Preparations
The day was half over and we'd only just passed through Canterlot. It was funny how Madam Hooch blushed when we were there, but I couldn't work out why or how to ask without sounding stupid.
'An owl would just ask.'
Yes, Hedwig. Are you going to keep replying to my every thought?
'Until I can show you everything properly again, yes.'
I couldn't help but giggle. Reaching a hoof up, I stroked down Hedwig's back. A little shiver of sensation tickled up and down my spine, but I tried to ignore it since she wasn't meant to share sensations.
Still, we kept up chatting most of the day, and the more she talked to me the more she was saying.
'Of course I'm saying more. I only just learned how to talk a few days ago.'
Good point. I think we're almost back to Hogwarts—err, the Crystal Empire. It's getting colder and there's more snow on the ground.
A hoof ran down my own back, and the sensation mimicked what I'd felt from Hedwig so much I'd barely realized that it wasn't me causing it. Addera made a soft noise with her scales on the seat. "You're quiet, Harry Potter. Is Hedwig talking a lot?"
"We both are. She said she's learning a lot the more we talk, and I've noticed her talking a lot more. She's a clever owl." The last earned me a gentle beak working over one of my ears.
"I can see that, Harry Potter. Personally, I don't think there is any dark magics involved with this bond. I have seen with my own eyes what a one-sided familiar bond between a wizard and an intelligent creature does, and this is not it." Addera slowly wound her tail around the seat. When I didn't protest, she brought the tip up and used it to rub Hedwig's chest. "We are almost back to Hogwarts."
"I know. I liked it when we were leaving. It felt like we were doing things for ourselves, but that's selfish, isn't it?"
'You should be selfish once in a while.'
"Sometimes you should be selfish, Harry Potter." Addera's words made me shiver. "Is something wrong?"
"You and Hedwig said the same thing at the same time. I guess that means it's right, then." The train started a long corner that gave me a view of the Crystal Empire. A burning rainbow light shot up from the palace in the middle and cast a dome of light over the city. "That's beautiful."
As the train pulled up to the station, I realized that the hastily put-together structure was just outside the bubble of magic that covered the Crystal Empire. "Why's the bubble stop there?"
"See that arch, that's where the magic of the Crystal Heart is permeable. If you try to cross the barrier anywhere else, you'll just bump your face into it." Twilight stepped off the train with us onto the wooden platform. "I want to talk to Cadance and my brother again. Since we were in a bit of a hurry last time, I didn't get to say a proper goodbye."
"Harry Potter!" That voice was one that could cut glass. McGonagall when she was displeased was literally the worst thing in the world—and having fought Voldemort, that was saying something. "What on Earth possessed you to go gallivanting off at—?"
She stopped. I looked around to work out why, only to see Madam Hooch stepping down from the train behind me. She was looking at McGonagall, and when I looked back I could see McGonagall was returning the look.
Well, honesty was the best policy with McGonagall. She could smell a lie at a thousand paces and at the distance we were apart, she could practically taste one. "I just wanted to not be a burden. I went to find the kirin and see if they could teach me how to stop setting things on fire."
Looking over her glasses at me, McGonagall took and let out a slow breath. "And how did that go?"
I hung my head and looked at the wooden floor. "Terribly. They tried to tell me the best way to deal with my anger was to shove it all into a ball and ignore it. Though, there was one kirin that used the same trick I do. She said she's been setting things on fire whenever she got upset for ages."
"And it works for you and her?" McGonagall asked.
Nodding, I thought about it. "Yeah, but I wanted to work out something so I don't set things on fire. This just has me manage it."
"Maybe, Harry Potter, kirin cannot just 'manage it', and they must express themselves as nirik from time to time?"
"So I'll be stuck doing this?"
"Have you set any part of Hogwarts on fire that you didn't mean to?" Her tone had changed from stinging to teacher. Maybe I wasn't going to get turned into something horrible for a month or two.
I opened my mouth to mention the owlery, but she was right—I had meant to set that on fire at the time. "No, ma'am."
"I'd say then, Harry Potter, that this method is working for you and that other kirin. All shoving your emotions away will result in is them bursting free at the least opportune times. Please go and make preparations to return to your home—"
Madam Hooch cleared her throat. "Harry, go and prepare for this trip, but leave anything you want kept here in your room." She was doing it. McGonagall was set to send me back to the Dursleys, but Hooch was going to stop her!
"Rolanda, what have you promised this boy?" McGonagall asked.
"When he was put with those beastly muggles, it was only supposed to be until You Know Who was dealt with. Well, he's not in this world, so that means here is the best place for Harry right now. We couldn't act before because Albus was in control of Hogwarts, but now you have the final say, Minerva." Hooch's words were full of emotions I couldn't begin to understand, but I could have hugged her right then for having said them.
McGonagall just looked at Hooch and the whole station seemed quiet around us. After some weighty minutes, McGonagall nodded. "Right. Harry, you have some things to pick up from Gringotts, and I trust you have some things at that muggle house you'd like retrieved?"
My mind flashed back to Mum and Dad's vault in Gringotts, but also to some of the pictures of them that were still in the Dursleys' house. "Y-Yes. Some photos and—There was a lot of gold in Gringotts. I should bring that with me, right?"
"I'd wager there's more than just gold in your parents' vault, Harry. Very well, Rolanda, since you have made these plans, I'll trust you to safely escort him to fetch his things. Do try to keep a somewhat low profile—I'd suggest being ready with some illusions, wards, and keep a memory charm or ten on standby."
Was it that easy? McGonagall had final say on anything relating to Hogwarts, but could she have made this declaration that easily? What would the Ministry say? Would they get a say if we made it back here before they noticed?
"Right. We'll be heading out tomorrow evening. I have a few things to prepare myself." Hooch sounded pleased about it. I wondered if this was some kind of politics-fight-thing, but when I looked from Hooch to McGonagall, she was smiling too.
I have literally no idea what is going on, and I think I know why. These are two witches that are at the peak of their craft. Nothing I could do, say, or learn would help me understand this—even if I was the greatest wizard in both worlds.
The first hammer of wind—far stronger than normal—struck Azkaban prison like a bell clapper. The whole structure rang in a slow groan as ancient, spell-infused rock resisted shifting with all its might.
