Chapter 65: New Hire
"Professor Monroe," said Headmistress McGonagall at the staff table during lunch. "May I ask for your assistance on a pressing Hogwarts matter?"
Much like the small window for office hours he established for his students last year, lunch was the only time she could reliably meet and speak to the Defense Professor – a fact he had explicitly laid out to the Hogwarts staff at the start of summer. At all other times of the day, he seemed to leap across all of Magical Britain like a Leprechaun (or perhaps a Lethifold, depending on who was asked).
The Defense Professor blinked to awareness at her question. He had an apparent tendency to go distant when he was not actively doing something that required his full attention – perhaps a milder manifestation of his former severe condition.
The man sat completely at ease in a way that Minerva was only recently beginning to notice. He had an air of peace about him, a lack of his former tensity and intensity. He almost reminded her of Remus Lupin, of all wizards. Even back when David had been stressed by Ministry bureaucracy a few days ago, she couldn't remember him being sharp with her like he was before. He would voice his frustrations, but not direct his frustration at her. It was a subtle change, likely a result of his thirty five years in the Mirror. She was still curious about that, but she'd yet to ask him about it...
"Which Hogwarts matter might require my casual assistance?" he asked in a voice that sounded somewhat interested.
...though inquiries into his recent past would have to wait even further. "Do you happen to know any Potions Masters looking for work?"
"Ah," he blinked. "Yes. A replacement for Snape. Have you already contacted Horace Slughorn about the position?"
Minerva heaved a heavy sigh. "No, but not from lack of trying. He has been in hiding so long that nobody knows where he is, or even if he is. Alive, I mean."
The Defense Professor didn't interject, he simply offered a polite, patient look that requested she explain further.
Seeing no reason to stay silent about it, she said what had once been said to her. "Horace had been under the impression that the Dark Lord wanted him dead. Respecting his fears, Albus refrained from contacting him these last twenty years. But even with the Dark Lord vanquished, owls still do not reach. I fear the Dark Lord may have gotten to him after all."
"I can say with confidence that Horace Slughorn did not die by the Dark Lord's will," said the Defense Professor. "Though I don't otherwise know his whereabouts, or if he died for a different reason."
Minerva grew a little sadder. "Nobody seems to know what happened to him. And only Albus had any clue as to why Horace believed the Dark Lord might have wanted him dead."
"Have you tried the Patronus Charm?" David suggested.
Minerva brightened considerably at the thought. "I have not." Albus, the wise and powerful wizard who taught her the technique of sending happy messages in the first place, had warned her not to use the Patronus as her personal owl, to be cautious even when sending messages for emergencies and Order-related business, so she was not in the habit of thinking about the Patronus as a solution to the problem of missing persons. After a quick mental review, reaching out to Horace still seemed like a responsible use for the spell, much like when she contacted Ms. Granger last yuletide. "That is an excellent thought, professor."
David nodded, accepting the complement with a "Thank you." He then qualified his reply with, "Though you shall have to recruit him without my further aid. I'll be more occupied than usual in the coming days."
Once again, Prince Excelsior had demanded by letter that David Monroe be used as collateral, to be killed or maimed if Excelsior is killed or maimed in his coming punishment, and once again David Monroe volunteered, and once again the Wizengamot voted approval.
This was done because Prince Excelsior's public flogging was about to occur.
All he said at his most recent hearing was, "If the punishment is not explicitly laid out in formal legalese, I will not serve it."
In the heart of the Ministry, in the center of the room that accepted loo, Floo, Portkey, and Apparation arrivals, right in front of the Fountain of Magical Brethren, there stood a stockades. It had been carefully crafted in the fashion that could hold a centaur, with enchanters on standby for finishing touches once the perpetrator arrived for his punishment.
At precisely 11:59 AM, a magical pony appeared before the anticipatory and slightly-bored crowd. Without a word, the pony stepped up to the wooden brace, offering no resistance as the enchanters fitted a bracelet around its ankle to suppress its magic and a lock around its neck and legs to suppress its movements.
At precisely 12:00 PM, the flogging commenced.
