[FF] Trinity VII: The Twilight (Type-Moon/Harry Potter X-over)

[Kieran]

I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar with it . . .

*Quick Wiki-check*

. . . And that looks ludicrously complicated.

[hatori]

and if u add in 2B and 9S.... imagine Hermione and Takara's reaction to Galen becoming the reincarnation of 9S. xD

".... that T& A."
"Galen is so dead."

[Kieran]

and if u add in 2B and 9S.... imagine Hermione and Takara's reaction to Galen becoming the reincarnation of 9S. xD

".... that T& A."
"Galen is so dead."

*Glances up*

. . . Wow, I've never seen a reference fly that far over my head before.

[hatori]

It's basically about the new Neir: Automata.

[Kieran]

*Reads Wikipedia entry*

. . . Yeah, waaaay too complicated . . .

[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 Deathly Hallows, but I trust in the intelligence of my readers (and the availability of the books) to recognise them.




Chapter 78 – Opening Salvos




May 2, 1998






“Everyone’s accounted for, and our snipers are in position,” Neville Longbottom reported. “And Shirou and Luna both say that all the traps they can lay are set.”

“Excellent,” Minerva McGonagall, once again Headmistress – if unofficially – replied. “Then it falls to me to set our final line of defence. Cover your ears, Mister Longbottom.” Tapping her throat with the tip of her wand, she murmured, “Sonorus.”

Then, raising both voice and wand, she cried in full voice, “PIERTOTUM LOCOMOTOR!”

All across the castle, human statues and suits of armour shivered, as though struck by the sheer force of her words, before springing to life and attention, weapons held at parade rest. The claws of gargoyles and other beasts dug deeper into the perches as hitherto-nonexistent muscles tensed warily, predatory gazes steady, but seeking. The serpents which adorned the door to the Chamber of Secrets writhed, silvery heads rising from their usual position to bristle and snap warningly.

And even in the furthest depths of the Black Lake, the effect of her call was felt as the massive statue in the centre of the merpeople’s village flexed its tail and heaved itself loose from its base.

“Hogwarts is in jeopardy!” she announced. “Do your duty to the school – defend us, and our home!”

“Finite incantatem,” the elder witch murmured, sounding as though she stage-whispered it, even as she cancelled the amplification spell. She made certain that it had been before allowing a grin to tug at the corners of her mouth, and admitting quietly, “I’ve always wanted to use that spell.”

“I can’t blame you, Professor,” the young wizard murmured, equally quietly. “That was something to see.” After a beat, he added, “And, professor – thank you for giving the centaurs, ghosts, house-elves, and merpeople credit in your orders.”

At her inquiring look, he explained, “You could simply have ordered the suits to protect the school, or the students.”

“And that, Mister Longbottom,” she said tartly, “would have been a terrible waste of a great many years. Not only this year, in which I have seen with my own eyes the results of a world ruled by cruelty and unthinking ignorance, but years in which both Albus Dumbledore and your cohort have spent enormous amounts of time and energy working to improve the standards of behaviour and relations within our society.

“With an admittedly small, but nevertheless remarkable amount of success on your parts, I might point out,” she added. “I expect that if you can achieve these results while still in school, you will do the magical world a great service over your lifetimes, Mister Longbottom. And while I’m quite certain that Helga Hufflepuff would have proud to claim you as her own, she could be no prouder than I am that you are Gryffindors.”

The lad blushed, and she smiled for a moment – before the ground started to tremble . . .

She forced her face into its strictest mask. “It’s begun – and if all our plans are correct, this, too will be something to see . . .”






It was, Shirou had to admit, a terror-inspiring sight. Half a dozen giants in full charge towards the castle sent a literally earth-shaking roar ahead of them; the product of both their roaring voices, and the sheer pounding of their steps. Really, a herd of dinosaurs couldn’t have produced the effect better, and it spoke volumes to the small, vulnerable mammalian instincts in the back of his hindbrain, mainly pages that had “Run! HIDE!” scribbled on them.

In Shirou’s specific case, it brought on Berserker flashbacks – worse, really, because it sounded like there were six of him coming at them right now – and he could only imagine how the people in the rest of the castle felt about it. But he had little doubt that they felt much better, seeing the blue dome of Hogwarts’ protections materialise as they slammed into it; at seeing those protections hold even as they pounded on it with all their fury.

And for himself . . . Well, Shirou was relieved, but he knew, as most of the others probably did not, that those enchantments wouldn’t hold – not with the giants both attacking them and providing cover for the Death Eaters to do the same. Riddle might not have the Elder Wand, this time, but even when he wasn’t its master, he’d proven powerful enough to bring them down.

Granted, the sheer craftsmanship of the Elder Wand might have something to do with it; master or not, it was a Noble Phantasm, if this world had any, and that made it an excellent one for any witch or wizard, let alone Riddle. But even in the Deathstick’s absence, Riddle had an appropriate substitute: the giants were a hell of a force multiplier, combining brute strength and mass with their inherent magic resistance as they did.

In short, the defences would fall, sooner or later – that was a given. It was simply a matter of when . . .

Of course, Shirou mused, the advantage to having a ghostly spy network that could inform you of your enemy’s plans is that you can prepare for them.

Only the fact that his eyes were as good as they were allowed him to spot the Disillusioned broomstick riders, rising from the castle. The younger trio had done well: working with the Order of the Phoenix over the course of the year, they’d managed to recruit several former Hogwarts students along with current ones. That included excellent flyers like the Gryffindor Quidditch team under Oliver Wood, and the Hufflepuff one under Cedric Diggory; flyers that now launched from the tops of the towers, armed with their wands – and Bludgers.

Not just any Bludgers, mind you – these Bludgers had been modified by himself and the Weasley twins. Firstly, those pesky little “safety” charms had been removed, allowing them to fly at speeds far beyond even the ludicrous ones allowed in Quidditch. Secondly, the Bludgers themselves had been further enchanted with an Unbreakable Charm, and to seek out the giants as their targets. And finally, they’d been coated with the last of his stygium paint, in a runic chain that let them temporarily store a particular spell, before releasing all of its power at once: in this case, the Banishment Charm.

Granted, the Bludgers were about the size of a grain of sand, in comparison to the giants; but like a grain of sand, if it hit hard enough, it could really sting – or actually do serious damage, if directed at the right target.

Eyes accustomed to spotting a Golden Snitch from a hundred feet in the air tracked it when the eight Bludgers were released, but even Shirou had trouble tracking them once they got moving. Which, considering that he was able to track the Snitch at a Firebolt’s top speed of a hundred miles an hour, was saying something; only the lack of sonic booms let him believe that they stayed within Mach 1.

Small as they were, at that speed, the effects of their impacts were immediate. Even if they were no greater than a bee sting, or even just a small, sharp pinprick to a giant, the sudden jolt of pain caused each of them to jump away from the defence barrier. And when the jolts kept coming, from sources too fast – and far too small – for them to see . . .

