• Published 23rd Apr 2017
  • 15,302 Views, 7,164 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?

  • ...
101
 7,164
 15,302

PreviousChapters Next
Chapter 60: Defense and Defenestration

If Amelia Bones were perfectly honest, she would admit that her favorite pastime was the muggle sport of angling. There was something to be said about making the wariest of opponents unwittingly do your bidding. The hardest catches were the sweetest, and this one promised to be sugar drenched in honey.

Her current quarry would ordinarily be a shaker, a fish not worth keeping. A good auror had to have complete dedication, and any cadet whose commitment wavered was normally dismissed without hesitation. In the field, a split-second of doubt could be the difference between life and death not only for the uncommitted, but for their entire team as well. It was far better to be short-staffed with the dedicated than to bolster the ranks with the wavering. This time, however, circumstances dictated that she make an exception.

Sticking his head and torso into the office, Rufus Scrimgeour said. “She’s here.”

Without looking up from her ever-increasing pile of paperwork, Amelia gestured for him to usher the patsy in. Wordlessly, he retreated and was replaced by a young woman sporting scandalously pink hair and wearing the uniform robe of a junior auror.

“Tonks. Please have a seat,” Amelia said, motioning to an empty chair before her desk.

A soft rustling was the only sound indicating that her invitation was received.

“This is an unwelcome surprise.” Amelia tapped a paper on her desk before fixing her gaze on Nymphadora. “We can ill afford to let such a promising auror slip through our fingers. Talent such as yours is rare to come by.”

It was evident this was the wrong lure. Nymphadora said straighter and glared at her superior. "Don't tell me you want me for my body, too," she growled. "I'm much more than a mere metamorphmagus."

“Much more,” Amelia agreed. “However, that doesn’t change the fact that you are one. Your potential is something that this department cannot easily ignore.”

Nymphadora’s eyes softened, and she looked away from her superior. “I understand, but . . .”

“But?”

“But I no longer need to put up with this toxic environment.” Nymphadora shuffled uncomfortably in her seat. “I don't need to be where, no matter how well I do, I'm passed over for advancement because of my heritage.”

Amelia frowned. "You and I both know that such discrimination is illegal."

"You and I both know that proving that discrimination is impossible."

It was time for fresh bait. "Your abilities should take you far in this department."

“I’d have to fight tooth and nail just to keep from falling behind,” Nymphadora countered. “Before, I had no choice. I needed to put food on the table somehow, and this job was my dream.”

“Was?”

“All my life, I knew where I stood. Purebloods would make my life harder no matter what path I took.” Nymphadora grimaced. “Now I have the chance to tell them to bugger off. They can find someone else to be their whipping boy.”

The chum had to be ladled sparingly to attract without drawing suspicion. “I will not suffer such a mindset among my subordinates,” Amelia growled.

“You can’t be everywhere all the time.” Nymphadora sadly shook her head. “Even when you try, you can’t protect us if the Minister gets a bee in his bonnet. Goodman was proof of that.”

“Minister Lovegood won’t be so easily swayed.” Amelia gritted her teeth over the reminder of her impotence. “The new makeup of the Wizengamot is also in your favor.”

“True,” Nymphadora allowed. “Being accepted back into the fold of the Black family put paid too much of the harassment I would have had to endure. Unless attitudes change, anything the Ministry does is just a drop in the bucket.”

“You seem to have your mind made up,” Amelia observed.

“Now that I don’t have to enter the workforce right away to avoid being a burden on my parents, I want to travel,” Nymphadora said. “Maybe, I’ll decide on a career later.”

Amelia sighed. It was time for the live bait. “I can’t say that I’m happy to hear that from you. I would much rather have you attached to the Ministry, but I can’t deny that the incentives are no longer there.”

Nymphadora nodded.

“Since you mentioned traveling, I have an opportunity that might interest you.”

“Oh?” Nymphadora tilted her head curiously.

“The Minister is looking for volunteers to attend school in Equestria as part of an exchange program. I think you would be a perfect candidate.”

“Equestria?”