With limited success.
"What the bloody hell was that?" Alastor Moody turned around while his eye spun in its socket. When his charmed false eye located what had happened, he swore marginally worse. "This storm ain't natural. That was a hunk of Azkaban that just let go."
"Well, why don't we get out of here?" Smiling at his new friend, Sirius Black gestured to the door of the interrogation room. "You got here somehow, why don't you call for—"
"Because something's coming and it's going to rip this place apart stone by stone to find Voldemort's followers. I don't know what it wants with them exactly, lad, but I can't wager it'll be anything good."
"So what do we do? You have a bunch of wardens, a half-giant, and a house elf that can do magic here."
"To find out how to use our forces, I need information. What is coming and how big is it? Come along, Sirius, let's go take a gander at whatever this storm is throwing." Rolling his hip toward the door, Alastor made his way out and past the startled guards with Sirius following him. "Taking the lad up to the roof to show 'im the sights. How'd I get up there?"
With directions secured, Alastor made his way up the long stairs to the roof of Azkaban prison. The final ascent was a ladder that led to a corroded, iron hatch. A shove, a punch, and a zap with his wand later and Alastor stood atop Azkaban with Sirius at his side.
The rain hammered down upon the prison while the waves sprayed foam almost all the way to the top of the great ocean fortress. Never before had the mighty, magical stonework stood up against such a brutal natural attack, but even as the full weight of the storm was known to the two wizards, it suddenly went quiet. The waves calmed, the wind died, and the rain eased.
A flicker of light through the raging gray storm around them repeated again and again. Sirius asked, "What is that?"
"Bad news fer us. There's only two kinds of flames that could survive that storm, and I want nothing to do with either of them." Alastor turned to look at the calm they were in and the maelstrom just beyond. The flickers of red came again and again. "If it were Fiendfyre, it would grow in huge sheets. That just leaves dragonfire."
"Should we hide?"
"Is hidin' what wizards do?"
"Yes. It's what wizards do best. We hide from muggles, we hide from each other, and we hide the things we don't want to look at in big, bloody prisons." Sirius pointed at another gout of flame in the storm. "And right now, I want to hide from whatever causing all this, because it's not a dragon, which means we're facing a dragon and some bloody wizard who can control the weather!"
That halted Alastor in his tracks. He took one look around and nodded. "Thinkin' you might be right, there. How did you say you were going to get out of this?"
"My ride's almost here. You, me, Hagrid, and Toil. There's no room for anyone else. Don't the guards here have some way to declare an emergency and get out?"
Flicking his wand at the metal hatch, Alastor opened it back up and winced. "Something's up with the magic here, too. That took more than it should have to heft that thing."
Waiting for Alastor to climb down into Azkaban, Sirius froze at the sight that played out before him. At the edge of the storm a huge red dragon punched its way through the sleet and wind. It beat its mighty wings as it drew closer, and that's when Sirius saw a ghostly, black-clad form on its back looking down upon him.
It was like time halted. Ginevra Molly Weasley looked at the emaciated wizard atop Azkaban—took in his lack of a weapon or wand—and concluded that he had to be an escaping prisoner. Gesturing with one hand, she called to the mark she knew would be upon him, but there was no reply.
As the moment of shock ended, Sirius jumped down the porthole and pulled the hatch closed with all his force. "LOCK IT!"
"What?!" Alastor asked.
"Lock this bloody thing with every shred of magic you can! There's a dementor out there riding a dragon, and I could swear she was trying to rip my soul out by looking at me. Just get this secured!"
Alastor was all for action when action was advised. The pale look on Sirius' face told him enough, and with a force of single-minded will, he bound the hatch closed with a Locking charm of great power. The flourishes he added to it spoke of many years working to keep things out of the hands of the wrong sorts to use them.
Then, for good measure, Alastor Moody wrought an Anti-Alohomora charm layered upon the Locking charm. "That"—Alastor panted a little from the effort he spent on the magic—"would keep Dumbledore from opening that hatch."
Ginevra had seen Locking charms before, but when she performed an Alohomora charm to counter it, she felt coils of powerful magic lash at and tear up her spell. "What was that?!"
"A very good trick. Let me try something." Sombra walked forward and began examining the magic Alastor had used to seal the entrance. "This is fantastic. Artwork in magical form. I could get lost examining the intricate nature of these spells for years, but I don't have that time."
Snarling at the rooftop of the prison he'd done everything to avoid seeing, Igor raked his claws over the charms and stones. Rock and spells alike splintered—some shattering and breaking, others resisting and fighting to survive. It was inconceivable that an Equestrian dragon's claws could be harmed by magic, and yet the creator of Azkaban had wrought magic that did just that. "I don't like it here."
Spinning to look at Igor, Ginevra nodded her head. "Neither do I, but there are fiends within this place that don't deserve the luxury of living out their days here. They are monsters worse even than you or I, Igor."
When Ginevra placed her hand on his snout—covering the icy burn mark she'd left there when first they'd met—Igor let out a soft sigh. "You want me to rip this place apart?" he asked.
"No, Igor. What I need are eyes, ears, and claws inside this fortress. They work even now." The call of like to like had not gone unnoticed by Ginevra. The dementors of Azkaban stirred in excitement at their master's return, but they called out loudly to Ginevra. "Forget the prisoners. Rend the walls. Rip the spells apart. Open this can of villainy for me."
The power Ginevra flexed and the intricacy with which she worked made Igor feel proud to be her minion. He ignored the pain in his claws and stood with his chest puffed out—even flexing his claws on the stonework and spells of Azkaban to let them know he'd soon be within.
"Mr. Burns!" The sound of screaming and scraping hissed along Alastor's ears and down his back. It was like the world itself was a blackboard and something with far too many claws was attempting to play it like an instrument. "Mr. Burns! Your jail is under siege!"
"I can hear that!" Archibald Burns had his wand out and was activating the various wards of the prison. "Something's very wrong here. The wards would stop anything from striking at us from outside, but—"
"Something inside is trying to rip its way out?" Sirius asked.
"No. Not one thing. Many things. You said what got off the dragon looked like a dementor?" Alastor asked. When Sirius just nodded, Alastor let out a sigh. "Then what if it's some kind of dementor plot? It wouldn't be the first time they've overstepped their boundaries."
