On the second day, the demon said unto Starswirl: “Look upon my feats, little pony. See how I twist the very fabric of reality[a] itself with no rhyme or reason save my own enjoyment. For is it not written in your precious scrolls that ‘above all else, one must seek joy’[b]?”
And Starswirl the Great said unto the demon, “It is written in the scrolls of my ancestors: ‘Find not your joy in the pain of others, but in their comfort and their joy.’[c]” And Starswirl stood firm, and the demon left once more.
—Inlectatio 4:5-9
In front of her, Maria’s classmates walked slowly forward, muttering to themselves and to each other in tones of quiet disappointment. Maria waited politely for them all to exit the room, hopping impatiently from hoof to hoof as she did so; when at last the crowd had cleared enough for her to exit the classroom and get into the corridor, she took a sharp left, turning away from her classmates and almost galloping towards the History classroom. None of the others noticed her, or called after her, which was certainly an improvement on her luck for the morning.
They’d made her sit in the front row two lessons in a row! It was as if they were actively trying to pull her further and further into the spotlight, but she couldn’t figure out why. They had yet to do anything particularly mean-spirited—certainly nothing half as bad as what she had faced in her first year, and she was hardly going to feel intimidated by mere glances after three years of proving to herself that she was better than all of them (even if only because she put in hours of practice while they socialised without her.) Perhaps they were just trying to make her uncomfortable?
She shook her head, and made sure that her attention was on the corridor ahead of her. With classes having just ended, she wouldn’t want to barrel into any students as they left classrooms. Even for the others, that would have been a faux pas.
It didn’t take her too long to reach the History classroom, and she was pleased to see that the fifth years were still inside. She smiled, and stood patiently against the wall by the door, so as not to get in the way of any of the students when they left. Soon enough, she heard the telltale patter of the students rising to their hooves, and she smiled in anticipation.
She didn’t bother searching the throng of students that left the classroom for Tim. He would be last, like she always was. He may not be as keen on etiquette as she was, and he may have had far friendlier classmates, but he wouldn’t stand on tradition.
Sure enough, after the other fifth years had all left, Tim stepped out of the classroom, determinedly striding after the others and towards the Hall. He hadn’t noticed Maria, tucked away in her little spot to his right.
Perfect.
“Boo!” Maria called, grinning as Tim turned around in a panicked whirl of grass green mane and daffodil fur.
“Did you have to do that?” he asked, his face relaxing in relief. “You scared the magic out of me!”
“It seemed like fair payback,” Maria replied, trotting down the corridor and nodding for Tim to follow. “Besides, Dornsen finished early, and I knew you had History. Did you really expect me not to come and meet you?”
“Point taken,” Time said, his tone resigned. “But I still think the shouting was unnecessary.”
“I didn’t shout!” Maria shot Tim a disapproving look that was met with a satisfied smirk. “I projected. You’d know the difference if you paid attention in Oration.” And with that, she stuck out her tongue. Tim stuck his out in return. It was the most mature and civilised argument the two of them had ever managed.
“How was your morning?” Tim asked, after a minute of comfortable silence walking side-by-side. “You had Dornsen and…?”
“Starkad, actually,” Maria said. Tim’s eyebrows rose a little, but he said nothing. “And if I’m honest with you, it’s been a pretty terrible morning. Everyone else forced me into the front row when I was late because I’d overslept—”
“You overslept?” Tim interrupted. “I don’t believe it. You haven’t overslept and shown up late to class in three whole years, Maria. How’d you manage that?”
“It’s a long story,” Maria said darkly, her voice barely more than a mutter. “I’ll tell you about it over lunch. Though it’ll have to be brief, because I’ve got a meeting with the Headmistress half way through.”
“Wow.” Tim’s voice was soft, and he seemed to slow his pace a little, as if deep in thought. “Late for class and another meeting with the Head? You really have had a bad morning.”
“Thanks for the show of support.”
“You’re welcome!”
Tim’s bright and cheerful response earned him a light swat to the head with a roll of parchment, carefully retrieved from Maria’s saddlebag while he wasn’t looking. Smirking, she walked on ahead as Tim stood still in the middle of the corridor, his face frozen somewhere between shock and indignation.
“Come on, slowpoke,” she called over her shoulder. Behind her, Maria heard the clacking of deliberate, swift hoofsteps on the stone-tiled floor, and a huff of faked contempt. She chuckled and kept on walking, a smile stretching across her face for the first time since Astronomy began the previous night. “I’m not going to wait around for you to get to lunch. I already missed breakfast!”
[a] pannos magicos: literally, magical cloths. This phrase was often used in antiquity to refer to the magic that was believed to hold the entire world together. The night sky was considered to be a chance to glance at this magic, though it was said to be throughout the land and seas as well. Though this literal interpretation has long since been abandoned, the thread-like nature of wild magic (which, coincidentally, is found in sky, sea, and land) lends itself quite nicely to the comparison with cloth: hence the modern phrase “fabric of reality” or, sometimes, “fabric of the world”.
[b] Adagia Patrum 16:1.
[c] Adagia Patrum 16:12.