• 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 23: Dumbledore Bashing; Gratuitous Dumbledore Bashing

With a crack and a staggering step, Myrtle Smith was once again in her family’s living room. So far, her day had shattered many of her convictions. Yesterday, she had been positive that magic was nothing more than a fantasy. Today, she knew her daughter was a witch. She knew her long-dead aunt was also a witch. She surely knew she was sick of hearing the words, “I got better.” However, it had been admittedly funny watching the goblins’ reactions to them.

She also knew she was a "squib". The small professor had explained that meant she was someone able to interact with and to perceive the magic in the world, but lacked the ability to control it. So, here she was, suddenly offered a cake she could not eat. Well, apparently, she could at least lick the frosting. Upon, learning that contact lenses were the source of the irritation in her eyes, Flitwick had shown them to a shop that sold honest to goodness potions, potions that would do exactly what the advertising promised. Fifty-two quid worth of those wizards' gold coins later, Myrtle found she would never have to wear contacts again. They had a foul-tasting purple liquid that permanently corrected your eyesight if you were a fully-grown adult. To be honest, the shop keeper had stated that it only returned one's vision to perfection, and her eyes would begin to deteriorate again over time, but, still, it was cheaper than contacts and much more comfortable. Regardless of the results, she adamantly did not want to know what the little white specks floating in the mixture were. One of them most certainly had not winked at her.

The shopping trip had been over much too quickly for Myrtle’s tastes; there was too much left unexplored and there were too many possibilities left uninvestigated. Amy had been disgruntled when she had learned it would be two years before she would be allowed to own a wand. In consolation, Myrtle had bought her daughter a broom. It was by no means a top of the line model. There had been no way Myrtle would have spent that much, with Amy being so young. However, with Amy now the proud owner of a training broom, Professor Flitwick had informed them that there were several magical families within a short drive of their home. These families had warded lands where Amy should be able to practice flying, if they were asked. Supposedly, one family even had members who had taken part in the other Myrtle’s resurrection.

Myrtle sighed, she was clearly going to need to find something else to call her aunt, even if it was just in her own head.

Standing in the shadows of an alcove, Amelia Bones watched Dumbledore storm out of Judge Brown’s offices. She had no intention of interacting with the ancient and powerful wizard at this time, but she needed to have a quick conference with the judge. Specifically, she needed to know how this was going to affect her niece, who had just started at Hogwarts.

After waiting for Dumbledore to disappear around a corner, Amelia made her way over and knocked on the office’s door. Less than a minute later she was sitting in the visitor’s chair, at a request from the judge.

“I saw Dumbledore leaving,” Amelia started. “He looked less than happy.”

“As well he should.” Judge Brown knitted her brows and pointed to a medical folder on her desk. “In the manner of a practiced politician, he claimed ignorance to the situations leading to this. Unfortunately, it would be difficult to make any charges stick. However, at the very least, he has shown that he is not up to the responsibility of being the boy’s guardian, something he seems to disagree with most vehemently.” Judge Brown sighed before continuing, “He had plans for the child, and those plans have been derailed.”

“What of the compulsion spells we found?”

“Unless you can prove Dumbledore cast them . . .” Judge Brown didn’t bother to finish the sentence.

“So, you're saying we sit back and wait?” Amelia was disgusted that there would be no reckoning for the injustices. “I have never seen a more blatant case of emotional manipulation. He obviously wants the boy to see him as the savior who ‘rescued’ him from the evil relatives.”

“He’ll just claim it was an oversight on his part. I can see it now, a few words of how he couldn’t possibly imagine how someone’s blood relatives being so cruel, etcetera, etcetera.” Judge Brown waved a hand dismissively. “Then, he’ll give that sad grandfatherly smile and beg for forgiveness; he will say he doesn’t deserve any criticism, all the while, promising to do better if we will just trust in him.”

“I find that I am unsatisfied with this outcome,” Amelia said.

