Harry Potter and the Prancing of Ponies

by The Guy Who Writes

Rating: teen
Tags: Alternate Universe, Science Fiction, Adventure, Harry Potter, Crossover, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 608492

Dumbledore doesn't reverse the trap he laid on the Mirror in time. The Mirror traps Harry and Voldemort outside of Time... and inside the MLP universe. MLPxHPMoR Crossover.

Formal Premise: The inventors of the Mirror wanted to create a device that could channel infinite magic and grant wishes. The hard part was making sure those wishes would never destroy the world. Showing a person their heart's desire is a sensible precaution to put into a wish-granting machine designed NOT to go horribly wrong.

The Atlanteans got close, even managing to imbue some amount of intelligence and morality into the Mirror. But they never finished their work; the Mirror never DID get to the point where it could grant wishes... at least, nobody believes it ever got to that point. But then, nobody has ever been trapped inside the Mirror and returned to tell the tale.

When the Mirror traps someone inside itself and outside of Time, that person and their consequences can no longer affect the world. In that circumstance, with a person fully under its power, the Mirror isn't limited in what it can do. Sometimes, it can even grant seemingly incompatible wishes.

But complex problems require complex solutions. In this case, the Mirror takes a few massive liberties about how, exactly, it satisfies the wishes of both Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort. Namely, it sends them to a world of ponies.

Informal Premise: This is a crossover between MLP and Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality, not just Harry Potter. No matter how accessible I try to make it to those who haven't read HPMoR, those who HAVE read it will undeniably have an easier experience reading this story.

HPMoR is the second most popular fanfiction of Harry Potter, at least according to fanfiction stats. It involves Harry studying & dissecting the wizarding world with science. Not with technology, with actual science. That is, he uses the experimental method, generates and tests hypotheses, and in the words of his Occlumency instructor, "wants to discover the underlying rules of magic to become all-poweful".

THIS fanfic brings THAT version of Harry Potter to Equestria. It also brings that story's version of Voldemort.

If you want the best reading experience, please go read HPMoR first. It can be found on fanfiction dot net, or on its own website, or even on any podcast app, as it has its own fan-made audiobook with 30+ contributing voice actors, production quality, sound effects, music, etc. (which is more than can be said for most PROFESSIONAL audiobooks).

Link to HPMoR on fanfiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5782108/1/Harry-Potter-and-the-Methods-of-Rationality
Link to HPMoR on its own website: http://www.hpmor.com/chapter/1
Link to audiobook (though the website isn't nearly as good as podcast apps): https://hpmorpodcast.com/?page_id=56

All forms of HPMoR that I've encountered are high quality, but that doesn't mean it's for everyone. You can probably read the first few chapters of HPMoR in thirty minutes or so. If it doesn't appeal to you, this story probably won't appeal to you either.

For those who haven't read Methods and want to read this story anyway, the first two chapters are going to be the most confusing. They're mostly housekeeping and stage-setting, barely touching the MLP universe beyond the new setting.

And I think the same advice Yudkowsky gave for HPMoR applies here. The story starts hitting its strides around Chapter 5, if not sooner. If you don't like it by Chapter 10, best just to give up and read something else.

Published 2021-03-28 22:50:00 UTC
Last updated 2024-04-14 20:45:22 UTC

Chapter 2: HE'S THE END OF THE WORLD... as we know it.

The moment he spoke the spell, two things happened.

First, the thestral jerked awake, as expected. There was no resonance, no feeling of being torn apart by wild magic, just the feeling of a successfully cast spell. This was also expected, given that the Sense of Doom had seemingly vanished, though Harry still had the sense that he shouldn't have been able to do that.

Second, and entirely unexpected, a letter appeared directly in front of his wand. Harry, who was already on high alert, gave a little start (though thankfully he didn't start loudly), then watched as the letter, addressed To Harry, fell to the ground in front of his invisible hooves. Harry had no time to deal with it, so he simply took a step forward, hoping the Cloak would render it invisible beneath him.

When he looked up again, he saw the thestral glancing around.

(Source: "Pony Creator" flash game)

The slitted, ice-blue eyes took in their surroundings, scanning the meadow until they settled on their owner. For a brief moment, the dark-coated pony froze in place. Then he sighed. After a second of concentration, he spoke the words of a spell Harry recognized as the one that told the user if a Deathly Hallow was present, though it wouldn't give the exact location, nor would it say which Hallow was nearby. Harry had memorized the words to that spell as a precaution, even though he couldn't cast it himself.

There were no outward signs that the spell would yield a positive result, but the thestral's next comment confirmed that it had. "If that is you beneath the Cloak, Mr. P... Mr. Patron, you may as well reveal yourself."

The pegasus who had just been given the alias Mr. Patron did not choose that moment to reveal himself.

The thestral, after a slight pause, switched to Parseltongue. "Plot iss over," hissed whom Harry was now 100% certain to be Tom Riddle. "All iss over. We are losst. Might ass well cooperate for now. Will not harm you."

Harry thought for a moment. Snakes can't lie...

But they can deceive. They can't speak falsehoods, but they can leave out key details, lying by omission. They can lie by saying true things that lead others to form their own false conclusions.

In other words, there might be a loophole. Will not harm you might just be the first part of the sentence, with for now being left out. Or something like that.

So Harry stayed silent, waiting for a more solid commitment to non-aggression.

"I will casst sstunning hex in all directionss if you do not sspeak."

Or that.

Harry whispered "Ventriliquo", pointed his wand at the far end of the clearing, then said in a projected voice, "I'm here." It was weak security at best, but it was better than nothing. "I don't like the name 'Mr. Patron', but it'll do for now. Why did you choose it, Mr. Tome?"

"Short for your signature spell," said the thestral who had just been given the alias 'Mr. Tome.' "Your own designation, however, is worse than a matter of personal preference. It will not do, even for a short while. Choose something else."

"Why?"

"Why indeed, Mr. Plotter."

There was a pause as Harry realized that "Tome" was probably far too close to "Tom" for comfort.

"I see the problem. Sorry, I wasn't thinking about that at all, I just thought it would be better than 'Mr. Book.'"

"Why the focus on literature?"

"Look at your rear."

The thestral frowned. Did as suggested. Made a hmph noise. "I see," he said in a neutral tone. "Mr. Book will do. Do you have one as well?"

"Yes."

"What does it depict?"

"A picture of my signature spell, among other things."

"Then why the distaste for 'Mr. Patron'?"

"It makes me sound like a wealthy aristocrat."

"Very well. Any suggestions?"

"Mr. Silver," the pegasus said after a time. It was still based on his signature spell, just not the name.

"As you wish."

"And you're fine with Mr. Book?"

"I do not mind literature, Mr. Silver," the thestral said sardonically, "nor being named after it. And if there are other creatures like us, the name will not be difficult to explain to them. Will yours? You've yet to show me your appearance."

"My name won't be difficult to explain," Harry answered. Only that. He did not remove his cloak, and continued to maintain the ventriloquism charm.

While he waited for a response, Harry tried to integrate the aliases into his thoughts. Mr. Silver tried to integrate them, rather.

Mr. Book seemed content to keep his eyes closed, brows furrowed in concentration.

Eventually, after it became clear that Mr. Book would not be the next one to speak, and after he was reasonably confident he wouldn't say "Professor Quirrell" by mistake, Mr. Silver spoke.

"You said 'All iss over, we are losst' just now. What does that mean, exactly?"

"I suspect," said Mr. Book, eyes still closed, "that the headmaster did not turn the trap upon himself in the end, and that the True Cloak of Invisibility did not protect me from the Mirror's power." The thestral opened his eyes and began carefully examining his new body. "It would also seem the legends were misinformed. Even I could not have guessed that 'wish-fulfillment' meant..." his voice lowered considerably, "...this. Perhaps one of the Atlanteans allowed their six-year-old daughter to influence the design."

Mr. Silver did not choose that moment to chuckle. "Are you sspeaking truth?" he hissed.

"Am not lying," Mr. Book hissed back. "Iss my besst guesss for why we are here ass we are, but perhapss that iss not the true explanation. Exact reasson doess not matter much, in the end." Then, switching to normal speech, "Though I am annoyed I was not protected by the True Cloak of Invisibility. No magical artifacts can see the Cloak while it is active. I should not have been subject to the Mirror's powers while wearing it. I should not be trapped here with you."

"Actually," said Mr. Silver, a counterexample coming to mind at the phrase 'no magical artifacts can see the cloak', "Mister Moody's magical eye could see straight through the Cloak of Invisibility. I learned that the hard way."

There was a slight pause.

"I wish you had told me that earlier," said a frustrated voice. Then frustration gave way to fury. "Did you keep that fact a ssecret sso that I would be trapped? Did you betray me?"

"No," hissed Mr. Silver. "Jusst thought of it now." Then he frowned. "Though come to think of it, Mr. Moody's eye instantly saw through my cloak. If the Mirror could do the same, you'd think the Mirror's trap would have activated right away, as soon as you had me walk in front of it when I was wearing the cloak. So my own guess is that the Mirror can remember who it sees, even if they put on the Cloak afterwards. But even that's probably not it. I could feel the Time pressure in the air even though I'd been under the Cloak from the start, and you wouldn't think that should happen if I were safe from the effects at the time."

There was a much longer pause. The thestral said nothing in reply, just continued his self-examination.

"You told the headmaster," Mr. Silver said slowly, carefully avoiding the name 'Dumbledore', "that the mirror traps things into a frozen instant. The Timeless Process, I think you called it-"

"The Process of the Timeless," the thestral corrected, tilting a hoof forward, then back. "Though that term was invented by a single scholar. The true name has been lost to time."

"Is that what happened to us?"

Mr. Book nodded, putting down one hoof and turning to the other. "With any luck."

"LUCK?"

"Yes, luck," Mr. Book repeated in a deadpan. He put down both hooves and adopted a lecturing tone. "If we have been trapped outside of Time, then we are no longer at Time's mercy. We exist beyond its influence, thus when we free ourselves, we will be sent back to the moment we were trapped. The hostages you wish to save – and believe it or not, I would also prefer they not die – won't suffer due to this delay. Even if it takes years to achieve freedom on our end, no time at all will pass on that side. If, however, someone frees us from the other side, as the headmaster prophesied you might one day free me, the hostages would be long dead. Not lying," he hissed at the end. "Understand?"

Mr. Silver thought back to the headmaster's conversation with Voldemort.

"You have refused death," said Dumbledore, "and if I destroyed your body, your spirit would only wander back, like a dumb animal that cannot understand it is being sent away. So I am sending you outside Time, to a frozen instant from which neither I nor any other can return you. Perhaps Harry Potter will be able to retrieve you someday, if prophecy speaks true. He may wish to discuss with you just who is at fault for the deaths of his parents. For you it will only be an instant - if you ever return at all. Either way, Tom, I wish you the best of it."

"No," Mr. Silver sighed. "I don't understand. If we're trapped outside of Time, how could Time still keep going on without us? From our perspective, I mean. I got the impression that trapped beings wouldn't be able to do anything at all, and here we are, moving and talking. I get how, from the outside perspective, Time would keep moving forward. But from our perspective, shouldn't Time be frozen?"

"It is, and it isn't," sighed Mr. Book, successfully managing to rub his temples with the tips of his hooves. "Much like how the schoolmaster was both inside the mirror and elsewhere, unfortunately for the two of us. The mirror's powers are double-sided. If a person from outside the mirror releases us fifty years after our initial entrapment, from our perspective no time at all would have passed."

"So," Mr. Silver slowly said as his mind wrapped around the concept, "we wouldn't be having this conversation right now; we'd be back on the other side of the mirror. If someone else had freed us, I mean. We'd be teleported into the distant future, in the presence of some powerful and unknown third party."

Mr. Book nodded. "Since that is not the case, our release will be the result of our own actions, if it is even possible in the first place. Supposing it is possible, we should return to the instant we were trapped. Time is progressing on both sides of the mirror, but only in a mutually exclusive manner. Time progresses here when it is not progressing there. Time progresses there when it is not progressing here. Not lying, but again, theory might be misstaken. Understand now?"

"Yess," Mr. Silver hissed. "It's an optimistic theory, but what if it isn't possible to return? Or if the theory is wrong in some other way?"

The thestral shrugged. "If I am wrong, then there's not much for it. We shall have to adjust to our new circumstances either way. I am rather curious about my new form."

Mr. Silver was curious too. Probably more curious than Mr. Book. He was a Ravenclaw. But there was still one last major problem.

"Your great creation," he hissed. "Your horcruxess." He really didn't want to ask this, but Mr. Book had probably already thought of it, and already tried. Come to think of it, that's probably why the thestral had frozen moments after waking, or why he had closed his eyes in concentration afterwards. "Your connection to your horcruxess hass been ssevered, hass it not?"

There was a long pause during which Mr. Book examined one of his bat-like wings, as if he had not heard the question.

Now that they had a means of communicating truthfully, Mr. Silver knew what it meant if the accusation was not denied in Parseltongue.

"I don't mind exploring this new world," said Mr. Silver after it became clear that Mr. Book wouldn't answer. "But there are going to be some ground rules. I have something you want more than anything else, and I'm willing to share it with you, but in return, I don't want you going on a killing spree and making a hundred more horcruxes. And honestly, it wouldn't matter to your immortality if you did make that many... beyond the first few, I suppose."

"Why wouldn't it matter?" asked Mr. Book. "More horcruxes, more security."

"It doesn't work that way," said Mr. Silver, adopting a lecturing tone of his own. "Scientists call it fencepost security. After a certain point, making a high security wall even higher doesn't improve security. Any sensible attacker would just go around the wall, or dig under it, or break through, or fly over. Making the fencepost higher won't defend against any of that. While you were unconscious, and thiss iss not lie, I thought of three ways to bypass your system. Four, actually. Two of them I could have done myself, right away, without extensive preparation time or a cooperative enemy."

"How?" Mr. Book demanded at once.

The Dementor's kiss. Permanent insanity from prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus. A full memory wipe with Obliviate. Transfiguring his body into a solid object and maintaining that transfiguration indefinitely.

"Will tell you," Mr. Silver hissed, "if you promisse not to maim, torture, or murder ssmart creatures in thiss new place." For a brief moment, he switched back to normal speech. "And by 'smart creatures,' I mean sentient creatures." Parseltongue didn't have a word for 'sentient', and he didn't want Mr. Book to use the technicality of 'I am only bound not to kill smart creatures; he's a moron, therefore I can kill him.'

"Musst also promisse," Mr. Silver continued, "not to kill more than three ssmart creaturess in thiss place. Lasst, you musst promisse that when you kill ssmart creaturess, will only be to ssave more livess and to get rid of maliciouss menace. Know that iss pushing it, but in return, I will promisse to help fix flawss in ssysstem."

"Fencepost security or not," said Mr. Book, "you think I would allow myself to be limited to just three horcruxes in return for your aid?"

"Yess, for thiss iss alsso true: flawss in ssysstem are made worsse by extra creationss."

"Even if it is not to make a horcrux," said the thestral, "you know that I find it enjoyable to kill idiots. Do you truly think your advice is worth more to me than my favorite pastime?"

"Do you think it's not?"

"Yes."

"It's a risk to your life. I thought you'd want this information at almost any cost."

Mr. Book gave a dark chuckle. "Now that you've made the mistake of telling me there are at least four bypasses to my immortality, do you truly believe I am incapable of seeing them for myself, once I am able to devote my full faculties to the problem?"

"Yes."

"Ansswer in Parsseltongue."

"Posssibly," hissed Mr. Silver. He switched back to normal speech. "And I can prove it. Remember the last time I taught you something important? On your own, you didn't see my way of avoiding the mistake that cost you ten years of your life. Even after thinking for ten years straight about all the mistakes you ever made. You didn't see that you could have made a horcrux for someone else, kill them, and see what happened. You didn't see that you could have troubleshooted the system to make sure it was working properly. Even after I laid out a thought experiment that should have made the answer obvious, you still didn't see it."

The thestral was frowning heavily at this point.

"Your reasoning is impaired in ways that mine isn't, just as mine is impaired in ways that yours isn't. I think you'll see some of the flaws for yourself, but I doubt you'll see them all. Ask yourself what's worth more to you: your ability to kill as you please, or your life."

Mr. Book was openly scowling, as if he'd just been told that he was about to be tortured, but his torturer was giving him the pleasure of choosing his instruments of pain.

"From a logical standpoint," continued Mr. Silver, "shouldn't the choice be straightforward?"

"You severely underestimate the extent of common idiocy and the pleasure that comes from bringing a stop to it. I reiterate that you have not tried it for yourself. There is a sort of catharsis that comes from rooting out a weed at its source."

Mr. Silver was now scowling as well. "I don't need to try it to know that I wouldn't enjoy it."

"Is it so difficult for you to imagine the joy that comes from crushing pests?" the thestral asked. "Then instead imagine the relief of removing a pebble from your shoe after enduring it for miles of walking, or the satisfaction of swatting a fly that has distracted you from your studies for hours on end. I refuse to endure idiocy for extended periods of time, and your proposed trade would force me to do so."

"You don't have to endure it if you're smart about it," Mr. Silver argued. "Remember your own advice on how to deal with things you can't fight: apparate away. That works with idiots as well. Turn around and walk in the other direction. There's no need to kill them. Just don't associate with them."

There was a pause that stretched longer than all the other pauses that had come before. Over the course of what felt like minutes, Mr. Book's expression stayed at a mix between anger and disgust.

So Mr. Silver added one final remark to hopefully change that:

"You know, when an idiot dies, they'll never properly suffer the consequences of their own stupidity. They'll never see how stupid they were if you just kill them. No torture, no maiming, no murder, but you can still ruin them in a more creative way if you have to do something. Bankrupt and humiliate them, for instance."

The thestral's expression slowly switched from scowl to merely sour. Then it went from scornful to thoughtful, from refusing to interested.

"Very well," hissed Mr. Book. "If you tell me flawss and help to fix them, I sshall kill no more than three ssmart creaturess in thiss new place, unless more iss necesssary for my own ssurvival, or unlesss you approve of more. Creaturess I kill will be threatss to livess of otherss, and the world will be ssafer place if they die. I further promisse not to torture, maim, or murder, again unlesss I musst for my own ssurvival. Now tell me of flawss."

"One final consstraint," hissed Mr. Silver as he realized the potential problem. "One of creaturess you choosse to kill musst not be me."

"You ssusspect I intend to kill you?"

"Do you deny it?"

Mr. Book chuckled. "To repeat words you once spoke at dinner, I shall neither confirm nor deny it, but I could ask you the same question. Am I to believe that you intend me no harm?"

"If I did, I wouldn't have woken you up," said Mr. Silver. "But since you insist-" switching back to Parseltongue "-if you promisse not to threaten my life, I will promisse not to threaten yourss."

"Your deliberate choice is not required, Mr. Silver," said Mr. Book in ordinary speech. "The school seer recently prophesied vast destruction, and you are the one foretold to bring it about. I would not normally say this, especially to you, but I had planned to say it regardless. And before you foolishly object, remember that it is prophecy. You are an immense threat to the world, and the world would be an immensely safer place without you. When we spoke amidst the stars, this is what I meant. I sspeak truth."

Mr. Silver, who'd had to contend with predictions of becoming a Dark Lord many times by this point, almost continued that habit here. He almost reacted defensively. But then he remembered a certain quirk of psychology, a small detail that had stuck with him from one of the many books he'd read, though he couldn't recall which book had said it.

When you're on the defensive, you usually respond instantly, without even taking a fraction of a second to think about your response. It means you're acting on autopilot. You're saying whatever you need to say to absolve yourself of guilt, shame, suspicion, or some other negative social pressure. In short, you engage in politics, not rationality. You're not actually thinking. True thought takes more than two seconds. But lying to yourself doesn't take any time at all.

Once Mr. Silver realized that's what his brain was doing, he quashed the instinct to ignore the evidence and leap to his own defense, and started actually thinking.

Mr. Book is convinced he would become a massive threat – not to 'mere' countries, but to distant space probes. Mr. Book had been convinced by prophecy. That did count as strong and significant evidence in the magical world, and it was hard to argue against. Especially since he didn't know...

"What was the exact wording of the prophecy?"

A sardonic chuckle. "It would be the height of stupidity to tell you, Mr. Silver. When I heard a foreboding future about myself, I brought it about. I have no intention of repeating that mistake."

"If you plan on killing me anyway, what's the harm in telling me this 'foreboding'- actually, wait. I think I just guessed the prophecy. Erm, sorry."

"Oh?" asked a heavily skeptical voice.

"Yess."

Two memories had surfaced at the term 'foreboding prophecy'.

The first was a centaur saying the sky was about to be empty, then trying to slay him. The second was the school seer giving a prophecy to the entire student body of Hogwarts after the first week of school.

"He is coming! The one who will tear apart the very s-"

And then Dumbledore had taken the prophetess away.

Stopping a seer from speaking, according to the books, is ill-advised. It prevents Time's pressure from being released. Interruptions just delay the inevitable, kicking the pressurized can down the road until it eventually bursts some other time. And if that particular 'tear apart' prophecy had been released later, it was a good candidate for the one Mr. Book had heard.

So, who was coming, and what were they going to destroy?

Nearby students had thought the prophecy was talking about him. He'd quickly refuted the speculation, saying that he couldn't be coming there, he was already there. But now it seemed likely that it was referring to him.

But that still left the most important question: What was he meant to destroy? Tear apart the very what?

Back when the prophecy was first made, some students said the first letter of the next word was 's'. Mr. Silver overheard a student theorising Trelawney was about to say 'sun', and that everyone would be in trouble if that was the case. Mr. Silver remembered thinking to himself that was unlikely. Nobody in the wizarding world knew science-fiction theories on star harvesting. If there were wizards who knew about star harvesting, then you might have a problem, but wizards didn't think that way. He had neglected to realise that he was a wizard who knew about star harvesting.

Combine that with the incident in the Forbidden Forest where he was confronted by centaur – a species known for revering and respecting the night sky, a species that would wish no harm to befall it, a species that would probably kill anyone who was foretold to threaten it...

"I'm prophesied to tear apart the very stars, aren't I?" Mr. Silver suggested, summing up his speculation.

There was another one of those long pauses.

"I see," said Mr. Silver into the emptiness. "That's good."

"Good?"

"Yes, good. Great, actually."

"How in Merlin's name could that possibly be good?"

"Because it's a promising prediction about the future." Mr. Silver normally didn't think about this; it was abstraction to the extreme, and by no means a guarantee. Still... "It would be like if a prophecy predicted that a woodsman will tear apart the very trees in a forest, or that a nuclear physicist will tear apart the very atoms in uranium- actually, wait a minute, I can see why you're worried. A Chernobyl on the order of magnitude suggested by the prophecy would be bad." And come to think of it, that's probably the exact reason why Mr. Book was so afraid. "Still, if I ever do get to the point where I'm directing a star-harvesting operation, it'll mean our species has officially grown up. Even more so than it grew up when it replaced forests with farm fields, or when it started preferring nuclear energy over fossil fuels."

"And if you had been further foretold to end the world," Mr. Book inquired with heavy sarcasm, "and not just the stars? I suppose there is an optimistic interpretation for that as well?"

"Didn't you just say you wouldn't tell me the exact wording?"

"That was not the exact wording," said Mr. Book, "though now that you've guessed the most important part, I may as well tell you the rest. Working on almost-correct assumptions is far worse than knowing the exact prophecy. Many tales in wizarding literature are keen on this point." The thestral took a few deep breaths, then said, "HE IS HERE. THE ONE WHO WILL TEAR APART THE VERY STARS IN HEAVEN. HE IS HERE. HE IS THE END OF THE WORLD."

"The end of the world as we know it," Mr. Silver said at once, completing the cliché. (Thanks, in part, to a catchy muggle song with that refrain.) "The ancient hunter-gatherers would view the modern state of the Earth as the end of their worlds. The native populations of many colonised continents certainly saw the colonisers as enders of their worlds. And regardless of the evils involved in the colonisation process, it did end slavery- or tried to, anyway. At the very least, it eventually led to better living conditions for the colonised countries. So if I'm going to end the world, that's not necessarily a bad thing. I'll just have to be careful how I end it, and to avoid any critical failures along the way. If we promise not to kill each other, you'll be around to make sure that I don't mess up that bad."

"Do you truly expect," said a voice of skepticism and cynicism, "I would believe that particular prophecy foretells deliberate action instead of a dreadful mistake?"

"I don't expect you to believe it right away," Mr. Silver conceded. "You haven't read enough scientific literature. But think about it this way. The exact phrasing of that prophecy seems to suggest that I will personally be tearing apart the stars. And if I am going to do that, I'm going to be very selective about which stars I tear apart. Not important stars. Certainly not any stars that govern living planets. I'll probably start with stars that threaten living planets. Dying stars. Dangerous stars. Stars can go supernova. They can devolve into black holes, and those are some of the most destructive things in existence. We wouldn't want that to happen near a system containing life. Especially not our solar system. There are also plenty of rational reasons to go out of your way to destroy a star. Fuel for a futuristic rocket ship, for example. If we were escaping a dying planet, we'd need some way to acquire new resources. Stars are, essentially, giant balls of resources that have, unfortunately, caught fire and need to be scattered and put out. So yes, I expect you to believe that the prophecy might be talking about a choice instead of an accident. I just wonder how long it will take you to admit it."

There was another pause in the clearing.

"Well?" hissed Mr. Silver. "I will tell you flawss, and promisse to help fix them, but I await your oath."

And that was that. He'd given it his best. Explained it as thoroughly as he could. Nothing left to do but see how Mr. Book would respond to the argument.

Mr. Book decided to take his time. He closed his eyes once more, a picture of a person- or pony- deep in thought.

Mr. Book took so long, in fact, that Mr. Silver eventually got bored, asked himself if there was anything he should be doing in the meantime, and remembered that a letter had appeared out of nowhere.

He silently debated if he should read it. It was addressed To Harry, and it was written on parchment, so it must have come from Hogwarts. That was when he realized the letter might shed some light on the whole Mirror situation, so he decided to go for it.

Mr. Silver stepped back slightly, which rendered the parchment visible again, but since it was below grass-level, Mr. Book shouldn't be able to see it from here.

Next problem: opening the letter without making a noise. It was sealed and-

No, wait. Mr. Silver brought out his wand and brought it forward. As soon as he tapped the parchment, the letter folded open obligingly, as if asking to be read.

Mr. Silver glanced up at Mr. Book, who hadn't reacted to any of this, then back down to the page.

(The following is an excerpt from Chapter 119 of Methods)

Dear Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres:

If you are reading this, you have defeated Voldemort.

Congratulations on that.

I hope you had some time in which to celebrate before you opened this scroll, because the news in it is not cheerful.

During the First Wizarding War, there came a time when I realised that Voldemort was winning, that he would soon hold all within his hand.

In that extremity, I went into the Department of Mysteries and I invoked a password which had never been spoken in the history of the Line of Merlin Unbroken, did a thing forbidden and yet not utterly forbidden.

I listened to every prophecy that had ever been recorded.

And so I learned that my troubles were far worse than Voldemort.

From certain seers and diviners have come an increasing chorus of foretellings that this world is doomed to destruction.

And you, Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres, are one of those foretold to destroy it.

By rights I should have ended your line of possibility, stopped you from ever being born, as I did my best to end all the other possibilities I discovered on that day of terrible awakening.

Yet in your case, Harry, and in your case alone, the prophecies of your apocalypse have loopholes, though those loopholes be ever so slight.

Always 'he will end the world', not 'he will end life'.

Even when it was said that you would tear apart the very stars in heaven, it was not said that you would tear apart the people.

And so, it being clear that this world is not meant to last, I have gambled literally everything upon you, Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres. There were no prophecies of how the world might be saved, so I found the prophecies that offered loopholes in the destruction; and I brought about the strange and complex conditions for those prophecies to come to pass. I ensured that Voldemort discovered a certain one of those prophecies, and so (even as I had feared) condemned your parents to death and made you what you are. I wrote a strange hint in your mother's Potions textbook, having no idea why I must; and this proved to show Lily how to help her sister, and ensured you would gain Petunia Evans's heartfelt love. I snuck invisibly into your bedroom in Oxford and administered the potion that is given to students with Time-Turners, to extend your day's cycle by two hours. When you were six years old I smashed a rock that was on your windowsill, and to this day I cannot imagine why.

All in the desperate hope that you can pass us through the eye of the storm, somehow end this world and yet bring out its people alive.

Now that you have passed the preliminary test of defeating Voldemort, I place my all in your hands, all the tools I can possibly give you. The Line of Merlin Unbroken, the command of the Order of the Phoenix, all my wealth and all my treasures-

"No."

The single word wrenched his attention away from the page like a teacher saying 'time's up' to a student who hadn't finished their test.

"Your theory is just that. Theory."

"Huh?" Mr. Silver asked automatically.

"I will speak no binding promises that prevent me from stopping you if you become a threat. I will not gamble my own immortality."

Oh. Right. He was waiting for Mr. Book's response.

"It's not as much of a gamble as you think," said Mr. Silver. "Here. Read this." He pointed his wand, whispered "Wingardium Leviosa," and lifted the letter into Mr. Book's field of vision.

"Iss thiss a trap?"

"Not a trap."

The letter was seized from his magical grasp by the magical grasp of Mr. Book.

He hadn't gotten to the end, but he didn't have time to read more. Convincing Lord Voldemort not to kill him, or anyone else for that matter, took priority. If he could succeed, maybe the difference between their two different spirits wouldn't be so great, and they would be able to coexist in the same world.

"Iss thiss a falsse letter?" Mr. Book asked, eyes pausing in their scanning.

"It iss real, ass far ass I know. No trickss. Appeared when I woke you."

Mr. Book's eyes went back to scanning. "Did you finish it?"he asked eventually.

"No, but I got far enough to see that it confirmed my interpretation of the prophecy."

Mr. Book chuckled, eyes closing as his magic folded the letter. "You should have read more, boy."

Uh-oh. "Umm... why?"

"The note didn't happen to come with a wand, did it?"

"Why would it've?"

"Accio Elder Wand."

Something flew right past Mr. Silver's head, coming to rest in the air in front of Mr. Book.

"What was-" Mr. Silver began, then froze. "Oh, crap."

"Indeed," said Mr. Book, wearing an evil smile as his magic seemed to toy with the knobbed wood. "This is the second time your negligence has allowed me to acquire a Deathly Hollow. If we count your Cloak, that's all three. Does your foolishness know no bounds?"

"Crap," repeated Mr. Silver. "But... that's... I mean... how did it even get here?"

"The Mirror is obviously answering my desire to have it," said the thestral, still grinning. He chanted the Deathly Hallow locating charm once more, then tilted his head. "Interesting."

"Can the Mirror do anything while we're trapped here? Can it pull literally anything out of thin air?"

"No," said the thestral. "Probably not. In all seriousness, either the headmaster sent it somehow, or it was simply trapped. The headmaster did try to throw his wand and the Line of Merlin from himself at the last moment. If he failed to send them from the Mirror's field of influence, or if the Mirror 'remembers' what it sees, as you theorised, that would give the Mirror full access to the Elder Wand, just as it had access to your Cloak. If this letter was on the headmaster's person when the trap was sprung, that would explain how it arrived here. The Mirror could be fulfilling our desire to have strong evidence about the nature of the prophecy concerning you, using resources made available to it by the headmaster's folly."

Mr. Silver ignored the despair that wanted to fill his mind. Focused instead on what was actually important. "You just called the letter strong evidence," he said. "Does that mean you're finally convinced?"

There was a pause.

"Did the headmaster truly destroy a rock on your windowsill?" was Mr. Book's reply.

"Yes."

"Answer in Parseltongue."

"Yess, sschoolmasster desstroyed my sstone," hissed Mr. Silver. "Up until now, I always thought my pet rock died of natural causes."

"Do you know why he did it?"

"Um..." said Mr. Silver. He searched his memory for information relevant to 'pet rock.' "If we're using prophecy logic... I think it was so I would refuse Professor Mc- er, the Transfiguration Professor's suggestion to buy a pet owl. Losing my pet rock at age six was pretty traumatic, and I didn't want a repeat incident."

"Anything else?"

"Um... she tried to interpret a comment I made about my reasons for not wanting an owl as evidence of my parents abusing me, and that moment led to me learning a number of things about the wizarding world. Obliviation, for instance. It also made me angry, and my anger that day led to me figuring out that you were still around, which eventually let me blackmail the headmaster and potions master. Not to mention I began preparing for your return, and that was probably important..." Mr. Silver trailed off, eyes distant.

"I see," said Mr. Book. "Then to answer your question, yes. This letter is convincing. It neatly explains the headmaster's foreknowledge, and yet further explains why he did not outright win our war despite that advantage. His moral outrage might have insisted that I die, but prophecies concerning the world's fate would have directed him away from outright killing me."

"Um... why?"

It was hard to imagine a prophecy foretelling that Lord Voldemort was necessary for the world's survival. Well, it was hard to imagine for about two seconds. Then he remembered words spoken about two months ago in the hospital wing of Hogwarts: I have no great fondness for the universe, but I DO live there.

"I may have prevented a world-threatening disaster or two in my day." This was said in a casual tone, as if it were of no matter at all. "I certainly intended to end you, a great threat to the world, and any sensible wizard would have done the same if they heard that prophecy."

"Are you lying? Did you truly ssave world in passt?"

"Am sspeaking truth. Ssome world-ssaving meassuress are ongoing. One ssuch meassure activated two yearss after I wass vanquisshed. Would not have activated if I were killed. If we ever escape the mirror, look up the name Stanislav Petrov."

Russian, thought Mr. Silver. Does that mean he interfered with the Cold War?

"In your case," continued the thestral, "leave it to prophecy to leave out key details, only obvious in retrospect. I already believed that the world was not meant to last. I believed that any attempts at saving it would only delay the inevitable, that I could only survive by escaping somewhere else." Now it was as if he was speaking to himself, for his own benefit, not Mr. Silver's. "And then I hear a prophecy that describes that escape. I fail to comprehend what I have heard. I decide upon a course of action that would condemn me to a dying world forever." Mr. Book shook his head. "Merlin once said that Time makes a fool of any who try to subvert it. I should have respected his wisdom. I should certainly have respected him more than the lesser wizards who claimed it is possible to break prophecies, something Merlin never did."

Silence, in the clearing.

"So..." Mr. Silver finally ventured, "have you truly accepted thiss undersstanding of the prophecy?"

Mr. Book gave a massive sigh, the Elder Wand vanishing beneath one of his wings. "Yess."

"You're open to my offer? You still agree to the previous terms?"

Mr. Book repeated the previous promises in Parseltongue – no torture, no maiming, no murder, no killing more than three dangerous sentient creatures here, except under certain acceptable circumstances. All of this, conditional on Mr. Silver telling him the flaws in the horcrux system and helping him fix them.

"You promise not to kill me?"

"I promisse never to raisse my arm or magic againsst you unless you raisse your arm or magic againsst me." Then, as an afterthought, the thestral amended the promise, saying that practice duels and so forth wouldn't count as 'raising his arm or magic' against Mr. Silver.

Mr. Silver repeated that promise himself, completing the conditional oath.

"Now," hissed Mr. Book imperiously. "Tell me flawss in ssysstem."

"Obliviation," Mr. Silver said at once.

Mr. Book blinked.

"A complete memory wipe is effectively killing someone. We should find a way to guard against Obliviation, or to restore Obliviated memories."

"...I see."

"As for the other three methods, first there's the Cruciatus. Torturing you into insanity might have worked, but I don't know how to cast the torture curse. Plus, you might have broken free from the curse even if I did, using your great creation to escape. Either way, we should research ways to restore sanity to tortured minds, or ways to resist the Cruciatus, or ways to prevent insanity from prolonged exposure."

"Yes..."

"Next, there's transfiguration. You once said that my stealing the unicorn didn't set off the protective wards on the herd. You said that because the unicorn wasn't dead, only transfigured, it didn't trigger the death alarms. So if someone transfigured your body but didn't kill you, it might not activate your horcrux system. I don't know how this could be fixed, but you can probably just add a clause to the horcrux ritual, or something like that."

"..."

"Finally, there's that way you restored my worst memory to me back in January. I didn't find your wand, and I don't have access to a Dementor. But if I did, I could have put your wand next to a Life-Eater as an inescapable death trap. Also, if a Dementor found one of your creations, I suspect they could drain you through it. Maybe even kiss you through it. If we ever get back to the other side of the mirror, you might want to sever your connection to most of your creations, barring the Resurrection Stone and the voyager plaque. When there are ways to bypass the whole system anyway, more creations doesn't exactly make you safer. All it takes is one Dementor finding one of them. The more you make, the easier you make it for the Dementors. But I do admit that the benefit of surviving the death of your body outweighs the risk of making one or two extra. Unless, of course, you help me get rid of Dementors entirely. Then the risk would go away entirely. Oh, and I guess our current predicament also counts as neutralizing you, in a way, and it can be fixed by us escaping. So that's five."

Mr. Book nodded. His eyes were distant, his expression abstracted, and his words, when spoken, seemed to make up his mind. "Your reasoning is valid. I will think on it later. For now..." The thestral glanced around himself, then at himself. "Where are we?" he asked disdainfully.

Chapter 3: Resurrection?

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter 4: Reconnaissance

Author's Note

Minor change to last chapter: I added a scene where they put on their robes. Can't believe I forgot that.

Chapter 4: Reconnaissance

On a pathway leading to a distant village...

"For the last time, Spike," groaned a purple unicorn in a voice that sounded female. "There isn't anything there."

"But there IS!" replied 'Spike', a green lizard creature sitting on her back. It stared into the sky with what were probably keen eyes. "I see something."

"Well I don't," declared the purple unicorn. "Now come on. We don't have much time!"

...

When the blue light that guided his way reappeared, Mr. Silver whispered, "Is there a magical way to avoid that lizard?"

"Yes," said a sardonic voice, magically reduced to the volume of a whisper. "Turn around and fly in the other direction."

At the no-longer distant village...

As soon as their invisible forms came to a stop above the town square, they encountered an unpleasant shock.

A pink pony, at the top of her lungs and in the view of every pony in town, shouted "WELCOME TO PONYVILLE!" while looking directly at them.

"Um..." said a nearby pony running a stall. "Nopony's there, Pinkie."

"Sure there is!" replied 'Pinkie' in that grating voice. "A rumbly tummy and twitchy eye means mister meanie pants and mister smarty pants are on their way! But they stopped, so they're here! It's time for a PARTY!"

A different nearby pony made an exasperated noise. "You just threw that new purple pony a party. Even if new ponies are on their way, can't you wait a day?"

"Wait?" asked the pink one, aghast. "For a PARTY?! But everypony needs a 'Welcome to Ponyville' party! Especially these two!"

More words might have entered into the exchange, but the two invisible ponies were out of earshot by that point.

"Regard the pink one as a stupid, short-term seer," Mr. Book spell-whispered flatly. "Like Luna Lovegood."

"Already on it."

Pause.

"Wait, the Quibbler girl actually is a seer?"

Some distance away from the village...

*SNORE*

A cyan pegasus with a rainbow mane was sleeping.

*SNORE*

In the sky.

*SNORE*

On a cloud.

*SNORE*

"Wow," said Mr. Silver as he stood on a cloud. "I figured magic was at play with our flight. Our wingspans are way too small to generate enough lift. But I wasn't expecting this. I wonder what else we can do."

"Indeed," said Mr. Book from atop a cloud of his own.

Further from the village, outside a cottage...

"Don't worry, Mr. Squirrel," said a light yellow pegasus with pink hair.

The squirrel pointed insistently at the sky, making chittering noises as it did.

"But there's nothing there," said the pegasus.

The squirrel began pouting.

Then crying.

"Shh, shh. Calm down. It's okay."

...

...

...

...

...

"SQUIRRELS ARE SENTIENT?!"

"You are confusing the term sentient with sapient, Mr. Silver."

The pegasus froze mid-hover. His stomach dropped. His Slytherin part quickly reshuffled his priorities.

"Hold on. Does that mean... your promise not to kill smart creatures...?"

"Sstop worrying," hissed the empty air. "When wordss of ssnake sspeech do not ssuffice, sspeakerss musst sshare undersstanding of meaning to exchange promisse. Knew what you meant. My promisse bindss me to not kill ssmart creaturess. And by smart, I mean sapient. What I jusst ssaid in normal sspeech wass not lie."

Mr. Silver let out a sigh of relief. "Why didn't you try to abuse that loophole?"

"There was no loophole to abuse. It would have been far more constraining to spare the merely sentient. Dogs are sentient. Cats are sentient. Chickens are sentient. Sapience is rarer, and so less binding. Though given the nature of that squirrel, it might not have made a difference."

On the porch of a house in the middle of an apple tree orchard...

"I'm tellin' ya, somethin' ain't right!"

"Eeyup."

"I can feel it in my bones!"

"Eeyup."

"Somethin's watchin' me, I jes know it!"

"Eeyup."

The old, green pony stopped rocking in her chair. "Celestia dern it, Mac, will ye git up and find whatever's watchin' us?"

The large red pony, who looked rather exhausted, didn't move from the porch.

"Eenope."

...

"Any hypotheses?" Mr. Silver asked.

"Perhaps all wingless, hornless ponies have some amount of innate seer magic within them."

"Like the centaurs from back home?"

"Precisely."

Back at the village...

"Thank you for the wonderful treatment, darlings," said a unicorn with a pearly white coat. Her horn glowed briefly, removing golden coins from bags strung over her back. "You've earned twice your normal tip. Have a wonderful night, Lotus, and you as well, Aloe."

The coins, encased in a white glow, floated over to the blue/pink and pink/blue masseuses. "Any time, Rarity."

The unicorn smiled magnanimously and turned to trot down the path, head held high.

"So ponies can cast spells," whispered Mr. Silver.

"I suspect only the unicorns can cast spells," Mr. Book corrected. "The other races use their mouths and hooves to manipulate objects, not charms. They have magic, but not spellwork."

Mr. Silver swooshed in for a landing at their original meadow. Using broomstick rods might not be as real as winged flight, but it sure was fun.

"So," he began, "Since we can cast spells, we can do something no one will suspect we can do. Question is, do we exploit it, or take no risks that others find us out?"

"Exploit," said Mr. Book at once, disillusionment dropping as he descended. "With reasonable efforts to keep it secret. If we ever want to escape, Mr. Silver, our magic will likely be necessary. Furthermore, you need more magical training and I need to stay in practice. We therefore require a location that would allow the use of our wands without fear of discovery. This meadow will not suffice." The thestral's gaze wandered to a nearby landmark. "That mountain might do nicely."

The flight to the mountain took maybe twenty minutes. Broomstick enchantments somewhat protected against wind resistance and took no physical effort, so Mr. Silver treated the trip as something like a break, giving his mind time to rest and recover.

When they arrived, Mr. Book cast a large silencing barrier, then began carving a channel into the mountain. He used a spell Mr. Silver didn't recognize, one that built support structures as it went. The incantation hadn't sounded like Latin or English, leading Mr. Silver to suspect that it hadn't come from magical Britain. Spells could be invented, so this spell had probably been made in an industrious wizarding society.

"Was that spell incantation Mandarin?" he asked.

"Hindi."

The spell progressed at a rapid pace, and soon enough Mr. Book stopped drilling. Two charms hid the entrance, five more acted as semi-permanent security wards, and the bare bones of their hideout had been established.

"Wait until I have secured the inside," said Mr. Book, and disappeared into the dwelling.

Mr. Silver waited patiently, trying to remember how long it normally took to speak the standard suite of 37 security charms. A minute? Two?

After around three minutes, Mr. Book's voice said, "Come," and Mr. Silver walked into the darkness.

The dark didn't last. Not long after the light of the sun faded behind him, the tunnel opened into a well-lit cavern of glowing gemstones.

"Wow," said the pegasus at the sight of the crystals. "This reminds me of a few fantasy book settings."

"You'll have plenty of time to enjoy the scene later, Mr. Silver," said the thestral. "We have other priorities."

"Yeah, I know." His stomach had been demanding his attention for a while now. "What's on the menu?"

"You saw the orchard of apples earlier, did you not?"

"The orchard that's part of a farm? The farm that belongs to someone? That orchard?"

"Yes, that orchard."

"What about it?"

"You are hungry," said Mr. Book as if speaking to a simpleton. "The trees have apples. Apples are edible."

"So you want us to steal our first meal."

"Unless you have a better idea."

"Not off the top of my head," said the pegasus. "But I'm sure we could brainstorm a few ideas if we spent five minutes on the problem. Especially with hunger as a motivator."

"Why go through the effort when we already have a viable solution?"

"We don't know how the justice system works here, or how good the security is. We also don't know the strength of the military. Since this is a plot where our lives could be on the line if we screw up, we should keep the core concept as simple as possible and take every precaution. Constraining ourselves to lawful action until we know more is a sensible precaution."

The thestral snorted. "I seriously doubt these ponies will notice two invisible creatures picking a few apples from trees."

"Probably," Mr. Silver conceded. "But remember, the ground ponies can sense strange things. They might be able to sense a theft and report it to whatever serves as the police. Plus, we've already been spotted a few times."

The thestral seemed to pause. "I stand by my comment. I do not think it will be anything to worry about."

"Then think of it like a challenge," Mr. Silver proposed. "A difficult problem that requires a creative solution. We have no money, no resources, no social capital. We barely know anything about this new world, or even our own biology. The core concept is as simple as it gets: acquire food. Stealing is like cheating, it's the easy way out. We have five minutes to generate ideas, and we have to abide by the law. Solve."

The thestral looked at Mr. Silver a moment, shrugged, then closed his eyes. Mr. Silver closed his own.

Both brains began generating ideas, honed by hundreds, if not thousands of hours of practice. They discarded the impractical ones, did not get distracted by promising ones, examined each idea against what they believed were the cold facts of reality, and refused to stop thinking about the problem until at least five minutes had passed.

After ten minutes, the thestral said, "I have three ideas."

"I have two."

"Speak."

"Okay. First idea: find a field and graze on grass, then go to a river and drink. This place doesn't look like it's gone through the industrial revolution yet, so I don't think pollutants pose a problem."

The thestral's nose wrinkled for a moment, then the thestral thought for another moment. "I see. It requires no interaction with the local populace, it is entirely free, and if feasible, it would always work as a fallback meal plan." Mr. Book nodded. "Acceptable, though you are overlooking something."

"What?"

The thestral transfigured a large earthenware cup from a stone, said "Aguamenti", and began drinking.

Mr. Silver wrinkled his own nose. "Right. Magic. There's a charm that violates physics so much that my mind tried to forget about it. That should have generated five hundred quadrillion joules of energy, you know."

The thestral's eyebrows rose, stopping his sipping to stare at his stein. "That much?"

"Creating one gram of mass would generate ninety trillion."

"Interesting," said Mr. Book. "In any case, I admit your first idea is worth testing. What is your second?"

"You won't like it," sighed Mr. Silver. "We'd have to interact with the local populace, but we're probably going to have to do that anyway. That pink pony did say she would throw us a party, and there's usually free food at parties. And this way, we can get a better understanding of the local culture."

There was a long pause.

"If you wish to go down that route, Mr. Silver, you may do so. But I am not going anywhere near that pink buffoon of my own volition."

Mr. Silver nodded. "I understand. What are your ideas?"

"I think I shall keep them to myself." The thestral grinned. "I assure you, they are all perfectly legal."

"Are they perfectly moral?"

The thestral's grin widened. He didn't answer.

"You know," said Mr. Silver thoughtfully, "we don't actually know what is or isn't against the law. The basic ones we can guess, like murder and theft. But these ponies seem pretty... what's the word... sensitive? Fragile? Girly? It's possible their laws are so... um... progressive that emotional manipulation counts as illegal, somehow."

The grin of the thestral vanished.

"And again, it's possible the ground ponies can sense it. Given that new constraint, how many ideas do you have?"

...

"I begin to find your constraints annoying, Mr. Silver."

Mr. Silver shrugged. "All part of problem-solving. And I forgot to add this earlier, but did your ideas take into account that we don't actually know what our diets are supposed to be? I didn't see any other thestrals at the village, and since you have sharp teeth, you might have a different diet from other ponies."

There was a pause. Again, Mr. Book did not answer.

"How about this. We both go to the party, but I lend you my cloak so there's no chance of someone seeing you again. You further ward yourself, especially against the noise of the pink pony. If she throws a party, you can sample the food when nobody is looking. If she doesn't, I'll ask about pegasus and thestral diets in a way that isn't obvious. But before we do that, we try grazing. Sound good?"

"No."

...

"But it will do."

Grazing was a success, if you could call what they did 'grazing'. Using magic to cut the blades, gather them into a clump, and shred them into a mush might not qualify.

Neither pony liked it, but neither disliked it either. It was like drinking water, according to their tastebuds. And there's only so much water a person can tolerate in one sitting.

"I shall render your rods and pouch invisible before we visit the village," said the thestral. "And..." he looked down with a frown. "We shall have to remove our robes."

"Um... I get that we're ponies, and we have fur now, so being naked isn't exactly indecent, but on the other side of the mirror, a statement like that would be seen as widely inappropriate, especially in the company of a minor."

"Yes, I am well aware of that Mr. Silver." The thestral's expression was bitter and distasteful. "I am not suggesting it because I want to. I don't. I would prefer to wear apparel. If I find out that it is acceptable to wear clothes in public, I am robing myself immediately. That said, I did not see a single article of clothing while we were scouting, save the occasional hat. Our robes would stick out like a Lumos in the dark. They might be considered unorthodox, or even indecent, by the local populace. You see now why I did not consider your suggestion a good one."

"Ah."

It took a single question posed to a passing pedestrian to locate the pink pony.

She works in the bakery, and the bakery is that way, and why does he want to see her, exactly?

That was a good question.

A stream of sentences slammed into Mr. Silver as soon as he stepped into Sugarcube Corner. "Hi Mr. Smarty Pants! Welcome to Ponyville! How are you? Where's Mr. Meany Pants?"

The pegasus decided at once that he would not be unnerved and would not take that nickname lying down. "I'm fine, Ms. Loud Mouth."

Many nearby ponies gasped, and at least one chuckled.

"Mr. Book is shy and hates parties, but he's hungry. Does your twitching happen to know what he likes to eat?"

"Of course it does, Mr. Smarty Pants!" She closed the gap between them in an instant and whispered, "He's a bat pony, and bat ponies love bugs!"

Mr. Silver refused to show any signs of discomfort or surprise at her quite literal in-your-face attitude. "Spot on, Ms. Loud Mouth."

The pink pony again seemed to teleport back to her old place. "My name isn't Ms. Loud Mouth, silly." Two canons manifested from thin air – no, it looks like they fell from her hair – and showered confetti around her as she shouted, "It's Pinkie Pie!"

Of course it is, thought Mr. Silver in a major mental moan.

He'd thought 'Pinkie' had just been a nickname. Apparently not. And with native names like that, his own alien alias shouldn't stand out at all.

"I'm Mr. Silver, and my friend is Mr. Book. Pleased to meet you."

"Such a polite young colt," said one of the bakery's nearby patrons.

"I'm surprised he hasn't run away like all the others," whispered another.

"Mister Silver?" Pinkie looked deeply confused. "I can't throw a party if I don't know your full name! Wait! Don't tell me, maybe I can guess the rest!"

She looked at the mark on his flank, and that was all it took to set her off again.

"WOW!" Her eyes widened more than they should have been able to. "What's this? What're those? What's that? What's it mean? Is that a basketball? Why does the pony have eight legs? Why is it silver? Wait, is that your name? Silver Pony? No, wait, Silver Ball! No, wait, Silver Moon! Those are moons, right? Or is Silver your second name and something else comes first? Like... Bright Silver! Space Silver! SHINY SILVER!" She seemed ready to explode at this point.

Mr. Silver had taken several unconscious steps backwards. "Um..."

Thankfully, he could pretend his hesitation was the result of Pinkie's overwhelming gaggle of guesses, not because he didn't know his own name. And the suggested names gave him a few ideas, quickly solving that problem.

"I'm Silver Wing."

It was possible for 'Silver' to come first, according to Pinkie's guesses, so he went for something generic.

"Oh," said Pinky, deflating slightly. "I guess that makes sense." Then she perked up again. "What about Mr. Meany Pants? What's his full name?"

"His name is... Mystery Book. Ow."

"Mystery Book Ow?" Pinkie giggled. "That's a silly name."

"No, just Mystery Book," said Silver Wing, rubbing the place where he'd been hit by a simple strike hex.

"Then why'd you say 'ow'?"

"Muscle cramp," lied Silver Wing.

"Okie-lokie-dokie!" said Pinky, and disappeared into the back of the bakery.

Silver Wing sighed. That had been a roller coaster of a conversation. But at least he hadn't made any mistakes. And if the looks of the nearby ponies were anything to go by, he'd even gained a little respect.

"You come from Cloudsdale, little fella?" asked a nearby pony. "Come to see our famous Summer Sun Celebration?"

Sure, why not, thought Silver Wing. "Yes."

"Where are your parents?"

"I don't have any."

Many nearby ponies gasped.

It both was and wasn't a lie. His parents were back on the other side of the mirror. His other parents were dead. But in this world, for all intents and purposes he didn't have any parents.

"Then who takes care of you?" asked a female pony in a sympathetic voice.

"Mystery Book looks after me."

"And where's this 'Mystery Book,' then?" tutted a much older-looking female pony. "Awfully irresponsible, letting a colt roam around alone. 'Specially this late in the evening."

"He's nearby," said Silver with a shrug. "He wants me to learn how to be independent. He's shy, but he's the furthest thing there is from irresponsible."

"Here you go!" said Pinkie Pie in a chipper voice, her face reappearing right in front of Silver's. "Two cupcakes!" She leaned in and whispered, "One with crickets," then snapped back to her old position like a rubber band. "The Summer Sun Celebration is tomorrow morning, and the entire town will be partying ALL NIGHT, and ANYPONY can join! But my twitchy tail is telling me to save your Welcome to Ponyville Party until later. It's also telling me to tell you and Mr. Meany Pants to go to the library. I don't know why the party can't be right away and I'm really sorry it isn't today!" She offered another two cupcakes. "Here! Two apology cupcakes!"

"Um," Mr. Silver paused, wondering how to accept them. His mind generated a few ideas and he chose the best one. He extended his wings and held them flat like the gliding stance, turning them into temporary trays. "Here."

"Okie-lokie-dokie!" said Pinky, placing the four cupcakes on his wings.

"There are tables outside, right?"

"Yupperino!" She waved enthusiastically as he left. "Have fun on Summer Sun!"

"'Mystery' Book?" said the thestral in a displeased voice, emerging from the shadow of the bakery. "Really, Furry Gardner? You may as well have used our last name outright."

"It was all I could think of on short notice," Silver Wing said defensively. "Nobody here will know what its meant to obscure. If you wanted something more obscure, you should have said so before I was put on the spot."

"I was unfamiliar with the naming conventions," said Mystery Book, still in that displeased voice. "Though I suppose I could have composed a few potential names in advance, for you to pick and choose depending on what constituted a sensible name in case you were forced to improvise. Nothing for it now. At least you did not say 'Riddle'." The thestral looked at the cupcakes, still wearing that frown. "Who gets which?"

"Yours have insects in them." Silver shrugged. "Bat ponies like bugs, apparently."

"Bat ponies?" repeated not-Riddle in ridicule, then muttered an incantation over the cupcakes.

"That's what Pinky called your race," Silver shrugged again, accepting the two that were pushed in his direction by an unseen hand. "Probably not the actual name. Hopefully we can look it up. Oh, by the way, the short-term seer told me that we should go to the library."

After that, the two ponies ate in silence, warded by a notice-me-not charm.

The cupcakes were surprisingly filling.

Chapter 5: Restarting the March of Reason

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter 6: Nightmare Moon and a Riddle

His independent search for the most powerful magic known to ponydom had failed. He'd sensed nothing magical within the easily-located Castle of Two Sisters. He had sensed something on the way to the castle – heard something, rather – which confirmed the story spoken by Sparkle, at least in part.

Now he camped at the heart of the castle, camouflaged in a corner of a central, regal room.

Disillusioned, not invisible.

Disillusionment might have been harder to cast, but it would be easier to drop. He wore the cloak in the forest, then tripped over his limbs when he reached relative safety and tried to take it off manually. There was a spell to remove clothes, but it was so obscure that he had not practiced it enough to do wandlessly.

He would need to speak with Nightmare Moon if she appeared, and he would not reveal his wand to an enemy who believed only unicorns could cast spells. Not until the critical moment. And although that enemy had not yet showed herself, if she did, and if he was wearing the cloak at the time, he would either have to stumble awkwardly or reveal his wand. Thus, disillusionment.

It was ultimately of little consequence. It's not like he'd brought the cloak to wear it.

His senses were extended.

He regularly cast 'Tempus' to check the time.

The sun was supposed to rise at seven in Summer, according to a partygoing pony he'd questioned before departure.

It was now 7:15 AM with no sign of the sun's shine.

Mr. Book decided he would wait five more minutes, then return to the village.

"That went well," said a voice into the seemingly empty room three minutes later.

Midnight purple fur.

Armor that framed bat wings and a long, sharp horn.

A flowing mane of starlight.

All of these spun into existence in a swirl of mist.

"Ah, my glorious throne," said a being who could only be Nightmare Moon. She approached the high seat. "How I missed you."

She sat down in her throne. Examined her surroundings. Hesitated as her gaze met what should have looked like an inconspicuous corner.

"Show thyself, intruder!"

There was a pause. Then there was a sigh.

"Must every creature be capable of seeing through that camouflage?"

His spell rippled and fell away like water.

"A thestral?" asked Nightmare Moon, surprise in her voice. Then, with sudden glee, "I see! Thou art no intruder at all, but a loyal subject, wishing to welcome thy queen upon her return."

Deciding that it was to his advantage to allow her to come to her own conclusions, Mystery Book said nothing.

"But how were thou camouflaged?" the royal mare asked curiously.

"I would prefer not to say," said Mr. Book. "Though I shan't deny it if you guess correctly."

"Did a unicorn perform the spell for thee?" the mare guessed.

"No," said Mystery Book.

"An enchanted artifact, then?" she asked, even more curious.

Not that time.

"No."

"Then what?" she pressed, suddenly frustrated. "Tell me! Thy queen demands to know!"

He weighed his possible responses for a fraction of a second.

"Apologies, my queen," said Mr. Book, executing what he hoped was a proper pony genuflect. "It is a personal policy of mine to never reveal a riddle's answer. Not unless the pony pondering it is utterly incapable of solving it on their own."

Nightmare Moon stared at the pony she assumed was her subject for a long moment. "Yes," she smiled. "I understand. It would be like asking me to relinquish control of the moon, or to never observe the dreams of my subjects. Thou hast my apologies, my lovely servant. I should not have asked thee to violate thy special talent."

His what?

"Rise, my subject."

He rose.

"What is thy name?"

"Mystery Book."

"That is a lie," said the winged unicorn, instantly and without a trace of doubt.

It was only then that he noticed a weak pressure on his mind, as if something – or someone – was attempting a magical probe. His Occlumency barriers, which were always at full strength regardless of time or location, did nothing to stop the invasion. An unknown magic was influencing or examining his mind state of mind, and he was defenseless against it...

"I understand if thou have had to hide in the past," continued the royal pony, "but thou will not lie to thy queen."

...but this pony believed he was her ally despite her probe.

Thus she did not know he intended to kill her.

Thus his thoughts were not being read.

Based on the context...

"Apologies again, my queen. The lie was a force of habit, as you correctly inferred. My true name is Riddle Tome."

"Better," the queen declared.

It was closer to his original name, thus less of a lie, thus less likely to set off the invasive magical lie-detection. 'Riddle Tome' almost felt like the name he was supposed to have in this place.

"Come forth, my subject. Let me look upon thee and thy cutie mark."

That could only be one thing.

So, it is called a cutie mark.

Of course.

Showing nothing of his former ignorance, nor of his current annoyance, he obeyed. He had made a pre-prepared portkey, now ready for activation upon the slightest trace of hostility. It was a risk to close the distance, but a calculated one. He stood, walked forward, and turned slightly.

Nightmare Moon stood from her own throne and approached.

"My," said the queen as she looked upon his 'cutie mark'. "That's quite detailed." She hummed appreciatively. "A beautiful rendition of stars... though not in a pattern I recognize." Her eyes narrowed, and he could feel her breath on his fur for a moment. But only a moment. "Tell me, my subject, what is the book supposed to mean? Oh, pardon me. I should not have asked for the answer."

Riddle Tome ignored the impulse to grin. What an excellent excuse.

"May I at least ask thy special talent? No, wait, I must guess. Hmm... is thy special talent asking riddles?"

"No," said Riddle Tome, "though I do enjoy composing and proposing them from time to time."

"How about... writing or reading books containing riddles?"

"No."

"Is it..." the mare's eyes lit with excitement. "Is it solving riddles?"

Why not?

"Yes."

It was a well-honed skill of his, therefore it was not a lie to answer affirmatively.

"Wonderful!" exulted Nightmare Moon. "Such a lovely talent. And useful, for I am pondering a riddle this very moment."

"Oh?"

"Yes," she said simply. Then, in a puzzled tone, "The thought occurred to me that my sister would not neglect to prepare for my return. And yet, mere minutes ago, the great and powerful Princess Celestia was easily dispatched, leaving her precious ponies to my eternal rule. Tell me, dear subject, canst thou fathom why she would allow herself to be defeated?"

"Perhaps," he said with a grin, "your sister believed it was finally your turn to take to the throne."

He could be charming. It was a disarming tactic, causing most to lower their defenses and offenses. In situations of true risk, like this one, he needed every advantage he could get.

"Thou hast a sense of humor, I see," said the queen. Then, in a challenging voice, "Or thou art unable to solve the riddle."

Riddle's eyes narrowed. "Possibility one: she believes her immediate defeat is a necessary step for your eventual demise. Possibility two: she arranged for someone else to do her dirty work and decided that a destructive battle would not be worth endangering her subjects, thus she allowed herself to be overcome. This would serve the dual purpose of lowering your guard. Possibility three: she did not allow it. You were simply that much better."

Nightmare Moon smiled at the compliment, then her gaze turned serious. "Yes, that does sound just like her. Unable to face me herself, she finds some drooling tool to play like a fool." The mare smiled cruelly. "Well, I shall defeat her heroes as easily as I defeated her." She threw her head back and laughed.

Rule Five, thought Riddle Tome. Never underestimate an unknown. If this were a story, that conceit would be her downfall.

In the silence that followed the evil laugh, Riddle considered his next move.

This interaction had dragged on longer than he'd intended. Could he just kill her now and be done with it?

Unfortunately, no.

She didn't seem to believe her actions would amount to mass murder. She believed Celestia's ponies were left to her 'eternal rule', thus implying they were not going to die in her mental model of the future.

This posed a major problem.

He was bound by Parsletongue promise only to kill a malicious menace, not just a stupidly dangerous one. He'd been forced to repeat that phrase, "maliciouss menace", out loud. He hadn't the first time, but it was imposed upon him in the final exchange of promises, closing the loophole that would have allowed him to kill the merely world-threatening Mr. Silver.

Not that he could have directly done that anyway. The curse he'd invoked upon himself and all Tom Riddles that would descend from him was still in effect. He'd arranged for Mr. Silver to finally be bound by the curse as well. Not threatening each other's immortalities was a mutual promise at last. The only problem being Mr. Silver now knew of the curse's terms, even if he didn't know it was a curse. That would make eliminating him significantly more difficult if he ever adopted that aim again.

At least there was still that other loophole.

The promises he'd made about murder had been conditional. An exchange. A trade.

He'd promised he would not murder if and only if Mr. Silver helps fix his horcrux system.

Therefore, once he fixes the flaws on his own (and he would be dealing with two of four soon enough) he would thereby free himself to kill as he pleases. The vow is only binding if Mr. Silver is capable of providing aid. Remove Mr. Silver from the equation, whether by death or mere ostracisation, and his freedom to do as he pleases becomes an inevitability.

This realisation had been the true reason he'd been able to tolerate the deal.

Did Mr. Silver truly believe the comment about creative alternatives to murder had swayed him?

Perhaps. Ordinary people believed what they wished to be true. Mr. Silver is not ordinary, but still susceptible to that common error. It was likely Mr. Silver had been tricked, but not guaranteed. Mr. Silver's facial expression had been beneath the cloak, unreadable at the time.

In the worst case, Mr. Silver saw the trick and manages to contribute before it is too late, making the vow against murder permanently binding... but even then, that vow only holds on this side of the mirror.

I sswear to kill no more than three ssmart creaturess in thiss place.

If Mr. Silver does help, it would simply be more incentive to escape. The moment he frees himself from this ridiculous trap shall be the moment he frees himself from the vow of non-violence.

But for now, for his immediate plans, he was still bound by all constraints.

He needed to prove the malice of the menace before him to continue.

"Your majesty?" Riddle Tome broached politely after a long silence.

The queen seemed distant, her attention somehow elsewhere.

"A question, if I may?"

The queen's eyes opened. "Yes, my subject?"

With precise and carefully composed wording, Riddle Tome asked the question that would make or break a great creation.

"Will you be increasing the glow of the moon during your eternal night, such that it could support the many lives in this kingdom which were previously sustained by the sun?"

The moment Riddle Tome uttered the word 'sun', the queen's demeanor changed. Her entire body darkened to pitch black, and when she spoke again, it was in a threatening voice. "Please tell me a subject of mine does not have a sun-loving face."

There was the menace.

Good.

Now all he needed was the intended and willful massacre.

He needed the malice.

"Not sun-loving," said Riddle Tome in a voice that did not betray his thoughts. "Sun-acknowledging. A riddle master must be capable of answering any riddle, even those dealing with... unpleasant topics."

The queen seemed to relax slightly.

"In this case," he continued, "that unpleasantness would be the fact that, without the sun, plants will wither and die. Cold-blooded creatures will freeze. Predators will find it far easier to prey upon your subjects. I inquired about the luminosity of the moon not because I love the sun, but because I fear the natural consequences of its absence. If the moon's glow could be increased, it would potentially solve all these problems."

"Thou ask me to turn my beautiful moon into a sun?!" the queen demanded. "Never!"

His grin widened further in imagination. She had not outright declared she would engage in mass murder, but this was reckless endangerment at the very least. That she would deny a reasonable alternative to the safety of her subjects out of spite for her sister bordered on malicious. He could feel the bindings of his promise loosen with the rejection.

"But you do have a plan for the plants, correct?" he pressed, her attitude not quite there yet. "You might not care for lizards or fish. You might not care for predator vulnerability. Given your name, you might even prefer for your subjects to have nightmares over dreams – as they certainly would without the proper regulation provided by the day/night cycle. But they need to be alive to have nightmares."

"They shall live!" she declared. "No harm could possibly come from an endless night!"

"The leaves of almost all plants convert the sun's energy into food," he said simply. It was a fact of Herbology. "Without the sun, plants starve and die. Without plants, your subjects would also starve and die. Do you intend to import food from the other side of the planet, where the never-setting sun ceaselessly scorches lands unknown while we enjoy your endless night here in Equestria?"

The queen's eyes widened when he said the words never-setting sun, then further as he spoke of scorched lands. Her coat seemed to lighten from black to purple, the colors wavering as she whispered the words, "Oh, no."

Potential regret? Riddle realised.

"I didn't think..." the queen said, then trailed off.

Merlin damn it.

Before the conversation could continue, the heads of both ponies snapped to the doors of the throne room, behind which voices could be heard.

The coat of the queen darkened once more. "I will not allow any part of this world to suffer an eternal day."

Damn, Riddle repeated privately.

"But we must languish over logistics another time. It would seem we have company, and it would not do for a queen to keep her subjects waiting."

Hmm... perhaps it was time for a different approach. Malice was more likely to reveal itself in the presence of perceived foes, not perceived friends.

"Would you prefer my help," Riddle asked, "or do you intend to deal with them alone?"

"Thou art a scholar, not a guard. I shall deal with this alone."

"Very well," said Riddle Tome.

The queen's eyes widened when he wandlessly disillusioned himself, but then her head snapped around as the doors burst open, revealing six determined ponies.

Words were waged...

A fight was fought...

Elements were empowered...

An outcome was observed...

"I've missed you too, sister," said the light-purple pony who had been Nightmare Moon minutes ago.

"Those thousand winters were very long," whispered the apparent ruler of Equestria. "I never imagined I'd face them on my own. I love you, Luna."

Riddle ignored the ridiculous crying from the room's residents in favor of a fleeting shadow, unnoticed by the unobservant.

His gaze and disillusioned body followed that shadow outside the castle and into the forest, where it manifested as a pure black pony. Many curses, insults, and likely expletives were exclaimed, followed by the pony's declaration that it would destroy Equestria, it would exact its master's revenge, all in the name of a somber something-or-other.

Riddle felt no resistance from his vow as he said, "Avada Kedavra."

Thus he made the first of his three allotted great creations, anchoring his mortality in yet another Deathly Hallow and fixing one of Mr. Silver's proposed problems.

Even if Dementors could drain him through his horcruxes, they likely needed to see them in the first place, and they would not see a cloak that hid the user from death itself. He had guessed that part of Mr. Silver's solution to the Azkaban breakout months ago.

This was why he had borrowed the cloak, and of course he would be giving it back afterwards. Mr. Silver was the only one he could trust, thanks to Parsletongue promise, not to use the horcrux against him. Mr. Silver might even resurrect him if it became necessary.

Furthermore, keeping any horcrux upon his own person would defeat the purpose of making them in the first place. One wayward Fiendfyre could slay him if he neglected to diversify his mortality anchors to different physical locations.

It took little time for the magic to take hold. He felt himself able to perceive the world around the cloak even as he perceived the world around his body. He further felt his newly integrated anti-transfiguration-stasis ward take effect in the ritual (two down).

But he also felt a soft tune touch the back of his mind, as well as a soft tingling touch the part of his body depicting a book and stars.

These were not expected parts of the ritual.

At a glance, he saw that his mark had updated itself to include a sideways eight on the bottom half of the right page.

But that was not nearly as important as a potential invasion to his mental privacy.

He listened closely to the tune, heard that it was a kind of magical frequency, listened far more delicately, attempted to match the pattern of his magic to that magic...

And he disappeared, more thoroughly and completely than he ever could have with ordinary spells.

A single word went through his mind:

Interesting.

Chapter 7: Plans for the Future

"How did it go?" Silver Wing asked the instant Mr. Book appeared in the room with a pop.

"Whoa!" Spike said, clapping his hands. "Great trick! How'd you do that?"

"Obliviate," said Mr. Book, wand aimed at an open eye after a circular movement.

Spike shook his head slightly, getting rid of the standard feeling of disorientation, then said, "Ugh... the bat pony? When did you get back?"

"Just now," said Mr. Book, lowering his empty hoof to the ground. "To answer your question, Mr. Silver, it was extremely cliché, with a storybook ending. A children's storybook ending."

"You don't sound all that upset about it," Silver observed.

"I may have discovered a thing or two of interest along the way," Mystery said mildly. "And made one of three. How went your research?"

"Terrible," said Spike. "We didn't find anything on Nightmare Moon!"

"Somnium," said Silver Wing. "It went well. I read a lot about this world, and some of it hinted to what's really going on."

"Such as?"

"The unofficial pegasus capital city is called Cloudsdale. The unofficial earth pony capital – that's what they're called, by the way, 'earth' ponies – is a city called Manehatten. The whole planet is called Equus. 'Earth' here is just synonymous for soil. And the unicorn capital, which doubles as the Equestrian capital, is a city called Canterlot."

"I agree that Canterlot and Manehattan are too contrived to be coincidence," Mr. Book pointed out the unsaid inference. "You think this hints to our predicament?"

"I think the mirror brought this world into existence as a strange reflection of ours. It would explain why they speak English here, rather than some horse-like language, like Equish or something. You said the mirror can create worlds, right?"

"I said it is theorised the mirror can create worlds," said Mystery Book, levitating the sleeping form of the dragon to a nearby couch. "Even if it can, I do not see how a world like this could possibly fulfill either of our wishes. Unless..." the thestral's eyes narrowed. "Unless, deep down, you've always wished to live in a world full of colourful ponies."

"Can't say that I have," said Silver Wing said, taking the rhetorical accusation seriously, just in case. "Maybe a super-advanced world of galaxy exploration, or a comic book world with super-powers, or a fantasy world with magic... but I already got that last one when I got my acceptance letter, and I don't think this qualifies as one of the other two. My imagination never had much interest in ponies. Well, perhaps ponies as pack mules, but that was the most they mattered to any of my fantasy worlds."

Mystery Book sighed. "What else did you discover?"

"You remember that mountain where you built our hideout?"

A raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, Canterlot is on top of that mountain. We couldn't see it from our perspective, but it's there, on the other side."

Mystery Book brought a hoof to what would have been the bridge of his nose if he were human. "Naturally."

"Other than that, I mostly read up on pony magic. Unicorns are the only ponies that can cast spells, like you guessed earlier. Pegasi can magically interact with the air and weather, like I guessed earlier. And earth ponies have magic that help them grow plants. Only... that last one might not be right. The books don't mention anything about seers or a 'sixth sense'. It could be that we just got unlucky, that the three earth ponies that sensed us were anomolies... but I've been noticing a trend in these books, which were all written by unicorns. Most of the authors tend to subtly or not-so-subtly put the other races down. It wouldn't surprise me if the scholars of this world – who, again, are all unicorns – completely failed to research the magic of earth ponies, who they put down the most. At least with pegasi you've got some obvious magic going on, so unicorns were interested enough to investigate, and not be too disrespectful. But with earth ponies, it's entirely possible they don't even have plant magic in the first place. There's no proof offered, no experiments, just the basic assertion that all farmers are earth ponies. There aren't even any recorded examples of unicorns or pegasi trying to become farmers, so the 'plant magic' thing could just be a massive assumption that nobody... nopony questions."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Mr. Book agreed. "Did you find anything on thestrals?"

"Very little," said Silver Wing. "I saw a single diagram in the anatomy section of a medical book, but that didn't say anything about culture. The most useful book I found described thestral diets, sleep cycles, and social habits. You're omnivorous, nocturnal loners. I learned Hollow Shades is the only known thestral town from an atlas. But that was it, really. Thestrals normally stick to themselves, so there isn't that much information on them. Your race is really rare, apparently. Less than one percent of the overall population. On that note, earth ponies compose the majority of the pony population at sixty percent, unicorns come next at twenty-five percent, and pegasi come in last at fifteen percent."

"Locations and likelihood of encounter?"

"Your typical earth pony city will have enough pegasi for a weather team and a post office. Other than that, they rarely leave Cloudsdale. And unicorns can be found everywhere. Just... not as often as earth ponies."

"How big is the country?" Mr. Book inquired. "As big as Britain?"

"Bigger." Silver thought for a moment. "I don't know how big, exactly. I think it's somewhere between the size of central Europe and the US."

"And the planet as a whole?"

"Unknown," said Silver Wing. "The world isn't fully explored. Manifest destiny isn't a pony priority. They're content to live out their lives where they are. 'Peace and Harmony', and all that. If you're asking for the planet's literal size, at a guess... actually, no. I'm not going to guess. I don't have a reference frame to guess. It's not like I can measure anything in meters. They use feet as measurements here, but it would be ridiculously lucky for their feet to match our feet, and there's nothing from our world I can use to compare-"

"One moment." The thestral summoned his wand. "Thirteen and a half inches, yew, with a core of phoenix feather. Will this do, Mr. Silver?"

"No," said Silver Wing. "I already thought of that. If my cloak was mirror-modified to cover a pony form, our wands might have been adjusted to fit our new sizes too."

The thestral dismissed his wand. "I suppose."

"Anyway, the important thing is the planet's unexplored. If we can't find a way out of the mirror in Equestria, we might have to kickstart the industrial revolution and get the ball rolling on satellites and a space program so we can get a good and proper look at the rest of this world."

"Do you have enough knowledge to do that, Mr. Silver? Your books did not come with you."

"True," Silver shrugged, "but I do understand the fundamental thought patterns that led to those discoveries being made in the first place. I understand the methods of rationality, and I understand the general principles behind the biggest advancements. I don't have to do everything myself, I just need to get the ball rolling, like I said earlier. Which means going down one of two routes."

Mystery Book listened curiously.

"Business is the direct route: make practical advances by creating products, selling them, and letting the competition of the market take over after that. We could amass a good amount of bits – this world's currency – by selling successful businesses, then we could reinvest those bits in other promising businesses. Problem is, I don't know this world's rules. If it follows different physical laws, I might be out of luck. It's possible not even a hundreth of the ideas that worked for humans will work for ponies."

Mr. Book nodded. "Indeed. Your other approach?"

"The education system. But it would be... indirect. And annoying. I don't think the unicorn professors would take a pegasus or a thestral all that seriously. And even if they did, I'd have to publish 'discoveries' and hope that eventually a business or the government sees it and finds practical applications."

"I take it you are considering entrepreneurship over scholarship?"

"That's the other problem," sighed Silver Wing. "I'm only a child- er, a colt. Oh, and Spike didn't bat an eye when I said I'm eleven, so ages might be comparable. Anyway, I don't have any starting capital, so I can't fund myself, and just like unicorns won't take a pegasus seriously, investors won't take a colt seriously, especially a penniless one."

"Is this really all that important, Mr. Silver?" Mr. Book asked. "Revolutionising this world's technology will, in all likelihood, not be a prerequisite for our release from the mirror." Then the thestral's tone darkened. "And considering what advanced technology can bring about, do you truly think it wise to pursue it?"

"As wise as pursuing ancient, lost magic," said Silver Wing with a shrug. "Which can ruin entire countries, according to you. Nuclear weapons only destroy cities."

"...Fair point. In that case what are the benefits to pursuing nuclear weapons?"

"It's all how you use it," Silver answered confidently. "The scientists who fueled fission bombs also fueled the economy that built the pioneer probes. There's nuclear bombs, but there are also nuclear power-plants."

"I see," Mr. Book said, seeming to accept the argument. "But the point is mostly moot. If you do not believe your approaches will work at your age, what will you be doing in the near future?"

"Researching until the local summer break ends. If there even is summer break here. Long breaks are bad for learning, and ponies might be sufficiently smarter than humans to realise that and design their education system accordingly. If there isn't a summer break, I'm going to Cloudsdale and learning how to be a pegasus, probably. At least for a few months."

Mr. Book's eyebrows furrowed. "Why? That is not conducive to your goals."

"I need to get my feet- er, my hooves off the ground somehow, and the self is usually a good place to start when it comes to discovery. Pegasi have magic, and it won't raise any red flags if I ask about it. I would have gone straight into researching unicorn magic, but..."

"But you are looking for powerful magics," finished Mr. Book. "And even the restricted section on the other side would not have contained the secrets necessary for you to achieve your ambition. It might have contained a hint, if you were lucky. The odds that this library will suffice are slim to none, and a child... a colt won't be allowed access to more powerful knowledge."

"Pretty much," Silver nodded. "On that front, my best bet is actually right here; Twilight Sparkle might let me read some advanced material if I ask politely."

"Why go to school at all when you would prefer research?"

"Twilight probably won't let me stay in the library all day. She'll ask why I'm not in school."

"Correct. Why not pretend to go to school?"

"I could lie," said Silver, now realising it was Socratic inquiry, not just curiosity on Mr. Book's part, "but that's bound to fall through eventually. I figure I can bite the bullet and attend public school for a few weeks. Or months, depending on how long it takes you to get the stone to work, or find a plausible alternative."

"And why Cloudsdale? Why not the school here in Ponyville? A shorter commute would guarantee more time to research."

"I'd rather go somewhere I have a chance of actually learning something," Silver said with a hint of frustration at his memory of public school. "I'll let you know if I encounter anything interesting about pegasus magic. I'll leave the unicorns to you."

"In that case," said Mr. Book, "I have placed a trace on your wand. Cast Mahasu if you wish to speak with me about our mutual endeavour. Cast a green Lumos if you are in deadly danger. Cast a red Lumos if you otherwise need urgent help. Having even a rudimentary form of instant communication will be helpful. For lessons, come to our base during my office hours. You still remember them, yes?"

"Yup," Silver Wing nodded, then hesitated. "Actually, could you write that alarm system down?"

A paper flew off a nearby shelf, and letters began appearing on the page.

When he received the note, Silver said, "So I've told you my plan. What's yours?"

"First, I am taking your broomstick rods and pouch for temporary safekeeping, lest the Element of Magic discovers them."

"Element of Magic?"

"Further, I am charming Miss... Book would have been a more fitting name for her than me. I am charming Ms. Memory's current form, such that transfiguration sickness shall be less of a factor if our efforts take longer than suspected. Thiss iss not a lie. No trickss. Cassting sspellss to give her besst chance of revival and further ssurvival. Nothing more. What material did you choose for her stasis form?"

"Tungsten."

"Well chosen," Mr. Book said in a complimentary tone. "Even a force great enough to break your leg will likely not damage that. Nor should it warp under ordinary heat, or rust after rain."

"You know about Tungsten?"

"You mentioned that metal as one which could contain a dementor. You did so in January. I began researching science mid-April. It is now mid-June."

"Ah... right... but wait, you still haven't answered my question. What's your overall plan?"

Mr. Book's eyes darted to the library door. They returned to Silver. He grinned. "Magic."

He vanished.

"That's not an answer!" Silver Wing said to the empty space where the thestral had been.

"Spike!" The oaken door slammed open. "Spike! You'll never guess what happened!"

Spike, asleep at the moment, did not respond.

Twilight Sparkle paused when she saw Silver staring at her. "Um, where's Spike?"

"Sleeping on the couch," he answered honestly.

Twilight went to the couch. "Stayed awake all night trying to help, didn't he?"

"Yup," said Silver, still not lying.

"My little helper," she whispered with a smile. She used her magic to lift him on to her back. Then she turned to face Silver Wing, walked over, and gave him a nuzzle. "You too. You were a big help."

He tried not to recoil in discomfort. From the brief interactions he'd seen thus far, ponies were big on 'physical affection', and not just between family members. Not surprising from an evolutionary perspective, it just wasn't easy for a human mind to adjust so rapidly to the culture shock.

"I didn't do much," grumbled Silver Wing.

"Didn't do much?" Twilight asked, using her magic to nudge Silver. "Let's see. You stayed up all night looking after Spike."

She used her magic to help him walk up the stairs, which is something he never practiced in his new pony body. Luckily, Twilight just seemed to think his stumbling meant he was tired.

"You guarded the library."

When nudging didn't work, Twilight simply levitated him onto her back and continued walking.

"And you researched Nightmare Moon. I'd say that was a pretty big help."

"I know when I'm being condescended to, Ms. Sparkle," Silver yawned, too tired to bother with more careful wording. "The only thing I actually contributed was my correct guess that Nightmare Moon would return to the place she was defeated."

Twilight's eyes widened.

"And even that might not have mattered," Silver muttered. "You were probably going to go there anyway, since that's where the Elements were." He yawned again. "I need to raise the level of my game."

"You are a very silly colt," said Twilight in a motherly voice. "You don't need to worry about any of that. It's the grown-ups that need to worry. You should just be enjoying your colthood."

"Hard to do," said Silver Wing, eyes drooping closed, the full force of the all-nighter weighing on his consciousness, "when I don't have one."

"Is he asleep?" asked a voice from the library's central space as she descended the stairs.

"Yes," Twilight answered. She looked at the thestral who had claimed to be Silver's mentor. "We need to talk."

"About?"

"About Silver."

The thestral said nothing. He just stared at her, as if waiting for her to continue.

"You're his guardian, right?"

"For the time being."

That wasn't a promising answer. "Then would you mind explaining why he thinks he doesn't have a colthood?"

"That's private."

Twilight's eyes narrowed. "If you're doing anything to him-"

"I'm not," said the thestral. (Not anymore, he thought. My manipulations have mostly run their course.)

