Chapter 72: Blinded By The Light
During the silent wake of what they'd just seen on the screen, Harry glanced upwards and backwards.
The Headmistress, quite understandably, looked like she might spring to action at the sound of a pin dropping. Or institute a Degree of Caution that doesn't even exist yet. Or both. Her eyes- no, the intensity of her focus gave the impression that she had just devoured every last detail she could. Not because she wanted to, if Harry had to guess. Most good adults don't want to stare too deep into the darkness. The ugly abyss of evil is bottomless, and unpleasant to observe to say the least. But if adults don't look, if they don't remain vigilant, there's the risk that the darkness will rise up to devour them and – more importantly – all that they care about.
Or maybe Harry was just reading too much into it.
"So…" said Professor Michael Verres-Evans, who looked more curious than afraid. "That was Voldemort, huh?"
"Yes," said the Headmistress acerbically.
"What remains of him," said the Defense Professor neutrally, currently sitting in his human form at the front isle of this private little mini-theatre room that Circus set aside just for them, away from the wider contingent of watchers. "Now that he does no harm without caution and consent."
"What?!" demanded the headmistress.
"Voldemort was just a mask," the Defense Professor said plainly. "There's an ordinary-looking man beneath that pale skin and red eyes, a man who has refrained from the excesses of evil for decades at this point, in actions and in appearances. But the ponies required a wake-up call, and so he chose to don the mask once more."
"Um…" said Harry before the Headmistress could waste more time with useless incredulity. "Weren't there… um… problems? With doing that?" Like the Sense of Doom returning, he thought. "Like that it risked a relapse?" he asked out loud. "Because appearances and actions can go hand in hand?"
"Indeed they can," the Defense Professor said seriously. "Suffice it to say that a clever solution was believed to be found. You have just witnessed the evidence to see the answer for yourself, if you'd like to think on it. You have at least until the end of the tour today to figure it out on your own. That goes for all of you."
Autumn raised her hand and was called upon. "Spoiler," she said. "Could you silence my answer from everyone?"
The Defense Professor shook his head. "Not without some work on your end, Ms. Query." He withdrew a book from his robes. It vanished from his hands and appeared in her lap. "The wizarding spell you are looking for is 'Ventriliquo'. When you succeed at casting it, I will prevent eavesdropping on your answer from there."
That little exchange ignited the competitive spark in Harry. His mind generated the obvious hypothesis and he raised his hand. "Spoiler," he said after being called upon. "Do you mind if I point my wand at you for a Ventriliquo, Professor?"
"Not now that you've given advance notice. Try to aim at my ear and whisper as quietly as possible. That is soon to become standard practice in my classes. It will help keep me on my toes, and it should also make the would-be assassins happy."
"Erm… got it," Harry said after a few seconds to re-order his thoughts. "Emergus. Ventriliquo." And he gave his answer in his quietest whisper.
"Correct," said the Defense Professor out loud. "But note that if Autumn gives the same answer later, she'll still have figured it out first."
That was a bit of a bruise to his ego. But after a half-year of allowing his ego to be bruised over and over and over again as he learned how to be a pony duelist, he'd established the habit of explicitly noticing his competitive ego being bruised. Not five minutes after the fact, not after his Dark Side had already tinged the color of his every thought for a while, but in the moment. And when you notice your bad habits in the moment, that's the first tangible step towards doing something about them.
Trying to take the second step, even if he didn't quite mean it deep down, Harry said, "Second place is still good." Then, moving on to a more comfortable point, "Just to be clear, that worked during the Crucio? Or was the torture fake?"
"Yes, and no. It worked, it was not fake."
"How???" Harry asked.
"Unfortunately for all the forces for good in this world, pain is a highly effective battle tactic, among other things that it's highly effective for. The goal is to give life the best chance at preserving itself while enemies and death still abound on this world. Those forces are more than willing and able to inflict pain to gain advantage. Meaning that for now, in the present moment, life must learn to preserve itself even as it suffers pain, or as it witnesses others in terrible suffering. That is the underlying theory. I do not admit to being surprised it worked in practice, but I can easily see how anyone else would be. Ever since you discovered the trick for the Killing Curse, I don't think I'll ever be surprised again, when any other individual spell proves compatible. Mindsets, Mr. Potter. As you showed me."
"Um…" said Professor Michael Verres-Evans, who looked a bit lost. "Would you mind explaining what you're talking about?"
"Unfortunately yes, I would mind, for that would spoil the answer for Ms. Granger, who might still be thinking about it."
"What about me?" Draco asked, his voice overlapping with Hermione's "I don't need to think about it."
The Defense Professor looked from Hermione to Draco. "You are always welcome to try, Mr. Malfoy. Speaking as your Professor, I think you do not quite have all the prerequisites you need to solve this problem. Nor does your father, nor the Headmistress. But you are always welcome to try. Even failing to succeed means you have thought about the problem, and thinking about a problem on your own for a while, even if you fail, will make you far more interested in the answer once it is made known to you, whether by your own brain or by someone else's." His gaze turned back to Hermione. "I'm sorry for not immediately understanding, Ms. Granger, but do you mean that you don't need to think about it because you've already figured it out, or did you mean something else?"
"Figured it out," she said. "From hearing you talk about compatibility."
He nodded. "Are you upset that I gave that hint out loud?"
"Again, not really important compared to all the other stuff I'm upset about."
"Well said!" observed the Headmistress.
The man paused for a few seconds, then sighed. "Yes, I can see how these shallow distractions would be annoying. Would you prefer I not speak to you directly outside of classroom settings until there's an opportunity to discuss those deeper issues?"
"Yes," said Hermione curtly.
"Then forgive me for violating your preference by saying this one last thing, but when we do have that opportunity, keep in mind that the answer to the puzzle you just solved is useful for many things, and I intend for both of us to use that answer all throughout our deeper conversation. Anything less would make everything worse. In the short run and the long run."
