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

[ringlhach]

ouch, I wish you a speedy recovery.

This. Does heat work for you? It actually works better on my knees than ice does... but ice works better on my ankle. Yay for weird circulation.

Seriously, take your time. Don't get yourself physically hurt for this.

[Kieran]

This. Does heat work for you? It actually works better on my knees than ice does... but ice works better on my ankle. Yay for weird circulation.

Seriously, take your time. Don't get yourself physically hurt for this.

Since it's a result of inflammation, I find that ice works better.

And since I decided to change a scene, I'm a page and a half ahead on the next chapter - so hopefully, it might be done early, two weeks from now.








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 64 – Schemes, Surprises, and Spirits


November 23 – 28, 1997






Since awakening, Shin had feigned unconsciousness each time his captors had entered his cell. In truth, the feat was hardly difficult; even leaving aside the matter of his training, he still felt weakened by the excommunication that the Emperor had invoked.

And he realised that it was likely he always would. Nor was that really surprising, for one of the basic tenets of his existence, the foundation around which his identity had been built, was gone. Even leaving aside the mental and emotional ramifications of such a thing, there was a severe magical cost, as well: the Tohno bloodline and its associated family magic had been the primary source of his power. Without it, he was uncertain as to how much power he truly had – but something of the Tohno had survived in him, else he’d have died with the rest of his clan.

Therefore, he still possessed magical power . . . It was merely a question of how much.

And so, for a full day and night, Shin waited, learning the limits of the observations imposed on him: by what means, and how many, and their various quirks and tells.

“So, why ‘as the Minister decided to keep the little bugger alive?”

“He hasn’t – he’s just been waiting for word that the slants won’t raise a stink about what we do to ‘im – you remember what happened to Malfoy . . .”

“Yeah – might almost be worth turning ‘im over to ‘em, if there as brutal to their own kind as they were to ‘im.”

Obviously, what he gleaned through these sessions was not encouraging.

In between those periods, however, he attempted to access what powers he could, based on what he knew he’d had, and seeing for himself which abilities did and didn’t still function.

It hadn’t taken long to determine that any transformational abilities were gone, and with them, some of his defence against certain curses. After all, when one was capable of changing one’s form, even to a limited degree, healing and reversing bodily alterations became much easier. Likewise, his mental defences had been thinned; the cornerstone of his protections in that area had lain in the idea that, as the product of an amalgamation of species, his mind was dissimilar enough to any to be easily latched on to.

And in terms of raw magical and physical power both, it could only be said that he was but a hollow shell of what he’d once been . . .

But that said, he was far from helpless.

His primary advantage in all this was his training. Since birth, he had been raised to be the heir to a warrior lineage which had served Nihon for centuries, enforcing the Emperor’s will in the magical world. As such, he knew how to battle wizards, both foreign and domestic, and the change in his nature had not altered his knowledge or his skills.

Moreover, he’d been trained in all the arts of his country, including those that the local magical citizens would disdain as “Muggle,” which would give him a distinct advantage against those who believed him helpless without a wand. Indeed, it was one of his primary sources of disgust for these Western fools: that they took their birthright of magic, and made of it a crutch they were unable to stand without, rather than a tool that uplifted them beyond their limitations.

. . . Well, that was not completely true, Shin supposed – but even that miserable beast had fallen before him, in the end. In any case, it was an advantage he had over his captors, and one he intended to exploit to its fullest potential.

Escape, however, was only an immediate goal, a single step in the process of gaining his revenge. He needed more than that, needed access to funds and other resources in order to successfully achieve what he desired. And therefore, he continued plotting past the point of escape – it would do him no good to starve to death afterwards, would it?

In this country, funds are controlled by “Gringotts Bank,” run by the goblins . . . Shin mused.

With his original powers, obtaining some would be easy – breaking in and slaughtering everything blocking his path was, in essence, what he as a Tohno had been born for – but he doubted that it would be possible now. Though these “goblins” were a different breed than those of Nihon, he suspected that there was less difference among the Western nonhuman tribes than the myriad variances of his own kind.

No, sadly, a bank robbery was unwise; but he continued to ponder possible ways to support himself – and strike a blow at his enemies – as he waited for an opportune moment to escape. And it would come, he was sure of it.

It was simply a matter of patience—

“According to the slants, there’s no such thing as a ‘Tohno clan’ – guess that means the Ministry can do what we want to ‘im.”

“Just a matter of waiting until the Minister’s got the stage set . . .”

. . . And from the sounds of things, he didn’t have much time.






As a child, the first time around, Galen had been somewhat sickly: prone to ear infections, fevers, and all the usual childhood ailments – including a few unusual ones, as he got older. Nothing life-threatening, but often and varied enough that he was very familiar with the sensation of being sick.

In this world, on the other hand, his medical history was far less varied, if no less troublesome. One of the few positives of lycanthropy was that it was a jealous mistress as well as a harsh one, tolerating no rivals; it exterminated diseases threatening its host with extreme prejudice. And with the Elixir flowing through his veins, he’d been outright immune to illness. So, prior experience aside, it had been a long while since Galen had last worried about the feeling of being sick.

But as of the twenty-fourth of November, he got an intimate reminder of exactly what it felt like. In fact, it felt like his entire backlog of avoided sickness was delivered at once.

It was an experience that immediately reminded him of some of the worst flu infections of his life – the ones where he barely had enough energy to stagger downstairs to the phone, call in sick, and crawl back up to bed for the day. Of the days where his energy was so low that being awake for more than four hours, in total, was an achievement.

And it lasted for three days.