“A new magical community that has recently introduced themselves to the world.” Amelia patiently watched the bobber tremble. “You would have the opportunity to learn new magics while representing Magical Britain. This would give you unique qualifications in whatever field you choose. I can't even begin to describe the sort of leverage that would give you within the Ministry should you decide to come back to the fold."

“Tell me more.” Intrigued, Nymphadora leaned forward in her chair.

With a smile, Amelia set the hook.


The smell of desperation was a constant in St. Mungo's. Milo Yates had found that in his years as a researcher, it never seemed to leave him, no matter how thoroughly he washed. Still, he mentally kicked himself for not noticing the sudden increase in its concentration outside his office. When he opened the door, he nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of seven raggedy creatures staring at him with hungry eyes. The three men formed a complementary set, with tall, medium, and short. Their unkempt hair and whiskers, coupled with their threadbare clothing made them look like Morlocks straight from central casting. The three women in the group were well-groomed, but there was something obviously feral in their appearance. The younger two were young adults who wore what seemed to be hand-me-downs from three generations earlier, while the eldest was a senior citizen, stooped with age, dressed in robes that might be passable on a particularly relaxed casual Friday.

The final visitor was a small boy with wild brown hair, no more than ten years old by the looks of him. In the uninhibited fashion of children everywhere, he ended the impromptu staring concert with brutal bluntness. "You have a cure for werewolves."

Milo quipped, "Smoke and saltpeter really brings out the flavor." He studied the glares of his visitors. "Oh, you mean undoing lycanthropy."

“You must have a cure,” one of the younger women emphasized. She was pleasant to look at, with shoulder-length brown hair. “My cousin at the Ministry said you submitted paperwork saying you’ve found a cure. Please tell me you’ve got the cure.”

Milo placed a somber look on his face before crossing the room to lean against his desk. “I’m afraid this is a bit premature.” He said, “Currently, we are testing a potion that promises to remove lycanthropy. However, we are still in the very early stages, and there have been some . . . side effects.”

“I don’t care how early the stages are,” the tallest man said. “If they went through a full moon without losing themselves to the madness, we need that cure.”

“My Ernie will be able to go to Hogwarts next year.” The old lady smiled, placing her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “He’ll be able to associate with children his own age.”

Milo took a deep breath before saying. “I don’t want to get your hopes up. While it’s true we have one apparent success, he has yet to go through another full moon without a transformation. We need to see how he reacts next month before a true assessment of the effectiveness of the treatment can be made.”

“But you cured him,” the woman with shoulder-length hair insisted.

“We hope so,” Milo admitted. “It is too early to make any promises. He's made it through only one full moon.”

“That is more hope than I ever thought we’d have,” the shortest man said. “When will it be available, and how much is it going to cost?”

“Marvin!” the old woman said. “Behave.”

“It’s an important question,” Marvin objected. “They aren’t just going to give the stuff away.”

"It's too early to even think about the cost," Milo said. "I've yet to see the ingredient list, and I haven't learned how difficult it is to process." Milo turned to the old woman. "If it were up to me, I'd make this a matter of public health. I wouldn't be surprised if the Ministry didn't track down everyone affected and force it down their throats."

“People will be lining up for the cure,” Marvin said.

“In fact, that’s why we are here now,” said the last woman.

"I don't have any samples now. I don't know the brewer; this was given to me by an intermediary. If I had any on hand, I'd be happy to give it to you, but I don't even have any more information. I'm afraid I have nothing to give you at this time."

“Dear boy,” the old woman said, “Marvin was rude in the way he said it, but you have already given us something invaluable. You have given us hope.”


As she looked over the meeting room, Celestia realized that it was the product of every contractor's bane, requirements creep. She had specifically said that she wanted something functional, something simple. It had begun almost as she had hoped. Drab walls did nothing to detract from a simple round table surrounded by tree stumps planed smooth. Distressed pine planks formed the floor, and the chandelier was rough-hewn from iron. As years passed, the walls gained color. Paintings sprang up like dandelions. Rough pine boards were replaced by polished hardwoods that were later covered with plush carpets. Stumps gave way to padded ottomans which were eventually replaced by plush thrones. The simple table begat a marble masterpiece that begat a marvel of metal and magic. Iron chandelier morphed into elegant silver, only to be replaced by . . . something. Celestia wasn’t sure what to call it, but it was bright, covered in crystals, and her staff assured her that it was thoroughly stylish.

