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

[Mechatrill]

Although... To be fair, it's not Shirou that this whole thing is relying on, it's the Aozaki sister(s)...

Of course, to be even fairer, that might actually provide even better odds of success...

[Yojo]

Nicely done, especially fleshing out the exact nature of the why behind the reasoning; you've given a great base and motivation for fleshing out Shirou's past. Part of me wonders how likely it is that it will somehow come out he was born in this world on July 31st... Poor Dumbledore, he'd probably have a stroke if Shirou's parents were somehow dark wizards or witches who were early rivals to Riddle, but fled to Japan after multiple defeats/retreats, cutting their losses to start their campaigns of terror elsewhere.

Kieran, if you really want to troll Shirou and company, you could somehow link his parentage to this world's Kirei Kotomine.

I do have to wonder if McGonagall knew about their engagement prior to signing Ilya on, or the possible fallout politically for her as an educator from that. Interesting stuff, keep up the great work!

[Megaolix]

Although... To be fair, it's not Shirou that this whole thing is relying on, it's the Aozaki sister(s)...

Of course, to be even fairer, that might actually provide even better odds of success...

I doubt that mess will be solved only at the year's end. I fully expect more trouble from others. And I fully expect Arcueid to get involved too in helping.

At least trouble won't be from the Einzbern. Shirou killed a Basilisk at 12: why the hell wouldn't they want him in the family?

[Nihilistic lurker]

You know I could actually see Lockhart as a competent Minister. He had to have loads of experience fudging the truth and getting into situations just so to have that much popularity. Granted most wizards and witches are pretty gullible but Lockhart still need more brains than Fudge to rise that high. Lockhart is an example of a Weak But Skilled opponent. Nobody except the Scarlet Seven knows about his memory charms, and that combined with political might and he might be able to make sure that parts of the government don't notice the little details he might put into decrees.

I'm thinking that this year's complications will come from reforms from Lockhart and the TRINITY! plus Ilya will at first not notice the danger they represent. Although I don't know if Lockhart will be under Voldemort's control or not...

[jwang]

How'd the hell did Lockhart get elected? I would have thought that this would have been the opportunity Riddle would be looking for in order to put in place a puppet government official, in order to ease in his takeover. Unless they have Lockhart as a tertiary intermediary, or is blackmailing him to get what they want, I would have thought that a candidate with more leanings towards Riddle's policies be more likely. Unless he's Imperius'd. Hmmm... sinister plotting is afoot.

As far as the shipping stuff goes, I can see the Einzbern cadet branches causing shenanigans in order to further their own agenda. That's assuming there's cadet branches in this universe, of course, and if there isn't, I'm sure there's still plenty other families that would still be looking to cause shenanigans as well. Got to love the whole "nobility politics" that comes with families with titles and pedigrees.

[hatori]

First off:

Left field with the election of Lockhart.

Second:

Illya kissing Galen like that
.

*mind blown*

[Kratosirving]

...I'm disappointed in myself that I completely forgot that Ilya tongued Galen like that.

[Ergast]

Dammit, Kieran. Now I feel guilty for still shipping Ginny and Shirou...

Oh, well, I can live without reading my ship be fulfilled.

Anyway, Lockhart? For real? The Magical World is so~~ fucked... And I'm not sure if it comes from his incompetence in general or his competence at politics. Or worse, both.

[Kieran]

Bit of Column A, bit of Column B, maybe?

[Ergast]

...

Fuck >_<

[Elf]

And here I was hoping that Rin would actually beat Ilya to the DADA teacher position. Oh well.

[Techlet]

Oh man, Lockhart? Fuck.

Lockhart is dangerous. If he could lie his way to celebrity stardom for years, who knows what he can do as the minister for magic.

This isn't going to end well for anybody. But on the other hand, at least he's not a Death Eater. Although things would probably be easier if a Death Eater was elected because then they'd know what to do with the minister.

[Ace]

And here I was hoping that Rin would actually beat Ilya to the DADA teacher position. Oh well.

Yeah, that reminds me, have we seen the last of Rin for awhile?[i.e this book?]

[Kieran]

. . . Probably. I hate making guarantees, because I have almost no plot for this book mapped out - I have no idea how it's going to end up. This may be my shortest adaptation.