Galen was never entirely sure what occurred during that time period, because he spent most of it asleep. From what Takara and Hermione told him afterwards, he’d basically gone through something akin to an extreme, prolonged sugar or adrenaline crash: his body had difficulty adjusting to being so low after being so high. The fact that “low,” in this case, was his body’s “normal” was immaterial – he’d been running on overdrive for a month, long enough to get used to it, and now the transition was a shock.

But – and this was the important part – it was a shock that he had, ultimately, survived.

Had he been older, or been made to subsist on a medieval diet in his formative years, along with its version of health care, he might not have. Somebody like that wouldn’t have been all that healthy to start with, and would’ve taken the shock a lot less well than someone who’d been making efforts to get in shape for years – not to mention somewhat used to recovering from periods like this.

Although, after some thought, Galen considered that maybe it would’ve killed an Olympian. After all, if the crash was this bad after a month’s usage, what would it have been like after over six and a half centuries of using the Elixir? The shock to their systems might’ve killed the Flamels outright, before they had even had a chance to try and endure it.

Regardless, they now knew that it was something he could take, if he had to – (and assuming the effect wasn’t cumulative). Not that he planned to take it again, or more than one dose if he did, just in case the effect was cumulative. Unfortunately, there was no real way to test it, at least none that he could think of. It was just one more alchemical secret that the Flamels had taken to their graves—

And we have the Resurrection Stone.

The former werewolf’s thoughts halted at the sudden realisation. After a moment, he began processing the possibilities.

There’s no way around the dangers of using the Stone, still – either the precautions that Ilya suggested work, or they don’t; the Flamels won’t be able to change that. But quizzing them on alchemy – something that Takara can and will test? It’s a golden (pun semi-intended) opportunity to find out whether or not the spirits that are summoned by the Stone can lie, or are even bound to answer questions whether they want to or not in the first place!

. . . And frankly, he admitted to himself. I’d rather find out this way than in the middle of Gringotts.

As far as tests went, this was about as safe and innocuous as it could get. The Flamels were admittedly not ideal subjects, since none of them knew the couple at all, and Hermione’s guilt over their deaths was a great lever for the Stone to have, but she didn’t have to be involved in the actual interrogation, and they weren’t exactly spoiled for choice.

Let’s face it: the only two dead people we could potentially call back that we’d actually trust wholeheartedly are Luna’s mother and Arturia Pendragon, but in Luna’s case, that’s exactly what the Stone is for in the tale, and she doesn’t deserve that kind of pain. And Arturia, sadly, doesn’t exist here.

Well, he thought she didn’t, at least. There had been that incident in fourth year, in the Room of Requirement, which almost made him wonder . . .

Galen’s thoughts were interrupted by Hermione’s appearance, with a phial in her hand.

“How do you feel?” she asked carefully, in that “I’m afraid of your answer” tone he knew and, in a strange way, loved.

“Better than I’ve been,” he admitted. “To be honest, I’m liable to be stiff and sore for a while, as I get used to calisthenics again – between my sick time and a month on the Elixir, I’ve probably lost a lot of conditioning, and exercising is liable to really hurt and exhaust me, for a while.”

She nodded. It wasn’t that he’d been unable to get tired, on the Elixir, but he’d been able to go for a long time before it happened, and recover in a fraction of the time it usually took him to. Dealing with being “merely mortal” again was undoubtedly going to take mentally adjusting to, as much or more than the physical shift in capabilities had.

“I was wondering if . . .” She hesitated. “Well . . .”

He restrained a smile, with some effort, because going by her body language this didn’t seem like “worried Hermione” so much as “shy Hermione.” She was embarrassed to be asking for whatever she wanted – and it was incredibly cute to see, if a little inefficient to deal with.

“According to both Takara and yourself, I’m more or less back to normal, Hermione,” he assured her gently, “so I should be OK for whatever you have in mind.” He paused for a beat, before letting the grin loose as he added, “And I would think that after Saturday, you’d know that doing almost anything you want will be my genuine pleasure.”

She pinked at the reminder of his birthday. Even if he’d been in any kind of shape to do so, he wasn’t overly inclined to pressure either of the girls for a repeat performance – but he was hardly averse to the idea.

Hermione bit her bottom lip. “That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind – but I’m not saying no – actually, I was kind of thinking of . . .” She trailed off, and then slowly raised the phial into view, showing it to be filled with an off-red potion – a very familiar one.

“. . . I’m not a werewolf anymore, Hermione,” he said slowly. “And Takara already leeched me once: a small sample for tests, and then, once she was sure my blood was safe for you, to refill your stock. So I’ve already had a Blood-Replenishing Potion once this week – is it safe for me to take another?”

“It’s really only dangerous if you take several of them at once,” she said authoritatively. “Or if you make a steady habit of them. Multiple doses over several days, as a one-time or periodic event, shouldn’t do you any damage.”

He smiled. “Well then, if it’s not going to do me – or you – any harm . . .” He opened his arms to embrace her.

Hermione, despite her eagerness, apparently wanted to tease a little: she shifted into vampire form and posed coquettishly for a beat, before gliding toward him with a sensual, rolling stride and a predatory smile. She kissed him firmly on the lips before pulling back; her own lips peeled back to turn her smile into a baring of her fangs, then she darted forward before he had a chance to tense up, piercing his carotid artery.

The pain was familiar, and something that shedding his curse hadn’t changed. The only difference that he noted, in an absent way, was that the stinging didn’t fade as quickly as he was used to – something he chalked up to losing his lycanthropic healing factor, not to mention the enhanced one the Elixir had given him. As a wizard, he still healed faster than a normal human, but it would be abominably slow compared to what he’d become used to.

