It is an undeniable truth that the offspring of bureaucracy is paperwork. This pulpy progeny is the product of neither love nor legacy. Instead, it is the livelihood of faceless facets of an uglier underbelly of government. It takes a special breed to thrive where the grandeur of the written word is quashed by the need to track status and progress. Mrs. Aarthi C. Clarke, nee Gupta, had been tasked with entering this renown school of magic into the records of the British government. This primarily meant collecting all of the vital statistics and entering them in the proper locations on the appropriate forms. Consequently, another tree had been fated to die.
So far, everything she had found had been routine, aside from the aesthetics. She had been met at the gates by a man she had recognized as a kindred spirit; he was known to the students as the Muggle Studies professor. He had led her into the main structure just as the first class of the day ended, bringing her into corridors teeming with children.
“Mrs. Clarke,” her guide said, “as you can see, there are some things universally constant with every school.” He gestured at the milling students lazily making their ways to their next class. “There is little excitement between periods, aside from the normal teenage drama.”
“Drama seasoned with magic, I’d imagine,” Mrs. Clarke stated in return.
“Technically, magic is not supposed to be used in the hallways,” the Muggle Studies professor said.
“Technically, students aren’t allowed to smoke. Yet there isn’t a school on the isles where that does not occur,” Mrs. Clarke countered.
“True.” The Muggle Studies professor nodded. “However, despite the potential for mayhem, there hasn’t been a major incident in the time that I’ve been here.”
“And minor incidents?” Mrs. Clarke asked.
“One or two a w . . .” the Muggle Studies Professor started when a woman came running down the corridor yelling her head off.
“Against the wall!” Professor Trelawney bellowed, lifting the hem of her robes as she rushed forward. “Everybody! Against the wall!” Emphasizing her words with her actions, she reached down and grabbed Hanna Abbot, pressing both herself and the first-year Hufflepuff against the nearest wall. With amazing efficiency, the rest of the students copied her demonstration.
“Damn Murphy,” the Muggle Studies Professor muttered, sandwiching Mrs. Clarke against the wall as he retreated to the nearest vertical surface.
“What in the name of . . .” Mrs. Clarke sputtered at the unanticipated manhandling.
*Fooooom!*
There was more than one set of wide-open eyes as a football-sized sphere of flames rocketed down the now-open corridor, to splash harmlessly against the T intersection as the students who chose that wall to stand against dove out of the way.
“Mr. Godfrey! Mr. Thomas! That’ll be fifty points from each of your houses and two nights of detention each!” Professor Trelawney called out, looking back the way the missile had come to see most of the first-year Gryffindors and muggleborns had plastered themselves against the walls, except for the two aforementioned boys and a blonde woman dressed in some rose red robes.
“Bad Dean!” admonished the woman, placing her hands on her hips. “Bad, bad Dean! No Bacon! Bad Dean!”
“Woohoo!” Ralph jumped for joy. “It worked! I knew it would!”
“But, but!” Dean sputtered. “That’s not even a spell! You can’t just point your wand and say ‘fireball’ . . .”
*Foooooom!*
Abigail peeled herself off the wall and rushed over to push Dean’s wand hand down toward the ground. After a second, she thought better of it, then yanked the hand upward so it was pointing at the ceiling. “We are going to have to work on that,” she said.
“Does this count as a major incident?” Mrs. Clarke asked.
“Without a doubt,” the Muggle Studies professor confirmed.
“Woah!” Spike said. “Uncontrolled flames causing mayhem, and it wasn’t my fault for once; I love it.”
“How did you?” Mrs. Clarke addressed Professor Trelawney, the muggle’s incredulity thick in the air.
“She’s our Divinations professor,” the Muggle Studies Professor offered.
“Divinations professor?” Mrs. Clarke’s voice exuded disbelief.
“She’s not allowed to participate in the betting pools,” the Muggles Studies Professor said as a way of explanation.
“I see,” Mrs. Clarke noted with an obvious lack of comprehension.
“Mr. Potter.” Professor Trelawney was ignoring the chatter as the students abandoned their walled positions. “I shall be requiring the services of your owl, if you wouldn’t mind calling her for me.”
“Yes professor.” Harry complied. “Hedwig, would you please come here?”
He hadn’t completed the sentence before a snowy owl folded space and landed on his outstretched arm.
“I hate watching them do that!” a random student commented as the onlookers went through the process of unfolding their eyes and minds after witnessing a paradoxical feat.
“Good girl, Hedwig!” Harry cooed as he petted the avian’s breast with his free hand. “I just need you to help Professor Trelawney here.”
“Bark!”
