Matou Shinji and the Heirs of Slytherin

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: Trouble is brewing in the Wizarding World. In the wake of the Stone Incident, Albus Dumbledore has begun quietly preparing Britain to survive the coming war. The Stone Cutters, a new organization at Hogwarts for the most talented and distinguished of students, seek new blood to bolster its strength. The Boy-Who-Lived seeks his destiny as the Heir of Slytherin. And a boy from the east meets a specter of the past.

Epilogue Gestalt Collapse

For Matou Shinji, the past year at Hogwarts had felt like a small eternity, with all that had transpired – and frankly, all that hadn't. After the…excitement of his first year, which had involved the discovery of a new land and form of thaumaturgy (for him, at least), his first trial by combat against a troll of all things, and a plot to steal the Philosopher's Stone, the second year seemed rather less eventful.

Less focused, at least, given that he didn't have a deadly enemy to set himself against, one against which he would have to plot, scheme, and work his utmost for even a chance at victory. It was almost a pity, given how driven he had been the year before, how having a tangible enemy really helped to focus his ambitions, but on the other hand, he hadn't ended up in St. Mungo's for most of a term.

…which was good, as Order of Merlin or no, being hospitalized was rather unpleasant.

He'd wondered, of course, like the rest of the Stone Cutters, if they would end up facing Sirius Black, given the man's presumable vendetta against Harry, making the cover story from the year before (where the Stone Cutters had fought beside the Defense Professor to defeat a Dark Wizard who had broken into Hogwarts) true in one of life's little ironies, but such never came to pass.

True, Black had broken into Hogwarts, but the man hadn't been after Harry. As far as the Stone Cutters could tell, based on the recollections of one Ronald Bilius Weasley, Black – or "Padfoot", as he'd called himself – had been after the Weasley family rat, who he'd called "Wormtail." An odd name, given that one of the Marauders, as the Weasley Twins called them, had been named such – but perhaps not so odd, given that Padfoot was another of them.

And given that the only thing permanently harmed had been the pride – and reputation – of Ronald Bilius Weasley, Matou Shinji was willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt.

That wasn't to say that he didn't have questions about what exactly was going on behind the scenes, but then, he always did. He supposed that was why he fit in so well in Ravenclaw, given the reputation members of that House had for having an insatiable thirst for knowledge.

He'd also wondered if Gilderoy Lockhart would end up being their enemy, given how focused the man seemed, and how the man had reminded him of Quirinus Quirrell in how he projected confidence and competence. And where Quirrell had spoken of the dangers of fear, Lockhart had spoken of the dangers of ignorance, of how those who did not learn from the past were doomed to repeat it. More, the History Professor had shown a great disdain for official propaganda and cover stories, tearing into the convenient narratives spun by the Ministry and the general public.

He'd touched on the Unforgiveable Curses, and how they had only become illegal a decade after the formation of the British Ministry of Magic, a more highly structured, organized entity than the Wizard's Council that had come before it.

He'd covered the topic of Azkaban in depth, and how an opportunistic Ministry of Magic had simply appropriated a fortress created by a Dark Wizard and manned to this day by his fell creations as a prison for Magical Britain's malcontents and criminals, pointing out that even Grindelwald, the infamous Dark Lord who had terrorized all of Magical Europe, had treated his prisoners with more dignity.

Lockhart had also speculated as to the reasons behind the short life of former Minister Eldritch Diggory. Allegedly, the man, who had sought a more humane solution to dealing with Britain's criminals, had contracted a fatal case of Dragon Pox shortly after proposing his ill-fated legislation. But, Lockhart had asked, but how likely was that, really, when a cure for the disease had been found over a century and a half before, and as Minister of Magic, he would have access to the best Healers in Britain?

It was well enough to focus on Goblin Rebellions and Giant Wars, the man had said, on Dark Wizards and their deeds, but why had they done those deeds? And if one knew the reasons – one rebellion had occurred because the 1631 Code of Wand Use banned non-human creatures from using or even carrying wands, what did that imply?

