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 Prisoner of Azkaban, but I trust in the intelligence of my readers (and the availability of the books) to recognise them when they see them.
Chapter 29 - Hermione’s “Secret”
February 12, 1994
Shirou was a little surprised when they reached the Aurors. His dad’s presence wasn’t completely unexpected, but Shiki Aozaki’s was. They were leaning against part of the Stone Circle, about midway between the castle and Hagrid’s hut, next to a tall, dark-skinned man, apparently conferring about search patterns, and Shirou took a moment to understand what it meant to have both fathers here.
Kiritsugu Einzbern and Shiki Aozaki were two of the Security Division’s top operatives. They typically worked together, and had ever since Ciel Aozaki had been moved to a teaching slot when Takara was born, but that was only when they worked with any other operatives at all. The two men weren’t simply standard security thugs, or even run-of-the-mill Aurors. They operated as two of the Division’s cleaners - the very best there was in regards to tracking and assassinating Dark wizards across international borders. Very often, the presence of a single one of them on a mission guaranteed its success, and when they were paired together, it was because the threat they’d been sent after was assumed to be very, very dangerous.
And since there isn’t one, given Sirius’ loyalties, are they here because they don’t trust us? Shirou wondered.
“Uncle” Shiki spotted him first, and gave him a nod as they approached. Catching his motion, Kiritsugu turned, and gave him a bewildered smile. “Shirou? What brings you here?”
“Peter Pettigrew,” Lupin said tightly.
“Pettigrew?” the dark Auror asked in shock, and Shirou caught hints of an accent that sounded like some flavour of Central American. The older man shook his head. “Not possible. Black killed him twelve years ago.”
“I can assure you, Auror - “
”Kingsley Shacklebolt,” the man supplied.
“- Auror Shacklebolt,” Lupin acknowledged, “that this man is Peter Pettigrew. And there are two other pieces of evidence you need to take note of.”
He thrust Pettigrew’s hand forward. “It’s missing the finger the Aurors found at the scene, of course - he cut it off himself before Transfiguring himself into a rat and escaping. I can testify to the fact that he’d been an illegal Animagus for a number of years. What I didn’t know, until finding him this morning, was about this.”
Lupin thrust the other arm forward, displaying Voldemort’s brand. Shacklebolt drew in breath with a sudden hiss.
“P - please, Remus,” Pettigrew babbled. “You don’t understand. Sirius made me - ”
“Made you take the Dark Mark?” Lupin snapped. “I highly doubt it. Sirius hated anything to do with the Dark Arts, much less Lord Voldemort.” At the name, Shacklebolt and Pettigrew flinched, and Shirou refrained from rolling his eyes.
“But made you be the Potters’ Secret-Keeper?” he continued. “Oh yes - that, I can believe. That’s classic Sirius - he misdirects everyone, while the real prank goes on under their noses. While all the Death Eaters hunt for him to find the Potters, the true Secret-Keeper is safely hidden away, because no one even suspects he exists.
“Tell me, Peter,” Lupin said dangerously. “How long did you wait before telling your master where James and Lily were hiding?”
“What point was there in fighting him, Remus?” Pettigrew said bitterly. “The Dark Lord was too powerful - “
”WHAT POINT?” Lupin roared, and at that point the Aurors stepped in to separate them, the Security Division moving to restrain the werewolf, albeit gently.
“Peter Pettigrew,” Shacklebolt said with admirable calm, “you are hereby arrested on the charge of bearing the Dark Mark, and for questioning in the deaths of James, Lily, and Harry Potter, as well as the wilful murder of twelve Muggles -”
“Avada Kedavra,” said a dark and terrible voice, and the fright-filled eyes of Peter Pettigrew went empty in death.
Shacklebolt whirled, as the voice spoke again. “Confringo!”
“Protego!” Not for nothing was Shiki Aozaki called the fastest duellist alive, but as the clearing exploded into a storm of evaporating snow, flying dirt and falling stone, not even he could sustain a Shield Charm surrounding five people against that onslaught. The bright silver disc shattered under the force of the explosion, sending them all tumbling in different directions. Shirou tucked himself into a defensive roll, using all his training and reflexes to and minimise the impact . . . He must have lost consciousness for a moment, because he was suddenly aware of his father shaking him, even as blood ran down Kiritsugu’s forehead.
“- SHIROU!” Kiritsugu yelled, and Shirou abruptly became aware that he must have been yelling for some time.