That realisation, however, was quickly disregarded as a far more important (and familiar) feeling seized his attention.

Hermione’s presence slipped into his thoughts with familiar ease, her body relaxing against his, even as a wave of myriad emotions erupted from her mind. Relief at finally feeling something she’d sorely missed, delight as the taste of him filled her mouth and warmed her body; and a sense of wonder that it had, to her astonishment, improved. This was followed by a twinge of guilt and disgust that had her wincing internally – she was thinking of him as food again – but it was such a surprise that his blood could taste even better. . .

Galen stroked her hair in reassurance, until the guilty tension left her shoulders. Hermione sighed and abruptly withdrew her fangs. Her tongue brushed against the puncture wounds to seal them, and she relaxed against him with a sound of deep satisfaction.

Galen had to admit, he was surprised – she hadn’t drunk nearly as much as he’d expected, to say nothing of how much he’d feared she’d might; granted, he’d also expected that she’d be careful because it'd been a long, dry spell since her last "fresh" meal, but this was barely what Takara had taken for a blood sample. In vampiric terms, it hardly qualified as a light snack.

For her own part, Hermione merely radiated contentment, akin to Mirai when she was warm and cozy, and all was right in her world. He wondered if, also as in the case of Mirai during such times, the point had been not so much about the blood as about being close – getting their Legilimency link back as a means of doing so.

Hermione broadcast mild amusement at that thought, such that he could practically hear her say “Give the man a prize.”

Shaking his head would’ve dislodged Hermione, and likely displeased her, so he settled for ignoring her comment with dignity (as much as he could when she was in his head, anyway), and quickly calling up his thoughts regarding the Flamels. Imagining the summoning was easy enough to do, and would allow her to analyse his plan for potential flaws —

Hermione abruptly pulled back to stare at him with wide eyes. “Galen, you’re a genius.”

“You’re a genius, Hermione,” he countered. “I just have the odd moment of cunning and outside-the-box thinking.”

Hermione did shake her head, a small smile struggling to escape at the corners of her mouth. “All right then, I stand corrected: you’re an evil genius.”

Galen was unable to stop himself from grinning at that title, and mentally shrugged – if she wanted to persist in complimenting him, who was he to argue?

“Thank you, Milady,” he said, sketching a theatrical bow.

Hermione shook her head at his antics. “It’s still a brilliant idea, you know – do you have any concept of how much stress this will save Takara?”

“Oh, just slightly,” he said dryly, his grin expanding.

Hermione grew a wicked grin of her own. “Race you to tell her.”

Then, of course, she pushed off from him with a shove, sending him sprawling into the ground.

“. . . Oh, she’s good,” he muttered. “She’s very good – but I’m not giving up the title without a fight . . .”






“I appreciate your doing this, Rin,” Takara said earnestly, as a quickly-cast Summoning Charm was followed by a Hover Charm at a speed few wizards or witches could match. As a result, the Resurrection Stone appeared as if out of nowhere, but stopped just out of reach, floating in place.

The French-raised witch merely raised an eyebrow at the display, and smirked in response to the comment. “Honestly, Takara – as though I would miss seeing something like this.”

“That was the thinking,” Takara admitted.

She mentally added that having a genius with their NEWT levels (or the French equivalent, anyway) and four years’ of service as an Unspeakable was the other primary reason for asking her to monitor their tests of the Deathstone. Given Rin’s general proficiency in all kinds of magic, plus the sorts of exotic arcane that those in the Department of Mysteries tended to study, they’d figured that she’d be best placed to spot a trap or deleterious effect.

“We were just worried what effect it might have on any oaths you’ve made to your department,” she finished. “We really don’t want anyone knowing that we have this.”

“Understandable,” Rin said. Keeping one’s mysteries a secret did tie into her training as a magus, after all. “Though I admit, if we can get this to work safely, I’d love a chance to study it for myself . . .”

Her turquoise eyes were locked on the stone, as Takara levitated the black stone into the centre of the silvery cloak. A few more flicks of the wand redirected the spell, and folded the fabric over it – causing the entire mass to vanish, of course.

“Understandable,” Takara repeated Rin’s earlier answer, as she pulled on a second pair of dragonhide gloves over her first. “But it’s getting it to work safely that’s the problem . . .”

Rin grimaced. “I remember.” They’d briefed her rather thoroughly on the artefact’s history when describing its nature and abilities.

The ex-magus added grudgingly, “And I have to admit that I’ve got more than a few dead I wouldn’t want to see.”

“Whereas, so far as I know,” Takara replied, “I don’t. Everyone I can think of – that I care about, at least – is still alive. But just in case the Stone has another way to get to me . . .”

“I’ve got it covered,” Rin assured her.

“And like I said: that was our thinking.”

As the words left her mouth, Takara realised that she was trying to put off handling the Stone, even with the safety precautions. Galen’s paranoia over the Resurrection Stone, while admittedly probably justified, had infected her more deeply than she’d thought. She took a deep breath.

“All right, then – enough stalling. Here goes nothing . . .”

Gingerly, she picked up the invisibility-wrapped object and began twisting it in her hand.

“Nicolas Flamel, come to me . . .”

It began with a quiet ripple in the air, and then appeared a dark-skinned man with salt-and-pepper hair – or so it appeared, through the silvery-blue glow that he radiated. It more or less matched the images she remembered of the summoned shades in the second “Deathly Hallows” movie. Regardless, his entire form was transparent, with a bit of a ripple to it, like the veil in the arch in the Death Room in the Department of Mysteries – and he looked oddly familiar to Takara . . .