[ringlhach]

Well, Lockhart is either going to be an absolutely fabulous Minister or an absolute nightmare, and I have a feeling it's going to come down to which party's pulling his strings at a given moment, and that's mostly going to come down to money, I think. Also on how much of a spine he has and how capable he thinks he actually is- I think he might have used those memory charms of his on himself a few times...

[Megaolix]

And thus the British Ministry became even more of a joke amongst political groups.

[Cascade]

Rofl, maybe he'll use his position to promote a new book, "How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Unforgivable Curses."

And jeez Kieran, these kids sure are randy.

[YamiheKazeto]

Umm, yeah.
Lockhart becoming a minister of magic is beyond weird, but considering his fame and all that, it certainly isn't impossible (heck, it might've been possible in canon if not for his "prolonged visit" at Saint Mungo's). And it was pretty random for most of us. It might prove itself to be a good idea, though, since he is the type of person who won't destroy as much as Fudge did (even if he is incompetent). And the whole "Ilya and Shirou" thing is also pretty well done in my opinion. And Ilya as this year's DADA teacher will also help in diverging the plot from the canon one, so it's always a plus (though it might've been funny to see old Dolores' futile attempts at subduing our trinity). The only thing I actually still miss is Shirou having any kind of projection-like ability, but considering that you had managed to make the story interesting without putting it in until now, it's not like it's suddenly become required (though I still think it would be funny to see).

Oh, and since it's my first post here (and thus I hadn't done it before), I want to congratulate you for creating such splendid stories, Kieran. I just got to this one yesterday after sitting through the previous four "books", and I have to say I'm impressed. Not many people manage to create a story of combined length that high (even if based on other books), while retaining the quality of plot, and even less authors care about typos, so your fictions stand out. Heck, even characters are done well enough (even with the problems they have at times), so I actually had no problem with understanding just who is Galen (and Takara), even without reading any of your previous fictions before.

@ringlhach: Isn't Lockhart always fabulous? In his own way, at least.

[Kieran]

Thank you, and it's nice to meet you. I'll endeavour not to disappoint - which is why the next chapter will probably take a while, since I have to figure out exactly what I'm doing. I have a few ideas, and a few goals, but not anything majorly concrete. I'm almost tempted to add my intended plot for the next book, just to flesh it out, but I'm not entirely certain that's a good idea . . .

I always knew this book was going to be the hardest to write, and for just this reason. *sigh*

[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 Order of the Phoenix, but I trust in the intelligence of my readers (and the availability of the books) to recognise them when they see them.



Chapter 5 - Complications



August 14, 1995






Hermione stared at the badge, at the smooth, dark metal she’d polished oh-so-carefully over the last few days, causing the rounded curve of the letter “P” to gleam in the sunlight of her open window. She’d done it. Despite all her doubts, all her anxieties, she’d done it. She’d been appointed as a prefect. It was what she’d hoped for all summer, the first step to her dream of being Head Girl . . . And it was complicated, too. Prefects were supposed to be the professors’ representatives among the students. Even if they couldn’t take points from students, they had the power and the responsibility to confiscate contraband, patrol for curfew-breakers, and in general enforce the rules and regulations of Hogwarts.

And I know the names of half a dozen students who are unregistered Animagi - myself included - and can confirm the presence of at least one very powerful, very likely illegal wand.

Prefect protocol - to say nothing of common sense - said that she should report these things to Headmistress McGonagall. She’d been able to let it slide before, justifying it to herself on the grounds that she’d always intended to register when she came of age, and she wasn’t entirely sure about the wand - but now she was a prefect. Now it was her responsibility to report such things . . .

And if I do, we’ll all get expelled, very probably sent to Azkaban, and Shirou and Takara’s parents will almost certainly lose their jobs - to say nothing of Ilyasviel, who will almost certainly die instead. But if I don’t, what kind of prefect does that make me? Shouldn’t I be enforcing the rules fairly, equally, without bias? If I expect the other students to adhere to them on my say-so, so should we . . . Shouldn’t we?

Hermione bit her lower lip in worry, a childhood habit which had emphasised her once-buckteeth, but she’d found herself unable to break it. Rather like her present dilemma, in fact - as illegal Animagi, they’d helped to calm Galen in his lycanthropic rages, reducing the danger he presented to the student body and the general population, in the event that the Wolfsbane Potion he relied on was unavailable. In that sense, it was as much a public service as anything else - even if had gotten her opportunities to cuddle with Galen as a human on occasion, instead of a wolf . . .

