//------------------------------//
// Chapter 4 
// Story: Harry Potter and the Evil Within 
// by Damaged 
//------------------------------//

"Fire is life. There is no simpler way to put it. Fire is how we fight against the chill weather. Fire is how we prepare food and make it safe and more edible. Fire is how we work longer days as it allows us to see into the night. Fire is how we protect ourselves from the things that hunt the dark corners of the world." If I had to guess, listening to Professor Sparks, I would think she liked fire. "Fire is also one of the more grand spells a wizard or witch can use to protect themselves—and I emphasize that. Fire makes for terrible offensive magic. Can anybody tell me why?"

For the first time in my life I didn't see Hermione raise her arm at a question. It was unsettling and her own face registered a similar shock that I felt inside.

"Anyone? No? It's because it is too flashy. Fire, also, has many counters for it from shields to scatter it, water to douse it—in fact, there are three perfect ways to deal with fire magic." Drawing on the board with chalk in her red crystalline hand, the professor drew a triangle and wrote at each corner. "Heat. Magic. Air. If you can remove any one of these, a fire spell will fail."

"Not Fiendfyre," Draco said from one side. No one was in the chair beside or behind her, and being in the front corner of the rows meant she was practically alone in the sea of students.

"Correct. Fiendfyre is a far greater curse and dark magic besides. It requires great destructive willpower and an even greater certainty that nothing nearby should be left with its carbon intact. All regular fire spells require these three things, however. If you can remove one, the fire stops." She started writing spells beside each of the corners, settling on four for each. "This is why fire is a terrible offensive weapon."

Now Hermione's arm was up. Up high enough to right the wrong of her earlier failure to answer a question.

"Yes, Granger, wasn't it?" the professor asked.

Hermione practically glowed with insufferable delight—she would be talking about this for the rest of the day. "Miss, why are you having us memorize so many fire spells, then?" 

"A great question, Miss Granger." If only the teacher knew what she was inflicting upon Gryffindor house with those words. "Fire is an amazing distraction. If someone sees you winding up a Fire Rope, they are likely to miss you casting a Reverse Bubble-Head curse, since the light it makes on your wand is red."

There were a lot of gasps of surprise around the room as things started to make sense. It was obvious, really, there was just one problem with that. I raise my hoof. When she pointed my way and nodded, I asked, "What if every spell you cast in a fight turns into a fire spell?"

"Can anyone tell Mr. Potter the answer to that problem?" Professor Sparks asked, raising her voice for the whole class. While Hermione still looked to be trying to figure out what to answer with, the professor pointed to the corner. "Mr. Malfoy?"

"Use the fire spell to cover for another fire spell," Draco said.

"Perfect. Exactly the kind of inventiveness offensive magic requires. When all you have is fire spells, throw more fire spells." It finally sank in—Professor Sparks was a whole order of witch above any other witch I had ever met. She made the best wizards I'd ever met look like first year students at wizarding. "Any other suggestions?" She pointed at Ron's raised foreleg. "Mr. Weasley?"

"Prepare a counter to whatever spell they're working on to stop your fire spell?" Ron asked.

"Another good answer, though if fire is all you have, use more fire. Always shift your tactics to take advantage of any situation. When you're fighting for your life, don't be afraid to cheat."

"Hermione?" I leaned over a little and poked her with a hoof. "Hermione?"

"Ch-Ch-Cheat?" Huh, well, it seemed like Hermione was having her own little panic attack. The problem was she'd spoken far louder than I had.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" Professor Sparks pointed toward Hermione. "You have a question?"

"But, ma'am, cheating is wrong."

"That wasn't a question, but I'll take it as one." The professor gestured to her desk where two figures appeared. Each looked like a wizard, complete with robes and a wand held firmly in their right hand. "This is how most of you likely expect a magic fight to take place. Two witches or wizards standing across from each other, both preparing their spells and focusing on their dueling skill.

"This is how they typically happen." When the professor gestured again, two more robed figures appeared on one side. "No fight is ever fair. One side will always have the upper hand. Unless you bring more friends than you think you'll need, it'll almost certainly be the other side that has it.

"The key to dealing with a group of magic users on your own is to survive what they hit you with—and they will be hitting you hard and as fast as they can—and cease their abilities to cast one by one. A lot of witches and wizards can still cast if they can't walk or speak, but very few can cast without a wand." She pointed at Ron. "Mr. Weasley, how would you deal with this situation?"

"First thing?" Ron looked to me and Hermione as if begging us for help. "Get behind something solid."

"Very good. Who can tell me why you would do this?" After a moment the professor pointed at me. "Mr. Potter?"

"Because it buys you time to draw your wand and cast some protective spells?" I asked.