"Then why does he think he doesn't have a colthood anymore?" Twilight demanded. "I'm not letting this go without an answer."

The thestral frowned. "It is not time which matures a pony, Ms. Sparkle. Mr. Silver has experienced and overcome a great deal of tribulation – more than most adult ponies will ever face in their lifetimes. Those hardships have matured him beyond his colthood."

Twilight's eyes narrowed. "What kinds of hardships?"

"Mostly intellectual, but also some political, some military, and some emotional. Nothing sexual, nor anything physically damaging, if that's what you're asking."

Twilight took a few deep breaths. "And why did he have to face them?"

The thestral shook his head. "The answer to that question is directly related to the deaths of his parents."

Twilight gasped.

"And now you see why it is private. I suggest you do not bring this up with Mr. Silver, and in particular do not attempt to pity him. He would not take it well."

"But..." Twilight protested, "But there has to be something I can do to help!"

"There certainly is," said the thestral. "He wishes to go to Cloudsdale in the near future, Ms. Sparkle. Or at least attend school there. He might not mind sleeping in this library overnight. I suspect he would also appreciate the company of an intelligent unicorn who does not look down upon the other pony races."

Twilight's mouth opened, but her mind hiccupped and she faltered on what to say.

The thestral continued speaking. "For reasons that are once again private, he does not have any records. A bureaucrat's worst nightmare. But I understand that you have the ear of the monarch. If you wish to help, you could ease the annoyances that lie between him and his goals."

"O...kay..." said Twilight slowly. "Is that what you've been doing?"

"More or less," shrugged the thestral. "Look after him, but do not coddle him, and you will be surprised by what he can do."

"Um... okay..." said Twilight. "But why do I have to look after him? You're his-" and then Twilight's mouth snapped shut.

She finally understood where this was going.

"I am his mentor," said the thestral in a tone that might have been pride. "I am his equal, but also his superior. I am, perhaps, the only pony in the world who truly understands him, just as he is the only one who truly understands me, for the two of us are very similar in many ways. But I am not his parent, nor technically even his guardian. He had no one else, so I looked after him for a time. But I am not guardian material. Now that you are here, I can take my leave."

The thestral turned to do just that.

"Wait!" Twilight shouted. "You can't just- I can't just- I'm not a..."

"Yes, Ms. Sparkle?" the thestral said over his shoulder. "Wielder of the Element of Magic, student of Princess Celestia, vanquisher of Nightmare Moon. What aren't you?"

Twilight was speechless, her thoughts scattered and scared.

Such was her state of mind that she did not notice the door open obligingly, then close of its own accord, as if guided by a non-existent horn. All she perceived was the fact that Mr. Book had left. Probably for good.

"I'm not a mother," Twilight whispered to the empty library.

Sleep was hard to come by that night, despite the all-nighter. She busied herself with letters to the princess until she was too tired to write. And the small amount of sleep she did manage to get was interrupted by the hoof and voice of a colt.

"Twilight?"

"Mm?" she asked. "What? Who's there?"

"Silver Wing."

And all the memories of the previous night came rushing back.

"Silver!" she gasped, stood up, hugged him, and froze. She wanted to offer comfort, or at least her condolences, or something, but Mystery said Silver didn't like pity.

Unfortunately, she didn't know how else to handle what she'd learned. When a pony was hurting, you sympathized. That was just... the way things were. It was with a great sense of wrongness, then, like it was going against deeply-ingrained instinct, for her to say what she said next.

"Um... how did you sleep?" she asked, breaking the hug, but not broaching the most important thing.

"Well enough," shrugged the pegasus. "Do you know where Mr. Book is?"

"He-" Twilight's voice caught in her throat. "He didn't say where he was going."

"He didn't tell me, either," said the pegasus with a frown. Then he sighed. "I guess I can ask him during his office hours."

"Office hours?" Twilight tilted her head. "Is he a teacher?"

"He's my teacher," Silver said. "Or he was... well, I don't know. It's complicated. Long story short, he set up a way for us to meet and continue my lessons."

"What are you learning from him?"

"Magic," Silver said simply.

"Ah, pegasus magic," Twilight nodded. "And thestral magic too, I guess. Wait, is there a difference?"

"Don't know," he shrugged.

"But wait, didn't you want to learn pegasus magic at Cloudsdale?"

"Huh? How do you know- wait, he told you, didn't he?" Silver sighed. "That was... nice of him, I guess, to give that heads-up."

"He also said you don't have documentation?"

"Nope. Aren't I just a bundle of joy?"

Twilight's throat caught again.

"Something wrong?"

"No, Silver," she said, trying to steady herself. "Would you like some breakfast?"

"Sure."

"You know," Silver Wing said as he munched on his pancakes. "When you offered breakfast, I thought you would be making it."

"Please," said Spike, apron around his waist. "She burns everything she touches."

"Spike!" said a scandalised Sparkle. "I do not!"

"Do too. You couldn't cook a meal if your life depended on it."

"I'm not that bad."

"Nope," said Spike. "You're worse."

"Spiiiike!"

"Twiliiiight!"

"Hmph!"

"Hmph!"

The dragon, chin thrust upward, returned to the kitchen.

Silver's thoughts were a bit scattered.

"So... is he your... um..." Don't say slave, don't say slave, don't say slave. "Your pet?"

"Who, Spike?" Twilight asked. "He's like my little brother. I hatched him from an egg when I was a filly, and we've been best friends ever since."

"You... hatched a dragon... from an egg..." Silver echoed. "Did... um..." you take that egg from- "what about his parents?"

Twilight's fork, encased in her horn's glow, paused mid-air. "You know," she said in a strange voice, "I never thought about that. I'll have to ask Princess Celestia what happened to them. I'm certain she wouldn't have stolen his egg."

"The princess was the one who had you hatch him?"

"Oh no, it was the proctors who did that."

"Proctors?"

"On my entrance exam."

Twilight's food was now forgotten on the table- a common symptom of first-year Ravenclaws who had not internalized the 'no talking at meal times' house rule. Silver made sure to eat his own as he listened.

"When I was trying to get into Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns, they had me hatch it for my entrance exam. Well, they had everypony try to hatch it. I was the only one who did." This was said with a touch of pride. "Since it's her school, I'm sure she knows where his egg came from." Twilight pulled a parchment from the top of a nearby shelf, already inked in with a dense message. She scribbled something at the bottom with a quill encased in her magic. "Spike, can you send this letter?"

"Sure, Twilight."

Dear Princess Celestia,

I didn't tell you about it in my first friendship report, but there are two other ponies who helped me during the Summer Sun Celebration. Before Nightmare Moon appeared at the town hall, they were the only ones who took me seriously. One was a thestral stallion, Mystery Book, the other was Silver Wing, a pegasus colt.

Mystery helped the most, but Silver helped too. Mystery told me to send that letter to you asking about the Elements of Harmony, and he went to the Castle of the Two Sisters to try to find them while I watched over the festival. Silver guessed that Nightmare Moon would return to the place she was vanquished, and he was right.

I don't know how to explain this... I'm still having trouble understanding it myself, but Silver isn't a normal colt. He talks like a unicorn professor, and he can read books WAY more intense than any colt his age, or any age, should be able to read, and the worst part is that he doesn't think he has a colthood anymore. Mystery said he had to grow up when he lost his parents.

Mystery also said he was acting as Silver's guardian because Silver had nopony else to look after him, and then Mystery told me he can't look after Silver anymore, and then he just left. He said I should be his new guardian. Well, I guess he didn't say it outright. He just said he's not guardian material. And honestly, I don't think he's wrong. I don't know how to put it, but I'm not sure if Mystery is a good pony or not. I can usually tell, but not with him.

Oh, but the important thing is that I'm going to become Silver's new guardian. I'm going to be a MOM! Sort of. Can you believe it? I can't believe it! But I'm also a little excited. Silver's a really good colt, Celestia. I talked to a few ponies at the party who were talking about 'that little colt who played along with Pinkie Pie's nicknames', and of course it was Silver.

Anyway, Silver wants to go to school in Cloudsdale, but he doesn't have any documents. Could you help?

Your faithful student,
Twilight Sparkle

P.S. Silver just asked me a good question. Do you know where Spike's egg came from?

Chapter 8: Placement Tests

"Have a good day at school!"

Twilight's goodbye drew whispers from nearby pegasi. Silver couldn't tell if it was because of her frantic hoof-waving, or her species.

"I hope you do well on your placement tests!"

"Have a good day in the library," said Silver, ignoring the whispers and putting as much artificial cheer in his voice as he could. "I hope you read lots of books."

"I will! Good luck!"

It hadn't taken long for Silver to figure out that Twilight now viewed herself as his mother, or at least his guardian.

He wondered if it was the result of Mr. Book's typical meddling, or if it was just the way ponies were. You usually didn't see that sort of bonding with humans who aren't related by blood. Not this quickly, anyway. But he'd been seeing it left and right since he got here. Literally. As in, to his left there were two friends hugging each other with almost cartoonish affection, while on his right a father and son were doing the same. And despite the fact that it was summer, this was supposed to be the middle of the academic year for Cloudsdale. He'd have understood more if it was the first day of school, but the hugs should have been lost to routine by now. Maybe it had to do with ponies being herd animals.

He looked at the students filing through the halls, confirming for himself that none of them seemed like they had to think about directions, which you'd expect if the grade had just started.

It had been bad news, and he couldn't do anything about it. Since the school year in Cloudsdale was already well underway, he couldn't dedicate the entire summer to research. Pegasi had long winter breaks, apparently. According to a book Twilight had lent him, teenagers helped manage snowstorms back when there were fewer pegasi to go around. That got in the way of schooling, so Cloudsdale designed a schedule around that, just like earth pony schools designed their schedules around summer farm work. It's been done that way for so long now that nopony is keen on overhauling the whole thing.

Ding.

"Yes?" said a blue pegasus behind the administration desk whose nametag read Calm Breeze.

"My name is Silver Wing. I'm here for my placement tests?"

"Oh!" gasped the receptionist. "Of course. Go to the cloud stadium and ask for Coach Blitz."

"Coach? Not teacher?"

"Flight lessons are the most important, so they come first," she explained. "Next is your weather test, then social studies, then language, math, and science."

Flight lessons are considered more important than math, language, and science? Isn't that like saying gym class is more important than academics?

One question, one answer later, and he was walking down the corridor that led outside. The halls were now empty; the clock had struck 8:00 AM while he was in reception, starting school and getting rid of stragglers.

The cloud stadium turned out to be like a cross between an American Nascar field and a track-and-field sports stadium. There was an oval-shaped racing track on the outside and a large mass of fluffy clouds that went where the grassy field would have been on the other side of the mirror. Why did they need racing lanes on the 'ground' for flying ponies? Maybe galloping was a part of the curriculum too?

The stadium wasn't empty. A group of ponies slightly older than him, all boys, were doing what looked like warm-up stretches. Silver saw a single adult in the stadium, walked to that adult, confirmed it was Coach Blitz, and started his placement test.

If his performance could be summed up in a single word, that word would be "failure".

An hour of broomstick-assisted practice, it turned out, was not enough to get him placed any higher than first grade. That was for six-and-seven-year-olds, so he had a lot of catching up to do.

If the test could be summed up in a different word from "failure", that word would be "jeers".

Watching the eleven-year-old fail basic flying maneuvers soon became the class's new favourite pastime. Thankfully, Silver had already trained himself (and a number of his Chaos soldiers on the other side of the mirror) how to deal with this sort of thing.

He'd had his peers all stand in a circle around a single person, looking in. They all jeered and sneered at the trainee, who shouted really basic and obvious truths, like "Twice two is four!" and "The sky is blue!" and "I have magic!" He'd had each and every one of his soldiers go through the process at least once, including himself.

He had called it "Anti-Conformity Training." When everyone is calling you stupid – even for saying something completely, blatantly, obviously true, like the sky is blue – it's hard not to just conform and go along with whatever they're saying. Even if they're saying something stupid, like the sky is green. It's a common trick used by advertisers, cult leaders, sophists, and authoritarian governments.

With proper training, however, the Chaos Legion, and especially General Chaos, could resist that little psychological pitfall.

Right now, for example, it was easy not to conform to the thought that he was a hopeless case, a flightless pegasus, a no-flight-wonder, and some of the other names he'd been called. He could fly, just not all that well, or for very long.

At the same time, it was easy to conform to the thought that he was slow, sloppy, barely off the ground, Crashy McGee, and the rest of the names he'd been called. He is indeed a poor flier. At least right now. At least when it came to pegasus flight, not broomsticks.

He'd trained his mind to conform only to reality and ignore everything else...

...though he couldn't quite ignore the feeling of satisfaction that came when Coach Blitz reprimanded them and forced them to do extra routines for their "laziness". He did ignore the urge to smile and wave at the grumbling students, who didn't blame him for their extra work, but surely would if he provoked them.

He simply finished out his weather manipulation test as if he'd never noticed the older students in the first place, which went about as poorly as his flying test, only without the jeers.

His social studies test went better.

Because it wasn't an outright failure.

Probably.

He estimated a 60-70% score. He had spent an entire night thoroughly researching the basic history and culture of ponies, with a particularly strong motivation to remember that research. He'd also spent yesterday doing a more leisurely look through the library. It had taken a day for Twilight to get the paperwork sorted, with only a slight panic when she learned that the school year at Cloudsdale was already in session, unlike Ponyville's. Also, it was multiple choice or true/false, and about a fifth of the questions didn't even need background knowledge on pony society, just basic common sense.

As he penned his name at the top of the test, he noticed that hoof-writing, unlike walking and flying, was as easy as hand-writing. He suspected the Mirror was responsible, but he didn't know why writing should take higher "wish-fulfilment" priority than walking. Maybe the Mirror had prioritized spell-casting, and hoof-writing was a side-effect of the dexterity that allowed him to use a wand? Or maybe it was something else entirely.

Long story short: he could write quickly, accurately, and legibly, without the need to retrain muscle memory.

His language test, unlike the tests that had come before, was no failure at all. He suspected he only missed a few questions, though his essay responses could probably have been better. It did take him the entire hour-and-a-half testing period to get through the whole thing. He wasn't a slow reader, but he wasn't the fastest reader either. Certainly nowhere near his friend's or Mr. Book's speed.

His math test...

"Done," said Silver, putting the test on the desk.

"Done?" echoed the teacher. "It's only been..." she checked the wall clock. "An hour."

"Yup," Silver shrugged. "It wasn't that hard."

"Wasn't hard? My dear, that test goes all the way up to twelfth grade."

"It doesn't test up to calculus," said Silver, causing the teacher's eyes to widen slightly. "Or even pre-calculus. So it didn't ask anything I didn't know how to do."

"I'm sure it didn't, dear."

Silver sighed. When she switched to that overly kind voice, it was easy to tell she thought he was lying. There wasn't anything to do but wait for that reasonable assumption to be proven wrong.

"Why don't you give me a few minutes to grade this? There are some books you can read on the shelf over there."

Only a few minutes? Ah. Right. Multiple choice.

"Okay."

A few minutes later...

"Superintendent Flight?" the teacher asked into a telephone that looked like it belonged to the 1950s, despite the fact that it was wireless. "Could you come to my classroom?"

Twenty minutes later...

"Silver Wing?" said a male voice. "Could you come over here?"

"Sure," Silver shrugged.

He walked calmly up to the desk, which until that moment had been hosting a 'private' meeting between teacher and superintendent, with the 'privacy' being maintained by whispers. In other words, it hadn't been very private.

"What is it?" he asked, even though he already knew what it was about.

"There isn't a polite way to put this," the superintendent said hesitantly, "but I have to ask. Did you cheat on this test?"

"No," said Silver Wing. "I would have shown my work, but it was easy enough to do in my head."

"Would you mind taking a different test, just so we can be sure?"

"I wouldn't mind," he shrugged, "but don't I still have to take my science test? That's scheduled to start soon, isn't it?"

"I didn't mean today," said Flight. "When you come in for your first official day of school, we'll have you take another test instead of going to math class. Or we could schedule it sooner than that."

"Okay," said Silver Wing.

Something similar happened with his science test, except this time...

"I don't understand it," said Professor Feather Weight. "He did better than any student I've ever seen. And we normally give the second half of this test to students who are about to graduate. He's beyond seven years above his age in Science."

"And in Math," sighed Superintendent Flight. "And in Language, he's six years ahead. In Social Studies he's kind of close to his peers, but his knowledge is all over the place. He knows about thestrals, but not Hearth's Warming. And in his Flight and Weather classes, he's worse than any pegasus Coach Blitz has ever seen."

"In fact," continued Feather, focused more on the test than on his boss, "some of these are better than the correct answers."

"Uh... really?"

"Yes."

"How?"

Professor Feather pointed to the paper on the desk. "Look at question seven."

Two students are testing how heat effects the speed of water evaporation. The first student sets up a beaker filled with water and heats the water to 90 degrees, then measures how long it takes for the water to fully evaporate. The second student sets up two beakers, one at room temperature, the other at 85 degrees, and measures how long the water in each beaker takes to fully evaporate. Which student had the batter experimental set-up, and why?

"What about it?" Flight asked when he was done reading.

"His answer..." Professor Feather trailed off. "I mean, the first two paragraphs are exactly what you'd expect from a typical correct answer. He mentions control groups and isolated variables. He says that the second experiment had the better design, despite the higher temperature in the first. But he crammed that into a very small part of the answer space, then wrote 'Now that I got the boring part out of the way, here's everything else they did wrong.' Then he mentions everything that affects evaporation. Both students neglected to take note of the air's humidity. They didn't account for light hitting the beakers, especially sunlight. Or the surface area, depth, and volume of the water within the beakers. The list just goes on and on. Then he proceeded to point out how even if one of the students had taken all those factors into account, it wouldn't have mattered anyway because they didn't gather enough data for statistical significance. And he did this for every open-ended question."

"So... he over-answered?"

"No, he answered. The questions are open-ended for a reason."

Flight rubbed his forehead with his hooves. "So you're saying he completely tested out of Science."

"I'm saying he could teach Science," said Feather. "He turned in this test in fifty-five minutes. Even if he spent all his time on the open answer questions, that’s eleven minutes per question at most. But if he spent about half his time on the multiple choice, that’s five minutes per question. I don’t think a Canterlot University professor could have done this, even if they had twice the time. Some of his answers mention things I never would have thought to consider. And one of his answers, on the other question about experimental design..." the proctor trailed off. "Let's just say I'll be showing it to a friend at Manehattan Tech."

Flight sighed heavily, then said, "One moment." He stood, walked over to the door, said "Silver Wing?", made a beckoning gesture with his head, then came back and sat down.

Soon enough, the colt who'd aced his test was sitting before the two adults, looking wary and weary. "Am I going to have to take two tests to prove I didn't cheat?"

Feather Weight raised an eyebrow at Superintendent Flight, who shook his head. "No. And I think we can forgo the math one too."

"Oh?" said Silver, sounding relieved. "That's good."

"Silver..."

"Yes?"

"Could you explain how you performed so well on your academics, but so poorly on your physicals?"

The colt shrugged. "I'm a scholar at heart."

"I can see that," said Flight. "But that usually doesn't come at the complete expense of simple flying maneuvers." A memory of something said earlier that day came to mind. "I'm reluctant to repeat this, but Coach Blitz says he's seen newborns who are better fliers than you. But Blitz also said you were completely comfortable in the air, even if you couldn't do much when you were up there."

Silver shrugged again. "What can I say? I grew up on the ground. No Pegasi to learn from and all that. But when I'm above a cloud, there isn't really much to worry about from crashing. Especially with that nice fluffy field beneath me. Soft cushioning takes most of the fear away."

(It was the best excuse he'd been able to come up with. It wasn't like he could say 'I was the best broomstick flyer in my class'.)

"So... am I going to be sitting through lectures that 'teach' me things I already know? Or can I just take classes on the stuff I actually haven't learned yet?"

There was a pause in the office.

"What do you mean?" asked Flight.

"Can I only show up for flying and weather lessons and go home after that? Could I just spend all day catching up on my flying? Normally- well, I guess, once upon a time, tutors would teach me at my full learning speed. I can do well in a normal class environment, but only when the educators are really good. I've had bad experiences with sub-par public school teachers. And even academically stellar teachers."

Flight frowned. "Such as?"

"Like that time a teacher tried to correct my already-correct answer to a maths problem, we got into an argument, and it turned out that she didn't even know what a logarithm was. And then there's that time a master... um, chemist, singled me out and tried to bully me on my first day of classes because I reminded him of someone he didn't like. I don't want a repeat of that. And to be honest, I also don't want to be forced to sit in a class which won't do anything for me, even if the teacher is good enough for the other students."

Flight's discomfort seemed to grow. He and Feather Weight exchanged glances.

It went unsaid that Twilight Sparkle, Wielder of the Element of Magic and personal student to Princess Celestia, was currently in charge of this colt. She would not be pleased if they held him back in any way.

But Twilight Sparkle also wouldn't be pleased if her ward was given no opportunities to bond with colts and fillies his age. Sports would normally be the answer, but they all involved flight or weather in some way or another and Silver could barely get off the ground. Even if his air mobility was brought up to par, his teammates would resent him for dragging them down and being the weakest link.

Then, Flight's face lit up. "I've got it! Mr. Wing, how about-"

"Mr. Silver," Silver Wing corrected. "Oh. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have interrupted."

"Now, it's alright. Best to clear that up now, not later." Flight cleared his throat. "Mr. Silver, academics and physical training aren't the only classes our students take. There's also art, music, gym, and library. One for each day of the week, except Friday, which is a free day. You shouldn't be much further ahead in creative classes. And even if you are, it shouldn't matter. They're just for fun."

"I'm alright with taking those," said Silver Wing. "But how is gym any different from flight class?"

"It covers everything except flying."

Silver didn't say anything, but his expression asked for elaboration.

"You know, swimming, galloping, climbing, dancing, and all the other things that Earth Ponies and Unicorns can do."

"Ah," said Silver. "Interesting. And what about my flight and weather classes? Am I going to be put with the first-graders?"

The smile of the superintendent widened, and he shook his head. "A tutor's going to teach you until you're all caught up. "

"Sounds good," said Silver. "Who's going to tutor me?"

Flight Formation's smile was as wide as the Feather Weight had ever seen it, and he suddenly knew why his boss was so excited, even before he said-

"A retired Wonderbolt."

Contrary to expectations, the young pegasus did not whoop for joy, run around in little circles, or even give a single pronk. In fact, the colt barely reacted at all.

"A retired Wonderbolt..." Silver repeated, a slight frown on his face. He looked at the superintendent with narrowed eyes. "You'll be my tutor?"

"Yes!" declared Flight, then posed dramatically. "You know your stuff. Captain Flight Formation takes the stage one last time to train his newest recruit! I'm glad I'm not completely forgotten."

Silver Wing's lips were twitching. "Actually, sorry, I have no idea who you are."

"What?!" Flight Formation fumed. "Then how'd you know I was a Wonderbolt?"

Silver Wing's lips twitched even more. "I inferred you were talking about yourself from your expression," said the colt. "It kind of gave it away."

Flight Formation grumbled something, and Feather was sure that he saw an embarrassed blush for a second there. "Well, er, right. Yes."

"Will you have time for that?" Silver asked politely. "You're the school's superintendent, right?"

"Oh, I'll have plenty of time," said Flight Formation. "I might work for eight hours a day, but I usually get my daily tasks done in an hour or two."

"Then why be here for eight?"

"Because a big part of my job is to be here," said Flight Formation. "For unexpected situations that take a cool head to work out. Like this one."

"Ah. Got it. So... what happens now?"

"I'll send your schedule to Twilight Sparkle once it's written, along with the test results. And since you live in a library, I'll also give you a list of books you might want to read. You can't learn how to fly from a book, but you can learn plenty about diet, stretching routines, cold showers, and all the other things that are helpful to know."

Chapter 9: Friendship Meddling

When Twilight came to pick him up, she screamed exhaustion without saying a word. Some of her hair stood out at odd angles (was that a magical thing?), and her whole body sagged. And this was after she fell through the clouds immediately upon arrival, giving Silver something of a heart attack, but she teleported back quickly enough, cloud-walking spell in place. That the adrenaline from that experience didn't offset her fatigue said more than words ever could.

"Are you okay?" was what he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"I'm fine," said Twilight. "Just a little startled."

"I meant in general," said Silver. "Well, I mean, it's good you weren't hurt, of course, but... you don't seem like the kind of pony who forgets to cast a cloud-walking spell. Is something going on?"

Twilight nodded. "Yes," she said in a tired voice. She teleported them to the library, to the scene of five ponies in various states of surprise. "This is going on."

"Hi Silver!" said Pinkie Pie, "Hi Twilight! Guess what? I've thought up even more party ideas for the GGG! Wanna hear?"

"The GGG?" Silver asked.

"Grand Galloping Gala, silly! It's the biggest party in Equestria!"

Silver, though he was currently focused on Pinkie, was peripherally cognizant of the four other ponies pestering Twilight.

"Uh huh..." he said slowly. "Remind me what that is, again?"

The white unicorn in the room, upon hearing that someone didn't know about this particular aspect of pony culture, immediately swooped in, swapping places with Pinkie. "You know, the Grand Galloping Gala?" She intoned it as if asking about a bird or a tree, something literally everyone should know about. "Held in Canterlot Castle? Hosted by the princess? Surely you've heard of it, darling. Why, everypony in Equestria is dying to get in. It's been the talk of the town all day."

Gee, I wonder why, Silver thought, his brain beginning to put the pieces together. "I've been at school all day," he said aloud, even as he formalized the logic.

Twilight is Princess Celestia's personal student.
Princess Celestia hosts the Grand whatever.
He's overheard the phrase 'extra ticket' multiple times by this point.
Extra Ticket.
Not Tickets.
One extra ticket.
Five friends.

Therefore...

"I take it this is why Twilight forgot to cast the cloud-walking spell when she came to pick me up?"

"She/You WHAT?!" shouted the white unicorn and cyan pegasus in unison. The other three just gasped.

"I'm fine," Twilight said after the ensuing injury inspection. "It was just a simple mistake. No harm done."

"It is not simple, darling. You could have been seriously hurt falling from that height, perhaps even killed. You must be more careful."

"It's okay," said Twilight. "Really."

"Unless I miss my guess," said Silver, "she normally is that careful. For some reason or other, she was extremely distracted. To the point where it harmed her mental health." He narrowed his eyes at the culprits. "Would someone care to explain how, exactly, that happened?"

What followed was, in the opinion of Silver's Inner Critic, an extremely clichéd scene of sorrow, apologies, forgiveness, and a humble ending of self-sacrifice. Not that returning tickets to a party was much of a sacrifice.

Shut up, thought Silver. 'Clichéd' and 'bad' aren't the same thing. The emotion is there, it's positive, and it's genuine. That's all that matters. Do you WANT to end up like Mr. Book?

What followed was, in the opinion of Silver's Inner Confessor, an extremely wholesome scene of sorrow, apologies, and forgiveness, in which Twilight Sparkle chose her friends over the country's biggest and most renowned party. A significant sacrifice, by pony standards.

Better.

Brief note: Historically speaking, the term "Devil's Advocate" describes the guy that was supposed to find the flaws in potential pope candidates. Most of you probably know that. What some of you might NOT know is that there was also someone who did the opposite. The one who pointed out the pope's VIRTUES was called the "Confessor of Faith". Or at least, that's one of the modern translations of the title.

That's where the term "Inner Confessor" comes from. It was either that or "Inner Fan" to oppose the Inner Critic. I haven't decided if it'll be a repeat inner-voice or not. I've already fallen behind on his inner Slytherin, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw voices, so who knows. Still, "Inner Fan" didn't sound right, and I couldn't think of anything else.

History lesson over. Proceed.

"Have you tried asking for more tickets?" Silver suggested long after the other five Elements of Harmony had left. He'd timed it carefully, asking the question just as Twilight wrote her letter to the princess.

"More tickets?" Twilight asked, almost appalled. "No, Silver. Even two is too much. Most ponies go their whole lives without attending."

"And some ponies go every year," Silver countered. "Twilight, think about it. Celestia is the princess and the host. She has to have more. If she doesn't, she could make more. I bet if you explain the situation, she'll let all your friends go. In fact, I'm surprised they aren't already invited. You know, being the Elements of Harmony and all."

Twilight's quill came to a stop. Her face seemed surprised, then considering. "That's... actually... no. No. I've already decided. I'm not asking for any extra tickets, and I'm returning these two."

"Then just add the question as a post-script?" Silver asked. "Say it wasn't your idea. Say that you're not asking for extra tickets, but if there happen to be four more lying around, there are a few ponies who would be very appreciative if the tickets happen to find their way to Ponyville..." Silver trailed off.

Twilight looked at the letter for a long moment.

The quill continued writing.

"Okay, Silver. I'll ask. But only because my friends really want to go."

Later that night, Silver was startled out of reading by a tap on his shoulder. He spun around, wondering who on Equus had snuck up on him so quietly.

"It's for you," said Spike, holding a letter in his claws.

Silver looked at it, wondering if letter-bombs were a thing here.

"Um..."

Then he wondered why his paranoia was activating now of all times. Then he noticed that he was finally getting mail from someone other than his parents for the first time in ever. Then he realised that his mail was no longer being prevented from reaching him by a protective mysterious old wizard. And then...

"Do you want it?" Spike asked.

"Who's it from?" his mouth asked automatically.

"Princess Celestia."

Silver continued staring at the letter.

Why would a country's ruler want to contact him less than three days after she knew about him? Then again, Dumbledore, the closest thing Magical Britain had to a ruler, did set up a hero/wise-old-wizard meeting on the fourth day of school. And that was after mentioning him the night of his sorting.

"Uh... you want me to open it for you?" Spike asked.

"I can do it my-" Silver stopped short. Remembered where he was. Remembered he had hooves. "Actually, go ahead. But please don't read it."

"Twilight lets me read hers."

"I'm not Twilight."

Fourteen seconds and one disgruntled Spike later...

Dear Silver Wing,

Please accept this as my thanks for your suggestion about the Gala tickets. In the future, however, please do not attempt to influence Twilight's decisions about friendship. The lessons that occur in Ponyville are important for the future of Equestria, for the Elements of Harmony, and most importantly, they are important for Twilight.

Sincerely,
Princess Celestia

Silver looked at the letter, trying to understand it. Trying to understand the reasoning. The motive.

Why would Princess Celestia take time out of her probably busy schedule to send this? Why was she writing an eleven-year-old colt and telling him to stay out of Twilight's 'friendship' business? Was Twilight Sparkle this world's equivalent to the boy-who-lived? Did the Element of Magic have some big, prophesied destiny or something?

When an immortal monarch went this far, it made you wonder. When the Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot had taken an hour out of his day to meet and mess with the boy-who-lived, it should have made Silver wonder about motives then. He wasn't about to make that mistake this time.

Silver left his chair in search of that book about prophecies, the one Twilight used to predict Nightmare Moon's return. It might mention something about the destinies of the Elements of Harmony. He didn't have his hopes up though.

The "GGG" ticket that had come with the letter laid mostly ignored on the table.

Twilight Sparkle looked at the package which had just been put in her mailbox, but not by the typical cross-eyed gray mare responsible for Ponyville's mail.

Express delivery from Cloudsdale?

She took the envelope inside, opened it, and quickly skimmed the attached letter.

Salutations Twilight Sparkle,

These are the test results and school schedule for Silver Wing, the colt under your care.

Sincerely,
Superintendent Flight Formation

Silver's test results?

Twilight couldn't help herself.

But vegetables before sweets.

Schedule first.

Beginning Next Week:

8:00 AM – 10:00 AM Flight and Weather Tutoring
10:05 AM – 10:55 AM Social Studies
11:00 PM – 11:30 PM Lunch
11:35 PM – 12:25 PM Creative Course (Art/Music/Gym/Library/Free period)
12:30 PM – 3:00 PM Independent Study

This... didn't make much sense. Where was math and science and language?

Twilight didn't look forward to calling up the school over a clerical error, but that had apparently just been added to the top of her to-do list.

Well, almost the top.

She opened the rest of the package, careful not to tear anything.

She felt her jaw fall lower and lower as she read Silver's test results, first in confusion and anger (who could have let a pegasus go flightless for so long?), then in a disbelieving and speechless sort of shock.

Flight Class – 1st Grade Level
Weather Class – 1st Grade Level
Social Studies – 6th Grade Level
Reading – 12th Grade Level
Language – 12th Grade Level
Math – Above 12th Grade Level
Science – Above 12th Grade Level.

The last one in particular produced a warm feeling in her heart. There was a note from the teacher that one of his answers had impressed a Manehatten Tech professor, and that was ON TOP of a perfect score.

Even though she wasn't his actual mother and shouldn't be proud of something she hadn't helped him to accomplish, she couldn't help it.

"Silver?" she called out, hoping Silver wasn't in his room.

"Yeah?" came a voice from behind one of the library's shelves.

She shouldn't feel proud about that either. She wasn't the one who taught this young colt to have a love for knowledge and books.

"I'm going to Sugarcube Corner. Would you like to come with me?"

But she felt proud nonetheless. He deserved some sort of reward for a job well done.

"No," said Silver.

Her heart suddenly sank. "Why not?"

"I've been reading up on proper nutrition. Apparently, pegasi need to avoid sugar if we want to build up strong wing muscles."

Her heart lifted again when she realized it wasn't her he was avoiding, it was the bakery. "Okay, how about Paneighra Bread?"

"Actually, I should be avoiding carbs in general. Raw fruits are fine. Vegetables are preferred. But bread and sweets are a no-go." She heard a groan. "Optimising my diet is going to take all the fun out of eating. But then, I guess that's the point."

Twilight Sparkle sighed. Once again, she had to remind herself that she wasn't dealing with an ordinary colt... or even much of a colt at all.

So, if food was off the table, how could she reward him for his performance?

Again, she felt that maybe she shouldn't be thinking that way. They were only placement tests. But this would be a good exercise for the future, for her own skills as a caretaker.

How could she congratulate a colt who couldn't be tempted by sweets?

Come to think of it, why were sweets the first thing that came to her mind? That'd be a bad precedent to set. She should reward him with something he can use. Silver would appreciate that much more than a cupcake.

Many ideas came to mind when she thought along those lines... but most of them weren't good.

She couldn't really offer him books; everything she could think he might like was already in the library.

So how about...

Dear Rarity,

Do you remember Silver? He did really well on his placement tests for school, and I wanted to get him something special. Could you help me?

-Twilight

P.S. High Rarity! -Spike

Meet me at the spa at 3:00. You are going to tell me ALL about it. Hi, Spike!

-Rarity

"Clothes shopping?" asked a young voice with only a very slight sigh.

Rarity had gotten good enough at reading young colts to know that he probably felt a lot more disappointment than he was letting on.

"No, darling!" said her dramatic voice from behind a curtain, which soon parted to reveal a row of useful accessories. And herself, of course. "Saddlebag shopping!"

"Oh," said Silver Wing, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of the many different sizes, colors, and shapes of backpacks. "I take it back. That's actually interesting."

"Then clothes shopping."

Silver groaned.

Twilight and Rarity exchanged giggles. Even if Twilight says he rarely acts like it, it seems he is a young colt after all.

"Pick whichever you like," Rarity gestured to the display.

"Are they bigger on the inside than on the outside?" Silver asked politely, opening the main compartment of one of the bags and peeking inside.

"Beg pardon, darling?"

"Nevermind," said Silver, closing the pouch and examining another one.

"Bigger on the inside than on the outside," said Twilight Sparkle, eyes distant. "Bigger on the inside than on the outside," she said again.

"Oh now you've done it."

"Done what?" Silver asked, only to be met with the sight of a purple pony who was practically vibrating in place.

"BIGGER ON THE INSIDE THAN ON THE OUTSIDE?! Silverthat'sBRILLIANT! I'mborrowingthisoneRaritythanksbye!"

And she zoomed through the store's front door, a saddle trailing behind her in a purple glow.

"That mare," sighed Rarity. "I swear."

"Um... should I go with her?"

"Oh no, darling. I have no doubt she'd like you to keep shopping."

Silver looked at the price tags. "But I don't have any money."

"Twilight's already taken care of that, dear. Just pick whichever one you like."

"Okay..." Silver glanced at the display again, walked forward, and pointed a hoof. "I like this one."

"You didn't take any time to look at the others," Rarity tutted. "And that's one of the smallest bags. Don't you want more space for your school supplies?"

Rarity did NOT mention that she hadn't gotten around to decorating it, the project forgotten under a swamp of orders. She'd unthinkingly put the unfinished product on display, and only now realized her mistake.

"It might be the smallest, but it has plenty of pockets, and I like the utilitarian design."

Utilitarian?

"Besides," Silver looked at the still-open door through which Twilight had fled. "I get the feeling size won't be a problem soon enough." His gaze returned to Rarity. "Now..." he sighed. "We may as well get this over with."

"Darling, I assure you it won't be as bad as you think."

Rarity hadn't been wrong.

It hadn't been as bad as he thought it could be.

But that was only because he had an extremely pessimistic imagination.

It was still pretty bad.

And the worst part was that the end result didn't really make up for it, since ponies didn't need to wear clothes. He'd gotten used to that no-maintenance lifestyle.

In the end, he would get two sets of clothes – a flight suit with some wiggle room so he could grow into it, and a crisp outfit "that will just look so smart on you."

Thankfully, after a bit of inquiry, he learned that ponies only wore outfits on special occasions, or if they had cash to spare for tailor-made clothes. Go figure.

Just as he was ready to leave the boutique, Pinkie Pie burst through the door, exuberant as always.

"Rarity! I've decided on my dress idea!"

Rarity's smile, Silver could tell, became extremely fixed. Silver had gotten good at spotting them after months of getting to know Professor McGonagall.

"That's wonderful, dear."

"Pinkie, d'ya have ta run so fast?" asked a voice from outside the boutique.

"You've decided too, Applejack?" Rarity asked, still wearing that fixed smile.

"Not jus' me, sugar."

Two pegasi followed the earth ponies into the store, one blue, one yellow.

Silver was tempted to leave, since this wasn't really his business, and it had to do with clothes shopping... but he was a curious Ravenclaw. Rarity was acting outside what he'd thought was her 'character', the fashionista who loved the prospect of making clothes was now upset at making them. Nothing wrong with a bit of harmless investigation.

"What's going on?" he asked politely.

"We're all getting fitted for our GALA DRESSES!" Pinkie shouted, bouncing around the boutique.

"'cept Twilight," Applejack muttered, meandering around the mannequins. "Wonder what that mare's up to. Said she'd be here."

"Oh, she was," Rarity reassured. "But something came up."

Again, Silver was tempted to leave. His curiosity had been sated and his desire to avoid clothes-fitting was still at the forefront of his mind. And he would have left, except...

Except that for whatever reason, Rarity herself seemed even less enthusiastic about the upcoming dressing session than he was, and he still hadn't figured out why. So, he stuck around.

A few minutes of eavesdropping revealed the answer.

Four excited and anticipatory friends.
Four ridiculous design suggestions.
One apprehensive designer.
One idea to help. And maybe entertain himself along the way.

"Are dresses mandatory for the Grand Galloping Gala?" Silver asked.

"Of course, darling," Rarity said, seemingly glad for the temporary distraction. "Well, they are mandatory for the mares. The stallions shall wear suits, of course."

Silver suppressed a grin. "In that case, since I'll also be going to the gala, now would be the perfect time to suggest my own suit design."

Four pony heads turned to him.

"OH MY GOSH!" Pinkie practically apparated into his personal space. "You're going TOO?!"

"Yup," said Silver. "Celestia gave me a ticket, and I've got a great idea for a gala suit. In keeping with the theme of making over-the-top and garish requests," he declared, "I'd like a dark and tattered cloak that distorts my voice and obscures my body in shadow, like I'm an undead king, and that's my grave shroud."

Fluttershy and Applejack seemed suddenly embarrassed, having gotten the point right away.

The other two...

"That's so cool!" shouted the rainbow-maned pegasus. "I shoulda thought of that!"

"Oh, me too, me too! Can you make an extra grave shroud, Rarity? That would make a GREAT Nightmare Night costume!"

"Ah..." Rarity seemed at a loss for words, like she was 95% sure he was joking, but there was that 5% chance that he was serious. "Are you... sure that's what you want, darling?"

Silver paused to think.

Please do not interfere with Twilight's friendship lessons.

He'd been told that by the ruler of Equestria, who may or may not be manipulating the Elements of Harmony into learning certain lessons.

What he wanted to do was come right out and solve the problem with open and honest communication. Unfortunately, he had to do the best he could under the problem's constraints.

"Let me put it this way," he told Rarity. "If you do end up making all those... interesting dress designs, I don't want to be left out of the fun. But if you end up going for something more mundane, just make a normal suit for me."

Chapter 10: Progress

He returned to the library with a new saddlebag on his back and a renewed appreciation for the whole 'pack mule' thing. He barely noticed the extra weight.

The door, when he tried it, was locked.

Rap, rap, rap. "Twilight? You there?"

The door opened. "She's in the basement," said Spike. "Doing 'research'."

In the brief moment that Spike made air quotes, Silver felt a sudden wash of nostalgia. A feeling of loss. He missed hands. But the feeling left as quickly as it came.

Silver chose not to go downstairs.

The saying is that one should not have kids, or else wait until after they are grown. There is a reason so many would-be inventors hail from Gryffindor, rather than Ravenclaw. Mr. Book had said something like that when asked about spell creation. Silver didn't know if new enchantments held the same dangers as new spells, but interrupting the process probably had disaster written all over it. Even if they were safer.

He went up to his room, locked the door behind him, and hung his bag on his room's coat rack. He flopped lazily onto the mattress.

Tomorrow would be Thursday. His mentor's office hours are 11:40 – 11:55 AM on Thursday, for all years, for all classes. He'd have to make the meeting count... or at least ask for a new time frame, like the weekend. Ditching school each week wouldn't work with Twilight.

Thankfully school doesn't start until next week. He'll have the next four days to set things up.

"Silver!"

The sudden noise and touch jolted him awake with a start, adrenaline shooting through his veins, hand dashing to grasp-

"I did it! Look!" said the same voice that was excited, but not threatening.

And Silver Wing blinked his eyes rapidly. His hoof slowly released his wand, leaving it where it lay beneath his pillow.

"Huh?" he asked, ignoring the instinct that would have had him grabbing for glasses. "Twilight? What time is it?"

"It doesn't matter!" said the purple pony, voice eager and eyes frantic. "I did it! I made the pouch bigger on the inside than on the outside! Watch!"

Silver watched as Twilight took a long ruler and dropped it into a container that, on the outside, only looked half that deep.

"And I can put more than one thing inside! Watch!"

A few coins, a marble, a quill, some rolled up parchments, and a stoppered inkwell were dropped, all disappearing as they passed the lip.

"Can I see it?" Silver asked, holding out a hoof.

He had just that moment come up with a scheme that would both advance Equestrian enchantments and let him get back to sleep.

"Sure!" Twilight levitated the small coin purse (not the saddlebag she 'borrowed'?) to his hoof.

It felt about as heavy as a pouch filled with all those items should feel, even if a pouch this small shouldn't feel that heavy. Not unless it was filled with lead. Or tungsten.

"What, no spell to keep the weight the same no matter what you put inside?" he asked.

He grabbed a book he'd just finished reading, a textbook too large for the lip of the pouch. He made as if to put the book inside, then watched the lip fail to magically expand.

"No widening lip to eat large items?"

He set the book aside, put his hoof to the entrance of the pouch, and said, "Ruler." The pouch yet again failed to do what he had come to expect from magical pouches.

"No voice retrieval?"

He manually reached deep into the pouch, felt around for a moment, then removed the ruler.

"No security charm so you can't take out another pony's belongings?"

When he looked up from the prototype magical inventory, he saw that Twilight was vibrating in place again.

"Voice retrieval..." she repeated. "Widening lip..."

Silver grinned to himself, pressed his hooves against his ears, and did his best to ignore Twilight's sudden shout and subsequent storming out of his room – enchanted pouch firmly in her magical grasp.

He put his head on his pillow and went back to sleep.

"First order of business," said Mr. Book at exactly 11:40 AM the next day. He levitated three circular objects forward. "These are portkeys. Keep them on you at all times. The one etched with a 'c' will take you to this cave. The one etched with 't' will take you to a private location in Ponyville. The final one leads to an anonymous patch of sky a mile or so above Ponyville." He presented a fourth band, separate from the rest. "And wear this fourth band over Ms. Memory's form, so it does not stand out."

Silver put the plain-looking armbands around three of his four legs, then used the fourth to cover his friend who had been given the alias 'Memory'. "How do I activate them?"

"Passphrases. Very simple passphrases. Activate Cave Portkey, Activate Town Portkey, Activate Sky Portkey. You must be touching them when you speak the words."

Silver thought for a moment. "I guess I won't be saying those by accident in a conversation. And if somepony overhears me, I'm already doing something wrong."

Mystery Book nodded. "And you shall practice each portkey at least five times."

"Um... how?

Silver thought portkeys were one-and-done. You could put multiple portkey enchantments on the same item, he'd read, but not more than ten. And that was if you kept each portus local and weak.

"Those are not single-activation portkeys," said Mr. Book. "The technical term for the enchantment, translated from Mandarin, is the recursive portus. They can be re-used if they are intact and charged. Breaking them will activate them, so you will be careful, and you will not use that method outside emergencies. They are currently empty of magic. Refilling them will be your first lesson, followed by practice."

"Sounds like a plan. But before we start, I've got a bit of housekeeping of my own. I'm going to start school next week, so could we reschedule our weekly meetings? Sometime over the weekend, maybe?"

"I was going to suggest that after the lesson," said Mr. Book. "But now is as good a time as any. Saturday and Sunday mornings at nine will give us plenty of time to work. That does not mean you are getting out of today's lesson."

"Wait, two days?"

"If you want to progress rather than regress, you require at least two days of rigorous training and practice each week. I will not always be able to teach directly, but I should at least be able to get you started each day, or leave lesson notes if I am unable to attend. Today is a trial run. Once you know how to recharge a portkey, I shall leave for an hour, and you will familiarise yourself with the portkey system until I come back."

The best way to describe this part of the lesson would be 'tedious.' Or maybe 'busy work' would say it better. It had to be done, and it was best done right away, but it took little skill, thought, or effort. Just time, concentration, and conscientiousness.

The best part was practicing the sky portkey, because it gave a nice change of scenery and shot him high in the sky, where he could glide for a while. But even that was beginning to lose its charm after an hour. It was a natural part of the learning process. The whole point was for the charm to be lost, for the portkeys to feel natural and habitual, like breathing.

As a side note, he could now say with certainty that portkeys ate all your momentum, which he really should have noticed back when he snapped that portkey on the broomstick above Azkaban. The momentum change was probably part of what made them so disorienting.

He was running low on magic by the end of the hour. Recharging a portus is magic intensive. Probably around as intense as casting thirty colloportus charms in a row, come to think of it.

Mr. Book hadn't failed to plan for this. The two charms he'd be learning in the second half of the lesson do not require great reserves of magic. They aren't difficult due to precise incantations or intricate wand movements, either. Low magic, simple words, easy wand motions.

But they won't be easy. They are, supposedly, going to be difficult in the same way that apparition and transfiguration are difficult.

Silver asked what that meant.

"You will be learning how to hide your wand." Mr. Book drew his own. "There are two relevant spells. The spell Vajinus," his wand disappeared, "to dismiss your wand to a known location, and the spell Emergo," his wand reappeared, "to retrieve it from that same location."

(Pronunciation: Va-jin-us, E-merge-o)

Silver noticed the problem right away.

"Um... does that mean I'll be casting Emergo without using a wand?"

"Yes."

"But didn't the books say that wandless magic is something most adults can't do?"

"Yes."

"And... you expect me to be able to do it before we're done for the day?"

"Yes."

...

"Is there a trick to it?"

"There are indeed a few general tricks to learning wandless magic. But the Emergus charm is different." He adopted a lecturing cadence. "Your friend was able to perform free transfiguration during her first day of lessons. Though exceptional, that is not unprecedented. It was, perhaps, a decennial occurrence in the twentieth century. However, such a feat would have been outright impossible when Hogwarts was founded. Free transfiguration, according to Rowena Ravenclaw, is a delicate art. Even the brightest students required months of study before they could hope to impose form onto substance. Merlin himself might have been shocked to hear that an eleven-year-old had done such a thing after only a single learning session. And yet, in this age, in these 'fading' times, it has been done multiple times.

"You might argue that children of past eras would never have been as intelligent as you or your friend. Yet even the least intelligent students of today can make some progress in less than a month. The obvious inference, therefore, is not that students have become more intelligent, but that teaching methods have improved. While ancient magics have been lost, common magics have become more and more refined over the centuries."

Silver tilted his head. "I'm not sure if there's a muggle equivalent to the first part of that pattern, but the second half is textbook scientific progress. So wandless magic doesn't qualify as ancient lore?"

"No. Thus, it has been refined. And the methods for teaching Emergo have developed far more drastically than the methods for all other wandless magics save one. Like Free Transfiguration, the Emergus charm has been learned in one day."

"I... see..." Silver thought for a moment about what that implied. "Is Emergo the first wandless spell that most wizards learn?"

"No. That would be Apparition – the only wandless spell an average spellcaster learns how to perform. If a wizard knows two, expect the second to be Emergo."

"Got it. Does that mean you can never trust a disarmed wizard? Is it a security concern that some opponents can summon their wands anywhere, anytime?"

"The spell does not allow you to summon your wand under any circumstance. You must know its exact location, just as you must know a desired destination before you can Apparate there, and most wizards will not know the exact locations of their wands once they've been confiscated."

"But... if it's possible to put a magical trace on someone else's wand, couldn't a talented wizard wandlessly trace their own wand so they always know exactly where it is?"

"Standard practice in the auror office is to dispel all traces from seized wands and establish a ward that prevents remote summoning. The healer of our school did not know this, thus my mockery. Not that it would have hindered me if she had."

So that's what that was about.

"Okay... and you said there are tricks to learning wandless magic in general? I didn't find anything like that in the library."

He'd found the opposite, in fact. Plenty of warnings about how it was a super-advanced thing well beyond the reach of a student.

"Nor could you have. They are of my own devising. Hints composed after decades of practice. Many of them I wish I had discovered a great deal earlier. All of them I use today. None of them violate the Interdict of Merlin. Until you are sworn by unbreakable vow not to be stupid in certain ways, this shall be one of your primary lessons. Are you ready to begin?"

Silver took a deep breath. His first true magical lesson, from the most powerful magus in the world. After missing the opportunity before, he sure as heck wasn't going to miss it this time. Or devote anything less than his full attention.

"Yes."

And the lecture began.

"In standard spell-casting, Mr. Silver, you access your body's available pool of magic, push a portion of it through your arm, and focus that energy through your wand. You speak words and make gestures to shape the magic as it exits. It is similar to the process of using your lips and tongue to shape your voice into words. If you wish to cast wandlessly, you must shape each spell somehow else. It is almost akin to learning a new language... though not quite. The closest analog would be sign language, as it is entirely different from vocalized speech, yet can accomplish the same thing. The wandless arts are likewise different from all other magical branches, even as they encompass them. It takes time to learn and master, but it should be learnable at any age, in theory. If I were restricted to the body and magic of a first year, I would still be able to do it. But I should warn you that this has never technically been tried before. We are exploring new grounds."

"I don't mind being the test subject of your theory," said Silver. "So long as the theory is solid."

Mr. Book nodded. "In learning wandless magic, most start with a finger, for obvious reasons. But that is poor practice. There are only a very few spells that a beginner can reliably cast with a finger." The thestral raised a hoof, and a white light appeared at its tip. "Lumos, for instance. But not many others."

"Can Somnium be learned that way?"

"It can," said Mr. Book. "Your guess is correct. You will learn to hoof-cast that invisible offensive spell despite the bad practice, for obvious reasons."

"So what's good practice then?"

"Some wizards would answer that question with Legilimency. For those who can learn to read minds in the first place, it is simple enough to further learn how to do so without a wand. And starting with the eyes as your magical focus has other benefits. You will find that weak, targeted spells are best performed through the eyes. Accio. Wingardium Leviosa. Ventriliquo. It was my preferred method in public settings as the defense professor."

Wow. In retrospect, that matched up with many observations.

"So... I'll be learning Legilimency?"

"Eventually. Eye magic is delicate. Should something go wrong, the dangers are intense, immense, and permanent. Anything as strong as a Stupefy would render you blind, and such injuries are notoriously difficult to heal. One mistake, one instance of overconfidence, one moment of negligence, and you might never see again."

Silver gulped.

"You will not be practicing any spell other than Legilimency through your eyes until you have come into the fullness of your magic, or until I deem you ready. Which brings me to your actual lesson plan: ambidextrous spellcasting."

As in, using his other hand to cast spells? After all that buildup, Silver had been expecting something more... epic.

"And... that'll help me learn wandless magic?"

"Correct."

"How?"

"A good question. Once you answer it, once you solve the puzzle, we will continue. Until that point, your sessions will be confined to standard spells, and I will not share any deeper knowledge."

"Is this standard practice in magical tutoring?"

"It is, just as it is standard practice to write down as much as you remember from the lecture, sufficiently coded of course. It might have contained hints you will only understand later."

This took some time. Silver was so focused on putting memory to page, and on speculating angles of attack for this new puzzle, that he'd almost forgotten he still had to learn two whole spells before the day was out.

Like Mr. Book said, those spells didn't require much magic, and they weren't difficult to pronounce, but they were difficult to pronounce while visualizing where you wanted your wand to go, or where you were getting it from.

He only managed to learn Vajinus by the end of the session. He would have to hide his wand somewhere he could physically retrieve it from until he learned Emergo.

"Before I leave," said Silver just as afternoon became evening. "Can you return my cloak and Time-Turner? I've managed to pass off my sleep-cycle as me being tired from the incident with Nightmare Moon, but I don't know how long that'll last."

"Here," said Mr. Book, floating the midnight cloth onto his back and the golden chain up and around his neck. "You will keep them secret."

"I'll keep their natures a secret," Silver corrected. He tapped the hourglass. "Spimster wickets aren't interesting, but they aren't terrible secrets either. And neither is a cloak enchanted to calm the wearer, but I don't like wearing it around others, and no you can't try it, it belonged to my parents, and can we please talk about something else because this topic is making me uncomfortable."

"Hmm. Passable."

"I also gave Twilight the idea to enchant a pouch that's bigger on the inside than on the outside. She just made a rudimentary prototype last night, and she's still working on it, but I'll probably ask you to return the contents of my pouch when she gets further."

A series of parseltongue questions and answers confirmed that neither pony planned to betray or harm the other, confirmed that Mr. Book was working on the stone and other paths to resurrection, and confirmed that Mr. Silver would practice magic when he could.

As soon as he got back to home base, he started the wandless magic puzzle. As expected, left-hoofed casting wasn't easy. Like going all your life writing with one hand, then trying to switch to the other. It would take time. And he probably wouldn't figure out why it helps until he learned how to do it in the first place.

"Silver?"

Silver switched his wand back to his dominant hoof. He visualised where he'd decided he would keep it when he wasn't using it: beneath a pile of books he'd put in his dresser, stacked in such a way a wand could fit neatly next to the book on the bottom. "Vajinus," he whispered.

He'd have to find a safer place to practice. A locked door was not much protection against Twilight discovering him in the act of using a wand.

"Yeah?" he asked loudly.

"Why is your door locked?"

"Working on a project," he answered truthfully, if not honestly.

He'd borrowed a few books on the 'Wonderbolts' from the downstairs library, having kept that term in mind ever since Flight Formation said it. Those books were laid out on his bed, and not just for show. He read them in between practicing his spells. Whenever his mind got too weary from reading, he switched to spellwork. Whenever his magic got exhausted from casting, he switched to reading. He'd developed this method back in April, soon after he'd gone back to studying alone. Optimisation is one of his many coping mechanisms. It felt like doing something.

Silver dropped down from his bed. "I don't like to be disturbed when I'm reading." He unlocked and opened the door. "What is it?"

"Um..." Twilight's gaze drifted to the Wonderbolt book on his bed, then snapped back to Silver. "I finished the extra enchantments!" She levitated his saddlebags onto his back. "What do you think?"

"I'll tell you after I run a few tests," Silver said promptly. "Do you have a bag of bits I could borrow? I promise I'll give it back."

Minutes later...

"Silver," said Twilight, eyes wide. "Silver, that was brilliant!" She dashed forward and gave him a big hug. "You reverse-engineered the enchanting principles in five minutes! It took me ten hours to design a voice-retrieval spell that considered all those edge cases! Not to mention the time it took to actually enchant them! Where did you learn how to do that?"

"Books," Silver shrugged. And practice. He'd already done it once, in Diagon Alley. Easy enough to do it again, with greater surety.

"You didn't learn it from Mr. Book?"

"No, though I wouldn't be surprised if he could do it too. He teaches me other things. Speaking of, I'm going to him for lessons on the weekends from now on."

"Can I come watch?"

Silver did not pause. A year of being on the other side of conversations with Mr. Book had taught him to not show any signs that he was misdirecting. "Maybe someday," Silver said. "Did you write down your creation process in simple, easy-to-follow steps so other unicorns could replicate the magic?"

Twilight's eyes suddenly widened, as if she hadn't thought of that, or had forgotten to do it in her manic rush.

Silver suppressed a grin at the successful distraction. Then he chose not to suppress it anymore as he asked, "Or are you keeping the enchantment to yourself?"

"Keep it to myself?" Twilight asked, sounding suddenly scandalised. "Why would I do that? The world needs to know!"

"Ah yes. Science." Silver nodded sagely. "The universal pursuit of truth and progress. So just to be clear, you won't be finding some very wealthy patrons who would be very appreciative of something this convenient? Or, if that's too much work, how about contracting Rarity for that while you research something new?"

Twilight blinked. "I-" She blinked again. "No, Silver, that's not... that wouldn't be right at all."

"Somepony is going to profit from this invention, Twilight. That's just how the market works. Couldn't you at least give Rarity a week to get ahead of the competition before sharing it with the world?"

"No, Silver," Twilight said, more firmly this time. "I'll help teach Rarity how to do it. That should give her more than enough of a head start. But I'm going to share this knowledge. It wouldn't be right to keep it to myself."

Silver frowned. The part of him that said market vulnerabilities always needed to be exploited was often at odds with the part of him that was in favor of the common endeavour, at least in the short term. According to the only book he'd read on entrepreneurship, a successful businessman had to be ruthless – not evil, but cold, at least to the competition. Money going into your own pocket meant it wasn't going into someone else's. Customers only have so much money, and few ever pay for two of the same kind of product. (Unless it's entertainment, like two comic books, or a luxury good, like designer goods. But even then, most consumers still want variety.)

"I guess it's up to you," Silver sighed. Her enchantment, her decision. "Maybe it would be a little selfish to keep it mum."

Then again, this was a magical world of ponies who had already demonstrated remarkable herd tendencies. Maybe game theory wasn't a problem here.

No, that wasn't the right way to think about it. Game theory was always a problem. It always existed, in every society, in every interaction between life forms. But it's possible- no, it is probable that ponies are closer to doves than hawks, closer to the prisoners who cooperate than those who defect.

With humans, you almost never see consistent cooperation unless you pair the same two people in the dilemma multiple times, giving them time to learn from their mistakes and build trust.

In business, it's called collusion, and it's one of the things that governments have a hard time regulating because it can happen as a natural result of multiple businesses competing in the same market on razor thin margins. Cereal companies don't drop their prices below a certain line, even though cereal is cheap to produce and they could probably tempt more customers from their rivals and increase profit. If they dropped their prices, then their rivals would lower THEIR prices too, and then EVERYBODY loses money. Everybody plays by the same rules, or it's a race to the bottom. So companies eventually cooperate to some extent, agreeing amongst themselves to abide by certain rules, even if they have to learn that lesson the hard way a few times. And then the government comes in and says 'no unfair business practices', and it just makes everything even more complicated.

Silver didn't know if the same experiments had been run with ponies, but he suspected it took much less time than with humans to build that mutual agreement. Maybe even no time at all.

The human default is initial defection, eventual cooperation, though that was still up for debate, and it also depended on the nation/culture of the sample group, and if the sample 'prisoners' shared that culture.

It could be the case that the pony default leans more to cooperation. Only time and experimentation would tell.

If it was the case...

Silver felt another impulse to grin, and again chose not to suppress it.

If it was the case that ponies tended towards cooperation, that would make defection a reliable short-term strategy. He'd have to see if there were any ethical ways of exploiting that.

Chapter 11: Laps

His first flying lesson began bright and early Monday morning.

"Alright recruit," said Flight Formation in a crisp, authoritative tone.

The middle-aged stallion wore what Silver recognized from the books as a Wonderbolt uniform, drawing stares from all pegasi students in the field except himself. Silver wasn't staring per se, just looking.

"Today, we're going to cover the basics. But first, a warm-up. Four laps around the field. One mile. Go, go, go!"

Might as well play along, thought Silver. He'd never been in a boot camp scenario.

"Sir, yes, sir!"

One lap later...

"Come on, recruit, pick up the pace! I said warm-up, not a relaxing stroll through the air. And stop dragging your hooves!"

Silver, panting, said, "Yes, sir!"

Another lap later...

"Keep it going, recruit! Get off the ground! Don't tell me you're winded already?"

Silver, panting heavily, said, "No, sir."

Yet another lap later...

"Just one more lap to go. Don't slow down now! Keep those wings pumping!"

Silver didn't say anything. He didn't have the air to say anything.

After the fourth lap...

He fell face down into the clouds, limbs splayed out like he was being drawn and quartered.

"Thirty minutes," said Flight Formation, frowning at his stopwatch. "With about half the distance covered on hoof."

Silver heard distant laughter and discovered, to his annoyance, that his emotions were harder to control in his current state. The term 'hot and bothered' came to mind, and he realized he'd never gotten coldly angry after a long length of physical exertion. Maybe that could have been a countermeasure?

In any case, it's not like he had the energy to do anything with his emotions. His face was staying in the cloud for at least a minute.

"Blitz was right, this isn't good."

Silver couldn't respond.

"I'm going to get the school physician. Your muscles might be underdeveloped, or something else might be going on. Wait here until I get back."

As if he could do anything else.

When Flight was out of sight, Silver lifted his head from the 'ground' and glanced around. No pegasi were paying attention to him now that the Wonderbolt was gone and the show was over. He surreptitiously whispered, "Emergo."

He was no Hermione Granger, but he'd still been in the 99th percentile of his class. One day was the record for learning Emergo. Three days was how long it had actually taken him: Thursday and the weekend.

When he felt his wand in his right hoof, he raised his other hoof to his mane, found a filament, then said "Diffindo". He pushed his front hooves as far as he could into the clouds to obscure them, put his wand to the snipped strand of hair, transfigured it into a small bowl, carefully spoke the word "Aguamenti," and began drinking.

Aguamenti was typically learned in sixth year for Charms N.E.W.T.s. However, in terms of magical intensity, it could be learned as early as third year. It was taught late due to the extremely precise pronunciation. It had been a part of yesterday's lesson plan for the reason of utility, and for confirming Mr. Book's theory about their increased magical strength. Whether that was due to the new pony forms, or the ambient magic in the world around them, remained to be seen.

By the time Flight returned, Silver was sitting upright, watching the other class. He'd already said "Finite Incantatum" at the bowl and "Vajinus" to dismiss his wand.

"Silver Wing?" asked a female pegasus with a band-aide on her flank. "I'm Nurse Aide. Flight says you're having trouble flying?"

What followed was a close examination of his wings that involved prodding, flexing, stretching, and many 'hmm's and 'haw's from the school physician.

"I don't think it's a muscle problem," said Ms. Aide after about five minutes. "Let's go inside for a deeper scan."

"Hm..." Bright Aide looked hard at the screen of her scanning equipment. "I think I see the problem."

"Is it physical?" Flight Formation asked.

He feared this would be a case of land-locked syndrome. Sometimes, a pegasus is born in an earth pony town, to earth pony parents. They never get the proper introduction to flight, never try it themselves, and by the time they do finally try it, it's too late. Their muscles and bones haven't developed properly and they'll never be able to fly normally, if at all. He'd never seen it himself, only heard of it, but he's been thinking about that possibility ever since Silver said he grew up on the ground.

"I don't think so," said Ms. Aide. "His muscles and wings and bones are all fine. It's his magic. It's... how do I put this... it's all over the place?"

"All over the place?"

"Here, let me show you." She pulled up a picture of a pony-shaped collage of colors. "This is what a normal scan would look like. Magic is supposed to concentrate in the hooves, the wings, the fur, and the eyes. But sometimes there isn't enough magic in certain places, which leads to flight problems. I was afraid that would be the case here. You see, there's this condition that keeps magic from getting to the wings, which would've explained why he had so much trouble getting airborne-"

"He'll never be able to fly normally?" asked Flight Formation, now worried.

"Oh, no no no!" said the nurse. "I was afraid of that, but this... well to be honest, I have no idea what's going on."

She turned the screen of her device to face Flight. He could immediately see the difference from the 'normal' scan. The colors were much brighter, and the brightest area was the head of the pony silhouette, not the wings.

"He's at the very highest percentile of his age group when it comes to the amount of magic in his system," Ms. Aide explained. "But the problem is the location. His magic is spread out across his entire body, not just the normal places I mentioned... and much of it is concentrated in his forehead. Honestly, it's almost like a scan of a unicorn. Only... not really. Unicorns only have magic in their heads, for the most part. His magic is everywhere, with pockets of concentration in strange places. Like here," she pointed at a hoof, "in his right forehoof, and here," she pointed at a leg, "in his back left fetlock. Well, all his fetlocks, but that one in particular."

Silver paid close attention to every word.

Occlumency might explain the forehead thing, and the fact that he'd been casting spells monodextrously for most of his wizarding career could explain the concentration in his right forehoof... but that was just speculation.

If he made significant progress on ambidextrous casting and the magical chart didn't change, then it was something else. For the Occlumency hypothesis, he could try dropping his barriers. He should also probably remove the portkeys the next time he gets a scan so his 'fetlocks' aren't anomalous.

But for now, the scan had already been taken.

"What about his wings?" Flight Formation asked, ignoring the parts that didn't concern him. "Are they getting enough magic?"

"His wings are getting some magic," the nurse said. "Just not as much as they're supposed to have."

"Is there a method I can use to direct more magic to my wings?" Silver asked, drawing the gazes of both adults to himself.

The nurse shook her head. "Not artificially. Magic is like a muscle. It gets better with use. I've only seen it in textbooks before, so I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure this is a case of magic atrophy. And the only thing that can help with that is conditioning, just like you'd do for atrophied muscles."

"That means more laps, doesn't it?"

Flight Formation nodded firmly. "Every day."

He groaned.

It took all of three days for Silver Wing to get fed up with just flying laps each lesson.

He knew it was necessary. He knew it would get better with time, that he would get to the more complicated maneuvers later. He even knew the importance of conscientiousness and hard work for achieving success.

But doing the same thing over and over again is just so boring.

It feels like insanity even if he knows it isn't. Incremental improvement isn't insanity. It's not technically doing the same thing and expecting a different result. It's expecting the same result: slow gains over time. But that knowledge isn't stopping his brain from complaining.

Maybe he wouldn't have minded if he had a way to entertain himself, like a magical way to listen to books while he exercised. He asked Twilight about that. She became incredibly excited at the idea, meaning she'd never heard of it before and it didn't exist yet.

As Silver laid face-down in a cloud for the third day in a row, one phrase came to his exhausted mind. It had never been said aloud, but that didn't make it any less real.

I hate hard work! Silver had told the sorting hat. Hate hard work in all its forms! Clever shortcuts! That's what I'm about!

And so, on this day, in this moment, Silver Wing decided that he would find a clever shortcut to his current problem:

Laps.

Silver Wing was given two hours of "Independent Study" each day.

Yesterday and the day before he'd explored Cloudsdale High/Elementary (the two schools were located on the same campus), seeing what they had to offer a wayward student, if anything. Only two places caught his interest: the school libraries (naturally) and a room called the Cloud Center, a place where pegasi could practice weather manipulation.

On the third day, Silver Wing's Independent Study had purpose. It had direction. It had goal-orientation.

Silver Wing sat in the library, looking over a sheet of loose-leaf he'd taken from the 'spare paper' bin. Written at the top was the question, How can I fly laps without getting winded?

What followed were potential angles of attack.

Solution 1: Practice
Problem: I don't know how long it will take for my magic to develop. It might take months. It might take years. If I'm currently worse than a baby pegasus in the air, it could be that my development will take eleven years to reach the point of my peers. And by that point, I'll be eleven years behind again.

Silver looked at the first answer and accompanying analyses, then put a line through it. He would practice, but only after he figured out what to practice.

He moved on.

Solution 2: Cheat. Get the flight enchantments cast on my bones.
Problem: The procedure is dangerous, and it might not be possible to brew the necessary potions. Ask at next meeting.

Silver looked at the second solution with a frown. And not a thoughtful one.

He didn't like this particular cheat because he wouldn't be flying under his own power. It's something he's always wanted to do, to the point where he'd wanted to become a falcon animagus just so he could, though becoming a pegasus made that ambition redundant. This solution also meant he wouldn't be learning pegasus magic, like he originally wanted to do.

But at the end of the day, it was better than suffering through eleven years of catch-up and endless sessions of laps.

He put a Maybe next to that solution.

Solution 3: Clever shortcuts.
Problem: Laps are difficult.
Angles of attack: Find way to train/improve magic of wings quickly.
Find way to bolster wing magic temporarily. (Food? Sugar? Stimulants?)
Find way to bypass wing magic entirely and use pegasus magic some other way.

Silver stared what he'd written for a long moment, then crossed out the second angle of attack. He wasn't about to take drugs.

That left one and three.

At the end of the day, if he wanted to fly those laps, he'd either have to get to the point where his wing magic was up to snuff, or he'd have to find some other way to fly the laps that didn't rely heavily on wing magic. The nurse had said Pegasi were supposed to have magic in their hooves and fur. Maybe that could help.

Silver stood from his desk and began browsing the library.

"I think it's time to move on to weather, recruit," said Flight Formation.

Silver, panting, only nodded. It was the last day of school before the weekend, and he was glad to be done with flight class for the day. He hadn't made much progress on clever shortcuts after three weeks, so he'd had to suffer through many long hours of grueling laps.

For the most part, his research had turned up all the ways he wouldn't be able to bypass the problem of wing magic. By now he'd learned just about everything you could learn from a book – which might sound like a lot, but since unicorns weren't overly interested in pegasus magic, they hadn't done that much research into the subject. And it was mostly unicorns who wrote books.

From those books, Silver summarised the most important parts.

Wing magic affects thrust and lift, the two things he was having trouble generating, though he was mostly having trouble with thrust. Lift wasn't too hard to maintain in the form of a glide, but without any thrust he slowed down and dropped to the ground soon enough.

Fur magic is supposed to help with drag and/or weight, but Silver didn't know how to measure that, or how to implement it.

Hoof magic helps with weather manipulation.

Eye magic helps pegasi see where they're going – and possibly also explained why he didn't need glasses anymore.

That was the extent of research that unicorns had done into pegasus magic.

No methods on how to improve magic in certain areas had been explored.

No case studies of pegasi successfully overcoming handicaps through clever use of body mechanics had been examined.

No explanations as to how the magic even worked in the first place were given.

There weren't even any experiments to prove the four theories in the first place. Or if experiments had been run, they hadn't been referenced in any of the books he'd read.

Wonderful.

"Today," said Flight Formation, "you'll learn how to spot the difference between a normal cloud and a thundercloud. You'll also buck your first cloud. You will not buck a thundercloud yet. You never, ever want to buck a thundercloud without training. Do I make myself clear, recruit?"

"Yes sir," Silver said with little enthusiasm. The fantasy of boot camp had run its course long ago, and he didn't feel like keeping up the pretense anymore. "Wouldn't want to get myself electrocuted."

"The problem isn't that you'll electrocute yourself," said Flight Formation. "Bucking a cloud will always push it and whatever's inside it away from you. The lightning if it's a thundercloud, the snow if it's a snowcloud, the rain if it's a... well, you get the idea. If you don't know what you're doing and you try to buck a thundercloud, the lightning could strike something. Or somepony."

"Yes sir," said Silver. "How do I spot the difference?"

Silver breezed through the next part of the lesson. Theory was easy for him. It was practice that was the problem.

"Now," said Flight, drawing a relatively small cloud from a stack to the left. "Today, you're going to be bucking your first cloud. I want you to anchor your front hooves firmly in the clouds in front of you, then buck this cloud as hard as you can."

"Can you demonstrate the motions, sir?" Silver asked politely.

"Sure, recruit."

Flight Formation placed his front hooves firmly in the clouds, wound up his rear legs like a compressed coil, then bucked them backwards like a released rubber band, all in one smooth motion. The cloud soared up and away.

Silver tried to memorise the movements, to keep them visualised.

"Your turn, recruit," said Flight, getting another cloud.

Silver nodded. He closed his eyes, Flight's demonstration at the forefront of his mind. He planted his front hooves firmly in the clouds, lifted his back hooves off the ground-

Then fell forward onto his face.

He heard some laughter from the other side of the field.

"If you're used to bucking from solid ground," said Flight in a voice loud enough to be heard by the students, "remember: clouds are soft, so they have more give. Don't lean so far forward until you get the hang of it."

"Yes sir," said Silver, standing up and planting his hooves in the clouds again.

Keep his center of mass further back. Got it.

But the problem wasn't the clouds. He'd never tried bucking at all before – something he imagined was a common thing for ponies to learn at much younger ages than himself – and he now had to try to pretend like he was only having trouble because of the cloud surface, rather than a complete and utter lack of experience.

This time, rather than trying to do everything at once, he compartmentalised the movements and went through a few practice runs. It was reductionism at it's most practical level: reducing a complex task to simpler parts so you can understand it better. He held firmly to the image of Flight Formation's demonstration as he went through his small practice motions, trying to impose those movements onto his own body like he'd impose form on substance during a Transfiguration.

When he was ready, he glanced over his shoulder at the cloud, snorted, put all the movements together in a single motion, and-

Fell flat on his face.

Although this time, there wasn't the laughter.

Maybe that had something to do with the fact that he had successfully managed to buck the cloud. The only problem was that the force of the buck had been too much for his left forehoof, even though his right forehoof had handled it just fine, and that sent him spiraling forward

Stupid uneven magical distribution, he thought as he picked himself up. I am going to practice ambidextrous casting for AT LEAST four of my six Time-Turned hours. He'd only been practicing two hours each day. Progress was present, but slow. He needed to ramp it up. And I'm going to ask Mr. Book for tips. He won't give me the answer, but he might offer a hint. I am not going to let myself get flung forward... by...

"Hmm," he heard from Flight Formation. "About a hundred yards. Not bad, recruit. Not bad at all. Your form could use work, but that's a good start." Flight's voice rose. "Certainly better than those slackers over there. Why aren't you doing your loops? Go, go, go!"

But Silver's own mind wasn't thinking about the cloud he'd just bucked, or the students he was ignoring. It wasn't even thinking about his unbalanced hooves anymore.

It was thinking about the fact that he'd just generated a significant amount of forward force – of forward thrust – just then.

A grin spread across his face.

He might have just found his shortcut.

He hadn't just found his shortcut.

Not directly, anyway, he thought.

He sat in Independent Study, which was an hour longer than usual because Friday was a free day. No creative classes.

He had the same set-up as last time.

Problem: Forward Thrust
Solution: Bucking Clouds?
Problem: Placement.

Silver didn't have a way of delivering clouds to his rear hooves whenever he slowed down in his laps. The closest thing to that was dropping to the cloud track below and kicking off, but Flight Formation had made it abundantly clear that he was only allowing Silver do it because Silver literally couldn't stay in the air long enough to do four laps in a single sitting, even after three weeks of practice. Silver simply didn't have the stamina. But as soon as he did, he'd be airborne the entire lesson. So bucking clouds for forward thrust was a no-go.

Silver crossed out the word 'clouds' and brainstormed the problem of pegasus magic as a whole. He wrote down relevant questions as he thought of them.

If walking on a cloud is like walking on water, why can't I walk on water?

They'd gone swimming in gym class yesterday, and although he had tried to walk on water a few times (yes, his mind had immediately gone there), he was unable to do it.

Why is it that Pegasi can stand on clouds in the first place?

The nurse had said it was the magic in their hooves. So had all the books. Hooves deal with weather, wings dealt with thrust/lift, fur dealt with drag/weight, eyes dealt with sight.

But if only hoof magic was supposed to interact with clouds, why could that cyan pegasus, Rainbow something, sleep on clouds with her whole body? Why could he sleep on clouds with his whole body?

Why doesn't the rest of my body sink through the clouds whenever I collapse in exhaustion?

According to the literature on pegasus magic, hoof magic interacts with weather. His entire body except his hooves should be sinking through the clouds under that theory, but it didn't. And that reminded him of another problem.

Why are the clouds here so unusually vivid?

Clouds on the other side of the mirror were more like mist when you were right up next to them. He knew this because he was both a muggleborn who had been in the window seat of a plane and a wizard who had flown at high altitudes. Here, clouds weren't misty, they were almost like literal big plush pillows.

At a guess, 'magic' was probably the answer.

Like back in his old world, this world seemed to run on the normal physical laws except wherever magic was concerned. Any anomalies were usually best explained by 'magic' until proven otherwise. His mind even generated the hypothesis that, since clouds were made by the local Weather Factory (which supplied weather for all of Equestria), it could be that magic-infusion was part of the cloud-creation process, and that natural weather was just as misty as always.

If these clouds were magical, that would explain both the vividness and why he could walk on them but not water. Maybe his magic could only interact with other magic.

But where magic was concerned, things didn't have to be that sensible. There was another possibility. Actually, there were thousands of possibilities, but at the moment, Silver was focused on the one his mind had suggested.

This possibility was that pegasus magic might interact with air, not water or magic. Clouds, i.e. clumps of condensed water vapor, were a mix between a liquid and a gas. It was liquid in a gaseous state. Sort-of. So maybe it wasn't the liquid his magic was interacting with, but the gas. That would also explain why he couldn't walk on liquid water.

But if standing on a cloud is actually standing on the air inside a cloud, or the air represented by the cloud, why couldn't he just... stand on the air itself? Did it have to do with the fact that clouds were clearly visible here, and thus easy to visualise as something touchable? But he had quite literally run into clouds that he wasn't visualising at the time, falling down during flight lessons and hitting the cloud ground even though he wasn't looking at it, which should disprove that hypothesis.

Then again, he had known the clouds were there. His mind might have been imagining them as solid on some level.

Silver looked at his hoof, flexing it a few times.

A thought occurred to him.

Has any pegasus ever tried to walk on air?

Silver glanced around his quiet nook in the library. Nopony was around. From what he gathered, the other students spent their free periods playing in the gym or doing tricks in the flight stadium.

Silver looked at his hoof again.

He slowly stood from his chair.

He raised his hoof in front of himself and imagined he was about to take a step on a staircase of clouds.

...

Well, now at least one pegasus in the world has tried to walk on air.

Question was, would a pegasus ever succeed in walking on air?

Silver, on the other side of the mirror, had once made an original discovery in Transfiguration by applying a certain mindset about the world when he was casting. The only way – well, not the only way – the fastest way he might pioneer a similar discovery on this side of the mirror was if pegasus magic, or at least cloud manipulation, was influenced by a pony's state of mind. And cloud manipulation was certainly influenced by state of mind. In one of the earliest lessons, Flight Formation had warned Silver that he had to control his emotions before he could manipulate weather. Emotions had a direct impact on clouds. There was a saying that you never let an angry pony near a thundercloud.

And if emotions affected weather magic... if clouds could be influenced by the mind, the same might hold true for other aspects of pegasus magic.

Silver nodded to himself, then scoured the library for all books he could find about the fundamental theories behind weather manipulation.

"Twilight?"

"Yes, Silver?"

"Do you have any books on the fundamental theories of weather manipulation? I couldn't find any in the school library."

"I'm... not sure if they would be in a library," Twilight said. "The Cloudsdale Cloud Factory keeps its methods very close to heart. They don't share their trade secrets with anypony, even most pegasi."

Silver waved a hoof. "I'm not asking for engineering or design. If I wanted to know that I'd do more research on Swift Flight." That being the name of the architect who'd pioneered many modern weather manipulation practices. "I want to know the fundamental principles behind why pegasi can touch clouds in the first place. The best I've found is 'the magic in our hooves lets us interact with clouds', but that isn't all that specific. Are there any books in the library that go into more detail?"

"Hm..." said Twilight. "I know we don't have any books like that in the library. I would have read them by now. Oh! I know! I'll ask Princess Celestia. If anypony knows where I could get a book on pegasus magic, she will!"

Twilight slumped as she read the response letter. "She doesn't know."

"Does that mean nopony knows?" Silver asked curiously.

"I'm sure somepony knows, Silver," said Twilight. "It's too important not to know. I'll send a letter to Canterlot University. I bet there's a lot of professors there who know all about pegasus magic!"

Silver didn't voice his skepticism. Instead, he thought back to what he'd read and what he'd seen.

Silver Wing had read that pegasus hooves have magic to help them interact with clouds. Silver Wing had seen that his body, his wings, his elbows, and his face could all interact with clouds just as easily as his hooves.

He had read that clouds acted like pliable, solid objects to pegasi.

He had seen, on rare occasions, extremely young pegasi giggling to themselves as they sank through the clouds of Cloudsdale, only to get severely reprimanded by nearby adults – usually parents – for damaging the architecture and endangering themselves.

He thought of the long-term psychological effects that sort of thing might have on pegasi.

He formed his hypothesis.

"You seem anxious," observed Mr. Book.

"Just dying to test a theory." One which was best tested during the day instead of the night, when visibility wasn't low. Last night he'd had to settle for merely writing it down. "Can we make today's lesson a quick one? Oh, and do you have any hints on how to improve at ambidextrous casting?"

Mr. Book tilted his head. "Yes, and yes. Once you can, abandon your dominant arm. Cast only with your left hoof, except in emergencies, and practice as many aspects of magic as you can imagine. When one aspect gets difficult or tedious, switch to another. Offense, defense, charms, jinxes, hexes, curses, aim, transfiguration, potions-making. There are plenty of disciplines to choose from."

"Potions-making?" Silver repeated.

"Yes. I have already gathered a number of ingredients and brewed a few potions as a proof of concept. Potions-brewing will be done under my supervision until further notice."

"And... how am I meant to do that ambidextrously?"

"You are used to stirring with your right arm and adding ingredients with your left. You will not be allowed to make potions that way until you have told me why ambidexterity helps one to learn wandless magic."

One grueling potions-session later...

He failed the potion two times before getting it on the third try. Mr. Book hadn't chosen an easy one. It didn't help that Silver was using hooves instead of hands, reversing dominances, and hadn't had the time to study the recipe in advance.

"I was expecting more mockery," Mr. Silver said at the end of it.

"If a baby is taking its first steps, do you mock it for being unable to walk?"

"Not the best analogy. You laughed plenty of times back when I was learning how to walk in this body."

"I did. There is something inherently funny about that sort of failure. I suppose it is a matter of magnitude then. Some potions accidents can be humorous, but they should always be taken seriously. As tragedies, not comedies. In some recipes, a single stirring error can result in death."

Silver shuddered. Why hadn't Snape ever said that? Was it too much for eleven-year-olds? But McGonagall hadn't held back...

"Do you sspeak true?"

"Yess. Sschool ssupervissorss forbid Potionss Masster from sspeaking of deadliesst recipess, which are outlawed in any casse."

Silver nodded. "Got it."

"Then you are dismissed."

"Before I go, can you re-attach those broomstick rods to my limbs? And weakly enough that I can finite the sticking charm afterwards?"