As to the wand, Hermione reminded herself, and very firmly changing the subject, no matter how it was obtained, its power is directly responsible for saving a number of lives. If it doesn’t have the Ministry-required Trace, then it’s the fault of the customs agents who allowed it to pass into the country. She sighed. It was a nice rationalisation, but that was all it really was. The fact remained that both she and her friends had done a fair amount of rule- and law-breaking over the years, and it was her civic duty to own up to it -

Her musings were interrupted by the slamming of the front door, as it hit the inside wall, and a panicked shriek of “HERMIONE!”

“Miranda?” she called back, already moving from her bedroom. “What’s wrong?”

Her little sister was wheezing, half-crying, and quite visibly hysterical.

“I was at the park, waiting - there were these bullies - there were five of them, and one of them was huge . . .”

“Did they hurt you?” Hermione demanded.

Miranda shook her head wildly, “No, no - Galen showed up before . . . He told me to run, Hermione, but he can’t fight them all - can he?”

Not without a wand, she thought immediately. And if he’s gone that far I have to turn him in - he’ll have broken international laws, endangered the entire wizarding world!

“Stay here, Mira,” Hermione warned, before darting off herself. She knew which park Miranda had meant - she’d suggested it herself, when she’d asked Miranda to invite Galen to meet her before they went shopping for school supplies. She’d wanted to meet him alone, apologise . . . And now she was seriously contemplating turning him in to the Ministry.

I knew the teenage years were supposed to be very crazy - but not this crazy!

Hermione had done regular runs across the grounds of Hogwarts from her first year onward, in addition to self-defence and calisthenics. If the school had recognised any athletic endeavour that didn’t require broomsticks, she was liable to have been tapped for competition, and therefore reaching the park in under five minutes was a task that didn’t even leave her winded. In fact, it just warmed her up for whatever confrontation she was about to get herself involved in . . .

Miranda had not been exaggerating the size of the only bully left standing by the time she got there - huge was a very apt description of the boy Galen was facing. If anything, she’d understated things - twenty stone did not seem an inappropriate guess as to his weight, which meant he was at least half again Galen’s own mass, and wide enough to make two of the werewolf, despite the latter’s broad shoulders. Galen was still taller, though . . .

He’s grown, Hermione realised. She actually had to tilt her head up a little to meet his eyes - though he was still well within the range where she could probably rest her head on his shoulder . . . But it bothered her for a moment, that he’d gotten taller, and she hadn’t noticed.

You haven’t seen him to notice, she reminded herself. He’s been avoiding you all summer, and most of the year prior. That’s why you asked him here, and that’s why he’s in trouble now.

And he was in trouble. Despite the fact that four of the five Miranda had described lay grounded, Galen was favouring his left side, and his right eye was blackened. Despite that, however, he showed no signs of tiring - which the young hulk certainly did. As she circled around them, the breeze brought her the scent of sweat and, ever so faintly, blood. At least one of them had been seriously hurt.

The big one launched a punch, and Galen interposed his left arm, wincing at the hit even as his right fist shot out into the other boy’s solar plexus, then upwards towards the windpipe, followed by gripping the back of the big kid’s neck and slamming his own skull into the bully’s nose.

The sudden crack of cartilage, and the resulting flow of blood, definitely elicited a cry of pain, but the big kid didn’t go down. Whatever else he had, endurance was evidently a quality he’d acquired - and while he might not be able to match a werewolf for it, one of them might end up killing the other before either of them backed down.

Hermione stalked forward, her lips peeling back in a snarl. Even if she didn’t look all that intimidating, she was a fresh combatant, and just as well-trained as Galen. Her predilection was more towards speed than endurance or durability, but she knew how and where to hit as well as he did, and she felt quite sure that tall, broad, and piggish would be easy enough to handle . . .

Abruptly, Hermione became aware of a growl in the air - wild, animalistic, and definitely angry. It took her a moment to realise that it was coming from her, though the bully had no trouble at all. He took one look at her and fled screaming, leaving her to stare at Galen’s back in sudden confusion. She wasn’t that intimidating . . . Was she?

“Hello, Nala,” Galen said, without turning around, and Hermione huffed. That was Miranda’s nickname for her, and she’d been using it every time she’d thought she could get away with it, ever since . . . The young witch abruptly realised that Galen was a lot taller than he really should be, in comparison to herself - even with the recent growth spurt.