Well, it really shouldn’t have surprised him that the giants turned on the only possible source of them they could conceive of.

Watching as the giants – now maddened by pain and perceived treachery on top of the bloodlust that had originally driven them – thundered in the opposite direction towards Riddle’s forces, Luna’s voice echoed his thoughts from the mirror as she stated, “. . . You know, in hindsight, we probably should have seen that coming.”

Shirou couldn’t resist needling her with a dry remark of his own. “Are you complaining?”

“Not at all – it saves us some basilisk-venom arrows, after all . . . Though it does mean that we won’t need Plan B, either. Galen will probably sulk at the loss of his dramatic moment; he does so love his theatrical flourishes.”

“In this particular case, not in the least, Luna,” was the wizard’s sudden and fervent response. “As much fun as it might have been tossing lightning bolts at the giants from the back of Takara’s broomstick, I much prefer—”

Whatever Galen had been about to say, he suddenly cut himself off. Not that it mattered, since Shirou’s attention had been wholly taken up, equally suddenly, by the same sight that had distracted the older wizard.

The Dementors had been released.

It was like watching a cloud of flies suddenly swarming over a dead carcass; at the very least, the scale was much the same, given the size of Dementors relative to the giants. The shrouded forms of the demons swept across them, swirled around them, and while their collective auras chilled the air so deeply that Shirou could feel the cold from where he was standing, it seemed to do little more than incite the already-infuriated giants to further riot. They roared louder, massive arms scything through the air, as though trying to bat away the Dementors – and where those arms connected, the demons were sent flying.

“Somehow, I don’t think Riddle planned that, either,” Ginny commented. “. . . I honestly didn’t think that anything could stand up to a Dementor – never mind so many of them . . .”

“Stand up to, yes,” Galen replied – and as their Dark creature expert, all of them listened. “Win against them, no. The giants’ innate magic and mass will give them some edge; the Dementors are vulnerable to physical force beyond a certain point, as Kiritsugu proved with those mines, and their relatively simple intellects mean that the Dementors will have difficulty incapacitating the giants – as a rule, giants aren’t too much smarter than, say, gorillas. Add to that that the despair the Dementors can conjure up can feed the rage the giants are currently feeling, and that the Bludgers won’t help, either, and I can safely say that they’re in for one hell of a fight.

“. . . But just based on sheer numbers, the Dementors are going to win,” he concluded grimly. “There are dozens, if not hundreds of them, and only six giants. It’ll take a while, and possibly a lot of casualties, but they will win – and then, they’ll come for us.”

Galen paused, before asking, “I suppose it’s too much to ask that you three managed to teach everyone the Patronus Charm?”

“Teach them, yes,” Neville answered, consciously or unconsciously mimicking the style of Galen’s earlier response as he did so. “Whether or not they can do it under these conditions . . .”

“We have Fawkes on our side,” Luna pointed out. “Phoenix song, amplified, will hold them at bay, and bolster our own emotions – we might even be able to drive them off entirely.”

“That’s an awfully big risk to bet on ‘might,’ Luna,” Hermione said uneasily. “If it doesn’t work—”

“It’s irrelevant,” Shirou broke in, “because the problem’s already been handled.” Waiting a beat for their stunned silence to pass, he explained, “Come on, guys – did you really think that Ilya and our mother have spent all these months doing nothing but babysit?”






From the castle towers, they erupted, streaking across the sky like comets; luminous, winged beings that hurled themselves at the approaching shadowy swarm. Their cries were songs of fury and battle, as pure and clear as crystal, accompanied by a heartwarming melody which melded the two songs into seamless harmony. The fire they hurled against their enemies was as hot and unrelenting as the desert sun, and they blazed against the night like wildfire incarnate, with all the beauty and terror that such a thing could inspire.

No man who saw them could fail to think of angels, or the Valkyries of legend, when they beheld them . . . Or at least, no lesser man. Lord Voldemort, who was as far beyond men as wizardkind was above Muggles, beheld that fiery host, those Veela, and felt a far different reaction.

And that reaction was a black, seething fury.

Its cause was more than the agonising pain that drilled through his ears, driving many of the lesser among them to their knees (the song of that infernal phoenix of Dumbledore’s. How had it remained, when its master was dead?). It was even more seeing his forces driven back once more – more than even seeing it accomplished by the hated Veela, who had given that man’s daughter the power to stir even him when he’d been caught unawares . . .

No, it was that once more, these gnats were staying his advance through tricks and traps, because they knew they lacked the power to stand against him; they knew that he was their superior, if it should ever came to a direct confrontation . . .

And the worst of it was that it. Was. Working! AGAIN!

Distantly, Lord Voldemort recalled a fragment of a saying that had been popular in the orphanage, during the Blitz: something about using a grenade to swat flies. The gist of its meaning was implied to be that such extreme methods were wasteful, dangerous, and wholly unnecessary – but at the moment, he thought such measures were precisely appropriate. No longer would he hold himself back; no longer would he be content to wait, and allow tools or time to do the work that was now blatantly apparent to be his alone to accomplish.

Before now, he had been content to allow his forces to take the lead in the attack, to encourage their sense of alliance, and invincibility, but now he gathered all of his power, and with it, all of his hatred; and with a cry that was as much exertion as rage, he hurled it at the castle.

The bolt was as wide as he was, the same acid-green hue as the Killing Curse, and it struck Hogwarts’ defences with a blinding flash, and a roar that put the mightiest of dragons to shame . . .

When the dazzle effect faded from his eyes, he saw the enchantments illuminated by the remnants of clashing energies; they covered Hogwarts in a pale blue dome that was very nearly opaque in its intensity. And then, they began to burn away – as though the dome was made of paper, rather than magic, and he’d set it alight. Slowly but surely, the protections which had surrounded the castle were being consumed, crumbling into a quickly-vanishing ash.

A stunned silence permeated the battlefield; even the phoenix had gone silent. None could dare to speak, or even breathe, at the sight of enchantments which had lasted for over a millennium – defences created by the Four Founders themselves – were laid to waste by the sheer power of Lord Voldemort . . .

And as the last spark of magic drifted away, he took a brief moment to savor that reaction, before giving his forces their orders.

“Kill them all.”






Ginny clenched her hands into fists as the command echoed across the battlefield. Her nails dug into her palms with just barely insufficient force to draw blood, as primal, hungry howls filled the air in response, drawing her mind back to similar circumstances the year before. The howls came from human, not lupine throats, and the merest glance at the sky was all that was needed to confirm that it was not a full moon . . .

But the werewolves were on the hunt, regardless.

