//------------------------------// // Chapter 32: Goals // Story: Harry Potter and the Prancing of Ponies // by The Guy Who Writes //------------------------------// HPMoR Ch 63: Moody nodded approval as Severus Snape opened the sixth flask. "What about that one?" "Love potion." "Love potion?" said Moody. "Not of the standard sort. It is meant to trigger a two-way bond with an unbearably sweet Veela woman named Verdandi who the Headmaster hopes might be able to redeem even him, if they truly loved each other." "Gah!" said Moody. "That bloody sentimental fool-" "Agreed," Severus Snape said calmly, his attention focused on his work. "Now you tell me everything," Memory said after cake had been eaten and the party disbanded. Silver looked around himself. They sat in his room. The door was locked. It was late enough that everypony should be asleep. But the likelihood that they had an eavesdropper with a purple-coloured coat was still high enough that... "Not yet. Emergus." Silver's wand appeared in his hoof. He cast the teleportation spell, the only method of instant transportation that he could currently do for both himself and somepony else, bringing himself and Memory to the crystal hideout. "Tempus," he said at once. He then performed a few security checks. "Okay, Now I tell you almost everything. If you want to hear it. And we can go back to our usual names if you're more comfortable with it." "That wasn't apparition, Harry," Hermione observed. "Or a portkey." "Nope. New spell. From this side of the mirror, I mean. I don't think it exists on the other side... but that's low on the list of things to talk about. I want to tell you everything, but... I guess the first question is, do you still want to be involved?" "You mean... do I still want to get involved, now that it's earned me that horrible death that one time?" Harry nodded. A/N: I'd write out the next part myself, but that would just feel like plagiarism. It would be over 3,000 words of rehashed material, and fans of HPMoR shouldn't need it rehashed anyway. Just go re-read 122 if you want a refresher. Basically, imagine the final conversation in the final chapter of HPMoR playing out here, minus the thing about Harry Dumbledoring Hermione into getting a phoenix/going to Azkaban, minus Hermione being 112% right about the Defense Professor being evil, minus the part about Harry being unable to risk himself adventuring, and minus other context-impossible details, like the fake story of Hermione 'vanquishing' Lord Voldemort. Boil it down to the "Do you still want to be a hero?" part. Long story short: Hermione doesn't want things done for her, she doesn't want to be a hero, she only wants to do whatever she can. Or, not much less than she can. She's only human. And now a pony. "That's my answer." Hermione took a deep breath, face resolute. Harry stole a glance. Nope, still no cutie mark. "So, what do I need to know?" "A lot," said Harry. "Probably more than I can explain in one sitting. I think we should get the basics out of the way first..." For the next twenty minutes, he felt like an NPC giving exposition. He talked about the ancient Atlantean mirror in Dumbledore's 'forbidden' third floor corridor. He talked about how he and Professor Quirrell successfully stole the Philosopher's Stone from that mirror. He talked about the history of the stone, of Baba Yaga, Perenelle, and how the alchemical recipe they'd read back in April was fabricated. And why it was fabricated. He talked about the true power of the stone. He talked about how the magic mirror had probably trapped them outside of Time. He talked about all the different hypotheses predicting what would happen if they untrapped themselves. He didn't tell her about the hostages. "I think that's it," Harry concluded. "Unless you'd like to get caught up on the Hogwarts drama going on at the end of the school year." "No," said Hermione, who had sat down some time ago. "That's alright. So you and Professor Quirrell were trying to steal the stone... to save his life?" "And yours," said Harry. "And everypony's, for that matter. But that's more my thing. Professor Quirrell probably won't agree to mass healing unless we can make another stone. And it's taken me a while to admit it, but he's probably right about that. If we tried to get healing to everypony, we'd become instant targets. Security would take a lot of time and effort, and if the stone gets stolen even once, that's it. So it's much wiser to study our existing stone until we can recreate it before we do try anything attention-grabbing. Our stone won't attract desperate thieves if they don't know we have it, or if the stone itself is one of many, just another semi-normal magical rarity." "Every...pony..." Hermione repeated, seeming to focus on that part, instead of the rest of it. "I'm still getting used to that. How long did you say you've been here? Eight months?" "No, that's how long you've been out. Just under two of those months were spent on the other side of the mirror. On this side, it's been six months and ten days. Eleven, if it's past midnight." "That's... a long time." "It's actually even longer," said Harry. He took out his Time Turner. "This is my personal time machine. It lets me get more