“. . . Dad?” he croaked. “You’re hurt.” He shifted for a moment, and winced. “I hurt.”
Familiar hands probed expertly, and with as much gentleness as possible, but Shirou still hissed when they struck a tender point.
“I don’t think you’ve broken any ribs, but they’re definitely bruised,” Kiritsugu muttered. “I’m more worried about a concussion. How’s Shacklebolt?” Shirou blinked, then realised that Kiritsugu hadn’t been asking him.
“Out cold, but he’s still breathing,” Shiki said grimly. “Lupin?”
“Broke my arm - and my wand,” the werewolf muttered. “Pity I don’t have your training, but it’s nothing Madam Pomfrey can’t fix.”
“My training isn’t as useful as you’d think,” Shiki countered. “The fall didn’t hurt me, but a piece of one of the stone columns landed on my foot - I’m pinned, and I think my ankle is broken, or at least twisted.”
Kiritsugu scowled. “We’ll never live this down. Caught by surprise, with four of us to one of him - and none of us are in any condition to pursue him, especially not with injured civilians to care for.”
Shirou’s eyes flickered to a distant point of movement, and the two fathers’ gazes locked on the same.
“I don’t think we have to worry about pursuit,” Shirou muttered. “Keeping Black alive after Galen gets through with him, on the other hand . . .”
Galen was seething by the time he’d worked himself up to a reasonable running speed. One reason for this was the fact that he had to restrict himself to a “reasonable” running speed - but with the throbbing aches along the back of his head, and the uneven terrain, he didn’t dare try to run flat out, and so his best pursuit speed was more like a light jog.
Stupid table, he growled mentally. The duster took the damned spell, and soaked up the impact pretty well - if I’d landed on the floor, I’d have been fine! But the damned table had to be there, and it had to break, and I just had to hit my head on the bloody edge as it did!
Stop and think, his inner voice advised him. You’re about to go up against an experienced, half-crazy, and definitely angry wizard - while empty-handed and injured.
. . . Never mind. If you were thinking, you wouldn’t be in this mess.
I can barely keep him in sight now! There wasn’t time to look for my wand!
So what are you going to do when you catch him, without it?
Wring his bloody neck! Galen shot back, just before an enormous explosion shattered the air, along with plumes of dust, dirt, and wood fragments.
. . . Good luck with that, came the dry response.
Silence held for a moment, and Galen wondered what had happened - before noting a massive black dog charging away from the scene.
He’ll try to get outside the Anti-Apparation wards on the grounds so he can escape - which means he’s headed for the road to Hogsmeade, and he needs speed. Hence, Padfoot. If I can catch him before he changes back . . .
Galen darted off in a parallel course, trying to circle wide and catch the Animagus before he reached safety, or at worst, cut him off. His limbs and lungs burned as he tried to counter the sheer speed of the quadruped - and gradually, the fact that he was closer to the goal to begin with started to pay off. It was going to be close, but he thought he could make it.
With a final, wheezing breath, he did - and the dog drew up short along the well-worn road as he saw the youth, waiting for him in the centre of it, surrounded by trees on either side.
“Neville . . . Broke his arms . . .” Galen gasped. “You’ll - pay for that.”
Snarling, the dog lunged - but Galen’s luck held, even weary and aching as he was. Even as the weight of the animal crashed into him, dragging them both to the ground, e managed to get an arm between his throat and the snarling jaws. The dog’s teeth bounced off the dragonhide sleeve like it had tried to bite steel plating, and Galen brought his other arm up to box its ear.
Black yelped in pain, and part of Galen winced at the sound. He could kill humans and never bat an eye, but he’d never liked seeing animals hurt, much less hurting them himself. Hell, he’d argued long and hard with McGonagall over transfiguring hedgehogs into pincushions, and the like. She’d settled for written reports which proved that he adequately understood the theory, including illustrations of wand movements and various stages of Transfiguration. So the sound of an injured dog was almost akin to the Cruciatus to him, and it showed on his face. And Sirius Black was always quick to take advantages. He whimpered a little longer, then lunged to attack again at the only part of Galen not covered by his duster - the face. A muzzle full of sharp teeth buried themselves in Galen’s right cheekbone, and he would’ve screamed if he could open his mouth to do so.
This time, Galen’s fist slammed into Black’s eye, and the dog flinched back so wildly that Galen was able to throw him off completely, and rise. Sirius rolled away, and then to his feet - his human feet.
