• Published 23rd Apr 2017
  • 15,326 Views, 7,166 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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Interlude 4: On the Muggle Side

Jason frowned as he updated the evidence wall that he kept hidden behind an oversized Captain Fantastic poster in his basement flat. Any lingering doubts he had about his mother's sanity had been quashed by the events of the past few days. It was bad enough when she started defacing his posters and leaving replacements. While he might have enjoyed the Blackhearts, they were no substitute for Ziggy Stardust or the Pinball Wizard. Things got even weirder when he found that his red-haired collectable suddenly became a model for knitted clothing in pastel colors. This, however, was the last straw. Why in the world would she give such a high-pitched squeal when he had returned from Diagon Alley?

She had nearly ruined years of work. His contact from Diagon Alley, Clementine, had nearly been driven away by that outlandish display. The young witch had been a godsend. Not only had she allowed him to infiltrate, she also had been his guide, staying with him during the entire visit. It was, however, irritating that she adamantly refused to let him explore Knockturn Alley. There would be other days.

He could scarcely believe his luck having such a beautiful companion so freely volunteering her services. He was sure she would reveal the secrets of her world, if only he cultivated their relationship correctly. Regardless of what happened, he was sure he wanted her as a friend. What puzzled him was her unnatural obsession with the "muggle" world. He could not help but return the favor once they ventured on the other side of the wall. She was as naive as an newborn, and he took great pains to introduce her to both the wonders and the hazards of his world.

From that time, Clementine had been a daily visitor. They would compare notes and ask each other about topics the other found to be completely mundane. They would share a simple lunch at his flat after she arrived, and they would have tea at the rickety pub before it was time for their goodbyes. His mum, however, seemed to have gone completely starkers. She would giggle gleefully for no apparent reason when she stole glances at them. What was more disturbing was that had caught her with a box of prophylactics and a small needle. He was positive she was well past the age where she would need such protection, and the two items most definitely did not belong together. He fervently prayed she wasn't going to give him "The Talk" again.

Shuddering at the memory, Jason turned the page of the transfiguration text book and placed it back on the scanner. He had already uploaded the images of first year charms. It was long and tedious experience, but well worth the hassle. If he could tailor his OCR software to recognize the font, he was sure he could fit all of the text on a single floppy.

A knock on his bedroom door provided respite from the tedium. “Come in,” he called out.

The door opened to reveal a smiling Clementine. “Hey Jason,” she greeted cheerfully. “I’m here to watch those videos you were telling me about.” Then, as an afterthought, she called out over her shoulder, “He’s awake Mrs. Holders; I’ll keep him company! Thanks again for the gift!”

Jason could hear his mum's overly enthusiastic reply, “Wonderful, you two have fun. Have lots of fun!”

Jason got up from his seat to usher Clementine into the room, offering her a seat on his bed. “She gave you a gift?” he asked after she was sitting.

Nodding, Clementine smiled and inquisitively held up a small box. “What’s a Trojan?”

Elisa Bates could scarcely believe her eyes as she again looked around her new flat in wonder. After the incident with the doll, she had, more or less coherently, told the story to the Overseer. He had immediately taken charge, arranging for a safehouse and security with a few terse sentences. She now found herself in an upscale neighborhood in a condo nestled in a tower above a bank. The living room alone was larger than the entirety of her old place, but the real secret to the place was a network of strategically located port keys directly linked to Goblin Security. No matter where she was inside, help was just a shout away.

Moving hadn’t taken long. The goblins had sent wizard employees over to shrink and pack her meager belongings. Everything she and Abagail owned was quickly transferred, except for the keepsakes Elisa had consigned to the rubbish bin. The hockey mask from last Halloween was disposed of with prejudice, as were the dolls, the fake rubber axe, and the large plastic skeleton. She still had no idea why or how one of Abagail's toys could turn homicidal, so she didn't want to take any chances.

The more obvious security came in the form of two goblin guards. Each looked more than capable of standing up to a little doll, and they looked much more rugged than the aurors who had fallen victim to it. Finally, Elisa felt some measure of security. The pair proved to be a godsend. They were more than willing to converse whenever Elisa felt like socializing, and they faded into the background when she needed solitude. They wore nasty grins whenever they talked about their society underground, but they were honest signs of amusement. Elisa wrote the creepiness off as a cultural difference.