Judge Brown said nothing; words were not needed.

After a few seconds Amelia asked, “What’s to happen with Potter? Has his new guardian indicated what she plans to do?”

“When I met with her, Mrs. Belle only seemed interested in protecting Potter,” Judge Brown said reaching for the medical folder. “How she reacts when she receives this report is not something I imagine will go over well with anyone.” She paused with her hand on the folder. “The one who has me concerned is her companion. Mr. Discord gives the impression of being a very powerful wizard. If he reacts violently to this news, we may find ourselves in need of a new Chief Warlock, as well as a new Minister.”

Amelia wilted slightly. “As if we haven’t had enough of shaking the government lately.”

“We will survive.” Judge Brown said, “In fact, I think we will be better for it in the long run.”

“You realize that all the sudden changes we are experiencing are the results of a foreign government’s interference?” Amelia gave the judge a questioning glance.

“Even so, the changes have been for the better.”

“Aren’t you alarmed by the abrupt and calculated nature of the power shift? Our very sovereignty may be at risk.” Amelia was unsure how to take the judge’s unconcerned attitude.

“As opposed to our slow decline into the hands of power hungry, unrepentant, murderous, bigots?” The judge sighed. “You’ve seen it just as much as I have. The Wizengamot and Ministry were only interested in the few wizards at the top. I, for one, do not begrudge the transformation, even if it were instigated by an outside influence.”

“I still don’t like it,” Amelia stated.

Chief Warlock Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was lost in his thoughts. Barely acknowledging the presence of others, he traversed the halls of the Ministry. His weapon against Voldemort had been taken from his care. With a nurturing environment, it would be harder to convince Harry that he should die for the good of Britain. Worse, there was presently the possibility that Harry would choose to flee to another dimension instead of facing his destiny of defeating the dark lord.

Now, they were all in danger of falling to the evil. It was only a matter of time before Tom put in his appearance. Make no mistake, he would be dangerous even without his power base. Once again, there would be war -- war, when they hadn’t yet recovered from the last one.

Why couldn’t the judge see this. What was the welfare of one child against the entirety of magical Britain? Of the entire magical world? Of the entire world?

Without his guidance to Potter, Voldemort would win. The death toll would be grievous.

Bemoaning the fate of the world, Albus opened the door to his offices to find that there was already an occupant. Caught off guard, he took in the appearance of the woman in the room. She was strikingly beautiful, wearing a rich burgundy dress. However, her most notable feature was her purple hair. At once, Dumbledore realized this must be a pony. Perhaps, here was an opportunity to make amends and regain control of Harry.

As soon as he stepped into the office, she fixed him with an unfriendly glower, even as Dumbledore gave her his most winning smile.

“Albus Dumbledore?” she asked, her voice coated with ice.

Valiantly, Dumbledore fought the urge to flee and answered, “Yes.”

Her eyes narrowed at the admission. “Run.”

Madam Pomfrey had put off this meeting all day. With Minerva having a free period at the end of the day, she couldn’t delay it any longer. By rights she should have brought this to the attention of the deputy headmistress last night. Normally, this would be for the headmaster’s eyes only, but circumstances made that unethical.

Much too soon, Minerva had invited Madam Pomfrey into her office and was attempting to make small talk, small talk in which Madam Pomfrey was too distracted to participate.

“Poppy?” Professor McGonagall asked worriedly, “Whatever is the matter?”

Wordlessly, Madam Pomfrey offered the medical file she was carrying as way of explanation.

“Ah can’t believe they left without us,” Applejack said as she watched Twilight finish a letter for the Princess.

“You don’t think Rarity would really do that to a stallion?” Fluttershy asked shyly. “I mean she sounded so angry, but she won’t actually do that, would she?”

“I don’t know.” Rainbow Dash admitted. “Twilight won’t let us read the ‘private medical report’, so I don’t know just how bad it is.”