It was not the decor that bothered Celestia. Rather, it was the unintended message that was conveyed. Everything about the room now said, "Princess Celestia is better than you." That made everypony even more self-conscious, fearful of the ruin the solar princess could unleash if displeased. Fortunately, although they were not immune to the effect, scholars from her school could easily be distracted from it with one simple question: What have you learned?

The room was abuzz with excitement. They had experimented with bona fide alien technology. The trunks had sparked a frenzy among the academic community, introducing it to concepts heretofore unimagined in Equestria. When one of the reverse-engineering team accidentally found a way to reset the access list, ripples of excitement spread throughout the entire community with ideas sprouting for both exploitation and improvement.

This time, the icebreaker had come with remarkable swiftness. Celestia had scarcely asked her question when the discussion burst forth in full gallop. Talk had turned to the best way of multilayering subspace matrices. The debate hinged on whether the current use of alpha overlays to interleave linear inclination arrays back on themselves was less efficient than logarithmic approaches that selectively concentrated on fine details at the expense of non-critical features.

The discussion turned to orthogonality when they observed three owls flying in from nowhere. The trio skillfully carried a big beige banker bag between them

“What’s this?” Square Mind asked as she watched the owls deposit the bag on the table before Princess Celestia.

“I’m not sure,” Celestia said as she used her magic to untie the owls from their burden. “It was my understanding that deliveries were customarily made with shrunken cargo. It would seem somehuman decided to forgo the practice.” Once the last bird was free, she addressed them. “If you seek out Splendid Taste in the kitchens, he has standing orders to provide a repast as a thank you for your efforts.”

“Who!” The owls seemed to perk up at the statement before lifting off the table and flying out a hastily-opened window.

Remembering the unlocking sequence for the trunk, Celestia tapped the catch on the bag thrice with her horn. The bag's top flap neatly rolled back. Floating the bag over, Celestia peered inside. With a smile, she set the bag down and emptied it with her magic, withdrawing a stack of domino-sized bundles far too large to fit inside the volume taken by the exterior of the bag. She said, "Ah, I see. They sent multiple deliveries at once."

“More artifacts from the human world?” Slanted Insight hopefully asked, tapping one of the packages with his hoof.

“Tap one with your horn three times to find out,” Celestia said with a teasing tone.

“You do know that I remember what happened the last time you asked me to do that,” Slanted said, swiftly pulling his appendage back.

“Are you telling me that you’d willingly leave here without finding out what was sent?” Celestia said with a sly smile.

Sighing, Slanted levitated one package to his position at the table and performed the required ritual. He was rewarded by a pony-sized bundle.

“There, I unshrunk it.” He turned to the amethyst-colored unicorn on his left. “You may have the honor of opening it, Criteria.”

Lacking her colleague’s caution, Criteria used her magic to tear the paper from the delivery with the enthusiasm of a filly on Hearthwarming's

“Squeeeeeeeeeee!” The majority of the ponies gathered around the pile, echoing the sentiments like a group of school fillies. Having a fair number of stallions in the group did nothing to dispel the illusion of the best Hearthwarming's reveal in history.

“I see Twilight has found a book store,” Celestia astutely noted.

Slanted wrinkled his nose and shied away before turning to Criteria. “Did you just . . . ?”

“No, I didn’t,” Criteria snapped, cutting him off. “Hurry up and unshrink the next one for me to open.”

“But . . .” Slanted objected.

“Shut up, get your mind out of the gutter, and unshrink the next one,” Criteria said through gritted teeth.

Shrewd Puzzle called out from down the table, “Yes, hurry up. Some of us are getting excited over here.”

“Apparently, over here, too,” Slanted insisted.

A heavy book, clutched in Criteria’s magic slammed into the side of his head. “I SAID ‘UNSHRINK THE NEXT ONE’!”