"If you're right, Auror, then we're in trouble. How many here can cast a Patronus?" Archibald looked at Alastor and Sirius, then to his guards when they ran to the sound of his voice. When every face looked to the floor, Archibald sighed. "Then we can only hope to hold out until help arrives."
Unable to make a corporeal Patronus of his own even before his time in prison, Sirius was sure he'd stand no chance of making one now. "How many wands are here?"
Archibald looked to Alastor, and when the Auror nodded he turned back to Sirius. "There's a sealed box with a wand for each guardsman here. Only the warden can open it."
"Mr. Burns, I believe it's time you open that box." Alastor turned on his good hip and started limping his way back to the interrogation room. When Sirius rushed to catch up, Alastor grunted. "You weren't going to prize a wand out of one of their hands anyway, lad."
"I could have tried." For a moment Sirius actually tried to plan out how that would have went. The guards seemed incompetent, but he had to assume each was trained for fighting with a wand. "And probably failed. What do you have?"
"A half-giant with a wand and a house-elf without one. How did you plan to get out of here?"
"You see…"
Far away, on the shore of the storm-lashed cliffs just outside the city of Aberdeen, in a shed owned by a witch with enough sense to keep her mouth shut when paid well, an engine started on its own.
It had seen several owners, but it had been its penultimate one that had been the stellar point in its life. When Sirius Black had purchased the bike, it hadn't been running. Steel, leather, aluminium, and glass, it hadn't even so much as a spark of life until Sirius began repairing it. Piece by piece, part by part, it had felt itself not just repaired but given life too.
The bike had felt outrage when Sirius had given it to Rubeus to ride. The half-giant had put unreasonable strain on its springs and seat, and it would have complained if he didn't read it bedtime stories each night.
But then a call came. Rubeus' wand sang to it, but it could feel its original owner with him too. That's how it knew it had to be sneaky. Not the kind of sneaky Sirius could do, but it had a small stash of galleons under its seat it could flick out when it needed something, and when the old witch Grace came out to see what the noise in her barn was, it only took a single galleon for her to stop and think about how she hadn't seen a motorcycle offer her a bribe.
Now, however, it had heard the urgent call. Come to me now! it heard. So its engine was started and it was racing to the edge of the cliff and a particular spot in the middle of the North Sea.
In the city of Aberdeen, not far from where the motorbike woke from its rest, two men were sitting in a bus. Stanley Shunpike checked his watch for the umpteenth time. "It's unnatural it is. How's we gonna make money sittin' around like this?"
Ernest Prang rolled his eyes behind his big glasses and sighed. "We're making money just sitting here. You heard what that goblin said—we wait in Aberdeen until our fare arrives." He used the sleeve of his shirt to scrub at his glasses.
"I know that, Ern, but it feels wrong. What if we got other fares waiting?" The Knight Bus sitting still was what bugged Stanley. He hated it. The bus was meant to move and it was meant to move fast.
"Wizards and witches have had to wait before, Stan. You know the rules. We been paid, now we wait for our fare to get on." Ernest found he quite enjoyed the little quiet moment. Leaning back in his seat, he pulled out an old paperback book and started reading.
Leaning closer, Stanley reached out a hand and flicked the nearest corner of the book. "What'cha readin', Ern?"
Turning the book over, careful not to lose his page, Ernest revealed the cover to be The Man With No Name. "Don't look like that. These are good books. You should try reading them."
Stanley turned his nose up. "No way, Ern. No way, no how." He started pacing along the bus. "What you think about what they said?"
Ernest knew he'd never get to read his book—not while Stanley was talking. Stanley always talked. "About what, Stan?"
"Magic goin' away. Everyone talkin' 'bout it. You think it's real?"
"Yes, Stan. Yes it is. But I have a plan… Stan." Ernest pulled an old tattered notepad out of his cardigan's inner pocket (the one he'd sewn to hold things he didn't want everyone to know he had). "There's these portals, you see. Some say they're the sources of magic, but others say the world beyond them is the source. Hogwarts disappeared back there, the rumors say, and Hogwarts has been around… as long as wizards have been wizards. See the connection, Stan?"
"Uh…" Stanley's mind raced. "You mean to say that Hogwarts was the source of all the magic on Earth? How's that work for them what's in other places? Like Austria."
"Australia. And I think it just means that the ocean of magic settled nicely all over the world. But Hogwarts is gone now, Stan, and if we don't give chase we'll be gone soon after." Ernest Prang cleaned his glasses again. "So this will be our last fare here, Stan. We're going for a little drive after this one."
Draco Malfoy slipped in the servant's entrance of the old estate house that comprised of her family's summer home. She'd expected to have to fend off servants questioning her—particularly regarding her appearance—but it was like she was invisible to them. Everyone around her was in a rush to do something.
"What's going on?" Lucian asked.
"The little horse asks 'what's going on?' I'll tell you what's going on, them upstairs folk are in a panic and have locked themselves in the bedroom." Jilla, one of the maids of the house, was at her wits' end, and now she had talking horses to contend with too. "Here, who are you?"
"This is Draco Lucius Malfoy, and I'll have you know that he demands to see his parents right away!" Her tone firm, Helena Fowley glared sternly at Jilla. "There was a mishap at Hogwarts."
The extra information made all the sense for Jilla. She breathed out an exasperated sigh at the problems of witches and wizards. "Very well, follow me."
That Jilla looked at Lucian rather than Draco surprised none of them, though it did sting Draco's pride just a little more. Once they left the back-halls of the house, she recognized where they were and where they were going. Up flights of stairs and down a large hallway, they approached her own bedroom.
"Lord and Lady Malfoy? May I present to you your son." Jilla backed away quickly—from experience she knew that the head of the household could and would do horrible things to a messenger and that putting targets between himself and herself was for the best.
Her eyes soaked, Narcissa turned with ruined makeup and unmade hair to look at the three creatures in the doorway. "D-Draco?"
There was nothing else for it. Draco summoned every ounce of her pride and self-assurance and stepped forward. "Mother, Father, I'm home."
Lucius Malfoy, who'd just gotten news earlier that his son had been not only turned into an equine (along with the rest of the school), but also turned inside out in a bad apparition accident, glared at Draco with his face cold and hard. "You had better start explaining, boy."
