//------------------------------//
// 47 — Uh . . . Oops? 
// Story: If Wishes were Ponies . . . . 
// by tkepner 
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Dumbledore knew he would have to come up with a way to protect the boy next summer. Perhaps he could persuade Arthur to take the boy in for the summer? He could re-establish the fidelius at the end of the school year. Set it so that only the Weasley family knew he was staying with them. To everyone else, he would be an unseen shadow at their home. And if he was recognized at the Alley? Not an issue, the spell would prevent anyone from realizing Harry was with the Weasleys in the Alley, even if they were holding his hands. Yes. That would work nicely.

And the Atlanteans would make a perfect decoy. He could spread the rumour that Harry was with them. By that time, everyone would know that the foreigners were really from Atlantis. And it was highly unlikely that the Death Eaters would be able to find it. After all, for two thousand years more powerful wizards than they had devoted their lives to searching for the elusive island, and failed. And if they did manage the impossible, well, so what? Harry wasn’t there, anyway!

Shaking his head sadly, he cast a finite incantatem, cancelling the charms on Petunia that had helped protect the boy, and the Dursleys, from the Death Eaters. As well as the one that prevented anyone from interfering with the Dursleys guardianship of Harry. They certainly were not worthy of such a responsibility. He would have to find someone else.

Already working on plans of what to do next, and wondering how he would explain what had happened to Minerva and Harry, he turned around and started for the cell door.

“Wait!” she said. “Aren’t you going to do anything? We did what you wanted, we took the ungrateful little brat in. As hard as it was, we stretched our budget to include him. We raised and kept him safe, as you wanted.”

He turned back to her. “My dear,” he said quietly, “I needed you to love your sister’s son at least a little bit to maintain the protective charm I placed on your home. The little scraps you gave him sufficed, barely. However, when he left you, you forgot about him. The charm is gone now, it collapsed entirely tonight. That’s why I am here — to find out why. Sadly, it can’t be rebuilt. I will have to do something else, now.”

She stared at him with an uncomprehending frown that was slowly making its way to horror.

“I don’t need you anymore,” he concluded. 

He looked around her cell. “Rather poetic justice, I think, that you are in here, now.” He sighed. “But at least they give you three good meals a day. And clothes that fit. And they don’t beat you, no matter how much you might deserve it, completely the opposite of how you treated your nephew.” He turned again, walked out the door, and stopped, turning to face her. “You and your husband really shouldn’t have been so abusive towards the officials when they stopped by. Otherwise we could have had this conversation at your home.” He stepped back and let the door close with a click. He looked at her one last time through the tiny window in the door.

“NO! WAIT!” she screamed, throwing herself against the door and pounding on it. “YOU CAN’T LEAVE US IN HERE! WHO’LL TAKE CARE OF MY DUDDERS?” She started kicking the door. “COME BACK HERE! YOU PROMISED TO HELP US IF WE NEEDED IT!”

He looked at her through the closed door. He cast a quick spell and his voice came through for her to hear easily. “Remember, my dear, you can’t mention magic to anyone. Or you might end up in Azkaban, the wizarding prison.” He looked around the facility. “It isn’t nearly as nice as this. Muggles don’t do very well in it. You, your husband, and your son would probably go insane in a month. And then die.”

She stepped back from the door, staring at him in horror.

He gave her a sad smile and walked away.

“NOOOOO!” he heard faintly through the door.

He really should have listened to Minerva all those years ago. She was going to be livid! And, no doubt, shirty for a very long time.

He wondered if there was anything he could do for Harry to begin to make up for that horrible mistake. And how to prevent that from looking as if he were giving the-boy-who-lived special treatment when he and the boy knew it was an apology.


۸-ꞈ-۸


The sky was just brightening with the dawn as he sipped at his tea. He studied the three monitoring devices, now on his desk, and looked at his notes from ten years ago. After study, he could see his mistake, now. His modified fidelius had held back the results of the monitoring spells until he had cancelled it. Then the devices had been overloaded as the negative signals, trapped by the fidelius, had crashed into them, overwhelming them and compressing ten years of results into a single display.

And the charm to prevent interference with the Dursleys’ custody of Harry? It had backfired in the worst possible way. Arabella would be devastated when he told her, if she didn’t realize it herself when she woke up this morning. His cancelling that charm on Petunia would allow her to realize what she hadn’t done.