Hermione's eyebrows rose in surprise, and then she slowly nodded. "Okay. Now please stop talking to me."
"For the rest of you," said the Defense Professor, "I will explain the answer at the end of the tour. Mr. Malfoy, you have the opportunity to earn… I'll commit to twenty-five Monroe points, if you correctly guess before then. Without further help from those who already know. I've given as many hints as I can. Use whatever down time we have to think about it, and please do not be upset if you do not see it. You can earn two points if you explain your thought process of a reasonable attempt at solving it. One if your attempt is merely mediocre, zero if you've clearly not thought about it and you're just giving a token answer to earn points. I do want you to actually think about it, though of course it's up to you whether you do."
"Understood, Professor," Draco said politely.
"Headmistress," said the Defense Professor. "Lucius. I suggest you do the same, but I have no simple bribes I can offer either of you if you succeed. Was there anything you wished to say before we move on to our final stop of the day?"
"I can think of a number of simple bribes that might work as motivation…" said Lucius Malfoy. "But perhaps none that are quite so simple as house points, from your perspective. I am ready to move on."
"Hm," said the Defense Professor. "Then let's say you'd earn an extremely minor favor from me if you figure it out unaided. Remember that I'm not expecting you to. You are in almost the worst position of anybody here to solve it, second only to Mr. Verres-Evans. And I'm not trying to deliver disparagement of your abilities when I say that. It's a puzzle requiring knowledge that you in particular simply don't have. Not on a gut level, anyway. And Mr. Verres-Evans doesn't have the knowledge at all."
Lucius seemed to think about it, nodded as politely as his son had spoken, and then looked at the Headmistress with a single raised eyebrow, as if to convey mild curiosity about her own answer.
The Headmistress did not look like she was in the mood for casual problem-solving. Like Hermione, only more so.
"I am ready to move on in the sense that I'd like to end this tour right away and have a private conversation with you, Professor," she said in a curt tone.
Hermione smiled at that.
The Defense Professor's expression barely changed beyond the slight raising of his eyebrows. "You originally chose to come here because of your concern regarding the circumstances behind Autumn's unusual magical aptitude. Has that been satisfied?"
"Compared to what has just come up, what I have seen on that front will do."
"Understood. And if I were to say that the plan was for me to direct this tour to its conclusion, that there is only one more stop, and that we cannot speak privately for an extended period of time until it is over?"
The Headmistress's lips were pressed thin. "Then I shall ask that we hurry and be done with it."
He nodded. "To Cloudsdale it is."
"Woah!" said Harry, barely catching himself before he fell face-first into the cloud beneath his feet, his arms stretched to his sides and wobbling for balance. It was like a lumpy field of pure cotton, with erratically irregular firmness, which is a lot more noticeable when you're not a heavy quadruped. Then again, it wasn't a treated cloud, so this was about as rough as they come outside of storm clouds. "This isn't so easy when you're twice as light," he remarked out loud.
"And on two legs instead of four, I'm sure," said Draco, who was currently on all fours.
"And with feet instead of hooves," said Hermione, who was on two feet, but stumbling.
"And top-heavy," said Autumn, who was also on all fours.
"That is why will be staying on broomsticks until we reach flatter clouds, yes," said the Defense Professor, dismounting his own and parking it next to Harry's. "You have five minutes to practice, then we proceed to the stadium. This should go entirely without saying, but removing your ankle or wrist guards comes at your own peril."
Harry glanced at the guard around his left wrist, a mirror to the one on his right, studded with a single sapphire and finished with a bronze hue. Lucius and Draco had allowed their silver-and-emerald-studded guards to be magically locked to their wrist by the Defense Professor's Colloportus. Minerva McGonagall had done her own Colloportus, and she had also done Hermione's.
Professor Monroe is right that it should go without saying to keep them on. He has broomstick bones. Harry has broomstick bones. But the rest of the tour doesn't. Harry honestly didn't think this group needed to hear that warning, but maybe it's the Professor's leftover habit from directing so many cloud-walking enchantment training sessions over the years.
The Defense Professor turned to face the tall, transparent glass box that had followed his broomstick through the air as if on a leash. "Would you like to come out, Professor Verres-Evans?" he asked politely. "Cloud-walking enchantments work on non-magical entities. I can cast a number of other charms to catch you if something goes wrong. Plus a Potion of Feather Fall, which will work independently of any charm." He held out a light-blue potion and floated it over.
Harry looked at his dad expectantly.
His dad looked back at him nervously. Then sighed, taking the offered bottle from the air. "Alright." One wall of the tall glass box opened like a door (the potion had been passed through a window), though his dad didn't step out just yet, instead raising a cautioning finger. "But only because a certain friend of mine would never let me live it down if they knew I passed up a chance to drink a real Feather Fall Potion." He popped the lid, gave it a sniff, then downed it in one go.
Three years ago, the Harry who had only understood magic as a power system in fictional universes, and who had been gifted the DnD rulebooks by his dad, could have easily, 100% related to that. The Harry of today can only 5% relate to that. His dad is just so slow in warming up to magic. Harry's had to overcome things like Dementors, the Killing Curse, and Obliviation, and here his dad is getting all enticed by a measly Feather Fall Potion.
Then he saw what his brain was doing and tried to squash the impulse to ego-mania. The impulse that insults and can't empathize with past versions of his own self. Like the self that was new to magic and filled with the novelty of it all.
Whenever I think to despair of you, the Defense Professor had once said, I remind myself that I was a fool at twice your age. Or something like that.
Then again, Harry had never had the problem in the past of being so… timid in the face of magic, even when he first learned. Except maybe the Time Turner, but come on, that's just downright rational fear. Maybe it's that part of Dad's personality that's rubbing him the wrong way. Not the fact that Dad's new, but that he's scared. Overly so, in Harry's opinion, now that he's seen so much evidence with his own eyes.