Witches and wizards waited in a long line – a foolish few of whom went from wearing purple robes in the Wizengamot not long ago to wearing casual clothes as they joined the queue in the Ministry atrium. One by one they stepped up to the public offender, each with a hex or jinx or curse of their choosing. Even underage magic laws were suspended- what good is public shame if children cannot join in?- allowing for some witches and wizards to make this a family outing.
Nothing unforgivable. Nothing permanently damaging. No otherwise illegal spells. Now everyone get your wand, get in line, and have fun!
But unfortunately for the punishment's participants, not a single spell seemed to draw a reaction from the pony.
"'Ey!" one onlooker shouted. "That thing even 'ave a brain, or 'ave we been 'ad for fools?!"
This question spread suspicion and outrage like Dragonpox, and soon the healer on standby was urged to interrupt the proceedings and perform whatever examinations she could to see if the pony was actually a being or if it was just a beast.
First the healer had to dispel the cumulated jinxes and hexes to carry out her examination properly, undoing everything done so far, to the further frustration of the crowd. Other than the sapience-testing spell, which returned positive, the healer's tests produced nothing noteworthy, even after the difference in species was accounted for. It wasn't an animated death doll, a clone, or a charmed boggart, and that exhausted the list of intelligent suggestions.
That was when an Unspeakable arrived. Whether someone had called in a favour, reported the magical anomaly, or the Unspeakable simply knew to arrive at just the right time by esoteric means was entirely unclear – standard procedure when it came to mages of that profession. The Unspeakable performed a number of spells that no one recognized, many of which produced apprehension in the healer, and the last of which produced an expression of utter shock on the bearded man's face.
"Two?" he shouted indignantly. "Kilometres away?" He repeated the spell, and seemed to get angrier. "I knew this spell was rubbish."
Soon enough, the Head Unspeakable himself was called to the scene. He was swiftly debriefed, did the same spell, and shook his head in wonderment.
"Well there's your problem right there," he said in a matter-of-fact manner to the healer who had debriefed him on why this examination was being performed. "The soul is kilometres away from the body. And he somehow has two souls…" he frowned in concentration. "Or maybe a million."
"What?" said the healer on standby as the other Unspeakable simply gaped. "How could that be possible?"
"Normally I'd say the answer to that question is unspeakable..." the man said in a tone suggesting he used that line a lot. He shrugged helplessly. "But this time I will honestly admit I am open to suggestions. Normally I'd presume dark arts, but in a case like this," he prodded the pony with his wand. "Who knows?"
With a sudden jerk that startled the two Unspeakables and the healer standing next to them, the pony seemed to come to life right before their eyes. Where before it had looked like a dumb animal, he now seemed like a true being just in the way his eyes traced them.
The Head Unspeakable cast the soul-detection charm. "Merlin's beard," said the man in wonder. "You can move your soul, can't you?"
The pony gave a grin that was both glib and grand. "I perceived my body to be jinx-free, but…" he looked at the clock. "I thought it was too early to be done. For future reference, magic suppressors are meant to go on a unicorn's horn. Now if you'll excuse me-" and the pony collapsed into stupid senselessness once more.
"Soul's gone again," said the Head Unspeakable after another spellcast. He shrugged, then waved goodbye to the crowd. "Enjoy the flogging."
Of course, the crowd didn't let him just leave like that. They demanded that he do something. You can't let it get away with that.
"What do you want me to do?" the man asked helplessly. "I've got work to do, you know. I can't be here all day."
The only sensible suggestion from the rabble was to anchor the creature's soul in its body, to which the Head Unspeakable replied that if anyone knows such a spell, they are more than welcome to try it, and might they be interested in a career opportunity?
Nobody knew a soul-anchoring spell.
The head Unspeakable huffed and said they're lucky a soul-detection spell exists in the first place. No doubt it's suicidal to try inventing soul spells. The only other one he knows is a soul health diagnostic spell, and that doesn't change a soul either.
After being urged to use it, he did, then reported that the soul(s) is/are in shockingly good condition. He once had the pleasure to use the spell on the owner of a phoenix, and that's how healthy this/these soul(s) seem to be, only more so. Happy?
This did not, in fact, make the audience happy.
"There's got to be some magic that can affect a soul," someone said.