Arabella hadn’t known why the boy was with the Dursleys, just that they were his closest relatives. So, if she had noticed anything wrong with the Dursleys’ treatment of the boy, she would have reported it to Dumbledore with the intent that he take the boy from the Dursleys. The charm against anyone interfering would have kicked in and made her delay saying anything, or even make her forget what had disturbed her in the first place. She could even have seen the Dursleys beating the boy, and the magic would have made her forget all about it.

If she could have, Arabella would have reported the Dursley’s neglect and abuse. She would have done so with the intent that Dumbledore save the boy, and put him somewhere else. That Dumbledore interfere with the Dursleys’ custody of Harry.

Dumbledore’s use of Harry’s mother’s protection on the home had required he remain there. Thus, Dumbledore’s only recourse would have been to modify the Dursleys’ behaviour instead of removing him. But Dumbledore’s plans didn’t matter to the magic, it was acting on her intent, not his. And he hadn’t had any knowledge that would even have let him form an intent to do anything.

He really should have told her why Harry was with his relatives and no one else.

And the Dursleys’ arrest? She hadn’t seen it herself as she was still recovering from her broken leg injury earlier that summer. Getting around on crutches was difficult for an old woman such as herself. But the rumour mill had been wild, she had told him, claiming they were arrested, that they had fled the bobbies, that it was all a put-up for some telly show. All she knew for sure was that they were staying someplace called the Queen’s Resort at Woking, apparently one of a chain of resorts across England. And, if she had known that the Dursleys had been arrested, her intent in telling Dumbledore would have been for him to take Harry away from the Dursleys as unfit to care for him — they had been arrested, after all — and put him with someone else.

And, as a result, the modified fidelius would have prevented her from telling Dumbledore the truth about the Dursleys’ situation.

The rumours she did report were only a bit more exaggerated than others that tended to circulate in Little Whinging, where the art of back-stabbing your neighbour was apparently a popular past-time. And muggle-born children with magic tended to make their neighbours suspicious as the neighbours never understood some of the odd things they saw and heard. Thus many of the wild rumours about Harry she had relayed to him over the years he had written off as exaggerations, or even complete fabrications, by ignorant muggles.

No son of James and Lily could be a vandal, thief, or thug. That Harry could be untrustworthy was simply ludicrous. A prankster, maybe. But the rumours hadn’t mentioned pranks, not even to say that he had called them that as a defense.

Harry had been staying with the Atlanteans at the moment the Dursleys had been apprehended, as Dumbledore now knew — and the charms he had placed on the Dursleys hadn’t reacted. The constables hadn’t been trying to take Harry away from his guardians, they had been trying to find the boy. 

Plus, Harry hadn’t seemed the least bit concerned about his relatives. He had been neither happy nor sad at their absence from Privet Drive. Poor Professor McGonagall hadn’t had reason to suspect anything was amiss. 

Dumbledore had never placed any monitors on the Dursleys themselves, so he hadn’t a clue anything wasn’t as it should be with them. He had just assumed they had placed Harry with some friends while they went on vacation, as they had done with Arabella. And his own charms had worked against him learning the truth.

And then, there was the solicitor offering to buy Arabella’s house. The man had said he represented a firm that was planning a series of apartment building in the area. She had flatly refused, saying she couldn’t leave the Dursleys’ in the lurch without a babysitter, and claiming to be a good friend of the family. 

She had asked about the Dursley’s though, to see if they had been approached. The solicitor had told her the Dursleys were not at home, and thus he hadn’t discussed anything with them. He assured her that when he did talk with the Dursleys at number Four Privet Drive, when they returned from their vacation, that he would also contact her to give her their decision. And asked her to contact the agency if she changed her mind in the meantime.

Knowing that the Dursleys were not selling, and that they were now on a vacation at one of the “Queen’s Resorts” — he snorted — she had said no more of the matter to Dumbledore. Although, now, there was no reason for her to remain in Little Whinging unless she so chose. He would leave the choice in her hands.

As for Harry? Dumbledore would have to redesign his fidelius modification to allow his charms to work properly so he could be kept safe next summer.

Or, just cast a normal fidelius on The Burrow and rely on verbal reports from Arthur, with regular visits to check on Harry himself. He could even send Minerva under the guise of discussing the Weasley boys’ exploits, and the options for the next school year. She wouldn’t mind seeing Harry occasionally in the summer, he was sure. And any Death Eaters would trigger his alarms.