And while they were in human form, their movement patterns read as wrong to Ginny’s eyes: they had the hunched-over, knuckle-dragging posture of a gorilla or other primate, rather than a sprinting human. Unfortunately, her eyesight wasn’t good enough to provide any details that might help her understand why they were behaving so oddly; Galen had never moved like that, after all—

She blinked, as the same year-old memories rose up to correct her. He had, in fact, moved like that, once – the night that the Burrow was under attack, and he’d taken that modified Wolfsbane Potion.

I don’t believe it, she thought. Riddle figured out how to modify the potion to produce that transformation on demand?

In the back of her mind, Ginny was impressed. She was good at Potions (between her mother’s and Snape’s personalities, she’d had to be), and she had more knowledge of the Wolfsbane Potion than most people who didn’t specialise in the field. As such, she knew exactly how hard it was to modify any potion effectively, much less one as inherently complex (and potentially lethal) as that one. Add to that the fact that Snape was dead, depriving the Death Eaters of their default brewer (and genius), and that they had personally done everything they could to destroy the Ministry’s available resources, and the accomplishment was just shy of miraculous.

The results of said accomplishment, however, were very much the opposite of miraculous – and had the rest of Ginny’s mind momentarily gibbering in panic.

As they loped closer, she – and most of the rest of those observing from the castle – could make out the clothes that had been torn by the sudden expansion of hirsute, muscular forms. They could see how the moonlight glinted off the razor points of jutting fangs, and how effortlessly the werewolves’ clawed digits carved out divots of the ground as they passed over it. And worst of all, they could see the cruel intelligence, almost but not quite outshone by the madness blazing furiously alongside it in their red eyes.

Galen was right, that same impressed part in the back of her mind noted. They really do kind of look like Lon Chaney Junior as the Wolf Man under that potion.

And that, she supposed, only made things all the funnier when they hit the first set of traps; bear traps, to be precise – unfortunately, without his diplomatic credentials, Kiritsugu had been unable to acquire mines. Still, while the werewolves were strong enough to pry them open, the pain of their injuries (and particularly, the aconite coating the traps’ jaws) would slow them down in doing so. And that, of course, left them open to the second stage of the trap . . .

Arrows abruptly rained down on the immobile werewolves, turning them into a plethora of fur-covered pincushions. Which poison they were tipped with, Ginny couldn’t be sure – but with the aconite already weakening them, almost anything would be virulent enough to kill them. Not that the Death Eaters could know any of that; the volley had been launched from the Forbidden Forest, too far deep for any sign of archers to be seen – and the arrows themselves were all-but-invisible in the night sky.

To anyone watching, it would seem as though the werewolves had simply sprouted arrows, and died.

As it had moments before, silence reigned over the field for a moment, as the gathered armies took that in. For her own part, the redhead found herself releasing a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding, but now, she felt a bit more confidence in their ability to win. Yes, Riddle was a frightening beast of a Dark wizard, (and that was probably understating things), but they’d known that already. And in the end, he was only one wizard; he still needed numbers on his side in order to win; even Riddle knew it, though he likely interpreted it as needing minions for the busywork of ruling, and lesser beings to rule over.

And the death toll that had arisen from their little trap had just proven that they were prepared and able to handle those numbers, no matter what surprises Riddle threw at them.

Ginny smiled. It was amazing what you could accomplish when you had a Herbology expert, a renowned assassin, and an expert on canine senses at hand; she felt a small glow of pride at the accomplishment. Granted, they hadn’t actually expected to be facing transformed werewolves, but she’d had a good idea of what they could sense, and how they’d react to it, and thus, how to conceal the traps. Luna had been handy in advising the centaurs, as well.

And we couldn’t have done it without them, she admitted. Who else would try to hit a target in front of them by aiming at the sky? Maybe Shirou could’ve made a shot like that, but only him . . .

Apparently having regained their momentum, the werewolves were sent to attack again; more of them, this time. Not all of them were transformed (apparently, there was a limit to how much of his wonder potion even Riddle could produce), but Ginny knew what they were. Their overall shabbiness reminded her of Professor Lupin in her second year, Kitsune read lupine body language in some of their movements – and really, after all this time around Galen, she bloody well ought to know a werewolf when she saw one!

Still, the move was an understandable one: having tripped their traps, he was trying to leverage his numbers advantage. Even Transfiguration could only create so many traps and arrows, and there were only so many people who could fire them. She knew better than most how resilient werewolves were (again, really . . .), and once they could get within range, they were very well-equipped to eliminate the source of the problem.

Specifically, centaurs could outrun werewolves, but werewolves had the endurance to run them down. And once that happened . . . Well, pound for pound, centaurs were more than a match for any one werewolf, but they did travel in packs – and the humanoid forms of these werewolves would negate most of the advantages centaurs usually had over them.

. . . Of course, even as the bulk of the werewolves got past the second arrow barrage, they ended up running into the second layer of traps.

As with the Bludgers, the Portable Swamps had been modified by the twins – all the easier, since they were the twins’ creation to start with – to include massive swaths of quicksand, hungry alligators and lots of highly venomous snakes. Luna had been a great help, there; her primary interest was magical zoology, but she was as much a Ravenclaw as a Gryffindor: to her, learning was never a waste, and the insights of mundane science had done a lot to further her own studies.

Sure, the Swamps are fairly easily dispelled, if you’re any good at Charms, Ginny noted, and the transformed werewolves can probably survive the beasts – but they won’t be feeling too good, and the rest of the Death Eaters will be very leery about advancing.

And after that, there’s the animated armour McGonagall set loose, and the explosive traps Shirou set on the entry points . . .

Ginny’s smile widened, showing teeth. Oh, yes – they could win this. At the very least, they’d have them jumping at every shadow before they ever got into wand range. As the Death Eaters knew all too well, terror was a remarkable force multiplier.

Of course, the cautious part of her mind – the one that had spent seven years training in tactics and strategy – reminded her, Riddle’s a “remarkable force multiplier” in and of himself . . . But then again, so are the trinity.

The redhead took a deep breath and reminded herself Riddle might’ve been able to destroy Hogwarts’ defences – but that they’d managed to shake Gryffindor Tower from inside the defences, when half-grown. If anyone could match him, it would them, and they’d always managed it before.

“Let the games begin,” she whispered.

[hatori]

Whenever you end a chapter with some hopeful,meaningful and optimistic finish, it means things are going to go horribly,horribly wrong later.

Damn it, you still have me nailed here waiting for the next chapter,kieran!

[Kieran]

Whenever you end a chapter with some hopeful,meaningful and optimistic finish, it means things are going to go horribly,horribly wrong later.

*Chuckles* In this case, it wasn't my intention - but this is the climax, after all; bad things will be happening.

Damn it, you still have me nailed here waiting for the next chapter,kieran!

Good to hear - I feel terrible about leaving this one so long.

*Shakes head* Like I said earlier, the main problem was balancing out the sides - and not "meta-gaming" (having the defenders act on information I knew, but they couldn't have known) while I was doing it. Hopefully, the next chapter will be smoother . . . And faster.