Quite simply, that non-humans had the capacity to use wands and the magic of wizards, or else there would have been no reason for the ban in the first place.

When one of the students protested that it was really no different from Goblins hiding their magic from wizards, Lockhart had questioned him about the implications of that. If wizards could not use goblin-magic, there would be no reason for goblins to hide it in the first place.

And if both could use each other's magic – not to mention have children together – children who could certainly be capable wizards, with Professor Flitwick being an excellent example, what did that imply?

Left unsaid, but always implied was the simple question of how much of what they knew – or thought they knew – was actually the truth, and how much was a convenient fiction, with stories changed, brushed over, touched up to give a more favorable view of those in power.

He'd asked this on the final day of class: "I have warned you of how those who do not learn from the past will repeat their predecessor's mistakes. But today I offer one more warning – to beware those who seek to control through blind faith, instead of reason, those who seek only their own benefit through ruling – those who use chains far more effective than mere charms and cold iron. For if there is one truth you should take away from this year, it is this: Power corrupts. That is the tale of history, revisited in the fall of every Dark Lord, in the abuses and lies of every government, in the way even those with the best intentions often become monsters. My friend Quirinus Quirrell taught you of the danger of fear, but I tell you this – that fear by itself is fangless, for those who find the courage to stand against it. Fear coupled with power, however – that is the very root of dominion and despair."

Indeed, for Matou Shinji, the year had largely been one spent dealing with the realities of power and the social contracts that bound people. As Consul, he'd had to balance his responsibilities with the privileges afforded by his positions, balancing the desire to rule with the desires of others for freedom – and it had not been easy. It helped that he was a Stone Cutter, and that his reputation preceded him, in Ravenclaw most of all, so those he "ruled" were predisposed to trust him, but it was still hard work, especially towards the end of the year.

Often, he'd been tempted to simply let his classmates do as they would, while he went off to discover the secrets of the Come and Go Room, or used the Book of Spells to refine his spellcraft, but he'd stuck firm to his commitments, knowing that there would be consequences if he did.

…especially in the second term, after Dumbledore's death threw everything into disarray.

People looked up to the Stone Cutters as heroes, to the Consuls as leaders, more so than the Prefects, who they largely saw as disciplinarians.

And, having had the privilege of further interaction with Draco Malfoy through his role in the Ourea, he'd seen what selfishness could lead to, what the consequences of seeking personal gain at the cost of everything else.

Humiliation.

Being sidelined.

Losing the respect he'd worked so hard to achieve.

That was perhaps the reason Matou Shinji had included Malfoy among the Founding Members of the Ourea – as a warning to himself of what he might become if he was not careful. He was famous now, respected now…but that was easily enough lost.

He'd learned that much in dealing with Lockhart, given how easily the man had seen through their cover story. At the time, Dumbledore had been alive, and as much as he disliked the man, the Matou scion had been reasonably sure that the old Headmaster's influence still outweighed Lockhart's, so he hadn't been too worried about exposure.

…but…it had been a worry nonetheless.

After Dumbledore's death, Gilderoy Lockhart could have easily become the most terrifying opponent possible for the Stone Cutters, as he was a master of shaping stories and public opinion…but instead, they'd conceded to his requests, and he'd become their ally.

The results spoke for themselves.

Filius Flitwick, the kindly Head of Ravenclaw House had been appointed as Headmaster of Hogwarts, the first part-human Headmaster in the School's long history.

The Heir of Slytherin was now even better respected among the other houses of Hogwarts, even if he did not command quite the loyalty that he could of his own, as were the other Stone Cutters.

Hillard had been offered a position with the Aurors upon his graduation from Hogwarts, with the media calling him the youngest person ever to cast a corporeal Patronus.

The Weasleys had seen their father gain a position of far more prestige.