“Thank you, Mr. Potter. Two points for Gryffindor.” Professor Trelawney held her own arm out for the bird. “Miss Belle, do try to remember that restraining orders do not currently reach across dimensional boundaries,” she said just before walking off.
“Yes, professor,” Sweetie called after her
“Bad Dean!” the blonde woman said again, bopping the boy roughly on his head to accentuate her point.
“No Magah! Don’t hit Dean!” Sweetie scolded.
After watching the student being knocked to the floor, Mrs. Clarke coolly addressed the woman. “And who are you? How dare you attack a student in such a manner?”
The woman looked back at her with a questioning look.
“Oh boy, this is going to be fun,” the Muggle Studies Professor muttered.
“I asked you for your name,” Mrs. Clarke bared her teeth.
“Magah!”
“Mrs. Clarke, this is going to sound out of line, but I suggest you stop this line of questioning and let these students run along to their next class,” the Muggle Studies professor said.
“I most certainly will not. I have just witnessed an appalling breach of professionalism; this matter needs to be resolved.”
“She is not employed by the school,” the Muggle Studies Professor said. “This is not going to go anywhere near how you think it will be going.”
“I can handle this,” Mrs. Clarke barked. “How dare you hit this child?”
“Hit?” Magah asked.
“Yes, we clearly saw you hit him.”
“Hit Dean?” Magah asked.
“Yes, how dare you?”
“Okay!” Magah bopped Dean on his head again as he was standing up. “Hit Dean!”
“Ow! Stop it, Magah.”
“We should stop this,” Ginny said.
“Hush,” Seamus said, “the comedy practically writes itself.”
Mrs. Clarke stared at the blonde woman in disbelief, shaking slightly with rage. “Get away from those children. I shall see you brought up on charges for your actions.”
“Okay, you need to stop,” the Muggle Studies Professor interjected. “You are not talking to a grown woman; you are addressing a pet.”
“She’s not a . . . aw forget it.” Sweetie said.
“A pet? As in Playboy?” Mrs. Clarke was unimpressed.
“Play . . . no, we are talking more like a cat,” the Muggle Studies Professor answered.
“A cat?”
“Postman Pat, Postman Pat and his black and white cat,” Magah sang happily.
“What was that?” Scootaloo asked. “That’s new.”
With a sigh, the Muggle Studies Professor said. “Magah, here,”
“Magah!”
“Magah here is what you get when you teach a non-sapient unicorn from the nearby forest how to turn into a human.”
“You can’t be serious!” Mrs. Clarke gasped.
“Hit Dean!”
“Ow! Sweetie, make her stop!”
“Bad Magah, stop hitting Dean!”
“Okay! Hit Lavder!”
“Ow!”
“Now look at what you started,” the Muggle Studies professor said.
“Hit vill.”
“Ow!” Neville followed Dean and Lavender to the ground.
“Bad Magah!” Apple Bloom snapped. “Bad, bad Magah! No bacon! Bad Magah!”
“No bacon?” Magah pouted.
“If’n you don’t stop hitting everypony, you’ll have no bacon for a week!” Apple Bloom said.
“No!” Magah stamped a foot. “Eat bacon!”
“She’s from the forest?” Mrs. Clarke asked, feeling out of her depth.
“Yes, it is hard to believe.” the Muggle Studies Professor said. “But she is not the grown woman she appears to be.”
“Is she dangerous like the giant spiders they are planning on hunting?”
“No, she’s dangerous like a two-year-old in the body of an adult,” the Muggle Studies Professor corrected. “Annoying at times, but basically harmless.”
“They’re hunting the acromantulas?” Abigail asked; her grin was perhaps a little too wide.
“They are making plans to halve the population for safety’s sake,” the Muggle Studies Professor said. “Cutie Mark Crusaders Spider Hunters are a no-go.”
“So, Cutie Mark Crusaders Delegators?” Sweetie asked sweetly.
“Yay!”
The Muggle Studies Professor winced at the coordinated cheering. “That’s right; this is being delegated to the most efficient agency. Now hurry; your next class will be starting soon.”
“Yes professor!” the first-years chorused as they hurried off.
“Anyone else think that Professor Trelawney’s hint was just a little too obvious?” Hermione said as the children left the hearing of the adults.
It was a special time of day in the pub. The regulars knew there would be just enough of them to keep the place from looking like a ghost town. It was the best time to get a bite to eat since the cook was not rushed. Only the most observant would have noticed that there was something decidedly out of the ordinary with two regulars who sat in the secluded booth in the back. The double order of chips on the table between them had long ago reached thermal equilibrium, and their strawberry milkshakes had somehow been consumed and then gradually refilled. It hadn't taken long for the waitress to notice; the two had performed the same stunt every day for the past month. However, the two girls always tipped enough to stifle her curiosity.
