• Published 23rd Apr 2017
  • 15,040 Views, 7,156 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 17: That Worked, Now What?

A tall man, bulging with muscles, appeared in the middle of the room, a crack of apparition heralding his arrival. “Jammie!” he bellowed, even as he headed toward a dresser containing his objective.

There was a popping sound followed by, “Master Macnair be wanting Jammie to do something?”

Retrieving a shrunken trunk from the top drawer, the man snarled, “Retrieve the contents of my vaults and then pack everything in the house. We’re moving to Egypt.” Not even waiting for a reply, the man pocketed the trunk and apparated away.

Across the United Kingdom, similar scenes played out as wizards and witches took a hasty leave from the land of their birth.


The pair approached Minerva McGonagall with smiles on their faces. Classes had been let out for lunch, and now was the perfect time to talk to the headmaster. Unfortunately, the headmaster was not present, so the deputy would have to suffice.

“Professor!” the man of the duo called upon seeing the target of their search making her way to the Great Hall for lunch. “A moment of your time, please.”

Minerva turned toward the voice and let a thin smile cross her face at the sight of her former student. “Mr. Goodman, what a pleasant surprise,” she said, altering her course and heading in their direction, “and who is your lady friend? I do not believe we have met.”

The man, Goodman, blushed slightly and said, “Professor McGonagall, I’d like you to meet Marcy Weiss. She’s from the Americas, a student of all things historical.”

Minerva gave a thin smile to the dark-skinned woman. “A pleasure.” She extended her hand in greeting. “I do hope Mr. Goodman here is treating you properly.”

Marcy smiled warmly in return and gently shook Minerva’s hand. “He has been most agreeable,” she allowed, “although we have only just met today. It is nice to meet you at last, Professor McGonagall.”

Minerva raised a questioning eyebrow at that response. “Just met today? Then I suppose it is too much to hope for that this is a social visit?”

“More social than business, I am sure,” Goodman allowed, “but business nonetheless.”

“Oh?” Minerva turned a questioning gaze on the young man.

“We’ve been hired as tutors for some of your students,” Marcy said. “Richard here will be handling Defense Against the Dark Arts, and I’ll be doing History of Magic.”

"Oh?” Minerva repeated, running an appraising gaze over the younger woman. “I can’t say that I’m surprised that someone would hire a tutor for History of Magic, but I must admit that one for DADA comes as a surprise. Our current professor has high N.E.W.T. scores in that field and has experience teaching. I’m sure he will excel at educating the children.”

“Our employer would disagree.” Richard fidgeted slightly. “He not only gave the impression that was he expecting Professor Quirrell’s teaching to be subpar, but also strongly hinted that the professor was a danger to the students. It’s obvious he wants me to be a bodyguard as much as a tutor.”

“That is absurd,” Minerva insisted. “Quirinus has been a professor here for years; you should remember him from Muggle Studies.”

“As a matter of fact,” Ricard confirmed, “I do remember him. ‘Harmless’ is the word I’d use as a description. Nonetheless, I have three Gryffindor girls to tutor and as many of their classmates who want to join in.”

“Ah,” Minerva exclaimed as understanding lit her eyes, “I see; was the man who hired you, perhaps, named Discord?”

“He never said his name,” Marcy confessed, “but I was left with the impression that he’s a very powerful wizard.”

Minerva nodded in understanding and then said, “Come with me; I’ll arrange quarters for you and retrieve the students’ schedules. Would you two be averse to sharing a common room?”


After lunch, the Gryffindor first-years were to have their inaugural transfiguration class. They traveled the halls, a gaggle of giggles and anticipation. Each and every one of them was looking forward to their head of house’s subject of choice.

Chattering excitedly amongst themselves, they entered the classroom, and Neville was the first to notice there was something sitting on their professor’s desk. “Oh look,” he said, “a cat.”

“Where?” Sweetie Belle demanded as she promptly hid behind the closest body, who happened to be Seamus.

“Relax,” Scootaloo said, making her way toward the front of the class to find a seat and waving at the cat. “That’s just Professor McGonagall in her cat form.”

“Are you sure?” Sweetie asked at the same time Hermione said, “How’d you know?”