“Who summons me?” the shade demanded, his voice accented with an odd mixture of French and British English.

It was only after he spoke that Takara realised who he reminded her of. She didn’t know his name, but she knew him, nevertheless: that treacherous guide from the beginning of “Raiders of the Lost Ark” – albeit with a lot more class and dignity.

“Who are you?” the greying man demanded. “How are you doing this to me?”

“I am the holder of the Resurrection Stone,” Takara said carefully, in French. “And to begin with, I would like to offer an apology on behalf of one who holds your Philosopher’s Stone – causing your death was not intended, and had a means to contact you been available it would have been returned to you.”

At that, the spectre drew back, visibly startled. He stared silently at her for a moment, as if having difficulty processing all of that, before he finally sighed.

“Strange words, for a thief,” Flamel said at last. “And yet, from what I recall of what Albus said of the nature of his ‘protections,’ they can’t be anything other than the truth – if nothing else, it is difficult to lie to the dead.” He shook his head, sending undulations throughout his entire form. “. . . Very well; I will grant forgiveness, for whatever that is worth.”

“Thank you, Master Flamel,” Takara said. “And in my own case, I have a question I need answered: what can you tell me of the white Philosopher’s Stone?”

Flamel blinked, once again astonished. “You already have the Philosopher’s Stone in your grasp – or at the very least, know who does – and yet, you do not seek the true Stone?”

“It is,” Takara admitted, “a long story, Master Flamel.”

“I expect so,” the alchemist’s shade admitted faintly. “. . . I very much wish I had met you while alive, mademoiselle – you are living proof that, even after six and a half centuries of life, there are still surprises to be encountered. Do tell me the tale, if you please . . .”









Additional Writer's Notes: For those who don't recognise the reference, Nicolas Flamel is played by Alfred Molina - maybe not the ideal actor for the part, but I enjoy the sense of class the man can portray (I'm referencing "The Sorcerer's Apprentice" specifically, here).

[TheAbsolutistsCreed]

Didn't miss much i see... I miss my keyboard. And my tethering wont allow me any bandwidth 'til the 19th...

Hope you feel better.

[Kieran]

Didn't miss much i see... I miss my keyboard. And my tethering wont allow me any bandwidth 'til the 19th...

Hope you feel better.

I do - and I've got another physio session scheduled for Wednesday, which should help.

Apologies if this seems filler-ish; personally, I thought I was rather clever in finding a workaround on the Philosopher's Stone. Ah, well - you can't win 'em all, and I'll try harder to impress on the Gringotts raid.

[fsnfan]

Wasn't the incident where Hermione almost sucked Galen dry supposed to be deleted from his mind and Takara's? Why does he still remember it?

[Kieran]

Oops - I forgot that (not-so-little) detail. *Blushes*

I'll fix it later - thanks for the reminder.


EDIT: Fixed.

[ringlhach]

Shin's in for a bit of a surprise, isn't he? But I suppose that's the point. Him and a whole lot of other people, really.

Even as an adult wizard, Galen's lucky to have survived. He'll have just gotten every viral cold, sickness, and flu that Takara and maybe Hermione ever had, and since he doesn't have the resistance... Heck, he may have so low a resistance now that the "dead viruses" in vaccines would give him troubles, if he's that immune-compromised. There's a bit of food for thought for you- next time Galen goes out into Muggleland, he catches the chicken pox. ./evilgrin Would Takara have had that, this time through?

[Kieran]

Shin's in for a bit of a surprise, isn't he? But I suppose that's the point. Him and a whole lot of other people, really.

I suppose that depends on what kind of "surprise" you're thinking of.

Even as an adult wizard, Galen's lucky to have survived. He'll have just gotten every viral cold, sickness, and flu that Takara and maybe Hermione ever had, and since he doesn't have the resistance... Heck, he may have so low a resistance now that the "dead viruses" in vaccines would give him troubles, if he's that immune-compromised.

It depends on what-all the Elixir did to his system - for a while there, his body was running on an immunity level even higher than a lycanthrope. And becoming an Animagus may've helped, as well. I suspect that while his immune system isn't necessarily experienced in dealing with most modern illnesses, it is hyper-aggressive . . . But I'm honestly not sure.

There's a bit of food for thought for you- next time Galen goes out into Muggleland, he catches the chicken pox. ./evilgrin Would Takara have had that, this time through?

Well, mundane diseases don't seem to bother them much - Pepper-Up Potion cures the common cold, after all. But there are the magical equivalents (I've heard bad things about dragon pox) . . .

[Faraway-R]

Well damn. Summoning Flamel...

Damn. I really should have finished the review of Book 6 long time ago. There was a near-perfect coincidence that led in a different direction!

[ringlhach]

It depends on what-all the Elixir did to his system - for a while there, his body was running on an immunity level even higher than a lycanthrope. And becoming an Animagus may've helped, as well. I suspect that while his immune system isn't necessarily experienced in dealing with most modern illnesses, it is hyper-aggressive . . . But I'm honestly not sure.

There's really three possibilities that I can think of off the top of my head. They both really depend on how permanent certain of the Elixir's effects are.

The first is that it, combined with the aftereffects of lycanthropy, gave him a permanent boost. Is this what you'd intended?