Harry suddenly got the vivid mental picture – as he watched his father take a deep breath and fail to put any weight on his first extremely hesitant step onto the clouds – that he was watching a child dipping their toe into the baby pool and complaining about its coldness (when it's not the coldness that bothers them, their brain is just making excuses).
Harry realized that this is just another one of those moments where he's viewing himself as the experienced adult, and his own father as a little child. A scared little child.
It's not that he wants to view his father that way, it's just that he can't stop his brain from seeing it. And it's not like being a grown child is a bad thing in itself. From the perspective of any master craftsman, a newbie is like a child to their art, even if that newbie is a hundred years old. Harry would be far less bothered if he could view Professor Michael Verres-Evans as an excited child, because that is something he knows how to handle.
(As a certain dragon would say, excitement typically means someone's free will wants to do the thing, so your job as the expert is to make sure they don't die or get maimed or discouraged along the way. Fear typically means their free will doesn't want to do the thing, and that's… much harder to deal with in a positive way. When you only have five minutes, anyway.)
On the other hand, fear is good for the cloud-walking enchantment if your goal is to not fall through the clouds.
"Hey, Dad! Catch!" Harry threw a bundle of cloud like a dodgeball.
After his Father had flailed his arms to defend himself against the attacking cloud and nearly fell over in the transparent box, he did not look amused.
"Just making sure the enchantment works for you," Harry said innocently. He then started bouncing up and down on the cloud like a trampoline, which took a bit of determination to firm it up to the right strength for a springy surface. "Come on out, the water vapor's fine!"
"How are you doing that?" Draco asked as he tried and failed (still on all fours) to get anywhere close to the height Harry was getting. Or bounce at all. Draco narrowed his eyes. "Are you cheating in a way that I can't?"
"Sort-of," said Harry, who was not using his broomstick bones to reach the heights he was reaching. "Try something for me, Draco. Each time you push off the cloud, shout 'UP!' in your mind like you're commanding your broomstick into your hand. Only instead of commanding a broomstick with your hand, you're commanding the clouds with your feet."
Draco jumped up and down a few times, succeeded in getting a good amount of height exactly once, failed to do it again for a while, succeeded, failed, succeeded, succeeded, and then he was off to the races, jumping around confidently and rather excitedly, not on all fours but on two feet.
Hermione watched on in amusement, giving a few smaller bounces.
Autumn had her head in the clouds. When she picked herself up and noticed Harry looking at her, she said, "Flips are harder than they look." She righted herself and ungracefully brushed a few strands of hair from her face.
"I bet the long hair and robes don't help," Harry observed.
She nodded. "It's hard to believe some humans can do a backflip from solid ground when I can't even get halfway. And I'm on a bouncy cloud!"
Harry shrugged. "It takes practice. Not that I have any experience myself, mind you. But tucking your legs as tight as you can and making yourself a ball should make you spin faster. That's what divers have to do."
"Divers?" asked Autumn, sounding confused. "Why would divers have to do that? I guess when they're turning around in water, which is kind of like air, but…"
"Oh, I didn't mean the deep-sea kind of divers. I mean people who jump off of high platforms and springboards. They do purely non-magical tricks mid-air, like spins and flips, and then they land in water. The most basic trick of all is a dive, where you enter the water head-first, so it's called 'diving'. It's a muggle sport, and you're judged by how smoothly you can move in the air and enter the water at the end."
"You know," said Draco, coming to a land next to Harry with a little bend of his knees that ate all of his momentum and prevented further bounces. He wobbled a bit. "There's this massive impulse in my mind to scoff and insult the idea, and I don't know what to do with it."
"You are doing well to notice the impulse in the first place and bravely speak it aloud, Mr. Malfoy," said Professor Monroe. He turned to face the carefully balanced man nearby. "Lucius, what is your mind doing with that particular manifestation of human beings becoming skilled in the art of physical grace?"
The man hesitated, then gave a dramatic sigh. "The point is taken, Lord Monroe."
"In this narrow application, I suspect that it is. As a general mindset, I suspect that it isn't. Your suspicion is right that not all muggle sports are so respectable as art forms, but neither are all wizarding sports. You know my opinion on modern Quidditch, after all. Do with that information what you will." Then, speaking in a quite clear and loud voice, "Two more minutes!" At a quieter volume, he spoke to Lucius directly, saying something Harry didn't catch.
"Alright," said Harry aloud, a bit to himself but also a bit performatively. "Let's see if this works."
He bounced over to the edge of the group, faced a direction of open clouds and air, planted his feet in soft clouds which he firmed up with a bit of determination, reeled back a fist, and allowed his mind to slip into the mental habit of air-bucking as his fist flew through the air in front of him.
And connected.
And made a breeze, along with a clapping sound.
Harry nodded in satisfaction.
"Would you like to learn something new, Mr. Potter?" asked the Defense Professor's voice, suddenly standing next to him as Hermione, Draco, and Autumn were off doing their own things.
"Huh?" asked Harry, a bit startled. "Um, sure."
The Defense Professor waved his wand, and a staircase of cloud rose upward. "That structure is incredibly fragile. Try climbing it. Be warned, you will need much more concentration and determination than usual. This task relies on the power of your imagination and the mental habits of air-bucking. It will be well enough if you make it up the first step, in the short time we have. And do not use your bones."
Harry nodded, trying not to let his eager overconfidence engage in the self-flattery that, as Moody once told him, "gets people killed, boy, and don't you forget it."
The Defense Professor isn't in the habit of overestimating or underestimating his students' potentials. If even the first step is difficult to get in one and a half minutes, then that's Harry's goal. If he gets the hang of it in thirty seconds, he'll go for the full staircase.
The first two attempts, in the first twenty seconds, saw his foot just slip through the thin sheen of visible vapor as if it wasn't even there. The third attempt, after he firmly visualized what he was trying to stand on, not just with his eyes, but with his mind (the same trick he used to air-buck against a 'wall' of air that isn't actually there), saw his foot find purchase, but as he raised his second foot, he fell through the first step.