“Discord mentioned one of our teachers can change into a cat,” Scootaloo said, claiming a front row two-student desk while Lavender sat next to her. “Stands to reason it would be our transformation teacher.”

“You’re doing that on purpose.” Hermione accused, taking another front row desk with Ginny.

“Doing what?” Scootaloo asked, a bit too innocently.

Meanwhile, in an effort to stay as far away as possible, Sweetie Belle sat in the very back and was joined by Ron while Harry and Seamus claimed the adjacent desk. In the middle of the room, Apple Bloom sat next to Neville, and Parvati shared a desk with Dean. They had just gotten settled when the Ravenclaw students started arriving, coming in groups of two and three.

Once the last of the Ravenclaws took their seat, the cat jumped off the desk and, in midair, changed into Professor McGonagall. This drew a round gasps from the Ravenclaws and a round of clapping from the Gryffindors, minus Sweetie Belle.

“Welcome to Transfigurations.” The cat-turned-teacher stated formally, “As many of you already know, I am Professor McGonagall, and I shall be your instructor. First of all, two points to Gryffindor for spotting an Animagus transformation. Miss Belle, I apologize for scaring you.”

“It’s all right,” Sweetie squeaked from the back row.

“I see you have brought your unicorn with you.” McGonagall nodded to the animal standing behind Sweetie.

“I haven’t so much brought her as she followed me,” Sweetie Belle objected. “She won’t leave me alone.”

“I see,” McGonagall accepted, returning to stand behind her desk. “I’ll talk to Professor Kettleburn; I am sure he can help your situation,”

“Thank you,” Sweetie replied, relieved.


Amelia Bones had spent the lunch hour issuing orders and reviewing trial transcripts. Frustrated, she threw down a note from the records department. It had informed her that they still could not locate the record for Sirius Black’s trial.

There was a knock at the door, and Rufus Scrimgeour walked in without waiting for an invitation.

“Well?” Amelia asked without looking up from her paperwork.

“The goblins have turned away elves from all of the vaults on the list,” Scrimgeour reported, choosing to stand rather than sit in the waiting visitor chair. “We may not yet have the authorization to round them up, but we can stop them from accessing their funds.”

“They won’t be around long enough to round up,” Amelia asserted, flipping a page over to continue to read. “Dumbledore adjourned the meeting too soon. It would have been better if he had called for an investigation first.”

“We were able to stop the Minister from leaving the country, though,” Scrimgeour continued his report, not wishing to comment on the Chief Warlock’s actions. “He was packed and ready to go. Predictably, he tried to bully his way through by pulling rank.”

“No surprise there.” Amelia signed a sheet of paper and moved it to her outbox. “He knows that the Rite counts as evidence and that we have enough to charge him.” She then looked up to focus on Scrimgeour. “I don’t think I have to tell you, but if Macnair or any of his friends make an appearance, make sure to put them in ‘protective custody’.”

Scrimgeour nodded and left the room without another word.


After taking roll, Professor McGonagall said, “I have always believed that the best way to get started is to show you what you can do with the knowledge presented in this class.” With that, she waved her wand over her desk and the furnishing morphed into a pig.

The students filled the air with “oooohs” and “aaaahs”

“Yes, Miss Belle?” Professor McGonagall acknowledged the girl’s raised hand.

“Is that edible?” Sweetie asked innocently, and the entire class turned to stare at the girl; even Magah had a look of shock on her face.

“See,” Harry boasted, pointing at Sweetie Belle, “that didn’t surprise me in the least.”

“No, Miss Belle,” McGonagall firmly asserted. “You must never eat anything that has been transfigured. Once the spell ends, it will return to its former state. As you probably can imagine, solid wood expanding in your stomach would do untold damage to your insides.” Then, after singling out yet another raised hand, she said, “Yes, Miss Bloom?”

“How about changing one type of food to another, say like Brussels sprouts ta apples?”

“That is a very good question.” McGonagall radiated approval. “I fear the whole reasoning is well beyond the scope of first-year knowledge. However, the answer is once again a firm ‘no’. Though not as obvious as the previous example, you would find the experience no less damaging. If you take nothing else away from today’s class, let it be the knowledge that transfigured foods are not to be consumed. To that point, feeding someone such a meal is considered a murder attempt.”