"Exactly. Miss. Dunbar," Professor Sparks gestured to Fay, "can you tell me why this is not always the best option?"

Fay straightened in her chair. She was a pure-blood witch, so she was now completely a crystal pony, though it was sometimes hard to tell if someone was a pony all the way or half-blood, I remember her mentioning her being a pure-blood. "Anything big enough to protect you from spells hides your opponent from your view."

"Correct. You lose situational awareness. Now, since I dove into things a little fast, do any of you recognize me from before all this?" The professor gestured up to the horn atop her head.

"I remember. You're an Auror," Draco said.

"Close, but not quite. I was in the Ministry, working as part of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad." She looked around with what seemed like pure witchy confidence. "I was also training, albeit at my own pace, to be qualified as a Hit Witch."

There were a lot of gasps around the room. I knew a bit of what she was talking about, but I hadn't exactly spent the last two years studying what the Ministry was and all its departments—so I raised my hoof.

"Mr. Potter?" the professor asked.

"I—I wasn't really introduced to all this. What's that mean?" I asked back. I could swear she looked thankful for my question.

"The Magical Law Enforcement Squad take care of general policing of witches and wizards, as well as smoothing over minor infractions between the wizarding world and muggles. The Hit Witches and Wizards are more combat focused, like the muggle SWAT teams. They still do regular policing, but when the call goes out that there's something serious happening, they come flying in with the intent to stop it." Professor Sparks looked around, and I was sure she studied everyone's face. "I won't be able to teach you everything in just one year, but by the time you graduate I hope to have built a solid groundwork upon which you can protect yourselves and others from direct danger."

It was a lot to take in, but I guess that's what the gasps earlier meant. So if they were the police, what were Aurors? Should I even ask that or wait until after class? I raised my hoof again and, when she pointed at me and called my name, I asked, "So what do Aurors do, then?"

"It would probably be best if you asked Professor Tonks about that. After all, she's trained to be one." The professor raised an eyebrow at me, no doubt daring me to ask something else. When I didn't, she continued with the first lesson.

When all was said and done, teaching ten new fire spells to a kirin was always going to be a hit with me.





Having left his student and her toys to their own devices, King Sombra headed north again. The travel took weeks, but he was reminded how good it was to have a strong, corporeal body again. When he reached the snowy border of Equestria and the Crystal Empire, he was met not just with the cold but a conundrum too. 

He knew he was too conspicuous, it was hard not to be with a magic and physical presence like his own. Now he'd recovered all the Dementors from Earth, he felt like he could probably tackle a weakened alicorn.

To that end he wanted to see for himself what was happening in his city, and that meant not walking into it as a king. 

Working his magic, building a new shape around his body, Sombra aimed for something both smaller and far more average pony than his normal self. A slim stallion with a gray coat and two-tone cerulean mane. The only ponies that would recognize the shape were in Canterlot. 

As he advanced through the snow, he played a little with the shape to give it an even more pathetic look than the original pony he'd modeled it off and by the time he reached the edge of the city, he was confident that his unicorn disguise would be looked down on by everypony.

"Another pony just walked into town. You see that one? Looks a mess. Think the boss will want to know about it?"

"Yeah, 'e wants to know about everyfin."

"Book and quill but stamp. Well, not exactly interestin', but get this note to our runner."

The speakers, Sombra could tell, were more of the human creatures—these ones had barely any equine features at all. It took a moment of loitering before he spotted a far more equine shape, wearing human clothes, running along the edge of the crowd.

Curious as to what edge it could give him, Sombra used regular magic to complete a teleport to the far end of the plaza where he could spot the runner moving again. It reminded him so much of the weak crystal ponies that had opposed him for so long; a struggling mouse in a trap.

Three more teleports, each taken just as the messenger was about to leave his line of sight, ensured that Sombra could watch as the former human slipped into a large building that, from his own memory, was previously a governmental administration building.

Walking casually past the building, he tried to feel for where the creature had gone within it—but the place was lousy with them. Cursing under his breath, Sombra decided to just assume the most important person in the building would be in the most important office and—knowing the layout of the building—teleported there directly.

Herbert Trencent was startled at the sound and sensation of magic being used nearby. Standing up, he opened his mouth to shout for assistance when the weak-looking pony before him became far too interesting. Black magic with green whorls through it sprang from the pony's horn and Herbert shivered.

"Weak-willed. You creatures are far too easy to control." As he spoke, Sombra had to fight back the urge to smile. The former human's eyes were now glittering green around the edges, and the longer the magic lasted in his head—the more green they'd become. "Sit back down and listen to your new master."

The freedom of Herbert's mind shrank in around him. The green magic that provided the pressure seemed to flood around him and chase him away from all the ways he might have controlled his body. He felt himself sit down and look at the weak-looking pony.