This is hard. He needs to keep every step in mind the entire way through. But typically, the human mind – if it's focusing on walking at all – stops thinking about a foot after it has found purchase, it doesn't keep thinking about the foot the entire way through the step.
It took another two attempts and another twenty seconds to make it to the second step, but once he made it there, he tried to keep the mental habit going, force his mind along the pattern of thinking about each step all the way through its motion – and in particular thinking about the stair it was pressing against.
More than anything, this was an exercise in fully conscious walking. Which just feels downright weird when you've been in the habit of subconsciously walking for as long as you can remember.
But Harry did manage to climb the full staircase.
Even when he made it to the end, his mind was firmly focused on the thin platform beneath his feet at the top, and he couldn't spare much attention to anything else. (Which meant that he didn't see everyone else staring at him.)
He heard the Defense Professor's whisper into his ear, not really paying attention to it at first, "The Confundus Charm will wear off in three, two, one." And the cloud staircase disappeared. And Harry's eyes widened. When he examined this memory later, synced up side-by-side with the Defense Professor's and watching in slow motion, he would realize that he actually stood on thin air for a brief moment, not falling even after the structure he was seeing disappeared. But then like a cartoon, reality seemed to kick in and he fell to the cloud below. Though he managed a clean air cushion out of sheer habit before he landed.
"Congratulations, Mr. Potter," said the Defense Professor. "You have managed your first air staircase and platform." When Harry looked, the Defense Professor was standing next to Lucius, as if he hadn't moved from that spot this entire time.
Autumn was clapping her hands awkwardly, in that she didn't seem to know quite how to clap her hands together yet. "If that was your first try, there's no doubt in my mind anymore. You're definitely Silver Wing."
Hermione began following suit with more natural clapping, which caused Draco to give a few polite claps as well.
Based on the Headmistress's expression of interested surprise instead of indignation, she probably didn't know about the Confundus, so probably nobody else knows either.
Then, in another whisper that spoke directly into his ear, "Apologies for the surprise false memory charm and Confundus-" (and they didn't know about the memory charm that had apparently been cast on him either) "-but pony law allows for them in harmless teaching settings…"
Harry pretended to look at Lucius while he listened, who seemed to not be all there. He wore a somewhat distant frown that was only mildly paying attention to what Harry had just done.
"…so long as the mental magics are immediately revealed as such after the fact," the Defense Professor continued, "and did not change your actual thought processes, and were carried out by a recognized professional. I did not Confound or charm what you might call your sense of self, nor did I touch your cognition."
Harry pretended to look at Professor Michael Verres-Evans, who seemed like he was recovering from a small panic attack and trying not to let it show.
"I can accompany you to your Astral Plane," continued the private ear-whisper, "and point out exactly what was real and what was not by showing you a side-by-side comparison of memory. Naturally, this method of teaching is less effective once you know about it, and especially if you are given immediate advance warning. I won't do it again if you ask me not to."
"It's fine," whispered Harry, who had already gotten used to things like Dumbledore having to surprise mind-read him to check for past attempts at mind-reading, and doing the responsible, adult thing of asking Harry a question about breakfast so he wouldn't think of anything important, instead of doing the stupid thing of asking Harry for permission first. "You have my retroactive permission. And my permission going forward. I'll just treat the potential of being Confounded or False Memory Charmed at any time as an exercise in distrusting potentially false things that other people want me to believe. Things that, for whatever reason, my brain just assumes are real in the moment, and therefore wants to believe are true in retrospect. Besides, it's not like I'm immune to those charms if some actually malicious person tries them. It'd be good to have some practice."
"Well spoken. And the Astral Plane?"
"When we have available time. Unturned time."
"Very well," came the whisper, and a subtle nod from the man himself.
"Also, why didn't we have this conversation through Legilimency?" Harry whispered. This is creepier, he did not say. They weren't even making eye contact.
"Variety," came the whispered reply.
"Time to go," the Defense Professor called out loud. "Everybody mount up and follow me." There was a blur, and there was a thestral. "I'll be in my pony form," said Tom Riddle's voice, though not everybody present knew to recognize it as such. "I'd prefer if you didn't yet call me such things as 'Professor' or 'David' or 'Lord Monroe' where anypony can hear. I'm doing this mainly to avoid hecklers. And please do not dispel the illusion I'm about to project over us, Lucius, Headmistress. Children, please do not try a massed Finite."
"You alright, Dad?" Harry asked, trying to sound casual and not unsettled as he walked over to his (unnecessary) broomstick and mounted up.
After briefly staring at the thestral, then at the glowing word hanging above the group's head, an illusion that simply read 'tourists' from (Harry flew a bit side-to-side, then up-and-down) whatever angle you looked at it, Professor Michael Verres-Evans's gaze turned to face his son. "Considering I've just watched my son walk up an invisible stairway to heaven and go into free fall after he got there, I think I'm keeping it together, all things considered." He took a deep breath. "Is all magical learning that… dangerous-looking?"
Harry considered the question as they took off. "Dangerous-looking? From a muggle standpoint, I'd say the only subject I've taken so far that looks risky is broomstick riding, and only first years go through that. And we didn't even have soft clouds beneath us to break any falls."
"And the other subjects?" asked his father.
"The other subjects… Battle Magic probably just looks like flashing lights at the first-year level. Heck, the earliest combat spells we learned were so weak that they were invisible to the naked eye. Potions is probably the most objectively dangerous class we've taken at Hogwarts so far, and those lessons don't look all that bad until somebody stirs twenty seven times instead of twenty six and they blow their eyebrows off…" Harry trailed off at his dad's expression. "Just to be clear," he added, "we don't get to the potions that risk eyebrows on super subtle mistakes until after we pass our O.W.L.s. First years only get the potions that blow up if you add the wrong ingredients and stir in the wrong direction and sneeze into your cauldron."
"I don't think you are helping, Mr. Potter," said Riddle Tome from where he led the glass box holding Professor Michael Verres-Evans through the sky on an invisible leash.