The Great Hall was buzzing with curiosity when the students saw that Professor McGonagall was approaching her house's table instead of taking her seat for lunch at the head table. The eye rolls were audible when they saw that the first-years were again the center of attention. Stopping behind the reddest of redheads, Professor McGonagall said somberly, "Miss Bloom, please come with me. There is something we need to discuss."

Apple Bloom looked at the Gryffindor Head of House and gulped. “Yes, ma’am.”

Without prompting, the entire first year herd stood to follow.

“Just Miss Bloom,” Professor McGonagall directed.

“But,” Harry said.

“Just Miss Bloom,” Professor McGonagall repeated, marveling at the solidarity her first years were displaying. “She is not in trouble.”

The children all looked to Apple Bloom for confirmation. A bob of a pink ribbon had them retaking their seats.

Less than a minute later, Apple Bloom was alone with Professor McGonagall in the same room that she had conversed with Professor Snape.

“There is no need to be nervous,” Professor McGonagall said, closing the door.

Apple Bloom held her tongue and waited for the other horseshoe to drop.

“Have you heard about the incident involving Miss Spoon earlier today?” Minerva asked.

“No ma’am.” Apple Bloom tilted her head in confusion. “Shouldn’t y'all be talking to Diamond Tiara about it?”

“Professor Snape is capable of handling matters for his house,” Minerva said somberly. “Although paperwork was submitted to circumvent any involvement from the headmaster, it was not serious enough to involve the other heads of house.”

“Oh?”

“Miss Spoon took offense when a member of Ravenclaw took it upon herself to try to target Mr. Malfoy with a stinging hex.” Minerva fixed Apple Bloom with a firm stare. “Miss Spoon tossed Miss Abrams clear across the Charms classroom in retaliation.”

“Oh,” Apple Bloom said again, this time nodding her head.

“It has been suggested that you might do something similar.”

“No, ma’am.” Apple Bloom shook her head. “Ah’ve been here long enough to know that girls do that all the time when colts misbehave. It’s harmless.”

“I see,” Professor McGonagall said. “What would you do if someone tries, for example, to seriously hurt Mr. Potter?”

Apple Bloom scowled. “Ah’d put them through a wall.”

“Don’t you think that response is excessive?” It was Professor McGonagall’s turn to scowl.

“If’n they try to hurt Harry, no.” Apple Bloom said, firmly planting her feet.

“You’d put them through a wall?” Professor McGonagall challenged.

“They're not that thick,” Apple Bloom clarified.

“You would literally throw someone through a foot-thick stone wall if they tried to hurt Mr. Potter?” Professor McGonagall’s frown deepened.

“Yes, ma’am,” Apple Bloom answered. "They'd only spend a week or so in the hospital, an' they'd learn to leave him alone."

“Miss Bloom, such an action would be immediately fatal to almost anything one could find in the bestiary, let alone a witch or wizard.”

Apple Bloom blinked in surprise. “It would be?”

“Yes, it has become apparent that magical folk are less resilient than ponies.”

“Oh.” Apple Bloom’s lips formed an O.

“It should also be noted that muggles are, in turn, a lot less resilient than magical folk,” Minerva added.

“Oh,” Apple Bloom repeated.

“Do you realize what this means?” Minerva urged.

“Aim for the window?” Apple Bloom ventured.

"It means you must refrain from physical altercations with your fellow students," Minerva firmly corrected. "Compared to your home, this is a cardboard world, and you must learn to respond accordingly." She sighed. "Fighting is strictly prohibited, but I would be a fool to believe that there will never be occasions when children will find that the only way to settle their differences. I can tell that wanton violence is not in your nature, but you have the potential to misjudge the appropriate amount of force for a given situation. Given your inexperience, I ask that you follow the direction of your peers should such an occasion arise."

“Y’all mean, do what Hermione does?”

Professor McGonagall fixed Apple Bloom with another glare. “Miss Bloom, we are both aware that you chose Miss Granger as an example because you believe she will underreact. Although I would prefer that you’d adopt her approach, I would be naïve to think that you would find that satisfactory. Instead, I will point out that Miss Brown shares your outlook, and she is the one you should mimic.”