The second is that the Elixir boosted him just enough so that his natural systems- if natural's the right word here- could throw off his lycanthropy, however it's manifested. If it's purely a magical curse, then it's probably got nothing to do with his immune system at all, and it's just as temporary as his immortality. A steroid, in other words. That'd mean that when the Elixir boost wears off, so do its strengthening effects. Between the way you portray the lycanthropy itself- the curse itself seems to counter disease, not the body under the curse's effects- his immune system might be weakened at best or compromised at worst. The AIDS horror stories are good examples of what happens at the far end of that particular path, although in most cases it's nowhere near that severe. This is what I'd originally assumed had happened, and I still think it'd be the most likely case.

The third happens to occur to me just now, reading your response. A "hyper-aggressive" immune system also occurs in some forms of leukemia. Here, Galen, you're not a werewolf any more- you've just got cancer. That'd be one hell of a kick.
Keep in mind that anything bacterial or fungal is going to work differently. I'm not a doctor- at the moment, I deal mostly with medical insurance and claims, so I'm a little more read than most but not nearly an expert.

[Kieran]

That makes you better-versed in the subject than me - probably. My sister is a nurse, so I've likely got a better source of information at hand; but it's really never occurred to me to bother studying the topic before.

My personal thought is that the lycanthropy drove his immune system into a killing frenzy, such that since there's no such thing as a "silver disease" (which would be the only way to stop his antibodies when they attacked a threat) it effectively steam-rolled anything it came across. The Elixir simply transmuted him, wholesale, into a "perfect" being. And, being perfect, he was just incapable of getting sick.

[B.B. Rain]

...It's been a while since I read the whole work.

What's this about a 'white' Philosopher's Stone, as opposed to the one they already have?

Also, have they considered using the stone to interrogate Akiha or Kohaku, just to make sure they don't have to worry about particular contingencies? Or Dumbledore, for the same reason?

...Actually, could they use the stone to summon up the personas of the destroyed Horcuxes, to interrogate them for information relevant to Riddle? I mean, it would be varying amounts of out-of-date, but it would be accurate, and thus possibly still useful.

[Funderfullness]

As I understand it a white Philosopher's Stone is a different and/or less "mature" version. Red makes gold while white makes silver.

[Kieran]

...It's been a while since I read the whole work.

Me, too, to be honest.

What's this about a 'white' Philosopher's Stone, as opposed to the one they already have?

In my research on Flamel, I found references that his Philosopher's Stone originally made silver, not gold, and a couple of other things that made me consider an "incomplete" Philosopher's Stone: one that had yet to reach the final, rubric (red) stage. That's basically what Takara's aiming for, in hopes that it'll produce an Elixir variant that they (and Hermione) can live with, so to speak - and something that they could possibly release to the general public.

Also, have they considered using the stone to interrogate Akiha or Kohaku, just to make sure they don't have to worry about particular contingencies? Or Dumbledore, for the same reason?

I'm sure it's probably occurred to them, but they've likely decided that it's better to wait until after they're done with the Flamels, and have verified whether trusting the shades that Stone summons is just plain suicide or not.

...Actually, could they use the stone to summon up the personas of the destroyed Horcuxes, to interrogate them for information relevant to Riddle? I mean, it would be varying amounts of out-of-date, but it would be accurate, and thus possibly still useful.

Nice thought, but next to impossible to do, I suspect - because how would you differentiate between them all, including the (currently) "living" one?

[Funderfullness]

Would the white Elixir be a more reliable cure for lycanthropy since it's silver-based? That could be another reason to to go public since the red version (apparently) has a low success rate in that regard.

[Kieran]

. . . Hard to say. I suppose that we might find out.

[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 65 – Planning Sessions


November 23 – 26, 1997






For better or worse, Neville had the distinction of having the largest and strongest Animagus form among his friends – even Hermione’s lioness form was comparatively small, weighing less than half of his did.

This meant that while Shirou had possessed a relative advantage in strength when they were younger, Neville had rapidly overtaken him after puberty hit. He was now, bar none, the largest and strongest of all of them. This had several advantages, to be sure, but it wasn’t without its drawbacks. One of them was that, when weight-lifting, he needed at least two people to spot for him, just in case anything happened – just one of them couldn’t have lifted the barbell off of him.

. . . At least, not prior to Hermione’s becoming a vampire, anyway.

He watched with some bemusement as she took it from his grip, seemingly ignoring the fact that either side of the five-kilo bar had hundred-kilo weights attached, and set it on the rests.

“Thanks,” he said, slowly sitting up and shaking his head, even as he made an effort to catch his breath. “I suppose the fact that you at least had to use both hands is something that’ll salve my pride.”

Hermione smirked. “Well, if you’d decided to do this at night, I’d have only needed one . . .”

Neville winced, even as he considered the amount of strength that implied. Hermione had previously been limited to her original, human level of ability during the day. Was this a result of her growing out of her “fledgling” stage, as they’d been told, or something to do with her newest dietary change?

“. . . Of course, you’re better off than Galen is right now,” the vampire witch finished teasingly. She, and Neville with her, turned to regard the named individual (and incidentally, the source of the aforementioned dietary change).

Galen’s skin had faded from its golden tan back to the paler hue Neville was used to (though it was presently reddened with strain), after the girls’ lycanthropy cure had worked its way through his system. Likewise, his hair had lost its golden sheen and his eyes their near-luminescence. However, the grey remained in his hair, and his eyes were still a darker shade of blue than they’d been prior to taking it, as did his more massive build.

That, and a demonstrated shift to dire wolf form, had proved that the effects remained, even if the cure itself was gone. And now, fully human again for the first time since he was four years old, he was doing something he hadn’t tried for over half a decade: building muscle mass.

