All the other Professors he had met — Sprout, Flitwick, Babbling, Vector, Sinistra, Moody, and McGonagall — were excellent teachers, Harry decided at dinner on Friday.
Transfigurations had made him re-evaluate his impressions on the differences in the approach to magic between wizards and unicorns. Wizard-transfigurations, instead of depending on a single spell for each, as he had expected, merely explored and taught the students how to use their intent to control the spell and reach the desired end. In Equestria, the spells for transfiguring things were distinct castings, hence the spell for adding wings or becoming Breezies. Intent was only involved in the creation and design of a spell, and not nearly as much at its casting at later times by others.
For example, the first spell in the book was about transfiguring a match into a needle. In Equestria, that would be simply a spell matrix you learned to cast. Want to make a match a needle, cast the spell, and it was done. Here, you decided that you wanted the match to be a needle and used your magic to form the needle. How the finished product looked depended entirely on how you had visualized it to be at the very beginning.
It was — quite the revelation.
His classes in Canterlot had taught him about focus, and it had been simple to transform the match. Then he had started changing the match by merely visualizing how he wanted it to look. The last one had had the four princesses, rampant, engraved into it.
The hardest part had been using the wand and not his horn.
When he returned to Canterlot, he would throw them all for a loop with this new outlook on magic. Not to mention the hundreds of spells the books listed that he would have learned and could teach.
So, it seemed, wizards did indeed cast generalized spells that they focused to a single objective. They just preferred to use specific spells to conserve their energy. Which was odd, considering that most unicorns never had to worry about such things unless they were in a big battle. One the other hoof — he was saying that a lot, wasn’t he? he thought — most unicorns never considered using transfigurations to make one thing into another. They simply didn’t think like that.
A thing was a thing. Why change it?
That sorta made sense when two-thirds of the population couldn’t do that sort of magic, anyway.
He wondered, was it possible to transfigure a timberwolf into a pumpkin? It would certainly make their trips into the Everfree a lot more peaceful!
However, the humans were a contentious and contrary group, if he had ever seen one. So, perhaps, conserving one’s power made sense in that respect. They never knew if they were going to be attacked and needed as much power as they could scrape together.
Unicorns had been in a similar position way back when the three tribes had first joined forces, his mum had told him. It was their job to look for danger from above while the others were working. They sat at the edges of the field or walked through the towns as they continually scanned the skies for raiding dragons, bug-bears, griffons, manticores, rocs, and similar threats. Once danger was spotted, they held it off long enough for the other ponies to seek shelter or prepare for battle. If they could, they were supposed to drive off the menace. In exchange, the other ponies made sure the unicorns were comfortable and didn’t walk into things like holes, trees, fences, walls, other ponies, and so forth. The others took care of many of the other facets of the unicorns’ lives (such as building, foraging, and other tasks) that would have prevented them from protecting their non-horned brethren, or leave them vulnerable to surprises. It was a worthwhile combining of efforts!
Unfortunately, when most of Equestria had settled into peace — after chasing far away most of the dangers — the unicorns’ attitude of watching the skies had slowly devolved into merely holding their muzzles up in disdain of the other ponies, and expecting the others to provide for them without having to labour. Many of the nobles felt that way, at least. The other ponies owed them, they reasoned.
Both McGonagall, on Wednesday, and Flitwick, on Thursday, had used some of the time in the class to assess his abilities regarding magic. Professor McGonagall had been very interested in the wings spell he had shown the Gryffindors, and how he had taught it to the others. And then he taught it to her.
And while that teaching technique was fine for one-on-one, it was impossible to manage in a classroom setting. Unless the class was only three or four students. More students than that would take much more time than simply studying the matrix and explanation in the book. The classroom also cut down the repetition as each student was given the same verbal instructions and, in turn, asked the same questions. It was more beneficial for the entire group to hear the question and answer all at once.
So, sadly, . . . boring classroom teaching at the pace of the slowest students was the most efficient method of teaching groups.