"Does the theory you were dying to test upon arrival pertain to pegasus magic?" the thestral asked as he retrieved the rods, put them in place, and disillusioned them.

"Yup."

Idea-generation is fundamentally optimistic brain behavior. Your brain wouldn’t be suggesting ideas if it didn’t think they could work. From your BRAIN’S perspective, it only suggests good ideas.

Reality, on the other hand, is fundamentally pessimistic, again from your brain’s perspective. Reality is constantly throwing your ideas back in your face, calling them stupid, and laughing at you.

Silver knew this. He fully expected many of his guesses to fail. But he also fully expected to figure it out eventually if he kept generating new guesses based on how his old ones failed.

Silver flew up to the lowest nearby cloud. Thankfully, clouds hung very low in this world's atmosphere, and although he was completely exhausted when he reached it, he could at least reach it. He had thought to use the broomstick enchantments, but if this theory didn't work out, then at least he had gotten in some flying practice.

He rested on the cloud for a moment, much like he would after a morning of laps. When he had caught his breath well enough to be confident that he could catch himself – that is, he'd have wing strength to glide to safety if, say, he was suddenly no longer able to touch the cloud – he began testing his theory.

For many minutes, he put himself into various states of mind, trying and falsifying idea after idea.

Happiness wasn't possible.

Hope didn't work.

Anger didn't work.

Determination didn't work – in fact, it seemed to have the opposite of the desired effect.

Sadness (why, Professor?) didn't work.

Hate didn't work.

Disgust didn't work.

Guilt didn't work.

When he'd run the gamut of all the basic emotions he could remember, he tried other feelings.

Hunger, the desire for food, didn't work.

Paranoia, the feeling of persecution, the desire for security, didn't work.

Fear, the instinct to avoid immediate predation, didn't work. Again, it seemed to have the opposite effect.

Restlessness, the desire not to be bored... wait, did the clouds just get softer?

Hmm... the change was so small that it could've just been his imagination. Then again, maybe he was on the right track. What was similar to restlessness?

The desire not to be stuck in one place? Again, that barely noticeable change...

How about excitement? No, that wasn't it.

The desire to do things? No...

The desire to be able to do things? Possibly...

The desire not to be caged? Oh, that was a big yes.

How about... the desire to be free.

He fell through the cloud.

Glided to safety.

Smiled.

Well, that was a rather fitting answer.

Freedom, it would seem, guides a fundamental part of pegasus magic.

Of course, it would be freedom, wouldn't it? Pegasus magic largely deals with air – an "element" commonly used to symbolise freedom.

The freedom of will to overcome obstacles. The freedom of mind that gets dampened by scolding parents and disapproving eyes. The freedom of body that's hampered by things like obesity and muscle atrophy.

Freedom of body, freedom of mind, freedom of magic... freedom of thought.

Observation: Some pegasi can pass through clouds.
Hypothesis: With the right state of mind, it might be possible for me to do the same.
Result: When I think of freedom, I pass through clouds. See if it's possible to replicate at will, at a moment's notice. Also see if this has an effect on air in general, not just clouds. Is THIS how to reduce drag and air resistance? Do other pegasi do it instinctively?
Side Note: New Observation – some emotions made clouds feel firmer. Fear and determination. Might be useful later.

Chapter 12: Determined to Disprove

So, a good chunk of the literature on Pegasus magic is complete manure, Silver thought to himself as he sat in his room.

He'd initially been hesitant to come to that conclusion, given how it went the last time. He'd assumed something similar about WIZARD magic and WIZARD literature, only to be proven wrong by the very first experiment. After he'd wasted a bunch of time plotting out a series of experiments that were made irrelevant by the very first one.

At the moment, his inner-Hermione was reminding him very loudly and insistently that Cloudsdale High's library books were written by ponies who knew way more about pegasus magic than he did.

But...

All scholars are unicorns, he thought in response to that voice. The literature they have on THEMSELVES is probably VERY accurate. I won't argue with that. But the literature they have on the OTHER races...

The term 'passable' would say it best. Or maybe 'hit and miss'. The unicorns did their research up to the point that it needed to be done. A few had gone further than that, observing and theorising just enough to satisfy their own curiosity, but that's it.

Four hundred years ago, they invented a spell to examine a pony's magic – probably for themselves at first, thought Silver, not that there's anything wrong with that, it's what I would do – and that spell showed that pegasi have magic in their hooves, fur, eyes, and wings.

Some scholar, probably a physics professor, decided that wings dealt with lift and thrust, fur dealt with drag and weight, and hooves dealt with weather, all without doing a single experiment to test those hypotheses. The conclusions weren't refuted by anypony, weren't double-checked, and weren't peer reviewed. They merely sounded right, and the other unicorns didn't care enough about pegasi to question the seemingly-accurate 'research'.

That's how it used to be done in human science, too. Eminent professors simply declared explanations for observations. Everybody else accepted it (unless it sounded blatantly unreasonable), and that was that. Phlogiston. Elan vital. Even in the modern age, it was a big problem in certain fields, especially softer fields like psychology.

Although, to be fair to the psychologists, experiments on thought patterns aren't nearly as straightforward as experiments on, say, gravity. To be further fair to psychologists, plenty of physicists engage in unproven speculation too, even to this day. So does just about every scientist ever, because thought experiments are fun. The problem arises when speculation becomes touted as fact. The problem is made much worse and widespread by a single contributing factor: grains of truth.

Take the thing about eye magic helping with vision. It probably wasn't wrong at all. Silver couldn't think of any other plausible reason for magic to be concentrated in a pegasus's eyes, and he had already literally seen the better vision for himself. That part of the unicorn theory on pegasus magic was accurate enough to stand up to basic scrutiny. Wing magic helping with lift and thrust also made sense, and it could be the case that fur magic helps with drag. There's enough plausibility there that most unicorns would just go along with it.

But in true science, the kind that adheres to the experimental method, that process of theorising in the aether is a cardinal sin. Across the board, no tests had ever been run, as far as Silver could find, to prove the theories.

It's like that cautionary tale he'd told Mr. Book about a science teacher leaving a metal plate sitting by a fire for a while. She turned it around a minute before her class started (and before any students were in the room to see what she did), asked her students to feel the plate (they all felt that the part closer to the fire was colder), and told them to write down their explanations for why it was hot on the other side. Every single student wrote something like "because of heat conduction" or "because that's how the air moves". None had written down "this just seems impossible". The students had said words like "heat conduction" and believed they were doing science.

Similarly, whatever unicorn initially wrote the wings/fur/hooves hypotheses had used words like "drag" and "lift" and "thrust", and that unicorn actually believed they were using science to explain Pegasus magic. And on the surface, the hypotheses seemed to match up with observations, unlike the hot plate scenario.

That's the danger. That's the trap. That's what it's like to encounter the hot plate scenario in real life. It isn't blatantly obvious that something is wrong with the theories. That's why you have to run experiments.

Without proof, you can't accept it. You have to be skeptical. You have to think the problem all the way through. Otherwise, you get situations like this one.

When you go just a little deeper than surface level, the theories start to unravel.

A pegasus's entire body, not just its hooves, will interact with a cloud.

His entire body, not just the parts covered in fur, generates drag.

And with any luck, his entire body, not just his wings, can generate thrust.

Observation: A mindset of freedom lets me pass through clouds, and after further testing, through the AIR more easily.
Problem: I'm trying to do the opposite of that. To generate thrust, I need to PUSH the air, not pass through it.

Silver thought about this new obstacle.

A possible answer had come to him right away.

The only other emotions that had seemed to have an effect on the cloud were determination and fear. In both cases, the cloud firmed up beneath his fur and hooves.

When he had bucked the cloud for Flight Formation, he had been determined to do it. When he watched Rainbow Dash clear the sky above Ponyville, he observed that, in those few moments of action, she seemed rather determined.

Problem: To generate thrust, I need to PUSH the air, not pass through it.

Possible Solution: Be determined. Determination to be free? If that doesn't work, maybe it's determination to push myself through the air. Try simple mindsets first.

If Silver was honest with himself, he hadn't been determined to do much of anything in his flying lessons other than 'get by'. He just couldn't bring himself to care all that much. Silver had never cared about sports.

(Mr. Book had found a way to get him to care about something that was sort-of a sport... but not really. The only sport he could think of where you won by eliminating your opponents was dodgeball. They truly were, in every sense of the word, mock battles, fought by mock armies.)

Flight class just didn't excite him. It felt like a necessary chore. He was determined not to fail, but he wasn't determined to succeed. Maybe that had been his problem all along. Maybe that was also why flight class at school seemed to resemble boot camp – for all age groups, not just his tutoring sessions. Silver Wing had had plenty of time to observe the other groups when he was panting on the clouds, and all the other teachers were just as, if not more demanding than Flight Formation. And their demands, in retrospect, seemed tailored to inspire determination in their students, not resentment towards the instructor. Even if pegasi didn't understand the underlying theory, the "boot camp" setup could have been discovered after many long centuries of trial and error as the best way to teach flight.

It had been that way with Flight Formation from the beginning, he realised. But for whatever reason – probably Twilight, now that he thought about it – Flight Formation wasn't as... overbearing as the other teachers. It was a strange and ironic thought, to admit how that gentleness might have been hindering his progress. Then again, Silver couldn't exactly see himself getting motivated by a shouting authority figure like all the other pegasus ponies – well, the male pegasus ponies. The females were encouraged in different ways. But anyway, Silver simply didn't respect authority enough to respect anything other than competent, reasoned instruction. And shouting was rarely reasonable.

If Flight had acted like the other instructors, Silver might have just decided that he would do better practicing on his own.

He certainly wouldn't have.

And if Flight could foresee all that, even instinctively, and was coaching accordingly, Flight was a better tutor than Silver had given the stallion credit for. Even if he was just doing laps with small variations.

But that mind-numbing tedium won't be an issue anymore. Well, hopefully. Silver hadn't actually put his newest theory to the test yet.

He was about to fix that.

Silver Wing looked at the empty air behind him.

Author's note: Ignore this author's note.

Xavier Renegade Angel Supercut: "T'weren't Tsugura who blew me off. T'was my new nemesis: the wind. Wind, you have fume-miliated me for the last time. Always putting on airs. Blow me. Win-d? More like lose-duh! I declarate war on thine!"

He stood alone, far away from prying eyes. He also stood beneath his cloak of invisibility, just to ensure privacy. When he wore it, it was almost as if the cloak wasn't there, just like it was almost as if he wasn't there, at least to outside observers. It hadn't interfered with his broomstick flight, so it shouldn't interfere with this.

Silver's eyes narrowed in determination. In actual determination.

He knew all too well how impossible it was to trick your brain into thinking something, into believing apples are the colour purple by an act of will. So rather than trying to trick his brain into being determined...

All those unicorns, he thought. All that guesswork. All those assumptions and falsehoods and self-flattering theories.

He was, in fact, genuinely determined about this.

I will NOT be like them.

He put himself into the starting position for a buck, aimed slightly down.

Today, I test this theory for all the pegasi and earth ponies and thestrals of the world. I make this buck not for myself, but for the pursuit of true knowledge. I will NOT be like the 'scientists' who refuse to test their theories against reality, or refuse to accept reality's answers if they do.

He glanced behind himself one last time.

Air. I don't know if you will yield to the magic of a determined pegasus. If nothing happens, if you are not affected, then that's the way you are and I will accept it. But if you DO yield to pegasus magic, I will be the one to MAKE you yield! Take THIS!

A sound like a thundercrack filled the air. A gust like one might encounter in a thunderstorm filled half of the clearing. A pegasus launched himself high into the sky.

Mistakes can come in many forms, in the pursuit of science.

An extremely common mistake is overconfidence in one's own theories. Reality rejecting your brain's ideas isn't a pleasant experience, especially when it refutes the ones that feel true. If it happens too much, it often leads to different negative mindsets, depending on the experimenter. Depressing disappointment. Stifling defeatism. Arrogant ignorance (where a scientist ignores their test results). Some combination of the three.

On the other end of the spectrum, an extremely uncommon mistake is underconfidence in a theory.

Silver, despite all his theorising, hadn't actually expected determination to have that much of an impact. He had expected to feel, at most, as much return force from his buck as he'd felt when he bucked that first cloud under Flight Formation's instructions. He hadn't expected determination to do anything more than that. Surely, if determination mattered that much, somepony would have noticed by now.

It was only as he sailed through the air at near-supersonic speeds that he realised maybe all pegasi had noticed. Maybe it was so blatantly obvious to them that they'd never thought to write it down or explain it to an eleven-year-old colt who should have known since the moment he was born.

Or maybe, Silver thought after he'd slowed himself down with the broomstick enchantments and slowed his racing heart. Maybe they simply think that determination makes a pegasus train harder, and that a better-trained pony would naturally be a better flier. They might think determination is tangentially related to performance, just like it's tangentially related to literally ANY skill. Hard work leads to practice leads to improvement leads to ability leads to success. That could be how a typical pegasus thinks about determination as it relates to flying.

But when magic is involved, especially magical creatures, especially sapient magical creatures, especially sapient magical creatures whose states of mind affect their magic, you can't ever rule out the possibility that emotions directly produce magical outcomes.

"Somepony sure is happy," Twilight said when she saw Silver enter the library. "Did you have a good lesson with Mr. Book?"

"The lesson with Professor Book was fine," said the grinning colt. "It's what came after that."

"Did he reward your performance?"

"No, it didn't have anything to do with Professor Book. I figured it out myself."

"Figured what out?"

Silver grinned. "Magic."

And he raced up the stairs to his room.

It took Twilight two whole seconds to realize that Silver hadn't answered her question at all.

Two seconds later, Silver's head peeked out from the top of the stairs. "Erm... sorry for not noticing sooner, but... why is your horn all... floppy?"

"Non-unicorns can brew potions?" Silver asked after a long, grueling day of resisting the urge to interrupt a potential friendship lesson with a scathing anecdote about discrimination based on appearances and rumors.

Twilight, though weary, responded to his question with a look of genuine consideration. "I suppose they can," she said after a pause.

"Can I brew potions?" he asked pleadingly.

This would be the perfect excuse to practice magic openly, in front of Twilight, without any secrecy or tricks. If he could convince her to let him.

"I don't know, Silver." She sounded apprehensive. That wasn't good. "Most unicorns levitate the ingredients into the cauldron, and they levitate the knife that chops the ingredients, and they levitate the pestle that crushes them, and-"

"But Zecora didn't need to levitate anything," Silver pointed out.

"I... guess she didn't..." said Twilight, no less apprehensively than before. "But still, potions can be very dangerous."

"I don't mind if we stick to easy, safe potions," Silver said instantly. It's not like he'd be able to do the more difficult ones anyway, what with his ambidexterity training. "Please, Twilight? If I can do it, that means pegasi and earth ponies everywhere can learn. This could open up a whole branch of magic to the entire country. It's for the sake of-" children's learning wouldn't work here "-youth education, the best of all possible causes. PLEASE?"

That last line had worked even with the extremely strict Professor McGonagall. With any luck...

"Alright, Silver," Twilight reluctantly relented. "But only if you promise you'll never brew a potion alone. I have to be there to make sure you're safe. Okay?"

"I promise," Silver solemnly sweared, "never to brew potions unless a competent potioneer is watching." Then, realising he needed to not bind himself to the end of time, "Until you decide I've developed enough skill and caution to brew on my own."

Chapter 13: Faith in Others

Rule 2: Don't brag.

Silver had to remind himself of that rule many times the next morning, when Coach Formation was astounded by his sudden ability to, you know, fly. Not hop along the track and occasionally flap his wings. Not flap for a few laps and collapse afterwards. Normal, effortless flying, as if he'd been doing it all his life and never had any trouble at all.

He could now do laps. Mission accomplished.

Rule 2: Don't brag.

Silver had to remind himself of that rule every time Coach Formation asked about his improvement. Silver also had to remind himself of that rule every time he passed one of his old jeerers. Some had a change of attitude when they saw him flying, congratulating him and questioning him on why he'd been having trouble. Others didn't, pointing out in mocking tones that he finally stopped being a flightless pegasus. The difference between friendly ponies and mean-spirited ponies seemed to be cartoonishly black and white. But regardless of who was asking or why, his answer to the many variations on the "How'd you do it?" question was the same to everypony: "Hard work and determination."

Mr. Book had once told him to compose his hints at leisure, not in the midst of conversation. He'd composed that one yesterday, when he envisioned in advance the questions he'd probably be asked today.

Rule 2: Don't brag.

Silver had to remind himself of that rule every time he thought about how easy this knowledge was to implement. How easily it could probably be taught.

Rule 2: Don't brag.

He had to remind himself of that rule even as he discovered, in real time, that if he took a determined mindset to push the air with his wings (improving lift and thrust) and combined it with a liberating mindset to be free of the air's resistance (reducing drag and possibly weight), he could fly faster than other ponies his age. Still couldn't do any maneuvers though, and he quickly fell out of the track's guidelines whenever he tried it, so he shelved that technique for later.

Rule 2: Don't brag.

He had to remind himself of that rule every time he was tempted to air-buck. He would keep that particular gem a secret until he thought of a reveal that would best promote the common endeavour.

Rule 2: Don't brag.

He especially had to remind himself of that rule whenever he thought of how much the pony condition – or at least the pegasus condition – could be advanced by these two discoveries. He was currently a colt after all, and it would probably damage the theory's credibility to hear it was discovered by an eleven-year-old. Worse, there are plenty of unicorn scholars who don't have ears for theories proposed by other races, especially if those theories conflict with established unicorn wisdom.

He'd read a few books recommended by Mr. Book which hammered this point home.

Rule 2: Don't brag.

Silver had to remind himself of that rule many times this morning.

On the plus side, one of his former tormentors (though that term is a bit of an exaggeration) asked Silver if he was going to join the Best Young Flyer's Competition now that he was so fast, which gave him (1) something to look up in independent study, and (2) an idea.

"He what?" Twilight uttered into the telephone.

"He can fly now," summarized the superintendent of Silver's school. "It's almost like I'm teaching a new student. Well, not personality-wise, but definitely when it comes to ability. Do you know what changed over the weekened, Ms. Sparkle?"

"No..." Twilight tried to think back, beyond the friendship lesson that took priority in her memory. "Nothing seemed all that different. I guess he did see his mentor, but..."

Her eyes widened when she remembered.

"Wait a minute! When he got home yesterday, he said he 'figured magic out on his own'."

"Did he elaborate?"

"No, he didn't explain what that meant."

"Well whatever he did, it's working," said the superintendent. "I think I can end the private lessons much sooner than I thought I'd have to. He breezed through half of the first-grade curriculum just this morning, and he was already doing well in weather class. At the rate he's going, Silver should be caught up with his classmates in no time."

"How soon?"

"It's too early to tell. At his current pace, maybe two months? Actually, he doesn't have any muscle memory for any flying maneuvers, and advanced maneuvers build on simple ones, so it might be longer. Still, this is a very good sign. With the way things were going, I thought it would take at least a year to get to this point. I'm extremely surprised it didn't."

"So am I..." said Twilight, eyes distant. A recent memory tugged at her mind.

Look after him, but do not coddle him, and you will be surprised by what he can do.

That's what Mystery Book had said.

She hardly noticed the superintendent say some pleasantry and end the call.

"Silver."

Silver sighed. Was this going to be a regular thing? Him getting back to the library, Twilight immediately saying his name, and him responding with...

"Yes, Twilight?"

"I got a call from superintendent Flight Formation. You... um, impressed him."

"I know," said Silver distractedly. "Twilight, do we have any books on the Best Young Flyer's Competition?"

Her inner-librarian seemed to kick in automatically. "Yes, they're- no. Silver, you aren't going to distract me." Darn. "Flight said you went from barely getting off the ground to flying like you've been doing it all your life."

Silver looked Twilight in the eyes. "And?"

"And I'd like to know how you did that in a single weekend."

"Why?"

"Flight Formation informed me about your magic problem."

"What about it?"

"I want to know how you fixed it."

"Why? Coach Formation didn't ask."

"He might not care, but I do. Magic is my special talent, Silver. I have to know."

Silver looked at her for a long moment.

Twilight couldn't have described it using words, but being under his gaze, in that moment, felt like... like she was being evaluated by Princess Celestia. And not in a good way. It felt like those times Princess Celestia thought Twilight still had a long way to go.

Finally, Silver spoke. "If what I learned contradicts existing theory, do you still want to know it?"

Twilight felt her eyebrows furrow. "Huh? It contradicts existing theory? Are you sure?"

"Yes," Silver said with complete confidence.

"Um... how?"

Silver took a deep breath. "In order to overcome my magic problem, which wasn't explained in any of the books I read, I had to make a few original discoveries. Some of them go against the current scientific consensus... not that it was very scientific in the first place," he grumbled. "It's not like the unicorn 'scientists'-" she could practically hear the quotation marks "-ran any experiments to prove their theories."

Twilight felt her eyebrows furrow further. "Silver, I don't understand. Are you saying that unicorn scientists are wrong about magic?"

"About unicorn magic? No. About pegasus magic? Absolutely."

"But... but that's..." Twilight couldn't seem to find the words that would logically refute the claim. All she could say was, "That can't be right."

"Why not?"

Again, Twilight couldn't find words.

"You've already seen the proof of my improvement," Silver continued. "I'm saying outright that I improved when I figured out where they went wrong."

"Are you sure that's it?" Twilight automatically asked. "Maybe you just missed a book, or a chapter." It had happened to her more than once, when she got overeager and skipped a sentence or two to get to the important parts. "Or maybe one of the author's had a writing style that was easy to misinterpret-"

"Twilight," Silver interrupted. "I get it. If you don't want to hear how I did it, that's fine."

And Silver began walking in the direction of the staircase.

"What?" Twilight asked, suddenly shocked. "No!" She dashed in front of him. "No, I do want to hear!"

"No, you don't," said Silver, stopping to look up at her, even though it was like he was looking down. "You're already making excuses, and you haven't even heard my explanation yet. You're leaping to the defense of the scientists that your mind has deemed authority figures, trying to cram their words down my throat, which means you're already not listening. I'm not letting this conversation go any further until you acknowledge the possibility that they could be wrong. Otherwise, end of discussion."

"Okay," said Twilight. "I can admit that it's possible."

"No, Twilight. I need you to truly acknowledge it. Admit to yourself that if you can get things wrong sometimes, so can other researchers. Remind yourself of the time nopony believed you, even when you were right about Nightmare Moon. Until you do that much, it would be worse than pointless to tell you my findings, just like it probably felt pointless when you were telling the townsponies about Nightmare Moon."

There was a long pause.

"I... I guess that's..." And then the magical discovery was shoved aside, a friendship lesson aggressively taking its place. "Wait, are you saying you don't think I'll believe you?"

"More or less," Silver shrugged.

Twilight didn't expect that answer to hit her so hard. Part of being a good guardian... no, a good friend, was that you believed in them- no, not just that you believed in them, but that you believed them when it counted. You trusted them.

Silver and Mr. Book had done it for her. They took her seriously, even though they were skeptical.

It was only right that she be there for Silver. Especially now. She could tell this really mattered to him, even if he sounded just as jaded as he usually did. And she wanted to fix that.

In the heat of the moment, she was already on the defensive, but at least she managed to focus on the important thing. "Why don't you think I'll believe you?"

"Because I know how you feel about books, Twilight, and how you feel about ponies who disagree with the books. Look, I'll put it this way. If I could've found the solution in a book, Coach Formation would have taught it to me day one and I never would have had trouble in the first place. But he didn't, because there aren't any books like that. Unicorns are the only ones who write research books, and unicorns aren't as diligent about magic that isn't their own, so none of them did any scientifically rigorous studies on pegasus magic. A few wrote down untested theories to explain their observations, then all the other unicorns accepted those theories because they sounded all sensible and scientific, using words like lift and drag and thrust and what not. And that was that. No experiments. Nopony trying to disprove their theories. No peer review. No rigorous testing with a control group... or any testing at all. None of the authors even thought to consult an actual pegasus. It was just a bunch of professors churning out publications and calling it a day."

"Silver, that can't be right!" Twilight said a bit more firmly. "Nopony would be that irresponsible. Especially not professors!"

Silver seemed to consider her for a moment, then said, "Alright, I'll play along. But first, I want us to play a game. It's called the 'two, four, six,' test...

Twilight was rather embarrassed at the result of the test, and further embarrassed by Silver's explanation afterward.

"What you just discovered," Silver concluded, "is a very common mistake. Eighty percent of adults fail that test, including scientists, because of something called positive bias, where you look for evidence to confirm your beliefs, rather than falsify them."

"Don't you mean confirmation bias?"

"No, that's slightly different. Confirmation bias is when you choose information sources that agree with your current opinions. It usually comes into play with politics. Positive bias comes into play with problem solving and the scientific method. It describes the kind of scientists who try to confirm what they believe, instead of doing what science actually requires of them. If you don't try to disprove your own theories, you'll never come up with realistic, rigorous answers on your own. Like the difference between a student who’s so confident in his answers that he turns in his paper as soon as he's done, and a student who doubts his work so he triple-checks EVERYTHING. Which is the better student?"

Twilight's eyebrows were furrowed again. "I... see what you mean. But what does that have to do with unicorn theories on pegasus magic?"

(Silver felt like he was going in circles at this point, but he soldiered on.)

"It has to do with how those professors reached their conclusions. My knowledge didn't come from one of their books. In fact, I had to dismiss a few of their theories as mostly false before my mind began searching for the actual answer."

"Silver, that can't be right," she repeated. "There have to be good books on the subject. I've read good books on pegasus magic."

Silver shook his head. "They weren't good. Or at the very least, they weren't helpful. That's what I'm trying to say. If you don't believe me, I can prove it Socratically."

Socratiwhat?

"You say you've read good books on pegasus magic. What did those books say about weather manipulation?" Silver asked in a mild, neutral, and slightly inquisitive voice.

"Pegasi manipulate weather with the magic in their hooves," Twilight answered at once. "That magic lets them direct lightning, release rain, and stand atop clouds. It's influenced by emotion, and it takes skill and practice to improve."

Silver nodded. "What about the magic in the other parts of their bodies?"

"The magic in their eyes lets them see great distances and not get distracted by wind or water. The magic in their wings generates lift and thrust. The magic in their skin and fur reduces weight and drag, respectively."

"Yup," said Silver. "That's what the books say alright. So, Twilight Sparkle, Element of Magic, if its just hoof magic that lets a pegasus manipulate weather, why is it that Rainbow Dash can use her entire body, not just her hooves, to sleep on clouds all day?"

"She-" Twilight began, and then, just like when Silver revealed the answer to the two-four-six test (any three real numbers), her thoughts came grinding to a halt.

How... did Rainbow Dash do that?

When she failed to come up with an answer, Silver shook his head sadly.

"What's going on here is even worse than positive bias. At least with positive bias, scientists are still testing their beliefs, even if the tests aren't that good. In this case, it's... I don't even know if there's an official name for the problem. Assuming? Speculation? Theorising without testing? Heads-up-their-own-behinds syndrome? Whatever's going on, I know the university unicorns don't spend nearly enough time testing their ideas against the real world."

This statement didn't help Twilight's scrambled thoughts. Mystery Book had told her that Silver would appreciate a unicorn friend who didn't put the other races down, but it was hard to be that pony for Silver when he kept putting unicorns down. The only thing she could think to say was, "Silver, could you please stop speaking that way? I'm a unicorn, you know."

"I didn't say all unicorns have the problem," said Silver. "Only university unicorns."

"I'm a university unicorn, too!" Twilight exclaimed, exasperated. "Well, I mean, I didn't go to Canterlot U., Celestia gave me private lessons, but I know plenty of unicorns that did go there, and they're not like that at all!"

"I'm also not blaming the students," Silver said with a shaking head. "They can't help what they're taught. It's the ponies that are in charge of research, or who decide what subjects and conclusions make for acceptable theses... or who decide what ponies can get admitted in the first place. They're the ones in charge, and therefore they're the worst offenders. For example, do you know when the last time a non-unicorn was accepted to Canterlot University?"

"Swift Flight the Swift Thinker made it in three centuries ago," said Twilight at once, naming the pegasus who had pioneered many modern weather practices.

"She's the exception that proves the rule," Silver said. "Three centuries and only a single non-unicorn? Really?"

Twilight's cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

"Unicorns remember her because she's the only non-unicorn who made it in," Silver continued. "And she wasn't even much of a scholar, more of an engineer. She didn't tread on any established theories. She didn't get outstanding grades. She simply did things with clouds that nopony had ever seen before. For the most part, she let her professors figure out how she was doing it, with a few personal contributions to the theory here and there. Other than that, her grades were above average, but she didn't rock the boat. In every subject except pegasus magic, she answered test questions and interacted with professors in ways that didn't step on anypony's hooves. Weather manipulation was the one place where her professors allowed her to contribute in any meaningful way, and even then they domineered the theory, forcing their own ideas into accepted literature while hers were largely ignored."

"How do you know all this?"

Silver shrugged. "I read her memoir."

...as recommended reading from Mr. Book. It had, apparently, been difficult to locate in the archives of the Canterlot Public Library. He'd thanked Mr. Book, telling him it had been well worth the effort, and Mr. Book told Silver not to say things he already knew.

"Anyway," Silver continued, "the point is that I'm not Swift Flight, Twilight. I have a theory that will rock the boat, that will step on ponies' hooves. Two theories, actually. Two proven theories. I've already tested and confirmed them. And now that I have, there are two paths I can take from here. Option one: I can keep them to myself, use them for my own personal benefit, and avoid the annoyances of trying to prove them to an unreceptive audience."

"That's a bad option," said Twilight, and Silver knew she was thinking the words 'selfish' to herself.

"It's better than option number two."

"What's number two?"

"I can bang my head against the brick wall known as Canterlot University, give myself a concussion because they'd never listen to a colt, wait a few years, then keep banging my head against the wall when I grow up because they'd never listen to a pegasus. Ultimately, I'd give myself so much brain damage that I forget why I'm even bothering in the first place. You tell me which one sounds more appealing."

"Silver, I'm sure it won't be that bad!" Twilight said. "Ponies will listen to the truth!"

"Just like they listened to you about Nightmare Moon?"

Twilight froze.

"Twilight, you have too much faith that others think like we do," Silver said seriously. "Most ponies don't, and it's simply something you have to learn how to deal with. Some ponies can be taught with the right lessons. If you get to them early enough." (Like the Chaos Legion soldiers.) "But most will never learn. And that's alright. Not everypony has to be able to think critically. But you've got to be able to acknowledge that many ponies prefer to avoid thinking when they don't have to."

"But it's their job to think!" Twilight protested. "The university professors, I mean."

"No, it's their job to lecture and write publications. In order to get to that point, they had to memorize test answers when they were students. At no point along their career paths was actual thinking necessary."

Twilight had no words.

"Look, I've already got a plan for how to get other pegasi to accept the more important theory. If you really want to help the universal pursuit of truth, help me make sure that plan doesn't go wrong. And if you want to try to convince the unicorns at Canterlot U. after that... I'll tell you the theory when the plan is over, then let you bang your head against that wall."

There as a very long pause.

Again, Twilight remembered something Mystery Book said. If you wish to help, you could ease the annoyances that lie between him and his goals.

"You promise you'll tell me the theory if I help with your plan?"

"Yes," Silver said at once.

"Pinkie promise?"

"'Pinky' promise?" Silver echoed. He looked at his hoof. "Ponies don't have pinkies. Is there a spell that temporarily gives us hands or something?"

"No, it's-" Twilight began to say, then shook her head. "Never mind. I'll tell you later." She locked gazes with her young ward. "Do you mean your promise?"

Silver equably returned it. "I swear," he said solemnly, "to tell Twilight Sparkle my underlying theories on pegasus magic if she helps me succeed."

Twilight nodded. "Okay, Silver. I'll help. What's your plan?"

Silver grinned. "You know, you should have asked that before promising to help. That's the sort of thing that can trip up a good pony- making an advanced commitment before knowing what you're agreeing to, and then you're forced to either break your promise, or do something bad." Before Twilight could respond, Silver said, "Don't worry, I don't think you'll think my plan is evil or wrong. It's just something to think about for future reference."

"Silver..." Twilight said, hoof on her forehead. "Your plan?"

"Oh, right. Could you help me research the Best Young Flyer's Competition?"

Chapter 14: The Fosbury Conspiracy

The Best Young Flyer's Competition is a small segment of a larger event known simply as "Flight Week".

Flight Week is Cloudsdale's biggest annual attraction.

It's hosted in a massive colosseum made from material which could seat unicorn and earth ponies (unlike most other cloud structures). Pegasi attendees, who have better vision, are typically seated above the stadium itself, in more distant clouds. It lasts, as the name suggests, a whole week. The first day is the opening ceremony and various qualifying rounds. The second day is the teen's event, the Best "Young" Flyer's Competition, for ages 13-19. The third and fourth days are for the adults, called simply the "Best" Flyer's Competition. The fifth day's events accept pegasi aged 6-12. That's where Silver would compete, with the other colts and fillies. The sixth and final day is a Wonderbolts show and the awards ceremony.

Cloudsdale High/Elementary closes for the duration, to make scheduling easier for everypony.

It begins in twenty days, giving Silver plenty of time to prepare and practice his performance.

"I think I want to enter the race," Silver said after reading through the two options.

"Why not the flight showcase?" Twilight asked. "Wouldn't that be better for demonstration?"

"Probably under normal circumstances, but..." he pointed to the 'Astound the crowd with your best aerial display!' line. "Trying to wow the judges with what I can do when I can't do basic maneuvers..." Silver shook his head. "I can't imagine I'd get a good grade."

Like a competitive swimmer being told they should sign up for a diving contest when they've never practiced jumping off of a diving board, except recreationally. Not a good idea.

"But if it's just a matter of getting from point A to point B as quickly as possible..." Silver grinned. "That'll be my place to shine."

"It isn't just from point A to point B," Twilight corrected. "It's from point A to B to C to D to E to F to G to H to I to J and back to A again. You have to make it to all the checkpoints, and each checkpoint is a sharp turn."

"Even better."

"But sharp turns are a kind of maneuver, aren't they?"

Silver, still grinning, said, "Yes, but they're the one kind of maneuver I should be able to handle. I'll show you what I mean tomorrow."

"Why not today?"

"There's one other pony I want to rope into our conspiracy. Since I'll be demonstrating it to him anyway, I figure it'd be best to do it all at once so I don't have to repeat myself. On that note, could you write and sign a letter for me?"

"Remind me to never let a student convince me that field trip in the middle of a school day to the middle of nowhere is a good idea. Even if you have signed permission."

"Not to the middle of nowhere," Silver said to his coach. He pointed to the patch of clouds set aside by the Ponyville weather team, as per Twilight Sparkle's (i.e. Silver's) request. "See? There's Twilight over there."

Coach Formation pulled ahead, landing a few seconds before Silver and asking something he didn't catch in that brief interval.

Twilight shook her head.

"So," said Silver.

"So," said Coach, "now will you finally tell us what happened?"

"I'll tell you what I can. What do you want to know?"

"How'd you improve so quickly?"

"The how is easy enough," shrugged Silver. "I'm a scientist."

Coach nodded. "I know. I remember you breezed through the science exam. But how does that translate to flying?"

"I formulated a hypothesis, falsified it, formulated another one based on how the first one failed, falsified that one, then rinsed and repeated 'till something finally worked."

"Uh...huh..." said Coach Formation. "I still don't understand what that has to do with flying."

"Flying is a part of reality," said Silver. "And science has everything to do with figuring out reality. When you don't know how something works, the experimental method is the most reliable way to figure it out. And we didn't know how flying works."

"But we do know how flying works."

"Really? That's a relief. So you already know what I was doing wrong for the last few weeks, and I don't need to explain anything, right?"

"Um..."

"Right. Anyway, I'm about to demonstrate two things I learned along the way, but I need you to promise to keep them a secret for a month. After that, you can tell anypony you want. Deal?"

Coach Formation glanced at Twilight Sparkle.

"I already promised the same thing," she sighed.

"Okay, sure. I promise."

"Can you repeat the whole promise out loud? It would be more reassuring."

"Okay... um... I promise that I'll keep whatever you show me a secret for a month."

Silver let out a breath he'd been holding. "Alright."

He fell through the clouds, to the initial panic of Twilight and Coach Formation, but he quickly circled back up to show it had been intentional.

"You are now official members of the Fosbury Conspiracy," he declared. "Membership ends in one month. That was thing one, by the way." Without pause, he wound up a buck. "Ready for thing two?" Then he unwound. "Actually, could we have a race? I think you'll understand better that way..."

Coach probably expected a teaching race when he agreed, where he pushes his pupil to fly faster and points out any mistakes made along the way. He had probably not been expecting to have to work to win.

"What," Coach Formation panted, "was that?"

"Magic."

Of course, Silver didn't just leave it at that like the last time. He did explain how it was pegasus magic specifically, though he still didn't explain the theory. He only explained his goal.

Once Coach Formation understood that goal, he became the textbook definition of a great personal trainer. He was 110% behind Silver's idea, and he was going to make sure it succeeded the best way he knew how.

Practice, practice, practice.

After school later that day, he set up a private course far away from potential prying eyes. He said that Silver would train until he could fly it with confidence and competence, not just speed. He said that Silver could probably beat his fellow eleven-and-twelve-year-olds without any practice at all, but if he wants to wow the audience, he needs to look like he knows what he's doing.

Silver had to agree that his very first attempt at the course was very sloppy and probably didn't look good at all, even if he technically completed the track in less time than a pony his age should be able to. So, he needs to look like he knows what he's doing? Silver asked how, exactly, he was meant to focus on "looks" in a race.

Coach Formation answered that he shouldn't focus on "looks", he should focus on the race. On optimizing his performance as much as possible. On removing as many unnecessary movements as he could manage. On cutting corners as closely as he could. On practicing until he knew what to do by heart. The "looks" would follow naturally. Ponies, and especially pegasi, can see competence. That's why Silver would be practicing until he looked like knew what he was doing, because by that point he should know what he's doing.

On day two, Silver remarked that he hated doing the same thing over and over again. He especially hated failing at the same thing over and over again.

Coach Formation had finally listened to his pupil, composing a few other courses – some advanced, some simple – that Silver could try for variety, even though he wouldn't be flying them in the competition. Every single one of those courses had at least one sharp turn, and every single time, Silver would focus on the turnabout, because that's where he was struggling.

Coach Formation also had him fly the courses normally. Silver would have to pass qualification, and if he didn't want to give away the grand finale, he'd have to fly those rounds without air-bucking. This was the much harder task, but the freedom/determination discoveries made it possible to get a good time in time.

The three weeks flew by as swiftly as Silver flew through the tracks.

Slowly at first, before he knew what to do.

Then faster when he finally figured it out.

Then faster still with each improved iteration.

"And now," Celestia announced to the audience. "The moment you've all been waiting for: The Flight of the Colts and Fillies!"

A great cheer went up from the crowd, especially from the pegasus parents. It was the fifth day of Flight Week, after all other Competitions had concluded.

It was one of the most anticipated parts of the week, according to Twilight – when future talent shows what they're made of. (i.e. When the adults can prove themselves in a different way, by proving their child is the best.) And what better way to do that than a race? Well, three races, actually. The six, seven, and eight-year-olds would compete against each other, followed by the nine-and-ten-year-olds, with the eleven-and-twelve-year-olds bringing up the rear. Lumping everypony into a single race wouldn't have been fair to the youngest ponies. This meant there would be three race winners from this part of the event, just as there'd been three performance winners, for a total of six first-place winners.

They'd done this for the older age groups as well, meaning there'd already been twelve first place winners and thirty-six placers overall. They'd also gone from the youngest to the oldest age brackets at each other event, and it didn't seem like that was about to change.

In short: Silver's race would be the final event of the whole series, excluding the Wonderbolt Show / Closing Ceremony tomorrow.

Silver had mixed feelings about the fact that his heat was literally last. It was good for the rest of Cloudsdale that he wouldn't be messing up the other events, and it was good for his own ambitions that he'd be showcasing the technique at the climax of the competition. It had certainly been good for Rainbow Dash when she demonstrated her 'Sonic Rainboom' at the peak of the Best Young Flyer's Aerial Showcase three days ago.

But it sure wasn't good for his nerves. Despite the fact that he'd trained himself to not get nervous and not have stage fright, when all your planning and preparation comes down to a single moment, when your plot finally reaches its peak, it's hard not to let the excitement get to you. At least a little.

He decided to distract his mind by watching the younger age groups fly the course.

From above, it looked like a picture of a five-pointed star. Fairly straightforward, in other words. Also, it'd be easy for spectators to follow, elevated above the track as they were. It matched Coach Formation's primary practice course exactly, except that the distances between the checkpoints weren't as wide.

This was not how races were done at higher levels, according to Coach Flight. It was set up this way so that the ponies leaving each checkpoint wouldn't be flying into the paths of the ponies who'd yet to arrive, which is helpful for beginners.

The races of higher age groups introduced 3-d maneuvering. They required sharp turning angles, steep dives, and high climbs. They did not make recognisable shapes when looked at from above. But for the younger age groups, it was simple. And when the nine-and-ten-year-olds were up, the distances were lengthened, so it likely would exactly match memory by the time his own race came around.

"You ready?" asked Coach Formation when the final heat before his came to a close.

"Hold on." The checkpoints were widened one last time, and Silver breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes."

He knew the track inside and out, which helped calm his nerves even as his group was called.

"Flyers, to the starting line."

Thirty eleven-or-twelve-year-olds stepped up to the wide tape marking the beginning and end of the race, including one gryphon.

"Hey, look," Silver heard to his left. "It's the flightless wonder."

At a glance, it seemed to be one of the ponies that had seen him his very first day of school, during his placement tests, but none of the days since. Not even during the qualifying rounds.

"Guess we'll be racing twenty-eight other flyers," he heard to his right, "not twenty-nine."

Silver barely managed to resist the urge to roll his eyes. A single, dismissive thought entered his mind.

How cliché.

Then, on second thought, he realised that in this particular case, he could actually use the cliché to his advantage. He did need to enter the proper state of mind, after all, and help was always appreciated. For his own way of getting determined, it was nice to have someone specific he was determined to prove wrong.

"Yup," said Silver. "You will be racing against twenty-eight flyers."

The colt on his right snorted-

"Flyers to your marks," said the referee, belaying further banter.

Silver narrowed his eyes. He had been planning to say the next part out loud, but thinking it would work almost as well. He walked up to his mark.

"Get ready..."

You won't be racing against me, Silver mentally continued.

"Get set..."

Because there'll be nothing to race against.

"Go!"

I don't race.

The others kicked off, wings beating rapidly.

"Um... fella, I said go," repeated the ref.

Silver wound up his legs for a buck.

I win.

And the sound of a thundercrack filled the stadium.

Alternatively:

One of the many Chaos Legion mottos thundered through his mind.

"Flyers get ready."

I'll show him.

"Get set..."

I'll show them all!

"Go!"

He laughed evilly and exhilarantly as he shot forward like an iron ball from a canon.

Silver had not chosen the name of his now-obsolete conspiracy at random.

Dick Fosbury was the Olympic Gold Medalist in the high jump category of the 1968 Summer Olympics.

His victory was extremely unusual as far as gold medalists go. He didn't win through the usual route – having a good helping of genetic luck followed by an extremely dedicated training regime to become the best.

Dick Fosbury was a civil engineering student. He examined the mechanics of the human body, thought about how they might relate to the high jump, then invented and implemented the 'Fosbury Flop', where he went back-first over the bar instead of straddling it. Nobody had seen this technique before. Nobody else knew how to use it except Dick Fosbury during the 1968 Olympics. During the 1972 Olympics, everybody was using it.

Dick Fosbury beat his competition through technique, not raw jumping power. Through brain, not brawn. Though to be perfectly fair, he did have to build up a respectable amount of brawn to become internationally competitive, at least according Silver's father, who had taught him the anecdote as a lesson on lateral thinking.

It was Dick Fosbury's first, and last, appearance as an Olympic athlete. He won gold on his first, and last, attempt, forever changing how top athletes approached the high jump along the way.

Silver had not told this story to the other two members of the Fosbury Conspiracy for obvious reasons. He wanted to, because the story underpins the entirety of his enterprise. He used it as an outline after he adopted an ambition much greater than merely winning first place: he sought to introduce new flight techniques to the pegasi of Equestria in one grand debut.

Just like Olympic high jumpers use the Fosbury Flop to this day, he wanted to ensure that pegasi at the highest levels of flying understand their own magic. If they want to stay competitive, that is.

Even if air-bucking isn't adopted, even if it's banned from competition, this ambition should be achievable, because of the nature of what he'd discovered.

The more he could maintain a mindset of freedom, the more deeply he could feel it, the faster he could go. Or rather, the less he would be slowed down. He also felt lighter as he felt freer. Reduced drag. Reduced weight. Pegasus magic does actually do that, and it probably is channeled through fur/skin. The unicorn theorists weren't wrong. They just didn't have any idea how it's done.

For everypegasus else, the how is simple: instinct. They do what they've done all their lives, since the moment they were born.

For Silver, who lacked instinct, the how is also simple: science. That is, use science to understand, use understanding to improve, use improvement to build habits, build habits until "instinct" is acquired. A roundabout way of achieving the same end result, plus a few extra benefits along the way, like cloud-phasing.

Free flying alone would've won the competition for him if he were a better flyer. It had certainly been enough to pass qualification without betraying his ability to air-buck. But the problem is that it's not a visible gamechanger. It's too subtle to be seen without cloud-phasing, something he wouldn't be able to dramatically reveal until after the fact.

Therefore, he would first introduce- scratch that, he has just now introduced- the second technique he discovered.

With a full wind-up, a buck to the air can grant a great deal of thrust. Like pushing off the wall of a swimming pool to propel yourself forward through the water. If the checkpoints had been more spaced out, Silver would have demonstrated that he could perform another buck mid-air without breaking his glide to generate more thrust, though not as much as the initial kickoff had produced. It would be like if a swimmer could maintain the aerodynamic – or perhaps hydrodynamic would say it better – dive/pencil position for their entire swimming session, only ever leaving the form to coil up and push off a wall that manifested at their feet whenever they wanted it to be there. But the distance between checkpoints doesn't necessitate that meta-ability, so he'd save it for another time.

Bucking the air can also – as Silver showed to his surprised competitors at the first checkpoint – instantly redirect momentum down a different direction.

That is, perhaps, its true benefit as far as races are concerned. Pivots eat up the most time in any race no matter how you handle them. Even his own method took a whole second. In a race, even one second really matters.

Everypony else was either doing a wide-angle turn (no lost momentum but more flying distance, his own preferred method in qualification) or a sharp turn (decreased distance but increased effort, where you slow down and speed up again, pumping your wings all the while).

Unlike in qualification, when he reached the flag this time he simply beat the air with another buck and instantly accelerated himself to near-top speed once more. This meant he could do the slow-down-and-speed-up strategy far faster than the other corner-cutters could, and he could do it without exhausting himself three checkpoints into the race, like he would have if he'd used his wings. He is a pony, after all. His leg muscles are still the part of his body best suited for heavy-duty horsepower. Literally. (Well, ponypower, if you want to be extremely literal, but Silver wasn't about to let himself even think a word like that.)

In fact, pure power had been his primary problem during private practice. His initial buck was too powerful. It gave him too much momentum, and unlike his peers he wasn't a skilled enough flyer to slow down with minimal effort and clever wing maneuvers. He had to find a different way.

Trying weaker bucks hadn't worked; if he slowed down to the point that he could easily handle the corners, he lost his advantage and he risked going so slow that he touched the 'ground' when he reached the checkpoint, which would have been an instant disqualification.

So his mind had suggested a certain creative solution in response to the problem of too much momentum.

And no, that solution was not the Arresto Momentum spell.

(Well, his mind had suggested that idea, but then immediately discarded it. He'd yet to learn any wandless magic except Emergo, and according to Mr. Book, learning any individual spell wandlessly at his current level would take a few months of dedicated practice/tutoring to that one specific spell, with more time required for more difficult/complex spells. Even if he could learn Arresto Momentum now, since it was a second year spell, it probably had some restriction like "you can't arrest your own momentum, just like you can't levitate yourself". He hadn't read the spell description back when he discovered it, having closed the book in disgust after reading the incantation, so he didn't know its constraints, but Murphy's Law suggested he'd encounter a problem like that, plus the solution was regardless unworkable in under a month.)

The first viable solution was... better, but not ideal. It was almost the same solution that increased the safety margins of his original air-buck test.

Silver's brain suggested that he ask Mr. Book for broomstick bones.

He could have done that.

He could have cheated.

In Mr. Book's words, cheating is technique – rather, losers will whine and complain and call it 'cheating' while winners will laugh and boast and call it 'technique'.

Silver had been sorely tempted by the easy out, but he didn't want to mar his debut with actual cheating. Legal unfair advantages are one thing, but illegal cheating is something else entirely. Like all those stories of athletes being caught with steroids in their bloodstreams, only worse. Worse because, if he was found out, there'd be many uncomfortable questions about an enchantment nopony had ever seen before.

So instead, he had to develop a third technique, on top of the others, to deal with the dangers of speed. And 'on top of the others' is meant literally, because it puts the first two discoveries together.

As he approached the second checkpoint, just like when he approached the first, he visualised the air in front of him as a big cloud of mist.

There is such a thing as mist here. He'd learned that as part of his weather class curriculum two weeks ago, entirely by chance. Coach Formation said it was taught whenever the opportunity arose, due to the rarity of the natural phenomenon. Then he instructed Silver to attempt to fly through the morning fog without phasing.

Silver had observed that it felt more like swimming than flying, as if he were moving through molasses. Wouldn't it be great, he had thought, if he could mimic the effect at each race checkpoint, which he had been failing to circumnavigate all week.

Boom. Instant inspiration.

As for the implementation...

As he approached the second red flagpole (the other competitors far behind him) he grew progressively more determined to stop. This caused the air to progressively slow his speed like a massive air cushion. It felt like a stray mist cloud would have felt if there had been one in his way. When his momentum was almost entirely eaten and he noticed himself falling into projectile motion, he became determined to go that way, bucked the air, and caught the wind under his wings in another glide. He'd practiced that particular set of movements more than anything else, not stopping until it became one seamless sequence.

Between each checkpoint, he enjoyed the freeing feeling of air beneath his wings. He hadn't flapped them yet, and he didn't plan to flap them until he crossed the starting line and turned it into the finish line. He still needed to flap a few times to land properly.

In about a tenth of the time that his age group normally took to complete this track, Silver flapped his wings.

"I heard you the first time," he said to the ref, who seemed too shocked to call the race's champion, or even respond at all.

Silver looked around the stadium, magically keen eyes gauging facial reactions. He had enough energy to do this calmly – the race had been exciting, but not tiring. Well, not physically. The constant mental gymnastics had taken an emotional toll, and his magic was aching, but his muscles weren't worn or weary at all. One of his discoveries' many benefits was that, when he used them in tandem, it took little effort to get lots of speed and distance. Like pushing a scooter on a straight street, or riding a bike downhill, or doing a perpetual downward dive.

The pegasi in the audience looked much like the ref. The fact that they were supposed to applaud the victor had been forgotten long ago. The non-pegasi in attendance looked confused... except for Twilight, who was cheering wildly, and her non-pegasi friends, who were cheering along even though they looked as confused as everypony else. Rainbow Dash was staring at him like all the other pegasi, and Fluttershy was... clapping shyly. Wait, they call it clopping, don't they? Whatever.

He moved on to the more important ponies.

The wealthy-looking ponies (i.e. the clothed ponies) looked as confused as everypony else. The Wonderbolts whose faces weren't obscured by their uniforms had a wide range of reactions, from surprised to disbelieving to skeptical to angry. That last one probably meant they thought he cheated, and/or that he'd just beaten one of their children.

Eventually, his eyes settled on one pony. Probably the only pony whose initial reaction actually mattered.

Princess Celestia.

She wore a thoughtful frown for the brief moment before she noticed him watching her.

Then she smiled warmly.

This was a good sign.

The final day of the Flight Week, which didn't even host any competitions, just a Wonderbolt show that reminded him too much of Quidditch, was actually rather boring.

Or it would have been boring under any other circumstance.

For Silver, it consisted of yet more magical scans to make sure he hadn't somehow cheated with unicorn magic. After so much rigorous scanning and questioning and probing, he was extremely glad that he hadn't used broomstick enchantments, and that he could honestly say he hadn't broken any rules.

Almost all of the other colt and filly racers had quite understandably called him a cheater as soon as they crossed the finish line. And not just them. Some rather upset parents had been sorely outspoken, along with many other ponies who had innate distastes for unfairness.

In retrospect, it didn't help matters that he replied to each and every accusation by repeating his mentor's proverb about cheating being technique.

His competition took offense that he admitted to 'cheating'. Some of the adults understood his point, but most didn't. Celestia herself eventually had to intervene. She tried to put all the arguments to rest by voicing that even she could not detect any forms of foul play.

Ponies had still been skeptical, voicing that maybe he'd found a way to avoid detection.

Silver had asked if there were any forms of magical truth-detection that might exist.

Celestia had begun to say "Not since-", then stopped with wide eyes, and then she called a certain pony from the stands to come forth, directing Applejack to ask him certain straightforward questions.

Silver, guessing that the Element of Honesty might be able to detect lies, answered truthfully.

He could honestly say that he hadn't used external devices. He hadn't used drugs or stimulants. He hadn't used any unicorn magic, or other foreign magics to give himself an advantage.

He had only used pegasus magic. He had practiced that magic under the watchful eye of Flight Formation – former Wonderbolt Captain – who vouched for him, and Element of Magic Twilight Sparkle, who also vouched for him. Silver had used an unfair advantage, but it was one that any pegasus could have used, if only they understood their own magic better, so in a way it was an entirely fair advantage.

He still hadn't explained how any pegasus could have done it, how they might understand their own magic better. He was saving that for when he would be given the spotlight at the awards ceremony. Sort of.

When he was given the spotlight at the awards ceremony, standing on a stage of cloud in front of a stand of trophies...

Nineteen days ago:

Dear Princess Celestia,

Do winners of Flight Week get to talk to the crowd at the award ceremony? If not, I think it would be a good idea to give the best flyers a chance to thank everypony who helped them get where they are, and maybe say a few words to inspire others so they can become good flyers too. And maybe you could also ask the younger flyers what they want to be when they grow up. I think that would be a good question that everypony would enjoy. But they don't have to say anything if they don't want to.

Your Faithful Student,
Twilight Sparkle

...Princess Celestia asked him, "Would you like to say a few words? I think everypony here would like to know your secret."

Yeah, right, thought Silver. Some of the many secrets he knew most ponies would never want to know flashed through his mind. Azkaban. Voldemort. Most of human history. But he quickly disregarded those thoughts in favor of his pre-prepared speech.

"Thirty days ago," Silver said in a voice amplified by Twilight's magic, "I couldn't fly a single mile without collapsing in exhaustion."

He now had the attention of the entire stadium.

"Twenty-six days ago, I could fly three miles without breaking a sweat. I could fly it normally, without air-bucking."

He paused for dramatic effect. Also, to let the name he'd coined seep into the general vernacular.

"This wasn't because of training. It wasn't because of difficult, physical work. It wasn't even the result of research." He stood tall. "My victory is the fruit of hard mental labor, not physical training. My success came from creative problem-solving, not flying talent. My achievement involves ingenuity and originality, not muscle." He looked towards the unicorns and earth ponies in the stadium. "Before I figured out what I was doing wrong, I thought I could find the answer to my problems in books." He shook his head. "I couldn't. And not because they were too hard to understand." His next sentences he spoke with as much confidence and clarity that he could put into his young voice. "It's because the books about pegasus magic weren't helpful. They don't contain the correct answers. In some cases, they were even wrong." A small number of ponies audibly gasped, especially some segments of the unicorn population. "They are wrong." His gaze drifted more to the pegasus areas above the stadium. "Anypegasus who's ever read a book on pegasus magic, none of which were authored by actual pegasi, by the way, if you take anything away from today, take this: I figured out how my magic works- how it really works- by disregarding what I read and figuring it out for myself. If you ever want to replicate what I can do, you'll have to forget what you've read and start thinking for yourselves."

A brief scan of the audience showed Silver that the pegasi were, on average, thoughtful; the earth ponies were, on average, confused; and the unicorns were, on average, offended.

"And if you're not a pegasus..." Silver shrugged. "Then it shouldn't matter to you what we pegasi believe about our own magic, especially if it works in the real world, as opposed to mere words on a page." He turned to Princess Celestia. "I... think that's all I wanted to say about the secret to my success."

She was favouring him with an intrigued expression. "Wouldn't you like to explain at least some of the theory? You may never get a better chance."

Silver deliberately snorted. "And deal with the inevitable backlash from a certain type of pompous pony belonging to a certain prestigious magical institution?"

The eyes of the monarch widened slightly, and her smile became slightly fixed.

"No thanks," he answered his own rhetorical question. "I'm pushing it as it is."

He'd managed to get through that entire speech without once saying the word 'unicorn' – Twilight had made him promise not to say anything that could be construed as an insult to her species, or she would stop amplifying his voice – but he probably wouldn't be able to keep that up if he kept going.

"Would you like to thank the ponies who helped you get this far?" Celestia asked, now speaking as if reading from a script, and still wearing that fixed smile.

"Sure. I'd like to thank Twilight Sparkle for helping me prepare for today, and for treating me like a pony, not just a pegasus, and for dealing with my strange and stressful requests, and-" his voice almost caught, but he caught himself "-and for looking after me. Coach Formation was a big help too. He's my flight tutor. And I guess I'd also like to thank my mentor; he knows who he is and what he's done. I'd also like to do the opposite of thank my mentor. He knows who he is and what he's done."

"That's... interesting. Would you like to share your hopes for the future?"

"Absolutely," said Silver, smiling at the success of one of his minor side plots, the one where he asked Twilight to send a letter asking Celestia to ask that exact question. He gave his pre-prepared answer. "I'll be starting a class where I teach other pegasi about their own magic. Thestrals and gryphons can sign up too if they want to join, though I haven't confirmed if they can do this yet." Cloud-walking implied they could, but you never did know until you tried. "I don't have all the details worked out yet, but it should start sometime before the end of the month. Anypony who wants to learn how to air buck can find me at school, or talk to superintendent Flight Formation."

"How... practical of you," Celestia said in a tone that suggested she hadn't been expecting anything along those lines. "And I am glad you shared it. Ponies should always strive to teach others what they know. But I was wondering if you could share your more... long-term hopes. In particular, I would like to know what you want to be when you grow up. I suspect we won't get the typical 'Wonderbolt' answer."

Silver almost answered directly. He almost articulated his intended career path.

"Oh! That reminds me." But two things stopped him: intuition on the probable unicorn reaction to a pegasus striving to become a scientist, and the fact that a much better idea had come to him in the moment. "My mentor said something about ambitions for the future a while ago, and I think it's appropriate for this occasion. Do you mind if I quote him? Well, paraphrase, actually?"

"Go ahead."

Silver nodded to the monarch, then confronted the crowd. "Keep in mind that my mentor is a bit cynical, and I'm sorry in advance if this sounds harsh, but not all lessons are nice. Anyway, as adapted to the current circumstances, what he said went something like this."

He lowered his voice, taking on Professor Quirrell's cadence. He was able to go purely from memory, because this particular bit of advice was extremely memorable.

"Only a very small number of ponies ever do anything interesting with their lives," he said in a scornful voice. "What does it matter to you if THEY are... mostly unicorns, or mostly pegasi, so long as YOU are not among them? And I suspect you will NOT be among them, Ms... Darke, for although you are ambitious, you have no ambition."

He got another impulse, and went with it.

"That's not true!" he whined in a voice that didn't sound like Tracey at all, but was about as close as he could get. "And what's it mean?"

"You... are cunning, Ms. Darke, and I expect you will grasp at any opportunity for advancement which falls into your hooves. But there is no great ambition which you are driven to accomplish, and you will not MAKE your opportunities. At best you will grasp your way upward into..." Silver paused only slightly to think of some good pony examples. "Into Mayor of Cloudsdale, or Captain of the Royal Guard, or star Wonderbolt, or some OTHER high position of unimportance..."

He smiled widely at the effect he'd just had on the crowd, including the judges... especially the judges, all of whom (except Celestia) were Wonderbolts. He did enjoy making the lives of others surreal, and a young pegasus colt who'd just won the racing segment of the Best Beginner Flyer's competition calling the Wonderbolts 'unimportant' is probably about as surreal as it can get in Cloudsdale.

"...never breaking the bounds of your existence," he finished the memory.

And just as he did, just as he realised and reaffirmed that he was breaking the bounds of his own existence this very moment, he felt something like a pressure on his flank.

He turned and saw that, with a glow of light, his cutie mark was changing. No longer did it depict a Vitruvian earth pony.

(A/N: Gonna have to use your imagination. I'm not a skilled artist, photoshopper or otherwise, and the original "Pony Sapiens" image borrowed from AgentTasmania didn't didn't have wings. Go back to chapter 1 if you want a refresher on what it looks like, then imagine it with wings, and there you have it.)

"My cutie mark has wings now?" Silver asked aloud, his articulations still being amplified. He ignored the collective gasp from the crowd, just as he'd ignored every other audible noise they'd made over the past few minutes. "I guess that's appropriate." He turned back to Celestia, who had also gasped. "I'll let Twilight take my trophy."

He tapped the material beneath him with a hoof. The stage seemed hand-crafted by a weathersmith for this occasion, and while the stands for the audience could hold other species, the field itself was a standard-issue pegasus arena, complete with cloud floor. Meaning...

Silver turned again to the wider audience and said, still in that amplified voice, "It's been fun, everyone." Not everypony, because there were a few gryphons in the crowd. "Bye!"

With the thought that he would continue breaking the bounds of his own existence – and with the overwhelming feeling of freedom that came with that thought – Silver fell through the stage, then the floor beneath it, sinking like a stone through water.

Once clear of the colosseum's cloud, he launched himself towards Canterlot mountain, far off in the distance. He could have used his portkey, but he felt like flying.

Chapter 16: Invitations

"Are you ready for your day with the Wonderbolts?" Twilight asked in a chipper voice.

"I guess," Silver sighed.

He knew any other pegasus would be thrilled, but honestly, spending a day with celebrities didn't sound like a worthwhile experience. He'd rather spend the day with Professor Book; it's Sunday, so this 'amazing outing' would take the place of one of his lessons. He hadn't really cared for this reward when he signed up, but as Professor Book had said last night, he should use the opportunity to his advantage, not complain. Especially since he voluntarily chose to earn it for himself.

"I'm ready."

"Okay," said Twilight, "here we- OH!" The horn glow that typically preceded teleportation cut off abruptly. "Would you like to wear the Flight Suit you got from Rarity?"

Silver tilted his head consideringly. According to Mr. Book's recent non-magical lessons... "You know what? That's a good idea."

"Go get it," Twilight ushered. "Quick! We have to be there in five minutes."

Silver nodded and flew up to his room, dumped his saddlebag on the ground, and opened the closet. He felt a slight tinge of irrational apprehension upon seeing the apparel.

There had been a minor hiccup with the flight suit, one he should have seen coming. A big part of pegasus magic deals directly with the air via skin and fur. The suit completely covers skin, fur, and hooves. He'd had the wonderful idea to try the suit for the first time when he was already on a cloud. Therefore...

A flash of panic.
Activation of a portkey (which ate all his momentum).
A few minutes to calm his racing heart.
A decision to get broomstick enchantments on his bones the next time he met with Mr. Book.
A march to a certain boutique.

...his suit interfered with pegasus flight.

Rarity had cried for a long time, then re-made the suit free of charge (after researching the Wonderbolt suits to learn how to make it properly), then declared that Silver would get anything he wanted from her store for free for the rest of his life. Not that Silver would or even wanted to abuse that offer; he didn't care for clothes, he just wanted not to die. Though apparently, ponies (and especially pegasi) were resistant to falls, same as wizards. Even terminal velocity isn't a guaranteed death sentence for a pegasus, so he probably wouldn't have died, or even been permanently maimed.

But still.

Ignoring the memory, he threw the suit onto himself as quickly as possible, not caring whether it looked good, simply getting his limbs and wings and head through the right holes. When his tailored and now-enchanted suit was on – for a stretched definition of 'on' – he said "Emergus", pointed his wand at himself, and spoke the words of a charm he'd learned from Mr. Book.

A certain noble friend on the other side of the mirror had used it every day, apparently. It ensures that one's clothes and general appearance are as presentable and proper as possible. The spell had been created by a Malfoy who married into the family, a respectable witch who had gone to Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin, and she had named it the 'Prim and Proper' Charm. It was a spell the Malfoys kept only in their own family, teaching it to no-one else. That is, until the day Voldemort had demanded his Death Eaters divulge all their personal secrets, especially those pertaining to magic.

With the charm cast, Silver grabbed his other outfit (which Rarity had also re-made to be flight-capable as part of her apology) and stuffed it through the widening lip of one of his bag's pockets. Silver decided that would be his 'clothes' compartment.

He then levitated the saddlebag onto his back and charmed himself once more to properly orient the saddles. With that done, he used a different charm to straighten out his perpetually messy hair into a flowing mane – a charm which had a sort of amplified effect on ponies compared to humans, affecting his fur too. He said "Vajinus" to dismiss his wand and flew back down to Twilight.

"That was fast," said Twilight.

Which is part of why Mr. Book had taught him the two seemingly useless charms. Those charms made presentability a matter of seconds, not long minutes. Minutes each day add up to hours each month and days over the course of a lifetime.

"Yup," said Silver. "How do I look?"

"Like a brand new kind of Wonderbolt," Twilight said, eyes gleaming. "You look like different pony! Here," she summoned a large mirror. "Look!"

(A/N: Ignore the armband. This picture's from back before I thought to make her stasis form Tungsten and hide it under an armband that looked like his other three portkeys. You know, the sensible thing to do. And now you know how the cover page of this fic was made.)

"You're right," Silver said. "It's like the Wonderbolt uniform, except it matches my own colour scheme. I wonder what that would be called. A Whitebolt? A Wondercolt?"

"Silver Wing the Wondercolt," Twilight said, brushing his mane with her hoof. The charm kept it from getting wild again. "I like it."

That's not bad, actually, Silver thought. Probably because it reminds me of Robin, Boy Wonder. "We ready to go?" he asked, glancing at a wall clock.

"Oh! Yes!" Her horn began glowing again. "Just give me a moment to get the spell ready-" without any sense of disorientation or nausia that sometimes comes with portkeys, they were suddenly standing on a stratus "-and we're here. Hi Rainbow Dash!"

Their instant appearance astonished the assembly of assorted pegasi, though not- "Hi Twi." -Rainbow Dash, who was used to it by now. She gave him a once-over. "Lookin' good, squirt."

"Thanks," Silver allowed, instinctively indifferent at the assessment.

Emotionally, he didn't care how he looked. Beyond the basics of cleanliness and not being naked, he had never cared. But according to his noble friend, and more recently Mr. Book, appearances are one of the most important things in politics. Good arguments and charisma do help, but looks matter more to the general public. If Silver wants normal ponies to see him as a competent pegasus, he needs to dress the part first and foremost and then act like it.

And so, with his head held high, a young pony of interest looking to all the world like a future Wonderbolt said to the gathered contest-winners and Wonderbolts:

"Silver Wing the Wondercolt, at your service. Pegasus magic lessons are ten bits an hour for young ponies, fifteen for teens, and twenty for grown ponies. Mondays and Fridays from four to six PM, starting tomorrow at the school stadium."

"My little entrepreneur," Twilight sighed sadly.

She still didn't approve of privatising knowledge. She had only reluctantly relented when Silver related Mr. Book's research about unicorn privatisation, like of...

"Thanks for the teleport, Twilight."

...the teleportation spell.

Twilight nodded. "Remember to tell everypony you got your flight suit from Rarity's Boutique in Ponyville. I know they're going to ask."

"You just took care of it," Silver said, no longer able to suppress his grin. "Thanks for that, too."

Twilight sighed again, said "You're welcome. See you tonight," then teleported away.

The group of twenty-one pegasi – eighteen victors and three Wonderbolts – flew through the air in a V formation. Stronger pegasi flew up front, weaker ones flew in back, following the following order:

Wonderbolt
Wonderbolt | Wonderbolt
Oldest Adult Race Winner | | | Mid Adult Race Winner
Oldest Adult Performance Winner | | | | | Mid Adult Performance Winner
Youngest Adult Race Winner | | | | | | | | Youngest Adult Perf. Winner

And so on down the age groups.

"Are you really gonna teach us how to air buck?" asked the pegasus that was closest to his own age, the one who had won the aerial performance, from behind and to his left.

"Only the ponies who sign up for my lessons," said Silver, punctuating the last word with a kick. Not a buck, a kick. This was followed by another kick, then another, with feet alternating up and down like a swimmer's. Air-bucking would have sent him out of formation, as it had done when they set out, so he'd had to improvise. He was the only one in the group who wasn't flapping his wings from time to time.

"Can anypony sign up for lessons?" a different pegasus asked from a bit further up.

"Yes."

"How much did you say it was?"

"Ten bits an hour if you're younger than me, fifteen if you're older or the same age. That's either twenty or thirty bits for the first lesson."

"How old are you?"

"Twelve," Silver answered.

Born as the seventh month dies, and it's currently the eighth. Not that he needed a prophecy to know his own birthdate, but there is something captivating about the phrasing.

"I can't afford thirty bits," said the colt behind him. "I only get five for my allowance each week."

"Just tell your parents you want to take extra flying lessons," he said with a conspiratorial grin. "They'll probably cover the cost if they see you're eager to learn... unless they don't like me." His speech had ruffled a few feathers, according to the newspapers. "In which case, don't ask. Or ask for a bigger allowance instead. I'm not changing the prices... though I guess I'd be up for barter if you had something valuable to trade."

The colt seemed to think for a moment. "I'll... do your math homework for you?"

Silver snorted. "Can't, since I don't have any. And even if I did, I don't cheat on homework. And even if I did, I think my grades would get worse if I let somepony else take over." The colt seemed about to object, but Silver continued before he could. "Unless you also tested out of twelfth grade maths."

One of the adult pegasi ahead of them, nearby enough to have overheard, seemed to suffer from a sudden bout of turbulence that didn't hit anypony else.

"You tested out of twelfth grade math?" the colt asked incredulously.

"And science and language," Silver nodded.

A few other pegasi wavered in their flights.

"Okay, now I know he's full of it," one of them declared confidently from the other side of the V. "There's no way a sixth-grader tested out of three twelfth grade subjects. There's no way anypony does that."

"No, I heard it's true," said another, a young mare who looked and sounded like she was fifteen years old. "My parents are friends with the superintendent, and they say he won't stop talking about it."

"I don't buy it," said a third. "Athletes don't get good grades. It's, like, a fact of life."

"I have good grades," said the pony who initially asked Silver about his lessons.

"Doesn't count. Athletes win races, they don't fly in fancy circles."

"I'm actually not much of an athlete," Silver said before an argument could break out. "Or a flyer. I won because I can figure things out. As soon as the actual athletes take my lessons, there goes my chances of winning. Not that I intend to compete again. I only got to the root of pegasus magic in the first place because I hated doing laps the normal way, and I only joined the race so I could give that speech at the end."

Many of the older pegasi were now staring at him like they couldn't believe that had been his motivation.

One of the relatively younger pegasi giggled. She was the race winner of the age group directly above his – a thirteen-or-fourteen-year-old – and thus she flew directly in front of and to his right. "I hate laps too." She flew closer to Silver, nearly threatening to break the formation. "We sure do have a lot in common, don't we?"

Subtle, Silver thought. "Not in the slightest," he said, re-establishing the distance between them and reforming the V proper. His not-pegasus magic flowing into the transfigured metal band around his back left fetlock was particularly noticeable in that moment.

"Dude," whispered the colt behind him. "That's High Flyer. She's a looker and her parents are loaded. At least think about it."

"Not interested," said Silver. "My brain still thinks girls are 'icky'."

Not to mention evolutionary psychology suggested that he, a born human, wouldn't ever find ponies attractive; not unless the Mirror changed his brain too.

"And even if I was going through puberty," he added, "I don't care about money or status." A memory about a certain shallowness in one of his family members rose to the surface. "I also don't think I'll care that much about appearances when I am an adult. Or I'm going to try not to care. My own mum was somewhat shallow when she fell for my dad, once upon a time, and I don't plan to follow in her footsteps in that regard. What I will care about is depth and mind."

"You say 'mom' funny," said one of the youngest pegasi in the group.

"He says everything funny."

(A/N: This is me facepalming as I realize I hadn't explicitly thought of the British accent until just now.)

"I guess I do."

"That's a Canterlot accent, right?" asked one of the adult winners.

Silver weighed his potential responses. He shouldn't risk getting caught in a lie, so he only had seconds of inference to work with. Twilight didn't share his accent... so maybe it was only high society unicorns?

He settled with saying, "Maybe."

They arrived at their destination before more could be said, and he let out a sigh of relief.

He'd been a bit of a social recluse until now; this was his first time being confronted about the issue. He'd just assumed ponies were used to varied accents. He should have known better, and prepared.

(And that's me doing my best to fix it.)

He'd have to consult with Mr. Book for a more comprehensive cover story. Come to think of it, why hadn't Mr. Book already sat him down and described what they would tell others? Was it really just ignorance about what would stand up to scrutiny as a serviceable lie?

An orange-and-yellow-maned Wonderbolt, standing in front of the entrance to a cloud structure reminiscent of an airfield, cut off further introspection. "Welcome to the Wonderbolts Academy," she announced.

Many of the young pegasi had stars in their eyes. Silver did not.

"I fully expect to see some of you flying here in the future, so get used to it. We're going to sit in on a class, then watch some recruits in action, then stop for lunch. Any questions?"

Nopony had any questions.

Yet.

Soon after their group was seated in the academy's only classroom, Silver said, "Paper and pencil." The two items jumped obligingly out of his saddlebag and into his hoof. He set them on the desk and got ready to take notes – only to realise that many ponies were staring at him, including some of the Wonderbolts.

"What?"

"How'd you do that?" asked one of the youngest group members.

"Magic."

"You're not a unicorn!" the same colt objected.

"Correct," said Silver. "I'm not a unicorn, but the pony who made this pouch is a unicorn, and the pony who enchanted this pouch is also a unicorn." Then, Silver realised something. "Oh, that reminds me."

Since they wouldn't be flying until at least after lunch, he shouldn't need his flight suit for a while (not that he needed it in the first place). May as well look the part of a smart young pony, rather than a skilled young flyer. Appearance matters.

"First outfit," he said, drawing his 'smart' clothes from a pocket that should not have been large enough to hold it and causing the stares of the nearby ponies to widen.

"How'd it do that?" asked the same colt.

"Bigger on the inside than it looks on the outside," Silver explained as he unzipped and shrugged off his flight suit.

It was rather convenient that an absence of clothes can't be considered indecent. You could change anywhere, even in the middle of a public classroom. Though he couldn't use the Prim and Proper charm without excusing himself to privacy, so it evened out.

They were soon introduced to a series of speakers, each having some title or other related to the Wonderbolts. As the minutes and the lectures dragged on, Silver came to a conclusion. The class isn't all that interesting. Well, actually, it is interesting, but not in a good way.

"...and the Wonderbolts have been the strongest and most active part of the Equestrian Royal Forces ever since," proudly declared the instructor, a retired Wonderbolt named Strong Wing.

Unicorns aren't the only pony sub-race that engage in self-flattery, it seems.

Silver raised his hoof.

"Yes?" the retired Wonderbolt called.

"Are there any prominent Pegasi institutions besides the Wonderbolts?" Silver asked politely.

"Pardon?" asked Strong Wing, sounding completely confused.

"Well," said Silver, "The unicorns have Canterlot University, Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns, the Grand Dueling Circuit, the High Spell Society, the High Mind Society, the Best Books Club, and a bunch of others that I can't remember off the top of my head. I'm asking if Pegasi have anything roughly equivalent to those. Or is it just the Wonderbolts?"

There was a pause.

"Ah... yes... good, ah, question." The old pegasus coughed a few times. "Well, pegasi have the Aerial Division of the Equestrian Guard. And there's always the Weather Factory, of course, and our mail delivery services..." The old stallion trailed off, as if he couldn't think of anything else to add.

Silver shook his head. "That's not what I meant. Businesses are important, but they don't have the same cultural impact as... say, controlling every book-publishing institution, or being and educating the country's most eminent scholars, or filling every major seat of power in Canterlot except the Princesses themselves. And even the princesses have horns. Plus, all it takes is one unicorn inventing a spell to teleport letters back and forth-" that doesn't involve dragons, anyway "-to completely undermine our delivery services. Isn't there something other than the Wonderbolts and the Weather Factory and the post office that will come to your typical pony's mind if you asked them why pegasi are important to pony society?"

There was another pause. This time, no answers came.

"Nevermind," Silver said in a deliberately dejected tone of voice. He wrote down weather factory, guard, post office onto the paper in front of him, more for show than anything else.

Hopefully the gears are beginning to turn in the heads of at least a few nearby pegasi of note.

Star athletes aren't the most influential ponies; if he really wants change, he'd need the ears of the wealthy and/or politically powerful. But celebrities are a good start.

"Silver Wing?" said a voice from in front of him.

Silver finished chewing the hay that constituted his lunch, swallowed, closed the book he'd been reading, returned it to his pouch, and looked up. He beheld the orange-maned Wonderbolt who'd ushered them into the academy.

"Yes?" Silver asked.

It was hard to read her facial expression beneath the flight suit, but Silver thought she might have looked worried. "You... don't seem all that excited to be here," she said at last.

He cocked his head curiously. "Should I be?"

"Most colts your age would be, yes."

"I'm not most colts my age," Silver said slyly.

There was a slight pause.

"I know," the mare sighed. She removed the hood of her suit, as well as her flight goggles, allowing her to look into his eyes without obstruction. "Princess Celestia told me about you."

"Did she?"

"Yes," said yellow-and-orange pony. "She said some worrying things."

Princess Celestia... ruler of Equestria... whom he may or may not have insulted by implying right under her nose that her schools aren't all they're cracked up to be.

Silver resisted the urge to frown. "What things?"

"You can't guess?"

"I won't guess."

Rule of conversation: never volunteer vulnerabilities. Especially not until you understand the motives of the prober.

"She... said..." The mare seemed to be having trouble getting the words out. "You don't have a foalhood anymore."

"Oh, that," Silver said, breathing a silent sigh of relief. "She's right. I don't."

The mare's worried frown deepened. "Why not?"

"Used it up."

"You... used it up..." repeated the mare.

"Yes."

"How?"

Silver tilted his head at the question, wondering what to do. He couldn't just say, 'I had a mysterious dark side which used up my childhood as I used it to solve difficult problems.' He also couldn't say, 'It ended when I killed the thing that was killing my best friend,' nor could he say, 'The death of someone close to you will do that to a person.' He couldn't say those things for reasons beyond that they would reveal too much information.

He wouldn't admit defeat. He would bring her back.

Instead, he only said, "Stress."

"Stress..."

"Yes."

"What kind of stress?"

"Emotional, intellectual, financial," Silver shrugged. "You know. The usual."

The mare's frown morphed into a scowl. "Financial stress isn't usual for a colt."

"It is for a colt who lost his parents and is therefore somewhat in control of his own bank account," he replied. Technically true, even if it was pushing the truth to its limits. He did have enough control to willingly go into debt to Lucius, even if he had to get permission first. But to make it fit the current context... "Twilight might be looking after me now, but that won't be true forever. I'm not charging money for my pegasus magic lessons because I want to."

More like, because Mr. Book had heavily advised he should. Things that are freely given are sometimes perceive as valuable commodities, but that is the exception, not the rule. If he wants others to see his lessons as valuable enough to attend, counterintuitive as it may seem, he must put a price upon them. Though not so great that it would actually discourage ponies from coming.

"Speaking of, will you be attending?"

"Silver, I'm Captain of the Wonderbolts. I don't have time for that."

So this was the Captain of the Wonderbolts? Interesting...

"Suit yourself," Silver shrugged. Then, he had an idea. "How long until lunch is over?"

The Captain of the Wonderbolts took out a pocket watch. "About fifteen minutes. Which means we should start heading back in ten."

"Perfect." Silver put his hoof over his pouch. "Flying suit."

"You want to go flying?" the mare asked as she watched him put it on.

"I want to go racing," Silver loudly declared, drawing the gazes of a few nearby pegasi. "Now that I've finally got somepony who can race me."

"A race?" asked Rainbow Dash, who appeared in an instant as if summoned by an Accio. "Sign me up, cause you're goin' down! You too, Spitfire!"

Silver grinned and walked over to the edge of the cloud, Rainbow Dash trotting right by his side.

The orange mare followed behind them, looking hesitant. "You two do realize I'm much older than you, right? And that I'm Captain of the Wonderbolts?"

Silver looked at the Cloudsdale Colosseum far off in the distance.

"I heard you the first time," he said. "Last one to the colosseum and back is a rotten egg?"

"Silver!" she gasped. "You can't make that flight ten minutes!"

Silver lowered himself into starting position – well, his starting position: a buck's wind-up. "Guess you're the rotten egg then."

And he kicked the air, accelerating to near-supersonic speeds in a fraction of a second. Then he continued bucking the air, maintaining that speed as he shot towards the race's only checkpoint.

"YOU'RE, *pant*, the, *pant*, rotten, *gasp*, egg," the Wonderbolt wheezed as Silver came in for a landing. Rainbow Dash didn't even manage a response, splayed on the stratus cloud next to Spitfire and looking too tired to talk.

"I suppose I am," Silver chuckled, trotting casually in place.

The two mares had done the pegasus equivalent of all-out sprinting to catch up to his admittedly unfair start, then continued their sprints to surpass Silver, then kept continuing like that to keep their lead. Rainbow Dash had just barely managed to come in first with a Sonic Rainboom, but it was a close call. And Silver wasn't far behind either.

When he spoke again, it was with an evil grin. "That was a good warm-up. I wonder though. If we had time for another race, would either of you able to beat me again? Or would you need a minute to catch your breath first? Or thirty?"

"Oooooh!" said one of the nearby colts, a sound which prompted several more colts to join in.

The mares glared, but instead of sparing more breath in his direction, they just kept panting.

Silver took a moment to take in the rest of Cloudsdale's best flyers without making it obvious he was looking at them. A few nearby Wonderbolts had the decency to look embarrassed for their Captain. One with a blue mane and white coat came forward with a cup of water. Everypony else ogled and murmured – because Rainbow Dash had won, or because he had kept up, he couldn't automatically tell. It wasn't surprising to him that a 19-year-old athlete capable of breaking the sound barrier would beat all other pegasi in a straightforward race. And he was fairly sure that the adults thought the same, so their surprised gazes were probably directed more at himself, even if the younger ones were looking at Rainbow.

The key to doing the impossible, Silver had once told his best friend, is being selective about which impossibilities you choose to tackle, only trying when you have a special advantage.

An eleven-year-old colt challenging the Captain of the Wonderbolts to a race and almost winning would certainly sound impossible, but Silver had invented the rules of that race. Not the Wonderbolt Captain. Not Rainbow Dash. He was a poor acrobat even in his own age group. His technique is terrible for rapidly weaving and bobbing around obstacles in smooth motions, which is the sort of thing that any adult pegasus would require in a race. But since he set the rules, he didn't require anything fancy. He didn't add any complex flight patterns. No aerial slaloms, no barrel or aileron rolls, no flips or loops. He only required two things: a single pivot point, to minimize his weaknesses as much as possible, and long-distance flight, to play up to his own advantage.

Under those specific circumstances, the 'impossibility' of a colt beating a Wonderbolt wasn't as out of reach as it might sound to the unimaginative ear. Though it was still out of reach in the end, if barely.

