an: Another fic!

disclaimer: That took almost a month and a half.

an: I've been busy with RL, shut up. Anyway, this is something I've been wanting to make for quite some time, and I have a fair amount of confidence in it, not the least because there are so many examples in existence already.

disclaimer: Competitive, aren't we?

an: And why not? This is a Harry Potter / Fate/Stay Night crossover fic, and it'll have a lot of characters. Ambitious, yes, but I'm certain I can handle it so long as I don't burn myself out.

disclaimer: Harry Potter is written and owned by J. K. Rowling, and Fate/Stay Night is property of Type Moon. The author owns neither of these.

an: Some inspiration can be blamed on claimed from Crosswinds of Fate by Way Farer2000, which is sadly a deadfic. Hopefully this won't be.

Points of departure from canon:

Nasuverse: Fate/Stay Night Unlimited Blade Works route, Good End – Illyasviel survives; Shirou makes it in time to catch Gilgamesh about to kill Illyasviel and distracts him long enough for Bersercules to make one last strike at him, which is enough to drive him off. Berserker still dies, and Illyasviel is too injured to continue in the Grail War, but she does survive.

Potterverse: As canon (disregarding Cursed Child) until three weeks prior to Halloween 1981. Certain elements of canon, mostly from Pottermore, are altered/disregarded/I-couldn't-be-bothered-to-research.

Spoilers for Fate/Stay Night Unlimited Blade Works ahead! Possible spoilers for Fate/Hollow Ataraxia as well in later chapters.

"Spoken"

"[Spoken in something other than English]"

Thought

[Telepathic communication]

"Electronic communication via means besides radio"

[[Radio communication]]

A Wizarding World

Little Whinging, Surrey, England, United Kingdom

November 7, 1981

10:30 PM

The tenth month of 1981, and the following week, had been a very abnormal year for the world, both wizarding and non. Egypt's president was assassinated during a parade, anti-nuclear protests were held across much of Europe, and the miniature civil war in the Wizarding World (at least in Britain) reached its highest and bloodiest point, culminating in the deaths of James and Lily Potter, the near-death of their infant son, Harry, and the disappearance of a man styling himself as Lord Voldemort, who was responsible for it all. It came to an abrupt end after that, leaving a much smaller-than-before population of wizards in Western Europe in general and the British Isles specifically to clean up a massive magical mess. And to top it all off, on the second of November a crane in Scotland dropped a nuclear missile. It didn't explode, but a lot of Muggles were rightfully scared about the how America almost gave the Scottish Highlands an unhealthy glow.

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number 4, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. There was Mr. Vernon Dursley, who directed a company that sold drills, and looked rather like a walrus that had been forced against its will to dress up as a human for so long that the disguise became convincing to all but the walrus himself, and had a personality to match. There was Mrs. Petunia Dursley, whose body had seemed as if she had mistakenly given all her fat to Vernon, leaving her just enough to not be skeletal. In exchange, Vernon must have given her all of his neck, thus giving her the appearance of a crane, or a particularly average-looking horse. The young Dudley Dursley, their son, was almost magical in the way he stayed nearly spherical while gaining height at the typical rate of a one-year-old boy.

While Mr. Dursley's sleep on the first of November had been fitful and plagued with worry (for himself), tonight he slept like a corpse. Sure, there had been a few odd sightings at the start of the month – owls going crazy, an unexpected swarm of shooting stars, and a bunch of people wearing strange robes – one of whom had hugged him! - but now things seemed to have calmed down. In fact, the only remnant of oddness from the start of the month had been that damned tabby cat that had decided to haunt Privet Drive all week – and had a special interest in his house. Every time he saw the blasted thing it was staring, unflinchingly, at his house. He rarely saw it so much as blink; let alone do anything more cat-like than display skills of acrobatics getting out of the way of the few people that walked down the sidewalk. Petunia had seen it too on occasion, but it didn't seem to show as much interest in her as it did him. It couldn't have truly been observing him – cats didn't care much about that. Was it his cologne? He had changed to a new one a while ago after his old brand was discontinued, perhaps that was what interested the cat. But then, why didn't it come closer to investigate? Why come no closer than the other side of the street?

He filed it away in his mind as nothing more than a particularly odd cat – he never did understand cats very much. Hopefully it would grow bored soon and he'd never have to worry about a tabby cat that stared at maps and signs and him ever again. Besides, even if it did have something to do with those freaks that Petunia's sister associated with, which he was now certain all that nonsense earlier that week did, what would it matter? He and Petunia had made it abundantly clear to her sister what they thought of their kind. They hadn't even seen each other in years. Surely it wouldn't affect them.

