He claps as he approaches, his grin widening with his steps. "My, my, my... What do we have here? Not one, but two Masters? Standing around without a care in the world?" His shoes stop smartly, and Harry twirls his wand in his hand. His eyes run over the sword, cutting right through the illusion the boy had superimposed over it; albeit a very realistic illusion, one that could cut and dance with you as well as any normal blade.

"Twelve, Alder, Moondust. Pretty. Useful for rapid casting, but very, very sloppy. Isn't used to being focused."

He looks at the girl, and his eyes burn, white and orange looming in them like an evertwisting inferno. "What was that? You stole his magic? For your brothers? And that's quite alright, because he's nobility? Because he can afford it?" His mouth twists into a snarl as he spat out that last word, letting it fall from his lips like liquid onto a hot surface, steam and rage emanating from every pore in his body. "How... common."

Harry's wand twirls again, and the runes pulsate rapidly, as a stench of smoke arose from nothingness. A careless grin overcomes his face, and he runs his free hand through his hair as his eyes stared at the girl, who moans of such simple things. The loss of magic by the Council, it was natural for those who were not nobility. He had known that, and his very presence was sheer, undeniable power. He danced through magic, embraced and loved it.

"Magic is your soul, you wandless whore. Take away a mage's magic and you have just extracted his soul from its case, and you do this for familial love? Would you like to know something?"

He stands right in front of her, and leans in. "Magic is irreplaceable. Your brothers are the dead, they just don't know it yet. They lost that unique force inside of them that made them them,and you think... you somehow, inconceivably think, that you can merely replace that with any old magic you find lying around? Magic belonging to another?" Suddenly, his eyes widen in mock surprise, and he quickly walks backwards, looking at everyone in the room. Red hair and black hair and brown hair all stare back at him, and he felt a slight pang of memory. No, not now. Not ever again.

"Oh! My mistake, allow me to introduce myself! Although..." he paused, brushing his hair aside, allowing a flash of the storm on his head to appear. "You may already know of me. But please, bear with me."

He starts to pace, a soft chuckle falling from his lips. "Harry. It's a stupid, nasty, common name that I've never particularly been fond of, but it is my first name. It is what most know me by." He grins, and its a wicked, evil grin, as he turns to face them again, the wand in his hand spinning faster and faster. "My last name is Potter. Still common, and a filthy, vile name, but it seems to be the one that I was burdened with. Harry Potter."

And his eyes burn with the fires of a thousand hells as he stares at the girl who was so unfortunate to join the Holy Grail War. "You may also know me as The Boy Who Lived."


Shiki stared at the girl in the wheelchair, before giving her a soft smile, his glasses slightly tilting on his face. He turns to Gary, shrugging carelessly. "I just arrived. I don't really know any of the people in this school... Lelouch, do you have anyone you'd like to rescue, aside from your sister, of course?"


Touma didn't speak, he was busy dealing with a more... internal conflict.


No! That's not what I am at all!


I can't... I can't just do that! It's wrong!




It was not even a voice, merely a set of impulses that he felt for no reason, and he strangely felt inclined to agree with them, despite the misery they seemed to carry with their every suggestion.