"Better. Now, what is it you do? What are your reasons for watching ponies new to the city? Why are you commanding a group of creatures—humans?"

Herbert Trencent felt all that green press in tighter and opened his mouth to tell the pony before him everything.





"So that's the downside, eh? We need to strap some bloody rockets on this thing." The sight of a fleet of ships escaping toward the horizon—harried by the Pandemonium—annoyed Blastback Davies a bit, though they had brought almost a third of the Storm King's ships down before the other side realized they were going to be routed by his ship. "Signal Celaeno, there's no point risking her arse chasing them now."

Glancing over the taffrail, Aileek looked down at the city below. There were a dozen crashed ships, though only half had landed on the capital itself. She watched as the people—her people—hurried around to put out fires and save the city from a conflagration that might yet see it needing to be rebuilt. "We did it."

"You helped. Where would be the best place to come down?" Firelight McOwens, the second-in-command of Stiff Wind, concentrated on raising her voice. "Top vent! Five seconds! Fore and aft! Ten seconds. Let's bring her down!"

The Aileek of old would have tucked her ears back at having someone shouting right beside her, but her ears were used to the rapport of heavy cannon—Firelight's shouts were easily tolerable. "Try to avoid crashing into the palace there, my dad would leave a message in his litter tray if we hammered down into that."

In the distance, hanging off the prow of her ship with her saber clutched in a claw, Celaeno was howling her fury at the retreating fleet. Stiff Wind had performed every bit as expected. The losses of the Storm King's vessels had been measured in ships per minute—she had never before seen such an aggressive strike from one vessel. "Mullet! Give me enough speed to catch one more of them!"

"Cap'n!" Mullet was at the other end of the ship, his claw holding the wheel while the Pandemonium soared after the routed vessels with full feathers flying. "Blastback just signaled to pull clear and return!"

Celaeno could see the wisdom of that, but she needed one more prize. "Prepare to heave about! Squabble, prepared for a long shot! Two guns! We're gonna pitch on the balloon and give you as much angle as we can!"

The orders made sense to Mullet, and he loved how bloodthirsty his captain got—even when retreating. "Prepare to haul the port feathers! Load the starboard guns and be ready, Mr. Squabble!" After far too many heartbeats, he heard a squawk from below. "Stow those feathers and hold on!"

Two cannon singing drew Blastback's attention as Pandemonium fired on the rearguard of the Storm King's ships—and split its deck from stern to bow, into two parts. Powder, cannons, crew, and fuel rained down before the unbalanced mass listed to the side and its balloon popped. "Damn that bird, she's amazing."

Turning from the sight of the final casualty of the battle, Blastback looked over to Aileek. "You have to be first off the ship. We're just another bunch of invaders without you."

Reminded of her status, Aileek remembered the proud warriors from another world as they'd first appeared. Blastback had lost a leg and they'd probably all lost any hope of returning home—but they still fought for her. "Will do, captain. What about the rest of the crew? You have a lot of gunners belowdecks."

"Yeah. We'll organize them into work crews to go over the downed ships. Talk to your father—if we don't keep these pirates fed on loot and rum, we're going to have another invasion force for him to deal with." Blastback made his way up to the edge of the ship. "Are they cheering?"

"You did kinda drive off the Storm King. You're going to be popular." When the ship got low enough to reach the sky ship dock, Aileek jumped over the railing with a rope to tie it off just a moment before Firelight did the same further down. With the ship secured, she walked to the edge of the short dock to where her father stood. "Da—"

Ignoring protocol, even if his kneeling daughter seemed ready to follow it, King Pawssanova drew Aileek into a hug and squeezed her. "You brought them?"

Trying not to purr, Aileek squirmed in her father's grip. "Y-Yeah. Blastback and his people are soldiers from another world, the rest of his crew are—well, they're pirates."

Letting go of Aileek, Pawssanova raised one black eyebrow on his black face. "Pirates? But they're here to help us?"

"Well, Blastback and his people are here to help me, but the pirates are here to take down the Storm King and loot his ships. It would probably be best to let them do that." Aileek knew what her father's reply would be before he even started it.

"The only treasure they carry is what they pillaged from Panthera." It pained him, but Pawssanova knew what his answer had to be. "They can have as much as they can load on their two ships. Anything else stays in Panthera. I'm not happy about the deal, Aileek, but we're still free and"—looking aside to ensure no one was listening closely, Pawssanova continued—"the more important artifacts are still hidden."

Grateful her father was thinking clearly, Aileek nodded. "I haven't told anyone about that, father. They'll take trinkets and some coin and leave. If you wanted to go further, you could pay them funds from the treasury to hunt the Storm King anywhere in Abyssinia. Either way, you'd do well to offer them free porting here for as long as they hunt his forces." 