And Matou Shinji had become known around Hogwarts as a leader in his own right, not simply for being an associate of the Boy-Who-Lived, or a bearer of the Order of Merlin (2nd Class). At the beginning of the year, he'd worn his medal on the train to Hogwarts to remind people of who he was and what he had done. By the end, he didn't even think about it.

Because he needed no reminder, and no one else did. His deeds – his story – spoke for itself.

And that in itself was a form of power.

Over the course of year, the boy from the east had gained quite a bit of respect for Gilderoy Lockhart, though he'd also come to suspect that the man was far more than he seemed. Oh, not that he was Voldemort or some other practitioner of the dark arts, but that he was not simply a practitioner of witchcraft, be he an author and the greatest adventurer of his time or no.

"But what do you think, Sokaris?" he asked of the familiar purple-haired figure standing next to him. A figure, that just like the year before, was dressed in a yukata of midnight purple patterned with the faintest impression of red-violet leaves, with her face half-covered by an almost avian mask.

They were on one of Mahoutokoro's great bridges, some distance away from the city's heart – the same one where he'd learned her true identity the year before. He hoped she would be here – that she would come, given the day's symbolism, but he'd known it was an off-chance at best.

Still, since he was already in the great city – he'd not returned to Fuyuki after coming back from Britain, given his lack of desire to encounter the golden youth – he found his feet taking him to this place on the evening of Tanabata…and she'd appeared before him.

The Alchemist of Atlas who had been his first real friend at Hogwarts.

The Director of one of the Three Great Branches, who had made it her mission to fight the TATARI.

A person that only he – of all of Magical Britain – knew was alive.

Sion Eltnam Atlasia, who had once been called Sialim Sokaris.

He'd told her the story of the past year as they stood together, watching little motes of light drift along the river, each a small lantern carrying a wish for reunion away from the hubbub of the city center, as if light and fire could send those wishes to Vega and Altair, the stars representing Orihime and Hikoboshi – the weaver princess and the goatherd – in the hope that they who represented the fulfillment of an impossible dream might grant more earthly desires as well.

"A curious tale, Matou Shinji," she'd allowed, looking over at the boy. "But to say there was no conflict is inaccurate. It was simply not conflict in the form you expected."

"…this is true," Shinji conceded. The art of intrigue was conflict as well, if its methods more nebulous. "In that way, it was eventful."

"Indeed. I doubt that the death of Albus Dumbledore was entirely natural, given the typical life expectancy of such practitioners of witchcraft," the young woman noted, shaking her head. "But it is Gilderoy Lockhart that troubles you."

Shinji started at her words, but sighed. Sokaris always could read him, it seemed – but he'd expect her to be able to, given who she was.

"Yes. It is," he admitted, an odd expression on his face. "Sokaris…you travelled extensively once, yes?" She nodded and motioned for him to go on. "In your travels, did you ever come across any mention of the man?"

But his companion only shook her head.

"No, I did not encounter – or hear of – the man you speak of, Matou Shinji," she replied, looking into the distance. "But this proves little, as it was not my focus."

"…I suppose he wouldn't know much about the Philosopher's Stone, would he?" Shinji asked ruefully, his lips twitching as he remembered why she'd been Hogwarts – in the guise of someone several years younger – the year before. '…wait.' Thinking of something, he pulled an envelope out of his mokeskin pouch – a jet-black sleeve embossed with the sigil of a mountain inscribed with an eye – one of the few he'd been given for official Ourea correspondence. "How about the symbol on this?" he inquired, handing her the envelope.

The purple-haired Alchemist took the object, with one eyebrow shooting upwards as she noted the symbol.

"Curious," she murmured, looking over the paper. "Where did you acquire this?"

"From Lockhart," the Matou scion explained. "It is symbol of the Ourea, the leadership organization the man created, and over which he set himself as 'Old Man of the Mountain.'"

Sion Eltnam Atlasia blinked once, and was silent for nearly a minute, before she spoke at last.