“It couldn’t be that bad,” Fluttershy asked, “could it?”

“Ah think it might just be.” Applejack tipped her hat forward with a hoof. “Y’all didn’t see Rarity’s reaction as she was reading it.”

“And we’re sending this to Princess Celestia. Why?” Spike asked from his spot standing next to Twilight.

“She asked for all updates,” Twilight responded, clipping a ribbon around the completed letter, “so I made a copy for her.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Spike persisted, eyeing the paper as if it were a live serpent.

“No,” Twilight said, “I’m positive that it’s a bad idea.”

Lecturing in front of her third-year class, Professor Sprout’s head suddenly snapped up. She could feel the wards. She could feel the wards of Hogwarts!

That wasn’t good. For the wards to pass to her meant that Albus, Minerva, and Filius were all not available to take them. She knew that Albus and Filius were in London on separate chores, but where the heck had Minerva gone?

Dumbledore was a world-renowned duelist. He was one of the very few individuals who could go toe to toe with Mad Eye Moody and walk away the winner. In short, he was not a slouch when it came to one-on-one combat.

Before him was a woman that looked like she was more used to the finer things in life than to fighting. In fact, Rarity, wasn’t a warrior by any stretch of the imagination. She was a fashion designer, a seamstress. Her talent lay not only in her eye for design, but also in her ability to levitate multitudes of objects simultaneously, positioning things swiftly and precisely, and having them interact to fulfill her creative vision.

Dumbledore knew countless spells and counter spells. He was a virtual encyclopedia of combat tactics. Few in the wizarding world could match his skill, or his raw power.

If, in terms of raw power, Celestia were the sun, then Rarity might be a spark. Raw strength was not a part of the Element of Generosity's repertoire; in terms of relevant magical abilities, Rarity could levitate many things at once, positioning them with an artist's precision and an automaton's speed.

Dumbledore survived several wars, doing his best to take down his opponents with the least amount of injuries while simultaneously neutralizing their attacks.

Rarity was in an alien form, and was she was channeling her magic through a stick of wood instead of her horn.

Dumbledore had sensed the hostility in the young woman and was more than prepared for conflict; he could stun her before she got her first spell off. From the way in which she grasped her wand like a cudgel, he could see she had no experience with using it for magic. He expected he would be in far more danger of her using it as a blunt instrument.

Rarity had no idea how to cast spells with her wand; all she could do was use it to levitate things.

Dumbledore was experienced. Dumbledore was headmaster of Hogwarts. Dumbledore was Chief Warlock. Dumbledore was Supreme Mugwump. Dumbledore was an acclaimed combatant. Dumbledore was a power to be feared. Dumbledore was not to be trifled with. Dumbledore was a formidable opponent, but as with all of the physical world, he was still a thing. Has it been mentioned that Rarity was rather good at levitating things? She used no spells for what she did; it was all second nature.

In every corner of the palace, alarms were blaring. Guard ponies ran around with looks of panic, doing their best to herd the stampede of citizens out of harm’s way.

“Code Tempest! Code Tempest!” one of the guard ponies with officer markings was yelling at the top of his unicorn-amplified lungs. “We have a Code Tempest! This is not a drill!”

“What the buck was in that letter?!” demanded a junior officer as he skidded to a stop.

“Obviously, somepony’s death warrant. Now shut up and go muster the fire suppression squad!”

Following the screaming, Amelia ran down the corridor with a small squad of aurors flanking her. Soon she felt the Wham! Wham! Wham! of something repeatedly coming into forceful contact with the walls.

“What’s going on here?” she demanded loudly as she came upon the scene.

“When all you have is a hammer, the whole world looks like a nail,” Mr. Discord commented from beside her, somewhere he most assuredly hadn’t been just a second ago. “Let’s just call Dumbledore a nail, shall we?”

“Looks more like a racquetball to me,” one of the junior aurors noted.