The surprise they had shown when Elisa had invited them to join her at supper was nothing compared to their reaction when they saw that she had prepared some goblin dishes based on their descriptions. The confused looks they kept shooting her were worth more than a few giggles. Little did they know that they were filling a recently opened hole in her life. The new home might be showy and expensive, but the new companions were priceless.

Sighing in contentment, Elisa sat on her new plush couch and motioned for her bodyguards to join. One sat beside her while the other kept watch on the door. Nodding pleasantly, she picked up the clicker and said, “What’s on the telly?”

The smoke was thick enough to cut with a knife as Mike used the butt of one cigarette to light the next. Rules be damned; he was on a roll. He smiled as he organized his notes on the corkboard. This was the story of the millennium. There was a secret society hiding more or less in plain sight, and he had proof.

Once the initial hurdle had been overcome, everything else came almost automatically. He could not believe how flimsy the deception had been; once he convinced himself of its existence, the pub was as plain as the nose on his face. After listening in, he only had to ask a passing wizard to be let into Diagon Alley. Once inside, he knew his world would never be the same.

A bit of projected confidence was all he needed. No one questioned his presence, despite his obvious muggle appearance. He had the keys to the kingdom, and he had made off with its treasury. The secrets they so jealously guarded would be revealed to all.

The first stop had been a bank. Although the exchange rate had been pitifully small, it had been enough to get him a couple of the gold coins on which their system was based. Far more valuable than the money was the identity of the workers; they were a heretofore unknown species. Proof of their existence would be more than enough to earn him Scoop of the Year. It saddened him immensely to know that this would only be a footnote in his story. He had always known that most legends grew out of facts. Discovering that goblins were real gave him goosebumps. Humans were not alone; this was cause for celebration. The implications threatened to overwhelm his brain.

A helpful witch had noticed the mundane gadgets he was carrying, and she had directed him to a curio shop. What sentimental values those items had was more than paid for in galleons. With a substantial bankroll available, he made a beeline for the book store. He purchased as much reference material as he dared, knowing that the might be discovered at any instant. It was only on a whim that he had bought a subscription to something called the "Daily Prophet". There was no way that he’d actually receive it, but he bought it anyway, just on a lark.

He had spent the entire night securing his purchases and following the directions from the newsgroup on how to leave himself information, just in case the obliviators found him. It was a nuisance having the startup script telling him that he might have forgotten things and to access certain files, but it was well worth the inconvenience. He had the proof he needed to back up his story. Now, he just had to write it.

Smiling, Mike cast another look at the owl on the sill. It was happily devouring the last of the bacon from his breakfast sandwich in the comparatively fresh London smog. The unexpected visitor had brought more fuel for the fire.

Turning from the bird, Mike again surveyed the moving pictures before nodding. He mused, “What’s happening in the wizarding world?”

Breathlessly, Emma nuzzled her husband as they lay on their impromptu nest of blankets on the deep shag carpeting. “That was wonderful,” she informed him as she molded her form closer to his. “It was a whole new experience.”

Dan only grinned wider and lovingly ran his muzzle over Emma’s.

“I’m so glad you thought to ask Hermione for the second necklace.” Emma continued, savoring the attention her husband was so freely giving, “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if this were the key we need to give Hermione a little sister? That all it takes is a change of form and bam, I'm whole again, and we can have another child?”

“Or a brother,” Dan said, agreeing fully, sweat from the exertion flaking his coat. “It would be wonderful.”

“You know,” Emma said wistfully, “we have a whole new world of magic open to us. Maybe they have a potion or something that would let me carry a new pregnancy to term.”

Dan frowned, the emotion translating poorly on his pony face. “Dear, we can ask Hermione next time we see her, but you mustn’t get your hopes up.”

“I know,” Emma said as she practically climbed on her husband to get closer, “but it’s a hope we haven’t had in a long time. Please let me savor it.”

“I love you,” Dan whispered, holding his wife close. “Never forget that I love you.”

“I love you,” Emma answered. Then with a playful nudge she said, “Now let’s stop being melancholy and do a few more laps around the back yard. Running as a unicorn is exhilarating.”

“We just completed ten laps,” Dan complained, following Emma for some more exercise.