Professor Flitwick had asked about the wings spell, too, after trying to gauge his skills. That most unicorns’ spells were either matrices or just general intent spells he had found quite interesting. He had been very fascinated by how Harry’s wings spell operated — a transfiguration casting that was actually a simple spell. A spell that took a lot of concentration and magical power, but, still, a spell!
The Arithmancy and Runes professors had been cordial, but did say that most of their classes were simply memorization at this time. “Rather than show up for every class,” Professor Vector had said, “it would be better to just go over last year’s lessons and come to me with questions. Then, if you catch up, you can join the regular classes.” And gave him what he thought was a rather condescending smile. But, then again, she didn’t know Hayscartes’ Method, did she?
Professor Babbling had almost echoed Vector’s words exactly. Both had suggested asking Hermione for her notes from the previous year. Which he had accomplished on Friday. He hadn’t been sure if she would cooperate, considering her demand for a trade for her other notes. In the end, he had offered to show her the protective runes in his armour and robes if she allowed him copies of her notes. She almost couldn’t say, “Yes!” fast enough.
Actually, in view of what he had just been thinking, and how the Weasleys and his dorm-mates had all acted on learning the runes, he should have known she wouldn’t turn down the trade.
Professor Moody’s Thursday class, Defence Against the Dark Arts, had been . . . interesting. That the wizard was very good at what he did was undisputable. That he needed to be that good illustrated just how dangerous the world of these wizards really was. That he had soo many scars, and a missing eye and leg, proved that, even though he was good, he still needed to improve. Or were those merely the reasons behind what had made him so good?
His was a practical class, focused almost entirely on learning the curses and hexes so-called Dark Wizards liked to use. And Harry had been glad of his additions to his robes. The wizard liked to shoot spells at students he thought were not paying attention. Anything from changing their hair colour to stinging hexes was fair game.
He had been quite interested to test Harry’s blocking abilities. More than once Harry had considered teleporting, but decided to keep that one a secret until he had no choice.
That class, like no other, emphasized that humans were predators. And brought to the forefront of his mind that he was now a prey species. He needed to be hyper-alert at all times.
And, now that it was the weekend, it was time to see how long he could manage to cast Hayscartes’ Method before it tossed him out on his ears. Again.
۸-_-۸
Flitwick’s class, on the following Friday, was on the Summoning spell. It had taken only a few minutes for Harry to adapt to the new wand-spell — he had, after all, learned how to do it with his horn five years ago, and had used it on a daily basis ever since. It was almost an ingrained reflex when he wanted something. Again, the hardest part was learning to use his wand instead of his horn.
After Harry demonstrated his mastery, he fought a few mock summoning battles with the professor. Then he spent the rest of the time regurgitating the First and Second years’ theories about magic, and how that magic powered the different spells, as a “term paper.”
And that pretty much described his other classes in the previous days, as well. Learn the stuff for the day, then spend the rest of the time proving he understood what the other students had mastered in prior years. Well, at least, that was true for Charms, Transfigurations, and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Except for potions, he skipped the others and studied alone instead.
What slowed him down, considerably, was the sheer volume of material that had been covered in those years. Especially as he needed to learn entirely new vocabularies for each subject! And he kept running into his Hayscartes’ limits. He was spending more time out of the books, it felt like, than he was in them. He was also sleeping more.
History was the easiest, as it was simply memorization — lots and lots of memorization. He figured that three or four read-throughs would do the job admirably. He expected to have all seven years covered by the end of the next month. Like Astronomy, though, it wasn’t exactly a high priority item. If he were actually taking the classes in this world, he would expect to reread the text for the year one more time to refresh before exams. But he wasn’t. He was reading the history texts just to get his situation here sorted. The modern, extra, history books suggested by his friends, and in the library, were certainly a help in understanding the social background he found himself mired in.
Blueblood would be horrified, intrigued, and disgusted by it all. And would have studied it all carefully. With a bottle of stomach soothers at hoof the entire time.
The Astronomy class, on the other hoof, was useless . . . just useless, considering Luna moved the Moon and stars at home at whim. But she would love the information about this world’s sky. Reading about it would suffice.