The routine was interrupted when a woman entered wearing glasses that were practically strong enough to see into the future. Her demeanor was so casual that she would have escaped notice, had it not been for the white owl that maintained a death grip on her shoulder. Despite never having set foot in the establishment before, the woman unerringly navigated the twists and turns to the secluded booth where the girls were people watching as they partook in their drinks.
Feelers watched her approach and smiled warmly. “Hello, good morning; can I help you?”
The woman stopped in front of the booth and winced. “Just a second.” She held up a finger to the two girls before turning to address the owl. “You don’t have to grip so tightly; you’re drawing blood.”
“Bark!”
“Yes, well, the first time apparating is always unsettling.”
“Bark!”
“It was either that or the Knight Bus.”
The owl ruffled her feathers, transforming her appearance into that of a puffball wearing a pouch.
“I thought you’d see my point; now if you wouldn’t mind removing yours from my flesh.”
“Bark.”
“Thank you.” The woman then turned to address one of the girls. “You need to be somewhere to prevent a grave mistake.”
The girl looked at the stranger and asked, “What?”
“Just do what you do best; trust your feelings,” the woman said, placing the owl on the table.
The owl examined her surroundings. “Bark!”
“Yes, cold chips are disgusting,” the woman agreed. She reached out and grabbed the girl’s wrist. With a quick yank a hand was forced into contact with the pouch the owl wore. The patronage was then treated to the sight of a small bag devouring a college-aged girl. “There,” the woman addressed the owl again, “You know where to go.”
“Bark!” The owl launched herself into the air and left the building without using either the doors or windows.
“Did you just kidnap Larva?” Feelers asked, adding another sip to her milkshake glass.
“I only need to borrow her for the day,” the woman said. “I trust it won’t be that much of a hassle for you.”
“I’m strangely okay with that.” Feelers nodded. “I really could use the break.”
The woman picked up the milkshake glass Larva had left behind; she had a curious look on her face as she took an experimental sip. “This is nice,” she commented.
Feelers mumbled, focusing on her own straw.
“It won’t keep as well as you are used to,” the woman warned. “I suggest you start marketing the surplus.”
“That wouldn’t be my decision,” Feelers said after scrutinizing the woman.
“Pass it up the chain then,” the woman said, turning to leave, taking another sip from the glass she carried.
“What was that about?” the waitress asked, taking the spot vacated by the strange woman.
“I have no idea,” Feelers said. “But I get a day off from babysitting Larva; so, I’m good.”
Her new home had some major drawbacks. At first it had seemed too good to be true. A hunting ground of plenty, what more could she ask for? After some exploration she had discovered that it was indeed too good to be true. Her main concern could be summed up in one word, and that word was "snake". It was huge! Several of her heads had been scared to death just by looking at it, forcing her to go through the hassle of gnawing off the defunct appendages. Then, there were the annoying ponies. She was sure that with them, at least, she had worked out an understanding. She didn’t bother them and they didn’t zap her, fair enough. Besides, the really little ones were unbelievably dangerous, and she had the regrown tail to prove it.
All in all, she was content. She may have been more confined than she may have liked, but it was a price worth paying. Thus, she was sunning herself with her lower body soaking in the bog she called home when the bird appeared. On a whole, birds were nothing more than nuisances. Many were too small to be considered prey, and those large enough were too much of a bother to catch. Still, she was starting to get hungry; so, a few of her heads were eyeing the avian that landed on her back. Her heads pondered on whether it was worth the risk of biting herself if she missed when the strangest thing happened; the bird burst into flames.
There was no reason why such a small pest should produce that much fire. It blinded every single one of her heads, and she added that species to her list of creatures to not annoy if she were not already starving. She blinked a few times to clear her vision and found she was no longer in her bog. Rather, she was somewhere completely alien. She was surrounded by creatures with more eyes than usual. She still had them beat in that department, but they were focusing the ones they had on her, seemingly stunned by her presence.
That was just fine, as far as she was concerned. It was time for lunch.
The trio of seventh-year Hufflepuffs smiled and tried not to leer when the exotic new woman strolled up to them with a grin on her face.
“Hello boys,” she purred, her dark hair half-obscuring her eyes, the shade of which marked her as a pony. It was apparent that she had gotten the message that clothes were to be worn at all times, but someone had forgotten to go into the details beyond that. It was obvious that somethings had been skipped, such as informing her that wrapping oneself in a towel and calling it a done deal was not considered normal.