hours out of every day. Professor McGonagall gave it to me at the start of the school year to treat my sleep disorder." "Professor McGonagall... gave you a time machine... to treat your sleep disorder..." "A disorder that I only had in the first place because Dumbledore snuck into my home when I was young and gave me a sleep-cycle extending potion that you normally give to students who already have Time Turners. I'm pretty sure he did it so that I'd get a Time Turner as soon as I became a student, and so that I'd get advanced science and math tutoring from my dad's students before then. You know. Typical boy-who-lived stuff. Prophecy told him to do that to save the world, and he probably had no clue why, so don't blame him." Hermione didn't respond to this, just stared dumbly. "This is how I kept up with you in class, by the way. I got two extra hours each day for studying. Until the day you saw Fawkes riding on my shoulder, then they let me get the full six hours. And since it effectively lets you be in up to seven places at once, I'm sure you can think of a lot of other things I did with it. Remember, I got the Time Turner on the first day of school, along with my cloak." "The rememberall!" she gasped. "And the pies!" "Bingo. Future me had the brilliant idea to prank past me in the short time frame after I got my own Time Turner, but before past me knew about Time Turners. And since it had already happened by the time past me became future me, the choice was out of my hands, and present me had to go along with it. No, I'm still not sure that I've figured out how that works." Hermione didn't respond to this either. "In general, the Time Turner can turn up to six times a day, with one turn taking you back one hour. I usually teleport here just when Twilight thinks I'm about to go to sleep, then I use it for the full six hours, then I go back to my room just after my past self appears here. I get thirty hours per day, so if you add it up, including the time you were out of it..." Harry did the mental math "...we're about the same age now. And if we use the Time Turner together, we'll age at the same rate. The chain can be wrapped around up to three people. Or, er, ponies. And Professor Quirrell knows the recipe for the potion that extends sleep cycles, so you'll be fine there." Hermione's head was in her hooves. "Any other important secrets you want to get out of the way?" "Sure. Professor Quirrell has literally saved the world in the past." She would have staggered if she were standing. Instead, she only swayed. "He has?" she asked faintly. Harry nodded. "He hasn't gone into the details, but I'm pretty sure he stopped Nuclear Armageddon with a few well-placed Imperius curses in the Russian and American muggle militaries, or something like that." She swayed even more. "Come to think of it," Harry mused, "I should ask him directly. Oh, and if you're wondering how I can trust him, it's because we have a way of communicating with each other that forces us to speak the truth, kind of like one drop of Veritaserum, and it can't be beaten by Occlumency either. We can still lie to each other through omission, but we can't directly lie, and he has directly said that his actions saved the world in the eighties, so... yeah. You were right that he's not a good person, though. He only did it so he wouldn't die himself. Oh, and I also figured out a few magical secrets, but I can't share those until you sign a certain contract and become an Occlumens. Don't worry, it's not that difficult to learn. I did it in four months on the other side of the mirror, so you should clear it in three months, tops... are you alright?" Hermione's entire body was slumped on a glowing crystal. "I think," said Hermione, picking herself up, "that's quite enough for now, Mr. Potter. Can you take us back to the library? It's late, and I'd like to sleep on all this." "Sure," said Harry. "One second." He took off his two remaining portkey armbands. "Put these on. Do you still have the first one I gave you?" "Yes." "Then it's time to learn how to recharge a rechargeable portkey. Oh, and remember that outside this cave, we're Silver Wing and Memory Sunshine. And even inside these caves, practice wouldn't hurt." "One last thing," said Silver when they appeared back in Ponyville. They stood in a small, neglected niche, unnoticed thanks to a semi-permanent notice-me-not enchantment. "We don't have much to do here except get stronger until we can leave. Something happened day one, but ever since then it's basically been all peace and harmony. There IS something active we can do to make the world a better place – our world, I mean, and maybe this one too I guess. But... I'm not sure if you would want to help or not, or if you even should, given the goal. I would like your advice about it either way." "What's the goal?" Memory asked, her hoofsteps not as sure as Silver's as they clopped down the dirt road, even though she walked with more grace. "If I tell you, I'd have to memory charm you. Don't worry, I can do the reversible version." "Um... why?" "If you're going to take Occlumency lessons, that means Mr. Book is going to have to read your mind, and I don't think he'll agree to be Obliviated of each session