Sirius’ obsidian eyes glittered warily as he glared at him. “You are one stubborn punk.” He smiled mirthlessly. “You remind me of me.”
Galen tried to reply, but the mangling of his face made his words unintelligible.
“Bleeding, battered - it’s a wonder you’re still standing, nephew,” Sirius observed. “And I suppose that as long as you are, there’s no way you’d ever let me go?”
Galen shook his head, and winced at the accompanying pain in his neck.
Sirius sighed. “Then I suppose there’s not much choice - Confringo!”
Galen was already diving to the side, trying to avoid the incoming spell . . . The explosion of the trees behind him, however, was unexpected, and lifted him off the road to go tumbling head over heels through the air. His last sight was of Sirius taking a final step forward, and Disapparating. Then there was a flash of red as his skull collided with a tree trunk - and darkness.
After separating from Hermione on the staircases, Takara made her way to the Hospital Wing at a purposeful, but not particularly hurried pace. Pettigrew’s injury was bad, but her own minor healing spells should hold him until Madam Pomfrey could look him over. That wasn’t to say he might not lose the leg, but she couldn’t find it in herself to feel really bad about it. And so she made her way to the school matron, quickly enough that no one stopped her, but not in any real rush.
When the sound of a distant explosion reached her ears as she approached the Hospital Wing, she regretted that, and quickened her pace.
“Madam Pomfrey!” she called as she burst through the door. “You’re needed at the stone circle out by the Forbidden Forest - the Aurors have an injured prisoner to treat.”
“Finally caught Sirius Black, have they?” the matron fussed. “Sounds like he didn’t go down without a fight, either - I hope he was the only one hurt.” She sighed. “Given the size of that explosion, though, I rather doubt it. Give me a moment to pack up a kit of supplies, and I’ll head down.” She started putting things into a valise case. “Miss Aozaki, you’re closer - could you fetch me a bottle of Essence of - ”
A second explosion erupted. While the noise of it was from farther off, this one Takara could see through the window - a massive plume of snow and black ash.
“Essence of Dittany,” the matron said sharply. “Quickly, please!”
Takara turned - and leaped aside as the nearest bottle literally flew off the shelf, hurtling through the window with a sharp crack in the direction of the eruption.
“A good thing I keep my stocks in containers with Unbreakable Charms,” Madam Pomfrey murmured. “But that explosion has to be at least the better part of a mile away - I’ve never known a witch or wizard powerful enough to cast a Summoning Charm from so far.”
“Counting him, I know six,” Takara said hollowly, her voice dropping to a near-whisper as she said, “And the three wizards who aren’t Dumbledore are all down there, right now.”
“We’d best hurry, then,” Pomfrey said grimly. “It’s so far, though, I don’t know how we’ll be sure of ever find - ”
A brilliant silver flare shot up, and began circling in place, and Takara suddenly realised that it was a Patronus. At this distance, not even her eyes could make out the details of what it was - something long-bodied and quadrupedal, she thought. What it was, though didn’t matter at all compared to what it was saying, with its whirling dance.
I’m here. I need help. Please, save me.
Madam Pomfrey’s emergency bag had never been packed so quickly in her lifetime.
The Patronus dove out of the sky long before they reached the spot, but one of the Auror search teams was already moving towards the injured caster, so she and Pomfrey followed them. She still wasn’t certain of the animal’s identity before it disappeared, but it was definitely something with four legs - and from the way it had moved, wickedly fast. Unfortunately, the silver glow had faded by the time they reached its location, the Patronus’ task of guiding them done. Takara didn’t know what it was that had been conjured. But when she saw who had done the conjuring, that became far less important.
Galen lay sprawled amidst a pile of debris, the bottle of Dittany and his lignum vitae wand lying inches from his open hands. Dried blood encrusted his hair along the rear hemisphere of his skull, with at least half a dozen other lacerations along his limbs - and a few smaller ones along his face. Apparently, he’d managed to shield his torso from any major damage, but it was only because she was checking it so closely that she could see that he was breathing.
“It looks like he just poured the bottle randomly onto his wounds,” Pomfrey muttered. “No attempt to gauge wound severity at all. He’s lucky none of his major arteries seem to have been pierced - Dittany or no Dittany, he’d have bled out by now, judging by the size of these cuts. I’m not sure his skull isn’t fractured. Ferula. Anapneo . . .” The matron cast several charms, then turned to Takara.