One course of action was a headache of spell crafting and exhaustive spell casting, the other a headache of lost time in his schedule. Although, truthfully, the time spent visiting the Weasley’s was probably more productive in the long run than redoing his complicated spell-casting. It might even take less time, in total.

He grimaced. And Minerva was going to be furious! He’d be lucky if she didn’t start hexing him in the Great Hall at dinner the moment she saw him.


۸-ꞈ-۸


“AAAAH!” came the surprised cry, “What are you doing in here?” Dean said loudly.

“Gettin’ Harry, of course,” said Apple Bloom.

Morning already. Harry groaned and carefully cracked his eyelids open. Standing beside his bed were all five girls, the three fillies, Hermione, and Ginny. Harry said a quick prayer of thanks that the fillies were dressed. Dean’s yell had had him half-convinced they had shown up naked, in spite of his continuous entreaties for them to dress before leaving their room in Little Whinging. Although, he imagined, if they had been naked there probably would have been a great deal more yelling. He attributed their being dressed to Hermione’s presence. He doubted she would have let them leave their dorm room unclothed.

Assuming, of course, that the three hadn’t all just piled into one of their two apartment trunks and slept in the giant bed each one contained.

Harry stared at them blearily. “I’ll meet you in the common room,” he said.

They nodded, turned, and trooped out of the room and down the stairs. Harry could track their progress by the astonished exclamations of the other boys in the dorm as they encountered or saw the girls on the stairs. Harry buried his head under his pillow.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Seamus half-shouted. “How did they get in?”

Ron snickered, “They used Harry’s apartment trunk,” he explained, climbing out of his bed and starting for the First Year’s boys’ communal bathroom. The past month of early arrivals by the Atlanteans and Hermione at his home had broken him of the habit of sleeping in — there was just too much fun stuff going on to allow that. “The girls’ trunks and his are all interconnected with an internal floo-system, remember?”

There was a moment’s silence as the others digested his information, then an “Oh, that's right,” from Neville.

“Which means more room for us in the bathroom as he has one of his own,” Ron concluded as he left the room. Harry frowned. He wasn’t sure, but there might have been a trace of jealousy in the other boy’s tone. He sighed. They hadn’t wanted to become obscenely rich, they had just wanted some spending bits for school! He had explained that to the Weasley siblings last month. He got the feeling they hadn’t believed him that gems were that easy to find.

After promising the others a trunk tour after classes, they quickly split up to wash up and got dressed. Soon enough, they were meeting up in the common room with the rest of the Gryffindor First Years.

The girls were grouped around the two Quidditch girls. “Thanks for letting us borrow you apartment trunk, Sweetie Belle, that giant tub is just fantastic! The bubbling hot water was perfect for a soak,” he heard Alicia say as he walked up. “I almost slept in it last night.”

“Eh, not a problem. I’ll just move my things into Scoot’s trunk and you girls can borrow mine until the end of the year. And there’s plenty of room in Scoot’s for us to share the tub.”

The two older witches hugged her, offering profuse thanks.

Harry noticed that Hermione and Ginny were blushing for some reason. The muggle-born and half-blood girls in the common room were looking at each other and mouthing the words “giant tub?” and staring at the two chasers and the fillies with evaluating expressions.

The trip to the dining hall for breakfast was easier to understand now that they weren’t almost falling asleep on their feet. And especially because their guides went out of their way to point out easy-to-remember landmarks at key junctures. The older witches were especially helpful. Not unexpected, Harry thought. The possible reward of access to a giant tub simply for being nice to the Firsties was a powerful incentive. Showers were adequate, but nothing soothed tired muscles or a fried brain better than soaking in a giant tub of hot water, experience had taught him.

Although the tub he had used had been a metal one out behind the Apple barn, with the three fillies, and heated by his and Sweetie Belle’s combined efforts at a fire spell. They had gotten quite good at that, actually.

It was interesting to see how different the wizards’ approach to magic was than the ponies. The ponies tended to use non-specific spells for a myriad of uses, whereas the wizards had dozens of specific spells that used less magic each.

Like the levitation spell that unicorns used. They used it for everything that involved lifting. The wizards, on the other hand, had a spell for lifting straight up, a spell for lifting dishes off the table into the sink, a spell for lifting and moving furniture, and so forth. There had to be dozens of spells to learn to accomplish that one action in an equal number of circumstances. Each used less magic than simply grabbing a thing in your magic and hefting it around, but required much more study to master.