“Okay Professor,” Apple Bloom agreed. “Ah don’t want to hurt no one, not more'n they deserve. I sure as sugar don't want to kill no one.”


The fallout of Silver Spoon's actions continued at the Slytherin table. A seventh-year prefect sat down for lunch and immediately said, "Just so you know, Professor Snape is going to declare the first-year Gryffindors unconditionally off-limits."

“You can’t be serious,” his friend said. “Why would he do something like that?”

That end of the Slytherin table went dead silent. Hazing first-years was practically a rite of passage. The prefect reached for a piece of beer-battered cod. "Apparently, Professor Snape hates filling out the paperwork when one of us ends up in the infirmary."


Yet another wizard nearly had a heart attack as he exited the floo in the Leaky Cauldron, only to face a pair of witches with wands drawn. The sheer power emanating from the pair promised an extremely unpleasant encounter. Only when he noticed that the wands were held casually pointed at the ground did he start to calm down. What made thing strange, however, was the fact that each wand was glowing; one was encased in magenta, while the other was wrapped in gold. A standard spell, like Lumos, would have illuminated only the tip. Whatever magic was being used was unfocused, so it should pose no danger.

“Did you get what you wanted that time?” Emma asked as she offered the wizard a smile as explanation.

“Yes.” Twilight grinned. “It is both simple and creative at the same time. This single revelation makes this entire day worthwhile all by itself.”

“Are you saying we could return all of the books to the store, then?” Arthur asked. He received a pair of frowns for his efforts.

“I did promise to reciprocate by sending a like number of books from Equestria,” Twilight murmured.

“The Unspeakables are going to be positively full of beans once we receive those,” Arthur admitted. “There will be some wicked swotting going on.”

“If they are anything like my Hermione, you might want to institute some mandatory time away from the books,” Emma suggested.

“I’m sure we are going to have to do something like that for Twilight, as well,” Lyra said.

“I’m not that bad,” Twilight protested.

Lyra fixed an incredulous look on her and raised an eyebrow.

“Besides,” Twilight huffed, “Princess Celestia made me promise, when the situation is not an emergency, to never spend more than seventy-two percent of any given month reading. What’s worse, if I exceed that limit, I’m restricted to ten percent the following month.”

“Seventy-two percent?” Emma said skeptically. “That’s awfully specific.”

“I do have to sleep occasionally,” Twilight conceded. “Coffee is only effective for so long.”

“Sounds to me like you should just limit the number of books you may read in a month’s time,” Arthur said.

“We had that conversation too,” Twilight admitted. “Those talks broke down when Princess Celestia wouldn’t consider the Encyclopedia Bronconia a single book split into multiple volumes.”

“I remember that,” Lyra interjected. “You used a spell to merge the entire set into one tome. That monstrosity was massive.”

“While I was at it, I really should have thought to resize the pages. It was three and a half ponylengths long.” Twilight sighed.

“You do know they still have it in the library,” Lyra said. “It’s in a room just past the Hoofmanian Culture section.”

“Yes, I know.” Twilight sighed. “Dewy Sight banned me from that area. She can be so mean, sometimes.”

“Does that mean you know something about the books in that same room that run around on a bunch of miniature hooves?” Lyra asked.

“No comment,” Twilight answered.

“What about the one book that keeps spinning a web in the corner?”

“No comment,” Twilight restated.

“How do you manage to get a book to spin a web out of paper fibers?” Lyra persisted.

“Look, I had a brief, yet eventful, foray into the study and practical application of chaos magic. Nothing too spectacular, just a burst of foalish curiosity that quickly burned out,” Twilight muttered.

“What about the book that summons a full course meal every time you turn a page?” Lyra asked. “Dewy keeps that one in a case under lock and key.”

“That was a feasible idea,” Twilight countered.

“I have to admit, that does sound practical,” Emma allowed.

“I thought so. There was just the problem of the cooks complaining about the sporadically vanishing dishes, and the one time I dropped it, that did cause a minor mess. Really, they only had to delay that banquet for a couple hours,” Twilight groused.

“They still let you around books?” Arthur asked.

