• Published 23rd Apr 2017
  • 15,007 Views, 7,154 Comments

Magic School Days - Dogger807

When the CMC asked Discord to help them attend magic school, he pulled an owl out of his hat. Only he didn't exactly have a hat. Which was okay, since their new school had a singing one laying around. Where the hay was Hogwarts anyway?

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Chapter 9: Wild Blue

Author's Note:

Ok, next chapter, "Wild Blue" is up.

Why did I call it that?

Because "Potions Class: There isn't anyway this could possibly end well and I just know tree sap is going to be involved somehow." didn't fit in the space provided for titles.

It didn’t take long for the first-years to find their way back to the Gryffindor tower. Aside from the one staircase that decided to move just before they got on it, the trip was uneventful. The fillies didn’t even panic at the sight of the moving portrait that guarded their common room; the novelty of talking pictures was growing thin.

In the girls’ dorm room, supplies were soon retrieved from trunks.

“Um, girls,” Apple Bloom said as she made a discovery, “what are we supposed to carry all this in?”

“Didn’t you buy bookbags?” Ginny asked, holding up her new carry-all, which Percy had thought to provide.

Three simultaneous face hooves answered that question. It was at that point the fillies learned that face hoofing as a human was significantly less painful than as a pony.

“Well, no use worrying about that now.” Hermione went straight for the practical solution. “Until you can get some, we’ll just have to split your supplies up among the rest of us. Come on now; we need to be getting on to class.”

Chattering excitedly, the girls joined the boys in the common room, and off they went to their first class.

Soon enough, the Gryffindor first-years entered the potions classroom in the dungeons.

“Okay, it’s not like I’m not detecting a pattern here,” Seamus was saying, “but really? We had to climb up a flight of stairs, from a tower mind you, to reach the dungeons.”

“What bothers me,” Harry put in his two cents as they entered, “is that the portrait said, ‘On Tuesdays and Fridays,’ as if the path changes every day.”

The Gryffindor first-years surveyed the classroom. The laboratory area was split in two; each side had workstations set in a tiered semicircle facing the desk in front of the blackboard on the far wall. Looking to the right side, they saw that the green-trimmed students had claimed that half of the room, doubling up, two to a workstation.

“Blimey, we got potions with the snakes.” Ron deflated at the sight of them.

“So?” Sweetie Belle asked, looking at the members of the other house. “I’m sure we can all be friends.” This brought sneers from several of the so-called new friend material.

“Not likely,” Ron disagreed.

“Oh, look,” Scootaloo chimed in. “It’s the Diamond Tiara wannabe.”

“Oh look,” Draco Malfoy sneered in return. “It’s the purple-haired freak.”

“Yer giving him too much credit, Scoots.” Apple Bloom observed, “Diamond Tiara would have least come up with a decent and original insult.”

“Yeah.” Scootaloo joined Apple Bloom at a workstation. “I guess you’re right.” From across the room, Draco continued to scowl at them, unaccustomed to being blown off so casually.

The Gryffindors then ignored the other house as they claimed their workspace. Parvati and Lavender were one pair, with Dean and Seamus as another. Ginny managed to sidle up to Harry while Ron settled on Hermione as his partner. This left Sweetie Belle to pair with Neville.


Alice Rutter felt the hairs on her arms stiffen as she sipped her morning tea. She hadn’t taken divinations when she had been at Hogwarts, but she recognized an omen when one presented itself. Something had just stirred the winds of fate, and had done so in a very significant manner. Change was coming, be it for good or ill; she was sure of it.

She ran her hand through her long raven locks and picked up the Daily Prophet, scrutinizing it for anything out of the ordinary.


“Ah, yes. Harry Potter. Our new celebrity,” the potions professor drawled out. Scootaloo thought he appeared rather like what a thestral would look like if they were a human.

Pacing the front of the class the professor continued, “You are here to learn the subtle science and the exact art of potion making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you to really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses.”

