After a portal is opened between worlds, a series of letter-bearing owls passes through it. What could possibly go wrong?
When a portal is opened between two otherwise disconnected worlds, a few reliable spells go a little crazy- and result in a series of letter-bearing owls passing through the portal. Several times.
What could possibly go wrong?
Made it to 34 likes before the first dislike. For my first story to make it past 7, that's amazing. Thank you!
Written with the able editing assistance of Skittlebug starting Chapter 12 and Gerandakis as well starting Chapter 20.
As of today, 1/26/20, this story has been cancelled. I kinda hate to cancel a story that was going so well... But, to be completely honest, it sucks. When they talk about story 'arcs', they mean that if you were to make an outline for it, and use indentation to denote subplots and so on, each arc would form a rough arch shape against the side of the page, with the indentation. I just threw one together with this... and it looked like a list of bullet points. Random, incoherent events, tied together by nothing but SoL (No plot relevance to each other)... Not good, either by itself or for the future of the story.
Edit much later than it should have been: As of 2/25/20, the rewrite has begun publication, and is available... here: On the Implications of Parallel Worlds
Worry not, this story is staying up indefinitely, even as the rewrite inevitably develops far past it.
“Um,” one house elf mumbles, gazing up at the veritable mountain of parchment, ink, and wax.
Another house elf looks at a much smaller pile, off to the side, then back at the mountain. “This is going to be a busy year.”
“How do you suppose we get them all sent?” A third asks.
“We don’t have nearly that many owls,” a fourth states.
“We’ll have to do ‘em in waves,” a fifth observes.
“We’d better get started, then,” a sixth states. “On the new acceptance ones first. That deadline’s in only two weeks!”
“Right,” a seventh nods. “The returning students have a whole month after that to get their stuff.”
An eighth blinks. “How do you suppose the teachers will assist this many first years in a month and a half?”
A ninth shakes his head. “Donno, but that’s not our business. We ought to be able to cut down on the number of waves- improve the timing of the deadline for the last set to receive- if we bunch the letters by household.”
“Good idea,” the first agrees. “We might even get them all out in time, too. Let’s get to it.”
The second nods, teleporting to the top of the stack to start working on it. “We alphabetizing by town, or- anyone know where Equestria is?”
Several heads shake.
“Well,” he continues. “That’s where a lot of these seem to be going. With town names in it, so… Oh, and it looks like most of those have street addresses like the Muggles. Makes that part easy, at least.”
That ninth one chortles softly, as he and a few others also teleport closer to the pile to begin their sorting project. “You know, forget filtering a million and a half first-years through Diagon Alley in a month and a half- I’m wondering how they’ll have time to teach them all.”
The eighth chuckles too. “Yeah, but it’s gonna be a good, busy year for us.”
The third nods eagerly, ears flapping as he sorts letters with blinding speed. “Much more fun than the summer!”
“Shoo, bird. Trixie does not believe these stones need- Wait. Is that-? A stack of letters-? You have there?”
The massive bird nods its head, gesturing with its wing for her to take the letters.
She accepts them in her magic. “Trixie thanks you for the delivery,” she states, flicking through the envelopes to read the names and addresses. She spots one with her name on it, raises an eyebrow, before ripping it open and scanning the missive.
The bird doesn’t move, waiting patiently for something.
“Hog-warts?” she asks slowly. “Why would they call it that…? Whatever. This is excellent news! Though Trixie has no idea where this England is. And what do they mean, they await my owl…?”
The bird blinks slowly.
She looks at it, back at the letter, and back at it, before blinking twice. “Wait. Do they mean… Will you carry my answer back to this Hogwarts?”
It bobs its head in a nod.
“Excellent! Um-!” She pauses, glancing towards the building in the middle of the rock farm. “Do you mind waiting for Trixie to deliver the Pie’s letters, and get their answers- they are the same, right?- before you leave?”
The owl gives a small hoot.
“Ahh, thank you! Trixie will be right back!”
His uncle’s face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights, and didn’t stop there, letter held high above his head. “P-Petunia?”
“Oh hi, what would you- Oh, is that mail?”
The bird on the sales counter drops the letters from its beak, giving a hoot.
“Okie dokie lokie! Let’s see…” Pinkie had caught the letters the moment they were released, and had hers opened and in front of her seconds later. “Huh. I’ve got a funny feeling Twilight’s gonna say yes, so that. But what will the Cakes say?” She vanishes for a minute then reappears, a single, new letter held in her hoof. “Alright, here’s our answer- and would you like a treat before you go?” She offers an owl-sized cupcake in her other hoof.
“Hoo.”
“There’s another one!”
“Huh-? I didn’t know you carried mail, Owlow- Wait. You’re not Owlowiscious.” She blinks at the owl. “Somepony have you carrying their mail?”
“Hoo.”
Blink. “You know, I have no clue how, but I understood that. Um…” She turns her attention to the already opened letter. “Um…” She looks back up at the owl. “Do you know if Spike can come?”
“Hoo.”
Facehoof. “Right. Spike? You’ve got mail!”
The named dragon’s voice echoes down the passage, confused. “What? When did that happen?”
“You see, if they can’t deliver them, they’ll just give up!” His uncle spoke, while trying to hammer in a nail with a piece of fruitcake.
“What the hay-?”
The owl drops the two letters on the counter in front of it. “Hoo.”
Blink, blink. “Uh, okay.” A golden magic aura opens one of the letters, and she starts reading it, before looking up sharply. “Wait. You’re from the other side of the portal, aren’t you?”
The owl nods.
“Oh, that makes so much more sense. Uh, hey, Bonnie? We’ve got an invitation to a magic school on the other side!” She glances at the other letter. “I mean, that is similar, right?”
“Hoo.”
“What do you mean, ‘we’?” the answer calls. “You know I can’t use magic.”
“No, you misunderstand. They invited me, they invited you. Specifically. Yea or nay?”
Petunia shredded two dozen letters in her food processor.
“Well now, this is interesting. Hey, Lulu?”
“Mm?”
“Before you go, you might want to check your mail.”
“Mail? I have mail?”
“Yep.”
“Oh.” She opens her letter, reads, and facehoofs. “Well, this is insulting. Somepony thinks I’m so far behind the times I need to go to magic school.”
Chuckle. “You know, they’ve invited me too.”
All traces of sleepiness disappear. “What?”
“Alright, that’s it,” his uncle declared, pulling tufts out of his mustache.
“Huh?” She leaves her sister’s letter on her desk, and opens her own.
“Hoo?”
“She’s in the bathroom. Um… What the hay is Hogwarts? Um…” She gallops to the door, opening it. “Gah! Oh, I was about to look for you!”
“Huh? Wait, did you two get letters from Hogwarts too?”
“Yep!”
“Yep! So, we saying yes, or no?”
Heads nod.
“Cutie Mark Crusaders Witches!”
“I got about an ‘undred of these at the front desk.”
“Wha-? I have mail? Delivered by owl? I’ll have to admit, that’s new.”
“Hoo.” The letter floats slowly away from the owl’s beak.
“Right. Thank you.” He takes the letter, dropping it into the blender on the side of his vanilla-pudding-filled hot tub. “Would you like a treat while you’re here?”
“Hoo.”
“Ahh, no biggie. Anyways.” The letter finishes shredding itself despite the lack of a blade in the blender, which he then pours into a nice tall cup, which he swirls the purple drink with for a second before downing it in one gulp. Then he takes the fragments of the letter, mixes them with the drink, and consumes that as well. “Oh, I see. Yes, that’ll be quite interesting.” He draws a normal, but completely clean, letter out of the mud puddle next to his hot tub to hand it to the owl. “Here’s my answer, thank you. Have a nice trip!”
“I mighta sat on it at some point, but it’ll taste all right.”
A series of professors sits in stunned silence, staring at the veritable mountain of letters of varying shapes and sizes that the owls had just delivered to their table.
“It’s… a good thing we already ate,” Professor Sprout states.
Professor McGonagall draws her wand, and filters out letters with a quick spell, stacking them neatly into two floating stacks, then sighs. “This is going to be a busy year,” she states.
Professor Snape raises an eyebrow at her. “What is it?”
She points at the first stack. “That is two hundred ninety-seven letters from new students accepting their place here,” she states, then points at the second stack. “And that is six hundred thirty-seven letters turning down the same.” She heaves a sigh, allowing her arm to fall back to the table. “And the letters only went out yesterday.”
“Well,” Professor Dumbledore nods. “We’d best get started, and make sure everyone can get their stuff in time.” He sighs. “I’ll go write a few letters to the proprietors of a few shops out in Diagon Alley- they might need to stock extra. Then I’ll be back; with this many, we’ll need as much help as we can get.”
As you may have noticed, a large number of invitations from your school seem to have reached a new land, titled Equestria. We believe this is most fortunate; however, this may also prove to be unfortunate.
Roughly three nights ago, we opened a permanent gateway between our worlds.
Yes, you read that correctly. Equestria exists in an entirely different universe from your school. We’re not entirely sure how you managed to address so many letters so accurately, but it happened- and all of these invitations may be the perfect chance to introduce our worlds to each other, perhaps begin exchanging knowledge.
This is also where it may become unfortunate. We have explored the local area to our gateway, and the civilization we witnessed bears little to no resemblance to our civilization. We are not sure, as of yet, if there will be a culture clash; we hope there won’t be. Our kind are generally very accepting, and should adapt very quickly to your school.
And yes, you read ‘Our kind’ correctly as well. Our people look completely different from yours; however, our gate will automatically transform us to match as we pass. We’ve already confirmed; while we’re most definitely not human on our side, we do transform- and quite convincingly, I might add- into humans when we pass through. Our hair colors do appear to be unusual when we do that, though we have confirmed even our biology is converted accurately, and completely reversibly.
This gate also poses a fairly major problem for the arrangements with your school. This gate is shielded against possible intrusion; at this time, non-Equestrian humans are magically barred entry, and we keep it under lock and key on our side as well. However, this can be easily worked around; we have observed the formation of magical bonds upon accepting attendance, and these bonds can be traced, so we intend to handle the logistics side of things, getting our people to where they need to be to acquire materials or reach the school for term.
However, we are not yet aware of where any of these required materials might be acquired. As such, we will be sending a few of our known attendees through the gate, to wait at the park in Little Winging, Surrey, starting at exactly eleven AM on July Twentieth. If you could have staff, or some other official, come to meet them- look for the blue-and-white-striped hair, her name is Lyra Heartstrings- to guide them to these locations, we would appreciate that very much.
Since our currency likely bears little or no similarity to yours, these students are also being sent in the capacity of official representatives of our nation. If it is not a significant bother to you, we would appreciate your also guiding them to whoever they need to meet to negotiate and set up an exchange rate for our currency. If this is not possible, we have already identified at least one means of exchange, though it is perhaps the most cumbersome method there is, especially with quantity.
In any case, once these few students return with the knowledge of where to acquire these materials, they will share that knowledge with our team- and we will handle the logistics of getting the rest of the Equestrian students to the shops and back, in an attempt to mitigate the rush. We don’t yet know how many Equestrians will be going to your school, nor what numbers are normal for the shops in question, and hope to minimize any potential disasters if the numbers are different from what we expect.
In that same vein, though, we have noticed there is nothing in any of your offer letters to indicate how we might reach the school on September First, beyond the train tickets for an unlikely platform number. Please ensure this is covered with our initial students as well; we would like to minimize any potential delays with reaching the school.
We would like to request, though, that any and all communications intended for any Equestrian entity other than a student be directed first to Agent Sweetie Drops or Agent Candy Stripes. These two Agents will confirm the destination of the communication, which may include redirecting it to the actually intended recipient, if it were misdirected. This will most likely be the case for many communications that may be intended for the parent or family of a student; we are aware that many of the Equestrian students either no longer live with their parents or family, or have no family to live with. Our networks are vast enough to identify these situations, and tell who the missive should properly be headed to; unfortunately, yours will not be, and some students may try to mislead, to deliberately get it to go to the wrong place.
Sincerely,
Agent Candy Stripes
Royal Equestrian Secret Service
Professor McGonagall lets out a relieved sigh.
Professor Snape notices. “What is it?” he asks. All the professors in the school have been battling with the mountain of letters, hashing out who is coming and who isn’t- and trying to figure out how to reach most of the ones that are saying they are coming. Professors Vector and Sprout have departed for the normal muggleborn-introduction sequence.
“They know it’s an unexpected load,” she answers. “And they want to work with us. According to this, they come from another world- and they’re trying to smooth over the sudden addition of their students to our pool, by using their own people to help their students to acquire supplies. Only, they don’t know where to go.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Seems they can trace the agreements just like we do with muggle-born.”
“How will they know where to go?” Dumbledore asks.
She sighs. “That’s where we come in. Once. And they’ve specified a time and a place.”
“Excellent! Where is it?”
“A park,” she answers. “They want to meet in a park, at… eleven, on the twentieth?”
Dumbledore checks his wristwatch. “That was ten minutes ago.”
She sets the letter down firmly, releasing her breath through a tightened jaw. “Alright,” she states. “Who’s going?”
“Why don’t you?” Dumbledore asks. “You’ve already read what they want. We’ll take care of the rest of this while you’re at it.” He waves his hand at the letters still littering the table.
She sighs, rising. “Alright.”
Reaching the park in a hurry without drawing muggle attention was difficult, at best. It took her a few minutes to change into muggle clothing, then a few more to leave the limits of Hogwarts’ wards; after that, she aparated to the gap between a few houses in the area, hid her wand, and marched quickly out, and down the block to the park. Overall, it took her almost twenty five minutes to reach the park specified, from the moment she got up from that table.
Now, she stops at the entrance of the park, and looks around.
Unfortunately, she doesn’t see the specified hair colors anywhere.
But it’s a big park, so she hopes they’ve merely gone to another part of the park, rather than giving up and going home already.
Some five minutes pass, before she spots something strange in one of the sports fields. She’s not familiar with most muggle sports, but she does recognize it, from the times she’s had muggleborn students that wouldn’t stop talking about it; it’s the one with the four bases and the pitcher’s mound. There are two people on the field, both first-year age. One of them is at the home base, holding a bat, while the other is at what she’s pretty sure is second base, rather than the pitcher’s mound.
As she watches, the one on second base- two-tone pink and dark blue hair- throws a white ball at the home base so hard it positively screams as it travels, almost perfectly straight.
The bat seems to move even faster. It swings around to smash into the ball with a crack like a thunderbolt, before swinging right back to its prior position while the ball screams right back to where it came from, slamming into the pitching girl’s bare hand as if she did it all the time.
That had to have hurt… Though, if that one on the home plate was one of the new students, she figures that student would make a great beater for the Quidditch team. The thrower, probably a chaser.
She steps closer as the ball rips back and forth across the field once again, squinting in the sunlight. Ahh, yes, the batter has that blue-and-white-striped hair.
She clears her throat. “Lyra?” she calls.
“Mm?” the batter asks, looking up at her.
The thrower lobs the ball at the batter again- but the bat snaps around in the nick of time, deflecting the ball directly upwards… and not with very much speed. Lyra then spins in place, hitting the ball so hard it disappears completely… then she throws the bat at the pitcher, who catches it as if it were the ball, before both girls come trotting closer.
“You called?” Lyra asks.
“You’re, ah, Lyra Heartstrings, correct?”
“Yep!” the blue-haired girl declares, pulling a folded piece of parchment out of her pocket and gesturing towards the thrower. “And this is my good friend Bonbon. You’re here for Hogwarts?”
She blinks. “Ah, yes. You’re the ones from Equestria?”
“That would be a yes as well,” Bonbon states, showing up to hand the bat to Lyra.
She notices that the metal bat has several large dents in it, including one ball-sized hole near the tip, the ball just visible inside. She might be too good for the Quidditch team.
“Right,” she states. “I am Professor McGonagall.”
“Ahh,” Bonbon states, nodding as they both bow briefly. “Deputy headmistress. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Right. Do you have your lists?”
“Yep!” Bonbon draws her list out of her pocket as well.
Lyra starts reading hers aloud, having already had it out, then stops to snicker.
Bonbon glances at her friend. “Uh, yeah. Sorry for throwing you for a loop there, Professor. We’re kinda… Well, good at it.”
“Alright,” she states slowly. “Shall we get going, then?”
“Sure,” Lyra states. “These trees over here should hide an outbound teleport just fine.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You know how to aparate?”
Her answer is a confused look. “What’s ‘aparate’?”
“You know, disappear in one place, and appear in another?”
“So, like a teleport. Though, my kind of teleport is one that you probably wouldn’t be capable of.”
“... What?”
“Yeah. Magic compatibility. Thing is… my magic is structured differently from your magic. So while I should be able to do just about anything you can, the reverse won’t be true. And arcane phase theory happens to fall into that gap.” She blinks. “Don’t worry, that can be fixed with a little training.”
“I see we have a lot to learn,” she states. “Well then, girls. How about we get going?”
“We may have to adjust our curriculum,” Snape mutters, setting a very long scroll down on the table.
Several teachers turn to him to raise their eyebrows. “Oh?”
He grins tiredly and tilts it for them to see the tightly-packed writing. “This Twilight Sparkle took a six-foot missive to say ‘yes I’m coming’.”
“Oh.”
“We might want to get into the practice of specifying maximum length as well on homework,” Professor Flitwick states. “I’d hate to ask for a one-foot essay and be stuck reading one essay all week!”
“And I do believe she will be in your house, Filius,” Snape mutters.
“We are going to have a busy year,” the Charms professor states.
Crack!
Lyra reaches out her hand, bracing herself against a stone wall, and rubbing her forehead. “Ow,” she mumbles.
Bonbon puts her hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”
She nods. “Yeah… But I never want to do that again. That’s some nasty turbulence you have in that apparition spell- could be dangerous. Like, really dangerous.”
“How-?” Professor McGonagall begins, seeming confused.
“Sorry,” she states, pushing off of the wall. “I was curious, so I opened my thaumic senses for the jump. That spell’s a disaster waiting to happen.” She shakes the last of the pain out of her head. “Right then. You were taking us somewhere?”
“You were curious?” Bonbon asks.
“Yeah,” she mutters.
Professor McGonagall sighs. “This way,” she states, leading them out of the alleyway. “Right here, the Leaky Cauldron.”
Bonbon nods and starts walking towards it, but Lyra notices something and starts looking around, at the little pub and the buildings around. Bonbon stops. “What is it, Lyra?”
“Interesting,” Lyra mutters, before looking back down at Bonbon. “The building’s covered in a foldspace spell that only works against those who have absolutely no magical capability whatsoever.”
“What?”
“Yeah. So let’s get inside already, I’d like to start shopping.”
Professor McGonagall raises an eyebrow at her antics, but otherwise ignores it, leading them inside.
It’s a nice little pub, Lyra decides. Even on the inside, it carries that shady pub appearance- but she knows how to look deeper than that and, when she does, it’s actually a nice little place. Judging by the smells floating through the air, she guesstimates it to be a four- or five-star joint. She finishes her surveyance, and looks back up at the professor, eyebrow raised.
“You have something you want to say?” Professor McGonagall asks her.
She shrugs. “Nice pub?”
She raises an eyebrow, and resumes walking. “This way.”
“Roger, coming right up,” both girls say in tandem, following.
Professor McGonagall leads the two out the other side of the pub, to a little courtyard with a trash can and a few weeds. “Now remember,” she states, drawing out her wand. “Three up, two across.” She taps the named brick with her wand.
“Oooh,” Lyra mutters, as the archway forms. “That’s some creative spellwork. And all ambient-powered- pretty impressive.”
Bonbon looks at her. “How long do you think it’ll occupy Twilight?”
Lyra tilts her head, gazing at the bricks for a second. “Eh, a week.” Then she smiles back at Bonbon as they walk through. “If we let her.”
Bonbon snorts. “Yeah. I’m thinking it’ll be better to take her straight here- no, straight to the Leaky Cauldron. Letting her see that bookstore next to it on the other side would be a capital Bad Idea- but we’ll still want her to know how to get through that wall.” She looks up and down the street. “Nice. Where is this?”
Professor McGonagall huffs slightly. “Welcome to Diagon Alley.”
“Diagonally. Interesting.” Bonbon then looks at Lyra. “What do you suppose Spike will call it?”
Lyra chuckles. “Remember, he’s been associating with Twilight. He’ll call it by its proper name- and unlike Twilight, he only stands a fifty-fifty chance of using the same inflections as we do when we tell him.”
The professor blinks. “Unlike Twilight?”
“Yeah. She is almost certainly going to mimic the inflections, tone, and everything else of the first time she heard the name, at least a dozen times. If it wasn’t so diagonal of a name, she wouldn’t do that.”
“Really?”
“Really. I’m planning on pranking her by whispering it the first time.”
“Oooh,” Bonbon nods. “Good idea.” Then she glances up and down the street again. “So, where are we headed first?”
“Gringotts,” Professor McGonagall states. “Wizard’s bank. They’ll handle the exchange. You did bring… money, right?”
Bonbon chuckles. “Yeah, we brought some. Ready to negotiate a fair rate, Lyra?”
“Yeah. Professor? How’s the local currency break down, and what’s its value?”
He chuckles. “We are going to have an interesting year.” Then he looks up. “Apparently, it’s possible to agree to come to Hogwarts with a riddle.”
Snape starts unfolding his own. “Ravenclaw, I’ll wager.” Then he sighs, and turns the freshly-unfolded letter to show the others. “This one’s done it with a single word.”
“Thank you.” The two girls bow their way out of the office, following the goblin runner back to where Professor McGonagall is waiting.
“So?” she asks. “How did it go?”
“The rate is set and the forms are signed,” Lyra states.
“And I have no idea how she got such a nice rate,” Bonbon answers.
Lyra chuckles. “Oh please. It isn’t that bad.”
Professor McGonagall raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Yep,” Bonbon states. “And a mug of cider costs two bits back home.”
She blinks, waiting for the ball to drop. “Okay?”
“Like I said, crazy favorable rate. But the forms are signed, and the rate is set.”
“Though it is a little disappointing that I couldn’t get a single additional knut onto the rate,” Lyra states. “All thanks to the odd numbers of smaller denominations to make up larger in the wizard currency, it’s not possible to exchange only one bit at a time.”
Bonbon shrugs. “Oh well.” Then she looks at Professor McGonagall. “So, how much gold do we need, each?”
She blinks. “Um… Fifteen galleons should be more than enough. Each.”
“Alright,” Lyra answers, before turning to trot towards the counter again, Bonbon in tow- and the professor following.
“What is it?” the goblin behind the counter asks sharply.
“Good afternoon,” Lyra begins. “I’d like to exchange some foreign currency- Equestrian, specifically. Just signed the exchange rate.”
The goblin raises an eyebrow. “Alright, one minute.”
A minute later, the goblin returns. “Right then. The exchange rate is one galleon for two bits. How much to you have?”
Professor McGonagall blinks. Hadn’t Bonbon said a mug of cider was two bits? Something she’d often pay less than a sickle for, if she wanted it?
“Four hundred bits,” Lyra answers, placing a fairly tall stack of gold coins on the counter- before helping Bonbon place a similar stack next to it. “That’s two hundred each.”
“Oh boy,” Professor McGonagall mutters, while the goblin starts counting.
“Just what have we gotten ourselves into?” Professor Flitwick asks the air.
All the weary teachers look at him.
He sighs, laying the letter down flat. “Princess Luna will be attending.”
“... Oh.”
Snape sighs, and unfolds his next letter. Then he draws his wand to levitate the cake off of the letter, complete with platter.
All of the professors watch it go.
“Well that’s… interesting,” Dumbledore mutters. “Who is it?”
“An Equestrian,” Snape states, before looking down, blinking, and reading the letter aloud.
“Dear Professor Snape,
“I plan on attending myself, though unfortunately, the Cakes will not be coming, so I have enclosed a congratulations-on-inviting-Equestrians-and-sorry-the-cakes-couldn’t-come cake for you and the rest of the staff to enjoy; a party feels like it’d be inappropriate right now. I’m looking forwards to Potions!
“Sincerely,
“Pinkie Pie.”
“Is this… the only place for wands or something?”
“Yes?” Professor McGonagall answers Lyra’s question, as the trio enters Olivander’s.
“Ahh,” Lyra mutters, looking around. “I don’t know how many Equestrian students you’re going to have, but I hope this guy has a lot of wands.”
“I do,” Olivander states from behind them, catching only the professor by surprise. The other two fake it convincingly, though. “I have thousands of wands on these shelves.”
“Yeah,” Lyra nods. “And after only a single day, we’ve already confirmed- what was the number?- over seven hundred new Equestrian first years?”
The wandmaker stops. “Seven hundred?”
“Yeah. That unusual?”
“Yes, yes,” he states. “Quite unusual. I normally only get about forty Hogwarts first-years each year.”
The two girls share a look.
“We’re gonna break the system,” Bonbon states simply.
“Definitely,” Lyra agrees. “I mean, what’s the predicted number?”
“Eight thousand two hundred seventy-four, last I checked.”
The floorboards vibrate as the Transfiguration professor hits them, drawing the girls’ attention.
“Uh, I don’t think she was ready for that,” Lyra states. She looks back up at Olivander. “That estimate has an error of around forty percent… do you think you have enough wands?”
“I…” he begins. “I should. How… How do you suppose we’ll find the right wands for that many so quickly?”
“Hmm,” Lyra mutters, tapping her chin. “I don’t know- really depends on what that process entails. Shall we be about it?”
Blink. “Alright. Which of you wishes to go first?”
“Her first,” Bonbon states.
Lyra raises an eyebrow at her friend. “Oh?”
“Yeah- that way, you can see how it works and maybe come up with something to try and speed it up. If it works…”
“True,” Lyra nods, and steps forwards. “Alright, me first.”
Olivander blinks. “Uh, okay.”
Bonbon chuckles. “She’s got the experience to recognize what might be going on behind the scenes, in the magic fields or something.”
“Right. It is true, it is the Wand that chooses the Wizard, after all. Then, which is your wand arm?”
“Does it matter?”
“Ah, yes. Some wands favor wizards with very specific dominant arms.”
“So, my dominant arm is my wand arm?”
“Yes.”
“Ahh. That’d be my right arm.”
“Can you hold it out for me, please? Yes, just like that.”
Bonbon watches Lyra’s amused expression as the measuring tape takes over and starts measuring on its own. “How does a person’s measurements effect what wand we get?” Bonbon asks.
Lyra answers. “It’s not about the measurements, actually,” she states. “As a matter of fact, that tape isn’t even measuring my body. It’s measuring different facets of my magic, in what I assume is an indirect way to get a rough estimation of the magical core. Armed with that information, the wandmaker can pick wands whose magic signatures- no doubt memorized rather than scanned on the fly- are similar or complementary, creating a higher chance that the correct wand would be found quickly.” She sighs. “I could probably speed that up a bit, since I know how to view the core directly, but that still won’t take the guesswork out of it.”
“That would be a handy skill to have,” the wandmaker agrees, pulling down box after box.
Eventually, he calls off the measuring tape, and brings her the first box. “Thirteen and a half inches, Ironbelly heartstring, maple, nice and supple. Go ahead, give it a wave.”
Lyra raises her eyebrows as she accepts the wand, lifting it in her hand. “Thirteen points of conflict on the signature, but…” She gives it a wave; nothing happens. “Thought so.”
The wandmaker, having tilted his head at her mention of the points of conflict, takes the wand back, and goes to the next one.
Six wands later, after the wandmaker skipped a couple dozen, he finally offers her yet another. “Alright, try this one.” He draws in a breath to continue.
She speaks first, though, an eyebrow raised. “That’s more like it,” she smiles, accepting the wand in her hand- and gives it a quick flick.
The wandmaker blinks as sparks fly out from it- but he also notices the girl’s eyes aren’t focused on where she’s pointing it, but on the wand itself. He tilts his head for a moment. “Excellent,” he states. “We’ve found your match.”
“Interesting,” Lyra finally states. “Very… interesting.” She looks up. “You’re right, the wand does choose the wizard. Or witch, as the case may be. Though, it seems to make that choice when it is created, whether or not the witch or wizard in question is even born yet.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. This wand had a one-sided thaumic bond pointed at me, and when I touched it, it completed that symbiotic bond.” She grins. “And fortunately, detecting such bonds pointed at someone is much easier- and safer- than scanning the thaumic core.”
“Oh?” He sounds excited now.
Dumbledore looks up. “Hold on,” he mutters.
“What is it?” Snape asks. Then blinks.
“Minerva is unconscious,” Dumbledore answers, for the benefit of those not tied to each other through the castle wards.
“Feels like shock,” Flitwick observes.
Dumbledore closes his eyes, and drives his power through the wards. “The equestrians must be… very unusual.”
Professor McGonagall wakes up suddenly, feeling the support flowing in from Hogwarts. She sends them her thanks and rises back to her feet, in time to see Lyra pay the wandmaker for her wand.
Then the wandmaker takes one good look at Bonbon, and trots off amongst the shelves.
Moments later, Olivander returns, holding one wand, offering it to Bonbon. “Here, try this one.”
The girl takes it, raises an eyebrow, and gives it a swish.
A giant wrapped candy appears in midair, before crashing to the ground to make the whole shop shake.
“Excellent!” the wandmaker begins. “Excellent! That was perfect, Lyra!”
Lyra, meanwhile, looks at the candy, then at her friend, and back to the candy, before nodding. “An interesting manifestation,” she finally states.
Bonbon chuckles while the wandmaker vanishes the candy. “So, how much will it cost?”
Later, the two girls teleport themselves home from Platform Nine and Three Quarters, equipped with all of their school materials packed into their new trunks- and an owl each. They’d driven both her and the Eyelops proprietor crazy when they started chatting with the owls, so it’d been a relief when they'd announced they were ready for their quick trip to the station.
The following morning, the tower of letters is even taller.
Professor McGonagall can only sigh, as she reviews the taller sorted stacks. “Well, the cake was good,” she states. “And at least the Equestrians are taking care of that side of things.”
“How many this time?” Snape asks.
“Three hundred seventy two yes-letters, nine hundred twelve noes.”
“Here,” Snape offers her a folded note- one of the ones denoting a muggleborn that would like to come, but wouldn’t be able to send an owl. “We’ll take care of all this stuff.” He waves a hand at the floating stacks of letters.
The Grangers were a pleasant family, Professor McGonagall thought. Their daughter, Hermione, will be a new student at Hogwarts this year- and from what she’s seen so far, the girl could easily be in either Ravenclaw or Gryffindor.
Then she leads them into the Leaky Cauldron, and can’t resist raising an eyebrow.
Those same two girls, Lyra and Bonbon, are sitting on opposite sides of a booth- but aside from the tankards of butterbeer at each girl’s side, there is no food in evidence. As she watches, Bonbon raises something small and black to her mouth, squeezing on it for a second and speaking into it.
“Echo Charlie to Flourish,” she states, before lowering the object.
Lyra looks up from the massive, glowing, muggle-tech-looking thing lying flat on the table. “Oh, hello Professor!” She waves energetically with one hand, even as the other hand tickers in a few numbers on a smaller, also thin and flat, glowing thing.
“Lyra?” she asks. “Back already?”
Lyra puts her smaller glowing thing to her ear, the glow going away. “Yep!”
“Did you forget something?” she asks, while Hermione trots up to the table, looking at the glowing things interestedly.
“Nah,” Lyra states, then looks away, turning in the direction of the thing on her head. “You’re up.” She waits a second, before swinging it back down, touching the red circle on the suddenly glowing-again part, and puts it down. “You know why we were at the park yesterday, right?”
She blinks, and nods.
Lyra smiles. “That’s why.”
The object in Bonbon’s hand suddenly speaks up. “Echo Alpha done at Eyelops,” it states.
Bonbon raises it back to her mouth. “Echo Alpha to base, Echo November to Dylan’s,” she states, before lowering it again and looking up at the professor. “Sorry about that,” she states. “We’ve got a lot of teams out in Diagon Alley right now.”
“Teams?” Hermione asks- and promptly lets out a surprised yelp, whirling around to find out what caused the thunderous Crack! behind her.
McGonagall also turns sharply, though most of the people in the pub don’t move beyond a little flinch. A group of about thirty first-years, sporting varied and unusual hair colors, is now standing in what had been an empty spot of the pub.
“Yep!” Bonbon answers cheerfully, as if she’d fully expected them to appear. “There’s a lot of us, so we’re getting our Hogwarts stuff in groups. You starting at Hogwarts too?” She raises the object again. “Echo Papa to Gringotts.”
“Roger!” someone in the middle of the new party states, despite not being close enough to have heard Bonbon’s words, and starts moving through it towards Diagon Alley. “This way, everyone!”
McGonagall blinks. “And they already know where that is?” she asks.
“Yep,” Bonbon nods. “We showed all our team leaders around last night.”
“So what are you using this for?” Hermione asks, pointing at the big thing flat on the table.
“We’re keeping track of all our parties,” she states. “We’re also tracking anyone that might pose a threat to us- be it bullies, or we’ve had at least one try an actual, physical attack.”
The black thing speaks up. “Bravo to Echo Lima,” it states.
Someone across the pub slams down their butterbeer and vanishes soundlessly into thin air.
Bonbon sighs. “And it sounds like we just encountered another bully.”
“Why track the bullies?” Hermione asks. “They can’t exactly do anything, can they?”
Lyra lets out a snort of laughter, but Bonbon answers.
“They can’t, sure,” Bonbon chuckles. “Problem is, some of the people we’re guiding are not only very powerful, but nervous. So, if the bully says just the wrong things to just the wrong people, they could inadvertently cause a scene that could destroy half of Diagon Alley.” She looks up at McGonagall. “That tendency should be vastly muted in Hogwarts Castle; everyone will be more able to keep a calm head on their shoulders. Not to mention, the Castle should be able to absorb most- if not all- of the damaging energies without sustaining damage.”
“Wow,” Hermione states.
“Yeah,” Bonbon nods. “We haven’t had them go anywhere near the nervous ones yet, and they haven’t said anything even remotely close to anything that might set them off yet. But we don’t want them to get the chance, if we can help it.”
“How do you know?”
“Easy. We know which parties have the nervous ones in them, and which parties have reported encounters with bullies. Then of course, if the bully says something that might possibly set someone off, the call is ‘bravo two’ instead of simply ‘bravo’.”
“What if they encounter two bullies?”
“‘Two bravo’.”
“What if the bully has already been encountered by someone?”
“Handled on the spot.” She glances down at the big glowing thing, and raises her black thing. “Echo Oscar to Olivander’s.”
“So what happens if someone, uh, gets set off?”
Shrug. “We’ve got a code for that too. And a response team to limit the damage.”
The black thing speaks up again. “Echo Alpha at base.” Almost immediately, the door from Diagon Alley opens, and a group of some twenty five colorful-haired first-years comes trotting out of it, toting large trunks and more than a few owls. Lyra rises to meet them, and starts talking with them.
Hermione watches Lyra go, and turns back to Bonbon. “You’ve got it all planned out,” she states.
Bonbon nods. “Yep. That happens when you’ve got a few thousand people to work with. You wanna join the next group- you might like Twilight, she’s part of it- or go independent with Professor McGonagall?”
Hermione looks up at her parents, and the professor. “Uh…”
“That sounds like a great idea,” McGonagall nods. “Do you mind if I tag along?”
“Mm? Oh, no problem. Actually, yes please- Quebec is one of the groups with nervous people in it, so the added security is welcome.”
“Ahh,” she states.
“How long until they get here?”
“When we call for ‘em,” Bonbon answers. She glances down at the bigger glowing thing. “About ten minutes, once Papa finishes up at Gringotts.” She smiles at Hermione. “That’ll give us time to finish processing Alpha over there, and for the other groups to finish- and shuffle around.” She looks back down, lifts her black thing, and issues a few more instructions.
“Something tells me,” McGonagall begins, “we’ve got as much to learn from you as you have from us.”
Bonbon nods. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Those things, for starters.”
“These? Oh, you mean the walkies, and the computers? Oh, no, that’s actually all from this world- bought it a couple days ago. Dead useful.”
“And you’ve already got all this set up?” Hermione asks, gesturing at the table.
“Yep!” Bonbon declares. “We’re good like that.”
Very suddenly, most of the group disappears with a crack of thunder, alongside the luggage of the two remaining girls. Lyra trots back to the table, returns to her seat, and takes a drink from her butterbeer- running it dry. Then she lifts one of her own walkie things, and pauses, looking up at the Grangers and the Professor. “Butterbeer?” she asks.
Hermione tilts her head. “What is that?”
“Is that a kind of beer?” Mr. Granger asks, somewhat sternly.
Lyra shakes her head. “Nah. I mean, it’s normally a slightly alcoholic drink- half a standard drink per tankard- but the stuff we’ve been ordering is all alcohol free.” She smiles. “Still tastes good. And it’s cheap, but I’m offering to pay for it anyways.”
Mr. Granger blinks. “Ahh, sure, then.”
Hermione nods with her mother. “Yeah, why not.”
“I’ll go for a normal one,” McGonagall states.
Lyra smiles, and raises her walkie up to her mouth. “Hey Tom, can I get four virgin and one normal Butterbeers to table three?” Then she lowers it.
“Coming right up,” it answers, in the bartender’s voice.
Professor McGonagall blinks. “You’ve even got the bartender in on it?”
“Different frequency, but yeah,” Lyra states. “We’ve got a pile o’ gold floating around here somewhere, and as you may have noticed, we’ve basically acquired the Leaky Cauldron to serve as our command post, for the time being. So while we’re here, I figured, why not enjoy it?” She shrugs. “Meals when we want, as many drinks as we want, and so on.” She smiles at the Grangers. “Don’t worry, we’ve been sure not to order anything with alcohol in it. Don’t need intoxicants messing with our brains when we might be needed for something major at any moment, do we?” Then she glances at Bonbon. “And on this side of the gate, our bodies don’t handle alcohol nearly as well as on the other side.”
“Gate?” Hermione asks.
“Nothing you need to be worried about,” Lyra answers. Then she glances towards Diagon Alley. “And no, that’s not it.”
“Trixie, you do not want to go that way,” Bonbon states suddenly into a third walkie, while the barkeeper approaches on the other side with a tray of butterbeers.
“What? Why not?” the walkie returns.
“Remember the Amulet?” Bonbon asks.
“Understood,” it answers sharply. “Turning around.”
“Your Butterbeers?” Tom asks.
Lyra looks up. “Ahh, thank you! The standard one’s for Professor McGonagall; one virgin for me, and one for each of these.” She gestures to the Grangers.
The barkeeper chuckles, and starts handing off the tankards. When he finishes, Lyra hands him her empty tankard. “Thank you!”
“So, which way was that?” Professor McGonagall asks Bonbon.
“Nocturn. A few of our people scouted it last night. Not somewhere where anyone that doesn’t know exactly what they’re doing should go. Especially at night.”
“Agreed,” McGonagall states. Then she looks up, at one of the two girls from that group that had stayed. The other one had headed back out to Diagon Alley.
“Hast thou any clue how nice it is to be treated like an equal?” the girl asks, her hair billowing behind her like the midnight sky.
“Uh,” Professor McGonagall mutters, unsure of how to answer.
“Are you part of a minority group or something?” Hermione unabashedly asks.
All three Equestrians burst into laughter. Mrs. Granger facepalms.
Bonbon stifles her laughter first, to lift that third walkie again. “Did you know, Luna just got asked if she belongs to a minority group?”
The walkie is silent for three seconds. Then-
“WHAAAAT?” comes flying back out of it.
“T’is funny you should ask,” Luna states. Then she glances at Lyra. “Though, I suppose it is true, in a technical sense.”
Lyra gives another snort of laughter. “Yeah, technically- but not in the way she’s thinking.” She looks at Hermione. “Hermione, I would like you to meet Princess Luna, the Princess of the Night and Diarch of Equestria.”
Hermione’s jaw drops. Then she puts a hand over it, stumbling backwards into her mother, who catches her. Her butterbeer floats over to the table, setting itself down. “S-s-sorry!” she eventually stammers.
“Oh puh-lease,” Luna snorts, waving an arm dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. It’s actually quite refreshing for people to treat me as who I am, rather than what I am. Leave the formal nonsense for my sister.”
“S-Sister?” Hermione asks, eyes darting around.
Bonbon answers; Lyra’s lifting her thingy again. “Princess Celestia, Princess of the Sun, the other Diarch- and de-facto ruler- of Equestria. Don’t worry, she’s not here. And she won’t be attending Hogwarts, either; she’s got a country to rule.”
“Then…” Professor McGonagall begins, but trails off to nothing.
Bonbon smiles. “Yeah. Princess Luna is the active sister of the two, and she’s had to keep all her energy pent up behind the royal facade.” Chuckle. “She’s also going to be the most powerful Equestrian student you’ll have this year, flat-out.”
“Really?” Hermione asks.
“WHAAAAT?” Lyra’s device squeaks suddenly, from where she’s holding it two feet away from her ear.
Lyra returns it to her ear afterwards, grinning like a maniac. “Yep! She thought it was funny.” She holds it out again.
“WHAAAAT?”
“Who is that?” McGonagall asks.
“Sounds like Twilight,” Bonbon observes.
Lyra puts it to her ear again. “Yeah. She’s really enjoying it over here- and can you tell your party leader she’s up?” Pause. “Thanks.” Then she removes it, touches the red circle, and sets it back down again. “Yep, that was Princess Twilight Sparkle, Princess of Friendship, believe it or not. But don’t treat her like a princess, that’s a great way to tick her off.” She smiles up at McGonagall. “She’ll be the second most powerful Equestrian student this year.” Then she glances at Hermione. “And something tells me she’ll get along with you like a house on fire.”
Hermione blinks. “... What?”
“Anyways, you have your Butterbeer?” Lyra offers it to her again, gripping it by the side opposite the handle. “We’ll be sending Quebec to Gringotts in a minute, and that’s the group you wanted to be a part of, if I remember right. And I’m afraid you can’t take the tankard out of the pub.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. If you want to have your butterbeer on the road, I can order you a cold one- served in bottles, that you can take wherever. Alternately, I can order you another when you get back.”
“How long will it take?”
“Well, we’ve been pumping people through as fast as possible… Loud noise.”
Crack! Another group of thirty or so first-years appears out of nowhere.
“As fast as possible, and noone’s announced a bottleneck, so…” She indicates a fourth walkie sitting on the table. “Alpha took about two hours, so that’s the running estimate.”
A purple-haired girl walks up to the edge of the table. “What’s that?” she asks- only for Lyra to knock her down, away from it.
“Later, Twilight. And be mindful of who you cut in front of.”
“Lyra!” the girl complains, getting up- then looks to either side and lets out a shriek worthy of a banshee. “Gaaah! Sorry, Princess Luna!”
The named Princess rolls her eyes, but doesn’t say anything.
Twilight offers Hermione her hand. “Nice to meet you,” she states. Then she glances at Lyra. “Any particular reason?”
Hermione takes the hand, shaking it. “Nice to meet you?” she asks.
Lyra snorts. “Yeah. Twilight, she’s in your department.”
Twilight blinks, and a sparkle enters her eyes. “What, really? The library?”
“Library?” Hermione asks interestedly.
“Aaand, they’re off,” Bonbon chuckles, as the two launch into a fast-paced discussion of the various books they’ve read- none of which match.
“House on fire,” Luna nods. “Definitely.”
“Hold on a second,” Mr. Granger asks. “How’d you know her name?”
Shrug. “Magic. The name by which we call ourselves is exposed on one of the outer layers of an individual’s magic aura, and easy to glean from it without any dangerous scans. I almost do it by instinct, any more- and you’d be surprised how many people, even among those that know about it, haven’t a clue how to block it. Or don’t bother trying.” Chuckle. “Again, not hard to block or obfuscate, rendering it impossible to read, even with those powerful scans.”
“... What?”
“You can think of it like a radio broadcast, and all I’m doing is tuning in. Don’t worry- I’ve occasionally seen a phone number in the aura as well, or an e-mail address, but that’s about it for regular information in the aura.”
“What else do you get?”
“Magical potential, magic affinities, and personality, mostly. I’ve seen one or two where the aura spoke of a tumultuous past.”
“Tumultuous?”
“Yeah. Victims of child abuse, that kind of thing.”
The three adults shudder, and Twilight’s conversation with Hermione breaks off, her eyes hardening. “Did you say child abuse?” Twilight asks sternly.
“Referring to it,” Lyra answers calmly. “It was all dealt with long ago.”
“Oh.” The literary discussion resumes, as if it had never been interrupted.
“Echo Quebec to Gringotts,” Bonbon mutters into her walkie.
“Roger!” one of the party calls. “Alright people, this way!”
Lyra prods Hermione on the shoulder, Twilight being too far away. “That’s you too,” she states.
“Huh?” Hermione asks, looking up- before blinking, downing the rest of her butterbeer, and leaving the tankard on the table. “Right!” Both the Grangers and Professor McGonagall quickly duplicate the drink-and-dump move, moving to follow the team.
Bonbon chuckles. “Don’t worry, we’ll still be here when you get back.”
The fire roars green once again, for yet another immediately apparent reason. This time, though, it’s a red-haired boy. A red haired boy, in fact, that is just in time to spot a whole years’ worth of first years vanish into thin air in a single crack of thunder, then for that one first year with the blue and white hair to walk calmly back to her table and take a drink from her butterbeer.
Attention drawn, he makes his way over, his twin brother joining him as soon as he emerges from the freshly-green flames. “Hello,” he greets.
The blue-and-white-haired girl looks up, and smiles. “Good afternoon, Gred and Forge. How do you do?”
The first blinks, looking at the other. “You know, that’s a good one, Fred.”
“Yeah George, it is,” Fred answers. “Though I’m more worried about how she knows our names.”
“How about,” George begins, turning back to the girl. “All the first years I just saw aparate away?”
Fred blinks. “True,” and turns also to the girl.
“Nice to meet you,” the girl smiles, holding out her hand. “My name’s Lyra, and they didn’t aparate. They teleported.”
The twins grasp her hand together, one with his left hand, the other with his right, and shake it. “Nice to meet you,” they parrot.
“How is a teleport different than apparition?” Fred asks.
“The specific spell,” she answers. “Teleporting is much safer.”
“Echo November to Apothecary.”
The twins both turn to the speaker. “What?” Her hair is pink and dark blue, and she’s lowering something that looks suspiciously like muggle stuff.
This girl smiles at them too. “Hello, my name’s Bonbon. Hogwarts?”
They blink, and nod. “Ron’s starting this year,” they state in tandem.
“And you might not want to let our dad see that,” Fred adds, pointing at the large, glowing, muggle-stuff-looking thing on the table.
“Let me see what?”
“Oh, hi Dad. Uh, nothing.”
Lyra waves. “Good afternoon, Mr. Weasley! Pretty sure they were talking about our gear. I wonder why?”
Both twins facepalm.
Another red-headed boy steps out of the flames after his father; this one is taller than the one that had gone between the twins and their father. “What is going on over here?” he asks, marching after them.
“Wait a second,” Mr. Weasley mutters, looking at the girl’s table. “Is that a phone? Does it run on ekel-tricity? How does it-?”
“No,” Lyra interrupts. Then looks at Bonbon. “Called it.”
Bonbon nods. “Just like Twilight.”
“Did I just hear Arthur talking about muggle stuff again?” a redheaded woman demands, the mother of the set, having come through behind her daughter.
Lyra leans out from her seat to look the woman in the eye. “No, but Ginny did,” she answers. Then she looks up at Mr. Weasley. “And it’s electricity. You know, like-!” She holds out her hand, and doesn’t quite touch Mr Weasley’s outstretched arm. A white line of plasma momentarily crosses the gap- and he jumps backwards with a very high-pitched yelp that drives all of the Weasley children, save the oldest, to laughter.
Lyra chuckles. “Like that. Butterbeer?” She promptly finishes off the last of her own tankard, and lifts one of the muggle stuff things like the one Bonbon had spoken into earlier.
And before anyone could stop them, the twins chorus “Yes Please.”
Then, before Mrs. Weasley and Percy finish filling their lungs to tell the twins off, both Ron and Ginny act.
“Sure,” Ron shrugs.
Ginny looks up at her mother. “Pleeease?”
Mr. Weasley stops in the middle of a similar lung-filling as his wife and eldest son, and seems to change his mind. “Why not?” he mutters.
At which point Percy groans, while Mrs. Weasley redirects her retort. “Arthur!”
“Sure,” Percy mutters.
Mrs. Weasley holds out for about three seconds before the peer pressure overwhelms her. “Alright, fine,” she huffs. Then she glances at Lyra. “Yes, thank you, dear,” she states.
Lyra’s grin widens even further as she raises the object to her mouth. “Hey Tom? Seven virgin Butterbeers and two regulars this time at table three, please.”
Bonbon raises an eyebrow, then drains the last of her tankard before it answers, with the barkeeper’s voice.
“Comin’ right up.”
Lyra puts it down. “Lemme guess, a wizarding family with another Hogwarts student?”
“Not that hard of a guess,” Fred mutters.
“Quiet,” George shushes him.
“Ah, yes,” Mr. Weasley states. “What about you?” His eyes stray back to the gizmos they’re using. “And what are those?”
“We’re, ah, a little different,” Lyra answers him. “I’d say unique, but there’s a few thousand of us.”
“A few thousand?” Mr. Weasley asks, blinking.
“Yeah. That happens when you connect a whole new world of magic to one with a magic school with an inadvisable structure.”
“A whole new world?” he asks.
She nods, and accepts a fresh butterbeer from Tom. “Yeah, gotta love it when stuff breaks. Butterbeer?”
Tom smiles, handing off the butterbeers from his platter with greater speed, now that he has their attention.
“Ahh, thank you,” Mr. Weasley states. “So you’re starting at Hogwarts or something? And are you sure it’s such a good idea to be having so much butterbeer?”
Lyra grins. “Yep, all Hogwarts here. We already got our stuff, though, so we’re helping coordinate everyone else to minimize problems out in the Alley. You wanna join our next party, or go independent? I know Rarity would love to meet you.”
“Um- sure. And- the butterbeer-?”
The twins cut him off, sliding in front of him and leaning over the table, blocking much of its contents from view. “What’s all this stuff doing?”
“All this stuff is doing the Ravenclaw-ing for us,” Lyra answers quickly.
“Huh?”
She chuckles. “The thinking? Though even a team of Ravenclaws would be hard-pressed to match this.” She gestures at the big, flat gizmo on the table in front of her.
They blink. “What is ‘this’?” Fred asks.
She grins. “‘This’ is a map displaying the positions of all our groups, allies, and identified threats, updated sixty times every second from a high-speed information network with almost two hundred and fifty addresses. At the moment.”
“Uhh…”
“Think of it like people,” Bonbon states. “Almost two hundred and fifty ‘people’ are out in Diagon Alley or other places, watching our people or any threats we’ve tagged. Each one of those ‘people’ are constantly shouting their location back to this one, anywhere from thirty to a hundred and fifty times a second.” she taps the big one on the table. “This one interprets that information and, sixty times a second, marks the latest location of each of those other ‘people’ on a fresh map of Diagon Alley, before putting that up for us to see.”
“Sixty times-?!”
She grins. “Yeah. The kind of thing that is flat-out impossible for humans to do, Ravenclaws included.”
Mr. Weasley clears his throat. “The butterbeers?” he asks sternly.
Lyra leans out from behind the twins. “Oh, don’t worry- we’re only ordering the virgin ones, with no alcohol. No intoxicants to cloud our judgement, so there’s no problem with downing really as much of it as we like.” Then she glances at Bonbon. “Add how cheap it is, and we’d be almost terminally stupid not to take advantage of it. I mean,” she looks up at Mr. Weasley. “It tastes really good. And I had some of the normal stuff last night, there’s no real difference between it and the virgin stuff, save the side effects.”
“Cheap?” the twins, Percy, and both parents parrot simultaneously.
“Yep!” she states cheerfully, before taking a swig of her butterbeer. “‘Nother world, remember? We got our own currency over there. And when we got here, we managed to negotiate an exchange rate so favorable this butterbeer is practically dirt cheap.”
“Oh?” Mr. Weasley asks.
She nods. “Yep. Back home, two bits- that’s our currency- will get you a single mug of apple cider. But take those same two bits here, and exchange them for wizard currency, and you’ve got forty-nine servings of this Butterbeer.” She grins up at him. “Like I said, a very favorable exchange rate.”
He blinks. “What about when people go to your world?”
“They can’t,” she states. “The gate is keyed to a kind of magic unique to the other side. And it’s only keyed to it because it’s that stabilizing facet of our magic that lets us stay us when we pass through.” She sighs. “We’ll probably renegotiate the exchange rate to something more reasonable if ever it becomes easy to send people native to this world across, but until then, it’s downright deadly for you to try crossing the gate.” She shrugs. “I have an idea that might help with that, but it’ll take a while to refine before I can feel comfortable even experimenting with it.” Sigh. “And that’s completely aside from the side effects of that facet.”
“Side effects?” he asks.
“Yeah. We’re used to it, so it’s part of life for us, and easily handled- but the people of this world might be blindsided by it. And it’s… Well, a little hard to explain.”
He tilts his head. “Oh?”
She chuckles. “You see our hair colors, right?” She starts touching numbers on a smaller gizmo.
“Yeah?” he asks.
She puts the gizmo to the side of her head. “That’s one of ‘em,” she states. “Appearance varies… a lot, over there.” She turns away. “Gamma. You’re up.” A pause, and she removes it, touching something red. “You’ll see what I mean in a second.”
“What’s this?” a voice asks, walking up behind the Weasleys.
The whole family turns to face. “Malfoy,” Mr. Weasley states.
“Are the Weasleys so poor they have to leech off a couple-!”
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave them alone.” It’s a golden-armored boy, holding a spear respectfully at his side as he steps in front of the man, a sword sheathed on the other side.
Mr. Malfoy blinks at the sudden interruption, looking down at the boy. “Oh?” he demands. “Why is that?”
“They are our friends. If you cannot show them the respect due a fellow human being, you had best stay clear.”
“What-! The blood traitors deserve no respect!”
The boy’s eyes harden, and another- a girl this time, but wearing similar armor and otherwise exactly identical- steps up next to him, abandoning a butterbeer on her table. “Their blood is irrelevant,” she states firmly. “They are human beings, and they deserve at minimum the respect due to any human being.”
He hisses furiously. “You’re standing up for the blood traitors?” he demands. “You must be blood traitors yourselves!”
The two children don’t move, nor respond in any way. Instead, a third approaches from the side. She’s not wearing any armor, her hair billowing behind her like midnight. “Hast thou heard the saying,” she begins. “Thou must respect thy neighbor, but thou must respect thy enemy more- for the moment thou failest, thou wilt be destroyed.”
“They are blood traitors!” he almost roars. “They deserve no respect!”
The two armor-wearing children start to move, but the last girl stops them with a simple gesture. “And thou wouldst be wrong.”
He snarls, one hand drawing back in a fist.
“Thou wishest to fight?” she asks, amused. “Doest thou hast any clue what thou provokest?”
He throws his punch.
She catches it, in one hand, trapping his fist almost casually in her tiny hand, and sighs. “Thou hast just directed an attack against myself,” she states. “An attack that amounts to the mere squabbling of foals.” She grins evilly- and his expression goes from angry and surprised to pained while his fist crackles in her hand. “You would best remember my name, fool man. I am Princess Luna, the Princess of the Night. Now, Begone from my sight!” She thrust his hand back at him, toppling him on top of his son like a domino. His son wisely dodges out of the way, leaving his wife to catch him.
He rubs his freed hand with the other one as his wife helps him back to his feet, and glares at the Princess. “This is not over,” he declares.
The Princess’ eye glints dangerously. “I look forward to a more appropriate battle,” she states dangerously, her ancient accent disappearing completely.
Right on time, and with a crack like a thunderbolt, about thirty first years appear out of thin air right behind Luna, eliciting frightened yelps from the Malfoys.
A purple haired girl steps forward from the group almost instantly, to the Weasleys. “Good afternoon, my name is Rarity. What might your names be?”
“It has been a long time since I’ve faced a worthy opponent,” Luna finishes.
“Very well,” Malfoy declares, turning back to the fireplace with his family. “I will be ready next time!”
“Fred,” George mutters to his twin. “I think Rarity’s still waiting for our answer.”
Fred blinks, looking away from the Malfoys. “Yeah, and she looks a little irritated, too.”
“Alright then,” George states, turning to speak to Rarity.
“I’m Fred,” Fred begins, and points at his twin. “This is George.”
George continues. “The littlest two are Ron and Ginny, and that is Percy.” He points at Percy.
“The oldest two are our parents,” Fred finishes.
Rarity blinks. “Uh, alright,”
“The Weasley family,” Lyra smiles.
“Oh, okay,” Rarity smiles at the twins. “I imagine you’ve got much shopping to do, yes?”
“Uh, yeah,” Fred mutters. “We’ve yet to get our school stuff this year.”
“Excellent! That’s what we’re doing as well. I don’t suppose you two will be first years, though.”
“Ah, no,” George answers. “That’d be Ron this year.”
“Nice! You do have your shopping lists, right? Or do they not send upper years shopping lists?”
“Ah, they do, alright,” Fred states.
“And we got our lists,” George finishes.
“I just hope we can afford it all,” Fred mutters.
“We might be able to save enough by having Ron use Charlie’s old wand,” George muses.
Rarity gasps dramatically. “Oh, no, that just won’t do! That’d never work! And don’t worry about the money, either. I mean, they keep telling me thirty bits is all I’ll need for all of my supplies.” Then she glances at Lyra. “And a wand is, what, five?”
“Fourteen, actually,” Lyra answers, “once you account for the exchange rate.”
Rarity snorts. “Yet I brought a hundred and fifty just to be safe. So really, let’s just get all your stuff and have a good year at Hogwarts, alright?”
“Ahh,” the twins mutter in tandem. “Sure.”
“Alright everyone, this way,” one of the other first-years of the group calls.
“Oh!” Rarity positively chirps. “That’s our cue!” She then grabs Ron by the hand and pulls the surprised Weasley after her, following the group.
George glances back at the rest of his family long enough to see Lyra catch their attention to say, “You wanted to go with X-ray, right?” and gesture back towards them. Then, he quickly looks back forwards, trotting after Fred and Ron.
The mountain sorts itself once again, under the influence of Professor McGonagall’s spell.
She gazes at the floating stacks for a few seconds, alongside the rest of the still weary teachers.
Professor Snape summons one of the two letters not in either of the big stacks, magicing it open to read it- and blinks. By the time he finishes reading it through the third time, all the other professors are watching him.
“Well?” Professor McGonagall prompts.
He looks up. “Agent Candy Stripes would like to know what the enrollment requirements are,” he answers flatly. “It is their opinion- and that of Agent Sweetie Drops- that the youngest Weasley is ready to begin her education, by all physical, mental, and magical metrics they can think of.”
“I give up,” the Head of Gryffindor House states.
“The usual, Hagrid?”
“Can’t, Tom. Hogwarts business.”
“Ahh- Oh, Good Lord. Is this- can this be-?”
“Yes,” a blue-and-white-haired girl states firmly, trotting over. “Good afternoon, Harry. Butterbeer?” She offers him a bottle.
A man steps out of the green flames in the fireplace. “Nope,” he states, and turns on the spot, disappearing with a little pop.
Hagrid looks in that direction. “What?” he asks.
The girl chuckles. “Ever since we backed him down a week and a half ago, Malfoy’s been stopping by every day. I think he’s trying to wait until we’re gone before he buys his son his school stuff.”
A very sudden scraping of chairs echoes through the shop, making Harry- and Hagrid- jump.
She chuckles again, glancing behind her. “Yeah, you’re a bit famous in this world- which may not be a good thing.”
“Yeah…” Hagrid mumbles. “Hold on. You backed Malfoy down? What was he doing?”
“He went after the Weasleys,” she shrugs. “Bit of an idiot, I think. I mean, for a grown man to resort to bullying. Clearly, the Weasleys have something the rich git wants- and he never grew up enough to realize he’s probably got the money to buy it. Celestia knows the Weasleys could use the money.” Then she lets out a snort of laughter. “Though, after getting to know the Weasleys, I’m not so certain it’s something that can be bought.” Finally, she glances back at the archway to Diagon Alley. “Speaking of which, our final team will be showing up in a half an hour or so. I’m looking forward to turning Twilight loose on Flourish and Blotts tomorrow.”
“Twilight?” Harry asks, pausing in the middle of Dedalus Diggle’s second handshake.
“Yeah. We’ll be schoolmates soon- you, me, her, and about twelve thousand more.”
“Twelve thousand?” Hagrid asks.
She nods. “Yeah… All the shopkeepers said it did seem a little unusual, but with a little coordination and planning ahead, we were able to get everyone processed. There were a few hiccups, including a particularly nasty one where Scribbulus ran out of quills, but we were able to get it all done. By now, all the shopkeepers are a little exhausted, but they should be pretty well stocked.” She looks Harry up and down. “Holly, eleven inches, phoenix feather, no?”
He blinks. “What?”
She nods. “And yeah, you’ve definitely got a bit of influence from Moldy on you, but it’s at odds with the rest of you- subdued, as it were. Not something I can strip off in this world, but it should be largely harmless.” Shrug. “Probably some leftover from whatever happened way back when.”
Harry blinks again, completely ignoring the patrons still vying for his attention. “Wait, what? You mean- you mean Voldem-!”
Lots of people in the pub gasp. More than one calls out “Don’t say the name!”
Another girl rises calmly out of the same booth the first had come from; this one’s got pink and dark blue hair. She fills her lungs and bellows, “Victor Oscar Lima Delta Echo Mike Oscar Romeo Tango Voldemort! Quit your whining, and quit being afraid!”
Harry blinks, looking back at the snickering blue-and-white-haired girl while all the gaspers, including Hagrid, stumble back in shock- and the blue-and-pink-haired girl returns to her seat as if it was as normal as taking out the trash. “You mean Voldemort left-?” he asks. “Won’t it- ?”
The blue haired girl turns back to him. “Eh, it might hurt a little. No more than a little sting in the scar on your forehead, probably, or maybe some pain when you get too close to him or he’s particularly strong. But your own aura practically reeks of your mother’s love- a very powerful form of magic Moldy will never get through. So no, you’re practically indestructible, to him at least. Probably why he, ah, suffered a failure of heart, way back when.”
He blinks. “Wha-? Wouldn’t everyone-?”
She chuckles. “You’d think. But no- that kind of a so-called ‘love envelope’ is vanishingly rare where I come from- but it’s even rarer here. The thing is that it can only be created by a truly loving mother, and even then only while worried about the survival of her young.” She smiles sadly. “I’m sorry to say, even in my world, over ninety-five percent of ‘love envelopes’ are on orphans. But it says a lot, to have been loved so powerfully that it was even possible to form one. And, if you know how to mess with it just right, they’re incredibly useful- and for more than just passive protection.” She winks at him.
“Uh, like what?” he asks. “How does being loved by my mom…?”
“Harry,” she states, putting her hand on his shoulder. “Look at me. But not with your eyes- use your mind’s eyes. See me, see the energy around me. Feel for it. What’s my name?”
He blinks a couple times. “Lyra,” he answers. “But what- Wait.”
“And there you have it,” Lyra smiles, her hand returning to her side. “Advantage number one: The ability to see a magic aura with no prior magical understanding. It normally takes years of study before someone can so much as detect the aura- but you saw in far enough to get my name. Correctly, I might add.” She chuckles lightly. “I’m afraid you won’t get much further than that without at least a minimal understanding of the magic involved- but you might be surprised what is exposed even at that layer.”
“... What?”
“Yep. It does take a touch deeper to see someone’s magical affinities or capacities, but incidental things like emotions are laid bare, and moods are visible. Try practicing that sometime- pick someone, anyone, and see if you can feel their name and mood. You’d be surprised what you’ll find.”
He blinks, and scowls at her for a second.
“Oh, heh heh,” she mutters, rubbing her hair with one hand. “Sorry about that. I kinda habitually scramble my own aura anymore- another thing a love envelope makes easy. But don’t worry, most people haven’t a clue that’s even possible.”
Then he sighs. “So, why are you telling me all this, when you’ve only just met me?”
She grins. “Because I can see your aura, as plain as day. Kinda hard to miss, what with the love envelope. But I can also see that you’re good enough you’ll use those abilities for good, not evil. So why not?” She shrugs. “And besides, even if the Death Eaters captured and questioned you tomorrow, what could they hope to gain? Extra confusion?” She chuckles again. “Only now, you’d be able to tell us who they were.” Her expression suddenly straightens, and she puts her hand soothingly back on his shoulder. “Besides, what a ‘love envelope’ really is, is your mother’s magical core, reassigned at death, rather than dispersed like they usually are. The main passive effect is protection from maliciousness- but once you get a good feel for it, get to know it…
“Let’s just say it’s a lot more than it seems, okay?”
He stares at her.
“I know, ‘love envelope’ is an astonishingly cold and unfeeling name for something so precious, but that’s what you get when the scientists decide that ‘mother’s blessing’ isn’t good enough. Not one of them actually had one.” Sigh. “Probably didn’t help that a blessing can be given by a living mother, while a love envelope- by its very nature- is given in death.”
“I donno,” Hagrid mutters. “She seemed good enough to me. Somewhat happen?”
Dumbledore nods from behind his desk. “Yes, Rubeus. We will be having twelve thousand, two hundred ninety-three first-years this year.”
“WHAT? Sorry, Dumbledore, but what’s this have to do with Lyra?”
“It would seem it’s only thanks to her and her friends that they all got their stuff on time,” he answers. “I’ve been too busy sorting out mail here at the castle to visit Diagon Alley ever since we started sending the acceptance letters. Now, I just got back from Diagon Alley- I really would like to meet her- but it turns out they packed up and left fifteen minutes before I got there.” He sighs.
“Couldn’t ya just stop by her home?”
Dumbledore lets out a chuckle. “Oh, that would have worked in the past, yes- but we can’t go where she’s from. Something about a portal not letting us through.” He sighs again. “Not to mention, we don’t know where that portal even is.”
“Well, she seemed nice enough. Definitely a Gryffindor, I think.”
“Oh boy,” Dumbledore mutters.
“What?”
“Let’s just say, especially for dear Minerva, this will be a very interesting year.”
“You’re in safe hands, though I have none, for I’m a thinking cap!”
The resultant applause echoed dimly in the truly enormous chamber. The four long tables looked almost empty, huge stretches standing bare as some fifty times as many students as were scattered across all four tables stood in line between them.
“How long do you think this is going to take?” someone at the Ravenclaw table mutters.
Another shrugs. “Donno. There’s gotta be a few thousand of them at least, so it’s gonna be a few hours.” Snort. “I suppose it’s a good thing the train was faster this time?” She glances up at the ceiling, bearing the light blue of the late afternoon sky.
“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” Professor McGonagall instructs tiredly, pretending the bags under her eyes aren’t even there as she steps forwards with a very long scroll. She drops the rolled up bottom of it, holding the top up to read.
At least one student already seated mutters “Uh-oh,” when the rolled bottom of the scroll hits the floor hard enough to make the dishes rattle.
Resigned, Professor McGonagall starts at the top. “Abacus, Golden.” An Equestrian.
A cheerful red-head works her way up to the front of the long line of first-years and accepts the hat. She turns around and tips it in salute to the four tables before putting it on her head.
“Gryffindor!” it announces, almost before it lands on her head.
Professor McGonagall allows herself a small smile of pride- the very first one went to her house- as the girl returns the hat to the stool, bows to her, and trots off to the Gryffindor table. Then, as she calls the next name on the list- “Abbot, Hannah”- she notices that the first years are muttering something amongst themselves.
As it turns out, Hannah was at the back of the line- so at someone’s comment, she heads around, trotting up between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables to reach the front rather than pushing her way through or around so many other students.
This is going to take all night, Professor McGonagall thinks.
After the third name is mentioned, this girl- another Equestrian- being near the front, a few calls go up somewhere in the crowd- and the first years start shuffling about. Fifteen minutes later, Professor McGonagall realizes the first years have formed a serpentine, single-file line in that gap- and that the last half dozen or so names have been from the very front. She reads the next name on the list. “Bonbon.”
As the girl walks calmly up to the stool, she notices something. Bonbon is wearing her prescribed school uniform, just like everyone else- but she’s wearing something else as well. There’s something else, clipped to the front of her robes, just below the point of her shoulder, opposite her nametag. It’s black, though it looks like it has differently-colored writing on it; she sees a spiral string of something black hanging down from it, dangling quickly to the side to slip in the front of her robes, from where it goes out of sight.
As the girl gets close, she realizes there’s another little string of black sticking up from her neckline, stopping right about at the point of her shoulder- from which there’s a spiral, transparent tube going up to her ear. She graciously accepts the hat, places it deftly on her head, and waits a half-second or so before seating herself on the stool.
The staff table sits as solid as stone, boring holes in the hat with their eyes. This is Bonbon, the one that had been working with Lyra in the Leaky Cauldron; Professor McGonagall, and the others that had gone to help muggleborn after that first day, had told the others about the pair.
All of the students at the tables start looking between Bonbon and the staff table with interest; none of the staff are hiding their expressions very well. As for Bonbon herself, she looks more amused than anything else, especially once a distant murmur is heard from amongst the first years.
Finally, the hat moves. “Slytherin!”
All of the staff, save Professor McGonagall who hides it decently well, groan. This is going to be an interesting year- especially if everyone’s expectations for Bonbon’s partner hold out.
Bonbon lifts the hat off her head, already offering it to the next girl in line, even before Professor McGonagall calls out the girl’s name- “Bones, Susan”. The girl had, despite not being an Equestrian, quickly picked up on what they were doing- and started coming as soon as the hat announced the House. As it is, Susan waits patiently for McGonagall to actually call her name before she puts the hat on her head.
Bonbon chuckles at the display as she walks calmly away, heading for the Slytherin table.
“So, the House of the Snakes, huh?” Lyra’s voice asks, through her earpiece.
She grins, one hand moving to press the button on her mic for her to speak into it. “Yeah, figured why not? It was the best match, after all.”
“Wait, what? You decided?”
She grins, reaching the Slytherin table and selecting her seat. “Yeah- the hat wasn’t sure, so it asked. He knows how to hold a good conversation, by the way. Too bad we hat to rush it.”
The sound of a facepalm comes over her headset, making her chuckle. “Just like you just hat to do that, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. Which one are you going to?”
“Gryffindor, I think. The fit’s a lot stronger than yours to the snakes, so I don’t think it’s going to need to deliberate much. But in any case, I’ve got a good hour or two to wait.”
“Just remember not to drive the Gryffindors too crazy, alright?”
One of the Slytherins at the table- looks like a third year- is staring at her. “Who are you talking to?”
“Oh puh-lease, you’re almost certainly going to get some of the more interesting students over in your house. You’re going to have a lot more damage to limit.”
She smiles at the Slytherin. “A friend,” she answers, before going live on the mic again. “Yeah, says the lady that’s going to be ending up with Twilight. Really, Dissy and Luna are nothing compared to that.”
“What are you talking about?” the Slytherin asks.
She shrugs at the slytherin. “Stuff.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right, aren’t you?”
“This is going to be an interesting year,” she mutters into it.
Several laughs suddenly break out amongst the first years, drawing everyone’s attention.
“That it is, Bonnie. That it is.”
“Discord,” Snape calls. He’d rotated out with Professor McGonagall after the first half-hour; in another fifteen minutes, his half hour will end, and Professor Flitwick will take over reading from the scroll.
“Slytherin!” the hat calls.
Snape lowers the scroll to stare at it. Everyone else in the room stares at it. It’d only just barely landed on the stool; he’s been making sure to call the next name as quickly as possible after each student is sorted. Discord hasn’t even taken his first step yet.
The hat twitches, as if looking around the hall. “What?”
Discord steps out of line, chuckling. “Well, that was easy,” he states, before trotting towards the Slytherin table, whistling an upbeat drum solo.
“Heartstrings, Lyra,” Dumbledore announces. They’re a couple hours into the sorting, and he’s approaching the end of his turn- as a matter of fact, his turn technically ended ten minutes ago, but he saw Lyra’s name coming up. Professor McGonagall is next in line- but he’d asked her, through the castle wards, to remain seated.
Lyra trots cheerfully up to the stool, hardly tapping the hat on her head before it yells “Gryffindor!”
Then, as she returns the hat to the stool, she looks at Dumbledore’s scroll. “Would you like some help with that?” she asks, loud and clear.
The entire Great Hall goes silent.
Dumbledore stares at her for a second, processing the question. He’s starting to understand why McGonagall had collapsed during her first day meeting the two.
Then he smiles. She’s most definitely a Gryffindor- and if half the stories his professors are telling him are true, she’s more than capable of reading names from a list, and doing it well.
“Sure,” he answers, handing her the top of the scroll with a twinkle in his eye.
“What are you doing?” McGonagall asks him, through the wards.
“This should be amusing, if nothing else,” he answers her, also through the wards, as Lyra accepts the scroll and studies it for a second.
Then she studies the hat for a second, glances up at the first years still waiting, raises her hand to the black thing he hadn’t noticed hanging just below her shoulder on the front of her robes, and mutters into it. “Hit it.”
Then, as music starts somewhere, she starts calling off names- and the first years shuffle forwards quickly.
The entire staff, including Dumbledore, simply stare for at least a minute.
Finally, Professor McGonagall breaks the silence amongst the staff. “You’re right,” she mutters. “This is amusing.”
The hat is shouting almost constantly, to the beat of the music. “Hufflepuff- Gryffindor- Gryffindor- Ravenclaw- Slytherin- Ravenclaw- Hufflepuff- Slytherin- Gryffindor-!” In each of the gaps between, Lyra announces the name of the next student dropping the hat over their head, also to the music. Overall, she’s getting one student sorted every second.
There’s also a half-dozen more black-thing-wearing first-years keeping everyone straight on exactly where they’re headed. A couple of them aren’t sorted yet- but that turns out not to be a problem, as they simply insert themselves into the proper spot in the line as it shows up, get sorted, and immediately return to what they had been doing before.
The teachers watch as she keeps it up, pumping her way through the first-years.
Lyra’s been going at it for an hour when, suddenly, the line stops approaching the stool- and the helpers disappear as soon as they’re done with the last students they’re helping. The music also draws to a close- but only half the first years have been sorted.
Dumbledore blinks as Lyra waits patiently, while students finish clearing the head of the room. He’s about to rise, to ask her what’s wrong and perhaps take over again, when she speaks up again- and he instantly knows why.
“Luna, Princess.”
Students all across the room gasp, even before the girl starts moving, her black robes and dark hair billowing like midnight behind her. She marches up to the stool like a queen- then kneels before Lyra, who places the sorting hat on her head. Then Lyra draws a sword she most certainly didn’t have a moment before, laying the flat of the blade on the girl’s shoulder.
“I name you,” the hat begins, as Lyra moves the sword to her other shoulder. “Slytherin!”
Then Lyra sheathes the sword in its jeweled midnight scabbard and presents it to Luna, bowing as the girl takes it, replacing it graciously with the sorting hat before she goes billowing off to the Slytherin table, sword disappearing into her robes, amid roaring applause.
Then the helpers are back, the music is playing, and everything’s moving again.
Eventually, the ceiling has darkened to show the deep, starry black of night and more than a few students stomachs have begun growling when the end of the line finally arrives, and “Zest, Zero” goes to Hufflepuff. It’s at this point that Lyra finally returns the scroll to Professor McGonagall with a bow, and heads for the Gryffindor table herself. Everyone had paused again for “Potter, Harry” when that came up, though there had been no bowing nor swords, just exactly what Professor McGonagall had been doing.
And of course, a repeated call of “We Got Potter!” from the Weasley twins.
“Hello everyone!” Lyra greets cheerfully, trotting up to take her seat at the Gryffindor table, a couple seats away from Harry but right next to the Weasley twins. Most of the non-Equestrians had clumped together. “How’s the food?”
“The food?” Percy asks. He opens his mouth to say more, but she continues without him.
“Yeah, it’s imaginary. How is it?”
“Uh…” Harry mutters, looking at his plate.
“Awesome,” Fred declares, quickly stuffing the tip of his empty fork into his mouth and making as if he had just taken a massive bite of something.
“Papa tango.”
She blinks, one hand flashing up to her mic to depress the button. “Already?” she asks.
Hermione takes one look. “You know that won’t work here, right?” she asks.
“No,” she promptly answers, even as the answer comes back over her definitely working headset.
“Yep, three of them.”
“Three of them?” she states into the mic. “And the term hasn’t even started yet?”
“Well it won’t,” Hermione scowls. “Electricity goes haywire here. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History.”
“Which was written by wizards that haven’t a clue what electricity is,” Lyra answers shortly as she waits for her reply again. “I bet they were thinking about lightning. Which is electricity, and doesn’t behave any differently at Hogwarts than anywhere else.”
“Yep, one primary and two lackeys. Remember the Dodger?”
She chuckles, and depresses the button. “Yeah.” They’d nicknamed the youngest Malfoy ‘dodger’ after he’d dodged his father at the Leaky Cauldron. She hadn’t gotten a good look at him, though- so none of her people know what his real name is.
Or at least, knew. She’d been up when “Malfoy, Draco” was sorted into Slytherin.
“That’s the primary.”
Hermione is staring at her, the gears working visibly in her brain.
“What is that, anyways?” Fred asks her, pointing at the mic. “I don’t remember seeing it in Diagon Alley.”
“A very good question,” she answers, before leaning forwards to look at both twins. “So, Gred and Forge, you up for a prank?”
“Uh-oh,” Ron mutters.
“Sounds like a plan,” George answers.
Percy groans.
“So who, what, where, and when?” Fred asks.
“I-know-who, not sure yet, donno, and in a few days once we figure out both of the above.”
“That’s… disconcerting,” Hermione states.
George blinks. “Specifics?”
She smiles. “Food now, planning later. I’ve gotta work on my technique for a couple days anyways.”
“That’s the primary.”
Moondancer lets out a sigh. She had been out shadowing a bully when the kid they’d christened the ‘dodger’ had been first spotted; she doesn’t know who he is, aside from a general description she was given later. Judging by who had announced the ‘dodger’ to be a papa tango, he went to Slytherin- and knowing Lyra…
As usual, she disapproves of the energetic mare’s approach. Had she herself been the one doing that research, she would have waited and brought it up to Professor McGonagall or Professor Dumbledore- or, since she was sorted to Ravenclaw, Professor Flitwick. She would have presented the fully worked-out solution to the problem, proposed a follow-up, and negotiated an experiment- both the nature of the experiment… and who to do it on. With the subject’s agreement, of course. If she couldn’t work out the solution first, she’d do as much as she could- then go to one of the Professors to get their input, perhaps negotiate for a planned time when she could take whatever scans or readings she needed to finish.
But she’s not doing that research.
No; Lyra’s the only one that understands what it’s all about. She’d had the minty mare explain, but had been forced to admit she didn’t understand a word of it- and, in the end, forced to agree that the crazy musician would be the best pony to continue that research.
At least Twilight isn’t involved. That mare might have accidentally killed somepony in the attempt, but unlike the purple laboratory disaster, Lyra keeps her head on straight at all times- even with as energetic as she is- and safety is her number one priority, always.
She glances up at the head table in time to spot Professor Dumbledore spreading his arms to the Great Hall. “Welcome,” he begins. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts. Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And, here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you.” Then he sits down.
“Does… Does that mean anything?” the girl that had sat next to her while she’d been internally cataloguing who was sorted where, and associating names with faces- “Turpin, Lisa”- asks.
She glances back; yes, Lisa is talking to her. “Sounds like names to me,” she answers. “A bit strange, but not inconceivable.” She glances down at the table, sensing the spellwork coming to completion on the same, and selects something at random to offer the girl. “Potatoes?”
“Somethin’ wrong?” Applejack asks the boy that sat beside her shortly after Lyra started her song and dance.
He looks up at her. “Um- no?” he begins.
She raises an eyebrow. She’d missed the signs when he arrived; he’d just been staring up at the ongoing sorting, and applauding for Princess Luna, ever since he arrived. But now, his nervous glances up and down the table while he only gets food from the closest platters to him looks very much like somepony too nervous to say anything.
And, even without her gift for lie detection, his refusal sounded very much like Twilight does when she denies being worried about a major test.
“Somethin’s botherin’ yah, Ah can tell,” she states, resting an arm over his shoulders. Lyra had warned her- and all the other Equestrians- of all the Equestrian behaviors that simply don’t in this world, and this is one of them- but she can feel he needs it. “What is it?”
He doesn’t even seem to recognize the gesture, instinctively- and unthinkingly- leaning into her. An effect of her harmony magic Lyra had warned her to be careful with- but had not said to avoid. “My dad’s going to kill me,” he mutters.
She raises an eyebrow, and hugs him gently. “Not literally, Ah hope?”
He snorts. “That… That might actually be preferable.”
“Well, what’s the problem?”
“Uh… Well, he tells me Hufflepuff is a whole lot of duffers. Wanted me in Slytherin.”
She snorts. “Well, Hufflepuff ain’t a bunch o’ duffers if Ah landed here. Want me to come with to convince him?”
“How is it not?” he asks. “What makes a Hufflepuff… well, not a duffer?”
She fills her lungs, opening her mouth- then stops, closing it, and casting her gaze up and down the table. “We’re… Uh…” She glances at the Equestrian that sat on his other side. “Help me, Minuette.”
The girl glances up, and smiles. “Sure, Applejack. Wayne, well… Hufflepuff is a great house to be in. I’m honored to be here, actually.”
“What?” he asks. “But-! Aren’t hufflepuffs… Well, pussies?”
Minuette lets out a good laugh. “Not even close!
“For one, Hufflepuffs are very hard workers. Slytherins may be powerful, but all that power is only available as a surge. A Hufflepuff can maintain a far higher sustained power output for far longer- be it magical or physical- than any other house. For example, Applejack, how long does it take for you and Big Mac to harvest every apple on the farm, without help?”
Wayne looks back at Applejack, blinking.
“Ah,” Applejack mumbles, thinking. “It took ‘bout a week and a half last time.”
Minuette smiles. “Then, how much of that time was spent working?”
“We were carrying buckets of apples back to the barn from dawn ‘till dusk each day.”
His jaw drops.
Minuette chuckles. “Not just anyone can do quite that much sustained work- Applejack and Big Mac have had time to practice and train for it- but no Slytherin could ever do that, even if they trained and tried. They simply don’t have the endurance. We do, and we’re not afraid to use it.
“For two, Hufflepuffs are patient. That comes in bigtime with music- or, say, potionmaking. Say, Applejack- how long is Granny Smith willing to wait on the porch for you to get home?”
Applejack puts a hand to her chin. “Well, when we had that business with Starlight’s town, she stayed up and waited for three nights in a row.” Scowl. “She mighta gone to bed if Ah’d warned her we were going on a ‘nother adventure.”
“What-!?”
Chuckle. “Another edge case- Granny is more patient even than most Hufflepuffs- but no Gryffindor would wait even half that long. I mean, it takes the Crusaders- they went to Gryffindor- what, five minutes? To get bored.”
Applejack snorts. “Not even that. Five seconds might be pushing it.”
Wayne almost giggles.
“And last but not least, Hufflepuffs are the most reliable. Between our unwavering loyalty and solid honesty, if we say we’re gonna do something, we’re going to do it. And we won’t leave you hanging.” Chuckle. “Wanna tell him about that time Big Mac broke his leg in time for Applebucking season?”
Applejack puts a hand to her face, turning away with a blush. “Ahh… Ah’d rather not. Things… didn’t exactly go too well. But Ah did what Ah said I would, no mattah what!”
“So, I believe we can agree Hufflepuff is a great house to be in, right?”
Wayne smiles back at her, reaching his arms around their shoulders to hug them both simultaneously. “Yeah,” he states. “Hufflepuff is awesome!”
Then he blinks, blushes like a tomato, and quickly withdraws his arms, causing both girls to laugh. And hug him in return.
“Ahem. Just a few more words, now that we’re all fed and watered,” Dumbledore announces, having stood up after the desserts disappeared.
Bonbon looks up at him, grinning slightly. “Like Nitwit and Blubber?” Bonbon mutters quietly, drawing chuckles from the nearest few Slytherins.
“Nah,” the second-year she’d sat next to answers. “This is where-!”
“I have a few start-of-term notices to give you,” Dumbledore continues.
“That,” the second year states, while Bonbon nods.
“First-years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils, and a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.”
Bonbon groans while Dumbledore looks towards the Gryffindor table. “Just like the Everfree. We never could keep people out of it, even though anyone that went in very far seldom came back alive.”
“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.”
She sighs, turning to the second year next to her. “I take it magic happens in the corridors all the time?”
Shrug. “Not quite… all the time, but it does, and it’s not supposed to. The teachers don’t care about it, but I think Filch is a squib or something, so…”
Nod. “He doesn’t like being overshadowed,” she states.
“Yeah.”
“Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term, anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”
Bonbon slams her head down on the table. The dishes rattle all down the table, and across all three other house tables.
Dumbledore blinks, looking around the hall.
“What?” the second-year asks.
“How stupid can he get?” Bonbon asks rhetorically. “He’s supposed to be smart- but with a statement like that, he just guaranteed that just about every Gryffindor will be peeking behind that door within the next couple of months, plus a good number of students from each of the other houses.” She leans back against her seat. “Come to think of it, Slytherin will probably have the second-most students taking a peak. Gryffindor’s the adventurous one, but we’re the competitive house.” She raises her hand to her walkie, and presses the button. “Volunteers?” she asks.
“Me!” Lyra.
She smiles; she’d known that one was coming… and expects a majority of the volunteers will be the ones sorted to Slytherin.
“What-?” Lucy, the second-year, asks; she’d assumed correctly some two hours ago that it’s a communications device of some sort, and fully functional. “You’re not even going to wait for a Gryffindor to try?”
“No, I’m not,” she answers, as more volunteers come back over her headset. “They might get themselves killed- and besides, I expect most of the volunteers to be Slytherins, with the next greatest number out of Hufflepuff.” She looks back at Lucy. “Duty calls. I’m putting together a team to scout it in force before any of the Gryffindors have a chance to do that on their own. There’ll be very little that can penetrate our combined defenses to hurt us as a group, while a lone Gryffindor would likely be easier to beat even than a lone Slytherin.” Sigh. “You wanna come too?”
Right on time, Dumbledore continues. “And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song.”
Bonbon glances up; the other teacher’s smiles had become rather fixed.
“Uh-oh,” Lyra’s voice comes on the headset. “Vinyl, Minuette, Octy, Songbird, Bonnie, you ready?”
Four “Yep!”s follow shortly, while Dumbledore conjures lyrics.
“Yep,” Bonbon states into her radio, turning to her bag.
“Everyone pick their favorite tune,” Dumbledore states. “And Off we- What?”
Bonbon had turned away from the table, and just struck off her kickdrum before tapping out a beat with the hi-hat. She hits the kickdrum again, and the hi-hat three more times, denoting the rhythm a second time- while Lyra conjures sheet music behind Dumbledore’s lyrics, forming the lyrics to them. She glances up- and moments later, the entire school is singing in tandem to the instrumental support. Even the staff joins in, after a few seconds- right about the same time the Equestrian music magic comes in and turns the singing in tandem into singing in harmony.
The song isn’t very long, even with a couple short pauses for instrumental solos. Noone seemed to realize that Lyra’s sheet music- and Dumbledore’s lyrics- had disappeared a few seconds after everything harmonized, yet absolutely noone missed a single beat nor lyric.
“Ahh, music,” Dumbledore states, having been the last of the staff to join in, while he wipes his eyes. “A magic beyond all we do here.” He heaves a sigh. “And now, Bed time! Off you trot!”
Bonbon chuckles and turns to Lucy as everyone starts getting up. “So, you wanna come, or no? I’ve got enough people already I can just about guarantee your safety.”
Lucy glances up towards the Slytherin prefect. “Uhh…”
“Oh, don’t worry. She’ll never realize we’re gone.”
“She won’t?”
“Yeah, she won’t. Will she, Lyra?” She glances to the side.
Lyra sticks her head out of the invisible portal next to bonbon. “Mm? Ah, no, she won’t. I got a spell for that. So, you coming?”
Lucy could hardly believe her eyes. Bonbon had almost casually slipped her and some twelve other communications-device-wearing Slytherins out of the line going to the Slytherin common room, before one of them took over to lead the group through the passages. Now, they’ve just met up with a team of six Gryffindors and eleven Hufflepuffs, all waiting in the Charms corridor- and are now waiting for a group of three Ravenclaws to arrive.
Peeves had arrived shortly after the Slytherins. Lyra- a Gryffindor- had quickly solved that; Peeves has been tied up and attached to a torch bracket near the ceiling. “Filch will find him,” Lyra had stated, “after we’re gone and he forgets about us.” Apparently, she’d even spelled him to forget all about them as soon as they left his sight. Which she’d also done to Mrs. Norris when she passed- and, apparently, Filch himself. It had been amusing to watch the caretaker blink and wander off again, wondering aloud why he had been so angry a moment before, as soon as he turned his back, having ordered them to follow him to his office.
“That… That spell,” she mutters to Lyra, who’s in range mostly because she seems to like sticking with Bonbon. “Will we need to worry about that?”
Lyra shakes her head. “No. My invention- and most even Equestrians don’t have the capability to do it at all. The ones that do… haven’t a clue it exists. I won’t be using it to cover up Gryffindor excursions- even my own- only business ones like this.”
“Got it.”
“Oh- and it looks like Moondancer’s here. Welcome to the party, girls! Run into anyone?”
“Nope,” the red-and-two-tone-purple-haired girl states.
“Awesome! Now that everyone’s here, I can apply our stealth spells.” Lyra closes her eyes and spreads her arms slightly, concentrating on something.
Suddenly, a cold shiver runs down Lucy’s spine. She shudders, looking around alarmedly- and stops, when she notices that noone else is trying to hide the feeling; their expressions look uncomfortable… but they all seem used to it; not one, no matter the house, looks worried. So she forces herself to calm down.
Then it’s gone, just like that.
She blinks. Something seems… off about the world now. Almost like… She looks around at the various people around her. Almost like they’re somehow more real. She tries looking down at herself- for the same effect.
Bonbon suddenly puts an arm around her shoulders. “That’s the spell,” Bonbon informs her. “It’s a group stealth spell- we’re completely invisible and silent to the rest of the world- even metaphysical to anyone that happens across us. We feel more concrete to ourselves because without that linkage in the spell, we’d be all the above to each other.” Sigh. “Yeah, it’s a weird feeling- but it makes it very difficult for us to get caught.” She glances at Lyra. “And like the memory thing, Lyra’s one of very few that can pull it off.”
“Alright,” Lyra declares. “Stealth is up and working. That door at the end of the hall is the first line of defense against intrusion- how good is it?”
Moondancer trots casually up to the door, looks at it closely, and draws her wand. “Alohomora!” Then she blinks, and facepalms, before turning to the rest. “In about three months, all first years will be taught a basic unlocking spell that can get through this door.”
“And we can assume everyone above that level already knows that spell,” Lyra nods, trotting forwards. “So, what’s behind it?” She pulls the door open, peeking in- and closes it again. “A Cerberus. Though…” She tilts her head, then takes another peak. “Standing on a trapdoor. So, he’s guarding something- any taking-out we do, we want to be very temporary. And we’re gonna need to post guards here, but that’s later. Um…” A third peek, though she looks for a few seconds this time. “Looks like he could use some music, might be able to distract him with that. Who wants to hold guard duty here- make sure noone follows us in?”
Two Hufflepuffs raise their arms. “We will!”
“Got it,” Lyra states. “You can hold the door closed- or use magic. You’ll also be able to block them physically if you want to, or speak to them- but I’d caution against that. The less they realize there’s someone here, the better. And if it’s staff, we let ‘em pass. We’ll be locking this door behind us, same as it was before?” She looks at Moondancer.
“Regular deadbolt,” Moondancer states. “No magic at all. Pitiful, really.”
“Right. Ready?”
“Ready,” the entire group choruses.
Lyra opens the door, walking in calmly as a lyre appears out of nowhere in her hands. She starts plucking out a tune- and within seconds, to Lucy’s astonishment, the massive, three-headed dog is snoring. Even Lyra seems surprised.
“Wow,” Bonbon mutters. “That’s… quite a weakness.” She glances at Lyra. “Good thing every musician anywhere near as good as you that made it to Hogwarts is one of ours, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Lyra agrees, strumming her lyre mindlessly. “He started going on the very first note- and it probably didn’t hurt the song was designed to put him to sleep. I suppose we just have to hope that everyone that knows about the weakness is allowed to- and keeps their mouths shut.” She glances at Lucy.
“My lips are sealed,” she states immediately.
“Wingardium Leviosa,” Moondancer mutters next to Lucy- and the massive, snoozing, three-headed dog floats up and to the side, setting down gently, leaving the trapdoor completely clear. “Another first-year spell,” Moondancer states, in response to Lyra’s raised eyebrow. “One I expect they’ll teach within the first month.” Then she glances at the dog. “It has some decent magic resistance, so the average pupil would have to get a couple helpers- or climb over his legs.”
“But not you?” Lucy asks.
Lyra chuckles. “Lucy… You may have noticed, we’ve all got radios?”
“Yeah?”
“That’s because we’re all Equestrian Secret Service. We’re all exceptional- extremely powerful, and very skilled. You’ll see us doing a lot of things in mere moments that would take just about anyone else hours, days, or even weeks.” She glances at the dog. “That’s why we’re watching everything we’re doing, and calculating everything. That way, we get a good estimation of exactly how good these defenses- that is what they are, apparently- are.”
“Oooh, darkness,” Bonbon states, looking down the opened trapdoor. “Light?”
A green-haired Gryffindor trots forwards. “Got it!” She takes a peek down into the blackness. “Oooh, seven hundred thirty-one and a half foot drop to concrete, though there’s a plant of some kind moving around down there.” An image floats in the air next to her, showing a plant moving around as if in a corridor.
Moondancer steps forwards, looking at the plant, and nods. “Devil’s snare. Deadly plant, but at least it’d stop the fall. Is there another way down?”
“Not visible, but I’m not picking up any antimagic wards either. We should be able to drop down with an ethereal elevator and avoid it entirely.”
“Alright.” Something shimmers blue beneath the trapdoor. “Everyone in.” She looks up at Lyra. “A first year- five months- would know a fire spell suitable to ward off the devil’s snare, but they’d have a very limited time after landing to recognize the plant and cast the spell before it constricted their wand arm. A very deadly trap to fall into- good thing this dog’s here, with a weakness no one knows about.”
Lyra nods as everyone files down the short, translucent blue staircase down from the trapdoor to the similar-looking fenced platform. “Yeah, good thing.”
Once everyone is on it, and the door is locked, Lyra closes the trapdoor and disappears her lyre. A thunderous bark is heard from above, and Lyra glances up as the platform begins to descend. “Just like I thought,” she states. “Wakes up as soon as the song ends. At least I don’t have to worry about waking him back up again.”
“Do you… normally do this?” Lucy asks Bonbon.
Bonbon shrugs. “Yeah. I thought attending Hogwarts would be a nice break- but nooo, Hogwarts has to be even more full of monsters than Equestria! Not even day one, and we’ve already got our first mission. Given to us- however unknowingly- by the Headmaster himself.”
“That’s… a Devil’s Snare?” Lucy asks, as the magic blue platform everyone had ridden to the bottom disappears into the darkness.
“Yep,” Moondancer nods. “Don’t touch it- I’m not particularly interested in wasting the energy required to set it on fire.” Several of the girls chuckle.
“Anyways,” Lucy mutters, turning to the green-haired Gryffindor girl. “How did you see in this darkness from so far away?”
The girl chuckles, holding out her hand. “That’s my unique talent,” she states. “And the reason they call me Agent Hidden Light. Speaking of which… Yeah, I forgot to include you in the spell. Hold on a sec.”
Moments later, Lucy gasps as the darkness seems to scurry away in the wake of a gentle blue glow suffusing the air around the group. It’s a bit of a strange effect; noone seems to have a shadow. “Wow! That’s- wait. If someone happened across us with that- without Lyra’s stealth thing- they’d never see it?”
She nods. “Yep. This light is completely invisible to anyone I don’t specifically want to see it. And anything it shines upon, I can see, whether or not I’m looking.” She chuckles. “Gives a whole new meaning to my name, Glowing Blue.”
She blinks. “Your name is Glowing Blue.”
Nod again. “Yeah. Not the most common, even in Equestria. And I’ve tried teaching the spell to others- it’d be incredibly useful for some of the more experienced Agents to have- but none of ‘em can pull it off.” She heaves a sigh. “Makes sense, it is my unique talent. Anyways, we’d best get moving before Bonnie leaves us behind. I’m not seeing any traps in this passage- other than that plant, that is- but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any, and I’d hate to get caught alone.”
“Right!” She trots after the group with Glowing, catching up fairly quickly.
“There’s something up ahead,” the brown-haired Ravenclaw boy states. “Can you see it, Derpy?”
The blonde Hufflepuff walking next to him looks forwards. “Yep,” she states. “Well-lit room full of… flying keys. First time I’ve seen those. Um… There’s a few brooms on a rack by the wall, not nearly enough for all of us.”
Bonbon nods. “Sounds like a classic catch-the-key to me.”
“Classic?” Derpy asks.
She nods again. “You’ve clearly never visited any of the nobles’ hidden vaults,” she states. “Every last one of them- save Blueblood- uses a catch-the-key like this. A huge pain for, ah, anyone that can’t fly.” She glances back at Lucy, walking just behind her. “Sorry, there’s… a few things we’re not allowed to mention about our home just yet.” Then she glances at Lyra, walking next to her. “Though, something tells me your execution of the papa tango is going to throw that out the airlock.”
Lucy tilts her head. “What is the papa tango?”
“Secret,” Lyra answers her.
“And… the ‘dodger’?”
“Ahh…” Lyra looks inquisitively at Bonbon.
“What?” Bonbon asks.
“You know her better than I do,” Lyra states.
“Oh, all right,” Bonbon mutters, and puts a hand to her chin. “Um… Yeah, I don’t know.” She glances back at Lucy. “Sorry, secrecy policies can be a bear to uphold sometimes. ‘Dodger’ is a nickname we came up with- but I don’t think I can tell you any more just yet.” She turns back to Lyra. “Speaking of which, how is the papa tango coming along?”
Lyra grins. “Well, I’ve already got the Weasley twins begging me for details.”
Bonbon lets out a laugh. “Oh boy. Something tells me he’s going to have the time of his life.”
Lyra chuckles again. “Yeah. So will the twins.” She glances back at Lucy. “Don’t worry, for as amusing as I expect the papa tango is going to be, you won’t need to worry about it happening to you. I haven’t perfected the spells necessary just yet- and besides, I’m going to be masking the matrices when I execute them, making them impossible to duplicate.” Then she grins. “And, it’s not something I’m going to be throwing around willy-nilly, either.” She giggles. “That’d get me in sooo much trouble.”
“Uhh…” Lucy mutters, eyes wide.
“Yeah,” Glowing mutters. “I kinda wish Moondancer was doing that; she’s the smartest one we got here at Hogwarts, discounting Twilight who’d probably kill someone with an incomplete spell. Only problem is, only Lyra has half a clue what she’s doing, or what she’s doing it with.”
“That sounds…” Lucy begins.
“Dangerous?” Glowing suggests, and Lucy nods. “Normally, I’d agree. In the hands of a mad scientist like Twilight, definitely. But Lyra’s always been one of the most careful agents, even though she’s a great example of Gryffindor bravery. Don’t ask me how she manages that. But with her doing it, as much as she may prank a couple people with it before she’s satisfied, you can be certain it’ll be completely safe before she starts doing anything with it.”
“... Oh.”
“Wow,” someone up front states. “Yeah, that’s keys all right. And there’s a door on the other side- just a sec.”
Lucy spots the Gryffindor dash underneath all the flying keys and reach the door, before pulling on it. “Yep, locked. Alohomora! … Nope, didn’t work.”
“Accio Key!” Moondancer calls, stepping into the room. A large, silver key falls out of the air into her waiting hand. She raises her eyebrow, and looks at it. “Huh. No spells at all, save the flight- and… Yep, it’s a match to the lock.” She glances up. “That summoning spell isn’t in the first-year charms book, but it’s about as hard as the unlocking spell, so anyone with access to the library could have learned it. Virtually no power cost at all.”
“Wait,” Lyra calls, trotting across the room to join her and the other Gryffindor by the door. “You said the key had no other spells on it at all?”
“Yeah.”
“Then… Yeah, nothing on the door either. Lock pick?”
The other Ravenclaw girl grins, flicking her steel-colored hair as she trots forwards, drawing something from a pocket. She reaches the door… and three seconds later, pulls it open without the key. “Old-fashioned lock,” she states. “No spells, no pins. Zero security value whatsoever. Wingardium Leviosa would be enough to turn the cylinder.”
Moondancer shrugs, tossing the silver key back into the air, over her shoulder, and turning to Glowing. “Alright, next room. What’re we getting into now?”
“A dark room, there’s a light spell though, set to wake as soon as we enter. Massive chessboard, on the black side.” Scowl. “There’s a lot of spell matrices in there.”
Everyone walks in, slowly, carefully.
“Good evening,” Lyra greets the black knight she’d just touched; the stone had come to life at her touch. “I don’t suppose we have to play our way across, do we?”