The students let a collective gasp at the news, and McGonagall took advantage in the lull to return her desk to its previous state. “Now, if everyone would kindly prepare to take notes, I will go over the basics.”


Severus Snape set his N.E.W.T. students to brewing their first potion of the year. Unsurprisingly, this class once again mainly consisted of Slytherins, with a smattering of the other houses sparingly represented.

Abruptly, a flash of flames trumpeted the arrival of a phoenix. Without ceremony, the bird deposited a letter on his desk, only to promptly disappear in another flash of flames. It happened so quickly that Professor Snape couldn’t be sure which phoenix had been the messenger. He was more than half-ready to deduct points from Gryffindor for disturbing his class when he saw that the letter had originated from Dumbledore.

With more than a little apprehension, he reached for the letter. He knew Albus would not have sent it in such a manner unless it was important.

Uncaring that his class had stopped what they had been doing to witness the unusual happenstance, Professor Snape quickly read through the contents. He then said, “Class, put up your work stations; we will continue this after supper. Mr. Rosier, come with me.”

Confident that his instructions would be obeyed, he swept out of the classroom with the designated student following in his wake. The news relayed in the letter was a game changer. The rock-solid truths that had held sway just this morning had abruptly crumbled to dust, leaving Professor Snape to shoulder the burden of being the messenger who bore bad news. His task would be to collect the students from their various classes. Most would be from his own house; a few were from Ravenclaw, and even fewer were from Hufflepuff. He needed to collect them and let them know that the last war had reached across the decade and had made them orphans this day.


The lanky wizard admired the view framed by his large picture window. Silently, he enjoyed the sight of the shoreline that greeted him. If asked for their opinion, visitors would be hard-pressed to identify him as a wizard. His attire was that of any moderately well-off muggle, consisting of slacks and a dress shirt. They complemented his lean form nicely, without drawing too much attention.

When choosing his line of work, he had made sure his business would cater to both the magical and the non-magical alike. He had settled on providing rental cottages for the tourists attracted to this seaside town. His choice of occupation allowed him to live with a foot in both societies.

“Greg!” his wife called from the kitchen. “An owl just arrived; it looks like it’s from the Ministry.”

Grumbling to himself, Greg Miller went to see what the fools at the Ministry wanted now.


After an hour-long note taking session, the students were presented with matchsticks and instructed to turn them into needles. Just like that, they were attempting to put theory to practice. Harry looked up from his slightly pointy matchstick to see that Sweetie seemed to be focusing more on her wand than the object of the lesson. She had stuck her tongue out the corner of her mouth, and sweat visibly beaded on her forehead.

In the front of the class, Scootaloo was frowning at her small stick of metal. She had managed to change the material of her target, but it stubbornly stayed the same shape.

“Very good, Miss Granger,” McGonagall said as she prowled among the students. “Ten points to Gryffindor for the first successful attempt.”

Ron glared down at his own work; instead of becoming more needle-like, his project was now covered or maybe composed of the red phosphorus from the matchhead.

Dean yipped as his fourth matchstick followed its predecessors and went up in flames.

Apple Bloom was also frowning at her match. She had the opposite problem Scootaloo was having. Her endeavor was a perfectly shaped wooden needle with a red tip. In fact, it seemed to be twice the size as when she started. Not wanting to admit defeat, Apple Bloom poured more of her intent into her wand, but instead of turning silver, the wooden needle grew to the size of a pencil.

Balking at her own lack of success, Ginny asked Hermione what she had done to get it right. Just as Hermione opened her mouth to answer, there was a surge of magic from the back and they turned to see that Sweetie Belle’s desk was now silvery.

“Be careful where you’re aiming,” McGonagall advised unnecessarily as Ron noted his match was now the desired material through no effort of his own.

Dean’s fifth match was incinerated.

Neville had to move his match, as Apple Bloom’s wooden needle took up the majority of the desktop and was starting to sprout leaves.

“Excellent, Miss Patil,” McGonagall encouraged. “That’ll be ten points for Ravenclaw.”