"My offer's still open," said Silver. "Twenty bits an hour for lessons if you're an adult, fifteen for teens, ten for ponies younger than I am. Four to six, Mondays and Fridays. First lesson starts tomorrow at Cloudsdale High's flight track. Think about it. And think about this too: if all the best flyers learn something new and useful, it won't be long before everypegasus else is left in the dust. You can't win obstacle courses if you refuse to learn how to slalom. You can't win aerial performances if you don't learn loops. And you won't win future races if you don't know how to air-buck. Unless a bunch of whiney, stubborn, stupid spoil sports decide to ban it, that is." Something Mr. Book had suggested as a possible annoyance, though Silver had already thought of it himself. "But even if that happens, the other things I know also help with racing. I'm eleven, I've been practicing for a little over a month, and that makes me competitive with the Wonderbolts on raw speed. On long distance, I certainly have you beat. Just imagine how much an adult pony could do if they practiced all their lives."

"How did it go?" Twilight inquired as soon as he opened the library door.

"Well enough," shrugged Silver, closing it behind him. "I think a good number of students will show. You're still going to help with the lesson, right?"

"Of course!" Twilight enthused. "Here, I made this necklace for you. It's got that enchantment you asked for. Oh! And here!" She handed him a letter of high-quality parchment, cursive handwriting, and fancy wax seal. "You've been invited to a party!"

"I have?" He examined the outside of the prestigious note. "Whose party?"

"Two little fillies named Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon are having a Cute-ceañera. I'm so glad you're finally making friends!"

"I don't recognise those names," said Silver with scrunched eyebrows. "They don't even sound familiar."

"They don't?"

"No."

"Not even a little?"

"Nope."

"Well... why don't you go anyway? Maybe you'll recognize them when you see them. And even if you don't, just... socialize, okay Silver? Take it from me, it's important to make friends."

Silver did not glance at his back left fetlock.

"I know," he said. "I'll think about it. I do have a question though."

"Okay."

"What's a Cute-ceañera?"

In response to his question, Twilight immediately asked if he'd ever had one, then looked sad, then said that if he didn't know, he should go with her to the party and find out. That was one way to manipulate a Ravenclaw into getting out more, Silver supposed.

"I got my cutie mark just the other day," said a pink earth pony filly. "Isn't it the best?"

"We got our cutie marks," said the grey pony standing next to her.

Ah, thought Silver. THAT'S a Cute-ceañera.

In the past fifteen minutes, he had also learned...

(a) The pink filly's "daddy invited every pony in town!"
(b) The pink filly was like Pansy Parkinson, except spoiled by wealth and power, not just an unhealthy political ideology, bad work ethic, and poor personality. And...
(c) The party was extremely boring, for all the obvious reasons that would follow from points a and b.

He was about ready to leave, until...

"Blank flank!" he heard the party stars shout in unison, seeming to crowd around a yellow filly with a red mane.

Bullies.

The word entered his mind, followed by a healthy amount of anger. Hot, not cold, and not nearly as much as that first time with Neville, which is why it was a 'healthy' amount. Going through Azkaban had taught him the hard way how much mere bullies deserved his emotional outrage. But he did still feel the indignation.

Before he could even formulate a plan, two other fillies came to the rescue, followed by Twilight Sparkle, followed by the entire party crowd. Things seemed to be wrapping up nicely... but Silver's anger did need an outlet. Just as the party stars had their final exchange-

"We still think you're losers, right Diamond Tiara? Bump, bump, sugar... lump..."

"Not now, Silver Spoon."

-Silver decided to deliver the finishing blow.

"Losers, huh?" he said loud enough for those two to hear, and thus loud enough for a few others to hear as well. "I guess it would be pretty awful to have special talents that only involve being spoiled rotten."

The Tiara-wearing filly turned to face him. "Huh?"

"I mean, really," Silver continued, "What were your parents thinking? Didn't they know that the phrase, 'she's eaten from a silver spoon all her life' is an insult?"

"No it's not!"

"And Diamond Tiara? As in, a gift for daddy's little princess? Even your names prove it."

"Who're you?" Diamond Tiara demanded. "Another blank flank?"

"No." He was wearing his 'smart' outfit, which currently covered his cutie mark. "I'm one of this party's many invitees who had no idea who you are but got invited anyway. And my flank isn't blank." He lifted the cutie-mark flap on the side of his outfit – a standard addition to most pony apparel. "See? Name's Silver Wing, by the way, first place winner of a Flight Week race, pegasus magic pioneer, scientist extraordinaire, et cetera et cetera."

"HA! As if!" Diamond Tiara declared. "You're just lying."

Silver raised his eyebrows, then raised a forehoof, then punched the air. This created a breeze strong enough to knock the crown from her head.

"MY TIARA!" the filly shouted, dashing down and scrambling to see if it was scratched or damaged.

"Woah!" shouted an orange pegasus filly who'd helped the yellow earth pony from earlier. "How'd you do that?"

"Pegasus magic." Also, he'd been practicing his aim. "Like I said, I discovered some magic fundamentals. I'm teaching a class about it, starting tomorrow-"

"Can I come?!" the orange filly all but shouted.

"-Er... one moment," said Silver, realising he hadn't put the final nail in the coffin. "Let me finish what I was saying first." He turned back to Diamond Tiara, who had just managed to put her namesake back on her head. "Point is, all the things I've done, I did for myself. Daddy didn't do them for me. And look." He pointed to the open flap. "Pegasus magic doesn't even have anything to do with my cutie mark." He turned to the yellow earth pony – the original subject of the bullying, and the reason he'd spoken up in the first place. "So yeah, don't let anypony tell you what you can and can't do. Don't even let your cutie mark tell you what you can and can't do, once you get it. It'll be like a symbol that represents who you are, but you can always change. Don't be like them," he tilted his head at the bullies, "who are their parents."

"That's quite enough," said a wealthy-looking pony with a moneybags cutie mark, emerging from another room with drink in hoof. "I think it's time you leave."

"Daddy to the rescue?" Silver guessed with a smirk. "I was leaving anyway. This party... what's the word I'm looking for? Blows?" He bucked the air again. Twice.

"MY TIARA!"/"MY TIE!"

"Yeah, that's it. The party blows."

"My parties never blow!" shouted Pinkie, popping up from nowhere.

"Fine," said Silver. "The ponies who bought it blow. Happy?"

Pinkie didn't look happy at that comment, but she didn't seem to have an immediate comeback either.

Silver left, followed closely by Twilight Sparkle (who had a stern look on her face, directed squarely at Silver, he was probably in for a lecture), then by the bullied blank flank trio, then by a large number of bored ponies, taking this as their cue to leave.

Almost no ponies remained in the party after that. The prestige of the invitations and the promise of fancy food had brought them there, but nothing could keep them once the underlying reality of the situation had been laid bare.

Chapter 17: First Lesson

Monday, 3:55 PM.

School had ended twenty-five minutes ago. There were no extra-curricular activities scheduled for the flight track on Mondays or Fridays, which is why Silver had chosen those two days. He'd cleared his lessons with administration two weeks ago, thanks in no small part to the efforts of Flight Formation, who would be overseeing everything to make sure it all fell within acceptable guidelines for an extra-curricular activity. Coach Formation would also be providing necessary tools an equipment, like a sports team trainer. Today, that meant he'd procured a large patch of personal clouds, each of which could support the weight of a single pegasus. Flight Formation was treating this like an after-school club, with himself as the supporting staff.

Twilight, on the other hand, saw it as a private tutor session. Payment had already been collected, names recorded on magical contract paper and non-magical normal paper, and other business handled.

Before the clock struck four, Silver closed his eyes and composed the personality he would become.

General Chaos. Minus the Star Wars references, for now. If he wanted the adults to take him seriously, he'd have to put on a good front for a while. A Sidius voice would make a cynical adult believe they were listening to an ignorant child, not a competent teacher.

Putting aside the fun parts of the persona, he focused on the fulfilling aspects instead. On the times he'd taught his soldiers how to think instead of what to think. The times he'd wowed them with unusual and effective strategies. The times he inspired loyalty. Not blind loyalty, but true loyalty, the kind that Socrates inspired in his students. The kind of loyalty that comes from telling unpleasant truths. The kind of loyalty that comes from friends who are willing to voice their disagreements because they do not fear a falling out, friends who know you want the best for them, and who want the best for you in turn. Friends who can afford to be honest with you. Brutally honest, if necessary.

Once he'd crafted that self and stepped into it, he spoke.

"Today," said Silver in a voice that was being magically delivered to everypony in attendance by the necklace he wore, "is your first lesson in pegasus magic." The necklace didn't amplify his voice volumetrically. "However, I won't be teaching you about pegasus magic." It made his voice sound as if it was coming from just behind each pony, like he was a coach following behind them. "You will be teaching you about pegasus magic."

A wave of confused mutters washed over the crowd of seventy-three pegasi.

"In particular," said Silver, "you're going to be re-teaching yourselves something you could probably do at one point in your lives, but can't anymore. Professor Book?"

Mystery Book, who was watching the lecture with an expression that was unreadable – and not just because always-reflective glasses were obscuring his eyes – air-bucked himself upwards a few feet in the air, drawing a few gasps from the crowd, and landed atop an example cloud. After waiting a second to establish that he was, in fact, standing on the cloud, he fell through it as if it wasn't there, which drew even more gasps, and landed right back where he started.

The fact that his hooves touched down firmly on the track's cloud floor in the same projectile motion that involved the initial cloud-phase was not nearly as surprising to the audience as passing through the cloud in the first place.

Silver, on the other hand, almost reeled. Even he couldn't do that yet, and it was his technique. Going from that much freedom to that much determination while also worrying about hoof position took more practice than he'd been willing to dedicate. Or maybe Mr. Book was cheating with his broomstick enchantments, only giving the appearance of having landed on the clouds beneath him less than a second after phasing through the cloud above.

"As you can see," said Silver after making a deliberate effort to turn his attention back to his class, "you're going to learn how to cloud-phase. But again, I won't be teaching you how to do it. Not explicitly. Not right away. You're going to learn it on your own, if you can. And you're going to learn by racing." At the suddenly excited looks on a few of the students, Silver added, "Not the normal kind of race. A special kind of race, one where anypony here has the chance to win, no matter how good you are at flying. In fact, it's a race that I fully expect a colt or filly to win, not a grown-up." At that, the suddenly dejected faces of the youngest ponies became suddenly excited again. "You won't be putting your wings to the test, you'll be putting your mind to the test. Today, my students, we separate the creative from the straight-and-narrow, the intuitive from the deductive, the mentally slow from the mentally fast. Because in order to fall through clouds, you need to have the right mindset. In order to fall through clouds, you need to feel a certain emotion, to have a certain desire. And I'm not telling you what it is. You'll just have to try a bunch of different ones and see what works. That's how I figured it out, after all."

Silver gestured out at the personal-cloud-filled-sky.

"Whoever cloud-phases first wins, and whoever can explain how they did it also wins. Two winners, unless the first winner can also explain what they did. But I don't expect that to happen." Before anypony could fly off to a cloud, Silver continued speaking, still in that distributed voice. "What do you win, you might ask? For starters, all lessons from here on out are going to be free to the winners. But for those who aren't paying for their own lessons, or who want something else, the winners will also get a flying outfit like mine." He gestured at his 'Wondercolt' outfit. "It'll be free of charge to the winners, courtesy of Rarity's Boutique in Ponyville. For everypony else, just tell Rarity that I sent you and you'll get a ten percent discount."

(He was also earning 100 bits for saying that. Business sponsorships were one of many ways to earn money as an entrepreneur, especially in sports and entertainment. It had been his idea, not Rarity's, and she likely went along with it because of the near-death-experience she'd put him through, not because she wanted to be discovered in this fashion.)

"But even free lessons and a flight suit aren't the best prizes," Silver said seductively. "The two winners of this race are going to get something much better in addition to that."

Silver's grin widened at the excited looks on the younger ponies, and yet further at the amused/bored/skeptical looks of the adults.

"You'll get bragging rights. You'll get the right to say, 'Nah nah-nah boo-boo, I'm better than you!' And these won't be just any bragging rights. If you've ever wanted a chance to show up the Wonderbolts and prove that you're better than they are, today is the day, because you'll be competing against the Wonderbolts! Ha ha ha!"

The ponies Silver knew to be Wonderbolts had looks of sudden, shocked betrayal.

The heads of the forty or so under-eighteen pegasi darted around themselves, looking for the iconic suits.

There were no ponies wearing Wonderbolt suits.

A few of the older teens suddenly had looks of dawning comprehension, but the younger ones just looked confused.

"I don't get it," said a colt that looked around eight years old. "Where's the Wonderbolts?"

"They're here." Silver gesturing to the crowd. "Remember, without their suits they're just normal ponies. You'll have to look for their mane colors if you want to recognise them."

The younger pegasi began frantically swiveling their heads and (magical) eyes in search for the celebrities. Luckily for the Wonderbolts who'd decided to sign up, they'd chosen not to cluster in any single place where they might be recognised as a group. They were simply spread out among all the other adult pegasi.

Still grinning, Silver said, "Wonderbolts, if you don’t want to be shown up by a colt… by ANOTHER colt, rather, or by a filly, I suggest you find a cloud and start searching for that literally magical feeling. Oh, and if somepony already knows how to do this, please don’t participate. That wouldn't be fair. I’ll just move you to the next lesson."

There was an off-chance this technique was like gulping air to induce deliberate burping – something that one or two rebellious ponies might have taught themselves how to do in order to get attention as the class clown. He'd known a kid like that back in his brief, disastrous stay in muggle public education.

"IS there somepony who can do it?" Silver asked. "Anypony at all?"

Apparently not.

"Alright, then that's the lesson for everypony. If nopony gets it on their own, I'll step in and say the answer. But I have faith a few of you can do it sooner than that. Let's say... thirty minutes until the end of class is the cut-off point. Before then, the race is on. And one last thing: if you maintain the mindset too long and don't catch yourself in time, you'll fall straight through the stadium, so everypony take your clouds up real high. If you fall through your cloud, glide around for a while until you can touch clouds again. If nopony gets it in the first fifteen minutes, I'll start helping. The race starts now."

And ponies dashed off to find a personal cloud, some of the younger ponies fighting over the closest ones. Silver grinned at the fact that this would quickly turn into one of those 'hurry up and wait' situations; that their adrenaline probably wouldn't help them win in the slightest.

"A low-maintenance lesson plan," Mr. Book observed, eyes scanning the many ponies who were trying and failing to phase and fall through clouds.

Silver turned off his necklace enchantment. "Macro-management," he nodded.

"I see you've picked up a thing or two from my classes."

"More than a thing or two," Silver said. "Rewards and incentives, striking the right balance between lecture and practice, encouraging good students to fly far ahead without leaving the others completely in the dust. Not to mention practical applications." Silver looked out above the field, at the pegasi who were attempting to explore their own magic. "It took me a lot of thinking and a bunch of discarded ideas to finally settle on this set-up."

"A set-up which fits thematically with the lesson," Mr. Book noted in an approving voice. "Giving them the freedom to find the answer for themselves." His eyes, behind the glasses, narrowed. "Though perhaps too much freedom. You might wish to intervene sooner than intended. I believe your youngest students are ready to give up."

"I will. One quick question first. How did you switch from freedom to determination in less than a second?"

"The same way I propelled myself upward so significantly when I first tried to flap my wings two months ago. I thought a single word to myself."

There was a pause.

"And that word is?"

"Dependent upon the desire," said the thestral. "When I first took off, back in that clearing, I thought to myself, up! I see you are kicking yourself for not trying that yourself. Good."

"What about just now?"

"For freedom, yes. For determination, no. You will likely find different words work for you, though I recommend keeping them simple. Single syllable, if possible."

Silver nodded, turned on his amulet once more, then flew off to help the student who looked the most troubled by the task and her failure to instantly succeed at it.

"Having trouble?" he asked, his behind-their-backs voice startling a number of ponies, not least the filly he was actually standing behind.

She bobbed her head up and down, embarrassed.

"What have you tried so far?"

"Um..." said the filly, rather dejectedly. "I tried getting happy, but that didn't work, so I tried getting sad, and that didn't work, and then I tried getting mad, but THAT didn't work either! I tried everything! I don't think I can do it."

Silver rubbed his chin with a hoof. "Hmm... could you tell me how you tried to get happy and sad and mad?"

The little filly's eyebrows scrunched together. "Um... I just... tried to feel it?"

Silver chuckled. "That's not really how it works. You can't just tell yourself 'I'm going to be happy, now!' when you're not in the mood to be happy, can you?"

"No... but how do I do it?"

"If you really want to feel an emotion, you have to remember something that makes you feel that way."

At the filly's confused look, Silver continued.

"I'll give you an example. Almost a year ago, I was in a new classroom at a new school. I wanted to learn, but when class started, the teacher started picking on me. He asked me questions about his class that he knew I wouldn't know, even though it was my first day. I tried to get him to stop, but it just made him worse. He took points away and gave me detention. He even cast a spell on me so I couldn't talk, and locked the door so I couldn't leave."

"That's horrible!" the filly shouted. "He's horrible! What kind of pony does that?"

Not any kind of pony at all, he thought. "Well, my father and him were classmates when they were in school, and my father bullied him, and he thought I would be like my father, so he tried to bully me back."

"That's-" said the filly, then stopped short. "That's... that's..."

"Horrible in the other direction?" Silver supplied. He shrugged. "It is what it is. He and I made up later, and we became... um, friends, I guess. Kind-of." More like allies united against a common foe. And, possibly, united by a shared sense of not being complete, gibbering dullards, like a lesser version of the bond he shared with Mr. Book. "So it worked out in the end. But anyway, I didn't know any of that stuff about my father bullying him that first time he bullied me. All I knew was that I got very, very angry, and that anger helped me get out of the classroom, even though I shouldn't have been able to at that age. My anger helped me do a few other things too, like figuring out a way to get the teacher to stop bullying other students, which had been a problem for a while."

"How?" the filly asked, eyes wide.

Many of the other pegasi had stopped trying to fall through their own clouds, enraptured by the allegory.

"I figured out one of his secrets and did a bit of blackmail," Silver answered with an ironic grin. "Anyway, there were times after that day where an angry me was the best me at solving problems. Whenever a time like that came up, I thought back to the time that teacher tried to bully me. It could make me angry even if I wasn't in the mood to be angry. So if you want to get angry, or happy, or sad, you'll have to remember something that made you angry or happy or sad in the past. Understand?"

The filly's eyes were wide, and she nodded up and down.

Silver smiled, then flew away from her cloud, back down to the field. His necklace had conveyed that conversation to the entire class, who returned to their attempts, now with a slightly better understanding of their own thought processes.

The necklace had also carried the conversation to Mr. Book, who was looking at him with a warning glare that briefly showed through the glasses. That came dangerously close to revealing too much, said that expression.

Silver shrugged apologetically.

Silver hovered in front of one of the Wonderbolts who had decided to check out at least the first lesson. "Having fun?"

"No," said the Wonderbolt, a white/blue stallion named Soarin'.

"What emotions have you tried so far?"

"Happiness, anger, sadness, guilt, and fear," said the stallion. "Nothing worked."

Silver made a hm-ing noise. "Nothing worked so far," he corrected. He said "notepad and marker" with his hoof hovering over his saddlebag, wrote down three words, then asked, "Out of curiosity, did any of those emotions influence the cloud's firmness?"

"Um..." the stallion suddenly seemed thoughtful. "Yeah, actually. I think fear made the cloud harder than it usually is." Soarin' sighed. "A lot of good that does me if I'm trying to make it soft enough to fall through."

Silver flipped over the notepad.

Fear = firm cloud?

Soarin' looked at the note, then at Silver. "Yeah? So?"

"I wrote that down before I asked my question," Silver pointed out. "Part of understanding something," he said in a lecturing tone, voice amplified to the rest of the stadium, "is being able to predict it in advance, like I just did. When I was starting out, I also tried fear before I landed on the actual emotion I needed. When I felt the cloud get harder, I didn't just go, 'oh well, I guess that's not helpful', and move on. I used it to my advantage. If you're trying to figure out how to slip through clouds and an emotion makes the cloud firmer, that's important information. It could mean the emotion you want is on the complete opposite end of the spectrum from fear. Or maybe it means you need to try an emotion related to fear. Or maybe it means you need to have no fear. But even if fear doesn't help in the slightest for slipping through clouds, making clouds firmer might come in handy someday. It could give you more traction. It could make a cloud easier to move without breaking it apart. Or it might just make for a more solid surface to buck."

Soarin's eyes had gone wider and wider as Silver spoke. Part of being a Wonderbolt was dealing with weather emergencies, and all those things would be extremely useful to that end. It was why Silver had chosen them as examples.

Silver was extremely tempted to add a line about the importance of little truths to science. That every small detail is important. That they slowly build a portrait of the underlying reality invisible to the naked eye, like puzzle pieces taking shape to form a drawing. The whole picture can only be 'seen' by understanding as many truths as possible – by finding all the pieces and by connecting them in the right places and in the right ways.

But a statement like that would have been a bit too high-calibre for anypony in the stadium besides Mr. Book, Twilight, and maybe a few scattered others.

Instead, Silver said, "Just something to think about. Oh, and I forgot to mention earlier, but if emotions don't work, you can also try desires. Like hunger. Not that I'm saying hunger will or won't work. You'll have to test that for yourself."

In the middle of helping a student with his current teaching strategy – isolate, inquire, inform, inspire – Silver noticed a colt fall through a cloud.

"And we have our first winner!" he said, startling many pegasi out of whatever mental states they'd been trying. He glanced at his watch. It was 4:50, so about forty-five minutes after the session had started and about thirty-five minutes after he'd initially set them loose. "And what do you know," Silver said with a grin. "A young pegasus, as predicted."

He bucked himself over to the happily flapping colt, who was shouting "Yes, yes, yes!" in the air.

"What's your name?"

"Free Falling," the colt almost shouted.

Fitting, thought Silver.

Free Falling tried to land on the 'ground' (i.e. the cloud surface of the track and field), but found himself falling right through it. "Whoa!" he said, flapping to get himself higher. "That's weird!"

"You'll get used to it," said Silver. He hovered a hoof over his pouch and said, "Pre-prepared note number one and marker." A note entered his grip. He added two words to the note, then handed it to the colt. "Read that to yourself. Don't say it out loud yet."

The colt's two forehooves grasped the note. His eyes focused for a very long moment. Maybe he wasn't a strong reader. Then his eyes widened and he looked to Silver with a mixture of excitement and pleading.

Silver grinned and took off his necklace. He put it around the neck of the colt and said, "Go ahead."

The colt, as instructed by the note, shouted at the top of his lungs: "My name is Free Falling and I'm better than the Wonderbolts! WOO-HOO!"

His voice was amplified to every pony in the stadium. Many of the younger pegasi looked on in envy, while a select few of the older pegasi looked on in glares. Not directed at the colt, of course. They were glaring at Silver, the pony responsible.

Silver retrieved his necklace from the colt and said with a wide smile, "Don't worry, Wonderbolts. You still have your chance to shine. I'm sure you won't be shown up a third time. I don't think Free Falling will be able to explain how he did it... unless you can explain?"

The colt in question said, "Um... I... like flying in the air, I guess? That's what I was thinking before I fell through the cloud, I mean."

"Not good enough, I'm afraid," Silver said with a head shake. Then, at the colt's look of disappointment, he said, "Don't worry, you're still the first winner. Now, while the rest of the class eats your dust, you get to practice the next lesson and get even further ahead."

"More work?" the colt groaned.

"Think of it this way," said Silver. "You crossed the finish line first... but it's a four-lap race. If you really want to win, you should stay ahead. And you need to learn the next step anyway before you go home."

"Why's that?" Free Falling asked skeptically.

"Well, I don't think your parents would appreciate you falling through the floor of their house."

The colt's eyes widened, as if he'd forgotten that entirely.

"Think fast!" Silver said, bucking a small cloud at the colt.

Free Falling did not think fast. The cloud hit him head-on – it hit him – and the colt fell to the cloud floor of the stadium, landing on it firmly. Many of the adults gasped at the sight of the 'teacher' 'assaulting' a student without warning. Even if it was the equivalent of a pillow-fight.

"PHEW!" Silver said before anypony could say anything. "You can touch clouds again. If I hadn't kicked that cloud at you when I did, you might never have been able to walk on clouds again. Good thing I made it in time."

"Really?" the colt asked, suddenly looking scared.

"No, not really," Silver said with a grin.

The colt glared at him.

"Now, now. Don't give me that look. I did help you go back to walking on clouds just now. Or at least, I thought I did. I didn't know for sure. That's why I kicked the cloud at you, just to check. If it didn't work, you wouldn't have been hit. Now, go ahead and try to not touch clouds again."

Free Falling, grumbling, flew up to an empty cloud and closed his eyes like the rest of the class. Well, like the rest of the class should have. Many of them were too busy staring at Silver.

The next success was the orange pegasus from the Cute-ceañara party, Scootaloo, whom Twilight had to Teleport here since she couldn't fly yet. Twilight had also manifested a mattress beneath her little cloud and kept it low, unlike the rest of the class. If the filly actually succeeded, she wouldn't fall to her possible death, she'd land on the solid surface. And she did.

Scootaloo, like Free Falling, couldn't articulate how she'd done it. All she said was that, since she didn't know how to fly, she thought of how it felt to ride her scooter.

There were ten more successes, mostly of young ponies, before somepony finally explained it to Silver's satisfaction. It was, to his surprise (more at the coincidence than anything else), Soarin' the Wonderbolt.

"Freedom," the stallion said, summing it up in a single word.

"Hold on," said Silver, removing his amulet and giving it to Soarin'. "Put that on and say it again."

"Freedom," said Soarin', his voice reaching the entire class. "You have to think of the freedom of the air. The freedom that comes with flying."

"Not just flying," said Silver, his voice only being peripherally caught by the amulet, and so still reaching his entire class. Twilight had programmed that into the spell as well. "It could be any feeling of freedom, so long as it's overwhelming. That's why I gave you all the FREEDOM to find the answer for yourselves, and why the rewards for winning were FREE lessons and a FREE flight suit. Because FREEDOM was the answer all along! Bwa ha ha!" After getting out that small bit of stress-relief, Silver composed himself once more. "But yeah, it doesn't have to come from flying. Like when I talked about breaking boundaries at the awards ceremony, then fell straight through the stadium. The feeling can come from anywhere."

"Yeah," said Soarin', removing the amulet and tossing it to Silver. "Like the feeling of being free and done with this class. I'm out."

Silver was momentarily taken aback. "Huh?"

"I don't care how much it helps," said the stallion. "My teammates will tell me what I need to know afterwards. I'm not coming back."

"What?" Silver asked, ignoring the impossible first part for now. "Why?"

"Cuz you keep dissin' the Wonderbolts," said the stallion. "Have been from the start. You just reminded me of what you said back at the stadium. Unimportant? Do you have any idea what the Wonderbolts do, colt?"

Silver opened his mouth to reply-

A deep, chilling chuckle reverberated around the stadium, bringing all eyes to bear on the pony who seemed to be that chuckle's source: a dark-gray pony with a black mane, eyes obscured by glasses, wings and cutie mark hidden by a cloak.

"Let me guess," said that pony. "They spend seventy percent of their time running drills and training exercises, twenty percent making public appearances and signing autographs, and then they spend almost ten percent doing actual air shows – which are entertainment, by the way, not a practical service."

"We're Equestria's last line of defense!" Soarin' declared defiantly and proudly. "There's nothing more practical than that!"

"The Wonderbolts, Mr. Soaring, have not seen military action since the attempted invasion of the griffins." A thin smile. "That was four centuries ago. In the modern era, perhaps point zero, zero, one percent of a Wonderbolt's career time will be spent getting involved in actual crises. Mostly weather-related, and sometimes caused by the Wonderbolts in the first place. Not that you deigned to get involved in the Nightmare Moon crisis, the greatest of our time. I should know you were absent. I was there, contributing to her downfall. And so was Mr. Silver. But go ahead, Soaring of the Wonderbolts. Tell us what your esteemed organisation does do, if not help."

Soarin' looked ready to fly over to the strange pony and buck him right in the face.

"Okay, that crosses the line," said an orange and yellow mare. She glided down to the cloaked pony. "No pegasus talks about the Wonderbolts like that when I'm around."

Multiple potential replies flashed through his mind, in that moment.

This land has codified freedom of speech into their legal system, like the Americans' Bill of Rights, and so he had a wider range of available options than he usually had when pretending to play the part of an ordinary, law-abiding citizen.

Possibility 1: Laugh, remove cloak, and declare that no pegasus HAS talked about the Wonderbolts 'like that'.
Failure. Needlessly reveals species.

Possibility 2: Pretend to lose. Submit to her authority for now.
Failure. Public appearances are inherent to the problem. Losing would work against interests.

Possibility 3: Goad out stupidity by asking "Like what?"
Probable Failure. Too open-ended, could be exploited. Cannot predict response to satisfaction.

Possibility 4: Avoid confrontation by sinking through cloud floor.
Probable Success with drawbacks. Maintains anonymity, but harms image of self and allies.

Possibility 5...

"And why shouldn't I speak as I please?"

"Because the Captain of the Wonderbolts said so," Spitfire declared. "I think it's time you learned some respect."

The expression of the gray pony darkened. "Of the ponies in this stadium, the behaviours and accomplishments demonstrated thus far suggest I show respect to a single pony. That pony is not you. After all," in a lecturing tone, "most pegasi know the name Swift Flight the Swift Thinker, who pioneered weather manipulation during the seventh Celestial Century. I have yet to meet a single pegasus who knows the names of any of the Wonderbolt Captains during that same time period."

"What about Steel Wing?"

"You are half a century off, Ms. Spitfire," he said in an amused voice, before returning to that chilling, imperious tone. "When Mr. Silver called the Wonderbolts unimportant, those were not his own words. He was paraphrasing me. And although I did not use the Wonderbolts when I originally spoke, that was only due to differing circumstances. I agree whole-heartedly with his application of my wisdom to your organisation. Between the two of you – Spitfire the twenty-second Wonderbolt Captain of the tenth Celestial Century, two-hundred-and-thirty-seventh Wonderbolt Captain in history – and Silver Wing, discoverer-" (or perhaps rediscoverer) "-of pegasus magic fundamentals, whom do you believe shall be remembered three centuries hence?"

Spitfire, put on the spot with such a surprising, insulting, and scathing question, wasn't able to formulate an answer.

Many pegasi, young and old alike, looked on with shock and anger, though some did seem considering, and a few even appeared awed.

"You said you would not let me speak about the Wonderbolts in such a fashion," the strange pony added, voice amused once more. "What do you intend to do about it?"

There was a pause, as Spitfire seemed to evaluate her options.

"By authority of Princess Celestia," said the Wonderbolt Captain, "I'm placing you under arrest for sedition. Maybe a day in a cell will teach you some manners."

The gray pony stared at her for a moment, then began laughing. It was mean and mocking, without the slightest hint of mirth or joy. It went on for a while, which only seemed to make the miffed mare even madder.

"So pony society isn't perfect after all!" Mystery Book declared. "For a moment there, I was beginning to wonder." The stallion grinned in a way that showed teeth. "I read the lawbooks, of course, but even I thought the sedition clause a formality, given pronounced pony propensities towards peace and cooperation. I suppose I was mistaken, that I should have maintained my cynicism all along."

The Wonderbolt Captain didn't seem to understand, which prevented her from immediately responding, but going by facial expressions, she did understand she was still being mocked.

In a voice dripping with distaste, the stallion clarified his criticism. "I suspected the ego of you Wonderbolts would be so fragile that it could not stand censure, but this is just too rich. You intend to arrest me because of my mere words? You think it right to inflict imprisonment after emotional offense only? How harmonious of you." Then the stallion's eyes suddenly widened, and he laughed again. "And you aren't even in uniform! You hold no authority as you are! Don't you know your own laws, stupid mare!?"

Spitfire snapped. "THAT'S IT!"

She launched herself into a dive at the gray pony, who seemed ready to meet her head on-

And a purple barrier popped into existence between them.

"That's enough," said Twilight Sparkle, Element of Magic, who had been watching in silence the entire time. "I'm only going to say this once," she said in a voice audible to all. "By my authority as the Element of Magic and personal student to Princess Celestia, there will be no violence here, or so help me, I will personally recommend that every member of the Wonderbolts gets an in-depth psych evaluation. Do I make myself clear?"

"You should recommend it regardless," said a voice. "It is clearly needed."

"And you," she said, whirling on Mr. Book. "I see where Silver gets his... his... ugh! That was horribly mean and rude and awful!"

"But all perfectly legal," said the gray pony, undisturbed by her judgement. In fact, he appeared amused. "And entirely fact-based for that matter... within a 5% margin of error on the provided percentages, of course."

"Lawful Evil," Silver sighed, making himself known with the amulet she'd enchanted for him.

The entire conversation thus far had been projected to the class in various ways, not that it needed to be. Ponies had gotten closer to the action, the lesson forgotten as things heated up.

But the quarrel had still been projected – Soarin's voice through the peripheral enchantment on the amulet, Mystery Book's voice through unknown means, Spitfire's voice by just being really loud, and Twilight's voice through a spell of her own.

"Just because something is a fact doesn't mean you have to say it!" Twilight sternly scolded him.

"Mr. Silver," said the gray pony. "In the aftermath of that incident in which you were bullied by that teacher, you made a speech to the student body. Would you care to repeat the opening sentences to that speech, if you remember them? I believe they are relevant to this occasion."

"The truth is sacred," Silver sighed. He'd memorized the speech, and still remembered it. "One of my most treasured possessions is a button which reads 'Speak the truth, even if your voice trembles. This, then, is the truth.' He's right, Twilight. Maybe the way he said it could use work, but he's right. He made valid criticisms. Should the response to that be arrest or assault?"

"They WEREN'T valid!" shouted Soarin'.

"Even if they weren't, then," Silver allowed, "I didn't think the proper pony response to hearing other ponies speak their mind was supposed to be violence. At least, not when the words are harmless."

"Harmless?!" Spitfire spat from the other side of the barrier. "What he said wasn't harmless!"

"Hmm," said the mocking voice of the gray pony. "Yes, thank you for pointing out that gaping wound rent upon your flesh by my speech. I did not notice it until now."

"WHAT?!"

"What I meant to say," said the slightly less scathing voice of Silver, "is that he didn't threaten violence." He glared at Spitfire. "Unlike you. All he did was hurt your ego. And your image too, I suppose, but that was mostly you. What he said might not have been emotionally harmless, but it wasn't exactly physically threatening, was it?"

Spitfire fumed, not coming up with an immediate response.

"And you trying to arrest him for it," Silver continued, "and then trying to assault him when that didn't work... what do you say, Twilight? Is there an excuse for that?"

"It's not my place to say," said Twilight primly, maintaining her neutrality.

Silver shrugged. "Right, sorry. Conflicting authorities and all. Well, since I'm a colt, I can get away with it." He turned back to the Wonderbolts Captain. "If there were such a thing as a Wonderbolts oversight committee, and I were on it, I'd suggest you be demoted from Captain and file a motion to put you on probation. But then, how you look in the eyes of your fans probably matters a whole lot more to you than that, doesn't it?"

Silver deliberately made to look at the forty or so young pegasi who were watching the spectacle with wide eyes, looking angry or hurt or shattered. Most were angry at the gray pony... but some weren't. And the scattered adults were the inverse of the children. The minority were angry at the gray pony, but the majority...

The mare's face went from angry to shocked in a fraction of a second.

"I would put you on probation," said Flight Formation, the former Captain making himself known in that moment. "I should have chosen Fleetfoot to replace me. She wouldn't've embarrassed the Wonderbolts like this."

(One of the mares in the audience blushed.)

Spitfire seemed to suddenly remember that she was in the company of her old boss, who might still have a connection or two-

And then the sound of the school's clocktower rang.

Six o'clock.

Lesson's over.

"I think," said Twilight Sparkle. "That's enough for today. Let's all go home, calm down, and cool off. Everypony is just exhausted from trying to do something new and difficult."

"And mostly failing for two hours straight," Silver took over. "That sort of frustration can get to a pony. Or maybe they're overwhelmed by the sudden feelings of freedom. Oh, quick warning: you might feel the impulse to disregard or disrespect authority when practicing cloud-phasing, so be careful. And I didn't get around to this part of the lesson, so I'll just say it outright: to stop cloud-phasing, think of your parents scolding you. That should work. If it doesn't, just try to be really determined to touch clouds again. Oh, and one last thing. The contract you all signed before the start of the lesson was a magically binding non-disclosure agreement."

It was the closest thing here to an unbreakable vow. Not the non-disclosure agreement part, the magically binding part. Though Mr. Book said the magic also resembled the Goblet of Fire. It was like a mix between the vow and the Goblet, but weaker than either. The contract would bind all ponies who signed it (there was only one page, made longer for longer contracts), but it was temporary, not permanent. When the magic in the contract expired, or if the contract itself was destroyed, the bindings would lift. The agreement is unbreakable, but only so long as the magic in the contract itself still functioned properly.

"Even if you want to, you can't share what you've learned with others until the contract expires. So NO Soarin', you CAN'T use your teammates to bypass the class."

This being one of the many foreseen possibilities Silver had provided to Mr. Book's 'Name all the ways this could go wrong' brainstorming session, and the primary reason behind the NDA.

"You’ll have to show up if you want to learn. I won’t require an apology or anything like that, and you already have the next lessons free. It’s up to YOU if you want to keep learning. Everypony else, I expect you to be able to phase through clouds by next Friday or Monday. If the Wonderbolts are too scared or weak to come back, that's on them. It was all in good fun before, Soarin', but now it's personal. So yes, I'm going to keep dissing the Wonderbolts. Sorry, Coach."

"Oh no, go right ahead," said the school's superintendent. "Be my guest. These Wonderbolts deserve to be dissed."

Many of the nearby colts "Ooooooh"ed when they suddenly realized that they had a cool superintendent. Even some who were initially angry at Silver/Mr. Book had switched their loyalties when the former captain stepped in.

Silver nodded gratefully at his flight tutor, then turned back to the modern Wonderbolts. "If you can't handle the heat, feel free not to come back. Everypony else, if you want the chance to be braver than a Wonderbolt, not just better, I'll see you on Friday at four. Class dismissed."

And Silver dropped through the cloud floor of the stadium, overwhelmed not only by his free schedule, but by the feeling of freedom that always came with defying authority figures.

Yes, he had left a massive mess behind for others to clean up. But then, that was part of the pre-arranged deal he'd established with Twilight Sparkle and Flight Formation. He was only twelve, he thought with an evil grin, and you couldn't expect a young colt to handle every adult responsibility associated with entrepreneurship. Or at least, Flight and Twilight didn't think he'd be able to handle them, and so had promised to take on those burdens themselves. He was in no hurry to correct their assumptions.

In addition to an open schedule, he also had a pocketful of around 2200 bits to spend or invest at his leisure, Twilight Sparkle and Flight Formation having pitched in for free.

And he already had an idea how to spend it.

Chapter 18: Waiting

Monday, 6:10 PM

It wasn't long after leaving Cloudsdale that he arrived at the crystal cave hideout. Probably because he used the portkey this time. The day isn't over yet; he still has a magic lesson to get through, taking place on a Monday instead of the weekend to make up for yesterday's missed class.

Mr. Book altered his plans on the fly when Silver made his bit-backed request. Instead of learning a few new spells, Silver would be brewing one of the tonics that would make the broomstick bone procedure simpler and safer.

The facts that he had to do it ambidextrously and that he was using hooves instead of hands still made things difficult, but at least he was finally back to the point where he could get potions right on his first try, if imperfectly. He'd been allowed to brew one potion with his normal hoof orientation a few lessons ago, just to have a recent reference frame for the impact of ambidexterity. He brewed that one perfectly. It was strange going from skilled to average just by switching hooves. He is now, according to Mr. Book, at the level of a student getting straight "A's" in Snape's class. "A's" as in Acceptables, not Amazings; the equivalent of a passing "C" grade in muggle schools.

It was during the brewing, during one of the longer stirring lulls, that he asked a question that had been bugging him.

"Why'd you intervene?" he asked the thestral who was brewing a significantly harder potion with significantly more ease. "I figured you'd want me to learn how to sort out a situation like that on my own."

"I was feeling incredibly bored and saw an opportunity to amuse myself. You have my apologies for stealing a perfectly good learning opportunity on how to deal with idiots when you cannot kill them."

"No, it's alright. I think you need more practice with that than I do, to be honest. If anything, the opportunity I missed was more along the lines of learning better customer relations. Soarin' wasn't the worst offender in that situation, and it was him I antagonized, not Spitfire. I guess we'll see what happens on Friday."

"You shall have a sooner indicator if the newspapers run extra editions."

There was a pause as Silver focused on his potion again.

"I'm curious," he said at the next lull. "How did you know all those facts about the Wonderbolts?"

"I researched the military strength of this country some time ago. When I discovered the Wonderbolts during that research, I wondered if, perhaps, they might serve as your placeholder career path, assuming our efforts to escape take longer than expected. I would have said something similar about the occupations of Dark Wizard Hunter, Curse-Breaker, or Auror on the other side of the Mirror. Though I did not see it until after the fact, one of the greatest benefits I received from martial arts was self-discipline. Military and other combat programs often provide that same benefit. Though as soon as I learned the truth about their modern incarnation, and in particular the facts I espoused earlier this day, I abandoned the idea that the Wonderbolts could be of any developmental use to you at all. The Wonderbolts have not seen true combat for hundreds of years. They are entertainers now, not soldiers, regardless of what they might have been propagandised into believing about themselves."

"So what Soarin' said about being Equestria's last line of defense was...?"

"Purely delusional, as he truly believed it himself. He is not intelligent or experienced enough to have been dishonest."

Silver silently wondered which was worse. From a moral perspective, dishonesty is generally worse than delusion, since it means conscious awareness of the problem and a deliberate effort to cover things up. But from a practical perspective, delusion is harder to dissuade without first shattering a person/pony's world view. And given what happened the last time he did that with Draco, he wasn't sure he wanted to see what would happen if the Wonderbolt delusion was shattered. On a small or large scale. Then again, with how public that confrontation had been, it was already out of his hooves.

Another stirring lull.

"Will you be coming to the second lesson?"

"No. I do not think I wish to inflict that boredom upon myself again, and I shall be occupied by other obligations regardless."

Friday, 2:54 PM

Waiting List walked through the halls of Canterlot University, towards a classroom more often used for administration than for education. As Dean of Admissions, it was his duty to personally admit every student to the school, a procedure usually carried out in bulk.

Mr. List had an office, yes. A rather large and spacious office, too. But addressing each portion of the new crop of students within that office would have been cramped and uncomfortable.

Of the thousands of applicants, only four hundred had passed the entrance exam, and only a few of those showed particular promise. He would be meeting those few privately, but for now...

He smiled at the sight of the final group he'd be inducting, both today and for the year. Fifty seated unicorns. Some wore fancy, expensive, or otherwise scholarly clothing – the sign of noble heritage, good breeding, and wealthy parents. Others wore little or nothing – the sign of common heritage, relative poverty, and ponies having climbed far to get where they are.

The clothes, Waiting List thought wryly, were often a sign of the price of admission. Canterlot U, generally speaking, was either very expensive or very cheap. Expensive for the rich, cheap for the poor. That idea had been proposed by Celestia herself to give smart yet penniless ponies a chance, while simultaneously keeping the school financially afloat through the tuitions of the wealthy. It was a policy that had served the institution well over the years, as Waiting himself could personally attest to.

"Attention, everypony," he said at exactly 3:00 PM, bringing the already-ordered classroom to further order. "Attention. I would like to say a few words before you begin your tour of the grounds."

The few eyes in the room that had not been upon him before now stared attentively.

"Many of you," he began in a lofty, amused voice, "may believe you have finally made it. That, by passing the entrance exam, you have finally reached that honored and coveted position of official Canterlot scholar." Waiting List chuckled. "That could not be further from the truth."

He heard a few intakes of breath and smiled.

"Passing that exam proves only that you have the potential to become a Canterlot scholar. Your true work lies in the days ahead. Will you prove yourselves to your friends and professors? Or will you be left behind by those who do? Only you can decide that. It will be shown by the strength of your mind, and your will, and your dedication. Some of you may have been born into knowledgeable families, while others may have worked diligently for all that you have. But I assure everycorn in this room: only those that are willing to put in the effort to learn the material will succeed at Canterlot U. That might mean attending office hours, or requesting tutoring from upperclassmares, or working overnight and into the morning to learn a difficult subject."

He looked at the room filled with promise, potential, and future disappointment.

"Many unicorns of many origins, rich and poor, have excelled at Canterlot U, and all of those unicorns had exactly two things in common: they were intelligent, and they were diligent. So far, you have all proven to me only that you are intelligent, and some less than others. However, even to those less intelligent, I say this: I have seen brilliant scholars fail out of this institution for being unwilling to put in the necessary work to succeed, just as I have witnessed less-brilliant scholars succeed with flying colors thanks to a strong work ethic. Today does not mark a day of accomplishment. Today marks the start of a long journey. Whether you make it to the end or fall short before then is entirely up to you. That is all."

Friday, 3:25 PM.

It was five minutes before school would end and thirty-five minutes before his second class would begin.

Silver was genuinely curious how many students he would have after Monday's debacle.

Of course, such an incident does not go unnoticed. Or unreported.

Later that same night, Twilight had received many angry letters and even more angry phone calls from disturbed parents demanding to know what their colt or filly meant about 'the bad Wonderbolt' or the 'scary gray pony'.

Alternatively, other parents were asking why there was a gaping hole in their living room floor and why their son/daughter wouldn't stop flying through walls...

Monday, 8:45 PM.

"Honestly," said Twilight, not quite slamming the phone. "It's almost like they don't know they learned how to fill in cloud gaps when they were in fourth grade!" She had, of course, been keeping up with the theory of Silver's curriculum, even if she couldn't perform weather magic herself. "It should only take a few seconds to fix!"

Spike shrugged. "Maybe they forgot."

"You don't just forget that sort of thing!" Twilight argued. "It would be like if you forgot how to breathe fire. It's just... just..."

At that moment, the door to the library opened. She felt her mane begin to crackle and spark.

"YOU!"

Silver took one look at Twilight, took one step backwards, and closed the door.

"GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT YOUNG STALLION!"

There was a pause.

The door creaked open again.

Silver's head popped through the opening.

"You are in so much trouble I don't even know where to begin!"

"Why?" Silver asked curiously. "What did I do wrong?"

"You were the one who invited Mystery Book to the lesson," Twilight seethed. "I know you did. Don't try to deny it." The phone began ringing again. "And since you came home so late, I've had to deal with all these wonderful phone calls."

The door creaked open more. "Okay... I guess I did. I'm sorry. For the phone calls, I mean."

"Sorry," Twilight seethed, "doesn't fix the problem." She pointed at the phone. "I want you to stand there and answer every single call. And I'll be listening."

Friday, 3:37 PM

Twilight may not have been pleased with how he handled the phone calls, but then, public relations had never been his strong point. He just ended up speaking sharply at people- er, ponies.

Even still, he was surprised to learn that not everypony had been put off by that first lesson, nor the stories told of it after the fact. Especially in the rumor mill of Cloudsdale High. More often than not, the rumors milling about were fueled by female teenage hormones, but on the rare occasions where the colts got involved, the mill was much more interesting. And in this case...

Tuesday, 1:37 PM

"S-Silver Wing?" asked a hesitant voice.

Silver looked up from the book he was browsing and beheld a brunette that looked a few years younger than himself. "Yeah?"

"Can I join your class?"

"So long as you can afford it. Ten bits an hour, twenty bits for one lesson."

The filly's eyes brightened, but then she hesitated. "Um... I already missed a class. Do I need to catch up?"

Silver thought for a moment. "Not for the upcoming lesson, which is Friday after school at the Flight Stadium, by the way. Maybe I'll arrange a catch-up lesson if I get enough new students."

Friday, 3:42 PM

That had happened during his Independent Study Period on Tuesday, with many similar incidents prior to that – during Coach Formation's tutoring sessions and during gym class – and even more incidents afterwards. Wednesday and Thursday and even today. He had known that controversy was good for generating interest, but he had underestimated just how powerful it could be.

The problem is that controversy is double-edged. It threatened to ruin his reputation and thus the credibility of the theories. Even the public support of former Wonderbolt Captain Flight Formation and Element of Magic Twilight Sparkle might not be enough to guard against an extremely vocal opposition. Especially when that opposition contained current members of the Wonderbolts.

Not to mention members of the press...

Wednesday, 3:40 PM, at a news kiosk.

MYSTERIOUS PONY PICKS A FIGHT WITH THE WONDERBOLTS AT CLOUDSDALE HIGH!

Read page 2a for an exclusive interview with Captain Spitfire about the incident...

Friday, 3:49 PM

Then again, not all journalistswere in agreement against him. Controversy sells, and the competing newspapers of Cloudsdale at least seem to understand that they can sell more copies if they write different takes on the same story...

Wednesday, 3:47 PM, at the same news kiosk.

CLASH AT CLOUDSDALE HIGH! SPITFIRE ATTEMPTS TO ARREST A PONY FOR INSULTING HER. FORMER WONDERBOLT CAPTAIN BERATES CURRENT CAPTAIN FOR POOR BEHAVIOR.

Read page 4b for an interview with the Element of Magic, Twilight Sparkle, who was there at the time...

Friday, 3:55 PM

The Wonderbolts themselves also were not unified against him. Fleetfoot, for example, felt the need to personally inform him that she would be returning to his class despite the actions of her current captain. Nopony else had directly come up to him and said that, but there were more Wonderbolts than just her in attendance, as he could see now that he stood in the stadium. Soarin' and Spitfire were understandably absent.

If the size of his current class is anything to go by, the opposition hasn't been nearly as effective due to its internal divisions. Mr. Book had been very correct on that score.

Not that his own side is entirely unified. Twilight, for example, still has massive misgivings about Mystery Book's contributions, including the NDA, and said as much in her newspaper interview. But his own side is at least more unified, which should be good enough.

"Today," said Silver to a class one hundred and twenty pegasi strong, "you will be teaching yourselves how to do the opposite of cloud phasing."

His weather skills were currently at the level of an 8th grader, according to Flight Formation. He had flown through all his cloud-shaping lessons, the state of mind required to manipulate clouds similar to the mental discipline required for Transfiguration. Cloud-shaping was much easier, though.

With an effort of weather magic, he moulded a cloud into the shape of a sword. Silver grasped the hilt, thought firmly of his determination to wield it, and swung it through an apple held aloft by Twilight's magic. The apple split into two clean halves.

"You will be teaching yourselves how to cloud harden."

Much of his audience reacted in various forms of surprise, from gasps to shocked stares to colts saying "Coooool!" A natural result from seeing the 'impossible' done right in front of their eyes.

The fundamental theory of cloud manipulation, proposed by Swift Flight the Swift Thinker three centuries ago, was that only pegasus magic (or unicorn spells shaped to mimic pegasus magic, like the cloud-walking spell) could interact with clouds as if they were physical objects.

Under any other circumstance, clouds were supposed to act like... well, clouds. Clumps of condensed water. Mist. And even when they were being manipulated, it was only pegasus magic (and the one wielding it) that could interact with them. Physical things could not touch clouds – even clouds in the process of being manipulated by a pegasus – unless those things were also enchanted with pegasus-like magic.

In other words, even if a cloud had been shaped into a sword, it should have dispersed like mist the moment it came in contact with an ordinary apple. Even if the apple had been enchanted to cloud-walk, like many physical objects in Cloudsdale, a cloud-sword still shouldn't be able to slice it in two. It should do what all clouds do in the presence of pegasus magic: act like big, soft pillows. Or in this case, the cloud sword should have bent and distorted so as not to bruise the fruit.

Clouds are not dangerous, even to objects or ponies infused with pegasus magic. (Except hazardous weather clouds, but the danger there isn't due to the solidity of the clouds.) No matter what shape they've taken, clouds should not be capable of bruising, stabbing, or cutting.

In theory.

Unicorn theory.

Well, actually, some of that is actual pegasus theory for once. Swift Flight had proposed it. But the theory had been refined in the presence of and under influence from unicorns, so it hadn't been surprising to Silver when he'd found exceptions to the "laws".

As for what inspired this particular lesson to take this particular shape, he had once again been unable to stop his mind from looking at what he'd learned/discovered and seeing creative ways ponies could be killed with the new knowledge. Once again, it was like looking at a picture of a fish and trying to stop your brain from realising that it was a fish. It was an automatic process, an unbreakable habit, performed independently of his will. The more he thought about it, the more it happened.

But at least that habit had given Silver a tangible subject for his second lesson, plus an important insight. Since he could so easily see how to kill ponies, he saw that he shouldn't teach air-bucking until much later, well after he'd instilled enough caution and taught enough techniques that his class wouldn't get themselves killed in any way he could foresee. Like, say, by bucking yourself into a tree at top speed, or by being unable to properly slow down after a strong take-off.

He would have asked Mr. Book to point out any other lethal problems he wasn't seeing, but Silver hadn't thought to ask on Monday, nor had he spoken with his mentor since then.

Mr. Book had at least had the courtesy to inform Silver that he'd be busy today. Something to do with a "meeting".

High Hay is an excellent establishment for the well-to-do Canterlot pony. It has a diverse, tasty, and healthy selection of foods, skilled staff, and an excellent view.

Waiting List sat down at one of the restaurant's two outdoor tables, situated on an upper terrace that overlooked the entire city. He requested a glass of wine from the waiter before checking his pocket watch.

5:55 PM.

He nodded to himself. Five minutes early, the perfect punctuality for politeness.

He'd had private meetings with the other promising applicants in his personal office, saving this setting for the best of the bunch. Well, 'best' according to test scores alone. Waiting List had long learned to postpone judgement until after he'd actually met the applicant.

At 6:03 PM, after the waiter had brought him his wine and he'd ordered his food, he sighed.

Late.

This wasn't a good sign.

Waiting List looked around himself. Perhaps the student had already sat himself, assuming the dean would be second to arrive.

A gray pony wearing a cloak and glasses sat at the only other table on the restaurant's open patio, reading a book and sipping what smelled like tea. There were no other ponies present.

"You seem somewhat anticipatory," remarked that pony when he noticed Waiting's glance. "Are you waiting for somepony?"

Waiting List thought of ignoring the pony for a moment, then decided against it. A polite conversation would be a decent way to pass the time while he waited. Again, he had long learned to postpone judgement, and emergencies did crop up from time to time. Perhaps Mystery Book had already arrived and was in the bathroom, or was having trouble finding the restaurant. It wouldn't be the first time.

"I am."

"Whom?" asked the gray earth pony – or perhaps pegasus, come to think of it. Then again, the cloak didn't look wide enough to hide wings.

"A student," said Waiting List.

"You are a professor?"

"I am the Dean of Admissions at Canterlot University," proclaimed the former professor with pride.

"Classes do not start until two weeks from now," observed the other insightfully.

The school's schedule wasn't especially uncommon knowledge in Canterlot. Many businesses kept a close eye on Canterlot U, offering special deals at special times to attract the patronage of the student body. Perhaps this pegasus/earth pony was one of those business owners. He would have to be fairly wealthy to afford this particular restaurant, and especially this particular seating.

"You must be meeting an applicant," that pony guessed with continued insight.

Waiting List nodded. "I am."

"If a student has caught the your eye this early," said the probable earth pony, "he or she must have done something very right or very wrong. Given our surrounding setting, I assume the former?"

Waiting List nodded again. It was a reasonable line of logic. "Yes. He did well on his entrance exam. One of the highest scores I've ever seen, actually."

At least cumulatively. His historical understanding could use touching up, but every other area was either perfect or near-perfect.

"Why does that warrant a meeting?"

"I simply wish to get a better idea of the pony behind the name."

"Why meet in pony? Could you not learn everything necessary to perform your job from his application? Or perhaps an exchange of letters, if you wished to know more?"

"When you only know a pony through test scores and standard admittance postage, you can rarely make judgements on personality," said Waiting List. "Even exchanging letters does not suffice."

"True," nodded the gray pony. "But it is possible to infer things about a pony even through that admittance postage. For example, did the pony come from a place of poverty, or was he born into wealth and privilege?"

"Poverty," said Waiting List. Like myself, the Dean thought privately.

"What does that tell you about the applicant?"

"It is often a sign of a good work ethic," said the Dean of Admissions, "though it also means the student will probably have difficulties integrating into high society." Like himself, so long ago. "Students with backgrounds of poverty also suffer from a certain set of emotional problems, like a lack of confidence, just as students with backgrounds of wealth suffer from a different set of problems, like overconfidence. But those are just generalities. You can never guess what a student will be like ahead of time until you meet them. There are always outliers."

The gray pony – his accent clearly marking him as a member of high society even though he was an earth pony (perhaps he married into it?) – nodded in agreement. "Indeed."

There was silence for a time, as Waiting List sipped his wine and the other pony sipped his tea.

Waiting List checked his pocket watch.

6:10.

He sighed.

"There are further inferences that can be made only from standard application sheets," the other pony said into the silence. "Does the application require a physical description, perhaps? In particular, does it require a Cutie Mark description? You might be able to deduce his special talent. Especially if you already know his name."

"Hmm," said Waiting List, his own voice thoughtful as well. "Yes, I suppose so." He unlocked his briefcase's magical lock, withdrew the application, and examined it.

With some surprise (this was the first time he'd taken a closer look at the application) he saw that it was as bare-bones as could be. Every optional field had been left blank, and every available field which allowed for the answer N/A was filled in that way. Even the space for pony sub-species space had been left blank, though that did not surprise Waiting List. Many of the smartest applicants didn't bother putting in the effort to write "unicorn", seeing that box for what it was: a formality.

All applicants who passed the entrance test in the past 300 years have been unicorns, a result of the deep magical knowledge required.

Oh, there have been many non-unicorns to apply, and many non-unicorns to do well on the non-magical sections. Some earth ponies and pegasi have even managed to do extremely well in those sections. But magic is a core class of Canterlot U, and if you cannot at least demonstrate adeptness with the theory, you will not be allowed admittance.

Mystery Book had not failed to demonstrate his own; quite the opposite. His answers to the magic portions of the entrance exam had been beyond stellar. A perfect score, with correct and unusually insightful/interesting answers to the open-ended questions. Therefore his race was obviously unicorn, even if he didn't explicitly write it down.

"Is there anything you can infer from the applicant's appearance?" the non-unicorn asked, startling Waiting List from his musings.

"Ah... less than usual." Waiting's eyes glanced over the blank and N/A answers until they landed upon the appearance section, which was mostly mandatory. "But I believe I could still infer a thing or two."

Name: Mystery Book
Pony Species:
Sex: Male
Coat Color: R/G/B 93/93/93 – Dark Grey

Waiting List frowned, and not just because this is the first time he'd ever seen somepony describe his own hue with the R/G/B system, a technical and exact way of describing color. That actually would have made him smile, ordinarily.

He frowned because that's not how 'gray' is spelled. Or rather, he suddenly remembered, 'gray' has not been spelled that way for hundreds of years, a fact he only knew thanks to a single class he took over thirty years ago about ancient literature.

A/N: Grey is for the English of England, gray is for us Yanks in America. MLP seems to be set in a pony version of America, so I'm having the locals speak and think in American English. Even though I've written it so that high society unicorns have British accents, all Equestrians will still use American spelling, with a single exception.

And if you're curious, I've been doing that this entire fic; I try to use British spelling during Book and Silver's perspectives, or during their speech in dialogue if it's somepony else's perspective. For everypony else I try to use American spelling. I've probably fallen short of perfection with that goal, but I'm making the effort.

Waiting List looked to the rest of the descriptors.

Mane Color: R/G/B 0/0/0 – Black
Eye Color: R/G/B 197/234/254 – Ice Blue
Weight: 195 lbs.(Extremely light, Waiting thought. Maybe he was so poor that he had trouble affording proper nutrition? Or he was just short? Or stunted?)
Height: 4 ft 11 in(Not short...)
Length: 6 ft 2 in(Nor stunted. Hmm... gangly, then?)
Age: 55(Wait, what?)
Cutie Mark:

The standard shorthand style for cutie mark description was ignored in favor of the larger description box below, used by ponies with non-standard Cutie Marks.

A book open to its centerfold, resting upon a backdrop of constellations. The bottom of the right page depicts the infinity symbol. The rest is blank. Special talent: solving mysteries.

Waiting List stared at the list of traits in something of a daze. Especially the last ones.

He'd never encountered that special talent before. Perhaps that explained the unusual Cutie Mark? But the Cutie Mark didn't seem to have anything to do with mysteries, except that the mark itself is mysterious...

"What can you infer?" the pony asked after another audible sip of tea, again startling the Dean of Admissions out of his surprise.

"Ah," said the Dean of Admissions, blinking. "Well, this is certainly the oldest applicant I have ever seen." The Dean's eyes widened slightly. "In fact, he is just exactly as old as I am. I don't believe that has ever happened before."

The gray pony chuckled. "Scholarship has no age limit," the stallion supplied, rather wryly. "In fact, the most eminent scholars are often the oldest."

Waiting List paused. "Well... that is correct, I suppose," he conceded. "But most of those elders began their tutelage when they were young. This is the first time I've ever seen such a... ripe age on an application." The Dean blinked thoughtfully. "Though I suppose his age could explain his test scores."

A reflection of experience more than intelligence?

"Indeed," said the gray pony. "Perhaps he pursued other endeavours in his youth and seeks to refine his knowledge in his autumn years."

"Perhaps."

There was another pause.

Waiting List checked his watch.

6:17.

"And his Cutie Mark?" asked the gray pony. "What can you infer from that?"

"A background of constellations can mean a number of things," Waiting mused. "But for scholarly ponies it almost always means an affinity for astronomy. A book often indicates a desire for knowledge... but this book..." Waiting List felt his eyebrows furrow. "Here I have no idea."

The pony raised an eyebrow. "Do you think you can infer his special talent from the book's contents, whatever they are?"

"He wrote out his special talent, actually."

"He did?" asked the pony, sounding interested. "May I inquire after what he wrote?"

"Solving mysteries," said the Dean, seeing no harm in sharing the answer. "Though I do not quite see how that relates to his cutie mark. Perhaps that is why he wrote it explicitly."

"Is mystery-solving related to any other part of his application?"

"Yes, actually," said Waiting List. "His name. Mystery Book. And I suppose his name further relates to his Cutie Mark." He was beginning to make sense of it all, finally overcoming his initial befuddlement.

"Mystery Book," said that pony. "Whose Cutie Mark depicts a book, and who specialises in solving mysteries. I wonder if he expects others to solve mysteries, even as he unravels them himself."

There was a long pause, as the Dean considered those words in conjunction with the application page. The pause stretched long enough for Waiting's food to arrive – so commonly ordered at this point that the waiter had not even needed to ask, though of course he still had.

"Well," said the gray pony. "I must take my leave now. For myself, I was waiting for a certain pony to come and acknowledge my presence. Or at least ask after my name. But it would seem I have been flouted by my host. I apologise that you have been flouted by your own guest in turn. Until later, Waiting List." The gray pony stood and walked into the restaurant proper, presumably to walk back out again through the main entrance.

Waiting List would wait another thirty minutes after that, enjoying one of his favorite meals and allowing the pleasure of that initial conversation to distract him from his disappointment. Promising students failing to show up to these initial meetings was never a good sign. But at least he had learned a few things despite that.

Waiting List never noticed that he had never introduced himself to his conversational partner by name, nor did he notice that he was charged for that gray pony's tea.

Chapter 19: Participation

It took three whole weeks.

A less experienced cynic might think it strange, or even impossible, for him to have gone unrecognised as a non-unicorn for so long. To remain inconspicuous and incognito despite being surrounded by unicorns might seem unlikely.

Mystery Book was not surprised in the slightest. Most ponies go about their lives unconcerned with others, paying mind only to themselves and their objectives. When those objectives involve others, only then do they care. Few pay attention to random passersby. Still fewer when one of those passersby happens to maintain a notice-me-not charm.

Perhaps if that charm existed in this realm as an established unicorn spell, the most experienced magical practitioners would have recognised it and taken note of the caster/user. In his own experienced eyes, that charm marks the one who casts it simply as one who wishes to hide. For this reason, he does not maintain it in the presence of Twilight Sparkle, Element of Magic, nor would he use it in the presence of either princess. But none of his professors had noticed, nor anypony else in Canterlot University, which was either a testament to their magical inadequacy or to his charm's unrecognisable foreignness.

Mr. Book would have preferred to remain unrecognised for as long as he stayed a student, but his professor of Advanced Magic 101 had taken the choice out of his hooves. Not by noticing his charm, but through happenstance of her stupid class structure. She annoyingly believed that participation should count to a student's overall grade.

Well, that part wasn't annoying on its own. He agreed with the concept of practical demonstrations as proof of mastery, in theory, and if this class was structured as a seminar, it would make even more sense. But it was not.

Even if the participating student did not properly perform their spell, even if the student failed to demonstrate a solid grasp of the theory or the practice, it did not seem to matter to this professor. So long as the student 'contributed' at least three times per semester, their participation segment was filled. This teacher went down her student list alphabetically (by first name, not second) to ensure that each student will have 'participated' at least three times by the end of the semester, referencing the list a few times per period.

Worse, she did not seem to understand the definition of the word 'participation'. Voluntary student contributions are neither expected nor wanted. No actual participation is desired.

Based on the wording of the syllabus, Mr. Book had the sneaking suspicion that this system, which constitutes 20% of a student's final grade, is not there to help students. It certainly does not serve the function of encouraging students to grow. The token contributions made by his classmates thus far proves that much.

The exact wording suggests something else.

Attendance is imperative. Please be present when you are in class, and refrain from any disruptive behavior.

In other words, shut up and listen or else. A common attitude of bad teachers who are not interesting in and of themselves, and so find ways to force their students into compliance.

Furthermore, the wording was vague. Especially for something that constituted 20% of a student's grade. A clause like that is entirely open to subjective interpretation on behalf of the teacher. The only thing that isn't vague is the following clause:

Missing more than 3 class periods will result in the dropping of a letter grade from your final course grade.

Due to that clause, Mr. Book does not currently plan to skip class periods.

He could have, given his knowledge, and would have, if there had been no penalty. He did not need to sit through most of his lectures, least of all the ones on magic. He already knew everything there was to know about the spells taught in Advanced Magic 101 thanks to the textbook, and the teacher brought nothing new to the table. He only attended class periods because of that one attendance rule, which could cause him to outright fail the course and subsequently flunk out of Canterlot University (magic is a required course) if he chose to disobey.

It wasn't a complete waste. He'd found adequate ways to pass the time in most of his classes with mandatory attendance clauses.

In this class, for example, he did appreciate the opportunity to evaluate the magical strengths and performance levels of first year university unicorns. The participation system did at least force his fellow students to demonstrate their abilities.

But today marks the day that the name 'Mystery Book' would be called, and he knows he is at a turning point. He knows that, when he is called to perform magic before the class, he would have one of two choices.

Do nothing, which would keep safe the secret that he can cast spells, but possibly result in losing the full 20% portion of his grade dedicated to "participation".

Cast the spell, which would ruin the secret and would likely result in more unwanted attention than merely being a non-unicorn.

Option 1 seems like the only option.

He does not overly care about his own grade so long as it does not dip below 70% and put his student status at risk. So long as he does not fail out of his magic course entirely, his other grades would easily carry his GPA. He has legal access to the school's library, and that's all he cares about.

On the other hand, he no longer needs legal access to the library, strictly speaking. He scrutinised the 'security' in his first three days and is now certain he can bypass it. He no longer needs to be a student. He could drop out, or allow himself to be expelled. Those initial two months of studying had been orders of magnitude more productive than these recent three weeks in terms of academic development per minute. He is sorely tempted to go back to entirely independent study/research.

Still...

If he's going to leave anyway, he may as well do something interesting as he departs. If he departs.

The school, at least on paper, is supposed not to discriminate against non-unicorns (though it is an open secret that every unicorn does). Magic classes that require spellcasting are only taken by the Magic majors. Most unicorns come to this school for other reasons. The mathematicians, scientists, historians, linguists, etc. care little for magic except that it allows them to levitate a quill and write quickly, plus a few other conveniences. The lack of practical elements in Advanced Magic 101 works out for them as well, not just non-unicorns. Again, there are not supposed to be spell demonstrations required of students.

Not supposed to be.

Perhaps he would file a complaint with the Dean of Magic if this teacher is foolish enough to classify his soon-to-be-demonstrated lack of spellcasting as 'disruptive behavior' or a 'failure to participate'. And if the Dean does not listen, he could speak to Celestia herself (via Ms. Sparkle).

He had promised to refrain from maiming, torturing, and killing. Words, influence, and blackmail are all fair game. But even if he could destroy her, it might not be worth the effort. It would, in the end, draw needless attention. He might not even bother escalating at all.

It would all entirely depend on how much the professor annoyed him. If she annoyed him... though that was almost guaranteed, given her syllabus structure and teaching style.

These were all the things he had thought to himself during the weeks leading up to the current class period, in which his name would finally be called by Professor Cast Steel. (Her special talent was magical metalworking, according to her mark. It was little surprise that making her teach a class she clearly didn't care to teach resulted in a poor learning environment.)

"Mystery Book," said Professor Steel, her eyes on her parchment. "Please come forward."

Mr. Book stood from his seat and did so, dropping his notice-me-not charm beforehand. It was at this point that the class did not burst into murmurs. The process of a student coming forward was so routine that the ponies he passed barely spared him a first glance, let alone a second. It was the same way with the professor, whose eyes were more focused on her papers than whatever student was 'participating' at the time.

"Please demonstrate a standard Teleportation," said the professor, eyes still pointed down.

Nothing happened, of course, though something could have.

Mr. Book had already examined the theory behind the Teleportation spell on his own, casting it successfully the same hour he first found it in the textbook. He had further practiced the spell every day, with the eventual end-goal of performing it instantly and at will, though that would likely take around five hundred repeated castings. Repetition is the most reliable way to reach the wandless level, though the downside, of course, is that it's a spell-by-spell method, best reserved for the most common and useful spells.

He had also taken the opportunity to flesh out the advantages and disadvantages of each form of instant travel available to him. (Phoenix transmission is undisputedly the best across the board, but he didn't have one.)

He had deduced that, under ideal circumstances...

Portkeys are best for great, inter-continental distances.
Apparition is best for medium, intra-continental distances.
Teleportation is best for short trips. (Or for when there are established anti-Apparition, anti-Portkey wards. This new spell could bypass those, he'd already checked.)

The Teleportation spell is safer and more comfortable than Apparition, but also more magic-intensive, to the point where any travel distance which would have been called 'inter-continental' on the other side of the mirror wouldn't be possible with Teleportation, and distances that span individual European countries would be a strain.

However, he is not currently under ideal circumstances.

First, his body is more magically powerful here. Teleportation might be even more strenuous on the other side if that power does not escape the mirror with him. Second, Teleportation emits a flash of light more distinctive and recognisable to the local populace than Apparition, which gives no visible cues, only a popping sound which can be muffled with enough skill, though not eliminated entirely.

Even as he practices in private, and even once he masters Teleportation, he would stick to portkeys, which make no sound, or Apparition in the event of an unforeseen emergency. That is, unless his spellcasting secret ever gets out, in which case he might switch to Teleportation, depending on the circumstances.

And today would not be the day he reveals that secret.

"Mystery Book?" asked the professor, looking up from her parchment. "Can you cast the spell?" she repeated. "Did you study the material?"

It was at that moment when he heard a few gasps from the classroom, though they went unnoticed by the professor.

"I studied the material," replied Mr. Book.

The teacher tilted her head slightly. "Then why aren't you attempting the spell?"

Mr. Book looked at her through his enchanted eyeglasses, saying nothing.

It took seven seconds for the professor to realise.

What a stupid mare.

"You-" the professor gasped, her eyes widening in shock. "You're not a-"

"No," said Mr. Book. "I'm not."

There was a pause during which the rest of the class, and in particular those who had barely been paying attention before, all noticed that something actually interesting was going on. Now the murmurs started.

"Well?" Mr. Book asked, voice neutral. "What am I to do?"

The professor seemed at a loss for what to say. "You-" she began. "You have to cast-" she tried again.

It was like watching an actor reading from a script. A flawed script, whose errors were only just now being seen. Like the script was telling her to spit fire and fart rainbows, and it had taken that much for her to finally see the stupidity.

"May I return to my seat?" Mr. Book asked, voice still neutral.

"You... if you don't participate..." she stammered, her thoughts clearly scrambled. "Your grade..."

"Yes," said Mr. Book. "What about my grade?"

"If you don't participate, you'll lose points," she said, again as if reading from a script.

"And how am I meant to do that?" Mr. Book asked mildly.

"You... you just..." and again, that stammering.

"I could describe the theory and spell structure," continued Mr. Book, still in that mild voice. "As I said, I did study. Then again, you just did exactly that before calling me."

Not that he had been paying much attention. In all classes except calculus and physics, he brought his own reading material and allowed the back of his mind to listen to the lecture. His professors' words rarely made it to long-term memory, but if they happened to call on him and ask a question about what they'd just said, his short-term memory would kick in and enable him to answer. It was an ability he had developed when he became a perfect Occlumens, a side-benefit of constantly pretending to be a different person. Mental multitasking, you might call it.

Mr. Book sighed when Ms. Steel banked on nothing to say. "I am returning to my seat. I would not mind participating in the future, in theory, but I do not humour foolish requests."

Her demeanor seemed to change the moment he uttered the word 'foolish'. "If you don’t participate," she said, speaking in tones of one who feels empowered by their own sense of authority, "you can leave."

"You are giving me permission to skip lecture?" Mr. Book asked curiously.

Despite the minor advantages to attending, his ultimate preference is to only show up to take tests and drop off / pick up assignments (which were problems from his textbook, not handouts from the teacher, and were all provided in advance on the syllabus).

"Thank you," he said, despite the fact that she did not confirm his question. "I think I shall accept."

He gathered his open book from his seat and left the classroom, ignoring the incredulous stares of the students and the smile of the professor.

Once his 'secret' got out, he immediately stopped trying to hide. He didn't necessarily go out of his way to bring attention to himself, but he didn't actively avoid it either, at least when it came to letting the fact be known. He no longer needed to be cautious of others noticing a non-unicorn in their ranks.

Where before he kept to the library and himself, he could now visit many of the extra-curricular activities to see if they had anything of value to offer. He went from club to club and group to group, making personal evaluations and judgements along the way, and often leaving after less than five minutes each time.

One in particular, the High Mind Society, took exactly three minutes to dismiss, in a sense.

As part of their established ruleset, which he read before his first and only visit, their meetings were always open to the public and they allowed any pony, member or non-member, up to three minutes for question... or comment.

According to an insider, after Mr. Book used those three minutes to share a thought experiment that took the club's supposed ideals to their logical conclusions, the following meetings were no longer open to non-members. They had amended their ruleset to not allow for questions or comments, among other things. And they had lost around a quarter of their membership, including essentially all the freshmares and stallions who had thought that the club sounded interesting, or had otherwise been infatuated with naive notions that did not stand up to his standard scrutiny. Naive notions which they had not yet been fully indoctrinated into believing after only three weeks. Infatuation is easy to undermine when you know how.

A/N: True story. Those previous two paragraphs, I mean. The leader of one of the political clubs at my local college (Communists, Democrats, Republicans, or Libertarians, but I won't say which) successfully did this to the club rivaling his own in his first week of school. Makes you wonder what could be said in a mere three minutes to change that many minds, doesn't it?

One club that actually proved useful, both to himself and to society, was the Artist's Association, surprisingly enough. It contained a small cadre of talented magical artists who shared a sense of camaraderie about the creation process, and who shared their abilities with each other. Many were masters of fields in which he was only technically competent, due to thousands of hours of dedication to their crafts no doubt.

Another club that proved useful, though not as much, was the Dueling Circuit. He wouldn't join himself, of course, but his first visit gave him a decent understanding about what counted as socially acceptable combat spells. No, he did not use the club to judge anything else. Like, say, battle magic prowess. It was a common mistake for wizards to judge magical strength from a mere sport, even one that involves spellcasting. Like a muggle who lives in a world of guns, missiles, and nuclear weapons believing their country is powerful because they have the best martial artists or athletes. Or even believing that a skilled marksman would automatically make a skilled soldier. Simple stupidity.

As he sought out talent and skill, some of the staff and student body began seeking out the student who was not like the others, and so he had taken to walking the halls invisibly. Truly invisibly, thanks to his horcruxing Mr. Silver's Deathly Hallow. This was less a matter of hiding and more a matter of avoiding annoyance. He did not wish to have the same set of conversations play out over and over again.

In classes, which he could not avoid, he maintained his typical charms, but two of his professors caught wind of his escapades enough to actually notice him despite that. Both began behaving differently. One seemed to take offense at his presence and began openly challenging his knowledge in class. The other seemed overjoyed at the idea of teaching a non-unicorn. Both clearly thought him an intellectual lesser than his peers despite his thus far perfect academic performance.

But even these were tolerable in the face of all the useful information he was learning in his independent library studies. What was not tolerable was Miss Steel.

She had not given him permission to skip her lectures, as he had suspected. He confirmed that on the day of her first exam – one of three to be taken throughout the semester, taking place on a Friday.

She would not give him a test.

He asked why.

She said that he had missed enough class periods that he would fail either way.

He pointed out she had given him permission to skip lecture.

She claimed she did not.

Mr. Book stared at Ms. Steel for a moment, then shrugged, turned around, and walked out the door.

"I would like to see the Dean of Magic," Mr. Book said to the university's head secretary four minutes later. "Is Ms. Velvet available?"

After listening for fewer than fifty seconds, the Dean of Magic decided the problem was behavioural, not academic, and called the Dean of Admissions...

"You're-" Waiting gasped when he saw the source of today's headache (and at least two past headaches, come to think of it) and he recognized the face. It was the gray not-unicorn from the High Hay patio.

"Mystery Book," the pony introduced himself, by name this time. "Well met- no. Neutrally met, after the fact, Dean List."

There was a pause, during which Waiting List's mind went through all the rumors/complaints about the Earth Pony attending the school. He'd dismissed them on the grounds of sheer absurdity before. Now...

"Well," said Mystery Book into the silence. "No doubt you have received a summary by now. Would you care to hear the justification for my absence from Ms. Steel's recent lectures, or have you already made up your mind?"

There was another pause.

"I see that you have," said the gray pony, not even giving Waiting List a chance to respond. "You may go ahead and expel me from Canterlot University for failing Advanced Magic 101, unless I have misjudged you. But I give fair warning: I will pursue higher avenues of resolving this case if that is your choice."

"That," said the Dean, finally getting a word in edgewise, "would be impossible, given that I make the ultimate decisions about admission to this school."

"Admission to," repeated Mystery Book. "And expulsion from? We shall see. Although I shan't go down this route myself, I doubt you are immune to the temptation of bribe money. Even if you are, there are always other means of influence."

"Your assessment of me is wrong, and you are expelled. You are no longer allowed on the grounds of this university."

"I suspect you will reverse your decision soon enough."

"I will not. Expulsion is final."

Mr. Book said, "So you believe," and turned to leave.

Mystery Book, began the response letter.

While it deeply troubles me to hear that a professor acted that way, and further still that the Dean made that decision, I will not send a letter to the Princess. I would help under any other circumstance, but I will not help a pony who treats others the way you do. You need to be a nicer pony if you want to expect others to be nice to you. For now, if you wish for the Princess to hear this, you can petition her Royal Court like everypony else.

-Twilight Sparkle

Mr. Book briefly frowned at the letter, but his annoyance quickly left him. He had been banking on her righteous indignation sparking to life when she heard, but...

"Fair enough, Ms. Sparkle," he chuckled in the crystal cavern. "Fair enough."

...she was under no obligation to help, and he shouldn't have assumed she would.

An apparition and a brief trot later and Mr. Book was doing a bit of research on the Royal Court in the Canterlot public library.

He checked out four books – one published one thousand and twelve years ago, one published five hundred and fifty-one years ago, one published one hundred and twenty-nine years ago, and one published as recently as possible. He wished to see how the court had changed over the years despite a seemingly immortal ruler presiding over it.

He soon learned that there are, according to the oldest book (which he read first), actually two courts: Day and Night. Three guesses as to which Princess presides over which.

The thousand-year-old book states that, statistically speaking, petitions are significantly less likely to succeed at Night Court. The other books do not mention Night Court at all. Furthermore, he remembered the fact that Celestia had founded her own School for Gifted Unicorns. It was therefore likely she held greater jurisdiction/influence over Canterlot University than her only recently returned sister.

Mr. Book decided to focus his efforts on Day Court.

From the second-most-recent book, Mr. Book learned that requests are sorted into different categories of priority.

Noble requests are naturally placed at the front of the queue.
The merely wealthy after them.
Scholars and politicians after that.
Then the merchants.
Then the working class.
Finally the commoners and the unemployed.

Money is required to submit a request except at the lowest level, in which case it costs time. You could expect the waiting period to be years if you could not afford to increase your priority... though a few poor petitioners did get lucky from time to time when their troubles were egregious enough to be noticed and promoted to the front of the queue by Celestia herself.

So he needed bits.

In exchange for 10,000 bits, Mr. Book went through the lengthy and tedious process of enchanting Mr. Silver's bones, a process for which they'd already been preparing for the past few weeks.

Mr. Silver mentioned that he had not been expecting petty cash to serve as payment.

Mr. Book had replied that he happened to need it for a plot.

Mr. Silver had asked which plot.

Mr. Book had declined to answer.

Mr. Silver had thought for a moment, then asked why Mr. Book had not already Imperiused a few rich ponies to give him a portion of their wealth they wouldn't miss, then Obliviated them afterwards.

Mr. Book had remarked that he always gives every country he visits a fair chance. Long ago, when he began traveling the world, he resolved not to become a random menace as part of his 'I must not go around making strong, vicious enemies' rule. He had also decided he would not do anything that could theoretically get him in trouble with the ICW (not that it exists in this mirror, nor that he ever got caught). At least, not until the local government proves itself irredeemably inept, corrupt, or otherwise incompetent.

The Equestrian government had not yet proven itself so, so he had not yet broken any major rules. The incident with the Wonderbolts Captain had come very close. He had, in fact, intended for that to be the breaking point once he saw it happening. It was only Ms. Sparkle's direct intervention that delayed the inevitable.

At the moment, his main motive for going through official channels to resolve this dispute (though he didn't expect it would be done in his favour) was to put the Equestrian government to the test once more. Ten thousand bits allowed him to petition Day Court under the "wealthy" classification. Even with that high priority it would take a week before his plea would be heard, according to estimates within the most recently published book and, after an afternoon of bureaucracy, also according to the Day Court administration.

He similarly had a motive for going through official channels in general. It might seem irrational, studying at the public library and Canterlot University instead of, say, moving on to private places possessing greater probabilities of contributing to an escape plan or a resurrection procedure. But time was not an issue, and all the knowledge he has been finding along the way has been very useful. He knew that, once he won free from the mirror, he would be yet more powerful.

He was beginning to notice a trend in these deviations. First in his worldly travels, then in his nine years of stupidly self-imposed isolation, and finally now. This particular situation is better than the other two, since he could spend years accumulating new spells and skills without wasting any real time at all (if his mirror-theory was correct), and he actually has freedom of movement and action this time.

Unfortunately, he is no longer allowed on the grounds of the university, and so cannot currently further the magical half of that agenda. And despite the temptation, he would not illegally browse their books until all legal avenues had been pursued. He had maintained the pretense of a law-abiding citizen long enough that he may as well continue abiding even by the minor laws. For now. The university's useful selection of advanced magic books – none of which have yet contained the solution to his biggest problems but most of which have increased his power in other ways – would have to wait. Though he could finish the one he'd already checked out. Otherwise, he spent his free time in preparation for his most recent plot, setting a few things in motion, visiting certain ponies, making certain arrangements, enchanting certain objects, and so on.