"No," said Harry's father. "That does help, actually. I also imagine the professors are very vigilant about danger, especially if Hogwarts has the best safety record out of all the magical schools in the world."
"Exactly!" said Harry. "So… is there a problem?"
"Not… exactly."
"You looked worried."
"I was worried. I think I'm beginning to understand Mr. and Mrs. Granger a bit better now. That's all."
"One would think," said the thestral in front of them, "you would have reached that understanding already. When Mr. Potter was confined to Hogwarts and Dumbledore thought it a good idea to bring you there."
The muggle professor blinked. "No, that was when I finally understood the political realities of being a normal human being in a world run by secret magical governments that do whatever they want to people who don't have magic, and all we can do on our end is hope they treat our son well and don't memory-wipe us. That's not the same as coming face-to-face with clear evidence that some Hogwarts lessons would give me a heart attack after all, if I saw my son taking them with my own eyes."
And as Harry's father said that, they crested a cumulus cloud and saw Silver Wing's Flying Stadium with their own eyes. Harry had actually forgotten that the whole stadium was named after him, not just the museum inside. Come to think of it, is the whole stadium just for teaching his techniques?
And why are there so many Equinoids filing into the entrance? Is there some event going on? And when you really really think about it, why would flying pegasi bother using the entrance at all for a stadium that is, by all accounts, "open air"?
Admittance bureaucracy, his brain supplied as they approached. Stadium that's open to the air above + free-flying attendees + event that costs money for tickets + high trust society = pegasi and griffons and dragons use the entrance right alongside the unicorns and earth ponies and other Equinoids who don't have natural access to flight. So there's probably an event going on. Plus I bet there's some sort of magical detection web for Equinoids that try to sneak a freebie. Or maybe just good, old-fashioned, plain-old social pressure against cheaters, from anypony who spots a would-be seat-thief.
"This is the part where I explain to you," said Riddle's whispering voice in Harry's ear, despite seeming to be focused on finding a decent landing space, "that among my intentions for today's itinerary was to attend multiple opportunities for your pony form to announce his official return to Equestria. You already accepted one such opportunity – the one that did not actually reveal Silver Wing's return, nor Prince Horizon's physical appearance. It is up to you if you wish to do something interesting here."
"Got it," Harry whispered as he dismounted his broomstick a few seconds after the Defense Professor dismounted his own and landed on the flat, treated 'cirrus' cloud.
Most of the rest of their group was staring at the stadium, or at the beings in line, and were being stared at in return. Not all Equinoids are Circus-goers, not even half are, and so not all Equinoids have seen live humans yet, though most have at least seen pictures and descriptions in the newspapers, or heard stories from friends.
"So…" Harry did his best to ignore the staring and whispering ponies in front of them, and soon enough, the staring and whispering griffons behind them. "What're these long lines all about? It wasn't crowded like this the last time I was here."
Riddle Tome turned so that he was no longer faced forward, though he continued taking steps backward whenever there was room to advance, despite not looking where he was walking. He addressed the whole group, not just Harry. "We are about to attend the Silver Wing Remembrance Ceremony. Two days from now is the thirty-fifth anniversary of…" he grinned "…Silver Wing's first lesson on pegasus magic, during which he bantered with pegasus celebrities, sent many young colts and fillies home crying that night, got many angry phone calls from parents, and afterwards experienced a massive upsurge in attendees for his classes by the time his next lesson rolled around."
"Did he now?" asked Michael Verres-Evans in an intrigued voice.
Harry chuckled nervously. "Eh… what happens during the ceremony?"
"The 'Remembrance' in Silver Wing Remembrance Day is meant literally. So we'll be seeing some of that banter. Memories are shown on a big screen, some of the items from his museum are put on display, there's a moment of silence where everypony whishes Silver Wing the best of luck, wherever he is, and then pegasus magic lessons kick off for the year, with more of a bang than most years." The thestral looked directly at Harry and allowed the corners of his lips to twitch upwards. "Now flourished by a Wonderbolts performance, of course."
"When did it start?" asked Harry, ignoring the ribbing in favor of trying to get a certain question answered.
The grin was dropped, and neutral lecturing resumed. "It started as a private little get-together between Princess Twilight Sparkle, Former Wonderbolts Captain Flight Formation, Princess Celestia, and Scootaloo, who would later become Princess Airess. It has since grown into a much more major event."
"Did it naturally grow into a major event?" Harry asked, hinting at his certain question more explicitly, though not yet asking it outright.
"I had no hand in its early growth," said the thestral. "If that's what you're asking. But Princess Airess and Flight Formation weren't shy to accommodate ponies who heard about it on the grapevine, and Celestia wasn't shy to grant the official recognition of the crown. I did volunteer some of my own memories of your lessons once the Remembrance ceremony had already grown sufficiently large as to be a Cloudsdale holiday, and almost a national holiday. Now that Circus events are so popular and Equinoids of all shapes and sizes have cause to learn the basics of wingless pegasus magic, Silver Wing Remembrance Day is a national holiday, though not the kind that would cause ponies to get holiday pay or an off day. Except every five years, where it is a paid day off and the Ceremony is projected on Circus screens, for the benefit of those who cannot attend directly. It helps that it's always held on the weekend."
By the time Riddle Tome had finished explaining all of this, they were at the front of the line and heading to one of the twelve entrance booths. The lines were moving fast.
"Tickets-" said a voice that paused. A voice that belonged to mare of orange coat, with a mane that billowed like the cloudy sky around them. "Um," said Scootaloo. "Tickets please," she said as if on automatic, looking from Riddle Tome to the human tourists he was escorting, until her gaze settled on Harry.
"Pardon me," said the polite voice of Draco Malfoy, "and I apologize in advance if I offend, but you're a princess, right?"
"Yeeeeees," said Scootaloo, her voice dragging out the answer as her gaze lingered on Harry for a while, before finally darting over to Draco.
"Is it normal for a princess to… do the job you're currently doing?" he asked, still in that polite voice.