"I ask, Matou Shinji, because this iconography is consistent with that of organizations that oppose the Templar Order," the Alchemist explained, her voice quiet and grave.

"…the Templars?" Shinji echoed, frowning. "Do you mean the Church?"

"No. While nominally affiliated with the Holy Church, the Templars are an autonomous faction loyal only to themselves," Sokaris noted as she looked off into the distance. "They are small, but powerful, and historically specialized in the hunting of heretics."

"…and who opposed them?"

He'd never heard of the Templars as a full-fledged faction in the Moonlit world before, but then, even as a magus, he only knew so much (though he consoled himself with the knowledge that British practitioners of witchcraft were even more limited).

"There have been several organizations, most of which used language involving illumination and focused on separating the true from the false, as false knowledge was often a means of control," Sokaris answered. "The various incarnations of the Illuminati are one example, though that organization's current power base is in North America. And of course, several factions in the Middle East – one of which gave rise to the original Hassan-i-Sabbah."

"…the Hashshashin."

Being a member of one of the Founding Families of the Fuyuki Grail War, he of course knew the basics of the Servant Classes, and there was a reason that Servant Assassin was always one of these wraiths…

"Yes, that which is otherwise known as the Order of Assassins," Sokaris confirmed, her expression almost…curious, as she handed the envelope back to her friend. "A reclusive, secretive faction that may exist even today."

"…may?"

Sokaris' lips quirked into something resembling a smile as she raised an eyebrow.

"…right, reclusive and secretive," Shinji muttered, shaking his head. "It's odd to think that there are hidden factions in the Moonlit world." He grimaced. "Or, at least I think so. But then I was raised as a magus and have only attended Hogwarts in Britain, so even the obvious might seem hidden, but the hidden obvious."

The Alchemist made a sound of acknowledgement.

"The possibilities of the Resurrection Stone, for example, one of the Deathly Hallows," Shinji continued with a sigh. "On its own, it can merely summon forth the spirits of the dead – at least those of practitioners of witchcraft – into the world of the living. But in conjunction with the Philosopher's Stone…" He trailed off…

"I am aware of the inhuman origins of most practitioners alive today," Sokaris murmured, returning his gaze evenly. "But I had not considered the implications of that in conjunction with the Philosopher's Stone and these…Hallows. Even in the Association, Atlas' recovery of the Stone has shifted the balance of power. How much more so would the balance of power shift in any one of these societies in hiding?"

An immortal who could cure any disease, raise the dead, transmute one substance into another with incredible ease, bypassing the usual limits of "magic" – that would shake the very fabric of wizarding society.

The two were silent for some time as they simply stood together, before Shinji withdrew an item from his mokeskin pouch and handing it to his old friend: an advance reader copy of The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, by Rita Skeeter.

Sokaris raised an eyebrow, but beckoned for him to speak.

"One of the topics in history this year was Grindelwald and his war," he began hesitantly. "A powerful practitioner of the Dark Arts who sought to overthrow Magical Europe and establish a new order where practitioners of Witchcraft ruled over the rest of humanity." He paused for a moment, trying to decide how to phrase his next words. "I know the Association's is mainly concerned with the concealment of thaumaturgy from the common public, so what would have transpired had Grindelwald succeeded in proclaiming himself Emperor and announcing the existence of thaumaturgy to the world?"

…it wasn't every day one could ask a Director of one of the Association's Three Great Branches this, so Shinji thought he might as well take full opportunity. But the response…was chilling.

"Atlas would have destroyed him, and all those involved with him, using a portion of the arsenal it has long hidden away," she replied, the utter coldness in her voice rooting Shinji to the spot. "The land from which he ruled would be reduced to glass, and those who followed him turned to nothingness. For the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, and we cannot save the world if the mystery has been lost from our methods."

"…weapons?"

"As a reference point, the magical equivalent of Hiroshima."