"Indeed there is," said the head Unspeakable with a nod, then proceeded to explain that Dementors have the only known magics that can affect souls – in that, after a Dementor kisses someone and leaves them in that permanent, unrecoverable coma, the soul-detection spell ceases to detect anything. And it's believed the Killing Curse operates on the level of the soul as well, though that's never been confirmed. There are – perhaps unfortunately, perhaps fortunately – no non-fatal soul magics known to him aside from the detection and health scans. Though he shall be submitting an official request to the Department of International Magical Cooperation so that they might submit an official request to Equestria for an exchange of magical knowledge which might expand the field of soul magic, given the demonstrated abilities of their delinquent ambassador.
Some idiot suggested they use a Dementor on the pony then, if it's the only thing that affects souls.
The Head Unspeakable said flatly that he'd like to retain their last remaining Dementor, thank you. 'You may not use it for executions or torture, only for teaching the Patronus' was the explicit condition under which they have been allowed to retain their Dementor.
That same idiot pointed out that this pony's the one who attacked Azkaban, and it can't kill the Dementors if its dead, can it?
The Unspeakable said there were likely more ponies involved in the Dementor extinction than just this one, and he would nevertheless like to maintain good relations with their new and highly arcane neighbours if at all possible. And besides, how's a Dementor supposed to suck out a soul that isn't even in the body in the first place?
"Suck it back through the body like a straw!" that same idiot shouted. "Boy-Who-Lived was almost done in like that, wasn' he? Dementor almost got him through his wand, I heard."
The Unspeakable opened his mouth to object, then got a thoughtful look on his face.
"Pfft," said another onlooker. "Stop readin' the Quibbler, mate."
The head Unspeakable asked that 'mate' if he was interested in a job interview.
"It would seem," said the voice of Amelia Bones, who had been quietly watching the affair until now, "that a criminal has found a clever and likely legal way to avoid suffering his due punishment." Her voice carried unnaturally throughout the entire crowd. "What do you think might be done about that, Madam Longbottom?"
"I am terribly sorry to say," Madam Longbottom said with a smile as she sat beside Bones on the public bench, "that I can see no way of fixing this without changing the flogging laws to require awareness. But that would require us to staunch the severity of spells, wouldn't it?"
"It certainly would," Amelia nodded. "Thoughts, Lord Malfoy?"
"It is indeed unjust if criminals can shrug off punishment by shuffling off their mortal coils without dying," Lucius observed from the next bench over. "I agree that it should be a topic of future debate. The general principle of being mentally present for law and justice should be addressed, if nothing else. Though it is too late for this case. I suspect that retroactive adjustment would not be taken well or lightly."
"That's why he demanded it in writing!" said Draco Malfoy triumphantly.
"Quite," said Amelia. "Would you like to convene a special panel for legal review tomorrow?"
The elder Malfoy nodded. Then, as if speaking to his son, he announced, "I think there shall be little more to see here today." He, his son, his bodyguards, and their sons disappeared in three pops of Apparation.
Augusta Longbottom audibly agreed with Lucius Malfoy's final words, though in a fashion that was much less approving of the whole process. "As if there was anything good to see in the first place." And popped away herself. (She had not brought Neville to this affair.)
Madam Bones stuck around, content to use her free time as Alastor uses his: keeping vigil over potential threats. She was quite enjoying the show on her day off. It was a steady stream of entertainment, a constant procession of posh, pompous bureaucrats and frustrated foreign wizards unable to truly inflict their petty little vengeances.
She kept a keen eye out, ready to pounce on any who might break the law to enact vengeances that aren't merely petty.
"Don't get me wrong," said Harry as they walked down a pleasant path of smooth wooden planks surrounded by palm trees. "I'm as happy as anyone to go on a trip to the Bahamas, even if it's only for an afternoon, but why exactly am I needed?"
"Horace Slughorn taught your mother," said Professor McGonagall. "She was one of his favorites. You are here to remind him of her. And seeing as Professor Monroe and Albus's last will and testament both insist you get your own office in Hogwarts, along with your own insistences that you are more than ready for adult affairs and your meddling in the curriculum of poor Professor Burbage, I think it only fair if you bear some of the responsibilities that come with running a school."
"Eh... this counts?"