“Don’t be a baby,” Emma called over her withers. “The neighbors aren’t home and we won’t have this opportunity often.”

Smiling, Dan said, “Sure, and I have another question to ask Hermione when we see her.”

“I bet I can guess what it is,” Emma said, pronking along.

Nodding Dan agreed and said, “What’s with the picture of teeth on our flanks?”

She had gone down the wrong alleyway. This would be the last time she made that mistake. Hopefully, she would survive to make others. She was not yet even a teen, only nine. The three drunk men surrounding her didn’t seem to care. She had wandered into their territory, and she was going to pay the toll.

Lurching, one of the men made a grab for her and she dodged out of his reach, right into the grasp of his friend. She opened her mouth to scream, only to find it covered by a smelly hand. Now she had trouble breathing, let alone screaming. Soon there were three sets of hands touching her in ways that she did not want to be touched. She screwed her eyes shut and, with tears flowing, waited for the inevitable.

Without warning, a pair of hands left her body, and she heard a sickening crunch.

Terrified, she opened her eyes and saw one of her attackers laying in a heap at the feet of a strange new man. The scantily-clad newcomer was noticeably shorter than the two remaining assailants, lacking no less than a head and a half in height. In truth, he wasn’t much taller than she was.

The two remaining attackers snarled and lunged for him, intent on avenging their fallen comrade. The first to reach him threw his fist at the smaller man's face. The smaller man did not move, did not even flinch. There was another sickening crunch. Howling, the attacker reached for his ruined fist with his other hand but didn't made it that far when the retaliation came. In fighting games, it was not uncommon to see someone land an uppercut hard enough to lift the opponent a full body length or two. That character would then get up and resume fighting, albeit with a diminished health bar. In reality, getting hit that hard precludes the possibility of getting up afterwards, as the second attacker quickly learned.

The third and final attacker turned to run. He got all of one step before he found his face engulfed in the palm of the smaller man. There was a muffled scream as the small man brought the larger’s head into violent contact with the ground. Once would have been sufficient; three times was just messy.

Shakily, the young girl stared at her rescuer who was smiling down at her.

“Muito obrigado,” she said, not leaving her knees.

Her savior cocked his head, confused.

“Muito obrigado,” she repeated, still shaking.

Realization dawned on the man's face.

“Enquanto eu ando, ninguém prejudicará as crianças,” he replied haltingly as the Brazilian sun beat down on him from above.

Smiling, he turned and left.

Not wanting to be there any longer, the girl fled the scene and found her way home.

Upon seeing the girl, her mother rushed over, scooped her up and asked in English, “What’s with the blood?”

Emily Smith and her mother Olivia sat at the kitchen table peacefully playing cards. It was an activity that they enjoyed together over the years and they both had many fond memories of their time together.

As the game continued, a popular subject once again came to the fore.

“I can’t believe she’s back,” Emily said, dealing the cards.

“I know,” Olivia said with a bittersweet smile. “When I lost her, I was devastated. A second chance is more than I could ever hope for.”

“Did they ever tell you that she was a ghost at the school?”

“No, they never bothered to tell me that.” Olivia shook her head sadly. “But, since I’m not a witch, it wouldn’t have mattered. I can’t go to their school.”

“Still,” Emily said, “it would have been nice to know.”

“No,” Olivia disagreed, “no it wouldn’t have. It would only have made it worse.”

“I hardly remember her,” Emily admitted, “I should remember my older sister better, but she’s a faded memory.”

“You can make new memories,” Olivia said with a benign smile.

“It’s not fair,” Emily said, her eyes tearing slightly. “We’ve lost so much time with her.”

“I’m just happy to have any time with her at all.”

“How can you take it so calmly?”

“My once-dead daughter has been returned to me.” Olivia explained, “My daughter, who I thought I'd never see again in this life, lives and breathes. A mother should never outlive her children. My Myrtle is alive. I’m not taking it calmly. I’m so happy I can barely move.”

Emily smiled sadly at her mother and said, “Why did you let her return to that school? You lost her to it once before.”

“She no longer has a place in a world without magic.” Olivia sighed, “Keeping her here would do her no good. It would hurt me more than it hurt her; she deserves to follow her destiny.”

Emily nodded sadly and said, “What’s the chance of Amy not wanting to go as well? Will she be lost to us, also?”

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