He also helped Mr. Silver when the occasions arose – as an instructor on the weekend and as a teacher's aide on Monday. That first lesson had been free; now he required 20% of the profits from each lesson attended. Mr. Silver accepted, then said he'd boost it to 40% if Mr. Book helped him brainstorm future lesson plans and help in a few extra ways.

Once that was done, in a fit of boredom halfway through the week, after all the little details had been taken care of, he decided to sate his curiosity about something likely plot-irrelevant, but possibly useful. Primary sources are better than secondary and tertiary. Since he could find no recent reading material about it, he would pay the palace a personal visit to see what he could learn of the Night Court in person/pony.

(He had asked his literature professor, after his explicit exposure as a non-unicorn, why the words 'personality' and 'personal' were used instead of 'ponyality' and 'ponyal', just as 'in pony' was used in place of 'in person' and 'first/third pony' was used instead of 'first/third person'. The professor had remarked that phrases like 'in pony' were stubborn holdouts against a more general effort to make their language more inclusive to the other, non-pony species of the world. She had thanked him for positing the idea to phrase it as 'first/third person' and promised to bring it up with the other linguists. He had not said "you're welcome". He disliked the professor, her politics, and her personality. She developed the soft bigotry of low expectations the instant she caught wind of and noticed his non-unicorn status, despite the evidence of his already-perfect performance in her class. But he did have to admit, to himself not to her, that he was a beneficiary of the 'inclusivity' effort in this particular instance. Words like 'personality' were deeply ingrained in his habits of speech. Adjusting those habits would have been annoying.)

When he arrived where the guards directed him, a desk outside the doors leading to Night Court, he was mildly surprised to find no line, nor any other sign of procedure at all, aside from a lone secretary.

Chapter 20: Royal Courts

"Princess Luna might have been able to help before it got that far," explained the Night Court's secretary, "but since you're looking for an official response, you'll have to go to Day Court. Canterlot University answers to the authority of Princess Celestia and the nobility."

"I suspected it would," said Mr. Book. "I have already submitted a petition."

"I apologize," said the secretary. "But you must be patient. Petitioning both Courts for the same issue is against the law."

Mr. Book tilted his head. "That was not mentioned in the books on court procedure. Is this a new law? Or has it been reinstated from old?"

"New," said the secretary. "The princesses have agreed not to step on each other's hooves."

"I see." He imagined the implications, then proposed an innocuous probe. "I do not intend to do this, but suppose I had a petition that could be resolved in either court, and it failed in one. Could I then petition the other? Does the law only forbid simultaneous petitions?"

"No," said the secretary. "One and done."

"Interesting," said Mr. Book. "In that case, am I allowed to observe Night Court without a petition? I shall soon experience Day Court first-hand, and the library is sparse on information about its counterpart."

She told him that all Night Court proceedings are private, privy only to petitioner and princess.

"Yet another point omitted by the history texts," he observed. "In that case, how is the public meant to learn more?"

The secretary paused. All of her responses thus far had been automatic. Now, it seemed, she actually had to think. "Pardon?"

"Do you have a standard information pamphlet? Or perhaps a book at the local library, available only to those who can request it by title?"

"Um... no?"

"Does the Night Princess appreciate the fact that it is so difficult to learn more about her court? Or is that by design?"

The secretary's eyes narrowed. "What's your name?"

"How is that relevant to my question?"

"It's a matter of common courtesy."

"'Courtesy' would suggest that you introduce your own name before demanding one from others."

"I'm Starry Midnight, sir."

"Too little, too late. Your tone was not courteous at all. If you do not speak your true motivation for asking after my name, I shall not give it."

There was a pause.

"Court petitioners must give their names to the court secretary."

"Ah," said Mr. Book. "So my petition is being accepted by the Night Court after all?"

"No-"

"I see. That must mean you are a dual secretary to Day and Night alike."

"No, but-"

"Then I am beyond your jurisdiction and not yet subject to that rule. That is not your true motive either. Two lies thus far. Would you care to try a third?"

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"I shall. You clearly have nothing of value to offer," said- "Mystery Book. That is my name. Tell the guards or the princess as you please. I look forward to it." He turned on his hoof and left.

The sooner the government failed one of his tests of their incompetence, the sooner he would stop following their silly little rules. Ordinarily, failure to maintain public order or societal structure was more than enough. In the most advanced, most liberal societies, he had to go a bit further afield, establishing a failure to live up to the impossible ideals they pretend to follow – in this case, freedom of speech. A spiteful secretary is often all it takes to prove that 'right' nonexistent.

When he was outside the castle, well beyond the hearing range of normal ponies...

"Ms. Midnight," said an amplified female voice from the door behind the secretary. "Enter."

Halfway through the conversation, he had noticed magic reminiscent of an eavesdropping charm, and so had left one in turn. But with the click of a door, his own charm became pointless. The room behind the secretary had been well-warded against magical scrying.

He wondered if the owner of that voice was Ms. Midnight's superior, and if so, how long it would take them to issue his arrest warrant.

Longer than four days, apparently.

Unusual.

Direct criticism of the government is rarely tolerated by state actors. Perhaps the secretary was not high enough on the power ladder to indulge in revenge. He wondered if this royal secretary would be the same way.

He stood in the middle of a wide, ornately adorned room. Behind him were a pair of large doors that the guard had closed after ushering him through. Before him was a pony with wings and horn, taller than any other in the room, and not only because she was standing on a raised, rectangular dais. She looked exactly the same as she did the morning of Summer Sun. Though there was a throne behind her, she was not sitting.

"Mystery Book?" the Day Court secretary announced. "The court will now hear your case."

“Mystery Book,” said Princess Celestia at a volume that suggested she was speaking to herself. “Why does that name sound familiar?” From her perspective, an ordinary dark grey pony wearing cloak and glasses stepped forward. "You are Mystery Book?" she inquired.

He nodded. "I am."

"Then we shall begin. What is your plea?"

"My petition included a thorough overview of my plea," Mr. Book, who hated repeating himself, replied to the ruler of the country. (And not just a ruler in name only, like so many other politicians. Though she had not exercised her power in centuries, it was well understood that she could if she chose.) "Were parts of my summary unclear? I can clarify any misunderstandings if necessary."

"Ahem," said Celestia's secretary. "Please repeat the case before the court." She gestured to a group of poshly appareled ponies on a different dais off to the side, who were hardly paying attention.

"Hmm..." Mr. Book vocalized, pretending to think about what to say as he looked upon the nobility. "Before I do, I must know what to repeat." He kept his tone deliberately non-combative, as if he were merely curious about common court proceedings. "Are those who participate in the final verdict of a case required to read the plea beforehand?"

"Yes," said the secretary, a trace of nervousness in her voice.

But they do not, Mr. Book thought, finishing that unfinished sentence.

"Then what is the point in repeating myself?" he asked. "No doubt there are plenty of petitioners who are eloquent writers but poor public speakers. The decision-makers should already know the major points of contention. I do not like wasting time. There are plenty ponies in line behind me."

"There can be hundreds of cases each day," explained the secretary. A blatant lie. The books said that, at best, the court might resolve sixty. On average, it was closer to thirty. "Keeping track of so many cases-"

"Is their job, is it not?" interrupted Mr. Book. "It is the reason for their wealth, the purpose for their nobility. I have had to read hundreds of papers in a day, had to write hundreds of responses. I did not complain." Get put in a dark mood? Yes. Complain? No. He adopted the role of Defense Professor voluntarily, and so did what that role required without fuss. If these nobles could not do the same for their own roles... "I trust complaint is beneath the esteemed members of this high court, just as it was beneath me."

There was a pause.

"Miss Blue Skies," said the voice of Princess Celestia. "You have his petition before you. Please read it aloud."

"But-" protested the secretary, then seemed to realize against whom she was protesting. Her mouth quickly snapped shut. "As you command, your majesty," she said after a moment to regain her composure.

Mr. Book's lips twitched upward.

So this was her majesty Princess Celestia? Inconvenience not the difficult guest, nor the negligent nobles. Only impose upon the stuffy secretary. A careful neutrality?

The secretary named Blue Skies cleared her throat, eyes on a page before her. "On the nineteenth of august, Canterlot University sent out acceptance letters to the ponies who passed their entrance exams. Among the recipients, the petitioner... pardon me. My apologies. It seems I have the wrong petition."

"You do not," said Mr. Book.

The secretary's existing frown deepened. She looked at Mr. Book, likely to confirm what she already knew.

"But," she said. "You're not a..." she trailed off.

Mr. Book said nothing. He only raised an eyebrow.

"Miss Blue Skies?" said the voice of Celestia. "The petition, if you please?"

"Um... yes, your majesty. Among the recipients, the petitioner was informed that he had scored higher than any other applicant."

The rules required petitioners over the age of 18 to write in 'third pony'. The reason was not given, but perhaps it was an attempt to keep the petitions from becoming too personal.

"He was later informed he stood among the highest scorers the Dean of Admissions had ever seen. The relevant point of fact is that he, unlike all other admitted applicants, is not a unicorn. While he did expect some issues to come from that, he did not expect anything so great that it would directly interfere with his education. Pegasus Swift Flight had graduated three centuries prior with above-average marks, and Mystery Book thought to do the same."

By this point, the nobility actually was paying attention. It would seem that they finally found his case more interesting than gossip, now that they actually knew of the subject matter.

"Mystery Book attended his classes like any other student and has yet to receive less than perfect marks on any assignment. For proof, see..." the secretary trailed off. She flipped through a few pages on her desk, then nodded. "Okay. Let the record show that multiple assignments with perfect scores have been provided."

"Got it," said a pony in a corner of the room whose magic held a furiously-scribbling quill. The stenographer, no doubt. They hadn't invented the reading-writing quill.

Ms. Skies continued. "Advanced Magic 101 was not exempt from his streak of perfect scores. Practical demonstrations were not required on assignments, and so a non-unicorn could perform just as well as any other student, with enough study. Unfortunately, an aspect of that class did require demonstration of magic. At regular intervals, the professor would call upon a student to cast a lecture's subject spell as part of a participation grade. When she eventually reached Mr. Book, she said that failure to participate would result in lost points. After Mr. Book asked in turn how he was meant to do that, she said he could leave. Mr. Book replied, openly in front of the entire class, 'You are giving me permission to skip lecture? Thank you. I think I shall accept.' Ms. Cast Steel, the professor, said nothing in response, only smiled.

"Four weeks later, when he returned to take the class's first test, he learned that she had not given him permission to skip her lectures, despite expressly saying he could leave the room. The syllabus has a clause which states that failure to attend three lectures will result in an automatic letter grade deduction. Mr. Book missed thirteen lectures, attending only long enough to drop off finished assignments and pick up graded ones, and so he was failed. This was likely the professor's goal from the start- excuse me," the secretary interrupted herself once more. "But baseless speculation on motive should be excluded from court petitions."

"It is not baseless, and the next sentence explains why," said Mr. Book. "It is relevant to the case."

Though in truth, he didn't actually believe it had been her goal. More of a seized opportunity, if that. For her to have planned it from the start would require a certain amount of intelligence she did not possess. Perhaps she planned to deduct points from his first walk-out, but he doubts she expected him to stay gone.

"Ms. Blue Skies," said the voice of Celestia, "Please read the petition in its entirety."

The secretary looked to her ruler, then looked back to the page, as if trying to find her spot. "This was likely the professor's goal from the start. She did not correct Mr. Book when he assumed aloud that she had given him permission to skip lectures as a result of his inability to participate in them." She stumbled slightly over that sentence, then seemed to redouble her focus. "As professor, it was Ms. Steel's responsibility to make that correction, but she did not offer it. She did offer a smile, now proven to be smug, not conciliatory. After he was denied permission to take her test four weeks later, the issue was brought to administration, whereupon Mr. Book was promptly expelled, despite his excellent academic record thus far. The Dean responsible for this outcome did not make any inquiries, did not attempt to confirm either side of the story, did not spend even two seconds thinking about the issue. The purpose of this petition is to have the case more thoroughly examined, with all sides taken into consideration before any conclusions are reached."

The aide stopped speaking, and the court was silent for a time.

The ponies of the room stared at Mr. Book. Most were clearly in disbelief, as they had been from the start, but some stares might have been expectant instead of skeptical, waiting for him to add to his petition in some way.

He did not add to his petition in any way.

There was more silence.

"Are we supposed to take this seriously?" a white-coated unicorn said at last. The stallion looked to be a prominent member of the nobility, wearing a well-fitting suit with expensive-appearing adornments. "An earth-pony admitted to Canterlot University?" he snorted. "Clearly a joke."

"Prince Blueblood has registered his opinion that the petitioner is joking," said the secretary to the stenographer.

Prince Blueblood? Really? Your NAME is the joke.

"It is no joke," said Mr. Book. He put a hoof to Mr. Silver's old pouch, void of all its old contents and containing only what Mr. Book had put inside, and said, "Copy of my acceptance letter to Canterlot University." He placed the note on the ground before him. "This pouch is enchanted with automatic voice-retrieval." Not that he needed the function. He could easily retrieve items wordlessly. "You do the math."

A blue glow seized the letter, bringing it to the pony whose horn glowed with the same color. "An obvious fake," scoffed Blueblood, and proceeded to tear it to pieces.

"I did say it was a copy, not the original," Mr. Book pointed out. "For further evidence..."

He intoned 'Making Magical Devices' and withdrew the tome of that title from his pouch. It was unavailable anywhere except-

"I have currently borrowed this from the Canterlot University Library. I have been disallowed from the school grounds and thus have been unable to return it. I am sure this oversight would have been corrected by the wonderfully intelligent and competent administration at Canterlot University in a reasonable and timely manner without my pointing it out directly."

The same blue glow retrieved the book. "You must have stolen this."

I intend to, thought Mr. Book. That and more if this continues.

Mr. Book withdrew five more books, again speaking the title for each. "These are my textbooks."

These were seized by Blueblood as well. Stolen, rather. He had paid for those.

"If you still do not believe me," said Mr. Book to the rest of the nobles, "you may ask Dean Waiting List about a student named Mystery Book. As I wrote in my opening remark, he claims I had the highest entrance exam score this year. Close to the highest of all time. I doubt he has already forgotten this incident."

Blueblood turned his back on Mr. Book, addressing his peers directly. "I believe this has gone on long enough. This court has more important things to do than entertain the fantasies of earth pony peasants."

Murmurs of agreement came from the rest of the nobility. Either Blueblood had swayed them, or they had already made up their minds. And since Celestia herself almost never makes judgements in her court cases, leaving it up to the ponies of the modern era to guide modern policy...

Thus has the highest form of Equestrian government proven itself irredeemably inept.

The tall, white unicorn's head turned enough to look down and smirk.

The thestral stared into haughty eyes for a long moment, subtly altering the opacity of his glasses enchantment, increasing transparency until he was able to establish the connection. He did this only for the very centre of each lens to ensure that only Blueblood would see the change. If Blueblood was paying close attention, he might have noticed his unusual eyes. The prince wasn't paying close attention.

Connection established.

He searched.

He grinned.

“Yes, of course," Mr. Book said in mock deference as he returned the charm to complete reflectiveness. "My apologies. I admit my joke was in poor taste. I do regret taking up this court’s precious time. You clearly have more important things to do than reading petitions or making decisions. I would not wish to interrupt your invaluable schedules, nor to delay Blueblood's continued clandestine meetings with a certain earth pony maid of pearl-coloured coat and black mane. I wonder if you have yet inflicted pregnancy upon her. Bastards are such wonderful gossip topics. I shall leave you to it.”

He bowed ironically and turned to leave, ignoring the appalled expressions.

As he neared the great entrance doors, he felt the magic of a swiftly approaching spell. He spun around so quickly it would look to others as if he'd teleported into position and rose his hoof to intercept the hex, catching it like a seeker would catch a snitch.

“Hmm,” said Mr. Book, looking at the ball of magic in his hoof as everypony else stared at him. I suspect you either flunked out of Canterlot University, never managed to make the cut in the first place, or bribed your way into passing your classes, he thought, but did not say aloud. “Terribly cast," he said instead. His gaze returned to Blueblood’s. "Worse than the poor casting, it was poorly aimed. If I had not deliberately intercepted, it would have missed. And worst of all,” he flicked the spell aside, causing a pillar to violently explode. “You structured the stinger so sloppily that it became potentially lethal."

"Sloppy structure?" Blueblood snorted incredulously, seemingly oblivious to the unusual sight of a non-unicorn catching a spell. Or any pony catching a spell. "I was top of my class I shall have you know!"

Bribed his way through school for certain, thought Mr. Book.

Then a different thought entered his mind:

I am sworn only to kill creatures whose deaths would make the world a better place. Would you like to see if that oath prevents me from killing YOU? I am certainly interested in performing that test.

But he knew his Parseltongue promise had not loosened enough to kill this imbecile. What he had seen was not quite non-consensual, and everything else was extreme incompetence instead of outright malice, for the most part. More importantly, further provocation in front of this realm's God-equivalent would not be wise, to say nothing of the secrets a statement like that would reveal, or the consequences that direct assault would bring. He had already revealed enough.

For now, he could claim to have a special talent for intercepting spells. There have been historical examples of non-unicorns with magic-related talents, and that was the excuse he would use for anypony who asked, if anypony did ask, and if he deigned to answer in the first place.

(If all else failed and overwhelming force was used against him, he had an escape plan. And if even that failed, he had already made a horcrux, and could resurrect himself if necessary.)

Instead of making a threat of physical harm, Mr. Book spoke to the wider court.

"I shall not bother asking that idiot be arrested for assault or attempted murder. I doubt it is punishable for the aristocracy to attack us unpleasant peasants, no matter what the law might say. It would be the epitome of naivete to expect that a prince suffers the other end of the authority he inflicts upon others. Still, I suppose this is just one more detail Quick Quill will be thrilled to hear.”

He saw it on the faces of the nobles, the moment they shifted from unconscious confidence to conscious concern.

If you have never dealt with journalists before, Mr. Book had once said, take it from me that the world gets a little brighter every time one dies.

He still held this opinion. But just as the world would be brighter without Dementors, he could nevertheless use their existences to his advantage. He knew how to entice members of the press: 'juicy' stories with emotionally charged narratives that agreed with their politics. Like he'd done with Ms. Granger's Wizengamot trial.

If he himself were a Canterlot unicorn, and in particular if he were a Canterlot noble, he would certainly feel both afraid of and spiteful towards the Manehatten earth pony responsible for exposing the ill-doings of so many of his peers. He had chosen his pawn carefully: Quick Quill the Quickwit, bane of Canterlot. She wrote for the Manehatten Manuscript, a prestigious publication religiously read by all ponies who thought themselves educated and well-informed. Especially members of Canterlot's high society.

"Let us not be hasty," said the voice of Equestria's ruler in response to that blackmail. It was the first she had spoken since the petition commenced. "You said your grievance was with a professor at Canterlot University, yes?"

“No, no, Princess Celestia," said Mr. Book, his mind made up long ago. "If you had spoken sooner, I would have accepted. It is far too late now. You have already allowed that pathetic prince to speak on behalf of Canterlot's royalty."

"Pathetic?!"

The idiot was easily ignored. "You permitted him to steal my property. Destroy my property. And you allowed him to convince the court of their ultimate decision. Your silence and inaction has made clear your actual opinion. Concession only in the face of a threat you actually fear would prove only that you do not actually wish to see true justice performed. Good day, your majesties."

"Guards!" Blueblood shouted, cutting off any response Celestia might have made. "Arrest him!"

The guards began complying with orders, some of them wearing reluctant looks. Especially the two non-unicorn contingents.

"10,000 bits," Mr. Book lied in a thoughtful voice, withdrawing a pre-prepared item from his pouch.

"The royal guard can't be bribed," declared one of the armoured ponies, a unicorn with white coat and blue mane.

"When they are standing directly in front of their princess," Mystery Book amended with a wry grin, "you are correct, they cannot be bribed."

The guard suddenly seemed less reluctant to arrest him.

"Though of course, I had been talking about the price I paid for this enchantment," Mr. Book clarified his lie, raising the item importantly and brushing off all magical attempts to seize it. "After I explained the underlying theory to the enchanter I commissioned for the job, of course." His gaze turned to the wider room, to the nobility, and to Blueblood specifically. "Farewell, gentleponies. I hope you enjoy your spotlights in the Manehattan Manuscript."

He snapped the portkey, disappearing from the courtroom just as the guards were about to converge. He spent a short time in the space between, then reappeared not far from the headquarters he had just named. Manehattan was a(n ordinary) three day's flight away from Canterlot (air-bucking notwithstanding). It was far beyond the range of pony teleportation and thus well beyond the reach of any governmental attempts at suppression of the press, at least until it would already be too late. Although come to think of it, there are phones here, so they do have a form of instant messaging and could issue threats by word of mouth... but Mr. Book was confident that what he went through would inspire enough Gryffindor courage for this establishment to willingly defy royal authority if it came to that.

"You weren't kidding," said the voice of Quick Quill from her desk. "You really can teleport. Cool sound effect, by the way." He had Apparated into the building proper. If he was going to establish that he could travel instantly by snapping twigs, he may as well make it seem as if there were some distinctive marker on the destination end. "So how'd it go?"

"The nobility did not believe I was a student of Canterlot University despite solid proof. Celestia stayed silent until I mentioned you by name. A noble named Blueblood stole my property, destroyed some of it, almost killed me, and attempted to have me arrested when that failed." At her expression, "I am fine, as you can see. I would prefer you focus on your work, instead of my wellbeing. I think you have your second article."

"Yes," Quick Quill nodded firmly. "I think I do. Thank you very much. And I never did thank you for that first one, did I?"

NON-UNICORN ADMITTED TO CANTERLOT U WITH "HIGHEST PLACEMENT SCORE"! IMMEDIATELY EXPELLED FOR NOT BEING A UNICORN? went the title of the issue that had made it to print mere hours ago.

"Thanks for that, too," said Quick Quill, tossing him a copy of the internationally syndicated newspaper, though of course it would take at least a week to reach Canterlot.

"You're quite welcome." Mr. Book stored the paper in his pouch. "When will the next article make it to print?"

"As soon as I can write it. I've already got the editor's go-ahead. We just sent out the last one, but we can rush out extra, no problem."

The first article had not gone out sooner because the court's judgement might have been influenced if it had. Both Mystery Book and Quick Quill had been interested to see how the petition would be answered in the absence of outside pressure.

Perhaps it was a mistake to mention Quick Quill before the official decision had been levied, but the opinion of the court, if not Celestia, had been clear enough by the time he did. Celestia herself stayed largely detached from political affairs, her presence in Day Court so minimal that it was almost as if she wasn't even there. She allowed ponies to govern themselves, rarely getting involved unless she heavily disagreed with the nobility, but such instances were so uncommon as to not be worth considering. It was over 99% probable that the final decision would have been against him.

"You didn't happen to nab the stenographer's page before you left, did ya?" Quick joked.

"No," said Mr. Book. "I have something much better. Potions, you see, do not require unicorns to make them."

As he had already tested with Silver and himself. He had also heard (though not personally confirmed) that a zebra named Zecora could brew potions, thus he suspected earth ponies, or apparent earth ponies, could do the same.

"And this potion," he said, holding a vial containing liquid which would permanently turn ordinary water into Pensieve water, "will allow you to view the fiasco from my perspective, directly and uncensored."

Memories could be adjusted or censored, of course, but he wouldn't alter this one except to hide what he saw with Legilimency. To Quick, it would seem as though he was simply looking into Blueblood's eyes.

Less than a minute later, he had set up the memory station. Less than ten minutes later, the length it took for the memory to play out in real time, he had used his hoof to draw the relevant memory (a process which was only slightly more tedious than using a wand to do the same) and place it into the basin. He had already decided to allow this magic to be known to Equestria. It was not particularly dangerous.

"View the memory as many times as you please."

Once Quick Quill had gotten her fill, it took less than an hour for the second article to make it to print. Passion and righteous indignation have a way of fueling a pony's speed and quality of work.

Mr. Book requested to see the article as soon as it was written. Quick did not mind letting him read it before her editor.

EXTRA: NON-UNICORN "PEASANT" INSULTED, ASSAULTED, AND ORDERED ARRESTED! PRINCE BLUEBLOOD ON THE RAMPAGE?

It mostly retold the Blueblood scene, with a healthy dose of anti-nobility rhetoric thrown in. It also omitted certain details. Mr. Book's demonstrated ability to catch and redirect spells, for instance, along with certain other facts, like his initial back-and-forth with the secretary. Anything unsuitable to the narrative of 'look at this poor defenseless pony oppressed by powerful unicorn nobility' was left untold.

Mr. Book did not complain.

Every plot had costs and risks. Ideally, a well-formed plot would only cost the time and effort it takes to execute, or perhaps petty cash. Here, however, using a journalist had cost him part of his public image. He was not a helpless victim, but that was how Ms. Quill had chosen to portray him. He disliked it, but it was tolerable. Public image meant little to him in the long run. He could always adopt a new name and face, as was his custom.

The last paragraph was the only one that ultimately interested him:

Now you know what TRULY goes on in Day Court, ponies of Manehattan. Will Prince Blueblood get off scot-free? Will Mystery Book be arrested by the Royal Guard? Will the ever-so-important unicorn nobles treat us "peasants" this way until the end of time? The public awaits the response of the crown.

Unlike the rest of the article, he didn't understand this paragrpagh's purpose. He questioned Quick about the call to action, asking what she expected to accomplish.

Quick Quill believed Celestia would not stand for what had occurred.

Mr. Book pointed out the fact that she had, in fact, been standing at the time, and had done nothing to stop or condemn it as it played out.

Quick Quill said to stop playing with words and to trust that Celestia would do the right thing.

Mr. Book had no trust.

At all.

He had already written off the Equestrian government, had already decided to stop obeying the rules, had already used Legilimency...

But...

He supposed he could wait a few more days before doing anything others would consider especially egregious.

He was curious what Celestia would do, if anything. Celestia was the only Canterlot noble Quick absolutely refused to touch with her quill – at least until she had solid proof of wrongdoing. And what happened earlier this day, Mr. Book reflected, would not qualify as solid proof. Quick Quill would not openly criticise her, but she would perhaps be convinced to speculate on the potential reasons behind Celestia's silence. Her inaction could have been for any number of reasons, not just his own cynical guess.

Mr. Silver had recently remarked on a flaw in Mr. Book's outlook – that he was cynical about everything else, but not about cynicism itself. That he was so cynical that his predictions routinely undershot reality, which is much, much better than the other way around (a logical fallacy that something like all the rest of humanity suffers from) but pessimism is still not quite as good as perfect prediction. Not that perfect prediction is possible, but there had been situations where his own understanding of human nature had proven flawed.

For example, 'love', or at least parental protection, is indeed a phenomenon with observable effects. Like when Lucius Malfoy – an intelligent, powerful, ruthless man whose heir had proven not quite as useful as he once believed – tried to reject a hundred thousand galleons simply to get revenge on the supposed attacker.

Though in truth, it was not that anecdote, but the Theory of Evolution that had finally convinced him.

Survival of the fittest made perfect sense. Members of a species most fit to reproduce passing down their traits made perfect sense. Social cooperation and cohesion being effective survival strategies – as seen in wolves, monkeys, herd creatures, and, yes, human beings – also made sense. Unity is strength, after all, and division is weakness.

The part of the theory that had been most difficult to accept, but ultimately undeniable, is that from a purely psychopathic evolutionary perspective, it was certainly beneficial for ancient humans to have an instinct to value their children more than their own lives under certain circumstances, especially if they themselves were no longer capable of reproduction. This would be especially true for mothers of adolescents, but the mechanism would exist in both sexes, even if it manifested more strongly in one over the other. There were even complex algorithms about how birds who sacrifice themselves for the entire flock – for the sake of their mere relatives, not their direct offspring – provides an evolutionary advantage to the martyr's own genetic code. But fundamentally, the impulses to protect, manifesting in the mammals as the emotion called 'love', does exist.

All this amounted to him admitting that, yes, his understanding of human nature, and now pony nature, had not been perfect. And he was prevented from seeing the problem in part by his own cynicism, which he rarely ever doubted. The natural solution was to be on careful lookout for instances when his cynicism might not be perfectly predictive. At first, that meant looking to instances in the past, especially the recent past, where his cynicism had failed him, even if it was only a slight failure. Once he had done that enough times, he would be able to see the pattern in present instances of flawed cynicism.

In this case, given the unabashed behaviour of the nobles, he had not predicted Celestia that would act in his favour, even in response to blackmail. And so, dropping his cynicism for just a moment, he could see a few 'positive' interpretations of her actions.

Perhaps past events had convinced her to never act on impulse. She had ultimate say and could reverse any decision made by the court after the fact. Perhaps an obscure law prevented her from immediately contradicting the nobility. Perhaps she wanted to confirm his claims with ironclad evidence before making any commitments. There were more possibilities than just the cynical ones.

On that note, he followed Quick Quill to the editor's office, an idea in mind.

He had not managed to convince Quick Quill to criticise Celestia, so he did it himself, though he was not overly harsh. Mr. Book was as fair as he could be in his assessment. He didn't expect it to be added to the article otherwise, not that he expected it to be accepted at all.

He described potential reasons, both positive and negative, for Celestia to allow Blueblood to act as he did, and for not intervening until she did.

Most critiques centered around the company kept in her courtroom, or the fact that she only responded to blackmail.

Most of the positive arguments stemmed from the age-old 'ponies have free will and she does not want to infringe upon that' line of reasoning. He might not believe the muggle fantasies surrounding God, but he had familiarised himself with all the 'best' justifications, just in case he found any of them convincing. It was easy enough to adapt those arguments to Celestia.

He had also added the more context-relevant considerations, including that, when her silence ended, even if it was in response to blackmail, she at least attempted to resolve conflict and open negotiations.

All of this he wrote down on the off chance the editor accepted it. To his mild surprise, she did, as a letter to herself.

He asked why.

The editor said she liked his 'fairness'.

He shrugged.

She quickly made it an extra addition to the extra edition, enjoying it so much that it would be shown in tandem with Quick's article, both segments beginning on the front page.

Mystery Book was the first pony, the editor remarked, to ever offer such a thoroughly reasoned, neutral, probably-not-going-to-bring-down-the-wrath-of-the-sun-upon-the-building-because-it's-blatantly-false criticism of Celestia.

Deleted scene time:

"Doesn't this incident," said Mr. Silver after reading the newspaper, "fly in the face of everything you ever taught me about pretending to lose?"

Mr. Book grinned. "I thought you might say that. Think back to the example I used in my second lecture, that dojo. Now that you have the benefit of hindsight, imagine what it implies."

There was a pause.

"My goal," said Mr. Book as Mr. Silver remained silent, "is to read this world's most advanced books on magic. That never required admittance to University in the first place. Their security is terrible and I can bypass it. To be fair, I only had the luxury to safely learn that fact as a student. Still, my final goal was never to be a student. Neither in the dojo, nor now."

Chapter 21: Royal Responses

Author's Note

A/N: I took some artistic/fanfictional liberties with a certain pony's career path. That character's job is never mentioned in MLP canon, so I gave her one. I'll explain why it makes sense afterwards.

Chapter 21: Royal Responses

In the silence that followed the gray stallion's disappearance, Celestia's gaze slowly turned to Blueblood.

And for the first time in his life, Blueblood realized that he might have crossed a line. He never even knew there was a line that could be crossed before that day. But now, he knew he had crossed it.

Mr. Book was surprised, even shocked, at the Equestrian government's response.

Earlier, he allowed himself to admit to the possibility of Celestia reversing her court's decision in some way, even if it was statistically unlikely to an extreme degree. But this...

BLUEBLOOD ARRESTED! began the title of Quick Quill's most recent article.

Blueblood had been convicted of third-degree assault – a charge exactly matching his actions in court – and the prince had not been allowed to avoid the sentence with a mere monetary fine. He was serving jail time, albeit the minimum sentence of 6 months. Third-degree assault was called a "wobbler" crime by the local legal codes, classified by the judge (Celestia, in this case) as either a misdemeanor or a felony depending on the circumstances. She felt these circumstances warranted felony status. And since the public eye was so heavy upon his cell, Blueblood was not given any luxuries. Or at least, he was given no more luxury than any other criminal.

Which is unfortunate, Mr. Book thought. Criminals here are treated far better than criminals on the other side of the mirror. Still, Blueblood had not been able to bribe his way out of this one, nor bribe his way into better treatment. And Blueblood was not the only pony to suffer the cold arm of justice.

Thanks to one of his many departing comments, the guard had been investigated for corruption, and more than a few bribe-accepting ponies had been ferreted out. This might seem like a 'good' step, but then, guards are still ordinary ponies at the end of the day. The authority they only temporarily wield when they don their armor can easily be turned against themselves. There's plenty of historical precedent for that.

What truly surprised Mr. Book was the fact that the nobles had been investigated. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the servants had been investigated, starting with the pony he had described – a pearl-coated, black-maned earth pony maid.

Princess Luna, former bearer of the Element of Honesty, and Applejack, current bearer, had been called in by Celestia. The presence of those two, apparently, exerted a sort of "honesty" aura that overcame the ordinary fear that might have otherwise halted the speech of the victims. (Was that why he had been compelled to tell the truth to Nightmare Moon a few months ago?)

Blueblood had pressured the maid into doing the sorts of things that powerful males have historically pressured powerless females into doing. She was, at one point, asked if she knew about others who had been similarly pressured. Following this, many marred maids and bruised butlers were brought to bear before the court.

Those who had been victimised were given monetary compensation, the option to relocate to a new city, the offer of a job that suited them (as most ponies did not get jobs that reflected their special talents), and the official protection of the crown. Those who had done the victimising received, essentially, the opposite treatment. First, the monetary compensation issued to the victims came directly from the responsible parties.

Second, once the worst nobles had been isolated for inquiry, the Elements of Honesty – present and former – had been used against them as well. After abuse had been admitted, the nobles were coerced into confessing all crimes committed.

Celestia spearheaded the show, with many instances of power abuse being discovered and punished. The specific forms of 'abuse' were extremely tame by human standards, but by pony standards...

The aristocrats not serving life sentences would be placed under house arrest for the rest of their lives. They and their families were stripped of their nobility, cutting the number of noble families in half. Finally, only the family members uninvolved in and ignorant of the abuse were given any sort of sympathy – those few ponies were allowed to keep enough of the estate's wealth to live comfortably, if not luxuriously. The rest of the wealth was confiscated by the crown.

Ordinarily, Mr. Book would have concluded that this had been the end goal all along: a monarchy increasing its own wealth and power by cannibalising its own. The trials, only for show. The aid to the victims, only for image. Everything, a public excuse for increased political and financial sway.

But...

Even with his cynicism, his mind did not fully commit to that conclusion. The crown didn't need the extra power, after all. And it's not like he'd predicted any of this in advance. As Mr. Silver liked to say, if a hypothesis is equally good at explaining any outcome, it has little scientific value.

It's strange.

Mystery Book got the sense all this would have been done even without him threatening journalistic action. This was one of those rare instances, it seemed, where Princess Celestia had gotten personally involved, and she was making it clear that she was immensely displeased with the nobility. This happened once every few centuries, according to the history books. That it did not happen more often is why he didn't consider it a statistical probability.

And for the first time in a thousand years, Princess Luna was also involved. The two sisters were united unlike they'd been not just in recent history, but in all of recorded history.

Celestia had once been the wielder of Generosity, Kindness, and "Magic", while her sister ruled the other three – Honesty, Loyalty, and Laughter. This had purportedly put them at odds. Celestia had been far more forgiving than Luna at the start of their reigns, and that had been the source of many arguments. The Princess of Night demanded punishment be delivered to the wicked while the Princess of Day decided to forgive and forget.

But that had slowly changed. As Celestia had been forced to adopt Luna's role for centuries (though she could not wield her sister's elements, or even her own anymore), so too had Celestia adopted a deeper understanding of justice, law, and punishment. Celestia might be slower to anger than her sister. Even after a thousand years. Even after witnessing the worst ponykind had to offer (which was, again, tame compared to humanity's worst). But Celestia could now bring herself to punish a pony if the situation required it, not just offer aid to the victims.

In his own case, for example, Blueblood had been imprisoned.

The 10,000 bits he had originally paid to increase his priority, along with 20,000 bits collected from Blueblood's vault, had been delivered to his hooves. (For although Blueblood had not been able to get away with a mere fine, the prince had still been fined, and the maximum felony fine at that.)

Also, the order for 'Mystery Book's' arrest had been immediately nullified by Celestia.

A royal apology had been issued.

Oh, and his original petition to the Day Court had been examined as well.

By Celestia, not the nobles.

He had been planning to return to Canterlot University only to borrow things without permission. And that wasn't even a euphemism for stealing. He would have returned the books after reading them, lest their absences be noticed, and stricter security implemented.

It was a plan he had not been expecting to go astray.

Mr. Book now sat in the office of Twilight Velvet, Dean of Magic at Canterlot University.

Many concessions had been made to appease the non-unicorn population of Equestria, not least of which was that Mystery Book's academic situation would get fair review. There were even a few outside third parties in attendance, listening in on the meeting to ensure that outcome. The issue had just been thoroughly and carefully negotiated by all parties.

First, his grade would not suffer from his absences.

He did have witness testimony. The professor had told him to leave in a way that could possibly be construed as providing permission not to attend.

Second, despite his insistence, Ms. Cast Steel would not be fired, but she would be placed on temporary leave while other professors examined her teaching methods.

Third, Mr. Book would still be required to take her original test.

All parties agreed he had to prove that his absences would not have impacted his score on that exam, as he originally claimed. If he did not pass, he would not be allowed to return to the University. Magic is a core subject, after all.

As to who would grade that exam, since Ms. Steel certainly would not...

"No," Mr. Book rejected Mrs. Velvet's suggestion. "I must insist that an outsider – unconcerned with the repute of this school, ignorant of the controversy, and unbribable by Canterlot nobles – be the one to grade my exam after I have taken it. At the very least, it must not be a university professor. Unless, of course, you want this case to return to court as a consequence of incompetent or biased graders, to whom I would certainly object."

There was a pause.

"I am afraid," said Twilight Velvet through gritted teeth, "that you will find nopony capable of grading an advanced magic exam outside these halls. And I won't even dignify the rest with a response."

"Yes," said Mr. Book sarcastically, "just as Blueblood did not dignify those within these halls whom he could not bribe with a response. Or perhaps he dignified them with the response of a threat, as he is clearly prone to do. Or was prone to do, rather. I wonder if prison will change his outlook."

Before Twilight Velvet could reply, Mr. Book addressed her objection.

"Other than the Princesses themselves, who are ponies outside these halls who should be able to grade an advanced magic exam, I can think of one neutral arbiter. Twilight Sparkle, Element of... 'Magic'. She would never grade a test unfairly, especially not one about magic, and is therefore unlikely to be biased against me. And as she dislikes my demeanour, she is unlikely to be biased in my favour either."

Already incensed, the mare loudly demanded, “How do you know my daughter?!"

"I helped her during the Nightmare Moon incident," Mr. Book said easily. "Unlike her friends and family in Canterlot." Then, ignoring the wide eyes, "Hmm... she is your daughter? I admit I am impressed with how she turned out... despite her parenting. The apple falls far from the tree, does it not?"

It was, perhaps, fortunate for Twilight Velvet that she did not get the chance to respond to this, otherwise she may have done something in front of witnesses that she would have regretted. Or she might have attempted to do something, rather. Mr. Book could defend himself.

"Do you have to insult everypony you meet in the worst way possible?" interjected one of the third-party observers, the only unicorn among them, and one he recognised from that day in Day Court.

"Only the ones undeserving of my respect," said Mr. Book to the royal witness. "Though I do not see how complimenting a pony's daughter could be construed as an insult. Jokes aside, had Mrs. Velvet judged my case fairly from the start out of professionalism, rather than a result of heavy outside pressure... or if she had judged the case at all, instead of immediately issuing it to a different dean, do you truly believe I would treat her as I am?"

"Yes," said a different witness.

There were many nods around the room.

"Well," he grinned again, "perhaps you are right. But I would not have been this deliberately offensive. Isn't freedom of speech a wonderful thing? Now," he declared. "I believe a viable solution has been proposed. If there are any objections to Twilight Sparkle, Element of 'Magic', evaluating my magical knowledge, now would be the time to voice them."

There were no objections.

A/N: The smartest child in my elementary school – other than me :) – was a girl whose father was the Dean of the History department at our local college. And our local college is pretty large, with over 25,000 students. While I was good at math, she was good at reading. My own father eventually became a professor of Biology at that same college, having earned his PhD in the subject while I was growing up.

The children of academics are more likely than other children to become stellar academics themselves. That's one of the more subtle points of HPMoR. Harry's father is an eminent biochemist at Oxford, one of Britain's two best colleges.

Having Twilight Sparkle's parents be notable academics – especially her mother, who would serve as her direct role model – is a rational explanation for Twilight's 'talents'. This doesn't mean I'm writing the story such that her mother has been the Dean of Magic ever since Twilight was born – she could have just been a professor at the time and climbed the career ladder since. But that's the reasoning for making her mother a prominent academic. Especially in the field of magic.

That's all. Proceed.

"After I grade his paper," Twilight Sparkle said in the ensuing meeting, "may I grade the other papers as well? Or, better yet, submit an independent test to see how well everypony knows the material they should know by this point? I don't mean to be rude... actually, I do mean to be rude, but not to any of you. I want to be certain a good teacher isn't demoted because he said so."

All the students save himself performed anywhere from well to adequately to poorly on Ms. Sparkle's independent test. Unfortunately, their performances exactly matched their prior knowledge as demonstrated on the University entrance exams. In short, they had learned nothing new. After three separate professors triple-checked Twilight's test, what it asked, and how the students performed, the administration was forced to concede that Advanced Magic 101 was not being taught properly, and that former professor Cast Steel had been giving easy tests to hide the fact.

That is the story of how Twilight Velvet undertook the role of Professor of Advanced Magic 101 while administration looked for a more permanent replacement, and the story of how Twilight Sparkle became an academic consultant to Canterlot University.

At the end of it all, during the final meeting in which the Dean was forced to reinstate him as a student in front of the same crop of witnesses, Mr. Book said, "My assessment of you was correct. You have reversed your decision from outside influence, as I said you would. I am not a weak little student, Mr. List. I am smarter, wiser, and more experienced than you. Do keep this in mind if you think to challenge me again."

Mr. List's reaction to this remark was not verbal.

Mr. Book made a mental note to save this memory for later.

Mr. Silver was right. The facial expressions are priceless, and corpses don't have those. Well, not more than one.

Torture and murder used to be the go-to. For now, embarrassment and public shame would have to do. The constraint did make things interesting, he had to admit.

Two weeks later...

Mr. Book sat in language class, reading to himself. He needed no education in this department, but the class was mandatory. On the positive view, it was the single class where he enjoyed a quiet reprieve.

Ever since his very public return, all his other professors had begun regularly questioning him during lecture. Now that the 'secret' of his race was this publicly known, it seemed that many believed he did not belong here and sought to prove it.

He was often asked difficult questions, which he was certain 99% of other students would not be able to answer, but which he answered without fail. From a Ravenclaw perspective, there was some benefit to being irregularly quizzed... but it quickly grew old.

He had already begun counter-questioning his professors, enjoying the feeling of satisfaction when they refused to answer questions he knew they should be able to answer, but couldn't. They would always claim some excuse or another, like that they could not waste class time, despite already wasting it to single him out, and Mr. Book always pointed out to the wider class that a truly adept scholar should have no trouble answering his seemingly simple questions, just as he's had no trouble answering theirs. You'd think this would serve as a disincentive for singling him out. But no, his professors were too stupid to see the pattern so quickly.

He particularly enjoyed the moment his physics professor – who was not quite as bad as the others – claimed that no pony-made, non-magical objects were capable of generating lift without heat. (Ponies had invented hot air balloons, but not planes.) In response to that claim, Mr. Book assembled a paper plane and threw it across the room.

The professor dropped his lecture, dismissed the class, and took the plane with him as he hastily hurried from the room. When a few of Mr. Book's classmates asked him how he made it, he realised that paper airplanes had likely not been conceived in this country until just that moment. He did not hesitate to teach them how to make their own, just on the off chance they used this forbidden knowledge to annoy their other professors.

A/N: You might think this is implausible. That the ponies of Equestria should know about paper airplanes already. As a historical note, paper airplanes were invented in 1909, six years after the Wright Brothers made the first actual airplane in 1903. In short, if MLP doesn't have airplanes, it probably doesn't have paper planes either. And MLP is never shown to have airplanes, as far as I know.

It was only thanks to his Literature professor's low expectations of him that he was not regularly questioned in her sessions. He could enjoy a bit of peace and quiet.

"Mystery Book?"

If harassment started happening in this class as well, he might just raise another fuss.

Mr. Book looked up from the book he was reading. That was how he discovered that, sometime in the past three minutes (the last time his eyes had lifted from his book to examine his surroundings) a new pony had silently entered the room.

It was the blue-maned unicorn from that day in Day Court. The one who had claimed he could not be bribed. Quick Quill informed him afterward that the stallion was Captain of the Royal Guard.

At the moment, the Captain was not in uniform.

Mr. Book discretely drew a portkey. With that security in place, he decided to amuse himself.

"I didn't do it."

This line tended to have a certain effect on those who enforce laws.

"What, exactly, didn't you do?" the unicorn asked, smoothly transitioning from passive to interrogative.

So predictable.

"I didn't kill the head of the royal guard, wear his corpse as a second skin, and plot to use his position to assassinate a princess."

Much of the class was staring at him in some horror, though at least a few were laughing.

"I suggest you be careful of the jokes you tell in front of random strangers," the unicorn advised with a scowl. "You never know who they might be."

"Oh, I was being quite careful, captain. Was there something you wanted?"

There was a pause.

"The princess has requested your presence at the royal palace."

In a deadpan, "Am I meant to have a choice in the matter?"

With the portkey, he had a choice whether Celestia meant for him to have one or not. But did she was the question.

"Yes," said the unicorn. "You aren't being forced to do anything."

Interesting, thought Mr. Book. "And if I am too busy?"

The surrounding unicorns gasped, likely at the thought that a normal pony could possibly be too busy for a princess.

"The princess understands that you have classes," answered the unicorn. "You may go to the royal palace after they are over. Or mail your schedule to the royal palace and work out a better time if you can't meet today or tonight."

"I am curious how you would distinguish my letter from the many others that reach the palace every day," Mr. Book said, "and how you protect those who open them from potential traps." Then, before the unicorn could respond, "But I can sate that curiosity later."

His books floated to his pouch and disappeared into it, a sight common enough that his fellow students no longer blinked.

He let them believe it was some sort of device. Perhaps because, in the week after his re-instatement, he had used an enchanted necklace to levitate his books in a purposefully flagrant fashion. When he stopped using the necklace, most assumed he simply relocated it beneath his cloak. This might have had something to do with how he articulated, multiple times, that necklaces do not have to be worn around a pony's neck. A technically true statement. It wasn't his fault if those who heard it went on to form false assumptions.

The white unicorn – who had not formed any assumptions as yet – stared in shock at the casual display of hornless magic.

Once Mr. Book had descended the stairs and reached the exit, he dipped his head in the direction of the door. "After you."

"How did you levitate those books?" the unicorn asked once the door shut behind them.

"Smoke and mirrors," Mr. Book said as they walked down the university hall.

The white unicorn frowned. "How did you really do it?"

"Magic trick."

The unicorn frowned further.

No more words were exchanged between them as they walked to their destination.

Tall the palace gates, large the palace doors, and long the palace halls.

"Reporting," said the white unicorn after knocking on a door which looked like all the others, except that two armoured ponies guarded it. "I've brought the one you requested, Princess Luna."

Not Celestia? Mr. Book thought. Hmm...

"Ah, yes," came what was apparently the amplified voice of the Night Princess from the other side. The doors, encased in a purple glow, opened to reveal an indigo alicorn with azure mane, surrounded by books and parchments. "We thank thou... Shining Armour, was it?"

The white unicorn named Shining Armour gave a bow. "Yes, your majesty."

"Excellent," she clapped her hooves. "Thou hast done well. Thou may take thy leave, Captain."

The Captain of the Royal Guard seemed to hesitate. "Your majesty... are you sure you do not want guard presence within the chamber? This particular pony... I mean, it could be dangerous-"

"LEAVE, CAPTAIN!"

The Captain left, and he entered. The door closed behind him.

"So, Mystery Book," said the Princess, expressionless. "'We finally meet the pony who hath caused our sister so much trouble."

Mr. Book readied himself to, at the first hint of aggression or danger, use his portkey, which had never left his grip. If conflict were to occur, he could not currently go the simple route of leveling his wand and saying Avada Kedavra. The correct tactic would therefore be to teleport away, and anti-portkey wards are nonexistent here.

The pony before him is Magical.

She has Power.

He did not know if his own power could overcome hers. And unlike the incident in Celestia's court, there were no witnesses.

Under the circumstances, that meant the ideal approach would be...

"Your majesty," he acknowledged aloud. He considered for a moment, then carefully executed a pony genuflect, such as he had seen in ancient portraits. Those portraits, according to dates which may or may not be accurate, were at least nine hundred years old, and so the gesture had a chance of being recognized by the pony before him. The position forced his eyes down and shut, but his senses were still heightened, his occlumency barriers still in full force, his portkey still active and ready.

"Rise, subject," said the Princess. "We have a request of thou, and we cannot ask it whilst thou prostrate thyself so."

After following the order, he saw she wore a beaming smile.

"Request away," he said flippantly. He still attempted to goad ineptness out of government authority from time to time.

It didn't work.

"In the months since our return," began the princess, seeming to appreciate his irreverence, rather than balk at it, "we have diligently searched for a pony to fill a certain position. Many have desired the role, but none ever satisfied our tastes. We suspected the same would be true of this era, that a thousand years of 'progress' would yet fail to produce a pony capable of handling that delicate and wonderful responsibility."

If she asked him to become a concubine, he was going to say Crucio followed by Avada Kedavra, despite the fact that neither spell would work with his promises in place. Ponies didn't know what those incantations meant. Well, even still, perhaps he would think them, not say them aloud, just in case the princess did know.

"Mystery Book, how wouldst thou like to become the royal fool?"

Chapter 22: Foil

That had not been among the possible positions his mind had proposed as predictions.

"Pardon?" he asked, even as his memory supplied the relevant details.

Royal fool.
Responsible for entertaining nobles and their guests.
Artistic means of accomplishing this: song, music, storytelling.
Physical means: acrobatics, juggling, mundane magic tricks (sleight of hand).
Humourous means: jokes, puns, crude imitation of others, outlandish dress.

"Well?" asked the princess, who had just finished describing that list using different words. "What sayest thou?"

"I... do not think I would be suited for the job," said Mr. Book. His eyebrows were furrowed, his thoughts unusually unorderly. "I am no fool. I am not a circus pony, nor a comedian, nor a musician. The last time I engaged in a euphonious endeavour, it was mere humming, and I only did it to drive the guard responsible for my oversight insane."

The princess's eyebrows rose. "Surely thou jest." And then her eyes widened. "Ah! We see! What a lovely joke. Thou art perfect for the position!"

"It was no joke," said Mr. Book. "That tactic hastened my release from a holding cell. I believe the phrase the guard used when calling his supervisor was that I was doing an 'RJL20'. According to the voices on the other end of the call, that is the code for the scenario of a prisoner attempting psychological warfare and winning."

The princess was tilting her head. "Thou... speakest true. How strange."

Although he had not forgotten that this princess could detect truth, that comment brought it closer to the forefront of his mind.

"But not all fools must be fools, dear subject," continued the princess. "In truth, it is best when they art not foolish. Even if thou art unable to sing, or juggle, or entertain, we know thou canst accomplish the one thing that only the best fools can do. It is for that purpose we wish to hire thee, not the other three."

"And that purpose is...?"

"To speak truth to power," said the princess. "Like to our former secretary."

Ah. It seemed the princess did not appreciate that information on her Court was so obscure, nor did she think her secretary had been helping matters.

"And to the pompous scholars," the princess continued, levitating a copy of what was apparently Quick Quill's first article. "And to the arrogant nobility." She levitated a copy of the second article. "And to our sister." Her magic highlighted his name, printed above the letter to the editor.

It seemed that the editor wasn't the only pony who had taken notice of his ability to, as the princess had put it, speak truth to power.

"And to me," the princess whispered in a voice barely audible.

"Pardon?" he asked again, pretending he had not caught that last part.

The princess, with a pained expression, raised her chin. "We have struggled with sin in the past. Every pony in Equestria knows that we have. It would... be appreciated... to have a pony whose job is to notice our folly. And make us laugh along the way, if possible. Though if thou cannot be humourous, we can always hire a second fool – an actual fool – to fill that role."

So he wouldn't have to make a fool of himself if he accepted?

"Hmm," said Mr. Book, now considering the job offer seriously. "You are asking me to become a royal foil," he realised after a time.

"A... royal foil?" the princess of night asked in a confused voice.

"One who acts as a foil to royalty. It is the one part of the fool's responsibilities which is not foolish. The action of advisement. The goal of grounding the great and grand. The part you believe I can perform."

The princess's eyes widened, and she clapped her hooves. "Yes, yes, yes! A royal foil! A perfect correction. See? Thou art a natural!"

"Even if I were," said Mr. Book, "I am not sure I wish to accept."

"Whyever not?"

Mr. Book quickly formalised the cost/benefits in his mind.

Advantage: Potential access to the royal library, if such a library existed.

If there were any deep, ancient secrets on magic in this world, secrets which might help him escape the mirror, they would likely be found in this palace. Not the Canterlot University library, nor anywhere else. And if it couldn't be found in a book, the princesses themselves might know.

Cost: Increased responsibility, scrutiny, and danger.

If he accepted this new position, he would be forced to spend even more than fifteen hours per week doing things he would likely find unpleasant. And during that time, he would be in the presence of a powerful pony who could possibly spot untruths as reliably as bees could spot flowers.

His attendance and time commitments to the university weren't optimal for his plans, but they were amenable. He spent fifteen hours each week within a classroom, and even then he spent most of those periods reading material that interested him. The rest of his time he spent as he saw fit. Sometimes he studied, sometimes he practiced, but mostly he researched.

Accepting an ordinary job, with ordinary working hours...

"Well?" the princess pressed.

"I have a reputation to uphold as Canterlot University's only non-unicorn student," Mystery Book said aloud. It was the first excuse that had come to mind, and it was not entirely false, so it would hopefully go undetected. "Even if I am currently the best among this year's crop of students, rumors would spring into existence about my inadequacy if I dropped out before graduation, or even before finishing a single semester."

"Thou speakest true..." said the princess, "...but not entirely true. Do not fear. 'Tis easy enough to tell the wider public thou art the 'Court Scholar'. Such a title should put all rumors of inadequacy to rest, especially with thy friends in the press at thy back." Her eyes became a bit firmer. "Why else art thou hesitant to accept?"

"Less free time," said Mr. Book. "I enjoy a schedule as open as my current timetable."

"Again, thou speakest true, but not entirely." The princess shook her head. "What halts thy tongue, subject?"

Mr. Book did not answer.

His grasp on the portkey was firm, his Occlumency barriers as strong as always, his guard up, as it ever was.

And ever would be.

"Dost thou... fear me?" the princess asked, her voice quieting.

"I fear only one thing," said Mr. Book, after a pause. "And you are not it."

"Then why dost thou censor thyself?"

"Habit," he said at last. "I have much to hide. If you intend to hire me, you shall have to get used to it. Though I still do not know if I want to accept."

There was a long pause.

"We... suppose we could," said the princess. "In that case, if thou dost not disclose thy doubts, perhaps thou could say what it might take to overcome thy hesitancy?"

"Constraints," he said after a moment's thought. "My agreement would come with constraints. I am not sure you would accept them."

"Constraints?" the princess asked. "What dost thou mean?"

"Unalterable conditions for my employment," he clarified, "which I shall only share if you swear not to impugn my motives for requiring them. Furthermore, you must promise not to deliberately violate the third constraint, even in the event that my employment is rejected."

There was a pause.

"Very well," said the princess. "We shall not ask after thy motives, nor do... whatever that second thing was," she said less formally, then seemed to catch herself. "Ahem. What dost thou need to become our foil? A high salary? A noble title? Residence in the royal palace?"

"Nothing so trite," said Mr. Book, then pretended to think twice. "Though those would not go unappreciated..." He put on a thoughtful frown. "Still, I can request those after I prove myself an indispensable asset." He shook his head. "But no, my first requirement is that I retain access to the Canterlot University library in the event this new position forces me to retire as a student."

"Easy enough to grant to the Court Scholar," said the princess with a slight grin.

Mr. Book nodded. "My second requirement is that I gain access to all libraries within the royal palace, and to any tomes unavailable elsewhere, especially those that pertain to magic. I do not request classified military or personal information. But if there are tomes on ancient or lost magical artifacts, for example, or personal notes of prominent magicians of old, I would like to be able to read them. I swear not to damage or lose that which I peruse. I also do not mind being observed by the guard as I browse. Is this access equally easy to provide the Court Scholar?"

The features of the princess grew uncomfortable as she came to comprehend this request. "We... would need to consult our sister..."

"Please do," said Mr. Book. "My final requirement is that no prying efforts be made – by you, by your will, or by any over whom you hold power – into the pasts of myself or a pegasus named Silver Wing."

There was another pause, this one much longer.

"Thy final condition..." The princess trailed off, her expression even more troubled. "We wish we could ask why thou requires it... but we suppose that is the point of the request, and of thou making us promise not to impugn thy motives."

"Nor to violate the request even should I not become your foil," Mr. Book pointed out, "as you already promised."

There was a look of comprehension, followed by apprehension.

"Canst thou at least swear thou hast never abused one of our subjects in this history you wish to keep secret?"

"None of your subjects have suffered my abuse," said Mystery Book honestly, with slight mental relief at the way she had phrased that question. "Unless you count my interactions with Blueblood, Cast Steel, Waiting List, Twilight Velvet, and Spitfire as abusive. But the consequences of those incidents were no fault of my own, and all are public knowledge."

"Spitfire? We are unfamiliar with that case..."

"She is the current captain of the Wonderbolts," he offered. "Though she may lose her position before long. Poor publicity, you see."

Pause.

"We imagine there is a story behind that."

"There is, though I won't bore you with the details. Order back issues of the Cloudsdale Chronicle if you are interested."

"We- no. We are getting off the topic. Thou claimst to have not abused our subjects, and thou spoke true. Hast thou ever killed?"

"I have only killed a single sapient Equestrian creature," he allowed, once again honestly, "but I do not know if that particular entity would qualify as one of your 'subjects'. And I was only able to kill it because it threatened all of Equestria with malicious intent." Mystery Book frowned deliberately. "I shall answer no more questions of this nature. If I experience any more prying, I shall leave and not come back. If that is not an acceptable condition, then I am afraid I must reject your employment offer."

The princess sighed. "Thou makest things difficult."

"I don't see why. Most ponies have at least one thing they want nopony else to know. I simply have more than one. Is it so difficult to quash your curiosity and respect my wishes?"

"We are not used to refraining from... 'prying', as thou put it. As princess of the night, 'tis our duty to enter our subjects' dreams and ward away nightmares."

"That is a terrible violation of their privacy," said Mr. Book at once. "Worse, perhaps, than any other governmental action could be." Though not worse than Legilimency, which tracks complete, conscious thought. "If your subjects are not free from observation in their minds, where are they secure?" Then, a memory of something he said to Nightmare Moon returned to him. "Worse, if you ever stray again, that power is ripe for abuse. One who guards against nightmares could easily inflict them."

The clock on the wall was the only sound that could be heard in the room for the length of ten ticks.

"I know," whispered the princess of night in a small voice, looking at the desk in front of her. "But it's my special talent," she said, as if to herself. "I can't just... not do it..."

"Why not?"

Her gaze lifted, locked with Mr. Book's. "Don't you understand? I have to do it. I have to ward away nightmares. 'Tis... 'tis like... 'tis like breathing! 'Tis just something I DO!"

Mr. Book tilted his head. "Perhaps it is merely a bad habit you need to break. Maybe-"

"NO!" she interrupted. "I HAVE to protect my subjects! It is my special talent! It is WHO I AM! DOST THOU NOT UNDERSTAND THAT?!"

Papers flew from her desk at the force of the shout amplified by magic.

Mr. Book had come close to activating his portkey, but refrained from doing so when the shouting amounted to nothing else.

"Suppose," Mr. Book said as the princess panted heavily, "that a pony's special talent involved murder. Not combat. Not battle. Not military tactics. Murder. Specifically pony murder." He did not choose that particular moment to glance at his own cutie mark beneath his cloak, depicting an infinity symbol earned as a result of murdering a pony. "What would you tell that pony, if that pony said they had to murder other ponies?"

"Dream-walking is not murder!" the princess declared, declining to play along with the thought experiment.

"But it does infringe upon a pony's security," said Mr. Book. "I did not mean to call dream-walking murder. I only made the extreme analogy to draw attention to the overarching problem. Both are what moralists would call 'wrong'. Both are a violation of what they call 'rights' – murder of the right to life, dream-walking of the right to privacy. I know I have had dreams I would never wish any other to see-" not that he'd had any dreams in the last twenty years "-and I suspect you have seen dreams whose owners would rather have kept them private."

The princess's face became the portrait of a cartoonish blush.

"Especially the adult population," he said after easily inferring the reason behind that reaction. "Or perhaps the sexually mature population would say it better."

"Even still," said the princess, her blush not yet vanished, "I cannot just not do it!" she repeated herself. "'Tis not always voluntary! It can happen at random. Especially when a pony is in danger."

Mystery Book tilted his head, considering. That was new information. And thanks to his own restrictions, he had plenty of experience in the realm of coming up with creative alternatives to certain tendencies.

"If you must dream-walk," he allowed, "restrict yourself only to the task of warding nightmares, and only do so for ponies under the age of twelve." In addition to being sensible, that age limit would ensure Mr. Silver's privacy. If the princess allowed herself to be restricted in that way. "Allow the stallions and mares of Equestria to deal with their own demons. They are not yours to coddle."

The clock ticked five times.

"And I suppose," he added, "if you ever experience involuntary episodes of dream-walking, even if those episodes involve older ponies, you may pursue them as well. Given the nature of this world and its magic, I suspect 'harmony' would have those occasions only output uplifting outcomes."

The clock ticked five more times.

"Finally," he finished, "so as to not be tempted, if there is a way to magically bind yourself such that, if Nightmare Moon returned once more, she would not be able to do damage with your power, I suggest you take it."

The clock ticked twenty times.

"I..." said the princess. "We shall think on it."

"I quite understand," said Mr. Book. "But remember this: though hesitation is always easy, it is rarely useful. Do not think overlong, lest that become an excuse to continue as you are, without change or growth."

The clock ticked five times.

"And regardless of what you ultimately decide about the privacy of your other subjects," he added, "my dreams are off-limits at all times." If he ever had any in the first place. "So are Silver Wing's. If you want my continued advisement, that is. Oh, and I shall be needing twenty-minute breaks every three hours, but I imagine that is close to standard employment practice, and more of a housekeeping issue than a true constraint."

The clock ticked three times.

"In that case, we have a 'housekeeping issue' of our own."

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"Yes. If thou becomest our fool, thou art to remove thy reflective glasses. Or wear transparent ones."

"Why?"

"Eye contact matters to us."

He considered the constraint for a moment. Legilimency was unknown in this realm... but maybe she had discovered the art independently? If so, she would not know about perfect Occlumency. Or even if she did, she should not expect him to know it. If she invaded his mental privacy, she would only see exactly what he wanted her to see, and he would notice her doing it. Even on the extreme off-chance she could use unknown magics to bypass his barriers without alarm, her reaction afterwards should be telling enough, and he could always Obliviate her, since memory charms are also entirely unknown.

As for the slitted eyes, there was a simple solution to that. It was on his to-do list anyway, after the Blueblood incident.

"I am amenable to that requirement. Was there anything else, or may I take my leave?"

Mr. Book heard the door click open behind him.

Before he left, "You said you cannot autonomously grant my second request. When can I expect to hear back about the position?"

The clock ticked seven times.

"Less than a week," sighed the princess.

He executed a shallower version of the earlier genuflect. "Until then."

Later that day, the Artist's Association gathered at Canterlot University, as per usual.

"Keen Eye."

The introverted illusionist looked up from his present project – a glimmer enchantment of some kind. "Hmm? Oh, hello. You're Mystery Book, right? Neat. What is it?"

It was a private nook of a larger workshop, and no other ponies were nearby. But he had already erected a few wordless privacy wards anyway. No sense tempting fate.

"Are you open to commission work?"

The blue unicorn tilted his head. "Maybe. Depends on the job. And the payment."

"Twelve thousand bits," said Mr. Book, dropping the amount onto the table in the form of few enchanted gems, not raw bits. Scholars are not used to that kind of money. At least, not the ones low on the totem pole.

The blue unicorn's eyes were wide. "What?"

"Two thousand for the spell itself. The extra ten thousand are incentive for your agreement to having your memories of the job locked away for a time. Once I allow a certain secret to be known to the wider public, you will be allowed to remember it. It is not a dreadful secret, only annoying. If you cannot agree to that, I shall find somepony else who would agree. Or simply do it myself, though my own work would lack your extreme attention to detail."

The blue unicorn stared at him. "Umm... what's the job?"

"Enchanted eyeglasses."

The blue unicorn looked at the current reflective panes. "Uh...huh... can you be more descriptive?"

"If I tell you more, I shall have to seal your memory afterwards." And if not, he would obliviate the fact that he could seal away memories. "The job itself reveals the underlying problem. Is that acceptable?"

Keen Eye took a while to think. Then slowly nodded. "I don't know how you're going to seal my memory, but sure. So long as you unlock it afterwards."

Most ponies are ridiculously trusting, he'd come to realise, and so he was finally not surprised by the attitude, nor this response. He'd even decided to count on it. Or at least, he decided that he should not be so paranoid as to say nothing about it. He decided he would honestly propose the deal, and see what happens.

Still...

"In that case, please read this contract, then sign it." No, he would not trust mere words and promises. Ponies might be naive, but he isn't. "It shall ensure the terms of the agreement are kept by both parties, myself included."

The contract was written in simple language with no tricks – not quite a mandatory requirement of magical contracts, but it made the creation process much, much easier. Like with Unbreakable Vows, an understanding of the oath's intent is required, though not as deep of one. Mr. Silver's NDA had been his first publicly used contract, and 'you can't talk about what you learn' had been sufficient understanding for even seven-year-olds to sign it. That Soarin' had forgotten the contract, or not thought too deeply about it at the time of signing, was a testament to his mental abilities. Or lack thereof.

When the paper was signed, Mr. Book took off his glasses, briefly closing his eyes. "Do not panic."

"About what?"

He opened them.

There was a short pause.

Then, "Cool! Why are your eyes like that?"

He dropped the spell on his teeth as well, to make it seem like the glasses were responsible for that as well. The flat tooth illusion was static, unchanging, and therefore easy to create and maintain. Unlike the enchantment he was about to request be made.

"I am a thestral," he answered. "The purpose of your job shall be to create an illusion that disguises the fact, giving my eyes an ordinary appearance if seen through these glasses. If my race ever becomes known to the wider public, I shall allow you to remember this job. Though I shan't allow you to remember how I locked away your memories, unless that becomes known as well."

Chapter 23: Safety and Practice

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter 24: First Day on the Job

Mr. Book sat in the royal library within the Canterlot castle, reading the Index of Ancient Artifacts. He had discovered and discarded many ideas for improving his great creation, and it was only his first day.

Searching for promising horcrux candidates wasn't his true goal, but if he was going through magical artifacts anyway – keeping an eye out for anything related to magical mirrors – he may as well make progress in other areas as well.

If not for the current three-horcrux restriction, he would not even be attempting to turn powerful artifacts into horcruxes. As he once said, the hopeless idiocy of his youth involved imbuing ancient lockets as anchors, instead of anonymous pebbles.

But since he could only make three for now, and since he had acquired the power to turn perfectly invisible by making his first horcrux, he may as well be similarly selective about his next two. He should also gather the items now, so that he would be ready to enchant them whenever an opportunity arose.

He had discarded his first idea long ago. He had too much respect for all that Merlin did to potentially end his Line Unbroken, which he had acquired his first day here. He'd done it far less blatantly than the Elder Wand, but both were found around the same time.

If Mr. Book was certain his Great Creation would not interfere with the Line's function, he might have done it. But powerful rituals, and the devices made in the process, have a tendency to clash with each other, not harmonise. The Deathly Hallows that were made to avoid death (same as his great creation) were an exception.

And even if he knew for a fact there wouldn't be any problems if he horcruxed Merlin's legacy, anchoring his mortality through the Line might make him inherit it, and that responsibility was not on his to-do list. Dumbledore, guided by prophecy, said that Silver should become Merlin's heir, and Mr. Book saw no reason to interfere with that outcome.

The Line had been firmly placed in the "NO" category of potential horcruxes.

The first potential "YES" he encountered was known as the Alicorn Amulet, which may or may not turn him into an ageless alicorn if he incorporated it into his great creation. His own ritual did not stop him from growing old, and he did not look forward to jumping from body to body if the stone of permanence remained unusable that long.

The second potential "YES", the 'Crystal Heart', might allow him to float free of his three allotted anchors if it became one of them. That was more immediately important than agelessness. But, given the description, there were many other things it might do to him. It might turn him into a crystal pony. It might connect his thoughts/emotions to the heart, or the rest of the crystal empire. The heart itself might no longer function due to 'corruption', and that would turn the whole project into a dud.

He continued reading.

The third "YES", the 'Staff of Soul', was much more promising.

"It's six o'clock," said the guard. "Time's up."

Mr. Book had initially questioned why a private library would need operating hours.

He had been told that the library didn't have operating hours. The guards assigned to him did. The day guard had plenty of soldiers, but the night guard was sparsely employed enough that they could not afford to spare a single body to watch over him. And besides, his duties to the princess would start at eight o'clock anyway, and he wouldn't be allowed to stay in the library when he was supposed to be on the job, and he was lucky that he was allowed here in the first place, so he should just get reading.

He would have tried to remember the face, but the guard who said all this wore a typical guard's armor, which hid the identity of the wearer. Even that minor hurdle would not have truly stopped his vengeance, except that most of the points were valid, conveyed no less politely than he himself normally spoke, so he dropped the resentment before it could fester into action.

"Return the book," the guard ordered, "and I'll escort you out."

Mr. Book's magic closed the Index of Ancient Artifacts and returned it to the shelf.

The guard didn't bat an eye at first, but then did a doubletake. "Wait, how'd you do that?"

"Ask my former classmates."

Two minutes and an out-of-sight Apparition later, he started his search for items instead of information. He had two hours.

It took surprisingly little effort to track down the Alicorn Amulet, and even less effort to steal it from the current owner – an idiotic unicorn who called herself Trixie, and who proved easy enough to memory charm into forgetting she ever had it. He found her living in a mobile home a mile from where the book said the Amulet was supposed to be, from which he inferred she recently stole it.

He had been expecting that to take much, much longer, but such was life. This artifact took thirty minutes, another might take thirty years. It often evened out in the end. Hopefully the mirror would be on the shorter end of the average.

A cast of tempus showed the time to be 18:56, giving him an hour to experiment.

His scanning charms, even the most thorough ones, revealed nothing nefarious, but when he briefly used the artifact, there was a noticeable effect on his state of mind. His thoughts became more self-flattering, his self-awareness lessened, and his impulsivity increased.

He immediately decided to forgo the horcrux idea and seal the artifact in a safe place.

There are rituals that improve magical strength. There are wit-sharpening potions that foster fast thought. There are artifacts rumored to boost a wizard's abilities tenfold. Mr. Book has yet to find a single 'performance enhancer' that does not have side-effects, hidden or otherwise.

Some are addictive. Others mandate personal sacrifices. Yet others impose permanent changes upon the body or mind of the user. Few were good for one's health in the long run.

By the time he'd Portkeyed back to Canterlot, the sun was low in the sky. Sunset would mark the start of his shift. He was expecting the job to be unpleasant, but he should not have to endure it for long. He had gotten through many scrolls already, and the private library within Canterlot castle was not overlarge. A few months, maybe a year at most, assuming he had to examine every tome.

A cast of Tempus showed that he still had twenty-five minutes, so he found a secluded spot and entered what Mr. Silver called 'zombie mode' for a Polyphasic nap.

That done, he walked to where he'd been told would mark the start his shift: the hall outside the Princess's bedchambers.

"Thou were almost late."

They began walking, escorted by two guards.

"I was exactly on schedule," Mr. Book corrected his current employer. "I do not like wasting time."

"Yes, thou said something similar to our sister's secretary."

"You were informed of the exchange to that level of detail?"

"We read the court transcript, though the transcribing stopped just before thou accused Blueblood of his tryst."

"Shame. That would mean my favourite parts were omitted."

His employer hummed in agreement. "We so wish we could have been there. Thou dost not know how many times we have merely heard rumors of that day."

Mr. Book tilted his head, considering for a long moment.

He had already told Quick Quill, who had told her editor and therefore almost certainly told her friends. He had not kept up with the Manehattan Manuscript, but she may even have told the entire city by now, and therefore the entire country. He knew and accepted that as a consequence beforehand. But to reveal it directly to the co-ruler of the realm...

"I could show you," Mr. Book offered.

...would leave no doubts as to who had 'invented' memory extraction and viewing. Now that it was out, he should take proper credit before some unicorn professor decides to pretend it was their idea.

"Beg pardon?"

Mr. Book raised a hoof to his temple and slowly drew out a silver thread of memory. It only took seconds, now that he'd already drawn it out before.

"What magic is this?" the princess questioned, sounding curious and fascinated.

"This is my memory of the matter. I could establish a station for you to view it, if you wish."

"We do," she said without hesitation. "We desperately do."

Mr. Book removed the basin from his pouch and set it to levitate in the middle of the hallway, interrupting their journey to wherever they'd been walking. "Yes, it floats," Mr. Book said, predicting and heading off the incredulity. He filled it with potion-modified water and deposited the memory. "Put your face into the pensieve to watch."

"Hold on," said the thestral guard who had been escorting them. "Princess, this might be a trap."

"He did not lie, Pitch Black,"said the princess.

"Even so," said Mr. Book, "it is a reasonable concern. If he is worried about your safety, perhaps he should test it first." He did not allow even an ounce of mischief to enter his voice. "It can be re-used as many times as needs be."

The princess gave him a sideways glance, then shrugged. "A fair suggestion."

There was a pause.

"Well, Mr. Black?"

"Um..."

"Thy queen awaits the protection of her loyal guard."

The thestral, after much visible hesitation, put his head into the pensieve.

"It will take a few minutes," Mr. Book announced. "That memory is rather long."

"One moment then," said the princess. "All Nighter." Her other escort, a unicorn of deep blue coat, stood at attention. "Tell my sister we shall be late to dinner."

"Um... I'm not supposed to leave your side, princess. Especially since Pitch is... uh, occupied."

When she responded to this remark, the tone of the princess suggested to Mr. Book that she desperately wished to have her head in her hoof. "Thy princess has given thee a direct order. Thou art a unicorn. If thou dislike the prospect of leaving us alone, kindly use teleportation to carry out the task as quickly as possible." Then, at the guard's hesitance and reluctance, "Must it come to the threat of termination?"

The guard teleported away.

"I presume you were referring to the termination of his employment?"

"Of course."

"Does he know that?"

The princess smiled.

Mr. Book chuckled. "Out of curiosity, just how capable a fighter are you? This is the second time you have demonstrated confidence that you would not come to harm if, presumably, I meant you ill."

"Thou art not a unicorn," said the Princess. "Nor art thee armed. Thou pose little threat."

"My cloak could be concealing poisoned darts."

The princess was suddenly wary. "That was not a lie."

"Obviously," said Mr. Book. "My cloak could also be concealing wings, countless books, and the secret to immortality. To the well-organized mind, offering a thought experiment is like asking a question. Is it possible for a question to lie?"

"It is certainly possible to deceive a pony with a question," the princess said, even as she relaxed. "But we understand thy point, and shall answer thy hypothetical. If thou were concealing a poisoned weapon, even if thou took us by surprise, we would likely survive the assault, as we are resistant to poisons. But more likely than not, we would have teleported away."

"Imagine I sought out the deadliest poison known to ponies," he proposed, "and I activated a magical device designed to ward against teleportation as soon as I launched the supposed attack."

"We know of no such device," the princess said with a frown.

"But you know of anti-teleportation wards, and you know it is possible to enchant spells into devices."

There was a pause.

"Never underestimate an unknown," Mr. Book said after a time. "You have seen me do things you cannot explain. Having capable guards-"

All Nighter returned in the flash of a teleport.

"-is a wise precaution," he finished.

Not that a few bodyguards would matter if he truly meant her ill, which is why it didn't matter that he was offering this advice.

"I heard that the Night Guard is understaffed," he said without transition. "Is that due to exacting standards, a sparse number of applicants, poor performance, some combination of the three, or something else entirely?"

"A... combination," said the princess after a moment's thought. "And something else. The night guard is meant to be composed entirely of thestrals. But communication with our dearest of subjects has fallen by the wayside over the past thousand years, and recruitment efforts have been difficult. We have had to allow ponies not accustomed to the nocturnal lifestyle into our guard."

"If the Night Guard is meant to be composed of thestrals," Mr. Book posed, "how would they guard against magical attacks?"

There was a pause.

"Good question," said All Nighter.

"That was not meant for thee. To thy post."

"No," said Mr. Book, "I would like to hear his input. He is a guard, after all. He should have experience in the matter. Mr. Nighter, please explain why you believe my question was a good one."

The unicorn, who had been standing at attention once more, looked over his shoulder. He glanced at the princess. "Um..."

The princess looked at Mr. Book for a long moment, who returned her gaze equably. The princess turned to face the guard. "Answer."

"Um..." said the guard. He was visibly shaking. "H-having a-an all-thestral guard, y-your majesty, it's like..." the pony paused, his shaking slowing to a stop as he thought. "It's like having an all-pegasus guard. Or an all-earth pony guard. If somepony made a magical attack... I mean, I know we have magic-resistant armor, but still. They'd be easy targets. You need a unicorn to guard against dragons and hydra and cockatrices and wendigos and... and..."

"And other unicorns," Mr. Book offered.

"Um... yeah. Other unicorns."

"Even so, thou art not nocturnal," the night queen countered. "Thy performance shall wane as our night progresses."

"Um... I guess... but..."

"I think it is time I took over," said Mr. Book. "The performance of any pony will wane the longer it has been since they slept. It is an immutable fact of biology, suffered by creatures nocturnal and diurnal alike. Did coffee exist as a drink a thousand years ago, your majesty?"

"Coffee? What is that?"

"That is a no," said Mr. Book. "Coffee is a common stimulant drunk by the working, middle, and even upper classes. It is so common, in fact, that I am slightly surprised you do not already know of it. It has a very distinctive smell."

"What dost this 'coffee' have to do with staying awake through the night?"

"Would you care to answer that, Mr. Nighter?"

"Um... coffee is pretty good at keeping a pony awake, your majesty. For hours on end. I drink a cup every break."

Mr. Book nodded. "As I said, it is a very powerful stimulant." He first learned of coffee on the other side of the mirror as it applied to the first muggle world war. Wizards had their own stimulants, but coffee was the muggle go-to, and now the pony go-to as well. "It is so powerful that it can eliminate the problem of drowsiness on a practical level. And correct me if I am wrong All Nighter, but ponies working the 'night shift' is a relatively common occurrence in Equestrian business these days, is it not?"

"Um... yeah, that's right."

He turned to the princess. "Did the concept of a 'night shift' exist a thousand years ago?"

"Not outside the guard..."

"Then it should not be difficult to find capable ponies who prefer night work to day work, who have done it much of their lives, and who would be glad to serve at Canterlot castle, even if they are not thestrals." He turned back to the unicorn guard. "Thank you for your contribution, Mr. Nighter."

Though the guard did not participate in any more of the conversation after that point, he stood slightly straighter for the rest of the night.

"Thou... art correct... but..."

"But you are still partial to a night guard composed entirely of thestrals?" Mr. Book asked.

She nodded.

He had been partial to many beautiful yet impractical ideas in the past, so he understood the impulse, and the error.

"Celestia has enchanted the armor of her guards to make their appearances uniform. Perhaps you could do the same. Enchant the armor of the night guard to make them all seem like thestrals, regardless of their base species. It might also throw potential attackers off when a pony who seems hornless suddenly-" Pitch Black's head came up from the pensieve "-casts a stunner. Did you enjoy the show, Mr. Black?"

His fellow thestral scowled at him. "No."

Mr. Book grinned in turn. "I suspected the humour would be lost on a member of the guard. I also suspect it will not be lost on your princess." He gestured with his head, addressing his employer. "You shall be the fourth to see this, not including myself and the other original witnesses."

She dunked her head in without hesitation.

He got out a book to read while he waited. It vanished in a whisp of air when the princess came out of the memory.

"That- that IDIOT!" she shouted. "And those pompous- and Tia just sat there and- AND-"

The princess fumed wordlessly for a time. Mr. Book used that time to retrieve his memory, drain the pensieve water, and stash the basin.

"Credit where credit is due," Mr. Book said, almost surprised at himself for playing the part of placater. "She stepped in afterwards and reversed the idiocy. I went into that petition expecting complete and utter rejection. I also expected Blueblood to get away with all he did, even as he did it. I was impressed that your sister directly corrected her court's ineptitude."

"But that dost not excuse it! She should not have let it get that far! That was infinitely worse than the rumors made it out to be."

"You read Quick Quill's article, did you not?"

"We thought that an exaggeration! We could not believe otherwise because we could not fathom Tia would just sit through the described events and do nothing!"

"I was curious about that myself, as I pointed out in my letter to the editor. We shall be having dinner with her, no? You can ask her shortly enough."

"Yes," the princess declared. "We can."

And their march through the halls finally resumed, now with a princess making purposeful strides, forcing her guard to step up to speed. It did not help that her size allowed her to cover more ground with each leg. While she went at a steady trot, everypony else had to canter.

She did not slam open the doors to the dining room upon arrival, but that might have only been because her guards opened them before she could get there.

"Ah, sister," said Princess Celestia. "It is good to see you."

Princess Luna did not reply in kind. She simply nodded, said "Tia," then sat down.

Mr. Book stood well back from the table of nobles and dignitaries.

"May I ask what caused the delay?" Celestia asked before his employer could vent. "All Nighter said something about a memory? Did you forget something in your room?"

"No. 'Twas not my memory which delayed us. 'Twas Mystery Book's memory. Of that day he spent in your court."

Princess Celestia frowned ever so slightly. "You were delayed by his description of it?"

"You misunderstand, sister. He did not tell us. He showed us."

This did not clarify the misunderstanding, if Princess Celestia's facial expression was anything to go by.

Mr. Book coughed slightly, drawing her attention. He drew a simple, unrelated memory from his mind, let it float on the tip of his hoof for a time, then put it back in his head. He was now the center of the room's attention. He took out a book and began reading.

"Magic truly has come a long way," said Princess Luna, drawing attention away from him once more. "How recently was that discovered?"

"Um... sister, I still do not understand. I am unfamiliar with that magic. I have never seen it before."

Princess Luna's eyes furrowed. "But..."

Attention returned to Mr. Book, who did not look up from his namesake.

"I may or may not be the first pony in Equestria to make that potion," he said, turning a page, "and the first pony to magically extract my own memories. Part of why I did not mind leaving university for this position was that I grew tired of educating my professors."