“Stop her!” Amelia demanded of the foreign wizard. She then yelled at the duelist, “Mrs. Belle I know you have a good reason to be upset, but please calm down!”

“Do I look particularly suicidal?” Discord asked in return.

“Non-lethal spells only!” Amelia yelled to her men. “Bring her down!”

Spells started flying, and things started levitating to block them. Chairs intercepted stunners. Those annoying little plants people think look good in hallways stopped binding spells. Portraits torn off the walls screamed as they met confusion bolts. A Chief Warlock was subjected to a multitude of auror-induced indignities. The occasional auror blocked their own spells in most the embarrassing manners.

In all thirty-seven spells clashed with impromptu shields. Luckily, for Dumbledore, thirty-eight spells had been cast. A bolt of red magic hit Rarity from a blind side and she tumbled, bonelessly, to the floor. Dumbledore followed soon thereafter.

“Sister?” a dark blue pony asked as she approached the center of what remained of the throne room. “Why do you rampage so? What news could bring such fury to your kind person? How has it come to be that you would disregard the safety of our subjects in such an undisciplined manner?”

From her position in the center of the scorched destruction, Princess Celestia was still breathing heavily as she levitated a surprisingly unburnt scroll over for her younger sister to see.

Inquisitively, Princess Luna accepted the missive in her own telekinetic field and began to read.

A furious witch stalked the halls of the Wizengamot, intent on doing harm. Witches and wizards who saw her coming leapt to get out of her way. The security detail showed amazing survival instincts and waived the mandatory wand weighing.

Spotting a cluster of aurors, she stormed up and snapped, “Amelia, have you seen Albus?”

Abruptly, the personnel within earshot all went quiet. Astonishment manifested on the face of every individual. There was no one present who didn’t look up to this witch, and fear her on some level. Never before had they heard her use that tone.

Amelia sighed and said, “I’m sorry Minerva; Mrs. Belle found him first.”

“I see,” the witch said, impatiently tapping a foot, “did she leave anything for me?”

“Pinkie!” Twilight yelled, trotting over to her friend sitting in the corner. “You shouldn’t read that. It’s a confidential medical report.”

“I had to know,” Pinkie stated, her normally poufy mane deflating into straight lengths on the sides of her head. “I had to know what could upset Rarity so much.”

“Yup,” Rainbow noted, “it’s that bad. Maybe we should go get Rarity before she does something she’ll regret later.”

“How are we supposed to do that?” Applejack asked. “She took Discord with her.”

“I don’t know, but we should think of something.” Rainbow pointedly looked at Twilight.

“Until Discord returns, there is not much we can do.” Twilight shook her head. “I’m just hoping Princess Celestia isn’t too upset with what’s in this report.”

“Don’t worry.” Fluttershy comforted her friend. “Princess Luna is at the castle; I-I-I’m sure she can calm Princess Celestia if worst comes to worst.”

In every corner of the palace, alarms were blaring. Guard ponies ran around with looks of panic, doing their best to herd the stampede of citizens out of harm’s way.

“Code Nightshade! Code Nightshade!” one of the guard ponies with officer markings was yelling at the top of his unicorn-amplified lungs. “We have a Code Nightshade! This is not a drill!”

“For the love of Equestria, somepony get that letter away from them!” a junior officer yelled.

“Nopony is that suicidal!” another officer snapped.

Standing over a work table, reading snippets of articles, Barnabas Cuffe had a problem, a wonderfully magnificent problem. He could not decide what the next banner headline of the "Daily Prophet" should be. The paper only put out an evening edition as needed, and never before had there been such a glaring need.

"Sirius Black Released from Azkaban" would have been spectacular in its own right. The fact that, "Dumbledore Receives Thrashing from Angry Parent" was also in the running made the choice downright absurd. Each story was worthy of its own banner headline. Both were events that no one could have predicted. Literally, just yesterday, no one would have believed either possible. Absolutely nothing could top them.