When did I transform? Why didn’t I notice I was doing it? I haven’t spontaneously shifted like this for years!

Panic froze her awareness for a moment, and Hermione was aware only of her surroundings in a dim sense, but there was a sudden, increasing presence of a familiar scent. This sensation entirely comforting, accompanied as it was by a light, warm touch - comforting, and missed. By the time Hermione was aware of herself again, she was already leaning into it, rumbling contentedly as Galen scratched her ears, her chin, and ran his fingers ever-so-lightly along her whiskers, a teasing, tickling sensation that sent small shudders through her. Oh yesss - she had missed this, and had managed to make herself forget how good it really felt. Hermione would have purred, if she was able to, and she sat on her haunches to make herself easier for him to reach.

A feeling like a the brush of a spider web settled over her, bringing with it an ominous chill as familiar as Galen’s scent, but nowhere near as comfortable - the Deathcloak draping over them, to hide their presence. But the warmth of his hands was between it and her, still rubbing, calming, soothing . . . For a moment, she was tempted to stay this way - to not be Hermione, the girl who’d fought with her friends any longer, the witch who was a prefect, who worried over rules and matters of right and wrong. The lioness nature, always a part of her, was stronger in this form, and it revelled in this contact, craved it in a way that the properly-raised British girl couldn’t allow herself to. And even then, this was the only way he had ever allowed himself to touch her intimately without being bullied into it first.

Though the other hadn’t been all bad either, Hermione admitted. It had been her first real kiss, period, never mind a “boyfriend kiss,” as Miranda had been taught to term them. It had been wet, sloppy, and a completely amateurish attempt - and wonderful. He had been gentle with her, as he’d only ever been with the lioness before, and so careful not to displease her or do her harm, while honestly trying to make it enjoyable - no easy task, considering his displeasure with him at the time. His taste had lingered in her mouth for days, and still cropped up at odd times, eclipsing Viktor’s own effort at the same thing. And now, from the perspective of time and observation, she thought she knew why.

Because I could taste the regret in it - and it meant that no matter what he’d done, or why, he still cared.

Finally, the hands withdrew, and she opened her eyes to stare at him, just managing to stifle the whimper in the her throat.

“Why did you stop?” Hermione whispered - and then blinked at the realisation that she had, before flushing appropriately. She’d expected to make a quiet, unintelligible growl rather than speak, but apparently she’d shifted back to being human again. And again without realising that she’d done it, which sent an icy shiver down her spine. What was happening to her?

“We need to decide what we’re going to do with them,” Galen said, whispered. “Leave them here, to wake up and slink off, or call the constabulary and lodge charges?”

“They’re more likely to charge you,” Hermione pointed out. “I know you’re quite formidable, but how on earth did you manage to knock out four of them?”

He shrugged. “They’re a gang, but they’re not really used to working as a group - I’d bet they usually just hem in their victims while Big D does the actual body work. And while he’s faster than he looks, he’s not really fast enough to pull a punch I evaded before it clobbered his pal. And he does hit hard,” Galen admitted with a wince as he stood slowly, pulling her up as well - crouching for so long was too hard on his legs.

Hermione gasped as she was forcibly reminded of his injuries, and took them all in. The black eye was the only really noticeable one, but still . . .

“How badly are you hurt?” she demanded.

“I’ll heal,” he said dismissively. “I expect I’ll have some lovely bruises in an hour or so, but the duster soaked up most of it.”

Hermione fought down a surge of annoyance at his standard response to any injury, because in truth, he probably would heal, and faster than any witch or wizard, never mind a mundane. But it had always irritated her that he treated his own wounds so lightly, when anyone else’s tended to evoke a panic response.

“Honestly, “ she said in half-amused exasperation. “I swear you go around looking for ways to get yourself hurt - ”

“And most of them, it seems, can be named ‘Granger,’” Galen interrupted, his voice now gone from merely neutral to dead flat. “What did you want, Hermione?”

Hermione could feel the blood drain from her face. That hadn’t been what she meant! She’d just . . .

Insulted him after he’d been hurt protecting Miranda, that dry, logical, and more than a little sarcastic portion of her mind informed her. I somehow doubt that’s going to help you patch things up between you very well, do you?