[ghost001]

I was so awaiting for this moment. Unfortunately, I don't really know what to write, except it was very good. Your ideas for magical combat are inspiring, and it certainly brings to light the potential of Rowling's universe which she failed to explore. To the very end I thought that Voldemort managed to somehow control Fawkes
9he took its ashes, unless i recall it wrong), but now it was denied. I was awaiting Fawkes kidnapping one of the main heroes and delivering them to Voldemort, but, oh well. I cannot wait for more.

[Kieran]

I was so awaiting for this moment. Unfortunately, I don't really know what to write, except it was very good.

I'm glad it was worth it for you - I worried about that.

Your ideas for magical combat are inspiring, and it certainly brings to light the potential of Rowling's universe which she failed to explore.

As I'm finding, large-scale combat is hard - possibly why she stuck to duels, and the like (and the society did, as well) - but yeah, there's a lot of untapped potential.

To the very end I thought that Voldemort managed to somehow control Fawkes (he took its ashes, unless i recall it wrong),

Not that I recall, but it wouldn't be the first mistake I've made.

. . . If nothing else, you now have me wondering to what uses phoenix ashes could be put; an essential element of Time-Turner sand, perhaps?

I was awaiting Fawkes kidnapping one of the main heroes and delivering them to Voldemort, but, oh well.

Nah - too easy.

I cannot wait for more.

Glad to hear it! I'll try not to take so long, this time.

[MWkillkenny84]

Good chapter and good scenes...

... can I hope to see a reverse-Vader moment between Shirou and Voldemort in the near future, so to enrage even more the Dark Lord and make him commit more mistakes?

[Kieran]

Well, it would be a pity to let him die ignorant, wouldn't it . . .?

[Rai Burnout]

Sorry I'm late, got 3 of my 4 Finals done. For the chapter at hand.

Voldemort is breaking out the big guns. I agree with his reasoning, and laugh as he still fails. This is WAR... not a duel but honest to god war. As for the idea of things going south, my bet is on Voldemort leading the charge himself after the initial boundary defenses wipe out half his army. Because the only ones who can take him on are the Trinity. And until they do so every one else is open season. I was surprised that no one put silver in the portable swamps again considering how effective it was last time. Its not like they were lacking it either.

Of course revealing Shirou's parentage to him is a given, too much material to work with to NOT do it. Still eagerly awaiting it, plus the response if his men on it as well.

Good job.

[Kieran]

Sorry I'm late, got 3 of my 4 Finals done.

That's good - I hope they went well for you, and that the last one continues the trend.

For the chapter at hand.

Voldemort is breaking out the big guns.

Which, frankly, he ought to; this is pretty much his last card to play, so might as well bet big.

I agree with his reasoning, and laugh as he still fails. This is WAR... not a duel but honest to god war.

Glad you're getting that impression - it's what I'm trying for.

As for the idea of things going south, my bet is on Voldemort leading the charge himself after the initial boundary defenses wipe out half his army. Because the only ones who can take him on are the Trinity. And until they do so every one else is open season.

That's possible. Certainly, he's not going to be holding back at all . . .

I was surprised that no one put silver in the portable swamps again considering how effective it was last time. Its not like they were lacking it either.

They weren't expecting as many werewolves as Riddle apparently has; and to be fair, the effect silver has on a non-transformed werewolf is reasonably negligible - they're more susceptible to silver poisoning, but external contact with the stuff won't cause their flesh to self-cauterise, for example.

So they built traps that would be more effective at killing them en masse, along with most other conventional forces (i.e., witches and wizards); wolf's-bane is poisonous, period, in the right amounts.

. . . What silver they had, on the other hand, mainly went to bullets, or was imbedded in the walls alongside Shirou's little rune-mines - explosively-propelled projectiles tend to kill no matter what they're made of.

Of course revealing Shirou's parentage to him is a given, too much material to work with to NOT do it. Still eagerly awaiting it, plus the response if his men on it as well.

Understandable - it's just figuring out the best way to do it, since it's not something that would come up in casual battle banter, but too good not to use . . .

Good job.

Thank you.

[MWkillkenny84]

Simple: as Kiritsugu&Irisviel's adopted son, Shirou is 'born from those that trice defied him', with the 'power he know not' being his 'blood heir'.

Shout to Voldy Moldy that the Prophecy mark Shirou as his killer, and the scene will enter in the battle...

[Kieran]

. . . Mm, Voldemort pretty much thinks that already, so it's not really dramatic enough. I mean, I know you can't really top "Empire Strikes Back" for that kind of thing, but I'd still like to at least match some of my own dramatic reveals in this series.

[Ahnibal]

Apologies for minor necro, but I need to vent.

Read the whole thing, enjoyed what it was and think that the story itself, the grammar and most characters in it at are top notch and deserving of some praise. However, all of those positive notes are far overshadowed by the cataclysmic mess that is Shirou in this fic. I decided to read this entire body of work, including the two "prequels", as I was interested in the idea of a full HP replace fic with Shirou in it.

What I got, however, has managed to infuriate and bother me to no end, causing me to drop and pick up this story at least twice before I whipped myself back to continue reading. The problem I have with this fic, is that Shirou acts nothing like a Shirou ought. Especially one that is/was Archer. Gone is his sardonic wit, his nerves of steel and his analytical personality that shines under pressure. If that was the whole of it, I could shake it off as him simply being the last and least of the "Trinity", but given that he's even worse off on the physical side, it seems to me that he really serves no purpose in this story. No, for all that he has the force of personality you'd expect from a Japanese Herbivore, at least he sometimes japes like he is himself, unlike how his physical abilities have completely and utterly vanished. What happened to the man who developed his own style of swordsmanship that allowed him to fight on par with legendary figures and masters of the sword? Has Shirou so much as swung a sword a single time in this entire 7 year epic?

Really, my thoughts about the matter lead me to the conclusion that all of his wits have gone to Galen and all of his skills have gone to Takara. As a quick-witted snarkster who has the ability to observe and recognize people's beliefs, traits and flaws, he would inherently be treading on Galen's role in this story. Not once did Takara spar with Shirou, despite the fact that he ought to be intimately familiar with kendo, from his time with Kiritsugu and Saber, not to even mention his National-Champion-in-all-but-fact sister figure, Fujimura Taiga. No, no. The only one here with a sword is the girl who did kendo in highschool.

What happened to the man who walked to his death at the hands of a Greek demigod with a quip and smirk, who stared down Gilgamesh at one twentieth of his normal capacity, who without hesitation jumped in front of a spirit-devouring shadow and then gave away his arm while holding onto his tattered remains of existence until the procedure was complete? Why would such a man flinch in front of Hermione in the first year? Why would he be shocked by Voldemort's threats? What happened to his resolve, his nerves of steel and his rapier-like wit?