Breakfast, Harry saw as they entered the Great Hall, was another table-filling bonanza of pastries and sweets. Not to mention eggs, bangers, bacon, and steaks. Apple Bloom quickly grabbed a platter of bacon and divided it up into quarters, filling their plates and Harry’s — bacon, it seemed, was a favourite no matter your species. Harry divvied up a platter of pancakes for them. Sweetie Belle poured the pumpkin juice. Scootaloo piled their plates with chocolate covered donuts. The other Gryffindor First Years — and the Quidditch team, all of whom had chosen to sit with their new friends — stared at the remarkably quick and seemingly automatic division of labour. And then quickly filled their own plates while there was still something left.

Harry was surprised at just how much of his three plates he was able to pack away. He stuffed his leftover bacon and donuts, wrapped in a napkin, into one of his pockets. What he didn’t eat as snacks he could store in his trunk’s kitchen. Grinning, the fillies followed suit, leaving their section of the table almost completely empty of food.

Harry leaned back on his bench seat and saw Professor McGonagall walking down the aisle handing out sheets of paper. Seeing where he was looking, Alicia said, “Our schedules for the next year,” before returning to her conversation with “George.”

McGonagall gave the group an odd look when she got to them. Apparently, it was unusual for the Third Year students to sit with First Years. The occasional family member might do that, as the twins had told them back at the Weasley homestead, but for almost all of those two year-cohorts to sit together was most remarkable.

Harry saw that the First Year schedule was rather simple. Today they had History of Magic after breakfast, then Charms until lunch, both with the Hufflepuffs. After lunch came Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts, both with the Ravenclaws. That left them from three o’clock on as their “free” time. Tuesday through Thursday followed the same schedule except Herbology with the Hufflepuffs replaced History of Magic. And Wednesday night was their Astronomy class. Their only class on Friday was Double Potions with the Slytherins, and it took all morning.

Then the mail arrived. Harry had quite a shock as well over a hundred owls suddenly streamed into the Great Hall through a series of windows set high against the ceiling. He stared as they circled the tables and looked for their owners. As soon as one found his owner, or recipient, he swooped down and dropped the letter or package onto the student’s lap. Or their breakfast plate if the student in question wasn’t fast enough to scoot back or make room on the table.

Harry noted with distaste a few feathers fluttering down, and quickly cast a shield spell over his and the girls’ portion of the table. The fillies quickly followed suit, covering the entire First Years’ section of the table.

Currently, their spells weren’t very powerful, but the four spells were more than enough to keep their food from being contaminated, and the feathers out of their hair. They would get better at it the more they practised. And it looked like they would be doing it daily. The Third Year students looked startled at what the Firsties had done, but quickly followed suit.

Harry shook his head. Hadn’t anyone ever thought of doing that before now? He couldn’t believe it. More likely, if anyone had thought of it, they only bothered to protect themselves.


۸- ̫ -۸


Harry found himself the uncomfortable focus of much attention, “Look! There he is!” 

“Is that really him?” 

“Can you see his scar?” 

“Wonder where he’s been all this time.” 

Whispers followed him everywhere. Students stopping in the corridors and standing on tiptoes, or doubling back to follow him just so they could stare at him. Others delaying going into their classes to watch him walk by. It made him very uncomfortable as old paranoias instilled by his relatives came into play again — people noticing him was bad, people noticing him led to trouble. He felt himself shrinking down, slumping his shoulders.

The girls saw the stares and Harry’s reaction, and closed up around him. They glared at the offending students. The other Gryffindors picked up on it, too, and grouped around him, as well. And while that made him feel better that they were close, it did make it more difficult to concentrate on learning his way to his classes. And being crowded as a human brought up another series of ingrained reflexes. As a pony he had learned to welcome, in the fillies case, close contact while walking, standing, or sitting. Others he could at least tolerate. But as a human, such close contact, even with the fillies, made it was just awkward and he found himself flinching at those involuntary bumps.


۸-ꞈ-۸


Watching Professor Binns, who had a wrinkled turtle-like face and a lower body that trailed off into nothing, float through the wall and immediately start his lecture was a bit startling. Ten minutes later, Scootaloo spoke up when he paused in his presentation. “Professor Binns? What’s it like being dead? Is it interesting?”

The translucent wizard stared at her.

“I mean, we don’t have ghosts where we come from and I would think you would find it much more interesting to go on rather than continue teaching history as a ghost as you have for the last hundred years. Or don’t you know you’re dead?”