Scootaloo's expression grew a bit… adult. Her eyebrows furrowed and focused, like she knew the question she was really being asked, and she was carefully considering her answer so as not to say anything childish. "Well, it's normal for princesses to do the jobs they're responsible for. I'm the one who's most responsible for this holiday existing in the first place, so I'm responsible for making sure every aspect is running smoothly. We need horseshoes on the ground, and I'm first in line for any task I can do, if I'm not doing something more important. One less paid volunteer to pay, and I'm more passionate than any random volunteer would be. Though to be fair to the volunteers they can get pretty passionate…" her gaze grew a bit distant.
"There's nothing more important going on right now than admissions?" Draco asked.
Her gaze refocused. "Not yet. Now that's enough questions, there's bodies behind you. No more pestering the princess! Here's your lanyards." She floated out eight. "Get inside and find your seats so we can keep the line moving. Next!"
As Professor Monroe ushered them in, he began lecturing again. "She has been the host for this event going back to its inception." He led them quickly through a section of 'grounded' seats. There were plenty of seats suspended in floating clouds above them, almost reminding Draco of the Quidditch Dillenium Stadium in how many bodies it seemed capable of seating.
Although…
"This is more than I thought space charms could handle," Draco pointed out. He wasn't surprised by the stadium being bigger on the inside than the outside, he was surprised at how much bigger. "How is the game supposed to be watchable from the seats that are that far away?" he asked, pointing to the most distant sections of the wide, wide oval.
"Pegasus eyesight is keen," said their pony professor as they walked at a brisk pace towards what might actually be front row seats.
Which were actually quite a good distance away, which explained the brisk pace. Most of the attendees flooding into the already-packed stadium seemed to be flying to their seats. There also seemed to be many ponies who were simply Apparating- no, being portkeyed into their seats.
"As is griffon and dragon eyesight," continued the Defense Professor. "And there are projector screens for everyone else."
"Don't forget the alicorns," said Harry's voice from behind him. "Alicorns have eyes like telescopes. No glasses needed."
"How does that work?" asked Professor Michael Verres-Evans.
"Magic," Harry answered, his words overlapping with the start of Professor Monroe's answer.
"It shouldn't," said the alicorn who was currently wearing glasses, "if I've correctly understood the question you're really asking. If Fiendfyre were to destroy the right forehoof of Mithril, let's just say your son would have needed to learn to write with his left hand, once upon a time."
"Not anymore!" said Harry cheerfully. "We have technology!" he declared dramatically.
"I would not call powerful magics by the name muggles use for their trinkets," Draco's father contributed.
"Actually, Father, I think Harry's referencing a famous saying among scientists."
"Sure am," said Harry. "From the perspective of a primitive society looking at an advanced one, any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic," he quoted. "If super-advanced aliens from outer space arrived on the planet tomorrow, their technology would look like magic to muggles, and probably even to wizards, even if that technology ran on purely mundane principles. That is the rising power of science, Lord Malfoy. But anyway, when I said 'we have technology', well, magical devices and spells are just the technology of wizards, from my perspective. And I really, really don't mean that as an insult, I mean it as a simple observation. It's the inheritance of all sapient minds to understand the world around them, to strive that their technology- their power be innovated and iterated upon to make better technology, better powers."
"Mm," said Draco's father, almost as if he hadn't heard Harry's words… which he probably mostly hadn't. Draco's father has been getting more and more withdrawn when the topic of muggles comes up, lately.
"Stop pushing," Draco whispered to Harry, who paused, met Draco's gaze, and nodded.
"So how is it handled when someone tries to sneak into the stadium without paying?" Harry asked in the Professor's direction. "And then sneak back out, of course."
"Depends on their manner of sneaking," answered the thestral. "First I'll say that there is no such thing as an unauthorized exit from the stadium, or most places in Equestria aside from prison. To leave is fully allowed and unrestricted, for it is against the ethics of pony society to keep sapient beings confined when they do not consent to confinement, and have otherwise committed no violations of law." He adopted his standard lecturing cadence. "In order for someone to enter into a building, consent is needed both from the building owner and the guest. To leave, you need only the withdrawal of consent from one party. If the owner demands the guest leave, they are no longer a guest and they must leave, or they are violating the owner's property rights and they are trespassing, occupying a building they do not own and do not have permission or approval to occupy. If the guest demands to leave and they are kept, it is kidnapping. This philosophy is applied practically, not just in theory, with the occasional crazy circumstance carving out an interesting exception to that general rule, of course. Although hard cases make bad law, so pony society trusts their dispute resolvers to be fair and just during the weird cases, rather than making a massive edifice of legal code for every exception. An edifice that nopony would be able to easily remember. In practice, that means you could teleport out, Apparate away, portkey home, phoenix travel escape, even fall through the floor of this cloud stadium if you wished, with no consequences to yourself. Well, no legal consequences. You'd still be falling to your potential demise. I repeat, please do not take off your bracelets and anklets, my good tourists."
"Ah…" said Harry. "And my original question? What happens to people who enter without permission?"
"Unauthorized entrances are blocked, tracked, and warded by various means, not least by the space enchantment itself. If, during an event like this, somebody manages to bypass security and sneak in anyway, and they get caught, they are charged with theft on top of trespassing, because they have not purchased a ticket. Unless they have purchased a ticket, in which case it's just the trespassing again."
"Would they get charged with a more serious theft if they stole front-row seats instead of back-row?"
"Yes. I wonder why you are asking all of this, Mr. Potter."
"The obvious reason," said Harry.
The thestral grinned. "While it would greatly amuse me to see a certain pony charged for trespassing into the stadium named after him, and for theft of admission to an event meant to remember him, I regret to inform you that this stadium technically belongs to the pony it's named after. Legal complexities of stewardship aside, it is simply impossible for him of all ponies to trespass here, given that he's the official property-owner on paper. Even, say, if it is discovered that no ticket was purchased in his name, and he was not admitted by any means that are yet officially recognized."