In another timeline, he would not have been more wrong. But in this timeline, something had already changed things.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A Moonlit World

Marshall's Office, The Clock Tower

London, United Kingdom

August 3, 2010

10:30 AM

To say that Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg, the Wizard Marshall, Zelretch of the Jewels, the Kaleidoscope, Master of the Second Magic, one of the Five Magicians, had a messy office would be a disservice to messy offices. Zelretch's office at almost all times looked like a bomb had gone off in it and had devoted all its energy to scattering things about instead of doing any real damage. His usual excuse was that he had had an idea and wanted to look over some materials he had on hand before exploring it had long ceased to become convincing, because Zelretch was always having ideas, most of them which would come at the expense of one magus or another.

He kept using it though, as it was technically correct. The best kind, in his book.

Before him sat one of his apprentices, Rin Tohsaka, plus three of her colleagues within the Mage's Association and fellow students of the Clock Tower. Technically speaking, the red-and-white haired Asian man (Shirou Emiya) and the violet-haired Asian woman (Sakura Matou) were his apprentice's apprentices – the man because he was only good at doing one thing with thaumaturgy before his apprenticeship, the woman because her actual teacher's idea of teaching would be considered torturous and cruel even by mage standards from when Zelretch was starting out. And considering what maguses were like now, and when Zelretch was starting out, that threshold was low. The fourth, Illyasviel von Einzbern, was Shirou's older sister, Rin's fellow properly trained and educated magus, and had just started aging again after the part of her half-homunculus DNA that prevented it had been removed.

For now, however, he sat in his excessively cushy office chair, staring across his equally excessively large (less likely to be damaged or stolen since it won't fit through the door) desk, waiting for a response from his four slack-jawed proteges. Well, five. Saber's – Rin's Servant – eyes had widened at his words, which was about as close to slack-jawed as she was willing to display in public.

Eventually, Rin managed to pick her jaw off the floor and pinched the bridge of her nose, as if to hold in the derisive snort yearning to be free. She returned her arm to its rest and left her hand up in a halting gesture as she replied eyes closed.

"All right. Let me see if I understand. You want me -"

"All of you, but go on."

"All five of us… to go to another dimension, via the metacoordinates, Mystic Code, and circles you will provide, research their dimension's magecraft for ten years – a system completely alien to our own, with mechanics equally alien to our own, all after spending four years -"

"Destroying one of the easiest paths to True Magic that have ever existed within the past two centuries, yes. I do believe that is the gist of what I just explained for the third time."

"You mean the Holy Grail that turned into a ticking time bomb because your half-assed security measures couldn't keep it from being corrupted? I've spent most of the last ten years cleaning up your mess! And now you're springing this on me, with only forty-eight hours to prepare?"

Zelretch gave the young Tohsaka a loo that was the sort a professor would give a student mad that they had just gotten a full ride scholarship to Harvard, but they weren't angry at the student, just disappointed.

"Really, most maguses would give up half their family's work for an opportunity such as this. You'll be learning about a completely new style of thaumaturgy, and before anyone else gets so much as the idea that there is a chance to. And you'll have most of your preparation done for you – I'll have documentation ready for you by the time you need to leave, in case anyone in that universe decides to do any digging on who or what you really are. Obviously, you can't just tell people you're from another dimension. Nobody'd believe you – unless, well, unless you're me." He gave her his usual shit-eating grin before continuing.

"Your passports will also be modified to appear correct for that year, more a precaution than anything. You'll also have money from the correct era – the dimension you'll be heading to is about nineteen years behind our own. I'll even throw in enough money to get started on buying a proper residence." He shook his head with a huff. "For shame, to be cursed with such an ungrateful apprentice..."

"Ungrateful?! Why you filthy, slimy, arrogant, blood-sucking, German piece mff-" Whatever Rin was about to say, it was cut off by Sakura blocking off her mouth with her hand. And her muffled cries of protest were covered up by Sakura and Shirou thanking Zelretch for the offer which they of course accepted, Illya giving Rin a face with almost lethal amounts of smug, and Saber just looking embarrassed of her Master's behavior.