It nods.
“Ahh, thank you. So, who feels up to a game of chess?”
“Interesting,” Moondancer mutters. “The chess AI for the white pieces is pretty good, but… Yeah, that’s a staff override. Keyed to exactly two people, which would be… Yeah, I recognize those signatures. Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore. Hold on a sec.”
“Is she…?” Lucy begins.
“Yep,” Glowing states. “I’ve been trained to analyze matrices as well, but I haven’t a clue where to look for chess AI- let alone evaluate it. As we mentioned earlier, Moondancer is one of the best of the best. I’m not, I just have a good light spell that no one else can use.”
Suddenly, the pieces on both sides of the board split to the sides, making a pathway to the door on the far side.
“There,” Moondancer nods. “Would have been easier to crush the matrices altogether than to spoof Dumbledore’s signature; it’s safe to say that anyone other than the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress, save us, would have to play a pretty impressive game of chess to get across- and hope the piece they replaced didn’t have to be surrendered.” She glances back as she starts across the board. “The King can’t be substituted.”
“That’s actually pretty good,” Lyra states. “What happens when they’re taken?”
“Smashed to the ground, shoved to the side. There’s a spell on the room, though- no damage, but they’ll be held unconscious for as long as they’re in the room- and an alert will go onto the castle wards, as well. So, no real danger.” Chuckle. “I’d have been happier if this was what was behind the Cerberus, with the Devil’s Snare after this.” She glances to the side. “The door would prevent accidental entry, the Cerberus would deter anyone that isn’t serious. This would catch anyone that isn’t on the top of their game, then the Devil’s Snare would up the stakes and drive away anyone not dead serious. The key room… I donno. I wouldn’t want it in front of the Cerberus; people would start treating it like a game. But that’s really about all it’s worth. C’mon, staff override will only last five minutes.” She then leads the party across the board, glancing back at Glowing as she opens the door.
“Empty passage, no signatures,” she states simply, and everyone follows Moondancer through it.
“So, with everything we’ve gone through so far,” Lucy mutters.
Bonbon answers. “The locked door will have stopped anyone that wasn’t sure if it was their classroom or not; the Cerberus will have turned back any wimps. The Devil’s Snare will have dined on anyone that didn’t have the reaction time to catch the right key in the key room without a summoning spell; that giant chess set will have stoppered any idiots. What’s next?”
Moondancer opens the door at the end of the passage, allowing a truly terrible smell to waft into the tunnel. “Stupefy! Huh. Well, let’s try Wingardium Leviosa!” A sickening crack from the room brings a sudden end to the grunting, before a loud clattering of wood on stone comes back, and Moondancer opens the door all the way. “Troll,” she states. “Looks like a mountain troll. Pretty magic resistant itself- stunner did nothing- but anyone that thinks to try levitating its club is going to have him out cold in moments.” She glances back. “Even easier than the Cerberus- those can’t be knocked cold by blunt-force trauma. Thus, utterly pointless. Though, I suppose the stench may turn back the weak of heart, even if the Cerberus will have already turned them back. Here, there’s the next room.”
Moondancer has the door only half-open before Glowing lets out a gasp, and everyone freezes, looking at her.
“We’re safe now,” she mutters- and several students let out sudden breaths. “There’s a pair of barrier spells on a trigger in there- but the trigger also sends an alert to the castle wards.”
“Can you suppress it?”
She shakes her head. “No. My light spell should slip under its radar- Lyra, it’s watching for thaumic auras to enter the room. Can we hide that?”
Lyra blinks, then chuckles. “Yeah, actually, that’s intrinsic to my stealth spell. That light in the chess room only came on because I placed the stealth matrix on standby- the chessmen wouldn’t have realized we were there, otherwise.”
“So… Yeah, we should be okay.”
“But tread softly,” Lyra states. “And noone use magic. I know a few spells that’ll stay hidden by my stealth, but almost any standard spell will break free of it.”
“Got it,” several people state.
“What about the light spell?” Lucy asks.
“It’s already hidden,” Glowing states. “Even Lyra- master of disguise and detection- can’t find it unless I want her to.”
Lucy blinks. “I take it your light spell can also see spell matrices?”
Glowing chuckles. “When I said that I can see anything it shines upon, I do mean anything. I can see the dust motes floating in the air, the footprints on the floor, fingerprints on the bottles, and, of course, spell matrices stand out like a sore thumb. Not unlike the castle wards- which, by the way, we’re nearing the heart of.”
“We are?” Lyra asks, glancing back.
“Yeah. The ley lines are starting to converge up ahead.”
“And what bottles?” Lucy asks.
“Presumably, there’s some bottles in there,” Bonbon states. “Moondancer?”
“Yep,” Moondancer answers, swinging the door the rest of the way open. “A few different shapes and sizes. There’s a piece of paper here. Lemme see… Um… Oh, a logic puzzle. Three hold poison, two wine; one potion will penetrate the barrier onwards, another back.” She points at the bottles in what appears to Lucy to be a random order. “Doc, this is your department- how hard is it?”
The Ravenclaw boy steps over next to her, looking down at the page, then glances up at the bottles for a second. “Eh, middling. I’m more worried about the size of that bottle- that’s only one dose to go forwards.”
“There’s probably a staff override,” Lyra mutters, looking around. “Either that, or the potion is self-replenishing. In any case.” She glances back at Lucy. “Any idea how effective a logic puzzle will be against wizards? We haven’t had a chance to find out yet.”
Lucy closes her jaw. “Very effective,” she states. “A lot of the greatest witches and wizards haven’t got an ounce of logic.”
“So if it’s middling difficulty by Equestrian standards- Doctor Whooves, or Time Turner, makes and solves them for a living, he would know- then it’s gonna stump all but the smartest wizards.”
“He makes and solves logic puzzles for a living?”
Time Turner shrugs. “In a manner of speaking. I make and repair the gizmos and gadgets the locals need or use. You’d be amazed at how intricate some of them can be.” He chuckles. “I actually do make and sell puzzles of this format, among others, as a bit of a hobby.”
“Still, this would be an excellent follow-up to the devil’s snare, if it were placed after the chess set,” Moondancer states. “The door to stop accidentals, the Cerberus to keep out the curious, the chess set to stop the strong, the devil’s snare to escalate to life-threatening, and this- oh, this is a perfect trap. If you get it wrong and drink the wrong bottle, it could be one of the three poisons- and even if it’s not, if it’s not the right one, they’ll be trapped in this room- those barriers are mortal barriers- until Dumbledore or McGonagall stop by to find out who’s here! Honestly, if I were some imposter on that sequence, I’d stop after this and turn back; with each barrier being an escalation of the last, I’d only expect to find an even tougher escalation after.”
“Speaking of which, next room,” Lyra mutters. “Glowing, anything over there?”
“Mm?” Glowing walks over to the door. “Ah… There’s a table with a rock on it, and the heart of the wards is anchored to the ceiling, but there’s nothing else- no other doors, either. No matrices, no triggers for the wards.”
“Well, that’s convenient,” Moondancer chuckles, opening the door. “Does suggest whatever it is isn’t- Wait. That is not-!” She trots into the next room, everyone else following behind her, and bends over the table to look at something. Then she straightens up, planting a hand in her face. “Well, we now know what’s worth protecting with a bunch of ineffective and dangerous enchantments,” she states.
“What is it?” Lucy asks.
“That,” Moondancer states, stepping to the side to reveal a blood-red stone sitting on the table and pointing at it, “is a Philosopher's Stone. Probably the one that belongs to Nicholas Flamel, too- that is the only one in existence.”
“And for good reason, too,” Bonbon mutters, leaning in for a closer look.
“Oh?” Lucy asks.
“Yeah,” Lyra states. “They can turn any metal into gold, and produce the Elixir of Life, set to give anyone an indefinite lifespan. On the flip side of the coin, if you’re not careful, the things are deadly dangerous. Excellent anchors for dark magic, and not so much for light magic. And don’t even try scanning them. Nasty harmonic unless you know exactly what you’re doing.”
Bonbon looks up at her. “How do you know that?”
“Celestia has three of them locked in the Vault.”
Several people turn to stare. “What.”
Bonbon just facepalms. “I keep forgetting Lyra’s one of the elite few capable of penetrating that.”
“Elite few?” Lyra asks.
Bonbon clears her throat. “Right. Elite few, in that she’s one of a total of four people capable of gaining undetected, unauthorized access to the Royal Vault. And all three of the others are allowed entry!”
“Who are they?” Lucy asks.
Lyra chuckles. “Princess Celestia, Princess Luna, and Princess Cadence. Princess Twilight is allowed entry as well, but she’s not powerful enough- yet- to overwhelm the wards and break in.”
“And you are?”
Shake. “Nah- even Discord can’t break in, and he’s stronger than me. I’ve got the finesse- and strength- to fool the wards into thinking I’m not there.”
“And that’s, quite literally, the most powerful wards in the entire nation,” Moondancer states.
“Yeah.”
“And you call me one of the best of the best.”
“Yeah.”
“You know I can’t approach the Vault with a fifty-foot pole without being detected, right?”
“Yes, actually. All the other ‘best of the best’ can’t get within a hundred feet. Or more.”
She turns to Bonbon. “I think I finally understand how she has a clue how to do the papa tango.”
Bonbon nods solemnly. “Yeah. There are times I’d give a limb just to understand how her mind works. Anyways, now that we’re here, Lyra- was that defense anywhere close to adequate to protect something like this?”
Lyra shakes her head. “Not even close. Get a party of one Gryffindor and one Ravenclaw- or, if she’s brave, just a Ravenclaw- and she stands a fifty fifty chance of getting all the way down here. The only tricky part would be pacifying the Cerberus without knowing about the music weakness. Make it a particularly smart member of the house, and any house could produce someone capable of doing it all.” She glances back at the door to the room with the potions in it. “Send the Gryffindor through this door to fetch the Stone, rejoin back in that room, and return together. The chess pieces won’t bother anyone traveling in the other direction, and the brooms in the key room would more than suffice to get them past the devil’s snare. Surprise would keep the Cerberus from reacting to them until they were gone, if they were quick.
“The biggest obstruction would be the ward activation from entering that potion room- but if they managed to get Dumbledore, the only one with a direct receipt line of those notifications, away from the castle… They’d be long gone by the time anyone got around to opposing them.” She glances back at the door. “And yeah, those potions are self-refilling. I can see the cutouts for it in the ward matrix- the bottles reset as soon as the room is empty, and their contents every ten minutes when there’s someone there.”
“Well then,” Bonbon shrugs, pulling a large number of sweets out of her hair. “Who wants to send Dumbledore a message with the wards, and who wants some extra dessert?”
A ring of flame surrounds Professor Dumbledore just moments after he lands, wand in hand. He’d been just about ready to change into his pajamas for the night when he’d suddenly gotten… Well, he could only call it a call, through the wards. Even though it hadn’t come from anyone that’s tied into the wards, only directly from the wards themselves- and none of the alert sequences had gone off. The message had been simple- hardly four words. The Stone isn’t safe.
There had been no tone in the message, no voice, to tell who it had come from. No style. It had almost been like someone had done what the occasional muggleborn would do after returning to the muggle world: Crisp, regular letters, far too regular to be handwritten or even typewritten; typewriters aren’t that regular either. Written in large, perfect letters on that impeccably rectangular paper of measured size and absolutely no flaws. Then… left on his nightstand or something, with no trace as to how it got there.
His long strides carry him to the key room very quickly; he passes it instantly by using the spare key, kept in his desk in his office.
He has to make sure the Stone is safe.
Professor McGonagall’s chessmen part instantly when he enters the room, allowing him to stride easily across it.
He checks behind him to make sure noone is following in his wake. The Stone must be safe. All the defenses are intact; even the door had still been locked. The ward alert sequences tied to the brooms in the key room had not gone off.
He raises his wand as he opens the door to the troll room, having already given himself the bubblehead charm to take care of the smell.
The troll is out cold.
He blinks; even he has trouble taking one of these down quickly. He’d expected it to be the only real choke point on his hurrying down here.
But it’s out cold.
He rushes forwards.
He also sends for Professor McGonagall again with the wards.
He enters the potion room.
The spellwork recognizes him; neither fire appears.
He rushes forwards, into the final room.
There is a table.
There is the Stone.
It’s safe.
He moves closer, looks closer. Verifies it really is the Stone, not some mockup.
It is the Stone. It is safe. He straightens up again, looking around the room. Must have been a false alarm. Though where it could have come from, he hasn’t a clue.
Then he spots someone in his peripheral vision, and looks. It’s a Slytherin girl, one of the English ones- no, a second year, he recognizes her. Lucy Clearwater. Only, she’s leaning out of his midsection.
“Have you any clue how weird that feels?” Lucy asks.
The world skews sideways and disappears.
Professor McGonagall, having set out as soon as Professor Dumbledore had alerted her before he'd set out himself, pauses in the potion room. Like her chessboard, the spellwork here recognizes her, and is letting her past.
But, she can feel in the wards, Professor Dumbledore just went unconscious.
“Feels like shock,” she mutters to herself, before proceeding slowly through the doorway into the final room, wand drawn, but in a lowered position.
She stops as soon as she gets through the flame, looking around.
There’s the table, with the Stone on it. There’s Dumbledore, lying unconscious on the floor.
The room is otherwise empty.
She raises an eyebrow. “Alright, Lyra, Bonbon,” she states aloud. “Or whoever else. You’ve made your point, and can appear now.”
Lyra suddenly appears out of nowhere in front of her. “Nice guess!” she announces, as Bonbon appears next to her.
She raises the other eyebrow. “Classes haven’t even started yet and you’re already looking for trouble?”
“Nah.” Another Equestrian, very suddenly standing behind Lyra- a Ravenclaw, with red-and-two-tone-purple hair. “We just happen to know the Crusaders landed in Gryffindor- and if we didn’t come here tonight to scout it, we’d stand a good chance of finding their bodies here tomorrow morning.”
Lyra raises an eyebrow at the Ravenclaw. “Nah, their survival instincts are actually pretty good. They’d probably make it as far as the chessboard, and lose.” She looks back at McGonagall. “But yeah, they’d do that tomorrow mornin- Hold on.” She looks down for a second, then lets out a snort of laughter. “Nevermind. The guards we left by the door up top just turned them back.”
“You left guards?” she asks, eyebrows raised.
“Yeah,” Lyra states- and suddenly, the room is full of Equestrian first-years. “Same kind of stealth spell. After we realized that warning of Dumbledore’s will have acted like a shouted invitation to come check it out to certain parties, the Crusaders included… Well, we had to get some experience in here to scout it before anyone had a chance to blunder in and get killed. And yeah, we left guards. They’ve been instructed to let staff pass, but stop anyone else.”
She nods slowly. “Ahh… How many other groups might go at it?”
Shrug. “Just about anyone in Gryffindor, plus a good smattering from the other houses, is our current expectation. As such, we’ll have to keep it guarded twenty-four seven, unless we want to allow at least someone to get hurt. As much as I like pranking, danger is a big nono.”
“You’re telling her that now?” Bonbon asks.
“What? It’ll only be so long before she sees me with the twins. And, if the twins do something overblown, that little bit of knowledge can help with damage control.”
McGonagall raises her eyebrow again. “The Weasley twins?”
“That’s the one,” Lyra states readily. “I call ‘em Gred and Forge, and I hope to serve somewhat of a moderating influence on their pranks. Keep ‘em on the safe side.” She sighs. “I will not be able to restrain them, and for that matter, I really don’t plan on trying. A good, safe prank is good fun all around- and, if well-executed, leaves little to no cleanup, either.”
Very suddenly, Professor Dumbledore jumps awake, sitting up sharply. “What-!” Then he scrambles to his feet, looking around at all the students.
“Good morning,” a Slytherin- second year, it looks like- greets him. McGonagall pauses briefly, squinting; yes, that’s Lucy Clearwater.
Dumbledore quickly calms himself down, after spotting McGonagall’s level expression. “What… What was going on, again?” he asks confusedly.
“Lucy was demonstrating one of the more interesting quirks of our stealth spell,” Lyra informs him. “And now that you’re awake, we can probably inform you of exactly how these defenses of yours measured up for the protection of that lump of very dark-enchantable rock.”
Dumbledore raises an eyebrow. “Dark-enchantable?”
“Yeah. Dark magic will stick to Philosopher’s Stones like glue. This one hasn’t seen any- thank Celestia- but if it does… there’s really no saving it.”
Slow nod. “Alright. What was your evaluation, then?”
“Totally inadequate. Moondancer?” She turns to the red-and-two-tone-purple-haired Ravenclaw.
The girl nods. “Let’s start at the top, shall we? Assume a particularly brave, but otherwise average, first-year Ravenclaw decides they want the Stone, towards the end of the year. Alohomora was enough to open the door to the third floor corridor- but as far as initial barriers go, it’s excellent. Enough to stop an accident, but not so overblown as to drive curiosity through the roof.
“Getting past the Cerberus would be harder. Those things can’t be knocked out by blunt force trauma, and our average Ravenclaw won’t have the magical might to push it out of the way. An illusion spell or two would probably suffice to distract it, though; if she’s lucky, or if she got someone that knows about its musical weakness to talk, or if she’s not afraid to kill him, she’ll get past him.” She grins. “We only know about that weakness because Lyra here is an amazing musician- to the point where most really good ones never reach. It is, conceivably, not something anyone but Lyra would think of. A decent second stage- stops those that are just curious.
“So she jumps down the trapdoor, lands on the Devil’s Snare. Ravenclaws are smart, though- and Devil’s Snare is in our first-year books, just like Alohomora. She’ll have a fire out in no time, and it’ll be out of her way. Anyone slower on the uptake, however, would face mortal peril.
“So she continues to that key room. A simple Accio was enough to summon the correct key; while that spell isn’t in our first-year coursebooks, it might as well be, and it is in plenty of very accessible books. Completely aside from that, while Alohomora wasn’t enough to unlock that door, Lock Pick was able to open it without magic, key, or resistance- and we didn’t test it, but a well-placed Wingardium Leviosa could probably turn the cylinder and open the door. Again, without the key, and this time with a spell in the first year books.
“Past that, she hits the chessboard. We spoofed the staff bypass to get through it, but I analyzed the spellwork- she’d have to play a pretty impressive game of chess to get past it, and not be one of the pieces she had to sacrifice. Give her a fifty-fifty chance, because again, Ravenclaws are smart.
“The troll comes next. That thing was even easier than the Cerberus- sure, direct magic on it didn’t work- I tried stunning it- but its club is another thing entirely. Wingardium Leviosa on that did to it what you no doubt saw on your way in. One blow, I even did it from the door. No doubt she wouldn’t know what she was getting into quite as fast as us, but getting its weapon away from it would be one of her priorities, and that’s a great way to do that. Expelliarmus doesn’t work with that massive of weapons, nor that resistant of wielders.
“Potion room. Ravenclaws are smart- she might have to start over a few times if she’s on the lower end of the spectrum, but our puzzle expert informs us that was one of middling difficulty. Great for stopping anyone dumber than a Ravenclaw, I expect, but not for one at that level. Make it a muggle-born and all bets are off no matter the house.
“After that… Well, the stone’s hers. If she managed to get both you and McGonagall distracted somewhere beyond the castle before she went in- I wouldn’t put that past a Ravenclaw that’d been studying for a few months- she could be long gone by the time anyone got anywhere near this chamber to stop her.
“Which, overall, gives our single, average Ravenclaw first-year about an even chance of capturing the Stone. Make it a team of Ravenclaws that go through the chess room one at a time, and they’d be virtually guaranteed to get it.
“In the end, if your goal is to protect this stone, you need something truly undefeatable. Something, perhaps, based on knowledge- or intent. If our intruder is instead a particularly smart Gryffindor, they’d stand a chance of losing to the Devil’s Snare and a lower chance of passing the chessboard, but they could be coming on pure curiosity- so something contingent on them knowing what’s down here would be enough to protect it. If they’re a particularly smart- and brave- Slytherin, no offense to Lucy here, they’d most likely make it down this far because they knew it was here, and wanted to use it. Make them a particularly smart and brave Hufflepuff, and they might be coming for it because they know of someone else that knows its here and are trying to protect it. The Ravenclaw… would probably just be coming to look at it.
“Really, the more the merrier, with those additional layers- knowing it’s here, wanting to have it but not use it, etcetera- even though those two alone wouldn’t stop our Hufflepuff… who would then take it straight to you, McGonagall, Flitwick, or the nearest professor they could trust, as soon as they deemed it safe to do so. Or too dangerous to hold onto.”
McGonagall allows a small smile to decorate her features as she shifts her gaze to Dumbledore, once the Ravenclaw finishes her speech. It was her section, after all, that stood the best chance to stop intruders. And she couldn’t do much better than that; Dumbledore had insisted it be possible to get past without the staff override. “Well?”
“W-Well…” Dumbledore eventually mutters. “I didn’t think it’d be… well, that easy. You’re right about the purpose that door and Fluffy serve; them, and the warning, were intended to keep students out.” He heaves a sigh. “All the rest I envisioned as hurdles for Voldemort’s servant to pass before getting stuck in Severus’ trap. Your chess set makes an excellent catch point midway, Minerva. But if a first-year could do it…” He shakes his head. “Then it almost certainly won’t do much more than inconvenience a clever and experienced wizard like him.” He looks up. “Knowledge and intent, you say?” He raises one hand up to rub his bearded chin. “Mm, there might be something in that. I wonder where we could work it in.”
“With the core of the wards right here,” Lyra inserts, gesturing towards the ceiling, “you could hide the stone in something with a sufficiently strong magical signature of its own, to reveal on condition. I could help with that.” She glances upwards. “In the meantime, I could have our guards turn back everyone, not just students.”
He shakes his head. “Voldemort would slip past them,” he states.
Professor McGonagall closes her eyes, resisting the urge to facepalm.
The Equestrians seem more than a little offended.
“With all due respect,” Lyra begins, her tone carrying none at all, “he won’t. We’re the Royal Equestrian Secret Service, Dumbledore. No one gets past us. And we train on that regularly, don’t we?”
Almost every student in the room- save only Lyra and Lucy- nods emphatically.
“So much that there is exactly one person on the entire planet that can sneak past our guard,” Lyra states. “And that’s me. And when I do that, I can’t take anyone else along- even another of us- because that’s too hard, they get spotted. When we came in here, I did practically nothing to keep us from being noticed, and we weren’t. If those junky detector spells can spot Voldemort, we’ll have a hundred Agents tailing him by the time he first sights ‘Fluffy’. And I do mean literally- that’s happened before.”
“It has?” a green-haired girl asks her.
“Chrysalis.”
“Ahh. Wait, wasn’t that the shapeshifter?”
“Yep. That’s why we didn’t pounce on her right away- one doesn’t just pounce on Princess Cadence- and stuck to tailing her until we were sure.”
“Right.”
Dumbledore leans back against the wall. “This is going to be a long night.”
He’d been right, Dumbledore solemnly decides, looking out his office window at the rising sun. It had been a long night. And the Equestrian’s unfailing energy in tackling not only the enchantments he and the other teachers had set a month prior to protect the Stone, but the construction of new enchantments and the guarding of the Stone in the meantime… Well, it’s wearing on him.
He’s been up all night at this point, mostly working with Lyra to design a suitable spell.
Perhaps the most annoying part about that was that it had felt very much like she had been mentoring him. And, had someone actually described it as that, he couldn’t have argued- because that was what was really happening! He has no clue where she got her skill, but it had been clear she’d been trying to bring out and shape his skill instead of stomping all over it with her own. Just like any good mentor.
The kind of thing he wishes his instructors would do more often. He knows they have plenty of time in the day for it- at least, before the Equestrians showed up. This morning starts a hectic week of near-constant classes for each instructor, for nearly the entire day, all week- and it’s only the first of many.
He already misses the quiet castle. Even the Weasley twins had never managed to strain him and his staff before the term even started! Then the discovery that their teleportation, the stuff they’d told Professor McGonagall is incompatible with non-Equestrian magic, can penetrate Hogwarts’ wards without issue…
It’s been a very long day. Lyra had been able to inform him that, even amongst the equestrians, teleportation is a mark of the elite- so basically, every Agent knows it, and a smattering of others do too. It’s come in handy for rotating the guards she’d posted without drawing attention. It also helps that the Agents also happened to know a simple warding scheme to block it- and had placed that over the entire sequence of chambers, up to and including the corridor Fluffy is in. They hadn’t placed it over the whole school; when he’d asked Lyra why, she’d explained that it would make it obvious to every Equestrian that they were hiding something, and curiosity about the third floor corridor would skyrocket more than it already has.
At which point he’d given in.
About half an hour ago, he finished designing the spell that would hide the stone- with Lyra’s tutelage. Neither he, McGonagall, nor any of the Agents had been able to think of any more generic protection schemes to lock it behind, so only someone who both knows it’s there and only wants to have it, not to use it, will be able to get it. He’s spent that half hour since Lyra left brainstorming magical artefacts he could use to hide the Stone- and he thinks he’s got just the one. It’ll take some finagling to get it into Hogwarts, but not something he can’t do. The Mirror of Erised ought to be perfect for the task.
He takes a deep breath. Hopefully, the Equestrians haven’t reached the end of their wit- and will be able to educate each other on the parts the teachers haven’t been able to cover just yet.
Speaking of which… He fingers the “radio” device Lyra had given him, now clipped to his robes the same way theirs are. She’d said something about different frequencies, but he hadn’t understood it- beyond that he wouldn’t be distracted by their banter, but that he could reach them with it, and vice versa, on demand. When he’d mentioned the electricity problem, Lyra had promptly labeled it the ‘electromagnetic interference’ in the area and waved it away by mentioning some kind of relay spell attached to the radios- giving them effectively infinite range.
But he’s going on a tangent again, and returns to contemplating the Equestrians, fingering the radio again. If they’re up to the task, they could set up some kind of extended teaching program. His teachers work with the smart Equestrians of each house, teach them the material- if Lyra and Moondancer are anything to go by, they’ll pick it up instantly- then those Equestrians go on to teach the rest. It would be… an unconventional approach, but it would work, and his teachers wouldn’t have to run themselves ragged just teaching classes, nevermind their other duties. He’d hate to bind up the Agents on that kind of duty, though- hopefully, they’re not the only smart Equestrians around.
He tilts his head. Speaking of the Agents, with the solidarity, coordination, and integrity that they’ve already shown him through that action with the Stone… Perhaps he could employ them in an enforcement role, outside of their classes- grant them point-powers, educate them (briefly) on the proper use of such… That’d take a lot of the disciplinary load off his teachers as well. They’d still have a massive administrative load, but at least they’d be down to a level that a mortal witch or wizard could conceivably manage. He checks the clock; one hour to breakfast, when the schedules will be distributed.
Decision made, he summons all four heads of house through the wards for a meeting- and depresses the button. “Uh, Lyra?”
The answer is immediate, and only in the one ear the ‘earpiece’ is in. “Yes, Professor Dumbledore?”
“Cou- er…” He depresses the button again. “Could you stop by my office again? There’s something I’d like to discuss before breakfast.”
“Roger.” The girl promptly appears in front of his desk, her hand dropping from one of the two radios clipped to the front of her robes. “You called?”
He lets out a chuckle. “If you’ll wait a minute, I think my heads of house should be part of this one,” he states.
She grins, and nods. “No problem.”
He looks towards the door. “Come in.”
It opens to admit Professor McGonagall, who raises her eyebrows upon spotting Lyra, but otherwise proceeds to her seat as per usual.
It takes a total of about a minute for all four heads of house to gather and take their seats. Professors Snape, Flitwick, and Sprout all looked inquisitively at Lyra upon entering, but didn’t voice anything.
“Alright,” Professor Dumbledore states. “Now that we’re all here, we can get started.”
“Excuse me,” Professor Snape begins. “But why is Miss Heartstrings here?”
Dumbledore blinks. “Exactly what I was about to explain. It would appear that ‘Miss Heartstrings Here’ is part of a pretty significant network of very skilled individuals.” He looks at the girl. “Correct?”
She nods. “Is this going where I think it’s going?”
He blinks. “Uh, possibly.”
“Alright. Should I call in the rest of our planning crew, or no?”
Another blink. Yep, she’d anticipated it. “Probably, yes.”
She lifts her radio, and moments later, three more girls appear. He recognizes Moondancer instantly; the second, he remembers seeing in the room with the stone, though he has to refer to the nametag for her name, Bonbon. The third is completely new, a shy-looking pink-haired girl whose nametag says ‘Fluttershy’.
All three take their seats. “So, what’ve we got?” Moondancer asks.
“I was thinking,” Dumbledore begins. “Would it be an issue if you were to identify the best amongst the Equestrians to attend our classes, and have them go on to teach the rest of their houses?”
“Called it,” Bonbon states.
“That would be perfectly fine for us,” Fluttershy states calmly, with a delicate voice.
Lyra chuckles. “That’s actually exactly what we were planning out five minutes ago.” She turns to the heads of house. “How about you? You’d be teaching no more classes per week than normal, but they’d be full of the brightest minds across all the first years- in theory, really easy to teach- so they could then go on to help instruct the rest of the first years, Equestrians and non-Equestrians alike.”
“What about assignments?” Professor Flitwick asks.
“Depends on how you want to do those with them,” Moondancer answers. “Our second-tier instructors could assign the very same assignments to every class, and send them all to you; they could also grade them themselves… If you want, they can even tailor the assignments to the particular classes they’re teaching, based on the originals you give them. Or…” She trails off.
“What if someone has trouble?”
“We send them up the line until they get to someone that can solve their problem. Every once in a while, such a problem might come all the way back up to you, but we should be able to handle just about everything.”
“That sounds like a plan,” Professor Snape declares.
“How would that work with Herbology?” Professor Sprout asks.
Minuette glances down towards the greenhouses. “It’d be a bit of tricky spellwork, but it wouldn’t take all that long- we’d be able to set up energy duplicates of the greenhouses in pocket dimensions really wherever we wanted, and deliver the same lessons.”
“An energy duplicate?”
“Yeah. Plant behaviors would be exactly the same, even if any danger value would be removed; we wouldn’t tell them that, though. Should be an exactly identical experience to if it were to take place in a real greenhouse with real plants, and deliver exactly the same lessons.”
“Sounds good.”
Flitwick nods. “Works for me.”
“What about an unforgiving subject matter like transfiguration?”
“Any warnings you impart upon our instructors, they will be certain to impart upon their students. In theory, you’ll all be able to spend much more of your class times covering contingencies that might happen with inexperienced casters, allowing us to be better prepared if something does happen. If ever an emergency arises, you can bet we’ll come straight to you.”
She nods. “Alright. We can do that.” She scowls at the table. “I’ll have to redo the first-year schedules, though.”
“We can help with that,” Moondancer states. “We’ve already got our professor teams selected- if you give us when each house’ professors for each subject should be where, we can build everyone else’s from there. And no one student is playing professor for multiple subjects, so overlapping timings won’t be an issue.”
“Excellent,” Professor McGonagall nods. “Give me ten minutes after I get back to my office, and I’ll have them ready.”
Moondancer glances at the clock. “So, we’ll have forty minutes? Yeah, that’ll be easy. Thank you.”
They’re about to start rising when Dumbledore speaks up again. “There is one more thing,” he states; everyone pauses and looks at him. “About discipline. Normally, our professors and Filch mete out detentions or point adjustments as necessary, but something tells me we won’t be able to keep up with this many students.”
“You’re interested to know if the Royal Equestrian Secret Service could help fill that gap?” Bonbon asks.
“Ah, yes.” He looks up at the professors. “If that’s okay?”
Professor McGonagall nods firmly; the other three follow suit a bit more reluctantly.
“Consider it done,” Fluttershy states, combining a firm tone with her delicate voice for a very interesting effect.
“We can stop by as a group- I’ll warn you, there’s about four hundred and fifty of us, all handpicked by me and Bonbon here- or in smaller groups for training, then?” Lyra asks.
Fluttershy and Moondancer high-five each other, drawing a grin from Lyra.
“Ah, sure,” Dumbledore states. “If you can have them come to my office in waves of fifteen or so after breakfast, it should only take a few minutes each, I think.” His eyes twinkle. “Your people have already demonstrated many of the behaviors and qualities we expect for disciplinary- or rewarding- action.”
“Alright,” Lyra answers. “We can do that. I’ll try to schedule them to avoid overwhelming you- or leaving extended idle periods, and I’ll make sure you know when the last of ‘em is done. That good?”
He nods. “Excellent. And now, ladies and gentlemen, we’d best get moving. I’d like to make breakfast on time.”
As the professors leave Dumbledore’s office- the Equestrians simply disappeared- they do it with a distinctly greater bounce in their step. Dumbledore smiles; it looks like he may have just saved the staff from overworking themselves to death this year and still falling behind.
Then he looks at the window, and scowls as a Ministry owl flutters up to land behind it. He’s been spending the last month trying to get through all the paperwork with so many new witches and wizards coming to Hogwarts from an unknown land. And now, of course, the paperwork to get the Mirror into Hogwarts.
“You know, it’s amazing how boring a ghost can be,” one of the Gryffindor History of Magic instructors mutters to the Hufflepuff next to her.
The Hufflepuff pauses in the middle of doodling on a spare sheet of parchment. “Yeah. Think we should get Stripes on it after the papa tango?”
Yearling raises an eyebrow, looking up at Professor Binns again, droning on with no apparent idea of how well the class was following along. At least half the class is involved in their own small conversations rather than paying attention to him; they’ve decided the book will be a better source of instruction material than the instructor. “Eh, maybe. We’ll want to run it past Drops or Star first.”
“True. I don’t think Star is going to have the knowledge necessary to do anything, though- ghosts are right up Stripes’ alley.”
“Hmm… Yeah. But we don’t know anything about them as-is. Stripes is still working on the papa tango, and Star is still envious of her, ah, unique advantage.”
“Drops first, then. I’d hate to take it to Star only to have her fail dismally where Stripes promptly succeeds. Drops can- hopefully- help decide who to take it to first.”
“It does make me wonder exactly what Stripes will do, though.”
“That… That is a good question. I mean, he’s staff, so she’s not going to exorcise him or anything- I doubt she’d try with any of the ghosts around here, for that matter. Resurrection is probably off the table as well, with how old he was when he died. Hmm…”
“Hey, Twilight? How’s Agent Sickle Star doing?”
Twilight glances up, her feather dancing a pirouette above her desk. “Agent who?”
“Moondancer.”
“Oh.” She glances to the side, where the named mare’s feather is pretending to be three feathers. “Eh, she’s doing okay.”
Moondancer raises an eyebrow, glancing up at it. “You’re talking about the eroch spotum in the seventh lobe of the matrix, right?”
“Yeah. Swap it for a feroch gallus and you’ll have a self-sustaining spell.”
“A feroch gallus…? Oh, yeah, that would do it. Thanks.” She makes the prescribed alteration to her spell, and her feather is shortly pretending to be thirty feathers, all on its own this time. “Any particular reason you asked, Bonbon?”
She shrugs, before she gestures at her own feather, floating dutifully in the air over her desk. “Making small talk while those less talented than us get it right.”
“All right then,” Professor Flitwick announces to the class, right on time. “That makes everyone, and only five minutes in, to boot. Fifteen points are in order for both Slytherin and Ravenclaw, I believe. Now, I was advised this would be a good time to cover what can go wrong and how to prevent or solve it, but aside from Baruffio’s mistake, there really isn’t anything to go wrong on this one.”
Twilight’s and Moondancer’s hands instantly go up in perfect sync.
He picks one. “Ah, Miss Sparkle?”
Twilight hides a smile- it has been so nice not being bowed to- and answers. “I beg to disagree, Sir. The spell works by constantly vanishing the air around the object and re-conjuring it instantly, momentarily solidified and supported before breaking down again. While this method has the virtue of a straightforward invocation, it’s power-intensive and potentially hazardous should one’s focus falter while handling something fragile. Wouldn’t it be cheaper and safer to use a different spell- like Gravitanium Adjunct!- to levitate it?” Her feather, having dropped to the table moments before, floats effortlessly into the air.
Professor Flitwick raises his eyebrow. “Gravitanium Adjunct?” he asks.
“Yes, Professor. It’s somewhat significantly harder to master and with a higher activation threshold, but it can be closed off into a self-sustained spell rather easily and is utterly safe, being based in gravitational manipulation rather than physical forces.”
“Ahh…”
“This class is a joke,” Princess Luna storms out of the classroom, before turning to the nearest Agent. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
The Agent, a Slytherin named Hard Head, nods legitimately. “Definitely,” he states. “They’d learn more if we put on a play of the Chaos Years, and that’s saying something.”
Luna puts a hand to her chin. “I’m teaching in fifteen minutes, too… Hmm. What can we do to make it actually useful? Have the RESS found anything about the ‘dark arts’?”
Shake. “Nah. All we’ve found is the artefacts in Nocturn, and none of them are truly dangerous. Category one and two enchantments, for the most part, and a couple category threes. We’re still looking for someone with experience in the matter.”
“Drat! So, what do you suppose we do?” The entire rest of the class is listening attentively by now, even though they’re in the passage outside the classroom.
“Well, we could head for the library and read up on a few generic shield spells. We haven’t been to worried about those so far, but until we find something to target, that’s about the best we’re gonna be able to teach.” He glances back at the rest of the class. “And knowing this group, five minutes should be enough for us to figure out enough spells to keep our students busy for two weeks.” Back up at Luna. “Same for the other houses’ teams on the same subject.”
Luna grins. “Let’s do it.”
The entire class of students vanishes into thin air in somewhat of a staggered mess. One or two jog in the direction of the library while Professor Quirrell stares blankly at the space his Slytherin class had left behind.
“How are they shaping up?” Professor Snape asks Professors McGonagall and Flitwick in the staffroom. His first Potions class with the Equestrians is coming up in about an hour.
“Decently,” Professor McGonagall nods. “I get the idea they’re all well-trained already, but know little of our magic.”
“Ah… I had one Twilight Sparkle spontaneously design a new levitation spell- Gravitanium Adjunct- because Wingardium Leviosa was too wasteful.”
Both the other professors look at him.
“We must be seeing opposite ends of the spectrum,” Professor McGonagall observes. “In any case, in my classes, they’ve been very well-behaved and quick to pick up anything I give them. Had them all turning matchsticks into needles on command two minutes after I turned them loose, spent the rest of the class covering what could go wrong. Managed to get through it all, too.”
Flitwick nods. “Yes, very smart, they are. They’re also very obedient, and attentive. I can’t shake the feeling that they want to learn.”
“Want to learn?” Snape asks incredulously.
“Exactly!” Flitwick declares. “It sounds a bit ridiculous, but I had two entire classes soak everything up like a sponge, then cross-reference it with what they already knew and expand upon it before I had time to look across the room!”
“Something tells me Potions will be interesting today,” Snape sighs.
“Possibly,” McGonagall nods. “I noticed one or two Agents in each house. You, Filius?”
Nod. “Right about, yes. One or two. I suppose the rest are willing to learn second-hand.”
“And it was the Agents that actually knew what they were doing,” Snape grumbles, glancing up at the clock. “Whelp, I better go get ready.”
The first thing he notices, upon opening the door to let his Potions class file in, is that there seems to be a lot of radios in evidence. He lets them pick their seats, and takes the role call, making sure to note which students have radios and which do not.
Out of fifteen Gryffindors and fifteen Slytherins, three Slytherins have radios.
Seven Gryffindors do, including Lyra Heartstrings.
So he goes through his normal spiel, up to and including the mention of usually having to teach a bunch of dunderheads. He appends to it, though. “Heartstrings! Is there any particular reason there’s so many, ah…”
“Gryffindor Agents in class?” Lyra asks.
His mouth thins to a line, tempted to take points, and he nods kurtly. No need to make her clam up now.
“Simply put, because of Sweetie Belle. She’s in Gryffindor- and she’s been known to serve toast in a bowl so it wouldn’t spill off the plate.” A gentle chuckle, while the rest of the class shudders. “We’re going to need as many well-trained ‘teacher’s assistants’ as possible.” She even used air quotes.
The thought of taking points from Lyra leaves his mind completely. “I… might be interested in witnessing that class,” he states.
“No problem,” Lyra answers. “It’s a double scheduled for one-thirty in the afternoon on Mondays, in classroom D-4.”
He has to stop to think for a few seconds, visualizing the map of the school, before he realizes where it is. D-4 is conveniently surrounded on all sides- including vertically- by closets and storage areas, but it’s also fairly close to his own office… and he has Monday afternoons off. He nods. “I’ll be there, then.” He quickly banishes the thought of giving them points for preparedness; he hasn’t seen this Sweetie Belle yet, even though she sounds like a disaster in a potions lab.
Snape would later have to admit to Minerva and Filius that they were right. As much as he likes favoring Slytherin, he’d been hard pressed to do that in this class. Every last student, Slytherin and Gryffindor alike, had behaved- and performed- flawlessly. By the end of the class, he hasn’t found anything to criticize, and thirty flawless boil-cures are simmering softly in their cauldrons while he discusses the most common mistakes and what they do to the potion. These students most certainly are not dunderheads, and will almost certainly all be reaching- and acing- their NEWTs when the time comes.
Dear Professor Dumbledore,
I have learned that one of our Equestrian Gryffindors is a terrible cook, and expected to be a disaster in a potions lab. I intend to sit in on her first Potions class; by the way she described this student, you might be interested in watching as well. It will happen at one thirty Monday afternoon, in classroom D-4.
Sincerely,
Severus Snape
Dear Severus,
While that certainly sounds like an intriguing event, I am afraid I must sit this one out. I’m still fighting with the paperwork to get all of these students legally admitted to Hogwarts, unfortunately. Would it be too much to ask for a description of anything exciting later?
Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Dear Professor Dumbledore,
You will be missed, I expect. I’ll make sure Lyra knows you’re interested; I imagine she will be able to provide a more thorough description than I. In any case, I must be on my way.
“Greetings, Professor Snape,” one of the Slytherin Agents he’d spotted in class bows him into classroom D-4 at one o’clock on Monday. He hears the distinctive click of the lock as soon as the door lands shut behind him.
The room is full of students, all wearing radios. Several Slytherins, a few Gryffindors, a couple Hufflepuffs… and half the room is Ravenclaws.
He blinks. “What is going on?” he asks.
“We’re preparing,” the girl that let him in informs him. “We’ve been laying enchantments all week and weekend, and they should be pretty close to unbreakable. Then again, this is Sweetie Belle we’re talking about, so we’re not taking any chances. We’re due to finish up in about fifteen minutes, at which point everyone- save me and Lyra, the instructor team for this class- will teleport out. Fifteen minutes of class prep after that, including laying out the seating assignments, and we open the door to let everyone in.”
“Seating assignments?”
“Unfortunately, a lot of these spells are pretty short-ranged, and with Dumbledore’s limit on the number of Agents in a single class session, we have to be absolutely certain we know where she’s going to be- and the only way to do that is with assigned seating.” She glances across the room. “We’re brutally abusing the terminology of that limitation, of course- he said no more than a ‘few’, and we’ve got eight for this session, instructor team included. One of them is from Slytherin, but the rest are Gryffindor, placed strategically around Sweetie in order to disguise the safety perimeter around her as nothing of the sort. All of the other students- from both houses- have been carefully selected for sharpness of mind, coordination, and quickness of response time, in addition to personal compatibility.
“We’ve then placed them strategically throughout the room to maximize their ability to form and utilize spontaneous friend groups in the event of an emergency- the kind of thing all Agents are trained to do with literally anyone, especially other Agents.” She looks up at him. “In short, if Sweetie manages to turn her cauldron into a giant, exploding cantaloupe, or something else equally strange and dangerous, the area around her should be clear and everywhere else heavily shielded and protected- both from within and without- within about a half a second.”
“A giant, exploding cantaloupe?” Snape asks.
She shrugs. “I don’t think she’s done it before, but I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“... Ahh.” He really hopes they’re exaggerating.
“Good afternoon and welcome to Potions,” Lyra greets, as she opens the door more by magic than by hand. “We have assigned seating in this class. In general, the Slytherins are on the right, the Gryffindors on the left.” She indicates the two sections. “Please find your seat and get out your supplies; we’ll be starting in a minute.”
Snape can’t help but blink at the normally flaky girl’s stern tone.
Eventually, the last student takes their seat, and the Slytherin raises a scroll. “Allright, roll call. Sweetie Belle!” She looks straight at the pink-and-purple-haired girl that sat at the seat with that assignment.
“Present!” the girl answers, sitting up straight as if worried about getting in trouble.
Which, given that the Slytherin member of the instructor team is taking on a very stern approach to rival Professor McGonagall’s, he’s not surprised. Any illusion that this would be an easy class went right out the window with her very first word.
“Draco Malfoy!”
Snape raises his eyebrow at that, as the Slytherin’s eyes- funny, he never thought to look at her nametag, and doesn’t remember her name from his own class- zero out the Malfoy descendant.
“Present!”
“Speedy Shot!”
“Present!” A Gryffindor very close to Sweetie.
“Boulder Hoof!”
“Present!” A Slytherin near Malfoy, but not his partner.
The roll call goes on. As it goes, he can only wonder about why she seems to be alternating between Slytherin and Gryffindor names. Perhaps this was another strategic thing? He concentrates on where the students are in the room, and how they’re reacting.
Ahh, yes. That would be it. There’s an appearance of randomness, but as she goes down the list, he spots the various students she’d named consecutively making brief eye contact before breaking it. She’s keeping them on their toes, and deliberately weaving a network through them- a personal network, between the two houses most at odds with each other.
Then she reaches the end of her list.
“Sweetie Belle!”
“Present!?” The same girl she’d started with, sounding alarmed as the entire room turns to look at her, before looking back forwards to regard their instructors with wary eyes.
Lyra rejoins her partner at the head of the room, seeming to step out of the shadows behind her as she does so. “We will be your instructors for Potions this year,” Lyra greets. “I am Lyra Heartstrings; this is Diamond Tiara. You may refer to us here as Instructor Heartstrings and Instructor Tiara.” She holds her hand out towards Snape. “This is Professor Snape, the Potions Master at this school. He will be sitting in on our class today.” Then she steps back, as Tiara’s glare challenges them to react.
Nobody does.
“We are here,” Tiara begins, in a tone very close to Snape’s own, “to learn the exact art and subtle science of potion making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, some of you will hardly believe this is magic. We can learn to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death. But only!-” She turns sharply to face Sweetie, eyes locking on like something more violent than a wand- “-If you use your head as well as your hands.”
He could already see the students instinctively clumping together in those very groups that had been designed into the seating layout- and yet the gaps between them are far from cold. These two know what they are doing.
“Who can tell me what purpose dried nettles serve as a potion ingredient?” Lyra calls suddenly, striking a long wand- not the magic kind- against the blackboard while Tiara seems to disappear into the woodwork.
Ten minutes into the lesson, the two instructors finally turn the class loose on their potions kits. During that interim, they discussed each and every ingredient and operation- stirring one way versus the other, taking it off the fire, and so on- and what purpose it serves. They’ve also gone over the instructions a couple times, and are spending their time prowling around the room watching for mistakes. The groups of students, meanwhile, have all but merged into a single, unified whole.
As he watches, he spots only a few small mistakes. Even the British students are doing far better than the average first years- perhaps he should start working through the instructions with his students before setting them stewing it as well. After all, these girls don’t seem to be spending anywhere near as much energy, overall, as he usually does correcting people’s mistakes after the fact. A fair exchange, he figures, for the slightly higher initial energy cost.
And, it would seem, Sweetie’s reputation has been exaggerated. The girl looks positively giddy- despite the instructors not having let up at all- behind her softly simmering, perfectly good potion.
His gaze flicks to the Slytherins- no, the edge of the Gryffindors; there’s another British first-year there, Neville Longbottom, partnered with another British student, Seamus Finnigan. The Slytherin at the table next to them had let out a low mutter and grabbed Neville’s elbow, blocking him from something, muttering quietly. Lyra’s attention, he notices, has also been drawn, and she’s much closer, walking up behind Neville. She pauses to review the exchange for a second, then speaks, her voice carrying throughout the room. “Five points to Slytherin.”
Snape raises an eyebrow as both students in question jump, letting out brief yelps and turning to face her.
“Tell me, Longbottom,” Lyra goes on. “What happens if you add the porcupine quills before you take the cauldron off the fire?”
The boy blinks, looking down at the bottom of his cauldron, before his face turns bright red. “It… It melts the cauldron and inverts the normal function of the potion,” he mutters, turning off the flames.
“That is correct,” Lyra states, sweeping onwards.
He could really do to take a leaf from their book. Not only are the students learning quickly themselves, they’re watching out for each other!
Lyra is just reaching the front of the divide when he hears a little noise. It’s extremely rare in his potions classrooms, and usually precedes a disaster; as such, his personal shield spell snaps up almost instinctively as he searches for the disturbance.
It’s a gasp for air, of a particular type.
A student gasps- though it’s more in alarm.
Another- Malfoy- draws his wand, pointing it across the room in a split second to cry something out. He doesn’t catch the words.
Then there’s a bang, a pained gasp, and Sweetie falls on the floor.
His eyes flick quickly to Lyra, whose hair might have been flying around in response to her rapid spin if it weren’t done up in a bun to prevent that very thing too close to a cauldron.
“Ten points to Slytherin,” Lyra states, surprising Snape again.
He’d expected her to see what he saw- an attack against Sweetie Belle. Who made that initial gasp that set off his internal alarm bells, he’s not sure. He raises an eyebrow slightly, but stops himself from asking her to explain right away. She might plan on doing that anyways.
It’s Tiara that talks, though, as she steps over to help Sweetie back upright. “Can anyone tell me how dangerous it is to do what Mr. Malfoy just stopped Sweetie here from doing, sneezing into her cauldron?”
He now knows who made that initial noise, and suddenly understands why she gave him points rather than taking them. How Malfoy had realized what was coming, where it was, and how to stop it so quickly, he’s not sure.
Nobody moves. Tiara sweeps to the front, looking out across the class. “Anyone?”
Still nothing.
“Alright then,” she states, looking towards Malfoy. “Malfoy, why did you prevent her from sneezing into her cauldron?”
Malfoy stares at his wand for a couple of seconds before answering. “I… I don’t know. I sensed danger, and…” He looks towards Sweetie, confused. “I don’t know.”
In the silence that follows, he hears someone whisper something in the back- and can just make out the words. “Did I miss something in the book?”
“It so happens,” Lyra states, “that this question isn’t covered by the course materials.” She looks towards Snape. “Professor Snape, would you care to enlighten us?”
Ahh, yes, she’s good. The perfect opening. He rises smoothly from his seat in the corner, prowling forwards with a nasty grin. “Certainly.” He reaches the podium they’d set up front, as different from a desk, and puts his hands on it, leaning forwards against it. “As your instructors informed you earlier,” he begins, feeling a spell coming from Lyra to create an illusion in front of him- a demonstration of what he’s talking about. “At the core of every potion is a magic matrix, formed and cultivated by the actions we take during its brewing.” He watches Lyra’s illusion stew up the same potion everyone has in their cauldrons, though at high speed and with the forming magic matrix visible inside the transparent cauldron. “You might think a sneeze to be just another ingredient, perhaps countered by another. And, in a manner of speaking, it is- snot disrupts the matrix of almost any potion, rendering it useless.
“The danger comes in what else accompanies a sneeze. There’s all that noise, all that air- and a sneeze also has its own, already unstable magic matrix in it, carrying with it an immense discharge of magical energy. Combine the two…” He watches the two matrices combine in the cauldron, then the whole thing explode and disappear. “And it was a very good thing indeed that Malfoy caught it as fast as he did.” He draws back, yielding back to Lyra.
Lyra steps forwards. “And that’s not even counting that the unique magic of an Equestrian will tend to amplify the effect by an order of magnitude or two. Had Mr. Malfoy missed that, things could have become very ugly, very fast.” She glances at the red-faced Sweetie. “Especially for a particularly powerful Equestrian like Sweetie.”
The girl’s jaw drops open, eyes wide like dinner plates. “... What?” she asks.
Lyra ignores her as Snape returns to his seat. “In any case, to wrap up our lesson…”
“You’re kidding,” Professor McGonagall accuses distantly, sounding as if she knows she’s wrong.
“I kid you not,” Professor Snape answers solemnly. He’d just finished relating that lesson to them.
“But- but that’s impossible! Especially in a single day!”
Snape chuckles. “Not for Lyra and Diamond, apparently. They did admit- after everyone else had left for dinner- to having taken ruthless advantage of both Lyra’s and Diamond’s unique abilities to pull that off. Reportedly, Lyra’s unique ability- the one they call her unique ability, rather than one of the many she’s demonstrated for us- has primarily to do with music, but it works anywhere there’s something she can harmonize. Limited application, she tells me, without music.
“But that’s where Diamond came in. Her unique ability apparently has to do with getting people to do what she wants them to- so she basically drove them at each other, giving them a common goal… which Lyra was able to harmonize them on, after which they slowly redirected that goal. Which ended, somehow, with Malfoy detecting and responding to something he shouldn’t have known to watch for- and also shouldn’t have known how to respond to!” Sigh. “I asked. Even Malfoy doesn’t know what spell he used. Said it felt like gibberish on his lips, but it was the right gibberish.”
“Hmm,” Professor Dumbledore mutters. “How are they doing on the points side of things?”
“Very, very carefully,” Snape states. “Neither of them gave- nor took, for that matter- nearly as many points as I would have. Felt more like they were using the points as a disguised way of saying ‘good job’, rather than as a reward or punishment.” He grins slightly. “Something tells me students are going to be fighting for the chance to be the receivers of their hard-earned points.”
Dumbledore sighs. “Well, at least they’re not easy point-mills like I was worried about. Though I do find that interesting- how many Gryffindor points versus Slytherin did they give out?”
“Through the course of that class period, she gave out twenty points to Slytherin and five to Gryffindor. Nothing happened for her to deduct. Diamond didn’t do anything with points, almost like she was leaving that for Lyra to figure out.” Scowl. “They did seem strangely synchronized in their presentation.”
“... Huh,” Dumbledore mutters. “That’s… strange.” One hand comes up to rub his chin. “Maybe that ability of Lyra’s helped ‘harmonize’ their presentation as well?”
Shrug. “Eh, I suppose. I can’t see that working, though- she’d have to be a mas-!” He freezes for a second, then hangs his head. “Yeah, that’s probably what happened.” He glances back towards the door back out of Dumbledore’s office. “Though, I did happen to overhear Malfoy bragging about narrowly avoiding muggles in helicopters on his broom. Is that something we need to worry about?”
Dumbledore shakes his head. “Shouldn’t be. I doubt Malfoy knows what a helicopter really is- and I doubt Lyra has one, either.” He shudders briefly. “I hope she doesn’t.”
“Come and get it, Potter!”
Madam Hooch had, unlike all the other instructors, been interested to teach every student herself. She’d also requested that all the British students be relegated to the same sections, if at all possible; unfortunately, six thousand students in one class is still well beyond her.
The difference being, of course, that second-years and beyond don’t have flying lessons. As such, Madam Hooch only has one year to teach- and, reportedly, is usually bored all year.
Now, however, Neville had just kicked off early, fallen off, and crashed. Lyra, the only Agent in today’s session, had been distracted- and hadn’t been fast enough on the cushioning spell. He’d broken his wrist, and she hadn’t studied human anatomy well enough for an Equestrian healing spell to work. Once he left behind Madam Hooch, a general painkiller spell attached to the broken bone alongside a positional locking spell holding it still, Malfoy had snatched Neville’s dropped Remembrall off of the ground and jumped into the air.
Harry mounts his broom- but stops moments before taking off.
“What?” Malfoy demands. “Afraid of a little- Eeek!” He dodges backwards and a little higher as something passes right in front of him. “What- What is that thing?” He watches it come to a stop off to the side then twist sharply to face him again, like some kind of giant praying mantis, with something whirling on top of it.
“Nice to know you’ve never even gotten close to being caught by a muggle with a helicopter,” someone calls from below.
He glances briefly back down, eyes returning to the mantis-thing. “Of course I have, many times!”
The mantis thing charges at him. He ducks, and it whirls off to the side at the last second anyways, dodging quickly away from him and stopping, facing him, with incredible speed.
“Nah,” someone says down below- Lyra. “You wouldn’t realize it if you did.” The mantis-thing turns upside-down in one fluid motion. The constant buzzing thrum of the whirling thing on its top doesn’t stop, but it seems to go out of sync with the rest of the world, becoming heavier somehow.
“Of course I would!” he declares.
It seems to dance in front of him, before flipping back over and twisting sharply to the sides, as if it were something’s head, shaking for a no.
“That’s a helicopter,” Lyra continues. “If you can’t recognize it, you wouldn’t recognize a real one. Oh, here they are.”
Then, while the mantis thing shoots suddenly backwards and to the side, something passes over his head. It’s a good six feet up, probably- but as it does so, that thrumming becomes very loud, to the point that he can feel it in his bones.
He looks up.
There’s a much larger one, completing its sideways pass over his head and sliding far enough to the side that its much larger whirling thing is nowhere near him before it lowers down a little closer to his level, still facing him side-on.
Then a door on its side opens, and Bonbon is visible inside, leaning against a wall. “I hear you’ve dodged a few of these?” she asks, patting the outside affectionately.
He falls off his broom.
As he falls, he dimly registers that he’s not falling as fast as he should be. It seems somehow… slower. Pain also racks through his body at the same time; has he hit the ground already, and just not seen it yet? Something black flashes past underneath him, in his peripheral vision. Probably unconsciousness coming up to capture him. Bonbon’s… thing seems to be drifting in his direction almost lazily, Bonbon reaching out a hand towards his drifting broom.
The pain seems to double and change shape, almost as if he’s changing shape himself. Even through the pain, an uncomfortable tickling sensation ripples across his skin- then something seems to whip distantly about him, and he sees something silver.
Finally, the pain goes away, and his vision begins to clear again. Bonbon’s about to catch his broom, but he’s still falling; he can feel the wind on his back, in a very strange way. There’s something black off to the side, he thinks. He braces himself to hit the ground, lifting his head up-
He doesn’t hit the ground. He hits something far less solid, more like arms. Huge arms, feeling fuzzy against his back as they immediately dig into his back, his catcher grunting with the effort. Something hard, in one of the hands, presses against his side. He focuses on the face as he comes to a stop, realizing this person just caught him while on a broom…
It’s Harry.
Who had been on the ground when he fell.
What kind of sorcery is this?
He feels a light jolt as Harry steps off his broom, allowing it to clatter to the grass underneath him, and looks down at him confusedly. “Uh…” Harry begins. “Malfoy?”
He draws in a breath. It catches in his throat; it doesn’t feel right. He manages to get past it, and starts to answer. “Wha-!”
That’s as far as he got. His voice is so completely wrong as to be ridiculous; his oration chops off with a squeak as he looks down at himself. Particularly, his arm; that caught his attention first.
It’s silver. It’s covered in fur. His hand is gone.
He lets out a scream that’s way too girly and twists out of Harry’s grasp. He falls a short distance to the ground, landing on all fours, with both his legs fully extended. It doesn’t feel weird, as it really ought to.
He runs for it. On all fours, because that feels right. Even though he knows it’s wrong.
He hears the squealing of girls.
It seems to be pointed at him.
He pours all of his strength, all of his speed, into his flight.
He dodges between legs. He dodges between people.
He spots a girl anticipating his path, and diving for it.
It’s too late for him to redirect to the side.
But he knows just what to do. He jumps.
How he jumped, he has no idea. But the girl gets an armload of dirt while he clears her head and lands on her other side, resuming his flight.
How he just jumped twice his own height, he has no idea.
He keeps running.
A group of girls now, anticipating his path and diving.
It’s too late to dodge.
It’s too late to jump.
He doesn’t know what to do-
Then suddenly, there’s a magic matrix on his mind.
It’s incredibly complex, but he knows it’s exactly what he needs, and that he has it perfectly accurate.
He doesn’t know where his wand is. It certainly isn’t in his hand.
… Not that he seems to have hands anymore.
But that doesn’t matter. He knows what to do.
He pushes that matrix into an unfamiliar part of his mind, and dumps his magic into it.
Something tingles on his forehead.
Time seems to stop as the spell catches, and activates.
Everything momentarily turns blue.
He dodges under his bed to curl up.
The dormitory is empty. No one knows he’s here.
He lets out his breath.
Then he looks around.
How did he get here, again?
He turns to examine himself.
What happened to him, too?
His… coat of fur, is silver.
His tail is silver too, though there are twin royal blue stripes reaching all the way to the tip. He can also see the base of his… mane? It carries the same colors.
He rolls onto his side, glancing down to verify what he could hear in his voice. Then, he looks closer; he didn’t see anything right off.
He still doesn’t see anything. It’s all hidden by his fur.
So he lets out a sigh, lying down- and freezes.
Next to his bed, Bonbon slams bodily into her back on the floor without even trying to break her fall, holding her head expertly off the ground, her pink-and-purple hair rippling underneath her. She turns her head to look at him. “Good afternoon,” she greets him.
He squeaks, curling up. His tail brushes against his nose, and he quickly bats it down with one forelimb. If she can follow him here from her flying contraption that quickly, there’s nowhere he can hide from her. Not even with that strange, very complex magic matrix he still remembers.
“I thought you ought to know,” she goes on. “Lyra got a good look at you before you disappeared. She said the transformation should wear off in about a half an hour.” She turns her head to look at him, her tone becoming very serious. “You don’t want to be under the bed when that happens.”
He shudders; before… whatever that was, he wouldn’t fit under the bed very well.
He squeaks again, and closes his eyes, forcing himself to use his voice- and hating every moment of it. “What about… the girls?” He sounds very much like one of them.
Bonbon shakes her head. “The Weasley twins have something prepared to keep everyone busy for the next few hours,” she states. “As a matter of fact, it’s a good thing you didn’t come in through the entrance hall- you might have set off their trap early if you had.”
He lets out a brief snort of laughter. “You?”
She shakes her head. “Don’t worry- neither me nor any other Equestrians are going to squeal crazy. I mean, sure, you make a cute unicorn filly- but Lyra’s cuter, even if she’s not a filly.”
“... What?”
Bonbon smiles at him, and gestures towards him with one hand. “That’s what us Equestrians look like in our homeland,” she states. “There’s going to be some curiosity- we can’t bring our normal forms here, our own magic makes sure of that- but nopony is going to go crazy over it.”
“Then- Then why…” He looks at his… hoof. “Pony?”
She shrugs. “Honestly, when Lyra started the process to expand your magic to match an Equestrian’s capability, we did not expect that to include transformation. We knew it was a possibility; that’s why she had the twins prepare their… distraction.”
“Then how- how do you know it’s temporary?” He still hates his voice, but the more he hears it, the more natural it feels.
“Because it’s the very magic that turns us human,” she answers. “Lyra informed me that it appears the final stage- triggered by your fright when you fell off your broom, she thinks- includes a physical transformation to match your magical signature… until your magic finishes integrating itself with you, at which point you’ll revert to your prior form. We think.”
“You… think.”
She rubs her head with one hand. “Yeah… Our hair colors didn’t change when we crossed the portal, but everything else did. As much as you should rubber-band back to your prior human form, we’re not sure how complete that return will be. According to Lyra, there’s around a seventy percent chance your mane color will stay, for example- though she tells me there’s a ninety percent chance you’ll turn back to a boy.” Sigh. “If you don’t, she knows a spell to fix that, even though it would wear off every twelve hours or so. The good news with that is that you’ll be able to cast it yourself, even without your wand, as a unicorn- and she’ll be able to give you the matrix the same way she gave you the teleportation matrix.” She glances at him. “That was a good reaction, by the way. Lyra expected to have to come in here after you to peel a few girls off.”
“What-!?” he asks, startled.
She nods. “Yeah. That matrix she gave you is the simplest one- the only one she could reasonably expect you to be able to use safely without knowing any of the underlying concepts. The problem with it is that it is incredibly easy to accidentally take other people or objects with you.”
“... Oh.”
“Anyways, come on out. As I said before, you do not want to be under there when you turn back. And no, I’m not going to pounce on you or anything.”
“Come in.” Professor Dumbledore lowers his hands to his desk. Professor Snape looks up; she’d specifically requested his presence as well.
Professor McGonagall opens the door and steps in, speaking without preamble. “She has a helicopter.”
Dumbledore puts is head in his hands. “Is she going to have everything we hope she doesn’t have?” he asks.
“I hope not,” she answers him, drawing a snort of laughter. “In any case, I’m here to discuss another matter. Are you aware that Mr. Potter is an excellent flier?”
Dumbledore glances down at his desk; thanks to the most recent piece of paperwork he’d filled out, one ‘Clay Potter’ is a legal student at Hogwarts. The pages before it were for ‘Red Potter’, though, and the next set ‘Sky Potter’. However, all three of the above are girls. “I am,”
Snape raises his eyebrow. “I hardly believe James’ son is a matter requiring my attention,” Snape declares. “I do believe he landed in your house, Minerva.”
McGonagall takes her seat. “Yes. As I’m sure you know, Madam Hooch’s first Gryffindor-Slytherin class was scheduled for today.”
Both men nod slowly.
“What happened this time?” Dumbledore asks.
“Longbottom- Gryffindor- took off early, fell off his broom, and crashed. Madam Hooch took him to the infirmary.”
Snape leans back, crossing his legs. Dumbledore nods, raising an eyebrow at Snape.
The corner of McGonagall’s mouth twitches in a smile. “Malfoy- Slytherin- seized Longbottom’s remembrall and took to the air while she was gone.” She looks up at Dumbledore. “That’s when Lyra decided to show him what a helicopter looks like. She had a model do some aerobatics with him, before Cherry Berry showed up with a big one. Right over his head. Then Bonbon opened the door and greeted him from inside it.”
“I daresay he knows what a helicopter looks like now,” Snape comments.
McGonagall nods once. “He fell off his broom, dropping the Remembrall. Potter launched and raced to catch him- but he didn’t seem to fall properly, so Potter got the Remembrall on the first pass, before turning back to catch Malfoy and making a soft landing.”
At this, Snape raises his eyebrow. “Potter caught Malfoy? On a school broom?”
She nods. “Malfoy was… transformed. It wasn’t transfiguration magic, and it wasn’t animagus transformation- but how else he became a small talking silver unicorn while he fell, I would like to know as well.”
“Interesting,” Snape mutters. “No injuries?”
She sighs. “Lyra said he teleported to his dormitory and will be alright. She also informed me Moondancer teleported Bonbon down after him.” She closes her eyes. “And as soon as I took Potter away, the Weasley twins stepped in to ‘make things exciting’.” She opens her eyes, looking directly at Dumbledore. “They had between them a broomstick, a bottle of butterbeer, a spoon, and a tea cozy.”
“Now this I have to see,” Dumbledore states, rising from his desk.
Snape rises as well. “I suppose I must see to Malfoy. What of Potter?”
“I wish to put him on the team,” McGonagall answers calmly. “Seeker.”
“Sure,” Dumbledore answers distractedly. “We can get him a broom. Now, I’ve had precious little entertainment these last two weeks.” He disappears out the door.
McGonagall and Snape look at each other.
“Uh-oh.”
An echoing boom resounds from outside somewhere, shaking the castle.
McGonagall sighs. “That was probably the twins, I got it. You make sure Malfoy is okay- last I saw, he was panicked and dodging girls.”
Less than a minute has passed and the two professors’ paths haven’t diverged yet when Snape suddenly stops. “Wait,” he states. “How’d they get the helicopter to work on Hogwarts grounds?”
“Can… Will I be able to do that?” Malfoy asks, sitting on his bed and leaning forwards on his forelegs because it feels right. He’d elected to trust the girl, and come out from under the bed; then, while he’d jumped onto the bed, she’d flung herself onto her feet in one, fluid motion.
Bonbon glances at the floor, where she’d been lying. “Eh,” she mumbles. “If you train for it, really hard, I suppose. But that won’t be any different from before.” She looks back up at him. “Thing is, I’m an earth pony. We can’t do magic, in the normal sense, over in Equestria- instead, our magic manifests as massive physical strength and endurance. That does extend to here… and most the other earth ponies can’t do that, either, even if earth pony magic does make it easier. I’ve trained, a lot. Um… Would you like a mirror?”
“Um. Like, the bathroom mirror?”
“I was thinking a bit closer than that one, but yes,” she nods.
He shrugs. “Might as well,” he mutters.
“Alright then,” she states, pulling something small out of her pocket. She then unfolds it lengthwise a couple of times, stretching it to about a foot long- then she holds it in one hand and shakes it out, causing it to unfold in a cascade for the other direction, rapidly becoming an oval of some kind of shiny paper. A rectangle attached to the bottom swings down from the side- then, with a faint pop, it becomes a handheld mirror- which she hands to him.
He reaches out to accept it- then stops, drawing back and looking at his hoof. “Um…”
“Just think of it like it’s still a hand,” Bonbon encourages him. “Tactile Telekinesis, the unicorns call it. Everypony else just calls it the hoofgrip.”
He blinks for a second, then reaches out to accept the mirror. And successfully lifts it with one hoof touching the side of the handle, absolutely nothing keeping it from falling away. “What… What keeps it from falling?”
“Magic,” Bonbon states. “Every pony has a hoofgrip. As a matter of fact, we can still use it in human form- makes fingers redundant, if we really don’t want to use them.” She smiles at him. “Though of course, the hoofgrip is far more flexible than fingers; I actually used it to shake the mirror out. I’d never have grabbed just the top layer that easily with fingers.”
He turns the mirror sideways; it’s a good half inch thick. “How… how did you unfold…?”
“Magic,” she states. “Folding mirrors are moderately expensive, but not that hard to find, over in Equestria.”
“... Oh.” He turns it face-on, and looks at his reflection.
He stares. His eyes are way too big, even though a small part of his mind observes they’re a little bigger than they normally would be; he’s staring wide-eyed at his reflection. His mouth, nose, irises… even ears. He turns his head slightly.
“I… I guess I am a little cute.”
Bonbon lets out a snort of laughter. “ ‘A little cute’, he says,” she states. “Nah. You’re positively adorable. Especially with that reaction.”
He looks away from her, feeling the heat rushing to his cheeks- then looks straight back at the mirror, staring as the redness shows straight through his silver fur. It’s even more visible than it was when he was human! His very visibly feminine features don’t really help with that.
Bonbon chuckles lightly. “You know, if I could, I’d ‘pony up’ too right now. Speaking of which, I have to ask- the, ah, transformation. Did it… hurt, at all?”
He shudders, placing the mirror face-down between him and Bonbon. “It was… terrible,” he mutters. “I thought I’d already hit the ground.”
Bonbon winces. “Yeah… That fall would’ve killed you, had you not transformed. With the transform, a pony can survive that kind of a fall without issue. A filly, specifically, could fall from twice that height and not get hurt. Don’t ask me how that doesn’t extend to colts, or mares.” She glances towards the door. “Lyra might have a clue, but I doubt she knows much either.” She looks back down at him. “So… it hurt that bad, huh?”
He shudders, and nods. “Felt like…” He closes his eyes, thinking back to it. “Like…” He can’t seem to think of an appropriate analogy.
“Like you’d been hit by the Night Bus then run over by the Hogwarts Express a few times?”
He blinks. “Uh… Yeah, something like that.”
“Then how did you run away like that as soon as you hit the ground?”
He tilts his head, confused. “I just… ran?”
Bonbon blinks, then chuckles. “Well, it was a pretty good gallop, yes. But what I meant, I suppose, is how did you run through that pain?”
“I didn’t,” he states. “It was all gone by the time Potter… caught me.”
“Really?” Bonbon raises her eyebrows. “I know ponies recover from pains faster than humans, both physically and mentally, but that’s some pretty impressive mental fortitude- of the kind even earth ponies often don’t have.” Snort. “Yes, that’s a compliment.” She looks up towards the ceiling. “To effectively forget about that level of pain within a couple seconds of them going away… Oh, I doubt even Princess Celestia could do that.” She chuckles, before turning back to him. “Well, would you look at that.”
While she’d been looking up at the ceiling, Malfoy had suddenly found himself human again. It wasn’t quite instant; it seemed more like it took about two seconds. But it was completely painless. What’s more, his clothes had reappeared- thus, he doesn’t need to worry about that right now.
He’d dropped down on his back during the transformation. “Well,” he begins, and stops. “Oh!” One hand quickly navigates to his groin, before returning away while he lets out a sigh of relief.
“Male again?” Bonbon asks.
He nods.
“Well, that’s a good thing,” she states. “Lyra tells me the gender change spell is very taxing- good thing you don’t need it. Though…” She hands him the mirror. “Looks like your mane colors are here to stay, though.”
He takes the mirror, holding it up to look in it, and finally nods. “Yeah,” he grumbles. “Everyone’s going to know, I guess.”
The dungeons shake around them, some kind of boom resounding throughout the castle. There had been a softer boom earlier; he’d only barely heard it, but anyone above the dungeons might have noticed a shake. This one, no one could have missed.
Bonbon looks up. “Unless I miss my guess… Yeah, that was the Weasley twins with stage two, out on the grounds. Chances are, nobody’s going to remember any of the details about you.”
He snorts, putting a hand on his hair. “Yeah, but how else do I explain how my hair turned silver? With blue streaks?”
“And grew down to your waist, all in less than an hour? I don’t know.”
“What-!?” He sits up, returning the mirror; she folds and pockets it very quickly.
But before he has a chance to reach back, to see how long his hair has become, a knock sounds from the door.
Bonbon studies the door. “Yes?” she calls.
Professor Snape answers. “Is Mr. Malfoy in there?”
“Yes, come in,” Bonbon answers immediately.
Malfoy twitches, sliding just a little bit more behind her, as the door opens.
Snape stops in the doorway, looking at the two students sitting on Malfoy’s bed, and raises his eyebrows. “Everything going okay in here?” he asks.
“Yep!” Bonbon declares cheerfully. “The transformation just wore off, so we were just about ready to go find out what’s banging around out there.”
Snape directs his gaze momentarily to the radio attached to Bonbon’s robes. “And your radio?”
She shakes her head. “Command’s too busy reaming Lyra out for the helicopter,” she states. “All that got through before they started is that it’s the Weasley twins on stage two.”
“Stage two?”
She nods. “That’s what they said. I don’t know what their plan is; they were as secretive as Lyra on that operation… which, as I recall, she’s part of. You know what materials they have?”
“A broomstick, a bottle of butterbeer, a spoon, and a tea cozy?”
She blinks. “She taught them the Spoonata? Shoot! We’d better go stop ‘em before they knock the castle down!” She jumps off the bed, and takes off running, zipping right past Snape. “Meet me on the grounds!”
Snape looks back in, towards Malfoy, but the room’s empty.
“The Weasleys are over there,” Malfoy points, as Bonbon skids to a halt next to him on the front steps of the castle.
“That doesn’t matter, where’s the broom?” Bonbon asks, glancing around quickly.
“The broom?” he asks. “Wouldn’t…?”
“The broom is the anchor for the Spoonata. Take it out, the whole thing comes apart- quietly. But the longer it stays active, the more destruction can happen.”
“Got it.” He starts searching the air.
“When you see it, don’t use magic on it. That’ll only make it stronger. Instead, get me. I can take it out.”
A panicked scream echoes from around the corner of the castle.
Bonbon turns, but doesn’t bolt.
Malfoy, eyes closed, draws in a breath and concentrates.
Right at the last second, Bonbon’s hand closes on his wrist.
Everything blinks blue, and they’re on that side of the castle.
“Aah!” Malfoy utters softly, pulling away.
“Sorry,” Bonbon mutters. “Piggybacking the teleport.” She scowls; the broom is high in the air. “Think you could teleport me up to it?”
He glances at her, then looks up at it. “Eh,” he mutters. “I can ballpark it, but…”
“That’ll have to be enough,” Bonbon states. “It’s getting ready for another blast, and this one’ll start toppling structures.”
“Got it. What do you need to, ah, piggyback?”
“Physical contact should be enough- doesn’t have to be a grip.”
“Alright. Ready.”
She touches the back of his fist with the back of her own, closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them again. “Ready.”
He blinks. Everything momentarily turns blue.
Bonbon twists suddenly and violently in midair, unleashing an explosive blow on the broom.
Malfoy watches, as if in slow motion, as her blow takes the center out of the broom, shattering the entire handle.
Then, it explodes.
He’s not sure exactly how to describe the explosion. Sure, there was some physical force to it- both he and Bonbon were thrown away from it, at differing angles- but most of the explosion, he sensed, more than felt or saw. Sensed in a way he’d never sensed anything before.
Bonbon hits the ground first, rolling expertly out of her fall and terminating the roll by driving a foot firmly into the ground.
Then he hits the ground, face-first. And bounces. Once, twice. Finally, he rolls to a stop and lets out a breath… then opens his eyes, lifting one hand to feel his nose.
It’s not broken.
Bonbon trots over to where Malfoy landed, offering her hand to help him up. “You land alright?”
He looks up at her. “How…?”
“Not hurt, right?”
He nods.
“That’d be the near indestructibility of your other form. That kind of thing does carry through.” She chuckles.
“Bonnie!” It’s Lyra, on the radio, while Malfoy is still thinking. “Did you have to destroy it?”
She sighs, raising her hand to her walkie. “Agent Drops, proposing removal of Agent Stripes as mission leader.”
“Agent Star, seconded,” comes back instantly, in Moondancer’s voice.
“S-sorry.” That’d be Lyra again.
“Something wrong?” Malfoy asks, as she helps him to his feet.
“Just a little infighting,” Bonbon states. “I think Lyra’s taken things too far one time too many.”
“One time too many?”
She nods. “One time too many.”
“Make it so,” Princess Luna’s voice comes over the line, sounding tired. She doesn’t normally wear her radio, being ‘on vacation’ here at Hogwarts- but she is the supreme head of the Royal Equestrian Secret Service. She’s probably borrowing Cherry’s radio; she hasn’t heard Agent Skyhawk since she reported the helicopter was on the ground. “Agent Stripes, you are relieved of command. Turn over the Staff Walkie to Agent Drops. Agent Drops, you’re now the mission leader.” The formal tone falls away. “Please don’t screw up.”
She raises an eyebrow. “I don’t plan to,” she states into her mic.
Lyra appears, very suddenly, next to her. Malfoy jumps, but she’d expected it. “Bonnie! Did you have to?”
Bonbon tilts her head towards Lyra, raising one eyebrow. “What do you think?”
“It was the helicopter, wasn’t it?”
“Really?” Bonbon asks.
“What?”
“You think I’m worried about the helicopter?”
“What…?”
“No, no,” Bonbon states, grabbing Lyra’s shoulders with both hands. “The helicopter was nothing. The wards didn’t even notice it. Heck, it may even have been beneficial- wizards might just start realizing the truth about electricity around here. No, I’m talking about the Spoonata. Have you any clue how much paperwork I had to fill out after our test run flattened two towns? You know what the thirty-seventh one was?
“The Spoonata has been classified as a weapon of mass destruction, Lyra!” She pushes Lyra over, dropping her painfully on the grass. “I’m not sure if you noticed, with your attention to fun, but the entirety of Hogwarts staff is out here- and even I felt the ward activation as it approached the third blast! You can bet Dumbledore won’t be happy- and the Ministry of Magic might already be on its way!”
“Oh?” Lyra asks, hopping up. “Maybe-!”
“No!” Bonbon barks. “You’re staying here, and you’re going to own up to your mistake.” She pauses for a second, thinking. “And you’re going to do all the paperwork.”
“Whaaat? No, please, Bonnie! Not the paperwork!”
“Yes the paperwork, Lyra. You caused a first-class disaster all on your own, you can deal with the consequences on your own. And if you don’t get it done by tomorrow, I’ll send you home to have Celestia watch you do it.”
“What-! You can’t-!”
“I can. And I will. Now, go wait by the castle doors, Ministry or Hogwarts staff might want to talk to you. And no teleporting, or I’ll double the paperwork.”
Lyra pouts at her, before turning to march back towards the front steps- but Bonbon catches her arm, arresting her motion.
“What?” Lyra asks, looking back at her.
“Walkie?”
Lyra sighs. “Right.” A little flick of her hand, and the radio, mic, headset, and everything else slip out of her robes, into her hand, which she holds out to Bonbon. “Here.”
Bonbon accepts it wordlessly, letting her go, and slides the radio itself down into her robes, clipping it onto her belt as Lyra storms away. It takes her a couple seconds, after that, to connect the splitter to her headset; she’s to the point of clipping the mic to the front of her robes when Malfoy speaks up.
“Just a little?” he asks.
Bonbon nods. “Yeah, just a little. Seriously, that was nothing compared to some of the internal struggles I’ve seen in the RESS.”
“Ress?”
“Ah, RESS, yes. It’s an acronym, for the Royal Equestrian Secret Service.”
“So, paperwork, huh?”
Both Bonbon and Malfoy turn to face Professor Dumbledore, ambling towards them with one hand clamped on the opposing shoulder, the arm hanging limply by his side.
“Yes,” Bonbon nods. “Most vile invention of either of our worlds, but it’s the only way to get through to Lyra. Um, do you need some help getting to the hospital wing?”
“Ah,” Dumbledore hesitates, looking down at his arm. “Maybe. Though…” He glances back where he’d come. “I’m not sure where my wand disappeared to.”
Bonbon winces. “Caught in the blast?”
He nods. “The second one.”
“Ahh… Whelp. Accio wand!” A wand zips up from the grass somewhere behind Dumbledore, into Bonbon’s waiting hand. “This it?”
He glances at it and nods. “Yes, thank you. So, ah… Malfoy? … Huh. I guess…?”
Bonbon glances at Malfoy while the latter backsteps, looking nervous. “You heard about what happened?”
Dumbledore nods.
“His mane colors stayed with the reverse transformation, but everything else returned.”
“His… mane colors.”
“Well, that and his ability to use Equestrian magic.”
Dumbledore sighs. “It wasn’t random, was it?”
Bonbon shakes her head.
“It was Lyra, wasn’t it?”
She nods. “She never has been one for asking permission.”
“And that… broom?”
“The Spoonata? The Weasley twins may have set it off, but Lyra and me are the only two people in either world that know how to make it, and she’s the only one actually capable of making it. They won’t have realized until it was too late that it’s classified as a weapon of mass destruction, not a pranking tool. And it would seem Lyra didn’t keep tight enough control of it after it was set off to limit it to pranking strength.” She sighs. “Should I plan to come to your office to explain everything after dinner?” She glances up. “Malfoy, think you could give us a boost?”
Dumbledore raises his eyebrow.
“Eh,” Malfoy mutters. “I don’t know where the infirmary is.”
“Hmm…” She rubs her chin for a second. “Yeah, that should work.” She looks up at Dumbledore. “You know where the infirmary is, right Professor?”
He grins, letting out a strained chuckle. “Madam Pomfrey would kill me if ever I forgot,” he states. “Then she’d do it again, in the infirmary.”
Bonbon snorts. “So, if you concentrate on the infirmary, then Malfoy can just concentrate on you, and we’ll get there with no problem.”
“Really?” Malfoy asks.
She nods. “It’s a very flexible matrix. Just make sure you’re touching him.”
Three seconds pass, before everything blinks blue.
“Woah,” Malfoy mumbles, tipping over backwards.
Bonbon catches him. “Dizzy?”
He nods, while Madam Pomfrey takes one look at Dumbledore from across the room and gasps. “Feeling faint all of the sudden,” Malfoy mumbles.
Bonbon nods. “I was wondering when we’d find your limit,” she states. “Don’t worry, it should go away in a minute. It would seem we’ve reached the limit of your thaumic capacity; feeling faint is a typical symptom of nearly running out of magic.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Nearly? What about entirely?”
She smiles. “If you ever manage to run entirely out of magic, the spell will fail and you’ll knock yourself out for a few hours. For that reason, I would recommend not teleporting for the next several hours, just to be sure you’ve regenerated enough. At least until you get a feel for those reserves, you’re going to want to be more than a little bit skimpy with Equestrian spellcasting.”
“Only Equestrian?” Dumbledore asks, sitting on the end of the nearest bed while Madam Pomfrey works her magic on his injured arm.
Bonbon nods. “That’s one of the things we noticed first when we started experimenting back in August,” she states. “While Equestrian magic comes from inside, allowing it to function exactly the same in any circumstance, the local magic here- like with wands- relies on channeling ambient magic. Sure, there’s a couple spells that can draw on the wizard’s own reserves, but their thaumic cost is astronomical next to the Equestrian equivalent. Because of that, even with his reserves depleted, he could- in theory- enter into an extended wizard’s duel and still come out on top.
“And you’ll probably be interested to know,” she smiles back at Malfoy, “most Equestrians your age don’t have the reserve depth to even dream of teleporting. And of course, the thaumic regeneration rate is proportional to the depth- and fill state- of that reserve, making for about a constant overall regeneration time of about twenty-four hours, as I recall, from empty to full.”
“Twenty-four hours?” Malfoy asks. “That’s…”
“A lot of time?” Bonbon asks. “Yeah, it is. It regenerates faster the emptier the reserve is, though you wouldn’t understand the terms used to describe the gradient.” She shakes her head. “That’s where it gets into advanced thaumic theories, some of which Lyra has been able to prove- or disprove- with her unique advantage, but most of which are still just theories.”
Draco looks up from his steak, towards the second-year that had asked the question, and draws a blank on her name. “Mm?” he asks, still chewing his last bite, while his eyes search out her nametag.
The girl, Nancy Corrigan, reaches out a hand as if to touch his hair, but stops herself short. “What… What did you do to your hair?”
He resists the urge to sigh, turning his gaze resolutely back to his food as he finishes his bite, hoping she didn’t notice his blush. He’d asked Bonbon an hour or so ago, on the way back out to the waiting flying lesson, if there was any way to hide it. Unfortunately, she’d explained that any attempt to cut it would be fruitless, as it’d simply grow back overnight- and the color would burn through any dyes in a matter of hours. Magic-based dyes, of course, would never catch in the first place, being repelled by the natural magic in his hair.
So he’d very carefully not mentioned, looked at, or otherwise drawn attention to it. He’d even sat next to Bonbon, at the edge of the Equestrians, in an attempt to mask the way it waves gently on its way down to his waist. Add in the glistening silver color, complete with two deep, navy blue stripes splitting it into thirds, and he looks very much like one of the Equestrians.
As a matter of fact, had it been a girl wearing his hair, he’d have labeled it with such words as ‘elegant’ or ‘gorgeous’. Only, he’s pretty sure such terms simply don’t apply to men. And, he’s more than a little worried about what his father will do when he finds out his son’s hair looks like a girl’s… irreversibly.
He swallows his well-chewed steak, making a quick decision. He’d formulated a plan on his way here; however, he’s not sure how long his story will last. Oh well- at least it’s better than admitting that, according to Bonbon, he’s been transformed- permanently- into an Equestrian.
“I don’t know,” he mutters, brushing it aside with one hand. “I think it’s some kind of prank.”
“Oh.” The girl deflates visibly. “It’s just… Well, I wish I had hair like that. I mean, it’s…” She pauses, looking down. “It’s… Uh…”
He sighs, staring at his plate, and closes his eyes. “Yeah, I know,” he mutters. “It’d probably look better on you anyways.” Then he glances sideways, at Bonbon- whose thoughtful expression he finds more than a little unnerving.
She sighs, and he looks towards her again; she’s absentmindedly twirling a lock of her gleaming, back-length black hair.
Then he grins. “You know, just a little bit more length and a couple color charms and you’ve already got it,” he states.
“Ah…” she mumbles, looking between her hair and his. “That… That is true.” Then, thankfully, she turns away, returning to her seat, lost in thought.
He lets out a sigh of relief. Then…
“A prank, you say?”
He groans, glancing at the girl that had sat on the side not occupied by Bonbon just long enough to read her nametag. “Yes, Clearwater.”
“Who was it?”
He lifts his head out of his hands to look at her. “What?” he asks. “You want it or something?”
She nods. “Of course!” She raises a hand to scrub at her short brown hair. “I wish I could grow my hair out, but every time I try, it becomes a lopsided, frizzy mess!”
He turns away from her, towards Bonbon, and shakes his head slightly. “I don’t get it.”
Bonbon chuckles. “I don’t think she realizes how painful it was.”
“Pain-?” Lucy asks.
He turns back to her; she’s looking at him wide-eyed. “Yeah, painful,” he states. “It felt like…” He glances back at Bonbon for a moment. “What was the analogy? Like I’d been hit by the Knight Bus and run over by the Hogwarts Express a few times?”
Bonbon nods. “That is the description that was used, yes.”
Lucy shudders. “Would… Would a painkiller spell work?”
Malfoy simply turns to Bonbon, not having a clue.
Bonbon shrugs. “You’d have to ask Lyra,” she answers. “She’s the one that did it. I’ll warn you, though, she’s quite the prankster. And she’s being punished for that stunt during flying lessons today.”
“Stunt?” Lucy asks. “I thought she’d only get a slap on the wrist for the helicopter?”
Bonbon lets out a short laugh. “And if that’s all she’d done, that would be the end of it,” she answers. “But no. She had to deploy a weapon of mass destruction. On non-Equestrian soil. Completely aside from how she nearly knocked the helicopter out of the air- which would have killed the occupants, and any unlucky enough to be hit by the shrapnel- with said weapon!
“So yeah. She’s facing the music, and she’s going to be itching to explode on someone for the next month at least.”
Lucy blinks. “Month?”
Nod. “That’s how long her daily detentions with Dumbledore last.” Then she sighs. “I still think the Ministry is letting her off easy with a fine and two bits of paperwork. Though, since they don’t know it was classified as a weapon of mass destruction, they probably don’t see it that way.”
“Wait. Paperwork?”
Nod. “Yep. She’s got a whole ream of it to fill out for the RESS, then I rather suspect Dumbledore plans on emulating paperwork or something for her detentions. So she’s going to be itching to explode on someone’s face- anyone, really. And I know, from personal experience, you do not want her exploding in your face.”
“Is… Is it possible to block?”
“In theory, sure. In reality, not even close. She’s powerful, she’s skilled, and she’s smart, a combination that lets her cut through just about any defense on the planet- including those designed with her in mind. Besides, if you present her with the challenge of a barrier she can’t immediately penetrate, she’s going to analyze it and calculate exactly how to penetrate. Possibly delaying the prank by a few hours or, best-case scenario, a few days- at which point it could be more or less elaborate, depending on if she thought you meant the barrier as an insult or as a challenge.”
“Wow.”
“Yep. And that’s not even counting that she tells me the spells she used here-” she gestures at Malfoy- “work more by osmosis than by brute force. So, since every castable or charmable defense we’ve seen in this world works on a momentary basis, they’ll be utterly useless against it, even if you keep it up all the time.”
“Wait a sec,” Malfoy interrupts. “What’s ‘osmosis’?”
Bonbon pauses, and sighs. “Uh… They soak into you very slowly, kinda like when you brine a turkey, rather than all at once, like the axe-chop of things like stunning spells.”
“Oh.”
She smiles. “There! And now that that’s solved, you’ve made me curious.” One hand rises up to one of the black things on the front of her robes. “Lyra, how effective would a painkiller be in the final stages of the papa tango?”
Lucy blinks, looking between Malfoy and Bonbon. “Wait, that was the papa tango you were all talking about?”
Bonbon nods sagely, speaking into her thing again. “Lake don’t-mess-with-Twilight.”
A sympathetic ‘Oooh…’ is heard echoing across the room, from several point sources.
“Uh, what?” Malfoy asks.
“Lake what?” Lucy asks.
Bonbon grins. “She’s thinking about it, so… She asked ‘how bad did it hurt’.”
Malfoy tilts his head. “How is a lake an answer to that?”
“Well, if you knew the story of the lake in question, you’d understand. Once upon a time, one Twilight Sparkle did battle with a monster called Tirek, one of the strongest opponents Equestria has ever faced.”
“Wait, isn’t she in Ravenclaw?” Lucy asks.
Bonbon nods. “This was before that. She did battle with him, trading beams of pure, undiluted death and destruction. Nobody was hurt, even on the sidelines- something I’m still amazed by. And the main reason she didn’t squish him like a bug was because he was so good at blocking, and she had no magical combat experience whatsoever. Most of his beams fell on the ground, making trenches or craters.
“Only one of hers missed his barriers. Half a trillion tons of dirt and rock were vaporized by that blast, including one bank of the Everfree River they were fighting near. A couple months later, thanks to some judicious weather management, and it’s an impressive lake named after the fight that spawned it.”
Malfoy tilts his head. “Yeah, it did hurt that much.”
“Oh boy,” Lucy mutters.
“Oh, she’s responding,” Bonbon mutters. Then winces, and goes for her black thing. “Yes, it’s Lucy. But you wait until she asks for it. If you ever do the papa tango again without both mine and your subject’s permission, I personally guarantee you will never see the end of the paperwork.” She looks up, lowering her hand as several amused chuckles echo through the room. “Yeah, a painkiller spell would work, but only if it’s instigated within about a five-minute window just before said final stage begins. And, of course, it began without warning on Malfoy, right?”
He thinks back to that flight, and nods. “Never saw it coming,” he states. “It was over in a second, though. And the wear-off was painless.”
Lucy looks up at Bonbon. “If you’re laying down the law now, why not earlier?”
“Because I didn’t make the law earlier,” Bonbon answers simply. “She surrendered that privilege when she used a weapon of mass destruction as a distraction in foreign territory.”
“You know, I find myself hoping Dumbledore has a lot of paperwork for her.”
Bonbon lets out a snort of laughter. “Fat chance. But yeah, she deserves it.”
“Ahh, glad you could stop by, Bonbon.”
Bonbon bows her head. “Me as well,” she states. “There are a… few more things that need to be brought up today, but I think we can start with what happened.”
Dumbledore nods. “I heard that Malfoy was transformed into a small talking silver unicorn?”
She nods. “With a pair of navy blue stripes in her otherwise silver mane and tail and no cutie mark, yes.”
He stares at her. “Uh, what?”
She sighs. “What I’m about to tell you is still top secret,” she informs him. “I’m going to have to ask you keep it secret in turn.”
He bows his head. “I can do that.”
She nods sharply. “Excellent. Well, Equestrians are so named because that’s what we are on the other side of the portal- ponies. Over the weekend, Lyra perfected her technique to integrate Equestrian magics into the human magical matrix, and deemed it appropriate to test on Malfoy. She actually set the spells working during potions class on Monday; she’s not sure exactly what set off the final stage today, right as he fell off his broom, but it was triggered. He was transformed into a fairly normal-looking Equestrian- nothing like the beasts in that forest that you call unicorns.
“I haven’t told anyone that he was transformed into a filly; Lyra still thinks he ended up as a colt. Neither have I told anyone that he’s far from typical. Sure, he looks fairly typical- but he’s incredibly powerful for his age, in terms of Equestrian magic, and I’m already seeing signs of something we call ‘cutie mark magic’. As a matter of fact, those started turning up during the very same class she set the spells working in. Don’t ask me why it’s called a cutie mark, but it’s a mark on our flanks that appears when we realize something that we’re especially good at. As an expert candymaker, mine is a few wrapped candies; as an accomplished musician, Lyra’s is a lyre.
“In any case, he doesn’t seem to have taken his feminine pony form very well, even though he only spent about fifteen minutes as a pony before his magic synchronized itself with him and turned him back. I understand the initial transformation was incredibly painful, and he’s still touchy about his transformation- especially since his mane from the same has stuck around and, thanks to Equestrian magic, is impossible to trim or disguise effectively.
“Perhaps the most important lesson from that ordeal is that he appears to have been reduced, in age, back down to exactly eleven years old- the very age each and every one of us Equestrians took on on this side when we crossed the gate for the first time. We have verified that double-crossing the portal does not reset our human ages, and that our pony ages are completely unaffected. I’ve also promised to give her unending paperwork if she tries it on another without both mine and their permission.
“The helicopter, we acquired about a month ago through liberal use of illusion spells. It so happens it’s not all that different from the pedal-powered version found in Equestria, so our pedalothopter expert Cherry Berry could fly it with no issue. Getting it to Hogwarts was a simple teleportation, so no breach was made in that respect; we had a few safety spells placed on the rotors, so it should have been impossible for someone to accidentally fly into them.
“As for the Spoonata… how much do you know already?”
“I know it involved a broomstick, a bottle of butterbeer, a spoon, and a tea cozy; then I heard really everything you told Lyra after breaking the broomstick.”
Nod. “So, just about everything that can be safely shared, even in a top-secret setting.”
He blinks. “Ahh… And, her punishment for that… is paperwork?”
Nod. “She was also removed as mission leader; that’s me now.”
Dumbledore looks to the side, at a very tall pile of papers. “How good is she?”
Bonbon looks at it as well, and raises an eyebrow. “Depends. What kind of information does it need?”
He shows her one of the completed ones on his desk.
She nods. “Yeah, she can do that. Probably do… Oh, between thirty and forty-five per hour, probably.”
“Hmmm,” Dumbledore mutters, drumming his fingers as he looks thoughtfully at the pile.
Bonbon glances at the stack again. “And for the record, I approve of that plan.”
“Paperwork!? Please, no! Anything but!”
“Miss Heartstrings, given the nature of your violation, what I should be doing right now is expelling you. If you would prefer I do that, I still can. But you did something wrong at this school and, if you plan to continue attending in any capacity, you must accept your punishment.”
“But… but paperwork…”
“I know. That stack and you’re done for the day.” He nods at the small stack, of only two hundred pieces, sitting on the smaller desk he had placed in his office.
She glares at the offending pages for a second. “Well… alright.”
“Miss Heartstrings?”
She looks up from the thirtieth or so piece of paperwork in her stack. “Mm?”
“What is that you’re using?”
“Huh? Oh, this? It’s… a ballpoint pen. A muggle device, like a quill that carries its ink inside it and almost never runs out.”
“Interesting.” He looks up at his much taller stack once again. “I’ll have to look into that sometime.” He dips his quill in his inkpot for the zillionth time, while she gets back to work.
For as much as the tool she’s using- a ‘ballpoint pen’, apparently- is unfamiliar to him, she’s clearly giving the pages before her their due diligence, studying each and every one to verify she’s putting the correct information in the correct space on the correct page. The only difference, aside from the tool, between her work and his own is that she’s using wandless levitation to move the pages, rather than her fingers, saving her from the countless papercuts he’s had. When asked, though, it’s Equestrian magic, and he won’t be able to use it himself. She’d looked like there was something more she wanted to say, but she seemed to think better of it.
Draco Malfoy leaps awake with all the suddenness of an axe, letting out a startled gasp while he’s at it and springing into a sitting position in his bed.
Someone yelps in fright and falls off his bed in the dim light. And not off of their own bed; they fell off of Malfoy’s bed.
After taking two deep breaths, Malfoy first checks to be sure his hand is a hand, not a hoof. It is; that must have been a nightmare.
A nightmare in which his father had disowned him for his hair, then some thugs on the street turned him into a pony again, then- he’s not sure how he ended up in Azkaban, but he did.
He’s in the middle of a third deep breath when the someone that fell off his bed stands back up and speaks up. “Are you okay?” he asks.
Malfoy looks up at him… Oh, it’s that kid, Roger Malone, the one that has been sucking up to him in a most un-Slytherin-like manner these last couple weeks. Not that he’s going to complain; the kid is good at information gathering. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Why ask?”
“Well,” Roger begins, wringing his hands nervously. He does have a nervousness problem; if he didn’t, he might be a great spy as well. “You were… ah, twitching, and… it looked like you were having a nightmare.”
Malfoy shudders at the memory, then shakes his head to clear it. Something heavy seems to shift against his back- but it’s a familiar weight, as of last night. His hair. “Yeah, a nightmare,” he mutters. “Thanks.”
Roger simply stares.
“What?”
“Your… Your hair,” Roger finally states.
Malfoy glances back at it, waving gently down his back, just like yesterday. “What about it?”
“You… You shook your head, and it… It straightened…”
He raises an eyebrow, and reaches up to feel it. Perfectly smooth, just like yesterday. He tilts his head slightly; isn’t ‘bed hair’ a thing? He scowls. “Strange,” he mutters. Then he looks back at Roger. “Did it change color again?”
Roger shakes himself back out of his stupor. “Uh, no, it’s still… shiny. Silver.”
He lets himself drop backwards onto his bed again, right on top of the hair in question. “What time is it?”
“Two in the morning.”
He pulls his blankets back up with his hands, the curtain around his bed closing of its own accord, right in Roger’s face. “Go back to bed.” He blinks, glancing sideways at the curtain, before he rolls over and decides to forget about it. They don’t normally move of their own accord, but for as strange as it is, it’s none of his business.
“Okay,” Roger mutters, before walking over to his own bed.
Malfoy lets out a faint sigh of relief, closing his eyes only briefly. He’d been afraid, when he went to bed last night, of waking up in the morning to find out that it was all a dream.
He still dreads his father’s reaction to his hair.
He still dreads finding out exactly when he’ll next be turned into a pony against his will.
He still dreads word getting out that he was turned into a filly. He’d looked up the term Bonbon had used to describe him last night; ‘filly’ is specific to female foals. Just like he’d guessed at the time, since she’d referred also to ‘colts’- another unknown, turned out to be male- and ‘mares’, something he knew of as female horses. He’d also looked up the other term she’d used, ‘pony’, to find not much of interest or, apparently, relevance. He most certainly had not been one of the ponies that book described, even if Bonbon had used the term to describe him.