His employer let out a burst of laughter. Involuntarily, it would seem, as evidenced by her quickly covering her mouth and apologizing for the faux pas. Though she, at least, seemed to have taken his humour as the 'it's funny because it's true' type.

Many other noble ponies at the table snorted incredulously, or murmured to the pony to their immediate left/right that he was lying, despite the blatant proof he'd just shown.

He could pretend to ignore them, exacting his vengeance later.

Or...

"The last noble who accused me of false testimony was Blueblood." He could be honest about things. "He is now serving six months in prison." He wouldn't ordinarily say this, but... "To any who repeat that mistake." He still wished to goad out the ineptness. He looked up from his book and gave an evil grin. "I look forward to the... fun we shall have together." He looked back down and turned another page. "You intended to ask your sister a question, your majesty?"

What followed was a conversation between sisters that could hardly be called sisterly. It did not make his employer happy.

"Keep in mind," Mr. Book said as they walked through the palace halls once again, "that she has had a thousand years to come to her current conclusions of non-interference. She has had up to a thousand years of practice in not changing her mind. I cannot even begin to imagine how to go about untangling that. For myself, I would call it a lost cause and move on."

"She is my sister," the night princess said in a warning tone. "She did not consider me a lost cause, even at my darkest. I shall never consider her one."

Mr. Book tilted his head consideringly. "In that case, I would like to tell you about something my student calls the planning fallacy..."

By the time they reached a location Mr. Book recognized, the Night Court doors, Princess Luna had wrapped her mind around the concept that a typical pony is not pessimistic enough when it comes to estimating task completion times. And yes, Mr. Book had run the experiment himself (on his fellow college students) just to be certain that it stayed true for ponies.

"Your sister has likely held her position of non-interference for a millennium," Mr. Book repeated. "Expect it to take a millennium more to convince her to change it. That way, you shall be pleasantly surprised if you make progress sooner. Like, say, in a mere hundred years."

His official job, as explained by his employer, would be to stand by her side, listen to each petition, listen to her responses, and speak up if he noticed a foil-worthy moment. After the first ten minutes, he asked if he could take out a book and read. The request was granted.

The first two hours passed without a foil-worthy moment.

Even after he came back from his twenty-minute break, it still did not seem like there would be any notable moments in the near future.

"Would you like to rehire me as a dedicated Night Court advocate?" Mr. Book asked. "Or advertiser?"

The night princess did not open her closed eyes. "No."

"You like an empty court schedule?"

"No."

"You would prefer the annoyances your sister likely suffers day in and day out?"

"Yes."

A pause.

A sigh.

"No. We would prefer what we once had."

"What did you once have? The history books said little."

Her eyes slowly opened, and the magical glow about her horn and hair faded. "We had a few ponies each day, asking for help in their personal lives."

"You did not have many visitors?"

"Oh, there were many visitors. But we dismissed the greedy and the dishonest outright, leaving only those who could truly use our help. We were told our advice on relationships was indispensable. We could... how did they put it... cut through the bull's manure? Yes, something like that."

In other words, she could spot the lies. Even the ones that the ponies told to themselves. Thanks to the Element of Honesty, no doubt.

"It was very fulfilling," she remarked in a reminiscent tone. But her tone soon turned sour. "At least until our court appointments dried up and ponies stopped coming."

"Why?"

Her eyes met his, and he could see pain in them. Hurt, but not resentment. "We do not know. We never did understand how that happened. The ponies whom we helped were always appreciative. Genuinely appreciative. Not flattering with false thanks. Not pretending with platitudes. Not..." she trailed off, eyes now distant. "But then they just... stopped coming. And not just the good ones. The greedy ponies stopped petitioning too. Everypony stopped coming." She looked down. "They stopped coming..." Her voice lowered, as if she were now speaking to herself. "And I still don't know why."

Mr. Book tilted his head. The key to a puzzle is often something you read twenty years ago in an old scroll, he had once told Mr. Silver. In this case, it was closer to twenty days ago, though the 'old scroll' part still applied.

His mind almost outright rejected the idea of giving her the answer. He didn't do 'kind'.

But then he remembered the fact that his self-image of not being nice had cost him ten years of his life. So instead of rejecting the idea, he asked himself if it would further his agenda in any way.

Giving the answer wasn't guaranteed to further his goals... but it would likely reflect well on him, which might help. And it would cost him little. In fact, it would give him something to do besides reading, which would be welcome at this point, since he had not brought any particularly engaging books with him. A mistake he would rectify in future shifts.

"I think I might know where to find at least part of the answer to that question," he said after running the cost-benefit analysis. "As it seems my foolish services are not quite needed at the moment, would you excuse me a while to fetch it?"

"I... suppose?" the princess said, sounding quite confused.

"Then I shall be back in less than an hour."

Apparition could have made things instant, but he wanted the local population to assume pre-prepared twigs were his only means of instant travel. If they ever attempt to investigate the method, they shall be so busy figuring out portkeys that they will almost certainly overlook the possibility that he has other means of escape. He also refrained from flying to the library and back, again for the reason of secrecy. He galloped. It was – as Mr. Silver had once remarked – what ponies were meant to do. There was a feeling of biological fulfillment to it.

Thirty minutes and one stolen library book later, Mr. Book entered the royal palace once more. He returned to the room that had likely not hosted a single night court petition for over a thousand years, bringing with him a book that was a thousand and twelve years old.

"Check page twenty," he offered, only slightly winded at the effort.

Her magic flipped open the book.

Page twenty was, seemingly, harmless on its face. It simply gave the statistical likelihood that a petition would be resolved in the petitioner's favour. Purely factual information. Automatic dismissal of those 'greedy and dishonest' petitioners had probably contributed to Princess Luna's 15% success rate, as opposed to Princess Celestia's 40%.

His employer looked at the page. She saw nothing strange. She said as much.

"You are right," Mr. Book agreed. "It is not strange in the slightest that ponies stopped showing up to your court. The book on court procedure told them they are less likely to find success here, after all."

The princess's eyes widened. Her eyes darted back down to the book. For the next minute, her gaze was so intent on the page that, if she were an underage wizard, she might have burned a hole straight through it.

"I don't believe it," said the princess in an un-amplified voice. "I thought..."

"Of course," Mr. Book said after the silence had stretched enough to be noticed, "there may have been other contributing factors."

The princess looked to Mr. Book, as if she'd forgotten he was there. When she spoke, it was with a tight voice. "Thank you, Mystery Book. You are dismissed for the night. I am closing court early."

Mr. Book's eyebrows rose, but he did not argue.

The rest of his night had just opened up, apparently, and he still had another artifact to hunt down. And a library book to return.

Celestia woke to a sound and sensation she had not heard or felt for over a thousand years.

Her sister was crying into her coat.

"Luna?" she asked, instantly awake. "What's the matter?"

"I thought they hated me," her sister sobbed. "I thought they hated me."

Celestia quickly pulled her sister into a firm embrace. "I know, Lulu." She knew they never did. "I know."

Chapter 25: Possibly False Hope

Author's Note

A/N: This chapter will utilize an MLP fanon trope, one that was even once intended to be canon, if internet hearsay is to be believed. I'm aware it's not canon, strictly speaking, is what I'm trying to say.

Chapter 25: Possibly False Hope

Air Bucking.

The final lesson.

...would happen in about thirty minutes, even though class had already started. They had been told that something fun and challenging would come first.

His students were, at the moment, high above him on a platform cloud. They all wore wing-bindings. Twilight and Flight Formation stood nearby on standby, in case anything went wrong.

"Next," he said into his communications necklace.

"AaaaaaaaaaaaAAOOF!"

A pegasus slammed none-too softly into the stadium's centerfield stratus cloud.

"Nope," he said. "You need more practice. Leave your wing bindings here and get to work over there. Flight Formation can help once the test is over."

There was a brief delay as the sour student left the crash zone.

"Next."

"WoooooooooooOOHOO!"

A flawless air cushion.

"That. Was. AWESOME!"

He'd come to recognize that voice. Scootaloo, top of the class. No surprises there.

"Good job," he congratulated. "You're the third to pass. Take your bindings off and wait over there. We still have a bunch of tests to get through."

There was another brief delay as a student, this one chipper and self-satisfied, left the landing zone.

"Next."

High above...

Mr. Book selected a student at random. His disembodied voice ordered that student to walk to the marked middle of the large, wide cloud that held the entire class. His voice told the student phase through it, informing them to be ready for the cloud directly below. This lower platform was out of sight and sound thanks to the cloud barrier and a muffling charm, though the class didn't know that second part. The student performed a cloud-phase-to-cloud-harden and reached the slightly lower cloud platform.

Mr. Book, ready and waiting, shoved the wing-bound pegasus into free fall without warning. Unless you counted "Think fast," as a warning. Or "Have fun." Or even, "Die," to increase the difficulty of the test for the adult ponies.

Mr. Book had offered to carry out this role free of charge, without his usual fee.

Back below...

"AaaaaaaaaaaaAAOOF!"

"Nope. You need more practice with the air cushion. Please leave your wing bindings here and go to the practice field over there."

"That was not fun."

"It was for me."

The teenager gave him a death glare as he removed the bindings from his wings.

Silver smiled in return. "Flight Formation can help you once the test is over."

Pause.

"Next."

"Believe it or not," Silver posed to the ponies who had passed. They'd been sequestered away to a private airfield, safe from prying ears and scrying eyes. "Air-bucking is probably going to be one of your easier lessons."

"Then why's it last?"

"Because it's dangerous," Silver answered his most inquisitive student. "You know how to glide now, right Scootaloo?"

"Uh... yup!"

If he had been more attentive, he would have noticed the slight hesitation in her voice.

"Then go ahead and get to work, everypony. Be ready to air cushion if you succeed, then glide back here so you can say how you did it. Same old same old. There's no prize this time, just the feeling of success. Accomplishment is its own reward."

Around ten minutes later, after the first student succeeded (startling the entire class at the sound of the crack) but before she could explain the theory, a much louder thundercrack rang through the stadium. Many eyes were drawn to the orange blur speeding away.

"She isn't switching to a glide," said Rainbow Dash.

The cyan pegasus had been in the middle of a meandering mouthful of an explanation that wouldn't have sufficed and was therefore standing right next to Silver when she made this particular observation.

That was when he noticed. "Oh, crap," he realised. "She was lying. She can't glide."

A crack even louder than Scootaloo's went off right next to him.

"It's fine," Scootaloo told everypony for the millionth time. "I slowed down on my own, didn't I?"

"It. Was. NOT. FINE!" Rainbow Dash shouted for the millionth time. "You could have been KILLED!"

"But I know the air cushion!"

"But you don't know how to FLY! Or even GLIDE!"

"Why does it matter?" Scootaloo asked, feeling her face get hot and her vision get blurry. "Who cares if I can't fly?"

"I care!"

"You don't care enough to teach me!"

"I- I- I tried! Nothing WORKED!"

"Is THAT why you blew me off?!"

"I never blew you off!"

"What about yesterday? And last week? And the week before that?!"

"I was busy!"

"Busy sleeping! Lazy Dash!"

"No, I was working!"

"You can do your work in seconds! You brag about it all the time! Were you working on something else? Like your landings? Rainbow CRASH!"

Something seemed to snap in the cyan pegasus. "Scootalead!"

Scootaloo gasped.

Rainbow did too, quickly covering her mouth.

Scootalead, the lead weight. She'd been called that by some of the other pegasi, especially the jealous ones, before Coach Silver straightened them out.

But they were all mean ponies.

Rainbow Dash wasn't...

Rainbow Dash was...

She felt tears coming to her eyes. She tried to leave before anypony saw her cry, sinking through the floor on instinct.

"Scootaloo, wait! I'm sorry, I didn't mean it!"

She air-bucked downward, used the air cushion to slow her descent long before she reached the ground, then air-bucked in a different direction. It was a cloudy day, so there were plenty of places to hide.

It felt strange, Silver thought, to be a mere witness to the final outburst of a growing drama. It's like he'd been thrust into the climax of a movie without seeing the buildup, the stakes, or the history. But that didn't mean he didn't understand what was going on. Or at least have a good guess.

"Can you get the school nurse?" Silver asked Coach Formation after the class was over. "And tell her to bring her scanning equipment? I want to check something."

"Scootaloo?"

"Yup."

Flight Formation sighed. "The school is closed, but we can go to Cloudsdale hospital. Where is she?"

"Um... busy. But I'm sure she'll turn up eventually. Or be found sooner than that."

Rainbow Dash spent the rest of the day searching. Which wasn't much time, considering that it had already been five o'clock when she started.

Rainbow Dash spent the whole night searching, too.

Well, she tried. She didn't have a watch, but it was probably sometime around three in the morning that she began dozing off mid-flight. She stirred herself awake each time and kept looking. Sleep-flying is dangerous, but she didn't care.

At one point, another pegasus appeared before her.

No, not a pegasus.

An alicorn.

"Remember our surroundings," said Princess Luna. "Look directly below us."

Rainbow obeyed, looking below. They were above Ponyville.

"The one you seek sleeps where I stand. Now please, wake up. And never sleep-fly again."

Rainbow Dash gasped, opened her eyes, performed a death-defying sweep just before she hit the ground, and sped off towards Ponyville.

She was woken up by a hoof and a voice.

"Scootaloo?"

She blinked her eyes open, rather groggily. "Whu? Huh? Rainbow Dash? Why are you-"

And then she remembered.

"Go away."

"No."

"Please go away."

"No, Scootaloo. I'm the Element of Loyalty. I never abandon a friend."

"You're not my friend."

Rainbow winced. "Scootaloo, I didn't mean it."

She crossed her hooves and closed her eyes. "I don't believe you."

There was a long pause.

Rainbow looked at the cloud floor below them.

"I never told you," she said in a quiet voice, almost a whisper. "I never told anypony. Fluttershy's the only one who knows. But did you know that ponies used to bully me for being a bad flyer too?"

Scootaloo's jaw dropped. "You were a bad flyer?"

"The worst," she said. "Well, not really. I could flap my wings and move around just fine. But I didn't pay attention all the time, and I crashed into things, so... yeah. I was a bad flyer."

Scootaloo's eyes were wide. She didn't know if she believed this either, but...

"And you know what they used to call me?"

"What?"

"Rainbow crash."

Scootaloo gasped. She'd completely forgotten she'd said that. She name-called too.

"When you said that, it just... brought back a lot of bad memories. I'm not trying to make excuses. I never should have said-"

Scootaloo was hugging her. "I'm sorry, Raindbow Dash! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

Rainbow hugged her back. "I'm sorry too, squirt."

"It's like you suspected," the doctor said somewhat sadly, but also formally, officially, and with authority. "Textbook wing-magic deficiency."

Silver sighed, Twilight gasped, and Rainbow tilted her head.

"What's that mean, doc?"

"It means she will never fly under her own power. Or even glide. She will be earthbound for the rest of her life."

"Not true," Silver cut off Rainbow Dash before she could express any outward symptoms of the first stage of grief. "She can already get around in the air easily enough."

The doctor tilted her head. "I don't see how that would be possible."

"By using the techniques I taught her."

The doctor still didn't understand.

"The same techniques I used to blow the competition out of the water at the end of last Flight Week."

And that was the moment he was recognized. "You're-"

"Yes. Can we skip this part and go straight to the end? I'd like to know if there are any examples of pegasi overcoming this handicap. If it happened before, it might be possible to replicate."

"I'm... afraid not," said the doctor.

"But I had a magic problem, and I got over it."

"I would need to see your scans," she said skeptically, "but I suspect you did not have this particular deformity. Magic is not getting to her wings at all. The flow is completely cut off. It likely has been since birth. But even if it happened later in her life, no remedies have ever been found to fix it once it sets in."

Silver sighed. "Yeah, that doesn't sound like what I had." He turned to the other adults. Adult, rather. Rainbow Dash had left. "Once Scootaloo is told the bad news, send her my way. There's something I'd like to say to her. In private."

Knock, Knock, Knock.

"Alohamora," he whispered, wand aimed at the Colloportus-ed lock on the door. Then, "Vajinus."

"Silver?" Twilight's voice said from the other side of the door. "I brought Scootaloo."

"Send her in. And please don't eavesdrop."

The door opened and closed. Two pegasi stood in the room, one white and one orange.

"What is it?" asked the orange.

"Just to check," said the white, "they told you the bad news?"

Scootaloo looked at the oaken floor of his room. "Yeah."

"Then before I say what I want to say, I've got a question. Have you ever heard of the phrase 'false hope'?"

Scootaloo looked at him. "Um... yeah?"

"Do you know what it means?"

Her face screwed up. "I don't think so."

"Then I'll tell you a story so you do. Don't worry, it's important. Once upon a time, a big group of ponies was riding-" planes don't exist here "-a train. At one point, the train stopped moving and caught fire. The conductor told the passengers not to worry, that the fire would be put out and everything was fine. So the passengers stayed where they were. Then a few minutes later the train exploded and everypony died. The end."

Scootaloo scowled. "I don't like that story."

"You shouldn't." Because it's actually much worse. "It's a story about the dangers of false hope." There WAS no crew reassuring the passengers that everything was fine. "It's a story about why hope isn't always a good thing." They just sat there on their own and burned to death thanks to the bystander effect. "The passengers were given false hope by-" complacency "-the conductor. Even though leaving would have been the safe thing to do. They could have gotten back on the train later. But no. Most of them just stayed where they were because they had hope that everything was fine, even though it wasn't. That hope got them killed. In that situation, it was wrong for them to have hope. Now do you see what false hope is?"

"...Yeah. I think so."

"Good. So just keep in mind that before I say anything, I'm warning you up front that it might be a false hope. I don't want you to get convinced that there's some magical answer when there might not be. Understand?"

"I guess?"

"That'll do. One last thing. I need you to promise not to tell anypony... anybody what I'm about to show you. No ponies, no gryphons, no dragons. You'll want to see it, but it has to stay secret. And I mean you can't tell anybody. Not Rainbow Dash, not your friends, the Cutie Mark Crusaders. Not your parents. None. Do you promise?"

"Um... okay. I promise."

"Say the full promise out loud, please. That way I know you're taking this seriously."

She did, looking confused and slightly worried.

"Perfect. I'm trusting you, Scootaloo. Please don't break your promise. If you do, I'm not going to be your friend anymore. I'm not going to talk to you anymore. And that's a promise."

Hopefully that would be enough to overcome the gossip instinct held by young girls that tell all their friends the instant they hear something that comes after the phrase 'this has to stay absolutely secret, understand?'. Judging by Scootaloo's facial expression of worry and fear, it had worked.

"And now that we got that out of the way," he said with a grin to hopefully disperse the tension. "Watch. This." He floated up into the air using his broomstick bones, his flapping appendages pressed firmly to his side. "Look," he said to his shocked audience. "No wings!"

"WOAH!" She began jumping up and down. "Can I do that? Is it another mindset thing? How do I do it? Or do you want me to figure it out on my own again?"

"Excellent questions," said Silver, doing a few twirls as he spoke. "I have no idea, I have no idea, I have no idea, and yes, you do have to figure it out on your own."

Her jumping stopped. "Huh?"

He lowered himself back to the ground. "What I did just now was not pegasus magic. It's something else. You might say that I cheated. But I want you to remember that moment when you thought it was pegasus magic. I want you to remember the questions you asked when you believed it was possible for you to do it too. I want you to remember the hope that you had. And I also want you to remember what I said about false hope."

"Um..." Scootaloo looked a little lost. "Are you being mean?"

"No, I'm being realistic. Think back to my classes. Remember all the stories I told about how I learned what I learned?"

"Yeah?"

"Those stories all had one thing in common," Silver said seriously. "I didn't have somepony telling me that it was possible to air-buck, or cloud-phase, or cloud-harden, or air-cushion. I was working in completely uncharted territory. When I first started out, I had no idea what I was doing and I had to go through a bunch of wrong ideas. I tried to get you to understand what that's like, but there's only so much you can learn from a class. If you want to be able to fly without wings like I just did, using pegasus magic to do it, you'll be doing the exact same thing I do. You'll have to figure things out on your own when you encounter real-world problems that need real-world answers. Like having wings that can't channel magic."

"But... can't you tell me what you did just now?"

"Nope. But I can tell you that it wasn't pegasus magic. I cheated. If it helps, pretend there's an invisible unicorn in the room who cast a levitation spell on me just now. No, that's not what happened, but it's close enough. And I can't arrange for you to get the same... um, spell. You'll be doing it the hard way. The honest way. That means you'll have no clue what the real answer is, and you'll have to do most of the thinking on your own. You'll have to try a bunch of different things, and you're going to fail, over and over again. Don't get discouraged if your first idea doesn't work. Don't get discouraged if your tenth idea doesn't work. If you get it wrong a hundred times, get up and try something new. Like what you're doing with the Cutie Mark Crusaders."

"So... learning to fly is like finding my Cutie Mark?"

"No, I meant it's like how you're trying a bunch of different ideas, and you're still excited to try new things. But this will be slightly different. At least with your Cutie Mark, you're guaranteed to get it eventually, and it could turn out to be a bunch of different things. This isn't a guarantee. You learning how to fly isn't built into the universe like it is for other pegasi. It's not going to happen anyway, like your Cutie Mark. You have to make it true that you can fly. If it's possible, there's probably only one real answer, and it'll take a long time to find that answer. It might be possible to hover around using only pegasus magic and no wings, but I have no idea. And I'm not really motivated enough to do it myself, since my wings are working. Plus, I'm busy. That's why I'll leave it up to you, Scootaloo – the top student in my class, one of the best pegasus magic users in the world – to figure out how to do it. If it's possible. Remember, it might be a false hope. But even if you don't learn out how to levitate, I'm sure you'll figure something out. Just keep in mind that it'll probably take a few years. And keep me posted. I might be able to help. Got it?"

Slowly, Scootaloo's eyebrows furrowed. Slowly, she nodded. Slowly, a certain look entered her eyes.

"Got it."

Silver knew that look anywhere.

"Then get to it," he said, ushering her out of the room. "And don't forget your promise. Don't tell anyone what you saw me do. Even if you figure something out, just say you thought the whole thing up on your own. And if the Element of Honesty points out that you're lying, then be honest and say you made a promise to a friend and you can't say anything else."

"Really?" Twilight asked after Rainbow Dash had finished updating her five friends about Scootaloo.

The flightless filly had reportedly gone from sad and mopey to energetic and determined, and was basically her old self again, only more so.

Twilight looked at Silver, who was reading a book behind a bookshelf in the center room of her public library and definitely wasn't eavesdropping or anything. "What did you tell her?"

"What she needed to hear. Hopefully."

The hug caught him off-guard.

"Whatever it was," said Twilight, "it was the right thing. Good job."

Chapter 26: Truth vs. Honesty

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter 27: Going Through the Motions

"Better," Mr. Book declared. "You are beginning to anticipate the probes. I think that is enough for the day."

Fatigued, but his false personality still intact after the lesson for the first time since they began, Silver asked, "When do we begin Legilimency?"

"We could begin now," said Mr. Book. "But it is most efficiently learned after achieving perfect Occlumency, which you have not yet done. If you are asking for variety, perhaps we could advance to Apparition tomorrow. Yes, I am aware of your age. Remember who imposed that limit, and how much you should respect them. With proper instruction, it can safely be learned by wizards of age fifteen, and your magic is now that powerful. You passed the threshold not long ago."

Silver nodded, then began recharging the portkey that brought him here. The portkey that would take him home was, of course, already recharged.

"Before you go," Mr. Book said in a cautionary tone, "I have an update on the two who might be able to expose us if we are ignorant or negligent. The Elements of Honesty, present and former, can only detect deception. They cannot distinguish truth from falsehood. They can see intent, regardless of facial expression or tone of voice. You must be even more careful."

"I know," said Silver. "Your warning is a little late. Applejack and Rarity had a sleepover with Twilight, and I was forced to play a round of truth or dare with them. Nothing important wass revealed. What progresss have you made to ssave girl-child-friend?"

"I have acquired accesss to oldesst library in thiss country. Am ressearching ass we sspeak, but accesss iss limited. Will take perhapss a year to read through it all. Will likely find promissing lead in lesss than one month, unlesss library containss none at all. Have already found leadss in library about other asspectss of my ambitionss."

Silver sighed. "Fine."

And now that the tutoring session was over...

"By the way, I have an update of my own. Now that I'm done with pegasus magic, I've been thinking about our actual problems." He almost couldn't believe he was saying this, but... "First, I have an idea for your great creation."

Some time ago, Mr. Book had asked him to attempt to imagine sensible Horcrux ideas – things that would make for good fail safes and additions even beyond the resurrection stone and the pioneer plaque.

In return for that advice, if Silver could give it, Mr. Book had promised his assistance in destroying all Dementors – transport and political support, if not magical power.

Mr. Book would take him where he knew Dementors resided, starting with Azkaban, and he would protect him from the aftermath, including the guards that might try to arrest him, the politicians that might try to prosecute him, and the public that might try to shame him. Mr. Book would also do his honest best to prevent the magical world from falling into chaos after losing their longest and most ironclad prison security system.

Silver had been hesitant to agree to the deal.

Mr. Book had once again reassured him, through Parseltongue promise, that any murders utilizing his ideas would save net lives. Good, innocent lives, as Mr. Book imagined Silver imagined them. The person/pony being killed would be a menace to society, guaranteed to be a danger/menace to others in the future because they are a danger/menace to others in the present.

Mr. Book had, apparently, made many horcruxes from the deaths of dark wizards during his worldly travels, and he would do the same with any of Silver's ideas, regardless of circumstances. IF Silver could offer anything Mr. Book hadn't already considered.

Once his Gryffindor and Hufflepuff parts decided that the deal was morally acceptable, and his Slytherin and Ravenclaw parts agreed it was practically important to get help with Dementors, he had allowed his mind to take that "if" as a challenge.

He had thought about this problem, and others, for the last few weeks.

Now that he had discarded the stupid ideas and refined the best ones...

"Have you thought of horcruxing your wand?" Silver suggested.

It was the only useful idea that Mr. Book might not have considered himself, because maybe he'd always used his own wand to do the horcruxing.

"It's already connected to your life and magic," Silver explained, "so Dementors would be able to drain you through it either way. It wouldn't be an additional point of vulnerability. The main benefit is that it would turn your wand into a Thing of Power, as the headmaster put it, and that would make it invincible to everything but Fiendfyre, I think. Right?"

"Not quite," Mr. Book shook his head. "There are a few rare and obscure means of destruction," he lectured. "Like basilisk venom, certain goblin-forged weapons, and, I suspect, nuclear explosions. But those are far less practical than Fiendfyre."

"Did you think of thiss idea yoursself?" Silver hissed.

"No."

"Is the ssuggestion good enough?"

"Perhapss. Perhapss not. Did you have any other ideas?" Mr. Book asked neutrally. "Aside from an indestructible wand?"

"Sort-of," Silver shifted uncomfortably. It was far less likely to succeed. Mr. Book probably has already thought of it. But still... "If you could cast a broomstick enchantment on your horcruxed wand, you might be able to move it around at will, so you'd be magical and mobile even if the resurrection stone failed."

The resurrection stone was the current biggest vulnerability in Mr. Book's setup. Even if his horcruxes are in better places now. Unless the very act of horcruxing the stone imposed a permanent change on the system (which hopefully wasn't the case), destroying the resurrection stone would set him back to the point where he'd get trapped in his devices if his body dies. And since the resurrection stone is on the other side of the mirror, he might even find this idea immediately useful. As it stands, his death would remove his freedom of movement until the moment he possesses a pony. Probably.

Unless, of course, he added a broomstick-wand-horcrux to his list of backup plans. Then, maybe, he might still be able to move around. Even, possibly, if he stayed within his devices. And he'd be able to bring his wand back with him through the mirror, in theory, so it wouldn't be a wasted effort even in the long run.

"Broomstick enchantments cannot be put on wands," Mr. Book denied.

Silver's pessimistic brain, long used to disheartening research results, heaved a weary sigh.

"But the idea might work for a broomstick horcrux in general."

Silver's optimistic brain, long used to finding the silver linings, gave a relieved sigh.

"As for a wand horcrux..." Mr. Book's eyes were distant. "I will think about it."

"What of your promissed aid?" Silver asked.

"You have earned it," Mr. Book hissed back.

Silver allowed his relieved sigh to reach his lips. "Good."

"Was that all?"

"Two more ideas," Silver said. "Hopefully at least one will work. First, I was thinking about what you said earlier about muscle memory."

Mr. Book had claimed that their bodily habits would probably betray them when they returned, including hoof (i.e. wand) movements.

One of the reasons Mr. Book was focusing so heavily on wandless magic was because the skill would transfer regardless of the body he wears. Another reason was that many spells were currently inaccessible to Silver (from a learning standpoint) due to the complex finger movements required. Both of them could currently cast any spell they already knew beforehand, but Silver couldn't learn any new ones if they required finger movements. Mr. Book couldn't either, in theory, but the only spell Silver knew how to cast that Mr. Book couldn't was the Patronus Charm. Which, admittedly, was one of the most finger-intensive spells out there. But Mr. Book probably didn't care about that. He cared about how the muscle memory and finger problems impacted Silver.

There were many good spells he wasn't learning because he didn't have fingers, and a good portion of the progress he'd made over the past months would likely be ruined after his reversion to a human. Mr. Book would be affected as well, but he was somewhat used to it, thanks to his animagus experience. For Silver, who didn't have that experience, it would be worse, and it would only get worse the longer Silver got used to his new body without human reference.

Finally, there was the problem that the mirror might not even revert their forms upon their return. If it didn't, they should be able to Transfigure their bodies back into humans. On the off chance some magic prevented them from doing that, Mr. Book could still become human through his horcrux system. He could create a new body, then move his 'soul' into it. Silver didn't have that option, and wouldn't ever have that option if he 'continued to maintain his moral quibbles'.

Long story short, there was a chance he'd be stuck as a pony forever.

He'd thought about all this, considering ideas and discarding almost all of them. In the end, he'd been left with only one that might be immediately helpful. Once he'd flown under his own wing power as a pegasus (and rather swiftly at that), his brain was no longer hung up on the idea of a peregrine falcon for...

"Do you think it might be possible for me to become a human animagus?" he asked. "You know, just in case the mirror doesn't change me back when we go back?"

Mr. Book began laughing. Silver had to wait a surprisingly long time for it to die down.

"Is that a 'no'?"

"Oh no." Mr. Book was still chuckling. "It might be possible. I just find it extremely amusing. To become the first human animagus in history..." He seemed to compose himself. "Let's just say I hope it can be done. If it can, you will have earned my favour for suggesting it. What was your final idea?"

His final possibly-viable-idea had to do with the original deal he'd made with Lord Voldemort. In particular, he realized he still needed to bypass/fix Obliviation and the Cruciatus.

It was only the crudest of speculation, based on the only ritual he knew all the details about. But...

"I only had one example to base it off of, the Unbreakable Vow, so my guess about ritual magic could be completely off, but would it be possible to design a ritual that sacrifices a new memory in order to relive an obliviated one? Like, suppose you obliviated someone of fifteen minutes of memory. This ritual puts them into a coma for fifteen minutes, and they spend that time reliving what you Obliviated, rather than making a new memory. That's their sacrifice – they lose the potential to make a new memory for as long as it takes to relive the old one."

If it's possible to sacrifice the potential for trust, it's possible to sacrifice abstract concepts. That's the reasoning his brain had adopted.

He was unsure of the logic. He wasn't an experienced ritualist.

"Is that a sufficient sacrifice by the standards of rituals?" he asked the actually experienced ritualist. "Or am I way off?"

There was a long pause in the cavern.

"That was, perhaps, one of the worst things you could have said to me."

Mr. Silver did not miss the threatening undertone... but he had to ask, "What did I do wrong this time?"

"You put me in a bad mood."

"How?"

"By providing a sensible solution."

And the thestral vanished in a pop of Apparition, leaving a bewildered pegasus behind.

Silver never was told the reason for the bad mood, but he was later warned by Mr. Book that the ritual he'd suggested would, in all likelihood, restore all Obliviated memories in one session. If that session – i.e. the coma – lasted longer than a few days, it would be dangerous. If it lasted years, it would be deadly unless carried out in St. Mungos, where comatose wizards could be kept alive indefinitely – until old age took them, or they succumbed to some other illness.

The ritual might also undo the memory-sealing variant of Obliviation, which is something of a security concern. In the department of magical law enforcement, memory sealing their own employees is standard practice when specialists – like, say, magical device experts – have to be brought in to consult on classified cases – like, say, anything have to do with Time Turners.

Silver's suggested ritual is dangerous, Mr. Book summarised, because nobody can ever know how much of their life's memory has been obliviated/sealed. It could be zero minutes, or it could be whole months. And memories are always taken for a reason – often nefarious, sometimes necessary. Undoing Obliviation without knowing the full story could be very risky indeed.

At that point, Silver sarcastically asked if there are any rituals that aren't dangerous or risky.

Mr. Book said he wasn't making excuses not to invent the ritual – he intended to do that either way.

He only wished for Silver to beware what he brings into existence and who he shares it with.

The fall days flew forward until winter fell upon all of Equestria.

When school let out (pegasi get long winter breaks, earth ponies get long summer breaks, unicorns get scattered breaks) Silver had to bring his own classes to an end.

The final lesson of his tutoring had not been the final class. He'd hosted many sessions after the day of the blow-up between Scootaloo and Rainbow. Those sessions mostly served as supervised practice for the slower students to catch up.

On the final Monday of the school year he declared that he would be hosting a new set of sessions in the spring, starting at square one. Whoever hadn't made it all the way up to air-bucking would have to wait until the new set of sessions wrapped around again.

He explained how they should practice everything else they learned in the meantime so they'd only have to go to one more lesson. Better that than waste time and money just to be told that they weren't ready for air-bucking yet and they need to go to the stadium to practice, like they've been told for the past few weeks.

For the most part, his pegasus lessons had been a success. Approximately 40% of his class could now air buck, and the rest had managed the air cushion at least once, not to mention everything else that came before it.

In all parts, his school lessons had been a success. He'd caught up to his peers thanks to Coach Formation's flight and weather tutoring, he'd impressed his creative course teachers (Gym, Library, Art, and Music), and he'd aced his Social Studies class without even trying.

For the most part, his wizarding lessons had been mildly successful, a grade of A+ or EE- by Mr. Book's standards. Silver had learned how to brew a number of potions. He had gotten much better at noticing his own magic whenever he was using it. He had learned wandless Apparition, Perfect Occlumency, and fledgling Legilimency.

He had learned the variant of the memory charm that allows you to lock memories away instead of erasing them. It had taken a good deal of mental effort to learn; it was more directed, more targeted, than simple Obliviation.

Silver wanted to learn it because if he did have to wipe a pony's memory (if they saw him casting a spell), better to do it reversibly, in case his ritual idea didn't work out. Mr. Book wanted to teach it because it built mental habits that lend well to learning the false memory charm. Though that charm, along with memory extraction/modification and the Pensieve potion, were going to be learned after Legilimency.

He'd also learned some utility charms, like Accio (a good spell for wandless wizards), Colloportus (so he didn't have to just rely on the physical lock of his room to keep Twilight from bursting in on a practice session), and Tempus. He had, at first, complained when he'd been told the time-keeping spell would replace his wristwatch, and thus he would no longer be allowed to wear it. Mr. Book pointed out that a watch to a wizard is like a calculator to a mathematician. It is a crutch that, while convenient and useful in the short term, gets in the way of competence in the long run. A wandless Tempus is faster and subtler than a glance at a watch.

Most importantly of all, he had reached Perfect Occlumency. Out of everything, that was probably the most difficult to get down before Winter came. It was thanks to Social Studies – his one ordinary, boring school class – that he made it before Mr. Book's arbitrary deadline. Studying a new society had been initially interesting. But then he began outpacing his fellow students. In recent weeks, it was only tolerable due to 'mental multitasking', a technique he'd been taught during his Perfect Occlumency lessons.

He pretended to be an attentive student, keeping that persona at the forefront of his mind. He had treated his teacher's words like Legilimency probes, racing ahead and anticipating them. Having nothing else to do in the class gave him plenty of time to practice.

As a part of him paid token attention to the teacher, the rest of him was able to think about other things. Vastly more important things. Like Hermione. But his brain kept running into dead ends on that front.

After his brain got tired of losing, it occasionally moved on to other topics, and that's how he'd had the time to think of possibly workable ideas that even Mr. Book hadn't considered. It's also how he became a Perfect Occlumens in time. But apparently that wasn't as significant as it sounded.

He had been told, just as he was about to celebrate, that there are degrees of skill even among Perfect Occlumenses. At his current skill level, if a Legilimens attempts to enter his mind, they could probably tell that Silver's thoroughly-composed personality isn't real. A Legilimens can pick up on behavioral cues, match them to the inner personality they see, and if there are any inconsistencies, that suggests they're probing a potential Perfect Occlumens.

Not to mention, if Silver was randomly Legilimised in the future when he wasn't expecting it, he might react in a way that gave him away, even if it were just a slight widening of his eyes. And so, Mr. Book would be Legilimising him at random points in the future, to make sure that he was always paying attention, that his barriers never slacked and were always ready. Silver had assumed this meant he would be tested during future lessons.

The very next day, when he sat in the school library on Wednesday, the last day before winter break...

"Um... are you Silver Wing?"

Silver looked up from his book, beholding what looked like an ordinary eight-or-nine-year-old pegasus filly. "Yup. You here to sign up for my next round of lessons?"

"Um... actually, I had a question about something else?"

"What is it?"

A legilimency probe ALMOST bypassed his barriers.

"Why was I almost able to do that?" asked the same young-filly voice, now in Mr. Book's typical cadence, which was rather disconcerting.

Yeah. Fun. But he couldn't complain that he hadn't been warned.

He resolved in that moment to pay careful attention to his occlumency personality whenever he talked to another pony or person. Period. No exceptions.

Later that same day, when he was practicing spells in his locked room-

"Seriously," said Mr. Book's normal voice after ANOTHER legilimency probe nearly succeeded. "Are you even TRYING?"

The piercing, blue-slitted eyes had appeared directly in front of him out of nowhere, right in the middle of a spell cast, when his attention was quite elsewhere.

Now he was trying to get into the habit of always paying close attention to his pretended personality, but it wasn't easy.

It helped that he had a time-turner and therefore six extra hours each day to practice. It also helped that he had the world's best Legilimens as a tutor.

He is getting better.

His real problem – and this had been his problem from the very beginning – is that he isn't making genuine progress. By his own standards, it didn't feel like he was living up to his potential. He isn't striving to accomplish any of his major ambitions. At least, none of the ones that had tangible end-goals. And especially not the most important one.

Even back when he was researching pegasus magic, it had felt like he was going through the motions. He had bursts of excitement, instances of emotions, but an undertone of emptiness coloured everything in grey.

Until the day a certain bird came to Ponyville.

At first, Silver assumed it would simply be one of those days.

And at first, it was.

He had taken to calling them 'friendship' days, where he didn't interfere because the ruler of the land had once told him not to.

They happened from time to time. As far as he could tell, they only happened in Ponyville. He'd gone around Cloudsdale telling stories about typical Ponyville experiences and asking if those things were common. He'd received many incredulous stares, scoffs of disbelief, and from the few ponies who didn't dismiss him, he learned that, no, that sort of thing didn't happen in Cloudsdale, or anywhere else for that matter, and was he really being serious?

A phrase Professor McGonagall had once used to describe him came to mind. Ponyville, like Hogwarts, was some sort of chaos magnet. A rather contradictory notion, given that the Elements of Harmony live there. Early on, Silver had learned to go to his room whenever a friendship day came along, if he could get away with it.

Today's friendship lesson involved Fluttershy trying to help a dying bird. According to Twilight, it was Celestia's pet, though Twilight also says she didn't know her mentor had a pet before that day.

That was the moment he knew it would be one of those days.

He had been tempted to go to his room and wait it out... but there was something about the bird that nagged at him. The occasional sideways glance it gave him, which he could've just imagined. The feeling of magic despite the half-dead outward appearance, which could also have been his imagination. It nagged at him enough that he decided to stay in the main room of the library, but not enough to stop him from reading a book.

Soon enough, the bird escaped and he followed Twilight and Fluttershy through the town as they searched for it. It was only when the bird burst to ash that Silver understood the nagging.

Could THIS be the realm that they ORIGINALLY come from? he thought. Professor Quirrell said they came into our realm from a realm invoked in the mirror, right?

Soon enough, Celestia arrived, told her familiar to stop fooling around, and the rest of the town learned what Silver had already inferred: Celestia's pet was a phoenix.

Eventually, once the lesson was learned, everything began to calm down.

Silver didn't particularly agree with Twilight's moral of 'ask before taking matters into your own hooves'.

Once upon a time, he had tried asking for help before taking things into his own hands. He had asked multiple times, in fact.

Now he has a dead friend due to that stupidity.

Almost like she were responding to that thought, Philomena the phoenix flew like a homing missile across the town square, coming to a hover just in front of him.

A piercing cry filled the air, so loud that many ponies covered their ears.

NOW.

Silver staggered backward.

Not at the shock of the sound.

Not at the imperative in the call.

And not quite out of surprise or startlement.

Stunned realisation was what had made him waver on his hooves.

Immediately after, one thought screamed through his mind.

WHAT have I been DOING?

"Philomena, no!" the ruler of Equestria scolded her pet. "You mustn't ask such things of young colts."

"No," said Silver.

He stood to full height, like he was finally picking up a weight of responsibility that he'd been dragging behind him all this time. He felt like he was putting it on his shoulders, carrying it properly, like he should have been doing all along.

"No, she's right." He turned to face his caretaker. "Sorry Twilight, but I need to go do something I never should've put off. I don't know when I'll be back. And on the off chance I don't come back, thanks for everything."

Determination, Destination, De-

"PHILOMENA!"

He appeared in the hideout without finishing his Apparition.

"Emergus. Mahasu."

That done, he turned to look at his back. "I'm pretty sure the answer is yes, but you're still Celestia's familiar, right?"

"Caw."

"You're just here to help with this one thing?"

"Caw!"

"Thought so."

He could no longer get a phoenix of his own because he knew of the choice. But it seemed that a phoenix could still choose to help.

While he waited for Mr. Book to appear, he searched the cavern for anything that might be of use. A workstation where the stone of permanence was being researched, perhaps.

But the only desk-like station he found held a stack of books completely unrelated to magic.

He knew they were unrelated to magic because he recognized the titles.

He was having a hard time believing his eyes.

Pop.

"Growing impatient, Mr.-" the sardonic voice began, but cut itself off.

"Yes, I am. And I can't believe I'm doing this now, but I have to ask. How did my books get here? Didn't you say they didn't come with me?"

Mr. Book eyed the phoenix with keen interest. "I did. But I never said that they did not come at all. They did come with me."

"Um... how?"

"Magic."

Silver sat down. Put his head in his hooves.

"That response has served me well. Thank you for teaching it to me. In return for that kindness, I trust you will forgive me for bribing one of your fellow Ravenclaws to bypass the wards on your trunk, sneak into the bottom compartment, and copy down the titles of your books onto a sheet of parchment. I then gave that list to a different, materially resourceful muggleborn and offered one-hundred Quirrell points if he could acquire the whole list before the school year's end. I also gave him two-hundred galleons to cover costs and said he could keep the change if he rushed."

Silver pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay, I can understand that much. But why and how was the entire collection on you when we were trapped?"

"I intended to leave Hogwarts that day. Everything of import was 'on me', with a few exceptions. Ancient magical tomes, for example, are to be kept on bookshelves, with only an empty space to show where they are. Muggle books can be kept on one's person, in space charms, with little to fear."

Silver saw the implication right away. "So... just how much stuff were you wearing when we were trapped?"

"Not much that would interest you. A car battery, which I remembered from your first battle. A few other pieces of muggle technology. Mostly magical items, or things from my tenure as defense professor. And your books, of course. That used up most of my space." He wore a slight frown, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded annoyed. "The student responsible for acquiring them did not do so in a timely manner. He delivered them all at once, in the last week of school. It forced me to haul them all on my final departure, rather than my earlier ventures from the grounds. He earned his house points, but I did not allow him to keep any money, and I took pleasure in his Obliviation." A sigh. "But I suppose it did work out for the best."

"Is there-?" Silver began, but was cut off by another-

"Caw!"

"Sorry. You're right. I'm just procrastinating again. On the plus side, I can ask if he brought a defibrillator?"

"I did not." Again, that keen interest. "Is that bird why you have called me here?"

"More like, she made me realise I should have done this from the start. I don't think I'll be leaving 'till it's over. So, first question. What have you tried with the Stone of Permanence so far?"

Chapter 28: Infinite Solution Space

Angle of Attack #1: Figure out the Stone of Permanence.

Unfortunately, this was the only angle available to him. If it didn't work out, he'd have to go to number two: Escape the Mirror.

Mr. Book claimed, in Parseltongue, to know of a ritual that would work for resurrection, but only on the other side due to the required sacrifices.

Once Mr. Silver stated his intentions to figure out the stone, Mr. Book had him sign a magical contract. A carefully written magical contract, to the effect that Silver would take no risks, great or small, to the destruction of the world. Another clause of the contract stated that Silver would take an Unbreakable Vow about the matter if Mr. Book arranged for it to be done before the contract expired.

Mr. Book, sounding annoyed, said that he should have done this earlier, but he had been banking on the Vow being more easily solved, more translatable to ponies. Unfortunately, he suspected that crossed horns, like crossed wands, would be needed for the Vow to take. You probably couldn't cross a wand with a horn and still have it work. This contract was a temporary resort until he found a workaround.

That done, Mr. Book said that he did not mind Mr. Silver running his own tests on the stone, but a series of Parseltongue promises ensured that Mr. Silver wouldn't use any reckless, damaging, or dangerous magic in his research. He would only use Transfiguration, and never with the stone itself as a target, unless given express permission by Mr. Book to do otherwise. He would also try no strange Transfigurations. This was not Transfiguration research. It was stone research. Standard target forms only, like glass marbles. So long as he followed those rules, he would be free to experiment as he pleased, and he would not need the standard Transfiguration research precautions.

Mr. Book had already tried his own experiments, of course, but not in a way Silver had expected. Silver had expected that Mr. Book had been constantly trying ideas, like he would have been.

He was annoyed to learn that Mr. Book only rarely tried to solve the stone. He put the problem on the backburner, letting ideas simmer, occasionally trying when something sufficiently new sprang to mind. If he forced himself to try more often than that, he would have grown resentful, and possibly written the whole thing off as a bad job. A false stone. An impossible problem. Et cetera. Mr. Book knew his mind well enough to know how to avoid senseless frustration. He claims that if he thought his immortality relied on the stone, he almost certainly would have solved it by now, if it was solvable. If Mr. Silver was similarly motivated, perhaps he would find success.

Silver dismissed his own frustration as irrelevant to his current goals. He hoped his future self would remember to have a conversation with Mr. Book about letting him participate in the future. Instead, he asked what Mr. Book had already tried.

Silver didn't understand all the ideas Mr. Book says he tested, but he tried his best to remember them anyway, just so he wouldn't waste time by doing repeat experiments.

He also managed to extract a Parseltongue promise from Mr. Book that they would share the stone if he figured it out, or helped Mr. Book figure it out.

Mr. Book, in return, managed to extract the promise from Silver that they would share its free use only with each other, no others, unless Silver also figured out how to make another stone, in which case Silver could use his own stone as he pleased, so long as it didn't threaten the world.

Silver knew he would get nothing more, and if he tried to push it, Mr. Book would just take the stone and only ever use it how he saw fit.

After all the housekeeping was done, he got to work.

Silver tried new ideas as they came to him.

Holding the stone in various ways. Placing it on all parts of his body as he performed a transfiguration. Placing it near the object being transfigured in various orientations. Placing it on the object. Placing it under the object. Placing it in an object, a transfigured hollow ball.

Mr. Book left at this point, probably out of boredom.

At some point, Silver suspected the stone might only make gold transfigurations and living transfigurations permanent.

The lump of gold did not last, falsifying the theory.

Maybe just living transfigurations, and the gold thing was a lie?

The ant, transfigured from a captured beetle, died of transfiguration sickness, falsifying the theory.

Maybe living transfigurations had to be minor variations on the same species?

The queen ant, transfigured from an ordinary worker, died of transfiguration sickness, falsifying the theory.

He tried many other small variations on this idea, but eventually decided to move on.

Maybe the alchemy thing wasn't a complete lie? Maybe the stone of permanence did need alchemy to activate, even if the part about it being created through alchemy was a lie.

Mr. Book, summoned by Mahasu, agreed this was worth testing, but found no success in any of the alchemical formulae he knew. Silver didn't know any alchemy himself, so he went back to the drawing board.

He worked for hours.

Then days.

Then possibly weeks.

He didn't know how much time passed.

He lost track of how many failed ideas he went through. Hundreds, certainly. Thousands, probably. If he counted all the ideas he thought of, including the ones he discarded without testing, he was probably well past ten thousand.

With a phoenix on his shoulder, he did not collapse from exhaustion. He didn't sleep. He didn't even leave the cave but once. He went out to buy a massive bulk order of ordinary hay and a large cup that could be refilled with Aguamenti, then it was straight back to work.

The maddening, the truly insanity-inducing part was, when he thought of a promising idea, he made sure to thoroughly falsify it by trying multiple small variations to see if they made a difference. Stone orientation was just one aspect. It could be that whatever you have to do, you have to do it for five minutes before it works.

Like flying laps, trying a bunch of small variations on the same idea was potentially necessary, but very mind-numbing.

Eventually, when he was sufficiently frustrated with the stone, he asked himself if there was anything he could do to speed up the testing itself. Better falsification methods. Ways to eliminate ideas faster. Streamlining the process. Efficiency.

On that note, he realised that if his transfigurations reverted quickly on their own, he wouldn't have to waste time/magic using finite.

He didn't care to solve this problem by himself.

Once he explained his envy for efficiency, Mr. Book taught him how to push sustaining magic out of a transfiguration by touch alone. After that, he also taught Silver how to use a miniscule amount of magic for each transfiguration. Ordinarily, less magic meant transfigurations would only last minutes. For the purposes of his experiments, less sustaining magic meant less time to drain that magic away again, and less effort wasted on each attempt.

Soon after, Silver finally found his ambidexterity advantage. When he wanted a spell to be as weak as possible, his left hoof worked wonders. He gained much practice with ambidextrous transfiguration as he worked.

After that, it was right back to testing.

Back to falsifying.

Back to getting the wrong answer.

Over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over again.

Long stretches of testing sessions were separated only by bathroom/food breaks, and the occasional visit from his mentor.

Mr. Book would sometimes ask him about what he'd tried. He'd sometimes get ideas of his own based on Silver's ideas. He'd sometimes try them. He, like Silver, never succeeded. He, unlike Silver, left the hideout after his failures, leaving Silver to continue testing alone.

Silver desperately wished there could be some trick to it. Right now, he felt like he was trying to aim a spell at an invisible enemy. He didn't feel like he was solving a puzzle like a scientist. He felt like he was trying a bunch of 'things with wings', instead of building a wind tunnel to measure lift.

But he didn't see anything else he could do, other than let his creativity run wild, then reign in that creativity with practical, real-world attempts.

He wishes he could have solved the problem in what cryptographers would call a 'brute force' manner. If a password is four numbers long, and you can try to solve it as many times as you want, one way to gain unauthorized entry is to start with 0000, then try 0001, then keep going all the way to 9999 until something finally works. It's the kind of puzzle-solving method that he tried to cheat with the Time Turner, his first Thursday of the school year, when he got the experimental result of 'DO NOT MESS WITH TIME'.

Unfortunately, even if that cheat had worked, he wouldn't have been able to use it here. There wasn't any systemic way of testing stone solutions. He wasn't pulling answers from a bounded solution space. There were no constraints. The answer could be literally anything involving the stone, according to Mr. Book. The stone was old enough that the answer could be truly eldritch.

So that meant the 'try everything' approach was the only way the stone would be solved, now that Perenelle is dead and can't give them the answer.

After three particularly grueling sessions of small variations, Silver threw up his hooves in frustration, reminded himself that a sixteen/seventeen-year-old girl could do it and it could be done many times in a single night, so it couldn't be that complicated or time-consuming. He asked himself if there were any extremely simple things he hadn't tried yet.

Three ideas came to mind.

He did not slap his face with his forehoof. If he'd done that every time he'd thought of an obvious idea that felt slightly promising, he'd have brain damage by now. He just jumped right in, expecting failure like all the others. He was already prepared to keep thinking as soon as each transfiguration reverted. He was already continuing to think, even as he took the first step to trying idea number one.

"Mahasu." Pause. "Got something I want to try. Does polyjuice work on ponies, and if so, can you make some?"

"I already have, and it does. What do you wish to test?"

Idea number one is that maybe the stone only makes specific kinds of human/pony transfiguration permanent. Animagi. Metamorphmagi. Polyjuice. Whatever human transfiguration spells Perenelle used to maintain her youth and transform into Nicholas Flamel.

Mr. Book said that he did not think this would work. But, he sighed, the idea was just barely worth the valuable bottle of blank polyjuice and the effort it would take kidnap a disposable pony-

"NO!"/"CAW!"

-pay a financially struggling pony 3,000 of Mr. Silver's bits to "participate in a potentially dangerous experiment on short-term memory loss", then say "Somnium", then snip a bit of her hair for a reverse polyjuice in case this worked, then transform the volunteer while the stone was touching her body (it didn't work), then attempt to use the stone in other ways, then experience further failure, then wait for the polyjuice to wear off, then say "Obliviate," then return the pony whence she'd been taken, and did he have any other ideas, or should Mr. Book take his leave now?

"Two more. Mildly promising. Stay and watch if you want. Shouldn't take long."

Second idea: He held the stone in his hoof such that it was contacting the side of his wand as he performed the transfiguration.

Mr. Book, who stood behind him and watched, presumably with detached interest, teleported directly to his side, causing Silver to jump.

"Hey!"

Mr. Book ignored Silver's protest and picked up the glass marble. Mr. Book's eyebrows rose. He aimed his wand.

"Finite Incantatum."

...

Nothing happened.

...

Nothing had happened.

...

Nothing had happened.

Mr. Book replicated the result with a few separate transfigurations. The stone, staying in contact with his wand the entire time, made them all permanent.

"It would seem," said Mr. Book, "you have found the answer. I cannot believe I overlooked that possibility."

Silver wondered if Mr. Book's wandless abilities had actually prevented him from figuring it out, in this case.

Mr. Book sighed. "Nonetheless, well done, Mr. Silver."

"It's always easy to say an answer was obvious in retrospect," said Silver, not quite collapsing in exhaustion. Philomena was still on his back. "But even the easiest answers can be hard to see when you have to pull them from an infinite solution space."

"Hmm," said Mr. Book, seeming quite absorbed in the minor tests he was running now that he knew the answer.

Silver took the tungsten band off his back hoof.

"What next?"

"Iss time to ressurrect her. No trickss or deception on my part. Sshall do my honesst besst to bring her back to full and lassting life, nor do I intend or expect to ever harm her after. But first, you will repeat your Parseltongue promises not to tell Ms. Memory certain things upon her revival."

This had been established long ago.

It had been a trade.

Mr. Silver was allowed to nag Mr. Book about the progress he was making at the end of every tutoring session, but Mr. Silver would first have to promise not to tell Hermione, or anyone else, that (a) Mr. Book was Voldemort, (b) Mr. Book was Voldemort, or (c) Mr. Book was Voldemort.

Silver repeated that promise now.

"Sshall not tell girl-child-friend or anyone elsse of Dark Lord part of your identity. Sshall not hint. Sshall not joke. Sshall lie, hide truth ass much ass posssible, unlesss you give me leave to do otherwisse. Have no intention of breaking or bending thiss promisse."

He would at least be allowed to tell her about David Monroe, and about the fact that Mr. Book had saved the world at least once. The muggle world, at that. It might make the whole 'Voldemort' thing easier to accept once it did inevitably come out, some day in their eternity. And if he accomplishes his other ambition, it would be even easier.

"Good," said Mr. Book in response to his vocalised promise. "Follow."

Silver followed Mr. Book through one of the three tunnels that led away from the intersection within the crystal caverns they called their hideout. Not ten feet down the tunnel, they made a right turn into a descending staircase that did not match the surrounding 'natural' cave structures.

The clearly artificial staircase descended down into a cavernous cavity which did seem natural. There was the sound of dripping water, the smell of cold, damp stone, the sight of stalactites hanging from the ceiling and stalagmites growing from the ground around the room's rounded central space.

An altar stood exactly in the middle, surrounded by six obelisks.

"Place her form on that stone. Undo the transfiguration without finite."

Thanks to his desire for efficiency, he could now both sustain and undo a transfiguration through touch alone, without further use of his wand.

When he commanded his sustaining magic to drain away, he nearly jumped at what he saw on the altar.

"Hm," said Mr. Book. "I do not know why, but I was expecting her to be a unicorn, not another pegasus."

Silver had been expecting her to still be human.

Mr. Book took out his wand. "Stand back."

After a chant about hidden flesh – the stone of permanence contacting his wand as he performed the ritual – the back legs of the chestnut brown pony were restored. Silver didn't know if the obelisks echoing the chant in a different language were necessary to the ritual, or if Mr. Book was deliberately making this as creepy as possible. But the most likely answer was that, like using a wand, it simply made things easier for his mentor, even if he could have done without them.

After the chant, and after Mr. Book marveled at her fixed form, he said aloud that an electric shock might suffice to restart her heart from there-

"CAW!"

-but Silver, inspired by Philomena, interposed with a different idea.

"Expecto PATRONUM!"

Mr. Silver's guess was correct. His Patronus had worked. Ms. Memory was back. And Mr. Silver was gone. Completely gone. His wand lay on the ground.

Perhaps the phoenix had taken him somewhere else, as it was wont to do since it wasn't his. Given Mr. Silver's desires, he would likely return as soon as possible.

Mr. Book set to work in the meantime, preparing the next ritual and its sacrifices. This would, hopefully, ensure all this hard work is never wasted.

First would come the mountain troll, then the unicorn. A true unicorn, which he'd worn as a false tooth at the time he'd been trapped, same as the troll. Thanks to his vow, he was forced to check for sapience first, just in case the mirror had bestowed it upon the two previously non-sapient creatures.

It had not, and he proceeded as planned.

But first, he used a different ritual to clone the creatures. Permanently clone them. He was beginning to enjoy this convenience.

He transfigured the originals back into false teeth, then began an ancient, lost, and therefore nameless ritual. He personally called it the 'Fusion' ritual.

The troll went off without a hitch. A simple cutting curse confirmed it had worked.

But to his utter bafflement, as soon as the second ritual took hold, as soon as the young female pegasus had been infused with the magical natures of both mountain troll and true unicorn, she too disappeared.

He was immediately put on high alert. He cast many security charms, and when those failed to turn up anything anomalous he used a near-international portkey to move himself to a safe place.

What was going on?

Author's Note

Both Harry and Hermione disappeared for the same reason, to the same place. I would be mildly surprised if anybody managed to guess where. This is NOT a rational-fic problem-solving opportunity where you can infer the answer from context. It's more like that time Less Wrong wondered if anyone would be able to predict what the sorting hat meant by "Oh dear. This has never happened before." Though I think the answer to this one is easier to see in advance than that one.

And no, the answer is not that they're back on the other side of the mirror because their wishes have been fulfilled. Now you can't stop thinking that's the answer, can you? :)

Chapter 29: New Life

Author's Note

Solving problems on fimfiction, I just realized, is infinitely easier than solving problems on fanfiction. Here, you can just scroll down to see other people's guesses. But congratulations nonetheless, for those who guessed correctly, and refined each other's guesses.

Chapter 29: New Life

One moment, he had been in the middle of feeling the dip, the bite to his life and magic. Intuition, or Mr. Book's memory, had been about to tell him that the life and magic he'd given just then would never come back.

And then, before he could finish that thought, he not only felt new life and magic flowing into him, he also found himself standing somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere he recognised.

Somewhere that, if he really was standing there, should have killed him.

He didn't panic too much. That the void of outer space hasn't killed him yet means he isn't really there. He has experience being surrounded by stars. Was Mr. Book responsible for this change in scenery?

But Mr. Book's attention had seemed rather occupied. And didn't his spell of starlight take time to set up? Not to mention his connection to the pioneer probe, along with all his other horcruxes, was supposed to be severed, so he shouldn't have access to this image anymore. Unless he already sent a new horcrux into space...

Silver paused, thinking back.

Mr. Book had never actually answered that question.

Was the connection actually severed?

Has he been pretending to be trapped this whole time?

"My," said a recognisable voice. "I was not expecting a new ascension so soon. Please speak, so that I may find you. It is usually much brighter here."

Silver, surprised but steady, didn't reply.

You'd think it would be an easy choice, a no-brainer, to trust Princess Celestia. Twilight trusted her and Mr. Book didn't, and Silver could recognize patterns well enough to see that this was just like how Hermione trusted Dumbledore and Draco didn't. But he knew nopony was perfect, and he was already on high alert, so he didn't speak.

"Are you a mute? If I made an unfulfillable request, I apologize. One moment."

And a bright ball of light appeared, distant in space. Not bright enough to be a sun or star, but bright enough to illuminate him.

Celestia's eyes found him, and she smiled. "Ah. I thought those were not stars." She teleported directly in front of him. "Silver Wing. I expected you might come here someday, though not so soon. It seems Philomena was right to call you to action."

The bird on her back let out a triumphant chirp.

"I'm sorry, dear," she said to her familiar. "I should not have doubted you."

Thanks to this, Silver was able to conclude that (a) Mr. Book isn't responsible for whatever's happening, and (b) the earlier logic was wrong. Mr. Book is actually trapped in Equestria. Probably.

"Though I wonder why a new phoenix did not seek you out," Celestia said speculatively.

"I already knew about the choice," Silver answered. "I sent my own phoenix away the first time, and then I was told what it meant."

Celestia seemed like she wanted to inquire, but-

"Why were you expecting me?"

-there were more important things to talk about.

"Ah... excellent question." Celestia walked forward on nonexistent ground. "Look at your cutie mark."

He did, and saw that it had changed once again, far more significantly than last time.

The Vitruvian pony had grown a horn, four additional legs (for a total of twelve), and really did seem to be magically glowing now. That is, it seemed to have its own light source, if faint. It wasn't just an artistic rendition. And the image was in colour now, no longer greyscale.

[A/N: Once again, you'll have to use your imagination to overlay the two. You'll also have to imagine the wings and the additional four legs. I originally planned to have it start with four, go to eight, end with twelve, but as stated before, I'm not an artist, or a photoshopper. What you see on the right is the original, unedited version, except that the colors are inverted. I can remove a horn and filter colors, but that's about it.]

"First," said Celestia, drawing his eyes from the depicted alicorn to the real alicorn. "I should mention that very few ponies ever experience a change to their cutie marks. Fewer than thirty over the past thousand years, that I know about. Starswirl the Bearded. Swift Flight the Swift Thinker. Certain others who did not quite make it into the history books. The most prominent examples in my memory, and the reason I expected to find you here one day, are myself and my sister."

"O...kay..." said Silver. "And now you tell me where here is and what's going on, right?"

"Correct. This is your astral plane, and we are here because-"

A bright flash, brighter than the artificial luminance provided by Celestia, interrupted her speech and drew their attention to his immediate left, where a chestnut-coloured alicorn filly with a mane of golden sunlight had just materialised.

"Two in one day?" she heard a female voice ask. "In the same plane? Remarkable."

Hermione, who had just had the extremely unpleasant experience of being chased by a troll, having her legs eaten, and dying (though not alone), slowly blinked her eyes open.

She looked around herself.

Her setting, outer space.

Her company, two ponies, a phoenix riding one of them, both with hairstyles as beautiful as they were magical and outlandish.

Her self, a pony.

She frowned.

"Mr. Potter," she said in a firm, slightly impatient voice, "wherever you are, I know you're responsible for this. Please get someone to un-confund me."

"Um..." said the white horned-pegasus. She was pretty sure she recognized the voice. "Sorry memory. It's a very long, very dumb story. This might be confusing, but you're not confunded. This situation is... probably around one point seven times as weird as that time I helped S.P.H.E.W. And remember, it's Mr. Silver now."

She gave Harry her best stern look.

"I didn't want it to happen! Honest!"

"Whyever not?" asked the taller pony. "Earning your body, wings, and horn is to be celebrated, not feared. Ascendancy to alicorn status is a joyous moment."

"Alicorn is the term for a unicorn's horn," said Hermione, with no small amount of acerbity. "I asked Mr. Hagrid directly after one too many Ravenclaw girls insisted I was wrong even when I was quoting the textbook. Mr. Hagrid specifically said it does not mean a unicorn with wings. And he should know."

"Ms. Sunshine," said Harry, "I've never asked this before, and I'll never ask it again, but for the next fifteen minutes can you please shut up?"

This was asked in desperation, not insult. Harry using language like that signaled to Hermione that things were actually serious. It was hard to tell, what with the pony face and all, but he was either very hungry or very pleading. She suddenly realised that she might get him and herself in a good deal of trouble if she kept talking.

What did he call himself, just now?

"Fine... Mr. Silver. But you swear you'll tell me what's going on?"

"As soon as I can. Welcome back, by the way."

And the full weight of being alive seemed to hit her, then. "Thank you." She lifted her head and looked directly into his eyes. "I mean it. Thank you."

"I don't deserve all the thanks," said Harry sheepishly. "My mentor helped."

"Which one?"

"The... one you don't like."

"Oh."

"Can I have permission to hug you now?"

It was such a Harry thing, to ask that question. And it had the typical effect of leaving the target speechless. She nodded, unsure what else to do.

He leaned down and wrapped his neck around hers.

"You two seem to have a wonderful friendship," beamed the tall, white, horned pegasus. "But young filly, if you are going to be a princess, you shall have to learn certain things. I fear your parents and teachers might have fallen prey to tribal superstitions. Winged unicorns are indeed called alicorns, and we are earth ponies as well. Since you have just become one, you should know."

"Um... okay," she whispered quietly.

"Follow me," said Celestia. She turned to walk in a seemingly random direction.

Silver realised another potential problem. Namely, these were going to be Hermione's first few minutes trying to learn how to walk.

Unless he did something about it.

"Do we have to walk on this 'astral plane', or is there some way we can float around? It's hard to see where to put my hooves."

"Simply will yourself to move, and you shall move."

Silver floated up, then gave a significant glance at Hermione, who was having trouble standing. "It'll be easier than walking on your hooves. Trust me. Remember that class you weren't the best at? It's like that."

Translation: it's like riding a broomstick. Which Hermione wasn't very good at, but it would be better than trying to learn a whole new kind of ambling in less than a minute.

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, then floated upward.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

Celestia smiled. "On a trip down memory lane."

"Um..." said Silver. "How literal a trip are we talking about here?"

"We shall be passing by your memories," said the princess. "The most formative moments of your life. We'll see all the ponies you've helped, and the challenges you've overcome along the way."

"Crap."

Oh. Woops.

The princess stopped walking. "Silver Wing," she said, and her voice might have been stern. "It is not a bad thing to relive those memories."

Shouldn't have said that out loud. Philomena isn't on his back anymore, and the fact that he'd been awake for the past few weeks was finally catching up to him. Starting with a lack of a filter. Not thinking before he spoke.

Time to focus.

"No, I know, it's just, a lot of my memories are private and, well, it's not that I'm against reliving them, but..." his train of excuses trailed off. He searched for something to say that would be honest, but wouldn't betray the truth. Eventually, he realised he did have an honest reason, and he spoke it. "I've promised to keep a bunch of things secret, and I don't want to break those promises. Do you have to watch them with us?"

The princess looked at him a long moment. Then she sighed. "You may adjust your own astral plane as you wish. Conceive of the memories as hidden, but labeled. That way you can tell them apart. I do wish to see some of them. I cannot imagine all your memories are private."

Silver breathed a sigh of relief. "No. I have a few good recent ones, of ponies I helped. Those aren't private." He glanced at Hermione. "But..."

"But I think all of mine are," said Hermione.

Silver thanked Merlin and Azathoth that she figured it out without him saying anything.

"Young filly," Celestia rebuked. "I simply cannot believe you wish to keep everything to yourself. Please explain."

"I... well, it's not that I want to keep them to myself," she said after a pause, "but I'm pretty sure I have to. Plus, I don't think I even belong here. You said this is where we earn our wings and horn, but I haven't done anything in..." she glanced at Silver, "...a while. I just woke up here."

Celestia frowned thoughtfully. She turned to face Silver. "Do you feel the same way?"

"Um... no," said Silver. "Pretty sure I just did something that counts as a major accomplishment. I don't know how earning wings and a horn plays into it, but... yeah."

Celestia made a hmming noise.

"Alicorn status," she said after short silence, "is earned after a pony discovers an entirely new branch of magic. Not when the discovery is first made, but when that gift is shared with others. I discovered the magic of light, my sister discovered the magic of dark, and Princess Cadence discovered the magic of love. But we did not become alicorns until we shared our gifts with our loved ones, and eventually, the world." She looked upon both new alicorns. "If you are here, you must have done the same. There is no doubt in my mind. Memory Sunshine, I am unfamiliar with your case, but I suspect you could tell me in a heartbeat what you have shared with others. Silver Wing, I am familiar with your case. You have learned about pegasus magic, and I take it you have just succeeded in teaching it to your friends."

"Actually," said Silver, "I'm pretty sure I'm not here because of that. It's probably because of the magic of life, or something along those lines. And Ms. Memory..." he trailed off. "You know, I think she has earned the right to be here. She's helped many, many... um, fellow students. With their homework. You might say she's in tune with the magic of learning. Or maybe the magic of knowledge. I think she's just surprised it happened out of nowhere, unlike mine."

Celestia nodded firmly. "Young filly, it is sometimes difficult for a good pony to recognize her own virtues. That is why it is good that you have such a good friend. It might not seem significant to you, but to others it could mean the world. In many ways, our friends know ourselves better than we do."

"I guess..." Hermione said unsurely.

"But just like me," Silver emphasised, "a lot of her memories are private. Sort of. If a certain something ever happens, and it's possible to come back later, I think we'd be more willing. But until then... could we skip the memory lane part?"

"It cannot be skipped," said Celestia. "You cannot become true alicorns otherwise."

"Then can we do this some other time? Can we come back and become true alicorns later? Or is this our only chance?"

Celestia paused. "Once you have arrived for the first time, you can always return to your own astral plane."

"Then I think that's what I'd like to do."

"Me too," said Hermione.

Celestia looked upon them both. She sighed sadly. "If that is what you wish, I cannot stop you. Just know that you will not become truly in tune with yourselves until you return."

"What does that entail?" Silver asked. "Practically speaking, I mean. Will we lose our new horns?"

"No, nor shall you lose your earth pony strength. But you shall always feel like something is off. Like you are not living up to your true potential."

"I feel that way almost every day," said Silver. "I think I can live with the feeling for a while longer. Self-actualisation is an ongoing process, not an end goal."

"I am surprised you know that phrase at your age."

"Is there anything else that won't happen until we come back?"

"Your hair shall revert to normal until you do self-actualize. Though it may come out in moments of fulfillment."

He glanced back at his own hair with raised eyebrows. It was silver and wispy, like Patronus mist. It probably was Patronus mist.

"I'm fine with that," he nodded.

"I'd prefer that," said Hermione, looking at her own mane of sunshine.

"Very well," said Equestria's ruler. "Before you go, you should note that it is custom for new royalty to adopt new names. Unlike myself and my sister, you may think long and hard on what you wish to be called for the rest of your lives. You shall be alicorn, but not prince, nor princess. Not until you are ready." She smiled. "You both have shown much humility in your restraint this day. More than any who have come before. I expect great things."

And they appeared in a setting almost as dark as the one whence they'd come – a crystal cave. She landed on some sort of raised platform, surrounded by six creepy obelisks, and Harry stood just below and in front of her.

"Okay, first thing's first," said Harry, not sounding bothered at all. "Security." He looked around, seemed to spot something, said the word "Emergus", was suddenly grasping a wand (which he could somehow hold in a hoof), and began casting several charms she recognized from Paranoid Plinsky's 27 Precautions. He only cast thirteen of them, but that much was startling enough.

"You're able to use fourth year charms," she said when Harry stopped casting. She didn't try standing yet. "Just how long was I out?"

"Eight months and change. I lost count of the days in the home stretch. Magic is more powerful here. Or maybe our pony bodies are more magical. That's why I can cast fourth year spells, not the time gap."

"Where is here?"

"Good question," said Harry. "Mr. Book and I weren't thrilled about it, but I'm sure you'll be plenty happy for as long as it takes us to leave. We are in Equestria, a land of friendship, magic, and, oh yes, magical, friendly ponies."

"You mean like in My Little Pony?" she asked. "But I thought it was called Ponyland."

There was a pause in the cavern.

"What?" asked Harry. "What's my little pony?"

"It's a TV show my parents sometimes showed me on the tele. I liked it a lot, and I wanted to go there as a little girl, even though I knew I never could. Is it a real place after all?"

There was another pause.

"Okay," said Harry, "I think I know why we're here now. And no, it's not a real place. Or at least, it wasn't until six months ago. It was made. Magically. I think."

"I didn't know magic could do that."

"It usually can't. So, long story short, this world is like a parallel of ours, except... ponies. I'm even being watched over by an adult pony version of you. Not literally. Once the two of you know each other, there's going to be a singularity of bookworminess."

"Harry, can you please take this seriously?"

"Sorry. Been awake for a long time. Running on empty. Now that Philomena's not here anymore, I'm probably going to sleep for three days straight. I think I can last another fifteen minutes, so you're right, we should get the important stuff out of the way. We're trapped in a magic mirror that can create other universes and we're trying to get out. Don't worry about it, I'll explain when I wake up. You're a pony now. Walking is hard. You're also a pegasus. Flying is hard. It's easyish once you figure it out. Again, I'll help when I wake up. You're an alicorn. I'm an alicorn. Until today I thought alicorns were essentially gods. Now I'm not so sure. Either way you'll attract a lot of attention if ponies see you have wings and a horn, so wear this."

He drew a cloak from what looked like a combination of a saddle and a backpack, which she hadn't noticed sitting on the ground until he walked over to it. He slung it over his back and offered her the fabric.

"It's a normal cloak that can cover your wings. Don't have anything for the horn, so just pretend you're a unicorn. And take this."

He picked up a bracelet from the ground and tossed it to her, then put the others on his own legs.

"It's a portkey. It activates by saying the phrase 'activate town portkey', but only when you're touching it. You can also snap it, but then Mr. Book would have to repair it, and I want to avoid that, so please try to remember the phrase. Maybe spend some time in the cave practicing your trotting before you use it. That way you won't attract attention for not being able to walk. When you do use it, go to the library, which is a big treehouse, and tell Twilight Sparkle that you're my friend, I told you to go there, and to prove it, tell her I'm asleep in my room. Which I will be. Tell her not to wake me up, because I've been awake since I left. Remember that my name is Silver Wing, your name is Memory Sunshine, and you can't change it because we already used it in front of Celestia. Sorry. But I guess we'll be coming up with new names, so it all works out. Don't say anything about our past. Be careful, there's a pony named Applejack that can always tell if you're lying. And Princess Luna can do it too. I think that's it. Any questions?"

Hermione's mind was, indeed, a whirlwind of questions.

"Well, even if you have any, I think I'm about to pass out. I'm really sorry. I'll explain as much as I can when I wake up."

And he Apparated- he Apparated- away.

She was left alone, in a dark cave, on a spooky altar, given a set of instructions she'd comprehended and memorized but didn't understand in the slightest.

If this wasn't textbook Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres, she didn't know what was.

Chapter 30: Twilight's Troubles

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter 31: Afterparty

Silver Wing woke up on account of being really thirsty. He had the desire to quench it, but he could barely stand, let alone walk.

It was the middle of the night. Or at least, there was no trace of sunlight in the sky that he could see from his room's window.

In a moment of weakness and laziness, he activated his broomstick enchantments to float downstairs and get a glass of water.

The lights had been off. It was late. Nopony should have been in the public library when it was closed.

"WELCOME TO PONYOhmygoshyou'reanalicorn!"

The entire town was in the library.

Well, not the entire town, but more than enough of it.

A good amount of adrenaline forced him fully awake, and he immediately dropped to the ground. His mind quickly generated a defense, almost on automatic.

"Don't jump to conclusions, Pinkie." He sighed dramatically, tapping his horn with his hoof and almost startling at the fact that it was sensitive. "It could just be an incredibly good costume."

This probably would have been sufficient to trick the town. Widened eyes were unwidening, beginning to roll, beginning to believe that they weren't looking at Equestria's newest-

"Dern it colt," said Applejack, present at the party. "What did I say 'bout bein' truthful?"

And eyes began to widen again.

"That I should do it more, which is why I have. I told the truth just now. I can honestly say that I'm not a prince, and the truth is that it could just be a costume."

Eyes began to roll...

"That there might be the truth, but it ain't honest. What'd I tell ya 'bout trickin' ponies?"

And now everypony was just confused.

"And what did I tell you about privacy?" Silver asked back. It had come out slightly scathing, thanks to a memory of past annoyance with Applejack.

The game of truth or dare, played between him and her and Twilight and Rarity months ago, had ended when Silver refused to answer a question he didn't want to answer. After his deceptively true words had fallen through in the presence of the Element of Honesty.

"What's that got ta do with anything?" asked the Element of Unforeseen Consequences.

Silver would have pinched the bridge of his nose if he had fingers. "I'll put it this way. Since you got in the way of the trick, you get to make sure this-" he pointed at his horn "-doesn't get out to the rest of Equestria. Or if it does, you deal with the consequences. You break up the paparazzi. You ward off the gawkers. You make sure my life isn't ruined by all the extra attention that could have been avoided by one little deception. Sound fair?"

Applejack's jaw dropped.

"Sounds fair to me," said the Element of Laughter, who was giggling. Then, being her usual self, Pinkie launched into his personal space and started launching personal questions...

"What happened? Where were you? How'd you get a horn? Where's Philomena? Oh, I didn't finish saying it, so WELCOME TO PONYVILLE!"

...that Silver successfully ignored in favor of the library's front door, which had just opened to reveal-

Coincidence, thought Silver's Inner Critic. Twilight and Hermione walk into the library with Pinkie shouting those words at that EXACT moment? And I just happened to be getting a drink of water at the perfect time to set this all up in the first place?

Seers are above coincidence, Silver's Ravenclaw part quoted in reply, and it is beneath them. Seems Snape was right about that. The only thing I'd like to know is... "Isn't it a little late for a welcome party?"

"Nopie-lopie-dopie!" said Pinkie. "It's just on time! My twitchy tail told me to wait because you two weren't here yet, and now you are, so here's your party! It's a double party!"

"Why not wait for a triple party with Mr. Book?"

"He's not here yet, silly! And he's not Mr. Book anymore."

Silver was tempted to ask what she meant by that, but he learned early on to stop asking when her answers started adding to the confusion.

Are we only 'here' because we're alicorns? And we're not self-actualized yet, so even now, doesn't that mean we're not fully here? Or do you just mean that Hermione's finally back and we're both physically present? And how much do you actually know for that matter?

None of these questions would have gotten straight answers, not that he'd've been able to ask some of them in the first place.

"Did your Pinkie sense tell you how I feel about typical parties?" he asked instead. He didn't like small talk or silly games.

"Yepperino!" Pinkie replied peppily. She pulled out a box of small sugar cookies from her hair. "I had to think extra hard to plan some super special party games just so you wouldn't be bored, Mister Picky. First game: cookie face!"

Which, after a bit of explaining, involved...

The object: a cookie, placed on a pony's forehead (or on top of the base of their horn).

The goal: get the cookie in your mouth.

The constraints: no hooves, no magic.

Intended solution path: use facial muscles to move cookie to mouth.

The prizes: Fastest pony gets a free day at the spa.
Second fastest pony gets a magical item (no further descriptors).
Third fastest pony gets fifty bits of credit at the bakery.

Everypony else who won would choose from a pile of nick-knacks.

"Can I go last?" Silver asked.

"You can go whenever you want," said Pinkie. "You're the party colt!"

"What if Memory wants to go last, too? Isn't she the party filly?"

While this question was busy breaking Pinkie Pie, Silver disengaged and reengaged. Other ponies had already started practicing cookie face, so he wasn't the center of attention anymore, letting him move through the library without ponies staring at him.

"Did I miss anything when I was out?"

"Almost," Twilight answered. Her horn glowed, and a few presents floated out from beneath a decorated tree in the center of the library. "Happy Hearth's Warming."

"Um..." What's Hearth's Warm- "Thanks. I'm sorry I didn't get you two anything."

"What you did for me was more than enough," said Hermione.

Twilight used her magic to pull them into a hug. "And I'd say bringing the brightest pony I've ever met into my library is a plenty good present. Now go ahead and open yours."

He looked at the presents.

Looked at his hooves.

"You know," he spoke in a speculative tone, "I might appreciate a magic lesson just as much as whatever's in these. Is the levitation spell something that can be learned in minutes?"

"Not usually," said Twilight, at the same time Hermione said, "Yes."

"But," Hermione added, "I don't think you should try it. I've been practicing for three days and I wouldn't be able to open a present with unicorn magic if I tried for ten minutes."

Silver nodded, then set about grasping the wrapping paper with hooves. He got the hang of it soon enough, and soon enough he was the proud new owner of...

The 'suit' he'd requested from Rarity for the Gala way back when...

A book titled Credible Conspiracies, from Hermione...

A book titled So You Want to Use Magic? from Twilight...

A pair of flight goggles from Rainbow Dash...

A note from Fluttershy saying some of her friends would like new homes, if he wanted a pet...

An apple pie from Applejack...

Two more pies from Pinkie, one cherry, one blueberry, both with notes reading, 'for throwing, not eating'...

And two admittance letters to Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns, probably from Celestia herself. He passed the extra to Hermione.

"Silver!" shouted Pinkie. "You're next! You too, Memory."

"I'd rather not play that game."

"Then I'll be right back," Silver said. He walked to the box of cookies. "What are the times to beat?"

"First place is Apple Bloom at twenty-seven seconds. Second place is Scootaloo at thirty-two. Third place is Button Mash at thirty-nine. Think you can beat 'em?"

"Oh, I know I could, so long as I don't miss," said Silver, grabbing a cookie and putting it just above his horn. "But I'm not going for first place. Can somepony count out loud?"

"Sure!" Pinkie pulled a watch from her hair. "Ready, steady, go! One, two, three, four, five... um, Silver? I said 'go'!"

"Keep counting please," said Silver, carefully maintaining balance of the cookie.

At the twenty-six second mark, he crouched slightly, craned his neck, then pumped his head up like a piston, sending the cookie into the air. His eye-mouth coordination was barely good enough to chomp down on the cookie as it fell.

"Hay!" shouted a colt slightly younger than him. "That's cheating!"

Silver chewed and swallowed. "I didn't use magic and I didn't use hooves," he said. "If you don't break the rules, it's called technique, not cheating. What was my time?"

"Twenty-nine!" Pinkie declared. "Second place. Here's your magic item: a funny muffin! Eat it, and something funny will happen! Sorry, Button, that means you're down to fourth. Better luck next time. And next time is right now! Second game:" an arcade machine fell from her hair. "Pony Kombat!"

"Alright!"

"Huh," said Silver, putting the muffin on his back because he didn't currently feel the impulse to eat the comed-tea equivalent. "Been a while since I played a video game."

With the last time that he could recall being a session of Super Mario Bros where he still hadn't been able to get past world 3, level 2. Before Hogwarts, video games and computers were the closest thing he had to magic. He'd taken a big interest in them, naturally. And come to think of it, wasn't this world supposed to have 50's era tech? What was a video game doing here?

"You going to skip this one too?" he asked Hermione.