"Helping to recruit a competent wizard onto the Hogwarts staff certainly counts. Or would you prefer paperwork?"
Harry looked around at the tropical trees. "No, this is good." He reflected on his current role. "So am I just going to play the part of the polite prodigy, the child celebrity who's seen and not heard, or do I get to actually do anything?"
Professor McGonagall's lips twitched upward. "If you refrain from your usual antics, Mr. Potter, you may get an opportunity to brag in the company of an adult who will understand."
Harry's eyes widened. That was a very rare treat indeed, especially in wizard culture. "About what?" he asked, just so he knew what to mentally prepare.
"Potions."
Ah. Right. Snape's departure means a new potions master. Which is good, because a competent potioneer who didn't have such complicated personal problems directly related to him and his parents might allow Harry to have a normal, calm, professional conversation about some of his recent observations in the field.
Potions-making, or at least ingredient interactivity, operated on, Harry hated to say it, a SYMBOLIC level. Similar to rituals, actually, which might explain why potions are so relatively powerful.
In the potion of fire-breathing, adding Ashwinder eggs recalled the strength of the magical fire which had spawned the eggs. Blowing on the potion transferred that power to the medium of human breath. Adding dragon saliva protected the throat of the drinker from burns. Flobberworm mucus neutralized the lesser magical effects of any magical ingredients (like the ephemeral nature of Ashwinders, the acidity of the Dragon saliva, and so on). In modern times, fire whisky served as a base for this particular potion – you couldn't have a WATER base for a potion of FIRE-breathing – and past wizards used different alcoholic bases of their eras due to the nigh-magical property of hurling/throwing-up that is stereotypically associated with drunkenness, not to mention the burning associated with alcohol. Another ingredient helped neutralize the alcohol (this wasn't a part of past iterations of the potion), another neutralized the unintended side-effects of the alcohol neutralizer, and so on, until you had a stable potion.
Each potion was a convoluted mess of metaphorical interactivity and mitigating side-effects. The best way to innovate was to study as many existing potions as possible, especially those with similar effects to the one you want to make…
But by 'brag', Professor McGonagall probably wasn't referring to all that. She probably just meant the base potions principle.
When the clock struck five, Amelia's watching aurors called an official end to the crowd's torment – the torment being suffered by the crowd due to their dissatisfaction – and the healer undid all active hexes and jinxes. After an examination, she pronounced that the pony should be sore, but otherwise able-bodied.
It was at that point that the pony visibly twitched. Its eyes focused. It stood a bit straighter. It seemed to stretch, then gave a stifled groan. Its body began to glow, causing the remaining onlookers to jump back, including the healer. For an extremely brief moment, the pony's fur was tinged with the orange-red of warm embers. Then the glow ended and the pony sighed lethargically.
"Now the community service?" he asked, looking at and speaking directly to the Chief Warlock despite the distance between them. He seemed far less intense than he had been in their previous interactions. He also sounded to be unbothered by any soreness, despite the 'covert' and 'subtle' jinxes that some of the more stubborn members of the crowd were still trying to send his way.
"Yes," Amelia said, already frowning about where the power balance seemed to be tilting.
The urgent business of the philosopher's hospital had been finalized a week ago. All critical cases that could be healed by 'the elixir of life' had been healed. The oldest witches, wizards, goblins, centaur, veela, giants, merfolk, house elves, squibs, and muggleborn relations the world over had been de-aged if they consented to the hospital's terms and conditions.
Meaning that Prince Excelsior couldn't put off his punishments any longer.
Amelia drew her wand and slowly extended it towards the pony. "Touch the tip of this wand and repeat after me."
A wing extended from beneath the cloak, and the tip of the wing touched the tip of her wand. "Upon my life and magic," said the pony, independent of further instruction, "I swear service to Magical Britain, to obey its Chief Warlock, and stand at their right hand, and fight at their command, and follow where they go, until one thousand hours of service have been satisfied." Amelia then noticed a number of anti-eavesdropping charms spring into existence around them. "And to clarify," the pony said in a completely normal voice, "I will obey the true Chief Warlock. Not his regent, nor his regent's regent." The anti-eavesdropping charms vanished. "So. What is the Chief Warlock's command?"