Ginny opened her mouth to remind Professor McGonagall that Parvati was in Gryffindor, not Ravenclaw, when she noticed that the professor was indeed talking to a girl in Ravenclaw blue who looked a lot like Parvati. Well, what did you know; she’s a twin.

Dean’s sixth match disappeared in a ball of flame.

“Miss Bloom, I believe it’s time to start over.” McGonagall levitated the giant wooden needle off the student’s desk and replaced it with a new match.

Harry had managed to produce a pointed silvery matchstick; he felt he was well on his way to success.

“Congratulations, Miss Weasley, I do believe that is another ten points for Gryffindor,” McGonagall said as Ginny shot Hermione a thankful smile, “and Mr. Boot earns ten for Ravenclaw.”

Seamus had a twisted wreck of wood and metal lying at his workplace. He flinched as McGonagall switched it out for another match.

“Miss Bloom, while that is an impressive bonsai tree, the assignment is for a needle,” McGonagall reminded her student.

“That is a remarkable effort Miss Belle.” McGonagall waved her wand to undo the effort. “I’m almost tempted to give you points for your 500-pound needle, apart from the fact that your target was supposed to be your match, not your desk.

Sweetie Belle smiled sheepishly as Dean’s desk went up in a mushroom cloud and Parvati leapt away, shrieking. At least she wasn’t the only one having issues with aiming.


“It is the decision of this assembly to reconvene on the morrow to continue with the issues at hand.” Dumbledore announced to gathering, “Let it be known that former Minister Fudge shall be held in the Ministry cells until his trial tomorrow, due to his obvious attempts at fleeing the country. Furthermore, let it be known that an open investigation is in effect on all former Death Eaters who have claimed to be enthralled by the Imperius Curse. In that vein, warrants for their arrests have been issued. In addition, their assets are to be frozen, pending the outcome of the proceedings.”

Dumbledore surveyed those in attendance, taking special note of Greg Miller sitting next to Arthur Weasley. The former was still in shock over his acquisition of a Wizengamot seat. “I would like to thank our newest members for their prompt attendance at such short notice. If they would be so kind as to remain after, there are important matters to discuss. On that note, we now stand adjourned.”

Reflecting on the afternoon session, Dumbledore admitted that Miss Rutter had driven the agenda. Fudge had lasted as Minister for all of ten minutes; the overwhelming evidence of the Rite predictably ended his term. There had been no one willing to stand up for Fudge. At this point, his guilt was all but a foregone conclusion. Now, he would face severe monetary penalties for accepting the bribes, with prison time being an almost certainty, as well.

Miss Rutter had ridden the wave of support and called for the detaining of all former Death Eaters. It had taken some persuading from Dumbledore to limit the scope to just those who had used the Imperius Curse excuse. The young witch was well on her way to leading a faction of her own, one that did not seem to have any respect for tradition or the sanctity of the old families. That could prove to be problematic in the future.


The Gryffindor first-years relaxed in the common room minus the two of their members who had gone to acquire their test subject. They were still drawing stares from their housemates as they shared their space with a phoenix and a unicorn.

“I’ll admit, I can’t make heads or tails out of most of these,” Hermione said, holding up the book Twilight had sent. “But, two seem to be simple enough, straightforward rituals that we can do without too much trouble. The easier one just needs some vinegar, an ounce of silver, and a gallon of tree sap.”

“Tree sap?” Scootaloo head shot up at the mere mention the words. “Do they both take tree sap?”

“No.” Hermione shook her head. “Just the first one.”

“Then we’ll do the one without tree sap,” Apple Bloom declared.

“But, the other one would be easier,” Hermione objected.

“No tree sap,” Sweetie Belle insisted.

“What’s wrong with using tree sap?” Neville asked, confused by the reluctance the three were displaying.

“I don’t like wearing tree sap,” Scootaloo informed him, shuddering at an old memory.

“You’re not supposed to wear it,” Hermione countered. “It just goes in a bowl on the ground.”

“Somehow,” Apple Bloom enlightened her, “we’ll end up wearing it.”

“Okay, okay.” Harry ended up playing the peacekeeper. “No tree sap.”