One hand rises to touch his forehead. The spot that had tingled the first time he had teleported.
The spot his horn had occupied, when he had been a pony.
As much as he dreads his father’s reaction, being transformed against his will, and everyone else finding out, he actually liked how he’d looked as a pony. Sure, he’d been a filly, and that’s undoubtedly going to take time to get used to- but he’d been… beautiful. The way his mane had hung down from his neck, and around his horn. The way his mane- and his fur- glistened.
Not to mention, he didn’t have to deal with the pains that are clothes. He’d found out, before Bonbon had appeared, that his privates are invisible as a pony. And she’d been completely unworried about his unclothed status, as a pony. And, of course, whatever was doing the transformation took care of his clothes for him, too!
Except for the increased chances of being found out and his father’s potential reaction, he actually likes that his hair stayed around. It feels so much, well, nicer, than the stubby short hair he had before. And it looks nicer than that flesh-toned, sandpaper-consistency stuff he called hair before.
He reaches one hand back, to pull it overtop his neck and to his front, savoring its silky smoothness. And perfectly neat cohesion, despite not having been brushed. The two navy stripes are clearly visible, and still clearly defined!
During the early years of his youth, he remembers being taken to Saint Mungo’s a few times because his scalp was bleeding. His hair had caught on the flesh, and torn it open as it grew. After the third or fourth visit, though it might have been closer to the twentieth, the healers had a new spell to put on his head. He’d had to go back to renew it every six months, and trim himself to within a half an inch of bald every week, but that spell had prevented his hair from grinding away at his own skin. It didn’t stop it from grinding every hat he ever owned, every shirt he ever pulled over his head, every pillow he ever used.
That’s why he has two Hogwarts caps, both spelled to resist it, and way more shirts in his trunk than pants. When one of his caps wears out, he’ll switch to the other- and order a fresh one from home. He already did that once on Sunday; his current cap is bad enough he might as well do it again. The only reason he hadn’t packed enough of them to last the year, as the enchantments simply couldn’t last forever, is because they’re much larger- and can’t be folded up nice and small. Besides, his magically expanded trunk was already packed tight with shirts. Shirts for which spells like that would be useless; even the longest-lasting one wouldn’t last long enough, or be effective enough, to extend the shirts’ lifespans by more than a couple hours.
Then, there’s the spell matrix. He still remembers it, perfectly clear. He rolls onto his back, letting the silken weight of his hair splash across his chest, and pictures the matrix in the air above him.
His breath catches as, just like had happened for a moment last night, it appears in the air, right where he pictured it, glowing faintly blue. That tingling is back, as well- in his right arm, the same place it’d been each other time he’d teleported.
He lets it disappear again, this time making a point of light appear above him. He can feel the matrix of both spells, flowing through his arm and into the air, just like he felt the matrix from the shockwave that broomstick produced when Bonbon smashed it. He can’t quite define any of those matrices; the feeling is different, almost…
He focuses once again on the teleportation matrix, and what it felt like each time he used it. Yes, he felt that one too, each time- but it doesn’t feel like the matrix he knows, it feels… different. Must be the difference between feeling it and creating it- like the difference between getting punched… and punching.
He stares at the ceiling, the soft white light in front of him vanishing into nothing. He remembers, after returning to flying lessons, feeling the spell allowing the broom to fly. It felt even more complex than the teleportation spell.
Of course, he’d sent his father a letter before he went to bed. A week and a half ago, he’d told his father all about all the strange Equestrians filling the school, and what they’d done at the sorting ceremony. His father had been of half a mind to come straight back to the school to remove him from it, upon hearing that Princess Luna- the one that had thrown him down as if he was nothing- was a Slytherin. He’d been able to calm that fear by telling him about Luna. He’d met her, talked to her. She hadn’t connected him to that clash in the Leaky Cauldron; she’d asked him politely to not call her a Princess, because she’s ‘on vacation’ from that. She hadn’t made any effort to hide her power, but she also hadn’t thrown it around- he’d had a good conversation.
He’d written to his father about each of his classes, immediately after the first of each; they were all taught by Equestrians. It had been explained in his very first class that it had been an arrangement made with the staff in order to allow the teachers to teach the entire student body, thanks to the number of first-years this year; some of the best and brightest minds had been tapped to study directly under the teachers, including on their own, and follow up by teaching the rest of the first-year body. Any questions were to be directed to them; if they could not answer definitely, they’d ask the professor at their next opportunity, and deliver the answer as quickly as possible.
His father had been horrified that Lyra was teaching him Potions instead of Snape. It was lucky she had clearly favored Slytherin; she hadn’t taken a single point all class, yes, but she’d given Slytherin fifteen- and he got ten of them directly. Without that, and the fact that her co-teacher was a Slytherin as well, his father would have come to take him home.
He’d raised his eyebrows at the news that his flying classes, and those alone, would be with the school-designated instructor, rather than an Equestrian; he’d asked Luna and, surprisingly, she’d known. Flying lessons are taught that way because that’s how Madam Hooch requested it.
His father’s letter yesterday morning had conveyed his father’s surprise at the same, though he’d also explained why: Second-years and above don’t have flying lessons, leaving Madam Hooch free except for the first-years and quidditch games. Plus, flying lessons are usually over in a matter of weeks anyways; she’d probably requested it that way in order to have something to do before Quidditch season.
And last night, before he went to bed, he’d sent his father a letter. This one talks of the helicopter stunt, and the Equestrians getting yelled at for it; the strange ‘spoonata’ Bonbon had mentioned and helped him stop, and the Equestrian responsible getting yelled at by the Ministry itself; and, of course, the flying lesson.
He hadn’t mentioned that he hadn’t been supposed to be flying.
He’d made it sound like Madam Hooch had gotten back to the class and coaxed them all into the air before the helicopter had shown up. Then of course, he’d made it sound like he’d fallen off his broom when the ‘prank’ had activated, not out of shock from the helicopter.
And of course, he’d made it sound like a prank. He’d made it sound like he’d been turned into a colt instead, and that Bonbon had instantly seen his efforts to get away from the other squealing girls and helped him hide until that wore off, subverting the rest of their prank. He’d made it sound like getting swarmed by squealing girls was supposed to be part of the prank.
He had mentioned that, when the transformation wore off, he found out that it seemed to have reacted to the family curse- the one that made his hair so sandpapery. His father had had that problem in his youth as well, all the way until he turned twenty. He mentioned that that reaction had seemed to modify the curse, eliminating the sandpaper problem and instead making his hair waist length, funny colored, and silky smooth, aside from making it grow very quickly if he tried cutting it.
He had stated he wasn’t sure if that modification to the curse was permanent… or temporary. Even though, according to Bonbon, the hair is permanent.
He really hopes that curse has been broken. He does not look forward to having an effectively cut-proof, three foot, hanging grinder attached to the back of his head. That’d probably be deadly; perhaps he’ll ask Bonbon about it sometime.
He hadn’t mentioned that it looks like a girl’s hair, not simply long like his father’s.
He hadn’t mentioned that the transformation might happen again, because it had actually been permanent.
He hadn’t mentioned that he had teleported, or even that he knows how.
He prays his father doesn’t choose to take him out of school.
… If his father does decide he wants to do that, he decides, he’ll teleport away. No doubt that, once his father finds out he’s learned to do that ‘by studying with the Equestrians’, he’ll leave him here.
Speaking of which, he’ll have to ask Bonbon about why everything flashes blue when he teleports. Why not green, or silver? Why flash at all? He knows apparition doesn’t flash at all, despite being torturous, and the visual transition of the same is just about instantaneous.
Finally, he glances sideways, at the curtains. They had… moved by themselves earlier. Yet, that had felt normal- so normal, in fact, it would have been weird had they not violated their normal motion patterns in such manner. He concentrates for a second on the memory, and identifies something he hadn’t noticed at the time.
His right arm had tingled as it did that.
He pushes his sheets down with his hands, then lays them down on his hair, staring down at his sheets. He focuses on them, pulls on them with his mind. It’s only when he tries casually moving them with his mind, as if using a third arm, that they glow blue and rise back up over him, covering his freshly tingling right arm.
Though, he couldn’t really call it glow blue. It’s more of a confined blue aura wrapped around the part he’s pulling on. And, it’s a deep, navy blue, just like the stripes in his hair- not the kind of color that glows very much. He’ll have to ask Bonbon about that later. Wandless, incantationless magic is normally either accidental or something that requires a huge amount of study to master, but this is neither of the above.
Hermione shivers involuntarily; it’s hardly the second class of the year, and Bonbon’s already not bothering to state the three troublemakers’ names- and, she’s pretty sure she didn’t even look before she took the points. The addition of a buffalo to the room had been… actually, somewhat expected.
She shivers again- hardly the second class of the year, and she’s already expecting disasters from those three! Though, to be fair, this ‘second class of the year’ is taking place on the Friday of the second week, and she’s had plenty of time to get to know their destructive energy outside of class. And, the entire first class had been taken up by their disasters. This time, Bonbon’s gotten tired of it, and is dealing them point deductions on a hairpin trigger. And making it a point to give everyone else points for helping stop or prevent their disasters, or for doing as they were told.
But she’s in the middle of helping another student right now.
“It’s Wingardium Leviosa,” she reminds the rainbow-haired speedster in front of her. “Make the ‘gar’ nice and long.”
“Wingardium Leviosa!”
Hermione sighs; the feather hadn’t moved at all, and Rainbow hadn’t really done what she was asking… and is now getting a little irritated. Which she’s not looking for; last week, Rainbow had added to the excitement once it really got started. This week, Bonbon’s been able to keep it to just the three troublemakers.
“No, it’s-!” She pauses. “Here, let me show you. Pay close attention to how I say it. Wingardium Leviosa!” The feather floats into the air, before dropping back down. “Did you get that?”
“Huh?” Rainbow mutters, tilting her head. So… Wingardium Leviosa!” She still spoke it quickly, but it carried the correct pattern- mostly. The feather wobbles up a little before falling back down.
“Better,” Hermione states, and pockets her wand again. “Say it with me: Wingardium Leviosa!”
“Uh… Wingardium Leviosa!” The feather rises calmly into the air, and Rainbow’s eyes grow larger, her breath building for a shout.
“Five to Gryffindor, Rainbow. Nicely done.”
“YESS!”
“Yowch, don’t make me take them back!”
“Sorry!” Rainbow looks back towards the feather. “Magic is weird.”
“Yeah, it is,” Hermione sighs, before moving on.
Back on day one, twenty minutes before breakfast, Fluttershy had approached her in the Gryffindor common room to ask her a question. She’d expected the question to be something simple, but no- it had been a shocker.
There had been a couple questions leading up to it, about a couple of her textbooks- but the final question had been if she wanted to help teach her fellow first-years Charms.
“I- I- I don’t- I don’t know Charms…” she’d answered.
Fluttershy had shrugged. “Neither does Bonbon. But, both of you are very fast learners, and good at passing on what you know.” How the pink-haired, radio-wearing girl had figured that out so quickly, she still has no clue. “If you agree, you’ll be attending Charms with Professor Flitwick, then following up by teaching what you learned there to a class of your fellow first-years, alongside Bonbon. Are you in?”
“Ahh…” she’d muttered. “Can… Can I answer you later?”
Fluttershy had winced. “I’m afraid not,” she’d muttered. “We’re going to need your answer within the next… ten minutes or so.”
So she’d said yes, figuring it was a prank of some kind. Who knew, it could be fun.
Then, ‘Teaching Charms with Bonbon, Classroom C-7’ had appeared on the schedule Professor McGonagall handed her at breakfast, even though ‘Charms with Professor Flitwick, Classroom C-1’ could be found on the day prior.
She’d checked it in as many ways as she could before that time slot came about. As near as she could tell, it was genuine.
And yet, throughout that entire week, she hadn’t been able to find who ‘Bonbon’ was.
She’d found out when Fluttershy had guided her helpfully to classroom C-7.
Bonbon’s a Slytherin.
And unlike her, Bonbon has the authority to give and take points.
Bonbon also doesn’t seem to favor either house, so that’s nice.
… Her taking points off the self-proclaimed ‘Cutie Mark Crusaders’ doesn’t count, she’d take points off them herself if she could. And often more than Bonbon takes, at that.
She glances up at the Slytherin as she steps up next to Mr. Weasley; he’s also having a problem with his pronunciation, though it’s a different kind of problem than Rainbow: Rather than trying to say it too fast, he’s forgotten to stress the correct syllables. Unlike Applebloom, his result is the same as Rainbow’s: Absolutely no function.
… Exactly how Applebloom survived the buffalo on her chest without getting hurt, she’s not sure, and might have to ask her- or Bonbon- later. Probably Bonbon; she’s the first Equestrian, aside from Fluttershy, to really talk to her- and the first one to talk very much.
As her schedule had noted for her to do, she’d shown up at the classroom half an hour early on both days, and met Bonbon.
Bonbon had spent that half hour, on day one, discussing the various troublemakers in class- who to keep her eyes on, for her safety, and so on. Today, Bonbon had checked briefly to be sure she was on the same page as far as the lesson plan, and spent the rest of it simply chatting.
And she still needs to ask Bonbon how she gets her hair to hang- and curl- just right like that.
“Expelliarmus!”
“Good job, Neville!” Harry congratulates, while his wand floats back to him in the light blue aura of Rarity’s strange, totally-not-cheating levitation. He hadn’t realized what he’d agreed to, before breakfast on Monday, when Lyra had asked him. She’d described it well enough that he should have known, but he hadn’t stopped to think, simply agreed.
Then, of course, ‘Teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts with Rarity, Classroom E-4’ had been on his schedule, and his head had hit the table.
Regular ‘Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Quirrell, Classroom B-2’ had been a little earlier on his schedule; he’d spent that class… not really doing anything. The class was a bit of a joke- and one of his classmates, he’s not sure which, had informed him of a very different plan for the rest of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes. That evening, he’d met up with the rest of that class- and similar-sized groups from each of the other three houses- in the library to discuss the plan. After that, the entire party had studied up on a few spells, all of which he had mastered fairly quickly.
That’s when he’d found out who Rarity is- and while he’d expected she’d be a Gryffindor like himself, she’s not. She’s a Hufflepuff.
Not that it bothers him. The part that does bother him, as he picks his wand out of the air before moving to help the next student having trouble, is that she has this strange ability to simply make things float. She’s called it ‘levitation’; he’s called it ‘cheating’. She disagreed with that one rather quickly.
He’d asked her this morning, during the half-hour prep before class, if she could teach him how. Unfortunately, she’d then explained that he wouldn’t be able to- something about Equestrian magic being different from his. Rarity had refused to tell him any more on the topic, blanketing all of his questions about that difference with ‘Ask Lyra’.
So, he plans to do exactly that.
After class.
It shouldn’t be too hard; Lyra’s been spending a lot of her time in the common room, running over papers or chatting animatedly with the Weasley twins. She’s done some pouting since the flying lesson on Thursday, but she hasn’t changed that pattern, that he’s noticed.
But that doesn’t make it any easier to pretend he’s not irked by Rarity’s casual use of her exclusive magic to catch and return every wand to its owner, before it has time to hit the ground, despite being visibly distracted by something else or even disarmed herself.
If she can do that with Equestrian magic, and the Equestrians’ magic is similar enough for them to perform British magic, there simply has to be a way for him to do something similar with British magic.
He can only really say he’s pleased, Filch decides. Not that he’ll ever actually say that, but still- for as many classrooms as the Equestrians’ plan is using, each and every one of them is left spotless when they’re done. Even the potions class he’d heard a bang from as he walked past- absolutely spotless.
Very suddenly, Mrs. Norris arrives in front of him, looking up with her reflective eyes, and gives a single, short meow, before taking off again.
His mood deflating, he races after her. She’s spotted a violation.
When she stops, he stops right behind her, looking around.
The corridor is empty.
They got away.
“Oh, uh, hey, Filch,” a voice calls from above his head. It sounds very much like a student, not one of the ghosts.
He looks up.
Four girls are there. One of them is almost casually hanging on a torch bracket on the wall; two of the others are holding onto the first fairly casually. The last, the only non-Equestrian, has her arms wrapped around the first for dear life.
The really strange part about it is that they’re hanging upwards. Everything from the knees down or, on the bushy brown-haired girl, the waist down, is lost in the ceiling.
“Can you, ah, get Lyra, or Twilight?” the redhead holding the bracket continues. “I don’t think any of the teachers know how to fix physics, and I’d rather not fall through this here ceiling.”
He nods slowly. “Alright. How did you get up there?”
“Ahh…” The redhead glances up at her companions. “We had a question for Instructor Granger here after class, and while we were talking, everyone else- including Instructor Bonbon- left. Then, she had us try it one more time, and… I don’t know what went wrong, but it was three floors below. Turns out we don’t fall through iron.”
He sighs. “Really?”
She nods. “Yeah.”
“This was not how I envisioned flying,” the purple-haired one states.
“And we weren’t even trying for our cutie marks,” the purple-and-pink-haired girl adds.
Filch shakes his head disappointedly.
“It was probably a good thing Mrs. Norris spotted us,” the redhead continues. “We’ve been here for almost twenty minutes. I’ve got Instructor Granger’s arm if she loses grip, but she’s not like us- it might hurt her.” She glances up at the bushy-haired girl. “And I’m not sure if she’s already been hurt from when I caught the bracket.”
He shakes his head, and starts heading off. “I’ll be right back,” he promises. Neither name she’d asked for- Lyra and Twilight- is familiar, but he does know someone that will probably want to hear about this kind of spellwork. He sets his course for Professor Dumbledore’s office.
The redhead hanging up on the torch bracket looks at Professor Dumbledore, and sighs. “Can you please get Lyra or Twilight? I don’t think anyone else knows how to fix physics like they do, and I don’t know how much longer Instructor Granger’s arm is going to last!”
“Granger?” Dumbledore asks.
“Yeah,” the redhead states. “She’s… through the ceiling. She lost her grip an’ her arm nearly tore off ‘fore I let go, then Scoots managed to catch her by her other arm, but that one’s broken as well, just not as bad!”
Dumbledore blinks. “And Scoots is?”
The purple haired head sticking out of the ceiling looks up at him. “That’s me, now please, hurry up! I’m not as strong as Applebloom- I can’t hold Granger for much longer!”
Dumbledore raises his hand to the radio Lyra had given him during the very first night, and depresses the button. “Ah, Bonbon?”
“Yes, Professor Dumbledore?” the answer comes immediately.
“There’s a bit of a situation here, ah, fifth floor corridor on the right-hand side.”
“Ahh… I’ll be right there. I think.”
“Well,” the purple-haired one mumbles. “At least Bonbon’s got a radio to Lyra.”
A few more seconds pass in silence, before two girls- correction, a boy and a girl- appear in the passage. Dumbledore recognizes the girl as Bonbon right away, though the boy is not immediately familiar. His silver hair, accented with navy blue stripes, is quite… dashing, he believes. As the boy turns, though, he realizes he knows who it is: Draco Malfoy.
Bonbon glances quickly around, before turning towards him and trotting forwards. “Sorry about that, what is… Oh.” Her hand flies up to her radio. “Lyra to Papa Echo Niner, Papa One.”
Very suddenly, Lyra appears, looking around frantically. “What-! Hi Malfoy!- Oh. Um, mishap in Charms, perhaps?” As she speaks, the three girls hanging on the bracket begin floating downwards. Once completely free of the ceiling, each one pulls free of the others- and promptly crashes to the floor.
Crash! “Oof!”
Crash! “Ow!”
Crash! “I’m okay!”
The fourth, revealed when she was pulled back through the ceiling by the third, doesn’t crash to the floor upon reappearing, instead floating in the air in front of everyone while Lyra grumbles about something.
“Is… Is she okay?” the redhead asks, rising to her feet.
Lyra ignores her.
“What’s ‘epciliath’ mean?” the broken-armed girl asks, still floating in the air with her hair hanging up.
“Um,” Professor Dumbledore begins. “Can’t you just cancel the effect, like the other three?”
Lyra shakes her head. “Nah. For them, I just forcefully reset their magic fields. But she’s not an Equestrian; that’d kill her. I can only work repairs on what’s left… and it’s not looking good.”
“What-!?” the floating girl- whose nametag, Dumbledore notices, reads ‘Hermione Granger’- asks, her voice rising into a terrified squeak.
“Oh, I can apply a temporary fix, don’t get me wrong,” Lyra states. “But the damage looks too deep for anything long-term to work. We’d be looking at, oh, a week before anything I can do would wear off. And there’s no point bothering Twilight, the damage is in an area she can’t even see.”
Bonbon rubs her chin with a finger. “Would the papa tango work, or just make it worse?”
Everyone, save Lyra and Malfoy, turns to look inquisitively at Bonbon; Lyra just puts a hand on her chin. “Hmm… If… Yeah, the papa tango would work; the core state remains undamaged, even if there’s no way to restore that without killing her right now- but with the papa tango, it’d do that on its own as the final step.”
Bonbon gives a nod. “Apply that temporary fix, then. And, Hermione? The ‘papa tango’ in question is known to be excruciatingly painful in the final stages, and to leave you with a new, irreversible hair color and style. Is that something you would want?”
“It’s the only way to permanently fix… that?” Hermione asks, her hair suddenly responding correctly to gravity before she turns right-side-up in midair and lands on the floor.
“Yeah,” Lyra answers her. “I’ve applied pain relief and posilock spells to your arms, but you’ll still want to go to Madam Pomfrey.”
“Do it,” Hermione orders. “Please. I don’t care how painful it is, I do not want to have to worry about falling into orbit again.” Then she glances at Bonbon. “Uh, on a side note, how bad is the pain?”
Bonbon nods. “Alright Lyra, you’ve got the go-ahead. Hermione… The pain lasts for only about a second, but…
“Well, back in Equestria, there’s a lake, called Lake Don’t-Mess-With-Twilight. It was formed when Twilight missed her opponent only once; the errant blast vaporized a half a billion tons of rock and dirt. Imagine surviving being hit by that blast, and that’s about how bad it hurt for that second.”
Hermione winces, and shudders. “Ow-! Sorry. Um, yeah, go for it anyways, so long as it means I won’t wake up on the moon.”
Lyra winces. “Sorry, pain relief spells of this style only get so effective. And, ah, the way it was set… you would've never woke up on the moon. In deep space, probably. Any gravitational force behaves as its opposite on you right now.”
Hermione looks at the floor, then back up. “What?”
Lyra nods. “Reverse gravity spell. It’ll last about a week- good thing the papa tango only takes about seventy-two hours once we kick it off.”
“Can you do that now?”
Lyra shakes her head. “No, I can’t. There’s a good twelve hours of prep that has to go into it- laying down and masking the matrices, for the most part. Can’t risk someone acquiring the matrices- it’s extremely powerful magic, and extremely dangerous in the wrong hands. After all, it modifies your magical core.” She looks at Dumbledore. “Something that has only been successfully done by hand once, and that was a small change. This is a big change- and someone else might skip eleven of those setup hours: The safeties to make absolutely certain nothing can go wrong.” She sighs, turning back to Hermione. “If not for those safeties, I’m actually strong enough to apply the spells instantly. But if I did that, I’d probably kill you.”
Hermione shudders. “RRrrright. Um, I’ll find my way to the hospital wing, then- where might that be?”
“You’re in luck,” Dumbledore states. “It’s right over there.” He gestures down the hall to a closed door.
Lyra nods. “And while you’re in there getting healed, I’ll get started on the matrix. I’ll see you in, oh, classroom Charlie Seven this time tomorrow?”
“Works for me,” Hermione states, without even thinking about it. Then she looks up at Dumbledore and Filch. “Um…”
“Let’s finish this discussion in the Hospital Wing,” Dumbledore states, herding all four no-longer-floating girls towards it. He hopes he doesn’t have to take too many points.
Malfoy and Bonbon walk down the hall, back towards the Slytherin common room, in silence for a couple minutes.
“So, Bonbon,” Malfoy eventually begins uneasily.
Bonbon looks up at him. “Mm?”
He glances both ways up the hallway, checking for eavesdroppers, and not finding anyone. “Um-!”
“Peeves is two rooms away,” Bonbon informs him, pointing at a closed door just down the hall.
“... Oh.”
“Here- this’ll work.” She turns, tugging on his arm, and pulls him straight through a painting.
He lets out a gasp as the painting seems to simply disappear against his skin. Once through, into a small, comfortably-furnished cubby, he glances back- and the whole painting seems to be missing. “What-!”
“It’s a secret alcove we discovered on day one,” Bonbon informs him. “The painting’s still there, it’s just not visible from this side. To get in, you have to be thinking about bananas; there’s all kinds of secrecy magic placed on that barrier, making it virtually impossible for someone to hear us. We’ve strengthened it as well, making this one of the best places in the castle to find privacy.”
“... Oh.” He blinks. “Okay. Um…”
Very suddenly, the door Bonbon had pointed to bursts open, and Peeves swoops out of it, cackling as he races down the hallway.
Malfoy watches him go. “... That was sudden.”
Bonbon glances at the door he’d abandoned. “I wonder what kind of prank we’re going to have to deal with on Monday,” she mutters aloud.
“We?” he asks, looking right back at her.
She nods, gesturing to the open door as Peeves reappears to close it. “That’s our potions classroom. Anyways, you were saying something?”
“Ah, yes, um…” He sinks down onto one of the two sofas; Bonbon seats herself on the other, on the other side of the coffee table. “About… Well…” He lifts his hand to his hair.
Bonbon tilts her head. “Something wrong?”
He shakes his head quickly. “No, no- just…
“Well, for as long as anyone can remember, the Malfoy family has carried a curse down, from head of house to head of house. From the age of four to the age of twenty five, our hair, ah…
“I’m not sure how to describe it. It’s… kinda like sandpaper, but worse. Saint Mungo’s could never break the curse, though why it only ever affects future heads of the house, nobody knows. It wasn’t too long ago they came up with a way to keep it from shredding my own scalp- a couple years, as a matter of fact- but one of the things I have to do is to trim it very short every week. Is…” He draws the hand on his hair forwards, over his shoulder, pulling his hair with it. “Is this going to lose its softness?”
“Ah, no,” Bonbon smiles. “You’ll be fine. That sounds like a so-called ‘House Curse’- someone cursed House Malfoy to always have that problem. Only thing is, Equestrians are immune to generalized curses like that, so since you are one of us as well, that’ll never be a problem again. Not for you, at any rate- though if the next head of House Malfoy isn’t Equestrian, it might resurface.”
“Might?”
Nod. “Position-curses like that tend to break down over time without someone to bear symptoms. I’m betting that twenty-five is about when the next generation was four, right?”
He blinks, and starts counting on his fingers for a second. “Uh… Yes, actually. That’s… an interesting distinction.” Then he glances briefly down at his groin. “Speaking of which, since my Equestrian form is, ah…”
Bonbon nods. “Mmhm?”
“Which side of that coin would I play…?”
“Depends on where you do it,” Bonbon answers simply. “On this side, you’re a boy, with everything that comes with it- and on the other, you’re a filly, with everything that comes with that.”
“Side?”
Nod. “Yeah. There’s a gate, about four hundred miles away, between this world and Equestria. Aside from the papa tango, transformation to pony form shouldn’t be possible on this side of the gate, just as transformation to human form isn’t possible on the other.”
“Shouldn’t?”
She shrugs. “We haven’t been able to conclusively analyze the magic structures of this world yet, so we’re not dead certain, but we’re pretty close to that.”
“Ahh. Um…” He looks down at his hair- his permanently silky smooth hair. “I guess I’ll just have to make sure my dad hasn’t gotten it back, then… Um, there was another thing.” He looks up. “This morning, when I got up, all it took was a little shake and it became this- no brushing, no nothing.”
Bonbon nods. “The effect is that strong? Huh. You’ll also notice all it takes to clean is a dash of water. That’s the Equestrian magic- your hair will automatically assume that hairstyle, and repel contaminants, really whenever it can. You’re not as powerful as, say, Princess Luna, so it won’t do that entirely on its own- but a little agitation is all it needs.”
He tilts his head. “That strong?” he asks.
She nods. “Yep. If I wanted to shake mine out like that, I’d have to shake like an earthquake- and when I get it particularly messy, sometimes I need a dash of shampoo. A brush is more effective than shaking it- a few strokes, and it looks like this.” She gestures towards her head. “I can even do it with my hands, in a pinch.”
He stares at her for a second. “So, this is normal?”
She nods. “Yes. Well… The effect itself is normal, though it isn’t usually that strong. I mean… Well, I know Lyra’s got it that strong, and she’s a mighty powerful unicorn- but Moondancer is about as powerful as she, and regularly uses soap.” She shrugs. “I don’t know- I’d have to ask Lyra. No one understands our innate magics like she does.”
“... Oh. Then… There’s one other thing. Last night, I realized that I could, well… No incantation, nor wand…” A point of light appears in the air.
Bonbon looks at it, raising an eyebrow. “That all?”
He shakes his head, letting it disappear and making a diagram of the coffee table take its place. “No. There’s also…” He lets that disappear as well, and lifts the coffee table effortlessly with his strange blue aura. He puts it down, watching Bonbon’s really wide smile.
“That’s awesome!” Bonbon informs him. “If you’re already manifesting conscious magic independent from a planted spell like that teleportation one, you’re clearly ready for a regular, Equestrian magic education! I’ll have to see if I can’t get Princess Luna to teach you the basics.”
“P-P-Princess Luna-!?” he asks.
She nods. “Yeah. I mean, sure, I could probably get almost any unicorn Equestrian to do that, but I think you’d benefit the most from studying under Princess Luna.”
“But-!” He stares at her wide-eyed for a second. “Couldn’t you teach me? O-Or Instructor Tiara?”
Bonbon shakes her head. “Would if I could, but I can’t,” she answers him. “I’m an earth pony- so is Diamond. We can’t use unicorn magic like that.” She gestures at the coffee table.
Very suddenly, Peeves swoops past again, pulling open the door to that same classroom and disappearing in.
“Wait a minute,” Malfoy mutters, staring after him.
“What?” Bonbon asks.
“His nose is missing.”
“Oh? … Oh, that explains it.” She leans back. “There’s only one Equestrian capable of whistling a drum solo.”
“Wait,” Malfoy mutters, looking back at her. “He’s whistling that?”
Nod. “Yep.”
As he watches, Discord walks casually up the passage, waves to them, and pauses outside the classroom, fiddling with something in his hand.
Bonbon nods. “Yep. Dissy’s like that- it’s great fun, but you do not want to be on his bad side.”
“As I’m sure Peeves is finding out.”
“Eh, that’s actually a bit mild.”
Malfoy stares at her. “Uhh…”
Discord sticks his head into the wall next to the classroom, and his head sticks suddenly out of the couch next to Bonbon. “It’s only a bit of rude words,” he states. “I didn’t think I needed any worse. You?”
Bonbon shrugs. “Nah, I think that’s fine, for the offense. We can save the really strange stuff for when he inevitably does something less easily corrected.”
“Like smashing valuable magical cabinets, or mirrors.”
Bonbon looks at him. “He’s done that?”
Discord’s head shakes. “No, but I see it coming.” He then disappears back into the cushion.
Malfoy stares for a second, before looking back out in time to see Peeves emerge from the classroom, receive his nose back, and race away. Discord, meanwhile, resumes whistling his drum solo as he continues walking down the passage.
Harry looks up the moment Lyra’s aura rejoins the room, standing out like a searchlight amongst candles. “Lyra?” he asks.
She glances his way, gathering up her papers in a bit of a hurry. “Oh, hi Harry.” She’d abandoned them a couple minutes ago, vanishing into thin air right as he had approached earlier.
He watches as some of her books leap into her bag of their own accord. “How do you do that?” he asks.
She glances up at him as her bag seals itself. “Do what?” She momentarily disappears, reappearing a half-second later without the bag.
“That,” he states, gesturing towards the table she’d been using. “Making the papers and books move on their own.”
She glances down at the desk. “Oh, that’d be Equestrian magic. Now if you’ll excuse me, Hermione’s in a bit of a tizzy, and I need to set something up for her. Later!” She vanishes.
He stares at the spot she’d vanished from for a second, and closes his mouth. He’d intended to ask his next question- but of course, the day he has a question for her is the day she violates her established pattern. He lets out a sigh, shaking his head, and is about to turn away- to go find Ron, maybe- when someone wraps their arm around his shoulders from behind.
He might once have been alarmed by that kind of action- but now, he had forewarning. He sensed her aura on approach, saw her arm by the shape of the same. It’s Fluttershy, the infinitely kind girl that had offered him that teaching job. She hugs him gently; he leans into her in response.
“You had a question for Lyra?” she asks.
He smiles. “Yeah, I did.”
“What was it?” Ever so gently, she guides him over to a vacant couch against the wall.
He moves with her, and takes a seat with her. “Well,” he mutters. “During Defense Against the Dark Arts, Rarity kept levitating wands back to their owners, whether she’s looking or not- or even holding her own wand. She told me it was Equestrian magic, but wouldn’t tell me anything else- she said to ‘ask Lyra’.”
“And now,” Fluttershy continues for him, “Lyra disappears right when you’re going to ask, after repeating more of the same?”
He nods. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry,” Fluttershy informs him. “All the Equestrians have been instructed to do that.” She sighs. “Lyra is, after all, the only one that truly understands the difference.” She looks back up at him. “The problem is that British magic is like a subset of Equestrian magic. We can do absolutely everything that you can, plus some. Unfortunately, it’s that plus some that levitation falls into.” She smiles. “And, you know, Rarity is one of the best there is when it comes to levitation. Back in Equestria, she’s a seamstress- and literally no one can match her ability for quantity and endurance.” Chuckle. “Not even Twilight.”
“So…” he begins. “Is there a way I can learn to do something similar?”
“In theory, yes,” Fluttershy answers. “No one’s… figured it out just yet, though.”
“Um-!” he begins again, breaking off. Her aura has been growing stronger for the last few seconds, but he’s not sure how to phrase it. “Um…” He looks up at her, and his eyes widen. At least that problem is solved. “You’re glowing,” he states.
He promptly congratulates himself, in his head, on the utterly tactless declaration.
“I’m… Glowing?” Fluttershy asks, lifting her hand and looking at it. Then her eyes go wide in alarm. “What the-!?” she squeaks- before vanishing in a bright flash of pink light. The same color as the strange, auralike glow that had developed around her.
He looks down at the couch where she’d sat, then around at the various people scattered throughout the room. Nobody seems to have noticed her, nor him. He also doesn’t see her anywhere.
He lets out a sigh, leaning back against the couch. At least she’d answered his question before she vanished.
Then, she suddenly appears out of nowhere, right where she had been before, in a matching flash of pink light.
He lets out a startled yelp to match her squeak.
Then he watches as she lifts one hand in front of her, looks at it, and places it on her forehead.
“Is… Is something wrong?” he asks.
She shakes her head quickly. “No, it’s just…” She trails off, before moving her hand to the radio attached to her robes and steeling her voice. “Soft Touch, Alpha Oscar One.”
Then she passes out, right on top of him.
Draco Malfoy unfolds the letter his father’s owl just delivered to him at dinner. Mail usually isn’t delivered at dinner- but that’s just because it’s customary to deliver at breakfast, and that’s the one meal at Hogwarts that is utterly predictable in timing every time.
Or so they say. He didn’t have any morning classes today, so he didn’t put any particular effort into showing up for breakfast on time. As a result, he and some thirty or so Equestrians had the entire Great Hall to themselves; everyone else was in class. The food was still piping hot, too- so it’s not like it never happens.
Probably, if he’s honest with himself, simply almost never.
But in any case, it’s dinnertime now, and he’s unfolding this letter. He’s using it as a chance to practice that strange ‘hoofgrip’ Bonbon mentioned- but being careful, at the same time, to make it look like he’s using his fingers. Bonbon had made sure to explain the whole secrecy thing to him- and he agrees with it.
He gets it open, pulls it out, and reads it.
And facepalms.
He wonders, mildly, what it’s called if he does the same action as a pony. Face-hoof?
Dear Draco,
I’m going to be coming to the school tomorrow morning. It’s too dangerous now; I’ll teach you myself. Please try to avoid any further disasters, and be packed and ready when I arrive.
I apologize I won’t be able to come tonight; something has happened, and I’ve been summoned to an emergency meeting with the Board. I fully expect they’ll decide to expel all the Equestrians en masse, and replace Dumbledore; they’re clearly a threat to the livelihood of our students, and Dumbledore hasn’t done enough to guard against it.
Lucius.
His forehead slams down on the table in front of him with a groan, catapulting his empty plate into the air. He rolls his eyes, catching it telekinetically and setting it on the table next to his head.
“Something wrong?” Bonbon asks him.
“Yes,” he answers, not lifting his head, and thrusts the letter in her direction.
She takes it. “Oh? … Oh, yeah, that would be a problem. Echo seven. What’s your plan?”
“Plan?” he asks. “Do I have a choice?”
“Well of course you do,” she states. “Just like we Equestrians do. Should they try to evict us or Dumbledore without reasonable, specific cause, we’ll make an international incident out of it and force them not to. As a matter of fact, we’re getting things ready for that eventuality now- thanks for the warning. So, what’s your plan?”
He lifts his head to look at her. “My plan? My dad’s dead-set on removing me from this school. How am I supposed to change his mind?”
“You can teleport, right? And levitate? Be difficult to remove. If he tries to force you, only a directed spell can penetrate or block Equestrian magic- and that includes our innate magic. All them ‘leg-locker curses’ and binding spells are useless against us, as they are. So, if he tries using his wand, remove it from him. And when he lets go of you to chase his wand, drop it and teleport away.”
He stares at her.
“What? I’m just stating the obvious. I don’t know him, so any plan I come up with is going to be sub-par, but so? If you don’t want to go, don’t go.”
“Wait,” he mutters. “What happens if a student in Equestria decides they don’t want to go to school?”
“They get punished,” Bonbon frowns. “But nobody really ever does that- they have no reason not to go.”
“What if something dangerous happens?”
“Remember Lake Don’t-Mess-With-Twilight?”
He nods.
“That was Tuesday.”
“... And?”
“On Thursday of the same week, Twilight went with her friends to fight a psychotic monster. Fortunately, this monster- aside from actually being, ah, Equestrian- has since been reformed. She’s actually on our team, and she knows how to nullify magical ability.” She taps one of her ‘radio’ devices with one finger.
“What?”
Bonbon looks up at the ceiling. “Then on the following Tuesday, Twilight walked through a different interdimensional portal to apprehend the theft of an incredibly powerful artefact. By the time she returned home, she’d had a mighty destructive battle and reformed said thief. Who is also on our team, an expert in both human politics- that other world’s laws bear an uncanny similarity to Wizarding Britain’s laws, she says- and pyromancy.
“And then on Thursday-!”
“I get it,” Malfoy states. “That’s… quite the exciting life.”
Bonbon nods. “Oh, absolutely! It’s us, the Royal Equestrian Secret Service, that’re tasked with cleaning up after Twilight and co.” She shrugs. “I mean, it was only last year when our capital city was attacked by an entire race of shapeshifters, that nearly won. Would’ve won, if not for our contingency planning. So, seriously- do you want to go, or do you want to stay?”
“Stay,” he answers. “Definitely.”
“Alright. Now, decide exactly how you’re going to do that if he tries to get in your way.” She glances down at the letter. “When he tries to get in your way.”
“Um… Can I, uh, have help?”
“Sure. How about I involve you in our skull session tonight?”
He offers her his hand. “Sounds like a plan.”
She takes it, and shakes it. “It’s right after dinner.”
“Ahh, good evening, Cornelius,” Dumbledore greets. Lyra looks a little weird, doubled up the way she is- that is, with what looks like another of herself sharing the same space, working on the same page. He’d quickly hidden away the stacks of filled and unfilled paperwork three minutes ago, when Bonbon had sent him the warning that the Minister of Magic was coming; no matter the actual case, the image of the Headmaster of Hogwarts is not swamped by paperwork. He’d even suggested to Lyra that she disappear as well, and just skip the rest of today’s stack- but she’d refused.
She’d stated that every action has its price- and that it wouldn’t be hard for her to disguise the paperwork, to Fudge’s eyes and those of any other Ministry employees, as something more typical of detention. So, she’s still here, doing paperwork, with one of the most powerful disguise spells he’s ever seen making it look like she’s writing lines instead. He, of course, can see both her and the disguise- making for a very confusing appearance. He’s making it a point not to focus on that.
“Good evening, Dumbledore,” the Minister of Magic greets, before glancing sideways at Lyra. “Ahh, is there a reason she’s here?”
“She’s serving in detention,” Dumbledore answers calmly.
“Really?” Fudge looks at him incredulously.
“Yes,” Dumbledore states. “With how busy my professors are this year, I figured I could handle it myself.” He chuckles. “It’s not like it takes any particular effort, at any rate.”
Fudge peers over Lyra’s shoulder. “Copying lines?” he mutters, then squints closer. “ ‘I will not be a distraction’?” He looks up at Dumbledore. “What did she do?”
Lyra looks up sheepishly. “Oh, uh, I managed to disrupt every class in the building, simultaneously. I guess it was a bit loud.”
Dumbledore chuckles softly. While true, that hadn’t even been considered in setting her punishment- and in his opinion, is nothing next to the offense that had been considered. “So, Cornelius, what did you want to talk about?”
“Well,” Fudge begins. “Word is that you’ve accepted a large number of students into Hogwarts, from a nation we hitherto haven’t known about?”
Dumbledore raises an eyebrow. “You’re only finding out now?” he asks.
Fudge nods. “Ahh, yes. It seems nobody in Diagon Alley thought to inform the Ministry of large numbers of new Hogwarts students.”
“Ahh. Is there a problem?”
“A problem? Oh, no. I’d just like to know where the Book of Admittance managed to find a hundred thousand eleven-year-old wizards!”
“A hundred thousand?”
Nod. “Yeah. And that’s the low end of the estimates I’ve seen.”
“Ahh… that would be inaccurate, then. There are twelve thousand, two hundred ninety-three first-years this year. And frankly, I would like to know where the Book found them as well- aside from what I already know: Some other world.”
“You are aware that’s pretty close to the entire wizarding population of Britain, right?”
Nod. “I am. And, that doesn’t count that a majority of those that were invited… declined.”
“Oh… Uh, you do realize what this suggests for the wizarding population of their world, right?”
Another nod. “My guess is a couple million- though that’s being challenged more and more lately.”
“... Which is more wizards than exist on this entire planet by at least an order of magnitude.”
“We’re going to have fun teaching them,” Dumbledore states, though in a more wearied tone of voice.
Fudge sighs. “Yeah, I don’t see any reason not to, just yet.” He glances at Lyra. “Though we might need a few more instructors.” He looks back at Dumbledore. “And, might I ask, what’s that on your robes?”
Dumbledore raises an eyebrow. “Oh? You mean this?” He taps his mic with one hand.
“Yes.”
“It’s a microphone,” he answers. “As it turns out, the Equestrians have had no qualms about mixing with the muggles and using their various technologies.”
“Doesn’t muggle technology not work at Hogwarts?”
He smiles. “When I asked for an explanation, I got several terms I didn’t know before. Apparently, the thaumic turbulence of Hogwarts’ wards creates intense electromagnetic interference, which in turn completely demolishes the radio signal this device uses to communicate with others of its kind. They managed to bypass that issue by applying a thaumo-electric entanglement spell to the antennae.”
Blink. “You’re right, that is a lot of strange terms. What do they mean?”
“A lot,” Dumbledore sighs. “It took me several hours of research and a conversation with several muggle-born friends to figure them out. And I still don’t know exactly what thaumic turbulence is, or where to even begin on thaumo-electric entanglement. But whatever they are, and however they work, the device does its job: I can use it contact the Equestrian’s, ah, ambassador directly. And instantly.”
“They have an ambassador?”
He shakes his head. “Not exactly, but that’s the closest term I can think of.”
Fudge scowls. “How far away is he?”
“Ah, she is actually one of the students,” he answers. “Shall I call for her?”
“Ah, yes, please.”
He closes his hand on the microphone button. “Bonbon?”
“Yes, Professor Dumbledore?”
Smiling at Fudge’s expression, no doubt either wondering about Bonbon’s name or waiting for her response, Dumbledore presses the button again. “Could you come to my office, please?”
“On my way.”
He lowers his hand, smiling at the clearly confused Minister of Magic in front of him. “She’s on her way,” he informs Fudge. “Lemon drop?”
It takes Bonbon a few minutes to appear, but she eventually does, walking in through the door. She bows her head briefly to Fudge. “Minister, Sir,” she greets, before looking up at Dumbledore. “You called?”
“Yes,” Dumbledore answers simply, gesturing to Fudge.
Fudge turns more fully to her. “We were talking… Wait, why do you have two…” He glances at Dumbledore, before looking back at her. “Ah, microphones?”
Bonbon smiles. “Oh, that’s easy. One to communicate with Professor Dumbledore, and the other to coordinate with the rest of our team.”
“Your team? Wouldn’t it be better to have them all on the same one?”
Bonbon sighs. “You would think,” she states. “But no. There are about four hundred and fifty of us, and we usually speak in code anyways- all the way down to codenames. It would be nothing more than a distraction for the Headmaster. If anything comes up that he ought to know about, I can translate our codes for him.”
“... Ahh. I understand you’re from another world?”
“Yes sir,” Bonbon answers. “We hail from Equestria, of the planet Equus. Our interdimensional gateway is roughly four hundred miles from here.”
“It is?” Dumbledore asks.
She nods. “Unfortunately, without some very powerful spellwork to modify the magical core, it’s deadly for anyone from this side to pass through- so I can’t tell you any more about where it is. Suffice it to say, the gate is both guarded and warded against accidental- or harmful- entry.”
“What kind of powerful spellwork?”
“I am not familiar with the spells involved myself, though I am aware they work by expanding the subject’s magical capability to match that of an Equestrian- thus granting them the same stabilizing aspect in their magic that allows us to pass through the gate without harm.”
“Can you get the matrices to the Ministry?”
“I am afraid I cannot, Sir,” she answers. “The magic involved is far too powerful, far too dangerous, to risk allowing it to fall into the wrong hands. At this time, no written version of the spell exists, and only the original inventor knows any of the details or workings.”
He scowls. “Then can we have this inventor meet our ambassadors to perform it?”
“That would not work, Sir. Each invocation requires a vast amount of setup at the site of the invocation.”
Groan. “Then have the ambassadors come to them to receive it?”
“That is possible, Sir, though may be inadvisable. Known side effects include a full reset of biological age to exactly eleven years.”
“Oh dear,” he mutters, putting his head in his hands. Then he looks back up. “Can you call them up so they can tell us about it?” he asks.
“Yes sir. Anything in particular?”
He waves a hand. “Time it takes, processes, side effects, the whole deal.”
Bonbon turns her head. “Lyra?”
Lyra rises fluidly from her seat, turning sharply to face a surprised Fudge. “The spellwork required to modify a British magical core so as to tolerate travel to Equestria and back, in a process codenamed ‘Papa Tango’, are among the most powerful and dangerous magics ever created, even counting all three Unforgivables. In order to complete successfully, approximately twelve hours of preparation must be completed per invocation; if activation is to occur covertly, that’s thirty-three hours of preparative work.
“At this time, the Papa Tango has only been completed once. Seventy-one hours and forty-five minutes after invocation, the subject physically transformed, with great pain. Transformation was unexpected, but is considered likely for future subjects; transformation may be considered demeaning. Fifteen minutes after that, the subject transformed back, and the process was complete; no repeat transformation is expected. Traces of Equestrian magic began to show immediately upon invocation; conscious control of Equestrian magical capabilities, however, appeared at transformation. Known side effects include the reset of biological age to exactly eleven years, Equestrian magical capabilities, and an irreversible change to hair color and style.” She promptly returns to her seat, and her papers.
Fudge stares.
“Did that answer your questions?” Bonbon asks.
“Uh…” Fudge mutters, and shakes his head. “Who already received it?”
Bonbon shakes her head. “For reasons of personal privacy, we cannot tell you that without the express permission of the subject in question.”
“But- But I’m the Minister of Magic!”
She bows slightly. “That is by Equestrian law, by which we are bound no matter where we go. If Wizarding law differs, Professor Dumbledore is aware of the subject’s identity as well.”
Dumbledore pauses for a couple seconds, before nodding calmly. Fudge turns on Dumbledore, but before he can speak, Dumbledore does. “Wizarding law precludes my revealing anything to anyone without a legitimate need to know, including anyone not in a medical, educational, or law-enforcement profession, without the express permission of-” he glances at Bonbon- “the subject or the guardian of the same.” He gazes at Fudge. “You should know that, as Minister of Magic. Additionally, if I’m not mistaken, I seem to recall you were the one who wrote that law.”
“Of course I know my laws,” Fudge declares. “Problem is, that law only applies to non-British citizens.”
Bonbon looks at Dumbledore before he can respond. “Shall I send for our legal expert?” she asks.
“That won’t be necessary!” Fudge declares, even as Dumbledore nods, wondering how good this expert will be.
So Bonbon’s hand goes up to her radio. “Starshine, hotel three.”
“So there, Dumbledore,” Fudge states. “Who-!” He pauses to look at the door; someone is knocking.
Dumbledore glances at Bonbon and, at her nod, looks up at the door. “Come in,” he calls.
The door opens, and a girl with fiery red and yellow hair steps in. “Greetings, Chief Warlock Dumbledore of the Wizengamot, Minister for Magic Fudge.” She then glances at Bonbon. “You called?”
Dumbledore raises an eyebrow. If nothing else, this girl clearly knows how to properly greet powerful political entities.
“Yes,” Bonbon answers her. “Minister Fudge would like to know who the Papa Tango was first applied to.”
The new girl nods. “Ahh.” Her hand goes to her radio. “Mike to hotel three.” Then she turns around, opens the door, says something to someone with green hair, and closes it again.
“What in the world are you doing?” Fudge demands of her.
“I understand you requested to know who the first subject of the papa tango was?”
He blinks. “That’s right, yes.”
She nods. “We’re getting that information for you. If we can’t, you’ll know why.”
“And if I require you to?”
“You do not have the authority to do that, Sir. Only a fully convened Wizengamot can, against wizarding law. However, we are also bound by Equestrian law, which does not recognize the Wizengamot.”
He snorts. “And if I require Dumbledore to tell me?”
“Again, Sir, you do not have the authority to do that. He is also in an excellent position to remind you that the Wizengamot is far more likely to side with the subject than with your demands. Even so, the subject in question is under Equestrian protection- and as such, such a demand would incite an international incident.”
“But the law says he has to tell me! How is that an international incident, when we’re his home government!?”
“The Decree for the Privacy of Personally Identifiable Information: In no instance may any Official, including but not limited to Ministry personnel and all Medical, Educational, or Law Enforcement professions, be required to disclose any information on any third party without written consent to any other person, save only if the receiving person is in a Medical, Educational, or Law Enforcement profession and has a legitimate need to know the information in question.
“Originally authored by Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, ratified into law on June thirteenth, nineteen ninety, at four eighteen PM, by the General Assembly of the Wizengamot, on a ninety-seven percent majority.
“And, by the way, the Subject has just denied to provide such consent. We cannot identify the Subject for you, and neither can Chief Warlock Dumbledore, without an order from the Wizengamot.”
Fudge glares at her. “Fine, then! Keep your peace! I’ll ruin you!” He stomps out the door.
The fiery-haired girl watches him go, up until his angry stomps fade into the distance, before turning to Dumbledore. “He doesn’t know who I am,” she states simply.
Dumbledore blinks. “Makes that a rather pointless threat, doesn’t it?”
“Yep. Doesn’t make it any less of an international incident, though, if I bother to tell Celestia about it.” She offers him her hand. “The name’s Sunset Shimmer, and it’s nice to meet you.”
“Wait,” Lyra states, looking back at her. “That law- doesn’t it let him tell if he wants to?”
Sunset nods. “Yep. And there’s no law to stop him, either. But, he can’t be required to tell- and politics is a game of perceptions. Minister Fudge is inexperienced- so all it took was to make it seem like the law stopped whatever he wanted to do, and make a show of knowing the law, and he’s in my pocket.”
He had a good night, Draco decides. Today, the day his father had decided to take him home, is a Saturday. Thus, there’s absolutely nothing to keep him in the castle. So of course, after getting Dumbledore’s permission first thing in the morning and catching a quick, early breakfast, he’s in the air.
But he’s not on a broom.
He smiles out the front window, before glancing down at his wristwatch, then sideways at the blonde Hufflepuff seated next to him. “My dad’s probably starting to realize I’m not at Hogwarts,” he muses. “How far?”
Cherry Berry grins, glancing at one of the many controls littering the panels in front of them both. “Three hundred miles,” she states. “One hundred left.”
He blinks. “Wow,” he mutters. “This thing’s fast. Even the Nimbus Two Thousand can’t go anywhere near that far in only an hour.”
Cherry glances at him. “To be fair, neither can this, normally. We’ve magic-augmented it, allowing me to rather effortlessly sustain speeds of up to almost seven hundred miles an hour.” She glances out the windshield. “The turbulence gets a bit nasty very far above three hundred, so I don’t like going any faster than that unless I have to. Unaugmented, this thing would make about a hundred and fifty miles, safely, in an hour.”
He blinks. “Uh… What happens if the Department for the Improper Use of Muggle Artifacts sees it?”
She looks at him. “If it ends up in muggle hands, there’s nothing to show it has those augmentations,” she answers. “No behaviors, no nothing. It simply flies smoother at speed than any helicopter has a right to- the muggles won’t know it’s capable of going that fast, and it’s not a stunt ‘copter or something, so they’re likely to never try- meaning, they’d never encounter the enchantments.” Snort. “Not to mention, Moondancer hid the spells so well they’d never find ‘em without tearing the thing apart.” Then she shrugs. “Besides, I’d never let them take my baby away from me.”
“Ahh… Um, what happens if a muggle happens to see it booking twice the speed it’s supposed to?”
“They won’t,” she answers simply. “Anytime I go over a hundred and sixty, the invisibility matrix comes on, banishing us from both sight and radar displays.” She glances forwards. “And muting the noise. As a matter of fact, that’s the main reason going over three hundred makes for such a bumpy ride- it takes a lot of energy to silence the sonic boom.” She snorts. “And of course, Moondancer’s so good at spells that it draws all that energy from the boom itself. Takes it a second, though- we still have to deal with the shockwaves.”
He tilts his head. “What’s a sonic boom?”
“Ah, that’d be the shockwave produced when something travels faster than sound. Sound travels at about seven sixty seven miles per hour- which is actually why I can’t very easily get past seven hundred: The boom on the rotor occurs too close to the hub, and starts messing with my controls.” She glances up. “Once I get it up to nine hundred- I’ve done that before- I can push it all the way to fifteen hundred for a dead sprint. Keeping it under control is a bit of a pain when I do that, though.”
“Oh.”
“Nervous yet?” Bonbon asks, leaning forwards from one of the seats in the back.
He looks out the windshield. “Uh…” Then he turns back to her. “A little, yeah.”
“Worried about the transformation?”
He shrugs. “Not really, actually. So long as it’s not random, or unexpected, or… that stuff, and so long as it reverses when I come back, it doesn’t bother me.”
Bonbon chuckles. “And so long as nobody back at Hogwarts finds out you’re a filly, right?”
He nods. “Yeah. But that’s got to be easy to keep- I mean, everypony is already pretending they’ve been humans all their lives, what’s to keep them from simply not mentioning my pony form isn’t the same gender as my human form?” He shrugs. “Nothing I know about, that’s for sure.”
She nods. “That is true,” she mutters.
“Worried about meeting Bonbon’s family?” the fourth and final person in the helicopter asks, a Slytherin with a teal stripe in her purple hair. Her nametag reads ‘Starlight Glimmer’.
“A little,” he answers.
“Don’t be,” Bonbon answers him simply. “You’ve already met her.”
“Her?”
Bonbon nods. “Lyra. Both our parents died long ago- mine in an accident, hers murdered. We’ve been living together- and otherwise alone- ever since we met, a good fifteen years ago.”
He turns to stare at her. “But… But you’re eleven.”
Nod. “On this side of the gate, sure. On the other side, I’m thirty six.”
“Uh…”
“Lyra’s thirty five. Even if she makes me wonder, sometimes, if she’s ever truly grown up.”
He drops his jaw.
“But I imagine much of your worry stems from stepping through that gate for the very first time, into a land where literally no other British wizard can follow?”
He closes his jaw with a snap. “Um, yeah.” Then he looks forwards. “Though considering that I ran immediately after being first transformed, I daresay my worries about being able to walk are ill-founded.”
Cherry Berry nods. “Yep. Just don’t think about what you’re doing for the first hour or two, and you’ll be fine.”
“Hour or two?”
“Yep. That’s how long it took most of us to get used to bipedal locomotion over here, even if Lyra’s spell gave us the skill outright.”
“Though to be fair,” Bonbon mutters, “bipedal locomotion is unheard of in ponies- and quadrupedal locomotion is called “crawling” in humans. So, it’s quite possible you’re already well-adapted to it.” Then she glances out the windshield. “Come to think of it, you’re probably going to want to come up with a new name for your Equestrian form. ‘Draco Malfoy’ isn’t exactly a filly’s name.”
Lucius Malfoy is not having a good day.
As a matter of fact, he’s had quite a terrible day so far.
Another letter from his son had made its way to him on Friday morning. He had been in a bit of a hurry, though- too bad work never seems to stop. He hadn’t been able to read it that morning; thus, it had sat on the kitchen table until he got home. It had been opened, and moved, sometime in the interim; he’d figured Narcissa had read it. So, he’d finally been able to read it, during dinner. He’d abandoned his dinner and rushed upstairs to forge a quick reply.
Unfortunately, while he was just starting to write it, an urgent owl had come in, calling an emergency meeting of the Hogwarts School Board. So he’d amended and hastily finished his response to Draco, sent that on its way, and rushed out to the school board meeting.
Which took all night. Tidbit after tidbit after tidbit of important information had trickled in, at just the right rate to keep everyone there.
Now, with only three bites of last night’s supper in him and no idea what happened to the rest of it, he had shown up at Hogwarts- he hasn’t even eaten breakfast yet!
Only to find that his son is missing. And left a message with the staff, informing them he’d be back on Sunday. None of them, unfortunately, could tell him where his son had gone- they either didn’t know, or didn’t even realize he’d left in the first place.
He had been able to find out who he’d been going with: Three of the dangerous Equestrians.
And so, he’s on his way to the Ministry, where the agency governing the Hogwarts Express is located- and the agencies governing just about every other method by which his son could have gotten away from the castle grounds. He needs to find out where they went, and fast.
None of the castle staff could tell him.
He must find out.
It’s a letter.
It’s always a letter.
Dumbledore lets out a groan, putting down his latest piece of paperwork, as he magics his office window open. This one’s not a Ministry owl- rather, it’s even worse. He recognizes it as the owl the Hogwarts Board of Administrators likes to use to inform him of their latest policies.
The owl swoops in, drops a letter on his desk, and returns from whence it came. He magics the window closed again, before slitting open the envelope and unfolding the letter.
It takes him all of ten seconds to read it, before he lets out a groan, allowing his head to drop down to the surface of his desk. It’s not paperwork, no- actually, quite the opposite.
But it’s even worse.
They want him out.
He raises his head again, lifting his hand to his microphone. “Bonbon?”
“Yes, Professor Dumbledore?”
“It would seem I’m no longer the Headmaster,” he informs her.
“Really? When did that happen? And why?”
He smiles in spite of himself. The Equestrians seem to be really good at making him smile. “Last night. The Board is removing me for allowing so many ‘dangerous students’ into Hogwarts.”
There’s a brief pause. “Don’t leave,” Bonbon orders him. “We’ll pull some strings, make them reverse that decision.”
He actually chuckles this time. “Are you sure that’ll work?”
“Absolutely certain it’ll work,” Bonbon declares. “If they’re dropping you for that reason, they’re almost certainly going to try to blanket-expel all the Equestrians just for being different. And that’s a major insult to a foreign power that we’re going to stuff down their throats. All the way up to the Wizengamot, if we have to.”
He chuckles. “That is true, but how will that keep me in place?”
“Easy: Princess Celestia knows they’re dumping you for letting us in. All it’ll take is a single mention of that, after the Wizengamot rules in our favor, to get the whole board thrown out and you reinstated.”
“Princess Celestia… She already knows?”
“Yep. We had warning- and since Princess Celestia is the immortal ruler of Equestria, and can get mighty stuffy when foreign nationals start insulting her people… Well, she’s already disappointed in them. I give them about a fifty-fifty chance of maintaining bladder control when she enters the room.”
He actually laughs at that. “She sounds powerful.”
“Yep. And it probably won’t hurt she’s going to be going in fully armored. With her sister by her side, Princess Luna- who happens to also be the Commander in Chief of all of Equestria’s armed forces. Including us.”
“Albus?”
Dumbledore blinks in the middle of his snort of laughter; that was Professor McGonagall, through the castle wards. “Yes, Minerva?”
“I just received a letter from the Board, saying you’ve been removed as Headmaster- and all Equestrians are to be expelled immediately. How true is this?”
He grins. “Very true, actually. But we’ll disregard them, because Bonbon’s making a diplomatic incident out of both decisions.” He goes for the mic again. “You’ve got your incident,” he informs Bonbon. “Minerva just received the expulsion order.”
“Are you sure of that?” McGonagall asks him.
“Absolutely sure,” he informs her. “She just told me herself. And since Princess Luna- in Slytherin, as I recall- is not only their immortal ruler’s sister, but the Commander in Chief of all their armed forces, we might even see the fireworks from here.”
McGonagall chuckles through the wards. “They’ve made quite the blunder, haven’t they?”
Hermione knocks nervously on the door in front of her.
“Hmm? Oh, Hermione? Just a sec!”
She waits patiently.
… er, as patiently as she can. The fifteen seconds or so it takes before the door opens feel like forever.
“You’re early,” Lyra informs her. “Worried about something?”
She blinks, and nods. “Um, what happens when your gravity spell wears off?”
She shrugs. “You wake up on the ceiling,” she answers.
“But-! But wouldn’t I fall through the ceiling?” she squeaks.
Lyra shakes her head. “No. The physical impediment spell I used is the original, designed by old Star Swirl himself. Lasts for years on a single invocation, though most lack the power to invoke it. He used it, mostly, to let him make his bed out of clouds.”
“Make his bed out of… clouds.”
Lyra nods. “Yep! I have a cloud bed back home as well.” She glances back into the room. “It’s almost ready- ‘nother few minutes of testing, just to be sure, and we can set it off.”
“Testing?” Hermione asks. “Wouldn’t that waste it?”
She shakes her head. “Nah- I’m not testing it at full power, so I’m not burning the enchantments. And, I’m only testing small sections at a time. Making sure they do their jobs. There’s always a chance I missed something when I pentuple-checked the matrices.”
“... Oh. Wait- it hasn’t been twelve hours yet!”
Nod. “I know; it’s only been about eleven. That twelve was an estimate. Now, come on in! You going to be free just after breakfast on Tuesday?”
She tilts her head. “Uh, maybe?”
“Just because if we invoke it as soon as I finish getting it ready, that’s when you’ll transform.”
“Oh, then, yes.”
Lyra glances back at her, raising an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”
“Absolutely sure,” she declares. Then she looks thoughtfully towards the ceiling. “Pretty sure I won’t have to throw anything around on my schedule, either.”
“Come in,” Professor McGonagall sighs, looking up at her office door. Someone had just knocked softly.
The door opens, admitting an Equestrian with bright pink hair and one of their ‘radio’ devices clipped to the front of her robes. “Um,” she begins. “Professor McGonagall?”
McGonagall raises an eyebrow. “Yes, Fluttershy?”
She looks uneasily at the floor. “Um… I know the Board just ordered us all expelled for no good reason, but I thought I should still ask you about something.” She looks up at Professor McGonagall. “Is it possible that an unregistered animagus could be pretending to be a student’s pet?”
Professor McGonagall blinks; not only does the rate of information transmission amongst the RESS still amaze her, but the question is unexpected. “Um… Well, if the animagus form is something that could be made a pet, I suppose it’s possible,” she states. “Not likely, though. Why ask?”
“Ronald Weasley’s rat, Scabbers,” she answers immediately. “I’m good with animals; I can talk to them and everything. Scabbers… not so much. So I asked Harry if anything looked strange about his aura; Lyra taught him how to view that.” She sighs, staring at the floor. “Most animals self-identify by either the name given them by their owners, or by something in their native language that only I would be able to understand. Scabbers self-identifies by the English name Wormtail, and Harry mentioned his aura seemed a lot stronger than most animals- much more like a student.” She looks up at her again. “I suspect he might be more than he appears.”
McGonagall nods. “And animagus fit the bill?”
She nods.
“Hmm… Well, there is a spell to reveal animagi, and it’s completely harmless against anything that’s not an animagus. Wouldn’t hurt to try that, I suppose. So, if we bring him here, we can find out.”
“Um… Wouldn’t it be better to use a random classroom closer to Gryffindor Tower? If he is an animagus, bringing him all the way to your office might tip him off that something’s wrong.”
She pauses, and nods. “That is true… and there is a hidden passage just down the corridor that lets out very close to the Gryffindor common room, as well. So…” She looks at the clock. “Ten o’clock, today?”
Fluttershy glances at it as well, and nods. “Classroom Gamma-Two?”
“Gamma two?” McGonagall muses, concentrating for a second on the map embedded in Hogwarts’ wards. “Ahh, yes. I’ll see you there.”
“He… never left the school?”
“Not on the train,” the minister answers. “It’s still parked in the depot.”
“Well, he has to have gotten out somehow! Nobody there seems to know a thing!”
“Perhaps he left by broom, or side-along apparition, or perhaps floo or even foot travel? All I know for certain, Mr. Malfoy, is that he did not ride the Hogwarts Express away from the school. She’s not even roadworthy right now- they’ve pulled the wheels for repair. The ‘tires’ got rusty, made a bit of a bumpy ride. Then of course, the wheels seem to be wearing out-but they’re working on it. Would you like to see?”
Lucius blinks, and shakes his head. “No, I’ve got better things to do than to waste my time looking at that contraption.”
The ground is chaos as the helicopter approaches the ground.
“What’s going on?” Malfoy asks.
“Oh, that’s easy,” Cherry Berry answers. “The school board has decided to mass-expel all Equestrians for ‘being dangerous’, so Princess Celestia is making a state visit to complain about their unwarranted expulsion of twelve thousand perfectly safe students. Compounded by our preparations for your arrival here-mostly to do with securing the helicopter, maintenance checks, and so on.”
“Oh.”
Bonbon leans forwards as the helicopter touches down. “So, you ready for your adventure?”
He chuckles. “I think.”
“Using your Equestrian name yet?”
He rolls his eyes. “Please. Call me Draco on this side; it’s only when I transform that I become Silversong.”
Cherry sighs. “In either case, we’re on the ground and the engine’s off, so we might as well step inside.”
“Mr. Malfoy, need I remind you that Hogwarts is not connected to the public Floo Network?”
Professor Dumbledore jogs down the passage, towards the open door. He’d promised he’d be there for the testing of Miss Shy’s theory on Scabbers the Rat, and he’s just a little late.
As he approaches, he hears the incantation of the animagus reversal spell. He feels the thaumic patterns of it doing its work- it seems Miss Shy was correct- and then he hears a voice, speaking very quickly.
“Avada-!”
That’s as far as he gets, though, before the entire passage is filled to bursting by the echoes of an incredibly loud boom from inside the room. He draws his wand, throwing a quick spell up at his ears to repair the damage he can already feel happening, and charges around the corner.
Professor McGonagall is standing opposite the door, wand raised, and looking startled, but in control of herself.
An unfamiliar man is in the middle of the room, falling over sideways in a dead faint, one hand clamped over its opposite.
Ronald Weasley is off to one side, staring in utter shock.
The small, grey thing in the steel-eyed Fluttershy’s hands is emitting a thin trail of smoke out the little hole in the tip- which she’s keeping pointed directly at the falling man’s head.
“What just happened?” he demands.
Fluttershy answers, her voice as hard as steel. “We revealed Scabbers, he tried to kill Professor McGonagall. I shot the wand out of his hand, McGonagall stunned him.”
“Peter,” McGonagall finally mutters. “Peter Pettigrew.” She looks up at Dumbledore, lowering her wand. “I thought he was dead.”
Dumbledore steps closer. There’s a wand in the man’s back pocket; why would- Oh. He sighs; the remains of a wand, the base shattered just as thoroughly as the man’s right hand, rest on the floor before him. He raises an eyebrow, tracing an imaginary line between Fluttershy and where that hand must have been when he was standing- then following it on, to the wall near the door. There, he spots that something has slammed into the wall, taking a sizable bite out of the stone.
He turns back to Fluttershy. “That’s a pretty powerful… what is it?”
“A gun,” she answers. “Far faster than a wand.” She lifts it up, pointing it at the ceiling, to blow the tip- then brushes her robes aside to insert it, pointing down, into a shaped pouch on her belt. “For use against mortal threats.”
“So…?” Hermione mutters. “Is that it?”
Lyra nods. “Yep, all done. Feeling anything you didn’t before?”
“... No. I was kinda expecting to feel it, um, doing something.”
“Yeah… With most types of magic, you would- but not this type. I’m actually quite proud of it- it’s using you to change you. Makes it an order of magnitude safer, and far less uncomfortable.
“... Oh. Yeah, that would be…”
“Anyways, we’ll plan to meet somewhere on Tuesday morning, immediately after breakfast?”
Hermione smiles. “How about at breakfast, then you can lead me somewhere hidden?”
“Works for me.”
“Awesome!” Hermione grins ear to ear. “Now I just need to check out The Advanced Magic of Runes.” She heads for the door.
Lyra catches her by the arm, stopping her. “You are aware British wizards can’t use any of the runes in that book, right?”
She looks back. “What?”
Lyra chuckles. “That’s an Equestrian book, and no copies were ever brought over here. Makes me wonder… Where would you look if I asked you for the most accurate account of Nightmare Moon’s defeat?”
“The Friendship Journals.”
“How about the design and layout of the Friendship Express?”
“The Equestrian Railroad: Past, Present, and Design.” She blinks. “Wait, how do I know that…?”
Lyra grins. “Equestrian magic,” she states. “In particular, something unique to Equestrians- but ubiquitous to all of us. And yet, unique for each one of us. Something whose name sounds utterly ridiculous on this side of the gate, so we simply call it our ‘unique talent’.”
“... What?”
She sighs. “Hermione, you think of something and you instantly know what book to look it up in. That’s a very special kind of magic- and you’re the only person on either planet capable of doing that. Malfoy’s, ah, unique talent, first manifested as an ability to instantly see and respond to threats he didn’t know were threats with actions he didn’t know how to perform.” She nods. “And perform them flawlessly. I leveraged that same ability when he was transformed during that first flying lesson- I gave him the teleportation spell matrix, and he instantly knew how to use it, even though all I did is give him the runic pattern. I didn’t tell him how to translate a runic pattern into a spell matrix, or how to channel that into a functioning spell. He did those himself, instantly- and, apparently, remembered how he did them.”
“Wait, Malfoy teleported?”
Nod. “Yep. Hogwarts’ wards are designed to bar British magic, not Equestrian magic.”
“Yes, yes it is,” Bonbon answers. “That’s the train that’ll take us to Equestria.”
“That’s a train in a building,” he states.
“All trains are in buildings at some point,” Starlight informs him. “As a matter of fact, the Hogwarts Express is stored in a shed.”
He shakes his head. “No, no. That’s a train, in a building, with no tracks to get out.”
She looks at him like he’d just said something blatantly false. “Uh, no, it has tracks to get out. Through the gate.”
“What gate?”
She points. “That gate.”
He looks at the tunnel she’s pointing at, sloping down and out of sight, a pair of railway tracks leading into the darkness.
“What gate?” he repeats.
Bonbon puts a hand on his shoulder. “That tunnel is the gate,” she informs him. “It’s roughly sixty miles long, and lets out in Equestria, outdoors. The first few times we used the gate, we teleported- but once we had time to actually build something, the train makes it ridiculously easier. And what you’re not seeing is the five more trains on this line, or the forty-four still being built.”
“... Oh. So, an hour and a half in a helicopter, then… What? An hour? In a train?”
But all three girls have suddenly become distracted by something.
He looks at them, waiting for a second, before tapping Bonbon on the shoulder. “What’s happening?” he asks.
Bonbon shakes her head. “Sorry, nothing. Just had some undercover criminal or another try to kill Professor McGonagall when Fluttershy ratted him out. She’s good with a gun, though, so she took him out. She did specify he’s still alive, so she clearly found an easy way to stop him in his tracks without converting his head to chunky salsa.”
Malfoy shudders. “Ouch.”
Bonbon nods. “Yeah… Honestly, I was hoping we’d have more time to get used to school life before the staff found out every one of us Agents are heavily armed, but…”
“No, no,” Starlight informs her. “All they know so far is that Fluttershy has an S&W five hundred, and that she’s fast enough on the draw to beat a magician silly. They don’t know anything about the rest of us.”
“True,” Bonbon mutters, and her hand moves up to her mic. “Readiness Delta Seven.” Her hand drops away from it again. “Anyways, Draco- you were going to spend a day as Silver?” She gestures towards the train. “This is the way there. I will warn you, I’m a lot bigger than you on the other side.”
“Huh?”
Nod. “Yep. Cherry and Starlight will also be a lot bigger. And while Starlight’s a unicorn like you, me and Cherry are both earth ponies- no horn.” She pauses for a second. “And, it would seem Lyra will be joining us on the other side.”
He blinks. “Isn’t she at the castle?”
She nods again. “Yep. She’s just finished papa tango-ing Hermione- all she has left is to explain a few things and she’ll be on her way.”
“How will she get there, though…?”
Shrug. “She’ll teleport. The matrix she gave you may be the simplest, but it’s also the most power-hungry. She makes long-distance teleportation look easy- she could go from Hogwarts to Canterlot and back several times in a row, on the more common high-efficiency teleport, before running anywhere close to low on power. With her custom, extreme-efficiency teleport, that takes advantage of certain aspects of her unique magic, she can actually make it to the moon and back if she exerts herself.”
“All the way to the moon?” Malfoy asks, looking up at the ceiling.
“Yes,” Bonbon nods. “That’s what she told me last month when I asked how her reserves were holding up with all the teleportation.”
“... Oh.”
“Anyways, hop on the train already. I’m moderately curious what you’ll think of Ponyville.”
He looks over at her as he allows himself to be lead into the train car. “Moderately curious?” he asks incredulously.
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, alright. Morbidly curious. But you should know, we won’t transform until we actually hit the other end of the tunnel- and enter the Equestrian universe.”
He scowls, sitting next to Bonbon as the train begins to move. “Well, that’s no fun,” he mutters.
Bonbon nods. “Yeah, it is no fun.”
Time seems to crawl as the train plows on down the tunnel. Before long, too excited to have anything to say to the girls, he gazes out the window… at the solid, fairly featureless wall of the tunnel. He actually can’t tell if it’s moving, just by looking at it; only the occasional puff of smoke or steam racing past tells that tale.
Bonbon leans on him very suddenly, eliciting a surprised yelp that amuses both the other two girls. “You know something?” she mutters.
He looks down at her. “What?”
“I’m going to miss being the same size.”
“What?” he asks again, this time confused.
She smiles, looking up at him. “We turn into humans when we step out one end of the tunnel, and into ponies when we step out the other,” she states. “In between, we hold onto the form of whichever world we’ve been in most recently. With this much space, we kinda know exactly how the size comparison goes.” She sighs. “You probably already know conservation of mass is not one of the constraints of this transformation. After all, you’re a good bit smaller as a filly than as a boy, right?”
He nods. “Yeah?”
“Well, it’s the other way around for us adults. If we were adults on this side as well, we’d be mighty close to conservation of mass- but no, we’re all little girls. So when we cross the border, you’ll shrink and I’ll grow.”
“... Oh.”
A whistle blows somewhere up ahead.
Bonbon straightens up. “Oh, and we’re almost there. That’s the warning signal- the engineer has the exit in sight.”
Malfoy looks at her, and straightens up himself; he’d been leaning against the wall, next to the window. Then, he looks down at his hand. “One thing I’ve been wondering… How do I look? In a full-body mirror, when not freaked out about being transformed into a strange creature?”
Bonbon smiles at him. “You’re in luck, then,” she informs him. “Me and Lyra have several of those.”
Something catches his attention, in the corner of his eye, out the window. He turns his head to look- and a moment later, the window passes through the tunnel exit. As it does so, he feels himself shrink- though, like the reverse transformation, it’s completely painless. He glances down, at his hand- and finds exactly what he expected: A silver hoof.
Then he turns to look towards the three girls- or, other three girls, now.
And blinks.
He’s tempted to rub his eyes and look again, but he knows that won’t help.
They’re… huge. It takes him a moment to match hair- mane- colors to names, and further match them to coat colors and… ponies. Bonbon is cream-colored; Cherry Berry is hot pink, and Starlight is a more purplish color. He himself- now a she- is still the same silver he- she- remembers.
“This is going to be confusing,” he mutters to himself.
Bonbon looks down at him. “Oh?”
He nods. “Yeah. Just trying to think of myself as a filly instead of a colt or boy.” He sighs. “And teaching myself to respond to my Equestrian name, Silversong.”
Bonbon ruffles Silver’s mane with a hoof. “You know, I’d say you’ll get it down pat in no time, but I’m not sure how true that’d be,” she chuckles. “All of my experience is in the Agency- and we regularly operate with codenames, that change from time to time.”
Silver tilts her head. “Agency?”
She nods. “Yeah. The whole ‘Royal Equestrian Secret Service’ thing is a fictitious cover for the Royal Intelligence Agency.” She glances out the window. “To convince Britain that we’re a defensive organization with the solitary goal of protecting our Equestrian subjects. While that is one of our goals, it’s not even our primary goal- they can take care of themselves quite well, for the most part. Our primary goal aligns more neatly into our purpose as secret investigators, infiltrators, and of course, Equestria’s toughest monster hunters.”
“So, you… opened a gate to another world?”
“No,” Bonbon states simply, as the train comes to a halt. “That was Lyra. While off duty. She’d planned to explore this world on her own time- but when droves of owls started coming through the gate with Hogwarts letters, she took it straight to the Agency.” She chuckles, rising to follow the other two mares to the door. “A classic case of something small turning out to be a lot bigger than anypony thought. And, of course, timely action rather neatly heading off a disaster.”
Silver follows after her, not stumbling in the slightest. “That… makes sense, actually.” Then she blinks, pausing for the briefest of moments. “Wait a sec,” she states, trotting forwards to get next to Bonbon. “What’s keeping regular humans from getting on this train?”
“They never get into that room,” Bonbon answers. “While the tunnel is the Gate, it’s easier for us to establish a larger space to guard. That entire room is warded against incursions of all kinds, including Equestrian teleportation. Lyra did a bit of tricky spellwork to get it to not block Equestrian teleports that only contain Equestrians; I will never understand how that works.” She glances down at Silver as the two walk out onto the station platform. “And if they try to enter in a more manual way, the entire room doesn’t exist- that archway in is simply solid wall to them.” She shakes her head. “Another bit of spellwork nopony but Lyra can understand.”
Very suddenly, a green unicorn appears out of nowhere, a matter of feet in front of them. “Hey Bonnie!” the unicorn greets cheerfully.
Silver stares for just a moment, before mentally identifying the white-and-light-blue mane.
Bonbon doesn’t wait for her to figure it out on her own, though. “There you are, Lyra,” she answers. “What took you so long? I just explained everything to Silversong alone!” She gestures towards Silver.
Lyra looks over at her. “Silversong? Has-- Wait, WHAT? He turned into a filly?!”
Silver winces, and nods. “Yeah.”
“Is- um- are you okay with that?” Lyra stutters.
She blushes. “Yeah.”
“Hmm…” Lyra’s horn flickers, as she begins muttering to herself. “Yeah, that looks about right… But why…?”
Silver cringes away. “What are you doing?” she asks.
Lyra blinks. “Oh, sorry. I was just…” She stares off into space as her horn flickers another few times, then finally nods. “Ooooh, that makes sense.” She refocuses on Silver. “When I first made and applied the spell, I assumed biological gender would carry through- truth is, it wouldn’t. If you’d started on this side, it would- our human forms are created on first passage based on our Equestrian forms- but you started on the other side. When the spell expanded your magic to that of an Equestrian, I noticed it gave you an Equestrian form in the process. Not an unexpected effect, but I wrongly assumed it would be based on your human form. Fact is, it’s based on your personality instead- and apparently, your personality was a better match to a filly than to a colt.”
Then Lyra scowls. “And there’s something more in your core magic matrix I’m going to have to research a little. It looks like Earth’s magic fields will have disguised it, much like Equus’ magic fields disguise our cutie mark magic, meaning I won’t have seen it there… but the rest of us certainly don’t have it. Maybe if we can identify it, we can figure out if it’s worth formulating a spell to add it to an Equestrian’s core?”
“Uhh…” Bonbon mutters, looking at Lyra. “Are you sure? I don’t much fancy being a platinum blonde. With peach fur.”
Lyra shakes her head. “Nah- the addition of the Equestrian magic more than doubles the size of the magical core, forcing it to take on a primarily Equestrian shape- which forces the subject to have an Equestrian form as their primary form. Hence why Silver kept her mane colors as a human, and why Hermione will, once she gets them. But that little bit Silver has that no Equestrian has is like a dust mote next to that- say, a quarter of a percent of the magical core. There would be flat nothing in noticable effects, save the addition of whatever capability that bit confers.” Then she glances at Silver. “Anyways, the plan was to explore town in time to have lunch at Sugarcube Corner, right?”
He’s halfway into the Hogwarts grounds- again- to cross-examine the staff when the letter reaches him.
“Hold on a second,” Sunset blinks, just moments before everypony was going to teleport to the Ministry to make their fuss.
“What is it, Sunset?” Princess Celestia asks.
Sunset looks up at the Princess. It really isn’t fair that only Celestia knows age spells well enough to pull one off on herself, giving her a fully adult stature on this side as well. “We can’t go in the front door,” she states.
“Oh?” Celestia asks.
Sunset puts a hand to her forehead, and backsteps against a doorframe. “Ohhh, we were so stupid. We can’t go in the front door, because we never opened it! And if we try opening it now, all we’ll do is bring the whole wall crashing down on our heads.”
Celestia tilts her head in confusion. “Oh?”
Sunset grins only slightly- it isn’t often she knows something Celestia doesn’t. “To Wizarding Britain, we’re a foreign power they’ve insulted, right?”
Celestia tilts her head. “Yes?”
Sunset shakes her head. “Wrong! To them, we don’t exist! We never revealed Equestria to them, never opened diplomatic relations! They think we’re British!” She lets out a groan. “Oh, how I didn’t see this coming, I have no idea. But at least we’re not blowing things up even worse by going to the Ministry now, are we?”
Celestia blinks, and scowls. “How else do you suggest we face their affront?”
She shrugs. “We pretend to be British citizens,” she answers simply. “Lodge a public protest against the unfair expulsion of thousands of pureblooded students on the basis of their hair colors.”
Another blink. “But they’re expelling because you’re ‘dangerous’,” Celestia answers.
Sunset nods. “And we are. But in human politics, the truth doesn’t matter. Especially when you’re inciting a public uprising against a governmental decision- they don’t need to know the truth and, so long as they hear your version from more sources than theirs, they won’t believe the truth, and we win.” She looks up again. “Human politics isn’t about appeasing to a greater power, like Equestrian politics. Human politics is about convincing everyone else that you’re right and they’re wrong. We do that, we win. And… I think I know how to do just that, actually. I need to talk to Professor McGonagall.”
“Very well. We will wait here.”
“What is it this time?” Lucius nearly demands of the Board.
No one speaks. The nearest Board member hands him a newspaper.
The headline stands out to him.
Black Vindicated!
Sirius Black, charged with the murder of his childhood friend Peter Pettigrew as well as thirteen muggles, has been cleared of all charges, released from Azkaban Penitentiary, and brought to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Simultaneously, the Order of Merlin, First Class, was withdrawn from Peter Pettigrew and he has been charged with treason, the murder of thirteen muggles, and the attempted murder of Minerva McGonagall, the deputy headmistress and transfiguration teacher of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
A first-year Gryffindor by the name of Fluttershy noticed that some things about ‘Scabbers’, the pet rat of a fellow first year, didn’t quite add up, such as the fact that he was about four times as old as a regular garden rat, like himself, could reasonably be expected to live. When she brought the suspicious pet to Professor McGonagall, he was revealed to be the unregistered animagus of Peter Pettigrew, who promptly attempted to murder the transfiguration teacher, likely to eliminate the greatest perceived threat in the acclaimed duelist. His attempt on her life was, however, foiled, when young Fluttershy rapidly and skillfully used a weapon designed, by her account, by American muggles. In the following confusion, Professor McGonagall managed to stun Pettigrew before he could inflict any further harm.
He was taken to St. Mungo’s Hospital under Auror guard, to treat the injuries the crude, muggle-made weapon had caused to his hand. When afterwards taken to the Department for Magical law enforcement, he admitted to all aforementioned charges.
Many a ministry employee was just as appalled by the false conviction of Sirius Black as I find myself being and as you, dear reader, doubtlessly are yourself. Furthermore, the Records Department came up empty-handed when asked to retrieve his trial records. When asked on this, Black made no statement and simply laughed, possibly an aftershock of his stay at the long criticised prison.
Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, when asked for a statement, declared himself to be alarmed and appalled by Blacks not only undeserved but, in fact, illegal ten-year imprisonment and claimed to have ordered a full investigation into the trial records of any living inmate of Azkaban. Any that cannot be assigned valid records, said the Minister, are to be transferred to cells in the Ministry, or, if required by their mental state, in a specially modified ward of St.Mungo’s Hospital pending trial.
As for Pettigrew himself, both his wand and the remnants of a second, heavily damaged by Fluttershy’s weapon, that was identified by renowned wand maker Garrick Ollivander as the wand of none other than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, were confiscated and he remains in Ministry custody awaiting his own trial on the coming Thursday.
Rita Skeeter
He sits down heavily, staring at it, and reads it again; yes, the Dark Lord’s wand was destroyed by a muggle weapon and is now in Ministry hands. “Rita Skeeter… Of course.” He looks up, dropping the paper on the table. “And this Fluttershy is an Equestrian, isn’t she?”
Heads nod around the table.
He puts his head in his hands and groans. “And if we expel her for being dangerous, despite being definitely true if she destroyed his wand with a muggle weapon that shouldn’t have been allowed into Hogwarts, the public is going to come down on our heads. And, if we blanket-expel all the Equestrians except her, they’ll do the same.” He looks up. “How badly are we screwed?”
“Well,” a junior member mutters. “There is one saving grace.”
Everyone else turns to him. “What?”
“Rita obviously didn’t know we ordered them blanket-expelled, or Dumbledore removed. We can probably still rescind those orders, if we’re quick.”
“And that!” Malfoy groans, dumping his head into his hands again. “If we remove Dumbledore, we’ll have to explain why- and if we explain it’s for letting a bunch of dangerous Equestrians in, when said Equestrians are saving staff and catching criminals and we’re not expelling them, the Ministry will overrule and remove us!”
“We can just hope he hasn’t left the castle yet,” that junior member mutters.
Malfoy lifts his head to nod. “Yeah, right about. Votes?”
At least that session went quick. The vote was unanimous; both the mass expulsion and Dumbledore’s removal were rescinded, and letters sent to inform Dumbledore and McGonagall of that, claiming that the original letters- and the orders they carried- were unauthorized and, therefore, to be ignored. Fortunately, the original decision had happened on a weekend, so the official documents could simply be removed from the processing queue.
And now, he’s on his way to Hogwarts once again, to ask Dumbledore if he knows where his son is. He’d declined to ask to see the Headmaster when he’d been there this morning.
“Hmm,” Professor McGonagall mutters, resting her chin on her closed hands and staring unseeingly at the Equestrian legal expert seated on the other side of her desk. “We could try-!” She pauses, glancing over her shoulder at the window, and heaves a sigh. “That looks like another directive from the Board.”
Sunset sighs. “I wonder how deep they’ve mired themselves this time.”
McGonagall grins humorlessly and magics open the window, letting the owl in. She accepts the letter, unfolds it, and reads it- then raises an eyebrow and reads it again, out loud.
“Dear Professor McGonagall,
“We appear to have had a mailing error. Please disregard any messages you may receive about mass expulsions or Headmaster removals; such were never authorized.
“Sincerely,
“Hogwarts Board of Directors.”
Sunset nods. “Or in other words, Fluttershy caught Pettigrew, and they realized that by doing so, she sharpened the bed of nails they’re standing on.”
McGonagall looks up, blinks, and chuckles. “Yeah, right about.”
“Do you mind if I go call off our invasion real quick?”
“Go ahead, please.”
“But-! It’s a flower!”
Bonbon nods at Silver. “Yep, and that’s what ponies eat.”
Lyra’s gaze locks onto Silver as well.
Silver, feeling suddenly self-conscious, shrinks away from the unicorn. “What?”
Lyra blinks. “Oh, sorry. That… British magic segment looked like it wanted to activate.” She tilts her head. “It seems to have stopped now. I’m curious, what were you thinking?”
“I- I…” She stares at the food, feeling the heat on her cheeks. “I was wondering if she’d say that to me if I were human.”
Lyra rubs her chin with a hoof. “Huh… Um, for now, try not to think about being human. But once we get into the house, we might want to experiment- find out what that extra facet is, see if that’s the trigger. In any case, yes, flowers- of really any sort, at least Equestrian ones- are perfectly edible. Only really daisies and tulips taste very good, though; even grass is better than most the rest.” She shudders. “And that, let me tell you, isn’t too tasty.”
“... though perfectly edible,” Silver mutters.
Lyra nods. “Yep. Pony digestive systems are amazingly ubiquitous- it’s incredibly hard to poison a pony. I mean, we can digest meat just fine, even if it smells- and tastes- revolting. Except fish, that actually tastes pretty good, if it’s cooked right.”
“In any case,” Bonbon inserts, nudging Silver’s plate with a hoof, “Try it. Daisies are pretty tasty.”
Silver sighs, before lifting the sandwich with her glowing blue magic- and purposely not getting distracted by the same coming from the horn on her head, as she had been the first few times she ‘levitated’ things here in Equestria.
“Hmm, yeah. Whatever it’s trying to do, it’s not working. It’s only formulating part of a matrix- and a fairly generic matrix, at that- before collapsing.”
Silver lets out a huff of breath, releasing her concentration. “So much for that,” she mutters.
Lyra nods. “Yeah- and here I thought you might be able to transform yourself.”
“Though… I’ve been wondering.” She looks up at Lyra. “Bonbon tells me you’re really powerful?”
Lyra nods. “Yes?”
“Like, strong enough to go to the moon?”
Another nod. “Though I can only convince my magic into the patterns necessary for that distance because of an, ah, unique advantage I have. Once you study up on thaumic phase theory, you shouldn’t have any trouble crossing the planet either- you’re about as strong as I was at your age, and I was doing that by eight. Long before I figured out how to use my advantage.”
“How are you not in Slytherin if you’re that powerful?”
Lyra shrugs. “How is Princess Twilight, the second most powerful Equestrian to go to Hogwarts, in Ravenclaw? It’s simple: We both have a stronger propensity to one of the other houses. The hat wasn’t sure where to put me, at first- the power of a Slytherin, the adventuring of a Gryffindor, the studiousness of a Ravenclaw, and the patience of a Hufflepuff, all in one package. In the end, I went to Gryffindor because I’m a prankster.”
Silver looks at her, alarmed. “What-!?”
Lyra grins. “Yep! When you’ve got enough power and skill to go to the moon- and that’s your moon, by the way, the one here is a fraction of the distance and gets grumpy when I stop by- pops and snaps lose their entertainment value. And As Bonbon says…” She pauses, gesturing towards the mare.
“Bored power is deadly power,” Bonbon states simply. “It’s better to use it for entertainment than to allow it to build up boredom and explode on the poor bloke that dares give it something to do.”
Silver binks. “Wait,” she states.
“Sound like cold logic?” Lyra asks.
Silver nods.
Lyra nods as well. “That’s because that’s what it is. But who am I to complain? Life is fun!” She glances in the direction of the gate, in her backyard. “And even funner since I made that gate. I mean, I only expected to be nosing around over there to find something to drive Twilight crazy with- not for over there to drive her crazy all on its own.” She giggles. “Twilight is particularly fun to mess with, if you know how to do it without causing collateral damage.”
His wife, Narcissa, steps up next to him. “Draco?” she asks.
“Yes, Mom?” the youngest Malfoy asks, stepping out of the great metal contraption that had just landed on the lawn.
“What happened to your hair?” she asks.
“My hair?” Draco raises his hand up to his hair, brushing it back. “Oh, right. There was a… little prank at school, involving some pretty creative transformation spellwork. Most of it wore off in a few minutes- the hair didn’t, thanks to the family curse. The strangest part about that was that my hair was soft. I wasn’t sure if it was permanent or not; from what I hear, it wasn’t. The Equestrian students at Hogwarts, however, recognized the curse by that interaction- so I just spent the last day and a half or so in Equestria, meeting with some of their finest mages. They’ve managed to make the hair effect permanent.” He pulls his hair forwards, over his shoulder. “So, my hair is now permanently silky smooth and soft to the touch, never to grind another hat. Or shirt, or robe. Even if it looks a little funny.”
“Really?” Narcissa asks excitedly; Lucius is still staring at the machine and the Equestrians still in it. “They managed to break the curse?”
Draco shakes his head. “Unfortunately, even they couldn’t do that. They could, however, make this workaround- and they promise me that, if I remain the final heir to the House of Malfoy for long enough, the curse will collapse on its own.”
“There are a few side effects to that workaround, though,” the purple-haired girl wearing Slytherin robes states, stepping out of the machine. “That hair really can’t be recolored, restyled, or cut; it’ll revert to its current state entirely on its own in a matter of hours.” She shakes her head. “Sorry about that- but between that and having to replace his scalp every few minutes, everyone thought this would be preferable.”
Draco raises an eyebrow back up at her. “Every few minutes?”
She shrugs. “Or shirt, or hat. Fortunately, if you bundle it up in a hat, it should stay there. So, there is a way to hide it when you need to.”
Lucius lifts one hand, very suddenly, to point at the machine and the two girls- one Hufflepuff, one Slytherin- still in it. “What is that?” he asks.
The Slytherin girl still in it hops out, trotting towards them. “Oh, that? That’s Cherry Berry’s helicopter. And if you value your life, I’d recommend you don’t get between it and her. She can get mighty territorial about her flying contraptions, and this is the most capable one she’s had yet.”
“Cherry Berry?”
She nods, sticking her thumb over her shoulder. “The pilot,” she states. She lowers her hand again, offering it for him to shake. “I’m Bonbon, by the way- and this is Starlight Glimmer.” Her other hand gestures to the other Slytherin. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Yes,” Starlight nods. “We were on our way back to the castle, but we only promised Dumbledore we’d be back by dinner today- and with Cherry’s flying, we’ve got three extra hours to kill before we get anywhere close to breaking that promise. So, when Draco here realized we were going to overfly your property, he asked if we could stop by real quick.”
“Real quick?” Narcissa asks. “Are you sure you can’t stay, ah, two and a half hours, maybe?”
Bonbon shrugs. “I don’t know, can we? We have the time to do that, certainly.”
And so, some forty hours after his most recent, complete meal, Lucius finds himself entertaining three Equestrians over lunch- and finally resetting his decision to withdraw his son. Dangerous or not, if they could save his dear Draco from the dreadful fate the family curse had doomed him to, they’re worth keeping around. Who knows, they might save a few more pureblood families.
… They’re ignoring his suggestions that they specify their blood statuses, though.
“So,” he finally declares, deciding to cut through the nonsense and make the question explicit. “Are you girls purebloods?”
Draco grins, Cherry chuckles. Bonbon rolls her eyes, and Starlight speaks. “No,” she answers. “And no to your next two questions, as well. We’re not purebloods, we’re not half-bloods, and we’re not muggleborn. We’re Equestrian.”
“How?” Narcissa asks, recovering faster than Lucius.
“Simple,” Bonbon answers. “We’re from Equestria: An entirely different universe than this one. Over in Equestria, literally everyone has magic- muggles, and squibs, simply don’t exist. So, you could say that we’re purebloods, when in fact, no wizard nor muggle blood runs in our veins.” She smiles. “It’s new territory. The gate didn’t exist until a month and a half ago.”
His vision seems to skew sideways, and he falls towards the ground- then stops very suddenly, the whole world tinting somehow blue.
“You okay, Dad?” Draco asks, reaching out to push him back upright.
The world goes dark instead.
“In through the nose, out through the mouth,” Lyra coos, patting Hermione’s back. It’s Tuesday, and most of the school is at breakfast right now.
“But-!” Hermione states, looking fearfully at Lyra. “What if it’s broken? What if- What if I never turn back? What if it kills me?”
“Hermione,” Lyra repeats. “Calm down. It’s not going to kill you.”
Hermione doesn’t calm down. “Don’t say that! You’re just saying it to make me feel good!”
Lyra shakes her head. “In through the nose, out through the mouth. I’ve been watching it progress, and it’s been going exactly as it’s supposed to.”
“But what if it goes off course at the last second? What if it breaks?”
“Hermione, please. The final stage is about to start, and if you don’t calm down, the pain relief spell won’t stick.”
Hermione grabs her shoulders and shakes them. “What if you missed something?”
“Hermione…” Lyra sighs, closing her eyes. “Just remember: In through the nose, out through the ears. Let it take away all your worries, and calm yourself down. You’re going to need it.”
“Out through the ears?” Hermione asks.
Lyra raises an eyebrow. “Ears? Did I say ears? Sorry, I meant mile.”
“Lyra! This is not the time to be joking around!”
“And neither is it time to be panicking! All my spellwork completed its task and dissolved yesterday! The rest is just your magic getting to know you- utterly harmless! Now please, calm down before you transform!”
Hermione opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Rather, some ungodly pain tears through her entire body at that very moment, as if she had been put through a meat grinder and poured into the sun. Her muscles spasm- but to no effect. She can’t hear her scream, the one that should be echoing about the dungeons right about now. Even though she’s all the way up in Gryffindor tower.
Her body, and the pain, seem to change shape. Maybe it’s those spasms. Maybe not.
Maybe she’s being permanently transformed into something terrible.
Maybe she’s…
Just as suddenly as it had come, the pain is gone. All that’s left is the residual sting. Not nearly as bad, but still.
She lets out a low moan, lying limply on her bed.
“Are you alright?” Lyra’s voice floats in from somewhere.
She moans again. Her voice sounds right, but her mouth doesn’t feel right. Some time passes, the sting fading, before she responds. “What… What happened?” she mutters slowly.
“The transformation,” Lyra answers her. “Sorry I couldn’t block the pain. You were… too energized for that. It’s the only class of pain relief spell that’s effective against this kind of pain, but it’s also the one that only works when you’re calm.”
She puts a hand to her face. “Ow-! … Uh…”
“Surprised?” Lyra asks.
She stares at the appendage she’d clubbed herself with. It feels like her arm, but her hand is missing, replaced by a very solid mass reminiscent of a horse’s hoof. She’d think it was made of bronze, if it was a bit heavier, and if the matching fur covering the rest of the arm wasn’t shifting easily in her gentle breaths. “What in the world…?” she finally asks, staring at it.
“You’re a pony,” Lyra informs her. “That’s actually what us Equestrians are on the other side of the gate. Which, you should now be able to cross as well.”
“I’m… I’m a pony?” she asks, looking up at Lyra. “How… How will I hold my wand?”
Lyra casually lifts her own wand out of her pocket with the very tip of her finger. “It’s called the ‘hoofgrip’,” she informs her. “Lotsa unicorn mages call it ‘tactile telekinesis’, but that’s not what it is at all. All ponies have it- and it sticks with us in human form. Just think of your hooves as hands, and they’ll work just like hands.” She grins. “You know, I’m kinda curious what Dash would think about teaching you to fly.”
“F-Fly?” she squeaks. “But- but ponies can’t fly!”
“One third of them can, and you’re one of them.” She grins at her. “As a matter of fact, you’re a very rare one of them. You could probably give Dash a run for her money, too- it’s not many pegasi whose power levels are more typical in a unicorn.”
“I- I can’t fly!” she squeaks. “I can’t-!” She cuts herself off, eyes opening wide, as she feels two of those three new appendages, moving them away from her sides, before folding them tight once again. “N-No way! I-I’m a-af-fraid of h-heights!”
Then she looks down at them, just to be sure- but the very moment she tries, she seems to change again, and her bronze hoof is once again a fleshy hand.
She stares at the hand for a few seconds, before whirling upright to lock both it and its opposite onto Lyra’s shoulders. “Lyra!” she demands.
A wave of smooth, metallic red hair with icy blue fringes whirls around with her momentum, flying over her shoulder to fall against her chest, before hanging down.
“What?” Lyra asks, alarmed.
“It didn’t work!” she screams.
Lyra blinks. “Uh, it looks like it worked to me,” she states. “Why do you say that?”