Draco wanted to look her father back in the eyes, but kept looking to her mother. In Narcissa's eyes she could see realization of a thousand little things. "It all started with—with Voldemort." The name fell from her mouth before she realized it. So long had they used aliases for him that it felt strange to say it. She spoke.
As he listened, Lucius realized that the creature before him was his son. There were things Draco said and knew that wouldn't be known by anyone else. When the topic of sex was brought up, however, he realized what had been bothering him about the pony. "You're not my heir, then?"
"Lucius!" Narcissa practically exploded. She rounded on her husband—hand over the holster she kept her wand in. "We have our Draco back. Let's pack our bags and go—now!"
Lucian had been passive so far, but hearing what amounted to wizard royalty argue shook him from his fugue. "Go?"
"Who are these? The Crabbe and Goyle boys?" Lucius asked.
"N-No. This is Lucian Bole and Helena Fowley. When the Ministry were"—Draco summoned more of her fortitude and straightened—"ham-fisting everything, they helped me get here faster. We'd still be traveling if it were left to… Ugh, I can't even be bothered to recall their names."
The phrasing and attitude made Lucius smile just a little, though he struggled not to show it. "Then a good job they did, and they'll be rewarded for it. We are leaving, Draco. Pack whatever you wish to bring."
Staring at her father as he stormed out of the room, Draco wasn't prepared for the hug incoming from her mother. "Mu—"
"Don't you give me any of that, Draco." Picking Draco up and carrying her to the bed, Narcissa sat down carefully and glared across Draco's back at Helena and Lucian—it only took the slightest touch of her magic to close the door to them and give herself the freedom she needed to start crying again.
Stepping back from the door, Lucian looked at Helena. "What you think that's all about?"
"A mother who loves her child no matter what?" Helena asked with a raised brow.
"Nah. I get that. I mean the bit about moving. Where do you think they're going?"
"You didn't hear, then?" Jilla had been snooping nearby just in case she was needed again. She still might be, but that didn't stop her from taking the chance to gossip. "The magic's fading. All draining away to that other world. All the 'igh and mighty families are gathering up their things to follow it."
"Fading? What you mean, 'Fading'?" Lucian asked.
"Exactly that. Everyone can feel it, they just don't say it out loud. You'd do well to scoot on back there." Considering her work done, Jilla turned and took the opportunity to leave the conversation lest she get dragged into anything.
Helena was the first to speak. She looked Lucian in the eyes and searched for an answer to her one question. "Our families…?"
"Yeah. How're we gonna do this?" Not the best with plans that didn't involve hitting things, Lucian looked to Helena for guidance.
"Your family first. You're the one who can apparate, so you can get us there faster." The plan, Helena had to admit in her own head, was good. She just hated it. "Then we work out if we can make it to my family from there."
"I hate this plan." Lucian beckoned Helena closer with a hoof. "But I can't think of anything better, and I hate that too."
Helena did her best to hold back tears as she put a wing over Lucian's back and held on for dear life.
It was hard for Draco to admit how good it felt just to be hugged by her mother. Things hadn't gone as badly as she'd feared, but it hadn't exactly gone perfect, either.
"'You're not my heir, then?' Why'd he have to say it like that?" Draco asked. "As if I don't have enough to worry about."
"Shh. He's going through a lot, too. Certain… events, have changed things." Narcissa's eyes bored through the walls to her husband's arm where she knew his master's dark mark had twisted and changed. "That's why we're going sooner rather than later. The other families are waiting some things out—we don't plan to. When we're on the other side and facing all this together we'll all sit down and have a long talk about these changes."
"There's one more thing." Draco couldn't keep a smile off her lips as she ruffled her wings under the cloak and, carefully, extended each out a little to the sides. "My broom's still back at Hogwarts, but I'm learning to fly without it."
"Well, we can head there and fetch your broom before finding somewhere more suitable to live. Please, Draco, bring only the things you need most. We will be traveling light." To say she was distracted would be an understatement, and Narcissa hated that. Her thoughts were busy tracking how many of their servants, heirlooms, and galleons they could bring with them. She could have trusted it to her husband, but what she'd discovered was that while her husband could plan intricate schemes with meticulous detail, if a time limit was involved or he was under other pressure, it would all go awry quickly.
"Mum, I—" A sound cut through the hallway outside and the wall. The manor house was warded against incoming apparations, but outgoing were not blocked. "What was that?" Draco jumped off the bed and toward the door. Using a wing to operate the handle, she poked her head outside to see an empty hall.
"I gather your friends had business of their own. I don't begrudge them an early warning to move swiftly—in fact I consider it payment for their efforts to get you here. Come, Draco, we have planning to do."
"We're goin'? But what about the farm?" Ronald Weasley watched as his father, looking much put-upon, pulled out something from his robe. "What's that, da?"
"You know I'm loyal to the Ministry, Ron, but sometimes you hear something that makes you feel a lot more loyal to your family. And I'll make myself clear, my loyalty to my family comes first." Arthur Weasley was a tall man, but he was skinny as a rake. At just shy of six feet tall, his robes hang around him without showing off any of the wiry strength his forefathers had been known for. He could—and was—hiding just about anything in his enchanted robes. "Find ya mum, Ron. Make sure she has everyone clear of the farm out to the edge of the first field."
About to open his mouth and ask why, Ron realized his father had a serious edge to his tone that only showed up, usually, when he was on the job. "Yes, Dad." Galloping up the driveway to the house, Ron's hooves struck up sparks on the rocks he hit as his crystal body shattered and ground them into dust. "Mum! Mum!"
"What're you yelling about, Ronald Weasley? Oh! Is your father ready?" Molly Weasley realized his haste meant only one thing. "Alright. Everybody! We're going now. Grab only what you need for the drive!"
It was as if someone had hit the wall of a particularly mouse-infested house with a broom. Red-haired faces popped out of every corner and, a suitcase each, came running down the stairs. Bill was shoved aside by Fred and George as the two made a race of getting to the bottom first.
"Mum, what's going on?" Ron asked.
"We're moving. Your da put in his letter of resignation this morning, and it was refused, but he was granted permission for an extended holiday. If you ask me it's a load of codswallop. The magic's fading, Ron. The magic of this old place would fade as surely as ours would, and I'm too old to learn a new way o' living. Grab your case and follow us."