"Yes. That's a boy game."

"So were the battles, General Sunshine. But now that you mention it, that is a reasonable hypothesis." He sighed dramatically. "And all this time, I thought the Dragon General and I beat you because of our better strategies and ideas. But I guess, since it was a colt game, it was only natural for the colts to win, not the army led by the filly general."

...

"Pardon me," Hermione said to Twilight. Ten seconds later, she was asking Pinkie Pie how the game was played.

Ten minutes later, she and Silver were pouting. They are still twelve-year-olds, even if they rarely acted like it.

"Button Mash wins!" Pinkie shouted. "Here's your prize! Tickets to the arcade!"

"Aw yeah!"

"Next up: Memory!"

Hermione perked up. "Yes?"

"No," said Pinkie. "That's the name of the game. Memory!"

A set of paired cards were scattered face down on the ground.

Hermione perked up even more. "Oh, I love memory!"

The winner to that game was a foregone conclusion, though Silver did get second place. The adults played as well, and the winner to the adult contingent was also a foregone conclusion.

"How'd you get everpony to come over on a holiday?" Silver asked the adult winner as another game – pin the horns on the minotaur – was begun.

"I didn't," said Twilight. "You'd have to ask Pinkie. But I'd guess that everypony was promised free cake and games."

"Don't forget the prizes!" Pinkie added from across the room. "Oh, and everycolt-and-filly wanted to share their presents with their friends."

"Hm." Silver suddenly grinned. "A chance to show off our presents? That sounds like an excellent idea." He picked up his Gala 'suit'. "Do you mind if I leave for a moment to change into this?" he asked Twilight.

She didn't. But then, she also didn't seem to know what it was.

Before he could reach the bathroom, Rarity – as if called by some sixth sense having to do with clothes – intercepted him. She informed him how to turn the enchantments on and off and asked if he needed help changing.

He declined. He wouldn't be able to use the Prim and Proper charm if she was there.

When he stood in front of the mirror, outfit on, enchantments activated, he felt a sense of disappointment.

Then again, maybe he shouldn't compare this to the terror enchantment Professor Quirrell wore in the Forbidden Forest. A fairer comparison would be to what Fred and George did for that prank against Neville. Once he'd recalibrated his expectations, he decided that, yes, this would serve. (Though he would be asking Mr. Book about a true terror enchantment later.)

The cloak changed his fur color from white to black. It frayed at the edges. It blurred his face. It gave his voice a nice, deep pitch, plus an echo. Not quite as creepy as the ritual obelisks that had been chanting during Mr. Book's recent resurrection ritual... (recalibrating expectations)... but barely better than what the Order of Chaos had done outside the Hogwarts express.

Still, even with all that, he couldn't help but feel like something was missing. A dark aura, maybe. Or perhaps...

His eyes widened as he thought of something, but then he wondered if it was even possible.

What had she said?

"...though it may come out in moments of fulfillment..."

Hm...

Maybe...

Maybe that meant...

Pin the horns on the minotaur. Memory politely declined.

This one wasn't quite a boy- er, a colt game. But walking while blindfolded didn't seem like it would be a good idea, especially since she was still getting used to walking. (Though she wasn't really having trouble, strangely enough. It felt weird moving around on finger and toenails, but when it came to actual movement, she found everything except flying to be effortless and graceful.)

She hadn't quite gotten used to her new name either, but three days of talking with Twilight Sparkle had helped.

In the middle of Button's turn, the lights went out and a chilling chuckle reverberated around the room. A pitch-black pony wearing a tattered cloak walked out from around a corner, illuminated by a white glowing mane that looked more like whisps of light than actual hair.

For a fleeting moment, Memory's first instinct was fear, but that was quickly replaced by annoyance, especially once she remembered where she'd seen the hair before. "Mr. Silver," she said, loudly enough to hopefully stop a panic. "Are you really planning on scaring everyone on- on Hearth's Warming?"

That was close. She almost said 'on Christmas'.

Despite the near-mistake, her question was a success. The younger ponies, and even some of the older ones, stopped screaming.

"Well how else was I supposed to show off my new present?" asked a creepy, echoing voice in a petulant tone that wasn't creepy at all.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe by putting it on in front of us and asking what we thought?"

"But then I wouldn't know if it was working properly," he argued. He argued. "You can't really know if something is scary unless you put it to the test under realistic conditions." A creepy sigh. "But fine." The lights of the room turned back on, and he removed the hood of the cloak. "What do you think?"

She thought that the impact of a simple fur color change was very significant.

"Oh, I love that effect with your mane, darling," Rarity chimed in before Memory could say anything out loud. "It looks just like a ghostly mane should. How are you doing it? Has Twilight taught you a spell already?"

"No, this is alicorn magic," said Silver.

And that set off the younger ponies for a different reason.

"Cool!"

"Yup."

"Can I touch it?"

"Nope." He waved his hoof through his 'hair'. "Can't be touched, see?"

"It's a lot shorter than Celestia's."

"Yup."

"But it's brighter!"

"Sure is."

"How come it wasn't like that before?"

"It's not automatic yet."

"Is it what I think it is?" Memory asked.

Silver stared at her for a second. "Pretty sure the answer to that question is yes. But just to be certain, can you clarify? And please put your clarification in code."

"January?" she decided after a time, then became suddenly worried that they might use a different calendar system here, then realised that if they did, it would just make the code even better-

"Yup," Silver answered. "Remind me to teach it to you later. Now that you've been through... um... what you've been through, I'm pretty sure you'll be able to learn it."

"Okay," said Memory. "I'll just add it to the long, long list of things you'll be telling me 'later'."

His mane turned back into ordinary hair. "Ah... right." He turned to face Pinkie. "Can we wrap up the party?"

"Yupperino!" Pinkie declared. "Cake time! And for entertainment: The Amazing Spike!"

Which turned out to be a magic show. Funny, how those exist in a world with actual magic.

But after the first minute, it became the 'will Silver successfully guess how the trick works?' show, which was greatly enjoyed by everyone except the hosting magician.

Spike had initially accused him of peeking at his Hearth's Warming present, but Silver asked how that could be possible, since he's been gone and/or asleep for the past three weeks.

Spike still didn't seem convinced, so Silver said that he wasn't cheating, he was just making educated guesses, and began explaining his reasoning.

Like how the disappearing ball trick was probably magnetic because, when he wanted the ball to disappear, he flipped the cup over, put the ball in the cup, then gently placed the cup on the table, and when he wanted it to reappear, he slammed the cup firmly down, as if, perhaps, to dislodge the magnetically-attached ball from the top of the inside of the cup.

Silver knew real sleight-of-handers who could do the cup-and-ball trick without magnets, with just the momentum of the cup's movement and clever misdirection and dexterous fingers, and this didn't look like that at all.

Ignore the 'magic wand' and the showmanship, look at what's actually there, assume no real magic is involved, and offer hypotheses. That was enough to solve most of the tricks, according to Silver.

Though to be fair, he said, this is a kid's learning kit, and therefore not the kind of thing a professional would try, and if Spike wanted to get to the point where Silver didn't know what had happened, he'd have to practice a lot, keep looking for new tricks, and in particular keep an eye out for the ones that are hard for the audience to figure out. And maybe, if he really kept at it, he would think of a few himself.

Chapter 32: Goals

HPMoR Ch 63:

Moody nodded approval as Severus Snape opened the sixth flask. "What about that one?"

"Love potion."

"Love potion?" said Moody.

"Not of the standard sort. It is meant to trigger a two-way bond with an unbearably sweet Veela woman named Verdandi who the Headmaster hopes might be able to redeem even him, if they truly loved each other."

"Gah!" said Moody. "That bloody sentimental fool-"

"Agreed," Severus Snape said calmly, his attention focused on his work.

"Now you tell me everything," Memory said after cake had been eaten and the party disbanded.

Silver looked around himself. They sat in his room. The door was locked. It was late enough that everypony should be asleep.

But the likelihood that they had an eavesdropper with a purple-coloured coat was still high enough that...

"Not yet. Emergus." Silver's wand appeared in his hoof. He cast the teleportation spell, the only method of instant transportation that he could currently do for both himself and somepony else, bringing himself and Memory to the crystal hideout. "Tempus," he said at once. He then performed a few security checks. "Okay, Now I tell you almost everything. If you want to hear it. And we can go back to our usual names if you're more comfortable with it."

"That wasn't apparition, Harry," Hermione observed. "Or a portkey."

"Nope. New spell. From this side of the mirror, I mean. I don't think it exists on the other side... but that's low on the list of things to talk about. I want to tell you everything, but... I guess the first question is, do you still want to be involved?"

"You mean... do I still want to get involved, now that it's earned me that horrible death that one time?"

Harry nodded.

A/N: I'd write out the next part myself, but that would just feel like plagiarism. It would be over 3,000 words of rehashed material, and fans of HPMoR shouldn't need it rehashed anyway. Just go re-read 122 if you want a refresher.

Basically, imagine the final conversation in the final chapter of HPMoR playing out here, minus the thing about Harry Dumbledoring Hermione into getting a phoenix/going to Azkaban, minus Hermione being 112% right about the Defense Professor being evil, minus the part about Harry being unable to risk himself adventuring, and minus other context-impossible details, like the fake story of Hermione 'vanquishing' Lord Voldemort. Boil it down to the "Do you still want to be a hero?" part.

Long story short: Hermione doesn't want things done for her, she doesn't want to be a hero, she only wants to do whatever she can. Or, not much less than she can. She's only human. And now a pony.

"That's my answer." Hermione took a deep breath, face resolute.

Harry stole a glance. Nope, still no cutie mark.

"So, what do I need to know?"

"A lot," said Harry. "Probably more than I can explain in one sitting. I think we should get the basics out of the way first..."

For the next twenty minutes, he felt like an NPC giving exposition.

He talked about the ancient Atlantean mirror in Dumbledore's 'forbidden' third floor corridor.

He talked about how he and Professor Quirrell successfully stole the Philosopher's Stone from that mirror.

He talked about the history of the stone, of Baba Yaga, Perenelle, and how the alchemical recipe they'd read back in April was fabricated. And why it was fabricated.

He talked about the true power of the stone.

He talked about how the magic mirror had probably trapped them outside of Time.

He talked about all the different hypotheses predicting what would happen if they untrapped themselves.

He didn't tell her about the hostages.

"I think that's it," Harry concluded. "Unless you'd like to get caught up on the Hogwarts drama going on at the end of the school year."

"No," said Hermione, who had sat down some time ago. "That's alright. So you and Professor Quirrell were trying to steal the stone... to save his life?"

"And yours," said Harry. "And everypony's, for that matter. But that's more my thing. Professor Quirrell probably won't agree to mass healing unless we can make another stone. And it's taken me a while to admit it, but he's probably right about that. If we tried to get healing to everypony, we'd become instant targets. Security would take a lot of time and effort, and if the stone gets stolen even once, that's it. So it's much wiser to study our existing stone until we can recreate it before we do try anything attention-grabbing. Our stone won't attract desperate thieves if they don't know we have it, or if the stone itself is one of many, just another semi-normal magical rarity."

"Every...pony..." Hermione repeated, seeming to focus on that part, instead of the rest of it. "I'm still getting used to that. How long did you say you've been here? Eight months?"

"No, that's how long you've been out. Just under two of those months were spent on the other side of the mirror. On this side, it's been six months and ten days. Eleven, if it's past midnight."

"That's... a long time."

"It's actually even longer," said Harry. He took out his Time Turner. "This is my personal time machine. It lets me get more hours out of every day. Professor McGonagall gave it to me at the start of the school year to treat my sleep disorder."

"Professor McGonagall... gave you a time machine... to treat your sleep disorder..."

"A disorder that I only had in the first place because Dumbledore snuck into my home when I was young and gave me a sleep-cycle extending potion that you normally give to students who already have Time Turners. I'm pretty sure he did it so that I'd get a Time Turner as soon as I became a student, and so that I'd get advanced science and math tutoring from my dad's students before then. You know. Typical boy-who-lived stuff. Prophecy told him to do that to save the world, and he probably had no clue why, so don't blame him."

Hermione didn't respond to this, just stared dumbly.

"This is how I kept up with you in class, by the way. I got two extra hours each day for studying. Until the day you saw Fawkes riding on my shoulder, then they let me get the full six hours. And since it effectively lets you be in up to seven places at once, I'm sure you can think of a lot of other things I did with it. Remember, I got the Time Turner on the first day of school, along with my cloak."

"The rememberall!" she gasped. "And the pies!"

"Bingo. Future me had the brilliant idea to prank past me in the short time frame after I got my own Time Turner, but before past me knew about Time Turners. And since it had already happened by the time past me became future me, the choice was out of my hands, and present me had to go along with it. No, I'm still not sure that I've figured out how that works."

Hermione didn't respond to this either.

"In general, the Time Turner can turn up to six times a day, with one turn taking you back one hour. I usually teleport here just when Twilight thinks I'm about to go to sleep, then I use it for the full six hours, then I go back to my room just after my past self appears here. I get thirty hours per day, so if you add it up, including the time you were out of it..." Harry did the mental math "...we're about the same age now. And if we use the Time Turner together, we'll age at the same rate. The chain can be wrapped around up to three people. Or, er, ponies. And Professor Quirrell knows the recipe for the potion that extends sleep cycles, so you'll be fine there."

Hermione's head was in her hooves. "Any other important secrets you want to get out of the way?"

"Sure. Professor Quirrell has literally saved the world in the past."

She would have staggered if she were standing. Instead, she only swayed.

"He has?" she asked faintly.

Harry nodded. "He hasn't gone into the details, but I'm pretty sure he stopped Nuclear Armageddon with a few well-placed Imperius curses in the Russian and American muggle militaries, or something like that."

She swayed even more.

"Come to think of it," Harry mused, "I should ask him directly. Oh, and if you're wondering how I can trust him, it's because we have a way of communicating with each other that forces us to speak the truth, kind of like one drop of Veritaserum, and it can't be beaten by Occlumency either. We can still lie to each other through omission, but we can't directly lie, and he has directly said that his actions saved the world in the eighties, so... yeah. You were right that he's not a good person, though. He only did it so he wouldn't die himself. Oh, and I also figured out a few magical secrets, but I can't share those until you sign a certain contract and become an Occlumens. Don't worry, it's not that difficult to learn. I did it in four months on the other side of the mirror, so you should clear it in three months, tops... are you alright?"

Hermione's entire body was slumped on a glowing crystal.

"I think," said Hermione, picking herself up, "that's quite enough for now, Mr. Potter. Can you take us back to the library? It's late, and I'd like to sleep on all this."

"Sure," said Harry. "One second." He took off his two remaining portkey armbands. "Put these on. Do you still have the first one I gave you?"

"Yes."

"Then it's time to learn how to recharge a rechargeable portkey. Oh, and remember that outside this cave, we're Silver Wing and Memory Sunshine. And even inside these caves, practice wouldn't hurt."

"One last thing," said Silver when they appeared back in Ponyville. They stood in a small, neglected niche, unnoticed thanks to a semi-permanent notice-me-not enchantment. "We don't have much to do here except get stronger until we can leave. Something happened day one, but ever since then it's basically been all peace and harmony. There IS something active we can do to make the world a better place – our world, I mean, and maybe this one too I guess. But... I'm not sure if you would want to help or not, or if you even should, given the goal. I would like your advice about it either way."

"What's the goal?" Memory asked, her hoofsteps not as sure as Silver's as they clopped down the dirt road, even though she walked with more grace.

"If I tell you, I'd have to memory charm you. Don't worry, I can do the reversible version."

"Um... why?"

"If you're going to take Occlumency lessons, that means Mr. Book is going to have to read your mind, and I don't think he'll agree to be Obliviated of each session afterwards. I'll restore your memory of this conversation once you can block him out, okay? But I do need your advice. Like I said, it's to help make the world a better place."

She took several deep breaths. "Okay. If it's important, okay. What do you need advice about?"

"I want Mr. Book to find true happiness."

Memory gave him a sidelong glance. "How would that make the world a better place?"

He'll kill fewer people when we get back to the other side of the mirror, thought Silver. Maybe none at all, if it takes long enough to return, and if he changes enough along the way. But that's so wildly optimistic that it's hardly worth considering. Best case realistic scenario: he only kills threats, like dark wizards.

"Mr. Book is influential," Silver answered Memory's question in such a way that it did not even hint at Voldemort. "He's probably going to be a big part of humanity's future. But he advocates for dictatorship, he takes being called evil as a compliment, and he thinks the killing curse is an indispensable battle tactic. It is, by the way, but it's also his favorite spell because he can use it without hatred and without wanting to kill his target. He can even use it when he wants his target to live by pushing them out of the way with his own magic before it can reach them, and I doubt there's a single other wizard in the world who could bluff a killing curse like that. So... yeah. If he were a better person, I'd be less worried. I thought you'd be the best person to figure out how to get him there."

Memory walked silently for a time. "I don't think it's possible," she finally answered. "Especially if he doesn't want to change."

Now it was Silver's turn to walk silently. "He might not want to change, but he knows he's not happy. I think he would prefer it, if it didn't get in the way of his ambitions. I'm just... not sure how to go about convincing him. It'd have to be something intellectual. An extremely logical argument, or something he can easily try without much cost to himself. With... um, the Dragon General, I used science and biology to prove that muggleborns aren't magically weaker than purebloods, and that was enough to set him down the right path. He did torture me when I shattered his worldview – long story – but that only happened once, and from his perspective I did something worse to him than torture. But the thing is, for all his talk about murder and rape, he still had enough light inside to cast a full corporeal Patronus on his first try."

"He what?"

"Yeah, don't tell anyone I said that, especially him. But Mr. Book... doesn't have that light. He can't cast the Patronus charm. Standard paths like love and friendship won't work, and I don't think I can go down the anti-discrimination route either. Mr. Book already knows that muggleborns aren't magically weaker, and now that I've introduced him to muggle science, I bet he's already realised that wizards aren't inherently smarter. He doesn't hold any false assumptions that I can easily attack, and he can beat me in any debate about the importance of happiness because I didn't choose happiness either, back when I chose Ravenclaw over Hufflepuff. I don't know how your conversation with the sorting hat went, but maybe you'd have better grounds to stand on?"

Memory remembered its words.

"The sorting hat said I'd find friends and be happy wherever I went. Except Slytherin."

"No good then." Silver sighed. "I wish I still had my psychology books on me. There's got to be some tips about mental health that he wouldn't dismiss as stupid, like a gratitude journal. I was hoping maybe you'd already read something we could try?"

"Silver, I'm not really sure I'm the best person- I mean, the best pony to ask for advice on this."

"Why?"

"Well..." she tried to put it in words. "If you were trying to lose weight, and you wanted advice, do you go to the pony who's never been overweight before, even if they're very fit and healthy? Or do you go to the pony who used to be obese, but then they went through a long journey of weight loss, and could tell you what to expect?"

"I... see," said Silver. "You're right, that sounds similar. You're not the best pony to ask because you've never been as empty as him, even for a single moment in your life. And I can't really think of anybody who's currently happy enough to cast a Patronus who was, at some point, as emotionally empty as..." his voice trailed off.

He had, just that moment, thought of a certain somepony who can cast a Patronus who had been emotionally empty. And he realised, in some dismay...

"Crap. I think this is going to be harder than I thought."

"Why?"

"You remember that time I got demented?"

Memory shuddered. "Don't remind me. And what's it got to do with what we're talking about?"

"I think Mr. Book is like that all the time. Maybe he has a tiny amount of light in him... but then again, maybe not."

There was another long pause.

"Silver... can I ask you something about that moment?"

After only a slight moment to get over the hesitance about the prospect of being asked a question regarding one of his most traumatic memories, "Sure."

"If you'd seen the Headmaster use the killing curse on... um, the Griffon head of house, when you were demented, I mean, what would have happened?"

Silver took a long moment to imagine it. He wouldn't have tried this a month ago, but with Hermione at his side he felt like it was safe enough to empathise with that particular version of himself, as deep as he'd ever went. As deep as he could go.

The version that had no happiness or light or love or caring whatsoever. The neural patterns of Lord Voldemort.

It wasn't a pleasant place to be, but it had certain advantages. With his experience as a Perfect Occlumens, he didn't need an emotional trigger. It only took a few seconds of effort to imagine the right mindset, fully and completely.

His dark side thought about what he would have done if he saw the old fool who believed in an afterlife kill the stupid disciplinarian witch.

And it was obvious. First, his dark side would have seen the reason behind the action. Then...

"I would have laughed once the annoyances finally started killing each other, believing that it would affect me."

Silver could see the chills run down Memory's spine.

He got out of the persona as quickly as he could. "Sorry."

"No, it's alright," she said, as if forcing herself to say it. "I was the one who asked, even though I knew I might not like the answer, and I know you're not really like that. But if Mr. Book is like that..."

Silver paused before replying. What he wanted to say would skirt the edges of the promise he'd made in Parseltongue... unless he obscured it as much as possible.

"I think it's more accurate to say that I could be like that. Even now, if things went wrong enough, I could probably become like that again. So why couldn't the reverse be true? Couldn't Mr. Book become truly happy if things go right enough?"

There was a long pause.

"Maybe," said Memory. "But I wouldn't know how."

Some time later, after a memory charm and a midnight stroll through the festively decorated village, they turned the time-turner once, then Silver teleported them both back to his room, exactly one second after they'd left.

"Five hundred bits," said Mr. Book in response to his request.

It was their first meeting after Hearth's Warming, and Memory had already left. Silver hadn't tried to convince him of anything yet.

Many things had happened that meeting – explaining the alicorn thing, Memory signing a contract not to destroy the world, learning that Memory had probably become an alicorn because Mr. Book turned her into a troll unicorn princess (the other side's kind of unicorn), learning that meant she was unkillable except through fiendfyre and the killing curse – demonstrated by a "Diffindo" and a "Yes, that was painful. Get used to it. There is little point to durability if you refuse to tolerate that which you can endure."

It was little wonder Memory left as soon as the magic lesson was over.

"Acceptable," said Silver. "Five hundred is cheap, all things considered."

It wouldn't make much of a dent in the small fortune he'd amassed from teaching pegasus lessons, and it's not like he was using the money for anything else.

"But if I'm paying that much, Professor Book, I am expecting a complete re-enchanting, not just the terror thing. The voice enchantment isn't as good as your ritual obelisks, for example. Maybe add a dark aura, or smoke, or something like that. And I'd like my body to look like a skeleton, or a lich, or at least a decaying zombie."

"That final part would cost five thousand, Mr. Silver. I do not believe such an illusion has ever been done before. Inventing it myself, then contracting a different pony to implement it, for I am not an artist, would not be trivial."

Five thousand would make a decent dent...

"I think I'm fine with that amount, actually."

...but he wasn't spending it on anything else, and there weren't any good investment opportunities available to young colts. Equestria, like Magical Britain, had no concept of stocks.

In a way, you could say what he's doing right now is an ideal investment. Now that Hermione's back, their official goal is to escape the mirror, and Mr. Book is the only one who can really make progress on that front, at least for now. Mr. Book is apparently still abiding by the country's major laws; he hasn't stolen anypony's fortunes, so cold hard cash still has value to him. For the immediate future, Mr. Book can use the money more effectively than Silver could.

"I quoted that price as a deterrent," said Mr. Book. "But I suppose it might make for an interesting side-project. A dark aura would be simple, scentless smoke is doable, and I have just now thought of a good idea for the voice enchantment, one which I do not blame you for missing."

"Um... why not?"

"Because you could not hear it. And I should mention that it is Professor Tome now, not Professor Book. Riddle Tome, if you wish to know the new name in full."

Silver Wing stared at him. "Um... how did that happen?"

"Stupidity."

The thestral did not elaborate further, and the dark tone and atmosphere did a good job of quashing his curiosity. But then the atmosphere diminished, and the thestral added, "On the off chance you are ever given the choice between allowing another to rename you and doing it yourself, I recommend autonomy. Prepare a few new names in advance, lest the name Fairy Plotter is foisted upon you against your will."

Chapter 34: Mature Choices

Three weeks ago, Memory had informed Silver about a recent wrongdoing.

Silver agreed that it was indeed a moral failing, and resolved to pay closer attention next time. He was relieved that he finally had this sort of advice again, and said he would apologise when he got the chance.

Unfortunately, he had not sought out his apology target immediately, for reasons that he could now see were rationalisations. There were more important problems to solve, more important things to do, it was never the right time...

He'd just been putting it off, and now it would be worse. You'd think he'd have learned this after Neville. But in that case, he'd been given the opportunity to apologise the very next day on a silver platter. He hadn't been given the opportunity to procrastinate.

And so, in addition to his resolution to apologise, which he was about to do, he also resolved to not put off future apologies. That still didn't feel sufficient, so he resolved to ask himself if there were any current apologies he still needed to make, and that did feel sufficient, but by that point he'd located his target and he had to focus his attention on the task at hand.

He approached the green dragon he'd inadvertently humiliated on Hearth's Warming with...

"Spike? Could you send these three documents to Princess Celestia?"

"No."

"Not even for a pile of gems?" An expensive pouch of gems.

Spike looked at the open pouch. It wasn't space charmed, so the contents were clearly visible. Spike began drooling.

"This is an apology, by the way. I didn't mean to ruin your show."

Spike stared at him, his gaze no longer gobbling the gems. "Why?" he asked. There was a tremble in his voice. "It was my show. Why did you make it your show?"

"I... I was trying to teach skepticism," Silver answered, his own voice almost catching, the emotions suddenly realer now that he was in the moment.

It had been a while since Silver felt guilt so directly. It had been a while since he'd felt anything so strongly. Even though it was by any metric an extremely minor affair. When a cute child asked why you'd done something that hurt them and you knew it was true, it hit hard no matter what it was about.

"But Memory said afterwards that it was mean to you, and she was right." He paused. "There's... a part of me that wants to argue that the adults were entertained by what I did, and the colts and fillies enjoyed it more when I stepped in, and that's what should matter most to an entertainer... but that's all just excuses. The truth is that I figured out how the tricks worked, and I felt the need to speak up when the audience asked how you were doing it, not because I knew everypony would enjoy the show even more if I pointed it out."

"You mean... they still liked it?" the young dragon asked. "They still liked my magic show?"

"Of course," said Silver. "Didn't you see their faces? Some of them are even more interested in magic shows now. But I know it's not easy to think that way, and I know it felt like I was showing you up, and I was. So I wanted to say I'm sorry."

The three documents, one of which was a letter, were sent some time later, after a long and slightly painful conversation that ended with a happy dragon and a relieved pegasu- er, alicorn.

The first actual day of school did not involve laps or magical scans or laughing idiots like the last time. It had a surprising amount of academic achievement, actually. Silver felt like he was actually being intellectually challenged again, for the first time in seven months (not counting Mr. Tome's lessons). Memory probably would have been fine with rehashing old material. She'd be happy so long as she could help others with their homework and get perfect test scores herself, but Silver needed the difficulty or it wasn't interesting.

His math exam put him firmly in Calculus class, the highest available course in the subject, and his Science scores gave him the choice between Physics, Biology, and Psychology. He coordinated with Memory so they could choose the same class, and she insisted on Psychology. Silver, after a bit of thought, decided that he could refine his physics and biology knowledge later. Pony psychology might be significantly different from what he knew, so it might be a novel education.

Social Studies was more or less the same as Cloudsdale, excepting the excellence. He wasn't surrounded by average colts and fillies anymore. He knew it was an ego trip to focus on the 'gifted' part of the school's title, but there is something to be said about schools that aren't required to teach everypony, that can be selective about who they accept. It might just be that it's his second day, but he hasn't seen any bullying yet, physical or verbal. He hasn't seen snoozing or distracted students. His teachers – all of them, not just the Social Studies teacher – seem to deeply care about their subjects.

His magic class in particular was... intense. And dense. It covered all magic, from potions to charms to creatures to devices.

Every session lasted two hours.

At one class a day, five days a week, that's ten hours each week, over twice as much as any other subject.

And even then, it felt like a bunch of material was being compressed into too little time.

Perhaps this was because Night Light – who turned out to be Twilight's father – had decided to tutor him directly to catch him up to his peers, and the blue stallion was a taskmaster of a teacher. His demanding nature may or may not have been out of spite or resentment from their first meeting.

Silver's Inner Critic pointed out that two superintendents doing the same thing in a row is highly suspicious. That sort of thing doesn't happen in real life just for the sake of comedic effect, and Bayes Theorem gives priority to any hypothesis that can explain the outcome better than 'coincidence' or 'randomness'.

Hypothesis 1: There weren't any free teachers in either school and both superintendents were in good positions to do it themselves. They had the knowledge to tutor, the time to spare, and the motive to get the lagging geniuses up to speed. This was probably the answer.

Hypothesis 2: The mirror was controlling things for unguessable reasons. Maybe dense magic classes meant more power, which might lead to fulfilled wishes, or something like that.

Either way, Silver was going to give it his all. He suspected that much of the free time he'd been spending in the library, or in the hideout practicing, was now going to be spent on magic class homework.

He felt fatigued by the end of the day, but the thought of his impending plot perked him up and pushed him forward, straight to the door of the dueling room. Memory did not accompany him. She would be giving her slip separately, to give her a better chance at acceptance if things went south.

Silver tried to enter the room in such a way that he didn't draw attention to himself. He had listened for the noises that an attention-grabbing duel would produce, then entered during what sounded like the climax of that duel. Eyes shouldn't be on the door.

Unfortunately, the duel was taking place directly in between the door and the pony in charge of dueling club, putting the stallion opposite the entrance and in the perfect position to spot Silver instantly. The adult immediately began walking to intercept him.

Well, guess this would happen right away then.

"You are not allowed in this room," were the first words that came from the stallion's mouth.

"Don't worry," said Silver. "I have my signed permission slip." He used unicorn magic to levitate the letter.

"No," said the teacher. "I mean that you are not allowed in this club. You must leave."

"Even with signed permission from Celestia herself?"

"I highly doubt the princess is your guardian. Now go. You are not allowed to join."

Silver tilted his head. He would have asked why, but he knew that wouldn't be the correct conversational tactic. Instead, he said, "Because I embarrassed you?"

"Because respect for the duel master is mandatory for all members," said the pony who had not earned Silver's respect, and seemed to be trying his hardest to prevent Silver from developing any. "You demonstrated that you cannot follow that rule."

"How was I disrespectful?" Silver asked in tones that sounded genuinely respectful. "I respected your skepticism as valid. You allowed me to prove my claim, so I did. Are you saying you aren't going to reciprocate by respecting the results?"

"What you did was not respectful in any way," said the pony. "Now leave."

It seemed the stallion wasn't in the mood to argue. Or, more accurately, he didn't seem to be the type of pony who argued at all. He imposed his will, plain and simple.

Silver sighed. When facing this personality type, the authoritarian – and not the reasonable kind like Professor McGonagall – the most reliable counter-strategy is...

Silver scratched his back left fetlock in a casual motion, subtly and silently activating a simple one-way communications enchantment. He then made as if to turn around and leave.

Less than a second later, a pony appeared in the room in a flash of teleportation.

"Is this still the dueling room?"

This pony was rather tall.

"Ah, I see that it is."

The entire club, including the teacher, was stunned stupid by this pony's appearance.

"Hello, Silver."

Some of them entered instinctive genuflects.

"Has Stern Horn received your permission slip yet?"

One of them went pale.

"No," said Silver. "He was just kicking me out of the room, actually. Something about me violating a rule back when he gave me the permission slip."

"Oh?" asked the ruler of Equestria, whose authority – in a school named after herself, no less – has gone unchallenged and unquestioned for centuries. "I'm sure it is just a misunderstanding."

She turned to face the 'duel master', who uses his authority to impose his will on others and thus could not complain when a higher authority comes knocking.

"The Stern Horn I remember would never expect a non-member to know all the rules within their first five minutes of stepping into the dueling room. Why, I still remember his first few days. How could I forget? Situations requiring my presence to mediate are always memorable."

The dueling master went even paler, though Celestia didn't elaborate on what he did, to the disappointment of both Silver's curious Ravenclaw and advantage-seeking Slytherin parts.

Celestia did give a censored version though. "Surely that ambitious, rambunctious pony would not expect a colt younger than he was, at the time, to be more mature than he'd been."

"No, that's exactly what he was expecting," said Silver. He wasn't about to let her kindness get in the way of the cold, hard truth. "He was dead serious. He wanted me out of the class, never to return. And it had nothing to do with maturity. At least, not mine."

"Are you certain?"

Silver nodded. "I said I could win fights, he didn't believe me, I asked if I could prove it, he said go ahead, I did, he was embarrassed by the results, and now he's trying to punish the insolent colt accordingly. Simple as that, really."

Celestia stared at him searchingly, as if she were looking for signs of dishonesty, then focused her full gaze on the stallion. "Is this true, Stern Horn?"

The dueling master's mouth flapped open and shut. He seemed about to say something multiple times, but nothing came out aside from conversational stutters. It sounded like he was trying to find something to say, anything to say, that could save face. Anything except the truth, of course. The thought of honesty didn't seem to occur to him at all.

Celestia turned to look at Silver again. "How, precisely, did you prove you could win fights?"

"I hit one of the best duelists with a pie. Then I hit him with a pie. Then I left, because avoiding retaliation is an important battle tactic."

There was a short silence in the room.

Celestia, when she spoke again, sounded abstracted. "And how did that prove anything?"

Silver shrugged. "I didn't move to accomplish it. Most real fights are won by surprise. In real battles, you don't telegraph your attacks and wait for your opponents to counterattack like you do in duels. There aren't any silly rules that prevent ambush. The faster you win, the faster you end the battle and the fewer soldiers you lose."

Celestia's face, insofar as he could read any of her extremely subtle facial expressions, grew colder, more distant, grimmer, and Silver remembered that she was a thousand years old, and had been involved in real wars.

He had been planning to go on for much longer, though now it seemed wiser to just wrap up his argument. "But since I was just trying to prove a point, I used pies instead of deadly weapons or crippling spells. Since they weren't blocked, it proved that I can win fights."

Again, that slight silence.

"Indeed it did," Celestia nodded. "He asked you to prove as much?"

"No, I asked if I could prove it when he said that I was mistaken."

"And he allowed you to try?"

Silver nodded.

Celestia turned back to the duel master. "Does that sound like the factual sequence of events, Stern Horn?"

The duel master, who still seemed like he couldn't bring himself to speak, only nodded.

"You see that you gave him permission to prove his abilities as he saw fit?"

Nod.

"And you believe it proves that Silver will not respect you when he joins, thus violating the rules of membership?"

Again, a nod, though he now had enough confidence to say, "Yes."

Now Celestia turned on him. "Do you believe you can bring yourself to follow that rule, Silver?"

"I didn't know it was a rule," shrugged Silver. "Now that I do, it depends."

"On what?"

"On him."

There was another brief silence, as two alicorns locked gazes.

"Could you explain?"

"Explain what?" asked Silver. "Could you ask that question precisely?"

"Please explain why your respect of the duel master depends on-" and Celestia cut herself short, eyes slightly widened as she realised she was asking a ridiculous question.

Silver grinned, showing Celestia that, yes, that was intentional. Then, using another trick he learned from Mr. Tome, he stayed silent.

"I see," Celestia said.

Unfortunately, most of the dueling club didn't seem to 'see' along with her.

Now Silver spoke.

"My respect of the duel master depends entirely on the actions of the duel master. My emotions are automatic. I can't make myself feel respectful. Either I do, or I don't, and respect is earned, not forced. The moment you have to demand my respect is the moment you've lost it. He could earn it back, but it's going to be a lot more difficult now. And just to put a finer point on it, you said he had problems with maturity in the past. Now, he might have overcome them, but a wise and ancient spellcaster once said that it's not time or age that matures a pony. It's experience. It's being put in grown-up situations. Most importantly, it's how a pony responds to those situations that matures them. If they respond like a grown-up would."

"Most situations are not so black and white," said Celestia. "Many ponies would disagree about what the 'grown-up' thing to do would be."

"Alright then. I wasn't going to ask this, but since you insist, do you think his response to being embarrassed was the 'grown-up' thing to do? Everypony has different opinions, like you said, so what's yours?"

"I have seen Stern Horn act with great maturity in the-"

"No," interrupted Silver, to the gaping shock of their audience. "That was a yes or no question, your majesty. In this specific circumstance, in his interactions with me, was his attempt to eject me from the room mature, or not? Yes or no, and if you try to evade the question, or distract from it, or add meliorating details, that means yes, you think he was acting immaturely."

There was a telling silence.

And then, "Yes. I think this one case is an example of immaturity."

"Whose?"

Another telling silence.

And a sigh. "Stern Horn's."

Silver nodded. This tactic is especially useful on honest ponies who are too kind for the good of others. "To answer your original question, I could pretend to be all deferential and submissive to Stern Horn, but if your sister were present, she'd call my behaviour extremely dishonest, and she'd be right. And that's not the same thing as respect anyway. So with all that said, do you think I could follow the rule that requires members to respect the duel master? Do you think I even should? Do you think the current members should follow the rule?"

Celestia seemed to search for what she wished to say, taking a few seconds to compose her reply.

"A single instance of immaturity does not determine a pony's destiny," she said gently. "If Stern Horn proves that he is capable of learning from his mistake, if he proves that he is humble enough to accept you into the club after you publicly humiliated him, and if he proves that he is capable of earning your respect, not merely demanding it, then I do believe you could follow the rule genuinely, and that others should as well. Even more than they do now."

"And you believe he could prove all those things?" Silver asked skeptically.

"Yes," said Celestia. "I always have faith that my little ponies will do the right thing in the end. Even if they make mistakes along the way." She turned to face Stern Horn. "You will learn from this and try to do better in the future, yes?"

He nodded. Very shakily. Very nervously. But he did nod.

She turned back to Silver. "Then I think this matter is settled. It is time we take our leave."

And Silver suddenly found himself standing in a different setting – what looked like a fancy sitting room – a result of Celestia's teleportation.

Earlier...

Dear Princess Celestia,

I know you're not my or Memory's guardian, but could you sign these documents, then send them back? And could you go to your school tomorrow so you can be there when I deliver it? Or just let me know when you're available, and I'll hold off on delivering mine until you can show up? I know you're busy with Day Court, and I'll understand if you refuse. I can always ask Twilight. But I thought I'd ask you first, on the off-chance you'd like something to break up the mundanity.

Full disclosure: The Dueling Club teacher might try to reject my permission slip, and that's part of the reason I'm asking you to come in pony. Please don't tip him off. I want to see how he'll behave absent outside pressure.

Sincerely,
Silver Wing/Life

He tried to control his breathing, but it was difficult.

"For the record," he said after drawing on his dark side's iron will. He spoke in a steady, calm voice. "Don't teleport me again without asking first. I am not one of your little ponies. Nopony owns me but me, and nopony speaks for me either. I'm my own little pony, thank you very much. And I don't care if I'm the only pony in Equestria who feels that way, though I know I'm not."

Celestia, smiling, said, "Well spoken. Though your words are a bit strange to hear. You did ask me sign a paper to mark me as your guardian just last night."

"Would you rather I signed it myself? That's what I wanted to do, but I can agree that almost all twelve-year-olds aren't mature enough for that sort of thing."

"I would rather Twilight have signed it. She is your guardian."

"You think she could have handled Stern Horn?"

"She would have..." Celestia began, but trailed off.

"She would have done her best," Silver agreed. "She would have gotten very emotionally invested. But I don't think she could have convinced him. I don't think anything would have, except your direct intervention. And that meant Day Court or... well, what we just did."

Celestia stared at Silver for a second. It was clear she was beginning to suspect something. "Do you read the newspaper?"

"Sometimes."

"Did you happen to read the recent articles covering Canterlot University's non-unicorn student?"

Silver grinned. "You could say that."

Celestia sighed. "I think that case has set a bad example for you. Day Court is not meant for affairs this..."

"Trivial?"

"Minor, yes."

"Well, even the biggest problems in the world can seem minor when you compare them to greater orders of magnitude. On the infinitesimally small speck known as the planet Equus, all the world's problems put together probably seem minor in the face of the heat death of the universe. But injustice, however minor, is still injustice. Also, my pattern-matching brain is suggesting that I would see many high-priority noble requests that are equally inane if I went to Day Court. Go ahead and deny it if it's untrue."

There was a slight pause in which no denial came. They're rare, but the people/ponies who speak as if they are always talking in Parseltongue are so relaxing to talk to. Constant skepticism and presumptions of dishonesty isn't easy.

"Day Court is meant for minor requests," Silver concluded. "Same as major ones. Petty arguments have to be handled somewhere, same as grandiose arguments. The wealthy will take it to court, the middle class might take it to court, and the poor will just deal with it personally. Standard societal practices, really."

"I am surprised you speak of it so matter-of-factly. You are satisfied with that status quo?"

"My satisfaction has nothing to do with the facts. And no, I'm not okay with it. If I didn't have a way to talk to you directly, if I was just some normal rambunctious colt, what options would I have other than submit to demonstrably stupid authority? Maybe I'd pull a prank on Stern Horn to get back at him. Or maybe I'd just forget dueling altogether and find a different outlet. Hopefully the army. But probably not. I'd probably get involved in something dangerous. That's the downside of telling ponies not to go to the proper authorities because their problems are too small. The upside is occasional independence; ponies can learn to work out their problems on their own. But that can easily lead to the pranking route. Or worse." Like what Mr. Tome does.

"So you are doing this for your fellow colts and fillies who do not have a voice?"

Silver opened his mouth, then paused. "You know what? I'm not going to fall prey to that rationalisation again. I was only explaining why I went to you directly, instead of waiting for it to eventually get to you. I did it for myself, nopony else. I'm not going on any crusades. I'm not even going to recommend you do something. It's very easy to do more harm than good when you try a top-down solution."

She smiled again. "Most ponies imagine what they would do if they were in my position. They do not imagine what they would not do. Most believe they could fix the world with a few well-intentioned actions."

"Because most ponies don't realise they're arrogant, and they don't understand economics or politics. For a lot of societal problems, there aren't any catch-all solutions. There is no miracle answer. There is no political panacea. There are only tradeoffs, and the art of politics is trying to find the best tradeoff for any given situation. Well, in theory. In practice, politics can easily devolve into corruption. But I do know that dictatorship is never the answer. Even if it's benevolent, a single pony will never know enough about the entire country to make all the right choices."

Her smile widened. "You should speak with my sister and her fool. They believe I am doing far too little."

"Your sister has a fool?"

"Indeed she does."

"Why is he giving her political advice? I thought fools were supposed to entertain."

"Or advise," Celestia sighed. She walked over to a couch and sat down. "He lives up to his title. He is an insufferable fool of a pony. Very intelligent. Very convincing. But wrong about everything. And openly deceptive. I do not know what value my sister sees in his words."

"He sounds like a sophist," said Silver. "Or maybe he's just good at playing the fool. Hearing wrong answers can sometimes make the right answer obvious in contrast. I'd have to meet him to deduce the level of his game."

Celestia seemed to pause in thought. "He dines in the palace each night. This is one of his off-nights... but that means he will dine early, before your bedtime. You could attend dinner as a royal guest and meet him, if Twilight allows you to- oh. Pardon me. Do you mind if I teleport us to the Ponyville library? We should not be speaking like this without her knowledge. It almost feels like I have foalnapped you."

"You have. And go ahead."

A flash of light.

A crash of books.

"Sorry, Spike," said Silver. He had appeared right in front of the book-bearing dragon who, blinded by the stack of books, walked right into him.

The books he'd dropped became encased in a white glow, then began returning themselves to the shelves.

"No prob," said the little lizard, looking relieved. "Sweet! Chores are done!" And he ran off to do who-knows-what. But not before opening the door to the basement lab and shouting, "Twilight! Silver's back from school! And the Princess came with him!"

After a delay of less than a second, Twilight appeared in the library's main room. "Princess Celestia!" She ran forward for a hug. "What are you doing here?" She broke the hug. "I hope nothing's wrong."

"Nothing at all. I simply wish to borrow your ward for the night."

"Um... why?"

"There is somepony I would like him to meet. I would also like to hear about his first true day at my school. And Memory's as well. We could even make it an outing. Just the four of us, until dinner is over. Unless you are busy?"

"Um... Princess Celestia... no, I'm not busy. And I do want to hear about his first day of classes... but... um..."

"But you do not like the dinners at my palace," Celestia sighed. "Yes, I remember. How about this. We stay together until dinner, then we part ways. Silver dines with me, and you dine with Memory. I send him home when he is done eating. Does that sound good?"

Twilight nodded furiously.

And then the questions began.

Chapter 35: Politics, Policies, and Debate

Author's Note

I would like to remind every reader that Tome = Voldemort. If he argues for unsavory positions, that's the whole point. I'll repeat what Yudkowsky said: the views expressed by the characters do not necessarily reflect the writer's views. I'm simply writing them 'in character' as best I can, given that I'm trying to drive the story in a certain direction.

If I mistake any historical facts, feel free to point it out. I'll double-check suggested corrections and I might adjust the story accordingly.

Finally, please note that disagreeing with Silver or Mr. Tome's takes on those facts is not the same as the facts themselves being in error. Comments motivated by political leanings will be far less likely to influence the story.

Now, who's ready for a long, boring chapter about politics?

Chapter 35: Politics, Policies, and Debate

In a great dining room, at a table as large and long as the four House tables in Hogwarts, the Princess of Equestria introduced her royal guest to a group of nobles. They were largely apathetic to Silver's presence at first, some of them only pretending to be interested to score points with Celestia.

Then some of them became actually interested when he answered Celestia's prompt of "Is there anything you would like to say about yourself?" by pointing out that some might remember him from that time he trounced his competition at Flight Week, if they attended.

Celestia then introduced him directly to a pony he already knew. Seemingly subtly, though not to either pony involved, she attempted to start a conversation between them. "Silver, this is Riddle Tome, my sister's... advisor."

They had recognised each other right away, of course, but neither had seen fit to speak unprompted. Out loud, anyway. Now that they did have a prompt...

"I thought the newspapers said you're the Court Scholar," were the first words that one of them did speak aloud to the other.

"I thought you would have learned by now that newspapers are often propaganda arms of powerful politicians, if not the government itself."

"I thought you said you're the Court Scholar."

He grinned. "That is indeed my title as far as the public is concerned. Can you guess the reasoning behind that?"

"Um..." said Silver (at the moment) Wing, his horn hidden by Celestia's spell. "You didn't want Equestria to think of you as a fool?"

"Close enough."

"You two know each other?" Celestia asked politely.

They exchanged glances again – Legilimency glances, which they could now use to communicate silently. A useful trick between friendly Legilimens. Mr. Tome had to initiate the exchange; Silver couldn't do it wandlessly just yet. But from there it was like a normal conversation, except with the middle-men of pretended personalities, which is also like a normal conversation. The main difference besides the outward silence and use of magic is that words are thought faster than they can be spoken. Silver was still getting used to that, but it allowed them to reach a decision in less than five seconds.

"You remember that speech I gave after Flight Week?" Silver asked Celestia.

"Hmm... somewhat..."

"I'll make it more specific then. Do you remember how I answered your question about ambitions for the future?"

"Not off the top of my head," said Celestia. "I was... a bit distracted. I might remember if you give a broad outline."

"I changed my voice to quote a scene I saw?"

"Ah yes! Now I remember. Quite clearly. You remarked on the error of being ambitious without having ambition, of grasping upwards to high positions of unimportance, and of how that prevents breaking the boundaries of your own existence... which I now see you have done as well as anypony ever could. You have my deepest congratulations. And compliments."

Silver heard the clatter of silverware on plates – the sign of many unicorns having lost their concentration on their objects of levitation – but he was focused on Celestia. "I wish I could claim all the credit. Remember how I said I was paraphrasing somepony else?"

She nodded. Silver paused at that point, hoping she'd see it on her own, but she didn't look like she was even trying to solve the problem independently.

"That raises the question of who I was paraphrasing. I can't remember, but I'm pretty sure I said that it was my mentor. If I didn't, I'll add that fact as well. Those were mostly the words of my mentor."

She still didn't see it.

Silver sighed. "And now we get back to your original question. How do the two of us know each other?"

That was when she saw it. "He is your mentor?" she asked in a tone that came close to incredulity. "Wait..." Then, after she seemed to take a moment to think, she sighed. "Of course he is."

Mr. Tome was chuckling.

Silver resisted the urge to emote one way or the other. "Like I said, his lessons aren't nice, but they are important."

Then he remembered how Celestia regarded the 'fool' and felt obliged to disagree.

"About what you said before, while I do think he's convincingly wrong about some things, I don't think he's wrong about most things, and certainly not everything." He glanced at Mr. Tome in such a way that indicated he wanted Legilimency. He quickly conveyed that there was a clear example of 'being wrong' that they should talk about later. Then his glance moved back to Celestia, breaking the link. "The two of us might disagree about political answers, but I think we both agree on the problems." He turned to face Mr. Tome fully. "What quote did you say I should refute before we have another debate? Sorry I don't remember it, you squeezed it into a bigger lesson."

"The problem with democracy is that those who need leaders are not qualified to choose them," Mr. Tome answered.

Many nobles around the table seemed to nod in agreement, though Celestia did not.

"Right," said Silver. His Slytherin side noticed the potential oligarchy around him. His Gryffindor and Hufflepuff sides marked it for reform if it turned out to be corrupt. His Ravenclaw part, however, was more concerned with the riddle-equivalent he'd just heard. "If I had to come up with a response off the top of my head, it'd be that even if the statement is true, I certainly don't agree with the solution of unilateral leadership."

"That is not a refutation," observed Mr. Tome.

"Isn't that a good thing?" asked Silver. "Most productive debates start by accepting a few core premises and working out the kinks from there. They end whenever somepony thinks of something neither side had thought before, something that both sides agree about. Or did you have a different debating goal in mind? Because if that's the case, I think I'll pass."

There are many reasons to debate. Politically, debating is done to convince the audience, not the other person. Persuasively, a debate is done to change a target's mind, but not your own. But personally, a good debate will resolve disagreement, negotiate conflicting wills, and allow both sides to reach new understanding.

Politics and suasion are par for the course in Slytherin, and Silver had just now signaled that he wasn't in the mood for either.

Personal debates are more of a Hufflepuff happenstance. It's the sort of thing you'd do with a friend or an equal. 'Good faith' is the term that comes to mind to describe the kind of debate he intended to have with Mr. Tome, and he wasn't going to have any other kind.

The corners of Mr. Tome's lips twitched slightly. "Very well. What is wrong with my solution to the problem of democracy?"

"Dictators don't have accountability," Silver answered at once, "so they can get away with murder. And once the dictator dies, everything they've built goes to chaos and infighting unless a new dictator comes along to fill the power vacuum. But then the whole country gets subjected to a new set of whims. And that's if the dictatorship even works. Most of them don't, for a pretty obvious and pathetic reason that even you can't deny: stupidity."

Mr. Tome sighed.

"Could you please elaborate on that?" asked Celestia, to his and Mr. Tome's slight surprise. "I agree with the point, but I am not familiar with many concrete examples, and you speak as though you could point to many."

"I could, but none that I'd like to talk about in polite company," said Silver. Or pony company, he thought privately. "I will say that in general, a lot of the supposedly well-intentioned failures happened when authoritarian rulers arrogantly believed they knew how to use their country's resources better than the citizenry. Like by telling farmers how they should farm, even though they've never personally farmed a single day in their life. They'd tell the farmers to plant seeds low and pack the soil hard, even though that's the exact opposite of what you should do if you want to actually grow things. That's just one aspect of one real-life industry they got wrong, and it did a lot of damage." Tens of millions of deaths levels of damage. He turned to face Mr. Tome again. "You hit the nail on the head when you said a certain minister was a joke. Maybe the answer to your quote is that we don't need political leaders in the first place. Not for most day-to-day circumstances, anyway."

"Anarchy?" asked Mr. Tome, sounding amused. Before Silver could object- "That was what the original one who spoke that quote desired. I admit that I found myself very surprised at just how convincing he could be, despite the absurd position, though you were not there to hear his arguments. But even back then, I remember thinking to myself that he did not address the most important thing any society must have for survival."

"And that is?" asked Celestia.

"Without clear and coordinated military might, any competent outside threat will easily conquer a country."

"What if most of the citizens can defend themselves?" asked Silver. Like you trained Hogwarts students to be able to do. Like YOU can do.

"Then prospects are less bleak," Mr. Tome nodded concession, "and they might survive attacks that are weak. But individual defense is meaningless in the face of overwhelming, coordinated assault. As you well know. Can you seriously see no scenarios where absolute rule might be good for a country?"

Before the debate could continue, their food arrived.

"On second thought," said Mr. Tome, "I think that is enough for now. We'll continue this later, when we can speak more freely." He grinned at Celestia as a few packets were emptied into his water. "Is there anything you would like to add to that, your majesty?"

The ruler shook her head, frowning ever so slightly at her food as she seemed to consider the debate she'd heard.

Later and earlier and later again, after he and Memory had met up, gone to their hideout, spun the Time Turner five times (saving one turn for emergencies), and trained, Mr. Tome made his presence known.

"We have an hour," the thestral said not two seconds after Memory activated her portkey. "After which you will return to this time and teleport away. I will ensure that no emergencies occur in the next twenty-four hours."

Silver said "Tempus," noted the time, then noted the brief appearance and disappearance of a second Silver to and from the cavern.

He didn't complain about Memory not being here for this. Memory couldn't help because she couldn't understand their perspective. If Silver wanted all but a remnant of Voldemort to be vanquished like the prophecy foretold, he would have to be the one to do it.

For a moment, he mentally prepared himself, summoning all his mental faculties to the fore. This, he was beginning to see, was the real battle.

It's not as simple as waving a wand and casting a spell. It's not as simple as human sacrifice. It would not be the Horcrux spell, or Obliviation, or any other clever trick that would get those two different spirits to coexist in the same world. It's far worse than that. Far more complicated.

The Boy-Who-Lived would have to change Voldemort's mind.

"Before we continue our debate," said the thestral, "what have I been proven wrong about?"

"Dumbledore wasn't behind the sorting hat's prank," Silver answered. "You weren't under the brim, so you didn't have all the context. I've promised not to give anyone the exact context, but I can say that the Sorting Hat was in a unique position to make a prank in my particular case."

"How so?"

The hat borrows the intelligence of the wearer, Silver thought to himself. It became self-aware because I had been wondering if it was, and that self-awareness gave it the potential for humor. That means it was given the potential to make the joke that it made, and I annoyed it enough that it went ahead and DID it.

He was still bound, by promise, by honor, and by his own ethics, not to tell anyone else the specifics unless he could ensure it wouldn't happen again. But he'd finally thought of a roundabout way to get this point across without violating his promise.

"I can't answer that question directly, but long story short, the Sorting Hat can't ordinarily joke. Not when it's on the heads of eleven-year-olds, and probably most adults too. It was only able to do it for me for the same reason that my sorting took so long. It's also the reason the Hat demanded to never go on my head again. The headmaster said I was the fourteenth student in history to achieve that." He couldn't quite keep the pride out of his voice. "Baba Yaga was another, but hers would be for a different reason. My own underlying reason is also why I promised the Hat not to talk about it. Oh, and the Hat was also giving me the victim's perspective to teach me a lesson about the prank I pulled on Neville at King's Cross. I wanted to argue back when you first gave me the hypothesis that Dumbledore changed the Hat's answer, but I wasn't clever enough to do it without betraying my promise, and we also didn't have a way of communicating truthfully. All that iss the truth."

Mr. Tome had listened without changing expression. "You know that I will not believe you without evidence."

Silver nodded. "I do. And I can see why. Your guess about the headmaster is reasonable. It's exactly what any Slytherin would believe if they heard it. When you already have a good answer that fits, it's hard to continue thinking, as you once said. I think the headmaster hypothesis is a rational guess. Even the rational guess, given no other evidence. It's simple and likely, so it gets priority. It just happens to be wrong. That, too, iss true. Oh, and I just thought of this now, but the ssorting hat alsso ssaid wearing it for too long would kill me. That, or ssomething like it, might be a way to kill you desspite your precautionss. Am ssaying thiss to keep promisse that I sshall help your ssysstem of immortality. And if you still don't believe me, now you know how I felt when you told me to beware my ambition without telling me why."

Mr. Tome's expression flickered, his eyes widening for a tiny fraction of a second before settling back into standard disdain. "You think this matter is, to use your terms, on the same order of magnitude as that?"

Silver shook his head. "No. But it is the same sort of problem, even if it's on a smaller scale. You can't deny that the situation is fair. You didn't tell me about the prophecy you heard even though I would have wanted to hear it because you didn't want me to bring it about. I'm not telling you this secret even though you would want to hear it because it would violate my promise. The Sorting Hat would know right away if you wore it afterwards, or told someone else and then they wore it. And not just because you'd remember the secret. Even if you Obliviated yourself of the secret afterwards, you still might tip it off."

Because according to Professor McGonagall, Obliviation removes the memory, but not all the effects of the experience, and the books on Obliviation confirmed the claim. That is why, he suspected, a wizard who knew that Dementors were death would NOT be able to cast the animal patronus EVEN IF they were Obliviated of that explicit knowledge.

"Did you make that promise in Parseltongue?" Mr. Tome asked, his tone a mixture of mocking and disdain.

Silver shook his head. "Like I said, my word is my bond. Even if it's not in Parseltongue." Silver paused thoughtfully. "Although to be perfectly fair, I'll let you have the chance to solve it yourself, since you did the same for me and the prophecy."

"How is that not a violation of your word?"

"Because it wouldn't be me telling you, it would be you figuring it out on your own, and the hat allowed me to talk of it under a certain specific circumstance. That's why my offer comes with a condition. The first thing the Hat said to me was 'Oh dear. This has never happened before.' If you can guesss what that meanss, I sshall tell you the full truth. But only if you promisse to never abusse the knowledge. Otherwisse I sshall not confirm or deny any of your guesssess, except the one I have already denied. And I have not lied thuss far. What I ssaid jusst now iss indeed what the Hat firsst ssaid to me. No trickss."

There was a pause.

"Very well. I sshall not usse knowledge about your ssorting to endss you or the Hat would conssider ill, if you confirm my guesssed knowledge iss accurate. But you should know that all this does not count as proving me wrong. Were there any other mistakes you could prove as such?"

"Yes, but before that I wanted to finish our debate. Your other mistake might be easier to see if we can reach an agreement on politics." He'd thought about it, and... "To answer the last question you asked at dinner, I can only think of one scenario where I would approve of dictatorship. Have you ever heard of Cincinnatus?"

"Yes. Many scholars of history know the tale."

"Is the wizarding version different from the muggle one?"

The thestral shook his head. "Most true details have been lost to time on both sides, and the rest is likely embellished. Still, Lucius Quinctius. The man twice given supreme state power, who twice relinquished it. He ruled not a moment longer than absolutely necessary, retiring to his villa after each crisis was averted. He swiftly dealt with each emergency, then just as swiftly relinquished all state powers he had been given. He became a temporary dictator each time, and he easily could have extended his rule. He chose not to do so, and so he was regarded as an ideal hero by the Romans. You should note that he is often depicted as holding a bundle of rods surrounding an axe. Your historical ignorance annoyed me in our very first political debate. It was not the Italian Fascists who first invented the symbol of the fasces. It predates even the Romans, and it does not quite mean strength from unity. But I digress. Even you cannot deny the problem with that solution, Mr. Silver. Reliance on such individuals to come forth at the moment of crisis inevitably leads to ruin. You may as well rely upon lightning striking your enemy."

"By the same reasoning, shouldn't you not rely on them for long-term dictatorships either? Relying on them to get it right, over and over, is like relying on repeated lightning strikes. You said you read Mao's red book. Did you know-"

"Yes, I know of the starvation and the body count. Yes, I agree that he was an idiot about farming, and the communes only made it worse. I did not read his little book as a guide for governance, only as a template for takeover." Mr. Tome closed his eyes, looking frustrated. "And yes, I know how you are going to straw man my position. You think I believe dictatorship is not a problem because we simply have not found the right dictator yet, aside from myself."

"I think I would have phrased it differently. Your position sounds to my ears like we just need the right person to wear the Ring of Power. Though you may not get the reference."

The thestral shrugged. "I agree that it sounds stupid when put that way. But you see, Mr. Silver, we already have working examples, so the argument falls apart on its premises. Your belief that dictatorships don't ever succeed is mistaken as a matter of simple fact. They do work. Even in the long term. Here in Equestria, Princess Celestia has ruled successfully for a thousand years. In Magical Britain, there was Dumbledore. They are both dictators in everything but name. They have led armies of defense against outside forces, armies of offense against internal forces. Without them, their countries would have fallen, or been greatly weakened. If you wish for a muggle example, Hitler led his destitute country to prosperity and strength in fewer than fifteen years. His loss in the Second World War was not a foregone conclusion at the time. He might have won, had he not made so many enemies. It is highly questionable to suggest that any other man could have accomplished as much as he, regardless of the end result."

"You're seriously arguing that Hitler was good for Germany?"

"In the short term? Absolutely. You may fail to see his successes because of his reputation, but you cannot deny the might he inspired in the Germans. Imagine if he had the philosophy of Cincinnatus. Imagine how history might have played out if he relinquished all power as soon as the economy stabilised."

Silver paused.

That... well, it was Hitler, but if he did have that outlook... if he'd relinquished all power as soon as Germany was out of the hole that had been dug for them by the Treaty of Versailles...

"No," answered Silver. "The economy had already stabilised before his rise. The Weimar Republic got their economic act together around a decade before then. If you're talking about the Great Depression, the whole world suffered that. Germany's iteration might look unstable compared to their recovery, but everything looks unstable compared to war economies. And I don't think Hitler would have ever pulled a Cincinnatus. He was only able to amass the power he did because he was an expansionist warmonger. Not to mention his party relied on propaganda that called for final solutions, not temporary measures."

There's an old saying that what you need to start a cult – or a religion, for that matter – isn't a god, but a devil. Resentment is one of the most powerful long-term motivators out there. Many people were moved not by love of Germany, but by hatred against certain specific German citizens: the Jews, the Roma, the Slavs. The Nazis rose to power with the Jews as their devil and the rest of the 'untermensch' as demons.

"He didn't inspire his country with the sort of motivation that leads to long-term stability. He relied on extermination tactics, inside and outside. He aimed at an unachievable ambition, the 'Arian' ideal. It's the same thing as pureblood politics. At some point, no blood will be pure enough. You just have to keep making the definition more and more narrow until nobody qualifies. So it wasn't viable long-term, and it wasn't likely to be abandoned after it started. The idea that Hitler would just give that up like Cincinnatus gave up his power is absurd on its face. Hitler didn't rise to power to solve a simple, one-time emergency like an insurrection or an invasion the way Cincinnatus did. He rose to power to solve the complex, long-term problem of Germany being in a sorry state after the first world war. He relied on constant political maneuvering and power-grabbing to climb the ranks. He wanted war. He fueled economic recovery and growth by stoking resentment against his own citizenry. He never intended to stop expanding Germany's borders, and he didn't intend to stop after the war reparations had been handled either. Hitler was never going to give up power in the first place."

Mr. Tome nodded. "And now you see why the Cincinnatus solution cannot work for most real-world problems. In our own imminent crisis, I do not think a single Cincinnatus-like figure will suffice to stop the muggles. Not I, nor you, nor the headmaster, nor as a distant fourth, the man who shares Cincinnatus' first name. A nuclear onslaught will not be stopped without extensive preparation and swift preemptive strikes, and even then we might fail. No brief dictatorship will suffice."

Silver's face twisted. "But that's the thing. Your mistaken premise is that you think the muggles will launch nukes the instant they discover us."

"They will."

"No, they won't," Silver said with all the firmness of his dark side. "Individual muggles might get violent, but governments will hesitate. Especially rich ones. Especially Britain. They'll only attack if they see us – their own countrymen – as enemies. And then they'd have to bomb their own country too, and that means surrounding areas would have to suffer the radioactive fallout. They won't do that on their own soil unless wizards launch the first attack. Or if derision and division are deliberately deepened beforehand." Silver's eyes narrowed. "By, say, promoting blood purism and magical supremacy in the rich and powerful."

"At least that would cleanly segue into national defense. What is your approach? Friendship and harmony?" His tone clearly indicated what he thought of that position.

"Not quite. I would call it trade and allyship. A few important muggles already have cushy arrangements with the ICW, I'd wager. Using that as a starting point, there will probably be multiple muggle governments that offer high status and wealth and acceptance in exchange for magical services and products."

Mr. Tome snorted, though it was more of a hmph than a nasal noise. "More likely, muggle governments shall force their magical counterparts into that arrangement. I have no doubt the Chinese Communist Party will regard the wizards and witches within its purview as national resources to be treasured and enslaved." He grinned, then spoke with heavy sarcasm. "For the good of the people, of course."

"Which is why," Silver said, un-gritting his teeth, "if we promote the idea of peaceful integration in Britain, where slavery is firmly rejected because of our enlightenment roots, we might just see peace. I don't think Labour or the Conservatives would want a civil war. I don't think the Americans would want another civil war either. Same with Australia, Canada, New Zealand, and most of Western Europe."

"It is hardly a matter of what individual muggles or wizards want, Mr. Silver. The problem of politics is the problem of paranoid politicians perceiving threats, followed by war. Wizards are too ignorant to see muggles as dangerous. Muggles, however, would take little convincing, especially with their mass media."

"I agree," said Silver. "The muggle media could do that. But you know, maybe you should have thought of that before you pushed the belief that wizards can do whatever they want to muggles whenever they feel like it, just because they can."

"That attitude was hardly nonexistent prior to my political endeavours." Mr. Tome spoke as if he were entirely blameless. "The laws on the books have always encouraged it."

"And once again, you didn't try to change it for the better. You didn't even see anything wrong with making it worse. And before you say that it can't be improved, remember the Dragon General. And my Chaotic Lieutenant."

Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott. Both had begun the school year as nobles who believed it was right and proper that they should get away with rape and murder. Both had gotten to the point where they were no longer nearly that bad.

"Two exceptions do not prove a rule."

"But they do prove a possibility. And the potential for a trend." Silver was reluctant to say this, but... "The problem isn't even unworkable from your belief system," he pointed out. "From your own way of handling problems – and this is in no way an endorsement, or a suggestion that you actually do it – I could easily see you tracking down the worst of the worst and cutting out the weeds at their roots."

"And weaken the country in the cutting?" the thestral asked flatly. "Many such wizards and witches are powerful. Magically, politically, and financially. Or all three. I would hardly commit the folly of killing them all."

"I said that you could do it, not that you would. But my point is that laws can be changed. People can be changed. Countries can be changed. For the worse or the better. And you don't even have to kill to do it. I bet you changed plenty of your Death Eaters as you saw fit. And you already saw me do it with the Chaos Legion, making them smarter, not just stronger. Part of why I didn't perform at the level you expected from the start of the school year was that I was busy changing mindsets and improving my soldiers. Do you disagree that I accomplished that goal?"

"Where are you going with this, Mr. Silver?"

"Back to my original point," he answered. "I think Magical Britain can change for the better in time, to the point where muggle Britain won't see it as an enemy when the statute breaks down and they learn about our laws. Because by then we'll have changed them. Both sides would be willing to put up with inconveniences to avoid frivolous conflict. Fostering internal resentment and letting it fester might make people want a civil war, but the reverse is true too. Promote a desire for peace and prosperity, or if not that, trade and advancement, and people would want cooperation."

Mr. Tome gazed at him steadily. "If you wish to encourage that outcome, you may do so in your own spare time. I will continue to focus on strength and defense."

Silver opened his mouth to continue the debate, then paused. "Come to think of it, maybe that's exactly what you should be doing. I only ask you don't use fear or resentment or hatred anymore. If you avoid that, I'll promise not to get in the way of your efforts. I'll even throw in my support as the Boy-Who-Lived. But only if you promise to abide by that guideline. I want a strong country too, but I don't want a magical Reich. No loyalty to a glorious leader. No hatred for muggleborns. You said it yourself, it was a political agenda of naked personal ambition."

"Initially," said Mr. Tome. "Eventually, it became more coherent."

"And that's exactly the problem." Silver expelled an exhale, exacerbated. "It's the main reason why Slytherin House has been on the decline. It wasn't just the headmaster's sabotage."

"Hold," said Mr. Tome, raising a hoof. He closed his eyes in thought.

Silver waited patiently. He had meant to hold off on this point until later, but it had come out in the heat of the moment.

After an indeterminate amount of time had passed, the thestral spoke. "I think I want that last part explained. I might be able to guess, but I would hear it in your own words."

"Firsst," said Silver, switching to Parseltongue, "you musst not repeat thiss unlesss I give you leave, or unlesss you think, in your besst judgement, that I would wissh you to ssay it."

"You have my agreement. Sshall sstay between uss for now, until your interesst demandss I sspeak it elssewhere without your prior conssent."

And Silver spoke about the pattern of patheticness he'd seen in Slytherin. He spoke of how he predicted it in advance just from hearing Draco speak at King's Cross. He knew the Dark Lord's political agenda would have resulted in loser people whose hatred for muggleborns is all they have. Those weaklings blame muggleborns instead of themselves for everything wrong in their lives, and that makes them even weaker. Then their children join Slytherin, and that makes Slytherin itself weaker. And then they grow up, have children of their own, and it gets even worse. With the exception of a few insulated nobles, most children will avoid Slytherin because they can see what's there, and that accelerates the issue.

Silver almost didn't bring up the Patronus Charm. He suspected Mr. Tome wouldn't be convinced by certain aspects of that argument. But he at least pointed out the problem of only two Slytherins in the entire school showing up to learn such a rare, powerful, and useful charm.

Silver then closed in on the most important argument.

He spoke of how he hadn't been automatically convinced by Mr. Tome's theory of "Dumbledore is using Snape to sabotage Slytherin House" because the problem went deeper than that. The headmaster didn't create the happenstance of hatred in Slytherin. At worst, he seized an already-existing opportunity created by Voldemort's political agenda.

Most children instinctively avoid hatred, especially the ones intelligent enough to observe it explicitly, to say nothing of parental influence that would bias them against Slytherin before they set foot in Hogwarts. No head of house would be able to undo that.

It may have been exacerbated by Snape, and yes, that might have been by Dumbledore's design. But the initial blame didn't belong at the headmaster's feet. Even Snape believes Dumbledore tried to help Slytherin before giving in to the inevitable.

Throughout his lecture, Silver made sure to regularly use Parseltongue to prove he spoke truthfully.

By the end, Mr. Tome's eyes were abstraction and contemplation.

"I do not say this often," the thestral said slowly, though not reluctantly. In fact, he sounded slightly appreciative. "But I think I have been proven... not to be wrong, but to be not fully correct. Responsibility for that particular occurrence does lie with me, and I did not see it until now."

Silver had to resist the temptation to cheer aloud, though that was easily done with Perfect Occlumency. "Does that mean you'll agree to try and improve attitudes in the powerful and elite?"

Mr. Tome's ever-present frown became slightly deeper. "I shall have to think about this privately. I will make no promises until I have. In the meantime, I suggest you plot out any ideas that might make your plans more manageable on the muggle end. I used my mark to force my old underlings to change their behaviours as I saw fit, and I might be able to do the same for all of Magical Britain, even without a mark. But I cannot force all of muggle Britain to change, and you have a better understanding of their society than I."

"I already have a plot in mind, actually." Which he hadn't planned to mention until Mr. Tome seemed potentially amenable.

"Along what lines?"

Silver took a deep breath. "I was thinking maybe we could tell a story about our magical society to the muggle world. Maybe as a movie, maybe as a book. The wizarding world provides a great setting, and the muggles would all see it as fiction, so it wouldn't violate the statute. Good world-building is hard to do, but easy in our case, and if the story itself is good, it should see success."

"What would that accomplish, other than a template of our abilities and society that their military could reference later?"

"It'd show that we're human? That we're people just like them? We could always write different names for spells, and obscure what we can actually do, or something like that, to keep the advantage of surprise. But the point is that if we write the story right, the readers won't even notice the underlying message. They'll just think it's another fictional world. They'll empathise with the protagonist like they're supposed to, and that should be enough."

"You believe a mere story would be enough to prevent a world war?"

"If the story becomes a cultural phenomenon like the Lord of the Rings? Sure."

Mr. Tome's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

"I'm not saying we should lay all our eggs in this basket," Silver said defensively. "We'll probably be running a bunch of different plots when we get back. All I can say for now is that the statute of secrecy can't last forever, and we should shoot for a soft landing in as many ways as possible. If muggles know about us in advance, even if they just think it's fictional, familiarity will make them less fearful. The smarter ones will be worried about the power balance when the truth comes out no matter what, but they wouldn't be terrified like if some truly alien species came knocking, or if they were completely ignorant about their potential enemy."

"You truly believe that we would see no instances of repeated behaviour from the last time muggles discovered us?"

"Witch burning is universally seen as a horrible part of our past by modern muggles," said Silver. "Thanks largely to a popular American play from the fifties. They'll at least hesitate to go anywhere close to those extremes this time around. Thiss iss true. Assk any educated muggle when we return."

"Hmm... I did not know that. Out of curiosity, supposing I did go along with it, how do you intend to guarantee this plot's success?"

"The Hufflepuff way would be to make the story great enough to stand on its own merits. The Slytherin way would be to persuade people to buy it. The smart way is to do both. Make it great, then make the marketing just as good."

Salesmen get a bad rep because they can sell any product, even bad ones. Even things nobody wants. They can sell ice in a snowstorm and manure in a sewer. But most people appreciate the salesman who introduces them to a genuinely good product.

"With magic, we might not even need traditional advertisement. Compulsion charms, undetectable affinity enchantments, the want-it-need-it spell on this side of the mirror if we tone it down a little. I don't personally endorse their use, but I know you would have thought of them eventually, if not right away, so instead I'll register my opinion that we shouldn't use them."

"Such charms are banned by the ICW in the context of sales," said Mr. Tome. Then he grinned. "But only against fellow wizards and witches. I think this plot has some merit after all. But as you said, it shall by no means be our only one. I've even thought of a few myself, based on your suggestion. But I think we should let this matter bide for now. I must re-examine my own view of Slytherin's recent exploits, given your fresh perspective, before coming to any conclusions. Was there anything else?"

Silver shook his head. There was something else, but he shouldn't bring it up now.

Mr. Tome disappeared from the cavern.

Now Silver let out a cheer.

Silver cast Tempus, noted down how much time until he'd need to spin back, and went back to practicing. He decided to focus on his transfiguration practice – specifically, using his wand to transfigure a life-doll of his pony self into the form of his human self, then resetting the transfiguration and doing it again.

Silver and Memory's own human-magus potions were almost ready, meaning meditation day wouldn't be far off, and this practice would help that process go faster. Mr. Tome would be overseeing everything for safety, and he'd be observing both meditations simultaneously for Time efficiency. They'd be drinking the potion at the same time, but for reasons entirely unrelated to Silver's competitive nature, it would be best if he beat Memory to the finish line of the meditation.

So he practiced.

Chapter 36: Humanmagi

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter 38: The Gala

So far, nopony has suspected anything.

The enchantment upon his glasses had been successfully modified by Keen Eye to hide his newest facial feature. No ponies have treated him any differently, thus they have not noticed. But perhaps that is only because they have not looked as closely as they would in a conversation?

"Shall we be attending the Grand Galloping Gala tomorrow?" he asked aloud.

His employer opened her eyes, awaking from her dream-walking. "I have not decided." So far, she did not seem to notice anything amiss.

"Why not?"

"I... do not know if the ponies of Equestria are ready to..." she trailed off. "No, that feels like an excuse. I suppose I am not precisely aware of the reason."

Riddle tilted his head. His mind made an educated guess.

"Your connection to the Element of Honesty works upon yourself?"

She nodded. "More than anypony else."

"If that is truly the case, why aren't you able to answer my question honestly?"

"I have honestly answered. I do not know the reason. Honesty will tell me if I am lying or telling the truth, even in my own thoughts. It will not tell me the truth outright. I must discover it for myself."

"An evaluation metric, not a search function."

"Correct."

There was a pause.

"Have you ever heard of the game called twenty questions?"

Even after they were done conversing, he was not noticed. The modification to his eyeglass enchantments seems to have been a success.

Riddle had thought that the Grand Galloping Gala would be an interesting change of pace compared to his standard shift. That is why he pursued and persuaded his way to that end.

He was now regretting that he convinced his employer to attend.

"Have your fears been allayed?" he asked.

Her fears that others would fear her, or hate her, or otherwise feel negative emotion towards her from her past as Nightmare Moon. This had been her true reason for hesitancy, drawn out after a series of yes-no questions that eventually allowed them to locate the honest truth.

"I believe that they have," she answered. "It is refreshing to see that high society ponies are no less insufferably ambitious than they were a thousand years ago. Your guess was right. Their desire for advancement occupies their minds far more than my past mistakes. Thank you for convincing me to come."

Was that last line sarcasm?

"I wish I could accept your thanks," said Riddle, taking it at face value. "But to be honest, I am regretting my decision to convince you."

Reading a science paper from Mr. Silver's large collection would have proven more productive than standing around with nothing to do but observe the partygoers. Unfortunately, reading now would be a faux pas. Conversation was the only productive way to pass the time. And even then...

"Boring?" his employer asked in a knowing tone of voice.

"Time-wasting," he nodded. "I would not mind if I could read, but that would be improper."

"We might leave early," his employer offered. "I never did care for this event. Even less now that it is filled with unfamiliar faces. I suspect the same would hold true for those not of noble birth. Or do you see somepony you know?"

"A few." From University. "Though none that I care to speak to. My pupil is meant to arrive at some point tonight, but I look forward to no other conversations."

"Then we shall stay long enough to greet him. I would like to finally see him with my own eyes. His name is Silver Wing, yes?"

"Or Silver Life, depending on how he presents himself."

"Beg pardon?"

"You shall see."

And she did, with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

"Thou art-"

"A unicorn prodigy," Riddle interrupted. "As you and everypony else can clearly see."

She whirled on him, opened her mouth-

"Yes, that was a lie," he whispered. "He would rather not attract unwanted attention. Look at his hair. He is not an official prince. Do not expose him, especially given our company. No doubt some of these ponies would try to exploit him, as they have already attempted to weasel up to you."

Not that Mr. Silver couldn't handle himself. But his employer, who had frozen in place, didn't know that.

"Where is Ms. Memory?" he asked his pupil.

"With Twilight and Celestia," Mr. Silver answered. He shifted from hoof to hoof, as if anxious. "She didn't want to come with when I told her I'd be looking for you." Mr. Silver looked at him with unhidden interest. "You know, when you told me you'd be attending the event in your official capacity, and not the public one, I was expecting something a little more... outlandish."

"Is it not foolish to wear a plain cloak amidst a sea of expensive suits?"

The white pony that looked like a unicorn looked at his posh surroundings. "Maybe. I can think of something that'd be even more outlandish-"

"I did not complete your commission so that you could ruin the advantage of surprise in a prank, Mr. Silver."

"And I paid five thousand bits for it, so it's my choice how I use it."

"What are you two talking about?" asked the princess of night, inserting herself into the conversation.

"Nothing," said Mr. Silver in a tone of childish innocence. "But on the off-chance that a terrifying undead king makes an appearance tonight, can you instruct the guard not to attack him?"

Before she could answer, a commotion caught their attention. Even from the far end of the massive entrance hall, that pink buffoon drew their attention with a ridiculous song and dance.

"You know what?" his employer said. "I think I shall stick around after all. Perhaps this Gala will not be as boring as all the others."

Riddle frowned, and not just at the sight of the appropriately-abashed pink moron. He had been banking on the notion that they'd leave after Mr. Silver arrived. Now...

"In that case, I respectfully request a change in scenery."

"To the gardens it is," his employer agreed.

Mr. Silver followed... until they passed a certain pegasus of orange mane and yellow fur.

"You," she spat.

"Miss Spitfire," Riddle acknowledged, even as he perceived Mr. Silver silently slipping away. "Lovely party, is it not?"

"It was," she hissed.

"Come now," Riddle replied reasonably, giving a charming grin. "Can we not let bygones be bygones?"

"No."

"Shame."

"Where's Silver?" she asked, probably because the child's existence was the only common ground they shared, and even that ground was shaky.

"Not in attendance," lied Riddle. "Though you might encounter his twin brother-"

"What the buck?" came a voice from behind them – a voice Riddle also recognised.

"Language, Mr. Soaring," Riddle reprimanded as he turned around. "Remember your current company."

"Soarin'?" asked a high, childish voice. "Soarin' the Wonderbolt? Wow, I've always wanted to meet a Wonderbolt! My brother told me all about you! Of course, I didn't believe half the things Silver Wing said."

Mr. Soaring's look of wide-eyed astonishment was replaced with one of dawning (but false) comprehension. He puffed out his chest. "You shouldn't. He... probably exaggerated a few things."

"Totally," said Mr. Silver. "I mean, what kind of Wonderbolt can't handle banter? And I know a Wonderbolt would never attack another pony just because she didn't like what he said."

"Yes," said Riddle to Spitfire. "What kind of Wonderbolt would do such a terrible thing?"

"I'm guessing you've taken all his classes?" Mr. Silver did not let Soarin' respond to this intentionally false 'assumption'. "That means you can air-buck? You're so lucky. He hasn't taught me yet, and I'm his brother! I mean, sure, maybe the cloud-walking spell doesn't work like that, but you never know, right? I'm thinking of joining his classes when they start next month, unless I'm too busy. Anyway, it was nice meeting you, but I should catch up to my party now. Bye!"

Soarin' barely managed an "Uh..." by the time he realised the colt talking to him had ended the conversation.

Mr. Silver dashed back to where he'd been, behind Riddle and the night princess. "Sorry, I got distracted," he lied. Then, as if noticing Spitfire for the first time, "Wow! Spitfire? Captain of the Wonderbolts? Is it really you? I'm so honored to meet you!"

"I get the feeling I shall have to ignore my Element constantly this night," sighed the princess right in front of Spitfire.

Thankfully, the stupid mare did not put two and two together. Wearing a fake smile that even a child would be able to notice, Spitfire spoke a pleasantry so as not to disappoint the apparent adoring fan, then quickly excused herself.

"That was fun," said Mr. Silver when the three of them were relatively alone again. He was now practically bouncing in place.

"Indeed," said Riddle.

"You two are awful," said the princess of the night, wearing a warm smile. She gazed at his pupil curiously. "What 'classes' were you referencing?"

"Lessons on pegasus magic," answered Mr. Silver. "A relatively small, but impactful side-project. Not to mention lucrative. Over a hundred pegasi took it. Twenty of them passed all the way to the end, including three Wonderbolts."

"Why would the Wonderbolts take lessons from a colt?"

"Because that colt can do something they couldn't," Mr. Silver shrugged. "And still can't, in the case of those two Wonderbolts. Mr. Tome can demonstrate. He was a teacher's aide. By the way, is there a place I can go to the bathroom?"

His employer's eyes shot to him, then back to his pupil. "Ask a guard to direct you. Before you go, could you answer one last question?"

"Make it quick."

"Did any of the lessons involve shoving unsuspecting students, wing-bound, from a high cloud?"

"No, that was a test, not a lesson. And most of the class failed it the first time around. Sorry, I really gotta go now."

And Mr. Silver dashed off just as the Princess and her fool crossed the threshold that led outside and into the garden.

Mr. Book frowned at the light snowfall, then cast Thermos on himself, followed by the water-repelling charm. Wandlessly, wordlessly, and hornlessly of course.

"Is there any meaning or reasoning behind the Gala's scheduling," he asked as a distraction, "or is the date chosen at random?"

"I will answer that question if you answer a question of mine."

"Very well. But I asked first."

His employer shrugged. "This day has no significance, but 'tis the coldest time of year. Wearing suits and dresses is rarely comfortable elsewhen. Unless... well, that was the reasoning in my day. Now that we have invented... what did they call it? Air tampering?"