Twilight sighed. “There was this one book that was enchanted to be mischievous. When the Princess ordered it retrieved from the archives, there was a convoluted series of unbelievable mistakes, and I ended up with it while Princess Celestia received a thesis on macropositioned resonating thaumary clusters. Keep in mind, some books really do have wills of their own, and they love to prey on unsuspecting and impressable young fillies.”

“I can relate to that,” Emma said. “We had a whole shelf of very nasty books stored in a family heirloom for several generations. Luckily, Mr. Discord was there to burn them once we got the chest opened.”

“HE DID WHAT????!!!!!”


Behind the counter of Sugar Cube Corner, Pinkie stopped humming and focused her attention forty-two degrees outwards from south and towards tomorrow. “Wow! I can’t believe I felt that all the way over here.” She whistled.

“Felt what, dearie?” Mrs. Cake asked.

“That ripple,” Pinkie said heading towards the back of the shop. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go bake a ‘pretty please don’t kill Discord in a fit of murderous rage’ cake.”


Barnaby Lee couldn’t believe his luck. The seventh-year had been infuriated when their prefect had announced that he was predicting Professor Snape was putting the first-year Gryffindors off limits, with no reason given. Such an injustice would put his revenge on indefinite hold. The first-years included Harry Potter, the reason his parents were currently in Azkaban. It had been bad enough that the cur never wandered the halls on his own, denying Barnaby the opportunity to catch him alone and unaware. Now, he was to be given immunity. That would be unacceptable. Barnaby’s tendency to lurk and wait for the perfect opportunity would do him no good. The stakes were now too high; he had to act before even his head of house would betray him.

As fortune would have it, he had overheard the shrimps deciding to head back to their tower before their afternoon classes. As much as he hated the Gryffindorish nature of the situation, it was likely to be the only opening he would get. So what if he were outnumbered thirteen to one? They were only weak first-years, barely able to point a wand, let alone cast any attack spells. There was fun to be had, and Barnaby was proficient enough with obliviate. As stealthily as he could manage, he followed the brats, waiting until they left the more heavily-traveled corridors.

The one with the contemptible pink bow led the gaggle. Inconveniently, Harry Potter was almost in the dead center. There were two stragglers. The girl was a small thing from the trivial Brown family, but the boy chatting with her was from a prominent line of blood traitors. Longbottom would do for his initial target.

Unable to wait, Barnaby drew his wand and pointed at his prey and barked. “Horendum digitos.” A small bolt of silvery light leapt from the tip of his weapon, striking the first year. The perfect curse prevented the target from screaming as it convulsed; sparks of energy danced over the body, bringing agony with each touch. The Gryffindors spun in horror, watching their friend fall as Barnaby struck his next target, the mudblood boy, Bean or something like that.

The girl with the bow actually leapt over and cleared her friends with a snarl on her lips. The move left her a perfect target for even an inexperienced duelist. Smiling, Barnaby took aim. “Horenduuuuuurrrk!”


The four heads of house stood in a courtyard, discussing the apparent overprotectiveness of the Slytherin first-year.

“She did convey an air of sincerity when she apologized,” Filius said. “As appalling as her actions were, I agree she didn’t realize the extent of the damage she could have inflicted. It was a typical Slytherin show of strength.”

“A very literal show of strength,” Pomona said. “Do you think that our Miss Bloom might be capable of hurdling some unlucky fool through a solid stone wall?”

“Her mannerisms suggested it was within the realms of her abilities,” Minerva said. “But she is level-headed enough and now understands she would kill someone if she did that.”

Filius lamented, “We normally have them a couple years before we have to emphasize the potentially lethal nature of their abilities. It looks like we may have to start early with this batch.”

*Crash!!!!*

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

Gawking at the now-shattered window in the Gryffindor tower, Pomona said, “Severus, I believe that was one of yours”

Snape sighed. “At least she aimed for the lake. I suspect only his pride will be permanently injured.”

“I’m just glad she kept her promise.” Minerva echoed Snape’s sigh. “The window is a lot softer than the walls.”

Filius looked over to the placard Pomona was holding up. “Are you serious, Pomona? That dive was at least a 6.5.”

PreviousChapters Next