Prior to the cure, Galen had been limited to lifting his own body weight – the physical training and conditioning he’d undergone had accomplished that much for him even if it couldn’t go any further. At the time, that had amounted to eighty kilograms, which was a not-inconsiderable weight, if less than Shirou or Neville himself could manage.

After the cure, that general state of health remained; he could still lift his own body weight – it was just that the weight in question was now a hundred kilograms, rather than eighty.

Contrary to obvious thinking, the superior method for building muscle was to do more work with less weight, rather than maxing out all the time; and having a dire wolf’s stamina meant that he could do a lot more work. As such, Galen was currently struggling with his previous record weight, eighty, to accomplish a fourth set of thirty bench-presses – but to Neville’s surprise, he still sounded only winded as he carried on a conversation.

“So, how bad have things gotten inside Hogwarts?”

“It’s hard to tell,” Neville admitted. “The Map shows us everywhere, but it’s light on details – and while the Room can let us view anywhere, it can only show so many scenes at a time. Even then, we do need to take breaks to sleep, and the like . . . Still, I can make a few generalised guesses.

“Right now, anything being done is subtle – if anything is being done at all. While Riddle’s puppet government is doing their best to whip up anti-foreigner feelings, they can’t risk another incident at Hogwarts, not so soon after the last one. Not while he’s still trying to maintain the illusion that the government has everything under control. And there really aren’t that many foreign students at Hogwarts – the Patils, yes, and maybe you can count students that are, say, Irish instead of English – but in that case, you’d have had to count Malfoy, too, if he was still alive.”

Galen nodded. “And we’ve already evacuated the mundane-born, and the more sympathetic half-bloods.”

“Right,” Neville agreed, “so most of the remaining population are believers, anyway, or just too stubborn or ignorant for their own good. Either way, it’s a lot easier for the teachers to police things, with a good third of the school missing – and Umbridge aside, most of the teachers are on our side of things.”

“Meaning,” Galen heaved, “that they won’t let things – get out of hand . . . And – that’s – thirty.”

He placed the weight bar on its stand, and took a few deep breaths before continuing, “And they can’t risk dismissing them right now, because they’re too good at what they do to be easily replaced – and again, it goes against thing ‘everything is fine’ image.”

“Right,” Neville said. “So far, I’ve been mostly been watching Gryffindor and Ravenclaw – I figured that if trouble was going to start, it’d likely be aimed at one of those two.”

Galen was silent for a moment. “Would that be because McGonagall and Flitwick are two of the teachers to watch in terms of capable light-side supporters, because the Patil twins are in the two houses, or because Flitwick is half-or-so goblin, and therefore a potential target?”

Neville shrugged. “I figured ‘all of the above,’ really.”

Galen smirked and said, in a decent imitation of James Earl Jones, “I have taught you well, young Longbottom – your training is complete.”

Neville shuddered. “It really gives me the creeps when you do that, you know.”

Granted, it wasn’t a trait that was unique to Galen; Neville’s own voice was deep enough that he could a decent Darth Vader impression himself, and he’d learned over the years that both Takara and Ilya were chillingly effective at projecting silken menace. The older wizard, however, managed to combine the two elements with unsettling believability.

Galen’s smirk bared teeth. “Have you not figured out yet that that’s half the fun of it for me?”

“Yes, you prat” Neville said grudgingly. He grinned. “Of course, now that you’re done with the bench-pressing, it’s time for a little CQC practice . . .” Now it was his turn to bare his teeth. “And revenge will be mine.”

“. . . And then again,” Galen allowed, under his breath, “maybe I taught you a little too well . . .”






Hermione settled into a chair between Takara and Luna, seating herself across from Ilya, who had Shirou and Neville between her, with Ginny on a communications mirror, as she was in the Room of Requirement. Across from Takara was Shirou, and Galen was at the head of the table. Going further on down was Neville, Rin Delacour, the Lupins, the Tonkses, and Alastor Moody.

Hermione amused herself momentarily trying to decide what the group would call themselves – the newest incarnation of the Order of the Phoenix? The Scarlet Seven–plus-hangers-on, perhaps? Undoubtedly, history would come up with something for posterity . . .

And going by our usual luck, I imagine it’ll be suggested by the Weasley twins again, she thought dryly.

The vampire witch was dragged off her current train of thought by Galen’s calling the strategy session to order. He began by going over what they knew of the current situation at Hogwarts, within the Ministry, and throughout Britain in general. He then highlighted their present goals – the destruction of the Horcrux, avoiding a war against the goblins in the process, and overthrowing Riddle’s regime. And then he went over the major issues, as he saw them.

“The main problem, as I see it, is in the timing,” Galen explained. “Thus far, the situation has been relatively static; Riddle assumes we’ve gone to ground – which we have – and he’s trying not to rock the boat too much while he runs damage control. Yes, he’s running his anti-foreigner campaign, but he’s not really doing much with it, because he can’t afford to do much more than lay groundwork.

“But,” he added darkly, “that will change. Every indication so far is that he was unaware of the destruction of his soul anchors before his resurrection, and it’s possible that distance may have lessened the effect of the most recent losses. However, all our research indicates that he will feel it when the last one is gone – and when that happens, he’ll start to panic. He’ll ask himself, was it an accident, or a deliberate attempt – and if the latter, how did we know? How many more do we know about? How many might we have already gotten to?”

“At that point,” Galen finished, “he won’t be able to afford to ignore us anymore. He’ll need to draw us out – and the easiest way to do that involves the two hundred or so hostages currently in Hogwarts.”