Shinji swallowed. Sometimes…sometimes…he forgot that Sokaris was not human at all in her sensibilities, that beyond being a simple magus, she was a director, one of those monsters in human form who could match even the Dead Apostle Ancestors.

At Hogwarts, everyone seemed so…human, so mundane in their day to day worries, whatever their biological origins. There, it was easy to forget that the world as a whole was far more monstrous, that human lives meant little in the calculation of many – even those who sought to save the world.

"…and afterwards?" he asked, praising himself since his voice barely quavered.

"Most likely, the Tower would have used its Enforcers to exterminate any remaining threats – those who may have been involved, but not present," the Director concluded in matter of fact manner. "Such a response may be modified today, given the existence of other weapons of mass destruction, but the general outline remains – the elimination of all involved. Does this response suffice?"

"…yes," Shinji almost squeaked. He honestly didn't know what was more terrifying to him – the fact that she could speak of eliminating what probably would be thousands with such dispassion, or the thought of such destruction itself.

He'd been to Hiroshima once, stood in the skeletal remains of the Genbaku Dome – the memorial to those killed in the bombing of the once-vibrant city, seen the Children's Peace monument – the statue of a girl with outstretched arms with a folded paper crane rising above her, with innumerable paper cranes placed about the base.

And even then, he knew he did not grasp the scale of the horror that such weapons were capable of. Witchcraft was one thing, and so was high-level magecraft, but what of weapons that could destroy entire cities – entire nations – entire worlds.

"Atlas is dedicated to averting the end of the world," Sokaris said quietly, her voice not…unkind. "But in that quest, we have developed a capability for destruction exceeding all other branches of the Association. It is why we do not generally intervene in conflicts – why we stayed neutral even in the Association/Church conflict, lest we be driven into escalation, with the end result being utter devastation."

"Then why would you have acted in the Grindelwald conflict, had he won?"

"Because it would have interfered with our mission," was the response. "Better the elimination of a few to save many. Such is the way of the moonlit world, Matou. Pragmatism."

And mercy, in its own way. No drawn out war between the worlds of day and night. Simply the elimination of a threat, with the world made to believe that perhaps a secret weapons project had gone wrong in Germany.

"It is good that Dumbledore finally intervened then, before such became necessary," Shinji said, shaking his head.

"Indeed."

"Hm?"

He thought he heard a sound like a chuckle, but when he turned to look, his companion had no recognizable expression on her face.

"We may be monsters, Matou Shinji, but we are not unnecessarily cruel," she said after a few moments had passed. "And thank you for the Christmas present."

Shinji blinked.

"I wasn't sure if you received it, given how far it had to go," he answered hesitantly. And he'd never gotten a reply, though he understood how risky such a thing might be…

"Aozaki Touko tends to be a reliable courier, despite her somewhat mercenary nature," the Alchemist related, lifting the mask from her face entirely. "Not entirely unlike her sister, the problem child of London."

"…I don't think I've ever heard anyone refer to one of the Magicians in that way before," Shinji noted. For someone to dismiss one of the most powerful individuals in the world as a problem child was…well, ok, a privilege reserved for someone who might stand on the very same playing field.

"I do not believe you know many alchemists."

The Matou scion thought he heard a flicker of amusement in her reproach, but he wasn't quite sure.

"Well…that's true," he admitted. He never really could win against her – that much he knew, but then he didn't think he needed to, since she'd shown him so much, helped make him who he was today.

"How goes your apprenticeship with the puppetmaster?"

"Well enough, I suppose," Shinji answered, a flicker of a smile crossing his lips at last. "I've learned a few things about how to improve my use of ofuda, and will be obtaining a familiar this summer."

He did feel a frisson of guilt at not mentioning that he was to be joined by someone else on that journey, but he waved that aside.

"Hm?" Sokaris inquired, a note of curiosity in her voice. "Obtaining, Matou Shinji?"

"Contracting with a spirit, most likely," he clarified. "Not buying one from the shops."