Apple Bloom leaned over and whispered to Scootaloo, “I have got to get him in a room with Zecora. Now there’s a conversation I’d love to witness.”

“Miss Bloom!” Professor Snape snapped from the front of the room. “Is there something you wanted to share with the rest of the class?”

“Um, no.” Apple Bloom recognized the universal teacher reaction to students talking in class.

“Very well,” Snape all but growled, “five points from Gryffindor. Now, where was I? If you aren’t as big as bunch of dunderheads as I usually teach, I can instruct you on how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper on death.”

The class stared with rapt attention, not wanting to be the next to lose points. “Now then, Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Harry looked at the teacher in confusion as both Hermione and Apple Bloom shot their hands into the air. “I don’t know, sir,” he replied.

With a sneer Professor Snape said, “Tut, clearly fame isn’t everything,” as he ignored the girls’ hands.

“But sir!” Apple Bloom was not to be denied. “How could he answer that without knowing whether the wormwood was Zebracan or Euricoltiean?”


Alice had found nothing in the paper that stood out. Yet, she could not shake the feeling from earlier. Something was imminent; she didn’t need to be a seer to know that. But what it could possibly be, she had no idea.

She hurried through her small hut to her bookcase; there was a book on divination in it somewhere. Maybe she could find answers waiting there.


Professor Snape had set them to make a potion for curing boils. Harry was finding the exercise to be painless, despite the constant hovering of the teacher. The Dursleys had made him cook since he could reach the stove with a stool, the result being an unusual level of competence. His partner Ginny had skills and knowledge she had gained from helping her mother around the house. Together, they found the assignment was well within their abilities.

Harry was removing the cauldron from the flames so they could add the quills when he glanced over at the efforts of Neville and Sweetie Belle. A steady, thin plume of bright purple smoke streamed from their cauldron. There might even have been an occasional sparkle dancing in the escaping smoke.

“How in the. . .” Snape started as he stalked over to investigate. There should have been no way to get that particular reaction from the given ingredients. The fool children must have introduced a component not on the ingredient list. Still, Snape could think of none that would have produced that result. Here was something new.

Neville and Sweetie Belle were warily watching their efforts with concern plastered on their faces. This was not how the instructions had said the potion was supposed to look. They were going to fail on their first attempt.

Unsure what the effects the current fiasco might inflict if allowed to contact skin, Snape waved the children away from the potential danger. Brandishing his wand with the intent to vanish the contents, he peered into the vessel. Inside was a light blue, gelatinous mass, bubbling slowly. The distinct scent of menthol wafted pleasantly outward. Contemptuously, he raised his wand to be rid of the mess.

It is safe to say that he was caught wholly off guard when the potion decided to make a break for it.


Nothing. Alice had flipped through her one and only book on divination to no avail. As she had done so, the sense of change had lessened. Now, she wasn’t even sure if it had been real or not. Should she ignore it? After all, she had no solid proof of anything, just an overpowering feeling of. . . something. She didn’t even know what to call it.


“It’s got me! It’s got me!” Daphne Greengrass hopped around on one foot while violently shaking the other. Trying desperately to dislodge the blue mass wrapped around her ankle, she screamed, “Ow! It bit me!”

Carefully, Snape took aim and let loose, “Stupefy!” A menacing red bolt leapt from his wand only for the blob to disengage from the terrified girl before the spell arrived. Cleared of her attacker, Daphne was the only target remaining. Upon being struck by the bolt, she stopped screaming and dropped like a sack of potatoes.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Slytherins where hopping around madly as the ridiculously fast slime creature weaved in and out amongst their feet. Somehow, as it dodged the flailing feet, it found Crabbe’s pants leg to travel up.

Now, Vincent Crabbe was a first-year, but he was all too familiar with cheap shots and low blows. A recent stint at ferret legging only heightened his awareness of the unspeakable pain to which he might be subjected. A rabid ferret looked tame compared to the blue slime.