What happened to the man who bantered with Rin, enraged Heroic Spirits with a few choice words and lambasted half-baked would-be-heroes into apoplectic fits? Why would such a man at every meeting with Rin act so fearful as to come across as a cowering wreck? Every time, without fail. She's such a genius, oh so terrifying shudder...

He's always the third wand, the guy who comes out when the two others are too busy with something else, the one who actively pursues any goal or target without certainty that it is truly Kosher. As an aside, why did no one ever equate the difficulties they had with preventing the book events from happening with the way time turner travel works? Bah. The one time he gets to act on his own, he proceeds to kill people indiscriminately for what? PR problems for Voldemort? Optics? What the hell happened to drawing his sword only when the time for the kill drew near? In fact, he was so utterly useless that they had to send in Rin to hold his hand, despite him having nominally done these kind of ops his whole bloody life.

But. I think I understand why this is. It's because of Illya.

No, no. Nothing about him being married and having a child and the veela thing—which I find horribly stupid, to be honest, as a survival strategy if nothing else; everything regarding evolution suggests such a bond would be a spectacular and quick way into extinction as a species—or even due to his newfound hesitation to kill people despite having done it for-literally-ever already.

No, the reason is that Illya created their place in this world. In her own words, she's waited two decades to get her hands on Shirou. She wants him, needs him, craves him like nothing else in the world. Which is honestly quite reminiscent of Illya in Fate, as she kidnapped Shirou. She doesn't want an equal partner, she just wants Shirou. She has two moods with Shirou here, wanton lust and desire;"Fuck me, Shirou!" and amused condescension;"Oh silly Shirou, you're so silly". Just as in Fate, where she was satisfied with a Shirou in a doll, here's she's satisfied with a doll with slightly improved specs. A realdoll, if you will. But not much more.

I mean, he already admitted to having more memories than he should have had, from other routes. So what's a few traumatic events thrown in here and a few character defining moments snipped there?

Christ. I'm so tired. You've created a very impressive story, I just wish Shirou wasn't in it.

[Kieran]

Apologies for minor necro, but I need to vent.

That's OK - go ahead.

Read the whole thing, enjoyed what it was and think that the story itself, the grammar and most characters in it at are top notch and deserving of some praise. However, all of those positive notes are far overshadowed by the cataclysmic mess that is Shirou in this fic. I decided to read this entire body of work, including the two "prequels", as I was interested in the idea of a full HP replace fic with Shirou in it.

All right. In my defence, when I started this some twelve years ago, I was really under-informed in regards to "Fate," so much that I managed to confuse Shirou with Gilgamesh (hence his physical appearance in "Legacies of Fate"). And boy, did that require backpedalling on my part.

What I got, however, has managed to infuriate and bother me to no end, causing me to drop and pick up this story at least twice before I whipped myself back to continue reading. The problem I have with this fic, is that Shirou acts nothing like a Shirou ought. Especially one that is/was Archer. Gone is his sardonic wit, his nerves of steel and his analytical personality that shines under pressure. If that was the whole of it, I could shake it off as him simply being the last and least of the "Trinity", but given that he's even worse off on the physical side, it seems to me that he really serves no purpose in this story. No, for all that he has the force of personality you'd expect from a Japanese Herbivore, at least he sometimes japes like he is himself, unlike how his physical abilities have completely and utterly vanished. What happened to the man who developed his own style of swordsmanship that allowed him to fight on par with legendary figures and masters of the sword? Has Shirou so much as swung a sword a single time in this entire 7 year epic?

Really, my thoughts about the matter lead me to the conclusion that all of his wits have gone to Galen and all of his skills have gone to Takara. As a quick-witted snarkster who has the ability to observe and recognize people's beliefs, traits and flaws, he would inherently be treading on Galen's role in this story. Not once did Takara spar with Shirou, despite the fact that he ought to be intimately familiar with kendo, from his time with Kiritsugu and Saber, not to even mention his National-Champion-in-all-but-fact sister figure, Fujimura Taiga. No, no. The only one here with a sword is the girl who did kendo in highschool.

What happened to the man who walked to his death at the hands of a Greek demigod with a quip and smirk, who stared down Gilgamesh at one twentieth of his normal capacity, who without hesitation jumped in front of a spirit-devouring shadow and then gave away his arm while holding onto his tattered remains of existence until the procedure was complete? Why would such a man flinch in front of Hermione in the first year? Why would he be shocked by Voldemort's threats? What happened to his resolve, his nerves of steel and his rapier-like wit?

What happened to the man who bantered with Rin, enraged Heroic Spirits with a few choice words and lambasted half-baked would-be-heroes into apoplectic fits? Why would such a man at every meeting with Rin act so fearful as to come across as a cowering wreck? Every time, without fail. She's such a genius, oh so terrifying shudder...

He's always the third wand, the guy who comes out when the two others are too busy with something else, the one who actively pursues any goal or target without certainty that it is truly Kosher. As an aside, why did no one ever equate the difficulties they had with preventing the book events from happening with the way time turner travel works? Bah. The one time he gets to act on his own, he proceeds to kill people indiscriminately for what? PR problems for Voldemort? Optics? What the hell happened to drawing his sword only when the time for the kill drew near? In fact, he was so utterly useless that they had to send in Rin to hold his hand, despite him having nominally done these kind of ops his whole bloody life.

But. I think I understand why this is. It's because of Illya.

No, no. Nothing about him being married and having a child and the veela thing—which I find horribly stupid, to be honest, as a survival strategy if nothing else; everything regarding evolution suggests such a bond would be a spectacular and quick way into extinction as a species—or even due to his newfound hesitation to kill people despite having done it for-literally-ever already.

No, the reason is that Illya created their place in this world. In her own words, she's waited two decades to get her hands on Shirou. She wants him, needs him, craves him like nothing else in the world. Which is honestly quite reminiscent of Illya in Fate, as she kidnapped Shirou. She doesn't want an equal partner, she just wants Shirou. She has two moods with Shirou here, wanton lust and desire;"Fuck me, Shirou!" and amused condescension;"Oh silly Shirou, you're so silly". Just as in Fate, where she was satisfied with a Shirou in a doll, here's she's satisfied with a doll with slightly improved specs. A realdoll, if you will. But not much more.

I mean, he already admitted to having more memories than he should have had, from other routes. So what's a few traumatic events thrown in here and a few character defining moments snipped there?

Christ. I'm so tired. You've created a very impressive story, I just wish Shirou wasn't in it.

. . . Well, I can't say you didn't give the series a fair shake, nor that your arguments are unreasonable (and they're not without merit, either).

I'm sorry that the series wasn't what you wanted. If I end up doing the Persona-based sequels (as it seems I might), it's possible that it may be more like what you expected - but I hesitate to raise false hopes.

Thanks for your time and attention.

[Rai Burnout]

Agreed Kieren, despite Shirou being a pet peeve of mine at first I cut some slack and forgive because you're internally consistent. Someone here once said "I don't mind if a story has a unicorn as long as you are consistent with it." and I stand by it. "Hill of Swords" is the same way.

