But For a Stone (A Matou Shinji Series AU)

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: What if there had never been a Boy-Who-Lived? What if, at the end of the Wizarding War, young Harry Potter had died alongside his mother and father, killed in the explosion that destroyed the house at Godric's Hollow? What if there was no figure of hope for the British Wizarding Community to rally around, just a knowledge of the high cost of victory? And how will Matou Shinji, fresh come into his status as a wizard, adapt in a Hogwarts with no easy route to fame...or notoriety?

Prologue

"...they're all dead, Hagrid," a toneless voice voice issued from a figure hunched over in the doorway of what remained of the house at Godric's Hollow, visibly bracing himself against the frame. "Lily. James. Even young Harry. They're all dead."

"Dead...?" the half-giant echoed disbelievingly. Dumbledore had sent him here with , looking around for some signs of movement, some sign of life, something that would give the lie to the words of Sirius Black. But other than the purring of the engine of Black's flying motorcycle, the ruin was as silent as the grave. "...all of them?"

But how was that possible?

This place had been hidden by the Fidelius Charm, after all, the most powerful protection known to wizard-kind. One of the most ancient and most difficult charms of all, it functioned by separating a piece of information from the world and hiding it within the soul of a chosen Secret-Keeper, so none could discover it - save those the Secret-Keeper told.

Why and by who it had been invented had long been lost to the ages, with some speculating that it had originally been used by wizards to help them hide from threats in a once far more dangerous world, though others scoffed at the thought, since who would wizards have to hide from except each other?

Usually, it was used on locations, of course, not on individuals, given that hiding the very fact that someone existed from the world was not entirely a good thing, as that person would become intangible, invisible, and otherwise undetectable, creating a sense of isolation that could easily drive one mad, as the only ones that person would be able to interact with would be their secret-keeper and those others had been trusted with the secret of their existence. And if their secret-keeper died without telling anyone else, well, then the person involved would become their own secret-keeper, a decidedly non-ideal situation since one would be intangible, invisible, and otherwise undetectable to those who did not know the secret and thus could not disclose it.

One would be left to wander through the world, unable to interact with anyone else until the day one passed away, effectively becoming an existence less the meanest ghost, trapped forever in an inviolable prison of one's own devising.

The protection, in that sense, was absolute.

Even Hagrid, who had been expelled from Hogwarts, and had not had the benefit of a full education, knew that much, which was why he was so shocked to see the Potters' residence...destroyed.

...well, absolute absent a betrayal from the Secret-Keeper.

The man who was standing before him now, his body shaking with sobs? Or...

"Ha. Haha. Hahahahahahahahaha..."

'...laughter?'

It was a hysterical sound, a maddened sound, a sound of grief and terror and loss that would have terrified nearly any other wizard who heard it. Even Rubeus Hagrid, who had no shortage of experience dealing with creatures that others would describe as monsters and abominations, found himself taking a step backwards, his hand sliding slowly into the pocket of his coat and taking hold of his crossbow just in case Black decided to do something...unwise.

Aside from that, however, the half-giant simply waited, as he'd learned that making any sudden movements around a maddened beast could lead to them thinking of him as a threat.

And well, since Black hadn't made any hostile movements of his own, Hagrid supposed he should give him the benefit of the doubt. It was what Dumbledore would have done in his shoes, he thought.

The laughter went on, and on, and on, with the man shaking more and more as it continued, until at last, like a puppet severed from its strings, he crumpled to the ground, the laughter choked off to make way for a keening wail, and then...nothing.

"Black," Hagrid grunted into the eerie quiet. "What happened?"

The man's behavior had the half-giant very much on edge, as he acted nothing like the Sirius Black that Hagrid remembered, lacking any trace of the confidence or jocularity. Was this some imposter sent to mislead him, or...?

"Peter," the wizard half-muttered, half-spat, sheer misery writ into his voice. "He was the Secret-Keeper."

"Watcha say?"

Everyone in the Order had thought that Sirius Black was the Secret-Keeper, but now the man was telling him that this had been a lie.