He started dancing around wildly as the invader threatened his most private regions. “Screaming like a little girl” would have been an acceptable description of his vocals if the word “shrieking” wasn’t much more accurate.

Snape rushed forward to assist as Crabbe managed to rip his own pants off. The now-exposed slime froze for a moment. Crabbe managed to flip the slime away from himself, launching the little monster directly at Millicent Bulstrode. Luckily, she managed to get her hand up in time. Instead of latching onto her face, the slime wrapped around the offered appendage.

It was Millicent’s turn to dance, shaking her hand wildly trying to dislodge the lump of blue. All the while, the scent of menthol was becoming stronger.

“Hold still!” Snape commanded. When she froze, he cast, “Stupefy.” This time, Millicent flopped to the ground, and the blue slime darted over to where the Gryffindors were gathered. As one, the members of the house of the brave, broke for cover.

“Stupefy!” was heard again, and this time Dean joined those taking a nap. As the boy fell, his body knocked Ron off balance, forcing the redhead to spin and fall on his own rear. There was a loud snap and a violent release of magical energy which threw Ron in the air, where he twirled in a helpless pirouette. His graceless landing still saw him back on his feet

Apparently fed up with the whole ordeal, the slime found a small hole in the castle wall and disappeared from view.

Glaring angrily, Snape revived the fallen students. Dumbledore had specifically said not to take too many points from the fillies since it was unsure how they might react. Good diplomatic relations would be wor. . . ah, you know what? Bugger it. Bugger it to hell.

“Mr. Longbottom, Miss Belle,” Snape barked, “fifty points from Gryffindor for creating a new lifeform.”

The two looked at him in dismay. Then, he added, “Each.”

“Awwwww!” Sweetie Belle intoned, looking at her feet, and Neville just gulped.

“My wand!” Ron wailed, holding up the two halves of it for all to see.

“You had your wand in your back pocket?” Snape sneered at student. “That is a good way to lose part of your posterior.”

“Ha! Your family isn’t going to be able to eat for a week if they buy you a new one,” Malfoy taunted the misfortunate Weasley.

“You’re right,” Parvati said in a stage whisper to Apple Bloom. “He completely lacks originality.”

“I’ll buy him a new one!” Sweetie Belle spoke up, raising her hand for acknowledgement. “It’s kinda my fault it got broke, anyway.

Snape eyed the children in his class. There was an hour yet of class left, but it was obvious no more work would be done this day, not to mention, he’d have to hunt down that abomination. Unfortunately, he could not send the Weasley off to his next class wandless, especially since he himself was partially responsible for the destruction of Ron’s former focus.

“Very well.” Snape commanded, “The rest of you clean up for the day. Miss Belle and Mr. Weasley come this way.” With that, he led the two to his office.

Professor Snape went directly to his fireplace stuck his head into the floo fire, “Rolanda,” the two students heard him say, “I find I must play escort to Diagon Alley. I need you to watch over the rest of my class for the remainder of the morning. Once they clean up their stations, they can be sent to lunch.” A few seconds later he removed head from the green flames.

Facing the students, “I assume you both know how to floo to the Leaky Cauldron.” When he received nods as an answer, he motioned to the fireplace.

“I thought we’d be done shopping by the time we got to school.” Sweetie Belle muttered just before she took her turn.

Back in the potions classroom, the children began to clean up, with minimum interaction between the houses. After a couple glances at the hole in the wall, Scootaloo took up an empty cauldron and positioned herself on a stool next to the escape route. “If it comes back out, I’ll get it,” she announced.


Alice opened her front door and found a stranger on her step. The man was wearing a flattering brown muggle suit. She smiled politely as she glanced at his mismatched eyes. “Yes?” she said. “May I help you?”

“Good morning, Miss Rutter.” The man tilted his head in greeting. “If I may have some of your time, I do believe you’ll find it most profitable.”