Zelretch took a sip of the cheap coffee he had procured for himself earlier in the day, now cold. "My, I wonder just what she was about to call me. I could have used it on the Director..."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A Wizarding World

Little Whinging, Surrey, United Kingdom

November 7, 1981

10:34 PM

Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, possessor of the Order of Merlin First Class among many other awards and titles, stood on the street wearing long violet robes and buckled boots with Cuban heels. He had an unreadable expression on his face, due to the strange situation he found himself in. Normally he was not the sort to have his plans shaken up easily, and in truth, his plan on what to do with the freshly-orphaned infant son of James and Lily Potter was damn-near unshakable. Unpleasant the Dursleys may have been, but you could drop the magical equivalent of a bomb on a Sacrificial Protection Charm and it wouldn't so much as give whatever the charm was protecting a paper cut. Sure, they were hostile towards magic in all its forms, but he firmly believed that they would care too much about their social standing to just abandon a baby relative of theirs, especially with a well argued-out note explaining the situation.

However.

About two weeks ago, the Divinations professor he had only recently hired (and only because she had the insane luck to See a prophecy during her job interview, and a very specific one at that), Saw another.

"Seven approach, from a moonlit parallel they come... strangers to all, they hold the wheel of Fate in their hands, though they know its course not… in the eleventh year of the survivor they will arrive, with powers the Dark Lord knows not yet but will… the lines of battle will spread, things once Hidden will be Found, things once Secret will be Known… at the height of the eleventh year... the seven... from the moonlit... world will arrive..."

Ominous. While the summation of the prophecy would be "seven people from another place nobody knows about will shake things up, plan for plans to be ruined", it was the details that most concerned Dumbledore. Firstly, the timing – they would arrive during the 'seventh year of the survivor' - and that was an obvious thing: Whoever Voldemort picked to be the Boy-Who-Lived, they would show up the same year that the Boy-Who-Lived would be eligible to go to Hogwarts, which he now knew was Harry Potter.

The second was even worse – Things hidden being found, things secret being known? It was uncharacteristically vague for a prophecy, they could mean anything. Which usually meant it was something big, a theory supported by the Emphasis placed on them. The problem was, what?

Prophecies were puzzles, yes, but they were supposed to be relatively easy if you had a general idea of what or who they were about or for. If they were hard, the Department of Mysteries wouldn't go through so much trouble to hoard them in a nigh-impenetrable room in the Ministry of Magic, a place behind only the Gringott's London branch and Hogwarts itself for security. The fact that it was so vague…

It concerned Dumbledore enough to reevaluate what he was willing to risk in regards to Harry Potter's safety. True, the Sacrificial Protection Charm was nigh-infallible to magical damage, but the Dursleys would have to actually accept him into their home, if not into their family, to activate it. And therein was the problem. The charm was infallible to magical damage – physical damage too, but below a certain limit it would be ignored as 'accidental' or merely 'punishment' - though if it happened frequently enough, even slaps on the wrist would activate it. However, it was utterly porous to psychological damage. Perhaps it was beyond its power, or perhaps such a thing was not even considered in the ages long past when the charm was created. Dumbledore hoped for the former as he pulled out a device that resembled a silver cigarette lighter. A few clicks, and the night was dark, illuminated only by the waxing moon and the hazy, orange-white light pollution of London to the east.

The tabby cat that had been watching Privet Drive all week was there to meet him. He walked down the street until he reached an iron bench across from the mailbox of Number Four Privet Drive, upon which the aforementioned cat was sitting.

"Another eventful evening, Professor McGonagall?" he asked as he sat down.

Where once had been a cat, there was now a severe-looking woman in a dark emerald robe with square glasses, who looked thoroughly displeased and yet resigned to her current situation. She had every right to be: As one of the only Animagus on the Hogwarts staff, and the only Animagus in the Order of the Phoenix who wasn't currently dead, she had been assigned observation duty on the Dursleys. As part of Dumbledore's reevaluation of whether the Sacrificial Protection Charm was worth it, she was to observe and report via Owl every day for about a week, which Dumbledore felt was long enough to get a detailed understanding of anyone's average parenting abilities when it came to babies.

Professor Minerva McGonagall made a face like she had attempted to swallow a peeled lemon whole as she decided which words to describe the Dursleys were both accurate yet polite enough for a woman of her stature to be using in public.

"I don't see why you needed me to observe them for an entire week, Albus," she finally said. "These people would never accept Harry – they barely acknowledged Lily's existence, and when they do it's only to pass her off as a freak of nature. And even if they did, he'll either be treated like a servant, or spoiled rotten like their own son!"

Albus shook his head. "They are his closest blood relatives –" Minerva shot him a Look that indicated exactly how much she cared about that fact which was none at all "– but I of all people should know the difference between 'relative' and 'family'."

