered the prophecy fulfilled with Neville’s death, and the magical world doomed. He might have fought, but his heart wouldn’t have been in it. Sooner or later, Voldemort would win.”

“You keep judging this world by the one in the books, or the movies,” Shirou said sharply, “but it’s not the same world. There are people here that aren’t in that reality - and people there who aren’t here. That future you just described? That’s what this place was heading to, before we came. That is why we try to change things. We may not be able to make everything better than you remember it being, but we’ll try - and if we can’t, we’ll settle for ‘as good as.’ Because as much as you hate the world the books and movies describe, for this world, the alternative - what this place will be, if we don’t try - is so much worse than even that.”

Now it was Galen’s turn to be silent.

Finally, Shirou said, “Now, enough of this depressing crap! I killed a giant snake, saved the school, and finally got to use a real weapon. Granted, the Sword of Gryffindor isn’t a katana, or a Noble Phantasm - but it’s better than a stick.”

Galen snorted. “I’ll bet they were surprised to see you with that.”

Shirou chuckled. “Yeah - I thought McGonagall’s eyes were going to pop out of her head. Even Dumbledore looked surprised. He stopped dead when he saw me, and -” A memory came back to him. “Oh yeah, he muttered something. I could barely hear it, but I think I made it out. It sounds familiar, but I can’t place it - and it didn’t make a lot of sense, so maybe I heard it wrong.”

“Try me,” Galen said.

“‘Mark him as his equal,’” Shirou recited. “Does that make any sense to you? . . . Galen, why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?”

To Be Continued in Trinity: The Prisoner

[lethum]

all the hours he’d spent practising, and the certainty that, in the end, he could do this because it was what he [i]was.]/i]

A wild nitpick has appeared!

[Kieran]

Fixed!

. . . Curses. I actually thought I'd gotten them all this time - even those bloody asterisks that pop up for who-knows-what reason. It's a good thing somebody pays attention.

[lethum]

Odd. That it's me who is paying attention, I mean.

[Kieran]

Not usually a trait attributed to you, I take it?

[lethum]

Yup, as far as I've let everyone know.

[Ergast]

As with the first one, as good as I remembered, if not better. I just finished the book, and you could give a run for her money to Rowling, Kieran (that's the expresion, isn't it?)

The thing is, now that I had read earlier the story, I paid more attention to the little details, and that makes me find things I missed the first time. Like Galen watching at Shirou's new scar in his cheek. Or imagine scenarios for some alternatives or futures (thinking about Shiki terrifying, or at least trying, Shirou if Takara at the end choses him was funny, going from Shirou utterly scared of mr God of death to Shiki trying to cope with the idea that maybe traumatizing Shirou isn't that good if only because Kiritsugu can be as terrifying as him, by example)

Also, Mrs. Weasley and Ginny attemp of murder in Shirou by big hug at a wounded teenager (a hug when you have your ribs bruised is a bitch, so having it broken...) was even funnier this second time, or Ginny as a little fox tackling our red-headed hero.

In short, well done, sir.

[Kieran]

Thanks. And now for round three . . .