"You heard me, Hagrid. He was the Secret-Keeper," Black repeated, turning his gaze upward to look upon the half-giant. "He sold them out. He sold them out..."

Ten years later, Albus Dumbledore found himself sitting at the High Table of Hogwarts, looking out upon the incoming first years, envying how fresh-faced and bright eyed they were, how innocent of the harsh realities of the world. At his age, nearly 110, he had been witness to many tragic events and deeds done in the name of the Greater Good, seen the futility of fighting against the cruelties written into the rules of the society one lived in, watched his best-laid plans be unraveled by circumstance, and learned the bitterness of victory.

He'd read an interesting quote once, that went something like 'There is nothing except a battle lost that can be half as melancholy as a battle won,' written by a rather famous Muggle general, and as the man who had coordinated the resistance to Voldemort in Britain's Wizarding War, he understood that all too well.

Yes, their side had triumphed, with Voldemort losing his life the night he attacked the Potters, but the cost of that victory had been far, far too high...especially since he knew it was only a temporary one, as the Dark Lord's shade lingered yet in this world.

'It is only a matter of time until he reappears, and I find myself lacking allies.'

No one in Britain believed - wanted to believe - that the Dark Wizard who had threatened Britain for almost a decade, whose name still terrified veterans of the conflict and children alike, was not truly dead.

Severus might have been a useful asset, but the double agent had taken his own life shortly after learning of Lily's death, as without her, the former Death Eater had lost his will to live. Sirius Black had left Britain entirely, heading to America so he could put an ocean between his past. Even Remus Lupin had disappeared from the wizarding world, though to where, Dumbledore had little idea, as the werewolf had said nothing of his plans.

Alastor could be useful, but he was close to retirement as it was, and as loathe as the Auror might be to admit it, Albus could see how tired the man was, and how badly his wounds still pained him.

And as for his senior faculty, well...he imagined Minerva would back him if there was evidence of Voldemort coming back, as might Flitwick, but for as long as Albus had known the man, Horace had little interest in fighting or getting his hands dirty.

'I wonder how different things would have been had Lily's child survived.'

There were so many what-ifs that filled his mind even to this day.

What if the Potters had not switched Secret-Keepers? What if the Order had kept a closer eye on its members? What if...and this was something he knew was merely fantasy, Lily's son had survived the events of the night, and become a pillar the wizarding community in Britain could rally around, a symbol of hope for those who to rebuild - and of oddness he could point out to his trusted allies?

'No. It is best not to think of might-have-beens, or one might go mad.'

He'd learned that lesson well enough over his 110 years of life, though he had trouble taking his own advice, as he wondered to this day, if he'd chosen another path, if perhaps Ariana would be still be alive. If perhaps he might not be estranged from his brother. If perhaps Gellert...

'No. It does no good to dwell on the past, not when one cannot truly change it without unraveling what is.'

And so he had to accept that many of his hopes and dreams had been crushed as thoroughly as young Harry's skull, though in his case the damage was due to his own misadventures and ambition, not a particularly heavy piece of rubble.

'I am not a good man,' he reflected, shaking his head as he looked upon those who still had a lifetime before them, those who still had so many choices to make. 'And perhaps I never have been.' Even now, power was his weakness and temptation, a temptation he occasionally indulged in, lest the desire for it become unmanageable, but he mostly managed to put it aside. 'What I can do is to try and protect the innocence of the children entrusted to my care, and to ensure that there is a future for them to grow up in.'

Which was why he felt somewhat guilty about the trap he was laying at Hogwarts this year, and the risk it posed to the students, given that some would ignore his warnings about a very painful death waiting for those who braved the Third Year Corridor. Still, it was a necessary evil in the grand scheme of things, as it would expose Voldemort's survival once and perhaps, give him a fighting chance of ending the next War before it had even begun.

Britain had enough dead heroes, had known enough pain and sacrifice. It was the least he could do to try to spare a new generation the suffering of the last, especially when the failure to see what Tom would become, and to take action to prevent it, was squarely on his head.