“I still have wings!”
“Really? Let’s see ‘em!” Lyra seems excited.
“No, no!” she squeaks. “Lyra, make me human again! Please!”
Lyra blinks. “You, ah, are human. If… If the transformation didn’t self-reverse properly, I suppose I could try transforming you into a pony again- I have worked out a way to get an Equestrian back into pony form on this side for a minute or so.”
“Then please, do-!”
Hermione breaks off again, eyes wide, hooves on Lyra’s shoulders. Lyra’s also staring.
“Uh,” Lyra mutters. “Well, at least I know what that part does. Begs the question of what it does for a non-Equestrian, though.”
Hermione wraps her arms- and hands- around Lyra, hugging her tight. “P-Please, I don’t want to be a pony again,” she cries.
Lyra hugs her back. “Hermione…” She sighs. “You know, that second transformation was voluntary. I didn’t realize it was possible, before- but I guess that little bit of magic wizards have that ponies don’t lets you transform yourself at will. Forced transformation simply won’t happen- without that little bit, actually, you’d be forced to transform into a human. But I guess you’re able to turn into a pony whenever you like.”
“But- but- what if something transforms me?”
“Then you can immediately transform yourself back. It’s at-will, Hermione.”
Hermione looks up with tears in her eyes to meet Lyra’s. “What about my wings?” she asks. “How… How do I turn into a human?”
“You still have your wings in your human form?”
Hermione nods.
“... Huh. Can you unfold them for me? I’d like to get a good look, see if they’re likely to either disappear or take care of themselves.”
Hermione carefully and slowly uses muscles she didn’t have half an hour ago, extending her wings, and looks over her shoulder at one. It’s bronze colored, just like her hoof was, and it’s massive, almost six feet long.
Lyra touches it, running a finger down the leading edge of the wing and causing her to shiver at the unfamiliar sensation. “Mm, I’m afraid they’re here for good,” Lyra informs her. “There’s nothing I can do to make them disappear. Though, it seems the same magic that lets your clothes disappear- and reappear- with your human form is allowing your wings to go straight through them without any holes or damage. Convenient- and they should still slip underneath all your clothes when you fold them.”
She tightens her grip on Lyra, her shiny wings joining in for good measure, and speaks between sobs. “Then… Then who knows how to take care of them? Who can teach me how?”
Lyra strokes the feathers of her right wing thoughtfully for a few seconds. “Actually, you won’t need to worry about that. Your magic’s strong enough they’ll take care of themselves- and never need any preening. Cleaning should be as simple as getting them wet for a second.” Chuckle. “I’ve always envied how easy it is for a pegasus to get clean. I mean, sure, I’ve got a cleaning spell powerful enough to do the same job- but it takes a few seconds and, more importantly, a thought to use. Pegasi, no, all they have to do is go for a walk in the rain.” Snort. “Speaking of which, the same magic that keeps pegasus fur dry ought to keep your clothes dry in the rain as well.”
Hermione pauses, tilting her head. “You mean, I’ll never need an umbrella again?”
Lyra nods. “Yep! Forevermore, you’ll be able to have as much fun in the rain as you like- and not have to worry about drying off or tracking water inside. I’m not sure if that same protection will extend to things like mud, though; I’ve never seen pegasus magic as strong as yours.”
And of course, Lyra’s been called away to deal with… Hermione’s not sure what. She thinks it has something to do with the way the castle had shaken as they had been walking towards the front doors for their second flying lesson. Lyra had sighed, mumbled something about the Crusaders and transfiguration, told her she’d be on her own for the lesson, and disappeared into thin air.
So, as she walks with the rest of the class into the small field used for flying lessons, she locks onto the nearest Gryffindor and is halfway through begging him to catch her when she falls before she realizes who it is.
Neville Longbottom.
Fortunately, he looks more amused than anything else, returning her hug as her words cut off short. “Welcome to the party,” he sighs. He looks up at the sky. “Sure, I’ll catch. In return, when I fall, could you catch me?”
She feels the heat rushing into her cheeks almost before she can fully process his answer. “S-Sure,” she mutters, her arms falling to her sides. Her wings twitch against her back as he returns his arms to his sides as well, blushing deeply- but she will not use them. That’d just be asking for an injury.
She looks up into the air again. If she’s honest with herself, she’s more likely to be catching Neville than the other way around; he never returned to class after being taken to Madam Pomfrey, while she had managed to get into stable flight. Only six inches in the air, sure, but she’d done it.
“Worried about getting into the air?” a drawling voice asks, from just behind her, in almost the exact opposite direction Neville is.
She whirls to look, her brilliant, metallic red hair swinging fluidly behind her in a manner that used to be impossible for her to get it to do before. Then she pauses, glancing at the boy’s blue-streaked, silver hair. “Oh, um, a little,” she mutters. “What about you? After…” She glances back past him, towards the two groups of girls hungrily eyeing his hair- one group of Gryffindors, the other Slytherins.
Malfoy glances back as well, and rolls his eyes back to her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he declares. “But no, I’m not worried. As I was telling people before last week, I’ve been flying for years.”
Hermione nods. Besides, you didn’t have any trouble flying when you came back after… whatever that was. “Did…” She glances off to the side, to where he had landed after teleporting Bonbon up to whatever that broom was. “Did that second fall hurt?”
He grins, and raises one hand to tap his forehead- no, correction, his hair. “Nearly indestructible,” he answers. “Not a scratch.”
She lets out a breath. “So if I do fall, and hit the ground, I won’t get hurt?”
He winces. “Eh,” he mutters. “It’s a bit more complicated than that… and I don’t know enough to say either way.”
“So,” she turns back to Neville. “Better safe than sorry, right?”
“Come on now, what are you waiting for?” Madam Hooch’s voice cuts in suddenly. “Stand by your broomsticks!”
“Wait a second,” Malfoy mutters, as he picks the broom next to Hermione’s, despite the action putting him right in the middle of the Gryffindors. “Where’s Potter? He didn’t crash, did he?”
Hermione shakes her head. “N-No,” she answers. “I guess he was good enough already they removed him from the class.”
“Alright now,” Madam Hooch calls. “Lift your brooms.”
Hermione opens her mouth, holding her hand out to the broom- but before she says anything, it leaps up into her hand. Nobody seems to notice; they’re all too busy shouting ‘Up!’ at their own brooms. Neville’s doesn’t move.
Next to her, Malfoy holds out his hand. “Up!” He catches his broom. Then he glances sideways at her. “Got it working, now?” he asks.
She looks at him; Madam Hooch is moving up and down the lines, instructing the ones that didn’t get their brooms to jump to their hands. “Working?” she asks.
He nods. “Yeah. Last week, I seem to remember you weren’t able to get it off the ground.”
“Oh, uh, yeah,” she mutters, looking back at the broom. “Funny thing is, I didn’t even say anything.”
Malfoy tilts his head. “What? It responded to a nonverbal command?”
She looks up at him. “Is- Isn’t silent casting a thing?”
He nods. “With a wand, yeah- Dad does that all the time. But brooms…
“I heard Nimbus is experimenting with a nonverbal summons ability, but no existing broom- especially not these ancient twigs- can do that.”
“Huh,” she mutters, scowling at it.
Malfoy tilts his head, brushing his hair with one hand. “Maybe… Only one way to find out, I guess.” He drops his broom, and holds his hand over it.
Nothing happens.
He scowls. “Up! Yeah, no, it can’t be… Uh, the papa tango.”
Hermione blinks. “Oh, right. Yeah, if it’s not working for you… I don’t know. Maybe someone jinxed it?”
Malfoy is about to respond when Madam Hooch calls out to the class again. “Alright, mount your brooms!”
The number of people with bad grips is much smaller this time. And, this time, both Hermione and Malfoy have it right; neither had last time. Neville, though, is holding his wrong.
“Alright,” Madam Hooch announces. “When I blow my whistle, you will all kick off and hover a few feet off the ground. If you have difficulty keeping your broom under control, do not be afraid to return to the ground; I will be around to help. In Three, Two, One.” She blows her whistle, watching the whole class intently.
Everyone kicks off simultaneously. A couple people somewhere along the line wobble; one falls off their broom.
Hermione doesn’t even need to kick off. Her broom rises fluidly and precisely into position, before holding rock steady and perfectly still in the air. Funny, she’d been wobbling like crazy- and drifting as well- at the end of last week’s session.
Neville, on the other hand, doesn’t stop rising. His broom rockets high into the air with him hanging on for dear life, spinning like the rotor of last week’s helicopter.
“Oh boy,” Madam Hooch groans, right on time for his vertical flight path to bend to the side, out over the grounds.
“That can’t be safe,” Malfoy mutters.
“No, it’s not,” Hermione answers. “And he asked me to catch him. I…” She trails off, watching as he finally loses his grip, flying up and away from the broom, before falling back down. He falls faster and faster as she watches, before she comes to a realization.
He’s falling from over two hundred feet up.
If he hits the ground like that, he’ll die.
And Madam Hooch’s levitation spell, intended to deaden the impact, just missed.
She doesn’t think. She simply moves.
Her broom moves with her. She doesn’t even notice it.
The wind whistles in her ears; she can feel her hair blowing out behind her. And, she feels alive in a way she’s never felt alive before.
Neville is ahead.
She momentarily dives next to him, matching speed and direction just long enough to catch him in her arms before pulling up again. “You okay?” she asks Neville, catching his broom in one hand before floating back towards the party. Funny, she really can’t feel his weight.
He stares at her for a couple seconds, then hugs her so suddenly she lets out a squeak of fright. “Thank you!” he exclaims. “I thought I was going to die!”
Then Malfoy arrives, pulling up next to her and matching her speed. “How did you do that?” he asks.
She looks at him. “What?”
He shrugs. “The whole thing. These school brooms can’t go anywhere near that fast, and they’re not strong enough to hold two people at once.”
She blinks, lowering Neville to his feet before touching down herself. “Really?”
“Miss Granger!”
It’s Professor McGonagall, marching up the lawn.
“Uhh,” Malfoy mutters, looking over at the professor and touching down himself. “Should I be worried?”
Hermione looks at him. “You’re in Slytherin,” she answers. “Why should you be?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know.” It’s not a very convincing lie.
She raises her eyebrow at him, before lowering it again and turning to Professor McGonagall, now close enough not to have to shout. “Yes, Professor?”
“How-?” Professor McGonagall begins. “Never- Not in all my time at Hogwarts- What was that?”
“Hermione!”
“What?” Hermione asks, looking around.
“Hermione!” Malfoy repeats, waving from where he’s leaning against the wall. “Over here!”
She finally spots him and, head tilted inquisitively, walks towards him. “Something wrong?” she asks.
He shakes his head. “Nah, I just managed to deplete my thaumic reserves again.” He takes a deep breath, and stands away from the wall, tentatively removing his hand from it. “Ahh, there. I’m okay. Um…”
She nods slowly. “Is… Did you need something?”
He nods. “Do you have a minute, or…?”
She winces. “A minute, I suppose.” She glances at her wrist, and the wristwatch Lyra had given her, complete with its lighted, computerized display. She could swear she’d read in Hogwarts: A History that electronics don’t work here, but this thing seems to work just fine… just like the phone in her pocket that it’s paired with. “Yeah… right about.”
Malfoy flinches. “Er… what is it?”
She sighs. “I teach Charms with Bonbon,” she informs him. “I need to get started preparing for class in a few minutes.”
“Ahh,” Malfoy mutters. “Do you mind if I, ah, tag along for a couple of those?”
She shrugs. “Sure, I guess.”
“Then… I was wondering… Since we’re currently the only, ah, subjects of the ‘papa tango’...”
She blinks. “You mean, you want to work with me?”
He nods. “I figure it can’t hurt,” he states. “And, according to Lyra, there’s something in our magic that we have and Equestrians don’t. Or, at least, something I have, but she said it was general to all British wizards.”
“... Oh. But… Are you sure?” I mean, you’re in Slytherin.”
He shrugs. “So?”
“I’m muggleborn.”
He stops short. “... Oh.” He resumes moving, trotting to catch up; she hadn’t stopped. “Yeah, that’ll make it complicated. But it- Woah!” His persistent dizziness, unfortunately, is not gone. It’s low enough he was able to walk through it but, apparently, trotting is too much. He’s managed to lose his balance- and fallen over. Not towards Hermione, thankfully- rather, he’s fallen forwards, past her. He tries to do some kind of save, throwing his hands up in front of himself, but he’s not fast enough- and gets a face full of bronze feathers.
The feathers shift under his weight, pushing him upright again, and Hermione’s hand touches his shoulder. “Are you okay?” she asks him seriously.
He carefully rebalances himself, looking up at her. “Yeah, sorry, just a little…” He trails off, following the feathery bronze object back to Hermione with his eyes. “What in the world?”
The wing quickly vanishes behind her back, and Hermione blushes darkly. “P-Please don’t tell anyone?”
“Ahh, sure,” he mutters, leaning against the wall.
“Here, c’mon,” she states, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him forwards. As she does so, he feels her wing pushing at his back again, urging him away from the wall. “I’ll help you stay upright. You were saying?”
“Thanks. Um, yeah. I knew I was looking for trouble when I started looking for you, but… Well, you being muggleborn will complicate it even more. Not that I’m going to let that get in my way, if you don’t mind- after Bonbon showed me their home, and Lyra showed me just what we are after the ‘papa tango’...” He shrugs. “I was curious if we could, you know, coordinate, find out more about… well, us. Maybe find more, ah, willing subjects for Lyra.”
Hermione gives him a scandalized look. “What-?! Hey, I was willing!”
He raises an eyebrow. “Anyone would be willing with that as the alternative.”
“Point. So, ah…” She glances backwards. “You said you exhausted your magic? How did you do that?”
“Teleported,” he states. “And too many times in quick succession at that, nearly knocked myself out. I… wasn’t sure where you might or might not be, had to try a few places.”
“... And you managed to exhaust your magic? Isn’t magic inexhaustible?”
He nods. “Kinda. The way Lyra described it… If I remember right, our British wand magic is inexhaustible, so long as there’s magic in the air around us. Equestrian magic, like virtually every teleport capable of, ah, ignoring Hogwarts’ wards, is more innate by nature- draws on our internal reserves.” He sighs. “As such, it’s impossible to create a ‘deadzone’ like Azkaban- our Equestrian magic works anywhere, including places where wands are useless.”
“And,” Bonbon inserts, leaning suddenly out of the door Hermione is guiding him towards, “the wizards don’t realize it, but most British ‘accidental magic’ draws from those reserves, rather than the environment. Plus, Lyra’s working on a way to convince wand magic to draw on our internal reserves. Among other things.”
Hermione turns her head to look. It’s Sweetie Belle, and it’s Saturday morning.
It’s been a few months since school started. She and Bonbon have managed to contain the Crusaders’ mistakes, for the most part; there had, of course, been… interesting events. Like when Scootaloo had managed to turn Dumbledore’s hair purple while practicing a color change spell. On a piece of parchment. Across the castle. Or, just last week, when the floor had been converted into a mass of jello after class. The damage to the castle that time was moderate, but fortunately, nobody was hurt.
Mostly because Lyra was walking past on a lower floor, sure, but still.
Then there had been the troll on Halloween night. Nobody is certain how it got in; however, everyone knows how it was dealt with. Fairly simple: The Crusaders had been late to dinner, having been doing something- nobody seems to know what- in an attempt to acquire their mysteriously elusive ‘cutie marks’.
The troll had been unfortunate enough to cross paths with them. Less than thirty seconds later, reportedly, a teacher in one of the towers- Professor Trelawney- had spotted it falling up through the ceiling and out of sight. Applebloom had admitted to remembering exactly what she had gotten wrong when Hermione’s ‘papa tango’ had been made necessary; she’d also admitted to figuring out how to shape the effect so it didn’t bother her or her friends.
“Yes?” she answers. She’s asked several times that, outside of class, her students call her ‘Miss Granger’ like Professor Flitwick does, or simply ‘Hermione’- but for some reason, whenever they want her attention for something related to the class, they always call her ‘Instructor Granger’. Which is what they’re supposed to call her in class.
“Uh, I was wondering if you could help me a little with the summoning charm,” Sweetie answers. “I can’t seem to get it to work right.”
She shudders. “It’s not… dangerous, is it?”
Sweetie shakes her head. “No, no. Things only turn their backs when I try- perfectly safe. Like this.” She draws her wand, pointing it at a chair halfway across the empty common room. “Accrio!”
The chair spins almost instantly to face away from her, thrusting the table aside in order to do so. The table isn’t quite as uneventful, though, thrown by the chair back almost directly at Hermione.
Hermione ducks before she has time to blink, leaving it to whistle over her head and smash itself to bits against the wall, before dodging just as quickly to the side as a large fragment falls back right where she had been standing. The rest of the fragments scatter throughout the room and smash other pieces of furniture or decorations.
“Eh, decently safe,” Hermione agrees honestly, surveying the damage. “Nine out of ten. Now, there were a few problems with that. For one, if it makes something spin, don’t point at something that’s going to launch something else.”
“... Right, sorry,” Sweetie blushes.
“Second, it’s pronounced Accio, not… whatever that was.”
“Um, Hermione?” someone asks, from the stairs up to the dormitories.
She glances over; it’s Harry. “Yes?”
“Are you sure you want to-!” he begins, but never finishes.
“Accio!”
There is a bang, and Hermione lets out a pained yelp, stumbling backwards with both hands clasped over her forehead. Moments later, multiple muted thumps sound throughout the room. As the pain subsides, she looks up to survey the damage.
The room appears to be largely untouched. Exactly as she would expect; whatever that bang was, it had failed to trigger her new evasive instincts- the ones that somehow respond to dangers she can’t even see.
The people, however, are more or less damaged. Or…
Hermione lets out a gasp, and quickly rests an arm on the top of her own head, making sure there’s no unusual growth or anything.
There isn’t.
But Sweetie’s head, Harry’s head, and those of at least three other people that happened to be in the common room, are all growing steadily, making them look like bobbleheads. They’re also unconscious; it looks painful.
She looks up, towards the girl’s dormitory, just in time for Lyra to appear.
“What in the…?” Lyra begins, but never finishes, crashing to the ground as her head starts growing as well.
Well, there went that; every other time the Crusaders did something weird, Lyra would show up within seconds to correct it. This time…
“Accio Standard Book of Spells, Grade Three!”
That feels like the book she’ll find the spell to stop it in.
Lyra still won’t tell her about that feeling, simply labeling it a ‘unique talent’.
But regardless of that, she knows she’ll find it on page eighty-seven. And, it would seem it’s up to her to break it; she seems immune to the effect.
The book leaps out of one of the debris piles left by a desk fragment, straight into her hands. A quick reading-assistant spell she studied up on a month and a half ago instantly opens it to page eighty-seven. She scans down it, then points her wand at Sweetie’s, and prays she’s getting it right the first time. “Finite incantatem!”
Right on time, the portrait hole opens, and Professor McGonagall rushes in. “What is going-!?” she begins, and pauses, looking around. Her head doesn’t start growing.
“Crusaders,” Hermione answers, lowering her wand.
Professor McGonagall sighs, shaking her head. “How bad is it?”
“I… I don’t know. I just managed to break her miscast summoning charm; it was making people’s heads grow.” She gestures down at Sweetie. “I’d ask Lyra, but she, well…” She glances towards the dormitory.
“We’ll have to take them to the hospital wing, then,” Professor McGonagall states. “Does that work?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know,” she states. Then she raises her hand to the walkie Lyra had given her just three nights ago, when she officially joined the Royal Equestrian Secret Service. “Sickle Star to Charlie Gama.”
“Already?” someone asks back through her headset- before the Ravenclaw appears out of nowhere, continuing in the exact same voice, hand dropping from her radio. “What happened?”
“Sweetie,” Hermione states helpfully, gesturing towards Sweetie Belle. “It was a botched summoning charm… and she got Lyra too.”
Agent Sickle Star, more commonly known as Moondancer, steps closer to Sweetie Belle and bends over her chair-sized head.
Professor McGonagall waits in silence for two seconds. “Well?”
“I want to say there’s something deeper I can’t see,” Moondancer states. “But Lyra’s the only one that can see any of that, and she’s similarly affected. Everything that I can see, however, is fading and should wear off on its own. I don’t see a way to accelerate that without endangering her life.” She vanishes into thin air, reappearing next to Lyra, to look over her not-quite-so-large head. “Yeah, same on Lyra, but not as far developed.” She looks up at Professor McGonagall. “I’d say we stick ‘em in the Hospital Wing and hope Lyra wakes up soon.”
“... How soon is soon?” a fifth-year Gryffindor asks, standing in the doorway to the boy’s dormitory stairs.
Moondancer glances up. “My best guess is that it’ll wear off of Lyra in time for classes on Monday, and the rest probably Thursday or so. Though, Harry’s magic matrix is different…” She blinks over to the boy, looking down at him. “Eh, no difference in spell behavior, that I can see. Once Lyra wakes, she might be able to accelerate recovery by some means or another that I can’t see- but until she does, there’s nothing I can do.”
The fifth year groans and drives his forehead against the archway. Twice.
“What?” Moondancer asks.
“I’m the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team,” he answers her. “We’ve got a game in less than an hour, and Harry’s our seeker. No backup.”
“Hmm, yeah,” Moondancer scowls. “I’d hate for Slytherin to win by default, rather than by skill. Especially since they don’t have any surprise handicaps like this to deal with. Um…” She glances at Professor McGonagall, and back to the fifth year. “How long would it take to add a backup seeker to the team?”
“A while,” Wood answers immediately. Then he glances at Professor McGonagall. “The approval stage goes through Professor McGonagall, so that could be theoretically instant- but then we’d have to get him quidditch robes, and make sure they have a broom. And train them.”
She taps one finger on her lips. “What if the backup in question were to borrow Harry’s equipment, and happen to be a skilled flier already?”
Wood winces. “Theoretically possible,” he states. “We’d at least be able to play, even if that seeker wouldn’t likely be a very good seeker. You have someone in mind?”
Moondancer nods, smiling. “Yep.” She looks sideways at Hermione. “Granger here.”
Professor McGonagall raises an eyebrow, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.
Hermione blinks. “What-!? What did you just say?”
Moondancer grins, blinking over to Hermione’s side and patting her shoulder. “Come on, Hermione. You’re going to have to get over your acrophobia sometime. Especially considering what happened between you and the papa tango.”
Wood raises an eyebrow. “Is she any good?” he asks.
Hermione shakes her head vehemently, but Professor McGonagall speaks. “As I recall, she caught Longbottom effortlessly, accurately, and gently with a school broom when he fell off his own in only her second flying lesson.”
He nods, looking at her. “So, she’s a good flier,” he mutters. “And I doubt we’re going to have any more perfect seekers floating around, so that’s going to be about the best we’re gonna get. Please, miss… Granger, was it?”
“Please, Hermione?” Moondancer asks, putting an arm around her shoulders. “You’ll be doing Harry a huge favor.”
Professor McGonagall raises an eyebrow, but Hermione blushes and averts her gaze. “S-Sure,” she eventually states. “I’ll… I’ll try.”
Wood sighs. “We’ll probably lose anyways, but we’ve got good chasers, so we’ll be better off than if we lost by default. Thank God the Quidditch robes are unisex.” He glances up at Professor McGonagall. “I’ll fetch Harry’s broom and robes and meet you by the field?”
Professor McGonagall and Moondancer both nod. “I’ll take care of the bobbleheads,” Moondancer volunteers, looking up at the Professor. “You can, um, take care of whatever you need to take care of before unleashing her on the field.”
Professor McGonagall nods again. “Good,” she states.
Wood turns and disappears back up the steps; Moondancer blinks briefly around the room before vanishing with all the bobbleheads.
“Follow me,” Professor McGonagall instructs Hermione, and leads her out of the common room.
Hermione follows, all the way to Professor McGonagall’s office.
“So,” the Professor finally begins, closing the door behind them. “You have a radio?”
Hermione blushes again. “Um, yeah.”
She raises an eyebrow. “When did that happen?”
“Uh… Wednesday. When I officially joined the Royal Equestrian Secret Service.”
“You joined them?”
She nods. “Yeah… They like my Equestrian-magic-ability to know exactly where to look for details on anything I think of, so they offered. I… Well, they study stuff nobody else has access to, they go on adventures, they solve puzzles of all shapes and sizes- whyever would I not want to join?”
She sighs. “In any case, you’re sure you want to come on the team as backup seeker?”
She nods. “Absolutely.”
“Alright,” McGonagall nods, and brandishes her wand for a moment. “For today, you can use Potter’s broom and robes. I expect the robes will be only slightly off in size; on Tuesday, we’ll have a set just for you. As for the broom, I’ll talk to Professor Dumbledore to see if we can’t bend the first year rule again- and if not, you’ll just have to share Potter’s broom indefinitely. In the meantime, it’s time you got headed down to the field. It’s important you go in there acting like this was all planned from the beginning- I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what despiriting the rest of the team can do.”
Wood takes Hermione aside as they reach the Quidditch pitch, before entering the changing rooms. “Alright, Hermione. Real quick, how much do you know about seekers?”
“Not much,” she answers. “I haven’t read up on them. They catch the snitch, right?”
He sighs. “Yeah. Well, I’ll have to give you the full introductory lesson sometime later- but for now, we’ll use the plan we formulated with Harry: Stay high up, out of the way, until you spot the snitch. Then dive in and catch it. Especially with your inexperience, I’d rather you not be targeted.” He glances towards the castle. “And… Was that fear of heights Moondancer was referring to?”
She nods meekly. “Don’t worry, I’ll… I’ll get through it. I won’t be falling off the broom, or seizing up in fright, or anything.”
She hadn’t counted on just how scary it would be to be this high up.
Every time she looks down, she spots the golden glint of the snitch- but looking down like that also makes her stomach queasy, so she hasn’t gone after it yet. She’s been mostly staring up into the sky, pretending she’s on a lawn chair back home, enjoying the sun on her skin. It’s… not the same as actually doing that, but it’s the fastest- and easiest- way she’s found to calm herself down.
“Wait a minute. Was that the Snitch?”
She blinks, and looks down, instantly spotting the golden ball and the chaser staring at it. She tightens her grip on Harry’s broom, willing herself not to fall- or hurl.
She’s not going to get it. The Slytherin seeker will, and they will win the match by a hundred and twenty points or so. She hasn’t been following the score, but she has noticed that Gryffindor has scored more often than Slytherin.
Then Fred Weasley’s bludger comes out of nowhere, making contact with the snitch- and causing it to streak halfway across the field before it recovers and veers off to the side. The bludger, meanwhile, redirects itself straight towards the charging Slytherin seeker. Nobody else seems to have managed to follow the snitch, though, so it seems to have “gotten lost”.
She quickly looks up again, stomach churning. She’s still not ready to go after it.
She glares at the sun.
Why did she have to say yes?
“Not much for Harry to do just yet, huh?”
Ron glances up. “Hagrid! What’re you doing here?”
He taps his giant binoculars. “Been watching from me hut. Better view from up here, though.”
“Oh,” Ron mutters. “Um, it’s Hermione up there, actually, not Harry. Harry had… a run in with the Crusaders, so they had to get a substitute.”
“That’s Hermione?” Hagrid asks, raising his binoculars to the distant, faint speck that is the Gryffindor seeker. “Sure looks like Harry.”
“Yeah, I know,” Ron mutters. “She’s using Harry’s broom and robes- they couldn’t get her some of her own fast enough.”
“Oh. Doesn’t exactly help she’s flying so high I can’t see her clearly even with my binoculars!”
“Wait, what? Wouldn’t that mean she’s flying so high she can’t see the snitch?”
Grunt. “Yeah. Not to mention, if yer fly too high, the air gets too thin and yer can’t breathe.”
Professor Quirrell raises his wand to the distant speck that is the Potter boy. Then he draws his breath, and mutters his first spell.
The shockwave of feedback coming back from the broom is a surprise; even a Nimbus doesn’t have nearly that much power, nor ability to fight back. But this one does. He groans, moving on to his next incantation as he engages in a fast-paced thrust and parry with the broom’s strange magic. He’s good, though- he’ll still get through it. It’ll just take him a little longer.
Professor Snape squints through his binoculars again, up at James’ son. He hasn’t gotten a good look at the boy since yesterday at dinner- and now, he’s flying so high he doesn’t have a hope of spotting the snitch.
Snape is torn between two opinions on the matter, though. On the one hand, he’s so high Quirrel- who he rather suspects is related to the Dark Lord- won’t be able to see him clearly or, hopefully, find him.
On the other hand, he’s so high he can’t see him clearly himself, to apply any countercurses.
Completely aside from how that gives Slytherin’s seeker a free run at the snitch. Honestly, next to Harry’s safety, he doesn’t care about the outcome of the match.
Hermione’s eyes open wide, very suddenly. Something’s attacking Harry’s broom, she can feel it. She snaps forwards on the broom, laying down against the handle and gripping it tightly as she rockets forwards in a wide arc, scanning the ground for the source of the magical attack.
She doesn’t see it.
Then her gaze crosses the teachers in the stands. There! Professor Snape is gazing up at her with his binoculars, wand in hand!
No, no, in order to jinx a broom like this, you have to maintain eye contact- and binoculars are known to not work for that.
There! Professor Quirrell is gazing up at her with his naked eyes, wand pointed, and muttering!
She draws her wand, pointing it down at him. “Finite incantatem!” It’s a completely harmless spell that simply disrupts active spellcasting.
The attack against her broom stutters, but picks back up again quickly.
She narrows her eyes. Thank the heavens his Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons are being ignored by the second-tier instructors for it. “Expelliarmus!” She watches his wand fly away from him.
The attack against her broom stops completely, and the broom stops twitching.
Her hand moves to her radio. “Just caught Professor Quirrel messing with my broom,” she announces. “Disarmed him.” She would have spoken in code, but she hasn’t had time to learn all of the various codes they’re using just yet. Plus, she’s not sure if there is a code for this situation- and the Agents aren’t above using plain english when no code is applicable.
“Roger,” Bonbon’s voice comes back, one of the few she can recognize. “Indigo Sierra.”
She nods. That was an information code, to tell her Dumbledore is being made aware.
Bonbon’s not done yet, though. “Finish the game, Papa One.”
Priority One orders to finish the game?
There’s the snitch.
She dives, thrusts herself forwards, downwards. She lifts a hand off the handle and catches the elusive ball, before flicking her broom out from under her just in time to make a perfect three-point landing, less than two seconds after she first dived.
Then she folds her wings.
Snape winces when Potter suddenly bursts into motion, racing off to the side. He hadn’t moved when the Snitch had been spotted earlier, and now he’s racing in a massive arc, wrapping around the stadium at what has to be top speed.
A few seconds pass, before he hears Professor Quirrell gasp behind him. A quick glance shows the man looking behind him, empty-handed. Strange; hadn’t the man had his wand out a minute ago?
Two seconds after that, Potter suddenly dives.
But, he doesn’t simply dive. No; with whatever he’s doing in addition, he left a brilliant, metallic red ring of energy, with slices of icy blue on either side, expanding in the sky behind him.
Then he streaks to the ground, a metallic red contrail in his wake, and slams into the middle of the pitch in a shockwave of dust and sparkle of bronze.
He redirects his binoculars down just in time to see Potter rise from his three-point landing, broom in hand, and hold the other hand held triumphantly high, the Snitch held tight.
Hold on a second.
That’s not Potter!
That’s the Granger girl that’s been most effective- second only to Lyra- in containing the Crusaders’ destruction!
… He can’t see any bronze, though. Where might that have come from?
“GRYFFINDOR WINS!” Lee Jordan, the Gryffindor doing the commentary, yells across the stadium.
“Oh come on!” a more distant yell echoes from somewhere in the Gryffindor section.
An echoing boom sounds from above.
Hermione steps into the changing rooms in a bit of a trance, and slumps into a chair, leaning back before leaning Harry’s broom against the wall next to her. Throughout her walk back to the changing rooms, the broom had healed itself of the damage Quirrell’s attack had done. Rather fortunately; she had not been looking forward to returning Harry a damaged broom.
Wood sits down next to her. “Thank you, Hermione! That was amazing!”
“ ‘Anks,” she answers distractedly, staring unseeingly across the room. She’s still trying to figure out exactly what she just did, and how- and of course, there doesn’t seem to be any books on the matter.
“But how did you do that?” Wood asks her. “I’ve never seen that kind of- of- ringboom before.”
“Rainboom,” she corrects automatically. Several Agents had complimented her on the Rainboom over the radio, but she doesn’t know what that’s supposed to be.
“Rainboom, then,” he states. “How did you… Uh…”
His suddenly worried tone draws her attention, and she raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“You’re… Glowing,” he mutters.
She looks down at her hand, then stares, lifting it up. “What the…?”
He’s not wrong. She does seem to be glowing, in a strange sense of the word; an icy blue aura is appearing around her, the same color as the fringes of her hair.
Then she drops her hand down, smiling at him. “Probably something to do with Equestrian magic.”
“Right,” he states. “I keep forge-!”
She misses the rest of the word, and whatever else he was saying. That aura-glow-thing had flashed really bright for a moment… and she’s not in the changing room.
She’s also a pony again.
She closes her eyes, concentrates on being human, and opens them again- but she’s still a pony.
Still a pegasus.
She looks back at her side, and back. Hithertoyet, she hasn’t looked at herself as a pony; she’s been avoiding this form as much as she can.
A whirl of icy blue… energy comes out of nowhere, quickly picking her up and blazing around her… then it’s gone, dropping her back to the cloud-like ground.
Not that she really notices, beyond her instinctive landing; she seems to have a whole new part of her mind that she simply didn’t have before.
Then everything flashes icy blue once again, and she feels the Quidditch robes on her arms once again.
She immediately turns to the startled Wood, still sitting where he had been before she disappeared. “I have a very important question,” she begins. “Am I human?”
He blinks. “Uh, yes? Is… Is something wrong?”
She lets out a sigh of relief, leaning back against the wall. “No, just… some kind of vision, I think. In it, I was transformed into something else.”
“... Oh.”
“Yeah. Um… I’m pretty sure the Rainboom was Equestrian magic as well. The stuff can be really disorienting sometimes.”
Fred suddenly crouches down in front of her. “You were flying at, what, a mile and a half up?”
“Two point three miles, actually.”
“And it took you two seconds to hit the ground,” George states, looking over the top of Fred’s head.
She winces. “Or so, yeah.”
Fred tilts his head. “Isn’t that, like, impossible?”
“No,” she states, shaking her head and scowling. “I was only moving… uh…” Her eyes widen.
“What?” Wood asks.
She turns to look at him. “I averaged about six times faster than sound on that dive.”
“That makes it a sonic Rainboom,” Fred states.
“The Nimbus Two Thousand has a top speed of about two hundred miles an hour,” George mutters. “Even in a steep dive.”
Wood scowls. “That makes no sense.”
Hermione scowls as well. “No, it doesn’t. Maybe Lyra knows more about it.”
Lyra lets out a faint moan as she awakens, one hand rising to her forehead.
Hermione’s head snaps up, abandoning the book she’d been reading. “Lyra?” she asks.
Lyra opens one eye to look at her. “Hermione?” she asks.
“You’re awake!” Hermione informs her. “Are you okay?”
“Eh,” Lyra grumbles. “Just a sec, I need to reset my magic.”
Hermione watches in silence for two seconds.
“Alright,” Lyra continues, the pain disappearing suddenly from her voice, as she sits up. “What do you need?”
Hermione points.
“... Oh boy. Ah, do you know what spell she fobbed?”
Hermione watches Sweetie’s head suddenly begin shrinking much faster than it had before. “The summoning charm,” she answers. “I have no idea how she got that result out of it. I had to break it with finite incantatem.”
“Finite incantatem?” Lyra asks. “What’s that?”
“It’s a third-year spell,” she answers. “Disrupts active spellcasting, nothing else.”
Lyra draws her wand. “Finite incantatem… Oh, yeah, it would do that. Only effective against wand magic, though.” She puts the wand away, then hops out of bed. “Anyways, these few over here aren’t going to be as easy to fix.” She glances up at Madam Pomfrey, bustling into the room in response to her commotion. “I can accelerate their recovery by a few times, but that’s about it. Harry’s got a bit of an advantage, so if I play against it, I can boost his recovery about twice as far as the rest. Call it… eight hours for Harry, sixteen for these three.”
Sweetie Belle suddenly leaps into a sitting position, bolting awake with a gasp and looking around. “What- What happened?” she asks.
Hermione and Lyra both look at her, one eyebrow raised apiece.
Sweetie shrugs. “Last I remember, I was trying that summoning charm again…?”
Hermione nods. “Botched.”
“Darn. How bad…?”
Hermione glances at Lyra. “Well, you managed to hit Lyra as well- so, two days?”
Sweetie facepalms. “Darn! Um… I didn’t miss the Quidditch match, did I?”
Lyra sighs. “Yes, you missed it,” she states. Then she glances at Hermione. “Unless it was rescheduled?”
Hermione shakes her head. “Played on schedule. Harry was supposed to be seeker, so we had to add a backup seeker real quick. We won.”
“Really?” Lyra asks. “Who was that seeker?”
“Me.”
Lyra laughs. “Well, that’s an easy one.”
Blink. “What do you mean?”
“Well, your magic meshed with the broom, right?”
Blink. “Uh, maybe?”
“So you had fine-tuned, instant control over exactly what it did, not to mention it could outperform itself by drawing on your reserves as well as its own passive collectors, right?”
She blinks. “Yeah?”
“Anything strange happen just before you caught the snitch?”
“Uh… Everyone’s calling it a ‘Sonic Rainboom’.”
Lyra holds up her hand. “High five!”
Hermione lifts her hand, and Lyra slaps it. “What…?”
“Really? … Right, you’re not familiar with Equestrian legends. The Sonic Rainboom is the name given to the initiation effect of a certain thaumic pattern that allows Equestrians to rather casually travel faster than sound. It’s very hard to kick off, but fairly easy to hold- and top speed depends on how strong you are. How fast did you manage?”
“Wait a second,” Sweetie Belle injects. “Instructor Granger Rainboomed!?”
Hermione glances at Sweetie while Lyra rolls her eyes, before turning back to Lyra. “Um… Mach six, I think- for two seconds. Straight down.”
Lyra nods. “On a broom.”
Hermione nods. “Uh, yeah? How would that…?”
Lyra smiles. “Even the best broom is about two percent efficient in converting Equestrian flight magic into actual flight,” she answers. “If you were to fly under your own power, you’d get about eighty percent efficiency- all the way up to a hundred on a Rainboom. The broom would actually have reduced the Rainboom efficiency to around one percent.”
Hermione blinks. “Meaning…”
Lyra grins. “Meaning, I can teleport to the moon, but you can fly to the moon. Even Rainbow can’t come anywhere close to that.”
“Wait, Rainbow? What about her?”
“She’s the only Equestrian known to be capable of producing a Sonic Rainboom,” Lyra answers simply. “As a matter of fact, the Rainboom is named after her.”
“... Oh.”
Lyra heaves a sigh. “Well, I’ve got classes to attend and homework to finish. I’ll see you around!” She vanishes.
Hermione stares at the spot she’d disappeared from, and drops her head into her hands.
“Is- Is something wrong?” Sweetie Belle asks, hopping off her bed to come running.
“Does that girl ever stay put long enough to hear everything you have to say?”
Sweetie pauses, one arm around Hermione’s shoulders. “Um… No, I don’t think so. She is less, uh, flighty in potions class, but…” She heaves a sigh. “But Dia- er, Instructor Tiara ends up answering my questions more often.”
She looks up at her. “And can you please stop calling me ‘Instructor Granger’ outside of class? My name’s Hermione.”
Filch can’t decide on anything that could make his day worse.
But he’s very aware of the fact that absence of evidence is not evidence of absence; thus, he refuses to make the notorious statement, “things can’t get any worse”. He knows perfectly well that they can, he just doesn’t know how.
It’s Monday evening, after the Quidditch match. Some fifth-years managed to plaster frog spleens all over the ceiling in one of the dungeon classrooms; he’s just finished scrubbing them all off. Before that, though, the Crusaders managed to flood half the library and set fire to the lake.
He’s still not sure how they managed to do that from the bathroom halfway across the castle from both locations.
Fortunately, no permanent damage had been done; the Giant Squid and all the merpeople had been smart enough to stay underwater until the flames went out, and Madam Pince has a spell she can use to restore the books to their original condition.
He pauses in the passage, cleaning supplies in his hands. There’s that Lyra girl, leaning against the wall next to a closed door, eyes closed and looking mildly put out.
He quickly decides that his day probably just got worse, though he can hope it hasn’t. Lyra is, after all, the ridiculously powerful Equestrian with no qualms about flinging that power around. At least she’s a little more responsible than some of the others he can name.
He glances sideways at a few classroom signs as he approaches, verifying his position in the castle and comparing it against his memory. Ah, yes, she’s permitted to be here; she’s not breaking any rules. So, at least his day hasn’t been completely ruined- yet, at least- by this encounter.
He doesn’t want to simply pass her by, though. If something’s bothering her enough to make her look like that, he at least wants to know what it is. That way, he can- hopefully- keep it from making his day any worse than it has to.
He pauses again, a few feet away from her. “Something the matter?” he asks, in his usual, irritable tone.
“Not really,” Lyra answers him, not looking up. “I’m just… trying to solve a little problem. Not long after we started, I figured out how to expand a British wizard’s magic matrix to match that of an Equestrian- and rather promptly discovered a facet of British magic that Equestrians simply don’t have. A few days after that, I found out that British facet is the one that makes self-transfiguration possible- including animagi. So I’ve been trying to find a way to expand an Equestrian’s magic matrix to include it, but I can’t seem to-!” She stops suddenly, eyes snapping to him. “Wait a minute. Why…?”
He blinks, backstepping slightly. “Uh-!”
“Oh, sorry- no, I just happened to notice that your magic matrix seems to be more… well, lacking. Almost like… Yeah. You probably have trouble using active magic?”
He takes another step backwards, debating running for it. “Active magic?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Lyra nods. “Accidental magic, wand magic, and so on. As different from passive magic, like magic resistance or perception.”
“Uh, yeah, I can’t… do that.”
She winces. “Yeah… You’ve got the facilities for it in your magic matrix, but it’s so badly damaged it might as well be missing. Hmm…” She leans against the wall again, staring at the ceiling. “If… Yeah. If I adapt my papa tango spell- that’s the one I used to expand British wizards’ matrices- I should be able to… Yeah. Magical manipulation facilities should be a large enough segment of the overall matrix for it to work… And if I do the magical perception facilities as well, I can heal someone that has those damaged… Add the thaumic reservoir, thaumic rejuvenation facilities, and that extra British facet, and it should be big enough I can apply it to an Equestrian as well.” She glances down at him. “Any part it tries to add that the subject happens to already have, undamaged, would be skipped. Um… Yeah. Gimme a couple days to refine it, and to talk to Bonbon, and I might be able to restore your active manipulation capabilities. We’ll call it, uh, Whiskey Tango.” She vanishes into thin air.
“Restore?” Filch asks, confused.
He’s not sure whether to classify the encounter as a good thing or a bad thing, overall. Lyra seemed to have realized he’s a squib- but she also said something about changing that.
Then she’d mentioned whiskey.
He doesn’t know what to think.
He stands for a few more seconds, trying to process it, before he discards the idea as gibberish and resumes his path to the supply closet.
He rather approves of Bonbon’s approach. Rather than deciding herself, she made Lyra go through him.
And of course, to do that, she made Lyra write a fifty-page dissertation describing the spell she wants to test on his caretaker, and all of its safeties.
A dissertation that took her a few weeks to write, and him a few hours to read.
The main matrix that makes everything work, however, is not revealed. As a matter of fact, there isn’t nearly enough information in the document to even begin to guess what it looks like; Lyra had noted, however, that only about eighty-seven percent of the overall matrix is concealed- and that which is concealed is so because it would be incredibly dangerous in the wrong hands. Far more dangerous, even, than a stack of Unforgivables.
The reason was given, of course.
It’s a set of extremely powerful magic matrices capable of modifying the magical core, reliably. A set of matrices capable of completely overwriting who someone is- even if she’s promised to absolutely never use them to change anyone’s mind or personality, only abilities. And even then, she’ll only add, never remove.
The main reason they’re so dangerous is not because they’re deadly without the safeties. It’s that, if used improperly, they could be used to very quickly- and irreversibly- enslave an entire nation. As such, the matrices are so dangerous that writing them down at all, no matter where or how many security steps are taken, is an unwarranted risk.
She did state that she has very, very good memory, and thus does not need to write them down to be sure she’s got them all right. Besides, that’s what forty percent of the safeties are for: To shut the whole thing down before it does anything should any of it not be absolutely, perfectly accurate!
The name of the entire spell, ‘Whiskey Tango’, reads to him as a codeword.
He reads the last few paragraphs, a quick summary of the entire document, once again. Then, he finally reaches the final page.
He draws his wand, and uses a spell to move the line waiting for his signature down a little bit, before switching to his quill. Before he signs, he rewrites the statement above the signature line, crossing out the old.
I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, authorize the testing of this spell on Argus Filch, on condition that he is provided an opportunity to review this document and signs his agreement as well.
A second signature line appears below his own, completely by itself, as soon as he finishes writing the new statement. He reads the statement above it, below the line still waiting for his signature.
I, Argus Filch, do agree to have the spell described in this document tested upon myself.
He smiles, and signs on his line.
“Ahh, paperwork.”
Hermione leaps fluidly off the train as soon as it draws to a halt. As planned, she’s going home for the holidays- and carrying her trunk along with her. It’s kinda funny, when she thinks about it; as she noticed this morning, the trunk hardly seems to weigh anything, even though it’s got exactly the same amount of stuff in it as it had when she headed to school.
… Well, technically, it’s actually got more stuff in it; the Nimbus Two Thousand wasn’t in it on the way to school, nor the sleek laptop. Nor the radio she’s not wearing right now. Nor the thirty or so books she’d ordered with her pay from being an agent. None of them could be found in the school library.
But it still feels crazy light, even though she knows she never applied a featherweight charm. She hasn’t bothered to read up on them; she hasn’t had any reason to.
She looks for her parents. Professor McGonagall had explained that they’d be able to enter the station on their own, without her, once she held their hands to take them across the barrier the first time.
She waves with her free hand. “Hey Mom! Dad! Over here!”
Her mom, Emma, charges to her and hugs her tightly. “Hermione! Oh, how I missed you!”
She lets go of her trunk, letting it float in the air next to her, to return the hug. “I missed you too, Mom.”
Her dad, Dan, joins in the hug, making it a group hug. The three hold for a few seconds, before breaking.
Dan speaks first, glancing sideways at her trunk. “So, you upgraded to the floating luggage?” he asks.
She glances at it. “Ah, no, actually. I’m making it float.” She’s not sure exactly how, but she’s fairly sure it has something to do with the strange, icy blue aura that appears around anything she uses her newfound telekinetic powers on.
… Or, more accurately, those telekinetic powers. She’s using them to float a couple of books inside her trunk, neatly hiding that aura thing from outside observation.
Emma chuckles, ruffling her hair with one hand. “And I bet you used magic on your hair as well, right?”
She grins. “Actually, no. One of my classmates used magic on me, and this-” she pats her hair- “is just a side effect.”
“A side effect?” Dan asks, alarmed. “What’s the main effect?”
“I’ll tell you once we get home. And, um, did I ever tell you just how scary it is to fly?”
Her parents share a look.
“You go high up or something?” Emma asks.
She nods, and shudders. “Yeah. Two and a half miles, dove at mach six.”
“At mach six!?” Dan almost screams.
“On a broom, yes.”
Emma stares. “You dove, at mach six, on a broom.”
She nods. “Yes.”
“Please tell me the teachers were absolutely certain you were safe.”
She shakes her head. “Uh, actually, that was right after one of the teachers attacked me. But I fought him off, and there were several hundred other students looking out for me, so I wasn’t in any kind of danger.”
Emma looks up at Dan, still staring at her after his yell. “I think I’m starting to wish I could use magic myself.”
Hermione blinks. “You know, I’m going to have to ask Lyra about that.”
“Lyra?” Dan asks. “Who’s that?”
“The classmate that designed and applied the spell that, ah, changed my hair, and who is also designing a spell to do something similar for people from her homeworld.”
“What?”
“Come on, let’s go home. A lot of that stuff is top secret, and this station isn’t exactly the best place to yap about that kind of thing.”
“... Ahh, right, going home. Um, you’ll probably want to put your weightless luggage on the trolley here- it’d probably get people’s attention.”
She raises an eyebrow. “It’s not weightless. As a matter of fact, it weighs a hundred seventy three and a half pounds.”
He looks at it. “Wait. That thing weighs as much as I do, and you’re carrying it like it weighs nothing?”
She glances down at it, before holding it with a fingertip at arms’ length. She’d switched back to manual carrying, releasing her telekinetic hold. “Um… I guess.” She scowls, and casually places it down on the trolley her parents had brought, ignoring the heavy clunking of the same. Then she shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“Well, it all started after Charms,” Hermione states, sitting on the couch. “When Applebloom thought she’d try the levitation spell one more time. For some reason, the Crusaders- Applebloom is one of ‘em- are really good at messing things up. Though, Bloom is the tamest of the three; Scoots messes up the most.
“Sorry, getting off topic. In any case, she botched the spell, and we ended up falling upwards, through the ceiling. When Lyra finally arrived to set things straight, there was only one way anyone could permanently fix the damage the spell did to me- and that was to transform me, permanently.”
“Transform?” Dan asks. “That mean you’re… Um…”
Hermione giggles. “A pegasus?”
He blinks, and stares at her. “A pegasus?”
She nods. “Yep. Turns out, Lyra- and the Crusaders- come from a whole alternate universe, where they’re all ponies. And a third of them, or so, are pegasi. That’s what she turned me into- something about expanding magic matrices. Don’t worry, I didn’t lose anything, save the bothersome hair.” She grins, brushing her hand briefly through her metallic red hair.
“But you’re not a pegasus,” Emma states, confused.
Hermione nods. “Just like they appear as humans in this world. Something about the magic of the worlds, transforms them into humans on this side. Means I got to keep my human form.” She sighs. “And, apparently, us British people have some magic facet they don’t have, that lets me transform myself at will.” She shudders. “Not… Not that I want to, or need to, but I suppose I can. Though…” She looks to the side, at the armrest of the couch. “There is… one other change, to my… human form.” She unfolds her wings slightly. “My… My wings stick around.” She folds them again, shuddering. “At least they take care of themselves.”
“So…” Emma begins.
“Magic is weird,” Dan declares.
“No kidding,” Emma agrees.
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
Harry lets out a sigh- but at least now, he has her attention. “I said, there’s something I’d like to show you tonight,” he repeats. “It’s a mirror that shows me my parents.”
Lyra raises her eyebrows. “A mirror that shows you your parents? Why do you want to show it to me?”
He shrugs. “It… It showed Ron something different. And you’re the most likely- that I can think of- to have a clue as to what it’s really doing.” Tonight is the third night after Christmas.
“Ahh. Sure, then.”
“Okay,” he mutters. “I’ll be right back.” He runs upstairs, fetches his invisibility cloak, and returns.
Lyra’s eyebrows shoot up as soon as she sees it. “Uh, where did you get that?” she asks.
He recoils slightly. “Christmas present,” he answers. “The note said it once belonged to my father.”
Lyra scowls. “Alright, where did your father get a Death’s Shroud?”
“Get what?”
She taps it gently with one finger. “That’s not an invisibility cloak. That’s a Death’s Shroud. Far more powerful than any invisibility cloak, and hellishly difficult for me to detect- flat-out impossible for anyone else. Even you, right now.” She scowls. “It’s gone stagnant, though. The sonic containment and physical anti-impediment routines are inactive. And… Yeah, the summoner’s burnt out, and the expansion matrix is jammed.”
“Uh, what?”
She smiles suddenly. “But while the identity matrix is a bit clogged, it’s still working- and it self-identifies as belonging to you.”
He stares at her.
She blinks. “Right, you don’t know what a Death’s Shroud is, do you?” She sighs. “It’s a very powerful collection of spells optimized for concealment. I’m one out of a half a dozen Equestrians powerful enough to make one, and the only Equestrian to know how. As a matter of fact, my overblown stealth spells are based on the Death’s Shroud matrices- I just have more control over them.” She taps his invisibility cloak once again. “And the only reason this one looks like an invisibility cloak is because it’s so badly damaged.”
“What.”
She tilts her head. “Would you like me to fix it real quick? These things take weeks to make, but I can repair the matrices in this one in about two minutes.”
He stares.
“Don’t worry, I won’t damage it. It is all you have left of your dad, after all.”
“Uh… Okay.”
He drops the invisibility as he runs towards the mirror, getting in front of it. Lyra had somehow made his invisibility cloak part of him, such that he can turn it on and off- nevermind stretching it to cover as many people as he wants it to- with his mind. Now, he’s turned it off and reappeared, because being invisible tickles slightly.
“Ohhh,” Lyra mutters from off to the side.
He glances over. “What?”
“The Mirror of Erised,” Lyra states. “Very powerful, technically good magical artefact- yet perhaps the most dangerous of the ‘good’ artefacts there are, while it’s at it.”
“It…” He looks at the mirror. “It shows me my parents.”
“It shows you a lie,” Lyra answers. “This mirror reflects back to you what you want to see, not what’s actually there. Besides- remember that envelope thing I was talking about in the Leaky Cauldron?”
He blinks. “Uh, yeah?”
“You can actually talk to your parents, with it. Their real souls, not just a projection of them like this mirror.” She puts a hand on each of his shoulders, staring into his eyes for a couple seconds. “Hmm… Yeah, you’ve got enough experience with it to move on. Now, here’s what I want you to do.”
Dumbledore stares at the impromptu midnight magic lesson taking place right in front of him.
He stares until it’s done, and Harry’s looking at something he can’t see, watching it dance in circles around him.
“That’s…?” Harry begins, trailing off.
“That’s your mother,” Lyra informs him. “She’s excited that you can see her. I’m afraid that’s about as far as we can get right now- you’ll have to get used to it for a while before you can move on to hearing her. Then, after that, seeing her in more detail.”
“What about my dad?”
“Your mom is far, far easier to see, because you’re looking through her magic. But he’s here as well, don’t worry.” Lyra shakes an invisible hand, drawing Harry’s attention. “Really? … Thanks, I’ll have to check it out.” She looks back at Harry. “Once you’re able to see your mom clearly, you’ll start to be able to see him like you see her now. A little past that- right about the point when you can hear him- you’ll start being able to pick out other, unrelated spirits.” She glances at the air where she’d shaken the hand. “And that’s also right about when you’ll be able to start physically interacting with your mom.”
He blinks. “Wait. They’re here?”
She nods. “Yep. Your parents will always hear anything you say, no matter where you- or they- are. They heard us talking, and got curious.” She grins. “And of course, my parents are here as well- this is my mom, Dancing Hearts.” She rests her hand on something invisible, about chest height, next to her. “And this is my dad, Hamstrings.” The other hand comes up this time, resting on something slightly higher, on her other side.
Petunia Dursley can’t decide how to describe her day.
Unfortunately, she’s been able to say that quite a lot lately.
She can’t remember the last time she’s had a good day. Perhaps… Perhaps it was way back in the day, whenever she and Vernon only had one bouncing baby boy to worry about. One baby Dudley.
When had that been taken away from her?
She remembers hating her sister for abandoning her and the rest of the family.
She remembers hating her sister for hogging her ability. For only using it for her own convenience, not even trying to help the rest of the family.
She remembers that being the reason she and Vernon always pretended she never had a sister.
She leans back against the kitchen cabinets, letting out a breath and closing her eyes.
She remembers being startled by finding Harry on the doorstep. Frightened, perhaps.
She remembers being excited after she read the letter.
She remembers making plans. To treat the boy as her own, to nurture him, help him grow strong. Help him become part of her family, help him want to help her family, when he eventually graduates.
She remembers becoming angry. She doesn’t know why.
She remembers every single day since being a bad day, filled with anger and tension directed towards Harry.
She remembers being terrified when she read his first Hogwarts letter. She doesn’t know why.
Then, September first, nineteen ninety one, had arrived.
She remembers leaving him on the station.
She remembers glaring at him from a distance, daring him to find the platform on his own. She remembers how to get onto it; as a matter of fact, she’s the only one of her family that can actually enter it.
She remembers watching him enter the station, after talking to that clearly wizarding family.
She remembers driving home.
She remembers the anger fading.
Dudley wanders into the room. “Hi Mom,” he greets simply, before pulling out a pan and lighting the stove. “Eggs?”
She shrugs. He’s right; she really should eat. She’s already skinnier than is healthy.
But she can’t eat.
She… She remembers terrorizing her sister’s son.
Even Dudley was affected.
He’s flipped almost entirely around over that first month of school this year.
Vernon no longer has to bribe the teachers to give him good grades.
Most of the time, any more, he even makes breakfast. He’s becoming a halfway-decent cook, though he’s nowhere near as good as Harry was.
He doesn’t eat nearly as much as he used to. He’s losing weight as well- though, unlike her, he’s doing it at a safe rate.
Vernon has taken to binge eating, though.
Her home has been shrouded with sadness ever since Harry left for school.
Dudley’s gang has dissolved. The other members shifted first to being just friends, then faded from there. She’s pretty sure Dudley doesn’t even talk to them anymore.
What happened?
She doesn’t know.
She doesn’t know what forced her hand.
She doesn’t know what had taken her unawares, forced her to alienate her nephew.
“Mom? Breakfast?”
She lets out a breath, opening her eyes. Dudley is offering her a plate; the sausages are slightly burnt, the eggs are a bit runny, and the bacon is rather severely charred.
She sighs one more time, and puts on a smile. “Alright,” she answers, accepting the plate and sitting at the table.
She picks at her food.
She can’t eat.
Dudley has no such inability. He eats his food at a normal pace, pausing to enjoy each bite- or the opposite, occasionally, to analyze exactly what he got wrong.
She can see him becoming a professional chef someday.
He finishes long before she does.
“Mom?” he asks.
She doesn’t respond.
“Please don’t starve,” he continues. “It’s… It’s not like we can do anything about it right now. Maybe… Maybe when he gets back, before it… comes back, we can…” He sighs.
The doorbell rings.
He looks up, then back at her. “I got it,” he volunteers, before climbing out of his seat to go find the front door.
She sighs, staring at the sausage at the end of the fork. “What has my life come to?” she asks blankly.
Dudley’s voice comes wafting down the hall, from the front door. “What the-? Who are you?”
The response sounds like a girl, about his age, and waay too cheerful. “Hi! Is this the Dursley home?”
She closes her eyes, and stuffs the sausage into her mouth, chewing slowly.
Dudley’s voice is suddenly wary. “Yeah,” he mutters. “What do you need?”
“Huh… Interesting. Do you mind if I come in, and chat for a little bit?”
She groans, placing her fork down and rising from her seat. She’ll have to sort this one out herself.
“Um, just a minute,” Dudley’s voice comes. “Let me get my mom.” The door closes.
Her mouth twitches in a smile, briefly. Dudley has become extremely helpful lately- and also gained the wisdom to know when to get one of his parents, and when that’s not necessary.
Dudley meets her just outside the kitchen. “Strange girl at the door,” he informs her. “Weird hair. Never seen her before.”
Petunia walks up to the door, before pulling it open and looking down at the girl- correction, two girls and a boy- on her front step, all about Dudley’s age. All three are smiling up at her; the boy looks a little unsure of himself.
All three of them have strange hair.
The girl at the front of their triangle formation has wavy hair, split between white and light blue.
The girl behind and to her left has curly two-tone pink and dark blue hair.
And the boy, at the third corner of the triangle, has wavy hair like the first girl, though his shiny silver hair is split into thirds by navy blue stripes.
The hair of the girl in front seems to be crackling with energy.
“Wh-Who are you?” she stutters.
“My name’s Lyra Heartstrings,” the lead girl pipes cheerfully. “These are my good friends Bonbon and Draco Malfoy. Um…” She glances at the boy she’d introduced as Malfoy, then back up at her. “I’m guessing you’ve had, ah, anger issues around Harry?”
Her eyes harden. “That’s none of your business,” she declares.
“Actually, it might be,” Lyra answers. “I’m pretty sure I know what caused them, and how to keep them from returning.” She glances out towards the street, and back towards her again. “I… can’t discuss it out here, though. Statute of Secrecy and everything.”
Her eyes go wide.
They’re from the wizarding world.
She knows Harry’s famous in that world.
They’re probably here to hurt her. Or imprison her, or her son.
“Y-You’re not here to-!?” she demands.
Lyra shakes her head. “No, no. We’re here to help you. If the vibe I’m getting from out here is accurate, he would have enjoyed his last ten years here, if not for something that victimized you as well.”
She pulls the door open, stepping back.
Emma Granger knocks on her daughter’s bedroom door, before pushing it open to stick her head in. “Hermione?” she calls softly. It’s time for her to get up, on the day she returns to the school; they’ll have to leave for the station in a couple hours.
The lump in the blankets, despite not being nearly large enough to be her daughter, grumbles a little.
“Hermione?” she calls again.
The lump shifts again. “Huh? … Oh, is it time to get up?”
She nods. “Yes, yes it is.”
“Alright, coming.” Hermione’s strange, icy blue telekinetic aura surrounds the blankets, pulling them back- and her daughter fairly explodes from underneath them, yawning and stretching her wings as she goes.
“How…?” Emma mumbles, staring.
Hermione blinks. “What? How… Oh. Um, ever since I got wings, it’s been incredibly difficult to get comfortable as a human… so I transform and sleep as a pegasus. For some reason, not only am I much smaller that way, but it’s exponentially easier to get comfortable.” She grins. “And it’s kinda fun to hide under the sheets.”
Emma blinks. “So, you’re terminally afraid of being a pegasus, yet you regularly turn yourself into one every night?”
Hermione nods. “Yeah.” She shudders. “I do worry I won’t be able to change back in the morning, though.”
“Okay.”
“Though, if something does try to force me to stay a pegasus, it means I’ll be more experienced- and, in theory, more able to ignore it and transform anyways. Um, today is the day I go back to school, right?”
Nod. “Yeah.”
Her trunk floats over, surrounded by that same icy blue aura, and pops itself open, laying itself on the bed. “At least packing is easy.” Some of the various objects around her room- schoolbooks, robes, her wizard’s hat, and a couple other knicknacks- pack themselves under the influence of that aura.
Emma nods again, wishing she could do that. “... Yeah. Breakfast will be ready in about fifteen minutes.”
Garrick Olivander looks up from his work, before rising fluidly from his seat. The wards just picked up the arrival of some customers; one of them, he recognizes: Lyra Heartstrings.
The other four are unfamiliar, even though three of them are adults.
He wanders out, slipping through the shadows behind them- he knows it won’t work with Lyra, she’s too observant, but the others it should work with- and applies the little bond-hunter spell Lyra taught him as he approaches.
He slips sideways through the shelves, collecting the four wands before slipping up behind them.
“Good day,” he greets.
All three adults, and the unfamiliar youth, jump and spin. Lyra simply smiles, turning to face. “Good day to you too,” Lyra bows. “We thought we’d get a few wands.”
He nods. “Yours still serving you well?”
She smiles, drawing it out of her pocket and twirling it around her fingers in a blur of motion. “Yep! It’s still nothing next to my innate magic abilities, but honestly, there’s not much that can even compare to that.” Her smile becomes a grin. “It has come in handy, though- there’s a few things, mostly brute force or directional burst techniques, that are easier to do with a wand than without.” She shrugs. “But don’t worry, I’m very much the exception- even amongst the Equestrians, almost everyone is going to find wand magic easier than innate for almost anything. I’m just strong enough my magic forms its own channelling core.”
“Ahh. So, who wants to go first?”
The oldest of the set steps forwards. “I will.”
Filch is having an excellent day. Not only had Lyra’s spell actually worked, but the girl had teamed up with a Hufflepuff friend of hers to fly him out to get his wand. The three others they picked up along the way, and later dropped off, were nervous, but largely decent people; Lyra had informed him, after dropping them off, that they are subjects two, three, and four of the spell he’d agreed to play testbed for.
All four, himself included, had acquired wands.
On the way back to the castle, after dropping the Dursleys off, Lyra had then sat in the back with him, rather than riding up front- and spent the journey teaching him a few spells he’d find useful in his caretaking duties. She had, of course, promised to help him secretly study up on all the rest of the spells any normal wizard his age knows.
Now, while Cherry flies the helicopter away for parking, he and Lyra walk in the main entrance to the castle.
He stops, looking at the mud-covered floor. It’s raining outside, and today’s the day that everyone comes back to school from the Christmas holidays. “Looks like half the school tracked mud inside,” he muses, before raising his wand. “Scourgify! Oh, that’ll never get old.” All of the muddy tracks simply vanished, instantly. No longer will he have to spend hours upon hours of backbreaking labor scrubbing up muddy footprints every time it rains!
“Candy Stripes to Gamma, please.”
Hagrid, Harry, and Ron all look at Hermione.
“What?” Hagrid asks, confused. Both Harry and Ron nod.
Hermione shakes her head. “Code words,” she answers. “I figure Lyra ought to see this. If nothing else, she’ll be able to help you stay safe. Should have involved her long ago, I’m not sure what’s gotten into me.”
A knock sounds on the door.
Harry looks up. “That’s Lyra,” he states.
“What?” Hagrid asks, now worried.
Hermione smiles. “Oh, don’t worry, she won’t be tattling on you. I think she’d enjoy helping you, actually.”
Hagrid steps over to the door, and pulls it slightly open. “Who is- Oh, Lyra. Come in.” He pulls it open.
Lyra walks in through the small gap, and Hagrid shuts the door quickly. “Thank you, Hagrid,” Lyra greets, before looking over at Hermione. “You called?”
Hermione leans to the side, exposing the dragon egg on Hagrid’s table, and gestures to it.
Lyra steps closer, looking at it. “Oh. Yeah, that’ll do it.” Her hand rises to one of her radios. “Can someone send Spike down here, papa two?”
“On it!” Fluttershy’s voice answers.
“Spike?” Hermione asks- but pauses when Bonbon’s voice comes over the radio.
“What do you need him for, Stripes?”
“Sierra,” Lyra answers. A code to indicate that the particular information requested is secret, and not to be transmitted.
“Lima.” An inquisitive follow-up to ‘Sierra’- asking if she can talk about it face-to-face, later.
“Roger.” A way of saying yes without sounding like it at all.
“So, who’s Spike?” Hermione asks.
Lyra grins, her eyes sparkling slightly. “An egg-spert,” she answers. She glances at Hagrid. “Don’t worry, I’ll make him swear to secrecy before I let him in. He’s not a Hufflepuff for nothing.”
The next three minutes pass in silence, before a knock comes on Hagrid’s cabin door.
Lyra answers it, cracking the door open. “Hi Spike! I’m going to need you to swear to secrecy with this.”
There is a pause, before a male voice answers. “Uh, sure, I can do that. Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye. So, what is this super-secret thing?”
Before Hagrid can object, she pulls the door open, letting him in, and closes it behind him.
Right on time for a scratching noise to come from the egg, and for it to split open.
“Woah-ho awesome!” Spike touts, trotting forwards. “What is it?”
“That’s a dragon,” Lyra answers.
Spike reaches forwards with his bare fingers to stroke its head. “Welcome to the world!”
Hagrid stares slack-jawed.
Very suddenly, it snaps its jaws on Spike’s fingers. He shakes it off, gently, chuckling. “Hey now, no need to bite.”
The dragon snarls at him; a few sparks fly from its mouth. Then, it shivers.
Spike draws a short breath, then blows a tongue of flame back at the startled-looking dragon.
Lyra breaks out laughing as Hagrid, Harry, Ron, and Hermione all let out shrieks of combined surprise and terror.
“What in the world!?” Hagrid demands, recovering first.
Lyra shrugs. “I did say he’s an egg-spert, didn’t I?”
Spike chuckles while Hagrid nods slowly. “Yeah?”
“I’m sure you all know that us Equestrians aren’t exactly human in our homeworld. Well, Spike here is unique among us- in that, on the other side, he’s a dragon himself.” She glances at the dragon on the table. “And that was a stroke of genius, Spike. His magical core is still developing- and you’ve managed to give it a predominantly Equestrian shape.” She looks back up at Hagrid. “Meaning, your baby dragon is going to be much smarter than the beastial dragons wizarding kind knows. As a matter of fact, give him a few weeks, and we can start teaching him to talk.”
“Ahh…”
“Don’t worry, he won’t have lost anything, just become smarter and more capable. And, because of that change, it’ll actually be remotely safe to raise him in a wooden hut, around people his venom will slaughter in droves!”
“What-!?” Hagrid asks, glancing between Spike and the dragon on the table.
Lyra glances at Spike. “Don’t worry, Spike’s completely immune. I mean, he’s even venomous himself.”
Spike straightens, thumping his chest proudly with one hand. “That I am!”
“Wait, what?”
Harry sighs. It’s taken him months of effort, but he’s finally managed to catch Lyra at a time when she’s not about to run away, and managed to ask his question. “Is it possible to make me capable of that Equestrian magic?” he repeats.
“Yeah, I heard that,” Lyra nods. “Just had to make sure. And, um, you are aware the papa tango has only about a one in three chance of making you capable of levitation like that, right?”
He sighs. So, there is a way. “Can we do it?”
She blinks. “You are aware it’s probably the most painful thing you’ll ever experience, right?”
He blinks. “I can handle pain.”
“You are aware it’s going to be deadly to perform with that soul fragment attached to your forehead, right?”
“Can you remove it?”
She shakes her head. “I know of a way to do that, it is true- just reset your magic field- but unfortunately, that’d be deadly for you.” She turns her head, looking to the side. “Though… Hmm. I might be able to…” She starts whipping through her books and papers, muttering about something incomprehensible.
Hermione’s arm lands around his shoulders. “Lyra being difficult again?”
He shakes his head, sighing. “No, actually. I managed to ask the question, and now…”
“I think… Yeah,” Lyra states, looking up at him. “It’s possible. Very risky; I’ll have to reset your magic, wait for the fragment to shatter, and then apply the accelerated, reusable papa tango matrices I spent all month setting up before you have time to die. Which would be a window of, oh, a second. Or less.” She gazes up at the ceiling. “I haven’t had time to add the age restoration routines just yet, but since you’re still eleven, that won’t be an issue.”
“Age restoration?” Hermione asks.
She nods. “Yeah. Only really in thaumic and physical appearance, though- someone that took the papa tango with those matrices added would come out looking no different- even to magic- but they’d then stay the same for however old they were minus eleven years, before they resumed aging.”
“... Wait. What if someone used one of those spells to become younger?”
She shakes her head. “They don’t work that way. Sure, age spells capable of that do exist- but they wear off in a matter of days. It’s not possible to extend one’s lifespan with an age spell- and believe me, it’s been tried. Many times.” She lifts her hand to her radio. “Hey Bonnie? Can you talk?” Pause. “Charlie Gamma.”
Hermione tilts her head. “How…? Right.”
Harry looks between her and Lyra. “So… what’s going on?”
Hermione looks at him. “With what Lyra just said, about the danger involved- is that something you really want to do?”
He nods.
“Absolutely certain?”
He nods again.
“Even knowing the extreme danger it’ll involve?”
He nods again.
“And the extreme pain?”
“The extreme pain that’ll probably be an order of magnitude higher, thanks to the magic reset and near-death thing,” Lyra inserts.
He nods again.
Then Bonbon walks up next to Hermione, her Slytherin robes drawing strange looks here in the Gryffindor common room. “Yes, Lyra?”
Lyra points at Harry. “He wants the papa tango,” she states. “I’d have to do it as a reset-invoke; risk level Charlie, likely pain level, um… a dozen lakes.”
Harry blinks. “Lakes?”
Hermione blinks as well. “We never did tell you about Lake Don’t-Mess-With-Twilight, did we?”
Harry turns, raising an eyebrow. It’s the day after he’d asked for their ‘papa tango’ thing. “Yes, Lyra?”
“Well, I’ve been running tests on the matrix down there, and… Well, I’m sorry to say, I won’t be able to activate it until I’ve finished installing the age restoration routines. As such, it’ll be another month and a half or so. I’m really sorry about that, but the way these standing matrices were designed, the safeties will never check out unless every last part is installed- and age matrices are always a pain.” She shrugs. “If nothing else, you’ll have it for next year, eh?”
He sighs. “Yeah, I guess.” Bonbon had given the go-ahead, so Lyra had planned on doing it with him tonight.
“Something’s bothering you,” Harry states bluntly.
“Ah, nothin’,” Hagrid mutters.
Spike looks up from where he’s giving Norbert a belly rub. “Really, Hagrid, even Norbert can sense it. Right?”
“Yah!” Norbert answers. “Un-con!”
Ron stares at Norbert. “I… I still can’t believe how fast he’s learning.”
Hermione ignores Ron, looking up at Hagrid. “Unicorn? Is something the matter with a unicorn? Maybe in the Forbidden Forest?”
Hagrid ignores Hermione’s question. “Lyra says his growth spurt will end in a month,” he informs Ron. “And he’ll gain the ability to become a human at the same time.”
Norbert scowls at him. “Un-con! Foe-est!”
“Hagrid,” Harry sighs. “There’s something wrong with a unicorn in the forest, isn’t there?”
“N-No,” Hagrid mutters.
“An injured unicorn, probably,” Hermione states.
“Yah!”
Everyone looks at Norbert.
“Well, that answers that,” Hermione continues. “Hagrid? Would it be a problem if we joined you in a search for whatever’s hurting unicorns?”
“Something’s hurting them?” Malfoy asks. He’d been invited to the party by Hermione some week or two back and, despite being a Slytherin, seems perfectly okay with Norbert.
Hermione turns to face him. “Yeah. Around here, unicorns are beasts, but they’re so, ah, pure that almost nothing even tries to hunt them- and that which tries, can’t. They also almost never hurt themselves, so if it’s an injured unicorn, nine times out of ten, it’s something powerful hunting unicorns.”
“Around here?” Hagrid asks.
Hermione shakes her head. “This world,” she states. “Equestrian unicorns are a bit different, and Malfoy’s been there. Met one, I understand.” Her grin has a conspiratorial edge to it that Hagrid doesn’t notice.
Malfoy snickers slightly.
“Oh, alright,” Hagrid grumbles. “You can come with me and look. Tell you what, come back this evening, and I’ll see if I can get us a lead to follow.”
They come back that evening, as a party. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Spike, and Malfoy.
“Alright,” Hagrid nods. “Looks like we’ll be able to split into three groups. I’ll lead one; Fang will have another. The third…”
“We can trash anything that comes our way,” Malfoy declares, putting an arm around Hermione’s shoulders. He glances at her. “Right?”
She blushes. “Yeah. You won’t need to worry about us.”
“... Right,” Hagrid mutters. “Then, who’s with Fang, and who’s with me?”
In the end, Harry end up pairing with Hagrid, while Ron and Spike take Fang.
“Now, if you see the unicorn, send up green sparks. If you encounter trouble, send up red sparks. Everyone know how?”
Heads nod.
“Alright, let’s practice.”
Spike promptly throws his head back, shooting a tongue of first green then red flame high into the sky. Then he grins at Hagrid’s shocked expression- Hagrid still can’t seem to get over his ability to breathe fire- and draws his wand with everyone else, to demonstrate the spark spells.
Then, everyone heads into the forest. Hagrid points out the unicorn blood on the ground, before the path splits into three; Hagrid and Harry take the center fork, Ron, Spike, and Fang the right.
“Well,” Hermione mutters, some time after she and Malfoy started calmly down the left fork, alone except for each other. “This is certainly more interesting than I thought it’d be.” There have been little spots of silver unicorn blood, steadily increasing in frequency.
Malfoy nods, eyes flicking constantly back and forth. “Are… Are you sure this was a good idea?”
“Of course,” she nods. “Between my speed and your unicorn magic, we can both be up a tree in a matter of moments. And, worst comes to worst, you can take us all the way back to Hogwarts. Besides, with my pegasus eyesight, we’ll have warning long before anything gets anywhere close.”
“You sure about that?”
“About the eyesight, not really- the boost is really no help in dense trees. Pony hearing could be helpful, though.”
“True… I don’t think it carries over to our human forms, though.”
She shakes her head. “No, it doesn’t. Though… Feel like transforming, and riding in my arms? It’d let us take advantage of pony hearing without, ah…”
He chuckles. “You’re still afraid of being caught in your pony form, aren’t you?”
She hangs her head. “Yeah.”
“You know, I should be more worried about that than you. We are looking for something that hunts unicorns, and here I’m a unicorn.”
“All the more reason for you to be riding rather than carrying- I, as a pegasus, can fly us out of trouble. I doubt it’s a monster bird or something that’s been hunting unicorns.”
“Oh please, you’re still deathly afraid of heights, except when actually in danger of falling. Which, by the way, I still find funny.”
“Hey, at least I can get us up a tree!”
“Yeah, and I can teleport. Besides, have you ever flown as a human? Without a broom?”
“Ah… no.”
“How about as a pegasus?”
She shakes her head.
“Then you can’t exactly say that. It’ll be faster and- Hold on.”
Both of them go completely silent, ears probing.
There’s a… slithering noise nearby. Almost like… Oh, a cloth of some sort, is being dragged across the ground.
Hermione and Draco trade glances, before simultaneously shrinking into their pony forms and slinking forwards, tracking- and following- the slithering sound.
It takes only a couple minutes after that, before it comes to a halt.
They creep around the final tree.
There’s the unicorn.
And there’s the… whatever it is, wearing a silver cloak, drinking its blood.
Both ponies take deep breaths, then Hermione transforms back into her human form to draw her wand, raising it to point and opening her mouth to speak.
The aura around Malfoy’s horn peaks suddenly, shining brightly- and a crooked bolt of pure white energy slams down from the heavens, directly on top of the thing’s head. Hermione is slightly amused by how the lightning doesn’t seem to affect her vision; the moment it’s gone, and even while it was still glaring, she could see everything clearly.
“Stupefy.” The tiny and, comparatively speaking, wimpy bolt of red light flashes out from her wand, connecting dead center on the shrieking creature’s head, silencing it instantly.
Then Hermione looks down. “You didn’t tell me you’re a filly.”
“Ahh…” He returns to human form as well. “Yeah, sorry about that. But yeah, I’m not just a unicorn, but a unicorn filly.” He sighs. “When I’m in pony form, call me Silversong?”
She blinks, and nods. “Sure. Now, this creature… I’m thinking that cry sounded far more human than, uh, whatever that is.”
Malfoy nods his agreement. “Certainly. And, um… We’ll probably want to send up some sparks.”
“Nah. With that lightning bolt- you weren’t kidding, that was powerful- they’ll be coming running. Now then… Homorpus!”
“What in the world…?” Hagrid mutters, having exploded from the trees just in time to witness the spell.
“That’s Quirrell,” Harry states, even before he rounds the last couple trees to see the much larger human figure covered in the silver cloak, face down on the unicorn. “What’s he doing here?”
“Alright, what happened?” Hagrid demands.
“We found the unicorn,” Hermione helpfully states. “We also found what was hurting them. Both at the same time, really. So, we had an idea to stop it long enough for you to get here- Draco used his Equestrian magic to call down a lightning bolt on its head, and I fired a stunner at it. Both hit.” She looks down at Quirrell’s limp form. “Between the two, it screamed- and the scream sounded human. So I thought I’d try the humanizing spell, the ‘Homorphus’ charm.” She sighs. “I figured that, since it forces anything with a human form into human form, be it werewolf, animagus, or… I don’t think that was either of the two.”
Madam Pomfrey scowls at her latest patient.
Professor Quirrell.
Struck in the head by a lightning bolt while drinking unicorn blood, then hit by a stunner. And, as if the unicorn blood isn’t damning enough, there’s a second face on the back of his head that she has yet to identify.
She’s got him- both faces- under an induced coma right now. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, the ones that caught him drinking unicorn blood and inflicted the crippling attack, are waiting in chairs, opposite the bed.
She looks up at them.
“He’s not, uh, dead, is he?” Malfoy asks.
She shakes her head. “No. As a matter of fact, he appears to be largely unharmed- the unicorn blood, no doubt.” She sighs. “For the same reason, the stunner probably wouldn’t have worked without the lightning. Now, where is that Headmaster?”
“Any second now,” Granger helpfully supplies, looking past Malfoy towards the infirmary doors.
Madam Pomfrey looks towards the doors as well, watching for a few seconds before they finally open, admitting Professor Dumbledore. “There you are,” she grumbles.
“My apologies,” Dumbledore pants. “Now, what appears to be the issue?”
She points her wand wordlessly at Quirrell, causing him to rotate slowly in the air, rolling a full three-sixty degrees.
“... Oh,” Dumbledore mutters. “I fear that’s Voldemort on the back of his head.”
Madam Pomfrey and Malfoy both catch their breaths at the name. Hermione tilts her head, muttering something to Malfoy, who answers her.
“Victor.”
Lyra spits out her half-chewed dinner, absently teleporting the offensive matter to the moon while her hand flashes to her radio. That’s Hermione’s voice. “Where?”
“Papa Quebec.”
She vanishes on the spot, teleporting directly to the Room of Requirement, which the Agency has basically acquired as a local base of operations.
As soon as she arrives, she’s met by the thunder of numerous inbound teleports; even the thunderclap-dampening effect of the Room of Requirement isn’t strong enough to suppress this many simultaneous jumps. She presses the button again. “Echo Mike, Echo Mike.”
A second wave of teleports comes thundering in, and within moments, all four hundred fifty-three seats at the long table, save only one, are filled. She cringes slightly; that’s Hermione’s seat. She would have preferred if someone else were the one gathering the info; Hermione’s input is much more useful than most.
She starts without preamble, as soon as the thunderous echoes diminish. “Voldemort got past us,” she states.
“Papa Quebec is both Victor Sierra and Victor Victor.” Hermione.
She sighs. “He got past us, both in person and with a servant, in plain sight.” She scans across the table. “How did we miss him?”
“We wrongly assumed all instructors were safe,” Sunset answers instantly.
“I bet we saw something that should have been a red flag, but discounted it as something inane,” Starlight declares.
“His turban,” Hard Head announces. “He claimed an african prince gave it to him for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but when I asked how he did that, he started talking about the weather.”
“And we know zombies don’t exist down there,” Moondancer states. She glances at Hard Head. “We didn’t at the beginning of the year, but we do now.”
“Voldemort must have been hiding under the turban,” Fluttershy nods.
“And we didn’t even think to look,” Bonbon groans.
“Alright, what’re we going to do about it?” Lyra calls. “I don’t think we can act against him now- not if he’s a teacher. Even if everyone is basically ignoring his classes.”
“Did Dumbledore get the want-it-know-it spell emplaced?” Bonbon asks.
Lyra nods. “Affirmative.”
“Then we don’t do anything,” Bonbon replies. “We just watch. Report every movement, I want to keep Dumbledore posted if at all possible. If he enters the Sequence, don’t stop him- but make certain he doesn’t come back out. He won’t be able to penetrate the final defense, because he’ll be looking to use the stone. And the Stone is protected against dark magic, right Lyra?”
She nods. “Yes. Unless he manages to solve Dumbledore’s spell, or keys access to the wards, the Stone is too well-protected, too firmly wrapped in the wards, for any dark magic to reach it. He won’t be able to solve the spell, and the wards are too powerful, too well-built, for a non-Equestrian to be capable of keying. I’ve checked; the only way to key the wards without authorization from someone already keyed to them is through Equestrian-only facets.”
“Got it. Anyone have anything to add?”
Silence.
Bonbon nods sharply. “Alright. Lyra, you tell Agent Index Eye about our decision at the earliest opportunity, and get her input. If she has anything- and I do mean anything- to add, call a planning meeting and bring her with.” She looks out across the table. “Dismissed.”
Thunder echoes throughout the Room of Requirement once again, but Lyra isn’t there to hear it, having returned to her dinner. Hermione’s magical signature is still in the Hospital Wing.
“N-No!” Hermione squeaks. “I- I can’t!” He’s trying to convince her to join in practice- and, she’s pretty sure, compete against him to find out who’s the better seeker.
“Come on, Hermione! You won the first match, and now you’re backing down? Please!”
“B- B- But!” she stutters. “I- I’m-!”
Harry groans, leaning against the wall. “You’re… afraid of heights or something, aren’t you?”
She nods silently.
“Well, that would explain why you didn’t move when that chaser spotted the snitch in that last game,” Fred Weasley states, stepping up next to harry. “But it kinda conflicts with diving at mach six at the end of the game!”
“You know what,” Lyra mutters, stepping closer. “I have an idea. Hey, Rainbow!”
The rainbow-haired racer zips up next to her. “Yes?”
Lyra whispers something in her ear.
Rainbow’s eyes gleam with anticipation, and she lets out an excited yell. “Yes! When can we get started?” She’s practically bouncing with eager energy.
“Oh no,” Hermione mutters.
“So, where’s Wood? This might take an entire practice session.”
“What?” Wood asks, stepping up behind the rest. It had been his idea to drag the backup seeker out as well; there’s no reason for her not to practice, after all.
Professor Sinistra pauses in the middle of a rare leisurely walk around the grounds, staring at the strange setup on the sweeping lawns.
Two massive telescopes, with very strange stands and absolutely no way for someone to look through them, are staring up into the evening sky. Two… glowing image things, with strange boards covered in buttons, are set up just behind them, with a couple of Equestrians behind each one.
“Fifty thousand,” one of them announces.
Then she steps closer. “What is… all this?” she asks, wandering closer.
One looks up- one of her favorite students, actually. Star Singer. “Oh, hi Professor! We’re helping Hermione get over her fear of heights.”
“Sixty thousand!” the other girl at the same image thing announces.
She blinks. “So… how are you doing that?”
Star Singer points up into the sky. “If you pull out your telescope, you might notice a little speck about a tenth of a degree due north of directly upwards.”
“Seventy thousand!”
She pulls out her telescope, and eventually finds the speck.
“Eighty thousand!”
“The little grey speck?” she asks. Then she blinks. “With the white flash?”
“Yep!”
“Is that Hermione?”
“Nah. That’s the helicopter. They can’t normally get to forty thousand feet, but this one’s magic augmented; that’s its maximum altitude.”
“Ninety thousand!”
“Then…” She looks at the girl that’s been continuously calling out larger and larger numbers.
Star Singer glances at her. “That’s Bonbon. We’ve got these computerized telescopes locked onto them by GPS and homing signal- you wouldn’t believe the amount of work it took to make that kind of thing work at Hogwarts.” She gestures towards a large, black crate of some kind, about as tall as a grown man and six feet wide, with three more lined up next to it. It’s about two feet deep.
“A hundred thousand!”
“In any case, one of them’s following Rainbow, the other Hermione. Rainbow’s still carrying Hermione at the moment- her job is to take Hermione as high as she possibly can, then dump her off the broom. At the moment at least, that’s pretty high.”
“Hundred ten thousand!”
“Would you like to watch with us?” She gestures towards the image things. “This is the live feed from these telescopes; they’re about thirty times more powerful than anything in the Astronomy tower.” She glances at the screen. “For every thousand feet up she goes, it adds about five point seven seconds of time to the drop.”
“Hundred twenty thousand!”
Sinistra blinks. “Ah, sure… What happens when she hits the ground?”
Star Singer shakes her head. “She won’t. That’s what we’re here for- and why we’re tracking her. We’ve got three entire teams on the ground and the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team waiting to catch her on the way down. Believe me when I say, she’s in no danger of encountering the ground at speed.” She glances up. “Not to mention, knowing how the papa tango interacted with her, she’d probably survive a landing at speed with little more than a sprained ankle or something.”
“Hundred thirty thousand!”
“Ahh…” Professor Sinistra steps closer, looking at the screen; it’s showing two students from below, one carrying the other in a perfect vertical on the broom. The red-haired one appears to be unconscious. “Is she, ah, okay?”
“Hundred forty thousand! Looks like they’re nearing the broom’s maximum altitude.”
“Yep,” Star Singer nods. “She’ll be perfectly fine.”
“Isn’t… Isn’t it a bit hard to breathe that high up?”
Star Singer nods again. “Yep! As a matter of fact, they’re using supplemental oxygen in the helicopter. But whereas we can’t breathe that high up, Rainbow can- looks like she’s starting to breathe harder, though- and Hermione’s even stronger than she, so she’ll have absolutely no trouble.”
“Hundred fifty thousand!”
“Isn’t Hermione unconscious?”
“Yeah. Unfortunately, that was the only way we could get her into the air.”
“So, you’re throwing her into the air, way high up, unconscious?”
“Drop performed, one hundred fifty six thousand two hundred ninety seven feet, estimated drop time fourteen and a half minutes, mark! Renervation confirmed!”
Star Singer glances at Bonbon, then back at Professor Sinistra. “We’re waking her up as we drop her, yeah.”
One of the girls at the other image-thing lets out a sudden cheer. “Rainboom! We have Rainboom!”
“Terminal velocity reached,” Bonbon announces calmly. “She’s… screaming in terror.”
“What…?” Professor Sinistra asks.
Star singer nods. “Yeah. Eventually, she’ll realize that screaming in terror gets boring after a while- and that she actually has the power to arrest her fall or get herself out of the air on her own, even without a broom.”
Bonbon sighs. “This might take a while.”
Hermione wakes up again, and sucks in a deep breath, tumbling over in the upper atmosphere- then her arms snap out, and she stabilizes herself, staring at the ground below.
She’s been falling for a good forty-five minutes. Well, not really; rather, she’s had three fifteen-minute falls, punctuated only by unconsciousness. And, she’s just been put to the very top once again. So high up Hogwarts Castle looks like a tiny model, the entire grounds no more than a quarter inch across. She glances up; she’s so high she can see the curvature of the earth.
She looks down, focuses on the grounds below. She can see Rainbow streaking down towards them, already a couple miles below her, leaving a sparkling rainbow contrail.
She can see the Quidditch team, floating casually off to the side, telescopes pointed.
She can see the helicopter, holding position, the occupants wearing oxygen masks and peering up at her through the whirling rotor.
She can see the giant telescopes, one pointed at her, one at Rainbow.
She can see the people on the ground around the computers, the rows and rows of… she thinks it’s some kind of supercomputer.
She can see them watching the screens. It looks like Star Singer is talking to Bonbon; and, as of this most recent drop, it seems Professor McGonagall has also come out to watch. And, even Dumbledore himself is walking out of the castle, looking curious!
She sighs. She’s still a bit worried about falling, but after falling for three quarters of an hour, she finds that screaming in terror becomes… well, more than a little boring.
So…
She sighs, and goes for her wand.
It’s not in her pocket.
She squints at the ground… There it is, on the desk next to Bonbon’s hand. They must’ve wanted to keep her from accidentally breaking it.
Well, that leaves her only one option, really.
She spreads her wings.
She lets out a grunt as they pull sharply upwards, arresting her downwards motion, instinctively shifting her into a glide.
She grins, and drives them downwards, blasting herself up even higher into the sky. As she goes, she glances back down, past the expanding ring of red energy, to the ground. It looks like Bonbon and Star Singer are cheering.
She blinks, looking at the expanding ring. They’d called that a sonic rainboom, hadn’t they?
She grins, giving her wings another couple strokes to gain altitude, before flipping end for end and making for the ground as fast as she can.
She builds speed, then-
WHAM.
She slams into the ground with a perfect three point landing, less than a second after directing herself downwards.
She folds her wings, rising to her feet, as she watches the massive shockwave of brilliant red energy blasting out from her landing point for a second, how all the Agents’ shields over the computer equipment and telescopes are sparking and flashing, panicked cries coming from the Agents behind them. She watches as Dumbledore conjures himself a shining silver shield- which shatters like tinfoil against the onslaught of the shockwave, tossing him backwards; he waves his wand to arrest his own fall.
She glances sideways, to where numerous windows of the Castle are shattering under the influence of the same shockwave, then down, at the crater she’s standing in.
… Or, depression. She’s fairly sure it wasn’t here a moment ago; in a circle around her, about six feet across, the ground has been pounded downwards in a bowl shape almost a foot deep… yet the grass is undamaged.
The last of the shockwave seems to dissipate, then Bonbon charges out from behind the computers, holding her hand up. “Nice job, Hermione!”
Hermione steps out of the depression, raising her hand for the high five. “Uh, thanks?”
“Wait,” she asks, her eyes going wide. “Mach eight hundred forty seven!?”
“Yep!”
She glances at the ground, then back up at Bonbon. “And I survived that?”
“Yep! Rainboom magic, gotta love it. I’ve never seen one that powerful- but the Rainboom renders you basically indestructible for the duration.”
A rainbow missile suddenly collides with the ground next to her, unleashing a small shockwave of rainbow-colored energy. Bonbon ignores it; it only makes her hair blow in the wind.
Rainbow rises from her broom-assisted landing. “No fair!” she demands. “I can only ever manage a thirty-foot landing discharge, even in Equestria!”
Hermione blinks at her. “Uh, okay?”
Rainbow folds her arms, dropping Hermione’s Nimbus Two Thousand on the ground. “That was a three thousand-foot discharge!”
“Uh, okay?”
Bonbon snickers. “When you land in the middle of a Rainboom, all of the active energy- kinetic, magical, etcetera- is converted into magical energy and released in a shockwave called the landing discharge. The size of that discharge is proportional to the amount of energy involved- and since you were going at mach eight hundred thirty or so when you hit the ground, Rainbow’s paltry two and a half just couldn’t compare.” Grin. “Especially with the exponential relationship between velocity and energy requirement.”
“Though it does beg the question,” Moondancer asks, trotting forwards from behind the computers. “Hermione, where in the world did you get a hundred thousand times as much power as Rainbow?”
Hermione blinks, and speaks in tandem with Rainbow. “What?”
“No more studying,” Ron sighs happily, stretching out on the grass.
“Eh, something like that,” Lyra agrees, trotting up next to him, Harry, and Hermione to flop down on the grass. She glances at the latter two. “Us second-tier instructors still have to finish grading our students’ finals, though. Unless, like me and Diamond at least, you’ve already finished.”
Hermione and Harry both nod. “Yep, finished that last night,” Harry answers.
Hermione grins. “Three days ago, here. Had fun keeping everything straight with Bonbon.”
“Wait a second,” Ron mutters, staring at Harry. “You were teaching?”
Harry nods. “Yep. Defense Against the Dark Arts. We… never did actually use any of the information from Professor Quirrell’s classes.”
“In any case, I’ve finally gotten the new papa tango matrices complete and tested,” Lyra continues, ignoring Ron’s dumbfounded expression. “As such, it’s ready when you are, Harry.”
“Awesome,” Harry states, rising quickly. “How about now?”
Lyra shrugs, hopping back to her feet as well, before walking with him back towards the castle. “You’re still aware of the danger, right?”
“Yeah. Um, and the pain.”
She nods. “Yeah, and the pain. Though, it shouldn’t be quite as bad as I thought; I was able to work the painkiller patterns into the matrix. Won’t be overly helpful for you, unfortunately- but it should take the edge off of it, and only leave you incapacitated by pain for a few hours.”
He shudders. “Yeah.”
“And you’re still aware of the new hairstyle you’re going to get, right?”
He shrugs. “What does that matter?”
“And the only thirty percent, or so, chance that you’ll gain the levitation ability?”
He shrugs. “It’s better than nothing,” he answers. “And besides, my scar’s going to stop hurting all the time, right?”
She nods. “Right. As a matter of fact, that’s the reason the danger- and pain- is present: Because I’ll be stripping out the soul fragment that’s causing that pain.”
“Let’s do it.”
“H-Hermione? Um-! Where’s Lyra? Or Spike?”
Hermione looks up; a five-year-old girl is charging towards her, black hair billowing through the air behind her. “Norberta?” she asks. It’d been a surprise when ‘Norbert’ had first transformed into a human last month… and turned out to be female. She’d turned into a two-year-old at the time, but hasn’t slowed down in her growth spurt just yet; according to Lyra, she should slow down to a normal aging rate, at about eleven (biological) years old, just in time for next year. “What’s wrong?”
“Where- Where’s Lyra?”
“She just left with Harry to do his papa tango,” Hermione informs her. “Some… Oh, ten minutes ago, as a matter of fact. She’s probably in the middle of it right now. What’s wrong?”
Norberta nods, turning to face her more fully, her tone losing the panic, but not the urgency. “I found out this morning that dragon breeding is illegal, so I asked Dad how he got my egg.”
“Wait, why Spike?” Ron injects.
Norberta huffs angrily, sparks flying from her nostrils. “Because I’m not old enough to send a dragonfire message just yet,” she answers sharply, before blowing a tongue of scalding flames at him. Not close enough to hurt him, but enough to make him jump up and run. She turns back to Hermione. “He played cards for it, against a mysterious bloke in a bar, that kept buying him drinks. He told that guy that all he’d have to do to get past Fluffy is to play him some music!”
Hermione’s hand rises to her radio. “Foxtrot Sierra Echo.” She lowers the hand. “Okay, she knows.”
Norberta blinks. “That simple?”
“Readiness Alpha Seven,” Bonbon’s voice orders on the radio. “Report in.”
Hermione nods. “Yeah. We’ve been prepared for that secret to get out for quite a while.”
“Foxtrot Gamma Sierra,” an unfamiliar voice answers Bonbon.
“So…”
Hermione nods, rising to pat the girl’s shoulder reassuringly. “In case you’re wondering, Lyra’s not even the leader. We’re all members of the Royal Equestrian Secret Service- and Bonbon’s the mission leader. She’s just ordered a higher readiness state- so we’ll know very quickly if anyone goes anywhere near Fluffy, even if they take out the guards.” She grins. “And so will Dumbledore. So don’t worry, the Stone isn’t in any danger.”
“... Oh.”
“Ow…” Harry groans, one hand coming up to his forehead. He’s lying on something soft, but, beyond that, he doesn’t know. Everything hurts a bit too much.
“You’re awake,” someone states, off to his side. It takes him a few seconds to match the voice to a name, he hurts so much.
He tilts his head down, groaning again, to look down at her- yes, she’s there, next to… his bed? “What…” He begins.
“Having difficulty formulating coherent thoughts?” and older, sterner voice asks, from the other side. A voice he’s heard before. He looks, and has to concentrate. Madam Pomfrey.
“Uh…” he mumbles.
“You’ll be right as rain in five minutes’ time,” Madam Pomfrey continues. “Just the residual shock from the pain. Which is a lot better than can be said for everyone else in here.” She turns around, tending to… it looks like a Slytherin, in the hospital bed next to his.
“Ugh…” he groans again, turning back to Lyra. “What… What happened…?”
“Total success,” Lyra announces to him. Then she giggles. “And I didn’t tell you about the zero percent chance the muggles will continue hating on you this summer, did I?”
He blinks; that almost made sense. His brain is starting to get into line. “What?”
Lyra grins. “You know how the Dursleys, and every other muggle in that entire town, always pounded on you so much?”
It takes him a few seconds to think, to analyze the question, before he nods.
“They won’t anymore,” she states. “And not because I did something to them, which uh, I did, actually. Instead, it’s because all that hating was an effect of carrying the aura of someone as evil as Voldemort around with you. Even I can’t see evil in someone’s aura- but non-magicals are highly susceptible to the presence of evil nearby, and will instinctively become hostile towards it. The evil has been removed from you now, though, so you should be able to have a normal life with the Dursleys.” She chuckles. “Or, as normal a life as the Dursleys have any more, at any rate.”
He blinks, processing everything for a few seconds. Then he speaks up again. “What… about everyone… else?”
“Oh, that.” Lyra’s spirits fall. “Quirrell is going in after the Stone. Dumbledore’s been notified, but he’s so far trashed every attempt to apprehend him.” She glances upwards. “It’s a good thing the Killing Curse doesn’t work the same on us Equestrians; nobody was killed, though they’re all mighty close to it and expected to be unconscious- and under intensive care- for days.” She sighs. “Dumbledore’s several hours out yet, but Quirrell’s going to be hitting the mirror any moment now. With that long to analyze it, it’s at least possible he’ll fool the spell- no spell is foolproof- and acquire the stone.
“Unfortunately, that’s where you come in. We’re pretty confident he won’t try to kill you outright- and if he does, your envelope will recognize it, and allow you to completely ignore the killing curse. Mine won’t- not the first time, at least. I’d get something close to what you got back when you were little. So, we’re ready to send you down after him, as soon as the pain fades far enough. I can get you past Fluffy- but I can’t follow you into that chamber, because I won’t be able to teleport out if he happens along, and I’d be in much greater danger than you.
“Hermione’s ready to go down with you; she’ll get you past the devil’s snare, the key room, and the potion room. If the troll’s active, she knows how to take those down as well.
“And finally, we’ve got Ron going with you as well; you’ll need his skill to get you through the chess room.
“When you get to the final room, your goal is to stall Quirrell for as long as possible. Confuse him, distract him, even punch him on the nose if you have to. Your goal is to keep him from analyzing the spellwork.”
He sits up, holding a hand to his head. “Ow… Alright. Where do I go…?”
Madam Pomfrey clears her throat.
Lyra looks past him, in her direction, then back at him. “Well, if you’re that determined… I’ll lead you there.” She glances back at Madam Pomfrey. “At a walk, so you’ll be fully recovered by the time we get there.”
He sighs. “Can’t you…?”