Care of Magical Creatures was similar. While both subjects were interesting, they really were not important to anything in the Tournament. He really didn’t think pixies and bow-truckles would be a serious hazard in any of the tasks.
And Muggle Studies was a joke. Even with only what he remembered as a nine-year-old in primary, he knew far more about the subject than the Muggle Studies Professor did. And, based on the modern history books, it was guaranteed that nothing Muggle related would be in the Tournament.
Divination, too, he didn’t expect to be of use.
Arithmancy and Runes were also memorization, and he could take his time with those. He had far less reading to do to catch up with his peers, merely a single year instead of three, but was still far behind the Seventh Years chosen for the tournament. Even so, he didn’t expect to find anything in those fields that would help him in the Tournament.
Potions, he wanted to take to learn the skills and techniques so he could share them with Zecora and the few ponies interested in potions in general. In doing so, he would easily quadruple Equestrian knowledge of what you could achieve with potions. Skele-Gro, for example, if it could be duplicated, would revolutionize pony medicine — no longer would ponies have to worry about losing limbs, or horns — he shuddered — in an accident. Not to mention the Blood-Replenishing, Essence of Dittany, Fire Protection, and Invigoration Draught potions and the effects they would have on the medical community. And for that he needed to study the Herbology texts. Which, again, was memorization.
He had an obligation to return to Equestria with as much of this tremendous medical knowledge as he could manage to learn. Later, once he had mastered the knowledge in the school for the tournament, he would see about getting the advanced medical books used to train doctors and nurses.
He owed them that as repayment for what they had done for him when he first arrived in Equestria.
Unfortunately, the first challenge in the Tournament was coming up in just eleven days. He needed to concentrate on things that would be of immediate use: Charms, Transfigurations, and Defence Against the Dark Arts. The others he thought he could safely ignore.
He had carefully examined what he could of the conditions imposed on the “champions” in the tournament. As long as he made an effort at completing each task, he would not run afoul of violating the contract and losing his magic. Merely showing up and going through the motions of starting the task should suffice.
But, if he could, he’d rather make a decent showing.
And it was Hermione who had come through for him, surprisingly, last Saturday.
Hermione, after he had traded the protective runes for her notes, had actually warmed up to him! Apparently she had expected him just to demand she share her notes with him — which had happened before with others, it seemed. The other Gryffindors considered her a walking library, available for their convenience and without any sort of obligations on their parts. Everypony was just coldly cordial to her. It sorta reminded him of what Luna had described, without the stealing and cruel pranks.
While she was still frosty to Seamus and Dean, and ignored the existence of Ron, she always greeted him with a smile. The three of them, Hermione, Ginny, and Luna had taken to sitting across from Harry at meals. Occasionally, if Ron and the others were too slow, the three girls would bracket him, with Ginny always between Hermione and Ron. Or on the other side of Luna.
It had started last weekend. She had been waiting for him when he exited a book to rest. She had been seated, cross-legged, on the end of his bed. She had looked up, frowning, from a book — Hogwarts: A History. He had blinked, unsure of why there was a girl in his dorm-room, on his bed.
She had put down her book, grabbed another from beside her, and held it out to him. “It’s about the Triwizard Tournament,” she had said solemnly. “It’s quite dangerous, you know. There’s almost always a death among the champions. The last one held, in 1792, resulted in all the champions, the judges, and most of the spectators being injured or killed by a raging cockatrice. It’s why it fell out of favour.” She had frowned. “I don’t know why they resurrected this farce of gladiatorial bloody combat. The headmaster said that they had added many safety features, including an age line to prevent anyone under the age of seventeen from participating.” She had shaken her head, “Fat lot of good that did, right?” She stared at him with warm, sparkling brown eyes. “It’s supposed to promote fellowship with the other schools, but, according to the book, it’s really a cut-throat competition, with the various Headmasters and Headmistresses trying to steal promising students from each-others’ schools. Cheating is rampant, and expected. And as the judges are the heads of the schools, any claim to impartiality in scoring is a joke.”
He had taken the book and floated it over on top of the Potions text he had been reading.