“That’s all I can do here - we’ll have to move him up to the Hospital Wing for better treatment, and in more sanitary conditions. Still, it’s lucky he managed to stay conscious as long as he did - had that Dittany been summoned a moment later, or that Patronus, I’m not sure even his constitution could have kept him alive.”
Takara said nothing, absorbing herself in helping Madam Pomfrey levitate Galen and move him - it gave her something to focus on, other than his pale, bloodless face.
Galen didn’t wake for two more hours, during which time the Auror teams brought back Shirou, his father, Professor Lupin, her father, Neville, and an Auror whose name she didn’t know, though he looked familiar. All of them were badly hurt, but none quite so badly as Galen - Madam Pomfrey surmised that he must have been almost at the centre of the blast zone when whatever spell was responsible had been cast. Takara answered the questions of the Aurors in a monotone. Yes, she’d been one of the students to escort Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew back to the castle. No, she hadn’t been part of the group - they’d sent her to fetch the nurse, as Pettigrew had been injured at his capture. No, she hadn’t known anything about Black that anyone else didn’t, and had no idea where he might be now. Yes, that was correct - he hadn’t had a wand when she’d left - but Neville’s was missing.
Takara didn’t really care about the questions, or anything else in the Hospital Wing other than her father and her friends. In particular, her attention focussed on the bed in the corner, though she couldn’t really see anything with its privacy screens drawn.
Hermione had spent most of the time beside her, looking as miserable as she felt. From Hermione, it wasn’t a surprise - Galen had been her friend and protector from the moment they’d met on the Hogwarts Express. He’d given her gifts, and encouragement, stood between her and an angry mountain troll. He had been to Hermione what Takara’s childhood memories insisted Galen had been to her, as well: a central support of her world. And while she’d seen him hurt before, it had never been this badly. So Hermione’s reaction, to Takara’s way of thinking, was no surprise at all. Her own, on the other hand, was.
I should be immune to this by now. I’ve seen him hurt before - I’ve watched him tear himself to pieces! I’ve seen him almost die before - I have seen him die, more than once! So why am I so afraid? Why does it feel like my heart is about to jump out of my throat, and bring most of my internal organs with it?
With Hermione, this makes sense. The boy she’s in love with came within an inch of dying today. But I’m not - I’ve only ever gone so far as to admit that I could be.
“This isn’t exactly new territory for me,” Takara whispered to herself. “So why is this affecting me so badly?”
“Because the other times, he was only your ally,” said Shirou, and Takara nearly jumped out of her skin, not realising he’d woken up - Madam Pomfrey had been keeping him asleep while a potion worked on his concussion.
Shirou’s voice was low - and he was speaking in Japanese, so only she or Hermione would’ve understood, sitting as close as they were.
“He was your Servant,” Shirou near-whispered. “He came at your call, fought in your name, and when he was hurt - when he died - it was for your hopes and well-being. And you felt grateful, and guilty, because of it, but you could live with it, because he was only your ally. He didn’t help you with your homework, or cheer at your Quidditch games, or spend a rainy Saturday afternoon curled up on your sofa with a bowl of popcorn and a Kurosawa marathon just because you wanted company.
“You’re not upset just because he nearly died today, Takara,” Shirou said quietly. “You’re upset because your best friend nearly died, and that makes it so much worse.”
The truth of that statement hit her immediately. She always knew, in the back of her head, that the boys were her best friends - she’d called them that often enough, and said as much to Hermione earlier. But it had always been something of a reflex, based on the memories she’d inherited from her native self and the fact that they were the only two people in the world who’d been through what she had. Takara had known that her feelings for Shirou were changing, in that he was becoming more attractive to her - but she’d never stopped to consider that might be true of her feelings for Galen, as well. Nevertheless, some time in the last two and a half years, what had been a cover story had become the truth. He was her oldest and best friend . . . And the thought of losing him terrified her.
“. . . Drunk first, damn it,” came a hoarse muttering. “Drunk first, then hung over.”
Anything Takara might’ve said was cut off by a high-pitched squeal, and a meaty thump. Both were followed by Hermione’s voice scolding, “Don’t you ever, EVER scare me like that again, Galen Richmond Salvatore!”
“Air’s a problem . . .” Galen hissed. “ . . . Hermione . . .!”
Takara gently pried the girl off him, and said, “She’s not the only one you scared - I ought to let her smother you! They’d never have found you, and you’d have bled to death if you hadn’t cast that Patronus - !”