"Here you go, Ron. We packed it for you!" George twisted and bucked a suitcase toward Ron, who deftly caught it with his face. "Not that we need too much, but it's good that Mum made us something to hide all our tricks."
But there was something Ron couldn't fathom. "What about Charlie?"
"Your brother is a smart lad. He'll work out how to find us if he wants to come. Knowin' him, he'll want to stay with 'is dragons." As she spoke, Molly turned her back on her children. Ostensibly she'd turned to lead the way to the door, but in fact it was to hide her tears.
Bill walked out of the house just behind his mum and let out a sigh. "When he gets your letter, he'll come." It was hard for him to give his own mother words of confidence, and he surely couldn't turn to look at her for fear he'd see the tears in her eyes. "You know Charlie, he's a smart lad."
The sound of three sets of hooves striking the stones behind her made Molly let out a gasp of relief. Her boys were the same boys they'd always been, they were just twice as strong now and had the leg-count to prove it. Lifting her sleeve up, she used the ever-present handkerchief she kept there to blot her eyes. "Come on. Who has Ginny?"
"I've got 'er, Mum." Bill held out the book he'd kept close to him all morning for fear of misplacing it. Her, he had to remind himself. "You're alright, right, Ginny?" Opening the book in his soft hands, Bill revealed ink scrawling itself across the surface of a page.
I'm alright. What's going on?
"We're packing up and moving," Molly said when she noticed the words on the page. Crossing the field, she could see her husband ahead. "Your da has a special something perfect for the occasion."
I can't see, only hear. Where are you and what exactly is happening?
"Dad got something that lets us…" Bill wasn't going to cry. Brave Scottish wizards didn't cry. "It lets us take the farm with us."
That's amazing!
Clamping down on his emotions, Bill's mouth was squeezed into a tight line. "Yeah. I'll miss the Devon, though."
"What?" Ron looked up at his big brother. "You spend most of ya time in the city!"
"Lay off him, Ron. Bill likes getting his crevasse dirty now an' again." George used his hoof to flick a little turf at Bill.
Bill's wand was out and he deflected the incoming dirt with a flick of it. "It's a cravat!" He sent a weak Stupefy spell at his annoying younger brother.
Ron pulled out his wand almost as quick as Bill had and deflected the Stupefy—at least he tried to. His counter, Rennervate, missed the blast but connected with George a moment after the stun hit him.
Shaking his head, George looked between his two brothers. "Normally, Ron, people use that to counter a Stupefy."
Fred, who'd watched the spellcasting play out with a stunned expression, broke into laughter and nudged George into walking again.
"I—I meant to counter it." Ron looked between George and Bill. "Really."
"You're in second year now, right Ron?" Bill asked.
Looking up at his brother, Ron continued to talk around his wand that was still in his mouth. "Yeah. Just finished it. Kinda. Why?"
"You should have learned about countering properly by now. I know you got the spell right, but you need to work on your aim."
Ron stared at his older brother for a few seconds. "Yeah, about that. You try aiming a wand you're holding in your mouth while pronouncing the spell and gesturing properly."
"I guess I'll find out, won't I?" The idea of turning into a little horse didn't hold any actual fear for Bill, but he wondered how different it would be from the time his little sister accidentally turned him into a zebra. "Anyway, do you want to practice?"
As they walked after their mother, Bill and Ron slung spells off to the side. Ron missed a few, but as they walked his accuracy got better and better.
Arthur let out a sigh when Ron and Bill finally reached him. He'd pondered shouting for them to hurry, but seeing them practicing magic together filled his heart with happiness. "Alright, now you're all here…"
Ron looked up at his dad as Arthur Weasley held out what looked like an empty snow globe. "What's that for?"
"This is something I found a witch using to haul around her home as she traveled. It took me weeks to work out what it did, but now…" Holding the globe a little higher, Arthur lifted his wand to it and let his magic flood into the artifact. "… now I have the hang of it." As he lifted his wand away from the globe, an arc of magic fire spat and fizzed between them like a Jacob's ladder. When he aimed his wand at the farmhouse, Arthur quickly chanted out the dimensions he needed stored and—
It was the kind of sound you'd hear if a thousand giants all stuck their thumbs in their mouths and made a pop sound at the same time. It echoed around the empty Devon countryside—and the land was indeed empty. For given values of empty. The farmhouse, its crops, and everything that had been where The Burrow had existed was gone. In its place was what seemed like a wheat field, but the strange thing was that where the property had been was a huge circle pressed into the wheat.
Arthur held up the snow globe to reveal their home and farmland was all contained inside it now. "A clever witch she was, and she had a great sense of humor."
"Arthur! Arthur Weasley!" Amos Diggory, a smartly dressed wizard with an open robe around his shoulders, walked along the path toward the Weasleys with his wife Petunia at his side and their son, Cedric, walking just beside his wife. His son, Cedric Diggory, was walking on two equine hooves, though he lacked hands. "You're coming too then?"
Walking up to their neighbors, Arthur reached out to shake hands with his friend—each clasping the wrist of the other. "Of course I am, Amos. Two of my boys are like this now, and what with magic going away I don't even know if they could survive without it, and don't try to deny that rumor."
"Wouldn't dream of it, and had the same thought. Don't know what I'd do if anything happened to my boy here. He's going to have enough trouble staying on a broom now." Amos stepped aside and gave Cedric a punch in the shoulder—something that hurt his fist more than Cedric's body.
"I dunno, Dad, if I could play a single game of quidditch without those two trying to beat my face in with a bludger I'd be okay with staying." Nodding to Fred and George, Cedric had a big grin on his face. "I say trying, o' course."
Looking between the Weasley boys, Amos fixed his eyes on the only one standing upright. "Is this little William? Lad, you've grown. Working for… Gringotts, right?"
"Curse-breaking, sir. Been working in Egypt mostly, some fools decided it would be a great idea to fill pyramids with magical traps—as if some of the regular ones weren't a problem. Then you have…" Bill trailed off as he realized he was getting too far into work stuff. "Anyway, Mum and Dad sent me an owl, told me what was happening. Family is always first."