“I . . . I wanted to know if you wanted to go to Diagon Alley with me,” Hermione said. “For books and supplies.”

He looked at her for a long moment, and she didn’t need Legilimency skills to know that the word he was struggling not to say was “Why?” It made her chest hurt that he’d even ask - that things had gotten so bad between them that he’d even think to ask!

Finally, Galen said, “I won’t have time to meet up with the others after we deal with the police, I suppose . . . All right.”

Hermione tried very hard not to show the hurt she felt at the grudging tone of voice, and dealt with it by concentrating on the other aspect of his statement. “You’re really going to call them?”

“Do you think that I shouldn’t?” he countered, before his eyes narrowed. “Or did you think that I wouldn’t?” He closed his eyes and sighed. “I try not to break rules simply because I can, Hermione, but at times when blind adherence to them will do more harm than good, to the best of my understanding. I thought you knew that by now . . .” He shook his head tiredly. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Hermione stared as he checked the area, removed and stowed the Deathcloak in an inner pocket in his duster. The duster flared behind him as he walked away from her, back towards her home, without so much as a second glance.

Takara’s words from a week ago rang in her ears. “You had reasons to be hurt, Hermione - we all knew that. Reasons to be confused, to lash out, and even if I think you took it too far, I couldn’t complain, because he let you do it. He’d have cut out his heart if you’d asked for it, and never worried about the pain it caused him - but don’t you dare think that it didn’t.”

It was amazing, Hermione thought, what you’d never really noticed before, until it wasn’t there to be seen. He didn’t seem as apathetic as before, when suicide was on the horizon, but he was certainly closed off, harder in a fashion she couldn’t quite describe. And there was the complete absence of any of his usual gestures, even the light he’d used to have in his eyes, any time she walked into sight. She wasn’t dealing with a self-destructive mood - his tone and movements were different from the “dead man walking” state she’d seen before - but it was no version of Galen Salvatore she’d ever seen before, either. And she had done this to him - again. Any time he was hurt really badly, it always seemed to be her fault, be the wound physical or (more usually) emotional.

And the worst of it was, he’d been right - she had known about his attitude towards rules. Outside of occasional temper flares (admittedly bad ones, but not regular occurrences) and certain “extracurricular” activities, Galen Salvatore was a model student. His odds of gaining prefect status this year hadn’t been all that bad, actually, and that was assuming he hadn’t actually done so. She’d forgotten to ask, just as she’d forgotten that she already knew the answer to her own dilemma regarding their rule-breaking. She’d said it herself, when she’d trusted blindly in the “rules” given to her about werewolves - and it was just as true now as it had been then.

“Books! And cleverness! There are more important things - friendship and bravery and - oh Galen - I’m sorry!”

And Hermione was sorry - if for no other reason than that now, she could finish the sentence she’d started so long ago, even if she wasn’t quite brave enough to say it to his face . . . And even if, as it seemed, it was far too late for it to do her any good. Nevertheless, she whispered it to herself, if only to hear it spoken aloud, just once.

“Friendship, and bravery - and love.”






Neville was uneasy as they walked through Diagon Alley. He couldn’t quite pinpoint why, though. Yes, it was odd not to have Galen or Hermione with them - some trouble with the mundane police, apparently - but they’d been separated before. It was odder still to have Ilyasviel join them, but not unheard of, particularly not lately. She’d basically invited herself into their circle from the Triwizard Tournament onwards, and it wasn’t as though she was unwelcome. Ilyasviel, in addition to being breathtakingly gorgeous (and unavailable, he reminded himself), was intelligent, skilled, and fully clued in on all their secrets. Dealing with her was simple, and quite fun - she had a wicked sense of humour, especially in teasing the trinity . . .

No, it wasn’t the absence or the relatively new addition to their group, it was something else.

Maybe, he admitted, it was just the idea of Galen and Hermione being alone together. Up until last year, it would’ve been a good thing - the two of them were well-matched, mostly - but after the fight . . . In Neville’s opinion, the concept of Galen and Hermione had a sense of belonging together in the same way as Galen and Takara, or even Galen and Shirou. They were two sides of the same coin, and had points in common that made them fit together as easily as sky and sea, and when they were in harmony, it was brilliant . . . But those same similarities could cause friction that reacted as well as certain substances in Potions class (substances he always seemed to mix together). And when they did react, it was always volatile. Neville worried about what Galen and Hermione would do to each other, without someone to mediate between them.