Humming to himself, Barnabas tried to hash out a way to fit both dramas into the same headline.

Abruptly, one of his head reporters, Rita Skeeter, ran into the room radiating excitement. “I’ve got the headline story for tonight’s edition,” she exclaimed confidently.

Barnabas openly chuckled at her. “I doubt you can top what we’ve already got. Ten years of illegal imprisonment is hard to surpass, not to mention, our Chief Warlock getting his arse kicked by some school mum.”

“Oh, I’ve got those beat hands down,” she said, waving her hand dismissively at the layout on the table. “Some Hogwarts students resurrected 'Moaning Myrtle' Warren. She’s been seen in the Alley getting supplies to resume classes.”

“They did what, now?!”

Applejack hated leaving the library while Rarity was still out doing Celestia knows what, but she needed to get the Apple family wagon back to the farm. The market was closed for the day, and if it hadn’t been for the flower sisters helpfully minding her wares, Applejack would not have made any bits today. She had given them a couple bushels of apples in gratitude. The ecstatic thanks she had received for that act showcased their sincere appreciation.

As fast as she could safely manage it, Applejack approached her homestead. There, she was met with a sight she wasn’t expecting. Her older brother, Big Mac, was transferring buckets of apples from a wagon to the cold cellar for storage. It was not an unusual sight, but it positively was one she should not be seeing at that time.

“Big Mac!” she said as she quickly detached herself from the market wagon. “What are y’all doing here? Ya were supposed to make a delivery of apples tonight. Is everything a’right?”

Her brother gave her a lazy stare as she trotted up to him. Laconically, he drawled, “Eeeyup.”

“Did they cancel the order?” Applejack asked.


“Did they change the time of delivery?”


“Then why in tarnation are you standing here?”

“Ah sent mah owl,” Big Mac slowly explained.

“Y’all did what, now?” Applejack gaped at her brother.

“Owl.” Big Mac reiterated.

“What?” Applejack restated.

Big Mac reached beneath his harness and retrieved a letter to hoof over to his sister.

After reading, Applejack said, "Apple Bloom sent you an owl with a magic pouch?”

Big Mac nodded his head.

“It ain’t a pony-eating pouch by any chance?”

The red stallion looked shiftily from one side to the other. "Mmmmaybe?"

Walking into a St Mungo’s waiting room, Healer Davis approached the waiting duo of aurors. “He’ll live,” he stated.

“How bad was it?” the lead auror asked.

“I’ve heard the phrase, ‘break every bone in your body’, before.” Healer Davis sighed and ran a hand through his brown hair. “But, this is the first time I’ve ever seen someone attempt it literally.”

“He’s got a date with a bottle of Skele-Gro then?” the other auror inquired.

“More like two bottles.” Davis said, “We had to vanish every single bone while temporarily replacing the skeleton with magic, and then pour the potion down his throat. Whatever was it he did to provoke this?”

“I’m not sure,” the second auror said, “but Director Bones said that the witch had good reason to be upset. Whatever Dumbledore did is now on my list of things to never ever do.”

There was a flash of flames, and the Gryffindor herd materialized in the girl’s dorm room.

“Where are all the beds?” Parvati asked upon seeing that the room had been rearranged. The tasteful Victorian furnishings were all gone; only their trunks had been left behind, placed at even intervals along the interior walls. The room now looked much like a setting for a traditional creche, with a large pile of straw near the window and a wooden manger filled with clean water.

“They turned our dorm room into a stable,” Lavender said as she watched Magah trot over to sample the water.

“Speaking of her,” Hermione said, surveying the room, “has anyone else noticed that we haven’t had to clean up after Magah yet?”

“Maybe she's constipated?” Seamus suggested with a shrug.

“For two days?” Parvati asked.

“Don’t be silly,” Scootaloo said. “The bathroom's just right over there; I’m sure she can fit through the door.”