As for the sequel...

[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 Deathly Hallows, but I trust in the intelligence of my readers (and the availability of the books) to recognise them.




Chapter 79 – Clashing Blades




May 2, 1998






Chaos reigned; it was an inadequate description, perhaps, but it was nonetheless, an accurate one.

In the skies above, Veela and Dementors clashed; frenzied whirls of tattered shadow against blazing streaks of fiery light. They were interspersed with occasional bursts of silvery phantasms as various witches and wizards cast the Patronus Charm, using them to hold the Dementors at a distance from the castle, and herd them towards the range of a Veela. And, of course, the crowning touch lay in brilliant flares of azure-tinted white flames, as said Veela incinerated the Dementors.

The scene on the ground was no less hectic: charging werewolves, spurred on by the wizards behind them, still pushing across the grounds, despite the eruption of traps, and not-infrequent sniper fire from the towers, putting them down. The latter was due to the fact that, with the wards fallen, Apparition was now possible in combat, allowing both Shirou and Kiritsugu to fire, Disapparate, and fire again from a new angle, at one of any of a dozen points across the front of the castle.

After all, it was much easier, both mentally and magically speaking, to Apparate and pull a trigger than it was to do the same and cast a spell.

Still, the invaders pressed on helped by the fact that where a werewolf fell, several of the Death Eaters were quick to reanimate it as an Inferius, and send it charging anew into the fray . . . Of course, that was when they ran into Hogwarts’ force of automatons, and both sides were given an object example of “irresistible force meets immovable object.”

Being dead and animated by dark magic, Inferi, as a rule, were vulnerable only to fire; and moreover, they possessed a level of strength and ferocity living bodies couldn’t match without suffering permanent if not lethal damage. On the other hand, the animated statues and suits of armour were, on the whole, stronger and more durable than most forms of living tissue, and equally lacking in vital points to target. Better still, a great many of them were endowed with both weapons and the skills necessary to use them, creating an actual fighting force rather than a mindless mob. They were slowed by the need to literally chop the Inferi into pieces in order to stop them, mind you, but slowly and surely, they began to overwhelm the initial wave of the attack.

The two waves struggled against one another, creating a shifting, haphazard line of eerily silent conflict . . . And across that battlefield the Death Eaters marched, with Voldemort at their head.

No spells had flown yet, and with good reason. More specifically, it was the same reason that magical society the world over had generally developed a duellist’s culture and mentality, as opposed to the “mass destruction” style of warfare practised by the mundane world. While a wizard’s range was theoretically limited only to their vision, but in practice, it was a good deal less. Energy was energy, after all, and roughly half the energy of any given spell cast was used in propelling it. As such, powerful spells – and more importantly, powerful casters – had significant range, but if you didn’t want the spell to fizzle, it was better to use it up close.

Of course, that didn’t mean their advance was unhindered. In addition to having to weave their way around the animated armour, the Inferi’s command enchantments were simple enough that they attacked anything within sight or reach, requiring the Death Eaters to be wary of attacks from both forces. Furthermore, there were still a few traps that had yet to be set off, and sporadic sniper fire from both the riflemen in the castle, and the centaurs in the forest.

This, naturally, had the effect of turning the Death Eaters’ dramatic advance into a pell-mell rush forward within moments, as figures dropped suddenly from one random hazard or another.

Eventually, however, they did reach the primary doors – and were forced to come to a halt as A), the drawbridge was locked in its upright position, and B), it was emblazoned with a very large, very visible rune.

“They seek to bar us!” Lord Voldemort roared. “But they will FAIL!”

With a furious stabbing motion, he sent a bolt of fiery power at the bridge. It struck the symbol, causing the air before it to ripple visibly, heat washing across the grounds. Eventually, the rune began to glow an increasingly vibrant red as it reached its saturation point—

And then, the world exploded.






Hermione blinked, as the castle trembled in accompaniment to the roar of the runic trap going off.

“That was a bit more than I was expecting,” she admitted. It was the biggest door in the castle, and therefore had the most powerful and complex runic scheme on it, but still . . . “How lucky were we?”

“. . . It’s hard to tell,” Ilyasviel admitted. “The Map doesn’t read Inferi, but we got at least a dozen of the living Death Eaters, and Rid—no, I’m wrong, he’s still moving,” she corrected herself, groaning in frustration. “Can you see him from where you are?”

Hermione glanced out the windows, where a particularly black (or more specifically, blackened) figure was rising to its feet.

“. . . What must he have done, to be able to have survived that?” Ilya wondered aloud, echoing Hermione’s own thoughts. “I mean, werewolves are hard to kill, sure, but that level of durability is something else entirely.”

Hermione almost remarked that Ilya had adopted Galen’s penchant for understatement. While scientifically measuring the level of force involved was almost impossible, she nevertheless would’ve felt confident in claiming that that blast would’ve done credit to Kiritsugu Emiya’s defences of their home when the Dementors had come calling; she’d seen the pictures of the yard, afterwards.

Now granted, this explosion was more magical in nature, and thus could be deflected by Shield Charms, whereas purely physical ones could, to a degree, be “tanked” by inherent magic – how else did iron balls zooming around at dozens of miles per hour not kill Quidditch players on impact? And Voldemort, if anyone, was certainly fast enough to cast a Shield Charm – and smart enough to realise he needed to – but given the size of the blast . . .

Even spread out as it was, the fact that he was still in one piece – to say nothing of conscious – was a testament to how terrifyingly powerful he was, however he’d managed to accomplish it.

The motion of Ilya’s platinum hair in the mirror caught Hermione’s eye, as the half-Veela shook her head before remarking, “Touko-kaasan would love to get her hands on him, to have a chance to figure out just what he did to himself – killing him for being himself, afterwards, would almost just be icing for her.”

Hermione could admit to a certain intellectual curiosity regarding the matter, herself. “Maybe she’ll be satisfied if we have her perform the autopsy.”

The older witch responded dryly, “You say that as though we plan to leave anything of the—”

The distant boom of another runic trap going off halted their conversation. The Death Eaters had obviously scaled the moat, and entered the castle proper.

Sure enough, the sounds of multiple spells whizzing through the air followed the brief explosion. This, Hermione knew, was caused by students aimed varying curses, hexes and jinxes from upper levels of the staircases – only to withdraw into a hallway once fired, or be shielded by the staircase itself, as it shifted them out of the line of return fire and towards an escape route. Either way, it meant that by the time the Death Eaters were able to track the source of the sudden attack, the witches and wizards responsible had either disappeared, or in motion to do so.

The vampire witch nodded to herself. So far, things were going well; true, they were still in the midst of the opening salvos, as it were, but the “hit-and-fade” tactics were proving effective. Neville and the girls had obviously been quite productive since September in teaching the younger students how to use guerilla tactics . . .