afterwards. I'll restore your memory of this conversation once you can block him out, okay? But I do need your advice. Like I said, it's to help make the world a better place." She took several deep breaths. "Okay. If it's important, okay. What do you need advice about?" "I want Mr. Book to find true happiness." Memory gave him a sidelong glance. "How would that make the world a better place?" He'll kill fewer people when we get back to the other side of the mirror, thought Silver. Maybe none at all, if it takes long enough to return, and if he changes enough along the way. But that's so wildly optimistic that it's hardly worth considering. Best case realistic scenario: he only kills threats, like dark wizards. "Mr. Book is influential," Silver answered Memory's question in such a way that it did not even hint at Voldemort. "He's probably going to be a big part of humanity's future. But he advocates for dictatorship, he takes being called evil as a compliment, and he thinks the killing curse is an indispensable battle tactic. It is, by the way, but it's also his favorite spell because he can use it without hatred and without wanting to kill his target. He can even use it when he wants his target to live by pushing them out of the way with his own magic before it can reach them, and I doubt there's a single other wizard in the world who could bluff a killing curse like that. So... yeah. If he were a better person, I'd be less worried. I thought you'd be the best person to figure out how to get him there." Memory walked silently for a time. "I don't think it's possible," she finally answered. "Especially if he doesn't want to change." Now it was Silver's turn to walk silently. "He might not want to change, but he knows he's not happy. I think he would prefer it, if it didn't get in the way of his ambitions. I'm just... not sure how to go about convincing him. It'd have to be something intellectual. An extremely logical argument, or something he can easily try without much cost to himself. With... um, the Dragon General, I used science and biology to prove that muggleborns aren't magically weaker than purebloods, and that was enough to set him down the right path. He did torture me when I shattered his worldview – long story – but that only happened once, and from his perspective I did something worse to him than torture. But the thing is, for all his talk about murder and rape, he still had enough light inside to cast a full corporeal Patronus on his first try." "He what?" "Yeah, don't tell anyone I said that, especially him. But Mr. Book... doesn't have that light. He can't cast the Patronus charm. Standard paths like love and friendship won't work, and I don't think I can go down the anti-discrimination route either. Mr. Book already knows that muggleborns aren't magically weaker, and now that I've introduced him to muggle science, I bet he's already realised that wizards aren't inherently smarter. He doesn't hold any false assumptions that I can easily attack, and he can beat me in any debate about the importance of happiness because I didn't choose happiness either, back when I chose Ravenclaw over Hufflepuff. I don't know how your conversation with the sorting hat went, but maybe you'd have better grounds to stand on?" Memory remembered its words. "The sorting hat said I'd find friends and be happy wherever I went. Except Slytherin." "No good then." Silver sighed. "I wish I still had my psychology books on me. There's got to be some tips about mental health that he wouldn't dismiss as stupid, like a gratitude journal. I was hoping maybe you'd already read something we could try?" "Silver, I'm not really sure I'm the best person- I mean, the best pony to ask for advice on this." "Why?" "Well..." she tried to put it in words. "If you were trying to lose weight, and you wanted advice, do you go to the pony who's never been overweight before, even if they're very fit and healthy? Or do you go to the pony who used to be obese, but then they went through a long journey of weight loss, and could tell you what to expect?" "I... see," said Silver. "You're right, that sounds similar. You're not the best pony to ask because you've never been as empty as him, even for a single moment in your life. And I can't really think of anybody who's currently happy enough to cast a Patronus who was, at some point, as emotionally empty as..." his voice trailed off. He had, just that moment, thought of a certain somepony who can cast a Patronus who had been emotionally empty. And he realised, in some dismay... "Crap. I think this is going to be harder than I thought." "Why?" "You remember that time I got demented?" Memory shuddered. "Don't remind me. And what's it got to do with what we're talking about?" "I think Mr. Book is like that all the time. Maybe he has a tiny amount of light in him... but then again, maybe not." There was another long pause. "Silver... can I ask you something about that moment?" After only a slight moment to get over the hesitance about the prospect of being asked a question regarding one of his most traumatic memories, "Sure." "If you'd seen the Headmaster use the killing curse on... um, the Griffon head of house, when you were demented, I mean, what would