Sweetie Belle elbowed Scootaloo and hissed, “Be quiet!” at her.

The ghost stared at her blankly. “Hundred years?” he said in a monotone.

“Yes, sir,” she said, “It is currently . . .” she glanced around uncertainly, “uh, 1991?”

He stared at her a bit longer. “Ex-traordinary,” he said, and then abruptly resumed his lecture. The First Years exchanged glances, then went back to doodling on their parchments or making vague attempts at writing down what he was saying. His vacuum-cleaner dull voice did not inspire anyone into really paying him any attention. That he didn’t seem to even notice them, didn’t help.

Harry noticed several students giving Scootaloo and Apple Bloom curious looks as the fillies held their quills in their mouths and took sporadic notes. Harry sighed. They probably thought the fillies were nervously chewing on their quills. He had tried to teach them how to write with their hands, but they hadn’t picked it up, yet. On the other hand, he would probably just end up giving them copies of his notes. Extensive and complete notes, as Twilight had drilled into him over the last year.

“You can never have too detailed notes, Harry,” she had said. “The way to the top of the class is to have superior notes.” And then she had read his school notes every evening, asking questions for clarification. The answers to which he had to add to the notes. And if he had questions, they looked up the answers in the library and added those to his notes. Harry had learned how to rapidly take accurate and complete lecture notes.

It had been quite odd, at first, as no one had ever cared about his school work. Not even his primary school teachers had seemed to care, except to single him out for criticism. That someone, somepony, actually cared had been a surprise. And while he had grumbled at all the extra work she made him do, he really liked it when she praised his work. And the pay-off in high grades on tests had been gratifying, as well. Not to mention the celebratory dinners with lots of cake.

After ten minutes, and as he said, “The Goblin Rebellion of seventeen . . . ,” Professor Binns stopped and looked over at Scootaloo. “Dead, you say?”

Startled, she nodded and said, “Yes, sir. We were told you fell asleep in front of the staff-room fireplace a hundred years ago, got up the next morning to teach, and left your body behind.”

“Extraordinary.” He stared at her blankly for several moments and then started again, “. . . fifty-two brought about . . . .”

Five minutes later, he stopped again and looked at Scootaloo. “Am I really dead?”

Scootaloo had been most of the way to falling asleep and chirped sharply at the sudden attention, then said, “Uh, yes, sir.”

He stared at her intently. “Are you sure?”

She glanced at Harry and her other two friends. “Uh, yes, sir. Quite sure. We can see through you.”

“You can, can you?” He glanced down at his ghostly arms, frowning.

“Yes, sir,” came a chorus of other students, intrigued by what they were hearing. It was certainly more entertaining than the Goblin Rebellion he had been droning on about.

“Ex-traordinary.” He frowned as he looked around the classroom. “. . . due to the blatant mismanagement by Minister for Magic, Albert Boot, . . .” he said, and continued his lecture.

After five minutes, he stopped again. “You are sure I’m dead?”

Most of the class answered this time, all in the affirmative. Hermione added, “You’re even floating in the middle of your podium.”

“Extraordinary!” he said looking down. He looked back up and a smile slowly made its way across his wrinkled and turtle-like face. He seemed to straighten up a bit, and his eyes lost their blank million-mile stare. He looked around the class and cleared his throat. “I do believe,” he said, slowly and still in his vacuum-cleaner dull voice, “that school is out.” He licked his lips, and smiled, and said in a slightly louder voice, one that almost could be said to have emotion in it, “In fact, I think school’s out forever. School’s not out for summer. School’s out completely!” His smile grew broader as he added, “For me, that is.”

He looked up at the far corner at the back of the room and grinned.

The class watched as he started floating in that direction, with students dodging out of his way as he went right through their desks and chairs. When he reached the corner he seemed to suddenly zoom up and disappear. A faint, joyful laugh reached them just before he completely disappeared.

Everyone in the now quiet class exchanged looks. 

“Um. What do we do now?” asked Hermione, “There’s still twenty minutes left in class.”

“I suppose we should tell someone,” said Neville.

“Maybe no one will notice?” suggested Scootaloo.

Nobody believed that.

“Who should we tell?”

“Does anyone know how to get to the Headmaster’s Office?”

Nobody did.

“Maybe we should tell our next professor what happened?”

“Well, we might as well head there. There’s only about fifteen minutes left, now, anyway. At least we don’t have to worry about being late to the next class,” Dean said.


۸- ̰ -۸