"Smart lad. And where's little Charles? Not here with you? Last I heard he was doing questionable things in support of dragons." Being part of the Ministry's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Amos was familiar with the second oldest Weasley—the whole department was. "Of course, you didn't hear me say that last bit." Though no one in the Ministry ever did anything if they found out about him. As far as they were concerned, Charles Weasley was on vacation in parts unknown—especially if he turned up somewhere smelling of dragon.
Arthur almost froze and his expression definitely soured a little. "We haven't been able to contact him. No owl can work out which way to go, and his associates haven't seen him since his latest vacation started."
"Well, there has been more of these portals or rifts opening up. Perhaps he's already investigating while on vacation." Amos gave Arthur a wink. "Clever lad, I know he'll figure something out. I'd suggest sending an owl when we get across."
"There, see, Arthur, I told you there was something we were missing. We just have to find somebody with an owl." Molly Weasley was of the opinion that her missing son was sure to be safe, though she did worry where he might be safe.
"Of course, dear. I can't see there being much use for owls at first, but as everyone spreads out they will definitely need them more." Arthur turned his attention back to Amos. "You have a way to get to Hogwarts?"
Barking a laugh, Amos nodded. "Normally it would be quite impossible to reach the school via most methods, though Floo would have been accessible. Now there are no wards to stop, say, a very old Portkey that's linked directly to the site from working." From out of his coat Amos drew an ancient-looking tartan kilt. "Would you perhaps enjoy a quick ride there?"
"So nice of you to ask, Amos." Gesturing her sons close, Molly reached out a hand toward the tartan.
Hands and mouths reached forward to take a firm grip, and once Amos Diggory was sure they all had a firm hold, he activated the Portkey.
The ride was mercifully short. Though the tartan was far stronger than it had any right to be (thanks to magic), it still felt fragile to each of the nine people holding on, but when they spun into a landing just outside what used to be the grounds of Hogwarts, they all breathed a sigh of relief.
"Who's that? Reveal yourselves!"
"Amos Diggory, my family, Arthur Weasley, and his family. We just arrived via Portkey and would like to speak to whomever is in charge, please?" Amos stepped forward into the light that grew from the sentry's wand.
"M-Mr. Diggory! Mr. Weasley! Right this way, sirs!" Climbing the ladder in the Ministry meant knowing who was who. You didn't get very far if you insulted someone who was the boss of your boss, or who was good friends with them.
"Richard, it's good to see you." Amos walked over to one of his compatriots at the Ministry and shook his hand warmly. "They haven't got you in charge here, surely?"
Shaking his head, Richard Fellows let out a sigh. "I sent for a replacement. This is the wrong assignment for me. They—you'll forgive me, ponies—are not creatures at all but beings. I had hoped you were my replacement, but you wouldn't have brought your lovely wife. How are you doing, Petunia my dear?"
Petunia Diggory had been keeping to herself during the journey so far, but being addressed directly meant she had a duty to rise to the conversation. "I'm doing fine, Richard, but I had hoped all this"—Petunia swept her hand to indicate all the tents and Ministry wizards and witches around—"was just for show. We are allowed to go through, correct?"
Stopped dead in his tracks, Richard reached into his robes and drew out his pipe. Just handling the old wood comforted and balanced him. "Absolutely not, my dear. I'm sorry, but without—" That's when he saw Arthur Weasley and his family. "Drat."
"Now now, Richard, no need for cuss words." Amos stepped aside to allow Arthur to approach and talk with Richard too. "We might not be your relief, but I believe Arthur is the most senior member of the Ministry here."
"Hello, Richard. Keeping well?" Arthur asked.
"Hello, Arthur. Can I assume you wish to go through to the other side as well?"
"Absolutely. Here I was worried that the Ministry's refusal to allow me to retire would be a problem. It looks like it has been the opposite. Please make way, Richard." Arthur wasn't one to use his pull at the Ministry except in the most dire of times. Now was one such.
"You know they'll all want to go, then. If I allow you lot through, I'll have a magic riot on my hands here." As he spoke, Richard packed his pipe with a fresh charge of tobacco and gestured with it to one side of the Ministry encampment. There were dozens of wizards and witches gathered, families and in ones and twos, and they were all watching Richard talk to Arthur Weasley and Amos Diggory.
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Why not let them, Richard? They're grown adults. I wasn't aware the Ministry had policies against overseas travel."
Flicking his finger to create a flame, Richard lit his pipe and took a few calming puffs. "You know that's stretching the truth of the matter. This is an alien world, Arthur, Amos, not France. We have no clue what their culture and true policy is toward us. All we have is their word. While some have resisted our—"
"Mr. Weasley!" Hermione Granger, her parents smiling and following along beside her, rushed over to where Arthur and Richard were having a battle of wills. "Mr. Weasley! They said we can't go back. I don't want to be stuck here. I demand we be allowed to go back to Hogwarts so I may finish my schooling!"
Looking from Hermione to her parents, Arthur smiled. "This is Mr. Fellows. He's in charge of things here. Perhaps you'd like to ask him nicely if you can go back to Hogwarts, Hermione?"
Richard looked from the unicorn-girl to her smiling parents. "These mug—"
"Richard, careful of your words, my friend. They are Hermione's parents and are aware of wizardkind. There's no need to be rude." Arthur could well remember how upset young Miss Granger had been when he'd used the word muggle around her when they'd first met.
"Right. Of course. Well, if your parents agree, you may return to discuss schooling with—"
"Excuse me, Mr. Fellows, was it?" David Granger still had a little trouble getting used to wizards, though he was now very familiar with other creatures of the wizarding world. He'd discovered goblins quite liked having gold fillings added to their teeth and would pay handsomely for even minor dental work. "I was wondering when we could go through? Together. We've decided that—what with magic fading here—our daughter would be best served if she could continue to learn in a more appropriate environment. We—We brought our passports."
"I—" Richard Fellows had found himself caught in a tough situation, but dealing with tough situations was what wizards excelled at. "I will begin a process for the recording and expatriation of individuals and families. It will be orderly—we're British."
"Good show, Richard. Good show." Arthur patted his compatriot on the shoulder.
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That didn't sound right according to the rule of osmosis, right? I thought the highly dense magical field of Equestria would gust out to the human world like tsunami by now.