Amelia Bones wasn't happy. Even ignoring his worrisome knowledge on Magical Britain's current leadership, this pony just keeps doing things its own way. But with all these people watching, it would be unwise to rebuke him just yet. She needed to at least appear to be in command.
"Follow me," said Amelia Bones, regent of the true Chief Warlock's regent.
"My dear Minerva," said Slughorn with either the best poker face Harry had ever seen or genuine disinterest in the offer. "Money is never what interested me about teaching." He didn't turn down the increased salary, Harry noticed. "That said, I may be convinced to return to Hogwarts, but I'll need a few concessions. Nothing excessive, I assure you, but important nonetheless."
McGonagall had an equally decent poker face. She didn't reply, simply waited.
"First, a competent teacher's aide. I don't wish to be stuck grading ministry mandated essays on my own each night."
"I shall have to withdraw my offer of a significant pay raise," said Headmistress McGonagall. "And you shall have to inform the other professors that you accepted less pay in return for aide in grading, to head off jealousy and accusations of favouritism."
After brief consideration, Mr. Slughorn nodded. "Fair, fair," he allowed. "Second, I'd like to reinstitute the Slug Club."
"Granted," said the Headmistress as if she expected this.
"And third…" said Slughorn, clearly considering this to be the most important. "In the last decade, I've trained and inspired a number of aspiring potioneers. It's been quite the eye-opening experience, Minerva. Looking back on my life, I've realized just how much I love to tutor the talented, and how much I merely tolerated teaching the tame and the lame." He raised a forestalling hand. "I still intend to teach all years and levels, but I would like to begin a new potions program at Hogwarts… perhaps a class on the weekend for the most gifted students. Of course this requires gifted students, so it can only be done if the current crop are up to snuff. Tell me, how many students..." his eyes glanced briefly to Harry, "understand potions?"
A wide smile cracked the headmistress's veil of neutrality. "Seven seventh years, six sixth years, one astute Ravenclaw fifth year, two aberrant Gryffindor fourth years, and..." her own eyes also glanced at Harry "...one Ravenclaw entering his second year."
This had been the primary topic of discussion on the way here, aside from the outing's goal. A few students every year would figure out the underlying theory of Potions, to the point that there was a standard, calm, reasonable procedure in dealing with them. Flitwick only panicked with Harry because the typical response to "I finally understand potions!" is not to say "I want to invent a potion, I know the ingredients, but I don't know the stirring patterns." Ordinarily the reaction is a bit more routine than that, with students declaring their triumph of understanding before getting starry eyes about invention.
Slughorn looked astounded. "That many? And that early? Which second year? Is it this Hermione Granger I've heard so much about? Or perhaps..."
McGonagall smiled and turned to face Harry. "Mr. Potter?"
"A potion recalls the potencies invested in the creation of its ingredients," Harry bragged. "The magical fire that spawned the ashwinder eggs used in the Potion of Firebreathing. The Re'em's strength which crushed the dugbogs used in the Potion of Giant's Strength. The heat of the goblin forges used to make the bronze k'nut that skims the surface of the Potion of Heat Resistance. Those are the three main potions that helped me figure it out, though other factors were involved."
"Other factors?" asked McGonagall in genuinely curious tones while Slughorn gaped. "What would those be?"
"Well," Harry said, deciding to turn it into something of a story, "in the final battle last year, Professor Quirrell cut my army down to size and bolstered the other armies to give me more of a challenge. The ministry banned muggle artifacts, and I needed some sort of force-multiplier to win. When I asked how to invoke magical potencies greater than first years can normally invoke, and I couldn't use muggle artifacts, and I took rituals off the table, I finally saw the potential in Potions. Partially because the most potent potions can theoretically be brewed at almost any age and partially because even the non-potent potions I was brewing in class were already stronger than first-year spells. But then I encountered a different problem, because normal forests don't have magical ingredients lying around, and that's when I started thinking about underlying principles."
Slughorn listened, fascinated.
"The first clue to the discovery was when I realized I couldn't brew any potion from my first year text book at our next battle site because every single one required some sort of magical ingredient. That was when I asked myself why, and after that I borrowed a few textbooks from the older students to see if all of those needed magical ingredients too. Then I encountered the recipe with ashwinder eggs, got my first idea for how potions worked, and then I disproved it and refined it from there using the warnings of other potions. I even made a joke of it by shouting 'Eureka!' but nobody got it."