“I’m listening,” she said, not inviting him into her home. While door-to-door solicitors were unknown in the wizarding world, the man before Alice gave the distinct impression of wanting to sell her something.

“Oh,” the man chuckled at her, “there’s no reason to get your back up, my dear. I am here to help you.”

“That remains to be seen,” she countered. “What do you want?”

“I do believe, tea would be a good starting point,” he replied smoothly.

Alice just looked at him, still not willing to invite him in.

“In fact,” he continued, pointing behind her in the direction of her kitchen table, “I do believe I see some set up over there.”

Reflexively, Alice turned to look where he was pointing and saw the man was at her kitchen table pouring tea into a cup for each of them. Taken aback, she turned back around to check his original position to find him no longer there. She hadn’t even heard him apparate.


“Professor Snape,” Sweetie Belle said as they funneled through the archway into Diagon Alley, “while we’re here, may I see about picking up some saddlebags? Me and the girls forgot to get some earlier.”

“They are referred to as bookbags.” Snape scowled down at the overly cheerful child. “Seeing as it will take a little time to outfit Mr. Weasley here, you may atone for your forgetfulness. Come to the wand shop when you finish.” Without another word, Snape marched Ron to Ollivander’s

Sweetie Belle had been expecting more resistance, but she wasn’t about to look a gift rose in the petals. She hurried into the well-known trunk store.

Dylan, the store owner frowned at her entrance. “Shouldn’t you be in school little miss?” he immediately demanded of her.

“There was an accident. We had to come here and pick up a new wand for Ron.” She smiled sweetly as she offered the explanation.

“You were accompanied by a professor?”

“He’s with Ron at the wand store.”

Relaxing, Dylan removed the frown, and his usual jolly features returned. “This would hardly be a wand store. Did you need your kitchen fixed again, already?”

“We forgot to buy bookbags.” Sweetie averted her eyes in embarrassment.

“Well, you’re in luck. I sell enchanted bags as well as trunks -- a step above what you’ll find in the general stores.” Dylan knew a sale when he saw one, “While I don’t have any ready right now, I could get them owled to you at Hogwarts tomorrow. Since you’re such a good customer, I’ll only charge you seven galleons per bag for my high-end model.”


Dylan retrieved a catalog from behind the counter and offered it to Sweetie, “Most merchants also do a business by owl.”

Sweetie Belle studied the catalog, “Thank you, that’s actually really good to know. We’ll take twelve bags, please.”

“Twelve?” Dylan raised an eyebrow.

“Welcome to Hogwarts gifts.”

Dylan came out from behind the counter. “I accept the order.” He bowed slightly. “Now, let’s get you back to your professor.”

Dylan locked his shop up behind them and then escorted the young girl to Ollivander’s. He expected to find it to be Professor Flitwick in attendance, since Sweetie Belle had indicated the escort was male. There was no way this young innocent was in Slytherin.

“So, you were sorted into Ravenclaw?” Dylan inquired politely as they proceeded down the street.

“No, we are in Gryffindor,” Sweetie Belle corrected as she bounced along beside him.

“Oh, then it’s not your head of house with you today.”

“No sir, the accident happened in potions class. “

“Accident? You weren’t trying to make orange juice, were you?”

“No, but our potion did get a bit aggressive.” A shake of Sweetie Belle’s head preceded this statement.

“Aggressive?” Dylan, stopped, mid-stride to peer at the little girl.

She looked at her feet in shame and said, “Yes, it even bit one of the Slytherins.”

Dylan could only blink in surprise at Sweetie Belle in response.


Scootaloo perched on her stool, standing, vigilant, over her target. A cat could not have been readier to pounce.

“Uh, Scoot?” she heard Harry say.

Scootaloo looked up and saw the whole class staring at her. Sighing, her eyes went half-lidded, and she let the cauldron slip from her grasp. “Let me guess: it found another exit and is now behind me ready to attack.”