"So me sitting on sidewalks and brick walls all day was for nothing?"

Again, Dumbledore shook his head. "Merlin, no – your continued observance of the Dursleys was of twofold purpose. I firstly wanted to give them as many chances as possible for their behavior to improve – perhaps they were merely having a bad first of November."

"And the second reason?"

Now it was Albus's turn to look for appropriate phrasing. "I do apologize for this, but I admit part of it was to give me as much time as possible to look for a proper home."

"I'm sure the Weasleys-"

"I'm sure the Weasleys and many other families within the Order like them would love to adopt Harry, but no. Arthur has always been a bit too excitable, and Harry's childhood must be balanced. Famous throughout the Wizarding World, for something the boy won't even consciously remember! No, if he is to be raised by someone from our world, he must be raised by someone who won't be swayed by anything, let alone fame. And ideally, someone with knowledge or even presence in both our world and the Muggle world."

That was a rare sort of personality to have, and an even rarer type of person to be, though there were a few that came to mind.

"Amelia? Are you sure she's the parenting type?"

"After some convincing, she did say yes."

Professor McGonagall's eyebrows did a bit of knitting over this as she tried to find another argument against having Amelia Bones be Harry's guardian, but upon finding any she decided to shift to a related topic. "How is the boy getting there, then? He's still in Hogwarts, and the Express is still under repair..."

"Hagrid's bringing him."

Professor McGonagall felt at this rate, by the time the conversation was over she'd be able to lift her wand with just her eyebrows for all the exercise they were getting.

"Do you think it… wise, to trust Hagrid with something so important?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," Dumbledore said simply as he pulled out a large silver pocketwatch.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," Professor McGonagall admitted, "but you can't say he isn't careless. He does tend to -" she paused as Dumbledore snapped the pocketwatch's lid shut and stuffed it back in his robe.

"Hagrid should be arriving at the Bones residence now," he said as he walked towards a particularly dark section of the street before clicking the cigarette lighter like device once more, allowing artificial light to return to that part of Surrey. Professor McGonagall hurried to move with him before the lights came fully on so that they would both remain mostly in shadow. Careful eyes may notice Apparition under the glow of a sodium lamp, but in the shadows, at night, under an overcast sky, it would be easy to mistake a wizard and witch Apparating for a trick of the light, if anyone was up at all.

Thankfully, no one was there to see them vanish from Surrey entirely. It would be quite some time before either of them would be seen on that street again.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A Moonlit World

2nd Floor, The Clock Tower

London, United Kingdom

August 3, 2010

1:30 PM

It was a normal afternoon in the Clock Tower, which naturally meant there were a lot of maguses running about like so many decapitated chickens, late or merely wanting to be early for one thing or another. Maguses may act dignified but really they were all a lot like STEM college students with something to prove that wasn't just their thesis.

On such magus was not Illyasviel, who was not terribly nervous, even though she had less than two days before she would find herself spending ten years in another dimension. In fact she was downright calm, even excited. Unlike Rin who was focusing on how much time she did not have to prepare, Illya found herself agreeing with what Zelretch though of the project. A veritable bumpercrop of knowledge about a new dimension and unknown, unstudied magecraft.

Her grandfather had thought very little of her in any regard after the Holy Grail War, considering her to have 'served her purpose' and be of no use to him, no matter how hard she studied or how well she did. Sure he gave her money, but only out of obligation as head of the Einzbern family and because she would be well within her rights to raise a stink about it otherwise. Most of her supplies as a magus came from what was liberated from the Matou estate or from [shudder of shudders] Rin, who was more than happy to let Illya know it. With this, even with the credit split six ways, her grandfather would either have to respect her or bite her ass for all she cared. Even if there was nothing special about the dimension, she'd have enough clout to get a country's worth of Einzbern castles.

For now though she still had a few things to take care of. Nothing major – tying up loose ends, collecting debts, submitting due papers early so that she wouldn't have to worry about them, doing some last-minute shopping of supplies. Just in case they couldn't find somewhere to set up shop right away. A low possibility, but Shirou wanted to be prepared for anything.

...Okay, part of it was because he also wanted an excuse to buy English cookbooks, since he was doubtful he'd be able to find any stores that carried decent Asian ingredients in 1990s England or Scotland. But it counted as survival, because otherwise they'd have to eat someone else's cooking.

Illya was thinking greedily about yakitori when she bumped into someone tall, lanky, and English with a hint of Asian.

"Lord El-Molloi the second! My apologies, I didn't see you..."