That’s why the trinity’s a trinity - so that when two of them are fighting, the third can calm them down . . . He shook his head. While the relationship between their two absent friends was a concern, it wasn’t the reason for whatever was nagging at him - thinking about the situation didn’t cause the edginess in his skin, not here and now, at least. Whatever was tugging at his paranoia, it was something else entirely . . .

But what?

Shopping in Diagon Alley didn’t really take long - with the exception of Defence Against the Dark Arts, few of their courses were assigning new books this year, and with good reason. This was O.W.L. year, which meant it would be as much a review of prior lessons as the learning of new ones, as they prepared for the tests that would allow them to pass into N.E.W.T. level courses, and earn their qualifications as fully-accredited witches and wizards. The books last year had been assigned with this in mind - they’d only gotten about halfway through Intermediate Transfiguration, for example. So that left Ginny and Luna as the major purchasers in Flourish and Blotts, this time, while the bulk of their money went to restocking potions supplies, parchment, quills, and so forth. That left quite a bit free to spend on other things, so they stopped off ice cream at Fortescue’s midway through.

As they ate their sundaes, Neville glanced at a copy of the Prophet that someone had left at their table. It had a picture of the now-Minister Lockhart, grinning widely and shaking hands at the opening of the new Muggle-born Orientation Centre. He caught the opening paragraph of the blond-haired politician’s address.


“As the rate of Muggle-borns entering our society increases every year,” Minister Lockhart explained, “it is imperative that they are properly taught to understand and uphold the principles which has made our society what it is today. And as the governing body of that society, it falls to the Ministry to do so. The Muggle-born Orientation Centre will work in conjunction with the Improper Use of Magic Office to ensure that -“


The rest cut off, but Neville was intrigued, and said as much to his friends - and was therefore surprised at the grim looks his comments evoked.

“Another way of looking at it is, they’ll be taking the names and home addresses of every mundane-born witch or wizard, and setting them in a place that won’t necessarily have the government-level security of the Ministry, or the massive defences of Hogwarts,” Shirou explained to him. “Not that we can really trust either of them, really, but if the Death Eaters are looking for a easy-to-access target list . . .”

Neville winced, not having considered that point.

“So,” he said slowly, “does that mean Lockhart’s working for them?”

Another set of scowls graced the table, and Ilyasviel caught their attention with a shake of her head as she opined, “Too little information right now. Lockhart’s narcissistic, cowardly and greedy, but not necessarily evil. Without more time and study, there’s no way to tell if he’s one of them, just being manipulated - and if so, by whom - or just an idiotic innocent.” She looked serious. “I just hope that we can figure it out before it can disrupt the wedding.”

Ginny shot her a look. “You sound hopeful. You really think things will all work out, then?”

“I should be panicking instead?” Ilyasviel shot back. “I’m not going to let myself live in fear, however long I have. I’m going to live my life based on the assumption that I’m going to have a life to live.”

Most of them blinked at the sharpness of Ilyasviel’s tone - clearly, the possibility of her upcoming demise did bother her. But just as clearly, she meant what she’d said. Ilyasviel was not going to treat her life any differently based on the possibility that she might die, nor treat her death as a foregone conclusion. She was determined to live, and do so with dignity, whatever happened . . . And for the first time, Neville thought he really understood what it was about her that Shirou loved, that had made Galen address her as his Lady. It wasn’t just her beauty, or her intelligence, or her generally cheerful outlook - it was her bearing. She had a regalness to her, a purity of self, that made her so much more than just a pretty face.

More than even a pretty face that smells like hot white chocolate . . . and Firewhiskey?

Neville frowned. It was quite faint, but he could smell it - the benefit of being a bear Animagus was a nose as sharp or sharper than that of a werewolf. Outside, the tang of alcohol had been lost in the swirling maelstrom of scents that was Diagon Alley - but in the colder, clearer air of the ice cream parlour, it was much sharper, and therefore easier to pick out . . .

And I did smell it outside, he realised. That’s what bothered me - I could smell it, but couldn’t see an obvious source to such a faint smell, so close . . . And I can’t here, either!