As Voldemort bellowed a direction for the group to split up, Hermione tracked one group, listening to the rhythms of their blood. There were five in this particular bunch, and their hearts were racing in anticipation, and fear. She didn’t recognise their features or their wardrobe, and so assumed them to be among the Durmstrang alumni; which was both good and bad.

After all, in the former case, it meant that they presumably had no real idea of where they were going within the castle, which gave her a lot of options to surprise them at. The latter, on the other hand, meant that they might very well recognise her nature; Durmstrang did have Slavic students, after all, as well as teach the Dark Arts in more detail than Hogwarts.

. . . But really, that just meant she would have to be very fast – and she did as a general rule manage to keep up with Takara Aozaki, and so, as Galen occasionally put it, she could do fast.

Shifting to her raven form from where she perched above the group, Hermione silently dove down, timing her approach to catch the straggler at the rear just before he entered, and her shift to back to human form to just before impact. The momentum resultant impact bore them both over the railing of the third floor landing, the Death Eater expelling air in a desperate grunt as he found himself suddenly hurtling into the open air. For her own part, Hermione concentrated on another transformation, her body literally melting away into seawater.

The Death Eater had time enough to scream in panic before she buried herself down his esophagus, and then they both literally splashed across the ground.

In her current form, Hermione’s awareness of her surroundings was muffled, and odd. It was rather like being in a dream. Nevertheless, she could sort of see the others running towards the railing, and peering down to see what had happened. She held still, her only other action at the time being a slow drawing in of some of the Death Eater’s blood that overlapped her own mass.

It was hardly the greatest-tasting meal, and it wouldn’t stay fresh enough to feed her for very long; nor could she take much, lest it be visible even from up there. Still, it did help offset the energy cost of transforming so many times, so quickly – and eventually, the others did turn away, heading back in the direction they’d been going.

And once she was at least relatively certain that they were gone, the mass of water that had been Hermione Granger began to slowly flow away from the body – and up the side of the railing.

Climbing in a human body might’ve been tough, but so long as she could gain traction, as a mass of magically-animated water Hermione could go just about anywhere.

She flowed (literally) up behind the next Death Eater, making virtually no sound as she shifted back into human form, and then applied a submission hold. Almost immediately, the Death Eater was unconscious. Put simply, having superhuman strength to force someone to meet your eyes, to say nothing of having the ability to influence people’s minds with a look, made the job much simpler than sheer strength alone would have been able to accomplish.

As the last one dropped to the floor, she bent to collect their wand as she had with all the others before Conjuring chains to bind them with, and then Transfiguring them into pebbles that wouldn’t have looked out of place as chips of the hallway floor. It should keep their comrades from finding and restoring them, but still leave them alive for future interrogation and trial.

Idly, Hermione wondered to herself, even as she kept her senses alert seeking new targets and/or potential attacks coming her way, I wonder how the others are making out . . .






At first glance, the conflict was horrifically one-sided. After all, the invading force was made up of dozens of fully-trained wizards, well-versed in the Dark Arts, along with scores of Dark creatures – in short, all beings that were fully deserving of the label “monsters.” Further, they were led by the most powerful Dark Lord seen in the last thousand years, a wizard who had defied death itself in his bid for dominion over the magical world.

A second look at the situation, however, would reveal the same opinion weighted in the opposite direction. After all, Hogwarts Castle had withstood all forms of assault for over a millennium, guarded by enchantments that were truly ancient – many of them lost, and all of them terrifying in their power and complexity. And while they were young, the students of Hogwarts had spent the better part of a year learning the arts and subtleties of guerrilla warfare, a type of combat as-yet unseen in the magical world. Moreover, they’d had that same span of time to prepare their battleground in anticipation of this very conflict.

Therefore, the clashing of forces had somewhat mixed, and undeniably bloody, results.

The Death Eaters quickly learned that the staircases were a killing box; every landing had multiple children at it, ready to cast spells down at them from every possible angle as they ascended, and scurry back into the hallways for cover. The first few groups to try were literally cut to ribbons by overlapping streams of spell fire – in the event that anything of them at survived at all.

The solution to that problem was quickly arrived at, and brutal in its simplicity: Blasting Curses, fired in volleys, aimed at the walls adjacent to the doorways, and the landings themselves.

Stone exploded into clouds of razor-edged shrapnel, peppering the students with lacerations; in some cases, the angle of the attacks brought the ceiling down on the hallway entrance, crushing them outright. Furthermore, it sealed off those who might be further in. And as for those who aimed at the landings, instead, they didn’t stop until each platform had collapsed, leaving staircases either hanging emptily in mid-air, or swiftly toppling as they followed the descending rubble.

As strategies went, it wasn’t a terrible one. After all, the Death Eater really had no need for the existing staircases; temporary ones could be Conjured that would suit their purposes just as well. And those hallway entrances that were blocked off were of equally little import, as they could easily sweep aside the rubble. Such was the versatility of magic, after all.

. . . No, as strategies went, theirs wasn’t a terrible one; it was, however a bad one, because it failed to consider what they were to do about all the rubble that their Blasting Curses would bring – and at that moment, were bringing – down upon their heads.

In another universe, Albus Dumbledore would use the incantation Arresto momentum to cushion the fall of an unconscious Harry Potter from his broom, from several hundred feet in the air at a considerable rate of speed. Now, admittedly, the drop was an order of magnitude less, in this case, but the rubble was about two orders of magnitude greater – and that was leaving aside the fact that none of the Death Eaters was Albus Dumbledore.

The smarter ones had just enough time to realise their mistake before being buried beneath the debris.






Of course, given the sheer numbers of the invaders, it was practically a given that not all of them came straight through the front entrance.

The team attacking the east wing had little trouble breaching the wall – or more specifically, going over it. Admittedly, the wizards had to Transfigure a bridge and set of stairs to do so, but they got sufficient distraction to do so, as the werewolves merely jumped, using their talons to claw handholds into the stone. Once they passed into the courtyard, however, they met the ready and able defenders.

Luna had literal command of the battlefield: given the space of the courtyard itself and time enough to prepare, she had Conjured cover to block spells and creatures to counterattack. Her choice of cover was stone; specifically, thin layers of sandstone that had been compressed against one another with Sticking Charms, and which she’d further charmed to be transparent (on her side, at least). And while collectively, it appeared to be a strong, solid wall, it was still an amalgam of single layers – which meant that the first attempt at a using a Killing Curse to obliterate her shielding only stripped off the initial stratum in a puff of sand.

The Death Eaters’ shock at seeing an object survive the Killing Curse, and with seemingly no ill-effects, was such that they froze in unison for the space of a breath. Luna, meanwhile, wasted no time in Transfiguring the scattered debris as it spread into the air into a flock of ravens, and directing them to attack, aiming for eyes and fingers, particularly. Magic could heal those types of wounds, as she wasn’t using anything infused with the Dark Arts to inflict them; but it would take time and focus that the battlefield would not allow.