“The first task, according to the book, traditionally, is almost always one that tests the champions’ bravery,” she had continued. “It’s usually facing a dangerous creature of some kind, a four- or five-X rating, and battling it in some manner.” She had paused and worried her lower lip with her upper teeth while lines had furrowed her forehead. “I’d suggest studying only the creatures that are four-X or above. Anything else is too tame by wizarding standards, according to the book. If you can find the task’s grounds in advance, then hiding caches of tools, weapons, and potions on them is not unheard of. Just don’t get caught hiding or retrieving your supplies.”
“Thank you,” he had sincerely said. Any help was appreciated. “I won’t tell anyone you helped me so you needn’t worry about anyone being upset at you, or me jeopardizing your friendships.”
She had stared at him, her head slightly tilted and brow still furrowed, clearly puzzled. Then she had snorted and slowly nodded. “Thank you,” she had said in a slightly surprised tone. She clearly had not expected him to realize the conflict most of the Gryffindors faced being his friend — how friendly could they be before it backfired on them?
“You missed lunch,” she had finally said, after a few minutes of fidgeting. She had turned sideways and started digging in her rucksack. A moment later, she had handed him a plate of sandwiches, wrapped in napkins, and a potion-bottle filled with an orange liquid. “It’s pumpkin juice,” she had added with a shrug at his puzzled look at the bottle.
“Thank you, again!” he had said as he eagerly dug into the plate. He hadn’t intended to miss lunch, but revising a book he had already read allowed him to stay in longer, and the time had gotten away from him. And he had been ravenous, once she had pointed out his lapse.
After several minutes watching him, she had said, “What’s it like? Being a quadruped instead of biped, I mean. And not having hands.” She had glanced down at her own hands, and wiggled and flexed her fingers contemplatively.
He had continued to chew as he had considered her question. “At first,” he had said, “it was hard. But now? With magic? Anything you can do with hands, I can do with magic.” He had obviously glanced up at the tip of his horn, which had a slight glow from holding the sandwich.
“As for being on four legs instead of two?” He had smiled, remembering racing through Ponyville or the orchards at Sweet Apple Acres, climbing trees, building a catapult, collapsing in a pony-pile and cuddling, the unhesitating support of his friends, and the hugs. Most definitely the hugs. “Some things are much easier, some things are much harder.” Going down stairs on all fours still gave him shivers. Once he had learned the wings spell he had taken to gliding down the stairs whenever it was possible. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather be than a pony in Equestria,” he had concluded. He had smiled at the girl. “And I wouldn’t change four for two, even here.” He had reached up to tap his horn. “I have instant access to my magic and I never have to worry about my wand being misplaced.” He kept his wand in his sleeve, now, with a sticking charm on his foreleg. It was always instantly available without having to reach across his chest for the normal pocket.
He had smirked. “But what if someone blocks my magic, you might ask. Well, what if someone manacles your hands? And no one can summon my horn like they can your wand.”
She had stared at him a long time. “But, doesn’t it bother you to not be a human anymore?”
He had smiled. “Not at all. What I remember of being a human is pain, neglect, and loneliness.” Then he had shrugged. “And those were the good points,” he had added wryly. “There really isn’t anything about being a human that I find I miss.”
She had had a serious, thoughtful expression, and had sat quietly as he finished eating.
He had levitated the empty plate and bottle to his dresser.
“What’s it like?” she had asked softly. “Equestria,” she had clarified before he could ask.
He had leaned back. “A lot like the muggle areas here, I guess, but a lot less crowding and pollution. There are only about twelve million ponies in Equestria, which is about the size of Europe, if I remember correctly,” had been his answer. He had given her a quick smile. “The size difference between ponies and humans makes it difficult to estimate equivalent distances.”
She had smiled back. When you can’t reach the counter, the cookie jar is incredibly far away on the refrigerator for a child, yet easy access for an adult.