Years of physical and combat training under experienced Aurors - the most recent one being Alastor Moody, paranoid supreme - had that fact setting off all kinds of alarm bells in Neville’s head. He glanced at his friends to see if any of the others had noticed, and was dismayed to realise they didn’t seem to have, but as he thought about it, it made sense. Ginny’s nose wasn’t quite as sharp as his, nor Luna’s - and Shirou and Takara were avian Animagi, with their sensory enhancements primarily focussed on sight and hearing. Against something apparently invisible, their two best fighters were at a definite disadvantage.

Who or what is that smell coming from, and why is it following us? Bugger, I wish we’d thought to include panic words or codes in our practices! I can’t tip them off without tipping off our intruder!

Shirou and Takara were amateurs at Legilimency - they might be able to pick up a thought if he let them, but only if they knew to scan for them in the first place. For the moment, he was on his own in this.

Let’s see who our friend is following - or isn’t following. Start by giving him an obvious target, and let’s see what he does.

“Need to hit the loo,” Neville announced. “Be right back.”

He got up, and walked casually to the men’s room, subtly breathing in as he went. As he’d half-expected, the scent of Firewhiskey followed him, but was that because he was simply an easy mark by himself, or was it after him, specifically? Neville would be one of the Death Eaters’ prime targets, if his friends were right about that prophecy - but even they couldn’t be certain regarding it. On the other hand, this could simply be a thief out for easy money . . . But either way, they were in for a surprise. He marked the location of the scent as he walked along and as he opened the toilet stall door, and stepped forward as though to enter, Neville dropped into a textbook-perfect legsweep, neatly scything a pair of legs out from under someone - and also causing their invisibility cloak to tug itself loose, as they hit the ground with a cry of surprise.

Neville stood and called his wand to his hand with a gesture, quickly snapping off, “Stupefy.”

The swift red bolt’s impact caused him to stiffen, and Neville pulled the cloak off his shadow thoroughly, exposing a grubby, dishevelled man with ragged clothes and bloodshot eyes. He wasn’t anyone familiar, but maybe one of the others might know him. Stuffing the Stunned man into the toilet stall, he rolled the cloak into a wad and shielded the view of his wand with his body, he walked back out towards their table and murmured in Japanese, “Someone’s been following us - I’ve got him Stunned in the men’s room, and his invisibility cloak. Can you and Ginny provide a distraction, Luna, so that we can sneak Takara in? Maybe she can tell us who he is.”

“I can do better than that,” Ilyasviel volunteered. “Brace yourselves, boys.”

She inhaled slowly, and her skin seemed to take on a pearlescent sheen, even as the white chocolate scent grew stronger, more enticing, rising off her body in waves. Her silver-blonde hair suddenly gleamed as though it had been spun from pure platinum, and began to dance in a warm summer breeze that didn’t seem to affect anyone else. Her blue eyes were deep, liquid pools that glowed as though lit by some flame deep below the surface of them, and despite the warning, for a moment Neville felt as though he would drown in them . . . But he’d felt this before, and knew what it was, and years of Occlumency training helped him shake it off. Still, he marvelled at her Veela allure’s power - the cloak was unnecessary now. No man would watch anything but her now, or want to - and any woman would be jealous at the display of power. A quick glance around confirmed it.

Shirou frowned as they left Ilyasviel behind, and Takara joined him in frowning as she saw the man, visibly trying to recall if she knew his identity - and that frown deepened as she obviously succeeded.

“Mundungus Fletcher,” she informed them coolly.

Neville didn’t recognise the name, nor did Shirou, so she continued, “A petty criminal, more or less - and I think I know why he’s here, but let’s make sure, shall we. Rennervate.”

“Bloody ‘ell!” the man gasped - before freezing at the sight of three wands. “‘Ere now, you kids know you’re not allowed to do magic outside of ‘Ogwarts.”

Takara’s knife was up against his throat almost before he’d finished protesting. “Then we’ll extract the truth another way - who sent you?”

“‘Ere now, there’s no call for - “ As Takara’s knife pricked his throat, drawing a single crimson drop, he began screaming, “Dumbledore, it was Dumbledore - ALBUS BLEEDING DUMBLEDORE!”

“Run,” Takara said softly, and whatever he saw in her eyes scared the man so badly that he Disapparated with a sudden crack.

Neville frowned, puzzled. “Dumbledore had him following us? What exactly does that mean?”

“It means,” Shirou growled, “that things are now a lot more complicated.”








Additional Writer's Notes: Apologies for the delay - power was out for a couple of hours.