That's a thing?
I'm down for some Rake X Charlie shipping. Seems things are starting to fall into place with wizards making the move to Equestria. Gonna be a whole new human nation if situations like Hermione continue.
10291674 Magic make sense? You'd be a terrible wizard.
Honestly, though, it depends on the surface tension of magic.
Narcissa: "What do you think of Draco's pony form? Do you hope for a pony form of your own upon crossing?
It's interesting to see how far the word of fading magic has already spread and how all wizrads and witches seem to be planning to move to Equestria. I have the impression that the Ministry would like to prevent anyone from moving to Equestria.
Magic fading... At least the Wizarding world is being sensible about it!
Azkaban is about to have a bad time though.
Unless you typo'd it intentionally, this should be "Preparations" (Yeah, it does pronounce as ə, but the root is "Prepare")
Amusing, but I think you meant "soul"
The following scene feels very wrong in how you use words. (It feels like one of those stories from before Ilvermorny was revealed where an author who completely misses the tone/mood/atmosphere component of a Harry Potter story sends everyone to some nondescript American school.
These forms of address are very jarringly non-canon... not to mention that "ma" and "pa" is more a "Southern American or American of non-English-speaking ancestry" thing.
I pulled out my copies of the books to check and, in every instance I saw, Weasleys use "Mum" and "Dad". (And using "Mum" rather than "Mom" or "Ma" is part of what lends HP it's distinctive sense of Britishness to North American readers.)
"da?" sounds more appropriately British, but, since I don't have e-book copies, I didn't have an easy way to do a thorough check for whether Rowling ever uses it... I just didn't see it anywhere I looked.
*snicker* This works.
I don't remember hearing The Burrow ever being referred to as a farmhouse and, in canon, "The Burrow" appears to refer to the building itself, not the property.
I don't see any evidence that Mrs. Diggory is canonically named Petunia and there are various reasons not to do this. For example:
Funny you should choose this humorous touch. I'm currently reading Harry Turtledove's World War: In The Balance and just got past the part where Vyacheslav Molotov noticed the qualitative difference in how Brits queue. (p.225 of the Hodder & Stoughton hardcover)
So many things set in motion! Excited to see what becomes of it all. Is this building to a climax? Or a larger story arc?
Also, to spite a bitter author, to any creature. “How do wizards handle gender transition and view transfolk?”
Amazing chapter as always, thanks for sharing!
Oh so he doesn’t look like a snack, he looks like a snacc
10291674
Unless, of course, Equestria is "downhill" from the Earth, magically speaking, and there's a gravity to such things.
10291963 Oof, fixed a pile of them. As for ma/pa, yeah, I should have stuck with mum/dad (I'll blame tiredness for that one). RE: farmhouse, I wouldn't think the Weasley's nearly so prideful that they'd constantly refer to their home by a formal name. As for Petunia, there will not be reference to any other Petunia, so rest assured that won't be a problem that comes up—I needed to invent a name for her, and that came to mind. As for that family's bloodedness, Amos I have tagged as pure-blood and Petunia as half-blood (by a grandfather as a muggle), which makes Cedric pure-blood (by most standards except that of the sacred 28—yay racism).
10291967 I think, given my previous writings, my stance on gender and sex is well known, but I believe my wizarding world would be far less focused on what's between someone's legs and far more interested in what's within their wand. Between potions that can let you "try out" the other side (polyjuice) and human transfiguration magic, it's fairly safe to say that a wizard, being a flexible thinker, will think flexibly.
10292052
I'm not thinking prideful, I'm just thinking about what fits best with how I remember the books handling it... Maybe "the house", but never "the farmhouse". I'm not sure if the word "farm" was ever used in the HP books I read (1 through 6) and almost certainly not in connection with the The Burrow. My impression was that it was more a small house on a large plot of land in the countryside, owned by a government employee and his family... possibly all that was left of an inherited family holding that had to be progressively sold off over the generations.
You're writing a fanfic. Every time you say "Petunia" (even when referring to the flower), Petunia Dursley flashes into the reader's mind at least a little bit. Using it to refer to another person causes a momentary "hiccup" whenever it happens, needlessly impairing immersion.
10291903
Well, yes. A government with no governed is just some sort of private club.
10291963
There's a British sociologist whose name I can't remember (it might be Diane or Daphne Fox) who wrote about the manner in which the British mourned the death of Princess Diana: by quietly queuing up.
Edit:
Kate Fox, Watching the English, page 160 (of the paperback)
and so the huge exodus begins ,, the wizards are going to be in for a huge change in the way things / life is going to be.
welcome to the land of rainbows , friendship and love.
I suggest that this be fixed as: "The day was half over and I... We'd only just passed through Canterlot."
Glorious.
Rend, possibly.
The possibility of that is horrifying. Professor Moody: Is such a thing consistent with prior dementor behaviour? Have they previously employed organized resistance?
10292052
Huggles. Just thought that might be a good question, because pride month and all. Hope you’re doing well!
10292274 I really wish I had more sleep. My writing quality goes down somewhat when I burn the midnight oil too much. Thank you for the fixes, my brain seemed to lock onto the past tense of rend for some reason.
10292389 Thank you, I am doing quite well, except for the specter of short nights that no amount of Patronus will keep away.
10293157
Lol
10293157
I'm sad. Youtube didn't have the quote in a clip, and I don't wanna learn how to clip video segments or use a shitty website that'll compress it to hell right now.
Why wouldn't every single auror assigned to Azkaban be capable of casting a fully-formed Patronus? That seems like it would be a prerequisite of the job, what with being forced into close proximity to Dementors 24/7.
Edit: A quick bit of research reveals that in HP canon, Azkaban has no human staff at all. It is entirely run by dementors. (Until the dementors defected to Voldemort and were never replaced after the war.) Aurors show up to drop off prisoners, and family of inmates occasionally show up, but mostly to pick up corpses after a life sentence has been served. That seems a little odd, since presumably you have to feed the prisoners and that doesn't sound like dementor behavior...
The incantation for the stunning spell is stupefy.
Rennervate, the reviving spell, is meant to remove the effects of the stunning spell from someone, not prevent the stunning spell from hitting.