“The culture is a strange blend of early 1900’s and mid-1980’s. We live simply, most don’t bother with electricity. There are no cars or lorries, yet railroads have been around for several centuries. They have films, but not colour yet. They control the weather . . . .” He had to stop at her expression of disbelief and laugh. “Yeah, that was a strange concept, I’ll tell you. But it’s true. I’ll show you some day when I don’t have as much to catch up on. Anyway, everyone knows when and for how long it will rain, the schedule is posted weekly. Farmers never have to worry about drought or famine. And everyplace gets snow on a schedule — they try to make it as close as possible to the same week. The medicine is almost up-to-date, with x-ray machines and the like. They even have video arcades in most towns. But no radios or tellys. Everything is slower-paced, there isn’t the fierce business competition there that the muggles have here.”
He stopped and stared at her. “Equestria has been at peace for almost a thousand years. The concept of large-scale wars is foreign to their history.” He had stopped and chuckled. “That’s not to say it hasn’t been interesting the last few years. I think we’ve had more excitement since Princess Luna returned than in the entire previous thousand years combined.”
After several more minutes, just thinking about what he had said, she had climbed off the bed. “Well,” she had said, “I think I should let you get back to your studying. You have a lot to catch up on.”
He had grinned back at her. “I’ll see you at dinner, then. Stop by anytime you want to talk.”
She had left the room in a deeply reflective mood.
He had returned to his studies. And practiced the wand movements while he rested between sorties into the book. He could never predict how long they would last, now.
After dinner, Headmaster Dumbledore sent a Prefect to asked Harry to his office. On entering, Harry had seen that, in addition to the Headmaster, all four House Heads and two students were there. As before, they had arranged themselves in chairs over by the big windows looking out onto the forest. A tea set had been in place on the low table in the middle of the ring of chairs.
After Harry had seated himself in the offered chair, by the windows, the Headmaster had started, “After much deliberation, I have decided on the tutors for you. Allow me to introduce Mr. Jonathan Spratt and Miss Liza Cherks.” He had nodded to each as he mentioned them.
Jonathan was a tall boy with glasses, dark hair, brown eyes, and a light complexion. Liza was a brown-haired blue-eyed beauty with a heart-shaped face and full figure. He had met them both, briefly, when he was busy teaching the wings spell the previous Monday.
“They are both Sixth Year Prefects in Gryffindor. I felt that being in the same House would make it easier for you to meet with them, and fit the meetings into all of your schedules.”
They had nodded to him congenially.
“Now then, Mr. Potter Sparkle,” Dumbledore had smiled gently, like an elderly grandfather or Princess Celestia when she wanted to reassure a twitchy visitor. “I was hoping you could tell us a bit about this Equestria, where you’ve been for the last few years.” He leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard casually.
He had fooled no one. Everypony knew he planned on listening closely.
Harry had smiled, thought a moment about what Blueblood would say, and then started, “Equestria is ruled as a diarchy by two sisters, Princess Celestia and Princess Luna. . . .” He had explained a bit about the government, the three tribes, and some of the places he had seen, such Baltimare, Manehattan, and Appleoosa. He had talked a bit about the dragons and Griffons across the sea.
He hadn’t mentioned that the two sisters controlled the sun and moon, he had seen how surprised they were when he had told them that the sisters were effectively immortal. His illusions of the two, at full scale, left them rather quiet. It hadn’t hurt that he had portrayed them in their full regalia, and with wings spread wide. And that he had chosen to show Luna as Nightmare Moon with batwings. She was more imposing that way, he felt, under the circumstances.
They were surprised at the differences between the two sisters.
“Is this one a thestral?” the Headmaster had asked when he had shown Luna.
Harry had looked at him uncertainly. “No, but she is called the mother of the night-ponies, who all have leathery wings like these.” He hadn’t considered that Nightmare Moon did look somewhat like the thestrals in his Fantastic Beasts textbook. “Like I told you, they are sisters.”
And he had repeated that he expected his mum to show up at some point. That she wasn’t here, yet, merely meant that it was a complicated problem. Perhaps there was a time differential, he had suggested. That what he was experiencing in days were only hours to his mum. Still. She would come. After all, she was an alicorn, it was just a matter of when she would arrive.