"Like your Master before you, then."

"Oh?" Now Shinji was intrigued, as he didn't know much about his Master's past, aside from the bits he'd picked up here and there, bits she wasn't always very free with.

"Aozaki Touko once traveled in the company of a phantasmal beast known as Lugh Beowulf," the Alchemist related, her eyes distant. "A powerful creature with whom she went on a number of adventures. Even today, some circles speak of her encounter with a train that collects mystic eyes, an ancient giant octopus in the North Sea, her journeys into the Bermuda triangle and the alternate worlds one may reach there…and her conflict with a Dead Apostle Ancestor. In each and every one of those encounters, she was victorious with her familiar by her side."

"I see…I hadn't known…"

He'd never known that about his Master, but it was good to know that his impetuous decision to ask for help finding a familiar as his boon had been correct one – even if it wasn't the one on which so many practitioners of witchcraft walked.

"We all have secrets, Matou Shinji," came the answer. "And things less than secrets. Things we simply do not wish to share with most."

"That we do," Shinji murmured quietly. "I'm grateful that you have shared a number with me."

The greatest of course, being the fact that she had not died in the underground chamber at the end of first year, but had in fact escaped with the Philosopher's Stone.

"Mm," was all she said to that.

"I trust your…ventures are going well?" he inquired tentatively. Given the talk of secrets, he didn't think she'd be willing to divulge too much, even if he asked.

"Things proceed to my satisfaction, yes," she affirmed, but said no more about her business. "You have found the Come and Go Room, I trust?"

Once more, there was that bit of amusement that made Shinji wonder if the Alchemist was teasing him, as he was never quite sure.

"I did, though I have yet to plumb its secrets," he admitted. A thought struck him then, making him crinkle his nose. "Why didn't you tell me it was also the Room of Hidden Things?"

"And deny you the chance at discovering it for yourself?"

This time, the jibe was a bit more obvious, and Matou Shinji chuckled.

"Ok. You got me there, Sokaris."

The corners of the Alchemist's lips twitched upwards ever so slightly as she looked over towards the center of the city.

"I think we have talked enough of business, Matou Shinji," she noted with the hint of a smile. "Shall we go enjoy the festivities? I am, of course, only here for tonight, given my other responsibilities."

"Of course."

And so, side by side, they ventured into Mahoutokoro together, with them speaking of things like culture, history, and things of magic and memory, meandering without any clear purpose or destination, until at last the dawn came, and the two returned to their normal lives, the Alchemist of Atlas stepping through a portal to land of golden sand, the would be Onmyouji walking towards the Tree, both with their eyes fixed firmly on the future.

In all of Harry's years at 4 Privet Drive, the house had never been so utterly quiet – but he supposed that was because he'd never been there when the Dursleys weren't. After picking him up from King's Cross station, they'd headed off to Majorca, leaving Arabella Figg to check in on him.

…as it turned out, in the absence of the Dursleys, his batty old neighbor admitted she was a Squib and had always known he was the Boy-Who-Lived. At first, this had surprised him, though in retrospect he supposed he should have expected that Dumbledore – the late Dumbledore – would have left somebody around to keep an eye on him.

Aside from that, the days were quiet, save for working on homework, catching up on his reading, or brewing a potion or two out of the Book that Professor Snape had lent him in exchange for use of the Cloak of Invisibility.

…it wasn't was if he'd be needing it this summer anyway, and he knew Professor Snape wouldn't just take the item from him. The man was stern, but fair, after all – and he'd written out an agreement outlining the nature of the deal, which both kept copies of.

Besides, even if the Cloak were a Deathly Hallow, there was only so much one could do with it, as opposed to say, the Elder Wand, or the Resurrection Stone.

Sometimes he visited Daphne, using Mrs. Figg's Floo connection to pop over to Greengrass Manor. Sometimes he visited the Weasleys at "the Burrow", a house which looked to have been cobbled together over time, given the many architectural styles involved, the five chimneys on the roof – and its decidedly unsound appearance.