Hermione’s vampiric senses noted the number of heartbeats that skipped abruptly at that statement, though nearly all of the adults turned pale. Apparently, that possibility had not occurred to them.

Now, was that because they hadn’t wanted to think about it, or because they honestly weren’t considering the consequences? Hermione wondered.

Certainly, her experience with British magical society implied that the latter was most likely – if common sense was a vanishingly rare quality among them, consequences was nearly a foreign concept. Still, most of these people, from what she knew, lived lives with enough hardship, and had enough intelligence, that the former was still a possibility . . .

Moody seemed oddly amused. “And I suppose you’ve got a plan laid out to deal with it, laddie?”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a ‘plan,’” Galen countered, “but I’ve got a few ideas, yes. I was also hoping that you all might be able to come up with some – or failing that, help refine mine into something more usable.

“Thus far, we’ve had people stationed at Hogwarts in case of problems, with an eye to recruiting rebels; we’ve not had much luck, because Riddle’s people are being remarkably subtle. Now, though, I think we need to start actively recruiting – if only so that the students are able to protect themselves when the attack finally comes.” Galen smirked. “And while the students and teachers might not necessarily listen to us, a few favourite professors and old colleagues would have far more credibility.”

He eyed Moody, Lupin, and Tonks in particular – but gave a nod of acknowledgement to Ilya, as well.

Hermione found that she agreed with Galen’s logic, and added, “While it doesn’t have the active defences this place does, our Hogwarts safe house has the same passive defences – so as long as you’re careful in how you move around the castle, you should remain undetected.”

She paused, suddenly remembering the Map, and corrected herself. “In fact, in some ways, the passive defences are better than here.”

“So it should be an excellent place for anyone who wants to contribute to the war effort, but needs to stay safe somewhere,” Shirou pointed out. “Like, say, expecting or young mothers?”

Ilya and Tonks both shot him a dirty look for that, but the redhead remained unmoved, gazing at Ilya in particular.

Hermione had been through Galen’s memories before – she understood just why Shirou was one of the few men he was afraid of. She had seen just what Shirou had been capable of, in other times and places. However, his current expression was one she hadn’t ever seen before – at least, not on Shirou’s face, not directed at one of them. She had, however, seen it on Galen’s face before, so she knew exactly what it meant.

“I will tear Heaven down into Hell, piece by piece, if I have to, in order to make it happen – but this is how it’s going to be.”

As expected, Ilya did, too – because she nodded grudgingly, at last.

“It’ll certainly make our operations in Hogwarts easier,” Neville remarked, in a tone that suggested that he was either unaware or uncaring of the byplay, or just deliberately changing the subject. “If Tonks stays behind to act as overseer for us, we can all go out, if we have to – safety in numbers, and all.”

Puzzlement showed around the room among those who were unfamiliar with the Marauders’ Map. Hermione noted with little surprise that Tonks was one of them – of course it hadn’t occurred to Remus to mention it . . .

It’s sort of sad when my romantic relationship is the healthier one by comparison, she mused idly. Considering that it is, in a very real sense, a parasitic one – but at least the three of us trust each other enough to talk, and confide in one another.

Mostly, anyway, she added hastily, recalling several incidents over the years.

Still, she had to admit, as she looked back, things had improved a great deal from where they’d stood in the beginning. And no doubt they’d continue to do so, as the years went on and they grew more accustomed to one another – that was certainly the hope, at least, in any sort of relationship. But she wasn’t at all certain that would prove to be the case for Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks.

And the truly tragic thing was, while such an outcome might render Remus Lupin correct, it would be entirely of his own doing, rather than the natural consequence he’d assume it was.

Moody spoke up at that moment, drawing Hermione out of her thoughts.

“You’re sure you won’t need us out in the field?”

“You’re good, Professor Moody, but your specialty is dark wizards, not goblins,” Ginny pointed out, proving that she’d learned her lessons well. “And you’re fairly identifiable, which we don’t want to have happen.”

“Fair points, lass,” the elder Auror admitted with a nod, drawing looks of surprise from a few of the others. Seeing them, he merely shrugged. “She’s thought this through, and she’s right – no shame in admitting it.”

“Plus,” Takara pointed out, “our parents should be back in another week or so, and this sort of thing is their specialty.”

Moody let out a bark of laughter. “That it is, lass. That it is.” He shook his head. “Seems like you’ve got a reasonable idea of what you’re doing on that score, at least – and I agree that I’m probably more use teaching than going up against goblins. But you remember to be careful around those bloodthirsty little bastards all the same – CONSTANT VIGILANCE!”

“Always, Professor,” Hermione assured him. “After all, if we didn’t look out for him, Galen would’ve died years ago.”

“I’d complain if it wasn’t true,” he sighed. After a beat, he straightened up. “All right, then – any other volunteers, or suggestions on how to optimise our use of our available resources?”






Through intensive and intricate historical research, Lord Voldemort had determined the key to success as a Dark Lord.

It wasn’t merely a matter of possessing superior magical power, unparalleled mastery of the Dark Arts and an unbridled will to wield both – though those were certainly prerequisites. No, the true measure of a Dark Lord was in his ability to maintain a careful balance between theatrics and actual threat.

A Dark Lord should be feared, that was without question; but a populace catatonic with fear was virtually useless, and worse, they were only the right push away from fearing nothing – and from that grew rebellion. Likewise, a Dark Lord who was overly reliant on the Dark Arts to maintain discipline among his followers was liable to breed resentment, in time, and from that grew rebellion, as well. Yet at the same time, a Dark Lord who shied away from using such methods would eventually be thought of as weak, a paper tiger, and must always fear the ambitious among his underlings.