“Go faster? Of course I could. But then I’d only be sealing Britain’s fate as being attacked by Voldemort again. The Royal Equestrian Secret Service may have a lot of experience fighting big, bad monsters, but the easiest way to fight them- by far- is to keep them from appearing in the first place.”
“Great,” he grumbles.
“Hey, at least you’ll be with your friends. They should be able to follow you as far as the potion room- that’s the one right before the final room. They’ll wait for you there- if it’s too dangerous for you in that final room, just run back through the door and Hermione can get you out of there before you can say Quidditch.”
“Quidditch?” he asks.
Lyra grins. “Or any other two-syllable word. She’s really fast, as I’m sure you remember from her falling lessons.”
He blinks, then remembers. “Oh, yeah.”
“Anyways, we’d best go make sure Madam Pomfrey doesn’t have a whole nation to treat, haven’t we?”
Quirrell just knocked him flat, wrapping his hands about his throat- and appears to be trying to strangle him.
Only, he really isn’t having any trouble breathing. Save the nasty smell coming from Quirrell’s hands.
He quickly analyzes his situation in his mind. Ron is unconscious on the sidelines, in the chess room. According to Hermione, he’d been instructed to use his best judgement in sacrificing himself, so long as he is able to set up a guaranteed win beforehand- and he’d elected to sacrifice himself instead of forfeiting the match and starting over.
Hermione is waiting in the potion room. All he needs to do, is to reach her, and she can get him out to safety. Get the Stone out to safety.
“My hands,” Quirrell panics, lifting his hands to stare at them.
Something about touching him seems to be hurting Quirrell. He’s been completely unbothered each time, aside from a faint sting at the point of contact.
He gets an idea, and his hands shoot forwards. He locks both hands onto Quirrell’s arm, and grips it as tightly as he can.
Quirrell lets out a scream- before a sharp cracking noise comes from the arm. Quirrell tries to pull away, but Harry doesn’t let him. He removes one hand from the hold, though- one seems to be more than enough. That other hand, he reaches down to punch one of Quirrell’s knees. Maybe it’ll help, maybe it won’t.
The leg he punched cracks as well, and Quirrell collapses right off of him. He finally lets the man go, twisting over in the other direction to get a foot under him, before driving himself forwards as hard as he can.
He misses the flame door, by about five feet.
… The wall doesn’t put up much of a fight. He goes right through it, headfirst.
Hermione lets out a shriek of surprise, leaping away from him. She seems to have been leaning against the wall next to the black flames, holding the smallest bottle while she waited for him. Only, he’d decided to make a new doorway on her other side.
“Let’s go!” he calls to her.
She lands from her jump faster than he would have thought possible, had he not seen her rewrite the rules of impossibility during ‘falling lessons’. “Right!” She charges forwards to meet him, moving lightning fast- and then both he and she screech to a halt as a bolt of magic flies through the black flames, almost instantly coating the purple flames and that entire wall in hardened magic.
Hermione turns back towards the black flames and his new hole. “Trapped,” she snarls, drawing her wand.
Harry moves to stand next to her, drawing his own wand, but she blocks him. “No, let me protect you,” she orders.
“But-!” he begins.
She cuts him off. “Didn’t you hear Voldemort shrieking at him to kill you? I know you’re harder to kill than me, but I’m hard to kill as well- and you’re more important. Let me protect you.”
As if to prove her point, Quirrell comes stepping through Harry’s new door- and one of the bottles on the table shrieks through the air to smash into his face, even though her wand hardly twitched.
He blinks. “Was that-?”
“Poison,” she answers him.
Quirrell recovers just in time to block a second bottle flying for his face with a spell, deflecting it to smash against the stone- only for a third to hit him in the groin at full tilt.
“He’s healed himself,” Harry observes. “I broke his arm.”
Hermione tsks briefly. “Confringo! We’ll have to take him out quickly, then.”
Quirrell’s shield comes up only barely in time to intercept her spell, and completely misses both bottles closing in on the sides of his head at high speed.
“Expelliarmus!” Harry tries- but Quirrell blocks it, again just barely in time, as Hermione flashes off to the side, pushing him in the opposite direction.
He moves with her push, charging into the wall and making an attempt to run up it.
He’s just in time. Quirrell’s spell blazes past behind him, smashing into the magical barrier.
“Come on,” Hermione grumbles, sprinting across the ceiling. “Stupefy! Expelliarmus! Confringo! Er, Aguamenti!”
Quirrell splutters under the stream of water coming from her wand, having blocked all three of her leading spells- but manages to get a spell flying in her direction. Harry watches as it goes; she tries to dodge it, but she’s too slow.
Then, it simply bounces off her shoulder, reflecting into the floor to blast a small hole into the ground.
Hermione then slams into the wall next to him; he’s fallen back to the floor long ago. “Interesting. Killing curse, and it just bounced off.”
“Almost like me,” Harry answers.
She scowls. “Yeah, but I don’t have your advantage. That shouldn’t have happened.” She leaps off of the wall, charging straight for Quirrell, her wand-free hand drawing back for a punch.
Quirrell tries to stop her with a shield, but she passes right through it, shattering it like so much tissue paper. So his wand flicks again, his fingers shift- and she’s suddenly thrown backwards, against the wall next to Harry… and her wand is forced from her hand. Harry opens his mouth to try another spell, but Quirrell summons his wand away as well.
Quirrell then deflects the final bottle, leaving only the round one to get through the purple fire, with his wand- before pointing it at Hermione, who immediately doubles over, shrieking in pain.
Quirrell huffs. “Well, that works,” he declares.
“There’s-!” Voldemort begins to yell, almost sounding like a warning- before Harry spots a flash of wood behind Quirrell, and the table smashes over his head. Quirrell’s in the middle of turning when the two halves, each surrounded by a navy blue aura, suddenly change course to smash themselves into the sides of his head.
Harry bolts forwards- but has to dodge backwards again to avoid a rogue spell from Quirrell’s wand. So he grabs the nearest thing he can- the rock, one of the fragments of the shattered wall. He twists violently, throwing it as hard as he can straight into Quirrell’s gut. At the same time, he notices Hermione’s wand, surrounded by the same icy blue aura as the bottles were, racing back to her.
Quirrell oofs visibly, eyes going wide as he folds around the speeding rock, flying backwards right on time for a lightning bolt to come thundering out of nowhere, right into his back.
Then Hermione catches her wand, pointing it up at him from her position on the floor. Her entire form seems to shimmer with that icy blue aura. “Stupefy,” she snarls.
This time, her spell isn’t a simple flash of red light. Rather, it’s a solid beam of red light, momentarily connecting her wand to Quirrell’s form.
Hardly a moment later, Quirrell is flat against the opposite wall, bouncing limply off of it. Draco Malfoy is some six feet off to the side of the impact point, empty-handed as he whirls to face the same.
How Malfoy got there, Harry has no clue.
Then there’s a sudden flash of bright green light, and he’s no longer in that chamber.
He’s… also standing on all fours.
He looks left, and he looks right. Where is he? There’s… clouds, it looks like, in every direction.
Something green flickers around him, picking him up. He catches a brief glimpse of something very dark blue before the green disappears, and his head snaps back up, pupils shrinking as he tries to process what had just happened.
Before he finishes, though, the green light flashes again, and he’s back in that chamber. Quirrell is lying face-down on the floor. He stumbles backwards, against the wall. “Woah…”
Hermione glances at him, rising from where she had been lying on the floor. “Welcome back, Harry. Um, is he still awake?”
Malfoy doesn’t move any closer to Quirrell. “Well,” he begins. “He-!” Malfoy vanishes in a flash of navy blue light.
Hermione blinks at the space he had occupied a moment before. “Oh… I guess that’s happening to you too. See you in a second.” She raises her wand, pointing it at Quirrell again. “Uhh… Harry, do you happen to know any medical diagnostic spells?”
He doesn’t move, nor say anything. He’s still trying to process everything.
Malfoy reappears in a matching flash of navy blue light. “Woah, that was weird. Um… Sorry about that, donno what just happened. Anyways, he… Yeah, he might survive.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”
He grins. “We’ve managed to break every bone in his body, cook him to a crisp, and shut his brain down in its entirety. I daresay he’s not moving anytime soon.” He scowls at Quirrell. “And… Yeah. His heart has gone to an irregular rhythm… and he’s not breathing.” Quirrell flips right-side-up with a cracking noise, and starts making sharp, sudden breaths. “There, that’ll keep him from suffocating, for now. Let’s get him up to where Madam Pomfrey can make sure he doesn’t wake up until Dumbledore arrives.”
“Right,” Hermione nods. “Um… I’ll carry you and Harry, you levitate him?”
Malfoy shrugs. “Sure.”
“Okay.” She picks Harry up with one arm around his midsection, stepping forward to meet Malfoy, who trotted forwards for her to do the same with him and her other arm. “Oh, and Ron’s unconscious in the chess room,” she informs him.
“Got it,” Malfoy nods. “Once we get back out into the main castle, I can teleport us- all- to the Hospital Wing.”
Quirrell floats into the air as Hermione spreads her wings- wings Harry’s never seen. Except maybe as a glimpse during her falling lessons, but if so, it wasn’t enough to even ascertain their color.
She leans forwards, flaps them- and rockets through the purple fire, right after it dies a sudden death. She soars past the troll, and over the chessboard, slowing down so Malfoy can catch Ron as well.
“Got him,” Malfoy announces. “And Hermione, you forgot to watch out for those flames. I had to snuff them before you charred us all to death.”
Hermione blushes. “Sorry,” she mutters. The keys part instantly for her passage, and a bright, white light shines in front of everyone as she arcs upwards to the trapdoor… which Malfoy magics open. Hermione then lands, folding her wings just before walking through the door back into the rest of the castle, no longer carrying either Harry or Malfoy.
“You’re back,” Lyra greets. “Something happen?” She looks inquisitively at Malfoy.
“We beat him,” Hermione answers, as Malfoy floats Quirrell out past the door.
“He might survive,” Malfoy states. “I think.”
Lyra raises an eyebrow. “Oh…? Wow, he’s out cold, you must have hit him hard. Yeah, he’ll survive. Voldemort’s soul fragment is gone, though- might have been destroyed by the stunner. No way to be certain. But whenever this bloke wakes up next month, he’ll find his magic facilities- including the ones required to use a wand- are so thoroughly stunned I doubt he’ll recover anywhere near his full capability before he dies of old age.” Chuckle. “And, I don’t doubt he’ll go straight to Azkaban, either.”
“Wait, what?”
She nods. “Yeah. That was some impressive spellwork, whatever you three did down there. He’s been incapacitated for months, and permanently crippled. Don’t worry, there are spells to wake him up, or even to restore his magic facilities to proper functioning- but I doubt any of the latter will be pointed at him.”
“Wha- Huh?”
Draco turns suddenly. “Oh, sorry about that, Ron. You were… asleep.”
Ron wobbles as he lands on his feet. “Ah… Did we win?”
Harry nods blankly. “Yeah. We won.”
“Awesome!” Ron declares. “So, what next?”
“I’ll take this git off of you,” Lyra informs them; the aura around Quirrell changes from blue to gold as she speaks. “Then I’ll scrounge up your hazard pay and bring it to you sometime in the next couple days. After that, we basically pretend it never happened.”
“Hazard pay?” Ron asks, confused.
“Yeah. I didn’t tell you about it earlier, but of course the RESS is going to pay you for helping with our mission. Especially with as hazardous a mission as this one. I’ll have to check the books to see how much they’re paying, but I’ll guarantee you’re getting paid- whether or not you would have done it anyways.”
Harry blinks. “You’ll have to check the books?”
Lyra nods. “Yep. Didn’t bother reading up on the financial plans for that- too focused on being ready to fight, and coordinating your party.” She shrugs. “When the world’s in danger, the money can wait.” She chuckles. “Hay, even I’m going to be getting some hazard pay for this, probably. Not that I need it.” She vanishes into thin air.
Everyone lets out a collective sigh.
“You know,” Harry begins, looking up at Hermione. “That’s got to be the first time she’s stayed in one place long enough to answer all my questions.”
“Not surprised,” Hermione states, before glancing at him. “Er, that she never stayed in one place long enough before, that is. That did seem uncharacteristically long for her to be sticking around, didn’t it?”
Malfoy nods. “Definitely. I usually have to ask Bonbon instead.”
“Come to think of it,” Harry turns to Malfoy. “How did you get down there?”
He shrugs. “Teleported, I think. Something to do with my, ah, unique talent. Equestrian magic… I let it guide me. Some interesting combination of Equestrian magic and wand magic, and I got straight through all the teleportation wards in time to distract Quirrell.”
Hermione nods. “In time to distract him, by breaking a solid wooden table over his head. Sounds about right.”
He’s staring at his reflection in the mirror. He hadn’t noticed, down in the dungeons, what his hair looked like; he also hadn’t looked at it, since waking up in the Hospital Wing, until now. He’s also ignored it over that same span; he’s had a world to save, after all.
“I look like Bonbon,” he mutters.
Hermione lets out a snort of laughter.
“Bonbon?” Fred asks, holding the mirror.
“Is that the Slytherin with two radios?” George asks.
“Yeah,” Harry nods.
“No, no, you do not look like Bonbon,” Hermione informs him. “Though I will admit, you do look cute with her hairstyle.”
“Exactly! I look like Bonbon!”
“You do not. Her hair is pink and purple, yours is green and purple. And she doesn’t have the gold stripe!”
“I… I still look like I should have a higher-pitched voice.”
Hermione snorts. “Meh, I think you look just right the way you are.” She shrugs, stepping up next to him and glancing in the mirror. “George, are you sure you got that mirror spell right? It makes me look like a boy.”
“Uh, yep!” Fred declares.
Hermione raises an eyebrow at him, then raises her wand. Moments later, the mirror shimmers, flickers, and turns green.
Harry rolls his eyes. “Whatever… Did it get my hair right, though?”
Hermione shrugs. “More or less,” she states.
“Ahh. Anyways, there’s a dinner coming soon, and I’m hungry enough I could eat a horse.”
Hermione bursts into laughter, at which the twins tilt their heads confusedly.
Harry stares at her. “Was it something I said?”
“Come on, Harry. You’re going to love it.”
Harry trots slowly after Hermione- not that he has much choice, with how hard she’s pulling on his hand. “Are you sure about that?” he asks.
“Absolutely sure,” she answers. “Early in the year, I got together with Draco to make a sort-of ‘papa tango club’. I mean, until recently, we were the only two papa tango subjects, but so? We’ve been experimenting with exactly how different that makes us from the regular Equestrians… or other wizards. Come on, it’s fun.”
“Wait, Draco? You mean Malfoy?” Harry asks. “Isn’t he in Slytherin?”
Hermione grins at him. “And me muggleborn? Yep. But that’s just the trivial details.”
“Trivial details,” Harry repeats.
She nods. “Yep! It’s not like either of us care if his father’s going to hate me to death. I mean, if I can get Lyra to have a good look at my parents, we might even be able to make me a pureblood.” She giggles. “Oh, here we are.” The door flies open in front of her.
Inside the room she’d selected, Draco is sitting on a table, playing a silver flute. He’s really good with it.
He lowers the instrument as she walks in, pulling Harry behind her. “Oh, there you are,” he greets. He taps the flute with one finger, smiling. “One of the Equestrian musicians gave this to me a few months back. Haven’t tried playing it until now, and apparently I’m really good at it.” He tilts his head, staring at the ceiling. “Had some kind of glowy thing, too- covered by my own magic aura for a few seconds, even floated in the air. Didn’t disappear to another realm like earlier, though.”
Hermione scowls. “Huh. Well, wouldn’t be the first time Equestrian magic has gone and done something strange on us.” She rolls her eyes. “I mean, doing a Rainboom at warp point one isn’t exactly common. It’s supposed to be flat-out impossible, as a matter of fact- I asked.”
“Warp point one?”
“Yeah. Remember falling lessons? Mach eight hundred and someodd is about one thousandth the speed of light- and since you cube the warp factor to get your actual veloci-cee, that’s about warp zero point one.”
“So, you have a warp drive attached to your back,” Malfoy states bluntly.
She blinks. “Uh… Something like that, I guess.” She scowls. “Though, the Rainboom is less related to the wings as to the pegasus magic. Meaning… Yeah. I basically have an internal warp drive.” She giggles. “Oh, that’s going to be fun.”
“Very possibly,” Malfoy agrees. “So, ah, do you happen to know if this means I’ve got one too?” Sparkling silver wings spread from his back.
Hermione stares for a second. “Wait, you have wings? When did that happen?”
He chuckles. “Down in the chamber, after we smashed Quirrell. It was when I disappeared for a moment- looked like I was in a land of clouds. Right before I got back, I suddenly had wings.” He shakes them out. “I’ve been able to confirm they’re like yours- here to stay, take care of themselves, and so on.” He shrugs, folding them again.
“I guess that makes us three for three,” Harry mutters.
Hermione turns on him. “What-? That mean you have wings too?”
He doesn’t answer, simply unfolding them and looking. They’re really dark blue- midnight blue.
Malfoy hops off his desk and trots closer, reaching out to run a finger across the leading edge of Harry’s wing. “Yeah, same as ours, here to stay…” He then strokes the feathers a few times, ignoring how Harry’s wing is flinching away from him as he does so. “And yeah, it’ll take care of itself.” He shrugs, stepping back. “Interesting.”
“They look good on you,” Hermione informs Harry. Then she smiles. “Just like that hair.”
Harry blushes, folding his wings.
“Hmm,” Malfoy mutters. “You might want to be careful in that Quidditch match tomorrow, Harry. Hermione tells me the Snitch stood out to her like a lightbulb in a dark room every time she glanced in its direction back in that first match- I suspect that’s pegasus magic.”
Hermione nods. “That’s… distinctly possible.”
Harry blinks. “Wait, what? You mean…”
“I mean the game will be in the bag the moment the Snitch is released,” Malfoy continues. “I’d recommend you delay for a bit, and only really book it for the snitch if it looks like the Ravenclaw seeker is going to get it. Other than that, the Gryffindor chasers are a league ahead of the Ravenclaws- and Gryffindor is a mite bit far behind in points. Probably,” he glances at Hermione, “thanks to the Crusaders.”
Hermione nods. “Probably.”
“In any case, I’d hate for Gryffindor to wash out quite that easily. So give them time to score, oh, a two-hundred-point lead before catching it? That ought to be enough to get Gryffindor back into the running, at least.”
“Two hundred might be pushing it,” Hermione mutters. “We’ll have to enlist both Weasleys in Snitch-deflection. And I don’t think you can wait that long without someone realizing something’s up, or winning the game.”
“Unless you can get Lyra to papa tango a few of the Gryffindor chasers, and possibly Wood himself- and hope at least one of the chasers is a pegasus.”
Hermione nods. “That would do it, yes. But we’d have to get those team members’ permission. And, I don’t think Bonbon would ever approve of it.”
“Well,” Harry muses, one hand on his chin. “Ever since Hermione joined our regular team practices in March, Wood’s training plans have become massively more effective. We’ll have to see exactly how much of an edge that has given us- I might be able to wait all the way to two hundred points without waiting to the last minute.” He grins, glancing sideways at her. “The Ravenclaws might be smart, but they’re just not brave enough to do some of the things we do.”
She grins back at him. “Speaking of brave, do you want to find out what your pony form looks like? Lyra’s new matrices work so fast she tells me even she didn’t see it.”
“My… pony form.”
“Yeah. ‘Papa Tango’, the phonetics for a P and a T, originally selected to mean ‘Pony Transform’. Turns out the Equestrians are all ponies when they return to their universe- and with the ‘papa tango’, we’ve been turned into ponies as well. Bonus, thanks to some part of our British magic we still have, we can transform ourselves between forms at will, something they can’t do. So, do you want to find out?”
“So I’m… a pony.”
“Yeah. Concentrate on being one, and you can transform yourself. Same thing works to go back to human.”
He unfolds a wing, looking at it rather pointedly. “Human.”
She shrugs. “Winged human, whatever. Lyra’s still not sure why I held onto my wings when I became human again.”
“What.”
She nods. “Yep! I’m a pegasus. Draco here’s a unicorn.”
“Or,” Malfoy inserts, “I was.” He shrugs his wings, before folding them again. “Unicorns don’t have wings. I’m… starting to suspect what that disappear-and-reappear thing down in that chamber was.”
Hermione looks at him. “What?”
“Secondary transformation,” he states. “Into an Alicorn- both wings and horn.” He glances at Harry. “Um, you didn’t have wings before that vanishing act, right?”
He blinks. “Ah, no, I didn’t.”
“And you made that hole in the wall?”
He nods.
“Musta been an earth pony, then. Incredibly strong, but lacking both horn and wings. Come on- I’m curious what you’ve become.” He chuckles. “And how you look as a pony. I mean,” he glances at Hermione, “given what happened to me…”
“You first,” Harry states.
Malfoy raises an eyebrow at him. “Only if you change with me,” he answers.
“Uh, Hermione?” Harry asks. “Uh…”
She raises an eyebrow as well. “Alright, how about we all change simultaneously?”
Harry lets out a breath, closing his eyes. “Alright,” he mutters. “But if I turn green-!”
“You won’t,” Malfoy answers. “You’ll be dark blue, like your wings.”
“I will?”
He nods. “Yeah. Hermione’s and my wings both match our coat colors; I don’t see any reason yours wouldn’t, as well.”
He sighs again. “Alright.”
“Everyone ready, then?” Hermione asks.
Harry and Malfoy both nod.
“Okay. In three, two, one.”
On the unvoiced zero, all three suddenly and simultaneously shrink.
Harry ends up sprawled on his front, having not caught himself when he fell forwards.
“Uhh… Okay,” Hermione’s voice comes from his left. Something twitches on the top of his head.
A light clopping comes from ahead, where Malfoy had been, before an unfamiliar, female voice comes from the same. He’s busy staring at the ground as he gets his hands- er, hooves- under him. “Huh. Interesting.”
He looks up, to find a shiny silver… tiny pony, with a blue-striped silver mane and tail, wings on its sides and a spiral horn sticking out of its forehead, looking at him.
It turns its head. “Oh, and Hermione, it seems you’re an alicorn too. When did that happen?”
He glances towards Hermione, met with the vision of an amused looking, bronze-colored, horned-and-winged pony wearing Hermione’s hair. “I am?” Hermione asks. “Does that mean I have a- Ow! Owowowowow… Um, I guess I do.” She rubs her horn, which she’d just clubbed with a hoof.
“Well, that would explain your levitation ability,” the silver one- which does not sound like Malfoy- nods, before turning back to him. “And Harry, it would seem that like me, you became a filly.”
He blinks. “Wha- Oh…” He lifts one hand- er, hoof- up in front of his mouth. “Aaaah. Ooooh.”
Hermione starts giggling. “What she means, Harry, is that your pony form is a girl.”
He looks up. “Wait, what?” She’s right, his voice does sound way more girly than it normally does. He looks back at the silver… filly, he thinks. “Then- then you’re Malfoy?”
She nods. “Yep! Though, since Draco Malfoy isn’t exactly a filly’s name, I go by Silversong when in pony form.”
“Huh,” Harry mutters, looking back at Hermione. “This mean I should come up with a… ah, pony name as well?”
Hermione shrugs. “You can, if you want to. I still go by Hermione in both forms, not that… I mean, this is about the first time I’ve let anyone see my pony form outside of, ah…”
“Distracting circumstances,” Malfoy- Silver- nods quickly, before turning back to Harry. “I mean, you don’t have to, but you might want to anyways- ‘Harry Potter’ will get you a lot of strange looks in Equestria.”
“Ah, okay,” Harry mutters. “I’ll… I’ll have to come up with one, then.”
“Speaking of Equestria,” Hermione inserts. “Lyra’s invited the three of us to come visit during the summer sometime. I know I’d like to see what their world looks like.”
Silver nods. “Yeah. I’d like to see what it looks like when half of Ponyville isn’t at Hogwarts, too.”
“Wait, what?”
She nods again. “Yeah, I’ve been there before. Once.”
“That’s…” Harry begins, staring at his hoof. “That sounds like a plan. Though…”
“We should probably go to bed for now,” Silver mutters, looking up. “Curfew is in five minutes, and neither of you know how to teleport.” She shrugs, glancing at Harry. “I suppose it goes without saying, we don’t mention our pony forms to anyone, even Equestrians?”
He’d gotten off the train, carrying his oddly weightless trunk, and placed it on the ground next to him so he could wave to Ron; his other hand held Hedwig.
Then, he’d seen the impossible. Or, at least, what he’d thought would be impossible.
His Uncle Vernon is on Platform Nine and Three Quarters.
With one of the luggage trolleys.
And…
“Wingardium Leviosa,” Vernon mutters, pointing his wand at Harry’s trunk.
Harry can’t believe his eyes.
Or his ears.
“What in the world?” he asks numbly.
“C’mon,” Dudley begs him. “I want to see how high we can fly.”
“Now, now, Dudley,” Petunia pats his shoulder. “Remember, we can’t go doing that where any, ah, non-magical folk can see. The Statute of Secrecy is a thing.” She looks up at Harry. “If a bit stupid of a thing, if you ask me.”
Harry blinks. “Ahh… Well, um… Hermione?” He looks in her direction, but she doesn’t seem to be paying him much attention.
Malfoy then steps up next to him, leaning casually against his shoulder. “I wonder how long it’ll take before she recovers,” he chuckles. Hermione’s parents are taking turns levitating her trunk back and forth across their trolley, amusing themselves with Hermione’s dumbstruck expression, her eyes tracking it back and forth. Then he looks up. “As for the Statute of Secrecy, we hide because muggles will hunt us for our magic, everyone knows that. Unless…” He glances at Harry. “Bonbon did say something about turning muggles into wizards. Is that…?”
Harry nods. “I think,” he mutters.
Petunia scowls. “They can’t exactly tear it down, I’d have to admit. But non-magical society is ready to accept witches and wizards. Especially now that Lyra’s perfected her ‘Whiskey Tango’ thing.”
Malfoy shrugs. “There really isn’t much we can do about it. Like I said, everyone knows that. Nobody’ll believe muggles are ready for magic.”
Harry looks at him. “You believe that?”
Malfoy nods. “Hermione’s a muggleborn.” He chuckles, glancing over at Hermione, still watching her parents magicing her trunk back and forth. “Or, she used to be, at any rate. All it took after I made her acquaintance was about fifteen minutes before she disabused me of that notion.” He looks casually at Harry. “Did you know, the occurrence of the disowning of muggleborn wizards by their parents upon receipt of their Hogwarts letters has been declining steadily- and reached zero three years ago?”
“Ah, no, I didn’t.”
He shakes his head. “Neither did I. Until she told me, and showed me the reference materials she used to get that info.” He gazes wistfully at her. “You know, she’ll grow up to be a fine woman some day, won’t she?”
Harry nods. “Yeah. Yeah, she will.”
Malfoy tilts his head, grinning evilly as he looks sideways at Harry. “Did you know, in Equestria, polygamy is perfectly legal?”
“What-!?” Harry asks, simultaneous with Vernon.
Malfoy bursts into laughter.
“Alright everyone,” Vernon greets the breakfast table, lowering the one letter from the day’s mail that hadn’t arrived through the mail slot. “It’s finally through, we’re officially allowed to use magic in the house.” He snorts. “Well, only me and Petunia are, technically, but I don’t care about that- and what they don’t know won’t kill ‘em. Anyways, we’re going to have to pretend magic doesn’t exist tonight; your Aunt Marge is coming for dinner, and I’d rather she not find out about it.” He taps another letter, one of the ones he’d simply snorted at earlier.
“Got it,” Harry and Dudley state together.
Dudley looks at Harry. “That mean you can start teaching me magic tomorrow?”
Vernon chortles. “In theory, yes. I’d rather you waited for next year, though, Dudley- Lyra tells me to expect Hogwarts to send you an invitation.”
Harry shrugs. “I taught a class last year,” he states. He’d found out, after they got home, that Dudley doesn’t know any magic- and his aunt and uncle only know Wingardium Leviosa and Lumos. They hadn’t been able to find a safe place, outside the residential areas, to practice any magic, so that’s where they stand now.
“You did?” Vernon asks incredulously. “What did you teach? PE?”
Harry grins in spite of himself. “Nah. They actually don’t have that at Hogwarts. I taught Defense Against the Dark Arts- so, some of the many ways one wizard can defend themselves against another.”
“How did you know what to teach?”
“I learned it myself a day or so before I taught it,” he answers. “Princess Luna is a great teacher.”
“P-Princess?”
Harry nods. “She’s in Slytherin, and she likes to know people.” He gazes up at the ceiling. “Though, with Professor Quirrell gone, we might actually have a halfway decent Defense Against the Dark Arts professor next year.” He shrugs. “I guess we’ll find out.”
“What kind of magic does Defense Against the Dark Arts cover?” Petunia asks.
“Disarming, shields, and a bunch of countercurses, mostly. We did a few offensive spells, but they were all simple, relatively harmless ones- like the leg-locker curse, or the full body bind.” He shudders. “You do not want to know what Scootaloo managed to do with that one.”
“Ahh, I’ll take your word for it,” Petunia mutters.
“Right then,” Vernon nods. “Everyone’s wands still hidden?”
Petunia and Dudley nod, but Harry places his on the table. “I’ll take care of it after breakfast.”
Vernon raises an eyebrow at him. “And the rest of your school supplies?”
“Should be out of sight,” Harry muses. “I don’t think she’ll be looking in my bedroom. Probably wouldn’t hurt to cover them with a, uh, perception filter, though.”
“A perception filter?”
He nods. “That’s what Lyra calls it. It’s technically called a ‘muggle notice-me-not’, in that it’s effective against muggles but not anyone with magical awareness, but she tells me it classifies as a perception filter.”
“A magical awareness?” Petunia asks.
He nods. “Wizards, mostly. Squibs- muggles born to wizarding parents- also have a magical awareness, and can see through a ‘muggle notice-me-not’. But I’m pretty sure Marge is all muggle- she won’t see a thing.” He looks at the ceiling. “Though, she might wonder about how clean that room is.”
Vernon lets out a snort of laughter. Over the last week, since Harry got home from Hogwarts, Dudley has helped him clean out all the trash from his bedroom. As a matter of fact, the heap in the garage had grown so large Vernon had ordered a full dumpster placed in the driveway for an evening; they’d filled it to the top with eleven years of broken trash. The dumpster company had returned to cart that eyesore off just last night- and the house feels so much bigger than it did a week ago. “She can wonder all she likes- so long as she doesn’t wonder what that is.” He points at Harry’s wand.
Harry nods. “No problem.”
Vernon nods. “I rather suspect she was more naturally hateful than influenced by that… soul fragment thingy you have, Harry- she hasn’t seemed to have changed any since you went to Hogwarts.”
“Soul fragment thingy?” Harry asks, then blinks. “Oh, right. Lyra did mention that… a fragment of Voldemort’s soul, bound to my scar. It’s gone, though- she destroyed it.”
“She did? But-!” He looks at Petunia.
“That letter Dumbledore left us when he left you on the doorstep said it’d be impossible to destroy it without killing you too.”
Harry nods, smiling. “Lyra found a way around that. I believe she described it as…” He taps his chin, trying to remember. “Ah, yes. She killed me, then saved me before I had time to die.”
“That doesn’t sound quite right,” Vernon mumbles.
“Well…” Harry scowls at the table. “It was something about magic fields. The specific way she killed me was important, as was the way she saved me. Um… She ‘reset my magic fields’, something deadly to any non-Equestrian. Then, before I had time to die but after the fragment disappeared, she… uh, I don’t know what the ‘papa tango’ is, but she did that, and it reformed my magic fields in a different way.”
Petunia nods. “Right, her codewords. She had a book she’d anchored her ‘Whiskey Tango’ to; that’s how she made us wizards. She also mentioned something about a ‘Papa Tango’ being a bit more invasive, and too powerful to safely anchor to a movable object.”
Harry blinks. “... Ahh. Well, it was that same papa tango that gave me this hair, so…”
“It really does look better than it did before,” Vernon chuckles.
Harry blushes, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I know. At least it’s easier to take care of.”
“It is?” Petunia asks, confused.
He shrugs. “Don’t ask me how, but all I have to do to get it to look like this each morning is to shake my head- and cleaning is as simple as getting it wet, no shampoo required.”
“Hmm,” Petunia hums. “Yeah, that is a bit strange. Maybe we should ask Lyra sometime.”
Harry blinks, and nods. “Yeah, she probably knows. Good luck getting her to hold still long enough to answer, though.”
Very suddenly, Hedwig swoops in through the open kitchen window, to land on Harry’s shoulder, dropping a letter for him to catch.
Vernon glances up at Hedwig as Harry catches the letter. “Any way to predict when wizard mail shows up?” he asks.
Harry glances up. “It’s usually at breakfast,” he answers. “If we need our mail held for a few hours or something, it’s as simple as telling our owls. Speaking of which,” he turns to Hedwig. “My Aunt Marge is coming for dinner today. We can’t let her see you, or any other owls.”
Hedwig gives a soft hoot.
He sighs. “Yeah, I know. Should only be for tonight, though.” He glances back up at Vernon. “Right?”
Vernon nods. “Correct. She’s only passing through the area.”
Hedwig gives another hoot, before looking pointedly at the letter she’d given Harry.
Harry shrugs. “Well, that’s solved.” Then he looks down at the letter, unfolding the piece of parchment. “And it would seem, uh, Malfoy is expecting a response to this.”
“Malfoy?” Vernon asks.
“Schoolmate,” Harry answers. “He and Hermione are, currently, the only two aside from myself to experience the Papa Tango.” He grins, glancing up at Vernon. “Remember the silver-haired boy at the station? That’s him.”
“Uhh… Oh, the one that commented on polygamy in Equestria.”
Harry sighs. “Yeah.” He reads the letter.
“Anything important?” Aunt Petunia asks.
“A little. His dad has contacts in the Ministry, so he knows that number four, Privet Drive, was formally classified as a wizarding residence just last night… and wants to know if he can stop by to celebrate tonight.” He looks up. “He comes from a long line of pureblooded wizards- and won’t have a clue how to pretend magic doesn’t exist.”
“Ahh,” Vernon mutters. “How late is ‘tonight’?”
Harry shrugs again. “Dinner, probably.”
Vernon sighs. “He’ll probably have to wait for tomorrow, then. It’s… It’s not a ‘passing through’ thing for him, is it?”
Harry shakes his head. “Nah. He could probably teleport straight from his living room to ours if he wanted to. Alright, um…” He lifts his wand. “Accio pen!” He drops the wand, catches the flying pen, and starts scrawling a response on the back of Malfoy’s note, before looking back up. “Think tomorrow will be okay?”
“Should be,” Vernon muses.
“Got it,” Harry mutters, finishes his response, and returns the note to Hedwig. “Thanks,” he informs her, before she takes it and takes off, back out the window.
Vernon stares while Harry uses his wand to return the pen from whence it came. “I still wonder how you do that,” he informs Harry.
Harry blinks. “With the pen?”
Vernon shakes his head. “No. That owl landed on your shoulder, and took off from the same, but you hardly even noticed.”
“Dad does have a point,” Dudley mutters. “I know I weigh a few times as much as you, yet I can lean on you and expect more resilience- and strength- than the wall.”
“Uhh…” Harry mutters. “I… I have reason to believe that’s a side effect of the papa tango thing,” he states. “Some kind of crazy strength boost. I think it’s magic based, and if it’s even possible to turn it off, I don’t know how.” He sighs, and shrugs. “It does mean I’m pretty hard to hurt, though. I think.”
Vernon scowls at him. “It’s that ‘I think’ that I’m worried about.”
“Well, that went about as well as it could,” Harry groans, sprawled across the couch.
Dudley walks heavily into the room, having just seen Aunt Marge off. “Yeah,” he sighs, flopping himself down into the recliner Vernon and Petunia had gotten him for his tenth birthday- one of the very few of Dudley’s belongings that had survived that long. It’s giving out, though, judging by the pitiful groaning of the springs. “That was… terrible.”
Vernon stops in the doorway, leaning against the frame as he lets out a huff of breath. “She might even have been worse than normal this time around,” he grumbles.
“Worse?” Harry asks, looking up at him. “I thought it was Voldemort’s soul fragment that was making everyone so nasty?”
Vernon nods. “It was. Only, she never stopped being nasty.”
Petunia steps up next to him, leaning against him. “Yeah…” She heaves a sigh. “Kinda makes me wonder if she’s found another, ah, fragment of an evil wizard’s soul.”
Silence holds for a few seconds.
“You’re going to have to teach me to cook like that too,” Dudley mutters. “That was good.”
Harry had cooked dinner tonight, rather than Dudley; he didn’t want Marge to realize anything strange was afoot either, and that was the easiest way to do that, in that particular instance. He grins half-heartedly. “Yeah, sure. But not tonight, that was exhausting.”
“I wonder how good a cook that Malfoy is?” Vernon asks mildly.
Harry blinks. “I… I have no idea,” he answers. “I suppose we can let him help if he wants tomorrow, then?”
“You know,” Petunia mutters. “There’s one other person that never changed when you went to school.”
“Oh?” Harry asks, looking up at her. “Who was that?”
“Mrs Figg.”
“Figg?” he asks, gazing at the ceiling. “Well, she was my favorite babysitter. Even though she made me look at pictures of her cats.” He shrugs. “And it’s possible she’s a squib, too.”
“How would that…?”
“Lyra tells me that the soul fragment would have affected only non-magicals… and that squibs are magical enough. So, if she is a squib, she will have been immune to it.”
Petunia looks at Vernon. “That makes sense, actually.”
Vernon looks back. “Though it begs the question,” he mutters. “If she is a squib, was she genuinely hard on Harry, or only hard on him because we were?”
“That’s… a very good question,” Petunia answers. She glances up at Harry. “I could try calling her, see if she’d like to visit tomorrow morning.”
Harry shrugs. “Sure. If she is a squib, it won’t be a problem for her to see us using magic.” He tilts his head. “I wonder if Lyra’s Whiskey Tango works on squibs…?”
“Uh… Hermione?”
Hermione looks up. “Oh, hi Dad!”
“How are you… uh, on the ceiling?”
Hermione glances down, at the ceiling she’s kneeling on, and shrugs. “I don’t know… I figured out I could do it during the battle with Quirrell at the end of the school year, and never asked Lyra.” She glances down. “And, um, a bulb burned out, so I thought I’d change it.”
“I take it the chair wasn’t tall enough?”
“It didn’t look tall enough… and this is easier than flying.”
“Your telekinetic powers not working or something?”
“Oh, they’re working just fine. I just don’t have fine enough control to be confident I can get the bulb in securely without breaking it.” She finishes screwing in the lightbulb, before rising to her feet and walking sedately to and down the wall. Once on the floor again, she glances up at the light fixture, flicking the light on telekinetically. “Oh, that reminds me- shortly after that battle, I figured out why I have my telekinesis.”
“Not how you got it?” Dan asks hopefully.
“No, that’s still a mystery. The thing is, I have telekinesis because I’m not a pegasus.”
He sighs. “So, first you’re a pegasus, then you’re not a pegasus? What now, a hippopotamus?”
Hermione lets out a snort of laughter. “Yeah, no, I’m not a hippo. I was originally a pegasus- and I still look like one, mostly. Just one small difference.” She crouches briefly, hopping upwards- and shrinks considerably as she goes, her clothes disappearing into nowhere.
Dan stares. She’s bronze-colored and tiny, her even smaller bronze wings flapping lazily to hold her steady at about head height. The old lightbulb looks a little funny, sticking to her flat forehoof as if it were glued to it.
He’d have to concede with her; she does look like a pegasus, albeit a strange one, save only the spiral horn sticking out of her forehead. “You’re…” He begins.
“An alicorn,” she answers. “No clue how I was turned into one, but I actually do know when. It would have been when I found myself transported to a world of clouds for a few seconds, right after the first time I went supersonic.”
“So, you went supersonic, and became an alicorn.”
“Um… Kinda, I guess. It wasn’t the going supersonic that did it, though- Rainbow goes supersonic all the time, but she’s still a pegasus- and besides, neither Harry nor Draco were pegasi, yet they still became alicorns after that battle with Quirrell. Speaking of which, Harry’s house was finally recognized by the Ministry as a wizarding home, so Draco invited me over to celebrate tomorrow. Is that okay?”
“Um… I take it he’s going to be coming for a teleport?”
“Yeah.”
“Then…” He sighs. “Be safe, alright?”
Mrs. Figg, as it turned out, had not been interested in visiting.
But none of the Dursleys seem to care. They’re all decked out in dinner jackets and so on.
Harry pauses at the bottom of the stairs, raising his eyebrow at Dudley and Uncle Vernon, waiting in the foyer. Aunt Petunia is visible in the kitchen “We expecting someone?” he asks.
“Ah, yes,” Vernon answers him. “Your ‘Draco’ could be along anytime.”
“So… why the, um, formal clothes?”
“We wouldn’t want to make a bad first impression, now would we?”
“Ahh… those clothes are more likely to make him uncomfortable than anything else.”
“Really?”
He nods. “Yeah. I don’t think Draco’s ever seen a muggle dinner jacket before. Besides, it’s an informal visit- his dad won’t be coming.”
Some five minutes pass, before, while the Dursleys are still changing back into their normal day wear, Harry notices Hermione’s aura approaching on the other side of the door. There’s another with her, though not the one he was expecting. It only takes him a second to remember the connection, though- Silversong is Draco. The two auras approach the door, and pause.
Harry waits eagerly, sitting on the lowest stair of the staircase, staring at the door. “Come on,” he mutters.
Eventually, finally, the knock sounds from the door.
Harry explodes up from the stairs, reaching the door in seconds. He nearly forgets to unlock the door, but he remembers just in time- and finally pulls the door open.
There they are. Hermione, standing next to Draco, both looking surprised.
He fairly leaps on Hermione, hugging her for all he’s worth.
Hermione squeaks, stumbling back as he hits her at full tilt.
Draco lets out a faint cry of alarm, before visibly relaxing, and chuckling.
Harry looks at him. “What?” he asks.
Hermione hugs him back, whispering in his ear. “You missed me that much, huh?”
He promptly draws back, blushing furiously, and puts his hands behind his back. She lets him go. “Uh…”
She giggles, blushing even more furiously. “Don’t worry, um… I would probably have done that to you if you didn’t first.” She glances sideways at Draco.
“It’s… Um,” Draco begins, blushing. “Shortly after my transformation, Lyra said something about Equestrian magic… and herds. Something about drawing, um, people together, regardless of age.”
“Wait,” Harry mutters, blinking and stepping back against the doorframe. “You mean Equestrian magic is why I missed Hermione so much?”
Draco shrugs. “She did say it doesn’t create those connections, only identifies and strengthens the ones that are already there…” He blushes cherry red, looking away. “She said it makes finding ‘true love’ easy.”
Hermione pulls both boys into a singular hug. “Probably why Bonbon never heard of divorce.”
“Ahh,” Harry mutters, as Hermione lets them go. “Even though me and Draco are, um, boys?”
Draco raises an eyebrow at him.
Harry’s blush renews, and he facepalms slowly. “Right. Um… Come in, I guess. Is…” He looks at Draco. “Is that something we’re going to have to worry about forever?”
Draco shrugs, following him and Hermione in the door. “Probably on this side, yeah. The kind of closeness it makes is considered normal in Equestria, but… Well, my father would probably throw a fit if he realized it was happening.”
Harry raises an eyebrow at him. “He would?”
He nods. “Yeah. He still calls the Granger family ‘mudbloods’, and he’s not a fan of same-sex marriage.”
“You haven’t, ah, shown him, have you?”
He shakes his head. “Absolutely not! He’d probably throw me out for being transformed, extra magical powers or not. I’ve managed to pass off the hair as an originally-temporary side effect of a prank, that was made permanent because it bypasses a particularly nasty house curse… which, I haven’t told him, isn’t actually being bypassed but completely ignored- we’re immune to that kind of thing.” He sighs. “I haven’t shown him my wings, he’d probably chop those off.”
“Or, at least,” Hermione adds, “try.”
“Really?”
Hermione nods. “Yeah. I rather doubt you’d let him.”
He blinks. “... That is true.”
“That. Sounds. Horrible,” Aunt Petunia inserts, making her way down the stairs.
Draco glances up at her, before looking at Harry. “Uhh…”
Harry shrugs. “Not yet.”
Petunia reaches the bottom of the stairs. “They’re a part of you, right? Not some spell construct?”
“Ahh…” Malfoy mutters, looking indecisive.
“Spell construct?” Harry asks. “They can make wings with those?”
She shrugs. “Is there a reason they can’t?”
“Ahh…” Hermione inserts. “I’d assume they can’t, on this side at least- there’s no books on the topic. And if you go to the other side, there’s also no books telling how to make feathered wings as a spell construct.”
Petunia blinks. “Wha- huh?”
Harry smirks, before resting an arm across Hermione’s shoulders. “Aunt Petunia, meet Hermione Granger, the girl with the magical ability to know exactly in which book to look for whatever she wants to learn about.” He looks at Hermione. “I take it you’ve found a way to leverage that to find out what’s possible or not?”
She nods, fresh blush fading. “If something doesn’t exist, there won’t be books about it, and the magic will come back empty-handed.” Then she scowls. “It’s not proof, though- simply absence of evidence. Which is not the same as evidence of absence.”
“In any case, if they’re a part of you, nobody should be cutting them off, least of all your own parents! I mean, we did have to have Dudley’s tail removed after… that happened- but if one of my boys decides to come home with wings one day, they’re his to keep! … Was it something I said?”
Both Hermione and Draco are both snickering into their hands.
Harry raises his eyebrows. “Ahh,” he begins. “Does that mean Dudley has a brother?”
She scowls. “Just because you’re not my biological child doesn’t mean you’re not my child,” she informs him.
Harry grins, letting out a chuckle.
Draco stops snickering first. “Uh, what was ‘that’?” He looks at Harry. “And isn’t Dudley human?”
Harry nods. “Hagrid tried to turn him into a pig when he delivered my Hogwarts letter. Wasn’t too successful- only gave him a pig’s tail.” He sighs. “And if I remember my Transfiguration classes correctly, anything else it may have done to him will have reverted itself by now.” He glances up at Petunia. “Another perk of being magical.”
“Anyways,” Hermione mutters, lifting her arm up underneath Harry’s to rest it across his shoulders, wand in hand. “We were here to celebrate magic being allowed here, right?”
“Ah, yes,” Uncle Vernon nods, plodding down the steps. “I do believe that was the plan.”
“Happy birthday, to me, happy birthday, to me,” Harry mutters to herself, sitting up in bed to look out the window at the sunrise.
“Hoo.”
She smiles at Hedwig, shaking her head briefly to get her mane to abandon its haystack shape. “Yeah, I know, I’ll probably get a decent party this time around.” She shrugs her wings. “I just wonder why Ron hasn’t sent me any letters.”
“Hoo.”
She shrugs her wings again. “Yeah, I know, Hermione hasn’t either- but she’s got a telephone that works just fine. Ron doesn’t.”
“Hoo.”
She scowls at the window. “Yeah… But that probably doesn’t mean much; I mean, his family does have an owl. Errol, I think it was.”
“Hoo?”
She looks back at Hedwig. “How would that be anything different?”
“Hoo.”
She blinks. “Yeah, that could… Hmm. If he’s too small to carry letters, though, wouldn’t they have gotten another owl?” She glances towards the ceiling. “Or ask to borrow Percy’s owl, Hermes.”
She shrugs her wings. “Hoo.”
She shrugs her wings a third time. “Yeah, if you really want to.”
“Hoo.” She spreads her wings, priming for takeoff.
Her horn glows, sliding the window open for Hedwig. “Thank you.”
“Hoo.” She flies out the window, disappearing into the sunrise.
She sighs, smiles at the sun, and morphs back into her human form to get started with her day. He pauses briefly in the middle of getting dressed; he hasn’t yet come up with a good name for his filly form.
Then he shrugs, and resumes work. No biggie- maybe Lyra can help, whenever the trip to Equestria comes about.
Lyra paces steadily back and forth behind the table. Princess Celestia is seated calmly at the other side of the table, working her three Philosopher’s Stones to produce the next batch of bits to hit the Equestrian economy.
Lyra huffs again, glaring at Celestia, even though the latter has no clue she’s anywhere nearby. She’d come here explicitly so she could distract herself, calm herself down… and of course, Celestia decided to show up and make noise with her Stones.
The problem is, she’d noticed a problem. Specifically, when she returned to Equestria, her personality changed. Over about a week.
To what it normally is.
It had changed more gradually throughout the school year, so slowly she didn’t notice it. For a short time, she’d become careless, and childish.
She’s been working to figure out exactly what happened to cause that, and how to circumvent or prevent it. Bonbon resisted it far better than she did, but even she wasn’t immune. Nopony resisted the change as much as Bonbon.
It’s almost like being in the form of an eleven-year-old… also pushes the mind of an eleven-year-old on everypony.
Which is dangerous. Mind-altering magics, especially combined with transformation magics, is exactly how ponies like King Sombra were born.
She’s done a head count; every pony, save her Papa Tango targets that are all already of the appropriate age for their forms, is in Equestria.
And she’s sealed the Gate. It won’t be hard to unseal it again- but until it is unsealed, nothing can pass.
She won’t unseal it until she’s able to solve the mind-altering magic problem.
… even if it means she’s broken her promise to Harry, Hermione, and Draco- that invite to visit her in Equestria “whenever”. She hasn’t even been able to tell them why not; she didn’t think of the promise until after she’d sealed the gate. Owls can’t pass through the sealed gate- and neither can phone signals.
At least she’d had the sense to, before sealing the gate, make a quick trip to Hogwarts to lock down her upgraded Papa Tango spellwork to be unuseable.
She pauses, gazing at some of the forbidden tomes Celestia has stacked on the shelves in here. Age spells.
In particular, these tomes are about a very dangerous set of age spells that also rewind- or fast-forward- the subject’s knowledge and experience, rather than simply biological youth.
She tilts her head. She could make a stop by the Star Swirl wing; he worked on quite a few age spells, but was never fully satisfied and never truly published any of them. A copy of his notes can be found up there, including his notes on the effects it had.
Perhaps that could help?
She glances back at Celestia, and smiles. Extra challenge, why not? She slips her way out, careful not to let Celestia find out she was ever there.
“Happy birthday, Harry.”
Harry smiles as he approaches the table. “Thanks, Dudley.”
Dudley shakes his head, flipping the bacon the way Harry had shown him a month ago. “It’s too bad that dinner party is today, too. Dad must’ve forgotten it was your birthday.”
Harry shrugs, glancing sideways at Uncle Vernon, who is pausing in the door. “Not surprised,” he answers. “It’s been eleven years since the last time anyone was allowed to care about it.”
“Oh, shoot,” Vernon greets. “Sorry about that. Um…”
Harry waves it off. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing. It’s not every day that a rich builder agrees to a dinner party.”
Hedwig flutters to a landing on the windowsill, and rattles her beak against the glass for attention. She wishes hooting worked more often- but unfortunately, only Harry, Silver, and Lyra actually respond to her hooting, that she’s worked with so far. Mind, she hasn’t really gone anywhere else since starting working for Harry- but during training, she worked with many, including even some experienced owls. A claw or a beak, and sometimes even that isn’t enough, they’d told her. One of them had even recited a time he’d napped on the recipient’s windowsill until he was finally noticed; the glass had been too thick for the amount of noise he could make to get through.
She doesn’t have to wait for long. A little girl, just about Hogwarts age – Ginny Weasley – opens the window to coo at her.
She ignores the cooing, even if the stroking on her plumage feels nice, and scans the room. “Errhool,” she calls.
“Hoom?” Errol hoots inquisitively, drawing her attention to his perch.
Right, Errol is one of those owls, the ones she doesn’t particularly like dealing with. She decides to cut straight to the chase. “Has Ronald sent any lhootters for Harry?”
“Yes, and he’s about ready hoo send another one now,” Errol answers her. “They keep disaphooring whenever I get close.”
“Disaphooring?” she asks.
Errol nods. “Ronald’s been getting increasingly whooried, but he doesn’t understand when I explain.”
She blinks slowly. “Hooh. I’ll take this hoone, then- and I’ll tell Harry. He can hoonderstand us; he’ll figure something hoot.”
“Hoo can? Strhoonge. Well, I’ll lhook forward to a calmer Ronald, then.”
“What in the world is going on in here?” Fred Weasley asks, entering the kitchen just in front of his brother.
“Kept hearing owls from the hallway,” George states.
Ginny looks up at them. “I think they’re having a hooversation.”
Both owls blink slowly at her. The twins also pause to stare at her, eyebrows raised.
“What?”
“That pun,” Fred shudders.
“Happy birthday, Harry.”
He looks over. “Thanks, Draco. Hermione.” He shifts sideways on the garden bench.
The two take their seats as well, with Hermione sandwiched in the middle. “Been having a good birthday?” Hermione asks.
Harry shrugs. “It’s just another day,” he answers.
Both of them gasp dramatically, drawing away from him.
He shrugs again. “What? It’s a lot better than what I had before. Something about a fragment of Voldemort’s soul, forcing muggles – including them, at the time – to hate me.” He gestures back towards the house.
“Wait, what?” Draco asks, blinking at him.
Hermione looks at Draco. “We never told you about that, did we?”
“I don’t think so, no.”
“Ahh,” Harry mutters. “That’s about all we know about that.” He looks forwards again. “About ten minutes ago, that hedge winked at me. And they’re having a dinner party with non-magical guests soon, too.” He points a thumb back at the house again.
“I don’t suppose that means we’ll have to go upstairs, does it?” Hermione asks.
Draco scowls. “Well, there’s nothing in that hedge now. I’m picking up traces of something, but not enough to identify.”
Harry sighs. “Yeah… Yeah, I’m going to have to go upstairs soon; it’ll be better for everyone, all around, if the Masons never realize I exist.” He glances at them. “You’ll have to either go home… or follow. Oh- and Hedwig tells me Ron has been sending lots of letters, but they all seem to be disappearing whenever they get close. Any idea what could be doing that?”
Draco scowls. “Well, I’d bet my broomstick – er, whatever – the winking hedge is related to it.” He glances sideways at Harry. “Dad hasn’t ordered my broom yet. Says he’ll buy it just before we go to school.”
“What’s… this?” Professor Dumbledore asks the empty room. He’d been randomly walking through the castle, as he likes doing whenever he can, and he’d encountered this previously locked room with… something in it. There’s nothing visibly in the room; no, he feels it on his magic sense. He can tell it’s rather cleverly hidden from the castle wards. Which means, of course…
He sends a message to his Heads of House, through the wards. Perhaps they can help him figure out what it is, before the next year starts? He really doesn’t want to have to ask Lyra what it is; she’d no doubt be able to figure it out, but never answer him in a manner by which he could understand.
Hermione and Draco stop short. Harry had just opened the door and looked back into his bedroom.
Then Harry steps back, glancing up at them. “What is that?”
Hermione sticks her head around the corner, and blinks. “You mean the creature on the bed? I don’t know.” She scowls, before drawing back from the door and looking at Harry again. “And the list of books related is utterly confusing.”
Draco looks around the corner. “Dobby?” he asks. “What are you doing here?” He glances up at Harry. “He’s a house-elf. Specifically, my father’s house elf.”
“Ohhh,” Hermione nods. “That makes sense.”
Harry looks in again to see the elf staring at Draco, face white with shock. “Y-Y-Young Master!” the elf yelps eventually.
“You guys alright up there?” Uncle Vernon’s voice calls up the steps.
“Yep, we’ll be fine,” Hermione answers, calling back down.
“Okay,” Vernon calls again. “They’re pulling in now.”
“We’ve got about fifteen seconds,” Hermione mutters.
Draco glances at Harry, as if for permission, before stepping into the room. “Dobby, what are you doing here?”
Harry and Hermione quickly follow, the former closing the door behind them.
“I- I-!” Dobby begins, before making a choking noise.
“Okay,” Malfoy mutters irritably. “Is that something you can’t tell me?”
Dobby shakes his head.
“How about Harry?”
He nods.
“Right then. Don’t tell him, tell me. In a whisper.” He glances at Harry as he walks over to sit on the bed next to Dobby. “Stand back, please.”
Harry nods, staying near the door.
Dobby nods as well, waiting until Draco sits before reaching up to whisper in his ear.
While he’s whispering, Harry turns to Hermione and mutters a question. “Why did he… choke?”
Hermione shakes her head. “House-elves are really sad creatures,” she answers him, also in a low mutter. “Extremely powerful magic, but they can only use it if they have a master- and if they try to knowingly defy that master, their own magic will kill them.” She glances at Dobby. Draco had asked another question, so he’s still whispering. “I’m betting that’s what happened. Whoever his master is, told him not to tell you what he’s doing.”
They both look forward again, just in time for Dobby to lean back again and Draco to scowl.
“Well, that’s a doomed effort,” Draco mutters.
“What is?” Hermione asks, while Dobby looks alarmedly at Draco.
Draco shrugs. “My dad- his master- ordered him to ‘convince Harry not to go to Hogwarts’ this year. And, presumably, not to tell Harry about that.”
Harry nods. “Yeah, that’s not gonna work.” He looks towards Dobby. “I’m sorry, but Hogwarts is my home. I can’t not go.”
Draco sighs. “And his method for accomplishing that goal has been to intercept your mail.”
Harry raises his eyebrows. “I still got your letters,” he mutters.
“Because they were from me,” Draco answers. “He’s the family elf- he can no more oppose me than my dad, unless explicitly ordered. And intercepting any mail headed to or from me would be opposing me.”
“So… You’re the reason Ron’s letters keep disappearing midway?” Harry asks Dobby.
Dobby blinks, and reaches into his pillowcase. “D-Dobby has them here, Sir.” He pulls out a large handful of letters, bound together with twine.
“Can I countermand the order?” Draco asks.
Dobby looks at him. “Um…”
Draco shrugs. “Because we all know Harry’s going to Hogwarts. If he doesn’t go himself, you can bet I’ll be teleporting over to drag him to Hogwarts.”
Dobby sighs. “Alright.” He drops the letters on the bed next to him, and disappears with a little pop!
“I take it your father knows you can teleport?”
Draco shakes his head. “Actually, he doesn’t. He thinks I’m using portkeys. Dobby knows the truth, but I’ve asked him to keep it from my dad- even lie about it- unless the question is explicit and he’s ordered to tell the truth, such that he’ll die if he doesn’t tell.”
Harry tilts his head. “Portkeys?”
Hermione tilts her head. “Some kind of wizardly transportation method?” She glances at Harry. “The Art and Magic of Long-Range Travel.”
Draco chuckles. “Yeah. Basically, an item we anchor the spell to, turning it into a portkey. Touch it, or sometimes on a timer, and it’ll teleport you to the destination. My least-favorite method of travel, but the easiest way to take large groups and the only way for a youngster like me to travel long distances to ‘muggle’ homes, since they don’t connect muggle fireplaces to the flu network.” He grins. “Or so my dad thinks. I haven’t told him about the three different Equestrian teleportation spells I know.” He glances to the side. “Or the funny combination between that and flu travel that let me surprise Quirrell.”
“Funny?”
He nods. “Yeah. I got suspicious- there’s always a smell of smoke, but no soot, whenever I use it- so I asked Dobby to watch me use it to go six feet. After swearing him to secrecy, of course.”
“Oh?” Hermione asks.
Draco stands up, then vanishes in a burst of flame, to reappear simultaneously behind them in a matching flare. “He said it looked like phoenix fire.”
Hermione blinks. “Do that again.”
He does. Back to in front of them.
She nods. “Yeah, that does look like phoenix fire.”
“You’ve seen it?” Harry asks her.
She nods again. “There’s an excellent photo in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.”
Harry nods. “And that’s a schoolbook, so you didn’t need your magic to tell you where to look.”
She grins. “Yep.”
“So, Hermione,” Draco mutters, sitting on the bed again, as Harry and Hermione join him, Hermione once again sandwiched in the middle. “Have you heard anything from the RESS lately?”
She shakes her head. “No. They promised they’d always be here for me once I joined, but I haven’t heard a peep.” She scowls at the floor. “Even tried calling Lyra a few times, but it’s like she’s in some perpetual deadzone. Like, oh, Equestria.” She looks up. “I’ve actually been quite tempted to have you take me to the station to check up on them, Draco.”
“Actually,” Harry mutters, glancing up from flipping through the letters Dobby left for him. “We might as well head over there now, maybe spend the evening in Equestria. Lyra did invite us over anytime, didn’t she?”
Hermione scowls. “I’d hate to make a surprise visit,” she mutters.
Harry shrugs. “If they won’t answer us, we can’t exactly warn them, can we?”
Hermione nods. “Yeah, that’s true. You up for it, Draco?”
“Ready when you are,” Draco smiles.
Harry grins. “Ready in a sec.” He looks forwards, towards his desk. “Alexa, once the Masons leave, let Uncle Vernon know we’re headed for Equestria for the evening.”
The little device sitting on the back of his desk answers. “Alright. I’ll do that.”
Harry turns back to Draco. “Ready.”
Draco grins, then all three stand up- and promptly… nothing.
Draco scowls. “Huh… physical impediment safety routine is going off. Lemme try another spot.” A pause. “Nope, still there. I’ll go for the helipad this time- might need an invisibility spell or something.” He glances at Hermione.
“I got that,” Harry states instantly, before all three vanish soundlessly into thin air. “A gift from my dad. Lyra calls it a ‘Death’s Shroud’.”
“Huh, that’s a funny name,” Hermione mutters.
“Very complex, too,” Draco mutters. “Way bigger than anything Luna’s shown me. I… yeah, I don’t stand a chance of understanding it. Anyways…”
Moments later, the three are surrounded not by Harry’s bedroom, but by the inside of a helicopter.
Hermione blinks, then digs for her pockets. “Oh! Good thing I thought to bring my keys, isn’t it?” She quickly comes up with a keyring, including one keyfob that both unlocks the helicopter and disengages the security system surrounding it. “Alright, Harry, you can drop the shroud if you want to.”
Harry nods, and the three promptly appear out of thin air, just as silently as they had disappeared in his room a minute before.
Hermione pulls open the door, stepping out and looking around. “... Huh. Woulda expected more people around here.”
The other two follow her out. “Yeah,” Draco mutters. “Last time I was here, there were people scrambling all over. I mean, that was also a time when Princess Celestia was stopping by, but still. Gate’s this way.”
Hermione raises an eyebrow. “That’s Princess Celestia. Of course they’d work themselves up into a tizzy trying to prepare for her.”
“Did you get to meet her?” Harry asks Draco.
Draco shakes his head. “I don’t think I even glimpsed her.”
“I met her,” Hermione shudders.
Both boys look at her, pausing briefly on the way to the building.
“What?” Hermione asks. “I had to, when I entered the RESS. Or, actually, RIA. But don’t tell anyone.” She looks up into the air. “Lyra teleported me out here to meet her. After a quick meeting, Celestia herself gave me my radio, keys, and codename.”
“Codename?” Harry asks. “What is it?”
She grins. “I’m Agent Index Eye.” She lifts her keys again, unlocking the front door of the building by tapping a little plastic spade on her keyring to a larger block of plastic next to the door.
Draco blinks, listening to the high-pitched chirp the plastic block made and the sharp clunk that came from the door, while also looking at the now blinking green light on the block. It had been steady red. “What-?” he begins.
Hermione pulls the door open for him. “Muggle technology,” she answers. “That unlocks the door, and also disables the alarm- and barrier wards.”
“Barrier wards?”
She nods. “They said only Agents could teleport into the building, thanks to some fancy warding Lyra did. And they didn’t trust the locks to last against wizards, so they paired it with magical barriers placed inside the walls and door. I don’t know how she managed to get that to toggle with the electronic lock, but she did.”
“That’s… a very good question,” Draco mumbles. “Nothing Luna’s covered with me even suggests any kind of… ‘electronic’. In any case, do you know where the Gate is?”
Hermione shakes her head. “I only know that the same keyfob will get me into that room.” She looks across the room. “And that the complete lack of guards is a little worrisome.”
“Ahh,” Malfoy mutters. “Well, it’s this way.” He pauses for a second. “Hmm… All the warding around here is blinding me, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone on this side of the building, save us.”
“It’s blinding you?” Harry asks.
He shakes his head. “Blinding my scans. There’s too much magic in the air to get an accurate read with the scanning spells I know.”
Hermione glances back at the door. “And Lyra got near-field communications to work someplace with more magic than Hogwarts?”
“About thirty times as much magic, I’d say,” Draco mumbles. “Problem is, the little bits I’m catching suggest there’s more I can’t see.”
“How is that any different from the radios?” Harry asks.
“The reason wizardkind thinks electronics don’t work at Hogwarts is because wireless electronics don’t work at Hogwarts. Exposed electronics might also have problems, but modern stuff isn’t exposed. In any case, the reason that doesn’t work, Lyra told me, is because the wards generate a lot of electromagnetic interference- basically, the electric version of the blinding effect of all the magic in the air here.” She looks at Malfoy. “Imagine someone were standing at the far side of the building, making really fast magic pulses, and your job was to see those pulses from here, measure their timings, and decode a message from that. How possible would that be?”
Draco shakes his head instantly. “Zilch. Maybe outside, but there’s too much magic for the pulses to get lost in.”
“That’s exactly what the radios do,” Hermione continues. “They make pulses of electromagnetic energy. Um, electricity. They pulse so fast that we can’t hope to perceive it, but still. When there’s too much interference, the signal gets lost in the noise- hence why they don’t work at Hogwarts. Lyra used some kind of relay spell to force the accurate signal to reach the rest of the radios, regardless of distance or interference, so our radios do work at Hogwarts.
“The problem is, she couldn’t have done that with a near-field communications system like my keyfob- that relay spell causes them to behave like the antennae are touching, and the whole point of a near-field system is that it can only talk when it’s very close by- like, a few inches. It even has to get its power from the reader!” She stomps a foot in frustration. “Thus, it’s physically impossible, but Lyra did it anyways!”
“Or,” Draco suggests, “she could have just designed the wards not to make that electrowhatsits interference.”
Hermione blinks, and blushes. “... Yeah, she could have, couldn’t she? There is a book on that… authored by Twilight Sparkle.”
Draco blinks. “Wasn’t she at Hogwarts?”
Hermione nods. “Ravenclaw. And no, she’s not an Agent.” She holds out her keys to the next door, resulting in a similar result to the main entrance door.
“We should be able to ask her in a minute,” Malfoy states, before pulling the door open… and stopping in his tracks.
“What the…?” Harry asks, gazing up at the huge pile of splintered wood and twisted steel filling most of the room.
Hermione holds out her hand, almost casually ripping it apart and crushing the bits into sorted heaps against the wall with her icy blue magic aura.
It takes her about five minutes to recycle the entire tangled heap, revealing a small platform, rather gouged by the ruined material, with a few damaged train tracks still attached to the ground in front of it.
“Where’d the Gate go?” Draco asks.
“The Gate?” Hermione asks. She then scowls at the platform and tracks. “Why are there train tracks in here?”
“Because the Gate takes the form of a sixty-mile-long tunnel,” Draco answers. “They ran a train line down it. And…” He runs to the wall, and pokes along it. “Yeah… it looks like she’s closed it. It’s still here, though, so we can hope she’ll be back next year, but nothing’s going through it- and I don’t think I could open it if I wanted to.”
Very suddenly, Hermione lets out a gasp and whirls in place, looking around. “What-!?”
“What is it?” Harry asks, also looking around and crouching slightly.
Malfoy twists to face her as well, alarmed.
“That’s…” Hermione blinks, then sighs. “Oh.” She relaxes her stance. “Oh. It’s just that someone’s set off one of Lyra’s alarm spells back at Hogwarts, and it couldn’t find her.” She pulls her phone out of her pocket. “And if the Gate is sealed and this building is empty, I’m probably the only Agent on this side, so the only person left for it to notify.” She wakes her phone up, and starts tapping the screen. “I… should probably inform Dumbledore. At least her alert spell was smart enough to tell me exactly where it is in the castle… and what it’s guarding.” She raises her phone to her ear, and sighs. “This thing is going to take forever to connect.”
“What is it guarding?” Harry asks.
“Her papa tango spellwork. Someone’s penetrated the door- I need to tell him before whoever it is activates her work, accidentally or not.” She rolls her eyes, shaking her phone. “Come on! I know it takes time to connect to the castle wards, but it can’t be taking this long!”
“What.” Draco mutters.
“Oh, finally! … Professor Dumbledore? You there?”
A sudden blaze of blinding light fills the room. Multiple cries of alarm also sound, but nobody really hears them- they’re too busy making their own, or falling over backwards in surprise, or concentrating on not screaming from the pain.
Professor Dumbledore recovers first, thanks only to the silent incantation of a pain relief spell through the Elder Wand. He then lifts one hand to rub the last of the piercing headache out of his head, and sits up. His body feels… wrong, somehow.
He opens his eyes. The room seems too big. “What- Oh…” His voice sounds wrong. He blinks, and reaches back to pull his hair forwards. He’s always had long hair, so it’s no surprise that he can do that- but he is beginning to suspect just what the spellwork he and his heads of house had just accidentally set off was.
Nothing seems to have changed, except that it seems to have gained a bit of a wave and a curl or two at the end.
Then he looks up at his Heads of House, just in time for Professor McGonagall to rise, as the second to recover. The first thing he notices, is that she’s no longer a brunette. Her hair has become waist-length, wavy, and purple, with a couple of lighter stripes.
He puts his hand to his forehead. “I know what it is,” he announces.
“Professor Dumbledore? You there?”
Professor Snape jackknifes upright. “Who-!?”
Dumbledore tries responding to the call on the wards. “Who is it?” he answers.
“It’s Hermione Granger, Sir. The RESS made this spellwork- and the app, pretty sure someone named ‘Tech Nut’ made it- as an emergency contact method. I thought you should know, someone’s penetrated the door in front of Lyra’s ‘papa tango’ spellwork.”
Professor McGonagall facepalms. “Can I take points for this?”
Professor Snape drops back down on his waist-length mane of wavy blackness, laughing out loud.
“Ahh, yes,” Dumbledore answers Granger. “We’ve… figured that out. Why isn’t it Bonbon calling, or Lyra?” He briefly fingers the radio clipped to the front of his robes. It seems a lot bigger, now that he, and his Heads of House, have been reduced to first-year stature.
“Ahh… Well, it seems they’ve closed the Gate, actually. Which means, when it couldn’t find Lyra and started hunting for any Agent… I’m the only one it could find.”
Professor McGonagall groans. “Of course.”
“Alright then. Should we expect them back next year?”
“I don’t know. I think it’s been sealed all summer, and I don’t know how easy it would be for her to reopen.”
“What about you?”
“Draco’s the most skilled with Equestrian magic, and he doesn’t think he can.”
“Ahh. Well, keep us updated… by owl, please.”
“Will do.”
Dumbledore lets out a sigh as soon as he gets the distinct signal of Miss Granger’s disconnecting from the wards. “Well, that was… perfectly timed,” he mutters, before glancing at McGonagall. “And I don’t think we can take points for it… but we can ban Lyra from making any more of these in Hogwarts.”
Snape sits back up. “Are you sure that’ll be enough?”
Dumbledore scowls. “Shall we make some paperwork for her to fill out too?”
“Paperwork?” McGonagall asks.
He shrugs. “That’s what it takes to get through to her, according to Bonbon. Certainly works, too.” He sighs. “Requiring a heap of paperwork won’t stop her from doing something she really wants to do, though. She’ll just do the paperwork.”
“Really?” Snape asks.
Dumbledore nods. “Really.” Then he stares at Snape’s very dark blue wings.
“Well,” Professor Dumbledore mutters, looking around at his Heads of House. They’ve all recovered by now, and gotten over the initial shock of the age difference. “I daresay we know what it is now.” He glances upwards, at the faintly glowing matrices still filling the room.
“Are you sure?” Professor Snape asks him, prodding one of his wings. “I do not recall being transformed into a tiny silver unicorn.”
Professor Flitwick, who had grown to a regular-sized eleven-year-old rather than the shortened stance of his half-goblin ancestry, shakes out his green wings, completely ignoring his shining golden hair. “Pretty sure her ‘papa tango’ didn’t administer wings, though,” he mutters, before picking his wand back up off the floor where it had fallen and pointing it at himself to mutter a few incantations.
“There… There is that,” Dumbledore scowls. “Maybe it only does that to some people.”
Snape looks up, his wing vanishing behind his back. “Some people?” he asks.
Dumbledore shrugs. “Alas, I find myself lacking in feathery appendages.”
“I as well,” Professor Sprout mutters. Then she glances up at Professor Dumbledore. “Not that I’d use them.”
Dumbledore finally turns to Professor McGonagall, who has been staring at her hands for the last couple of minutes. “Minerva?”
McGonagall looks up. “Hmm? Oh, no wings.” She then scowls. “Funny. Filius’ wings look different from Severus’.”
All eyes turn to the two. Flitwick stretches out one wing towards Snape; it’s about three feet long, with leathery skin covering the leading edge and claws at each of the joints. The skin also covers a good six inches down the wing, before it gives over to feathers.
Snape extends one wing out past Flitwick as well. It’s huge, by comparison- a good six feet long, and fully feathered. The leading edge is covered not by leathery skin but by a dense layer of small feathers.
Dumbledore nods. “Interesting.”
Flitwick folds his wing in time with Snape. “Must be my goblin heritage,” he mutters. He looks up at McGonagall. “What’s got you so distracted?”
McGonagall looks up from her hands again. “It feels like I’m in my animagus form,” she states. “Though I can still feel my normal animagus form… and can’t seem to find my normal form.”
“What?” Professor Dumbledore asks, eyebrows raised.
McGonagall shrugs, dropping her hands and snatching up her wand. “In any case, we’d better at least appear grown for the rest of the school to see. A good age spell ought to do it, I’d say.”
Flitwick nods slowly. “Yeah…” He mutters another incantation or two. “Hmm… Yeah, that should work.” He looks up, and describes the spell. “We’ll have to reapply it regularly, at least once every three days, possibly more often- but it should work.”
Two minutes later, one Headmaster and four Heads of House, all fully grown, step out of the room and seal the door once again, before splitting back up to their individual duties.
Nighttime falls at Hogwarts Castle. Filch had tilted his head at the odd hair colors they now sport, but had declined to comment on it. The other teachers hadn’t even noticed.
Professor Dumbledore cancels the age spell on himself before getting into bed. He’ll have to re-enact it tomorrow, but for now, he rather enjoys having so much space on his bed.
Professor Sprout leaves her age spell intact as she climbs into bed. She’ll check it for how long it’ll last when she gets up, see if she needs to renew it.
Professor Flitwick also leaves his intact, completely not thinking about it as he charms his bed bigger then, after having difficulty getting comfortable with his wings, charms himself a magical cushion above his bed for him to sleep on.
Professor McGonagall has been working all day long, and falls asleep almost as soon as she lands on her bed. Once again, Professor Dumbledore wasn’t able to find a new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor until way late- and it takes a ton of work, especially with this many returning students, to distribute book lists to them all. First-years may be handled by an automatic spell, but letters for second years and beyond must be produced manually.
Professor Snape starts his night by checking up on his age spell. He accurately deduces it’ll have a lifespan of about seventeen hours per invocation, so he cancels it; he doesn’t want it falling apart in his sleep, because that’d almost certainly awaken him unnecessarily.
Then he clambers into bed, and tries, time and time again, to get comfortable. His wings don’t like being crushed when he lays on his back; when he lays on his side, they shift uncomfortably against his back, such that he knows he’d be in for a massively sore back in the morning.
Eventually, he decides to try sleeping on his front. It never worked for him in the past; he’s always been a “back-sleeper”, so to speak.
And of course, it’s uncomfortable again. He finds himself wishing he could get comfortable- maybe even transform into something more comfortable. Even- even that silver unicorn Malfoy got turned into. If he could turn into that, so long as it’s reversible, he’d theoretically be able to get comfortable!
He blinks, and lifts his head off the mattress. He seems to have shrunk considerably, and when he thinks about it, his body feels different- fuzzier. He crawls up to his pillow- definitely different proportions- and sticks his head out from under his blankets, into the dim light cast by his magical “night light”. He blinks at it, then sticks one arm out from under the blankets as well.
He’s met with the view of a very dark blue furred foreleg, complete with hoof.
He sits up, closes his eyes, concentrates on being human, opens them again.
He’s back human… Well, winged human.
He chuckles to himself. “Rather convenient time to discover my animagus.” He shifts back, tugs the blankets back over himself with his mouth, curls up, ruffles his wings against his sides, and falls asleep very quickly, completely devoid of discomfort.
“Are they ever going to open the gate?” a house-elf mutters grumpily, glaring at the massive heap of letters in front of him.
“Not in time for school, that’s for certain,” a second huffs next to him. “The train will be pulling out of Platform Nine and Three Quarters right about now.”
A third glances at the empty space where first-year’s letters appear. “At least we could still send the Equestrian first-years their letters,” he mutters.
Back when the letters had first appeared, the owls had been unable to deliver any Equestrian letters. The house-elves had, however, found out that they could use their own magic to send the letters directly to their recipients, despite the gate being closed. No way to get a response back, though… and that only worked because the first-year letters were magically bonded to their recipients by the same magic that created them. The manually-produced second-year letters don’t have that, so they’re still sitting here.
“Yeah, at least we could,” a fourth shakes his head.
“Any news?” Professor McGonagall asks Dumbledore. They’re sitting down to lunch, on September First.
Dumbledore shakes his head, fingering the radio clipped to his robes. “Nothing,” he answers. “Tried calling her an hour ago, but nothing. Anything on your end?”
She shakes her head with an almost-smile. “Do you really think she would call me first? You have the radio.”
Professor Lockhart holds tactfully still in his seat. He hasn’t a clue what they’re talking about.
Dumbledore shrugs. “You know how-!”
Everyone turns to look at him as he cuts himself off very suddenly.
But he’s not paying attention to them.
“Professor Dumbledore, do you copy?”
He raises his hand to the radio, depressing the button. “Ahh, Bonbon. It’s about time.”
“Ahh, no, actually, I’m Lyra. We’ve reorganized- Bonbon’s still mission leader, but I’m your contact point. In any case, is it too late to come to Hogwarts this year?”
He grins at Professor McGonagall; the sudden uplift in spirits across everyone- save only Lockhart- when he’d mentioned Bonbon’s name had been hard to miss. He depresses the button. “Well, it’s a bit late to come on the train, but you should be alright.”
“How about new Equestrian first-years?”
He raises an eyebrow. “You mean the letters actually reached you?”
“Ah, some of them. No clue how Hogwarts managed to deliver the first-year invitations through a sealed interdimensional gateway, but it happened- we’ve got thirteen thousand, four hundred eighty-six hopefuls.”
He blinks. “Oh. Um, we might need a bit of help with the paperwork… and it might be a bit difficult to get their stuff on time.”
“Eh… shouldn’t be all that bad. We can share, until we can get enough. Oh, and, um, total Agent count will be up to nine hundred thirty-seven, not counting the local- same arrangements as last year, or no?”
“The local?” he asks.
“Last year, a British student joined our ranks after her Papa Tango.”
He pauses for a second, and nods. “Right. Yeah, we can do that. When should we expect you?”
“Hmm… I’ll be up in a half an hour or so to drop off the scroll for the sorting, then-!” A second’s pause. “Convenient timing. Skyhawk just spotted the Hogwarts Express- I still don’t know how she gets that helicopter off the ground so fast- so we’ll be arriving at about the same time.”
He smiles. “We’ll see you later, then.”
“And, um, I know last year you had a month to prepare, and now just a couple hours- so if there’s anything we can do to help, let me know.”
He chuckles. “Will do.” He lowers his hand.
“How many this year?” Professor Flitwick promptly asks.
“More than last year,” he answers promptly.
“They helping again?” Professor McGonagall asks.
He only nods.
Professor Lockhart stares unblinkingly at his empty plate, trying to figure out what’s going on, for several seconds before he shakes himself out and gets himself something to eat. He’ll have to ask after lunch.
Hermione looks at the snack trolley that had just stopped beside her, Harry’s, and Draco’s compartment. “I would like-”
“Index Eye, how copy?”
She blinks, and steps back into the apartment, handing Harry her money bag; he’s closer. “Here, get us something,” she mutters distractedly, before moving her hand up to her radio and depressing the button. “Loud and clear.”
“Ahh,” Harry mutters, looking at her, before turning to the smiling witch. “Some of everything.”
Draco looks at Hermione, and sighs. She’d been teasing them lately, pretending to get calls from the Agency.
“Sorry it’s been so long- I’ll explain later. You’re going to Hogwarts this year, right?”
“Yes.” Lyra is using a very crisp, professional tone, rather than her usual near-laughter, so she’s being as concise as she can.
“You still have your second-year booklist?”
She recites the entire booklist from memory. It’s kinda hard to forget, with that many Lockhart books.
“We’ll meet you at the castle. In the meantime, can you ask a few students if they want to play instructor?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll send the list to your phone; send the answers ASAP.”
“Roger.”
“Spotted,” another voice begins suddenly, after a short pause. It’s familiar, but not by name- and it starts spouting numbers.
Must be the helicopter pilot, she decides, deciphering a few of the codes before her phone- which she’d already pulled out- vibrates as it receives the list. She glances down it, then looks up at Harry, who is carrying a great big pile of candy back into the compartment with Draco. “Harry, Lyra wants to know if you want to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts with Rarity again this year.”
Both boys freeze still for a second.
“They’re back?” Draco asks.
“Uh, yes,” Harry decides.
She marks his response on the poll list Lyra had emailed her, and turns to Draco. “Draco, how would you like teaching Potions with Apple Bloom this year?”
He blinks. “Apple Bloom…?” He shrugs. “Sure, why not?”
She taps her phone again, before heading for the door. “Thanks! I’ll be back in a minute- I’ve got some thirty other people to ask, and Lyra wants their answers ASAP.” She disappears into the corridor.
“So, Gilderoy,” Dumbledore smiles, after finishing off the last of his meal. “You up for meeting one of our students for this year?”
Lockhart looks at him, eyebrows raised. “Already? Aren’t they on the train?”
Dumbledore nods. “Some of them are, yes.” He chuckles. “I doubt that train would fit twenty five thousand students.”
Lockhart’s jaw drops.
Dumbledore chuckles again. “In any case, she’ll be here any-!”
With a faint pop, a second year Gryffindor appears on the other side of the staff table. Her hair is split between white and light blue, and she’s carrying a massive scroll, which she places on the table. “Good afternoon!” she greets cheerfully. “Here’s the sorting scroll- and Professor McGonagall, here’s our instructor teams. Same constraints as last time.”
Professor McGonagall lets out what might have been a snort of laughter, accepting the second, normal-sized scroll.
Then the girl glances up at Lockhart, holding out a hand for him to shake. “And I don’t suppose you would happen to be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, would you?”
Dumbledore chuckles at Lockhart’s flabbergasted response. “Ah, yes,” he states. “Professor Lockhart is our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year.”
“Lockhart?” the girl asks, eyebrows raised, before looking back at him. “That doesn’t happen to be the same Lockhart that wrote half the booklist, does it?”
“Ah, it does,” Lockhart half-mumbles, before shaking himself and smiling.
She puts a hand up to shield her eyes. “Oooh, shiny,” she announces. “Your blinding smile threatens my sanity.” She drops the shielding hand. “Let’s have some good classes this year, eh?” She takes the hand he’d started to extend and shakes it.
“Ahh…”
She shrugs, letting him go. “Shouldn’t be too hard to be better than last year. Professor Quirrell taught us practically nothing.” Then she smiles, and waves to the whole table. “Anyways, I’d better go fly the train. I’ll see you in a few hours!” She snaps her fingers and disappears into thin air.
She reappears two seconds later. “Wait a minute…” She looks at the assembled teachers, then facepalms. “I knew I shoulda ripped the driver out instead of locking the trigger.” She disappears.
A sudden ringing sounds in the Hogwarts kitchens, drawing the attention of hundreds of house-elves. Then, Lyra turns off the alarm clock. “Hi guys! I thought I’d mention, since us Equestrians reopened the gate too late to catch the Hogwarts Express, we’re coming on a separate train we’re providing ourselves. Thing is, it won’t be stopping- the Friendship Express will be blowing through the station at full speed, during which we’ll teleport everyone out of it. Do you want to hop in after people’s luggage, or would you rather we pulled it out for you?”
“We’ll get it!” the elves all call excitedly.
The Hogwarts Express draws to a halt.
Ginny Weasley steps out of it. Back when she got on the train, she’d gone with her brothers, Fred and George; they’d helped her get her luggage onto the train. She’d almost missed the train; as usual, her family was very late getting to the station… though rather later than usual today.
Once the train was moving, she’d started searching the train for Harry. Even though she’d blushed as red as the setting sun when he’d dumped all the Lockhart books he’d been given for free into her cauldron and said she could have them. She hadn’t meant to blush like that, of course- she just couldn’t help it. The thing is, she wants to be his friend. Not like romantic friend; she refuses to let herself think of that.
She’s not very successful. Every time she sees him, that… stuff pops into her mind, alongside how he might react if he were to realize what she was thinking. Combine the two and so far, she doesn’t think she’s looked at him once without turning cherry red. And of course, she’s afraid to try to talk to him while her mind is polluted by such things- his possible reactions to that are among her worst fears.
Receiving a random gift from him had sent her mind wondering if maybe he liked her in a romantic way. Which is obviously not true, since he didn’t blush. In any case, she rather suspects that’s the reddest she’s ever been.
So she’d searched the train for him, concentrating on Hogwarts. Her theory being that if her mind was sufficiently occupied by Hogwarts when she saw him, she wouldn’t think those thoughts at all, and would feel comfortable introducing herself to him.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t found him. What she’d found instead was a pack of upper-year probably-Slytherins that had started poking at her for being a Weasley.
She’d been rather amazed when a single second-year girl had chased off all four sixth-years with a simple glare- but Hermione hadn’t come to take her to Harry, or even to protect her from ridicule. No, she’d come to ask her if she wanted to teach Charms with someone named Mi Amore Cadenza. It had been explained that she’d study directly under Professor Flitwick, the school’s Charms professor, before passing on what she learned to a class of her own- alongside Cadenza, so she- and Cadenza, of course- don’t miss anything.
So she’d said yes. After all, why would Harry make friends with her specifically if she didn’t stand out from the crowd?
Fortunately, Hermione had continued on before her mind went down that route, turning her face tomato red once again. It was probably a prank anyways.
Then the sixth-years had reappeared, poked fun at her, and told her that nobody would be interested in her if she blushed so much.
She’d run away after that. Found an empty compartment- probably the only one on the train- at the back of the train, and hunkered down in it to cry for the rest of the trip.
But now, she’s standing on the station platform. She takes a deep breath. She’s ready. Ready to talk to Harry. Ready to start Hogwarts. Ready for anything-
She hears the rapid thudding the train made while it was moving quickly, coming from down the tracks. Behind the train.
She looks.
There’s another train, racing to slam into the back of the Hogwarts Express.
And- there’s someone on it! Standing on the front of the engine, waving merilly at her, is a girl with white and light blue hair!
She lets out a gasp, stumbling backwards- and starts to turn to tell someone when she crashes into someone instead. “Ow-!” she yelps, before pulling herself off of whoever it was- sounded like a boy- and blushing like a bucket of red paint. “Sorry, I-!”
She stops, blushing even darker. She’s glad it’s dark out, it won’t be as visible.
It’s Harry.
He smiles, and looks past her, at the coming train; she looks back at it too. He waves.
Then the coming train does the impossible. Right at the same time as the whistle starts playing a song, the train seems to turn up to go right over the top of the Hogwarts Express.
She stares, forcing herself to concentrate on it and not Harry, standing two feet away from her.
… it doesn’t seem to end. There’s so many engines, thundering past overtop the Hogwarts Express- flying right over it, to land on the other side.
Then the engines finally end- and she sees some somewhat strange-looking cars… before her view of it is blocked, because the station is suddenly packed, thanks to all the people appearing in flashes of light.
Then-
“Firs’ years, Firs’ years, over here,” someone yells over the crowd. “Firs’ years!”
She sees the man calling to her. Rather helps that everyone on this side of the station is only as tall as she is; it’s a huge man, holding a lantern high and waving to everyone with his other hand.
She looks behind her; Harry is gone.
She lets out a breath, and starts working her way towards the gigantic man, and the large crowd gathering just off the station.
… Funny, she could have sworn Hogwarts doesn’t normally have this many students.
Ginny knows this is way over the forty or so students Hogwarts is supposed to get each year. For one, there had been a veritable army of boats waiting to cross the lake; for two, she’s counted at least eighty different people in the group, at which point she’d lost count.
For three, they’ve just lined up to be sorted. She hadn’t expected it to be a matter of trying on a hat- and neither had she expected the hat to sing.
Nor for it to sing with instrumental backup.
Nor for everyone- including, to her immense surprise, herself- to start singing along with it, despite not knowing the lyrics. She does think it was amusing to watch the hat practically dancing as it sung.
As for what that three actually was, that scroll that Professor McGonagall is holding is huge.
Oh, four: Looking out across the house tables, it’s a sea of black right about her own height, with the occasional spike of older, upper-year students. Did Hogwarts get a crazy huge number of students last year as well or something?
Professor McGonagall drops the bottom of the scroll on the floor. It hits with a crash that makes the dishes rattle all across the room. The Professor grins, though, and calls the first name on the list.
She suddenly understands why all those muggle-stuff-looking-thing-wearing first years had insisted upon lining up in alphabetic order before Professor McGonagall returned to get them. She shifts forwards with the rest of the line as the girl at the very front of the line trots up to the hat.
One.
Two.
Three. Things seem to be speeding up.
She’s walking constantly now. The hat’s also almost constantly shouting.
Oh, there’s music. All instrumental-
No! The names- and houses- are the lyrics!
Nobody’s singing along, though.
She’s tempted to try, but she has no clue what’s coming until it actually hits.
And even with the crazy fast speed they’re going, it still takes a few hours to reach her.
She sits down at a random spot at the Gryffindor table, once she gets sorted.
Then… The rest of the night seems to go by in a blur. She knows she sang the school song along with everyone else, despite not knowing the lyrics or ever having heard it before. She knows she ate dinner. She knows the girl next to her muttered something about a third floor corridor. She knows the password to get into the Gryffindor common room. And… she knows she’s very tired, and falling asleep on her bed.
Ginny scowls at the ceiling. She remembers getting sorted, and then… nothing. Save a couple faint snippets of the evening.
That’s never happened before.
She’s always had good memory. Especially towards the end of the day- almost like getting tired improves her memory, instead of hurting it.
So why…?
She shakes herself, and gets out of bed. Whatever else it is, it’s breakfast time right now. She’ll tell her diary about the memory lapse later.
She stares at her schedule. The one Professor McGonagall just handed her. She’d glanced down it to see what’s first.
Right off the bat, she’s got Charms with Professor Flitwick this morning.
And, she notices, that’s the only class on her schedule with only one teacher. Potions, this evening, has two- Zecora and Zesty Gourmand.
She’s not sure if ‘Teaching Charms with Mi Amore Cadenza’ tomorrow morning counts as a class.
But if nothing else, she’s absolutely certain that Hermione’s question on the train was not a prank.
She is kinda curious about Defense Against the Dark Arts with Shining Armor and Spitfire tomorrow afternoon, though.
Someone sits next to her. She’s pretty sure it’s not Harry, so she ignores them.
“Hey Ginny! How’re ya doing?”
She looks up at that; they obviously don’t want to leave her staring at her schedule.
… It’s the white-and-light-blue-haired girl that was riding the front of that train. “Um, hi?” she offers.
The girl chuckles, and offers her a hand. “Hello! My name’s Lyra Heartstrings, and I’m the one coordinating all our Gryffindor student instructors. You going to be okay tomorrow?”
She blinks. “Um… what?”
The girl shrugs, and gestures up at the staff table. “Hogwarts hasn’t gotten any additional teachers since last year, save Lockhart- but this year makes a total student body of just over twenty-six thousand students. That’s why we’ve tapped the best and brightest minds there are across both years with very large numbers to learn it first, then pass it on. You going to be okay doing that tomorrow?”
She blinks. “Uh…” She looks at her schedule, then back up. “Does it matter?”
Lyra rolls her eyes. “Of course it does. Are you worried about it at all?”
“Um…” She looks at her schedule again. Is she worried about teaching Charms?
… No, no she’s not. Not nearly as much as she’s worried about what will happen when Harry finds out she’s going to be teaching a class. She blushes furiously. “N-No, I’m fine.”
“Okay.” Lyra smiles amusedly- drat, she saw the blush! “If ever you are worried, know that you can come talk to me anytime, okay?”
“Um, okay?” she asks confusedly.
The girl smiles. “I can usually be found around the Gryffindor common room, unless I’m in class or something- but our schedule times match up pretty well, so that shouldn’t be an issue.”
She stares at the table as Lyra gets up to find someone else. Hopefully, I don’t forget the lesson.
She sits down to lunch. She’d been amazed by how easy the lesson was- and how quickly both she and all the other students picked everything up. Her very first day, and she’d successfully floated that feather!
What’s more, she remembers the lesson. She prays silently to herself that she doesn’t forget it later, and starts getting her food, very carefully not thinking about Harry, who just sat down not two seats away, on the other side of Hermione, who sat next to her.
He doesn’t let her ignore him, though, shortly saying something that draws her attention. “That Lockhart is a disaster,” he complains to Hermione.
Hermione seems to get defensive. “What- what makes you say that, Harry? He’s an amazing wizard!”
Harry snorts. “Not nearly as amazing as you,” he answers shortly, before shaking his head. Ginny does wonder where he got that hair. “After a quiz that only you- or perhaps Twilight- would have passed, he turned a cage of cornish pixies loose on the class.”
Hermione raises an eyebrow. “He was just trying to give you some hands-on experience, that’s all.”
He laughs. “Mighta worked if he’d told us what to do before opening the cage- or if the spell he tried to use actually did anything. It was ‘Pesky Pixie Pestronomy’, as I recall.”
A girl across the table- Lyra- looks up. “Pesky Pixie Pestronomy?” She shakes her head. “That’s not a real spell- only sounds like one. Not even the beginnings of a matrix there.”
Harry nods. “Then when the bell rang, he practically fled, and asked us to get the rest of them back in the cage.”
Hermione winces.
Harry shrugs. “Between me and Rarity, though, we had all of them back in the cage and the room fixed back up in just thirty seconds.” He chuckles. “Had most the rest of the class staring at us.” He scowls again. “And I most certainly do not want to unleash pixies on my class. You know of any good materials for us to go off of?”
Hermione scowls at the table. “Well… Lockhart’s books are not on the list…” She sighs, and names a few books. “Oh, and Princess Luna agrees.”
“Even though I’m pretty sure she hasn’t had a class with him yet?”
Lyra nods. “She’s got his afternoon session after lunch- but just look at him. What kind of soldier wins Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile award five times in a row?”
Harry blinks. So does Ginny.
Lyra shakes her head. “Not one that’s any good, usually. And in my experience, not one that’s ever been in any kind of action, either. Honestly, I’m not surprised his classes turned out to be sub-par.” She sighs. “I had hoped, though. Oh well.”
“But-!” Hermione begins. “Look at all the stuff he’s done!” She pulls out one of her Lockhart books to show Lyra.
Lyra smiles. “You know I haven’t had the chance to read any of them yet, right?”
Ginny blinks. “What-?”
Hermione rolls her eyes. “Well, he’s-!”
“I have, however,” Lyra interrupts, “had time to hand a stack of them to Twilight last night and ask for a summary this morning.”
“Uh… wouldn’t she have slept all night?”
Lyra lets out a snort of laughter. “You clearly don’t know Twilight like I do,” she answers.
“Well of course,” Hermione huffs, folding her arms. “I don’t live in Equestria, and you never let us visit.”
Lyra blushes. “I am sorry about that. In any case, Twilight?” She turns to face the neighboring Ravenclaw table.
A girl with a paired pink-and-purple stripe down her dark blue hair twists to face. “Yes, Lyra?”
“What was the answer you gave me this morning?”
“Oh, you mean the summary of Lockhart’s books?”
Lyra nods. “Hermione’s curious.”
“Oh.” The girl rises from her seat, stepping over to sit next to Lyra, then she looks at Hermione. “Lockhart… is an idiot.”
Hermione gasps. “What-! But-!”
“If you read carefully, which I did three times over last night, there’s inconsistencies in his work. For example, in Voyages with Vampires, he spent a day sparring with a vampire on the ship Merlin’s Halo, right?”
Hermione nods.
“And in Travels with Trolls, he spent a day hiding out in the back of a troll-filled cave, waiting for them to fall asleep.”
She nods again.
The two books land on the table in front of Hermione, next to each other and open to very specific pages. “Read between the lines. Find the points where days are mentioned.”
“Um…” Hermione starts scanning the books.
“What is it?” Ginny asks.
Twilight grins. “They happened on the very same day,” she states. “It’s at the very end of the timeline of Voyages with Vampires, and one of the first events- chronologically- in Travels with Trolls, but they both specify the exact same date. And that’s not the only issue like that.” She glances up at him. “Does he look like a swordfighter? In Voyages with Vampires, he fought numerous vampires- which, by the way, are vicious fighters- with a sword. In Holidays with Hags- which happens two years after that- a sword landed in his possession but he chose not to use it because he didn’t know how yet.
“In short, his adventures are obviously fake. His knowledge might not be, but his adventures obviously are.” She scowls at the books as Hermione meekly returns them, face cherry red. “It’s an insult to true adventurers like me and my friends.” She glances up at Hermione. “Speaking of which, I ought to make you a copy of my Friendship Journals sometime… though, you absolutely cannot share them verbatim, okay?”
Hermione nods. “Okay.”
It’s at that point that what she’d heard fully processes in Ginny’s mind.
Harry is teaching too!
Which means she doesn’t need to worry about him reacting outlandishly- either romantically or negatively- when he finds out about her class! She blushes, but lets out a small sigh of relief all the same.
As Twilight gets up to return to her table, Hermione isn’t done talking. “Anyways, Lyra- you never explained why you sealed the Gate.”
“Rrright,” Lyra scowls. “Um… Yeah… I don’t think it’d be a good idea to talk about that here. I’ll explain it to you two tonight, in… oh, a corner of the common room ought to do, with enough privacy spells.” She glances sideways at Harry. “Have Draco stop by and I can explain it to him at the same time.” She looks at Ginny. “Sorry, it’s more than a little secret.”
Ginny squeaks, blushing furiously. Had her curiosity for just about anything related to Harry been that evident?
Ginny scowls at her diary. She hasn’t written in it these last couple days; she’s been too busy to write during the day, and…
Well, day before yesterday, she’d forgotten everything between the sorting and going to bed.
And, she doesn’t remember anything between sitting down for dinner yesterday and going to bed.
It’s well before dinner today; she doesn’t want to miss writing for another day.
The problem is, she’s not sure what to write first.
Charms this morning had been very educational, even though she’d been one of the two teachers. As had been noted in the footnote at the bottom of her schedule, she’d arrived half an hour early, and met… Princess Cadence. Whose full name just happens to be ‘Mi Amore Cadenza’.
They’d talked. She remembers that conversation well- once she’d realized she was talking to royalty, she fully expected to be following the other girl’s lead- but no. Cadence had encouraged her to speak up, to voice her opinions. Apparently, she’s on vacation from princesshood.
They’d discussed the lesson plans Cadence had been devising since Charms the previous day- she hadn’t come up with any herself- and decided on what to do with the class.
Then, they’d chatted. Princess Cadence seemed to be very interested in her personal life, and had talked much about her life as a Princess of Equestria in return.
Then the class itself had happened.
She’d never known she could learn so much by teaching.
She stares at her diary for a minute longer before dipping her quill in her ink once again and putting it to the page. “Hey Tom.” She pauses again, unsure of what more to write.
Tom doesn’t seem to be unsure at all; he writes back. “Hello Ginny. Are you okay out there? It’s been a while.”
She blushes slightly. “I’m… mostly okay,” she writes. “It’s been a very long three days. Doesn’t exactly help that I can’t remember anything between dinner and bed ever since arriving at Hogwarts. Do you know what that might be?”
Tom doesn’t write back for several seconds. She’s about to start writing again, ask him if something’s wrong, when he does write back. “I don’t know. I know of several things that could do that, but none of them should be at Hogwarts- or work, if taken there. The wards are too powerful.”
His letters seem straighter than the casual scrawl he’s taken to using, almost like he’s writing carefully, but she ignores it. “Oh… I guess I’ll go to Madam Pomfrey- the school nurse- if it happens again.”
“Yeah, probably a good idea. Aside from that, how did the last couple days go?”
“I got sorted into Gryffindor, as expected… and guess what: I’m a teacher!”
“Wait, what?”
Ginny stares.
She’s not the only one, either, staring at the Slytherin in the Gryffindor common room. She heard a few of the older students mention that it wasn’t that uncommon for one of the Slytherins to come waltzing into here whenever she pleased- but not this Slytherin, no. That other one- by the name of ‘Bonbon’- was actually a very important person last year, as a leader of something. Nobody’s heard anything about whether that will continue this year, but someone did say she still has the ‘talking thing’ she’d talk into from time to time.