Minerva McGonagall waved her wand to allow whomever had been knocking to enter her office. She was surprised to find that it was her seventh-year prefect. “Good evening, Miss Dunbar.” McGonagall inclined her head in greeting, then upon noting the girl’s body language. “Is something amiss?”

“Yes,” Fay prattled, then seemed to reconsider, “no.” Then, after another pause, she finished with “maybe.”

“You seem to have run the gamut with that answer,” McGonagall noted

“It’s just that,” Fay said, looking seriously at her strict head of house, “the first-years have resurrected Moaning Myrtle, and I’m not sure how to handle the situation.”

“They did what, now?” McGonagall asked with incredulity.

“They resurrected Moaning Myrtle,” Fay repeated.

“That’s what I thought you said,” McGonagall replied; then for good measure, she asked, “The first-years?”


“Are you sure?” McGonagall needed one last piece of confirmation.

“Yes, she’s all solid now and has a heartbeat,” Fay assured her head of house.

With her eyes unfocused, Minerva considered the news. “Excuse me for a minute,” McGonagall said, motioning for Fay to take a seat before she headed over to her floo connection. After the flames turned green she said, “Filius, are you there?”

The professor’s head appeared in the flames and he said, “Good evening Minerva. Yes, I’m here.”

“I’m going to have to ask you to accompany me to the Gryffindor tower.” McGonagall said, getting directly to the point, “There’s been an incident, and it involves a student from your house.”

“Oh?” Professor Flitwick said, coming the rest of the way through the flames. “Which one would that be?”

“Myrtle Warren,” McGonagall informed him, only to receive confused look in response.

After a few seconds, Flitwick chuckled before he asked, “And what trouble has the ghost gotten herself into then?”

“It appears my first-years have resurrected her,” McGonagall answered.

“They did what, now?” Flitwick asked as Minerva once again reached for the floo powder.

Another floo call was made, and Madam Pomfrey joined the party. Albus would have been invited too, but he was currently out of the castle.

Before too long, they were approaching the first-year girl’s dorm room. Once they got near, they noticed a liquid was seeping out from under the door.

“Is that blood?” Madam Pomfrey gasped as she threw open the door and rushed in to aid whomever needed her.

McGonagall and Flitwick followed quickly after her and were appalled to find that there was blood coating the entirety of the room’s floor. Worse, it was dripping from the ceiling; it covered all the furnishings and soaked all of the occupants.

The students were arrayed in different states of shock around the room, wide-eyed gazes affixed on the headless corpse dominating the middle of the room. In one spot, Lavender was clutching Neville for all she was worth. In another, Ginny had all but crawled into her brother Ron’s arms, burying her face in his chest. Next to them, Parvati stood with her hands covering her mouth in abject horror. Further down, Harry was slack-jawed, standing next to Hermione who was hugging herself and shivering. Seemingly unaffected by what she had witnessed, a clearly corporal Myrtle stood next to Dean and Apple Bloom who, in turn, stared with looks of unadulterated shock on their faces.

“That was so cool!” Dean said after a few seconds as Madam Pomfrey rushed from student to student, checking for injuries.

“Cool?” Seamus snapped at him, “I’m going to have nightmares for the rest of me life, I am.”

Philomena trilled her agreement from Sweetie Belle’s shoulder.

“What happened here?” McGonagall demanded tersely, calmly running her eyes over the scene even though dread filled her mind.

“Well,” Harry said, having a hard time seeing though his blood-covered glasses, “After a roaring success with Myrtle, we decided to give it a go with Nick next.”

“Nearly Headless Nick?” Fay inquired from her post at the room’s doorway, looking green around the gills.

“Headless,” Apple Bloom corrected, gesturing at one of the beds. “It rolled under thar.”

“As soon as he formed up, it just popped right off,” Neville whined as he timidly started to return Lavender’s hug.

“There shouldn’t have been that much blood!” Hermione wailed still hugging herself, “There is no possible way he had that much blood in him.”

“It’s official,” Scootaloo stated blandly from her spot next to Sweetie Belle. “From now on, when given a choice, we’re sticking with the bucking tree sap.” She paused a second, realizing what she had just said and then added, “No pun intended.”