Now admittedly, while Luna probably always could have created such a complex Transfiguration, it was likely that she would never have had the mentality to do so without the training and experiences she’d undergone with her friends. Nor, admittedly, could she have kept up such quick reaction times without the Elixir of Life. With those things, however, the fey little blonde wrought utter havoc on the battlefield against a score of witches and wizards two and three times her age – with an occasional giggle that sounded really unnerving.

. . . And the truly terrifying part of it all was that she was merely the distraction.






It was an accepted fact that werewolves were notoriously difficult to kill; Fenrir Greyback and Galen Salvatore being the most obvious proofs. After all, the former was a terrorist and child predator who had been operating within Britain for over fifty years, despite the best efforts of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – and Galen . . . Neville mentally shook his head. Galen was simply a class unto himself, in that regard.

Beyond Galen, however, Greyback stood as the exemplar of how truly difficult it could be to capture or kill a werewolf. After all, he held no loyalty to the Death Eater cause; only to Voldemort himself. Likewise, none of the blood purists would’ve shed any tears if Greyback had been captured; werewolves were mongrels, fodder and monsters in their eyes, and Greyback himself was intelligent enough to be useful – and cunning enough to be dangerous. No, unlike the situation with those who had been “under the Imperius Curse,” no effort had been spared in attempts to bring Greyback in – and at best, they’d driven him underground over the last decade or so.

Few werewolves could claim to match Greyback’s level of resiliency, thank Merlin, but all of them had some portion of it; enough that only silver, fire, or damage wrought by genuinely powerful curses could slay them.

. . . But for himself, Neville was finding that the Sword of Gryffindor was proving rather handy at it.

He worked under the Invisibility Cloak, starting downwind and moving as quietly as he’d been trained to. Under normal conditions, that might not have been enough; he had enough experience with animal senses and predatory instincts to know that it was really hard to sneak up on someone with both. But Luna was keeping them tied up in enough knots, mentally speaking – and sometimes literally, with the spells she was throwing around – to give him the edge he needed to get close enough to use the sword, then slip away before they could react.

Not that they honestly had much of a chance to react, anyway.

The Sword of Gryffindor was goblin-forged, to begin with – which made it a powerfully-enchanted item to begin with. If the qualities of such items could be easily duplicated by wizardry, after all, then goblin-forged items would hardly be so highly prized. The primary quality which gave the Sword its particular value, of course, was the ability to “take in” things which would make it stronger; and in the last six years, the Sword had absorbed the qualities of both basilisk venom and dragon’s fire.

Really, Neville mused, we might as well rechristen it as “the sword of overkill.”

The blade radiated a dull red glow, as though near its melting point, but the metal was as solid and strong as it had always been; just as sharp, too. The saying “like a hot knife through butter” applied here – a casual swing bisected one of the larger ones. Regardless, though, mere contact with the blade was enough: the heat of the dragon flame ignited the werewolves’ fur on contact, and the venom worked its way through their internal systems with its customary virulence.

In seconds, the creatures’ bodies had been wholly corroded from the inside, and quickly burned away to ash.

It’s like using some sort of acidic napalm, Neville thought, recalling one of Mister Emiya’s lessons on mundane munitions, and more than a little sickened by how easy it was to destroy them so completely.

And even if they I just scratched them, rather than cut them in half, and managed to put the fire out, it still wouldn’t save them, because there’s no way to suck the venom out before it kills – the wounds are cauterised as they’re inflicted.

There was no doubt, Neville decided, that the Sword of Gryffindor had become the deadliest magical weapon on the planet.






There’s no doubt about it, Takara decided. Mellinoë has to be the deadliest magical weapon on the planet.

At least, she amended quickly, where Death Eaters are concerned.

It wasn’t simply that it was a katana, which she regarded (with justification beyond simple nationalistic pride) as the finest example of the sword-smith’s art in the world. Nor was it the fact that it had been enchanted for lightness of use, sharpness, and the ability to repel substances that would make it hard to use; not only blood, but sweat from her hands, and even the internal fluids of its victims – allowing it to part a human body like smoke, when combined with the aforementioned sharpness.

No, it was the fact that it had been enchanted by two of the five most powerful wizards alive specifically for her, to protect her . . . And to bring holy retribution – or a very good facsimile of it – to those who suffered from overwhelming hubris.

The corridors, although designed to allow the passage of multiple students at once, were fairly tight quarters in combat terms. Certainly, a full-on spell battle would’ve been significantly dangerous. However, Takara’s training in what little remained of the Nanaya fighting style, along with what she’d been taught of iaido (the quick-draw, single-strike sword art) allowed her to be remarkably effective.

Takara flashed through the corridors, literally. To begin with, she was charging at her top speed, which made her seem little more than a fast-moving shadow – and one that could seemingly ignore gravity, as she ran up and across the walls, or leaped and bounced off of corners, as she made her way through the invaders’ lines. Furthermore, the crackling energy writhing along her blade pulsed like a strobe light; and while it was no hindrance to her vision, it proved quite disorienting to the first Death Eaters she encountered. The effect worsened significantly when she actually swung the sword, creating an optical illusion of several trailing swords behind it, making its actual location difficult to track – and therefore, guard against.

And when Mellinoë actually made contact with a Death Eater, well . . . It had precisely the effect one would expect when a sharpened blade five times hotter than the surface of the sun passed through a human body. Being struck by an actual lightning bolt would have been less effective: it passed through at light speed, whereas the sword took a lot longer, relatively speaking, to make its journey.

Takara had struck down seven of them – over half their number – by the time they realised they were under attack. Only three had time to draw their wands before she was on them; and even she was surprised by what happened next.

The curses the Death Eaters flung at her had barely materialised before a trio of lightning bolts spat from Mellinoë’s surface, swatting them out of existence.

The rumble of thunder which echoed in the corridor following that feat sounded distinctly contemptuous – and as the three masked wizards stared in frozen horror, Takara felt a distinctly feral grin stretch its way across her face. When the Nanaya heiress spoke, it was in a voice as soft and cold as falling snow – and eerily hungry, to boot.

“My boyfriend is so getting lucky tonight.”

The Death Eaters didn’t even try to puzzle that out – they just ran.

Not that it saved them.








Additional Writer's Notes: OK, this chapter was a monster. I almost literally had to fight for every paragraph, and actually wondered if I was going to end up just giving up on a couple of occasions . . . Even so, I'm sincerely sorry I ended up making everyone wait so long.


And I can see the light at the end of the tunnel now; I just figured out how this fight is going to end today - combine that with the fact that I've had the series' ending in mind for a while, now, and I'd say I'm in pretty good shape, theoretically speaking. *Chuckles*

In any case, I hope you enjoyed - and I'll try not to take so long next time.