“Hello,” said several distracted voices.
"I was hoping to find a special somepony or two. Do you colts feel up to helping out a lonely heart?"
"Uh huh."
“I have a quick favor to ask of you.” She smiled, though the boys didn’t notice; it was a hand towel.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Each of you take turns putting this in your mouth and will yourself to change,” she said holding out a ring.
Eager to please, a boy snatched up the ring and popped it into his mouth.
“Hmmm, pegasus.” The woman nodded. “Cute too, but not what I'm looking for,” she added as the boy returned to his original form. “Next.”
Another boy took the ring and eyed it in disgust. He pointed his wand at it and intoned, “Scourgify” before placing it gingerly in his mouth.
“Unicorn.” The woman sounded disappointed.
“Where do I get one of these?” the boy asked after standing back up on human feet.
“I borrowed it from Barbie; you’d have to ask her.” The woman handed the ring to a third boy.
This boy shrunk, flapping his leathery wings and blinking back tears from the bright light.
“Finally!” The woman plucked the ring out of his mouth before he could change back. She then drew attention to the owl that had been riding on her shoulder by grabbing the pouch it wore. "Time for your date with destiny." With that, she stuffed the newly-minted thestral into the pouch. “You know where to go,” she told the bird. It hooted and flew into an orthogonal dimension.
“Carry on,” the woman told the two remaining boys before sauntering off.
The two stared after her and it was a full minute before the first asked. “Did she just kidnap Torin?”
“I think so.”
The first thought out loud. “Should we tell a professor?”
“Nah, I’m positive she’s that pony they have patrolling at night,” said his friend. “I’m sure he’ll be back before too long.”
“He’s going to miss his Charms class.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“That was a nice . . .” said the first after a second.
“Towel, yes it was.”
“You think Torin will still be a bachelor when he gets back?”
“Not a chance.”
“You get to tell his girlfriend.”
“Also, not a chance; he can tell her himself.”
The professors were gathered at the edge of the Forbidden Forest as the screams continued to escalate. It had gotten so bad that the forest’s population of centaurs had acted out of character and was now standing within the wards of Hogwarts. Their members looked ruffled, and many had bows at the ready.
“A dragon, you say?” Dumbledore asked casually as he stood next to one of the centaurs.
“Yes.” The centaur known as Bane replied, “A five-headed monstrosity.”
“Where did it come from?” Professor McGonagall wondered out loud.
“We haven’t a clue,” Bane said. “The stars did not foretell of such things, and Mars has been dimmed as of late.”
“A five-headed dragon you report? Truly I have seen its kind and sort.”
Professor Severus Snape scowled at his wife’s words. “Didn’t Applejack say that there was a restraining order?”
“Restraining order?” The Muggle Studies Professor looked at the Potions Professors in shock.
“Yes.” Professor Severus Snape nodded. “The local guards have issued a restraining order protecting the local hydra. It would seem that they have found a way around that particular restriction.”
“They sent their phoenix.” Dumbledore nodded amusedly as Bane gave him a suspicious look. “How creative.”
“Who’s they?” Mrs. Clarke asked
“The first-year Gryffindors, of course.” Dumbledore beamed.
“Oh no!” The Muggle Studies Professor slapped his face into the palm of his hand. “Oh, no no no!”
“What is it?” Professor McGonagall asked.
“They delegated it, just like I told them to. They found a more efficient agency than the ones already being prepped,” the Muggle Studies Professor admitted. “It’s not like we were warned against giving them ideas.”
“So, this is another major incident?” Mrs. Clarke inquired.
“It would appear to be the day for them.” Dumbledore admitted.
“I’ve never heard acromantulas scream before,” Professor Flitwick noted after a particularly blood curdling wail. “I think I’ll go assist Poppy in her attempts to coax another calming potion on Hagrid; he does seem to be burning through them.”
“So,” Professor Sprout mused, “do we take points for this or give them an award for special services to the school?”
“They didn’t put themselves in danger, this time.” Professor McGonagall sighed. “No rules were broken as far as I can tell.”
“I am sure there must be a law against importing a nonindigenous dragon species,” Professor Severus Snape said. “I say a hundred points from each and a month’s detention.”
“Strongly, I must protest. That would not be the best.”
“Does she always?” Mrs. Clarke started, giving the other woman a squinted inspection.
“Yes!” came her answer from several sources.
“I think such a punishment would be much too harsh, Severus.” Dumbledore smiled. “The only pertaining laws refer to transporting dragons across international borders without a license; they do not include interdimensional borders as of yet. And there is no indication that the children intend to keep the beast as a pet. At most, there will be a small fine, since the dragon hasn’t been a nuisance.”