Sweetie Belle whimpered her agreement.

“All right,” Madam Pomfrey said after confirming everyone was unharmed, “to the infirmary with the lot of you. There’s a round of obliviation waiting to be had, and I need to call in a second opinion to make it official."

“Oh, thank goodness!” Hermione proclaimed and led the rush out of the dorm.

“I’m good.” Dean protested as he wrung blood out of his robes, “I don’t wanna forget this.”

“How’d you get that unicorn up here in the first place?” Flitwick asked as the equine stooped to make her way through the doorway, following Sweetie Belle.


“Did the first-years just run through here covered in blood?” A sixth-year girl asked as she stared after the group that had just rushed out the egress, only to be rudely pushed out of the way by a blood-covered unicorn.


Applejack was sitting peacefully on porch, enjoying the early evening, when the owl arrived. It was a screech owl, and it had the mandated letter tied to its leg.

“Well, howdy thar y’all,” Applejack greeted cheerfully. “’Bout time the young’un decided to write a letter home.” After studying the owl for a second, she added hospitably, “Would you care for some vittles? Ah’m sure ah could wrangle up some leftover ham and some water ‘fore I read that thar letter.”

The owl bobbed its head in acceptance, and Applejack swiftly retrieved the offered treat. Once she was sure her guest was comfortable, she took the letter and eagerly opened it to see what her Apple Bloom had written, only to be disappointed that the letter wasn’t from her kin.

Dear Mrs. Apple Jack,

This is an official notice of Obliviation on a Minor. We regret to inform you that Apple Bloom has had roughly fifteen minutes of her memory removed at the discretion of her school nurse and an attending practitioner from St. Mungo’s.

The justification for this course of action is as follows. The minor and eleven of her friends decided to resurrect some of the school ghosts. After one success, they attempted a second. The subject was a ghost who had died due the removal of his head. Unfortunately, this resulted in the former ghost’s head leaving his newly formed body mid-spell. There was a resulting shower of blood that coated the entire room and everyone present, leaving them in various states of shock. We feel that the retention of this memory would only cause harm to the minors involved.

By law, we are required to inform you that memories thusly removed can be returned fully. As the child’s guardian, you have the option to have the memory restored. The time frame for such an action is normally set at a week; complications become likely after that time. It cannot be stressed enough that we highly recommend against such a course of action.


Madam Poppy Pomfrey (School Nurse)

Nurse Nancy Nightingale (St. Mungo’s representative)

Applejack reread the letter then called into the farmhouse, “Granny, Big Mac, Ah’m gonna head over to Twilight’s. Ah need her advice on something.”


Amelia Bones was walking through the main auror area, on her way home after a long day when the flames turned green.

“Hello, is anyone there?” a voice called, gaining the immediate attention of everyone in the area.

“Yes, you have reached Auror Central,” the auror currently in charge of the floo answered. “Is there an emergency?”

“Not so much an emergency,” the voice from the floo said, and Amelia realized it was the school nurse from Hogwarts. “We have in our possession a body that falls outside of normal protocols. It was thought to be prudent to contact you before disposing of it.”

“Stand back!” Amelia snapped into the flames. “We are coming through!” If there were a body at Hogwarts, she was going to find out why.


As Rarity neared the library, she happened to look over and spotted her farmer friend quickly approaching. “Did you receive one as well, Darling?” she asked.

“Eeyup,” was the reply.

“Do you think it might have been the Crusaders' idea?” Rarity queried as they continued on their walk to Twilight’s.

“Eeyup,” Applejack stated knowingly.

“Hey, you two!” a voice from above said. “You’re never gonna believe what happened.”

The two friends looked up and were met by the sight of Rainbow Dash flapping her wings lazily, just overhead.

After noting the looks on her friend’s faces Rainbow Dash said, “Oops, my bad. You already know.”

“Ah can’t wait to hear the full story behind this one,” Applejack said, stopping in front of the library.

“I know, I mean, what sort of idiot lets fillies have access to resurrection spells in the first place?” Rainbow Dash agreed as she lifted a hoof to knock on Twilight’s door.

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