He had finished by thanking the Headmaster for allowing him to stay in the castle, and Professor McGonagall for taking time from her schedule and ushering him around Diagon Alley. And all of them for taking the time to help him learn their magic.
۸-_-۸
On Sunday, Johnathan and Liza had quizzed him on the theories and spells he had been reading about the previous week, concentrating on covering the First Year. They had said it was important that he thoroughly understand the underpinning of magic, as taught at Hogwarts. Going forward, comprehension of what was taught would depend on those basics.
Considering Hermione’s advice on the tournament, he had spent a good portion of the following week reading and rereading the Fantastic Beasts textbook in preparation for the first task. And making sure he understood everything the First Year students had to learn. Repetition never hurt.
۸-_-۸
After Charms on Friday, and lunch, was Potions.
Harry watched curiously as they passed Cedric Diggory, the Hogwarts champion. He was surrounded by a large group of simpering witches. Those who noticed Harry gave him a hostile look, sniffed disdainfully, and returned to their idol with renewed enthusiasm. Harry was not surprised to see a few of the girls asking for his autograph, mostly the same ones he had seen doing the same to Victor Krum, the Durmstrang champion.
“Typical commoner and uncouth behaviour,” Blueblood would say. “A month ago they ignored him. They are only interested in him for his fame. And he is a fool if he does not see that.” And would then aloofly walk away, saving his out-right contempt for them all for a more private setting.
When they arrived at Professor Snape’s classroom, the Slytherins were waiting outside.
They seemed to defer to the one called Draco Malfoy — a slender boy with rather sharp, pointed features framed in sleek white-blond hair. He had cold grey eyes and a pale complexion. And he clearly thought himself superior to everyone around him. Harry had seen him only in Professor Snape’s dungeon room and at meal times, across the Great Hall. And that one time in Hagrid’s Creatures class.
He acted, in every way, exactly like all rumours said Blueblood acted, when he was in public and “on stage.” Harry knew the act. It kept the simpering, fawning, favour-seeking hordes at a distance. Sure, he wasn’t liked by the public-at-large, but, then again, what the public thought of him had nothing to do with what he did, nor how he was in private.
Malfoy, on the other hand, simply seemed to be a bad parody of what a gentlepony should be.
“Oh, look,” Malfoy said derisively, “it’s the beast and his handlers, mud-blood, and blood-traitors, all.” He smirked, as if he had said something clever.
His friends chuckled.
Harry just looked at him, puzzled, at first. Then he realized it was time to become Blueblood, again. “Is that supposed to be an insult?” He looked at his hoof and smiled as if at a joke. “After all, I am a pony. And that isn’t a bipedal monkey, such as yourself,” he said in an insulting snobbish tone, as if stating an obvious fact that no pony could dispute. He looked over at the Gryffindors still arriving behind him. “And, no offense, my friends,” he said, nodding apologetically to his dorm-mates, “but I’d much rather be a pony.” He turned back to the Draco, who was starting to turn a bit red. “It’s far superior to your . . . ,” he couldn’t help but smirk slightly, “handicapped form.” The Slytherins were starting to look at Harry angrily.
He smiled at Hermione, who was distinctly looking red herself, whether in anger or embarrassment, he wasn’t sure.
“You’ll have to explain the terms mud-blood and blood-traitor, as where I come from those concepts do not exist.” His tone suggested contempt that such terms even existed. Something tickled angrily at the back of his mind, though.
Draco stepped forward, sneering. “Mud-bloods,” and he gave a scathing up-and-down look at Hermione, “are wizards and witches whose parents are muggles. They are inferior to pure-bloods and shouldn’t even be allowed here in Hogwarts. And blood-traitors are wizards or witches who marry muggles or muggle-borns, or think they should be treated as our equals,” he concluded contemptuously.
Oh, Hermione was definitely angry now.
Harry slowly raised his eyebrows. “You believe that pure-bloods are somehow superior to others?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Draco said haughtily.
What was obvious was that the wizard was an idiot. And was begging to be cursed into screaming agony.
He avoided changing his expression as he wondered just where that thought had come from.
۸-_-۸