“Tell that to the acromantulas,” Berrytwist challenged.
Suddenly, ear piercing screams rent the air. They were reminiscent of five little girls on helium having a run in with an exceptionally large spider. Then, silence claimed the forest. For ten minutes, the professors watched the tree line in anticipation. Just as one of them was going to suggest that they enter and investigate, several figures came into view. Upon seeing them, Professor McGonagall stalked up to them like an irate cat about to administer a good number of scratches.
“Sybill,” the deputy headmistress growled. “What do you think you are doing?”
“The children needed a responsible adult to accompany them into the forest,” Professor Trelawney said with a shrug.
“How did you manage to use the word 'responsible' in that sentence?” Professor Severus Snape asked as he watched the first-year Gryffindors struggle to carry their writhing prize.”
“The danger was minimal,” Professor Trelawney stated.
“I find that hard to believe, considering that we are talking about a forest teeming with agitated giant spiders,” Professor Sprout said disapprovingly.
“They now have a healthy respect for the newest spell in Mr. Thomas’ repertoire.” Professor Trelawney informed the other faculty members.
“I take it the hydra wasn’t a problem either,” Berrytwist commented as she watched the burdened first years.
“Sweetie sent it back home,” Luna said.
“Y'all did say you only wanted to take out half o’ them.” Apple Bloom spoke up. “We may have gone a little over.”
“Sorry about that,” Neville said for the herd.
“I think we’re in the clear,” Abigail countered. “It’s not like they would all run in the same direction when fleeing from a hydra.”
“That’s a relief.” Lavender huffed in satisfaction as she gave another tug. “I didn’t think of that; I was a little worried there for a bit.”
“Hold that thought for a moment,” Scootaloo said. “We forgot to check for our hydra wrangler cutie marks.”
Several forms shrank into smaller forms in eager anticipation.
“Nope.” Sweetie frowned.
“Nothing here,” Ginny added.
“I didn’t get anything,” Seamus said.
There were several more likeminded responses and no dissention.
“Miss Belle,” Professor McGonagall said sternly. “Where did you obtain your newest accessory? I was under the impression that we have confiscated your arsenal.”
Sweetie looked at the floating battle axe beside her. “I borrowed it from a suit of armor in the castle.” She shrugged.
“I did not think any of them would surrender their weapon willingly.” Professor McGonagall scowled.
“I’ll untie him when I return his axe.”
“Oh well,” Apple Bloom interrupted before points could be lost. “Let’s get this here to tha kitchen then drag Ron out from under tha bed.”
“We got more than just the tip this time.” Harry smiled proudly.
“Don’t worry.” Luna added, “It’ll grow back.”
“Do you think the guards will be mad?” Parvati asked worriedly.
“Nah, we fed their pet,” Ginny said. “They should be thanking us.”
“Besides, we never got within a hundred yards. We had to rig a trap with the axe, but everything worked out,” Neville added.
“I would be more comfortable if none of you get a lawyer’s cutie mark,” Berrytwist said.
“Children, halt and wait while I cry, 'Foul.' To the kitchens Sweetie may not prowl.” With that, a disaster was adverted.
She wasn’t entirely certain what just happened. Deciding to take stock, she did just that; she was back in her bog. The bird at least appeared to be an ally. It had brought her to an abundant food source and then had helped her escape when she heard the voices of the very scary little ponies. The timing had been good, too; she had lost half her tail but that was insignificant compared to her now-full belly. Overall, the experience had been a win; she had gained a good six months’ worth of sustenance even allowing for the raw material that would be needed to regrow her missing appendage.
Also gained was some more healthy respect for the ponies. She would be giving them a wide berth whenever possible, not that that would be a problem in the near future. There was a lot of digesting to be accomplished, leaving her no reason to exit her lair for near on a half year. Even four out of five of her throats were full of spider meat; after all, she only needed the one to breathe properly.
Everything had happened in a frenzy, most of which was spent gorging herself, and she wasn’t positive where she had traveled, but the bird had proven its worth. From now on, she would anticipate its arrival and prepare for a feast when it landed on her. Never would she attempt to make a quick snack of it. There was more potential benefit from letting it live. Besides, there was the distinct possibility that it might explode in one of her mouths if she tried.
It was a happy hydra that heaved herself into her haven for a habitual hibernation.
Fate swung a sledgehammer and connected with the side of chaos’ face.
There had been no hesitation on using the foe’s pieces to advance more orderly plans.
Fate advanced.
Chaos staggered.