"Mr. Potter," said Headmistress McGonagall in a somewhat strict voice, though there was a hint of defeatism there, a tinge of emotional concession that it was probably pointless to even ask. "What are you planning on doing?"
"I have no solid plans whatsoever," said Harry. "I've pre-committed to no courses of action in my mind. It is entirely possible that today will pass and nothing interesting will happen beyond what was planned for us."
"BOO!" said a loud voice from right next to them, and Harry turned to see Discord, cupping the side of his lips that were shaped like an 'O' and giving a thumbs-down.
Discord then went immediately back to chatting with the pony sitting next to him, as if his little outburst had happened without him even being consciously aware of it. The pony he was chatting with was none other than Princess Twilight Sparkle, who gave Harry a wink as he passed by. Princess Luna was on Discord's right, Celestia on Luna's Right, Twilight on Discord's left, and the Elements of Harmony sat in the row immediately behind them. There were also eight empty seats immediately to the left of Twilight.
True front-row seats in every sense of the word.
When the 'tourists' sat down, they would follow the order of Riddle Tome sitting first, closest to the Princesses, followed by Autumn next to him, followed by Harry's Dad, Harry, Draco, Lucius, McGonagall, Hermione.
"That said," Harry continued as he passed by the rarified company, "It never hurts to ask potentially useful questions. I've been given the official, crown-sanctioned go-ahead to have fun. So I guess we'll just wait and see if I decide I want to do something."
"That's the spirit!" said what looked like a wrinkly, scale-less dragon that was quite disturbingly pale-peach coloured as well as human-sized and sort-of human-shaped, sitting next to the Elements of Harmony. The phrase 'uncanny valley' came to Harry's mind. The phoenix on his shoulder did not go unnoticed either.
"Finally come out of your cave?" Riddle asked.
"Ya got eyes, don't cha?" asked the creature, earning him a slap on the back of his head, courtesy of his phoenix's wing.
Riddle took the jibe in good humor. "What finally brought you out after so long?"
"My own free will, of course," said the dragon. "The future is now. And I think I'm finally ready for it. My rehabilitation ain't fragile any more."
The phoenix gave a "Caw!" of approval.
"Ya bastard," the dragon addended, still addressing Riddle, and earning him another slap on the back of his head.
Riddle nodded in seeming understanding. "Good to hear. How did you reduce your size? Shrinking Potion?"
"Nope!" said the dragon, raising a single claw in the air like a finger. He then looked at his own claw, which blurred into a… a human hand? "Stop by later and I'll let ya in on a neat trick with the magus thing." He blew out a small flame, a flame which caught and hovered just above his raised finger. "Morgana couldn't hold a candle to me!"
Again, a phoenix wing slap. It seemed routine for the two, at this point.
Riddle's eyebrows rose, as did Harry's and a few others. "I'll be sure to find the time when I can."
"Excuse me," said Harry. "But I don't think I've heard about you. May I ask your name?"
"The masterful Master Fool, at my service," said the dragon, earning him yet another wing slap. "Finally done with my however long of seclusion. Say, what century is it on Earth?"
That question earned him some odd looks from the humans in front of him.
"Almost the twenty-first," said Riddle, unbothered. "The turn of the millennium will be in seven years and change."
The dragon gave a low whistle.
Riddle tilted his head. "I'm tempted to ask why you're asking now and not a good deal earlier."
"And I'm tempted to answer it's because I'm finally not tempted any longer," answered the dragon. "If I asked back before I was ready, curiosity might've killed the incautious cat. Just like it killed a certain cat I knew, once upon a time. Eh he-he-he," he chuckled to himself, earning him yet another wing slap. "I know, I know. Schadenfreude's a bad emotion. But do ya have any idea what Morgana-" Another wing slap. "What I'm sayin' is, I didn't even know that's what happened! And I didn't even do anything, she did it to herself-" Another wing slap. "I'm just sayin' she got what she-" Slap. "Ah, fine. Have it yer way," he pouted, earning another wing slap. "Will ya stop that?"
"Quietus," said Riddle, his horn glowing briefly. "The joys of phoenix companionship," he explained to the humans staring at the now silent argument between dragon and phoenix. "Ms. Granger, you are lucky to-" he began, seeming to address Hermione, but stopping mid-sentence. "Never mind, and apologies," he said.
There was a brief, awkward silence between the humans, after which a few smaller conversations broke out.
Harry took the time to examine the big front stage in the center of the stadium, which had a lot of the memorabilia from his museum arrayed in a half-circle: including his 'wondercolts' outfit made by Rarity; a report card from Cloudsdale High (straight A+'s, naturally, though he couldn't see that at this distance without being in his alicorn form); and his headband of course.
It didn't take long for the event to begin.
"Attention, Mares and Gentlestallions!" said a voice that was clearly practiced in announcing for major events like this – cool, confident, and projecting, with skilled inflections on the right syllables to captivate the audience immediately. It was helped by the fact that the entire stadium had dimmed in brightness, and spotlights were moving back and forth across the wide crowd, as if searching for a target. "Dragons and Griffons, Changelings and Diamond Dogs, Equinoids all! Announcing today's host, former Wonderbolt Captain, give it up for: Soooaaariiiin'!"
There was thunderous, though lopsided applause, mostly from the stands floating in the air. From the grounded seating areas, there was more constrained, yet still present applause.
Soarin' himself, when he began speaking, was clearly not quite as good at presenting as the disembodied voice had been. He was just a bit awkward, just a bit hesitant with some of his lines, though he was still clearly well-versed to public speaking in front of massive crowds.
"Not Scootaloo?" Harry loud-whispered to Riddle two seats over.
"She said it would have felt like lying if she tried to host it this year," Riddle whispered back. "She knows you're back, after all. She almost cancelled the whole thing entirely, but so many arrangements had already been made that she decided to at least allow somepony else to carry out this year's ceremony."