For such a tall man as the man once known as Waver Velvet, some might take such a comment as an insult. Luckily he did not, as he wasn't the sort who really cared about such things. Instead he merely brushed himself off, and upon realizing it was Illya, turned his face into something more neutral than his usual RBF. Most inhabitants in the Clock Tower had learned to interpret this as his equivalent of a 'light smile'.

"It's no trouble at all, Miss Einzbern," he said as he continued to straighten up his posture. "In fact I was actually looking for you."

This surprised the albinistic German. Sure, she was friends (inasmuch as maguses can be friends and mostly because) and Shirou's sister and thus related to one of Lord El-Molloi II's apprentice's apprentice's (or former apprentices – she wasn't sure if he had really given up Rin to Zelretch in full.)

"It took some convincing," he said as he withdrew a plain black metal box from his satchel. "Not from the owners, mind you, Zelretch just didn't want you to get these until the last second. Thought it'd be funnier that way." He lowered the box a bit and stepped closer to Illya so that only they could see inside as he opened it. Inside was a Grecian arrowhead, and a fragment of a Celtic spear.

"These are..."

He snapped the box shut, almost on Illya's nose (but not quite) as a pair of students entered hearing range. He then handed it to her, and she slung it under her shoulder, careful not to jostle the contents too much.

"I am sure you of all people would know what to do with them."

She nodded, a smile spreading across her face. Oh, she knew exactly what to do with-

"While preliminary tests indicated that a magus of your caliber might be able to handle it, I would advise against taking both for yourself."

Dammit.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A Wizarding World

Bones Estate

Banchester-By-The-Sea, Dover, United Kingdom

November 7, 1981

10:30 PM

While the Bones had been in Banchester almost as long as it had been by the sea, and Dover even longer, the Bones Estate was a relatively new edition, constructed during the Gothic Revival period of Muggle architecture after Archibald Bones accidentally burned the old Estate down trying to develop a magic-powered motorcar. It was paid for with a good amount of money, as back then the Bones had money to spare. Some of the best wizard architects were called for, and they were told to create the grandest, most imposing manor in England.

Unfortunately, they succeeded. The net result looked much like if someone had lifted one of the bunkers on the beaches of Normandy, flipped it over dirt and all, and stopped halfway through Transfiguring it into a proper Gothic Revival manor. The walls were smooth, grey, and almost featureless besides the windows and corners. The second floor was a near perfect duplicate of the first, and the third was buried beneath a nest of copper-green parapets and brown turrets, with windows poking out from the occasional dormer. A balcony at the back, hidden behind a pair of fat square turrets, provided a relatively secluded place to observe the stars and launch off via broomstick. At either side were large bulges of windows that would have been considered sun rooms if it were ever sunny in Banchester. A three-car garage had been added, but this was clearly a recent addition and its architecture clashed with the rest of the building.

A pair of firecracker-like pops accompanied by puffs of black smoke announced the arrival of Dumbledore and McGonagall a few feet from the iron gate. Attached to the fence next to the gate itself was what looked like an old wooden wall telephone without a mouthpiece. Dumbledore spun the rotor a few times with his wand and a cone-shaped mouthpiece appeared on a cord, snake-like in its motions. The rumble of an English motorcycle engine could be heard in the distance, steadily growing louder. The mouthpiece observed the two wizards before focusing on Dumbledore.

"I assume you've come to bring the boy here?" came a distinctly female, neutral voice from the other side.

"Yes," said Dumbledore with a smile as the volume of the motorcycle engine increased. In the distance a black, lumpy dot appeared in the air, growing rapidly.

"I hope you realize that I am only doing this for his sake, not yours," came the voice as the dot revealed itself to be an excessively large and green Triumph motorcycle plus sidecar, with an equally excessively large man atop.

"I would not presume otherwise, Amelia. I know how you feel about the Order."

"Your merry band of vigilantes caused me no end of headaches," the woman now known as Amelia replied. "But… Lily was a friend, and I have no reason not to believe what you say about Harry."

The motorcycle finally landed a few meters behind the two professors. From atop it came a giant of a man – three meters tall and at least that much in circumference, he would look like an overly large Santa Claus if only his hair was clean, well-behaved and white instead of frizzy, wild and black. Or if he had a fur-trimmed red coat instead of a wool-trimmed brown duster. His face had the look of a man who had done a lot of crying thinking over the past week or so and had only just come to terms with whatever had caused him to do so.