“Patronus?” Galen asked in obvious bewilderment. He twitched, as if he went to shake his head and thought better of it. “I didn’t cast anything, Takara - Sirius disarmed me in Hagrid’s hut. My wand went straight out a window, and there wasn’t time to retrieve it - I’d have lost sight of him if I had.”
“You fought him unarmed?” Hermione demanded shrilly.
“I figured I could take him,” Galen muttered. “Wrongly, as it turned out.”
Takara, meanwhile, was processing what he’d said. “Galen . . . We found your wand by your hand, along with a bottle of Essence of Dittany that had been summoned from the Hospital Wing and used to treat your wounds. A corporeal Patronus led the searchers to where you were lying. Without that, Madam Pomfrey says you’d have died.”
Galen closed his eyes for a moment, then stared at Hermione before looking at Takara. When he spoke, it was in a very distinct fashion.
“Someone could have picked up my wand. They could have followed me out to the road where I confronted Sirius, and treated me afterwards. But I was running on adrenaline by then, all senses at full alert - so I can say with absolute certainty that any person - or persons - who did so would have had to be invisible.”
Hermione blanched, and she glanced at the two of them worriedly.
“How long have I been out?” Galen asked.
“About three hours,” Takara said.
“Four turns to be safe, then - right?”
Hermione’s voice was an outraged whisper. “You kn - !”
“Awake, are we, Mister Salvatore?” Madam Pomfrey’s voice broke in. “You should have informed me at once, Miss Aozaki - I thought I’d trained you better.”
“Sorry, Sensei,” Takara said contritely.
“Well now, he’s awake, and I can guarantee he’ll have my full attention,” the nurse said briskly. “Whereas you two are in desperate need of a kip, or you’ll need my attention, as well. Go back to your dormitories, wash up, and get some rest. I will inform you when Mister Salvatore will be capable of receiving visitors.”
She hustled the pair out of the Hospital Wing mercilessly.
Hermione, meanwhile, was ranting under her breath. “He knew! This entire time, he’s known, and he’s never said a single - !”
“McGonagall swore him to secrecy,” Takara said. “You weren’t to know that he knew, or that he was watching over you for her.”
Hermione’s head whipped around. “You knew?!”
“Of course I did - it was in the movie!”
“Then why didn’t you say anything when I asked?” Hermione exploded.
Takara blinked. “When was this?”
“The first night we arrived!” Hermione raged.
“Would that have been the night I drove the Dementors off the train, and it was taking all my concentration just to stay upright long enough to reach my bed?” Takara drawled.
“. . . I suppose it was.” Hermione admitted, blushing.
“Uh-huh. If you’d asked the next day, when I was capable of actual thought, you wouldn’t have been falling over yourself to hide it all year.” Takara chuckled.
Hermione huffed. “Well, if you already know, then I haven’t broken my promise.”
She led Takara into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, after confirming that its spectral resident was not currently occupying it.
Hermione drew out the golden necklace from under her cardigan, and Takara was impressed at the craftsmanship.
“We’ll have to be a little too close for comfort,” Hermione warned. “The chain is only so long, even with the Extension Charms built in.”
“Shouldn’t we go and get the cloak, first?” Takara queried.
“I keep it on me,” Hermione replied, drawing it out a pocket in her jeans. At Takara’s questioning stare, she added, “He loaned it to me after the Christmas hols, so I could grab a kip in private . . . Which should have been my first clue,” she groaned suddenly, rolling her eyes. “He’s been trying to hint all year that he knew without actually saying so, now that I think about it.”
“He was afraid you’d be upset about his keeping secrets, after last year,” Takara said softly.
“If Headmistress McGonagall made him promise, then it’s not his fault - she made me promise, too.” Hermione tossed the Deathcloak over them, then beckoned Takara closer, so she could slip the Time-Turner’s chain over both their heads.
Takara abruptly found her arms full of lithe, warm witch - a surprisingly comfortable witch, combining hard but yielding muscles under soft skin. Her nose was full of vanilla-scented waves as her face was suddenly buried in Hermione’s hair.
“Sorry,” she heard a mumble to her left. “I should’ve tied it back first. Just try and hold your breath - I only need a moment.”
Hermione’s voice sounded a little strained, and Takara suspected it was the intimate proximity to another human body. They were of a height, so everything more or less matched up, and certain sensitive areas were a lot closer than they’d ever been to anyone before . . .
“Got it,” Hermione murmured into her ear. “Here we go - one, two, three, four.”
Under the Deathcloak, the world blurred, as the two witches were swept away.
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