Harry frowned, and mulled that over for a while as he watched an event that only existed because a lot of sapient beings who were grateful to him thought he was gone. Many probably thought he's dead. A disquiet grew within his conscience as he sat there, watching memories of his past self.
The moral disquiet grew as the proceedings went on.
And grew.
"Permission to point my wand at you?" he loud-whispered to Riddle.
"Granted."
"Emergus. Ventriliquo." And he said a few sentences. Asked a few narrow questions. Got a few answers.
And then he waited.
And waited.
And waited.
The final memory that was shown, after many others, was his first flight lesson, in particular the parts involving Soarin'. The memory ended with Silver Wing falling through the cloud floor of the stadium, just like he had in the memory that was shown immediately prior, the memory of his speech at Flight Week.
This was followed by current-day Soarin' saying that he was young and stupid and full of hot air. He hopes that no future ponies, and especially no future Wonderbolts follow the example they saw out of his and Spitfire's past selves, and Flight Formation was right to dress them both down.
Even if Silver Wing was being a cheeky little munchkin.
This earned some chuckles from the audience.
"But that's an excuse that only works for foals," said Soarin' to the whole stadium with a sad sigh. "Adults should be more mature than to let cheeky young colts get under their fur. And I hate to say it, I wish I could've been better, but it took me thirty-five years to feel like I'm finally ready to say I'm sorry to Silver Wing, and actually mean it."
Harry almost pre-committed in that moment, but decided to hold off.
Soarin' then said that it was time for a moment of silence, to remember Silver Wing as he was – a real, living pony, who had his own little issues just like everypony else, but who did pretty well despite them. Much better than Soarin' did, that's for sure. Wherever he is, whatever he's doing, let's everybody wish him the best of luck, and hope he returns soon.
And there was silence.
And that's when Harry pre-committed.
"Quietus," he whispered with quite a bit of extra magical effort behind the spell, erecting a strong sound-proof barrier around himself just so he could avoid getting too much pre-knowledge that he might want to determine for himself later. He also looked away from the stage, at the expressions of his fellow humans and ponies, for the same reason.
He saw it on some of their faces – the ones who did not have their eyes closed. He saw the moment his future self made himself known…
"So that's where my headband went," said an Alicorn voice into the silence of the stadium. "Thank you," he said in a curt, performative tone that you would never use when actually delivering heartfelt thanks to someone. It's the tone some people use when they feel like they've finally gotten what had already been owed to them, and it's society's custom to say thank you, so they say it with just a tinge of cheeky not-quite-sarcasm. Then, more sincerely, "Apology accepted, Soarin'," he said to the gaping stallion. Then, slightly insincerely again, and trying his best to mimic Soarin's light tone of ribbing from earlier when he called him a munchkin, "Even if, from my perspective, it's a year late, Mr. Grown-Up Stallion."
By this point, all eyes (and the projecting screens) were on the colt pegasus with a white-glowing ethereal mane, headband over his forehead. Those who had not closed their eyes during the moment of silence had seen him place it over his horn. Everyone else had their eyes open by this point. Doubts about the how real he was were mostly non-existent due the fact that his voice and appearance almost exactly matched the memories that had just been shown. Aside from the mane, which might have made it seem more real, in a way. And due to pre-arranged charms, all of the crowd's gasps and other noise were silenced during this moment of silence.
"Thanks for the well-wishing for all these years, everypony! I think it actually helped more than you realize." Or rather, Equestria's general goodness and competence, which manifests in things like nation-wide well-wishing, helped. Specifically, it helped Riddle. "No need for this event anymore," he said. "I'm not going to ask that this one be canceled. I've been told there's still an unimportant show that lots of ponies put a great deal of effort into preparing, and I wouldn't want all that effort to be wasted. But you don't need to have any future days like this now that I'm back." He was grinning widely. "My perilous journey involving Time-travel is over. I got this neat mane out of it, and now I can do this." He made a wordless Patronus charm, and quickly expanded it to encompass the entire stadium, then allowed it to wink out, all in the span of three seconds. "Cool, huh? Although I've realized I probably shouldn't do it so much," he said as many Equinoids blinked away their temporary blindness. "So that'll be the last time it comes as a surprise, besides Circus battles. Sorry about everyone's eyes, now and earlier." Then, as he felt enough gazes had settled back on him again, gazes that could actually see again, he said, "Later!"
And he fell through the cloud stage, the cloud floor, dropping out of the crowded stadium.
…and right into a Sarlacc pit lodged in a flat expanse of clouds immediately below the stadium (clouds that were so smooth and crested that they almost looked exactly like desert dunes). Tentacles reached upward and claw-like teeth pointed down inward to a snapping beak and drooling tongue.
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What the hell is "Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality"?
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The world's best work of fanfiction ever, period. You can tell I'm biased.
Honestly, I thought I did well enough describing the basics of HPMoR in the story description:
I provided links and everything.
Well the torture thing isn't really a puzzle, it's already solved. The sarlacc pit is probably due to the arena being expanded through chaotic means, and the magic thought it'd be funny, having just encountered minds who've seen the movie recently.
11739631
Harry Potter fanfiction with a focus on puzzle solving and the scientific method. There's a few links to it on the title page.
I'm sorry. Best safety record? Hogwarts?
Bwa-ha-ha!
11739852
In the long term, of course. HPMoR, Chapter 98:
I take it the Sarlacc is courtesy of Discord given the size and complexity?
I havent seen most any of the later movies after Jar Jar and something about Sith, so only know two main characters interactions with the pit, one being Luke and te other being Fett?
I wonder how many Equestrian entities got notary through working for the Stadium in Maintenance, Accounting and Tax returns etc?
Sorry, time of year making me think if Scootaloo ever learnt of Harrys countries history in detail, she might end seeing the P 1154, and start singing Pegasus Device.
Next up, as Discord woiuld likely say, in costume.
Its showtime.
I am very confused
Nice chapter! Very emotional.
The end was just very confusing