He was convinced that without magic, the whole thing would have already collapsed.

And every once in a while, Robert Hillard and his mentor Tonks would come to visit after their shifts at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, with Hillard mentioning that Moody could be utterly brutal in training, and Tonks tweaking the older boy with an "I told you so."

But one day, something peculiar happened.

He heard the crack of Apparition outside his door, but no one knocked – and no one was there when he looked through the peephole. He wasn't especially worried, given what he knew about the blood protections around the house, but he called Mrs. Figg anyway, and asked her to have someone from the DMLE drop by.

To his delight, it was Tonks and Hillard who responded, and he smiled to see them coming up the drive…but they paused before knocking, their expressions going serious as they spotted something, and Hillard disapparated.

Curious, he opened the door, looking down to find a cardboard box on his doorstep, topped with a badly battered copy of the Daily Prophet that looked as if it had been stained, or gnawed on.

…a very familiar edition of the Prophet, at that, with the headline of BOY-WHO-LIVES BACKS PROF FLITWICK FOR HEADMASTER!

'…ok, I admit that's a bit disturbing.'

Moments later, Hillard reappeared on the scene with a grim-faced Alastor Moody in tow, and Harry swallowed.

"Suspicious package, is it, Tonks?" the old Auror inquired gruffly, the bright blue orb of his magical eye swiveling to look underneath the newspaper – as his body went stiff. "…Merlin's bloody balls."

"What is it, sir?" the Auror initiate asked, looking worried. If it was enough to make Moody react like that.

"Look for yourself, Tonks," the man responded, almost glaring at the package.

Nodding, she levitated aside the Prophet…and froze at the sight before her.

A jar containing a terrified-looking rat.

A rat with no legs…or rather, who'd had its legs sliced off completely.

These legs were in separate phials next to the rat's jar, with one foot missing a toe.

In a yet another flask were the silver-white wisps of extracted memories.

…and of course, there was a note.

'To the Heir of Slytherin,

Now that I'm writing this, I realize that I don't know what to say to you. I could say I would have been your godfather, but that's meaningless at this point, since we have nothing to do with one another. But even if you're a Snake, you're the son of Prongs, so you deserve to know this much.

I never betrayed your parents.

Wormtail here – Peter Pettigrew, rather, to call the stinking traitor by his name – did. He framed me and sold out James and Lily to You-Know-Who.

And he's been hiding from everyone since.

The memories in the flask should prove it – some of mine and some of his – but if not, ask the bloody rat of an animagus.

That's all, really. Honestly, I thought about killing the son of the bitch myself, since if I did the time, I might as well go ahead and do the crime, right? But I saw your interview in the paper. And if the Heir of Slytherin is willing to publically support a part-goblin for Headmaster, then maybe you'll be willing to listen to what an old dog has to say. Who knows, maybe I'll even get an actual trial.

Merlin knows Barty Crouch and Dumbledore never let me have one.

Padfoot'

"…Professor?" Harry croaked, once he finished reading. "Did you hear all that?"

"…yes," Moody growled, his eye still fixed on the legless rat. "And that is Peter Pettigrew. Wormtail. Whatever the man calls himself now." He shook his head and scowled. "Tonks, get this package back to Auror HQ. It seems the rumors of Pettigrew's death have been greatly exaggerated."

"Yes, sir," Tonks answered, giving the man a salute. "And…the Padfoot matter, sir?"

The old Auror only grunted.

Moody shook his head.

"Officially, he's not off the hook yet. Unofficially…we're calling off the search. Whatever the investigation finds, we're not going to find him, not unless he wants to be found."

A/N: That's a wrap for "Matou Shinji and the Heirs of Slytherin." To my readers, thank you for joining me and for your patience with the twists, turns, and sometimes, even delays. I'm taking a short break, but please look forward to the next installment in the saga "Matou Shinji and the Master of Death."