'Whatever' was the bundle of many-colored blankets wrapped in his arms. The snakish mouthpiece-cord device seemed very interested in the bundle, and lifted the mouthpiece in order to more plainly point the microphone at the upper end of the bundle. Within said bundle was a face – small, thin by infant standards, and with a messy mop of black hair. The boy opened his eyes, a deep emerald green, but what really drew the most attention was the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead.

"Is that scar permanent?"

"Yes, unfortunately," said Dumbledore. "But even if I could heal it, I wouldn't – scars can come in handy."

"Well, bring him in, then," Amelia replied as the gate unlocked with a heavy-sounding click. "No sense keeping a baby out in the cold longer than one has to, no matter how many blankets he's wrapped in."

With almost palpable reluctance, Hagrid followed Albus and Minerva through the iron gate towards the front door. He let out a small sniffle as he looked down at Harry, who had gone back to sleep.

"'m gonna miss 'im," he said. "Fang'll miss 'im too."

"It'll only be eleven years until you can see him again every day," said Professor McGonagall in a(n attempt at) a calming tone. "And I'm sure you'll have opportunities to visit before then."

Hagrid wasn't convinced.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A Wizarding World

Ben Ledi, The Trossachs

Stirlingshire, Scotland, United Kingdom

July 18, 1991

10:30 PM

The actual use of the Magic of the Kaleidoscope certainly lived up to its name. An explosion of light and color like a large bonfire, light without order and sound without meaning announced the arrival of the four maguses and the one Servant to this unknown dimension. All around them, the rest of their 'cover' equipment that couldn't be carried on person arrived – a 1985 five-door Range Rover in a vaguely copper color with a vaguely tan interior, tents and sleeping bags all in offensively late 80s shades of too bright, petrol-fired lanterns and camp stoves in a more normal shade of Coleman green, plastic coolers in white and red, deck chairs in faded shades of blue and orange, and a handful of other trappings of the typical upper-middle class English campsite of the very early 1990s.

A perfectly normal one, mind you, barring the large trunk strapped to the roof of the SUV – it too used the Second Magic as a means of becoming a Trunk of Holding, and unlike the similar one that served as a Tohsaka heirloom, it was a plain-looking military surplus green-grey trunk. There were still some problems with time passing differently inside and outside, but even miracles had limits.

On their persons were, of course, the papers and documentations needed. IDs of various types so that both the allegedly-magical and confirmably-mundane governments of the UK and the EU wouldn't get too suspicious of five (soon to be seven) random people just showing up on a mountainside in Scotland, several thousand pounds (1989-1991 issue) in wallets and satchels. (Rin had asked about a card, but apparently the magical society of this world didn't use them.) Enough money to buy a decent-sized house on the mundane markets, well outside of London at least. Which suited all of them but Shirou just fine – fewer people around meant a lower chance of anyone snooping around, though on the downside it would make it harder to find ingredients. But, well, it was something he'd have to deal with.

He couldn't help but feel a little excited though – at last he would see not one, but two proper Servant summonings. Tomorrow evening – Zelretch had been quite insistent that they spend at least the first night sleeping to give their bodies and circuits time to adjust to the flow of magic in the air. Ideally two or three, which Shirou had agreed with, but he'd have a better chance of fighting Gilgamesh on his own than convincing Rin to wait that long, and a better chance fighting Gilgamesh with no arms and blindfolded than convincing Rin and Illya.

Speaking of Illya, as his eyes adjusted to the weak light of the half-moon, she looked a bit odd. Sure, Zelretch had said he might have to 'adjust' their bodies to ease adjustment to the new dimension, but was it really necessary to make her that much taller?

"I know he meant to put us somewhere remote," said Rin in a pitch that sent chills down Shirou's spine almost as cold as the grin on Illya's face, "but did he have to drop us on the side of a mountain?"

"There are plenty of mountains in Scotland, Tohsaka-san," said Sakura in a similar pitch. This caused both of them to widen their eyes, as did their noticing of how much taller Illya had become.

And Saber.

Rin walked over to the Range Rover's rear view mirror. An eleven-year old girl looked back at her. Turning back to the group, an eleven-year-old Shirou and an eleven-year-old Sakura looked at her with the same shocked expression she had on.

Shirou remembered seeing an image in a magazine once of four frames of an ultra-high-framerate recording of an exploding bomb. The heat of its warhead detonating caused the grey metal skin to turn purple, then red, then orange-red, then white before exploding. Rin underwent a similar change of colors before uttering a single word with enough volume to split the mountain they all stood upon.

"ZELRETCH!"