This Slytherin never entered this room before. He doesn’t have any of those talking things- and for that matter, he looks distinctly uncomfortable here, like he’s aware that everyone is staring at him.
He’s… Harry’s friend, it would seem. Harry brought him in through the portrait hole, and is now sitting down in the corner with him… and Hermione.
She blinks, and looks closer. Yes; Harry’s hair is exactly what she saw earlier: Curly at the ends, one half deep purple, one half dark sea green, split by a golden stripe.
Hermione’s hair is wavy, and metallic red with icy blue fringes.
And the Slytherin’s hair, also wavy, is shiny silver with two navy blue stripes splitting it into thirds.
She wonders, mildly, what they did to make their hair look like that. Perhaps if she did it too, she could fit in and… She blushes furiously. Though, she would like to have hair like that. She’s really not far from it already- just a little more length, and whatever they did to achieve that perfect cohesion.
Hermione waves to someone off to the side; it turns out to be Lyra.
… whose hair also has that perfect cohesion.
She takes a quick look around the room. Forget Harry, most of the first and second years seem to have that hair! Why not her, then?
She looks back towards Harry just in time to see Harry, Hermione, Lyra, and that Slytherin all vanish soundlessly into thin air.
She blinks, then stands up to come closer. Nobody else approaches; they all return to what they were doing beforehand.
She walks slowly up to where they had been, and looks around. Where did they go?
Lyra trots over, in response to Hermione’s wave; they’re ready for the explanation. “Good evening,” she greets, before glancing at the other two. “Now all we need is some privacy-!” She stops cold, blinks, and looks at Harry. “Sorry, I keep forgetting you have a Deaths’ Shroud… even though I’m the one that fixed it.” She heaves a sigh, sitting down with them… then pauses, looking at Draco. “Wait. You like your pony form that much?”
Draco shrugs. “Why not? Life as a Malfoy is a pain.”
“Oh-kay,” Lyra mutters. “In any case, I promised Index Eye- and by extension, you and Harry- an explanation for why the Gate’s been sealed all summer.”
They nod.
“Well… when we went home at the end of the year, I noticed something alarming- that is, our personalities shifted. A little research and I found it happened to every last one of us Equestrians- while we were here, we slowly became… childish. Like- like that whole thing with the Spoonata? That would never have happened if not for that shift. Fortunately, our personalities reset themselves back to normal within a week of returning- but mind-altering magics, especially combined with transformation magics, are how some of Equestria’s biggest enemies were formed.
“So I had no choice but to seal the gate until I could guarantee no personality-shifting would happen.” She shakes her head. “I never did solve it.”
Hermione scowls. “Then why are you here?”
She rubs her hair. “Well… funny story, that. About two weeks ago, Twilight started getting pushy about being ready for the next school year; turns out she really enjoyed studying at Hogwarts. So I explained why the Gate was sealed. Two weeks later, I still hadn’t gotten anywhere when she knocked on the door with the answer.” She shrugs. “I don’t understand half of what that spell is, but we applied it to the Gate and reopened it. We’re carefully monitoring our personalities to make sure we were successful.”
“What about us?” Draco asks.
Lyra shakes her head. “Actually, you’re immune. All the Papa Tangos are- remember that British magic facet that lets you take pony form on this side?”
All three nod.
“Yeah… that same facet allows your mind to be divorced from your form. Add that your Equestrian forms were formed around your mind, and you’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s only us native Equestrians that need to worry, because our human forms were formed based on our Equestrian forms… then our minds basically stuffed into them. I think Twilight’s solution works by multilayering the human brain- to give it the same capacity as an Equestrian brain.”
“Wait, what?” Draco asks. “If- If Equestrian brains are more powerful than human brains, why am I not smarter?”
“That,” Lyra nods, “would be because the Equestrian brain has a lot more work to do. Yes, our brains are more powerful overall- but a proportionately smaller portion of it is available for conscious work. You never realize just how much work it takes to keep active magic- of any form- stable until you dig into the specifics of the Equestrian form.”
Hermione scowls. “But- but wizards cast stable spells all the time!”
Lyra shakes her head. “That’s different. You’d be amazed just how much work your wand does to stabilize a wand-magic spell- and besides, that’s focused magic. Most wand-magic spells are only stable for a few seconds, after which they fall apart- but by the time they fall apart, they’ve already done their jobs and have been dispersed anyways. I’m talking about Equestrian magic: The hoofgrip, pegasus flight, earth pony strength, and so on. The innate stuff that happens automatically.” She sighs. “Unicorns are slightly different, in that we have conscious control over the thaumic segment of our brains, but that’s about it; that portion can’t handle conscious thoughts or other, non-thaumic tasks.”
“Oh.”
Draco looks up, at Ginny coming around the table as if looking for something. “Well hello there.”
“Ginny Weasley,” Harry mutters, looking up at her. “She seems… a little strange.”
“You know what I think it is?” Lyra asks.
“What?”
“I think she has a crush on you.”
Hermione tilts her head. “Actually… yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised. Remember that Equestrian relationship magic?”
Draco nods. “Yeah, I’m feeling it too. Muted, though… probably because she’s all human.”
“Hmm,” Lyra rubs her chin, looking contemplatively at Ginny.
“You are not doing that to her without her permission,” Harry declares.
“Good evening,” Lyra greets, nodding her head to him and all four heads of house. More than one of them looks a little uncomfortable with the golden swirls floating all around the room.
“Is there a reason you wanted to meet here?” Flitwick asks, eyeing the symbols nervously.
Lyra glances at them. “Yes, actually. Don’t worry, these matrices are safe- they won’t activate on a random magic discharge or anything. Besides, they wouldn’t do anything to any of you- or me, for that matter- anyways.”
Dumbledore smiles, taking his seat at the round table Lyra had placed in the middle of the room. Or, more accurately, kneeling on one of the cushions she’d laid around it. “So, you wanted to meet us here?”
Lyra nods. “Yes, actually. About, well, this.” She gestures at the symbols. “You know what it is by now, right?”
Dumbledore bows his head.
“It’s the spell you used on Miss Granger, is it not?” McGonagall asks.
Lyra winces. “Ahh… yes and no, actually. It is true, this is a permanent emplacement of my Papa Tango spellwork- but unfortunately no, it was not ready when I did Granger’s transformation. For that, I built a temporary version, whose matrices burned out with only one use. This one affords instant, painless transformation, with an age spell specially tuned to last almost indefinitely after the transformation. Only…” She sighs. “You know what happened, right about a month and a half ago?”
“Ahh… Yeah,” Professor Flitwick mutters, brushing his long, glistening golden hair back with one hand. “Kinda hard to forget that.”
“Well, about that,” Lyra nods. “I’m mildly curious how you’ve been dealing with the age problem.”
“Age problem?” Professor Snape asks, raising an eyebrow.
Lyra nods, and reaches out a hand to point, towards a very suddenly brightly-glowing patch of airborne squiggles. “The age spell was damaged, such that it would have been deadly. The three safeties tied to it-” three separate neighboring patches of squiggles suddenly glow a brilliant red- “were also damaged, preventing them from shutting down the entire matrix, but they did successfully prevent the age matrices from doing anything.” She lowers her hand. “I’ve repaired them already; I rather suspect the damage was done by your efforts to identify the matrices in the first place. But, with that matrix not running during the transformation, you should have found yourselves suddenly eleven years old.”
“We did,” Professor Dumbledore nods. “We’ve been regularly using an age spell to keep our ages appropriate.”
Lyra scowls. “I bet that’s a British age spell?”
He nods. “Yes?”
“And I bet it’s lasting around a quarter as long as it’s supposed to?”
Flitwick raises an eyebrow. “Right about. You know why?”
She nods. “Because it’s designed for British magical cores, which you don’t have anymore.”
“What-!?” Professor McGonagall blinks.
Lyra nods. “That’s what the Papa Tango does. It takes the magical core and expands it to match an Equestrian magical core. There’s very few facilities- including animagus transformations- that British magical cores have and we don’t; those are not removed… but all the qualities of the Equestrian core, including our comparatively amazing magic resistance and natural wards, will have been added. As such… Well, age spells are one of very few spells that are even ten percent as effective on an Equestrian as on a British wizard.”
“You mean to say we’re magic-resistant?” Snape asks.
Lyra nods. “We found out last year that the Equestrian magic matrix is immune to the Killing Curse- which works by shattering the magical core. A British wizard would be killed by that- but the inner layers of the Equestrian core are flat-out immune to that attack. It takes several hours to restore the damaged layers, during which the subject is unconscious, but still.” She shrugs. “I can apply the age spell separately if you want, even now; the logging section was undamaged.” She gestures around as a golden ring around the entire room glows briefly. “This age spell would last a maximum of about eighty years, and automatically collapse whenever you actually hit the same biological age as it’s targeting. It’s also effective against magical age detectors, unlike any British age spell we’ve been able to find.”
“Sure,” Professor Sprout volunteers. “Should be easier than reapplying every night, right?”
“Yes, much,” Lyra nods. “It’ll even hold through animagus transformations- though it’ll go to standby anytime you’re not in human form.”
The rest nod as well.
“Okay, now that that’s over with, I’m kinda curious how well you’ve managed with your Equestrian magics.”
“What Equestrian magics?” Professor McGonagall asks, head tilting.
Lyra shrugs. “There’s three types- one would manifest as super strength and an affinity for plants.” She smiles at Professor Sprout, who nods. “The second- and the type I have- would first manifest as something like a telekinetic ability.” She glances around at them, holding her hand out over the table as it floats slightly up and down. Nobody moves. “Nobody? Huh. I would’ve thought… Whatever. The last one has been known to most noticeably manifest, on Papa Tango subjects, as wings.”
“Any… particular type of wings?” Flitwick asks.
Lyra shrugs. “I’ve only seen one on this side of the Gate- but with a sample size of one, that’s not hard. Go to the other side of the Gate, though, and Hermione doesn’t even have the most common type of wings. Over there, I’ve seen full feathered wings, I’ve seen leathery bat wings, I’ve seen scaly dragon wings. I can even name one with each that’re attending Hogwarts- though their wings don’t manifest on this side of the Gate.”
Flitwick stretches one wing out. “Any like this?”
Lyra looks at it critically. “Kirin, probably.” She smiles. “Midnight Blade, in Slytherin, is one. Mighty good fighters- part dragon and everything.” She shrugs. “Not very common in Equestria, but I figure it’s probably how your Goblin heritage manifested. Goblins don’t exist in Equestria, after all.” She rubs her chin. “Makes me wonder what’d happen if one got papa-tangoed.”
“So the wings are normal?” Snape asks.
Lyra nods. “Yep. You get them too?”
Snape turns his head away and stretches one wing out towards her.
She peers at it critically as well. “Hmm… That’s interesting.”
He looks at her, folding the wing before she can do anything to it. “What?”
“You’re a very rare form of that third type of magic, called Raptors. Optimized for high speed and such.” She rubs her chin. “It’s so rare, in fact, I only know of one Equestrian raptor- and that’s Fluttershy, in Gryffindor.” She looks up at him. “But you’re only the second Papa Tango to be a raptor.”
“What about that Gryffindor with the Rainboom?” Dumbledore asks.
“Rainbow Dash?” Lyra shakes her head. “Nah, she’s a run-of-the-mill pegasus. Makes her Rainboom all the more impressive- even Fluttershy can’t do that.” She scowls. “Not that she’s tried.”
“Pegasus?” they all ask- Flitwick and Sprout in alarm, McGonagall and Dumbledore in confusion, and Snape in curiosity.
Lyra nods. “Yeah. Unfortunately, the magical core is intrinsic to the form- meaning that, for a change of this scale, the form also has to change. Which of course means that it also physically transforms you into an Equestrian.
“But our Equestrian magic automagically transforms us into humans in this world, which lets you keep your human forms. That’s what this part does.” A rather large tangle of squiggles glows suddenly. “It keeps your original human form around rather than letting it get wiped out and replaced by one based on your new Equestrian form… which is based on your personality.” She glances at it. “Unlike the age matrices, this bit was also present in all my temporary setups, even before I knew it would physically transform. It seemed fairly important that I not risk completely destroying anyone’s identity.”
“So all Equestrians are… pegasi?” Snape asks.
Lyra lets out a snort of laughter. “Nah- the Gate wouldn’t exist if I were a pegasus. All- or, to be more accurate, most- of the Equestrians are, however, ponies. Three main types- the earth ponies like Bonbon, unicorns like myself, and pegasi like Rainbow.” She shrugs. “Then there’s the odd ones out, like Spike is a dragon, and all the Princesses are Alicorns, with the strengths- and magics- of all three tribes. In any case, I’m kinda curious what your Equestrian forms look like- if you feel like sharing that, of course.”
“If we feel like sharing?” Snape asks.
“How would we…?” Flitwick asks.
Lyra shrugs. “Fairly simple. Unlike us plain Equestrians, you transformed Equestrians still have your animagus magic- which will let you shift between forms at will. It takes a pretty big matrix for me to be able to assume my Equestrian form on this side of the Gate- and I’ll only hold that form for as long as I keep the matrix active.” She scowls, and a series of lines, squiggles, and runes glows dimly on the table. “Too bad I can’t anchor it to anything movable.”
“That’s-?” Dumbledore begins.
Lyra nods. “Yes. That is the matrices that I need to take my Equestrian form. Unfortunately, I can only hold it in this room.” She scowls. “I haven’t yet found a way to expand an Equestrian magical core to include animagus capabilities.”
“Great,” McGonagall mutters. “It’s Finding your Inner Animal all over again.”
“Um,” Lyra scowls, rubbing her chin. “Not really. Hermione did it in two seconds, without even knowing what she looked like. The way she described it, just try thinking of yourself as an Equestrian.”
“Um…” Dumbledore begins.
“Think talking shiny silver unicorn,” Snape states, grinning evilly at the rest.
Lyra looks at him for a second. “You’ve figured it out already, haven’t you?”
He nods. “Much easier to get comfortable.”
Lyra nods. “Yeah, Hermione told me she had that problem too. Only, she was deathly afraid of getting stuck in her Equestrian form for most of the year.”
Snape and Lyra watch the other four screw up their faces and concentrate for a few seconds.
“Five galleons says Minerva gets it first,” Snape mutters to Lyra.
Lyra chuckles. “No game, that’s my bet too.”
Six seconds later, Professor McGonagall draws her wand to cancel her age spell. She’d noticed before that it was a lot harder to assume her feline form with it active than without- and of course, shifting forms breaks it anyways.
Then, she very promptly finds herself much shorter than her eleven-year-old form- and lets out a gasp. She’s also not in her feline form- and this feels like what her human form used to, before the change!
Lyra and Snape high five each other. “Now if only someone bet against us,” Lyra chuckles, before turning to McGonagall, who is staring at her purple forelimb. “By the way, Professor McGonagall, you make a cute unicorn filly- and you look almost like Twilight did as a filly.”
McGonagall looks up. “What?”
Lyra nods. “Yeah. The stripes in your mane are on the wrong side, and your manestyle is a little different, but other than that, you look just like her.”
She blinks. “Oh...kay.” Then she reaches one hoof up to find her horn. “Ow!”
Lyra winces. “Yeah… the Unicorn Horn is pretty sensitive, though amazingly resilient.” She squeezes her eyes tightly shut- and instantly, the dim circle on the table shines brightly. That lasts only a second, before it’s back to a dim glow- and Lyra is replaced by a mint green unicorn with Lyra’s hair and a golden glow floating around her horn. “There… This is what I look like in Equestria.” She glances up, towards her horn. “Though, without the glow on my horn, unless I’m doing something with my magic.”
Snape then draws his wand, banishes the age spell, and instantly transforms into his pegasus form. He’d taken some time to look at it the day after he’d first discovered it.
Dumbledore blinks.
“The age spell is complicating things, isn’t it?” Flitwick asks.
Lyra nods. “Yep! Any animagus that’s used age spells or potions will know it’s a lot harder to morph through those effects than directly. And since the transformation breaks the spell anyways…”
Thirty seconds later, the other three have also become ponies.
“So, two unicorns, an earth pony, a kirin, and a pegasus. Interesting.” She grins, and looks at Dumbledore. “And you, Professor Dumbledore, look just like old Starswirl. If you value your sanity, do not let Twilight see you.” She snorts. “Actually, you all probably don’t want to let any Equestrians- er, other Equestrians- see your Equestrian forms on this side of the Gate anyways. There’d be a lot of jealousy.” She scowls. “And possibly some fighting. Some of them are stuck up old pricks that think they know better than anyone younger than them.”
Professor McGonagall winces, and glances up towards her horn- the one she’s still rubbing. “So, I suppose this means we can use Equestrian magic?”
Lyra nods. “Yes! Though, unlike this world, Equestrian magic is ubiquitous to everyone. Unicorn magic is just the most complicated.” She glances towards Snape and Flitwick. “For you two, flight should be instinctive, and cloudwalking as well.” She looks forwards, at Sprout. “Earth pony magic manifests mostly as ridiculous strength and stamina, and I don’t know enough about the rest to properly describe it. Somepony like Applejack should, though.” She glances at McGonagall and Dumbledore before turning back to the table. Her horn pulses, and a small, red brick appears on the table in a momentary flash of light.
“Does that mean-?” Dumbledore begins.
Lyra nods. “Yes, teleportation falls within the bounds of unicorn magic. In any case.” She picks it up with a hoof. “The hoofgrip is ubiquitous to all tribes- including rare breeds like Thestrals or hybrids like the Kirin.” Finally, she turns back to Dumbledore and McGonagall. “Have either of you noticed any new telekinetic powers?”
“New telekinetic powers?” Dumbledore asks.
The brick floats in the air, surrounded by a glowing aura like the one on Lyra’s horn. “Yeah. Simple levitation is instinctual- and until and unless you’ve manifested conscious control of your Equestrian magic, there’s no point in trying to study more.” She drops it back to the table, and glances at it. “Your magic auras probably aren’t the same color as mine, though.”
Ginny shudders briefly as she contemplates what she’s about to do.
Harry isn’t here, in the Gryffindor common room. Neither is his friend, Hermione.
Neither also is Lyra, or anyone else she recognizes, including her own brothers.
It’s a very rare opportunity.
She picks a random girl, sitting away from everyone else.
She prays briefly that she isn’t about to stumble upon one of Harry’s friends that she doesn’t know about, and starts towards the girl.
She doesn’t know how she’s going to explain her question.
She hopes the girl doesn’t ask.
“Um… Hi,” she greets.
The girl looks up from under her long, pink hair, and speaks softly. “Hi.”
“Um…” Ginny sits down, reiterating the prayer in her head. “How… How did you get your hair like that?”
The girl tilts her head. “My hair…? Um…” She glances up at the nearly empty common room, and back at Ginny. “I just… took care of it. Any reason why…?”
She blushes. “Well, I…” She trails off, trying to think of the right words.
“Is it about Harry?” the girl asks.
Ginny blushes darker. She must have run into one of Harry’s friends.
The girl chuckles softly, and pats her back gently. “Hey, don’t worry, I won’t be telling anyone. But if you want hair like ours… you’ll have to ask Lyra about the Papa Tango.”
She blushes even darker, if possible. “But- Can-!”
The girl shakes her head. “I can’t. The hair is actually a side effect of the Papa Tango- at least, for non-Equestrians, like yourself and Harry… and Lyra’s the only one that can do it.”
She blinks. “What?”
The girl smiles. “I’m an Equestrian,” she supplies. “I was born with this hair. So was everyone else- except Harry, Hermione, Draco… and all five senior Hogwarts staff members.”
“Fair warning,” Silver mutters, snuggling herself into Hermione’s warm wings during their first ‘papa tango club’ meeting of the year. All five Professors had turned down the invitation, so it’s still just the three of them. “Dad decided to get me onto the house Quidditch team.”
“Oh?” Harry asks, reaching her head forwards a little to peer around Hermione. “How’d he do that?”
Silver sighs. “He bought the team new brooms. Nimbus Two Thousand and One, came out last month.”
“Two thousand and one?” Hermione asks, tilting her head.
“Isn’t that a better broom than ours?” Harry asks.
Hermione smiles. “Oh, probably. We’ve only got two thousands, after all. But it probably means nothing for us.” Her smile becomes a grin. “Especially after that visit with the Weasleys.”
Harry lets out a snort of laughter. “Yeah, especially after that.”
Silver tilts her head. “What happened at the Weasleys?”
“They wanted to play Quidditch,” Hermione states. “They had a few brooms, too. Ron himself had an old Shooting Star he’d ride- and it was so slow he’d often be outstripped by passing butterflies!”
Harry nods. “While Hermione here has figured out how to control her pegasus magic, I’m not there yet- so any broom I rode outperformed itself. I mean,” he smiles at Hermione, “so did every broom she rode, but not nearly as much. We stopped when I mounted the Shooting Star and rainboomed it.”
Silver lets out a snort of laughter. “Oh, yeah. So I guess, since we don’t exactly want to rainboom during a Quidditch match- as impressive as Hermione’s was last year- the specific broom doesn’t really mean anything to us.”
“Not really,” Harry nods. “I mean, it felt different than my Nimbus, and I couldn’t get it to corner quite as sharply, but it didn’t hurt my speed- nor ability to spot the balls.”
“You know, I wonder if Rainbow could Rainboom on a twenty-oh-one without having to hit the mesosphere first,” Hermione wonders, tapping her chin with one hoof.
“The mesowhat?” Silver asks.
Harry tilts her head. “Wait. Isn’t that… something to do with the atmosphere?”
Hermione nods. “Yep! The mesosphere. That’s how high she took me for falling lessons, forty kilometers up. The highest my broom could take her.” She glances at the ceiling. “You know, I kinda wonder how high I can fly.”
“I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field, owing to the need to train their new seeker,” Marcus Flint reads.
“You’ve got a new seeker?” Wood asks. “Where?”
Draco steps out from behind the rest of them, waving a hand dismissively. “I am sorry about this,” he begins. “I keep telling them I don’t need training, but nobody’ll listen.”
Hermione rubs her chin. “I’m willing to bet Professor Snape hasn’t seen any Quidditch games since his Papa Tango.”
“Probably not,” Fred states.
“Pretty sure that happened during the summer,” George continues.
“How would it change anything if he did?” Wood asks, confused.
“Easy,” Hermione continues. “His Papa Tango, ah, went like mine did.” She taps the radio clipped to her Quidditch robes.
It’s not like she needs to study. Her time at Celestia’s School was a breeze precisely because of her photographic memory and perfect recall.
But she’s always been a people pony. Early last year, even before it started, she’d looked forward to finishing her Papa Tango and calling her work done, allowing her to make friends and enjoy herself for the rest of the year.
Well… She’d finished her Papa Tango. But while it was finished, it was also only temporary- so she’d set to work designing and making a more permanent installation. She’d anticipated free time after that was done.
But before she’d finished, Hermione’s Papa Tango had happened… and the animagus facet was discovered. She’d then devoted all her mental free time- the times when she’s doing something mind-numbing with her hands- to figuring out how to add that facet to an Equestrian. She still hasn’t gotten anywhere on that. The Whiskey Tango had been a shot of genius- but unfortunately, it doesn’t work on Equestrians. She’d tried; ponies have too high of magic resistance. So she’d put her all into her permanent Papa Tango.
She’d finally finished it. Before she’d told Harry of its completion, she’d tested it- on herself.
Her magic resistance is too high. It never got in far enough to realize there was nothing to do.
So she’s back to the drawing board on that.
Of course, she hasn’t had much time to devote to it lately- during the summer, she’d been occupied by trying to solve the age problem. Which, if she’s honest with herself, may have been exacerbated by her unending workload.
And now this year. There’s lots of thaumic dead zones in Equestria; almost twenty percent of the Equestrian students had complained, through one channel or another, that their wands wouldn’t work where they lived. So she’s been working on that little goal that was tacked on as an afterthought early last year: Convincing wand magic to draw from the user’s internal thaumic reservoir, like pony magic.
She’s nowhere close to that solution.
Sure, she’s actually managed to do it, and rather easily- but only with her unique advantage. And since a total of two ponies with love envelopes are attending Hogwarts, not counting Harry, it really won’t help. Especially considering that Ponyville is an area of high thaumic density, thanks to the nearby Everfree Forest.
Oh, and she’s heard mention that Hogwarts’ history teacher, Professor Binns, is both very boring… and a ghost. Which should be a very interesting bit of research, and possibly a lot of work as well.
Completely aside from her eventual goal of making some means by which a wizard could replicate a majority of Equestrian magic capabilities, including levitation.
At this rate, she’ll be in her third year- or past it- by the time she finishes.
She glares irritatedly at her papers. She scatters them around her, along with her books opened to random spots, as an indicator to others that she’s working. It also gives her the appearance of studying, so no one has looked twice.
She refocuses herself on the task at hand: Fully analyzing how the magic wand works.
She’d originally assumed it simply behaved as a channelling core, not unlike the Unicorn Horn.
She’d been wrong. Any wand magic spell goes through a series of steps.
First, ambient energy soaks into the wood of the wand.
Second, the core of the wand- hers has a phoenix feather- converts that energy, that idle magic, into a more usable form- specifically, into active magic.
Those two steps happen continuously, all day, every day. The produced active magic doesn’t last long- it bleeds out of the wand in a matter of seconds, returning to the atmosphere and once again, becoming idle, ambient magic.
When a wizard takes hold of a wand, a thaumic connection is formed between the wizard’s hand and the wand. This connection mostly just enables the wand- aligns the wand’s internal thaumic channels, making it usable for spells. A wand that has bonded itself to the wizard- ‘chosen’ them- will achieve a much stronger alignment effect than one that hasn’t.
When the wizard then wants to cast a spell… They can say the incantation aloud, verbally telling the wand what they want it to do, and it does it. Alternately, with a silent incantation, the wizard is able to leverage the thaumic connection to deliver the instructions instead- but it’s still an incantation.
Which reminds her. When various people named a new spell she wasn’t familiar with, she’d evaluated it not by analyzing the incantation or looking it up, but by pulling her wand out, sucking all the magic out of her wand with her unique advantage, and using the spell. It’d then have no power, so it’d do absolutely nothing- but the matrix would still form for her to observe before it shattered.
The difficulty is to get the wizard’s innate magic to flow into and through the wand on demand… without temporarily fusing the wand and the wizard into a single entity on an ethereal level.
She’s pretty sure the secret lies in exactly how the thaumic bond it uses for channel alignment works. And while it’s taking time to penetrate that, she’s doing it.
“Someone’s speaking death threats in Snake,” her radio mutters suddenly in her ear. She recognizes the voice instantly- it’s Agent Soft Touch, who goes on to name her location… and where she heard the serpentine offender.
She immediately abandons her work, formulates and activates a snake-to-Equestrian translation matrix (Thanks to her translation spells on the Gate, nopony seems to realize they’re not actually using Equestrian on this side), and teleports down to Soft Touch’s location. Too bad she’s the only Agent capable of using matrices like that- it relies on her unique advantage to function.
And if Soft Touch is announcing death threats, that means at least two things:
First, that she can’t find the creature making them, and
Second, that she believes the creature making them poses a significant threat to someone.
She has work to do.
Filch bursts from the tapestry, eyes scanning for whoever set off Mrs. Norris.
… It’s Potter and Granger, coming back all muddy from Quidditch practice.
He sighs. He’s pretty sure he’s got the flu, but hasn’t had the opportunity to see Madam Pomfrey about it yet. At least the frog brains someone plastered all over the ceiling in that dungeon had come off quickly with that cleaning spell.
Speaking of which, he doesn’t know when they teach that spell to students… He notices Granger is wearing one of those ‘radio’ things.
“Um-!” Potter begins.
He cuts the boy off, pointing his wand. “Scourgify!” All the mud on their robes disappears.
Granger blinks, surprised. “That seems useful,” she mutters. She glances at Potter. “Maybe we should learn it?”
Filch raises an eyebrow. “When do they teach it to students?” he asks.
Granger blinks. “... Fourth year. And it didn’t look too complex, either. More like something we could have taught towards the end of last year.” She glances up at Filch. “Which was our first year. But it’s in the Standard Book of Spells, Grade Four…”
He heaves another sigh. “Well…”
“Didn’t you order that one?” Potter asks Granger.
She nods. “It’s supposed to arrive tomorrow.”
“Candy Stripes?”
Lyra lets out a groan, through her mouthful of shepherd's pie. It’s Halloween, and she’s right in the middle of a conversation with Percy, between bites of her pie. She’d noticed Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s absences- but only because she knew to look for them; Agent Index Eye had informed her of the death day party the trio had planned to go to.
She finishes her bite, and raises her hand to her radio instead of answering Percy’s question about her progress on her wand-based Equestrian magic project. She squeezes the button. “What is it?” She releases the key and looks up at Percy. “Sorry, this might take a minute.”
“Harry’s hearing something neither of us can-!” Index Eye continues, cutting off suddenly.
Index Eye doesn’t stop transmitting suddenly, though- meaning, Lyra hears Harry’s yell through the radio. “It’s going to kill someone!”
Index Eye starts talking again. “We’re in… Papa Alpha Seven, and climbing.”
Lyra winces. “This might take a long time.” She’s about to start transmitting again someone else speaks.
“Tango Charlie to point.” Bonbon, ordering the designated Team Charlie to meet the trio and provide protection in the event of anything actually dangerous. It does seem Hermione’s original, slightly-worried request escalated rather quickly to a potential mission.
At least she’s not on Team Charlie. No; she and Bonbon are both on Team Alpha.
She sighs, and lowers her hand.
“Something happening?” Percy asks.
Lyra nods. “Something suspicious, at the very least. But I’m not on the team that’s been assigned to investigate. Um, about the non-transforming magic solution. I’m getting close, I thin-!”
She cuts off as the bottom drops suddenly out of her stomach.
“T-Tango-”
Hermione sounds frightened. She’s containing it well, but she’s still frightened by something. Lyra closes her eyes and concentrates, blasting her magic out in a scan of the entire castle, looking for her. Fortunately, since the Papa Tangos rather universally have power levels far in excess of her own, despite hers being the eighth highest amongst the Equestrian students, both Hermione and Harry are easy for her to spot: Find the pair of shining beacons that aren’t in the Great Hall.
“-Charlie-”
Lyra teleports straight to them, off to the side a little bit. Her scan picked up one British wizard- probably Ron- and one low-power signature… and she doesn’t want to put herself in any more danger than she has to. She immediately performs an instinct-level scan of her immediate surroundings, to make sure she’s safe, before turning to run the last few steps to Hermione.
“-to Papa Bravo Niner,” Hermione finishes, before releasing the button.
Lyra spots the message on the wall. “The Chamber of Secrets…?”
Hermione whirls in alarm. “L-Lyra!”
She nods. “And…” She steps closer, looking at the torch bracket under the message. It looks like Mrs. Norris… and yes, she still has a magic signature, albeit much weaker than normal. “Well, she’s not dead.” She raises her hand to her second walkie. “Dumbledore, you’re going to want to see this. Second floor, by the girls’ bathroom. Might want to bring Filch.” She switches radios. “Sweetie Drops to Papa Bravo Niner, Papa One.”
“What is going on…?” Ron asks.
Very suddenly, Bonbon appears- with Draco as her courier, it would seem. He must have been handy- he’s not an Agent… though, if she’s right about Silver’s Cutie Mark talent, it may not be long before he becomes an Agent.
“What is it?” Bonbon demands flatly, muscles flexing stealthily.
Lyra almost smiles; the only times when she calls a Priority One is when something is really bad. Which it is- there’s only one enemy the Agency has ever faced that was capable of reducing the strength of anything’s magic signature without killing them: Tirek. And the only other known creature capable of that is the Cockatrice… which the Agency has never faced, even on the rare Everfree mission. But Mrs. Norris isn’t stone, and she also isn’t moving, so it’s obviously an unknown creature.
She points. “Looks almost like Tirek’s effect.”
Bonbon nods slowly, one hand rising to her radio. “Ahh…” She starts transmitting. “Echo Three.”
Bonbon goes on to assign people to redirect the student body from the passage, keep the scene clear for the investigation, but Lyra isn’t paying attention to that right now. She glances at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “What happened?” Without waiting for their answer, she turns to start inspecting Mrs. Norris.
“Harry heard a… voice, that neither of us could hear,” Hermione begins flatly. All traces of fear are gone from her voice, replaced by an unnatural calm. She will also have understood when Bonbon declared an emergency- and is responding in perhaps the most favorable manner that an untrained Agent like herself could: Separating herself from her emotions.
The first thing Lyra notices about Mrs. Norris’ signature, once she starts digging, is that it’s stable, unlike the gradually deteriorating result of Tirek’s drain or the Cockatrice. As such, whatever did this is not lethal… unless it has another attack in its repertoire.
“It was moving up, through the ceiling, so we followed it.” Hermione continues, uninterrupted by Lyra’s fast-paced thoughts. “Apparently, it was going to kill someone.” She looks at Harry.
Harry nods. “It was saying ‘let me rip you, let me kill you’... then ‘I smell blood’.”
Lyra scowls, pausing in her examination of Mrs. Norris. She seems to have been petrified; judging by the nature of the damage to her magic matrix, the avenue of attack was her eyes. She looks up at Harry. “Did it sound like…” She activates her Equestrian-to-Snake translation spell, and speaks in Equestrian. The spell will translate it into Snake before it even leaves her lips. “Let me rip, let me kill.” She cuts the spell and nods; Harry’s reaction to the words was telling enough.
“That- That was… close, um… Little different, but-!”
“It’s called Parseltongue on this side of the Gate,” Lyra interrupts, examining Mrs. Norris’ magic matrix once again. She wants to find out how complete the petrification is- is she truly rock solid, or could she have been repositioned after the attack? She finds her answer; she truly is rock solid. Meaning, her position is a clue. She looks up at the trio. Ron seems to understand, but both Harry and Hermione seem confused. “Snake language.”
Harry blinks. “What-!?”
Lyra nods; in the corner of her vision, she spots Dumbledore rounding the corner into the passage. “Voldemort was-
“Don’t say the name!” Ron utters.
Lyra looks at him, and speaks in tandem with Bonbon. “Voldemort!”
Then she turns back to Harry. “Voldemort was a Parselmouth- a wizard capable of speaking Parseltongue- and so when he inadvertently left a piece of his soul on you, he granted that rare gift to you as well.” She looks at the message on the wall. “The rare gift that Salazar Slytherin was known for.”
“What about you?” Hermione asks.
She shakes her head. “I used a spell.” She looks back at Mrs. Norris, and starts tracing her gaze. “It so happens that, just before midnight on the first Saturday of September, Soft Touch heard someone speaking death threats in Snake just upstairs. We weren’t able to localize it.” She identifies the puddle Mrs. Norris is looking at, under that door into… the girls’ bathroom. Interesting. She glances up at Hermione. “That’s her unique talent- she can understand, and be understood by, anything.” She steps towards the puddle, her magic flashing through the door to scan for anything. “It would seem whatever attacked her reflected off that puddle.”
“Attacked?” Dumbledore asks.
Bonbon points.
“Petrified,” Lyra states, “but stable.”
“That’s out of order,” Ron mutters suddenly, as Lyra reaches for the door handle.
She pauses, one hand on the handle, to smile at him. “And to an Agent, ‘Out of Order’ means ‘Look Here First’.” Her smile becomes a grin as she opens the door to step inside. “Besides, this is where the attack came from. I traced it.”
Dumbledore raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“And whenever Filch gets here,” Lyra calls back through the open door, while she pads gently through the puddles, “tell him all we need to restore Mrs. Norris is a mandrake draft- and unless I miss my guess, the ones Professor Sprout had us repotting in September should be ready by the end of the year?” She makes it a question, the door held open by her magic, as she searches the bathroom for anything suspicious… other than the great big puddle all over the floor.
“What’s this about- My Cat!”
Lyra smirks at Filch’s exclamation; she’d been forewarned of his approach by one of the guards Bonbon assigned at the ends of the passages. “Oh, hello,” she greets. “You’re… Myrtle, right?”
The surprised ghost in front of her glares at her. “Y-You’ve come to laugh at me, haven’t you?” she cries.
She scowls. “No, why would I do that? Besides, I actually wanted to ask if you’ve seen anything in here over the last, oh, ten minutes or so.”
“N-No, I’ve been t-too busy crying in my toilet,” she pouts.
Lyra winces, opening her mouth to speak- but Hermione, who had followed her in, speaks first. “Peeves chased her out of the Death Day party right before we left,” she states. “He was… ahh…”
Lyra nods. “Being Peeves.” She glances at Myrtle. “Would I be correct to assume you came straight here when that happened?”
Myrtle nods confusedly.
Lyra plucks a bright red telephone out of thin air, the shimmering golden cord hanging down and off to the side, into nowhere, and puts it to her ear. It’s the spell she’d set up right around this time last year, for communication with Peeves. Shortly after he realized just how painful it can be to get in a busy Agent’s way.
Peeves only takes about two seconds to answer the phone; he will have gotten a similar appearance near him, complete with a fancy ringtone he’d chosen, despite the entire phone being a thaumic construct. “Peevesies’ Enterprises, dealing mayhem to those who ask since four oh two in the morning,” Peeves greets, over the noise of what she assumes is the death day party.
“Hi Peeves! I hear you followed Myrtle out of the death day party earlier?”
“Ah, yes?”
“Did you happen to follow her all the way back to her bathroom?”
“I did, Miss, I most certainly did.” He sounds proud of himself.
“While you were up here, did you notice anything odd?”
“This castle is full of odd,” he retorts, “especially around me. But yeah, someone wrote on the wall. And someone was hissing in that bathroom.”
Lyra’s eyebrows shoot up. “Did you see who it was?”
“No,” he answers shortly. “That’s a girl’s bathroom. I can’t go in there!”
Lyra’s eyebrows return back down, one raised slightly in a Really? expression. Then she straightens her expression again. “Ahh, okay. I take it you left immediately?”
“That I did.”
“Do you happen to know where Mrs. Norris was at that time?”
“Mrs.-? Isn’t that Filchie’s cat?”
“Yes, that she is.”
“I do not, why?”
“She was found petrified, hanging from the torch bracket under those words on the wall, a matter of minutes after you and Myrtle left the death day party.”
“Oh… I didn’t see anything. I’ll keep my eyes open.”
“Thanks- but be careful. Whatever attacked her used her eyes as its avenue of attack.”
“Got it!” He hangs up.
She drops her phone back into the air, and looks up at Myrtle, ignoring Hermione’s stare. Right, Hermione doesn’t know about that spell- as a matter of fact, very few Agents do; she’s putting that communications failure up to the ‘foalification’ the Equestrians were subject to last year. “It would seem it would have happened immediately after you arrived back here- did you see anything on your way in?”
Myrtle shakes her head. “I think there was someone in here, but I don’t remember anything about them. I wasn’t looking.”
Lyra scowls. “Well… Hmm. I guess that’s about as far as we’re going to get right now.” She glances back up at Myrtle. “Peeves said he heard them hissing in here- may I ask that, if you hear someone hissing in here, you take a quick peek- quickly and quietly- before hiding back in your toilet, preferably without making a splash?”
Myrtle blinks. “You make it sound like I might die,” she states, sounding amused. “But I’m already dead.”
Lyra shrugs. “I don’t know yet whether or not ghosts are immune to the attack- and I’m sure you’ll agree, I’d rather not find out the hard way. Add that it might only take a glance of the actual creature doing the attack- I can confirm, this was not a spell- to, ah, be attacked…”
Myrtle nods. “Makes sense.” Then she tilts her head. “Would that, uh, ‘Papa Tango’ of yours help?”
Lyra blinks. “Probably not, but that is a good point.” She rubs her chin with one hand. “I have gotten complaints about a mildly uninteresting History professor who happens to be a ghost…”
Myrtle snickers. Dumbledore, who had stepped in behind Hermione, chuckles.
“A ghost’s magic matrix differs rather widely from a wizard’s… It may still be compatible with the Papa Tango, though- I’ll have to look into it.” She turns to Dumbledore; there’s something else that needs addressing before the Agency meeting in fifteen minutes. “And I have to ask, is there a reason this bathroom doesn’t have a floor drain?”
The strange girl that had mentioned an ‘incident’ in this second-floor passage last night shrugs. “No clue. I only know they promised it was being taken care of, and wouldn’t let me past. Seems they’ve taken care-!” She freezes suddenly.
Ginny blinks, and looks.
Then, the bottom seems to fall out of her stomach.
Last night, she’d… woken up, for lack of a better term, from another episode of memory loss. The last couple times, she’d found herself covered in feathers- and this time, there was paint all down her front. It had been a nightmare to clean it off her robes.
And there, on the wall, are foot-high words, in the same green paint.
“Ahh…” the girl mutters. “We should get to class.”
She heads straight for her class as well.
She reaches class, enters the room- and freezes.
Princess Cadence looks up from her position at the head of the otherwise empty room, then tilts her head. “Ginny?” she asks. “You okay?”
Ginny takes a deep breath. Right, it’s Charms with Cadence… the class she teaches. “Yes. Yes, I’m okay.”
Cadence raises her eyebrows. “Want to talk about it?”
“I’m okay,” she repeats.
“How about after class?”
“I’m okay,” she insists.
Cadence sighs. “You know that’s not going to work on me, right?”
“What-!?”
Nod. “I’ve had a thousand years of experience seeing through the lies of the Equestrian nobility- and wizards are so much easier to read than those po- er, people. If you can even call those creatures people.” She shudders.
Ginny blinks. Was Cadence trying to cover up almost having called the Equestrian nobility ‘politicians’? “... Oh.”
Cadence steps over to put an arm around her shoulders, sending an oddly pleasant tingle down her spine. “Hey, you don’t have to talk to me about it. I’m the Princess of Love, not the Princess of Extortion or something. But please tell me you will talk to someone about it if it becomes serious?”
“Y- You’re the Princess of what?”
She sighs. “Of Love, believe it or not.” She looks at her other hand, idly twiddling her wand. “Honestly, it’s really not all it’s made out to be. I get to hear about everyone’s relationship problems- and sure, I enjoy helping put herds back together, or helping build new ones- but more often than not, I have to tell the poor colt his dream is a no-go.”
“How… How do you do that?”
“You’ve probably heard of the Equestrians’ unique talents?”
She blinks. “Uh, I think I’ve heard it mentioned once or twice?”
“Ahh… every Equestrian has it, discovered or not: A unique ability that nobody else has. Mine…
“I can see bonds of love, whether they’ve been realized or not.”
“Then…” She blushes furiously. This sounds like the opportunity of her life- a chance to find out if she’s destined for the super-blushable, or if all her hopes and dreams are exactly that.
Cadence raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“Can… Can you not tell anyone…?”
She smiles. “Keeping secrets is on the very top of the skill list of a Princess.”
She blushes even darker. “Then… Can… Can you tell me…” She hesitates. “Is there something between me and Harry?” she blurts out.
Then she blushes as red as the setting sun.
Cadence seems amused as she looks at her… then scowls. “Ahh… Unfortunately, there’s only one thing I can tell you about that,” she mutters.
“W-What is it?” she asks.
“That is to tell you…” Cadence looks at her sadly. “To ask Lyra about the Papa Tango.”
“... What?”
“In any case, we should probably be ready when our students start showing up in five minutes, right?”
She blinks. “Ah- Oh, right! Sorry!”
“No, I’m sorry, Ginny.”
“Um,” Ginny begins, and blushes.
She can’t help it. She can’t stop herself from thinking about why she’s here- and of course, that reason is… well, blushable.
Lyra looks up at her, then her eyebrows disappear into her hairline. “Yes, Ginny?”
Her blush darkens. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them again, concentrating on the specific question she’s here to ask. The question itself is not… ‘blushable’, it’s only the reason she’s asking that is.
Lyra stands up, stepping around a couple books to touch her shoulder. “You okay?”
She lets out a small gasp, stepping backwards as her blush darkens even further. “What-!? Yes I’m okay-?” She cuts herself off, mind running wild as she tries to figure out why Lyra asked that. “Why-?”
“Oh, sorry,” Lyra shakes her head, stepping forwards to wrap an arm comfortingly around her shoulders. “It’s just… I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone blush that darkly, even in Equestria.”
She feels her face heat up some more- so much that she’s fairly sure Lyra could cook eggs on her face. “... Oh. Um…”
Lyra guides her gently back to a nearby couch, and sits down with her. “No rush, unless it’s important,” she states.
Then she waits.
Ginny stares at her hands, breathing deeply, for she neither knows nor cares how long. Eventually, she manages to calm her blush, and looks up at Lyra’s curious expression. “Um… I keep hearing about some kind of father dance?”
Lyra blinks. “Ahh… Father dance? You don’t happen to be talking about the Papa Tango, do you?”
Ginny scowls. “That’s what everyone’s calling it.”
Lyra nods. “It’s a codename,” she states. “It’s a magic spell- nothing to do with dancing. Well, unless…” She trails off a little, scowling to herself. “Anything in particular you wanted to know?”
“Um… About it, I guess.”
“Well, what about it?”
Ginny screws up her face. She’d expected Lyra to basically just dump the information in her lap. What information… she honestly can’t say. “Um…” She thinks back to her conversation with Cadence, even further to her conversation with that infinitely kind, pink-haired girl- who she now knows is Fluttershy. “Um…” She thinks back to that first day, in the common room, when Harry, Hermione, Lyra, and that Slytherin, Draco Malfoy, had disappeared into thin air. She’d freaked out and fled when they’d suddenly reappeared around her, but she remembers what she was thinking. “Um…”
“You have now ‘ummed’ a few times,” Lyra states.
“Three times,” she retorts instantly. Thank Merlin for her incredible memory. She looks up at Lyra. “How did you get your hair like that?”
Lyra scowls. “You know, that’s not related to the Papa Tango at all.” She tilts her head. “I can answer that question, though, if you’d like.”
She shakes her head. “No, that’s fine… but she said it was related. Something about…”
“Yeah, it’s one of the side effects of the Papa Tango,” Lyra agrees. “However, it’s easier and more reliable to get this effect by other means.”
“... Oh.” She blinks. “They said you could tell me about the Papa Tango.”
Lyra shakes her head. “Not if they were following instructions- they should have told you to ask me about it.”
She blinks again. “So they did. Now I’m asking. Can you tell me about it?”
Lyra nods. Her heart swells. “I can, but only if you ask the right question.”
Her heart seems to deflate like a popped balloon. “What’s the right question?”
Lyra shakes her head. “I Khan’t answer that.”
Ginny blinks. “You… Khan’t? Uh-”
Lyra chuckles to herself, waving a hand and shaking her head. “It’s a reference to some muggle entertainment material or another, I think. Moondancer mentioned it once, early last year. Don’t worry, nobody got it then either.” She scowls. “I still don’t.”
“... Oh. Then what can you answer?”
“Well, I can’t answer that either.”
She scowls. “Why not?”
She shrugs. “Where’s the fun in that?”
She pouts, but all she manages to do is to make Lyra laugh. “Alright, fine. Can you answer yes or no questions about it?”
Lyra nods. “Sure!”
“Um…” She thinks back to every encounter she’s had with someone with the funny hair, analyzes it. It takes her a few minutes to call up all the relevant details, through which Lyra waits patiently.
Then she looks at Lyra, and blinks. Most people interrupt her midway when she tries doing that. “Um,-!”
“Five.”
She gives Lyra a level-lidded glare. “Um, um, um, um. Umumum.”
“Sounds tasty.”
Both girls burst into laughter.
“In all seriousness, though,” Lyra grins, “You were asking?”
Ginny nods. “Ahh, yes. Does the Papa Tango… transform people… to give them that hair?”
Lyra blinks. “Ahh, Nope!”
She winces. It almost seemed like she was onto something for a second there. “Um… How about… Strength! Does it give people super strength?”
Lyra shrugs. “Sometimes, yes.”
She scowls. “How about… whatever that Rainboom thing is?”
Lyra lets out a snort. “Now that is extremely rare, but it is true, about one in three have the theoretical capacity to Rainboom.”
“Uh, wandless levitation?”
“Another sometimes.”
“How long does it take?”
Lyra shakes her head.
“Does it hurt?”
Another shake.
She pauses for a second. “Was… was that an actual answer, or…?”
Lyra nods. “That was an actual answer, yes. The Papa Tango used to hurt, but ever since I upgraded the matrices, it doesn’t anymore.” She snorts. “Or, technically, it does, but you don’t feel it.”
Ginny stares at her confusedly for a second before shaking her head. “Um, okay.” Then she turns back to Lyra. “Can you do it to me?”
“Alright, now we’re talking,” Lyra grins. “Wanna go on a quick walk with me?”
Ginny stands with her. “Uh… okay, sure.”
Lyra pats her shoulder cheerfully. “Because the answer to that last one, is yes.”
Her surroundings change. It’s so seamless she hardly even noticed- but one moment, she was in the Gryffindor common room; next moment, she’s in what looks like one of the dungeons, with all the doors locked up tight and a bunch of gold lines floating in the air.
“And this is where I can,” Lyra continues. “But before I activate it, I need to ask you a few questions.”
She nods slowly. “Like what?”
“Are you sure you want it?”
Her answer comes out instantly. “Yes.”
“You are aware it’ll give you a new, irreversible hair style and color, right?”
She blinks. “Uh, I am now. Doesn’t change my decision.”
“You are aware the result is somewhat nondeterministic, right?”
She nods. “Same.”
“You are aware the whole thing is irreversible, right?”
She nods. “As I expected.”
“And you’re still certain you want it?”
She nods. “Yes.”
Lyra closes her eyes. All the threads of golden light throughout the room suddenly burn bright, joined by hundreds of thousands more, all over the place.
Then… There’s a bang, and she’s falling… Falling…
She hears some words. They seem oddly muffled; almost like something got stuffed in her ears. She can’t figure out what anyone is saying. She’s also having a little difficulty thinking, almost like she’s only barely awake.
“G-Ginny?” someone mutters, right in her ear. It’s oddly quiet, almost like she isn’t hearing it at all. “I- I think that’s your name, at least. Did- Are you okay? Um, Ginny?”
It’s a very sweet voice. Frightened- oh yes, definitely. Absolutely terrified, about something. But possibly the sweetest, most innocent little voice she’s ever heard.
She manages to formulate a straight thought, and tries responding. Her mouth twitches, and she hears some kind of low groan; that must be her. However, somehow, she doesn’t seem to need her mouth to answer that sweet voice. “What happened?”
“You’re alive!” Relief is clear in the voice, though she’s still clearly worried about something. “I- I don’t know what happened. All I k-know… Well, I actually know nothing. Not on my own… but for some reason, I seem to have access to your memories. Your name is Ginny, right?”
She struggles to understand for several seconds, and finally comes up with an answer. “Wha… Who are you?”
“That’s the thing- I don’t know! And before you tell me to get out of your head, I’ve tried- I can’t. I think it’s just that I’m not strong enough to do that.”
It takes her only a couple seconds to understand that. “Oh. So…”
“So for the time being, I guess, I’m your imaginary friend? Er, unless you already had one?”
If her body were working properly, she would have laughed. It’s not, though, so all she managed to do was to start coughing.
“Ginny!” It’s still a bit muffled, but not nearly as bad- she can understand it. It sounds like… Lyra? Something burns gently in her chest and throat, and she suddenly stops coughing.
“Gaaah! What in the world was that!?” her… imaginary friend asks. “It tickles!”
She lets out a groan- oh hey, that works- and forces her eyes open. They seem to be really heavy- but they’re getting lighter. Her vision is crazy blurry as well, but it’s straightening out and beginning to make sense.
“Ginny, you okay?” It’s… Oh, it’s Lyra, who must be leaning over her. She’s lying on… something, what exactly she doesn’t know.
“Ugh,” she grumbles. “ ‘Mokay.”
“I’m sorry,” Lyra continues, her tone going instantly from worried to… Sorrowful? “It must have been damaged. I’ll have to check it over, possibly rip it apart and rebuild. In the meantime… I might have killed you.”
“I’m alive,” she states. “I’ll be okay.” She had to concentrate to get it to come out straight, but that’s fixing itself as well.
Lyra rolls her eyes. “Yeah, you’re alive, and that’s great- but your magic matrix is unstable! If it falls apart, you die!”
“Um… I don’t think it’s that kind of unstable. I can see it- and I don’t think it’ll fall apart. Looks like it’s growing to me.”
Ginny blinks. “I’ll be okay,” she insists.
She can almost feel her imaginary friend scowl. “... Strange. You seeing this too? In your head?”
She concentrates on it… and sees what her friend is talking about. It’s… confusing, to say the least. It’s a series of images- a few of something she doesn’t understand at all… and the final one is of herself, a little older than she is now, wearing one of those mugglestuff-things and group-hugging Harry, Hermione, and that Slytherin… only the first of which isn’t wearing one.
Oh, and in that image, her hair is… Is…
She’s not sure how to describe it. It’s long, all the way down to her waist, and gently wavy… but it’s most certainly not red. Almost like she got the hair effect.
Yet most of the prior images, she somehow understands she still looks just about like she does now, though maybe a little older. “What in the world…?”
“My thought exactly,” her imaginary friend supplies. “My best guess is that this is some kind of prophetic ability.”
“Are you doing it?”
“No, that’s all you. And… Those first few, are of your magic matrix. The first couple are fairly close to my prediction of what yours will look like at different points in the future… and not outside the realm of possibility. If your matrix does match each one at some point, though, none of them are impossible- and, dare I say it, pretty likely.”
While she was conversing with her friend, Lyra spouted a series of numbers that put her survival chance around six percent. “I will be fine,” she declares.
“But-!” Lyra begins.
“I will be fine,” she declares a second time. “I can see it.”
Lyra stops to stare at her. “You can… see it.”
She nods. “I can see what it will be. I think. And it’s not broken.”
“You think.”
She nods meekly. “It’s all very confusing, but with what else I can see, what could it be?”
Lyra tilts her head. “What else can you see?”
She blushes.
“Oh, ah, nevermind,” Lyra states quickly.
“That made you blush…? Oh. OH. I get it now.” She gets the distinct feeling that her imaginary friend is blushing as well- which makes her giggle.
Lyra looks at her weird. “Uh… What’s so funny?”
She waves a hand dismissively. Her body seems to be working properly now. “Oh, it’s nothing.”
“Um, okay.”
“If… If this really is the future you’re seeing, um… it should be known the future isn’t set in stone. Even prophecy isn’t. And… it might take a lot of work to make these futures come about.” Her imaginary friend pauses for a second. “And I have no idea how I know that.”
Ginny walks calmly up the steps to her dormitory, enters, and checks to make sure the room is empty. Fortunately, she’s a British student, so she gets to sleep in the normal, five-person dormitory here- not the monstrosities the Equestrians sleep in.
There’s no one here.
She walks over to and sits on her bed.
“Alright, Ariel,” she mutters aloud. She still occasionally accidentally addresses her imaginary friend verbally… Oh alright, three times out of every four. But this time, she’s intentionally addressing her verbally. “I think we’re safe to try it now.”
“Alright then,” Ariel, her imaginary friend, responds. “Here goes.”
Earlier today, roughly three days after the Papa Tango exploded in her face, Ariel had informed her that she’d discovered something that might let her manifest herself in the real world.
She can feel it. Whatever Ariel is doing, she can feel it, and it’s using a lot of energy… not from her, though. No, this is Ariel’s energy, leaving her. Ariel has been able to sense through her senses, and read her memories, ever since they met- perhaps this will change that?
… She didn’t realize just how much she was relying on Ariel to keep herself… well, powered. She never knew having very little magic in her could be so physically draining.
Then she sees it. Little threads of light, coming out of her chest, coming together in front of her. Gathering, whirling together. Forming, shaping, into-
She holds out her arms, even as most her strength leaves her, to catch it.
She can’t think of how to describe it, as it finishes forming up in midair.
Then it comes to life, and drops gently into her arms, letting out a little yelp as well, in Ariel’s voice.
Ariel lands incredibly gently in a heap in her arms, almost like she’s weightless. Which, given that she looks much like a ghost, she’s not surprised- she’s actually more surprised by her ability to interact with the ghostly figure.
“Ow! Owowowowow…” Ariel grumbles, while Ginny lowers her down to her lap. “That was… unexpected. I thought I’d be like a ghost, yet not only do I fall but you’re as hard as stone.” Ariel then glances up at her. “I bet I’m weightless, too?”
She nods, staring.
Then Ariel twists around to look at herself. “... Okay. I also thought I’d be more… well, human, rather than whatever this is.” She lifts a hoof to slide it across her wing. “All green, huh? Looks a little funny, because I’m… er, ghost-ish, but I think I’ll become more solid as my power levels rise.” She looks up again. “Speaking of which, how are you doing?”
Ginny’s vision is swimming by now. “Eh,” she mutters. “I’ll live.” Then, the blackness takes over, and she passes out.
She jolts awake very suddenly- and lets out a gasp when she lands on her back, on… oh, it’s her bed.
“Ginny! … Huh, that was fast. You okay?”
Ginny looks around. There’s no little green pegasus, with her electric blue mane, floating around the room… and she feels no different from how she felt when she walked in a minute ago. “What… What happened?”
“I… I didn’t realize what removing my magic from your matrix would do to you. I’m sorry!”
She shakes her head, scowling. Ariel must have undone it. “Don’t be sorry, I’d have lived.”
“Not really. Especially with your matrix still in flux, taking that much power from it for very long at all could be deadly.”
Her eyes widen, and she shivers. She’d forgotten about her changing magic matrix- or, more accurately, hadn’t thought of it. “How… How bad is it?”
“That short of a separation doesn’t seem to have done anything but temporarily suspend the changes. Though… Yeah, we may want to do that again sometime.”
She blinks. “Wha-!? Why?”
“Because… we’re both absorbing ambient magic right now. Only, it seems I’m absorbing most of it- and I’ve tried, I can’t share. But when we were separate- not truly separate, I’m afraid, I still felt the connection- you got the full dose, and I didn’t miss out. As a result, your magic increased by almost six times during those few seconds. If we keep doing that, with sufficient time in between to make sure we’re not risking your matrix, we could theoretically get your intrinsic power levels high enough I wouldn’t have to worry about coming back in so quickly.”
“Ginny!”
“Gah!” Ginny jumps when Lyra calls out her name, almost as soon as she walks back down into the common room. “Lyra-!” she complains.
Lyra screeches to a halt, blinks, and puts her hands up. “Sorry, I was just worried about you. It’s been…” She takes a deep breath. “It’s been seventy-one hours since…” She glances at the floor. “That. Seventy two is the most likely time for… other effects. Um… Shall we go back upstairs?”
She tilts her head. “Other effects?”
Lyra nods. “Yeah. Top secret, though, so I can’t yap about them here.”
Ginny blinks, and finally nods, before walking right back up to the dormitory with Lyra.
As soon as the door closes behind them, she turns to Lyra. “What other effects?” She can feel Ariel listening carefully as well, through her ears.
Lyra closes her eyes for a second.
“That tickles!”
“What are you doing?” Ginny asks.
Lyra blinks, looking at her. “What…? Huh. You’d be the first to realize when I was checking for eavesdroppers.”
Ginny shakes her head. “Not me, Ariel.”
Lyra looks around, alarmed. “Ariel? Where?”
She grins, and taps the side of her head. “Imaginary friend. I guess she can feel magic or something, because she said it tickled.”
Lyra stares at her. “Imaginary friend… and she can feel magic? You sure she’s imaginary?”
“Um…” Ginny pauses. “Maybe? I mean, she was able to manifest herself for a couple seconds earlier.”
“Uh… actually, the limit would be quite a bit longer than that. Only, if I didn’t come back in, you would’ve faced mortal peril. And I don’t think I can survive without you, for now at least.” Ariel distinctively shudders, despite not having a form. “Not that I’d want to. Um, can I call you ‘mom’?”
Ginny lets out a gasp, covering her mouth with one hand as she turns away from Lyra, blushing like a tomato. Ariel sounded so sincere about that.
Lyra stares. “Uh… You okay?”
“No, no,” Ginny begins, trying to wave it off, before cutting herself off, blush deepening while Ariel breaks out giggling. “Um, I mean yes, I’m okay! It’s just… She wants to call me ‘mom’.” Payback for laughing at me.
“Hey!” Ariel chokes back her giggles, blushing.
Lyra scowls, looking at Ginny. “That’s up to you, definitely. Though… Hmm… She might not be all that wrong, either.”
Her blush intensifies, alongside Ariel’s, as she turns back to Lyra. “... What?”
Lyra nods. “I’m only catching the fringes of the bond, because you’re colocated with her, but it’s definitely there. And that is among the possibilities.” Lyra smiles at her. “You said she could manifest herself outside your body?”
Ginny nods slowly.
“Can she do that now?”
Ginny shakes her head. “Not safely. Something about magic matrix stability.”
Lyra winces. “Well, I guess we’ll have to wait on that, then. I’d have to see you two separate from each other to be able to determine the nature of the bond.”
Ginny tilts her head. “Why?”
“Because it’s a lot easier to see a bond in the open than inside someone,” she answers simply. “Not to mention, since at least one of you- I’m guessing it’s her- has been Papa Tangoed in full, your combined power levels are so high I’m having difficulty telling what belongs to who, let alone seeing through it to read the bond.”
She blinks. “What?”
“Come on, let’s sit down. This might take some explaining.”
“So, you mean to tell me,” Ginny mumbles, “that I- and Ariel in particular- am stronger than Dumbledore.”
Lyra nods. “Yep. Way stronger than Old Moldy.” She glances sideways at Ginny. “That’s what I call your ‘Voldemort’ bloke.”
Ginny’s jaw articulates up and down for a couple seconds, before she opens it to speak again. “You mean to tell me that the Papa Tango makes people exponentially more powerful, completely aside from granting us extra magic powers and near invulnerability.”
Lyra nods. “It’s a bit more complex than that, but yeah, essentially.”
“And you didn’t tell me that before?”
Lyra shrugs. “Well… With you, it probably didn’t matter, but I figured I should practice not mentioning the good effects until after it’s applied. So people are less likely to come hunting after it for the wrong reasons.” She scowls. “I still need to work on that, though. Oh, and that’s a good point- I checked everything down there, and it’s all exactly right. But Ariel’s presence might have messed it up, caused it to turn the wrong person into a pony… which could be dangerous but, if properly handled, and assuming the bond is one of a select few types, is at least survivable.”
“Um…” She looks towards the door. “Ariel didn’t… exist before that… thing.”
Lyra blinks. “Huh. Well, she might’ve, and you just didn’t know about her… Um… Yeah. The Papa Tango isn’t designed for people with thaumic bonds of really any kind, save the symbiotic ones we form with our wands. So if you had a thaumic bond to her that you didn’t know about… Hmm. I don’t think it would have broken it, but it would probably have gotten confused, and could have picked the target of the bond, depending on what it was, for transformation instead of you. Which, if Ariel is fully Papa Tangoed and you’re not, is probably what happened.
“The problem is… I can’t see the bond staying the same as it was before, unless it was a strictly symbiotic bond like the one to your wand. As for what it changed into… there’s really no telling.” She sighs. “So, do either you or Ariel know how long it’ll be before it’s safe for her to manifest once again?”
“Eighteen hours, thirteen minutes,” she answers instantly.
Lyra blinks at her.
“Did you just spout some random numbers at her? … Wait, those weren’t random, were they? Um…”
“Um… Did you just calculate it that fast, or did you do it earlier?”
She blinks. “Um… Neither. I just… knew.” She scowls at the floor.
“... Wow, they’re accurate too, as near as I can tell.”
She blushes slightly. “And Ariel says I’m right.”
Lyra stares at her for a couple seconds.
She shrinks slightly away. “What?”
“Oh, sorry,” Lyra mutters, looking away and staring at the wall for a second, before shaking herself. “Sorry, I was just thinking. Um…” She glances back at Ginny. “What do you say about experimenting with that ability a little?”
“Ability…?” she asks. “Wait, that wasn’t a fluke?”
Lyra shrugs. “Oh, it might be a fluke… but it might also not be. And at least one of the survivable types that bond could be would also very slowly Papa Tango you… Several of the unsurvivables would as well, before eventually… Um, in any case, unless I miss my guess, that ability to pull the correct numbers out of your hat is an exclusively Equestrian ability.”
She blinks. “What…?”
Lyra chuckles lightly. “Because of what the Papa Tango is, all Papa Tangoes are known to receive full sets of Equestrian abilities, including this… ‘Unique Talent’, we call it on this side, because it’s different for everyone.”
She tilts her head. “How long would it take?”
“It depends,” Lyra mutters. Then she looks up at her. “You have photographic memory, right?”
She blinks, and blushes. “How- How’d you know?”
Lyra shrugs. “Cadence mentioned it. Something about how you always remember exactly what the book or Professor Flitwick said. Perfect recall, I suppose?”
Her blush intensifies, and she nods faintly. Most people she’d met, before coming to Hogwarts, got weirded out when they realized she could remember anything.
“Me too,” Lyra smiles. “Should speed things up quite considerably. Wanna give it a go?”
Ginny shrugs, opens her mouth, and catches herself at the last minute. Lyra is leading her down a few passages- down quite a few passages- to ‘a good place to test it’. “I… I don’t know,” she answers Ariel. “I… I guess I didn’t see why not. But, ahh… I might be beginning to regret that.” At least it’s still mid-afternoon, so it’s not like she’s breaking any rules.
Finally, Lyra turns into an empty classroom… and pauses, looking at the blackboard. “Oh boy,” she mutters.
Ginny catches a glimpse of the rude words written on it before a wash of golden energy wipes it clean. “What?” she asks.
“Peeves,” Lyra states. “He must have messed around in here at some point.” She shrugs. “Oh well, it is an empty classroom. Plenty of the classrooms in this castle are still completely unused- I wouldn’t be surprised if this is one of the ones he scribbled on over the summer… and somehow kept Filch away from. In any case, we’re not here to worry about that. Ariel ready for another little tickle?”
Ginny blinks.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Ariel informs her.
“She’s ready,” Ginny states.
“Alright,” Lyra states.
“It still tickles.”
“Okay, we’re alone,” Lyra nods. “So… how about we get started, then?”
Ginny nods slowly. “What will we be doing?” she asks.
Lyra smiles. “Depends on what happens, really. I thought that, since you were able to make an accurate prediction on a moment’s notice, we’d start with a couple little prediction-based puzzles, and go from there.”
“And go from there?” Ginny asks.
Lyra nods. “Yep! Basically, we try and find your limit. If it hurts, or you get tired, tell me- because either one of those could mean we’re getting close… and I’d hate to actually hit the limit, as doing that can be very painful. Fortunately, the particular class of magic these ‘unique talents’ belong to tends to have incredibly high limits- so high, in fact, that only one Equestrian has ever gotten close to it- and that’s Twilight, whose unique talent is her ability to violate her own magical limits. And her limit…
“Well, there was once when an Ursa Minor attacked her hometown.”
“Ursa Minor?” Ginny asks.
Lyra nods. “That’s what it’s called. You don’t have them on Earth, so I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of it. Massive, astral beasts, with extremely high magic resistance- and this one was, oh, around a quarter the size of Hogwarts Castle. And as smart as Twilight is, she’s always had a problem with tunnel vision- so she didn’t see me standing ten feet away, and instead blew a ton of power on making trees sing. At the same time, she levitated a water tower through a barn, filling it with milk- I still don’t know how she got so much so quickly- before taking it over to the Ursa. Then of course, she levitated the sleeping Ursa, complete with the water tower pretending to be a baby bottle- Ursa Minors are babies, it’s the Ursa Majors that are the adults- back to its cave. All while still maintaining the singing trees.”
Ginny stares, jaw hanging.
Lyra nods. “Yeah. Had her limit on her unique talent been about twice as high, I wouldn’t be surprised if she would have been able to move the moon across the sky.”
Ginny looks down at the piece of parchment Lyra had offered her while she was talking. “Meaning, in theory, my… ability, is effectively limitless.”
Lyra nods. “Assuming that’s what it is, yes. And if it is, that simply means we won’t be running into power limits, simply the limit of what the ability can do- say, what kinds of problems, and so on.”
Ginny nods. “Ahh. And, it’s two hundred forty-six point three meters.” She taps the page.
Lyra nods. “Accurate. How about the other side?”
She flips the page, glancing at it. “Eighty-three days.”
Lyra’s eyebrows go up. “The second one?”
Ginny shakes her head; there’s two questions on the second side of the page, rather than the single question on the front. “I don’t understand the math.”
“Don’t understand the math, huh?” Lyra frowns, rubbing her chin. Then she shrugs. “Oh, that’s a possible experiment.” She produces another sheet from her bookbag and offers it.
Ginny takes it; there’s a whole bunch of names and equations listed- a ‘reference sheet’, so to speak. “Oh, the answer’s forty-eight and a half degrees.”
“Alright,” Lyra mutters. “How about… Oh, why not.” She digs in her bag. “I’ve been meaning to mess with this thing for a while now, but I’ve been too busy for regular puzzles like this.” She pulls out an odd, multicolored plastic cube.
Ginny tilts her head. “What is it?”
“It’s a muggle puzzle, called a Rubik’s Cube.” Lyra shrugs. “Though, this isn’t exactly a regular Rubik’s Cube- it’s a larger, more challenging, six-by-six-by-six cube. The goal of the puzzle is to get each face of the cube to only hold faces of the same color, rather than this, the ‘scrambled’ cube.”
“How does it get there?”
“By moving it,” Lyra states, indicating the lines- the tiny gaps in the plastic- with one finger… then gripping one side of the cube and twisting it. It splits smoothly, instantly becoming a set of flat planes linked at their centers. Lyra completes the twist, straightening out the planes in a different position, before turning the cube and twisting it in a different direction. “The rotations work in any of the three axis. Think you can solve it?” She finishes that twist, aligning the sections once again.
Ginny shrugs. “Only one way to find out,” she mutters, holding out her hand.
Lyra tosses it into her hand, giving it a bit of a spin on the way over.
Before it even touches her hand, Ginny knows exactly how to solve it. She catches it. “Oh, that’s easy.” She starts twisting the various sections, flicking them around with almost dizzying speed.
It takes her less than a minute to finish her solution, at which point she turns the cube over in her hands. The gaps in the plastic are still there- but for a muggle puzzle, she figures, that’s to be expected. But she’s done- each of the six sides only displays one color. She hands it back to Lyra.
Lyra accepts it, looking thoughtful. “Hmm…” She absently scrambles it again, spinning the various sections randomly, before returning it to her bag.
“Is this where things get interesting?” Ariel asks.
“Um,” Ginny begins. “Is this where…?”
Lyra nods. “Yeah. It’s like they say, go big or go home.”
Ginny blinks. “How big?”
Bonbon frowns slightly to herself as she approaches the door. About five minutes ago, Lyra had called her on the radio and summoned her to this classroom, on Priority Nine- which means, it isn’t all that important, but she might want to come see.
She knocks gently on the door, before letting herself in and looking around.
There are two people in the room. Lyra, and a redheaded Gryffindor first-year… Ginny, was it? She can’t see the girl’s nametag from here.
The entire classroom is flooded with papers. And of course, there’s a series of glowing golden circles on the desk between the two girls, Lyra’s hand on the circles. As she watches, the rings flash bright, and a veritable tower of papers appears in one of them, right up to the ceiling.
The tower then, under the influence of Lyra’s golden glow, flips down to flash past in front of Ginny, one sheet at a time but very fast and closely spaced, before restacking on a nearby desk.
As soon as the last one is past, the ballpoint pen in Ginny’s hand comes down on the page in front of her, and she starts drawing cryptic symbols on the page, making first one circle, then a second, and finally a third, before pushing it over to Lyra, who studies it for a second.
Then Lyra closes her eyes, concentrating on something… Oh, that’s the book she’s tethered her experimental version of the Papa Echo to- the new name for the spell to add British components to an Equestrian matrix. It hasn’t worked yet.
Lyra doesn’t move for a couple minutes, before she finally raises an eyebrow… then the book suddenly glows sharply golden, exactly like the Whiskey Tango book did each time she activated it.
There’s a blinding flash of white light, and the book stops glowing.
Lyra doesn’t open her eyes, though, concentrating on something. She looks a little exhausted, particularly after the flash- did she burn through all her reserves or something?
“Um… what was that?” Ginny asks.
Lyra then manifests her magic aura around herself for some reason, growing in intensity. It gets stronger- then Lyra’s expression suddenly becomes excited.
Then, in a bright flash of golden light, Lyra disappears completely.
“What the-?” Ginny asks, looking around. Then she spots Bonbon, and blinks. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you there. Um…” She glances back forwards.
Bonbon steps up next to her, looking at the page she’d given Lyra. This close up, she can recognize the symbols on the page- three full, interlocking circles, stuffed densely with runes. A moderately large spell matrix.
She glances around at the stacks of papers scattered about the room. “I take it you’ve been, ah, studying, with Lyra?”
Ginny shrugs. “Kinda. We’ve been trying to find the limit of my, um, she called it a ‘unique talent’.”
Right on schedule, Lyra appears out of nowhere in a matching, bright golden flash, eyes wide. “Oh, shoot. Um…” Then she seems to notice Bonbon, and gives a small jump. “Oh, Bonbon! How long ago did…?”
Bonbon raises an eyebrow at her. “I walked in right before you made that last stack of pages,” she states. “Was it just me, or were you actually running out of magic?”
Lyra nods. “Yep! Takes a lot of power to synthesize paper, even with my advantage, but that spell came in real handy when I ran out.”
“I understand you’re trying to find the limits of, ah, Ginny, right?” She glances down at Ginny, who nods. “Of her unique talent?”
Lyra nods. “Yep. It’s like she’s got unlimited subconscious processing power, and the ability to consciously command it.”
Bonbon nods slowly “Uh-huh.”
“Compounded with memory like mine.”
Bonbon raises an eyebrow. “Well, I daresay we know what to offer her,” she states. “But we can take care of that in a minute. What did that last one do?”
“Oh? Thanks to her, I’ve finally perfected the Papa Echo. However, there seems to have been one little… ahh, side effect.”
Bonbon’s eyebrow climbs a little higher. “Side effect? Like what?”
Lyra doesn’t reach for her walkie, or activate it, and speaks softly. “Alpha Oscar One.”
Bonbon facepalms. “Of course it did.” Then she looks up. “Any chance that happened to the Papa Tangoes as well?”
Lyra shakes her head. “Nah, we woulda noticed if Silver had… uh, that, when she visited. And we know that it hadn’t happened to Index Eye when she joined us, nor has she reported it, right?”
Bonbon nods. “True. Must be because our matrices are so much stronger to begin with.”
Lyra shakes her head again. “No, that’s not it- I think it’s because it takes so much more power- in addition to utilizing my unique advantage- to penetrate the Equestrian matrix to the required depth.”
“Ahh. Well, see to it that the Papa Echo is locked in the Vault, then we’ll discuss what to do next in, what, an hour? Sierra Alpha.”
Lyra tilts her head. “Yeah, I can do that in an hour, no biggie. Especially with the Alpha Oscar, that’ll probably make it easy.” She glances down at Ginny, who is staring confusedly between the two of them, and back up at Bonbon. “You wanna offer it while I’m gone, or no?”
Bonbon shrugs. “Sure, why not?”
“Okay,” Lyra continues, before turning to Ginny. “Ginny, meet Bonbon, the mission leader for the Royal Equestrian Secret Service of which I am part.” She taps her radios. “She’ll have a couple questions for you- then I’ll be back soon.” She steps back to the Papa Echo book, picks it up, and vanishes into thin air.
“Uh…” Ginny mutters, seeming uncertain.
Bonbon steps around to and sits on the chair Lyra had been using. “Well, Ginny, it’s nice to meet you,” she begins, offering her hand.
Ginny seems confused. “Um… Nice to meet you too?” she asks, taking it gingerly.
“So then,” Bonbon states, getting into her business tone, and fixes Ginny firmly with her gaze. “How would you like to join the RESS?”
“The RESS? That’s gotta be an acronym for that thing Lyra mentioned,” Ariel tells Ginny immediately.
“What would…” Ginny begins slowly. “What would that entail?”
Bonbon smiles. “Alright. So, how much do you know about us already?”
“Uh… That it’s the Royal Equestrian Secret Service, and that they apparently wear walkies?”
“Um,” Ginny glances down at the empty table in front of her, mentally agreeing with Ariel, and looks back up. “That much? How much can you tell me?”
“Ooh, good question.”
“Ahh, so that’s what we’re starting with,” Bonbon smiles, leaning back in her chair. “And to answer your question, not much, unfortunately; it’s all top secret. But, I can tell you more than I have so far. So…”
“So… what now?”
Ginny scowls slightly at Ariel’s question, pacing her way steadily towards the Gryffindor common room. Bonbon had explained a little about what the ‘RESS’ was all about… so, interested, she’d agreed.
And Bonbon had gone on to explain a lot more about the Royal Intelligence Agency she’d just joined. Bonbon was right, she couldn’t have told her much before starting- but she was also careful to pick and choose what to tell, even of the stuff she could. As a result, as much as she was surprised by what the RIA really is, she found she likes it too- and isn’t having second thoughts.
Then Lyra got back, Bonbon named a couple codes, and…
She got to meet the strangest girl she’s ever met. Several of the other people in the building- all Agents, it would seem- were grumbling about how they couldn’t just send her through the Gate to meet Princess Celestia; as for the Princess herself, the girl with the strangely flowing hair, she seemed mostly just amused. Ginny would never have realized she was any different if she hadn’t been wearing a crown… and if literally everyone else in the room hadn’t bowed down when she entered. Ginny had taken a second to realize who they were bowing to before she bowed herself- then, rather than the tight-lipped how-dare-you-be-late she’d expected from the royal, she’d heard a soft chuckle.
She’d then gotten both a radio and a codename- though she’s not a fan of the latter.
And now, she’s back at the castle, as if nothing had ever happened.
Well… Not quite. She is wearing the radio, even though she hasn’t been told what any of the radio codes mean just yet. She’d asked Lyra, once she’d been shown how to get into the Room of Requirement, if she could do that pages-to-teach thing with her- but Lyra had shaken her head sadly. “No, unfortunately, the Agency is pretty ironclad with that.”
So she’ll be stopping by the Room of Requirement after classes, three times this coming week, for her initial, basic training. Lyra had promised her that, should she survive and be able to reach Equestria, they would complete her Agent training- alongside that of Agent Index Eye- over the summer in Equestria.
She really hopes she lives that long… but nobody- or nopony, as they kept saying at that Agency building- seemed to have much hope in that regard. Even Lyra- who had told her, when she first called for Bonbon, not to mention Ariel to anyone else just yet.
She’d asked why, of course.
“Because I’d hate to get everyone excited about meeting someone that’s going to disappear,” Lyra had answered her. “If you die, she will die with you. And if you survive, chances are that will be because she merged with you, and disappeared that way. There is just about zero possibility that she will survive, separate from you, long-term- regardless of your survival.”
Ariel had taken that hard.
Ginny doesn’t plan on obeying that instruction, though. Sure, she won’t mention Ariel to any Agents… but she hopes to bring her up to someone. Maybe…
She looks up. She’d been gazing at the floor as she plodded along; now, she’s approaching the last turn towards the Fat Lady.
If… If she’s going to die soon… But wait. Harry, Hermione, and their Slytherin friend all finished the transform- maybe if she stays around them, they can help stabilize her magic field? Perhaps they can help?
And besides, if she’s going to die soon, on her current track, she’ll die alone!
She takes a deep breath.
“Ariel?” she asks. “How’s my magic doing?”
Ariel gives her the distinct impression of a shrug, looking up from her depressed fugue. “Your magic…? Oh. It seems to be back, uh, semi-stable once again.”
“Do you think it would handle you stepping out for a few seconds again?”
“Um… Yeah, probably. Why, you want to hug me?”
She smiles. “In a few, yeah, probably. C’mon.” She trots forwards, a plan formulating in her mind. For some reason, while Ariel has free access to her memory, she can’t even touch what she’s thinking about unless she wants her to… and neither can Ariel find anything she doesn’t want her to find. Which isn’t much, but at least it means she can surprise Ariel despite sharing her head. She rounds the corner, jogs up to the Fat Lady, and gives the password.
It swings open.
She screeches to a halt.
Harry and Hermione freeze in the portrait hole, the former’s arm poised to push the Fat Lady open from inside, for a second as well.
“Oh, hi Ginny!” Hermione greets, as they step out and to the side, clearing the path for her to enter. “Having a good day?”
She shakes her head, trying to hide her glowing blush with it. “No, no, I’m having a terrible day,” she declares cheerfully.
Both of them stop, and tilt their heads inquisitively.
Her blush darkens. I can’t stop now, she tells herself, and takes a deep breath, before trotting closer to grab Harry’s hand; it’s already late enough that the last class of the day has already ended. “Can I come- Aaaah!”
Ariel perfectly matches her jump and shriek, albeit a little less noticeably, when she touches Harry’s hand- and feels a sudden jolt of… something travel up her arm. It feels… warm, almost.
“Wha-!?” Harry asks, glancing down at his hand as if checking for something. Funny, he doesn’t seem to have felt it.
“What- What was that?” Ginny asks, wide-eyed. Possibly, a corner of her mind notes, the first time she’s said anything near Harry and not blushed like the setting sun.
“What was what?” Hermione asks, apparently alarmed by her shriek. The portrait hole had already swung closed again when she shrieked, so nobody in the common room seems to have noticed.
“Magic transfer, I think,” Ariel answers her instantly. “No idea why, but… Yeah. Harry somehow just replenished your entire magic reserves- and mine, strange. And… Yeah, he’s still a blinding beacon of power.
“... Makes me wonder where he got all that power from?”
She takes a few deep breaths, and calms herself down. “... Oh. Um…” She looks at Harry, fighting back the blush. “Are- Are you okay?” Her voice vanished into a squeak at the end.
Harry blinks, confused. “Uh, yeah?”
Hermione rubs her chin. “Hmm… Yeah, I have no idea what that was.”
“A magic transfer of some sort,” Ginny mumbles. “Ariel… figured it out.”
“You’re already ratting me out?”
“Ariel?” Hermione asks.
She nods. “My… imaginary friend. She… She said a ton of magic went…” She blushes.
Before she can stop him, Harry reaches out a hand to rest it on her shoulder. She flinches, but no jolt comes. “And if Silver is right about us, you could’ve been a dozen people filling up from nothing to twice what you could handle off me alone and I wouldn’t even notice.” He scowls, looking at Hermione. “I still haven’t figured out the thaumic perception thing just yet.”
Hermione shakes her head. “Me neither. Pretty sure Silver’s the only one.” She looks at Ginny. “I notice you have a radio?”
Ginny nods, blushing.
“Huh. Then I don’t suppose you know what the Equestrians actually are?”
She nods again.
Hermione shrugs, stepping around to sandwich her between herself and Harry- and causing her blush to heat up exponentially. “Wanna come along for our ‘Papa Tango Club’ meeting? It’s just me, Harry, and Silver right now, so…”
She forces herself to nod. If she’s honest with herself, she has no idea what just happened.
“Oh, hi Ginny!”
Ginny blinks. It’s that Slytherin boy, waving cheerfully at her from the middle of the room.
The middle of the otherwise empty room that Harry and Hermione just guided her into.
“Um… Hi?” she mutters, clinging to Harry. She thinks she’s still blushing, but she’s stopped caring by now.
He chuckles, hopping off his desk and pocketing the silver flute he’d been playing before they walked in. He trots closer, offering her his hand. “Nice to meet you! I’m Draco Malfoy- or, when my father won’t find out, Silversong.” He glances up at… her hair? “I don’t suppose you can shift yet, can you?” He glances up at Hermione. “Didn’t Lyra do her Papa Tango a few days back?”
Hermione nods. “She tells me it was botched.”
Draco flinches. “Ouch.” He looks at Ginny. “Though, she doesn’t look all that much different from what you did after your Papa Tango, Hermione.”
“What?” Ginny asks.
“She doesn’t? Huh…” Hermione mutters, putting her hand to her chin. “Wait, Ginny? Can your imaginary friend- Ariel, was it?- take physical form at all?”
“Is… Is she asking what I think she’s asking?” Ariel asks.
Ginny nods. “Give it a shot. You know what to do if I start passing out.”
Ariel lets out a snort of laughter. “Shouldn’t be necessary this time around.” She heaves a sigh. “I’ll keep my eyes open, though, just in case.”
It takes only a couple seconds for Ariel to take form in the air in front of her, and drop into her waiting arms. She’s still weightless to Ginny, but she seems a lot more solid than last time- it actually feels like there’s something in her arms, rather than the lightest of breezes.
Ariel looks at the other three. “Um… Hi?” she asks.
“You’re… Ariel?” Hermione asks.
Ariel nods meekly. “I… I know I look weird, but…”
“Oh, no, that is perfectly normal. I’m more…” Draco looks up at Ginny. “... Huh, musta been you I was seeing.” He glances at Hermione. “You’re right, Ginny isn’t completely Papa Tangoed… but it’s definitely started.” He looks at Harry. “And there’s some bond between the two I can’t quite see.”
Harry shakes his head. “I haven’t figured out the sensing thing yet, beyond Lilly.”
Draco nods solemnly.
“Um… Lyra said something about a bond…?” Ginny mutters. “Something about it being invisible while we’re in the same place?”
Draco nods. “Yeah. It’s visible right now, I just don’t have the experience or know-how to see it properly.” He glances at Hermione. “Think Lyra’s available?”
Hermione shrugs, hand rising to her radio. “Only one way to find out,” she smiles, before depressing the button.
Ginny then hears double of her, almost perfectly simultaneous- once from her, and once from the little earpiece connected to her radio. “Candy Stripes to Papa Tango Charlie Mike, please.”
Hermione lowers her hand.
Lyra appears out of thin air, glancing around almost casually. “Hi Hermione!” she greets. “Harry, Draco, Gi- Wait. Is that Ariel, by any chance?”
Ginny wraps her arms protectively around Ariel. “Yes, she is,” she states cautiously, while Ariel tries to shrink further into Ginny’s embrace.
Lyra stares, rubbing her chin. “Yeah, the link is visible now… Hmm… Um, I suppose there’s good news and bad news.”
Ginny nods slowly. “What’s the good news?”
“The link itself is not lethal.”
Harry, Hermione, and Draco all stiffen visibly. Ginny blinks, and speaks in barely a whisper. “And the bad?”
Lyra sighs. “It’s… a master-servant bond, where you’re the master. Normally, I’d break a master-servant bond like that in a heartbeat… except this one is a little different. If I were to do that, I would almost certainly kill Ariel… and probably you too. Looks like she’s fully Papa Tangoed, and that bond is what’s stabilizing your magic enough to keep you alive.” She takes a deep breath. “Fortunately, while it all is in a state of flux, it looks mostly stable- so you won’t drop dead within the next… oh, month or so. Beyond that, I can’t promise.”
Draco, Harry, and Hermione share a look.
Ginny gets an idea. “What might… ahh, extend that time?”
Lyra shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“What… What happens if…” Ariel begins.
“If everything goes right?” Ginny finishes.
Ariel nods.
“If… If everything goes right?” Lyra asks, raising an eyebrow. “Then… Um… Yeah. If everything goes right, you’ll finish Papa Tangoing in roughly three years, and everything will stabilize. Ariel would stay alive and basically exactly as she is now- including being irrevocably tethered to you.” She looks at Hermione. “Is that what you wanted me for?”
Hermione nods.
“Anything else?” Lyra asks the rest of the group.
Everyone shakes their heads, though Ariel’s shake is so small it’s only barely visible.
Lyra nods. “Alright then, I’ll see you around.” She disappears back into thin air.
Hermione lets out a sigh, before gesturing to the cushions set out around the low table in the middle of the room. “Shall we, then?”
“So, Ariel?” Harry asks, sitting next to Ginny. “I’m curious, how is life as a… er, imaginary friend?”
“Soul servant, technically,” Hermione injects from Ginny’s other side.
Ariel flinches. Everyone else raises their eyebrows at Hermione.
“Well, it’s true,” she states. “It’s in-!”
“Not now,” Draco interrupts.
“Imaginary friend works, right?” Harry asks, looking between everyone.
Everyone nods, Ariel only the second most emphatically, after Ginny.
Harry lets out a sigh. “So how is life as an imaginary friend?”
Ariel shrugs, and looks back at her wings. “I don’t know. I only remember the last few days… and besides, this is only the second time I’ve, ah, come out. The first time…” She shudders visibly. “I had to go back in quickly to keep Ginny alive.” She leans comfortingly against Ginny’s upper body, still sitting in her lap. Ginny hugs her.
Hermione scowls. “How about… the form. Is this what you expected, or…?”
Ariel doesn’t respond until after Ginny releases her hug. “No, actually, I expected something a little more… human.” She looks back at herself. “But oh well. I’m made of energy right now anyways- I’m sure my form is flexible somehow.”
Hermione nods. “And it might be more- or less- flexible than you think, too. Have you tried turning into a human?”
“Turning into a human,” Ariel repeats back at her.
Hermione nods. “Yeah.”
“Like, how?”
Hermione shrugs. “I don’t know… Um, think of yourself as a human, maybe? Um, concentrate on being human?” She looks at Draco. “I’m not sure how else to describe it, you?”
Draco shakes his head. “No, that’s about it.” He looks at Ariel. “To be honest, I’m kinda wondering why she hasn’t been forced into human form by her own magic.”
“Unless,” Harry begins. “Is it possible her status as an energy being is messing with her animagus magic?”
Draco blinks, and nods. “Huh, that’s possible.” He looks at Ginny. “Have you, perchance, tried to transform yourself into something like Ariel?”
Ginny blinks slowly. “And… what? Get trapped in someone’s head?”
“Oh, no, no,” Hermione shakes her head. “He means like-” she shrinks suddenly “-this.”
Ginny stares. Hermione has… become a little… horse-like thing. Not unlike Ariel, though Hermione has different colors and a horn sticking out of her head. Oh, and Hermione is also clearly still flesh and bone.
Ginny slowly reaches out a hand to touch Hermione’s… mane. “What…?”
Hermione giggles, tickling Ginny’s outstretched arm with a wing. “So, have you tried?”
“Um…” Ginny withdraws her hand, closes her eyes, and pictures Ariel… with her hair. She imagines herself turning into that… image, and concentrates on it for a second.
A spike of pain suddenly erupts in her forehead.
“Ow!” she yelps, clapping both hands over it and bending down over Ariel. “Owowowow…”
“Huh… I was wondering about that,” Draco mutters. “Well, Ginny, I’d advise you don’t try transforming very frequently. Maybe give it a shot every once in a while, find out if and when it’ll work, but otherwise…”
She looks up, peering underneath her arms. “What?” she asks. Her forehead still hurts, but the pain is fading away.
Draco nods. “Yeah- I was watching, you got it right. Only… it looked like it was going to hurt you, then your own magic suddenly decided to interrupt the cast to protect you. That’s probably what the pain is from.”
She blinks. “Then…”
“Hmm,” Hermione mutters, putting one hoof to her chin. “If that’s the case, wouldn’t it be ideal to put off trying to transform until she completely finishes her Papa Tango? I mean, none of us had Equestrian forms until after it had completed…” She glances sideways at Draco, then at Harry. “Speaking of which, why are you two still human?”
Draco shrugs. “Our transformations are a little more thorough, as you know. I thought we might wait a little, try and tone down the shock levels. I’d rather not make Ginny pass out on us.”
Ginny flinches. “Hey, I stayed awake when Hermione turned into a… A…”
“Pony,” Hermione supplies. “Filly, more specifically.”
“Pony?” Ginny asks. “Isn’t that, like, a small horse?”
Hermione shakes her head. “Not exactly. And we’re not talking about those ponies, either- we’re talking about Equestrian ponies.”
“Uhh… Does that have something to do with how all the Agents were saying ‘everypony’ at…?”
Draco nods. “Probably. Over in Equestria, ponies are the dominant race. The Gate transforms them into humans as they cross.”
“Okay,” she mutters, looking at him. “Are you, um, not a pony or something? Like, a dragon?”
All three of them laugh.
“Nah,” Draco chuckles. “If you want a dragon, you’ll have to go find Norberta.”
“Or Spike,” Hermione inserts.
“Yeah, but he can’t transform on this side,” Draco continues. “No. I’m a filly too.”
Ginny scowls. “Okay? … Wait a minute. Does that mean you’re-!?”
Draco shrinks, nods, and speaks in a girl’svoice. “Yep.”
“... Oh.” She turns to Harry. “Please don’t tell me you’re like that too.”
He shrinks. “I am.”
She hugs Ariel. “Does… Does that mean I’ll be… a boy, when I…?”
Hermione shakes her head. “Hey, I didn’t shift.”
“Lyra said something about the Equestrian form being created based on the personality, not the human form,” the silver filly- Silver- states. “And given the gender disparity in Equestria, I’d say you’re probably also going to be a filly.”
“But…” She looks at all the fillies surrounding her- Harry, Hermione, Silver… and Ariel, still sitting in her lap. “But…” She tries to restrain the tears fighting to escape.
Silver smiles. “Did you know that Lyra and Bonbon are a married couple?”
She blinks. “What?”
She nods. “And they’re both mares, too. Turns out both polygamy and same-sex marriage are perfectly legal- and normal- in Equestria.”
Harry and Hermione both look away from the table and blush. Ginny stares at Silver. “Then…”
Silver rubs her chin with a hoof. “Oh, and Lyra did mention a spell that would let any of us genderswap for a few hours to play the part of a father.”
Ginny blushes and looks away as well.
“Are you trying to say,” Ariel begins shyly. “That your kids are going to have five moms, and no dad?”
Silver shrugs her wings, not even blushing. “I don’t know. It is certainly possible, though.”
Hermione knocks twice, before pushing the door open and making her way into the Room of Requirement. Right in the middle of her Papa Tango Club meeting, throughout which Ginny seemed to have glowed red at least as much as everyone else combined, Lyra had radioed her up to ask her to meet in the ‘Bravo Oscar’, or the local Base of Operations… which is the Room of Requirement. She had also specified when she was done with the Papa Tango Charlie Mike, so she hadn’t had to cut it short.
Though, she will have to look into how she received that transmission- and responded to it- while in pony form… despite the radio being clipped to her clothes, and thence nonexistent at the time. There’s no books to give her the answer, though there’s a few- about animagi- that are loosely related.
“Oh, Hermione!” Lyra practically leaps up from her seat at the enormous conference table, before moving towards one of the smaller privacy spelled meeting rooms running up and down both sides of the room. “Can we talk in here?”
Hermione’s muscles tense instantly, and she follows quickly. Lyra had seemed distinctly worried- and if something has her worried, when the attack on Mrs. Norris hadn’t even fazed her…
She makes it into the meeting room right behind Lyra. “What is it?” she asks, as she closes the door behind her.
Lyra puts her hands on Hermione’s shoulders. “Hermione, I have a problem.”
Hermione nods. “I’m listening.”
“Do you have any flying tips you could give me?”
She blinks. True, the first Quidditch match of the year is only tomorrow, and Lyra is on the team as a chaser- but she’s been participating in team practices, and she’s so good Hermione had been tempted to ask her- several times- if she’s sure she’s not a pegasus. “Um- you seemed to be doing pretty well to me?”
Lyra sighs restlessly. “Yeah, but- but stuff changed. I’m- I’m-!” She pauses for a second, and blinks, before slowing down. “... I never told you about it, did I? Um…” She heaves a sigh, sits down, and takes a deep breath. “Sorry, I’m… not used to the unknown.” She takes another deep breath. “As for what happened, I was testing the limits of Ginny’s Cutie Mark talent- it truly is amazing, she can compress months of thinking and analysis into a mere moment- when…
“Well, I actually leveraged that ability a little bit during the tests. Thanks to her, I was able to perfect the Papa Echo. The problem is, though, it’s a little too perfect. When I tested it on myself, it worked, and I almost instantly ascended.” She takes a deep breath. “After that, I’m… I’m an…” She takes another breath. “I’m an Alicorn. Both horn and wings, and the magic of all three tribes.”
Hermione nods once. Lyra’s sure making a big fuss out of it. “Okay?”
“I-!” Lyra takes another deep breath. “How different is it?”
Hermione shrugs. “I really only noticed it become exponentially easier, almost as if the broom was part of me,” she states. Then she scowls. “Rainbow couldn’t figure out what I was talking about, though.”
Lyra lets out a small snort of laughter. “Not surprised. You’re more likely to catch Rainbow napping on a cloud a hundred times than studying even once. And yeah, that’s what I’m worried about- because I’m kinda like you, in that my wings stick around in human form.”
Hermione nods slowly, putting a hand to her chin. “If you know some way to isolate your magic from the broom’s, that’d probably be best for tomorrow,” she mutters. “I’ve figured out how to keep the broom from outperforming itself, but, um…” She shrugs. “I have no idea how to describe it.”
“Alright, people,” Oliver Wood greets the team, in the changing room. Harry is available to play, so while Hermione is here for the team briefing, she’ll be watching the game from the stands- and only come into play if something happens to Harry.
She rather expects nothing will, and smiles softly to herself while Wood asks Harry to “catch the Snitch or die trying”. During the final game last year, he’d been unfamiliar with his pegasus magic, and had been too busy trying not to mess up his flight to notice when the opposing seeker had spotted and caught the snitch.
Which won’t be hard, as he’s practiced enough with his broom to not lose control of it.
… She still has no idea why he has so much difficulty keeping his pegasus magic in line. Maybe it’s related to how she can’t seem to do anything with her horn, save only basic levitation, when Silver had tried teaching her and Harry during the summer?
Watching Lyra should be fun, though. During practices, she’s the most daring Chaser on the entire team- and with the fastest reaction time, by far. Not to mention, Hermione rather suspects she’s been holding out on everyone- and rather hopes to see some of what that might be during the match.
It’s a very one-sided game.
The Slytherin chasers are flying as a team. They’re well-coordinated, though not on the level of a professional team. Most of them have been playing for Slytherin for a few years; the youngest one is a fifth year.
The Gryffindor chasers are flying as a unit. Maybe spread out, maybe together, maybe in formation, but always in perfect sync. One’s new this year- and she’s an Agent, so it wasn’t long before she had them so well-coordinated one might think they had magically fused their minds together.
Lyra’s riding a Cleansweep Six, because that’s what had been handy when she got on the team and she hasn’t bothered upgrading.
Slytherin had taken the quaffle at the beginning of the game. Their chasers had taken it up to the goal posts- then one had passed it to another.
Lyra had just happened to be streaking up from below, neatly intercepting the quaffle before taking off for the other end of the field, flying in a constantly shifting formation with the other two Gryffindor chasers and randomly passing the quaffle between them. Several times, the Slytherins attempted to intercept it- but for as fast as their brooms might be, the Gryffindor players were faster.
Then the Slytherin seeker, who had been drifting alongside and chatting amiably with the Gryffindor seeker thus far, suddenly shot across the field at the upper limit of what his broom could do… and caught the snitch.
Lyra Heartstrings is tired. Staying up all night, under the influence of a time compression spell with over ninety percent efficiency, will do that to you.
It had taken her that long- almost a full week, subjective- to craft a spell suitable to properly segregate her magic and that of her broom. To keep it from interfering with her broom, keep it to what she’s familiar with.
Judging by Hermione’s intel, and completely disregarding her recommendation- she’s pretty sure the pegasus doesn’t even know time compression is possible, let alone a viable option- that had been exponentially easier than learning to properly control her new pegasus magic overnight might be.
Which happened to line up with Hermione’s recommendation, but still.
But she’d done it. Then she’d made sure to look good and awake in the changing room.
And now, she’s on her broom, fifty feet in the air, flinging the red quaffle around- and hoping, praying, really, that the Weasleys are enough to keep the bludgers off her. Between her mental exhaustion, the near-torture of her magic segregation spell, her normal difficulty riding a broom, juggling the Quaffle, and coordinating with the other two Chasers, she doesn’t have any mental capacity to spare for the things.
She’s on approach to the goal posts once again. She hasn’t been following the score; she knows she’ll remember the commentary later, remember just how badly she’s doing. She just hopes it’s not so bad that Harry can’t at least make it a draw by catching the Snitch.
She feints left, towards the Gryffindor chaser that’s swinging around behind the hoops to receive the Quaffle. She’s not sure why they keep giving it back to her.
She then feints up, to the other Gryffindor chaser. Then right, to the nearest Slytherin- a Beater- before actually passing it to the chaser above her head.
Exactly as she’d expected, the said chaser promptly passes it right back, after making a feint of her own; she’s a might bit too high to make a successful shot. As she receives the ball, the one passing the hoops makes as if receiving the ball and crouches down over her broom, rocketing around as if to make an attempt.
It works. The keeper turns to wrap around the hoops, before stopping midway and turning back, at the yell of one of the Slytherin chasers. She feints again, towards that Slytherin chaser below her, before priming for an actual shot. She really didn’t need to feint that last time; their keeper is well and truly out of the way, and way susceptible to her feints. As such, he’s not only in the wrong position to stop her but headed in the wrong direction.
She shoots. It’s a clear shot, straight through the hoops. Gryffindor scores; she hears that in the commentary. The receiving chaser, who had gotten into position just barely in time, dodges a bludger and zips to the side, looking back at the hoops. She’s going to shoot again, from the other side.