“Somehow, I don’t think forest unicorns are civilized enough to use a toilet,” Hermione said.

“Eeeew!” Apple Bloom said, “That’s just Eeeew.”

Sweetie walked over to the chests and opened one of the more ornate ones at random. “It’s not like we don’t have portable apartments just waiting for us.”

“Way to change the subject, Sweetie,” Dean said.

“Noticed that, did you?” Sweetie said, disappearing into the trunk. “Oh, this one’s Ginny’s; come on down.”

“Third day of class, done!” Lavender said triumphantly, flopping onto a chair once she had descended the stairs.

“It does seem like it should be more than that.” Dean commented, “A lot sure has happened in just three school days.”

“You’re just getting used to a new routine,” Hermione said. “I’m sure things will go quicker once this week is done.”

Ginny snorted. “This week feels like it took months already.”

“Yeah, I'm sure it does,” Parvati said, heading to the kitchenette. “I guess it’s my turn to whip up some tea.”

“So,” Apple Bloom said, turning to Harry, “welcome to tha herd.”

“Yeah,” Scootaloo echoed, “welcome.”

“Thank you,” Harry said.

After a second, Dean piped up. “Hey, don’t we get a welcome too? We’re all part of the Gryffindor Herd.”

“You wanna join too?” Sweetie Belle asked curiously.

“Two stallions,” Scootaloo breathed greedily.

“We are all pretty much a herd, already,” Parvati called from the kitchen area.

“Yeah.” Ginny nodded her head in agreement. “Friends and all.”

Scootaloo reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a blank scroll and quill. “Are you sure?”

“What’s to be sure about?” Neville asked quietly. “I really like being around all you guys.”

“Three stallions!” Scootaloo nearly smudged the writing she was hastily putting down on the scroll.

Apple Bloom sat, stunned, with her eyes wide open.

“Don’t look so shocked Apple.” Seamus teased, “How could we not love you already? You’re the life of the party.”

“Four.” Sweetie squeaked.

Scootaloo nudged Ginny and said, “Here, sign under the Filly column.”

“I’m in, too,” Ron said from where he was sneaking biscuits from a box Parvati had opened.

Apple Bloom started hyperventilating.

“Calm down, Apple Bloom,” Hermione said, reaching for the quill. “Cutie Mark Crusader’s Herd?”

“We already have that name on file,” Sweetie explained.

“Isn’t it silly signing a paper just to say we are a herd?” Dean asked as he put his name down. “After all, we already know we are a herd.”

“Got to make it official,” Scootaloo informed him.

“Oh,” Lavender said, adding her mark, “okay.”

In a small apartment, somewhere south of London, a girl named Abagail was doing her homework. History was not her favorite subject, but her mother had grounded her, so playing outside before dinner wasn’t an option. Who knew sawdust was that flammable anyway?

Sighing, she reread the last paragraph before turning to her paper to write down the answer to the assigned question. Startled and slightly disgusted she saw that a bug had crawled onto her work. Not wanting guts all over her clean sheet, Abagail started to reach for the page so that she could flick the offending insect out the window. She stopped when she the bug had placed a foreleg on some of her previous writing and was somehow drawing the ink into itself.

Mesmerized, she watched as the bug traversed the paper, leaving a trail of ink behind it. The resulting marks were like no language she had known of or even imagined, but she had the distinct impression that it was a language. For ten minutes, she watched the antics, and slowly, the meaning of the marks shifted into her awareness. Blinking in surprise she looked away, then looked back. The words were still there, even more legible than they had been just a few seconds earlier.

Barely able to believe what was happening, Abagail reread what was written to make sure she understood. After being positive she comprehended the message, she took a deep breath and called out, “Mum! There’s a beetle in here trying to tempt me with riches and dark powers!”

“Tell it to come back Friday. Tonight’s a school night, and you’re still grounded.”

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