have happened?" Silver took a long moment to imagine it. He wouldn't have tried this a month ago, but with Hermione at his side he felt like it was safe enough to empathise with that particular version of himself, as deep as he'd ever went. As deep as he could go. The version that had no happiness or light or love or caring whatsoever. The neural patterns of Lord Voldemort. It wasn't a pleasant place to be, but it had certain advantages. With his experience as a Perfect Occlumens, he didn't need an emotional trigger. It only took a few seconds of effort to imagine the right mindset, fully and completely. His dark side thought about what he would have done if he saw the old fool who believed in an afterlife kill the stupid disciplinarian witch. And it was obvious. First, his dark side would have seen the reason behind the action. Then... "I would have laughed once the annoyances finally started killing each other, believing that it would affect me." Silver could see the chills run down Memory's spine. He got out of the persona as quickly as he could. "Sorry." "No, it's alright," she said, as if forcing herself to say it. "I was the one who asked, even though I knew I might not like the answer, and I know you're not really like that. But if Mr. Book is like that..." Silver paused before replying. What he wanted to say would skirt the edges of the promise he'd made in Parseltongue... unless he obscured it as much as possible. "I think it's more accurate to say that I could be like that. Even now, if things went wrong enough, I could probably become like that again. So why couldn't the reverse be true? Couldn't Mr. Book become truly happy if things go right enough?" There was a long pause. "Maybe," said Memory. "But I wouldn't know how." Some time later, after a memory charm and a midnight stroll through the festively decorated village, they turned the time-turner once, then Silver teleported them both back to his room, exactly one second after they'd left. "Five hundred bits," said Mr. Book in response to his request. It was their first meeting after Hearth's Warming, and Memory had already left. Silver hadn't tried to convince him of anything yet. Many things had happened that meeting – explaining the alicorn thing, Memory signing a contract not to destroy the world, learning that Memory had probably become an alicorn because Mr. Book turned her into a troll unicorn princess (the other side's kind of unicorn), learning that meant she was unkillable except through fiendfyre and the killing curse – demonstrated by a "Diffindo" and a "Yes, that was painful. Get used to it. There is little point to durability if you refuse to tolerate that which you can endure." It was little wonder Memory left as soon as the magic lesson was over. "Acceptable," said Silver. "Five hundred is cheap, all things considered." It wouldn't make much of a dent in the small fortune he'd amassed from teaching pegasus lessons, and it's not like he was using the money for anything else. "But if I'm paying that much, Professor Book, I am expecting a complete re-enchanting, not just the terror thing. The voice enchantment isn't as good as your ritual obelisks, for example. Maybe add a dark aura, or smoke, or something like that. And I'd like my body to look like a skeleton, or a lich, or at least a decaying zombie." "That final part would cost five thousand, Mr. Silver. I do not believe such an illusion has ever been done before. Inventing it myself, then contracting a different pony to implement it, for I am not an artist, would not be trivial." Five thousand would make a decent dent... "I think I'm fine with that amount, actually." ...but he wasn't spending it on anything else, and there weren't any good investment opportunities available to young colts. Equestria, like Magical Britain, had no concept of stocks. In a way, you could say what he's doing right now is an ideal investment. Now that Hermione's back, their official goal is to escape the mirror, and Mr. Book is the only one who can really make progress on that front, at least for now. Mr. Book is apparently still abiding by the country's major laws; he hasn't stolen anypony's fortunes, so cold hard cash still has value to him. For the immediate future, Mr. Book can use the money more effectively than Silver could. "I quoted that price as a deterrent," said Mr. Book. "But I suppose it might make for an interesting side-project. A dark aura would be simple, scentless smoke is doable, and I have just now thought of a good idea for the voice enchantment, one which I do not blame you for missing." "Um... why not?" "Because you could not hear it. And I should mention that it is Professor Tome now, not Professor Book. Riddle Tome, if you wish to know the new name in full." Silver Wing stared at him. "Um... how did that happen?" "Stupidity." The thestral did not elaborate further, and the dark tone and atmosphere did a good job of quashing his curiosity. But then the atmosphere diminished, and the thestral added, "On the off chance you are ever given the choice between allowing another to rename you and doing it yourself, I recommend autonomy. Prepare a few new names in advance, lest the name Fairy Plotter is foisted upon you against your will."