"Merlin's beard," Slughorn was still gaping. "Even Lily did not catch on until her third year. To notice the pattern requires experience, wisdom…"
"And the right motivation," Harry said, smiling at the compliment. "It's largely thanks to my muggle science upbringing. Conservation laws played a big role in a lot of discoveries that muggles made over the last few centuries. But in magic... well, as far as I can tell, only Rituals and Potions pay any respect to conservation laws."
And wouldn't you know, but Potions and Rituals are where many of the most potent powers can be found.
McGonagall's gaze was sharp. "And how did you acquire a familiarity with rituals well enough to know that, young man?"
Oh. Right. She didn't know yet. "Professor Quirrell explained the underlying theory after the Tracey incident, using the Unbreakable Vow as an example. I didn't go seeking out rituals, in fact I made quite the deliberate effort not to, but I wasn't going to turn down an overview of the basic principles from, let's face it, probably the most experienced and sane ritualist alive." Harry drew his wand, took a stance. "Expecto Patronum!"
Slughorn's jaw slackened further as he stared at the figure.
"One of the main things I learned is that rituals don't have to be dark," Harry's Patronus said simply. "Can it not be a good thing to make sacrifices for those you love?"
There was a pause.
"Minerva," Slughorn said. "I think you've convinced me. Shall we draw it up in writing?"
"Mr. Potter," said a voice from right beside him, causing him to jump. It was not the Headmistress's voice. When he turned, he realized that the light of his own Patronus charm did have a certain disadvantage…
David Monroe told her, by letter, to recruit the true Chief Warlock for this matter. The pony already knows who he is as well, and Mr. Potter is well suited to this particular task.
And so, reluctantly, the Chief Regent set out to find him.
Harry Potter wasn't at his home. According to his muggle parents, he had been borrowed by Professor McGonagall for 'Hogwarts business'.
Headmistress McGonagall wasn't at Hogwarts. According to Filius Flitwick, she was in the process of hiring a new professor.
Amelia Bones decided 'to hell with it' and sent a Patronus directly to the Boy-Who-Lived. The message was an unrevealing, "Mr. Potter, do you have a moment?"
It came back with the boy's voice saying, "I'm kind of in the middle of something-"
"-Is that you, Amelia?" interrupted a genial voice that sent a wave of nostalgia through Amelia Bones. The Patronus then tilted its head away, as if no longer addressing her. "Never mind interruptions, my boy, I don't mind." The head tilted back to face her directly again. "I'm in the middle of borrowing the boy's time myself. If you need to do the same, Amelia, please just drop by, if that's alright with you. I was just thinking we should speak at some point. No doubt there'll be dreadful amounts of paperwork now that I'm coming out of hiding."
That man sure can talk, Amelia thought to herself with a smile. She took no time to reply; the more time she wasted on logistics, the more hours of community service were wasted. "Do you mind if I arrive with a visitor?" she asked, adjusting her plans on the fly.
"No, no, not at all! The more the merrier! So long as the visitor isn't the Dark Lord come back for the third and final time, I think we'll get along just fine." The man laughed happily, then gave an address and described the location.
The muggle aspect complicated things, but Prince Excelsior disappeared when she looked in his direction, and then the empty air said that it knows of the Statute.
She required more reassurances than that, but eventually Amelia was satisfied to make the journey to the muggle 'resort', which turned out to be far nicer than she thought a muggle place could be, at least as appearances go. She could see why Horace had hunkered down here.
Headmistress McGonagall, wearing the same notice-me-not-charm as Amelia, escorted them past a pool and into a closed tent. It was space-enchanted to hold what looked like all of the man's belongings, including a full potions laboratory, furniture, and a shelf of pictures.
"Been here all along?" she asked when she saw Horace for the first time in over a decade. He wore shorts and a muggle button-down shirt with a pattern of colourful flowers, an ensemble which easily covered his considerable paunch.
"No, no," the man waved his hand. "Hopped around from place to place."
"A wise precaution," said Prince Excelsior, dropping his disillusionment.