She feints left. Funny, the keeper is looking at her, even though she doesn’t have the ball. She feints right, towards empty air. He follows the motion, looks that way, and turns back to her. She feints a shot to the leftmost goal hoop; the other chaser is lining up to shoot through the rightmost. Again, the keeper looks, and turns back to her.
The other chaser shoots.
Lyra dips two feet down, and catches the Quaffle. The Slytherin keeper blinks, and starts looking wildly around, as if trying to figure out where it came from. She grins, raising it for another shot.
Something green blurs past in her peripheral vision. She looks.
Oh, it’s Silversong- Draco, the Slytherin seeker. He must have spotted the Snitch. She turns back forwards.
Just in time for something large and heavy to slam into her side, throwing her bodily off her broom and snapping her arm like a twig. Even as she falls off her broom- there was too much force in the blow, and her grip wasn’t tight enough to make it possible, so she completely abandons the broom- she snaps her other arm up to snag the Quaffle, draws it back, and lobs it through the hoop.
Then she closes her eyes, quickly formulating a suitable proximity cushion spell to stop her before she breaks her neck on the ground.
It stutters, though, and fragments apart.
Right. That bludger hit her right arm, which is where she casts from as a human, as she lacks a horn. Which means, she won’t be able to use her Equestrian magic without shifting forms… and she doesn’t want to do that out in the open.
She opens her eyes, twisting to see the ground rushing up. She’ll shift at the last second, stop herself, and shift again.
She manages it. And, thanks to having the matrix prepared and everything, she’s pretty sure she spent less than a tenth of a second in her Equestrian form.
Though, her damaged arm hurt when she did that- shapeshifting with an injury is never very comfortable, or safe.
She hits the ground, perhaps a little harder than she intended, and loses consciousness instantly.
It doesn’t last long, fortunately. She wakes up shortly… and the first thing she sees, is sparkling white teeth.
“Oh no,” she groans. “Not you.” The last person she wants trying to help her when she’s hurt is this guy and his overblown ego.
“Doesn’t know what she’s saying,” Lockhart declares loudly. “Don’t worry, Lyra, I’ll have that fixed up in a moment.”
“Don’t-!” Hermione gasps out at him, running at full tilt towards where Lyra had fallen. Hardly a second after Silver won the game by a margin of ten points, and Lyra had to fall off her broom!
… Well, technically, she’d fallen off her broom before Silver won the game, but she hit the ground after. Nobody’s celebrating yet, though, because she hadn’t actually fallen off- nor had she been hit by a bludger. No, one of the Slytherin beaters had attacked her with his bat- and Madam Hooch seems not to be sure how she wants to handle the penalty that should have awarded the Gryffindors.
“No!” Lyra gasps, her good arm flying up to manually align her damaged arm. Hermione wonders to herself why she isn’t doing that by magic.
Harry, who had landed much closer, starts slowing down right as Lockhart casts his spell.
She sees Silver’s spell- he’d landed shortly behind Harry- racing to stop Lockhart’s spell, but it’s too late. Lockhart’s spell hits Lyra.
There’s a flash of light, and Lyra’s broken arm goes limp… almost like Lockhart had removed the bones.
Lyra, meanwhile, lets out a bone-chilling shriek of pain.
Then Silver lets out a gasp and dodges sideways, behind Harry, as light seems to build around Lyra. Harry screeches to a halt and crouches next to Lyra. “Lyra!”
She feels it before she sees it. The sudden shockwave of energy- of what has to be magical energy- and the expanding ball of light, starting on Lyra. Almost like someone had detonated a large bomb.
With no time to think, Hermione’s wings flash open and down, propelling her straight up in the air. She dodges a bludger on her way up; a tiny flick of a few feathers was enough to adjust her Rainboom trajectory.
Then she looks back down. She’s already a half a mile in the sky, high above the game; it’s also been about a half a second since Lyra’s whatever-blast.
… Funny. Exactly as she’d expected, her pegasus vision is letting her peer through the glare to see what’s inside. She can’t see much more than an outline of Lyra- though everyone else she can see clearly. Lockhart, for example, appears to have been thrown into the air by the blast, his once-lilac robes burnt the same black as his face.
Several other players, teachers, or people, caught nearby but not as close, got blown over or perhaps thrown, only the closest burned- and then, only a little bit.
Then Harry, right at the epicenter, seems to be completely okay, still crouching over Lyra and casting the blast shadow Silver has taken cover in.
Oh, and there’s the blast ring from her Rainboom. It’s actually serving to blunt the edges of Lyra’s blast, whatever it is, though it’s fairly easily being overpowered by it.
Lyra’s blast only lasts a couple seconds, after which she rockets back to the ground, this time next to Harry, and folds her wings. Interestingly, Harry is completely unharmed- even his robes are undamaged- despite being right on top of the epicenter. But at the moment, Lyra is more important. She spots Ginny running towards them in the corner of her eye- and some part of her imagines Ariel galloping alongside her.
“Are you okay?” she asks Lyra.
“What happened?” Madam Pomfrey asks, moments after her startled jump. It isn’t often that five students randomly appear out of thin air in her infirmary.
“Lockhart happened,” the boy she’s seen before- Harry Potter- states. “I think he was trying to mend her bones- against her will- and… fobbed it.”
“Magically speaking, it almost looks like something the Crusaders could have done,” the other boy, Draco Malfoy, mutters. “Though what happened next, I’m pretty sure has them pretty handily beat.” He looks up at Madam Pomfrey. “As near as I can tell, he seems to have done significant damage to her magic… which retaliated by, um, exploding, for lack of a better word.” As he speaks, the girl in the middle, lying unconscious on her back and floating in a navy blue aura she’s come to associate with Equestrian magic, floats up a little.
“Um, she’s going to need, like, top secret handling,” Hermione mutters.
Madam Pomfrey nods once, pointing her wand at the floating girl- whom she recognizes as Lyra Heartstrings- for a diagnostic spell. She’s… stable-ish, though only because of what appears to be active but inexperienced medical magic included in the navy aura. The important part is that her situation isn’t critical, though it isn’t far from it either. “This way,” she states, gesturing to them and leading them to the medical annex Dumbledore had the Equestrians install this year. It sure is handy- she now has the space she needs to serve this many students, and the supplies for the many Equestrian volunteers!
Inside this annex, she picks the nearest high-sensitivity ward- they’re all empty right now- and leads the group to it, before gesturing to the first bed.
Lyra floats over to it, landing softly.
“I’ve been doing my best with general Equestrian medical spells,” Draco states, “but I’m no doctor. Is…?”
“Don’t drop them just yet,” Madam Pomfrey states, before pointing her wand again for much better, more focused diagnostic spells.
Then she scowls, and her hand comes up to the ‘radio’ the Equestrians had supplied her with, to keep her in touch with the various student assistants. She calls for Equin Horse, the one that she could swear seems more like a doctor than an assistant. She’s not sure just yet, but this damage might call for what she and her assistants have dubbed the ‘Equestrian Treatment’- that is, taken into a very specific room of this annex to be forced into Equestrian form- Lyra helped build the standing matrices for that, she understands- for treatment in her natural form. Much more effective than trying to treat her in human form… especially when her spells can’t seem to decide whether she’s human or not.
“Well, that would explain it,” Madam Pomfrey mutters irritably. Lyra has just been forced into Equestrian form- and while her human form showed little to no visible damage, her Equestrian form has quite the opposite. Oh, and Lyra’s no longer a unicorn, either- she’s one of the mythically powerful ‘Alicorns’ she was told about. Either of those two factors would easily explain the trouble her spells were having on her human form.
Exactly as expected, Lyra’s right foreleg is completely boneless. She’d spotted that in her human form; Lockhart must have vanished them.
His spell also seems to have vanished her entire right wing and a scoop out of her side to go with it, aside from punching a series of holes through her horn- such that it kinda looks like Swiss cheese.
Unfortunately, the biology of an Alicorn is so far different from the biology of a normal pony- even a kirin like Professor Flitwick- that she’s not sure what sort of readings she should be getting from her various spells… which, at least, are able to get solid results on her in Equestrian form.
She glances up at Equin Horse, the one Equestrian that Lyra trained to use these transformation matrices… which, of course, require an Equestrian-only facet to activate. “Baseline?” she asks.
He shakes his horned head, having transformed himself into Equestrian form, so as to better utilize his skills. “To my knowledge, no Alicorn has ever needed a doctor before. I don’t think anypony knows what they look like inside.” He scowls at Lyra. “What they’re supposed to look like, that is.”
“What about me?” Hermione interjects. Madam Pomfrey had been initially reluctant to let the four that brought her into this room- but Hermione, Harry, and Draco are all Papa Tangoes, so they’re allowed to know… and when she’d mentioned Ginny, Hermione had simply called for Ariel. Who promptly appeared as an energypegasus, riding on Ginny’s shoulder.
Madam Pomfrey glances up at her. “No use,” she states.
“Alicorns are too different from everypony else,” Equin finishes.
Hermione doesn’t respond verbally, rather hopping up into the air and shrinking noticeably.
Madam Pomfrey instinctively watches in the corner of her eye- that was definitely an animagus transformation- as she shrinks down into…
“And of course, you’re an Alicorn too,” Equin states flatly. “Do you mind?”
Hermione nods her horned head, wings beating lightly to keep her afloat- something Madam Pomfrey has never seen, but doesn’t have the time to study right now. “Go ahead. I’m a good bit younger than she… but healthy.”
Harry steps forwards slightly. “If you need more than one, me and Sil-er, Draco are also alicorns.”
As it turns out, they had needed more than one; Madam Pomfrey had even commented on ideally having a few hundred at least, but that a couple would do. She had then, with the assistance of Silver’s sheer magical might channeled through Equine Horse’ skill in Equestrian medical magic, been able to stabilize Lyra. She’s still unconscious but, as Madam Pomfrey moves on to get a closer look at Ariel, everyone is confident that Lyra will be okay.
Hermione finally leans back in her seat. “Well, that happened,” she mutters.
“That it did,” Draco sighs, dropping himself into the chair next to hers and leaning back as well.
Harry seats himself on Hermione’s other side. “I just wish there was something I could do through all of that.” He winces, even before anyone speaks. “Uh, aside from standing still in Equestrian form.”
“Hey, that was very helpful,” Equine Horse states, just before the effects of the transformation matrices wear off, returning him to human form. “Especially since she did something to herself to let her hold her Equestrian form on this side without those matrices.”
Hermione nods. “The ‘Papa Echo’, she called it. She perfected it and tested it on herself. Apparently, it ascended her as well.”
“Papa Echo?” Horse asks.
She nods again. “The reverse of the Papa Tango, really- it adds British facets to an Equestrian matrix, rather than Equestrian facets to a British matrix.”
He nods, then scowls. “Yeah, that would explain the difference.” He glances back at Lyra, still green, furry, and layered over with casts of both physical and thaumic nature. “But something doesn’t sound right about that, either. Unless…” He looks at her. “I mean, you didn’t ascend from the Papa Tango, did you?”
Hermione shakes her head. “No, I ascended when I first Rainboomed.”
He lets out a low whistle. “That was last year, wasn’t it? Huh. In any case, the Papa Tango is a much bigger change- I’d say it’d be far more likely to cause a direct ascension.” He glances at Lyra. “Do you happen to know if she’s tested it on anypony else?”
Hermione shakes her head. “She probably didn’t, but I don’t know.”
He scowls, glancing back at Lyra again. “And she won’t wake for at least a couple weeks, either.”
“A couple weeks?” Silver asks.
He nods. “Yep. Too much conscious activity right now- especially of the sort she’s prone to- can do permanent damage to her horn. She’s under one of the strongest sleeping spells I’ve ever set- thank you, by the way, Silver- specifically to protect her against that eventuality. Don’t worry, I won’t need a power boost to cancel it, and plan to do so as soon as it is safe.” He pauses for a second. “I take it all the Papa Tangoes can transform at will?”
Hermione and Draco nod in tandem. “Every British matrix has the capability to self-transform,” Draco supplies, “called the Animagus. The Papa Tango seems to simply give us something else to transform into.” He shrugs. “Even Lyra doesn’t understand the details.”
More nodding. “And I don’t suppose you want to keep that ability secret from the rest of Equestria?”
All three nod in tandem.
Then Ginny steps up next to Equine, while Madam Pomfrey heads back out to the rest of the infirmary. “And, um,” she begins.
Hermione tilts her head. “Yes?”
“Um… Harry,” Ginny mutters, seeming unsure of herself.
Harry blinks. “... I’m listening.”
“How… er…”
Equine tilts his head at her. “Not sure how to say it?”
She nods, blushing.
“Give it a shot,” Harry suggests. “I’m sure I’ll understand.”
She blushes a little darker. “Um… Okay.” She takes a deep breath, and looks at Harry before speaking nervously, but smoothly. “Harry, how are you alive?”
“How am I… alive?” Harry asks confusedly, tilting his head. “Was there something that should have killed me or something?”
“Ohh, yeah, I was wondering about that too,” Silver states suddenly. “Back on the Quidditch field, when Lyra did her exploding magic thingy, you cast a nice blast shadow for me to take cover in.”
Hermione nods. “Yeah, I saw that too. Then…” She looks at Harry. “Lockhart got burned and thrown some fifteen feet away, but you were even closer and unharmed?”
Harry blinks. “Wait, that light hurt people?”
Ginny nods. “Had Lockhart not been thrown back, the sheer magical overload could have killed him,” she states. “As it is, it should have killed you, at least twice over.”
“You… didn’t even feel it?” Hermione asks.
Draco shifts in his seat. “Okay… How about this, Harry?” A small bolt of magic flashes from his hand into Harry’s arm.
Harry watches it disappear. “Um… what was that?”
“No pain or anything?” Draco asks.
“Um, no?”
He scowls. “Okay, how about… this?” A much larger bolt of magic.
Harry blinks. “Um, still nothing?” He looks at the other three for help, but they’re all staring at him.
Draco then rises to his feet, turns to face Harry, and takes a deep breath. “Alright, let’s see if this gets through to you,” he states, before conjuring a stack of bricks in front of him, concentrating his magic, and blasting it at Harry, through the bricks.
Harry stares. The massive bolt of magic didn’t just disintegrate the bricks; it vaporized them explosively.
Then it… disappeared against his skin and clothes.
“What-!?” Harry begins. “Wait. Does that mean I’m-!” He cuts himself off, staring at the bricks.
Moments later, he floats in the air for a second, surrounded by his emerald green magic aura, before dropping back down. “What the…?”
Draco rubs his chin. “So that’s happening for you too? Huh…”
Equine Horse, on the other hand, seems to be trying to hide a laugh, without much success.
“What?” Hermione asks him.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” he chuckles. “It’s just rather clear you’re not familiar with Equestrian magic. You know what we’ve been calling our ‘unique talent’?”
Hermione nods, head tilting. “Yeah…?”
“That’s what that was. Manifesting itself.”
Hermione lets out a gasp, and turns to Harry. “Harry, transform.”
Harry blinks, and shrinks. “Okay…?”
Hermione squeals, than pokes at Harry’s flank. “Oh, it is! Harry, you just got your cutie mark!”
“Her cutie what?” Ginny asks.
“Hold on a second,” Draco mutters, and shrinks in the middle of hopping back onto his armchair, before looking at her own flank. “Huh, yeah, I’ve got one too.” She puts a hoof to her chin. “Hmm, must have been when I was playing that flute last year, just before Harry’s first Papa Tango club meeting.”
“Hmm, yeah, musta been,” Hermione agrees, before shrinking and examining her own… blank flank. “Dang! I guess I’m the last one.”
“Not necessarily,” Ginny states.
Hermione glances up at her. “What?”
Ginny blinks, and blushes. “Sorry, my… ability got ahead of my mind again. Those… pictures on your flanks, are these… ‘cutie marks’, right?”
Hermione nods. “They appear by magic at some point, usually accompanied by an epiphany, and represent something we’re really good at. What, do you have one?”
Ginny shakes her head. “No, no, I don’t! I… I don’t know if I even can get one, being… ah, not transformed yet. Thing is, Ariel doesn’t have one either.”
Ariel, seated on Ginny’s shoulder, scowls at her. “Way to throw me under the bus!”
Ginny looks up at her. “What? Unlike me, you’ve got a proper Equestrian matrix- and should at least be capable of getting one.”
Ariel blushes and looks away. “Oh, Madam Pomfrey!” She spreads her wings, taking off from Ginny’s shoulder.
Hermione blinks; she must not have noticed the nurse’ return with the heavy book. “Does she need Ariel for something…?”
Ginny nods. “She wanted to try one of the more obscure sensing spells- one of the ones she hasn’t learned by heart.” She picks Harry up and takes her seat, holding the filly on her lap, and looks up to watch Ariel and Madam Pomfrey.
“... Huh,” Harry mutters, sprawling herself out across Ginny’s lap. “This is… surprisingly comfortable.”
“Um… Okay,” Hermione blinks at her.
“No really,” Harry states. “You’d think a human lap would be real uncomfortable, with all the lumpy bone and muscle- but it’s actually really comfortable.”
Ginny blushes.
Right on time, Madam Pomfrey turns to face them, and Ariel flies back to join Harry in Ginny’s lap.
“Well,” Madam Pomfrey begins. “Ariel isn’t a ghost.”
Hermione nods slowly. “Yeah… and I take it we aren’t going to like what she is?”
Madam Pomfrey’s mouth twitches in a smile before she resumes. “No, she’s a spirit. The problem…
“Well. You probably know how she can’t manifest herself with a physical body, right?”
Ginny nods. “Is that why she can’t become human?”
Madam Pomfrey nods. “I suspect it is, yes- she has the animagus magic.”
“You’ve figured out why she can’t, ah, become real?” Ginny asks.
She nods again. “I have. The same thing also makes her, for all intents and purposes, immortal.”
“What-!?” Ariel squeaks. “I’m- I’m immortal!? But- But I don’t want-!” She looks almost desperately between Ginny and Madam Pomfrey.
Madam Pomfrey holds up a placating hand. “As near as I can tell, your bond with Miss Weasley is also making her effectively immortal… Though,” she looks up at Ginny, “it’s a bit of a screwed up immortal. You can still die- just when you do, you become trapped in this world as a spirit, not unlike Ariel is now.”
Ginny tilts her head. “What… What happens if my magic matrix falls apart?”
Madam Pomfrey shakes her head. “That’s not possible. Ariel’s matrix will keep yours stable, no matter if it would be stable on its own or not.”
Ginny lets out a breath and leans back against the armchair. “Whew. So I’m not about to die. Nice to know.”
“So, ah, what is this thing?” Hermione asks.
“As near as I can tell, Ariel used to be a horcrux.”
Silver tilts her head. “A what?”
Hermione blinks. “Oh no.”
Madam Pomfrey nods. “A Horcrux is… Well…
“If a wizard wants to make themselves immortal… there are a few ways to achieve that, all involving powerful dark magic. Horcruxes are perhaps the most effective of those ways- to create one, a dark wizard fractures his soul apart and binds a fragment to an object. That creates…” She gestures towards Ginny. “That effect. They then can’t be truly killed until all their horcruxes are destroyed.”
Ginny winces. “You mean… if Ariel was one…”
Madam Pomfrey nods. “That’s exactly what I mean. As nearly as I can tell, Ariel used to be one- and not one tethered to you, Miss Weasley- before that Papa Tango nabbed her. She’s a fully-fledged, unbroken soul now- but I could still find horcrux connections.”
“There’s multiple?” Hermione asks, eyes wide.
She nods. “I found six active links. Only one of them seems to be stopping her from taking corporeal form… probably the original, fractured soul.”
“Six!?” Hermione shrieks. “How badly must she have damaged her soul to do that six times!?”
Madam Pomfrey holds up her hand once again. “Calmly, Granger, calmly. Ariel didn’t create any of them- and as I just said, her soul is completely undamaged.” She looks up at Ginny. “That being said, in order to create six horcruxes, the dark wizard in question would have had to be extremely powerful to have survived even half that with his sanity intact. And, there’s only a few known dark wizards strong enough to do that.
“You-Know-Who was one.”
“Voldemort,” Harry, Hermione, and Silver state simultaneously.
Ginny gasps.
Madam Pomfrey blinks, then nods.
Ariel blinks, looking between everyone and everypony. “Who?”
“Lyra, there’s been an attack.” Dumbledore’s hand comes down from his radio.
“You sure she’ll hear that?” Professor McGonagall asks him.
Dumbledore shrugs. “She hasn’t failed yet.”
McGonagall sighs. “I’m pretty sure she’s in the Hospital Wing overnight after that fiasco at the match- and Madam Pomfrey may have used a sleeping potion.”
Dumbledore shrugs again. “I’m sure she would have passed it to someone else if she was going to be unable to respond.”
She raises an eyebrow, before gripping the petrified girl’s shoulders- made difficult by her long, petrified green hair forming somewhat of a cloud around them- and lifts. “In any case, let’s get her up to the hospital… wing.”
Dumbledore stares as well. She’d lifted the girl’s shoulders, while Dumbledore was still bending to reach her feet- and the entire girl had risen with her, shrouded in a purple aura.
Professor McGonagall takes her hands off of the girl’s shoulders, leaving her floating in midair and taking note of the light tingling in her right arm. “So that happened,”
Dumbledore blinks. “What-? Oh, you’re doing that?” His head tilts.
“It’s Equestrian levitation magic,” she answers him, nodding. “I’ve seen it used in countless times in class.”
Dumbledore blinks. “Ahh, okay. Lead the way.”
He tries calling Lyra once more, about halfway to the Hospital Wing- but for as near as McGonagall can tell, he doesn’t get any response. As she gets near the infirmary doors, she glances sideways at the girl’s radio, clipped to the front of her robes just inches away from a reaching hand. Did she see what it was? Did she manage to get something out?
She glances up at the doors and, without slowing down, reaches out with her mind again, rather than her regular hand. The handle is instantly surrounded by a matching purple aura, with which she opens the door. She glances sideways at Dumbledore as he comes in behind her, again operating his radio- this time distinctly worried.
McGonagall places the girl on a nearby bed, and the tingling in her arm finally goes away. So, that’s what it’s like to use Equestrian magic, huh? “I’ll get Madam Pomfrey,” she informs Dumbledore, before departing to find the nurse.
Dumbledore stares at the girl- the nametag on her Gryffindor robes reads ‘Glowing Blue’- for several seconds… before he pauses, and turns to look at the nearest other occupied bed.
There’s another petrified student, a look of fear on her face, pinkish-red hair hanging down her back like ropes.
And there’s a non-petrified student, gentle pink hair flowing down from where she seems to have cried herself to sleep. There’s a black something slung over her back, at least as long as she is tall. The long, thin, tube-like section making up more than half of its length looks a little peculiar, sticking quite so far up past her head. It doesn’t look anything like it, but for some reason, it reminds him of the weapon she’d used against Pettigrew the year before.
He rises, and steps closer, reaching over to shake her awake.
The moment he touches her shoulder, she jolts awake, flashing upright with one hand on the thing on her back. She pauses for a second looking at him, before relaxing back into her seat. “P-Professor Dumbledore,” she greets.
Dumbledore glances down at the Hufflepuff on the bed, whose nametag reads ‘Tree Hugger’. “What happened?”
She glances down at Tree Hugger as well. “Well, we-!” She pauses, looking past Dumbledore to Glowing Blue, and her tone becomes urgent. “Did it get her too?”
Dumbledore glances back as well, then nods. “Petrified.”
Her hand flashes up to her radio. “Alpha Romeo on Hidden Light, Indigo One.”
Seconds later, as Madam Pomfrey follows Professor McGonagall back into the room, the main door comes open again- and Bonbon jogs in, Draco Malfoy on her heels. As she does so, Dumbledore notices her sideways glance- and wry smile- towards Lockhart, who isn’t expected to fully recover from the burns his fobbed spell inflicted on him for close to a week.
“Good morning, Dumbledore,” Bonbon greets softly. “What happen…” She trails off, stiffening slightly and looking at the thing on Fluttershy’s back. “Ugh, it’s bulletproof, isn’t it?”
Fluttershy nods. “The sidearm inflicted pain, but that’s about it.”
“What was it?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I only remember its bright yellow eyes, but it turned away before the Stare could do its magic. I tried to talk to it, but it- it didn’t listen. So… I shot. Every round just… bounced.”
Bonbon nods slowly. “Got it.” She looks up at Dumbledore. “So, what happened?” She gestures towards Glowing Blue.
“Found her,” McGonagall begins.
Bonbon nods. “Where? And facing which way?”
Dumbledore looks at her. “Um…”
Bonbon gestures down at Glowing. “We’ve been searching for the monster ever since Tree Hugger was attacked, about an hour now. Her unique talent lets her see stuff she doesn’t have a line of sight to- and judging by her position, she just found the thing.”
Madam Pomfrey looks up at her. “Are there any others?”
Bonbon shakes her head. “We don’t know yet. We’ve already accounted for all non-Agent staff and students; we’ll be doing a headcount amongst the Agents in a couple minutes. I have been able to identify at least one that may have been attacked.”
“Which one?” Professor McGonagall asks.
“May?” Professor Dumbledore asks.
She nods. “Yeah. Absolutely no word from Math Head just yet- but she’s also a new recruit as of two days ago. She might be confused, asleep, or choosing to remain silent because this is a high-stakes operation and she hasn’t gotten even her basic training yet.” She scowls. “I’m going to have to make her training a top priority. Her talent is exactly what we needed half an hour ago.”
He nods slowly. “Ahh… Is that why nobody responded…?” He taps the radio.
Bonbon blinks. “Um…” She looks at Madam Pomfrey. “Lyra’s been sedated, hasn’t she?”
Madam Pomfrey nods.
Bonbon sighs. “Then no, it’s not. That was an oversight, sorry. Though…” She looks up at Madam Pomfrey. “Can I visit Lyra, by any chance?”
Celebrity Nearly Kills Foreign Envoy After Unprecedented Quidditch Match!
Just yesterday, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Gryffindor student Lyra Heartstrings managed to score a hundred and fifty point lead against Slytherin, before being struck off her broom not by a bludger but by a vicious swing from Slytherin beater Lucian Bole. Unaware of her fate, Slytherin seeker Draco Malfoy caught the Snitch moments after the foul occurred.
Mostly unnoticed in the confusion, Heartstrings fell fifty feet to the ground, where her right arm was crushed under her. She didn’t go unnoticed for long; while referee Rolanda Hooch discussed the foul with headmaster Albus Dumbledore, Gilderoy Lockhart approached Lyra. This five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile award, with an Order of Merlin, Third Class, is the school’s Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year. He was permitted to mend Heartstrings’ damaged arm immediately, rather than sending her to the school nurse.
Unfortunately, it would seem our Gilderoy Lockhart, despite coming out victorious on all his adventures, could not mend a simple broken bone. His failed spell didn’t only vanish her bones completely, but the resultant blast also threw him fifteen feet away, burnt to a crisp. Heartstrings was mortally wounded in the process.
As it so happens, Heartstrings isn’t just a student at Hogwarts, but an international student, visiting from an alternate universe to study magic at Hogwarts with just under twenty-six thousand of her peers. She, and the rest of the Equestrians, have been working not just to study what we know, but to pass on what they know, and expand both our knowledge and their own with muggle works.
And Heartstrings is perhaps the driving force of that effort, the one making it possible.
Together with Gryffindor seeker Harry Potter, Slytherin seeker Draco Malfoy, and Gryffindor backup seeker Hermione Granger, their liaison, a British first-year by the name of Ginnerva Weasley (Pictured), was able to move Heartstrings to the school infirmary in time to save her life.
“Equestrian magic is capable of so much more than British magic, and so much more resilient,” Weasley stated, in an interview with our own Rita Skeeter. “There’s a few things we’re capable of that they aren’t, like animagi- but for the most part, they’ve got the advantage. And Lyra has been using her unique perspective on magic to develop a process to enable a British witch or wizard to perform some of the feats that they take for granted in Equestria.”
“She’s been most grievously injured,” Heartstrings’ friend Bonbon told us. “I don’t think anyone, in either world, has managed to vanish an entire limb and the bones out of another, and fracture the magical core, all without killing the target. Any British witch or wizard would have been killed outright, but she’s an Equestrian, and our magical cores are so resilient we’re actually immune to the Killing Curse. He nearly managed to kill her anyways; it’ll take many months, possibly even years, of recovery before she’s able to work her magic like she used to.”
Rita Skeeter
Princess Celestia smiles at the moving photo on the newsprint, all four smiling meekly up at her. Three of them are holding brooms; one is wearing green, two scarlet, and the last one black. She recognizes Agent Index Eye, in scarlet, standing next to Agent Math Head- who joined the Agency just the day before yesterday. “Haven’t even started training and already saving my ponies, are you?” She chuckles softly, and turns the page. “Now, what happened to this ‘Lockhart’ after he got burned?” Unfortunately, though she knows most wizarding photos can talk and are affected by gravity, the newspapers are an exception on both counts.
Lucius Malfoy glares at his newspaper. He’d been genuinely unsurprised, and simultaneously not overly concerned, to find out that Lockhart is doing his level best to kill off all the students in the castle before the Chamber of Secrets can even get started. About three out of every five Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers do that- and, more recently, the Board has been worried because the place has been a few years overdue for another genocidal DADA teacher.
Last time they got three non-genocidal teachers in a row, the next one had seen fit to demonstrate Fiendfyre not once but twice before he was fired. Each time, it was only thanks to the timely intervention of Professor Dumbledore that nobody was killed- but even the Headmaster couldn’t stop such a terrible force from severely injuring a couple dozen students each time. At least half had to be sent to St. Mungo’s- and of course, those incidents are the reason why the school infirmary is now so well equipped.
What he had been surprised- even alarmed- by, was the part his Draco had played.
He’s more than a little conflicted about that.
His Draco, smiling evenly out of the page at him, is pictured as a part of a group with not one but three Gryffindors- including both a Weasley and a mudblood!
Offsetting that, that group also includes Potter- and Draco was noted for helping save a foreign envoy’s life… making him somewhat of a public hero.
He wasn’t aware Lyra was a foreign envoy… but whatever.
“They grow up so fast,” Mr. Weasley comments suddenly, reading his newspaper.
Mrs. Weasley raises her eyebrows at him. “What do you mean?”
He waves the paper at her. “Oh, it’s just Ginny. Not even halfway through her first year, and she’s already saving lives.” He snorts at the page. “And working as a liaison for the Equestrians. Alongside Lucius Malfoy’s son.”
Mrs. Weasley marches over, intrigued. “Really? She’s already making friends both internationally and amongst the ‘noble’ families? And what did she save who from…?” Her voice peters out as she spots the headline, and starts to read.
By the time she reaches the end of the story, she’s leaning in close to the page, eyes wide. “... Oh. But-!” She glances at the stack of Lockhart books on the mantlepiece. “But-!” She looks back at the article. “But-!” The mantlepiece. “But-!” The article. “But that can’t be possible!” Arthur. “He’s better than that!”
Arthur shrugs. “Rita wrote the article,” he states. “It’s probably embellished in at least one way. We could send Ginny a letter.” He rubs his chin with one hand.
A sudden rattling noise against the kitchen window catches their attention. An owl, carrying a letter that bears the Hogwarts coat of arms, has just landed outside.
Mrs. Weasley, still standing, goes to let it in, and opens the letter as she returns to the table.
The two read it together.
… If anything, Rita missed details. According to Dumbledore’s letter, written just this morning, their daughter hasn’t only saved an important foreign life and taken up a liaison duty between the two nations, but she’s also playing a key role in the magical research effort on both sides- not to mention helping knit the wizarding community back together once again by befriending Malfoy!
All in hardly two days’ time.
“She’s going down in the history books after that,” Arthur comments softly.
Molly nods. “... Yeah. Yeah, she is.”
Professor Dumbledore smiles as he reads the front page of the Daily Prophet. “Interesting,” he chuckles, before tilting his head, looking up at Fawks. “I wonder how they got interviews with Rita so fast?” At the same time, he casually discards a half-written letter originally intended to get Rita to the castle to write the very story he had just read.
Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge arrives at the Ministry half an hour early, sends a letter to Dumbledore, and taps his foot impatiently until enough of his staff shows up for work.
Then he nods. It’s still two minutes before the scheduled start of his shift when the first few start trickling in; most of them show up within a couple minutes of the bell. The first one had arrived a full minute before, taken one look at him, and gone to her desk; now, as more people start flowing in, he straightens up. “We need a meeting,” he announces.
The people walking in pause, some confused, some not so much.
The one that had come in a minute early stands up from her desk, before using a sticking charm to attach a flattened piece of parchment to the wall, in clear view of the entrance, and heading for the conference room.
Fudge glances sideways at the parchment, smiles slightly, nods, and heads for the conference room, still carrying his morning newspaper. He makes his way to his seat, waits a few seconds for everyone else immediately present to reach their seats, and tosses his paper to the middle of the table. “Has everyone seen this?”
Heads nod. One person reaches for the paper. “What is it?” Everyone watches in silence as the boy reads the story and, wide-eyed, returns it to the middle of the table. “... Oh.”
The last person enters the conference room, takes a seat, and looks knowingly at the paper.
“So then,” Fudge begins, placing his hands on the table in front of him with an audible thump. “What do we do about it?”
“It may be possible Lockhart isn’t as good as he says he is,” one man suggests.
Fudge shakes his head. “I’m not worried about that. What I am worried about, though, is how to keep this from becoming a first-class diplomatic disaster.” He lets out a small sigh. “And if it has already, how to clean it up.”
During lunch, Dumbledore blinks once. He can hear the students still discussing the morning news as he raises his hand to his radio. “Say what?” he asks. He’d missed it the first time, being focused on his conversation with Professor McGonagall- who apparently couldn’t wait to experiment with her newfound Equestrian magic powers tonight.
“Princess Celestia would like to visit the castle this afternoon,” the unfamiliar voice on his radio repeats.
He blinks again.
Professor McGonagall raises her eyebrows. “What is it?”
“Ahh…” He depresses the button again. “I’m sure we can accommodate that. Any particular reason?” He releases the button, and opens his mouth to answer McGonagall- but stops himself short when the radio comes on again.
“Turns out she has a subscription to the Daily Prophet, and wants to meet both Lyra and Professor Lockhart. In order.”
He blinks again. “Isn’t Lyra…?”
“Doctor Horse says it should be safe to awaken her now, so long as she doesn’t try using her horn- and Bonbon knows how to keep her from trying her horn when she wakes up. They’re headed up to do that now; Celestia plans to arrive in about three hours.”
“Got it.” He releases the button, waits a couple seconds, and turns to Professor McGonagall, satisfied that the Agent isn’t going to attract his attention again. “The Equestrian monarch has a subscription to the Daily Prophet,” he informs her.
McGonagall nods slowly. “Ahh… I take it they’re waking Lyra up?”
He nods.
“When does she get here?”
“Three hours.”
She nods. “And when does she want to meet Professor Lockhart?”
“After Lyra.”
“Got it.”
“Got it.”
Ginny lets out the breath she’d been holding, hand dropping from one of the two radios on her robes. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to make me Dumbledore’s contact point?”
Hermione nods, while somepony- that’d be Agent Skyhawk, the helicopter pilot she’d been introduced to yesterday, that had flown Rita Skeeter in last night to make her article- cites a couple codes onto the radio. She recognizes at least one from yesterday, right after Lyra had been stabilized- though it hadn’t been Skyhawk that had called them yesterday.
“Case in point,” she scowls. “I haven’t a clue what she’s saying.”
“She wants to know if Celestia wants news coverage of her visit,” Hermione informs her.
More codes. “That’s an affirmative, isn’t it?” She scowls. “Maybe?”
“Ah, no, actually,” Hermione states. “That’s a deferral- Celestia wants Agent Starshine to make that call.”
She nods. “Ahh, that makes sense.” She’d heard the name ‘Starshine’ amongst the codes, but hadn’t understood any of the codes.
Silence holds for a couple seconds, before Starshine- who she’d also been introduced to yesterday- comes on the line… with more codes. Which… She looks at Hermione. “I have no idea.”
“If Lyra will be in public-worthy state,” she answers.
“Ahh.”
It’s a few minutes, and half her lunch, later when the radio comes active again- and this time, it’s Bonbon. A series of codes… followed by “Math Head, Indigo Sierra.” Which is instructing her to inform Dumbledore. She looks at Hermione.
Hermione swallows her latest bite of food. “Lyra will be public-worthy, she’s deferring to Dumbledore.”
“So, I need to ask Dumbledore if it’s okay if we have Rita along for the visit?”
Hermione nods.
“Got it.” She goes for her own radio- the one that goes to Dumbledore. “Ahh…” She depresses the button. “Is it okay if Rita Skeeter is along for the visit?”
“Ahh… Sure. So long as you’re confident it will be beneficial.”
She looks at Hermione. “So long as we’re confident it will be beneficial. That’s a yes, right?”
Hermione nods.
She takes a deep breath, and goes for the other radio clipped to her robes, the one that doesn’t reach only a hundred and fifty feet or so to the most powerful wizard in Britain.
“Kinda funny how that’s the one you’re more worried about using, isn’t it?” Ariel asks her.
She grins, nodding internally, and depresses the button, formulating the codes she needs to use. “Indigo Sierra, Affirmative.”
“Roger,” Skyhawk answers.
She lets out her breath again. “Well, so that happened.”
Hermione nods. “And in three hours, we may have more interviews to go through. Good thing today’s a Sunday, isn’t it?”
Rita Skeeter scowls at the parchment in front of her. Good stories have been few and far between, lately- and with this morning’s story being as powerful as it was, she’s having difficulty coming up with anything even remotely headline-worthy for tomorrow’s morning paper. Today has just been… well, boring. The Ministry of Magic has been stonewalling her efforts to get a reaction- well, save one simple message from the Minister for Magic himself, telling her they’re working on a statement and will let her know when they are ready for the press conference.
It had definitely been a surprise, the prior afternoon, when a couple of children had knocked on her front door.
The gigantic, metal, helicopter they had sitting on her front lawn had been an even bigger surprise.
They’d had a very specific request… and a lot of it required a lot of secrecy. For example, she was required to keep the helicopter- and their involvement- top secret.
In exchange, she got to be their exclusive media outlet.
At the time, she hadn’t a clue just how lucrative that could be. They had promised her a minimum of one headline story; as a matter of fact, she distinctly recalls the red-and-yellow-haired girl- Sunset Shimmer- tell her what the story they already had developing was about. “Oh, Lockhart only nearly killed a foreign envoy. They’re trying to save her right now.”
So she’d agreed, and she’d come… and boy, is she glad she did. That story was pure gold- and, it promised to make more stories, all on its own! After all, there’s about no way the Ministry of Magic would take it lying down!
… only, they haven’t given her anything yet, so they might as well have.
A sudden buzzing draws her attention. It’s the skinny box thingy the pink-and-blue-haired girl, Bonbon, had given her, after refusing to interview as not having been part of it. The glass side of it is glowing- and words have appeared on it. “Skyhawk” is written across the top- the helicopter pilot’s name, she’d been told.
She follows the instructions she’d been given, in how to accept the “call”. It helps that they’d given her an opportunity to practice before they left her alone with it. She swipes the little green symbol across the bottom of the glass part, and lifts the whole thing to her ear. “Yes?”
“Hey, Rita,” the helicopter pilot’s voice comes back from it. “Princess Celestia- the de-facto ruler of our nation- is visiting Hogwarts today, with the intent to meet both Lyra and Lockhart in order, and you’ve been invited. Yea or nay?”
She blinks, excitement bubbling up in her core. Their ruler? The opportunity of a lifetime! “Of course!” she answers. Then she pauses. Hogwarts… can be difficult to reach. “Er… maybe. It might take a while to get to Hogwarts.”
“I was thinking I could pick you up at your house in about half an hour, on the way to pick her up.”
She blinks. “Wait. You mean, I get to meet her before we go to the castle? Er…”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” Skyhawk answers, a distinctive chuckle entering her voice. “And yes, we know exactly how rare an opportunity this is. Um, by the way, has there been any response from the Ministry on last night’s story?”
She shakes her head, before reminding herself that Skyhawk can’t see her. “Nope, nothing. I think they’re still mulling it over.”
“Ahh. Alright then- I’ll be over in about half an hour, then it’s about a half hour’s flight to the Gate- a location that must never be revealed- to pick Celestia up.”
She blinks. “Why can’t it be revealed?”
“Because it’s deadly for a non-Equestrian to traverse the Gate between our worlds, and we’d like to avoid the temptation to try.”
She blinks. So, they are a nation from another world, however that happened. “Alright. I’ll be ready.”
“Got it! Oh, and this time around, we’ve got the camera covered.”
“You do? Awesome!” Yesterday, she’d had to take her own pictures, because she hadn’t had the opportunity to grab a good cameraman on her way over, and their photographic experts- they did say they had at least one- had been unavailable.
“You must be Rita Skeeter?”
Rita bows to the beautiful woman addressing her. “I am, Princess.” It had been comically easy to tell exactly who was the Princess, what with the crown perched on top of her flowing, sunlit hair, even in the shade.
The princess chuckles at her display. “You may rise,” she indicates, climbing up into the helicopter as she speaks. “And don’t mind the Guards, they’re only along for appearances anyways.”
Rita blinks. “Um- what? Aren’t they, um, guards?”
Celestia nods, seating herself casually right next to her. “Yep. Thing is, anything that can so much as scratch me will bulldoze the lot of them, so in Equestria, they serve a peacekeeping role- and when I go places with them, they’re along only for appearances.
“Anyways, while we’re on the way to Hogwarts, I wanted to ask you a few things.”
She nods slowly. “Ahh, yes. It’s about last night’s story, right?”
Celestia smiles.
“Fire away,” she invites.
“Alright then, here I come,” Celestia chuckles. “So, Lockhart first. Does he normally do that?”
Rita shakes her head. “He doesn’t normally mess up his spells, no. Though, the only real account of him actually performing much magic at all comes from the autobiographical series he’s written- and your people assure me he’s a fraud. So…” She shrugs.
“Hmm,” Celestia puts one hand to her chin, looking thoughtful. “This should be fun, then.”
“Ahh, you must be Princess Celestia?” Professor Dumbledore asks, opening the castle doors after the Princess’ industrious knocking.
Princess Celestia smiles, and nods. “Yes, I am. I heard one of my subjects was injured on these grounds?”
“Ah, yes,” Dumbledore answers smartly. “We’ve already punished the student responsible for knocking her off her broom; as for the instructor that messed up his spell… We’re still waiting for him to wake up.”
It’s at that moment that Rita’s eyes pick out something potentially important: Dumbledore is wearing one of those black things that a bunch of Celestia’s people seem to like wearing. That their liasion, Ginny Weasley, was wearing two of. Are those, perhaps, communications devices? If so, that would certainly explain how well-coordinated her people seem to be.
“Would you like to speak with her?” Dumbledore offers, without interruption. “I hear they’ve managed to wake Miss Heartstrings up.”
“That sounds like an excellent idea,” Celestia smiles. “Please, lead the way.”
Rita smiles to herself as Dumbledore acknowledges her presence, gesturing her in with Celestia and her guards. He seems a little surprised to see her, though not enough for him not to have expected someone there. Perhaps he was told to expect a journalist to come with the Princess, but wasn’t told who it would be?
Professor Dumbledore leads them through the familiar passageways of the castle- probably not familiar, Rita reminds herself, to the Princess and her guards- up to the Hospital Wing.
Here, she’s met by a surprise. The Hospital Wing is easily a dozen times the size it used to be, with more doors going off, giving it the appearance of a fully-fledged hospital. Dumbledore, and Princess Celestia, go straight to one of the occupied beds in the room- the one Madam Pomfrey is fussing over, with the assistance of what looks like a second-year student, while Bonbon, Sunset Shimmer, and Ginny Weasley watch calmly from the far side of the bed. She notices the other three students involved in the rescue the night before- Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, and Hermione Granger- seated calmly against the opposing wall. The girl sitting in the bed, with her white and light blue hair, seems to be taking the nurse’ examinations with a practiced grace.
Until, that is, young Miss Weasley rises to greet both Dumbledore and Princess Celestia. When she does so, including bowing to the Princess, Celestia does exactly the opposite of what Rita had expected: She walks calmly forwards and ruffles the girl’s hair. “Just couldn’t wait to start saving lives, could you?” she asks, with a chuckle.
Miss Weasley blushes as red as her hair and nods meekly, rising cautiously from her bow.
Fortunately for her, Celestia turns away, smiling instead at Heartstrings. “Good afternoon, Lyra. How are you feeling?”
The girl shrugs in response, a sharp contrast to what really anyone else she’s seen has done in the face of the Princess. “Eh, decent. I can still do wand magic without issue, even if he damaged my innate magic so badly I’ll be without it for months- and I must thank Madam Pomfrey for the Skele-Gro while I was out cold last night. We should probably get some of that for our hospitals- it should help quite a bit with those near-fatal cases of fractured ribs or whatnot, where it would be easier- and safer- to simply remove the offending bone and regrow it.”
The second-year student standing next to Madam Pomfrey blinks. “Huh, yeah. That’d improve the surgery success rate at the Ponyville General Hospital by almost a quarter of a percentage point all on its own.”
Rita looks at him.
He looks back at her. “When it’s already ninety-nine point six three percent, there isn’t much higher you can go.” He shrugs. “Probably get a larger increase at other hospitals. Ponyville General does have the highest in the nation.”
Lyra chuckles. “Yes, Doc. The second highest belongs to Canterlot General, at ninety-six and a half percent.” She then looks at Bonbon. “Come to think of it, I hear wizardkind has a special hospital of their own, with tons of long-term patients?”
Bonbon blinks. Sunset nods. “That is true; I heard just this morning that St. Mungo’s suffers a casualty rate of close to three percent… and that over thirty percent of their patients are long-term. Though, the ailments they deal with tend to be rather different from the ones our hospitals deal with, so I don’t know if that’d be a comparison of apples and oranges or not.”
“Definitely worth looking into,” Bonbon mutters. “In friendly manner, though. Perhaps we could negotiate some kind of medical exchange program- complicated by how their healers can’t cross the Gate- to get some of ours in to evaluate what we can do?”
Sunset tilts her head, then shrugs. “Certainly be within the law, but you’d have to negotiate that with Minister for Magic Fudge and his entire cabinet. Possibly even the Department of Magical Welfare and the Office of Foreign Relations, too. And even then.” She shudders, and looks at Rita. “There’s so many departments in your Ministry of Magic that it’s hard to figure out where to go. One of the main reasons we haven’t formally initiated contact with them just yet.”
Lyra chuckles. “Well, aside from our focus on our ongoing magic research with Hogwarts here. Though, I suppose, now that Math Head has joined us, that will be going very quickly indeed.” She chuckles. “Oh, and speaking of which, Celestia- I perfected the Papa Echo a couple days ago, with Math Head’s help, and I’m starting to think it was the making of the spell, rather than the spell itself, which resulted in my ascension.”
Celestia blinks, staring at her for a second, before bursting into laughter.
Rita blinks. “Uh… I don’t get it.”
Sunset turns to her, merriment in her eyes- though Rita is able to pick out the remnants of surprise in her expression. “Oh, it only means that Lockhart didn’t just nearly kill an Equestrian envoy, he nearly killed a member of the Equestrian royalty.”
Rita puts her hands to her mouth, eyes going wide. “Oh.” Then her face splits into a wide grin, and she starts giggling almost childishly at just how lucrative this scoop really is. They had promised, but she had no clue it was going to be this good.
“Yeah,” Lyra sighs. “The ascension, by Equestrian law, makes me Celestia’s equal.”
Celestia chuckles. “Indeed it does. I don’t suppose we’ll have to find something for you to preside over, hmm?”
Lyra shrugs. “At this point, I don’t see any way around it. Princess of… oh, I don’t know. Music?” She lets out a small snort.
Celestia shrugs. “We’ll have to consider that at a later date, I suppose. So, where’s this Lockhart?”
Lyra points at the neighboring bed. “He’s still out cold from the backlash. Before we wake him up, though, there is something you might want to do. The Vault, position Lima-Three-Zero-Niner-Seven. The unlock is a Uniform-Four-Seven-Bravo; activation Delta-Niner-Quebec-Five-Zulu.”
Celestia raises an eyebrow. “The Vault?” she asks, with an are-you-serious tone.
Lyra nods. “Yeah. It’s the Papa Echo.”
Celestia shakes her head, letting out a small huff. “Alright.” She then vanishes on the spot.
Bonbon looks at Lyra. “Uniform? You sure she can do that?”
Lyra nods. “Yep! You should meet Selene sometime. She’s very proud of her daughters, and what they’ve managed to do for the nation.”
Bonbon raises an eyebrow at her.
“... Right. Sorry.”
Celestia then appears out of thin air again, this time heralding a veritable wave of magical energy- and her hair is positively sparkling, waving in a way it didn’t quite do earlier. “Ahh…” she mutters, staring wide-eyed at nothing in particular, in Lyra’s direction.
Celestia blinks, and nods. “Ahh. Yeah.” She shakes herself out, and the overwhelming magic tones down to a nearly nonexistent yet powerful- and commanding- undertone, telling of long experience. This must be how Princess Celestia maintains her rule- Rita could hardly imagine defying a command- or even a request- made with that in the background. “Then I suppose it’s time to speak to Lockhart, isn’t it?” She turns to the man, still unconscious on his bed.
“Roger,” Lyra responds instantly, drawing her wand- which she certainly didn’t have before- and pointing it at the man. A bolt of white lightning momentarily connects her wand to him, and he bolts awake with a gasp.
“Gaah!” Lockhart yelps, flying up into a sitting position, wide-eyed. He blinks, then looks around. “What…?”
Princess Celestia draws a newspaper from her pocket and tosses it onto his lap. She waits three seconds, long enough for him to read the headline- it’s this morning’s paper, Rita notices- before speaking. “Well?”
Lockhart instantly flounders under her glare, frantically looking between the Princess and the article as he attempts to assert his normal dominance… and fails dismally.
While he does that, stuttering like a maniac, Rita notices Bonbon stiffen in the corner of her eye, and go for her black thing. “Say again,” she demands. So, that must be a communications device.
“He’s faster than I expected,” Sunset sighs, leaning back. “This ought to be amusing.”
Lyra and Bonbon make eye contact.
Bonbon goes for her black thing and starts saying what sounds like random words out of the dictionary into it, while Lyra turns to face the three students seated along the opposite wall. “Index Eye, guide Silver to take Math Head to base.” She then barks what sounds like a few random words as well.
Miss Weasley blinks as Granger and Malfoy stand and start trotting over. “Wait. What about the normal procedures?”
“No time for that,” Lyra answers. “Fudge is here now.”
Weasley blinks, eyes going wide. “Oh.” She then rises in time to take Malfoy’s hand, before all three students vanish into thin air.
Dumbledore blinks. “Fudge?” he asks.
Lyra nods; Bonbon’s still barking random words. “He’s here to meet ‘the Equestrian liaison, Ginny Weasley’.”
Dumbledore looks over at Lockhart. “Ahh, this ought to be a good place for that.”
Bonbon glances up at him, and barks more random words into her black thing. Rita blinks- is she speaking in code? Granger, Malfoy, and Weasley had seemed to understand Lyra’s random words! She looks down at her notepad, and winces. With Fudge coming as well, this ought to make the story of her career- and she might need more pages.
Lyra speaks some more random words- no, codes- into the black thing attached to her robes… and moments later, someone appears out of thin air right next to Rita to offer her an empty notepad to match hers. “Just in case,” he states.
Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge carefully hides his nervousness as he knocks on the massive front doors of Hogwarts Castle. He and his cabinet spent the last year, with the help of the Office of Foreign Relations, trying to find out who to contact to formally open relations with the Equestrians. They hadn’t been able to find anything- and then, out of the blue, Rita’s article came out… and pointed out a single liaison. The girl isn’t an Equestrian, but that doesn’t seem to have stopped them- and now, especially in light of this morning’s newspaper, his entire cabinet agrees that they need to establish friendly contact as soon as possible… and take an alarmed stance on the issue of Lockhart and Heartstrings.
Which is why he’s here, with two aurors, a representative from St. Mungo’s, and one of his aides- the one that’s fastest with a quill. No doubt he and his staff will spend the next hour or so, once they get back to the Ministry, preparing a press release for the general public tonight.
The great oak doors open, to reveal Professor McGonagall. “Minister,” McGonagall greets.
“Uh- Good afternoon,” Fudge begins, internally berating himself for stumbling already. “Is the Equestrian liaison, Ginny Weasley, available?”
Behind McGonagall, he spots a girl with hair that reminds him of hay whirl to look towards the doors, then start speaking into her ‘radio’ device.
“Ahh,” Professor McGonagall begins. “I’m sure that can be arranged.” She stands back, gesturing them inside.
“Thank you,” Fudge continues. “We can wait here while you get her, please.”
“Actually,” the hay-haired girl states, trotting closer. “She’s ready for you now.” She looks up at McGonagall. “In the Hospital Wing.”
McGonagall smiles thinly, nodding slowly. “Ahh… I see.” She turns back to Fudge and his party. “If you would follow me?”
“Ah, yes,” Fudge nods, distinctly nervous. In the Hospital Wing? Isn’t that where Heartstrings is? He prays to himself that she hasn’t died, or something.
Professor McGonagall leads him up the familiar passageways to the Hospital Wing… where he is at once overwhelmed by the woman with the sunlit hair, glaring at a floundering Lockhart.
Ginny Weasley, standing near the door, bows slightly to him as he enters. “Meet Princess Celestia, Princess of the Sun and Diarch of Equestria,” she intones, holding a hand out towards the sunlit woman.
At her words, Celestia’s attention shifts from Lockhart to him. She doesn’t fix him with the glare she’d pointed at Lockhart, thankfully- but her disappointed gaze is bad enough.
“Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge,” Weasley introduces, bowing fully to Celestia and holding her hand out towards him.
He bows to the Princess- and notices that his aide is bowing as well… and the two aurors, after exchanging looks with the armored men standing respectfully by the door, simply nod their heads to the Princess. “Princess,” he greets, before rising carefully. This is his country, technically- it wouldn’t do to appear subservient to her here. “I take it you’ve seen the news?”
She nods slightly. “I have. Professor Lockhart here,” she turns to scowl at Lockhart again, who is frantically reading the news article in front of him, “irresponsibly caused very nearly irreparable damage to one of my loyal subjects.”
“Ahh, yes,” Fudge mutters, looking down slightly and trying to recollect his thoughts. “She’s… She’ll recover, right?”
The blue-and-white-haired girl sitting on the next bed over lets out a laugh, wand in hand. “Oh, yeah, I’ll recover, eventually. He only damaged my innate magic so badly it won’t fully recover for almost a full year, and vanished: One, the bones out of my right arm. Two, my right lung. Three, an entire limb. And four, a sizable chunk out of my right side, mostly towards my back.” She shudders. “It’s only thanks to Madam Pomfrey and Doctor Horse here that I survived at all.” She shoots a glare at Lockhart, who yelps as if he’d been burned. “And before my apparent good health makes you wonder, the only reason I’m not in magical stasis right now is because Silversong happened to be nearby- and thanks to her combination of skill and raw power, she was able to replace my side with magic until it can grow back.”
Fudge blinks.
“You regrow?” Lockhart yelps.
Lyra shakes her head. “Not without magical support.” She shudders. “And I won’t be able to fly again for a good three years at least.” Scowl. “Or eat normally for a year and a half or so.”
“Ahh…” Fudge glances up at Madam Pomfrey.
The nurse sighs. “That’s only the beginning of it.” She lifts the clipboard hanging on the end of the girl’s bed, and makes a show of flipping through six pages of diagnosis, before returning it to its place. “And Miss Heartstrings is mistaken- if not for Silversong, she’d be dead right now. Magical stasis wouldn’t have worked.”
Heartstrings blinks. “Wait, really?”
She nods sagely. “You were in far too critical of condition. Stasis would have shattered your magical core.”
She winces. “Oh… I knew I recognized Silver’s signature, but I didn’t realize her contribution was that important.”
Fudge tilts his head. “Shattered the magical core…? Wouldn’t that…?”
Bonbon shakes her head. “That’s how the Killing Curse does its job.”
“Ahh…” Fudge glances around the room. “Does this Silversong happen to be-?”
Bonbon shakes her head again. “She has asked to remain anonymous.”
“... Huh. Well…” He looks towards Lockhart. “I daresay this calls for a reevaluation of Mr. Lockhart’s magical abilities at the very least,” he states. “We can’t have him injuring anyone else like this.” He looks at the St. Mungo’s representative that had come in with him. “And we should probably extend that into a program to make sure all celebrities- and holders of an Order of Merlin- can cast basic magics correctly.”
“To be fair, I did have some active spells that might have interfered with it when I allowed him to,” Heartstrings inserts.
“Allowed!?” Madam Pomfrey promptly explodes, infuriated. “He was allowed to hurt you like that?”
Everyone else in the room goes instantly silent, watching the nurse.
Lyra shakes her head vehemently- and winces in pain. “Ow! Um, no, I didn’t allow him to hurt me. He offered to heal the broken bone, and I said okay.” She scowls. “Probably should have warned him of those spells… or cancelled them first.”
The St. Mungo’s representative then speaks up angrily. “Any competent wizard should know to check for interference before casting any kind of medical magic!”
Madam Pomfrey nods vehemently, but Dumbledore beats her to speaking. “Completely aside from how he shouldn’t have offered in the first place. The Equestrians are different from the rest of us, and so respond differently to medical magics. Only Madam Pomfrey here understands that difference well enough to work through it; all the rest of the staff- including myself- are supposed to take any injured Equestrians straight here, no matter how simple the ailment!”
“I believe that’s been posted in the staffroom for over a year,” Professor McGonagall scowls. “And mentioned at every staff meeting this year, too.”
Celestia turns her gaze on Lockhart once again, causing an instant resurgence of the cat-and-mouse appearance.
“Ahh…” Fudge mutters, also glaring at Lockhart. “It would seem this also calls for an investigation. Any holder of an Order of Merlin, no matter the class, should know better than to disregard safety instructions. And shouldn’t need them, to begin with!”
“Hold on,” one of the Aurors mutters, looking up at McGonagall. “That post tells why they come straight here, right?”
McGonagall shakes her head.
He sighs, and shakes his head. “Then there’s nothing we can do.” He gestures at his partner. “In terms of law enforcement.”
Celestia’s eyebrows nearly disappear into her hairline. “By his negligence, he nearly killed a foreign envoy, including sentencing her to a minimum of three years of pain and disability, yet you do nothing against him?”
The Auror flinches back from her glare. “I’m sorry, Princess- he hasn’t violated any standing laws, so our hands are tied.” He looks at Fudge.
Princess Celestia also turns to Fudge.
“That, ah, definitely needs looking into,” Fudge declares immediately. “I expect it is simply a matter not covered by our current laws. Rest assured we will see to it that any such deficiency is corrected… and that he then sees justice.” He glances at Dumbledore, who nods, before looking back at Celestia. “Ahh… Would you like to know when we have a trial date?”
“Can you promise me that he will not lay one finger on any of my subjects before his trial?” Celestia demands.
“Ahh…” Fudge looks between Lockhart and Celestia. “I… Um…”
The red-and-gold-haired girl that had hitherto sat silently rises, trotting up next to Celestia. “Just issue a restraining order,” she instructs him, “to keep him from touching any Equestrian, either physically or by magic.” She then turns to look up at Celestia. “That way, if he does touch one of us again…” She looks sideways at the aurors. “It’d be a criminal offense, even if he didn’t cause harm.”
“Ahh… Those have to be requested by the victim, though…”
Celestia gives him an unimpressed deadpan set to make a man like Dumbledore cower in fear. The red-and-gold-haired girl facepalms. Rita’s quill breaks, but Granger’s already got a fresh one waiting for her.
Fudge doesn’t stand a chance, backing involuntarily into the closed infirmary door.
“You know,” Heartstrings supplies, in the perfect deadpan, “that Princess Celestia represents every last one of us, right?”
Everyone nods… then Bonbon, Heartstrings, Granger, Weasley, and the red-and-gold-haired girl stiffen suddenly.
Bonbon puts her hands up to her face, leaning back in her chair. “Oh Lord…”
Granger simply facepalms. Heartstrings groans, flopping back down flat on her bed. The fiery-haired girl sighs, shaking her head and turning to return to her seat.
Weasley rolls her eyes and mutters something into one of her two radios.
Dumbledore looks at them. “What happened this time?” he asks tiredly.
“Muggles,” Weasley answers shortly. “They’ve been spotted driving their cars onto the grounds.”
“C-Cars?” Fudge asks. “Isn’t the ground too bumpy for those?”
She shrugs. “Somebody should have told these that. They’re not even inconvenienced.”
Agent Coal Sun concentrates firmly on the electronic display covering his right eye, ignoring the urge to go elsewhere. The SEP field around here is very strong- but not strong enough to stop him. Or any of the other Agents following his lead car.
Just over a year ago- a year and a day, to be exact- a midair explosion of… odd coloring had been detected in this area by a passing satellite. When the computers had taken photos of the area later that same day, also from orbit, they had revealed a castle… with what looked like some kind of highschool sports stadium on the grounds. It almost looked like a twisted version of basketball to him, from the photos. It hadn’t drawn their attention very much on its own, so had been ignored- until, not long after, a much larger explosion- correction, pair of explosions- had been spotted by the same satellite network. An air burst, of the same, odd coloration, and a corresponding ground blast underneath it, hardly a second later- with an estimated strength of about one point three kilotons.
The British government had been notified, of course- and asked about it. They hadn’t known about it, and had investigated for about a month before coming back to ask for help… because they couldn’t find anything.
So S.H.I.E.L.D, the international intelligence agency of which he is part, had started investigating.
They’d tried flying manned aircraft through the area countless times- but the pilots always had to veer off for safety. The funny part about it is that when they then sent in unmanned aircraft under cover of night, they never had any trouble flying safely- though they did lose control whenever the craft was overtop the grounds. It still transmitted to them just fine… but it reported such a massive drop in signal-to-noise ratio that it couldn’t find the signal any more, until it cruised back out.
They’d had unmanned stealth aircraft pass through the area many times, sometimes multiple at once, since- and have measured the bounds of the strange interference field. Next, they’d sent a few cars, with hikers, to find it… But, even guided by their GPS units, they couldn’t find it. They had reported the SEP field as well- the first reports they have of it- but found nothing but an obviously derelict structure with caution tape strewn across the entrance.
A few months of constant UAV and hiker activity later, one hiker had the bright idea to take a photo of the derelict structure with his cell phone- and had instead gotten a photo of a grand castle. The same castle, it so happens, as shows up on the satellite and UAV photos.
They’d then spent a month or so fabricating- and testing- the equipment to ensure that they could approach, on foot or in ground vehicles, and see what was actually there.
Then they trained for it. If that wasn’t the most amazing piece of virtual reality equipment he’d ever seen, he doesn’t know what was. While he and his squad trained, they’d scouted out a good route to take with the UAVs. They’d had good luck- they’d spotted a good land approach path. It’s a bit rough of terrain, but nothing a good ATV couldn’t handle- so, two days ago, he had personally taken a quad bike along this route, spotted the gate onto the castle grounds, and returned. The route was flat enough for a good car- though, unfortunately, not quite smooth enough for the simple rear-wheel-drive sports sedans Shield normally likes using. They’d need power in all four wheels to safely traverse some of this terrain.
So they’d spent the day yesterday acquiring some brand-new black sedans that fit the bill. Fortunately, thanks to a certain Japanese car manufacturer, they didn’t even have to order anything custom-built- just buy the things off the consumer market and fit them with all terrain tires!
While they’d been doing that yesterday, the satellites had picked up another blast- and the really weird part about it was that a passing UAV had seen it too.
It wasn’t an explosion. It was some kind of extremely bright light, on the ground in the middle of the sports stadium… which was apparently used in some sort of airborne sport.
Thus, this mission with these cars was pushed to top priority- and he set out with his team this morning to come here. The SEP field, and various other misleading appearances, had slowed his progress to a crawl- but according to his GPS, he’s almost there.
He eases his car around what should be the last corner- and spots the gate once again.
… Well, gateway. There doesn’t seem to be any gate to block it.
He grins. “Target is in sight,” he announces.
The Agent in the passenger seat next to him activates his radio to relay his report to the rest. He gradually builds speed on the slope, watching the ground in front of his car… and finally slows, turns to face the gateway, and stops. “Alright, here’s the interference border,” he announces. “All units ready?”
The report eventually comes back. They’re all ready.
“Alright. Rolling in.” He switches his foot back to the gas, and crosses the gateway.
He doesn’t feel any different, after crossing it, save only that the SEP field seems to have gone away. Oh, and the engine of the car misfired once- but only once. The engine light goes out again when his partner pushes the button on his phone app. Huh, bluetooth must still work through the interference, at short ranges at the very least.
He looks up the sweeping lawns, at the castle… and its huge, closed, oak front doors, and speeds up a little. The ground under this grass is downright smooth after some of the terrain he’d driven over on the way here. He’ll park just short of the stairs, off to the side, so the rest of his team can park around and behind him without obstructing any apparent walkways or views, before they head up to knock on the door.
Professor Snape stops suddenly, looking out the window. He’s headed for the dungeons with Miss Diamond Tiara right now; she just stopped by the staffroom, apparently having found out about his Papa Tango, to help him figure out what his new ‘unique talent’ is… and she’s currently guessing it has something to do with his potions. He is as well, hence why he was headed down- to try brewing some… unconventional potions, and see if something happens.
But, something just outside of Hogwarts’ grounds caught his attention on the way past.
“Hmm?” Diamond asks, turning back to look out the window as well. “What is… Oh. I wonder what that is?”
He almost smiles; she’d noticed it as well: The glowing white lights, on the fronts of a series of black objects, collecting just off the grounds. As he watches, they start moving again, through the gateway into the castle grounds. “Muggles,” he states. “In their cars.”
Diamond’s hand flashes to her radio, and she speaks into it, before speaking back up to him. “That’s gotta be important.”
Snape nods. “First time muggles have ever penetrated our muggle repelling charms, I believe,” he states.
Diamond nods. “Yeah. While both Princess Celestia and Cornelius Fudge are in the Hospital Wing, having a discussion with Dumbledore.” She glances up at him. “By the way, Ginny wants the muggles directed up to them in the hospital wing. I rather doubt they’d listen to me very much, thanks to my stature.” She scowls at the approaching cars, then mutters something more into her radio.
“Well, at least it looks like they’re planning on coming in the front door,” Snape mutters, before resuming his walk- this time headed for the entrance hall. “Might as well get ready. Feel like joining in the fun?”
Diamond shrugs, watching the cars come. “Yeah, why not. I want to get a good look at them before they see me, though- I’ll meet you in the entrance hall once they get out of their cars.”
No sooner has he reached the entrance hall than Diamond comes charging down the passage after him, completely unwinded as she slows dramatically to walk with him again. “They’re like us,” she cautions. “Agents. Highly trained, well equipped, and no doubt here to investigate something.”
A knock resounds from the castle doors. Snape looks at them, before walking. “I wonder why they aren’t seeing a run-down old wreck.”
“Ahh… That might be the technology they have with them,” Diamond mutters. “It looks like they found a way around it.”
“We’ll just have to be careful, then, won’t we?” Snape shrugs, before stepping up to the door and turning the lock. Then he opens the door.
The very first thing he notices is that they’re all wearing black. Not robes, no- these are still muggle clothes. But, when viewed from afar, they could very easily be mistaken for black robes. They’re all wearing black glasses, and no hats. Bonus, true to Diamond’s word, they’re all wearing radios.
“Well hello,” he greets. “Can I help you?”
“Good evening,” the man in the front greats, bowing his head slightly and showing a badge. “We’re with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division, making a routine visit to verify the safety of your operations.”
Snape very carefully doesn’t respond visibly, trading shamelessly on his skills as an Occlumens. Routine visit? About as likely as it would be for students to be intentionally petrifying themselves. Or, on a thought, for that Fluttershy to encourage Slytherin’s monster. Though… “Ahh, yes,” he begins. “The Headmaster said you’d be stopping by soon.” He takes a certain personal pride in how the man’s eyebrow twitches upwards. “Would you like to speak to him?”
The man bows his head. “Yes please.”
“Very well.” Snape pulls the door open, stepping back to let all the black-suited men past. As he does so, he turns to Diamond. “Miss Tiara, if you could run ahead and alert the Headmaster?”
“Yes Professor!” She promptly runs off, up the main staircase, no doubt to do something completely unrelated to what he’d asked; he knows she’s already alerted every other Agent in the building… and that a decent number of them are in the Hospital Wing with Dumbledore right now.
Agent Coal Sun walks quietly behind the strange, black-robed man, the rest of his team following behind.
If he’s honest with himself, he’s amazed at how well things are going. He’d half expected the man to see through his ‘routine visit’ excuse in a fraction of a second, forcing him to make up more fiction about previous routine visits not being honored by the administration, but he seems to have swallowed it hook, line, and sinker… or seen it coming, and played along. He’s not sure which.
Then of course, the man had offered to take them to the Headmaster- presumably, whoever is in control of things here. Combined with the girl’s referring to this man as ‘Professor’, he rather suspects the castle houses some kind of school.
Useful information to have, especially if he’s going to be meeting with the Headmaster under the pretense of a safety visit.
The girl’s hair had been interesting- reminds him of an investigation into the sudden appearance of a large number of funny-haired children a few hundred miles from here, just a year and a half ago. He’d been a part of that one as well- and he, along with the other Agents assigned to the covert investigation, had determined that they’re no different from normal children. Well… there were some small behavioral differences, but nothing that might suggest they were any more than children of a few families that had moved in from elsewhere.
So he ignores her hair when considering the radio he’d spotted on the front of her robes. It’d been nearly impossible- but, thanks mostly to his training, he’d spotted it. Which could mean an intelligence network inside the structure, and could mean another Agency…
But of course, he’d already confirmed with his other Agents, when getting out of the cars: None of his radios work here, unless they’re within about six inches of each other and transmitting on maximum power.
So he’s willing to discount the microphone on her robes as attached to some kind of recording device, rather than a legitimate radio. Something to let her take notes during a practical lesson, maybe? Or maybe she has some homework assignment or another related to her day-to-day life at the school, that she finds easier to complete by recording snippets on-the-fly for transcription later? Yeah, probably one of those.
In the corner of his eye, one of the portraits on the wall seems to be ogling him and his team. Deciding that this must be some kind of teleconference or AI-based security system, either that or some magical system of the sort S.H.I.E.L.D has never seen before, he nods his head courteously towards the portraits as he passes.
He has noticed the pointed hats both this Professor and the girl, Miss Tiara, are wearing. Combined with the robes, that’s stereotypical magician’s garb- but he absolutely refuses to make assumptions like that. That’s a very fast way to cause problems, both now and later. It’s not like these people wave magic wands around, or ride on broomsticks!
He does find the number of hidden passages the Professor leads him and his team down- two, exactly- to be rather amusing. This castle must be set up as a labyrinth, possibly as a defensive measure. It does look pretty old, though well-maintained; no doubt it dates back to sometime before modern weapons were invented, back when a castle like this couldn’t be razed from afar.
Which also suggests a high degree of tradition is upheld here, but it’s not definitive.
Finally, the man knocks twice on a door and opens it without waiting.
The scene that greets him is at once amusing. The room is very clearly an infirmary- but that hasn’t stopped what must be several prominent figures from gathering here… and people have clearly been taking sides, to an extent at least.
Furthest away from him, there’s one bed with one of the funny-haired children on it; her hair is blue and white. She’s watching everything with a look of amusement, and twiddling a foot long stick in her right hand, despite her posture very definitely favoring that same side. Seated on the far side of the bed are three more girls. One, with curly pink and purple hair, is watching everything with an almost unnaturally calm expression, not unlike his own. The second, with hair that reminds him of a bonfire, is leaning back in her chair with a twinkle in her eye and a knowing grin on her face. The third, a normal-looking redhead, is wearing not only a look of calm determination but two microphones, to the other three’s one apiece.
The matron, holding a foot-long stick of her own, seems to be hovering protectively over the girl in the bed, yet also facing away from her so as to participate in the discussion; she’s on the near side of the bed, though positioned close enough to the headboard she isn’t obstructing anyone from view. There’s a brown-haired boy with a little red cross ring placed over his pointed hat leaning almost casually against the foot of the bed, and a wizened old man standing calmly next to him, eyes twinkling in amusement. He would seem to be prominent person number one.
Side number two would seem to be standing in the middle of the room: The eminently breathtaking woman with the sunlit hair that’s blowing in a breeze he can’t feel. She’s prominent person number two; she practically oozes long experience, completely aside from how she feels much like some of the ancient aliens Shield helps keep their cover in modern society: Very old, almost beyond belief. As a matter of fact, she feels even more experienced than them!
She’s also accompanied by two young men, clad in golden armor and armed with spears- no doubt decorative instruments- standing calmly by the door, obviously deferring to her despite the physical separation. He can tell they care about her, but it seems they’re not all that worried about her getting hurt.
Side number three would be a slightly nearer bed, this one occupied by a grown man that appears to be trying to make it look like he isn’t cowering in fear… and failing dismally. He seems to be alone.
Side number four would be closest to him. Three men and two women. One of the men seems to be a little bit panicked, like everything is not going to plan; the other two are watching the proceedings with the long-suffering patience of law enforcement. One of the women is tailing the first man with a notebook, quill, and bottle of ink- he actually has to look twice, yes, that is a quill, not a pen- while the other, who looks like a visiting medic, is giving side number three the stink eye. The first of the men would appear to be prominent person number three.
Then of course, there’s the three children seated calmly on the sidelines, opposite the girl on the bed: A girl with metallic red hair with icy blue fringes, a boy with a pair of royal blue stripes splitting his shiny silver hair cleanly into thirds, and a second boy, with his curly hair split into dark purple and dark green sides by a golden band down the middle.
And that’s not even counting the woman, three notepads and a pen in hand- ink bottle lying forgotten next to her- seated next to them. Just about everything about her screams Journalist! at him.
He raises an eyebrow, very carefully not commenting that something seems to have happened, while his peripheral vision picks out the two children lying on beds with nobody gathered around them. Only, these children don’t seem to be lying- it’s almost like they’ve been frozen, or turned to stone. They aren’t moving at all- even the one with his hands up in front of his face, as if holding a camera. Nobody seems to be paying them much attention.
Rather interesting how, with the exception of only those two frozen children, he can see all of the children’s nametags, and even read them all. None of the adults seem to be carrying nametags, though.
Miss Heartstrings, on the bed, tilts her head at him, looking perplexed. She points her stick at him briefly, before blinking, as if she’d just realized something obvious. She looks forwards, at the three watching children. “Hermione, could you take Draco and get the Whiskey Tango?”
Even before the two named children vanish into thin air, an electric tingle runs down his spine, putting his senses on high alert. Code words.
The girl next to her- Bonbon- rolls her eyes.
The wizened old man raises a curious eyebrow at Lyra before turning to step closer to him, hands held welcomingly forwards. “Greetings, gentlemen, and welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”
Agent Coal Sun very carefully doesn’t react. Witchcraft and Wizardry… Of course it has to be magic. Not far from what Shield decided the explosions had to be in order to be so large yet cause so little damage.
“I am the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore; this is Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, and a visiting foreign leader, Princess Celestia, of Equestria.” He gestures to the two other prominent people in order, man first.
The ‘Minister for Magic’ seems even more uncertain now, but the Princess seems genuinely amused, smiling at the Headmaster… but never letting that one man on the bed out of her sight, he notices.
He nods his head, and indicates the man on the bed. “And him?”
Dumbledore glances over at him. “Ah…”
“Can someone get these people a newspaper?” the redhead, Ginny Weasley, suddenly pipes up.
Agent Coal Sun very nearly blinks at not just the suddenness of the request, but in the expectation evident in the tone that it would be satisfied. Even though the girl isn’t one of the prominent people he picked out earlier. Perhaps he hadn’t picked up on something- or perhaps there’s a reason she’s wearing two microphones.
And perhaps there’s something in the newspaper that’s important to the situation at hand.
“Newspaper?” the Minister for Magic’s aide- at least, that’s what he assumes the woman is- asks confusedly.
The one boy left sitting next to the journalist- Harry Potter- smiles, rising to jog towards him, newspaper in hand. He offers it to him, before returning to his place on the couch.
Agent Coal Sun accepts the paper, unrolling it to skim the front page.
He hasn’t got it unfurled fully yet when a sudden motion occurs in the corner of his eye- and he gets a sudden feeling of danger. He reflexively draws back, dumping the paper on the floor and going for his gun, locking eyes on the source. Again, he doesn’t have time to fully respond, before the threat is handled.
It’s that man on the bed. He seemed to have gotten the courage to snatch the stick off his bedside table and try something with it. Exactly what he tried was pretty evident- a bolt of light blasted out of it, straight towards him. At the same time, a sudden sheen of blueish light had blasted out from Harry’s fingertips, forming a barrier that the red bolt of light had bounced off of. Also at the same time, Lyra’s stick pointed straight at the man- and a second bolt of red light blasted from it. She hit him dead on and, while his bolt- upon contact with the sheets- had started a fire, hers didn’t. Instead, his stick went flying, and he was knocked rather painfully into his nightstand.
Just a second or two after the sudden magical display, Princess Celestia’s anger practically oozes across the room, straight at the man.
The Minister for Magic actually facepalms. “That does it,” he declares. “He’s an idiot.”
Professor Dumbledore almost casually raises his stick… and extinguishes the burning bed with it.
Agent Coal Sun watches the attacking man warily for a couple seconds before reholstering his weapon and crouching to pick the newspaper back up again.
… That photo on the front page. Four students… three holding brooms.
So, they do ride on broomsticks and wave magic wands around. Nice to know.
He raises his eyebrow at the headline. A celebrity nearly killed a foreign envoy? Rather serious.
As he skims down the article, gleaning all the important details from it (including that the strange field the most recent explosion happened in is apparently used for a sport called ‘Quidditch’), he keeps his attention on the conversation going on in front of him.
Lyra looks confusedly at Harry. “Uh, Harry? How’d you do that?”
Harry seems confused as well. “Uh, do what?”
“That shield.”
He looks back at the space his barrier had been. “I just threw up a shield.”
Lyra raises an eyebrow. “Not what I mean.”
He tilts his head at her. “What do you mean?”
“That was a hardened air barrier, Harry. Real effective against things like punches, but magic goes through it like nobody’s business. Yet you blocked magic with it. How?”
He looks back at the space again, then shrugs at her and resumes his course back to the journalist. “I don’t know.”
Agent Coal Sun looks up from the paper, passing it to one of the Agents behind him to ‘read’ and photograph. So Lyra is a foreign envoy, at twelve-ish, and Ginny is a liason, at eleven-ish? He’s pretty sure his age estimations are accurate; it must be a nation with few or no child labor laws. Or, since Lyra and the Equestrians- he wonders, mildly, if all the funny-haired kids are Equestrians- came from another world, perhaps it’s a differing lifespan, growth pattern… or maybe, their portal does something funny to their physical ages. He could certainly see a youthful local being enlisted for some important role, like a liason, by a group of hundred-year-olds that happen to look just as youthful as the local. Perception can do quite a bit to that end, no doubt.
“Alright,” he begins, idly noting the burns evident on the attempted assailant’s clothing. Perhaps this is Lockhart- he does look like the sort that could win a smile award- and magic was sufficient to heal his burns quickly, but not mend his clothes?
On the other hand, he now knows what caused the explosion yesterday. A botched magic spell, that people like the Minister for Magic are probably here to deal with.
Oh, and that Princess Celestia is no doubt here to avenge, to a degree- for nearly killing her envoy.
He elects not to get in the way of the magical political battle no doubt happening in front of him, and bows gently, stepping backwards slightly. “We can wait until you are ready for us,” he indicates.
Rita can hardly believe her luck. Princess Celestia, Minister for Magic Fudge, and a bunch of unidentified muggles, all meeting Professor Dumbledore in the Hogwarts infirmary at once. Well… technically. Unlike the Minister for Magic, the muggles seem content to watch and wait for their turn.
Oh, yeah. She glances back at the third notepad; she’s already onto her fourth. Lockhart tried to burn the newspaper out of the muggle’s hands, no doubt trying to conceal what he’d done from them. He’d been foiled by Lyra, the foreign envoy; Celestia seems content to let the revelation of her royal status wait for a later time. From a journalism standpoint, she’s glad for that- she’s already got so much going on today that it'll be hard to cram it all into one article!
She makes sure to keep tabs on everything going on. Princess Celestia, Dumbledore, and Fudge have gotten into a rather extensive discussion of legal whatsits; Celestia has even mentioned interest in a medical exchange program- the very one Bonbon had suggested earlier, before Fudge arrived, she thinks.
The girls seem to be rather bored of the ongoing conversation. Lyra has gotten herself a very large foam wedge to lean against from somewhere, and all the other girls have lost interest… save only Sunset Shimmer, attentively following the discussion with a look of passive interest on her face.
Hermione and Draco got back shortly after Harry returned to his seat; Hermione holding a book. They’d asked Harry what happened, and he explained lightly. Hermione had then walked forward to chat with Lyra for a minute; it sounded to her like operational plans- lots of code words- so, while she did write it down, she won’t be allowed to include it in her article. Not that any of the codes would make sense to anyone if she did put it in her article; they might as well have been speaking ancient Egyptian. No, no, there has to be someone out there that would have understood that.
Now, Draco has walked around the discussing politicians to speak quietly with the muggles, holding the book Hermione gave him. She can’t quite catch the words, but the muggles seem intrigued.
“Hey, um, do you have a minute, while they chat?” Silver gestures lightly towards the various magical leaders having their discussion, stepping carefully closer to the lead muggle. She’d been told about the weapons they’d so nearly used on Lockhart, and isn’t too keen on finding out how fast she can select and deploy a suitable shield spell without any kind of combat experience. Unlike Harry, who told her about his shield blocking stuff it shouldn’t have, she’ll have to make sure she picks the appropriate type of shield for the weapon being used against her- or use a generic shield, but she can’t be sure those will be tough enough for the task.
The one in the lead raises an eyebrow at her. It’s not the kind of eyebrow she’s used to having raised at her from adults, though- it seems to her to be a respectfully curious eyebrow. “What is it?” he asks.
“This,” she informs him, tapping the Whiskey Tango book Hermione had given her. “According to Lyra, you’re ‘muggles’- what wizardkind calls non-magical folk?”
She’d been afraid that he’d be offended, but he isn’t. Instead, he nods calmly. “That would seem to be accurate,” he states. “Do I take it you have something to offset that?”
She nods. “Uh, yeah. The research Lyra has pioneered has included this.” She taps the book again, glancing down at it. “It’s… She’s got a lot of spells on this book, that- if activated by a witch or wizard- can turn a muggle into a witch or wizard.”
He raises his eyebrow even higher. “How so?”
“Ahh… by expanding capability. It’s not like the Papa Tango, so there wouldn’t really be any noticeable difference… except that you’d be able to use a wand, and wouldn’t need that… uh, whatever it’s called, to see through the perception filters around Hogwarts and other magical locations.”
His attention has definitely been drawn now. “Would it allow people to fly in?”
She blinks, and nods. “Uh… Yeah, if those spells have been stopping you. I mean, Ch-er, Skyhawk has been flying her helicopter in and out as she pleases, really- and she’s an Equestrian… which are, believe it or not, more magical than witches and wizards.”
“How long does it take?”
“Ah, it’s instant. I can trigger it now, if you’d like.”
He seems to consider for a couple seconds. “Does it hurt?”
She shrugs. “I’m told it tickles a bit, but that’s it.” She smiles. “It’s so far seen use on ‘squibs’, non-magicals born to magical families.”
He nods. “Does it have a name?”
“Ahh…” She’d hoped he’d ask that, but her prepared answer wouldn’t fit the conversation. “It’s called the ‘Whiskey Tango’... at least partly because it’s actually still secret from the wizarding world at large.”
Both his eyebrows fly upwards. At least one of his companions leans forward attentively. “Really?”
She nods. “Yeah. A lot of wizards still think we’re superior to muggles… Doesn’t exactly help that we are, objectively, in terms of individual capability. They tell me that revealing an easy way to close that gap right now could easily result in massacres on a scale we’ve never seen before.” She shudders. “Even worse than the Wizarding War that ended around eleven years ago.”
He grins slightly. “Then sure, give it a shot. We won’t tell.”
“Alright.” She places one hand on the cover, feeds it her power, and activates it. It’s exactly as easy as she’d expected; she effortlessly works her way through the complicated matrices to direct it to each and every one of the muggles… and, as she finally deactivates the Whiskey Tango, can sense that they’re all wizards now. “There, it’s done.”
Ginny giggles, lying on the floor of this empty classroom.
Well, not empty; she’s in it. So are the four fillies, one made of energy, that she’s playing with. It’s Friday again, after a long week of classes- and this is the regularly-scheduled ‘Papa Tango Club’ meeting. It’s the only time Ariel can talk to any of the others- and, as a result, Ariel’s happiest time of the week.
Not that it’s much different for her herself. Sure, she still gets a searing headache whenever she tries to transform like them, but it’s so fun to play with her fillies. She’s still a little conflicted about it; she’s always had a crush on Harry… and now, she seems to be equally attracted to all of them. Including Silversong- for whom Papa Tango Club Meetings seem to be the only time worth smiling.
She pauses, her giggle breaking off, smile fading as she thinks about it. Yes, these meetings are the only time Silver ever seems to smile.
They’re also the only time she can be herself. The only time she’s… well, free to act, without having to worry about being judged for it. Or attacked, for that matter.
Harry notices her sudden contemplation, and flaps up to land oh so gently on her chest, peering into her face with those enormous green eyes. “Something wrong?” she asks.
Ginny fields Silver, who happened to be gliding by, with one hand, pulling her into a sudden group hug with Harry. The fillies aren’t very light- but, thanks to something Silver did last week, she can actually ‘borrow’ their passive magical abilities when she’s touching them… which lets her utilize their super-strength. “What if,” she begins. “What if Silver didn’t have to pretend all the time?”
Harry tilts her head. “What do you mean?”
Silver shakes her head. “That’s not possible. You know we can’t reveal our pony forms- and if I try being anyone other than Draco when in human form…” She lets out a sigh.
“But what if-!” Ginny begins, before cutting herself off to let Hermione and Ariel into her arms as well. “But what if you didn’t have to turn into Draco?” she asks.
Ariel looks at her blankly, and Hermione scowls contemplatively.
Silver smiles weakly. “What would I turn into?”
Ginny shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe the human girl named Silversong?”
Silver lets out a snort of laughter. “Oh, I won’t argue that would be amazing, but is it even possible?”
Hermione scowls. “I don’t know… I’d have to read up some more on animagus transformation.”
Ginny looks at Hermione. “Professor McGonagall.”
All four fillies look at her. “What?”
“Professor McGonagall was Papa Tangoed, and can still turn into a cat. She has three forms.” She looks at Silver again. “Is there any particular reason your third form can’t be Silversong as well?”
“Ah,” Silver scowls. “Maybe because I already have one form, and I’d have to find my inner animal to get another? Yet I’m already a pony, so…”
Ginny scowls. “Maybe the Papa Tango could help?”
“How would that help?” Ariel asks.
She smiles. “I don’t know. Lyra didn’t give me the matrices- but she did give me what I need to see through the masking. Combined with my talent, I ought to be able to figure something out pretty quick, right?”
Silver rubs her chin with one hoof. “Yeah, I suppose. Um, do you mind if I use a magesight spell on you when you do that? I suspect there might be more to your ability than we realize.”
“You know a magesight spell?” Hermione asks.
Silver nods. “Yep. Read it in one of Twilight’s books last night, actually. Never tried it before- but with my talent, that shouldn’t be a problem.” She grins. “As a matter of fact, Ginny, if you hold me when I do that, I can probably convince our magics to cooperate on a low enough level to let you take advantage of my talent as well- at least to a limited degree.”
“Do you think the Papa Tango room is empty right now?” she asks.
“Ought to be,” Hermione mutters. “I’d hate to ask, though. Lyra would probably want to be there.”
Ginny makes a face. “Yeah… and then ponies would find out you three are also royalty. Um, worst case scenario, I’ll just remember everything and tell her all about it later.” She grins mischievously.
Silver giggles, wriggling out of her arms and rolling off of her to shift into human form next to her. “Probably want to be in human form when we arrive, just in case,” he states.
Hermione and Harry nod their agreement, and shift right where they are. Ariel simply vanishes into Ginny, whose arms are suddenly full of second-year humans.
Harry chuckles, looking sideways at Draco. “You can stand us up when we arrive, right?”
Draco chuckles as well. “Sure I can.”
Ginny pulls both of them off of her, onto their backs on either side of her, her arms wrapped around them. “Ready!”
Her surroundings change very suddenly, and it’s only thanks to Hermione that either she or Harry were able to stay upright with the sudden shift in gravity. She looks quickly around the room, while Draco activates the lights.
They’re alone.
“Alrighty!” She draws her wand, then holds out her arms towards Draco.
He grins, having also looked and jumps up into her arms, shifting as he goes. “Let’s get started then, shall we?” Silver asks. Her horn glows, eyes closed, for a few seconds. “Alright, ready.”
Ginny points her wand at her best guess of the location of what she’s looking for, and concentrates as well. Last night, her ability had somehow found a way for her to use her wand in a similar way to how Silver uses her horn; now, she uses it. It takes her a few seconds, and she feels something flowing into her mind from Silver, then she manages it. It’s slow at first, but… She calls up the matrices she remembers, and focuses on them as well.
It works.
… She got the wrong part, though. This is one of the cutouts to the recording function. She shifts to another part.
It’s close to half an hour later when she finds another part… and instantly knows exactly how to do it. At the same moment, Silver gasps. She looks down. “What?”
“Did-!” Silver begins. “Did you just do it?”
“Uh… Yeah, I think.” She smiles. “I know what to do.” She sighs. “You’ll have to stand, in pony form, in the middle of the room.”
Silver hops out of her arms, gliding down to the middle of the room, then scowls at the floor. “Hmm…”
“So… Ready?” Ginny asks.
“Yeah…” Silver mutters. “I’m just… thinking…”
Ginny tilts her head.
Silver blinks. “Oh. Wow. Um… Yeah, I’ve got news for you. But let’s get this done, I’ll give it to you in human form if it works.”
She shrugs. “Got it.” She lights up her wand again, applies the matrices she needs. She’s very careful to design them properly, and install the necessary safety- only one on her addendum, since Lyra’s Papa Tango provides the rest- before she activates it.
Only about half the matrices in the room glow; she’s only activating a small part of Lyra’s Papa Tango, and in a very specific way. Her little addendum doesn’t only activate it in that way, but it also does a little extra- it temporarily isolates Silver from her human form, forcing her to acquire a new one when the phase system Lyra built pushes her into human form.
There’s a bright flash of light… then, a fraction of a second later, she sees Silver, lying on the floor in the middle of the room.
“Ow-!” Silver complains, pushing herself up from where her face had struck the stone.
Then she pauses, rises to a kneeling position, and looks down at herself for a few seconds.
Then she springs to her feet and practically pounces on Ginny with her hug. “Oh, thank you, Ginny! It worked!”
Ginny smiles and returns the hug. “You’re welcome.” Silver’s new human form is a first-year girl, wearing a gleaming silver skirt and a royal blue shirt. Where the clothes came from, Ginny isn’t entirely sure; she didn’t dig too deeply into the form management routines Lyra laid.
Then Silver steps back, holding her at arms length. “Oh, and have I got news for you, too.”
Her surroundings suddenly change again- and, she notices, Harry and Hermione come with too, despite not touching. They’re back in the ‘empty’ classroom.
“Your unique talent isn’t problem analysis,” Silver informs her. “As a matter of fact, it has nothing to do with analysis.”
She blinks. “Then… Then how…? What is it?”
“That was futuresight. As near as I can tell, you saw a future in which you had done the analysis.” She chuckles. “Bit of a funny future it was, too. You know how?”
Harry and Hermione have joined her now, watching Silver attentively.
“How?” Ginny asks.
“That future was hardly three seconds forwards. Except of course, it was multilayered. Because in that future, you had, three seconds prior, seen a future in which you had almost finished solving it… and finished. And in that future…” She trails off, grinning. “I applied a little counting charm to the images I got- and counted about two million layers.”
“Just over two months worth of nonstop thinking,” Ginny blinks. “Wow.”
Silver steps forwards again, grabbing her shoulders and giving her a shake. “No, Ginny-!” She lets out a sigh. “We already know your talent hasn’t hit its full potential just yet, because you haven’t finished transforming yet. But it’s futuresight. When you do eventually finish transforming, I bet you’ll be the best seer around.”
She blinks. “... Oh.”
Ariel suddenly pops out of Ginny’s shoulder, landing lightly on it. “Now we just need to get you some Hogwarts robes, right Silver? You’ll probably draw some stares wearing that.” She points a hoof at Silver’s clothes.
Silver blinks, looking down at herself again. “Right. Um…” She glances to the side.
“Wow, that worked like a charm,” Ariel mutters nonverbally to Ginny. It was only last night when she figured out she could do so while out in her own ‘body’; it had only taken Ginny a few minutes to answer her in kind.
Ginny looks at Ariel. “Well of course it did,” she smiles. “You had a point.” She can tell Ariel had come out and said that mostly to relieve the pressure that Silver was putting on her. She’s more than a little thankful for the intervention; she needs time to process exactly what she just learned… specifically, time that isn’t borrowed from the future that never was.
Ariel shrugs her wings. “Yeah, but I didn’t think the topic would flip just like that.”
Madam Malkin frowns at the four students in her shop. Three of them are wearing Hogwarts robes, but the last one is wearing what can only be muggle clothing- there’s no way that shiny silver skirt is anything but. “Did something happen?”
The girl in the skirt, introduced as Silversong, nods. “Yeah… Little magical accident at the school, and all my robes kinda, er, went pop.” She doesn’t miss how the girl won’t meet her eyes, rubbing the side of her head as she speaks. “So I had to dig up some of my muggle clothing, and now I’m here to get fresh robes.”
Madam Malkin sighs. Something feels off about the explanation, but as long as the girl has the money to pay for it, it’s not her job to stop her- the wards on her shop have already confirmed that she’s a legitimate Hogwarts student. “And your new robes won’t… ‘go pop’, as well?”
The girl shakes her head, silver hair flying behind her. “No, no. We’ve already… er, fixed that.”
She raises an eyebrow.
The other first-year of the bunch, nametag reading ‘Ginny Weasley’, giggles. “It was a one-time event. I’d say botched spell, but, ah…” She scowls, going silent.
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. You’ve got the gold you’ll need, right?”
The third girl present, Hermione Granger, nods cheerfully, pulling a large bag full of rattling coins out of her pocket- her pocket it most certainly shouldn’t have fit in. The girl must have put an expansion charm on the pocket- or, possibly, a shrinking spell on the bag. “Yep, we got all the gold we’ll ever need.”
She sighs. “Alright then, come on back.” She takes Silver back to the stool, and slips some fresh robes over her head to start pinning them to length. “You know, you’re a terrible liar.”
Silver promptly gasps, head whirling about- but the rest of her body stays put, rather conveniently. “What-!”
Malkin raises her eyebrows back up at her. “It’s rather obvious there was no such accident, Miss Silversong,” she states, and heaves a sigh. “However, accident or not, it’s not unheardof for Hogwarts students to stop by during the year for new robes. Usually for accidents, but sometimes someone was malicious.” She looks up again. “Nobody was attacking you, were they?”
Silver blushes, and looks away from her. “No, no. It wasn’t… It wasn’t an attack, no.” Then she turns back to her. “But… if you didn’t believe the story…?”
“Why did I let you get robes? Easy- thanks to my wards, which very few people know about, I know you’re a legitimate Hogwarts student- and so fully entitled to buy as many Hogwarts robes as you like, so long as you have the gold.”
“... Oh.”
“I must say, though, I don’t think I’ve heard your name before.” Madam Malkin grins. “And it’s usually the Crusaders coming in here these days, anyways. They get you too this time?”
“Ahh… No. Wait, those three keep needing new robes…?”
She nods. “At least one each, every week, sometimes more. And the story’s always different, too- my personal favorite was when they tried hang-gliding, and only managed to destroy their robes on the way down the castle wall.” She chuckles lightly. “They’re even easier to read than you are, dear, but they weren’t lying about that, so I’ll have to admit I’m rather curious how they survived.”
“You know, they keep calling themselves ‘fillies’.”
“Ahh…” Silver looks at Hermione for some reason.
Hermione looks at Ginny, then back at Silver, fingering the black thing on the front of her robes uncertainly, before speaking. “Um… That’s, er, an Equestrian national secret…”
Madam Malkin looks at her, eyebrow raised. “Really?”
She only nods.
“Alright, it’s safe with me, then.”
“Ahh… Well, then. The thing is, Equestrian… fillies, I guess, are practically indestructible. I mean, we can still get hurt, but blunt force trauma is pretty meaningless.” She chuckles. “I could probably jump off the tallest tower and, so long as I rolled when I landed, not get so much as a bruise.” She snorts. “And that was before I, ah… well, that’s a bit more secret, but…”
She nods slowly. “Ahh, that makes sense. I was wondering how they survived several of the… ah, escapades, they described.” She rises, done with the lower hem, to work on one of the sleeves. “I have to say, though, you’re the first one I’ve had come in with wings. That what you’re talking about?”
“What-! Ahh…” Silver seems distinctly worried.
“Kinda,” Hermione suddenly supplies. “It’s… a little more complicated than that. You’ve probably heard of the ‘Papa Tango’?”
She raises her eyebrow, and nods. “It’s been mentioned, once or twice.”
Hermione nods. “Yeah. It expands a British wizard’s magic to match an Equestrian’s… but doesn’t remove the parts that Equestrians don’t have. Those that possess both… are known to retain certain features of their new Equestrian form, even in human form… such as wings.” She smiles. “She’s referring to something additional that happened later, that, ah, we’re not ready to tell even the rest of the Equestrians about just yet, so…”
“I understand,” Madam Malkin smiles, switching to the other sleeve. “You going to want anything special for your wings?”
“Ah, no,” Silver shakes her head quickly.
“You sure? You won’t be able to use them without a special allowance.”
Harry- the boy that had come in with the three girls- and Hermione both snicker. Silver snorts. “Hasn’t stopped us yet,” she states.
“They’re magic,” Hermione supplies. “Same magic that makes them appear on her human form, we think, lets them pass right through such things as clothes, no damage whatsoever.”
Madam Malkin raises an eyebrow at her. “Sounds rather convenient for keeping them hidden.”
Silver nods. “Oh, you wouldn’t believe how convenient it is. I’m still dreading the day my dad realizes I have wings. Have had them, actually, since last spring.”
“You know,” she states, slipping the pinned robes back off over Silver’s head. “You talk like you’re a British student, but you have an Equestrian name. Which is it?”
Silver blinks. “Ahh… Yeah. About that, um…” She looks at the other three, then back at Madam Malkin. “Uh, can you promise to keep this secret for, um, forever?”
She shrugs, and nods. “Sure.”
“Well, um…” Silver looks towards the glass front of the shop, rubbing her hair with one hand. “Thing is… I am British. And I’ve always been… well, confined, in my… uh, old form. I mean, Draco Malfoy can’t exactly run across the street to meet some friends, can he? No, he has to make them run across to meet him, and then he still has to act all high and mighty. Can’t play with them, can’t anything, really.”
“Draco Malfoy?” Madam Malkin asks, astonished.
She nods. “Yeah… that’s who I used to be. Hogwarts wasn’t much better than that; I was still expected to be the perfect little successor to the Malfoy throne.” She sticks her head mockingly in the air, lightning crackling briefly through her hair. Then she lets out a sigh, dropping carelessly onto a bench inside the shop. “Then Lyra came along, and used me as a testbed for her Papa Tango. Never woulda consented to it, but any more, I don’t know how I could live without it.
“Fun fact: When the Papa Tango gives you an Equestrian form, it makes it based on your personality, not your human form. So my Equestrian form was rather widely divorced from my human form. I was afraid of it at first- but grew into it. Named it Silversong, visited Equestria. It was sometime shortly after that that I realized Silver is something that Draco never will be: Free. So I… well, became Silversong. Draco is now the fiction. And…” She smiles. “Less than half an hour ago, Ginny helped me acquire a second human form, this time based on my Equestrian form. So Silversong can be human, without squishing herself through the square hole that is Draco.” She looks up at Madam Malkin. “Which is the real reason I need robes.”
She nods slowly. “I take it you’ll want a full Hogwarts wardrobe, then?”
Silver blinks. “Ahh… Yes, please. Though, if it’ll take more than, um, ten minutes or so, we can come back for the rest. I’d rather not miss that dueling club meeting tonight.”
Madam Malkin chuckles. “Nah, this’ll only take two minutes.”
Silver looks at her. “You didn’t see the notice? Or listen to them talking?”
Hermione blinks. “Was I supposed to?”
Silver scowls, and looks towards Madam Malkin. “I suppose there are some benefits to growing up as a holier-than-thou noble prick,” she mutters, and turns back towards Hermione. “The answer is technically no, but if you were listening after the muggles left last weekend, you would have heard Lockhart ask Dumbledore if he could start one.”
“Lockhart?” Harry asks. “You sure he can handle that?”