As one, the entire class nodded.

Without another word, Scootaloo made a break for it.


The man had been attempting to make small talk, obviously trying to get her to be more comfortable. Alice was having none of it. She had been hurt too many times to have trust in anyone, least of all a strange man that just happened to show up at her door.

“Since, I cannot seem to convince you to relax,” the stranger who had still not offered his name, said, “why don’t we instead get to the proposal at hand?”

Out of nowhere, he produced a large book, which he casually placed on the table. Alice fought the Ravenclaw within her and continued to glare at the intruder.

“Do you know what this is?” the man asked.

“A book,” Alice replied

“Well, of course it is. How could I have not seen that particular answer coming?” The man tapped his fingertips together in amusement. “More precisely it is a book of laws.” The last word had venom dripping, unmasked, from it. “All the laws of the Wizengamot to be exact, an unabridged volume. This book can be found in most homes of the oldest families. Almost anyone else needs to fill out tedious amounts of paperwork just for a glance.”

Alice now had eyes only for the book. It was something everyone was supposed to have ready access to, but, in reality, was jealously hoarded by those in power. She had tried to get her hands on a copy countless times before, but hadn’t had the funds or influence to succeed.

“What do you want from me?” she demanded, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“I want you to use the rules in this book to help me remove cards from the hands of certain parties.” This time, it was the word “rules” that was soaked in contempt. “You can finally get your parents some justice, with them being killed for the unthinkable crime of being a pair of successful muggle-born.”

Instead of finding comfort in those words, Alice nearly growled at her visitor, “What is this miracle going to cost me?”

“My dear Alice, it is not my intention that this ‘cost’ you anything. By helping you, I further my own goals.” He leaned forward in his chair. “You have my word that I attach no malice toward you in my actions here today; in fact, if, for some unforeseen reason, you come into hardship in the process of helping me, I will do my best to aid you, up to the point of removing you from Britain and establishing you comfortably in a new and safe locale.”

Alice still was not persuaded, but she was coming around. She would hear the man out.


Scootaloo dodged left and darted up the shelves of a supply cabinet. Half way up, she dislodged a large jar, causing it to plummet groundward. The charm for unbreakability saved the glass container, but the fall caught the edge of the jar’s lip, causing it to pop its lid and bounce forcefully back into the air. In that fashion, it spewed its semi-aqueous contents all over the room and its occupants.

“Of course,” Scootaloo muttered as she found her perch, “it just had to be tree sap.”

Below her, in the room, the shrieks and scrabbling continued.


Ron was grinning as they left the wand shop. He had a new wand and a new holster for it. It was a pity he hadn’t been able to keep his previous wand for even one day, but this new one felt just right in his hand.

Scowling the whole way, Snape herded his charges to be flooed back to the castle.


Rolanda Hooch briskly strode down the halls of the Hogwarts castle. She had received a floo from Severus asking her to watch over his remaining class session. He hadn’t explained why, and she was willing to bet there was an interesting story attached. As she rounded the corner to potions class, her peripheral vision caught a flash of light blue on the floor to her right. When she focused on the spot, nothing was there. Shrugging, she turned and opened the door to the potions classroom.

The room was in complete disorder. Off to one side, the first-year known as Scootaloo had climbed up on top a supply cabinet and was currently sharing her perch with Millicent Bulstrode.

Most of the potions equipment had been knocked off the workstations, which were now being occupied by the remainder of the class instead.

On one table in particular, Apple Bloom had jumped up and planted her feet firmly on the furniture. Hermione proved that she was indeed a smart and quick learner, and climbed onto the redhead’s back. Ginny, deciding not to knock it until she tried it, had done her best squirrel impression and was now atop Hermione.

Harry had found that Lavender wanted to copy the formation, and now had the girl trembling on his back.

On another station, Pansy Parkinson was shivering without a top. Her robe and blouse had been thrown to the other side of the class, in an obvious act of desperation.