10293849 Azkaban, in the books, is a torture palace where they send wizards who even just committed misdemeanors. It is insanity. I tried to make it a little more prison-like, though since the guards aren't normally given wands, a Patronus ability is not strictly required.
Spellcasting is... odd. I mean, Harry countered Voldemort's killing curse with a stupefy. I was trying to carry that over to using the opposite effect spells/counterspells as being extra effective at doing so. Thus, in a duel, wizards will throw spells at each others spells as well as try to launch their own. If you cannot stop a stunning spell except by curing it afterward or using a shield, what's even the point of spellslinging? It just becomes a battle of who can beat down the other's shield first (or who is first to resort to the killing curse).
Further, on spellcasting, the original author had a tendency to make up magic to fit the plot's requirements. I'm just using this little bit here to show some more mechanics of this particular interpretation.
10293884
I get that, and even support it wholeheartedly. Dementors being the only "staff" at Azkaban makes no goddamn sense, and that being canon comes from Pottermore rather than the books themselves. But given the constant proximity to dementors as part of their jobs, it also makes no sense not to have constant patronuses. No patronuses would mean everyone working there is willingly subjecting themselves to literal soul-sucking despair. The kind of person who would do that is not the kind of person that should have the emotional fortitude to fight dark wizards which every auror would need to even begin training.
(Ask X) To Dumbledore: Is the ICW aware of what is happening with the magic? After all if magic is leaving the world, then they should have the right to know the reason and try to leave just like Britain
To Pinkie, how much have you expanded your party cave now that you have all these new humans/ponies to plan for? Have you added a new wing, new filing cabinets, or something else entirely? Have you just straight dug more space? I'm intrigued.
> "If you're right, Auror, then we're in trouble. How many here can cast a Patronus?" Archibald looked at Alastor and Sirius, then to his guards when they ran to the sound of his voice. When every face looked to the floor, Archibald sighed.
This makes no sense. Like, put-down-the-story not making any sense.
10298550
It’s Harry Potter. It honestly wouldn’t surprise me if the guards surrounded by horrible creatures didn’t have the only weapon known to defend against them in the same way it doesn’t surprise me that nobody thinks it’s wrong that young children are put into a high-rated school full of things that can and will kill them.
10298717 Or that in those schools they find the best of the best and put them into a 3-way duel to the death...
"We are British." I love that.
I hope you continue this! Also I like the small bit of romantic options Harry has in this. Ginny? She's a book now. May e when she gets her own body again. Female Draco? Could work once they get along. Hermione? Perhaps. CMC? Who knows xD maybe even one of the Kirins. Maybe Snape can be a father figure to Harry once they become less annoying to each other.
Dear Draco: Now that you are a Female, would you consider veiwing Harry any differently? Like in the 'good' way? *Wink wink*
Like a human world passport would be of any use in Equestria. XD
10291674
When Lord Uxbridge's leg was shattered at the Battle of Waterloo he is quoted as saying in a rather stoic matter, "By God, sir, I've lost my leg!", to which Wellington who was right next to him replied, "By God, sir, so you have!" It's also said that he was stoic throughout the amputation as well.
For a more recent quote, I give you Dr. Phillip Lee, a GP, and Tory MP, who suggested that the NHS was buckling under the strain of hypochondriac baby-boomers, who lacked the "stoicism" of their "parents who survived the war" in reference to people seeking help for COVID-19 symptoms.
10292094
In the books, it's always referred to as The Burrow and that is because that's the name they have to use in order to get home via the floo network. As for the building itself, it's an old crofters cottage.
The curious thing about it is that it's likely held together with magic and more than likely was.
Without magic the entire place might come crashing down like a house of cards.
10324235
True, but, whenever I hear "farmhouse", I think of a building with very distinctively "American Midwest" stylings. Harry Potter is all about crafting a very distinctive British feeling.
10324255
True. 'Farmhouse' does apply to a specific style of structure popular in the US and typically one to two floors with gabled roofs and large covered decks.
10324255
10324292
I think you're conflating local opinion with definition. Here in Australia we have farmhouses too, and they're nothing like you describe there. A farmhouse is literally "a house attached to a farm, especially the main house in which the farmer lives." From the books and the movies, the Weasleys definitely live on a farm. JKR's writing aside, I call it like I see it.
10324825
Farmhouse in terms of architecture refers to a specific style of structure though there is a wide variety. A Crofters cottage is similar in some ways but has some unique differences. Many of the old Croft cottages only had one room along with an open fire cooking area. this was the sort of structure the Weasley's started with. A simple one-room cottage that slowly turned into something that could truly be considered wizard construction. It's also very important to use the proper terminology for the area you are writing about and always use the same terms as the original author when doing fan fiction so as not to risk losing or confusing your readers.
10299372
Are you talking about the Triwizard Tournament? I know that's how it used to be, but when they brought it back in Harry's year they went out of their way to keep things safe for their Champions.
I, for one, think that if you want to be an Azkaban Guard then being able to cast a decent patronus should be a prerequisite. That's the first question i would be asking applicants during job interviews! lol
10325082 Presumably, up until the latest problems with Voldemort, the Dementors seemed to be at peace with wizards. Of course wizards didn't like them much, but the Dementors were content to have free room and board. They wouldn't need to have defense against the Dementors since the Dementors were not enemies. Also, having wands in the prison was discouraged lest the prisoners get them.
10325100
Well, looking at this fic, it seemed they still had wands, albeit under lock and key. And i would say knowing that spell would just be common sense, in case accidents happen, but, in all honesty, in a lot of wizards common sense seems in short supply.
10325183 There are wizards and there are wizards...
Continue and update please soon.Maybe Power or love transform Hermione andher parents in equestria into full unicorn ponies.
Darn all caught up, love how this story is going.
Princess Cadence and Prince Shining Armor would you have a problem with a sudden influx of refuges? Like maybe a few hundred to tens of thousands.
Lol
10298550
Not necessarily. Perhaps magic weakening meant that none of them could cast a Patronus now. Maybe Azkaban's guards are all incompetent due to Ministry politics; it'd be a good place to put someone you don't want to have to deal with but don't trust. A fat paycheck and free reign to do whatever you want with prisoners? That's a sociopath's wet dream!
11463089 Ah dangit. That's an Australianism not a Britishism. Lemme fix.