Both Horace and the Headmistress gave a small start.
"That would be the visitor," sighed Amelia.
There was a pause.
"Wasn't his public flogging scheduled for today?" asked the Boy-Who-Lived.
"Public flogging?" Horace spouted.
"Yes," answered the pony. "Don't worry, Mr. Potter. I've just finished shirking- I mean serving my due punishment." He was grinning. "Now begins my other punishment, one thousand hours of community service, for which I have sworn fealty to Magical Britain and its Chief Warlock's orders."
"I… see…" said Harry Potter. "And what's to stop you from 'serving' those orders?"
"The cleverness of their content and the wording that conveys them," said the pony. He glanced at Horace, then back to Harry. "That is why Madam Bones brought me here. David Monroe is unavailable, though you also have an instinct for exploiting rules. Think you can imagine something good for me to do that is unexploitable?"
"Welp," said Harry Potter, standing from his wicker chair and turning to face Horace. "Duty calls. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Slughorn. Will I be seeing you at Hogwarts?"
Horace's face switched from fascinated calculation to genial warmth in the space of a heartbeat. "Yes, yes, of course, my boy."
"Great!" said the boy. He confidently strode to the side of the pony. "I'll try to think of something good in under one… second," he said to Amelia. He met the gaze of the pony.
The pony nodded. "Understood."
"Mr. Potter!" said Headmistress McGonagall in alarm. Far too late, for the two had already disappeared in a flash-
In a private room in Canterlot Castle, Celestia laughed out loud at Twilight's suggestion.
Harry asked Twilight why that?
It would endear ponies to the human children, just as it endeared her to Spike. It would not be something he can shirk, for it would require his constant, conscious attention. He wouldn't even be able to order a Changeling to occupy his mind for the duration; it would require his personal attendance because of the 'and flights' addition – Changelings don't have the instinct for flight with leather wings. And most importantly it was humbling. And oddly satisfying, in her own personal experience.
Harry said that it might have been all those things for Twilight, and that it would have been good for human-pony relations if, say, it was Fluttershy, but does she really think the same could be said for Riddle?
Twilight said that Riddle is a fast learner. He might have trouble at first, but she believes in him.
When Celestia and Luna agreed, Harry decided to go for it. Not least because of the face Riddle was making.
-and then Harry and reappeared a moment later with a wide grin and a resigned-looking pony.
"So, first up," Harry said, though he lost his grin and any levity as he said, "the community service hours can be fulfilled at any time by working at the hospital he built, but only at the not-for-profit end of things. In particular, if any hospital emergencies come up, he can stop whatever he's doing and help out until they're taken care of. And now that we got that out of the way..."
Harry's grin returned.
"For the first part of his thousand hours of service, which should be both humiliating and important to Magical Britain, he is to fulfill the childhood fantasies of any young witch who has ever wanted a unicorn, thestral, or pony ride. Or in this case, all three at once!"
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I lost it at this one.
Pony rides. Unicorn rides. Letting little girls pet him. Oh the humanity. Ponimity. Poneity.
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Too bad Snape wasn't around to witness Riddle's 'uncomfortable experience'.
Wouldnt Harry get round the problem of alcohol based fire breathing spells by noting in Muggle science, fire is created by many materials. Several of which burn in water? And a small lithium based battery has Many ways of burning in water, all of which might be exploted in the most overpowered potions?
Mr Potter, what does Hie Pear Ghoul Ick mean?
"boggart" has two gs
Oh my, I love this.
How many people who should have learned from the lesson at Hogwarts, don't throw tomatoes or minor curses at someone more powerful than you, were in fact, throwing those at him now?
Lol he managed to get jumpscared by a large glowing animal
I recall an HPMOR fanfiction (I think it was Following the Pheonix) where Michael Verres-Evans taught Muggle Studies and essentially made it a science course. I wonder if Harry's doing something similar here?
Can I just say how much I love this parragraph? This has essentially been my headcanon for how potions works for some time, but I've never seen someone put it in such a clear and elegant way. Well done.
Pheonix magic?
Weasley twins?
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Almost certainly the Weasley twins.
Unnecessarily evil
Absolutely priceless
♡
👍
Indeed a worthy punishment they come up with him at the end