Most surprisingly, the entire room and all its occupants were covered with an unknown, sticky substance.

Upon the door opening, each and every student had turned, wide-eyed, toward the movement.

Madam Hooch examined the carnage and asked, “What? Did you see a mouse?”


By lunch, the first-years had been cleaned, and they were all sitting at their house tables. They had varying expressions of shell shock, except for Ron, who was showing off his new wand, and Sweetie Belle, who had discovered hamburgers.

“Oh, that reminds me,” she said after swallowing a big bite of her burger, “Harry, may I please borrow your owl?”

“Um, no.” Harry stared at her. “Hedwig likes to eat bacon; she does not go good with it.”

As Sweetie Belle’s eyes glazed over slightly, Ron whined, “Harry! Don’t be giving her ideas!”

Returning to reality, Sweetie Belle, with a note of hurt in her voice, said, “I wasn’t going to eat her, I just want her to carry a letter.”

“You can use the school owls in the owlery,” Hermione piped up.

“Great!” Sweetie exclaimed. “Hermione, may I please borrow some paper and quill?”

Thankfully, earlier Scootaloo had mentioned that writing with one’s fingers was the way to go, so Sweetie Belle drew no attention as she wrote.

Dear Rarity,

I’m not even sure if this will work, so I’ll keep it short.

The crusaders and I have arrived at school safely and have just completed our first class of the day. There was a little excitement, but otherwise it went well. That is mostly well, nopony got too hurt. Well, Daphne got bit on her ankle but that healed itself rather quickly.

You can send letters back with the owl. I need to run now, since I have to make it to the owlery and then to my next class.


Sweetie Belle

With letter tucked into a pocket, Sweetie followed the other females of the first-year Gryffindors, seeking out the owlery. The group, being composed of girls, were actually willing to ask for directions. They quickly found the birds.

As they climbed the stairs into the chamber, one of the owls noticed who was coming and frantically made her way to the far side of the owlery in a flash of white feathers, putting as many other owls between herself and the newcomers as possible.

“We just tie it to an owl’s leg?” Scootaloo was asking as they choose one, a large barn owl.

“Shouldn’t we all send letters?” Apple Bloom suggested as Sweetie Belle attached the letter.

“We don’t even know if this will work yet,” Sweetie Belle countered.

“Why wouldn’t it work?” Parvati asked, confused.

Without a sound the owl took off and flew out the window. A few feet from the egress it pivoted at an impossible direction some forty-two degrees and seemed to fly toward yesterday as it just vanished.

The girls all gasped, astonished by the display. There was a ten second stretch of silence.

“Well, either that worked.” Scootaloo started.

“Or we owe the school a new owl.” Apple Bloom finished.

A few more seconds of silence passed, and Sweetie Belle added, “I wonder if we can owl-order owls.”


She lay on her couch, staring at nothing. Half of her hide was a grimy off-white, the other half, where she had slipped and fallen, was completely mud encrusted. The less said about her mane and tail, the better.

They had forced her to go get some sleep and get some food in her. She found she could do neither. She could only lie there and stare, uncaringly ruining her furniture.

She had read about it before, losing a filly or a colt.

They had used the word “devastated” a lot, a description that failed to come remotely close. It lacked connection to the reality.

She lay there as the tears silently flowed.

Suddenly, an owl flew in one of the windows and landed near her. She almost ignored it, but it persisted offering her a leg. With what little focus she could muster, she saw that the leg had a letter tied to it. Who used owls to deliver letters?

She didn’t have the strength to use her magic to retrieve the missive, so she used her mouth. The bird, its work done, took off and exited the way it came.

With trepidation, she opened the letter, praying for the best, fearing the worst.

She read what was written, her eyes watering the entire time, then a word weakly left her lips.


With that word, hope returned, exhaustion won the fight, and consciousness fled.

Generosity slept.

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