Lord Voldemort had striven, always, to be careful in how he utilised his powers and his temper, to preserve that delicate balance, for it was indeed upon a knife-point – perhaps literally, if things went awry. That philosophy extended even to how he acted among his enemies, he attempted maintain a veneer of respectability; to be seen as a civilised Dark Lord, a preferable alternative to some of the more extreme possibilities. It was this approach to life, as much as the terror he inspired, that had been a founding cornerstone of his success, and indeed, Lord Voldemort prided himself on it.

And so, as those writhing upon the floor before him lost bladder and bowel control under the influence of his Cruciatus curse, it was clear to all those that had been gathered to witness it how thoroughly infuriated he truly was.

It was a sign of his mastery that he let them dangle upon the precipice of madness, such as the Longbottoms endured at Bellatrix’s wand, without letting them fall over it – though his darker instincts were tempted to give them that final push. But no – these two were highly placed in the Ministry, and possessed wealth and influence enough that they might yet be useful, and so he released the curse at the last possible moment, sparing them that fate.

. . . Though in truth, they might have thanked him for it, in contrast to what they suffered now.

But even this was a mercy, compared to what he’d done to the actual guards who had failed him. They had been the lowliest of peons, having no intrinsic value beyond their skill and competence, both of which had proven to be inadequate to the simple task he’d assigned them. Likewise, their wills had proven inadequate to the power of his Imperius Curse – and so, they’d dug out their own hearts and offered them to him with vacant smiles.

Theatricality and threat, equally presented. Those gathered would no doubt work all the harder for him, having witnessed both. And his fury was, if not spent, at least appeased by its exercise.

The Dark Lord watched through hooded eyes as the two spasming fools continued to writhe upon the ground, waiting several moments until their eyes regained some measure of lucidity. Once that occurred, and therefore meant that they were likely to heed his words, he spoke.

“Tell me,” he hissed, “how it is that an underage wizard – whom all previous reports described as either ‘potioned to the gills’ or ‘half-dead’ – managed to escape a full contingent of guards?”

“We . . . We grew complacent, my Lord,” the functionary answered in a thick voice, stuttering several times as his attempted to form the words. “H – He recovered quicker than anticipated – an – and feigned his symptoms . . . And he Disapparated.”

An impressive feat, the Dark Lord allowed, given that from what he recalled, the boy was not yet old enough to learn how, yet too old to have incidents of accidental magic. Even more so, when one considered that the prison cells should have been warded against such a possibility.

“I had thought the Anti-Apparition defences one of the first we restored, after retaking the Ministry,” he said icily. “Do you mean to tell me that one of our greatest vulnerabilities still endures?”

“N – No, my Lord – it was . . . It was in the Atrium . . . He Disapparated in the A – Atrium . . .”

The Atrium: where the defences were only engaged when the entire Ministry was locked down, as it was the main entry hub for the complex. A moment of feigned weakness would’ve been all it took, except—

“Was the prisoner not bound?”

“There s – seemed no n – n – need . . . He had been catatonic for so long —”

Ah, complacency, Lord Voldemort mused. The downfall of so many lesser beings . . . In hindsight, I suppose that I ought to have expected it.

“You are fortunate,” he informed the stuttering fool, “that Nihon has not demanded the boy be handed over, as they did with Lucius Malfoy. I would be tempted to send them one of you in his place – and if there was no Polyjuice Potion on hand, I would be forced to make do with . . . Cruder methods. Far cruder, indeed – but no less effective, I assure you.

“As it is,” he continued, “I want it known that this is your last chance, and should either of you fail me again, in any way, large or small, your subordinates’ fates will seem a great kindness . . . Get out of my sight.”

The pair made a passable effort at crawling away, one that he found entertaining enough that he saw no need to encourage them. At any rate, there were more pressing matters to hold his attention – such as what to do about the boy’s escape. The boy had evidently retained more of his power than they’d realised, or else was far more skilled, and neither possibility boded well . . .

“Approach Barnabus Cuffe,” he ordered at last. “Tell him that the Ministry wishes for the Daily Prophet to announce that the escape of the Butcher of Hogwarts was carried out earlier today by several members of the Weasley family, who are known to have foreign ties, and whose youngest member was directly responsible for the murder of Draco Malfoy. Investigations are proceeding into the links between the two attacks, and the possibility of a wider conspiracy at the behest of foreign powers – the eldest son recently married a French bride, and the second-eldest is known to have resided in Romania for several years, after all . . .”

He smiled thinly. “In the meantime, all citizens are to be on the lookout for these dangerous elements – and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is hereby authorised to use any necessary force to end the threat they pose to the peaceful people of Britain.”

One way or another, living or dead, that boy would serve his purposes.








Additional Writer's Notes: Yay! I'm on time for the first time in - months!

[Funderfullness]

I thought Seamus was one of the students replaced by the trinity along with Harry and a girl whose name I can't remember?

[Twi]

Wait, I thought it was Dean who got replaced initially?

[Kieran]

I thought Seamus was one of the students replaced by the trinity along with Harry and a girl whose name I can't remember?

Wait, I thought it was Dean who got replaced initially?

No, Funderfullness is right - I knew I was forgetting something . . . Unfortunately, there just aren't that many examples of foreign(-ish) students described at Hogwarts, so I latched on to one of the few I could find, and forgot what I'd already done with him - oops.

*Shakes head* I'll fix it after I've had some coffee.


EDIT: Fixed.