"A good way to keep them indebted to us and fighting a common enemy—and bringing back riches for us to sell. Clever, daughter." Pawssanova couldn't overlook what his daughter had done. At least for now, Panthera and possibly all Abyssinia was safe from the Storm King. "These soldiers, would their leader be interested in a contract protecting us, do you think?"

Hearing her father say "us" caused Aileek to stiffen a little. It was a reminder that she was expected to leave her time aboard ships behind and return to royal life. "I—"

"You'll have to excuse me." Blastback rocked his way over to the king and his daughter. "But I believe we haven't met. I'm Commander—Captain—Blastback Davies, and I'd like to negotiate for safe harbor for my ship and my compatriot's." He nodded upward as Pandemonium circled lower and lower like a shark.

"My daughter tells me you are wishing to pursue the Storm King further. Would you perhaps be interested in a letter of marque?" It was a big offer, but Pawssanova felt the price worth it. "You could even scavenge as much cargo as you can carry for the various ships you have brought down today."

Looking to Aileek, Blastback tried to think how was best to get an explanation without admitting to not having a clue exactly what he was doing. "Uh, being from a different world, I'll have to ask you to explain what a letter of marque is." 

Having taken orders from Blastback for months, Aileek was quick to explain. "A letter of marque is permission to hunt common enemies. You will be allowed to dock at any port in Abyssinia and do business here so long as you don't break the agreement—generally, that you don't break the laws of Abyssinia."

King Pawssanova saw the dilemma on his daughter's face. Three months had felt like a long time to be under the Storm King's heel, but his daughter had been with these pirates that whole time—and was already looking to their captain more than to himself. "Perhaps," he said, "it would be best to assign someone familiar with Abyssinian law to your ship?"

"Someone who has already proven themselves to be of us to both of us?" Blastback looked at Aileek at the same time he noticed her father do the same. "What about it?"

Relief flooded Pawssanova when he saw the relief in his daughter's face. "Aileek, it's your choice. Of course, as a hero, you would be living a much more public life here." He knew well how much his daughter had disliked the public life of the palace. His little hellcat would have run away, he was sure, if he hadn't given her a position that let her leave the palace.

Just as Aileek was saying, "Then I'll fill the position," Pandemonium slipped into the other side of the pier and two parrots jumped out to secure it to the moorings. The moment Captain Celaeno jumped off her ship, Aileek felt the tension grow. "This is Captain Cel—"

"I know who that blasted pirate is." Looking at Blastback, Pawssanova saw the equine man looking at Celaeno with the same admiration he himself often felt when one of his many concubines made his purr start. When she looked back at Blastback with a similar expression, Pawssanova swallowed his pride—he wondered if this soldier had tamed the wild pirate.

"Your Majesty, you'll have to forgive my latest visit to your nation, but think we can both agree that the Storm King is a bigger threat to your concerns than my scallywags ever were." Celaeno didn't bow—not to the king of Abyssinia and not to nobody—but she did doff her hat. "Is there somewhere we can discuss this that isn't the middle of a warzone or celebration?"

Blastback could sense some tension between the two and remembered she'd said there was a little bad blood between them. "We were just discussing what the king here would be willing to pay for our continued presence. He offered a letter of marque and salvage rights to the ships we downed here today—at least to as much as we can carry."

"A letter? Now that is an interesting proposal." Celaeno felt excitement build. A letter meant a second safe port—over a dozen, actually—for her ship. It meant readily accessible fencing of goods. It did limit her hunting prospects to non-Abyssinian ships, though she doubted they'd have anything good to trade for a while. "I'll have our crews start that cleanup for you so that, by the time we're done talking, we'll be ready to set sail and leave you be."

When the king agreed, Celaeno wondered how many cannonballs Stiff Wind could leave behind to maximize its hauling. She turned to her ship while Blastback turned to his own. "Alright, lads and lasses, I'm going to have some words with the king. You lot have some work ahead"—she paused as a few of her crew voiced some bellyaching—"you'll be salvaging what you can from the ships we took down—and only those ships, you hear?"

Giving similar orders to his own ship, Blastback had a moment to speak to Aileek while the king left the dock. "This is all well and good, but what happens if we end up in conflict with Abyssinia?"

"That's part of why I want to keep sailing with you, captain. I want to ensure that doesn't happen."

"And what if it happens anyway?"

"Then I failed you and I failed my father. At that point I'll be lucky if you'll let me on your ship." Shifting her position to flank Blastback with Celaeno, Aileek shrugged her shoulders. "Besides, we're pirates. What do I know about tomorrow?"