Silver giggles. “That’s why I want to attend- see just how big a disaster it is. Pretty sure Dumbledore approved it- and winked at Rita- explicitly so he could screw himself over even worse.”
“He doesn’t need to make any more mistakes, if you ask me,” Madam Malkin states. “He’s lucky those muggles were fans of ‘due process’- what was the list of crimes they’ve got for him, again?”
“Reckless endangerment and assault,” Hermione supplies. Then she looks at Silver. “I was listening for that part.”
“You’re missing one,” Draco chuckles. “Obstruction of justice.”
“Wait, what?”
“Yeah. He tacked that on a few minutes later. Apparently, when he tried to burn the paper out of Coal Sun’s hands, that wasn’t just an assault against Coal Sun, but an attempt to conceal his wrongdoings.” She chuckles. “And while none of those charges carried ‘capital punishment’, had Harry not blocked his fire spell, the lot of them would probably have shot him anyways, just to be safe.” She glances at Harry. “I mean, I wasn’t there when they did that, but I saw their guns- even took a magical peek at them. Those things were no toys.”
Hermione raises an eyebrow.
Silver chuckles. “As a matter of fact, they’re about as much ‘toy’- no, even more so- than that monster Lyra gave you.”
“Ahh… You’re not talking about the big one, right?”
Silver shakes her head. “Nah, the small one. Sure, theirs weren’t as big and powerful, but they were loaded with poisoned bullets. Pretty sure he woulda been dead in seconds, even if they shot his foot.”
Madam Malkin lets out a low whistle. “They worried about something?”
“I think,” Silver mutters. “They were pretty good at hiding their tells. I want to say they didn’t know what to expect when they drove to Hogwarts, so were playing it by ear… with the guns as a backup safety measure, to give them the ability to fight their way out of anything they could think of without looking like it.” She smiles. “They did have them pretty well concealed under their suits.”
“You know,” Harry mutters, “that makes me wonder what would have happened if they saw Fluttershy.” He shudders slightly.
Silver snorts. “So long as she didn’t threaten them, they’d probably raise their eyebrows at it, maybe ask why she’s carrying it around, and otherwise ignore it.”
“You sure about that?”
“Well, they saw Lockhart and Lyra both use their wands when he tried to attack them, right? That alone would have been enough for them to decide that our wands are as dangerous as a weapon, long before Fudge and cronies took their leave and Dumbledore explained both magic and the Statute of Secrecy to them. And they didn’t even blink when we pulled our wands out to do whatever.” She shrugs. “So long as nobody behaved threateningly, they had no reason to respond with force, so they didn’t.”
“After that, I’m wondering if the Statute of Secrecy even has a point any more,” Madam Malkin mutters, using a spell to finish off Silver’s new robes.
Silver chuckles. “I’d like to think that too, but, ah… Well, I think Dumbledore’s got the right idea. The muggles that stopped at Hogwarts are a secret organization of some sort, and he’s letting them decide if the muggles at large are ready for the revelation.” She shrugs. “I figure that, if they choose to announce it, the Ministry will have to rescind the Statute of Secrecy. Lyra tells me the world population is in the billions, and that they have technology that could deliver the message to a significant percentage of that in seconds.”
Madam Malkin lets out another low whistle. “Ahh… Well, your new robes are ready, miss Silversong.” She smiles gently while Hermione steps forwards with the bag of gold.
Mere seconds later, transaction complete, she watches Silver and Hermione trot back to the other two, where Ginny speaks up. “You know, I wonder what Lyra’s going to think?”
Harry lets out a snort of laughter. Silver had just summed up the massive golden stage at the head of the Great Hall in a single word. “I don’t think he’s capable of not showing off,” he chuckles.
“I wonder who he’ll have help him on stage,” Hermione mutters. “I mean, I’m sure it’d look fantastic if he tried dueling with himself, but it wouldn’t work very well, now would it?”
Harry lets out another snort of laughter. “Or I suppose it could be me, and I’ll just stand there doing nothing while all his spells just bounce off.”
“Oh please, that’s boring,” Ginny inserts. “What if he called Silver up to help him, and she found a way to turn him upside-down every time he smiles for the next week?”
Silver snorts.
“Or maybe,” Hermione begins seriously, “He’s enlisted the help of Professor Snape, who looks like he’s plotting how best to humiliate him.” She tilts her head. “Or pulverize him, I’m not sure.”
The others look forward- and, true to Hermione’s word, Professor Lockhart is leading a malicious-looking Professor Snape up onto the stage.
“Oooh, if Snape was looking at me like that, I’d be running the other way as fast as I could,” Harry mutters. “Who cares if I’m invulnerable.”
“Yeah,” Silver mutters. “I guess Lockhart spent his entire survival instinct on the backlash from his fobbed spell?”
“Hey, he’s talking nonsense,” Ginny indicates, shushing both of them.
“... in case you need to defend yourself as I myself have done on countless occasions; for full details…”
“Yeah, he’s so full of it,” Hermione mutters. “We’ve been teaching good defensive spells all year, right Harry?”
He nods. “Yeah. What’s your bet? Snape hits him with Lumos, and he backsteps off the stage in fright?”
Hermione snorts. “Nah. He’s much more likely to use Talentelegra on him, make him dance off the edge.”
Silver scowls. “I think he’ll go for a repeat performance of what Lyra did. Expelliarmus, at high power level. Throw him wandless against the wall, as a demonstration of how quickly a duel can go wrong.”
“Really?” Ginny asks.
Silver nods. “Yeah. You’re forgetting I have Potions with him every week.” She grins sideways at Harry and Hermione. “And these two then have Potions with me two days later.”
Hermione gives her a little shove. “Careful saying that, I might hex you. This is a dueling club.”
Silver raises an eyebrow. “Uh, you know those spells just bounce off, right?”
Hermione grins. “Not if I back it with my own strength it won’t!”
“Ahh…”
“Cut it out,” Harry instructs them. “They’re getting ready to duel it out, and Lockhart is looking overconfident.”
“Accepted combative position?” Ginny scowls, peering between the other two girls. “That looks more like a ‘miss-your-opponent’ position to me.” She glances sideways at Silver. “Isn’t it easier to hit someone if you start with your wand pointed at them, rather than over their head?”
Silver blinks. “Ah, yes, yes it is. Oh, and here they go. I think.”
“... Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course,” Lockhart continues, up on the stage.
“Oh now that’s not true,” Hermione almost giggles. “Professor Snape is almost certainly aiming to kill your reputation.”
Silence holds for a few seconds.
“Called it,” Silver chuckles, before cheering with most the rest of the room. Snape had gone straight for Expelliarmus, and used it to throw Lockhart bodily against the wall.
“... it was very obvious what you were about to do…”
Silver facepalms. “I wonder if he would still have claimed that if he had his back turned? Anticipatory magic sense is unique to Equestrians- he couldn’t possibly have sensed or identified the spell until Snape had at least started the incantation, by which point it was too late.”
“You think he’ll go for more than just a reputation this time?” Harry mutters.
Hermione glances at Snape. “Ahh… Yeah, I wouldn’t put it past him. Looks like he wants to send him to the muggles of old for a public flogging.”
Ginny looks at her. “What?”
Silver shakes her head. “Nevermind that. But yeah, he’s looking like he wants Lockhart back in the infirmary by tonight.” She glances at Harry. “Make sure he gets hit by a few funny spells, alright?”
Harry blinks. “You’re asking me? Hermione’s the hex-tress.”
Hermione raises one eyebrow at him, before scowling up at the platform. “I’ll… have to see what I can do.”
“Oh, he’s splitting us into pairs,” Ginny mutters. “Aaand, Snape’s going to get to us first.”
Silver speaks up as soon as Snape arrives. “Ahh, Professor Snape? I know it’s pretty intimidating, but, ah, is there a magical reason for the wand-whirling thing?”
Snape raises one eyebrow at her, scowl twitching in what might have been a smile. “Ah, yes. It amplifies the available power. You won’t need it, for practice.”
Silver tilts her head. “So I could probably achieve the same result if I just funneled my innate magic through my wand, right?”
He blinks. “I understand Miss Heartstrings is working on just that. If you think you can do that, by all means- just don’t boost it too high. We don’t want to accidentally kill anyone.” He turns to look at Harry and Hermione. “Time to break up the dream team, shall we?”
Minutes later, while Silver grins cheerfully at her partner, Vincent Crabbe, Hermione is paired with Milicent Bulstrode, and Harry has the honors with what he considers to be Draco’s stupider bodyguard, Gregory Goyle. Snape hadn’t been able to find Draco himself, something that had made Silver snicker. Ginny ended up facing Pansy Parkinson.
Finally, Lockhart continues. “Face your partners, and… Bow.”
Crabbe, Bulstrode, and Parkinson barely incline their heads. Ginny bows lightly; Harry and Hermione make a more serious bow, but never take their eyes off their opponent. Silver bows ruthlessly, driving Vincent to all manner of confusion by imitating Lockhart’s twirlings out of order.
The moment Lockhart turns them loose, the Great Hall explodes. He’d told them all to ‘only disarm’, a spell all the Defense Against the Dark Arts student teachers had covered during the second week of the first year, but by the shouting echoing through the room, it’s evident that’s a minority of what’s actually happening. Harry’s ears pick out the calls of most of his and Rarity’s students using shield charms as their first spell, even the ones paired with each other. Safety first, he’d taught them well.
Being as how he’s indestructible, Harry doesn’t bother starting with self-protecting. Instead, he points his wand at Goyle, yells some nonsense words, and spends the extra time while Goyle is getting himself together a meager attempt at a shield charm to decide exactly what to do.
Hermione, easily reading Bulstrode’s expression, decides it’s more worth her while to deflect the wand’s aim upwards than to actually block the spell. So, leaving the deflection up to her unicorn magic, she deftly waits for Bulstrode to miss before pointing her wand and using the disarming charm, all the while idly wondering if a stunner would bounce off of her or not.
Silver, completely devoid of worry, waits for Crabbe to mess up the incantation before blocking it with a unicorn magic shield- probably would have bounced anyways, then gone on to hurt someone- and disarming him almost casually. Then, she almost doubles over with laughter while Crabe looks left and right for his wand, but not above his head, where she’s holding it.
Parkinson moves quickly, shooting not Expelliarmus but Stupify at Ginny, but Ginny and Ariel move as one, and even faster. While Ginny casts a suitable shield charm, selected by her talent, Ariel channels her own magic through her wand as well- and simultaneously fires the disarming charm at Parkinson.
While Goyle makes six successive failed attempts at a shield charm, Bulstrode stumbles backwards, before whirling around to look for her wand. Crabe spins in circles, searching for his, and Parkinson flies halfway across the room, straight into Lockhart, where she bowls him over like a bowling ball. Lockhart’s yelp of surprised pain makes Snape smile amusedly, before looking back at Ginny with a calculating expression.
Ginny lets out a low whistle. “Ahh, I think that might have been a bit much power, Ariel.”
Ariel gives herself a mental shake. “Uh… yeah, I noticed. I didn’t put that much into it, though! Only a tiny… fraction… Oh. Um, I think I figured out what I did wrong. I thought of it in terms of absolute power levels, rather than power relative to the ambient fields.” She chuckles nervously. “I probably used around six times as much power as any wizard could possibly achieve with a wand alone, even with that twirling action.”
“I think I’d better teach you how to block unfriendly spells,” Lockhart announces.
Professor Snape looks at Lockhart with an unreadable expression. Rita Skeeter, in the corner, lets out a snort of laughter. Just under fifty percent had gone for defensive charms before attempting to disarm their opponent. Mind, a good ninety percent of those had done so because their partner had been faster on the disarming charm than they- but as a result, some forty-eight percent of the entire room had successfully cast shield charms. And that’s not even counting how funny Lockhart looks, limping around the room.
“Let’s… have a volunteer pair,” Lockhart continues, after glancing at Snape.
“He must’ve regained some of his self-preservation instinct,” Silver muses.
“Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle, how about you?”
“Strike that,” Silver sighs, shaking her head disappointedly.
“No!” both girls scream simultaneously. Sweetie is unharmed, having successfully cast her shield charm- but Scootaloo’s hair is green and, next to them, Applebloom seems to have managed to hit herself with her spell- she has extra arms sprouting out the top of her head.
Lyra, Applebloom’s completely unharmed partner, pats the girl’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, it’ll go away tonight. Yeah, I checked, it’s not permanent.”
“Why not?” Lockhart asks.
Sweetie looks pointedly at the sizable lava puddle squarely between her and Scootaloo.
Snape comes to the rescue. “A bad idea, Professor Lockhart. The Crusaders cause mayhem with the simplest of spells- we’ll be sending what’s left of the Great Hall to the Hospital Wing in a matchbox.”
Lockhart looks at him. “The hospital wing…?”
He nods. “Because it will be sentient.”
“... Oh.”
“How about Weasley and Potter?” He gestures towards Ginny and Harry… and grins as Lockhart starts looking around the room, apparently looking for the two. As it happens, Harry is busy helping Goyle cast the shield charm successfully, correcting his technique and everything.
Right as Snape looks over, Goyle manages the shield charm, concentrating hard on his wand; the shield forms, though only barely. He watches Harry nod and smile. “Good, good. Now, see this?” He steps back, points his own wand. “Expelliarmus!” The red bolt of light vanishes harmlessly against the simple shield he’d helped the Slytherin build.
Snape runs through his mind once again, verifying for himself that Crabbe and Goyle are not representative of the rest of his house. He has to do that every time he sees them, with how stupid they are. For a moment, he glances past Potter and Weasley, at Silver- funny, that hair looks familiar- before making a show of attracting Lockhart’s attention to the two. He can hear Rita snickering in the corner, even as Ginny taps Harry’s shoulder to get his attention, before the two make as if they’d already been a team.
“Oh, yeah, excellent idea,” Lockhart announces, limping over. Ginny raises her eyebrow at him; his robes are lightly bloodstained. “Alright then, Harry. When she points her wand at you, you do this.” He raises his wand, does a funny little wiggling action, and drops it.
Ginny facepalms, and Snape smirks.
“Woops!” Lockhart calls, picking it back up quickly. “My wand is a little overexcited there.”
Snape bends down to whisper something in Ginny’s ear.
Ginny tilts her head, then looks questioningly at Harry, who shrugs, and looks up at Lockhart. “Sir, could you show me that blocking thing again?”
Lockhart claps him on the shoulder. “Just do what I did, Harry.”
“What, drop my wand?”
Several students around them laugh; Ginny joins in. Snape’s eyebrows rise.
Lockhart does his countdown.
At one, Harry grins at Ginny. Ginny grins in return.
“Go!”
Harry raises his wand… and drops it, to gales of laughter.
Grinning like a loon, Ginny raises her wand. “Serpensortia!”
A huge, black snake appears out of her wand, falling to the floor and rising, ready to strike.
Ginny blinks. “Ohh…” she mutters.
“Don’t move, Potter,” Snape begins.
“Good evening to you too,” Harry greets the snake. “How’re you?”
The snake flinches back from him in surprise. Snape blinks.
Ginny steps forwards. “Why so angry?” she asks the snake, also in parseltongue. “What’s your name?” She starts scratching the snake’s head at what could only be a calculated position.
The snake leans into her attention, eyes closed, clearly enjoying itself. Snape’s jaw drops.
Harry looks up at Ginny. “You too?”
She shakes her head. “Ariel.”
“Allow me,” Lockhart says suddenly, and brandishes his wand. There’s a bang, and the snake flies ten feet up, before falling back to the ground, hissing furiously.
“Calmly,” Ginny informs it, patting its coils. “See the man with the bloodied robes and shiny teeth? Yeah, he’s the one that did that.”
Harry looks up at Lockhart. “Careful, if you do that too much, he might just attack you instead.”
“Ahh…” Lockhart begins.
Snape waves his wand, and the snake vanishes in a puff of black smoke.
“Well, that was surreal,” Lyra mutters, having come closer. “Good thing you two actually remembered the wand-magic incantation for the Parseltongue translation spell, isn’t it? I guess I’m just too used to using my Equestrian magic for that.” She sends a quick glare at Lockhart.
“So,” Lyra begins. She’d dragged Harry and Ginny away from the dueling club… after giving Lockhart’s arm a solid yank- throwing him headfirst into Professor Snape- to keep him from falling into Scootaloo’s lava puddle. Now, they’re in an empty classroom near the great hall, and she’d just used her wand to throw up a few spells. “First of all. Ginny.”
Ginny tilts her head. “Yes?”
“You can speak Parseltongue as well?”
She shakes her head. “No. Ariel’s a parselmouth, though- and Silver did something with her magic to let me use Ariel’s abilities.”
Lyra sighs, putting a hand to her forehead. “Alright then. Ariel too.” She looks between the two of them. “All three of you need to know that parseltongue is not to be treated lightly right now. Salazar Slytherin was known for being able to speak to snakes- and it’s the Slytherin monster that’s petrifying people. If you speak Parseltongue without good reason- or even with good reason, if you’re not careful- people will start thinking you are Slytherin’s heir- the one attacking everyone.”
“... Oh,” Ginny mutters.
Lyra takes a deep breath, and starts lowering her wards. “Alright then. I kinda have to say, that dueling club was a bit more of a disaster than I was expecting.” She grins. “I knew there was a reason I put myself so close to the Crusaders. Anyways,” she waves. “I’ll see you around.” She runs off towards Gryffindor tower.
Ginny lets out a breath. Ariel appears to let out one of her own. “That was close,” they mutter, as one.
Harry nods. “Yeah… I’d have hated for her to have realized what we did for Silver in the middle of the dueling club.”
Ginny looks at him. “Huh? Oh, yeah, that too, I guess.”
He looks at her. “What?”
“Oh, uh… I was worried she’d think I was… you know, doing the attacks.”
Harry blinks. “She let you into the Agency a week ago, and you’re worried she suspects you?”
She shrugs. “To be honest, I almost suspect myself. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Voldemort last time- and given what Ariel started her life as…”
Harry scowls. “So why would you suspect yourself?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. All I know is that I can’t remember a couple of nights- particularly, the nights with attacks- and each time, I’ve found myself covered with feathers… or paint.” She scowls. “I’m… I’m not worried that I might be doing it voluntarily, but if something’s using my body to do it…”
“It wouldn’t be using your abilities,” Harry states, “Nor Ariel’s. The first attack happened before your Papa Tango, remember?”
She nods. “Yeah, then the second attack was, like, two days later. If that. You saw them in the Hospital Wing, right? Tree Hugger, and Agent Hidden Light? I missed their entire search for the monster, because I wasn’t… um, aware.” She shivers, and hugs him tightly. “What if you’re next?”
Harry pats her shoulder comfortingly. “Hey, hey. I’m invulnerable, remember? And yeah, Fluttershy told me about it. She was attacked as well, alongside Tree Hugger- but she’s an alicorn, so she wasn’t hurt. She couldn’t remember it, even after emptying her gun at it, but she wasn’t hurt.” He chuckles lightly. “That’s why she carries that massive rifle around- she’s determined to end the monster next time.”
“But- What if it attacks Hermione? Or Silver?”
He shakes his head. “They’re also alicorns, Ginny. And what’s more, we’re papa tango alicorns, not regular alicorns like Fluttershy. Lyra tells me the Papa Tangoes are universally more powerful than any regular Equestrian… Even, say, Princess Celestia. So, believe me when I say, none of us have anything to worry about. Especially if it’s using your body for the attacks- I doubt it’ll want to kill off its own avenue of attack, will it?”
She shudders, pressing herself into his side. Ariel wraps her tail comfortingly around her neck. “What… What if it attacks Ariel? Or- Or Dumbledore?”
Harry shrugs. “Well, you know Ariel is immortal too, right?”
“I- I know, but- But I don’t want to be immortal without you!”
He hugs her back. “I asked Twilight about that last night, actually. I asked her what set Alicorns apart, aside from power levels and access to every tribe’s magic.” He smiles. “Did you know, alicorns are immortal too?”
Ariel gasps. Ginny looks sharply up at him. “You’re… immortal?”
He nods. “Yep. She tells me Princesses Celestia and Luna are both over a thousand years old. And since that means we’re all immortal, I guess we just need to find a way to turn you two into alicorns as well, before we hunt that last horcrux to extinction?”
“... Oh.”
“Anyways, what do you say we go find Silver and meet Dumbledore? I’m sure you remember the password to his office, right?”
She chuckles lightly as Ariel disappears, satisfied. “Of course I do. They only gave it to me as part of agent training.” She scowls. “They haven’t given it to you?”
He shakes his head. “Not yet- pretty sure they’ll be covering that during mine and Silver’s last ‘initial training’ session on Monday.”
“Ahh.” She walks with him for about two seconds, before looking up at him. “There’s a parseltongue translation spell?”
He nods. “She used it when we found Mrs. Norris.” He chuckles. “Never taught it to me, though. Pretty sure there is no wand-magic incantation for it.”
Ginny shrugs. “You know, I wonder how hard it would be to make Silver a parselmouth as well.”
Harry puts his hand to his chin- the hand not wrapped around Ginny. “That’s a good question.” He grins. “Maybe even one for her.”
Ginny giggles. “Yeah, I guess.”
It doesn’t take them long to walk back to the Great Hall, where Hermione and Silver are waiting, leaning casually on the energy wall Silver had erected around Scootaloo’s lava puddle. “What was that all about?” Silver asks.
“Lyra wanted to warn us to be careful with the Parseltongue translation spell,” Harry answers her. “Apparently, Salazar Slytherin was famous for being able to talk to snakes without such a spell. And, since the spell has no outwardly noticeable effects…” He shrugs.
“She’s worried people will think you’re Slytherin’s heir,” Hermione nods.
“Yeah. You ready?” Ginny asks.
Silver grins. “Yeah, let’s get this over with. You know, I can’t wait to see how Dumbledore reacts when he finds out.”
It’s another short walk up to Dumbledore’s office, where they pause in front of the gargoyle.
Ginny raises her hand to one of her radios. “Hey, Dumbledore? Do you mind if we make a quick visit?”
“Sure… something happen?”
She grins. “Ahh, you could say that. And no, it’s not an Agency visit, just me and… uh, the crew.”
“Alright then, come on in. You know the password?”
She grins, and depresses the button. “Lemon drop.”
The gargoyle springs aside, wall splitting open, as Dumbledore responds. “Yep. You know where my… Ahh, I’ll take that as a yes.”
She giggles. She, Harry, Hermione, and Silver had just stepped onto the spiral staircase, triggering Dumbledore’s warning wards.
“So, you wanted to talk?” Dumbledore asks, as Harry and three girls file into his office, into a line facing him.
“Yeah, you could say that,” Silver states.
“Alright,” Dumbledore continues. “What about, miss…” He squints at her nametag. “Silversong? Interesting.”
“Interesting how?” Silver asks.
Dumbledore smiles. “Well, the first few times I heard that name related to Lyra’s case, I thought it was a codename. Even checked the enrollment lists- nowhere to be found. Yet here you are.” He blinks. “Though, I could swear I’ve seen that hair before.”
Silver grins. “Well, that’s the thing… Until earlier today, that’s all it was- a codename. Or, to be precise, a name for my Equestrian form, one that wasn’t shared by my human form. Then, we, ah, took a few liberties with Lyra’s Papa Tango.”
Dumbledore raises his eyebrows. “A few… liberties?”
She nods. “Yeah. Messed with it a little, managed to give me a second human form- one that’s divorced from the restrictions of my first.”
“Your… first.”
She shifts into form as Draco. “Yeah. Draco has to conform to his position and family…” She shifts back into her new form. “But Silversong is as free as the wind. So…”
“You want to change your enrollment?” Dumbledore asks.
She shakes her head. “Nah, I was thinking of enrolling as Silver as well, and giving her a free schedule- so I could be Silver- be me- in public, including with homework, and take Draco to class. Without connecting the two.”
Dumbledore shakes his head.
“Please?” she pleads.
“Silver… Draco… whoever, we can’t do that,” Dumbledore sighs. “You can either keep Silver a codename, or completely switch. And you’ll have to have your parents’ permission for that, too.”
“Please?” Harry and Hermione beg.
He shakes his head.
Ariel suddenly appears out of Ginny’s shoulder, fluttering over to Draco’s shoulder. “Can we do that?” she asks. “Can we get Silver in separate from Draco, as she asked?”
Dumbledore sighs. “Well…”
“Please?”
“Alright.”
All three girls, plus Harry, turn to stare at Ariel.
“Thank you,” Ariel smiles. Then she looks sideways at Hermione. “The Agency can handle the legal paperwork, right?”
Hermione lets out a snort of laughter and nods. “Lyra tells me they do it all the time,” she states. “Especially considering that most Agents have more than one secret identity.”
About two minutes later, as the four ride the staircase back down to the entrance, Silver looks at Ariel, still riding her shoulder. “How did you do that?”
Ariel shrugs her wings. “I don’t know. I’ve had some suspicion about what my talent might be since we did that thing with the Papa Tango- and now I’m pretty sure I know what it is.” She smiles cheerfully. “Getting people to do what I want them to.” She then vanishes back into Ginny, right as the wall at the bottom opens for them.
She leans back, looking at the ceiling. “Come on, Morning. You can do this.” She closes her eyes. “You’ve lasted this long, you can last the rest of the year.” She takes a deep breath before bending over the toilet once more, to stain the toilet water even more violently pink.
Once she finishes, she rises back up from the toilet, sighs at the sacrilegious waste taking place, and flushes the veritable treasure trove down the drain. “Good bye, again.” She shakes her head. “I’ll be back tomorrow, with more. And the day after.” She rises to her feet. “I wonder where it all goes every time…?” She shrugs, unlocks the stall, and steps out to wash her hands- and mouth- in the sink.
There was once a time in her life, when such waste would have gotten her executed instantly. But now… she has no choice. Either waste egregiously… or overwhelm herself and, very possibly, die. She doesn’t doubt she’d die happy if that were to happen- but she’s not ready for her time to end just yet, not for a long time.
She shudders, looking at herself in the mirror. There was a time, once upon a time, when she didn’t have to worry about overfilling. No; instead, she was almost constantly starved. There just wasn’t enough of that precious pink jelly-like substance to go around.
She remembers her Queen’s plan to secure a greater supply of it. Seemed a bit of a weird plan to her, but it wasn’t her job to question her Queen.
Someling should have questioned it. She’d participated, exactly as she was supposed to- but the invasion of Canterlot hadn’t worked. Rather fortunate that the barrier that had thrown the entire hive out of the city had been crafted from the very substance she’d just disposed of- the entire hive had a good meal, allowing them to survive the landing. She’d been one of the few that had managed to stabilize their own flight paths before landing, and so land gently. She’d been one of the first ones running around, locating her fellow hivemates.
And for her loyalty, when the ponies showed a week later, she’d been left behind.
Fortunately, she’d been able to pretend to be a captured pony, and escaped that way. There had actually been some real captured ponies, so that story should even have held up to scrutiny.
But that’s of no matter. As soon as she- and the captured ponies- had gotten away to “safety”... Well, she didn’t know where the rest of her hive went, so she went where she could on her own. She’d been way too far out to reach the rest through the hivemind.
So she’d split off from the rest of the ponies, created herself a new identity once she was out of sight, and traveled to Manehattan. She’d picked the city not for the food supply, but for the size of the crowd. It was a lot easier to disappear in Manehattan than it would have been elsewhere.
Even though she was on a starvation ration the entire time. She’d never been trained as a love collector, so it was all she could do to stay alive on passive absorption- all she knew how to do. She’d had to attend every event that came along, just to survive.
That had gone on for a couple years, before she’d finally gotten comfortable with her identity- comfortable enough she thought she could stand up to scrutiny without trying all that hard.
She’d moved to Ponyville. A smaller town, sure- but she figured that’s what it’d take. A much closer-knit society, with bonds of friendship every which way. It had been her last hope, really; Manehattan was killing her, very, very slowly.
Ponyville hadn’t been all that much better, right off. It had seemed almost like a ghost town when she arrived- but it had, from the start, fed her better than Manehattan.
Then, just three days after she got a seasonal ‘summer job’ at Sugarcube Corner as an assistant baker, the town had suddenly been overpopulated. Pinkie Pie had thrown so many parties she’d thought she’d never see the end of them.
Much of the rush had gone away, many of the ponies returning home… but the town still held onto a much higher population than it’d had before.
It had taken her only a few days to find out what that had all been about. She’d completely forgotten about the strange ‘Hogwarts’ thing in the news a year prior- but, as it so happens, the door to that world had been opened in Ponyville.
Just two months had gone by before a letter appeared out of thin air in front of her… addressed to her. Thankfully, it was addressed to ‘Morning Sun’, her assumed identity, rather than her true identity- that would have been… difficult to explain.
Hogwarts was inviting her.
She’d made sure to top off her love reserves- thanks to Pinkie’s endless parties, and the greater summertime population density, she had no real difficulty doing so- before the scheduled start date.
Then, on a stroke of luck, the doorway had been reopened right on time, and she’d come to Hogwarts.
She’d been worried the school would be a bit more like Manehattan than Ponyville.
She shouldn’t have been.
She’s still only absorbing ambient love- though…
Well, she’s not sure how to describe it. The Equestrians that came here are no different- but the humans that live in this world… It’s almost like they’re pumping it into her. She’s started wondering if ‘love’ is even the correct term. She’s still amazed she hadn’t been detected during those first couple days, when she was adjusting to the massive influx of ambient love, before she had figured out just how far down she has to empty herself to avoid overfilling in a single day.
And now… She wastes so much she could probably feed the entire hive back home alone.
She takes a deep breath, shuddering inside. One of those human love-factories is walking down the hallway outside this bathroom. That’s fine; she’s prepared herself for that. She’ll last an entire twenty-four hours before she needs to empty out again. Unfortunately, since it’s ambient she’s absorbing, she hasn’t been able to limit it, or she would have. She hates disposing of it- and not only because it’s wasteful, but because she might be detected doing it.
She takes a deep breath, looking at the bathroom door. It’s magically locked; she’s done that every single time, save those first few… and never been interrupted, even by someone walking past the door. The love-factory in the passage right now doesn’t count- it’s most definitely a boy, and she’s in the girl’s bathroom.
She turns her back to the sink, brushing her bright yellow hair out of her face and once again contemplating using her shapeshifting ability to get it under control. But no- just like she’s been avoiding everyone with even a remote tie to anyone important as much as she can, using her shapeshifting ability to alter her appearance, even by the slightest amount, is out of the question. All it takes is one lowly child to notice the difference, and tell someone else… and somepony like Twilight might come looking.
Even- Queen forbid- Princess Cadence. Who, she fears, might be impossible for a changeling like herself to hide from.
She smiles at the door. “You’ve got this, Morning Sun,” she tells herself.
Then the impossible happens.
The beacon of love, pure and clean, walking cheerfully past outside, is suddenly tainted by fear, about a second before it’s snuffed out.
Not… Not completely, though. She closes her eyes, feels into her empathic sense. It’s been mostly blinded by this odd love-dumping lately, but when she concentrates, she can see through it.
No, he’s still alive. Only barely, but he feels stable. There’s another one with him- must be one of the ghosts. They show up on her empathic sense, but don’t produce love of their own- almost like changelings, though they also don’t seem to use love. She can’t sense anything else.
She racks her brain for what might have happened.
She can’t think of anything.
Did she just witness an attack?
She searches for the attacker with her empathy sense… but doesn’t find anything anywhere nearby.
She walks slowly to the door. “Alohomora.” She opens it slowly, sticks her head out, looking up and down the passage. No sign of any attacker, just…
Yes, it is one of the ghosts after all. She exits the bathroom completely, walks closer. This is… Justin Finch-Fletchley, and the Gryffindor ghost, that everyone calls ‘Nearly Headless Nick’.
She decides that a regular first-year student, upon crossing this, would probably panic in some way or another. Not that she’s much better- she’s absolutely terrified. Rather fortunate she designed Morning Sun’s fear reaction to match her own. She looks up and down the passage. “H-Hello?”
Silence.
“Anyone there?”
More silence.
She shudders, and finally uses her magic to lift Justin off the floor, and… Nick feels strange to her magic, but she has no difficulty moving him around with it. If nothing else, she can get them to the Hospital Wing.
She takes off running, floating them both in front of her.
Less than thirty seconds later, a door bangs open, and Peeves bursts out.
Relief practically bursts through her. “Peeves!” she calls, even though he’s obviously looking for her to cause some mischief. “I found them back there- can you tell someone?” She points her thumb over her shoulder.
Peeves blinks, staring at them for a second, before filling his lungs and yelling at maximum volume.
Well, she supposes, he’s doing what I asked.
Mere seconds pass before a second person, this one with bright pink hair- Fluttershy- appears out of thin air, holding the massive thing she normally has on her back. “Where?” she demands, taking one look at Justin and Nick.
She shivers in fear- this had not been the person she had in mind to summon- and points her thumb over her shoulder. “I found them by the bathroom.”
Fluttershy nods, and vanishes very quickly down the passage and around the corner. She almost lets her breath out before more people start appearing. Most of them are Equestrians, but some aren’t. Draco Malfoy, child of a member of the British magical government. Harry Potter, famous in his own right. And Hermione Granger, friend of Harry’s.
That’s not counting all the other people that appeared. She doesn’t recognize any of them.
Harry himself moves straight to her. “Hey, you okay?”
She feels somepony else’s magic- she thinks it’s Draco’s, where he got Equestrian magic she doesn’t know- taking Justin and Nick out of her magical grasp. She lets him take them; she was already dangerously close to dropping them. “I-I-!” she stutters.
Harry wraps an arm around her, shrouding her in his crazy love output. “Don’t worry, Miss… Morning Sun. They’ll be alright. It’s only petrification.”
Her breath catches. Harry Potter, famous in this world, had read her name tag.
If she screws up, she’s screwed.
She notices Draco look at him weird, before running off. Did he screw up somehow? Did she cause him to screw up? Is he a changeling as well?
“Morning Sun?” Harry pats her shoulder, looking worried. “Are you okay?”
Would she be better off fleeing now, and creating a new identity, living in this world away from the school? That Gate might have converted her Equestrian disguise into an eleven-year-old human disguise, but it doesn’t seem to have put any limits on her shapeshifting power.
Her vision is swimming by now, but she’s not thinking about it. She’s… She’s… She thinks Harry is shaking her.
Her very first thought, upon awakening, is that she’s in an unfamiliar bed.
She opens her eyes, instantly notes the bright yellow color of her unruly hair, and finds herself suddenly thankful that she’d never shapeshifted it into a better-behaved state. Had she done so, she wouldn’t have known nearly so quickly that her disguise had held through her unconsciousness. Though…
She sucks in a deep breath. She’s completely full- but she feels some kind of barrier, keeping her from absorbing more. Exactly what she’s been trying to make for herself, but-
“You’re awake.”
She lets out a very high-pitched scream, practically flying out of bed and away from the voice. She doesn’t actually fly, though, so she promptly crashes to the floor next to the bed.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” The girl that had spoken, invisible behind the bed, sighs. “Whatever.”
She lies quietly, eyes wide, where she fell. She makes a quick glance down at herself; yes, she’s still wearing her robes, and still looks exactly like Morning Sun. Nothing suspicious.
“Ahh… Morning?” the girl continues. “You still awake, or did you knock yourself out again?”
“Um-!” she begins, scrambling to free herself from the blankets. Morning Sun doesn’t get trapped, ever.
“Okay.” The girl sounds relieved. “You okay over there?”
“Yeah!” she yelps. “Yeah, I’m fine, just…” With a little wave of magic, she shoves the blankets off of her, before she scrambles into a sitting position to look at the girl. “I’m-!” She freezes.
Of course, it’s another important person. Ginny Weasley, the Equestrian liaison, according to the newspaper she’d read last week.
Ginny blinks. “Uh… You okay?” For some reason, she’s holding a closed, unlabeled book in one hand, and her wand in the other.
She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and lets it out, before opening her eyes again. She can handle this. “I’m… I’m okay,” she mumbles, averting her eyes.
Her gaze then falls on a clock on the wall.
It’s just before noon- about two hours earlier than it had been when she’d ‘discovered’ Justin and Nick.
She decides to hazard it, and looks at Ginny. “What… What happened?” She almost blinks, and does stiffen, when she realizes that Ginny is one of the ones with crazy love output, but she isn’t feeling it. Not in any overwhelming way, at any rate- and it’s not blinding her empathy sense, either.
“Well,” Ginny mutters uncertainly, pocketing her wand and moving the book to her lap. “How much do you remember?”
She winces, flinching away from the girl. What can she tell? What can’t she tell? What will-
“Nevermind,” Ginny states suddenly, shaking her head. “Pretend I never asked that. Um, you remember finding Justin and Nicholas, right?”
She forces herself to nod. Her head moves very jerkily, but that’s about the most she can do right now.
Ginny shrugs. “Well, once everyone else started arriving on the scene and investigating…” She flinches. “I was… out of action, at the time, but Harry tells me you hyperventilated and passed out. Then wouldn’t wake back up again, so he took you here, to the Hospital Wing- where nobody’s been able to get you to wake up.”
“H-How… How long?” she stutters, inwardly terrified.
Ginny scowls, and rubs her chin. “That was about… Two weeks ago, I think.”
She gasps. Two weeks? That’d be way long enough for her to die from love overload at this place! Yet, if she’s alive now- especially with that odd block that feels like it’s not there- her secret is almost certainly out, even if she somehow maintained her disguise throughout.
Ginny’s not done talking, though. “Madam Pomfrey apparently had a lot of trouble, the first few days, with getting your magic to behave- kept going overboard, I hear. Like, dangerous buildups inside your body type thing… It got to the point where she regularly drained it out, dumping it into the atmosphere- but as near as anyone could tell, there was no reason for you to be out cold.” She shrugs. “So she had Doctor Horse come help. He apparently found a couple more oddities in your magic, but nothing that should have kept you asleep.
“After that, they came to us.” She grins. “You know, even Lyra couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Silver tried, but even with her talent, she couldn’t do it. After that… Well, I technically wasn’t supposed to come, but Madam Pomfrey let me in. And Ariel… Well, apparently even Lyra can’t see magic nearly as well as Ariel can.” She shudders. “She tells me your magic looked to be so badly damaged she was surprised you were even still alive at all, let alone coherent, before you passed out earlier. And even now…”
“D-Damaged?” she asks.
Ginny nods. “Yeah. She’s… not exactly an expert, but she’s had a chance to see quite a few magic matrices of various sorts… and yours looked like somebody had taken one of those to the chopping block with a blunt knife many, many times.” She shudders. “One of those damages took your magic resistance right down to zero, though, so I thought I could do some repairs with the Whiskey Tango. Got permission, took it up here, used it… and you woke up, like, two seconds later.” She looks up. “Do you know what happened to get your magic… like that?” She gestures at the bed.
She doesn’t move. Two emotions are battling with each other in her head. One, relief- it would seem that she hasn’t actually been ousted as a changeling. The other, fear. She’s most definitely been noticed to be unique. Even Lyra, in whose backyard the Gate is located, had looked at her!
Oh, and worry. What exactly is this ‘whiskey tango’- sounds like some kind of alcohol dance- and what exactly did it do to her?
She shakes her head weakly. At this point, she has no idea what to do. Her Queen would be sorely disappointed that she put herself in this situation… Though, if ever she does get back to the Hive, her Queen would no doubt love to hear not only about Hogwarts… but also about just how dangerous it seems to be to hyperventilate here.
If only she could get back to her Queen at all. At this rate, she rather doubts she’ll ever see her Queen again- or, even, summer.
“Ahh…” Ginny sighs. “Well, since you’re up, Madam Pomfrey will probably want to look you over at least once more- and I need to go put the Whiskey Tango away anyways. It’s a bit too dangerous to carry around unnecessarily.” As she speaks, she puts the book into her bookbag and rises to her feet. She then gives her a small nod, and turns to leave the room.
She lets out a relieved sigh. The scrutiny of the liaison has ended.
Then she blinks, and looks to her left.
There’s Madam Pomfrey, waiting patiently, though with a confusing expression.
“Uhh…” She begins. The school matron isn’t on her list of people to avoid like her life depends on it, but she also doesn’t want to interact with her any more than she has to.
After all, the main reason she isn’t on that avoid list is because she’ll only ever meet if she does something that would take her up here. And if she does, it’s unavoidable.
“Hi?” she finishes.
Madam Pomfrey sighs. “Any funny feelings? Everything in its proper place?”
“Er…” She blinks. Why is she asking that? Maybe it has something to do with how Madam Pomfrey is holding her wand rather casually by her side. Had she already done all the scans she wanted to? “Yes?” she guesses. “I mean… I feel fine?”
She raises an eyebrow. “You seem a lot calmer, since Weasley left,” she observes.
She winces. “Ahh…” She rubs the side of her head, racking her brain for a plausible explanation. “I… I do that?”
Madam Pomfrey’s scowl tells her instantly that wouldn’t do.
“Er…” She looks away.
“Whatever,” Madam Pomfrey scowls. “You’re physically fine, so if you’re feeling fine as well, you can go. Just don’t hyperventilate on us again, alright dear? That Whiskey Tango only works once.”
She blinks, hardly believing her luck. Isn’t Madam Pomfrey normally obsessed with her patients? “Ahh… Got it,” she states, and starts for the exit.
“Oh, and before it surprises you,” Madam Pomfrey announces, drawing her attention again. “Most of the school went home for the winter holidays three days ago. They can probably get you back to Equestria separately, if you want to go too.”
She blinks. “Ahh… Thanks, but I think I’ll stay here for the holidays.” It should be easier to avoid detection amongst a few wizards that- apparently- know nothing of changelings, than in a no-doubt overpopulated Equestrian town, where everypony is almost intimately familiar with her kind.
Besides, she doesn’t want to single herself out any more than absolutely necessary- and going to Equestria separately sounds like an excellent way to single herself out.
Morning Sun hasn’t gone two steps when a sudden cough- and corresponding spike on her empathy sense- catches her attention. She whirls around to face the cough- and Madam Pomfrey traces it as well, before charging forwards.
“Ugh…” The girl that had coughed grumbles, sitting up in her bed. “That hurt. A lot. Um…” She looks around, blinking confusedly. “... What happened?”
Then it hits her. That’s one of the people that had been attacked!
Madam Pomfrey reaches her bed. “You’re awake,” she greets.
The girl- Morning can’t see her nametag- looks at Madam Pomfrey. “What happened? Was I…?”
She nods. “Petrified.” She scowls. “Must say, though, we didn’t expect anyone to recover on their own…”
The girl shrugs. “Huh… ‘Spose it might be related to how I saw it. Might also be an Equestrian thing, but Tree Hugger doesn’t look to be recovering. Um…” She looks up. “Can I help you, Morning?”
Morning only stares, paralyzed by fear and shock. This girl either already knew her… or had been able to read her nametag from across the room. And, even, had named the first girl that was attacked- and said she doesn’t look to be recovering- without even glancing.
The girl shrugs, before flopping back down on the mattress. “Whatever. Um… Where’s Lyra? I wanna say she can speed my recovery with her ‘reset magic’ wildcard. It feels like that kind of thing.”
“You… saw the attacker?” Madam Pomfrey asks.
She nods. “Yeah… it was swimming through pipes at the time, but I saw it. It was…” She raises one hand into the air in front of her- and an image appears, floating in the air. An illusion spell. “Donno what it’s called, but it’s some kind of giant snake.”
Morning recognizes the image from some of the research she’d done early in the year, back when she’d been searching for any possible clue as to what the wizards would think of what she really is. Their Being vs Beast debate had been very interesting… and this thing is very definitely on the Beast side of the equation. “Basilisk.” The word found its way out of her mouth without prompting.
The girl on the bed rises again. “What was that?”
Madam Pomfrey also turns to her, raising an eyebrow.
Great. Now she’s attracted their attention again. At least she doesn’t recognize the girl on the bed at all, so she’s probably not anywhere near her avoid list. “T-That’s a Basilisk,” she stutters. “I f-found it when I was b-browsing the lib-brary…”
The girl nods. “And it would seem you don’t work well under pressure, too. Don’t worry, we won’t hurt you. You know any more about it, or should I send Index Eye after it?”
“Uhh…” She looks away, trying to remember. “N-No.” She hadn’t been all that interested in it, beyond what it looked like and what wizards did to it. She knows it’s rare enough that she hadn’t been able to find anything.
The girl winces, then her hand comes up to the black thing clipped to the front of her robes. “Index Eye.”
Madam Pomfrey watches expectantly. Morning, seeing this, also waits, intrigued. Is it possible she should be avoiding anyone with one of those black things as well, not just the important figures and the Guards?
Ten seconds pass silently, before the girl goes for the black thing again. “Index Eye, do you copy?”
“We are in the middle of the winter holidays,” Madam Pomfrey scowls.
The girl winces. “Then she’s probably gone home, and may or may not be wearing her radio. Well-!” She freezes suddenly, then smiles… and, eventually, goes for it again. “It’s Hidden Light. Can you reunite Index Eye with her radio- and have her look up basilisks?” Pause. “Thanks.” She looks up, hand dropping from it. “Turns out she didn’t go home, but everybody else did, so she’s not wearing her radio. Got lucky, though, because Quick Skill is not only wearing her radio but near Index Eye.” She shrugs. “I wasn’t aware we had a third local recruit… but I guess stuff happens when you’re petrified for, what, a month?” She looks up at Madam Pomfrey, who nods.
Silver walks steadily back up to the infirmary with Harry, Hermione, and Ginny, some two hours after Hidden Light had apparently woken up. All three of the others are carrying their radios now; Lyra had confirmed that, while she had set something up to get phones to work through the Gate, the radios won’t- so when every Equestrian Agent headed back to Equestria for the winter holidays, they hadn’t seen a reason to keep wearing them.
For Silver, she didn’t see a reason to shift into form as Draco to take the thing off- so she’d still heard it, in that really weird way she can hear the radio when in a form other than the one wearing it, when Hidden Light went live.
As per the senior Agent’s instructions, she’d gone with the other three- after reuniting with Ginny as well- to the library, to look for basilisks. Thanks to Hermione’s talent, she’d known exactly where to look- and what they’d found had been… Well, worrying, at best.
They pause, as a group, in front of the infirmary door, and knock lightly.
“Who is it?” Madam Pomfrey asks, cracking the door open- before opening it the rest of the way. “Ahh, you’re here. She’s over here.” She gestures disapprovingly at the only bed with something moving in it, before bustling back over. “I still think you should be taking it easy,” she informs the girl.
Hidden Light shrugs. “I wish I could,” she states. “But when the safety of the entire student population is at stake… I mean, that’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?” She looks expectantly at Hermione, before glancing across the other three. Silver is in form as Draco right now; they haven’t decided to reveal her human Silversong form to the Agency just yet. “... I see I’m a little behind the times.”
Hermione grins sheepishly. “Uh… Yeah. You probably know about…” She looks at Ginny. “You know, we really should ask about that sometime.”
Hidden Light, whose nametag reads Glowing Blue, raises an eyebrow. “Codename not fit or something?”
Ginny nods. “Yeah. They made it ‘Math Head’ before they knew what my talent actually is. Er… before we knew what it actually is, because we haven’t told them yet.”
Glowing shrugs. “Eh. Anyways, I didn’t know you two were Agents.” She glances at Harry and Draco, before focusing on the former. “I mean… since Lyra mentioned you have one of those love thingies Lyra does, I kinda saw that coming. But Draco…?”
“Ahh… That would have been before…” Hermione holds up a couple newspapers. “You’ll probably want to read these, to catch up to the times.”
Glowing accepts them, glancing at the first page. “Celebrity nearly kills foreign envoy after unprecedented Quidditch match, huh?” She looks up at the two boys. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, what are your talents?”
Draco glances at Madam Pomfrey, and shrugs. “Oh, I’m only automatically good at anything I try.”
Glowing rubs her chin. “Oooh, I can see how that would be really useful. And hard to realize, too.” She looks at Harry. “How about you?”
Harry grins. “Me? Oh, I’m indestructible.”
Hermione chuckles. “He also bounced Incendio with a hardened air barrier. We know he’s indestructible, but I think it’s more generalized to an impervious defense.”
Glowing lets out a low whistle. “Impressive.”
Madam Pomfrey sighs suddenly. “Will you rest now?” she asks Glowing.
“Ahh…” Hermione rubs the side of her head. “That… Um, might be a little… challenging.”
Glowing answers before Madam Pomfrey can speak. “How so? I mean, unless you need my light for something, Bonbon ought to be able to find someone better suited to just about any task I can think of.”
“Your light?” Pomfrey asks.
“That’s the thing,” Ginny mutters. “Everyone else went home for the winter holidays. Which leaves you the seniormost Agent on this side of the Gate.”
Glowing facepalms, flopping backwards onto her pillows. “Oh Celestia.”
Pomfrey blinks. “What?”
“Which means,” Draco informs her, “she’s inherited mission leader duty- and responsibility- until someone senior to her- or the designated leader, Bonbon- returns to this side of the Gate.”
Madam Pomfrey raises an eyebrow. “Before she woke?”
“Well, before she woke, that was Hermione. But Glowing is senior to her, so…”
Glowing sits back up again. “I’ve never lead a mission before, though.”
Hermione shrugs. “Me neither. Bonbon told me not to worry about it, said it’d be like ‘free time’.”
“You mean, she suspended the mission?”
She shakes her head. “No. She was confident nothing would happen while she was gone, so she told me to treat it like free time.”
Glowing lets out a sigh, and flops back down again. “In other words, she left orders to be passive. Which means, unless something happens, ‘seniormost Agent’ means nothing, and I can get that rest.” She tilts her head to look at Madam Pomfrey. “On the other hand, we can’t be putting me under with any sleep potions, because if something does happen, I need to be on-scene as quickly as possible.” She glares at the ceiling. “Gotta love rules.”
Madam Pomfrey nods soberly.
“So, ah… You asked me to research basilisks?”
“Oh. Yeah, I guess,” Glowing mutters, staying horizontal. “I thought Bonbon would take it from there, but… Whatever. What did you find?”
“King of Snakes,” Hermione begins. “Venomous, deadly gaze, apparently petrifies when seen in a reflection. Hatched from a chicken’s egg under a toad. Mortal enemy of spiders; flees from crowing of a rooster, which is fatal to it.”
“Any new messages on that wall?”
She shakes her head. Then opens her mouth to speak; Glowing won’t have seen that.
Glowing beats her to it. “Then it clearly won’t come unless it’s called, and we can safely say it won’t be called until after Bonbon gets back, and we don’t need to worry about it right now. Sound about right?”
“Unless it’s called…?” Draco asks. “How…?”
“Because if it was going to come on its own, it would have come on its own sometime during the last thousand years. It obviously has to be called out, probably by someone that speaks parseltongue.” She scowls. “Hmm… As I recall, Myrtle Warren was killed last time it was opened- and her bathroom is very close to where those words are. Try asking her what happened, might be a clue. If you do find the Chamber, do not enter.”
“Roger,” Hermione nods.
Glowing waves a hand vaguely at them, without looking. “But do that on your own schedule, no rush. Um, dismissed? I think that’s how I do it.” She seems to shrug. “Whatever, too tired to care. Um, thanks for the papers, too. I’ll have to read them later.” She turns to smile at Madam Pomfrey. “After a good long rest.”
Harry, Hermione, Silver, and Ginny retreat quietly, departing from the Hospital Wing without a fuss. As a matter of fact, they go so peacefully that Madam Pomfrey sees no need to herd them along.
“So then,” Madam Pomfrey begins.
“By the way,” Glowing informs her. “I’m thinking on using a hairpin-trigger sleeping spell on myself. Much disturbance at all and it’ll wake me up, but without disturbance I can sleep for up to sixteen hours at a time. That going to be okay?”
She blinks. “Ahh… Sure. Just let me check a few things first.” She starts brandishing her wand at the girl.
Morning Sun washes her hands. She’d just finished dumping more love- more than she normally does, as a matter of fact- but her reserves are already filling with a somewhat alarming speed, even though she’s not feeling near that much ambient in the area. “Am… Am I making it myself?” she asks the mirror. “And…” She scowls at her hand. “Only making as much as I need? Or spilling the excess, like everyone else does?”
She scowls, then transforms into Ginny Weasley with a flash of green flames. “What did you do to me, then? Is it permanent? Will it hurt? Did it build on anything someone else did, or was all that cancelled out? Did it shrink my reserves? What did it do to my senses?” She sighs, leaning against the counter. “What in the world is a ‘Whiskey Tango’?” She gazes at herself in the mirror… Then puts a hand to her forehead. “Oh, and apparently I’m seeing double, too. Must be the alcohol or something.” She looks almost plaintively at her second reflection. “What would an alcohol dance have to do with waking-!” She freezes suddenly, eyes going wide.
She’s not seeing double.
She whirls around, putting her hands on the edge of the countertop, her breath catching.
“Who are you?” Ginny asks.
She doesn’t move. Or speak, at all. When did the girl get here? Had she forgotten to lock the door? How long does she have to escape, or has that option already eluded her? What is a Changeling supposed to do when they’re caught by the very person that they’re disguised as?
She only knows one thing for certain.
She’s been caught.
Ginny tilts her head slightly. “Uh, hello?”
She still doesn’t move. She’s still trying to figure out what in Hogwarts she’s supposed to do.
Ginny then scowls, before walking closer. “Oh Hello, Ginny two point oh, anybody home?”
She flinches back from the girl’s approach, but still can’t decide what to do. She’s pretty sure she shouldn’t try shifting in front of her- that’d only tell the girl exactly who she is.
Ginny stops right in front of her, and waves a hand in front of her face. “Hellooo?”
She blinks a couple times. Freezing probably isn’t what she’s supposed to do- but she was never trained as an infiltrator, only as a soldier! She was in one of the later waves of new nymphs her Queen and broodmothers spawned explicitly to outnumber the ponies in the invasion! She even spent the entire battle disguised as a male Changeling!
Ginny raises an eyebrow. “Uhh… And you do know the Whiskey Tango has nothing to do with alcohol, right? Or dancing?”
“Uh-!” she begins, but doesn’t finish, averting her gaze briefly. How much did the girl hear? Everything about the alcohol, certainly- but what about before that?
Ginny lets out a sigh and sidesteps to lean against the counter next to her. “You know you’re not in trouble, right?”
She turns to stare at her. “But-! But-!”
Ginny shakes her head, even going so far as to wrap an arm around her back. “I mean, why would you be?”
Her jaw articulates wordlessly up and down. “But-! But I- I look like you!”
Ginny shrugs. “So? You look like me in a locked bathroom, with nobody else in it.” She looks at her. “And I bet you planned on looking like yourself again before you left, right?”
She looks between Ginny and the door. “Locked-? But-!”
Ginny shrugs. “I mean, the spell was a little flimsy, but…”
She stares at Ginny. “What…?”
“Hey, I had to wonder what was up when the door resisted a bit more than normal. Then Ariel realized it was an underpowered locking charm I’d ripped in two.” She smiles at her. “I guess you were a bit distracted?”
“Ahh…”
Ginny shrugs again. “In any case, it’s a rather impressive disguise ability. I don’t think even Two Face can do it nearly as thoroughly as you.” She taps her chin, looking contemplatively at the ceiling.
“But… How is…?” She stares at Ginny, torn between fear and confusion.
“How is looking like me not a problem?” Ginny asks.
She nods faintly.
Ginny shrugs. “Because who cares what you look like? It’s pretending to be me that might be an issue. And I don’t see you doing that in a locked bathroom.” She glances at the door. “Though, ah, you might want to be a little more careful with the locking charm. Maybe pair it with an alert spell or something, so you know when someone’s going to be barging in on you.”
“But… But I’m a…” She trails off, choking on her own words. Infiltrator rule number one, she knows, is to never tell anyone what you are.
“Equestrian, right?” Ginny supplies for her.
“Ahh… I- I guess.” She scowls at the door.
Ginny shrugs. “So you’re an Equestrian, so what? They’ve got some twenty-six thousand Equestrians at Hogwarts this year.” She grins suddenly. “Oh, and what do you say to a little pranking with that ability of yours?”
Morning Sun looks over, from where she’d just started counting seconds in front of this door; Ginny wants to prank her brothers first. “Uhh…” It’s… Not someone she recognizes, though that hair looks somehow familiar. So, probably not on her avoid list, but possibly on it anyways.
“Where have you been?” the girl asks, trotting forwards. “It’s been almost two hours- Harry’s been getting worried.”
“Uhh…” Her eyes pick out the girl’s nametag. Silversong… is not on her avoid list, but is an Equestrian name. So, this girl must be an Equestrian- and, thence, know about the Changelings.
“What’s taking so long?” Silver continues, coming to a halt in front of her, and scowling slightly.
“Ahh…” She can’t decide how best to break contact with the girl without letting on that she’s not actually Ginny. It doesn’t exactly help that her nervousness levels are climbing rapidly.
“Ginny?”
“Uhh…” Before long, the girl will realize something’s wrong unless she does something- but she spent so much time avoiding all the important people that she never observed Ginny enough to even begin to come up with something she might actually do. She’s starting to think it might be a good idea to play it off as a costume, even though it’s not Nightmare Night… or “Halloween”, as the local analog seems to be called.
“Ginny? You okay?”
“Uhh…” There it goes. She’s not sure how to play it off, though- the girl will probably think of Changelings if she’s not careful.
“Yep, I’m okay!”
Morning blinks. Same voice as she’s been mumbling in- thus, the real Ginny, from behind Silversong.
Great. Now Silver will see two and immediately think Changeling.
Silver turns as well. “Whaaat-?” She looks between the two.
Ginny giggles, jogging forwards. “What brings you down here?” Ginny asks Silver.
Silver ignores the question. “Ginny… do you have, like, a doppelganger or something?”
Morning’s jaw drops. This girl is an Equestrian, and she didn’t jump straight to the changeling conclusion? Did she sleep through the entire invasion, then live in a hut on the corner of a rock farm for most of her life, without ever reading a newspaper? That’s about the only way she can think of the girl could not know about the Changelings!
Ginny lets out a small snort of laughter. “Briefly, yeah. She’s got this amazing disguise ability, so we were going to prank my brothers.” She sticks a thumb towards the door Morning had been waiting outside. “They’re… What was it?” She looks at Morning. “Making stuff?”
Morning shrugs. “Yeah.”
“Wait,” Silver mutters. “You ran into… Whoever this is, who happens to have the ability to exactly mimic your voice and appearance, even including the radios?”
Morning blinks. “Radios?”
Ginny taps the black things on the front of her robes. “These. Communication technology.”
“Ahh…” She looks down at the ones on the front of her ‘robes’. “Ahh, yeah, I guess. Th-Though these won’t w-work, since they’re c-constructs, not… the real th-thing.” She touches one lightly, wondering how the real ones work.
Silver rubs her chin. “How… ah, ubiquitous is that ability?”
She shivers involuntarily. “How… How do you mean?”
“Like, I assume you can match me exactly as well- but do you have to have a template to work off of, or can you make something up?”
“Ahh… I…” She gulps. If she’s already in this far, she might as well go the whole way. “I can… make it up. I-If I want.”
Silver scowls. “And you’ve got a nervousness problem, too. Hmm…” She rubs her chin for a second, and looks at Ginny. “Anyways, you ran into her, how?”
Ginny shrugs. “She, ah, forgot to lock the door, so I walked in on her talking to herself in the mirror. While looking like me, so it was pretty obvious.” She tilts her head, putting one finger to her chin. “In any case, she had a few questions about the Whiskey Tango that I… Well, I don’t know it as well as you do.”
Silver raises an eyebrow. “You examined half the Papa Tango, yet you don’t know the Whiskey Tango as well as I do, when I haven’t seen so much as a single symbol of either?”
“W-What…” Morning begins. “What does this h-have to do with d-dances?”
Silver lets out a snort of laughter, and starts giggling.
Ginny grins. “Nothing. Anyways, why are you here, Silver?”
Silver blinks, straightening out her expression. “Oh, right. Harry was getting worried with how long you were taking.”
She tilts her head. “Only Harry?”
She shrugs. “Well, alright. All three of us. I take it you found her, and that’s what’s slowed you down?”
Nod.
Silver grins, before looking at Morning. “So whaddya say, after we prank the Twins, we prank Harry and Hermione as well?”
“Ahh…” She shivers.
“I don’t think that’d be too good of an idea,” Ginny mutters. “She gets, like, very nervous around anyone important.” She shrugs. “I don’t get it, but she does, so…”
Silver nods slowly. “And Harry would be important because he’s famous, wouldn’t he? What about Hermione, though? Could we prank her without… Well…” She gestures towards Morning.
“Ahh…” Morning mutters uneasily.
“I think she’s afraid of Hermione because she’s Harry’s friend,” Ginny answers. “And me, two hours ago, because I’m way important as the liaison. You were the only one she didn’t seem overly scared of.”
Silver spends a few seconds looking between the two, before letting out a sigh. “She is aware that we’re also Harry’s friends, right?”
“What-!?” Morning gasps.
Silver pulls her into a gentle hug. “Don’t worry, we don’t bite. Let’s prank the Twins, shall we?” She blinks, giggles, and looks at Morning, still held in her hug. “You said you could make something up… How, ah, free is that?”
“Oh, hey boys!”
George looks up from his work with Fred, towards the source of Ginny’s voice- which is a little higher off the ground than normal. “What in the world…?”
Fred looks up as well, blinks, and speaks. “No, what the hay…?”
Ginny grins cheerfully. “You having fun?”
George starts talking. “Were in the-”
“-hay-”
“-did you get a unicorn?”
The pure white unicorn, visibly fresh out of the Forbidden Forest, snorts and rolls its eyes while an unfamiliar Equestrian with silver hair helps Ginny dismount.
“Oh, I found her in the bathroom,” Ginny grins, once fully on the ground again, patting the unicorn’s shoulder.
“You… found her in the bathroom,” Fred repeats.
“She just said that,” the Equestrian states.
“How did she get to the bathroom?” George asks.
“I walked there myself,” the unicorn states calmly.
They stare.
“What…?” Fred begins.
George looks at his brother, then at the Equestrian, and finally at Ginny, who seems to be trying to hide her giggles. “You’re playing with us,” he accuses.
“Well of course,” Ginny giggles. “How many talking unicorns do you meet?”
The Equestrian shrugs, and starts talking. “Well, there’s…” She starts listing off names, but in a mutter low enough neither twin can make any of it out.
Fred looks around. “Where’s the camera?”
The unicorn vanishes in a bright flash of green flames, leaving behind an Equestrian girl with white hair and pink glasses, holding a camera with a massively long lens. The flash goes off, bright and white, immediately before girl and camera vanish in a second flash of green light.
“There it-! … Uh, was,” George observes.
Before either of their vision can resolve, though, there’s a third flash of green light- so, when they can finally see straight again, Ginny is standing between two equestrians, and looking curiously at the one with the unruly yellow hair. The yellow-haired girl is looking nervously back at Ginny.
The twins stare for about two seconds.
Then Fred starts it. “That was-”
“-Amazing!” George finishes.
“How’d you do that?” Fred asks the yellow-haired girl, who looks at them with an expression bordering between nervousness and confusion.
“You know how the Equestrians all have unique abilities?” Ginny asks them.
George nods.
“Yeah,” Fred answers. “They’ve got all those unique abilities, then the ones they call their unique abilities.”
Ginny scowls. “The ones they don’t call their unique abilities aren’t unique, they’re skills or something. Anyways, Morning Sun’s talent is, like, the perfect disguise.”
“Disguise?” George asks, raising an eyebrow.
The silver-haired Equestrian shrugs. “It’s more of a total transfiguration thing,” she states. “With, apparently, no real limits.”
Morning Sun flinches, but doesn’t say anything.
Ginny looks back at the Twins. “And why were you saying ‘hay’...?”
Fred shrugs. “The Equestrians say it a lot, whenever they’re not thinking about it.”
“Usually correct themselves in a hurry, too,” George chimes.
“I’m curious,” Ginny begins, looking at Morning Sun. The Twins had fervently wished they had her shapeshifting ability, even after she’d promised them they wouldn’t like it. Fortunately, she’d had to tell them it’s impossible to ‘share’, and is- as far as they needed to know, at least- unique to her. Now, she, Ginny, and Silver have just finished pranking Harry and Hermione- who had taken it just like Silver had. “But, um, those other forms you used earlier, with the Twins. Do you… have names for them?”
She winces. “Ahh… That. Well… When he asked about a camera, I couldn’t resist, so I shifted to look like Photo Finish for a second.” She scowls. “The camera was a magical construct. Flashbulb worked great, but it didn’t take any photos.” Then she looks at Ginny. “But I don’t like impersonating people, so I shifted back quickly.”
Ginny tilts her head. “What about that form you took after that one, before… Well, becoming you?”
She winces again. “You… You noticed that?”
She nods. “Yeah. Something about pegasus magic, I think. Compounded with my photographic memory…”
A third wince. “That… That would do it. Um…” She looks pleadingly between the floor. “Please don’t tell anyone about it?”
They nod in perfect sync.
“Alright.” She shudders briefly, takes a deep breath, and lets it go. “That… That was my natural form.”
Ginny winces. “Did… Did something happen, to make the black… thing, necessary?”
She blinks. The girl saw her exoskeleton, and has to ask if it’s necessary? “Uhh… No? I mean… it is a part of me.”
“But-!” Silver begins. “But what made it part of you?”
She stares at the girl for a few seconds. “It’s… It’s reminiscent of what I am. Like the green fire.”
“Oh,” Ginny blinks. “So, you’re… not one of the normal pony tribes, are you?” She scowls, then looks at the others. “Though, it’s not like any of us are, either.”
She looks up suddenly. She’d hardly raised an eyebrow when the girl mentioned the pony tribes, but then she said they weren’t one of the normal ones. Could that be why they’ve never heard of the changelings? “What?”
Ginny looks at her, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not one of the normal pony tribes, are you?” she repeats.
She shakes her head. “No, no, I’m not a pegasus, unicorn, or earth pony- but then you said that you aren’t either.”
Ginny looks at the others. “Ahh…”
Silver shrugs. “So long as she can keep it secret,” she states.
“I daresay she can,” Hermione injects. “Well, that her entire race can. The only references to them I’m getting are newspapers, all dated a couple years ago.”
“Uhh…” she begins.
Hermione smiles at her. “It’s my… unique talent.” Then she scowls. “I can only ever get publication title and dates, though, without going out to find one.”
She winces, rubbing the side of her head. “Yeah… Ponies are, ah, mortally afraid of my kind, so…”
“Ahh,” Silver mutters. “Well, that’s… kinda the opposite of what we ended up becoming.”
She blinks at the girl. “Becoming?”
“Yeah. Lyra’s got this massive spell matrix downstairs, calls it the ‘Papa Tango’. Turns a British witch or wizard into a pony.” She shrugs, wrapping both Harry and Hermione with her arms, one on either side. “We’re all British, gone through that matrix. Which doesn’t make us exactly like other ponies- no, us ‘Papa Tangoes’ are rather universally more powerful than regular ponies.” She scowls. “And that was before the super secret part happened, and we all ended up ascending.”
She gasps, stumbling backwards a step. “A-Ascending? You- You’re Alicorns?”
All three nod.
She looks at Ginny, who shrugs.
“The Papa Tango hasn’t finished its work on me,” she sighs, shaking her head.
She looks back at the others. “L-Like, Alicorn Princesses!?”
Silver shrugs. “Or so we’ve heard. But we haven’t told anypony yet, so I’ll say no, we’re not princesses.”
She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath or two to calm herself down, and opens them again. “Soo…”
Hermione looks at the other three. “We should probably tell Hidden Light,” she mutters. “That transformation ability is amazing, mortal fears aside.” She scowls. “And you seem mortally afraid of ponies, to boot. She can probably help with that.”
“Before we do that, though,” Ginny announces suddenly, “there’s a little something we might want to take care of.”
Everyone turns to look at her. “What?”
She draws a small diary out of her pocket, tossing it flat on the table. “That.”
“What is that?” Harry asks.
“That…?” Hermione scowls, stepping closer to bend over it. “What…?”
“That,” Ginny begins, pointing at it. “Is Tom Riddle’s fifty-year-old diary. I’ve been writing in it all summer, until now… and he’s been writing back.”
“That sounds… ominous,” Harry mutters.
Morning blinks. “Where is he?”
Hermione looks at her. “What?”
“It’s not uncommon for two books to be linked in Equestria,” Morning states. “So writing in one causes the writing to appear in the other.”
“Ahh… No,” Hermione shakes her head. “That’s not what this is, at all. But the list of books related is utterly confusing, so…”
“I think that’s what’s been opening the Chamber of Secrets,” Ginny continues, “by mind controlling, or possessing, or whatever else, me.”
Hermione reaches forwards to flip the cover open, but Silver slaps her hand away. “Wait. In my dad’s study, there’s a safe I’m not allowed anywhere near, because the contents are all ridiculously dangerous. The few times he’s had it open in my presence, I saw this sitting on the top shelf.” She gestures at the diary.
Harry reaches over, and flips it open. “And that’s probably why, then… It’s blank?” He looks up at Ginny.
She nods. “The ink vanishes into it. And then, he writes back to you with the same ink.”
Silver scowls at it. “That’s… suspicious. Any trends, Hermione?”
“Well…” She scowls. “A lot of the books seem to be specifically about dark magic… Oh, and one of them is about horcruxes. Um…” She blinks. “Er, the list is about the same as the one about horcruxes.”
Ariel suddenly appears out of nowhere, landing on the table and staring at the diary. “You- You mean that thing could be me?” She looks fearfully up at Silver.
Hermione shakes her head instantly. “No, that’s not you.”
“Used to be, Ariel,” Ginny states, scooping her off the table and into a hug. “Used to be. That thing is, so it’s obviously not you.”
Morning stares. She hadn’t realized the ‘Ariel’ she’d mentioned earlier had been a real pony- let alone one made of magic, of all things! Then of course, what was Ariel talking about…?
“Hmm,” Silver mutters, scowling at the diary.
“What-!” Ariel begins, as Ginny wavers in her seat, grip falling loose. “Ginny!” She puts a hoof against Ginny’s chest, looking at all the others, who are looking at her in alarm. “It’s controlling hurk!” Ginny’s hand had clamped around her throat.
Hermione’s hand makes a little arc, before shooting out, straight into the diary.
Several buzzers go off.
“What this time?” a black-suited Agent mutters, turning to look at the screen… then blinking, and looking up at the Director. “Oh, just another explosion at Hogwarts. Probably…” He trails off, watching the screen as more data comes in. “Er, an explosion that also happens to rate as a seven point three on the Richter scale. What in the world are they doing over there?”
The Director sighs, before looking across the room at another group. “Someone get Coal Sun back to Hogwarts. Send him this info, we need to investigate.” He gestures vaguely at the screens.
Dumbledore sighs, walking pleasurably along the shore of the Castle Lake. It’s been so long since he last had time to do something because he wanted to; there was too much he had to do because he, well, had to. But that’s all- finally- been taken care of.
He smiles out across the water, towards the castle.
Then, he leaps backwards in combined fright and surprise.
A massive cone of boiling white energy comes straight through the castle wall and plows into the ground next to the Castle Lake.
When it finally goes away, he’s been knocked over by both the pressure of the blast and by the shaking of the ground. He scrambles upright, and steps up to the new crater, looking down into it. It’s easily six times the size of the Castle Lake- which is slowly spilling into it.
Madam Pomfrey stiffens, grasping desperately at her desk when the castle suddenly shakes violently. Then she turns her head to peer into the rest of the medical wing, but Glowing Blue’s bed is already empty.
She sighs as the shaking subsides. “Please come back alive,” she pleads into the silent infirmary.
Morning Sun recoils flat against the wall, staring wide-eyed at Hermione’s massive energy expenditure. She sees Ginny twitch oddly, hand falling from Ariel’s throat- then Ariel screams, as if something were torturing her.
Finally, as the massive cone of energy dissipates, Ginny collapses forwards against the table… crushing Ariel against it on the way.
“What Just Happened.” The demand comes from just to Morning’s right- where she’s certain no one had been a second before. A quick look confirms what she’d heard- it’s that girl, Hidden Light, from the hospital wing.
Hermione whirls in place. “What-!”
Silver also whirls in place, looking instantly uncomfortable. As a matter of fact, her expression looks exactly like Morning felt when Ginny caught her in that bathroom.
Harry simply turns his head, and speaks calmly. “Hermione saw fit to smite the Horcrux.”
Hermione covers her face with her hands, before turning to glare at Harry.
“And you didn’t call for me?”
“Ahh…” Harry mutters.
“Um-!” Morning stutters. “We- We didn’t know what it was until seconds before it tried to possess Ginny.”
Hidden Light looks at her for a second, before looking at Ginny- who has woken up, and is cradling a shuddering Ariel in her arms, hugging her close.
“I- I didn’t know I could do that,” Hermione stutters. “I- I thought it’d just disrupt control.” She looks back at the diary, still lined up with the hole in the entire castle.
Hidden Light teleports almost instantly to the other side, peering out the hole. “Hmm… Yeah, that’s a lot of power. I don’t know if even Celestia could do that.” She then grins, looking back at Hermione. “I wonder if they’ll call it Lake Don’t-Mess-With-Hermione?”
Hermione puts her head in her hands again. “Oh God no,” she moans.
Hidden Light shrugs. “I know if it were up to me to name it, it’d be the Muggleborn Lake.” She looks back out. “How much damage do you think it did?”
“A lot,” Ginny mutters.
Ariel squirms out of her arms at the same time, pulling herself onto the table. “I-!” she begins, before wincing, steeling herself, and speaking again, this time without the pain in her voice. “I need to tell you something.”
Hidden Light looks at her. “You’re… Ariel, right?”
She bows her head. “Yes. And…” She glances back at Ginny. “Ginny was wrong. That thing-” she points at the diary with a wing- “was me.” She looks up at everyone else in the room, looking around. “And when you destroyed it, I… remembered everything that it did.” She looks down. “I know where the Chamber is. And how to open it… And how to summon the monster.” She looks up. “And what it is, but we already know that at this point.”
Silver blinks. “Meaning…?”
Ariel nods. “Yes. That… I was mind-controlling Ginny to open the Chamber, to attack the muggleborn. Because…” She sighs, and looks up. “Because I am Lord Voldemort.” She says it in an apologetic tone, though.
Ginny snatches her up from behind, making her squeak in fright. “No, you’re not.”
“But-!” Ariel begins.
“She’s right,” Hidden Light states. “You’re not. Voldemort is elsewhere. This diary once was a horcrux of his.” She looks up at Ariel. “But you’re Ariel, not Voldemort, no matter how you came to be. Nopony will be judging you for what you didn’t do.” She takes a deep breath. “So, I take it the attacks have been stopped, permanently?”
Ariel nods. “The diary is toast… I won’t be doing it any more, promise.”
Hidden Light sighs. “You weren’t doing it, Ariel. It was probably the residual spellwork on the diary these last few times anyways, after you had already been ripped out of it.” She looks around the room. “But the attacks have stopped, right?”
Ariel nods. “Yes.”
Hidden pulls out a chair and sits down. “But the monster still survives.”
“... Yes.”
She sighs. “I hate to say it, but we need to go down there, and kill the monster. End the attacks, for once and for all.”
Ariel presses herself into Ginny’s chest. “That… That won’t be easy. That basilisk is at least eight hundred years old.”
“And that’s where the problem is. Because I can’t go anywhere near that thing without being petrified, or killed. You can, so long as you don’t look into its eyes.” She looks at Hermione. “And if you can do that, you can probably gaze into its eyes and survive, like Fluttershy did. Right? You do have…?” She taps her forehead. “Ascended?”
Hermione blinks, one hand going to her forehead. “Uhh… I… Er…”
“Yeah,” Harry answers for her. “All three of us, actually. If… I mean, we’d rather not have anypony find out, if at all possible.”
Hidden chuckles lightly, before looking at Silver. “And the same for you and your new look, right?”
“Wait,” Ariel inserts. “Why can’t you go anywhere near it?”
Hidden pauses, looking at Ariel. Then she looks at each of the others in turn, including Morning, and finally sighs. “Alright. If any of you ever tell anyone what I’m about to tell you, I will personally hunt you down.”
Hermione blinks. “Ahh… Okay.”
“You… don’t have to make it a threat,” Harry mutters. “But we’ll keep your secret for you.”
“Well…” Hidden sighs. “I can’t go anywhere near it… because I’m blind.”
Hermione looks at her. “Uh… You seem to be seeing just fine to me…?”
Hidden chuckles. “I mean, technically, I’m totally blind in my right eye, and so badly nearsighted in my left that you’d have to punch my eyeball for me to see you clearly. I mean literally, I am blind. It’s actually because of that that I discovered my ability- and that I use it, all the time. I can shine my light wherever I want to nearby, and see everything that it shines upon. This includes the Basilisk’s eyes, even if it’s facing away from me.” She sighs. “Fortunately, my light always has perfect vision.”
Hermione scowls. “Is… Is there a way to come up with a counterspell?”
Hidden looks at her. “A counterspell… to my light?”
“No, no!” She shakes her head. “To the basilisk, so you could stand in front of it and stare back into its eyes without worry!”
This gets her a chuckle. “Probably not… But yeah, why not give it a shot. Well, Ginny, Silver, Ariel, and Morning too, if you’re any good at spellcrafting…” She puts her hand out on the table, scattering a curious pattern of glowing lines onto it. “That’s the spell matrix it uses to attack.”
Morning recognizes it almost instantly, and steps forwards for a better look.
Yes, it is what she thinks it is.
“That… That’s Changeling magic.”
Everyone looks at her.
“It’s what?” Hermione asks.
“That’s Changeling magic,” she repeats. “Old stuff they don’t use anymore.”
Harry tilts his head. “Why?”
She reaches one hand down to the table, channeling her magic through it- and projects a small, simple matrix onto the table, glowing green instead of Hidden’s blue. “This is why. It’s the counterspell.” She looks up at Harry. “And since just knowing the counterspell matrix is enough to render that monstrosity useless…” She gestures at Hidden’s diagram, and sighs. “There’s a reason they use pods these days.”
Hidden stares at her.
“So… how would it kill?” Silver asks.
Morning points at one of the circles on Hidden’s diagram. “This here. If the caster holds the spell for too long, or with too much power, that feedback loop will, eventually, kill.” She sighs, dropping her arm down. “Another reason they switched from it: If the caster cuts after the first iteration, without allowing the loop to activate, nothing happens. It has to iterate a minimum of thirty times before it starts taking effect.”
“You’re awfully knowledgeable about Changeling magic,” Hidden states suddenly.
Morning’s breath catches, and she flinches away, suddenly fearful. “Uh-!”
Silver wraps an arm suddenly around her shoulders, having still been standing. “Hey, don’t be afraid,” she practically coos.
Morning just squeaks.
“Actually, Glowing,” Hermione states, and Hidden turns to look at her.
“Hmm?”
“We were just about to go introduce you to her. She’s Equestrian, and deathly terrified of ponies for some reason… but she’s got this amazing transformation ability. I don’t think even Two Face comes close to what she can do!”
Morning hangs her head. Make it quick.
“Transformation ability?” Hidden asks.
“Yeah. Seems to involve a lot of green fire for some reason.” She shrugs.
Morning gives an involuntary shudder.
Silver squeezes her gently. “You okay?”
She doesn’t respond. Her eyes are tearing up, but she ignores that too. Unless her guess is way off, she’s already dead, and just doesn’t know it yet.
Hidden sighs, shaking her head with what might be a sad chuckle. “Morning?”
“Mm?” she manages, her voice nearly cracking.
“How many?”
She shudders again, eyes closed. “J-Just m-me.” Her voice definitely broke that time.
Silver tries hugging her, but she shakes her off. “What’s wrong? Morning?”
She finally looks at the girl, who seems genuinely concerned. “She’s a pony,” she states the obvious, her voice cracking. “And she knows what I am.”
Silver shrugs. “So?”
She rolls her eyes. “You… You really don’t know what Changelings are, do you?”
“A wizarding pest,” Hermione supplies helpfully. “Not found in Britain, it’s much too cold here. But further down South, they can be pretty nasty. Furry little chameleons, even worse than the garden gnomes we have up here.”
Hidden Light just looks at Hermione in wonder, but Morning lets out a snort of laughter. “Oh, yeah, those things you call changelings. I can even turn into one, if you want.” She steps forwards, twisting out of Silver’s grip. “Because they don’t have anything on real Changelings.” She shifts to match Hermione, then matches her tone exactly. “An Equestrian pest. Not found in Britain, it’s much too tasty here. But over in Equestria, they can be pretty nasty. Chitinous little parasites, we’re true shapeshifters that attacked and nearly took the pony capital a few years back!” She lets out a huff. “Do you get it yet?”
Hermione can only blink, visibly taken aback.
“Tasty?” Hidden Light asks curiously.
She sighs, flopping herself down in a chair, without dropping Hermione’s image. “Yeah.” She glances over at Hermione. “Changelings eat love. And for some reason I haven’t been able to figure out,” she looks at Hidden Light, “all the British people- including whatever you call these three- are practically overflowing with it. No, literally- they pour it off like a geyser. So much that-!” She snorts. “In Equestria, it’s nearly impossible for a Changeling to survive on ambient love. Not entirely impossible- I managed it, after all.
“But come here, and- and I’ve been absorbing so much ambient each day I could probably feed the entire hive with it!” She sighs. “Then I hyperventilated a few weeks back, and apparently Changelings don’t wake up over here.”
“They don’t?” Hidden asks, surprised.
“Apparently not,” Ginny shrugs. “She hyperventilated in Harry’s arms after the most recent attack, and despite there being no medical or magical reason that anyone or anypony could find, she wouldn’t wake up for two weeks. Until I broke out the Whiskey Tango, that woke her right up.”
Hidden Light looks at Ginny, then at Morning, a strange grin spreading across her face. “You, ah, don’t happen to have become one of those love-geysers, do you?”
She looks at the girl, then down at her own hands. “I… I don’t know. And… and that scares me.” She looks up at her again. “I haven’t been able to figure out what that tango thing did to me.”
Hidden Light looks somehow contemplative. “I wonder… what do you think would happen if, next time we find the Hive, we take them here?”
She snorts. “And get them to walk through Ponyville? Fat chance. But, if you did manage to get them here…” Her eyes slowly widen. “No, no, you do not want to. They’re too… hungry. They’d gorge themselves here, then Chrysalis would make more. And more. And more.” She looks up. “Then she’d go back to Equestria and succeed in a repeat invasion, for no better reason than that she’s greedy.”
Her eyebrows go way up.
“And you’re able to speak against your Queen?”
She nods. “I… I haven’t heard a single ‘nother Changeling on the hive mind for years. Ever since the ponies first found us at the edge of the badlands… and they left me behind.”
Hidden blinks several times. “There were no Changelings left in the place. We scoured the place, searched for stragglers. Took ‘em out. I was part of that operation.” She looks sadly down at the table for some reason.
She sighs. “I… I was one of the many Chrysalis spawned with the express purpose of outnumbering ponies in the invasion. I…” She closes her eyes. “I was number four hundred sixty-three thousand, nine hundred twelve.” She opens them again. “I was… inexperienced. I spent the entire attack disguised as a male Changeling. I…” She takes a deep breath. “I was amazed I managed to pass myself off as a captured pony. All the others that tried, got caught.” She looks up at Hidden. “I’m not a threat to anyone, or anypony, I swear. I never learned any of the gathering techniques, even the harmless ones- absorbing ambient is all I can do.”
Hidden shakes her head, smiling. “Morning, I’m not worried about you. Any more, at least. I’m more worried about what the others will think if they find out before we’re ready- or what will happen if other, more dangerous ‘lings stop by.” She looks up. “What happens if Chrysalis starts shouting orders?”
She shakes her head. “The hivemind doesn’t carry direct communication more than a mile or so, best-case scenario. And I can disobey her, it’s just…” She shudders. “She doesn’t take disobedience very well.”
Hidden grins. “We beat her once, we can do it again. Just tell us where to shoot.” She glances at Hermione’s hole in the castle. “Er, hopefully not that literally.” She looks back at Morning. “Anyways, I’m moderately curious what your natural form looks like on this side of the Gate?”
“Uhh…”
“Completely aside from how disorienting it is to have two Hermionies in the same room.”
She blinks, looking down at her hands. “Oh, right.” She closes her eyes, and shifts back to her natural form, before opening them again. “Sorry, I…” She trails off, staring at her arms. This is the first time she’s assumed her natural form in years, save only that brief moment in front of the Twins- which had been enough to tell her that her natural form has a human shape on this side.
She… still has her exoskeleton, definitely. And it still has its holes in it.
Except, rather than holes clear through her body, these are only holes in her exoskeleton. Light-toned human skin is visible underneath. She blinks, then looks down at the rest of herself.
She seems to be wearing a deep grey blouse, with a bright emerald green skirt, hiding much of her exoskeleton- and body- from view. “Huh.”
“Feel funny or something?” Hidden asks.
She shakes her head. “No, I just… I haven’t looked at my natural form on this side of the Gate before, so…” She shrugs, dropping her hands down on the table. “It’s just not what I was expecting.” Then she scowls. “Speaking of different, is it just me, or does my voice sound a little funny?”
Hermione shrugs. “Sounds human enough to me.”
“I don’t think any two forms you’ve taken yet have sounded the same,” Harry suggests. “And you did say it’s been a few years.”
Silver sighs. “Now that I’m thinking about it, that is a bit of an odd voice for an eleven-year-old to have.”
“Exactly!” Morning states. “It sounds… off.”
“Well, um, is it possible you’re a lot older in Equestria, and it’s showing through like your, ah, exoskeleton?”
She winces. “Maybe, I guess. I mean, I was just a nymph when I went into hiding. I suppose I could have grown up a bit.”
“No,” Hidden states suddenly.
She looks at the girl. “What?”
“I think… I think you’re referring to how you don’t sound like a drone, right?”
“A- A drone!?” Hermione asks instantly. “She’s no drone!”
Hidden holds up a hand. “That’s what the lowest level of Changelings are called,” Hidden informs Hermione. “The most common kind, that comprised more than ninety percent of the attack on Canterlot.”
“The one that hatches from the eggs,” Morning nods. “A drone can evolve into any of the other kinds.” She looks at Hidden. “I… I don’t sound like one? H-How am I different?” Her voice rises to a bit of a squeak towards the end.
“Sounds more… motherly, I think,” Hidden continues.
“Moth-!?” She squeaks, one hand flashing to the top of her head. She quickly finds hair, looks at it, and resumes her search. She doesn’t find any extra protrusions on the top of her head, though.
Finally, she lets her shirt snap back into place- she’d pulled it away from her chest so she could peer down it- and looks up. “I…” she begins, before trailing off, wide-eyed. “I’m a royal.”
Silver blinks. “A royal?” She glances at Hidden. “That make her like us?”
Hidden scowls. “I don’t know. Only three kinds of Changelings participated in the Canterlot invasion, that we know of- drones, warriors… and Chrysalis herself is Queen.”
Morning blinks. “Uh- no. I’m… Somehow, I’m a broodmother.”
Hidden blinks as well. “Uh… What’s a ‘broodmother’?”
“I- There’s exactly two kinds of Changeling royals,” she states, in a bit of a trance. “Queens and broodmothers. Only females can become royals- and the big thing that distinguishes a royal, aside from size and chitin colors… is that they’re fertile.” She closes her eyes, and puts her face in her hands. “Which means, if I really want to, I can actually lay eggs and spawn more changelings.”
Hidden stares.
“So, if the Queen participated in the Canterlot attack,” Hermione begins, “why didn’t any broodmothers?”
“Because they’re vulnerable. Broodmothers have a decent offense, but they’re utterly defenseless. A Queen has good both- and even a drone has better defenses than a broodmother.” She looks up at Hermione. “Chrysalis left the broodmothers behind because they would only have slowed the rest of the hive down. Broodmothers are slow.”
“You know,” Hidden mutters. “If the Whiskey Tango made you a broodmother…” She looks at the others. “I wonder what the Papa Tango would do?”
“Well, we could find out,” Silver muses, putting a finger to her chin.
“We can?” Hidden blinks. “I thought only Lyra could activate it.”
Ginny slowly raises her hand. “I… I know how to activate it.”
Hermione looks at Morning. “Want to find out?”
Hidden shrugs. “Then- optionally- help us hunt basilisk?”
“... Nope, nothing seems to have changed,” Morning mutters. Ginny had just activated the Papa Tango for her- and she’d spent a few seconds in her Equestrian natural form, standing in a strange world of clouds. As soon as she’d gotten back, finding herself once again in her humanized ‘Ling form, she’d asked Ginny if it was done- then inspected herself… and looked up at them.
Harry, Hermione, and Silver all have confusing expressions on their faces, but the other three- Ariel is riding Ginny’s shoulder- don’t.
“So, ahh… Shall we go hunt that basilisk?” She rubs her hands together, flashing into her normal disguise halfway through. “That second in the clouds gave me an idea that should render any of our vulnerabilities moot.”
“Speak to me, Salazar Slytherin, Greatest of the Hogwarts Four.” Ariel takes a deep breath, before looking at everyone else in the Chamber of Secrets with her. “Alright, it’s coming.” She glances around. “Wait, where’s Morning?”
Morning, standing casually on the dark ceiling, snickers silently. She’d entered the room last, shapeshifted into a dark-skinned, black-haired version of herself, and walked calmly up the wall. She knows some pegasi can walk on walls and ceilings- but only some. She’s reasonably certain that all three Alicorns of the party are capable of it. On the other hoof, every changeling can walk on walls and ceilings. Sure makes scaling mountains and chamber walls easy.
She sees the massive mouth opening- and leaps off the wall, shifting into a fly. She hasn’t told them that her transformations need not respect conservation of mass; let them think they’ll see her. She shifts back to her normal human form once inside the massive statue’s mouth- and instantly layers the basilisk over with Changeling goo. Specifically, the glue-like goo that any Changeling can form instantly from any part of their body.
Changelings almost never produce this kind of goo; it’s made directly from love, unlike the more biologically-formed goo that ‘Lings can spit. Add that it’s not cheap to make, and the love usually cannot be recovered from it later, and it would have been wastefully stupid for any ‘Ling to make it in Equestria without dire need.
Not so for her, here in Britain. Sure, it cost her a lot of love… but it hardly even touched her reserves, which topped off again in seconds.
She grins, and starts her task. Thankfully, she’d actually been trained to do this before the attack on Canterlot had started; any ‘Ling could expect to have this duty after a successful invasion, and Chrysalis didn’t want to have to wait days for it to be finished.
Mind, she’d been trained with the biologically-produced, spitten goo in mind, and she’s using the much easier to control love-based goo.
Finally, she lifts the enormous, finished pod- funny, she didn’t expect it to be that easy to lift- and carries it to the entrance of the mouth, before dropping it out and using a rope of more goo to lower it rapidly to the floor below, to startled and confused gasps from below.
Once it hits the ground, she swings out into plain view of them, sliding down her goo rope like a fire pole, to land on top of the massive pod before she simply dissolves the rope. That’s one benefit of using love-goo over bio-goo: The love goo can be simply dissolved, and will disappear tracelessly. The bio-goo has to be swept up and carried away.
“Did someone order a basilisk?” she asks, posing atop the pod.
Hidden Light- whose nametag reads Glowing Blue, Morning saw in Myrtle’s bathroom- stares at the pod, jaw articulating wordlessly up and down. She’s pretty sure the girl is trying to be fair, and so is shining her light only in front of her, where she could normally see. Ariel floats slowly to the floor, from where she’d been hovering in the air, staring slack-jawed. Ginny and Hermione are the same, though standing instead of flying. Silver nods slowly, stepping closer to scowl at the pod.
Harry nods slowly at it. “And that would be why it was taking so long,” he mutters.
Morning smiles, vaulting off the pod and sliding down the side of it with one hand, coming to a smooth landing in front of everyone. “There! How’d I do?”
Silver looks at her. “How’d you get up there?”
She grins. “I slipped in while you weren’t looking.”
“So what’s… that?” Harry asks, pointing at the pod.
Morning leans against it, grinning. “I podded it. Most changelings do that to ponies they don’t want messing with their plans, so I figured I didn’t want the basilisk messing with our plans.”
Hermione looks Morning. “Changelings are amazing, you know that?”
Morning snorts. “No, no we’re not. There’s just extenuating circumstances here that let me expend a lot more energy than I normally might be able to.”
Silver tilts her head. “What’s that?”
She grins. “Remember what I said about you being love geysers? That.” She taps the pod. “Most of the time, we use a biological goo. I had so much love, though, that I thought I’d use a more love-based goo. Which means, of course, that only a Changeling can set this thing free again.”
“... Wait a sec,” Glowing mutters. “That’s- That’s not true. We opened lots of pods.”
She shakes her head. “Not this kind of pod. Those things were made of that bio-goo. Pain to work with, limited durability, and hard to make in quantity, but virtually no love cost to make. This is made of love-goo, with none of those weaknesses- though it costs a lot of love to make. Virtually nothing compared to the ambient here, though…”
“... So, you’ve bottled up the basilisk,” Hermione mutters.
She nods. “I can let it loose again if you want to fight it,” she shrugs.
“Hang on,” Glowing mutters, grinning to herself and rubbing her chin. “What happens if we mail this to Chrysalis?”
Madam Pomfrey rises from her desk, bustling back out into the infirmary as soon as she hears something moving.
“Ahh, there you are,” she retorts, upon seeing Glowing Blue trotting in. A few other students walk in behind her- including, she notices, Morning Sun. And Ginny Weasley, with Ariel riding on her shoulder- and looking somehow stronger than ever. “What happened?”
“Well,” Glowing grins, looking back at the others for a second, before turning back to her. “I suppose it started when Hermione spawned the Muggleborn Lake in a wildly successful attempt to destroy a horcrux.”
Hermione covers her face with her hands. “Oh please,” she moans.
“Horcrux?” Madam Pomfrey asks. “Which one?”
“We figured out what horcrux Ariel used to be,” Ginny spouts. “A diary. Fun fact, turns out she was actually still bound to it somehow, even though it still had a mind of its own.” She shudders. “When she smote it, Ariel felt it- and gained all the memories left in it.”
Hermione groans, pressing her hands over her eyes.
Pomfrey puts a finger to her chin. “She also looks a lot stronger.”
Ginny blinks, looking at Ariel. “She does?”
Ariel blinks, looking down at her forehooves, then back up. “I do? How so?”
“Uh, then after that,” Glowing continues, “since the diary is what was opening the Chamber, we suddenly knew where it was. We discussed what I saw of the basilisk; turns out Morning here has dealt with them before, and so knows a counterspell that renders its gaze utterly harmless against you. So we ran her through the Papa Tango to finish the magic repairs Ginny started with the Whiskey Tango, then headed into the Chamber of Secrets and captured the thing. So by now, I’ve had a much busier day than I wanted to, and I’m going to have to write a rather lengthy report for Bonbon, but I’m also a little exhausted and very ready to get back to bed.” She clambers back into her bed. “By the way, how many days do I have before people start coming back from the holidays?”
Madam Pomfrey blinks. “Uhh…”
“Two,” Hermione states. “They return the day after tomorrow.”
“And all of that,” Morning sighs, “means that the attacks have been ended for good. The monster hasn’t been killed just yet- but it’s been completely immobilized, and in such manner that no one can let it free.”
“We wanted to see if Dumbledore wanted to be part of that,” Harry shrugs, before Madam Pomfrey has time to ask. “And when she says no one can free it, she means it.”
Hermione snorts. “Yeah, definitely. I mean, she did her thing to put it into some kind of very, very durable stasis pod, then Harry wrapped it in one of his patent-pending indestructible barriers.”
Harry looks at her. “Patent pending?”
She shrugs.
Madam Pomfrey shakes herself out. “So, the attacks have been ended? Permanently?”
Ariel nods. “Yeah.”
“And nobody was injured in the process?”
“Yeah.”
She lets out a relieved breath. “Alright. Now then, that counterspell. Does it work on people who have already been petrified?”
“Ahh… No. But there is a way to reverse the petrification.” She walks calmly up to the nearest bed, glancing briefly at the nametag, and puts her hand to Tree Hugger’s forehead. It takes her a second to channel the love properly- but within seconds, Tree Hugger collapses more fully onto the bed, and she withdraws her hand, looking up at Madam Pomfrey. “It’s not instant, unfortunately- just puts them on the path to self-recovery, mostly. She’ll wake up in a couple hours, then need another two or three hours after that to be fully healed.”
Hermione pulls her phone out on the breakfast table, glances at the screen, and answers it. Today is the day everyone comes back to school… but they won’t get back until the evening, and she wasn’t told to expect anyone.
She doesn’t recognize the number, but it was made with a properly encrypted line- probably just an Agent she doesn’t have in her phone book. “Hello?”
As expected, the answering voice is not immediately recognizable. “Hey Silver! You were right, it wasn’t that great of a show.”
She blinks. “Uhh… I’m not Silver. I can get her, though…?”
“What…? Huh, I got the number all right, though… You using her phone, or something…?”
She scowls as well, and shakes her head slightly. “Ahh… I don’t think so… I can get her for you, if you want.”
“No biggie, it’s not all that important. Just tell her Hermione said that.”
She blinks. “Uh… Why tell her I said that…?”
“... What? Wait, is the dimensional modulator acting up again?” A pause. “... Yes, it is. So… Hello stranger, I guess. And don’t bother delivering the message, because it’ll be the wrong Silver if you do. My name’s Hermione Granger- how about you?”
She blinks a couple more times. “... You mean to tell me that I just got a call from myself from another dimension?”
“Yeah, something like that, I guess. I take it you’re not familiar with the multiverse…?”
She shrugs. “A little, yeah. I mean, Lyra has a gateway to her world, soo…”
“Ahh… So, um, there’s a new show out- well, technically, it’s a new universe born, that we can take a peek at. They’re calling it On the Implications of Parallel Worlds, because it’s a pair of universes tied together in parallel. Oh, and until the Gate was opened, one of them even looked like our prime path! Want to take a peek?”
She shrugs. “Ahh… Sure, why not? Though, how would you…?”
With a sudden vwop! noise, a brunette is suddenly standing next to her, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. “Hi! … Wait, is this Hogwarts?” She looks around. “Wow… Been forever since I’ve last been to one of these.”
“What in the world…?” Hermione asks, lowering her phone after it disconnected.
“Ahh…” The girl holds out her hand. “My name’s Hermione Granger, but everyone calls me Hermione Greeter. Nice to meet you!”
She takes the hand, slowly. “... Hermione Granger here too. Though everyone calls me Hermione…”
Greeter blinks suddenly. “Wow, I wish I had hair like that! How’d you do it?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know- Lyra did it. Soo… why are you here, again?”
Greeter shrugs in turn. “Well, I asked if you wanted to take a peek.” She pulls a small flipphone out of her pocket, and pulls the screen wider until it’s the size of a TV screen, before detatching it to stand it up on the middle of the table. She then stretches the tiny keypad into a massive keyboard with at least six hundred keys, and pops no less than three computer mice out of the sides.
“What in the world…?” Hermione asks.
Greeter blinks. “Ahh, sorry. I got it from ‘work’- and unlike all the other multiversal groups, Hermiones Inc. always has the finest of everything. I mean… we are the multiverse’ finest inventors.” She grins at Hermione. “We’re a conglomeration of all the various Hermiones from all the various universes around. Wanna join?”
“... Maybe. What is this… On the Implications of Parallel Worlds?”
“Ahh, yes!” Greeter grins, drawing a wand to tap her own chest… from which no less than twelve misty, magical arms suddenly sprout to operate the computer equipment. She pages through some thirty different menus on the screen in a couple seconds. “Sorry about that, the multiverse is a very complicated place. Even with two to the nine hundred thirty-seventh power of possible key combinations, multiplied by another several hundred to the fifth power for the mice positions and button states, there’s just too many options for a quick shortcut. Umm… Here it goes.” The video starts playing, and she squeals. “Oh, the other one is ponies! And they’re so cute… I wonder what Destiny has planned for that one?”
Hermione lets out a small snort, glancing at the screen; the ponies there look no different from the Equestrians, and looks back up at Greeter. “Destiny?”
“... Yeah. I woulda hung up once I realized the dimensional modulator was acting up, but I then noticed this universe is fresh out of Destiny Energy… meaning, the story’s over. Seems a bit early to me- my universe ran out of Destiny Energy early too, but I was still in my mid-twenties when it did- well past Hogwarts.” She glances up at the Head Table; the rest of the Great Hall seems to have been frozen in time. “Then of course, Hermiones Inc worked out immortality last week, so that was some twelve hundred years ago, subjective.” Shudder. “Be very careful with time travel, paradoxes can be scary.”
“Oh...kay,” she mutters slowly. “So… If I join Hermiones Inc… what happens?”
Shrug. “You get to join in on our multiversal fun, really wherever you like. We’re pretty unique in that regard, with a free-will-based structure- I mean, aside from the League of Sweetie Belles, I hear they’re at least somewhat similar. You’d probably want to take on a nickname, to differentiate yourself from the rest of us. Like how I’m Hermione Greeter, you could be…”
“Hermione Gate?”
“Hermione Gate…? Huh. Yeah, I suppose. Well…”
“First, though, I’d like to see what happens in this On the Implications of Parallel Worlds. Looks like an interesting show… and, hopefully, it's a bit less, ahh, random than my world.”