"Air conditioning."

"In any case, it may just be tradition at this point. Or maybe Tia wishes the gardens to be part of the party without discomforting our guests." She raised an eyebrow. "Is your curiosity now sated?"

He shrugged.

"Then it is my turn for inquiry. What could you have possibly been testing?"

So his attempts at evasion had failed.

Ah well.

Tact 2: Impress.

Riddle wordlessly cast a small silencing barrier around his lower body, then another spell to keep his mane and cloak unruffled.

"Observe."

A (soundless) buck sent him high into the night sky. Upon his descent, he executed a flawless air cushion.

"It was a test of competence, self-sufficiency, and safety," he explained to a wide-eyed princess and several gaping onlookers. "Anypony who could not slow their fall winglessly – on command and without warning – was not allowed to move on to the final lesson. I would also mention that the final lesson taught what every pegasus wanted to learn in the first place. Therefore, my student successfully motivated his students into learning an emergency safety technique for stopping all momentum mid-air."

The Night Princess did not seem to know what to say.

Riddle considered his next move for a moment. He had just seen another 'nice' thing that might advance his agenda, so he weighed the consequences.

It would be an excellent advertisement to any reluctant or still-bitter pegasi, as well as a perfect endorsement for Mr. Silver's theory. And a spit in the face of his old professors at Canterlot University.

The downsides...

He spoke.

"Lessons are twenty bits an hour for adults. If you wish to attune yourself more closely to your pegasus magic, or brag to your sister that you can do something magical that she cannot, I suggest attending at least the first lesson." At her facial expression, which suggested automatic dismissal of the idea, "I shall be there as well. If nothing else, consider it an opportunity to have my services for a few hours, free of charge and beyond our usual schedule. It is also an opportunity to get out more, which you said you've wanted to do."

"I... shall have to think about it," his employer equivocated. "You have a brilliant student, by the way."

Riddle thought about the compliment for a while, wondering what hidden motives might be at play, but seeing none.

"I do," he answered. The stupidity of youth notwithstanding.

She smiled. "Will you bring him with you tomorrow?"

He frowned. "Why would I do that?"

"'Tis... what did Tia call it? Bring thy youngling to work day? Something like that."

"That has been scheduled to occur a day after the Gala?" he asked.

"My sister wished for everypony, not just the 'lucky' few attendees, to have something to celebrate. Though when I told her she was attempting deception with that claim, she apologised for the habitual political answer and said that she invented the holiday so that she would find something about the week to enjoy. When I said she was still not being fully honest, she thought for a time, then remembered that she originally scheduled them sequentially to make them easier to remember each year. A Gala organised by others, followed by a national holiday proposed by herself, for all parents and children to enjoy."

"I am not Mr. Silver's parent."

"You do not have to be."

"Nor his guardian."

She paused. "Yes... he is living with Ms. Sparkle, the librarian... but then, does he not attend her work every day? I am sure my sister would allow the exception. And if not, it will not be long before I understand why."

"Is your sister ever bothered by your perceptiveness?"

"No. She is grateful for it."

"Most ponies do not like when they are caught in lies."

"My sister is not most ponies."

"What'd I miss?" asked the voice of his student, who was not wearing his terror cloak upon his return, to Riddle's mild surprise.

"Nothing of import," he answered.

The Night Princess said nothing, smiling once again.

But her smile was wiped away when the Element of Generosity made an extremely blatant attempt to woo him. Or rather, to have him woo her. With a rose.

"With respect, Miss Rarity, I am not subject to infatuation, nor am I interested in romance."

The white unicorn seemed to shrink in on herself. "Oh. I'm terribly sorry."

Under different circumstances, he might have been harsher. But the interaction with the Wonderbolts earlier had put him in a mildly pleasant mood.

"Don't be. Hypergamy is a natural instinct." And since he was in a good mood, he thought to ask a question he otherwise might not have seen. "Out of curiosity, and please do not take this as flirting, might I ask you to rate my appearance on a scale from one to ten?"

He should have posed this question long ago, to a random sample of mares. He did not have an instinctive eye for what constituted pony facial attractiveness beyond the basic markers of cleanliness, health, youth, and symmetry.

"Why do you want to know that?" asked the white fake unicorn behind him.

"Do you wish for me to rate your clothes or your... handsomeness?" asked the white actual unicorn in front of him, seemingly grateful that she could make up for her faux pas by proving helpful.

"It is useful information in the realm of politics and persuasion," Riddle answered his pupil first. And for avoiding flirty mares. If the number was too high, he could always lower it. "You should ask it yourself when you are of age. Knowing your number can be a great boon, for reasons beyond the obvious." He turned to Ms. Rarity. "And I would ask that you rate both. But separately. Start with my attire. You are a fashion designer, yes?"

Ms. Rarity nodded, her gaze becoming that of a competent critic. "Do you wish for me to ignore the fact that you should be wearing a suit?"

"Yes. Imagine you encountered me on the streets of Canterlot. Or Ponyville. I wear this every day, and I wish to hear what you make of it."

"In that case, I would say that it suits you perfectly. My own tastes would put it at a seven..."

"But ours puts it at a nine at least," the Night Princess chimed in.

The two mares locked gazes.

"Why?" asked the seamstress.

"Not least because it leaves little to the imagination. The lack of detail on the cloak draws the gaze to the wearer. After far too many fancy suits, tis refreshing to see something so simple yet elegant."

"A difference in taste?" Riddle asked.

Ms. Rarity nodded. "It is..." she glanced behind him. "Utilitarian."

"Yup," said Mr. Silver, who had been the target of her glance. "Think you could have pulled that off?"

Ms. Rarity shook her head. "I admit that if I had made it, I would have added many more designs. But I am told that stallions prefer function over form."

"We do," Riddle confirmed. "On average. Does that mean you find yourself incapable of catering to the needs of your stallion clientele?"

Ms. Rarity nodded, this time reluctantly.

"You know," said Silver, "if your special talent is design, you'll have to fix that if you want to fully live up to your potential."

"I cannot help myself," replied the mare. "I add details automatically."

"Perhaps you could try adding magical details whenever you feel the impulse, instead of physical ones," Riddle suggested. "Things that do not change the form but do change the function. Temperature charms to keep the wearer comfortable. Self-sanitizing charms to keep the garments clean. Stallions do not like wasting time washing clothes. Self-mending charms to ward off wear-and-tear. Size-changing charms so the apparel always adjusts itself to the wearer's body. Space-charmed pockets, as have been added to my own cloak. And Silver's."

The seamstress's eyes widened. Whether due to the ideas, or the implication, he couldn't guess.

His employer's eyes widened as well, and in her case, he did not have to guess whether she'd understood the unspoken inference. "So you did not lose your-" the princess began, then stopped short.

"No. I did not."

Her gaze again looked at his seeming flat back beneath the cloak. "Why hide them?"

"Why indeed," he said. "That is the riddle." He turned his gaze back to Ms. Rarity, who seemed rather confused. "Now, might you rate my..." he pretended to pause in thought. "How did you put it... my handsomeness?"

Ms. Rarity seemed far less willing to share this answer, looking down and mumbling something he did catch, but would not have been able to hear without the assistance of subtle magics.

"Pardon me?"

She looked up, visage varnished by a visible blush. "I said you are a ten."

"Ah," he articulated, pretending to be surprised at the answer he heard the first time around. "Interesting. Do you think other mares might say the same, or do tastes vary enough that they could find me average?"

"Others would say that you are at least an eight," said Ms. Rarity.

"Indeed," nodded the Night Princess.

Riddle inclined his head in thanks for the confirmation.

"Might you rate me?" Ms. Rarity asked, as if the idea had just occurred to her.

"I am afraid I couldn't say," said Riddle. "And no, it is not because I think you are unattractive. Beyond that, I would prefer not to elaborate. Please accept my advice regarding your life's work in place of an answer to that question."

"Thou art somewhere between an eight and a nine," said the Princess of the Night. "Thy dress is, of course, a ten."

The seamstress bowed gratefully, then hurried hastily away.

When she was out of earshot, the Princess of the Night asked, "Is it only to her that you would prefer not to elaborate?"

"No."

His employer looked disappointed, like she wanted to pry and it was taking a great effort not to.

"No, he's not homosexual," said Silver in a surprisingly insightful continuation of the conversation. "At least, I don't think he is-"

"I am not," said Riddle.

"Colts your age should not be aware of such things," said the Princess of the Night to his young pupil.

Mr. Silver shrugged. "It's not personal experience. I've just read a lot of books."

His employer narrowed her gaze at himself.

"No, I did not introduce him to those books," Riddle denied. "Unless I am mistaken, he introduced himself to those books when he was told that young colts should not read them."

"Spot on," said Mr. Silver.

Riddle nodded. "Most adults do not realise such words have the opposite of the intended effect on rebellious younglings."

There was a lull in the conversation, which soon became a full break.

Riddle began roaming the parts of the garden away from the other partygoers, and Princess Luna and Mr. Silver followed him. Eventually, they came upon a series of statues.

One in particular caught his eye. It was, quite literally, straight out of a story.

"This is Discord?" he asked his employer, who should know.

"Yes," she said, frowning heavily at the chaotic being trapped in stone.

"Explain?" asked his pupil.

"I would LOVE to!" came an echoing voice that didn't belong to any of the three ponies present.

"Discord!" his employer hissed, suddenly on guard in a way he had never seen before – wings flared and glowing horn lowered, as if preparing to charge and use it as a spear.

The stone statue did not move. The facial expression did not change in the slightest from its shocked and intrigued expression. Even as words emanated out of the object.

"Selena, darling, how kind of you to pay a visit to your old pal! How'd the Eternal Night business turn out? Was it fun while it lasted?"

"Do not provoke me, Discord."

"Why not? Ya gonna smash me to smithereens? Tear me a new one? Oh! How about you-"

"Relocate you a mile underground?" she offered.

"Hmph! You're no fun. Who're your friends?"

"Do not tell him your true names," the Princess of the Night instructed. "Aliases only."

The two of them exchanged glances.

"I am the Royal Fool," said Riddle.

"And I'm General Chaos."

"Oooh, really? A fool and a general of chaos? I like it! Did you bring these ponies just to liven up my lonely life, Selena?" The stone seemed to vibrate. "Aww, you shouldn't have!"

"We should leave," said the Princess of the Night. "Now."

They did, hearing a "Ta-ta!" before they were out of earshot.

"What was that all about?" Mr. Silver asked when they were back in range of the normal party.

"A sealed horror," Riddle summarised succinctly. "An eldritch god of chaos, rendered inert by the Elements of Harmony. Though apparently less inert than legends claimed."

"A consequence of a thousand years passing, no doubt," his employer spat. "It is in the nature of chaos to corrupt everything, even imprisonment, given enough time."

"Let me get this straight," said Mr. Silver. "A conscious being has been trapped... trapped and aware... for a thousand years in your back garden?"

"He has been trapped for a thousand years," the princess confirmed. "I do not know how long he has been aware. I myself was not aware for my thousand years."

"Why isn't he-"

"This garden is one of the most harmonious places in Equestria," Riddle answered. "The most harmonious, among locations that are under the direct oversight of the crown. When he escapes, the princesses shall know instantly."

"When he escapes?"

"Yes," said the princess. "Do not worry. Prophecy foretells that good shall win in the end."

Neither Mr. Silver nor Riddle found this particularly reassuring.

"Your true name is Selena?" Riddle asked, changing the topic.

"My old name was Selena Lullay," answered his employer. "Ascendancy to royalty changed it. Just as it did yours, Mystery Book."

"Hmm."

"Why did I feel a sudden spike of deception just now?"

Riddle raised an eyebrow. "That is a good question. I didn't even utter a word."

"Silence can be a form of deception. A lack of honesty. You were consciously silent about something important just now."

There was a pause.

"So I was," he sighed. "It has to do with my past. Do I need to remind you of our agreement?"

There was a longer pause.

Now his employer decided to change topics. "What is the Element of Kindness doing with that net?"

"Let me get this straight," said Silver after the brief session of observation and theorising. "Your sister wants to stir up chaos?"

"Not quite chaos," corrected Luna. "I suspect she would call it harmless fun."

"Sounds like chaos to me," said Silver. "What if it helps Discord escape?"

"Then we shall have myself, my sister, and the six Elements of Harmony – all wearing their elements – to deal with him. We are more prepared for Discord than we have ever been. If he is to be released at any time, it would best be done when we are ready. Though as long as the chaos is kept out of his statue's line of sight, he should not be able to use it to escape."

"And you're sure Celestia's actually encouraging it?"

"Yes. I know my sister. She hides it well, but she is aware, and she is amused. I am surprised, to be honest. She would not have done this a thousand years ago."

For a brief instant, Silver almost spoke his next sentence. He almost asked, 'Do you think your sister would mind if we bumped it up a notch?'

By which he would have meant an undead king's 'invasion'.

But something halted his tongue.

Maybe it was experience, or maybe it was the realisation that Mr. Tome, standing not five paces away, would have been disappointed if he didn't think about it first.

Alwayss assk after other'ss advantage. Next learn to alwayss assk after your own.

Other than 'fun', messing with the Gala didn't offer any advantage. None that he could see.

And it came with many risks that mere 'fun' does not outweigh. There are guards, and somepony might get hurt. He wasn't a strong enough battlemage to prevent battlefield accidents like Mr. Tome could, and he wasn't sure that Mr. Tome would help even if there was advantage to be gained. Even on the off chance everything went perfectly, he would have needlessly revealed his terror cloak to Equestria before whatever day he might need it.

And now that he was thinking along these lines, if he suddenly did find a potential advantage that outweighed all risks and costs, he was certain the Sorting Hat would have called them rationalisations to do something he already wanted to do.

And so, with only a small twinge of detachment pain, he let go of the beautiful yet impractical idea and turned his attention back to the conversation at hand.

"-martial programs taken by aspiring guards. I am taking one myself, and I can say with certainty that there is room for improvement."

"There is always room for improvement," said Princess Luna. "Do you believe it is worth the time and money and effort to overhaul the program, just to see that improvement?"

"No," said Mr. Tome. "I am simply pointing out that accreditation is not always a sufficient standard for hiring."

Silver interjected at this point, saying something intelligent, and ignoring the temptation to have fun at the expense and terror of others.

Author's Note

A/N: Chapter finish. That last bit was symbolic of one of the most painful parts of the writing process – discarding scenes that you're attached to.

I noticed this story briefly appeared on the front page of the website when I uploaded the last chapter. What? This is a responsibility now? I didn't sign up for this.

Chapter 40: A Fair Exchange of Favours

The nobles were off to bed, and much of the food gone, by the time Luna and her fool arrived at dinner.

"Have things been mended?" Celestia asked her sister, consciously ignoring the gray pony by her side.

"Yes," answered Luna, though her attention seemed elsewhere. Distant. And not on the new spell Celestia had just learned and was currently maintaining either.

"You still seem unsettled," Celestia observed.

"I am recovering from shock," her sister replied. "It shall pass."

Her sister had been put into a state of shock? Celestia's gaze narrowed at the only plausible suspect.

"Not a negative shock, I think," said Riddle Tome. His gaze was on her Patronus, though it had briefly flicked to Silver, whose hair was perfectly normal at the moment.

"It was not," her sister confirmed her fool's words. "Just a surprising one."

"I would ask if you two had just turned out to be long-lost cousins," said Silver Wing, the only other pony at the table. "If I didn't already know better. Is your work always like this?"

"No," said Celestia, her sister, and her fool all at once, as two of those three ponies sat down to dine.

"You taught her your spell?" Riddle Tome asked his student as he took out his standard packets of brown powder.

"Yup. Didn't even need any dark creatures to do it. Did you know that Princess Celestia arranged for ponies to question their beliefs about the afterlife centuries ago, and now most ponies don't believe in one?"

"Tia, what?" her sister asked, head snapping to face her.

Riddle stared as well, raising an eyebrow. This was, perhaps, the first time he ever seemed impressed by her. Celestia did not know how to feel about it.

She nodded slowly. She had not explained in-depth earlier, but now that her sister was here...

"It came to a head when a certain occupation became prominent in Equestria," she began. "The occupation of afterlife medium. I... well, at first I thought it provided a level of comfort to believe that a loved one could speak to you, even if it was not true." Her expression darkened, and her Patronus wavered. "A particularly nasty and greedy pony disabused me of that notion. I decided that I did not want desperate ponies wasting their last bits to hear a charlatan's lies."

"And the solution was to rid your subjects of wishful thinking about death?" Riddle Tome asked curiously.

"Not right away," she answered. "First I went after the individual tricksters. But that drove them underground. I tried other things as well, but I eventually realized the source of the problem lied in an emotionally exploitable belief system. And I did not rid them of it, I simply let it be known that I did not believe it myself. That was more than enough, in the timespan of centuries."

"Is the belief in the afterlife relative to the spell you are casting?" Riddle asked her.

"I... do not know." She turned to face the one who had taught her. "You asked me beforehand, then mentioned it afterwards. Is it relevant?"

"It might be," Silver shrugged. "Would you like to learn how to use it to send messages?"

"Hm... I think I can guess." She turned to face the manifestation of her happy thoughts and, desiring to spread the good news, told it, "Please ask Twilight if she likes the new spell her young ward has just taught me."

Her Patronus left, seeming to fly away even as it vanished.

"Standard practice is to instruct it to wait until the target is alone or not doing anything important, especially if it's a private message," Silver pointed out. "Wouldn't want to interrupt spell research. But I don't think Twilight had that on tonight's schedule."

"There are standard practices to a spell you invented?" Celestia asked.

"Whoever said I invented it?" Silver asked innocently.

"You did."

"Did I? Were those my exact words?"

Celestia paused. She didn't remember his exact words. This colt and his mentor will be the death of her. Death by nitpicking.

"That is how you contacted my fool?" her sister asked the young alicorn.

"Yup."

"Could you teach me to cast it as well?"

"So long as it's just the two of us in the room. Or three, I guess. Mr. Tome already knows I'm an alicorn. But nopony else can watch whenever I teach it."

"We shall have privacy in my court."

"How does that work? I thought courts were filled with nobles."

"Mine is not."

The sound of Twilight Sparkle's voice shrieking in surprise filled the room when her Patronus reappeared. "Princess Celestia!" she shouted. "Huh? What? Where are you, princess? Is this a new spell?"

Before Celestia could respond with another comment, the message continued. "Looks like it!" said the voice of the Element of Laughter. "Hi Princesses! Hi Silver! Hi Mr. Meany Pants! How's the new horn?"

Celestia heard a coughing noise to her right, then turned to see Mr. Tome glaring at her spell, his brown drink dribbling from his chin.

"You have a..." she heard Silver's voice begin asking a question, then trail off. "No, I guess that makes sense."

Celestia turned to Mr. Tome as well.

She saw no horn.

She cast an anti-illusion spell on her eyes. She still saw no horn, but she saw that a small circle of fur on his forehead was illusion. She also saw that his glasses produced a highly detailed illusion, affecting his eyes and teeth and the small forehead patch.

That would have been enough... but just to be sure, she cast a magic-perception spell as well. She perceived a spell of unknown magic overlapping the illusion spell, just above it.

She also saw that his entire cloak was highly magical. His entire being was highly magical. Far more than any pony she'd ever seen, besides herself and her sister and Starswirl. Even Cadence was not so powerful. He was on par with Twilight at least. Probably stronger.

"When were you going to tell me?" she asked.

"Whenever you became intelligent enough to imagine the possibility and ask the direct question in the presence of your sister," he answered. "Never, in other words. That pink buffoon is beyond annoying." He turned to face her Patronus. "Tell her I find my new horn marvelous. I have learned all sorts of interesting jinxes and hexes, and I am looking for deserving targets. Thank you for volunteering."

The Patronus did not disappear.

"You think I would let my spell deliver that message?" Celestia asked the fool. She turned to it. "Tell Twilight that it is indeed a new spell, taught to me by her ward."

The ward in question spoke up. "And tell Twilight I'm more than willing to teach it to her later, given certain conditions. Also, ask her if she's currently having a sleepover or something."

Now her Patronus disappeared.

"Thank you for not relaying my message," Mr. Tome said, his tones sounding completely genuinely. "Jinxes work so much better when the target is unsuspecting."

"When did you become an alicorn?" Celestia asked, hoping to annoy him as much as he annoys her.

"An excellent question."

...

"Are you going to answer it?"

"No."

Silver asked, "Can I guess?"

"No."

...

"Not in our current company," Mr. Tome added.

The Patronus returned, along with Twilight's voice. "Yes, we're having a sleepover. Ready girls?"

There was a brief pause, then, "HI PRINCESSES!" shouted six voices. "HI SILVER!" they added, sounding less synchronised the second time.

"I'd love to learn the spell, Silver," Twilight's voice added at the end. "Could you teach Rarity too?"

Celestia looked at Silver, who had made her promise not to speak of the spell with anyone who did not already know it, and to teach it to no one else without his permission.

"Probably not," said Silver. "It's... classified."

"Speaking of classified," Mr. Tome began as the Patronus disappeared once again. "I am about to speak of something sensitive. May I erect a silencing barrier? It must not be overheard, even by the guard."

Shining Armor, currently in attendance by request of Twilight (to guard Silver), stepped forward-

"Stand down, Shining Armour," her sister spoke in the royal Canterlot voice, as she always did when speaking with employees and peers whom she perceived were not her equal. "If our advisor says thou must not hear it, then thou must not hear it."

Shining Armor turned to face-

"She is your princess too," Celestia informed him. "If she gives you an order, you do not question it by asking me for confirmation."

Celestia did not need that barrier coming between her and Luna again. She has had a thousand years to think of her many mistakes, and she would not repeat that one.

The captain of the guard stepped back again, looking shocked (Celestia rarely used that tone with anypony, let alone her protectors) and ashamed. "I... I'm sorry, princess."

"It is my sister who deserves the apology," Celestia informed him. "Not I."

"I'm sorry, Princess Luna."

"Do not forget we can detect honesty, Shining Armor. It is good thou art willing to say the words, but refrain from speaking them again until thou means them as much as thou meant them for our sister."

He did not respond, only bowing his head.

"Better."

Celestia, whose magic perception spell had never ended, noticed the blur of a ward spring into existence around the four ponies at the table.

"There is the matter of a certain pair of favours," Mr. Tome began now that they were enshrouded in and by silence, "and a certain way in which I have decided they shall be repaid."

Celestia looked to her sister. She saw apprehension in Luna's features. This did not bode well.

"How?" she asked.

"There is a ritual-"

"No," said Celestia at once. "No sacrificial rituals may be performed in Equestria. If you do not know that law, it is time you learned."

"As part of the favour you said you'd grant if I helped your sister leave her room," he said just as sternly, "you will hear out the terms, no matter how much you do not want to. I did not want your message, and yet I received it. You will now listen to mine."

Celestia's Patronus returned at this time, but she hardly paid attention to it. It was wavering wildly, and she ultimately decided to tell it to tell Twilight that they should speak in pony later – a relatively happy thought – then dismiss itself once the message was delivered.

"Speak," said her sister to her fool, a frown on her face.

"As I was saying, there is a ritual called the Unbreakable Vow."

"I have not heard of that ritual," said Celestia.

"Did you not just say that rituals are forbidden within this country's borders?" he asked. "Rules for thee and not for me, I presume?"

"Rituals may not be performed," Celestia said, not dignifying his presumption with denial. "A select few may know about them."

"Whatever you say."

Luna looked about to reply-

"I suspect she speaks true," Riddle cut her off, "but I am not in the mood to be charitable. It is still the case that she is allowed to know of rituals, but others are not. In any case, the Unbreakable Vow was invented beyond this country's borders, so you would not know about it. Its purpose is exactly as the name would suggest."

"Like magical contracts?" Luna asked.

Riddle shook his head. "Magical contracts can be broken with enough effort. Unbreakable Vows are more powerful, as implied by the fact that they are made by ritual magic. They work on a much deeper level than a piece of paper."

"What... are the sacrifices?" Celestia asked, even though she really did not want to ask.

"Three sacrifices are required for the dread act of binding a pony's will for all time," Riddle Tome lectured. "First, the one who makes the Vow must be a pony who could have chosen to abide by the terms, and sacrifices the potential for choice. Mr. Silver has already consented to make this sacrifice, as have I and Ms. Memory."

"Not just consented," Silver spoke up. "I'd prefer to be bound."

"You already know of this?" Celestia asked the young colt, who should be far too young to know about ritual magic... and yet is old enough to make original discoveries in pegasus magic. "And of rituals in general?"

"In depth," Silver nodded. "I learned the fundamental principles of ritual magic outside Equestria, so your laws didn't apply."

She gave a mental sigh.

"Why not just write up a renewable contract instead of performing a ritual?" asked Luna, eyebrows furrowed.

"We already have," Silver answered. "But it won't last forever. The magic isn't quite as strong or permanent as a Vow. And if the contract gets destroyed, there goes the bindings."

The fool nodded. "As he says. Let us get back to the sacrifices. The Vower sacrifices their free will about the Vow's contents. The one who receives the Vow must be one who could have come to trust the vower, but relinquishes that potential for trust. I recommend a random guard be chosen to fulfill that purpose. An intelligent one. Or a lawyer. A Vow's intent is also binding, and ours shall not be simple to comprehend. Whomever you choose must be smart enough to follow complex language clauses as they are spoken."

"Why don't you receive the Vow?" asked Celestia. "If you are going so far as to demand it."

"I will never be capable of receiving a Vow," he explained. "I have no trust to sacrifice." He seemed to pause, and not because Luna had gasped at his words. "Are the sacrifices thus far too 'dark' to abide in your borders?" he asked the country's ruler.

Celestia was frowning heavily. "If the Vower is willing, as he seems to be, I might permit the first. But speak more of the sacrificed trust. If a trusting pony made that sacrifice, would they be able to trust ever again?"

"Yes," said Mr. Tome. "And even if that were not the case, if you are thinking that theory explains my lack of trust, you are mistaken. I have never received a Vow before."

"Then how does it work?" she asked.

"A Vow's receiver sacrifices the potential for trusting that one particular pony on that one particular issue. I am told that those who receive a Vow often have trouble trusting the Vower about other matters after the fact. They sometimes cannot receive more Vows from a pony once they have sacrificed their trust for that pony the first time. But it does not affect their trust for any other ponies. Not in an overt, magical way. The decision to demand a Vow might impact a pony's psychology, but that would only apply if the receiver was the one who initially demanded the Vow. Yours truly is more likely to be affected in this case, and I already trust no one, so it works out in the end. A husband who sacrifices his trust for his wife by forcing her to Vow faithfulness is not the same as a naturally naive pony receiving a Vow from somepony they had never met before that day. We can bypass the consequences of sacrificed trust through the second scenario. If a random guard is ordered by his or her Princess to accept the Vow, and they do it as a matter of duty instead of personal investment in the issue at hand, their trusting nature should not be affected. Even less if it is a stallion who already has experience mistrusting others. Perhaps a pony who regularly interviews lying criminals."

"And if we do not find reassuring your speculation about whom we should choose and why?"

"I do not mind paying bits to the receiver for the inconvenience, but as point of fact, this part of the ritual is the least important. I can recall no stories of serious problems ever coming from sacrificed trust. I only engaged in speculation because my curiosity got the better of me. This is the first time I have ever thought so closely about that aspect of the ritual. The first and third sacrifices are often the ones that inspire hesitancy and consideration, not the second."

Celestia and her sister exchanged a glance. He's been honest so far.

"What is the third sacrifice?" Luna asked.

"The one who seals the ritual, the enforcer, permanently sacrifices a portion of their magic to bind the Vow forever."

"No," said Celestia at once.

"Not even unicorn criminals?" Riddle countered with equal speed. "They could be offered lighter sentences in exchange for losing a portion of their magic."

"So that's-" Silver began, then cut himself off. He and his mentor locked gazes, and something seemed to pass between them.

"Yes," Mr. Tome said. "It is." He turned to face Celestia again. "Less disposable magic would also make it harder for former criminals to engage in future criminal behaviour. A certain near-death experience and its perpetrator come to mind."

"That last part was not honest," her sister observed.

"Fine. It was not a near-death experience for me. It would have been for anypony else. Especially typical non-unicorns. The point stands that a pony who recklessly endangers the life of another pony out of anger by casting a potentially lethal spell should perhaps not have enough magic to engage in that folly again."

"You are doing this for revenge against Blueblood?" Celestia asked, eyes narrowing.

"That would be a wonderful side-benefit," he said with a grin. "But no. I am doing this for the vow itself. For the purpose of the world's safety. Besides, I doubt that idiot would be capable of comprehending the conditions of the Vow. Other recently imprisoned nobles might serve better. Though if you would rather not help criminals receive lighter sentences, simultaneously making Equestria a safer place in the process, the standard practice of Unbreakable Vows is to offer large amounts of financial compensation to the binder. I would not mind paying that either."

"Riddle Tome..." her sister said slowly. "If you are offering to cover all the expenses yourself, what precisely are you proposing we do to repay our favours?"

"Your and your sister's favours shall be repaid thus: in exchange for her demand that I return to this palace as soon as possible and your demand that I do something I would rather not do, you will arrange and allow this Vow to be made as soon as possible. Thrice. One for Mr. Silver, one for Ms. Memory, and one for myself. All of the same content. I will describe the meaning and intent of the Vows when the time comes to bind them. I do not think you will object when you hear it."

There was a stressed pause.

Celestia sat back in her chair, thinking about a thing she would rather not think about. Considering a thing she would rather not consider. There was one last thing she had to ask. "What did you mean when you said this is for the safety of the world?"

The gray pony's student chimed in again. "I've been prophesied to save and/or destroy the world," Silver said, the casual tone not at all matching the dreadful claim that would have produced an equally dreadful silence, if not for his continued speech. "We'd like to make sure it becomes the 'save' part, so the Vow's basic premise is that I'll swear not to engage in stupid behaviour that might destroy the world. Since Mr. Tome and Memory are alicorns, and since they're my friends, they might be involved in the future described by the prophecy. That's why they're taking the same Vow."

There was another one of those stressed pauses.

"Save and or destroy?" Celestia eventually asked. "It could be either?"

Silver nodded. "It could be both."

"Both?" her sister inquired incredulously. "How could it be both?"

"Destroy the physical planet, save the occupants," Silver explained. "That's probably how it'll turn out in the end. Not that I want to turn out that way. I'll do everything in my power to stop it. But it is prophecy, and my mind thinks that's the most likely outcome in the long run."

"How do you think you could enact destruction on that scale?"

"Not intentionally," Silver answered. "Definitely not intentionally, unless there's a scenario I haven't imagined. It could just be that I watch the world end without saving it."

"Why would you not try to save it?"

"Because it's about to die anyway? And it'd be more merciful than putting it on life preserve? Or maybe just too costly. If you had to choose between the world or its ponies, which would you choose?"

Her mind was forced to take a brief break to think about this. The answer was obvious, but...

"Why do you believe the world will die?"

"Because I intend to live a long time," answered the alicorn. "Do you think the planet will last forever? Certain signs suggest that it won't, at least on the scale of millions of years."

Celestia did not know how to answer that question. She had never thought of that question. In all her centuries, she had never thought to ask about the infinite – the ultimate fate of her country and planet and ponies.

She had decided that she would stop any evils from destroying her country. She had not considered that everything she seeks to protect might eventually end of its own accord.

Death by old age is nearly impossible to prevent. Her repeated failures at encouraging ascendency in the past had convinced her to stop trying to force the exceptions into existence. But to think that death by old age could happen to the planet itself...

She had never thought to take the concept of 'all ponies eventually die, minus a few rare exceptions' and extrapolate it to everything else.

Even if she had thought in those terms, she might not have believed she could stop it, given her own experiences of failure on the smaller scale of individual ponies.

She certainly would not have imagined another pony taking it upon himself to force the exceptional circumstance of infinity upon a world that would otherwise die – to use magic to force life to continue despite nature demanding otherwise.

Now that she has thought if it, she could see how such an ambition, while noble, would come with a great deal of risk.

"On the other hoof," Silver continued, "I might make a stupid mistake that leads to the destruction of the world. Either directly, or in a roundabout way. Teaching spells to ponies who aren't ready for them might just do it, for example. Which is why it's very important to keep the knowledge of how to cast the spell I just taught you a secret. Or something similar to that. If I take this Vow, I won't be allowed to rationalise stupidity on a planetary scale, no matter how good my intentions might be."

Mr. Tome cut in at this point. "The good intentions are part of the problem, Mr. Silver."

The colt sighed. "I know."

Celestia glanced at her sister to confirm that they'd been honest thus far.

She then thought about everything she had learned. She thought about her laws, and why she made them.

She thought about what these two ponies would do if she did enforce them.

She imagined these two ponies leaving, going to their mysterious homeland, a land of less supervision – less safety – to carry out this dangerous and significant bit of magic regardless of her decision.

She thought of trying to stop them from doing that as well.

She thought of the snapped twig.

There was a long, final silence.

"Very well," she forced herself to say. "Shining Armor shall receive the Vow, I think. For Silver and Memory, at least. We may have to spend time searching for your Vow's receiver."

The distrusting, untrustworthy fool nodded acceptance. "Keen Eye from Canterlot University might do. And the enforcer?"

"Might take time," Celestia said uncomfortably.

"Do not dally," Riddle Tome commanded. "This is best done as soon as possible, given the stakes. I returned to what I thought was a dangerous situation in ten minutes. I solved the comparatively minor problem of emotional distress in twenty. Thirty minutes total, to do as you both requested. Keeping in mind that the future of Equestria might be at stake, how long will it take to repay the favours?"

"How long do you think it should take?" his pupil interjected.

"I think your Vow should be bound before the end of my shift," Mr. Tome answered. "Seven hours-"

"Is hardly enough time!" Celestia snapped. "Decisions about permanently sacrificing magic-"

"Could be made in seconds, under the right circumstances-"

"But not these circumstances-"

"How do these circumstances not warrant haste?"

"They clearly have not warranted haste for the months you have been here!"

"I have not had a means to do this for those months! I knew of your laws from the beginning. You would have prevented it. You would not have listened. Not without the circumstances that arose this day forcing your hoof. Say otherwise and let your sister tell me you are lying, or be silent about my lack of haste!"

The two ponies had raised their voices, but not gone so far as to shout. They were both breathing deeply, gazes locked.

"Not to mention my lack of horn," Silver added into the short silence. "And his. I assume it's needed for the ritual?"

"Yes," said Mr. Tome, voice still containing trace amounts of lingering emotion. "It might be possible for pegasi to make Vows with crossed wings, and earth ponies with crossed hooves. Or it might not be. I had been considering we try it that way until December. I knew from the start that horns would work. Though we should still have a small, insignificant Vow be sworn by somepony else as a test, just in case something does go wrong."

"You have not even tested it?!"

"Of course I have," he snapped. "Just not using unicorn horns."

"And you're confident nothing will go wrong if we do use horns?" she asked with extreme skepticism.

"I am," he sneered. "So are you. If you are truly familiar with ritual magic despite your rule, you should have perceived that the sacrifices are perfectly appropriate for the spell's purpose. More so than most rituals, in fact."

She did. That was the horrible part. She could see exactly how the principles fit together, how the sacrifices matched the power drawn from them.

This ritual is... she hates to even think the word, but the ritual is cleaner than all the other rituals she knows about. It wastes nothing. It is perfectly efficient for its purpose.

The purpose of binding a pony's will forever.

What had she just agreed to?

Chapter 41: The Unbreakable Vow, and a Hint of Revenge

"Why are you permitting this?" Shining Armor demanded after Princess Celestia had described to him what Mr. Tome intended to do. "You're violating your own laws, Princess!"

"I know that." Celestia paused for a moment, perhaps to imagine a way to convince the incredulous stallion. "Captain Armor," she eventually spoke. "When you were once ordered, however wrongly, to arrest that pony-" she tilted her head at Mr. Tome, who was watching curiously, "-what was the end result?"

"He... evaded arrest," the Captain of the Royal Guard said reluctantly.

"He effortlessly escaped," Princess Celestia said. "Even as he explained what he was doing, undermined your position, and declared his intentions to continue undermining royal authority," she added precisely. "He vanished, and you still do not know how. Correct?"

The Captain nodded, looking even more reluctant.

"Now suppose you attempted to arrest him again," Celestia proposed. "What do you think would happen?"

"I wouldn't let him get away again," Shining Armor declared. Though he didn't quite sound like he believed what he said. He sounded like he was reading from the script of what the Captain of the Royal Guard was supposed to say when his Princess asks a question about his competence.

"Oh really?" Celestia asked, sounding amused. "Very well. If you wish to attempt to arrest him, rightly this time, for conspiracy to perform a ritual, you may do so. I will not stop you from carrying out your duty."

Shining Armor stared at his majesty in... not quite confusion, Riddle Tome thought. It was the expression of a pony who wavered on a decision, the correct choice not clear in the slightest.

The Royal Captain turned to look at the Royal Fool. He even took a hesitant step forward, his mind still not made up.

Mr. Tome took out a stick from his robes and inspected it casually.

Shining Armor stopped approaching. "Princess, I might not be able to arrest him," he admitted, turning to his liege and asking, "But couldn't you?"

Princess Celestia laughed slightly. "You overestimate me, Shining."

The guard captain stared in shock at the most powerful pony in Equestria.

"False," Mr. Tome refuted. "He estimates you well enough. His estimation of me, however, is sorely lacking."

Shining Armor didn't seem to know how to respond to that either.

"Heed his words," Princess Celestia said seriously, then sighed wearily. "What you are seeing, Captain Armor, is an extremely rare kind of pony. He has the will, the drive, and the ability to enact this ritual regardless of our reservations. He will flee beyond our borders if he must, to lands without our laws. We would not be able to stop his departure, as he has already demonstrated. Even still, I am only allowing him to carry out this ritual here because my sister and I owe him a favor, and because the Unbreakable Vow's sacrifices are barely tolerable. I will, of course, intervene if the Vow's terms are intolerable. But he has honestly assured my sister that we will abide them, and even think them sensible. I believe it is wisest to allow him to conduct the ritual under our supervision, where we might intervene if it seems truly dark. But perhaps I am mistaken. Given what you know of him, and what you do not know, what do you believe is the wisest course of action, Captain?"

Shining Armor was silent for a long time. "I think the law must be obeyed," he said after a time. "Especially by the one who made them."

"I agree," Celestia spoke sadly. "Perhaps it is time to reexamine those old laws," she said. "The Unbreakable Vow is the first... neutral ritual I have ever encountered. It requires dread sacrifices, but also the consent of all parties involved, and I could see the end result being worth it. Suppose an addict wished to kick their terrible habit, but couldn't. Suppose their family wished to help. Suppose they all agreed to use this ritual. A concerned mother might willingly sacrifice a portion of her magic to ensure her son does not die a young death, and a concerned father might be willing to sacrifice his trust if it meant his son is sure to change for the better. I can see positive uses for this ritual, which is more than I can say for any other ritual I've ever comprehended."

"I know many rituals that could be used sensibly," Mr. Tome commented. "You forbade them in simple ignorance. I can understand how you could have enacted a blanket ban if you did not have proper context, but updating on new information is also part of the role of a leader."

It took a bit more legal discussion for Shining Armor to finally agree to play his part, unhappy as he was about it.

But he did eventually agree.

The first test, the initial practice Vow, would be bound by Blueblood, received by Blueblood's father, and sworn by Blueblood's cousin, all three of whom had been sitting in prison for increasingly severe crimes.

Blueblood would be the binder because the former prince had little time left in his six-month sentence. An extremely simple Vow should take almost no magic at all, and he was extremely impatient. He didn't care that he was sacrificing a small fraction of his magic to get out early.

Blueblood's father, Blueblood Senior, would be the receiver. The elderly stallion claims that his nephew would never do any of the ridiculous things he'd been accused of doing, despite the former Element of Honesty's personal interrogation, and so he obviously had trust to sacrifice. The deal did not reduce his official jail time, but would instead allow him to go on parole.

Blueblood's cousin, Newblood, would be swearing the Vow because his crimes had been some of the most heinous out of all the nobles, and Celestia's proposed 'I swear not to commit any more crimes' should take little magic.

The strength of magic required to bind a Vow depends on the number of clauses, not the breadth of action to be prevented or enforced. A Vow that prevents all independent action henceforth would not take as much magic to bind as a Vow that prevents standing on one hoof and rubbing your head while patting your stomach and reciting the alphabet.

Princess Celestia oversaw all proceedings, as did Princess Luna. They brought out a magic scanner to measure Blueblood's magic. The first scan would be compared to a second one after the deed was done to see how much had been sacrificed. This had been Mr. Silver's suggestion.

The princesses also readied a series of tests to see the extent of 'damage' the sacrifices would do to each pony. They even readied a few non-inmate family members of Blueblood Senior, to see if the elder stallion could still trust them after receiving the Vow. Those had both been Celestia's ideas.

Once everything had been established, the three ponies enacted the ritual as described by Mr. Tome. The test Vow seemed to take, but Blueblood claimed he had not noticed a dip in his magic. That was when the rest of the tests were performed.

First, various temptations had been set before Newblood, including Mr. Tome dropping his pouch of money without seeming to notice he'd dropped it. Newblood had returned it to him instead of attempting to steal it. But such temptations had been imagined by Celestia and Luna. Mr. Tome simply asked the former noble a few specific questions outright, and the former Element of Honesty confirmed that he answered them truly. He really couldn't commit crimes anymore.

Blueblood Senior seemed to be able to trust the rest of his family, and another few questions confirmed that he actually still trusted them. He no longer trusted his nephew, however, and Celestia didn't seem to see this as a bad thing.

Finally, the magical scanner confirmed that former prince Blueblood had indeed lost a tiny fraction of his magic. Around 1-2% of it.

Mr. Tome had been expecting that as a possibility, given that ponies have more magic than humans, even if they hardly put it to good use. Binding that Vow would have taken 5% of a human wizard's magic – or enough to be noticed at the very least.

Once all this had been done, Celestia confirmed that they could move on to Silver's Vow. But before they could so much as dismiss the formerly noble, currently celebrating family...

"A thought occurs to me," Mr. Tome spoke in a calmly observant voice, addressing Princess Celestia. Suppressing his emotions of anticipation and amusement came as easily to him as breathing. "You arrested and convicted Blueblood for the crime of assault, but nothing else. The maid's testimony had proven he acted legally, if not morally, in their tryst. Her comments about her co-workers prompted the series of interrogations into the nobility, but I can't recall hearing that you returned to Blueblood to interrogate him as you did them. Was it simply that you never got around to it?"

He had seemed to speak at a normal volume, but his voice had reached Blueblood. If the idiot ponce had noticed his subtle ventriloquism charm, he didn't say. Instead, the white unicorn practically shouted, "Who do you think you are?" across the room.

"I am Prince Riddle Tome," replied the thestral, to the utter shock of the ponies that had been in prison and were not up to speed in current affairs.

But then again, nopony could have been up to speed on that score. He was not an official prince, not even in title like Blueblood had been. He was merely an anonymous alicorn. But both princesses knew the truth of his species now and couldn't refute the claim as he made it.

Blueblood didn't know that either. Didn't know he was an alicorn. Mr. Tome had his horn hidden at the moment. "Prince" Blueblood hadn't been an alicorn either, so it clearly wasn't a prerequisite for the title. Blueblood now probably thinks he'd been replaced. By an earth pony.

He kept the grin entirely internal.

"And you should learn your place," Riddle Tome continued, addressing Blueblood as the highest of kings might address the lowest of his subjects, if that subject were both dishonest and poor. "You are lucky you are even here. Us nobles have better things to do than entertain peasants." He finished with a sneer. He looked down his nose at the formerly noble pony who had said something similar during their last conversation, months ago.

There was a look of rage on Blueblood's face, so incandescent that his mane would have caught fire if he were a human wizard.

"Continue speaking like that," said Celestia to Riddle, "and you are liable to lose your nobility."

Mr. Tome allowed his grin to reach his lips. "I thought you might say that. Does that mean you failed to recognise my words as the quote that they were?"

There was a brief pause during which Celestia's eyebrows furrowed, then widened a small fraction-

"I have no intention of speaking in that manner in the future," continued Riddle. "It's rather ironic that I'm truly not the kind of pony to lord a mere title over another. But in this one case, forgive me if I couldn't resist."

Lord accomplishments and merit over others? Absolutely. Flaunt a mere title, bestowed upon him by someone else? Not quite his style, nor his temptation.

Besides, Rule 2: Don't brag.

He'd only reference titles for practical purposes, like if he needed an order to be followed, or for exceptional circumstances like this one.

"I was only imitating your company, after all," he egged on as Blueblood frothed on. "If you would rather I not act like your precious nobility, perhaps you should reprimand them for modeling the behaviour in the first place. And I noticed that you never answered my question. Do you intend to interrogate Blueblood or not?"

Hiding his post-victory schadenfreude was slightly more difficult than hiding his initial amusement, given the sheer strength of emotion he was suppressing while his employer asked the former prince a few pointed questions. But wearing the mask still came naturally, if not quite as easily as breathing. More like running than breathing – it was learned, active behaviour. It was only easy thanks to practice and effort.

His employer commented on his massive amount of deception, and he was beginning to wonder if she could truly detect dishonesty specifically, or if she only detected suppressed emotion.

Mr. Silver, who had watched the proceedings from behind a one-way, spell-reinforced barrier, informed Mr. Tome afterwards (through Legilimency) that he didn't think it had been a wise move, calling out Blueblood like that. And not just because Mr. Silver had a moral qualm about things that remind him of the secret police. He said that Mr. Tome shouldn't encourage the idea of rooting through people's pasts for crime, given his own past.

Mr. Tome mentally replied that his own past was already free from their scrutiny, and added that this style of inquisition hadn't been his idea. It had been Celestia's, at her sister's prompting. He was merely exploiting something that was already there, as Dumbledore had done with Snape.

That was when Mr. Silver marched over to Celestia and began lecturing her about governmental overreach, due process, and the presumption of innocence. Even if you do have magical ways to verify criminality, that doesn't mean it's right to use them without just cause. His employer had gotten an earful as well.

He asked them if they were really fine with entering a pony's home in the middle of the night, rooting through their memories for evidence of wrongdoing, and hauling them off to prison if anything was found. What if a pony had violated only recently-changed laws, or laws most ponies don't know about?

"Find me the pony, and I will find you the crime," Mr. Silver said, a quote Mr. Tome recognised from the most ruthless and long-standing secret police chief in Joseph Stalin's rule of Soviet Russia, "is not the policy of a good government."

Blueblood had been allowed to go in the end, although technically he had been sentenced again, and technically he was on parole.

Mr. Tome wasn't particularly bothered by that outcome. The look on his face had been more than enough.

Three ponies were brought into Night Court later that night for the true Vow.

Three ponies were told what would happen.

Two ponies had trouble keeping up.

"Did you comprehend that, Shining Armor, Gilded Horn, Mr. Silver?" Riddle Tome asked after explaining all the constraints. "The intent of an Unbreakable Vow is also binding, and you three must share an understanding of its meaning. Do you?"

"I got it," said Silver.

"I... think so," said Shining Armor.

"I'm not sure," said Gilded Horn, a non-noble criminal who had been retrieved by Celestia to bind this Vow and the two that would follow.

"Then I shall explain it differently," said Mr. Tome. "This Vow does not force Mr. Silver's hoof into any action. Its only purpose is to prevent action. It prevents Mr. Silver from engaging in any stupidity that could threaten the world. On that note, it prevents him from being reckless. It does not force him into any positive action. It does not force him to be a firefighter, it forces him to avoid arson. Do you understand that part at least?"

The criminal nodded slowly, though his eyebrows were still furrowed, and Shining Armor seemed to understand it better as well.

"The second clause is that no matter the stakes, he will take no risks when it comes to not destroying the world. Running with the metaphor, he will start no small fires, period. Even if it is cold outside. Even if he must do it to save a friend. If there is even a chance that the flames could spread and burn down the house, or fuel a forest fire, he will not do it. No matter how many lives might be lost if he fails to act in a world-threatening way, he will not threaten the world. If he discovers a new method of magical healing, let us say, he must keep it to himself if there is even the slightest chance that the method could lead to disaster if it fell into the wrong hands. If he discovers a world-threatening magical secret in general, he must keep it to himself. Unless his close friend and trusted advisor deem it acceptable to share. To reiterate: He will take no risks about the world's fate unless his two close allies, known to him but not to you, agree that he must take it. Do you understand those parts as well?"

More nodding.

"And the final part is to allow him to autonomously ignore the Vow if and only if the Vow itself seems to be leading to the world's end. He may ignore the Vow on his own, without advisement, only in that special case. He should still seek advisement, but if he must act without the two, in that one case he may. You see?"

Yet more nodding.

[A/N: I think this intent is slightly different than from HPMoR canon. But only slightly. It's also updated to match the fact that Voldemort intends to be one of Harry's trusted advisors.]

"Why must it be so complicated?" asked Princess Luna, who was allowing her Night Court room to be used for this purpose. Celestia had gone off to bed, though everything was being recorded for her to review later.

"We are dealing with a prophecy," he answered simply. "They can fulfill themselves in twisted ways. We must be careful that this very Vow does not bring about the world's end."

He turned back to the three who would perform the ritual.

"To summarise, the first part of the Vow prevents stupid, world-threatening action. The second part allows him to consult his two trusted allies about such matters, though he may take no risks on his own. The third and final part will allow him to independently ignore the Vow under certain circumstances. If he has already set disaster in motion, and the Vow is preventing him from stopping that disaster, he may ignore it. He IS allowed to choose a certainty of lesser destruction over a risk of greater destruction, should he be forced to choose. He should make every effort to consult those two, but if he is forced to act without consultation, he may ignore it only in the circumstance where his Vow seems to be leading to disaster. Do you understand now?"

"Yes," said Shining Armor.

"I... believe so," said Gilded Horn.

"Repeat your understanding back to me, so I can be sure."

This was done, with Mr. Tome and Mr. Silver making the occasional correction whenever Shining Armor's or Gilded Horn's understanding strayed from the intended meaning.

"How much magic will I be sacrificing to bind all this?" Gilded Horn asked after he finally and fully understood the scope of the Vow.

Mr. Tome gazed steadily at the thirty-year-old unicorn who faced up to five more years in prison, whom Celestia had claimed sees the errors of his ways. Not that the pony wanted to go free, strangely enough.

The unicorn had been convicted of (and at Mr. Silver's behest, recently confirmed by Luna to have truly committed) involuntary ponyslaughter.

It had been a case similar to what Blueblood had done, except that the spell he'd fired in anger had not been blocked or caught. The sloppily structured 'stunning' spell had hit the earth pony target in the chest.

Celestia claims that this unicorn is haunted by his actions. The earth pony had been his friend, the argument about something petty, the stunner regretted as soon as it had been fired. Even before it exacerbated the earth pony's heart condition. Even before the earth pony passed away in a hospital bed not long after.

She claims Gilded Horn has always been regretful. She claims he always wished for a way to repent even beyond the sanctions of the state. He'd asked for the harshest sentence. He'd voluntarily paid the highest fine, to be delivered to his friend's family and funeral expenses. He'd served six years of eleven – the maximum sentence – without accepting parole, despite many offers after model behaviour.

While sitting in jail earlier this morning, at around 2:00 AM, Celestia claims he had jumped for joy at this opportunity as soon as he heard it. The opportunity to sacrifice the magic that had killed his friend. The opportunity to live out the rest of his life as his friend had – as a plain earth pony.

All of this had been confirmed by his employer, the former Element of Honesty.

Mr. Tome wondered if the Mirror was trying to kill him. This much cliché, not to mention the beneficial coincidence it produced, might just annoy him to death.

Too unrealistic. That was what his mind kept telling him.

He decided to confirm for himself if the pony would at least be able to keep up the act as he went through with the sacrifice.

"I'm not sure how much you will lose," he explained. "Blueblood's test sacrifice leads me to believe that you won't lose as much as you would in my homeland, proportionally speaking. Perhaps a tenth of your reserves. Maybe a fifth. At most a fourth. Though of course, you shall be binding two other Vows, both similar to this one, so multiply that estimate by three. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes," said Gilded Horn. "I only wish it was guaranteed to get rid of all my magic."

"Sacrificing merely a large chunk shall have to do," he said sarcastically. "If you have any leftover, I shall ask my employer if I may use you to bind a few less important Vows."

The pony looked hopeful at that remark.

Mr. Tome rolled his eyes.

Gilded Horn was overplaying his role. This was breaking suspension of disbelief. On the off chance it was true emotion, no doubt the Mirror had generated his history and personality specifically for the purpose of encouraging Celestia to put the pony to use in this way.

But there was more important work to do than dissecting performances and happenstance.

"Now," he commanded, "touch your horn to Mr. Silver's head and repeat after me: Magic that flows in me, bind this Vow."

The middle-aged unicorn stepped forward and slowly lowered his head.

There was no risk that he would try anything. Like, say, stabbing Mr. Silver through the eye with his horn, or casting a curse with his not-yet-sacrificed magic.

That couldn't happen.

And not because Mr. Tome was engaging in the foolish concept of 'trust'.

The convicted violent criminal had signed a magical contract preventing such stupidity before he was even allowed in the same room as Mr. Silver. No impulsiveness. No violence. Not even any free action. He would only do as he was told, so long as he stood in this room.

Though of course Riddle Tome, who didn't trust that precaution either, had put further magical restraints on his movements. He was ready to forcefully eject the convicted ponyslaughterer at a moment's notice if he somehow bypassed all the restraints and attacked anyway.

When Gilded Horn's namesake rested on Mr. Silver's forehead, he spoke the words, "Magic that flows in me, bind this Vow." He sounded happy to say it.

"Adequate," said Mr. Tome, resisting the urge to roll his eyes again. "You may retreat. Shining Armor, step forward and cross your horn with Mr. Silver's. As you do, think of the reasons you could have trusted Mr. Silver if he had made an oath to you. Think of the trust you might have had for him, and then sacrifice it as you say, 'By my trust that I hold for you, be you held.'"

Shining Armor moved into position, then stood still, eyes closed. After a moment of introspection, he locked gaze with Mr. Silver. "By the trust that I hold for you, be you held."

"Good. Now for the final sacrifice. Mr. Silver, repeat after me..."

"I vow... that I shall not... by any act of mine... destroy the world... I shall take no chances... in not destroying the world... If I am forced to act... I may take the course... of lesser destruction over greater destruction... unless it seems to me that this Vow itself... leads to the world's end... and both my friend and advisor... in whom I have confided honestly... agree that this is so. By my own free will, so shall it be."

Private tests later confirmed that the Vow still held in human form.

The ritual doesn't work on a physical, or even a magical level. It goes deeper.

It binds the will and the mind.

Those levels are abstract enough and encompassing enough to bypass barriers of body and mana.

Chapter 42: Bring Your Youngling to Work Night

Mr. Silver stared at the doors that had just clicked shut in the wake of two departures. "Were you really telling the truth when you said your work isn't normally like this?" he asked.

"It depends how you mean the question," said Mr. Tome. "I advise the Princess of Night about matters she often does not find pleasant, in ways she would not see herself. In that sense, my work is 'like this' often enough. If you are asking what my average day looks like," he cast a wordless tempus, "you will have about an hour to witness it. Unless something else is scheduled?"

That last question was directed at his employer, who shook her head from her place on her throne, eyes closing and hair glowing in a dream walking trance.

"I recommend taking out a book," he whispered, doing so himself.

Near the end of the hour, teacher and student shared their thoughts about it.

Mr. Silver asked how Mr. Tome could stand the boredom.

Mr. Tome told Mr. Silver that many ponies would jump at the opportunity to get paid to do nothing.

Mr. Silver pointed out the obvious – doing nothing is like a torture chamber for intelligent minds.

Mr. Tome shrugged, relaying how the ability to read and the perks of the job make it tolerable. There was no easier way to gain and maintain legal access to the royal library.

Mr. Silver asked if he STILL needed to do the job to keep that perk, since he'd been recently ennobled.

Mr. Tome agreed that he probably didn't, but he still saw the value in it. Getting paid to do nothing is like getting paid to think quietly to yourself about important issues. He'd spent nine years looking at the stars, learning the value of that pastime.

Five minutes before they would set off for 'dinner', Mr. Tome informed Mr. Silver of a minor plot he intended to run. This was also done through Legilimency...

Many noble eyes were wide and drawn when their owners walked into breakfast that morning.

The Court Scholar's signature cloak was resting on the back of the Court Scholar's designated chair. The Court Scholar's glasses were resting on the table next to the Court Scholar's designated plate. And there was a bat pony sitting in the Court Scholar's designated seat.

Mr. Tome had removed them after he, his employer, and his student had arrived for dinner, but before anypony else had entered for breakfast. (A horn-hiding spell had already been in place. He never makes the same mistake twice, once he acknowledged that it is a mistake.)

Among the wide eyes were Princess Celestia's, though she hid her surprise better than most.

When the table's full company had arrived, Mr. Tome took out two packets of brown powder and mixed them into his water as if it were any other day, pretending to be ignorant of the stares and whispers. He used his levitating fork to stab at some unimportant food on his plate, making three small but distinct tink sounds.

Mr. Silver, sitting next to him, spoke at the signal. "You know, I've seen you drink that powder sometimes. But you never told me what it is. Or why you drink it."

"It is made from the crushed carcasses of many insects," he said in a voice that all should recognise as belonging to the Court Scholar, in case anypony doubted he was truly himself. "I drink it to sate my nutritional needs as a thestral, which an insensitive fool might call a carnivorous bloodthirst."

His employer actually laughed at that. Nopony else did, although it might be considered progress that they didn't leave this time.

Apparently Princess Luna had been the only one at the table who was retentive enough to recognise the remark and smart enough to notice he'd just called himself a fool. He wouldn't ordinarily do such a thing, but it was his official job title. Or maybe she laughed because she was beginning to notice that he'd left plenty of evidence about his nature in plain sight, including in-jokes like that one had been.

Now it was less of a joke and more of a way to quash future complaints about his diet. It is, after all, a biological necessity.

"Oh," said Mr. Silver. And then, continuing his assigned script, the seemingly young and innocent colt, who had been brought into work as the thestral's youngling, asked, "Why not just eat them raw like you usually do? Aren't they tastier that way?"

"They are," nodded the thestral. He pretended to look thoughtful. "Maybe I should catch a few live crickets for tonight's breakfast-"

"Please don't," said Celestia.

"Princess Celestia!" Mr. Tome gasped in a flagrant, obviously false, and overly-offended voice. "You ask me to hide my nutritional needs? That is a part of who I am. To think, discrimination against other races would not only be tolerated, but openly perpetrated by her majesty herself. Well! That is..." his voice switched back to normal "...exactly what I would expect, given the state of Canterlot University. And this city in general." He put on his glasses and threw his cloak over his back with a flourish. "Clearly I am better off as I have been all along. Introverted, isolated, and hidden. One wonders how I might have gotten that way in the first place, and if I am truly to blame for my own personality."

Celestia took many, many deep breaths.

"The smarter you are," she said solemnly, "the more responsible you are for everything you do. Including but not limited to, deliberately disgusting other ponies, deliberately hurting the feelings of others, and deliberately causing needless chaos and alarm."

"So you are implying that most ponies at this table are either immoral like me, or stupid and irresponsible like Blueblood," he concluded.

"That is not what I am implying at all."

"But you do believe your company would show disgust at what thestrals eat on a daily basis?" he pressed. "Please answer honestly. Your sister will tell me if you don't."

"Even if I did believe that," said Celestia, "I do not see how you go from there to an implication of stupidity – on my behalf – of our esteemed company."

"They would harm the feelings of my employer's guard if they showed disgust at our natural needs. If your company is not responsible for the offense they would cause, then your statement means they are not smart enough to be responsible. Therefore, they are stupid."

"The guard are stoic. Their feelings would not be hurt."

"I am glad you are capable of violating their mental privacy well enough to know that for certain. I am also glad you admit the feelings of nobles matter more to you than the feelings of their lesser guards."

"Since when have you cared about feelings?" Celestia asked. She did not raise her voice, but the fact that she had even asked the question proved he was getting to her.

"Since you used 'hurt feelings' as a point against me. But very well," he sighed, "I shall ignore them entirely, as you insist. On a purely psychopathic analysis, your esteemed company cannot handle the sight of my diet. They could not even stand a joke about carnivores. They left the table, some to vomit in private. Imagine if they did that in a diplomacy dinner with Griffonia, where actual meat is ingested."

"I miss meat," Mr. Silver sighed. At the horrified expressions of the table, and the choking noises, and the wretching noises, Mr. Silver grinned. "Case in point."

Mr. Tome was chuckling. "According to your logic," he said to Celestia, "if their terribly chaotic and alarming reactions are not deliberate and evil like mine would be, then they are stupid and irresponsible. In a word, incompetent." He huffed haughtily. "I, for one, agree with your assessment of your company. I witnessed their intelligence first-hand as a petitioner. I am glad we can acknowledge there is much to be desired, and that we are on the same page."

At this, Celestia said only, "No."

"No?" he asked, sounding confused. "Why not? Taking your sensible statement to its logical conclusion leads to that answer. Correlating intelligence and responsibility cannot turn on for me and off for them unless you believe they are unintelligent. The only other possibility is hypocrisy."

Celestia didn't respond. That happened nowadays. When she realised that her words only added fuel to the fire, she stopped speaking. It had happened often enough in the past for her to see the pattern and stop contributing.

Unfortunately, she has not yet seen the part of the pattern that follows, what happens after she stops responding.

"Surely you understand that the more you excuse them, the more you enable them. A little criticism from an authority they actually trust could go a long way. You are the smartest and wisest pony in all the land, so you must know that you are responsible for their current states. It makes me wonder why a princess would deliberately infantilise her underlings."

Celestia excused herself from the table, saying she was finished eating, though there was still food on her plate, and saying she had unfinished business she had to accomplish, though Day Court would begin the same time as always.

And now that there was no opposition...

"Note that if it were possible to logically refute my claims, your majesty would have done so. Now the question remains: Do you wish to become strong, or REMAIN fragile foals, as Celestia believes you should be?"

Most of the remaining nobles excused themselves, claiming they had to follow her majesty to Day Court. Much more food had been left uneaten than usual.

"She could have just been tired," his employer commented after the departure, speaking in the Royal Canterlot Voice now that her sister had left. She thought it proper to use at meals, especially when Celestia wasn't around to politely ask her not to use it. "She did stay awake much later than usual."

Mr. Tome scoffed. "I stay awake most of the day and night. You do not see me use it as an excuse."

"You are used to it, and she is not. We are talking about deviations from an average. Her average has been disturbed by circumstance, while yours has not."

"Ignoring excuses and circumstance, do you believe she wants to strengthen the character of her court? Or even sees their current squeamishness as a problem?"

His employer did not respond.

Mr. Tome nodded in satisfaction, then thought about his future actions as he sipped his shake.

A normal pony in his position might conclude from the conversation that live crickets would have to wait. But he was the Royal Fool. It was his privilege and prerogative to surprise the royalty. It wasn't his employer who had requested he not bring them. Just Celestia. And even if she did hold authority over him, it had been a request, not a command.

"How are you getting away with all this?" Mr. Silver asked.

"Are you expecting an explanation beyond Equestria's policies on free speech?" he said, his thoughts returning to the present.

Mr. Silver nodded firmly. "Yes. Freedom of speech isn't the same as freedom from consequences. How can you say all that and still keep your job?"

"Because it is his job to say it," answered his employer. "The Royal Fool may speak his mind as he pleases. All the better if the high are offended."

"Wow. I see why you like working here."

Mr. Tome allowed the corner of his lips to twitch upward.

"We wonder if our sister will hire one of her own in retaliation," she speculated. "She must be tempted by now, if for no other reason than to provide a competent counter voice."

"You think she could find a voice to counter mine?"

"Fair point."

Mr. Silver nodded in agreement. "Most would quit within a week."

One of the guards cleared her throat. A day guard, not a night. And a pegasus, beneath her fake thestral disguise.

"Yes?"

The mare, given leave to speak, asked, "What about Silver Wing?"

Mr. Tome recognized the voice – that of Soaring Steady, one of Mr. Silver's better students, and one of the few adults who recognized the meaning of her teacher's talents.

"What about him?" asked Mr. Tome.

"He might be able to do it," Ms. Steady clarified.

"He is a colt," said his employer. "This era has laws against underage employment, does it not?"

"I'm not saying Coach Silver should get hired," said Ms. Steady. "Just that he could do it. I think. He could learn, at least. And if he can, that means there are probably other ponies out there who could do it too."

"Coach Silver?" asked Princess Luna.

"Even if I could," said Mr. Silver, "I'm more partial to my mentor than I am to Princess Celestia, and that might hold true for other ponies too. If you want to counter us, you have to think like us. And if you think like us, you're not thinking like Princess Celestia. And that means you'll probably take our side, not hers."

"It could prove useful as an intellectual exercise," Mr. Tome informed his student. "A skilled debater can argue any position, regardless of their own personal feelings. Those who thinks like us – who are experienced like me – understand that as well. But I agree that you are currently too young, and inexperienced in politics, and I might not be able to resist the temptation to crush you. That would not be healthy for our continued acquaintance."

Later that day, Ms. Memory's and Mr. Tome's Vows were sworn. Gilded Horn bound both Vows, and he still had magic leftover. Celestia informed him he would be called back if any future Vows had to be made.

Shining Armor had been Ms. Memory's receiver, but Mr. Tome needed another.

Shining Armor didn't have any trust for the thestral. Not after witnessing the original incident with Blueblood, and being the butt of that joke he'd made in the university classroom, and guarding/overhearing a few dinner conversations.

Also, the stallion had a scheduled leave of absence that was already overdue. He left immediately after receiving Ms. Memory's Vow, claiming he was late for his honeymoon thanks to Mr. Tome's rituals 'that should be illegal anyway'.

Mr. Tome pointed out that he would have been late anyway thanks to his sister's request. If he wanted to blame anypony, blame her.

Shining Armor had huffed and left.

Mr. Tome had already planned to fetch a different pony to receive his Vow, so it wasn't much of an inconvenience. It would only take the extra time of a guard visiting Canterlot University and escorting a citizen back.

Mr. Tome waited until the Artist's Association normally gathered to issue the order...

"Your majesty," Keen Eye bowed, taking in the majesty of Night Court. He'd never been to the palace before. The artistry was astounding.

"Rise, subject," said Princess Luna, yawning. "Our fool has a request of thee."

"Fool?" he asked.

He looked around, seeing nopony in the room except the Court Scholar, whose picture he'd seen in the newspapers, and whom he remembered thanks to the interesting events flaming the pony's notoriety. Especially among the intelligentsia of Canterlot.

The Court Scholar stepped forward, lowered his forehead, and said, "Eunoe."

[A/N: The memory-restoring spell, as seen in chapter 120 of HPMoR. Probably pronounced "You know." I see what you did there, Yudkowsky.]

Keen Eye swayed slightly.

And then he remembered the jobs he had performed for the pony in front of him, who was taking off his cloak and eyeglasses, revealing bat wings, bat eyes, bat fangs, and a horn.

He remembered enchanting the eyeglasses to hide thestral slits. He remembered adding the horn concealment illusion. He remembered being paid extra because of the memory wipes. He remembered being told that he would be allowed to remember the jobs if Mystery Book's- if Riddle Tome's species ever became known to the wider public.

Earlier, Keen Eye had been confused about why he was being called to the royal palace. The guard told him he had been requested by name, but he wasn't anypony important. He had never even met the princesses.

Now that he'd remembered his old jobs, he was no longer confused about that part.

"Whoa," he said. "Cool. Hi Mystery. I mean Riddle. You called me here?"

The thestral nodded.

"The Vow allows external magical to influence a pony's trust?" Princess Luna asked.

"No," Riddle Tome answered. "That was a spell to remove external influence."

"All external influence?" Princess Luna asked, seeming to lose her drowsiness in favor of eagerness-

"No. Just a certain kind. It is not thief's downfall, nor would thief's downfall bring about that spell's effect."

"Theif's downfall?" she asked.

Riddle Tome did not respond to the prompt.

Keen Eye looked at Princess Luna. He looked at Riddle Tome. The unicorn saw the alicorn thestral standing out in the open, without glasses or cloak. "Does that mean I'm keeping the memories for good now?" he asked.

"Yes," said the pony who would be paying him a few thousand bits for this non-standard, non-artistic bit of help.

"What dost thou mean, 'keeping the memories'?"

"I am afraid he has already agreed not to say more," said Riddle Tome before Keen could answer. He frowned at the illusionist. "You should not have even said that much."

"Sorry," said Keen, finally remembering that part as well. "What am I going to be doing again? They said it wouldn't be a commission."

"You will be receiving what is known as an Unbreakable Vow..."

And strangely enough, after receiving it Keen Eye still found himself capable of trusting Mr. Tome. At least when it came to matters unrelated to massive, world-threatening risks, which is basically everything.

Mr. Tome had been intrigued by this.

Maybe there is an aspect of personality at play after all. Maybe naturally naive individuals can sacrifice their trust for another and yet still have more to spare. Or maybe it had to do with the fact that Mr. Tome had kept his word with Keen Eye up until that point. He'd been generous in their dealings, he hadn't adjusted or violated any of their past agreements, and he hadn't given Mr. Keen any reasons to doubt him. Maybe that was all it took.

Later that evening, rumor had already reached the farthest corners of Canterlot:

The Court Scholar, Princess Luna's advisor, who had been at the center of the non-unicorn-attending-university incident, as well as the Blueblood incident, has been a bat pony all along.

"And not a single unicorn in Canterlot had been intelligent enough to notice," would be quoted in the next issue of the Manehattan times. "The Element of Laughter in Ponyville, an earth pony, knew instantly. The Element of Magic, Twilight Sparkle, knew too, but she did not discover it for herself. My two students knew as well, of course, but nopony else suspected me. Especially not any of my Canterlot peers."

"But didn't you hide your species?" Quick Quill had written as part of her interview. "How can you blame them for missing it?"

"Because obscurity was the point. It takes no intelligence to see my wings and conclude my species. The dimmest pony in Equestria could do that. My apparel was a test and they failed it, despite many hints. Your articles never stated my species, only that I was not a unicorn. My behaviour is not standard pony behaviour, and thestrals are known to have intense personalities. Still nopony suspected me. Princess Luna herself was the first to finally figure it, and she was given more hints than anypony else. She knew I could walk on clouds without assistance, for instance. She took five months to solve it, and I had been her Court Scholar for much of that time. No other horned ponies came close. Not even Princess Celestia. A few Cloudsdale pegasi suspected that I had lost my wings after witnessing my cloud-walking prowess first-hand, which is better than nothing, I suppose. I would say I'm disappointed in Canterlot's comparative performance, but my lack of horn went unnoticed for weeks while I walked the halls of Canterlot University as a student. I've become cynical about the problem-solving abilities of the city's 'intellectuals'. Many ponies believe that unicorns are significantly smarter than the other two standard races, but recent experience has informed me otherwise."

"At least now I know why you always insisted I refer to you as a 'non-unicorn'," wrote Quick Quill. "But I'm not sure I agree with that last comment."

"I am simply relating my observations."

"It sounds more like an opinion."

"Perhaps. If it is, it can't be called baseless. Note that I did not call unicorns stupid. I said they are not as smart as they believe. You might think I'm wrong, but do you think I'm misinformed?"

Rehabilitation, Part 0: Diagnosis

After the Vows, it was back to the long, incremental march of progress.

Silver and Memory took academic subjects at their respective skill levels, not their grade levels. They didn't share as many classes as they did at Hogwarts; Memory was ahead of Silver in reading and Silver was ahead of Memory in math. The only subjects they shared were science and magic. Silver was especially attentive in his Psychology class, which included elements of what human scientists would have called cognitive science and behaviorism.

Minus the whole 'herd mentality' thing the ponies have going on, humans and ponies seemed to have very similar brains. Ponies seemed to suffer from the same cognitive biases, commit the same errors in reasoning, make the same logical fallacies for the same reasons as humans. They even shared many facial gestures like smiling and frowning.

It was coincidental enough that humans and ponies were so mentally similar in the first place (further evidence that the mirror created the world, instead of finding an existing one to teleport him to), but what Silver found truly telling was the amount of focus that ponies placed on happiness, mental health, and wellbeing.

He still wasn't absolutely certain that the mirror had made this world to fulfill his and Riddle's wishes. But if it did, these textbooks pointed at one of his own wishes in particular: the wish that his mentor would find true happiness. That wish was one of his deepest desires for many reasons, not the least of which being that it would turn a homicidal menace to society into an indispensable force for good. And even if the mirror wasn't setting things up that way, he'd still give it his own personal best shot to turn that wish into reality. Screw destiny and screw fate. He'd already shown the Sorting Hat what for when he didn't become a Dark Lord. Saving the other Tom Riddle from darkness would be like earning bonus points in a video game, or extra credit on a test. If he could pull it off. Which was why he was so focused on his Psychology class at the moment.

Humans tended to look at the field of Psychology to simply understand human behaviours, especially criminality and psychosis. Sure, a lot of effort was being made to cure and/or treat psychosis, but a lot of effort was also being made to understand things like language development, intelligence, and cognitive bias.

Ponies had examined many of the same things, but always with the end goals of friendship and harmony in mind. Ponies tended to look at the field of Psychology as a study of happiness and how to achieve it, not as a study of unchangeable behavioral patterns and habits. His textbook described techniques for overcoming addiction. It mentioned methods for removing stress and improving mental health. It outlined step-by-step prep guides for finding true fulfillment and meaning in life.

It seemed very close to the muggle self-help industry that his dad had once described to him. According to Professor Michael Verres-Evans, people who are seeking out help make for excellent targets. Many bad actors make a living by swindling poor, gullible victims out of the small salaries they earn in the name of 'self-improvement', 'home remedies', and other quack 'therapies'. Faith healers, 'mediums' who claim they can speak to dead relatives, and snake oil salesmen are some of the most well-known manifestations of that scam. It was not good that Silver was being reminded of them by the material he was trying to study.

Thankfully, the pony Psychology textbooks – unlike the textbooks he'd read on pegasus magic – included many replicated, peer-reviewed, double-blinded and controlled studies with random assignment, large sample and effect sizes, and strong statistical significance. (Almost like it was tailor-made to address the concern about self-help.) Ponies took happiness very seriously, and so did the pony scientists.

One study in particular which considered revolutionary by ponies (and which he would be showing to Mr. Tome later) was about the 'play' circuit found within mammal brains. He was positive it applied to humans, too, once he dismissed his skepticism and accepted the information as fact.

The experiment goes like this:

When you take two rats and pair them together for play, one rat usually dominates the other. That isn't the revolutionary part. The interesting thing is that if you paired them together again, the weaker rat wouldn't want to play if the dominant rat didn't let it win 30% of the time. And rats want to play, regardless of strength or status. They seek it out like food or water. Sometimes at the expense of food and water. They desperately want social interaction. So even if the dominant rat could win 100% of the time, it would occasionally allow itself to be beaten just so the game could continue.

Silver had wondered if a similar study had already been done in any muggle universities without his awareness, or if the mirror really was advanced enough to add this much detail to a fabricated world. Or did the mirror establish the world's underlying rules and then just allow thousands of years of history to generate itself based on those rules? Time wouldn't be an issue to the mirror...

Anyway, Silver had instantly attempted to apply the material to real life.

Thanks to the study, he understood why he'd begun to resent dueling club. His win-loss ratio was something like 1-4 at the moment, which was just below the threshold where rats would stop playing. He simply wasn't used to moving in a pony body in a combat setting, so he was struggling to keep up. The spells available to first-years at Hogwarts were more diverse and interesting than the spells available to ponies of the same age group, but they were less powerful. Much of what he already knew would simply bounce off his opponent's shields. He had to learn a collection of 'standard' spells from the ground up before he could become competitive.

In the meantime, he lost.

Over and over.

Duel after duel.

Initially, it was thanks to Mr. Tome's warning that he didn't quit. Mr. Tome had warned that he would lose many duels, and some of them would be humiliating. Everyone starts out that way.

Expect to lose. Expect to be non-dominant. You are a beginner.

That had allowed Silver to put on a good face for the first day. Going from the colt who won a fight against the teacher and the best duelist to being the colt who lost duels against the weakest duelers had hurt his pride, but he had been expecting it. He bore that loss, and many more, with false grace.

But faking emotions became harder as he became more exhausted – and harder still as the resentment built.

It was only thanks to understanding the 'play' circuit that he came to terms with what he was feeling. He was below the playful cooperation threshold. Well below, if the pony or human threshold is higher than 30%. It's only natural to feel resentment when you only win one out of every five battles. Combine that with his personality quirk of HATING TO LOSE, and he had a wonderful storm bottling up inside him.

Had.

Not anymore.

Now that he understands his emotions, he can tolerate them. He had learned to lose from Professor Quirrell, and now he was learning to lose repeatedly. To lose some more, as Peregrine Derek had once said.

It was different from his initial failure and eventual success in flight class. He hadn't been competing with anypony in particular. He'd been competing with nature itself, in a way, but he hadn't been facing down another sapient life form in a clear contest of will and skill and strength.

Losing to a pony was harder for him to tolerate than losing to nature. As a scientist, he'd trained himself to lose to nature over and over and over again. But to lose to another intelligent life form? That was how he'd been learning to lose for the past few weeks.

Other than psychology, the thing that helped the most was his deciding to focus on how much he improved each week, rather than how much he lost. That was more than enough to lift his spirits when he thought about it. At his current pace, he should have a positive win-loss ratio in a few more weeks. Maybe a month if he focused on other things, like the wishes that the mirror might or might not be trying to grant...

"Riddle Tome."

Mr. Tome looked up from the psychology textbook, meeting the gaze of his unusually talkative employer – unusual in the sense that she rarely initiated any kind of conversation during her Night Court sessions and/or while dream walking.

"Yes?" he asked simply.

The magic about her suggested she was no longer dream walking, giving him her full attention. "I have thought of your suggestion."

"Which one?"

He had made plenty of unheeded suggestions by this point, so guessing the one she meant would have been a fool's errand.

"Your student's classes."

"Ah."

Yes, that was one of the more likely suggestions. It had little to do with politics or policy. She only needed to humble herself to the point of admitting she could learn from a colt, and she'd already done that alongside her sister when learning his Patronus Charm. Although come to think of it, that had been done in a relatively private setting, where the embarrassment of public humility wouldn't apply...

"Will you attend his lessons as yourself?" he asked. "Or will you disguise yourself as an ordinary pegasus to avoid unwanted attention? With his workload, he does not have the time for private sessions."

The princess paused, suggesting to Mr. Tome that she hadn't thought of the possibility. "Incognito," she said eventually, "I would not want to cause a fuss. I might reveal myself after if I must. But that is not where I wished to take this conversation. I have not yet decided if I want to go, and I believe I need more incentive than the lesson itself."

Riddle Tome frowned. "You want to get out more. You want to socialise. You want to learn. What more do you need than the satisfaction of your own goals?"

"What progress have you made on understanding your own hesitance for hugs?" she asked in reply.

Mr. Tome's frown deepened at the seeming non-sequitur. "I am reading Psychology textbooks for pertinent information," he said with a gesture to the book in front of him. "Some of them have been recommended by my student. Others have not."

"Have you found anything similar to your own situation?"

"Not particularly."

"Then I believe it is time for another intervention. If you allow one hug per day, I shall attend Silver Wing's lessons."

"Absolutely not," Mr. Tome denied, now openly scowling. "That deal was never meant to become a regular occurrence, nor shall it ever become regular. I doubt I'll need a favour of that magnitude again. Not unless I find that I need to perform another ritual under your supervision."

His employer stared at him incredulously. "You consider a hug to be on par with allowing a ritual?"

He shook his head. "Not in the manner you are thinking. Favours are inherently subjective, so I strive to be as fair as possible when exchanging them. I consider physical affection extremely unpleasant. You find rituals unpleasant. Therefore, the favours are commensurate. But you would not consider my student's lessons unpleasant, I think. Therefore, the favours are not even. You want to go, for the most part, even if you are hesitant. But I do not want a hug. Not. At. All. We would not be doing equally unpleasant things, so it would not be fair."

"You will only allow another hug if I grant something I do not wish to give?"

"Correct."

Again, his employer simply stared at him.

"Like what?" she finally asked.

"At the moment?" he asked. "Policy change. I'd like the law that bans rituals to be revoked. Or at the very least it should be replaced with a law that allows rituals to be performed under supervision from at least one adult alicorn. I would also like you to swear an Unbreakable Vow to the conditions of my employment. This would ensure that you would have no more temptations to break them, regardless of circumstance. Then there is the matter of our military, which I find inadequate. I would like to institute an officially sanctioned sport of mock battle, in which unicorn armies fight against each other under realistic war conditions. Using stunners of course. The list goes on, though I see you have already heard enough. What you feel about each of those items, I feel about your proposed daily hug system."

"Then what about one hug?" she asked. "One hug, and I attend all of your student's classes. All the way until I have learned the material."

That gave him slight pause.

"...No," he eventually decided. "I do not have much stake in my student's current teaching affairs."

"Says his teacher," she said in what she probably thought was a wry remark.

"Says his mentor," he repeated flatly. "I have every stake in his learning affairs. Given the Vows you witnessed, you now know why. The lessons I teach him will have a great impact on the future shape of the world. No offense to him, but the lessons he is teaching to Cloudsdale's pegasi seem somewhat trivial in comparison."

"Then why did you ask me to attend them?"

"I did not ask, I suggested," he corrected. "It was closer to a whim than anything else," Mr. Tome explained to the former Element of Honesty, "and I only did it because I was in a good enough mood to see the advantages. Your attendance would give him legitimacy."

He did not say it would also serve to spite his old University peers, keeping that part to himself and thus maintaining a bit of deception beneath his truthful words. Nothing should seem out of the ordinary to her perceptions.

"If you attend anonymously," he continued, "I have little to gain. Certainly not enough to allow a hug in exchange. At this point, it's up to you." He shrugged to convey both his apathy and the fact that he was done with this argument. "Follow your own desires as you please."

His eyes returned to the psychology book at his hooves.

"What if I promise to reveal myself in the end, once I have learned everything and experienced the benefits?" his employer asked. "That would give your student the legitimacy you wish him to have."

"Maybe." Riddle looked back up again. "But that does not solve the problem that you would not find the experience unpleasant."

"You are that strict about the fairness of your favors?"

"You aren't?" he asked the Princess of Equestria, who was probably pestered with petty favors day in and day out. "I look after my affairs with severe attention to detail. To be otherwise would be gullible."

"And that means a thirty-second hug must be met with massive legal changes, or binding my will forever?"

"Yes," he said simply. "Unless you can find a bit of extreme unpleasantness that is more innocuous, but still beneficial to me."

"Caring for your happiness does not count as being beneficial to you?" she demanded, seemingly fed up with that condition.

"Mere caring?" he echoed. "No. If you could guarantee happiness, of the sort that could fuel the spell my student attempted to teach you the other day, that would be a different matter. But 'caring for my happiness' is not something you seem to find unpleasant, nor is it something I requested, so it would not work in exchange for-"

"It is."

Mr. Tome's eyebrows furrowed, his train of thought successfully derailed. "Beg pardon?"

"It is unpleasant." Luna's gaze intensified. "Do you know how much stress I incur as I care for your happiness? How much uncertainty and doubt? How many times I have wondered if it is a fool's errand to care for my fool? I have endured so much unpleasantness with so little to show for it that I-" She stopped mid-sentence, a frown on her face.

Mr. Tome wore a frown as well, thoughtful and confused. "That you what?"

"I was about to say that I sometimes wonder why I bother, but that would have been a lie."

"Why?"

"Because I do know why I bother."

"Why?"

"Because I care."

"Why?" he stressed. "For most of our acquaintance, I should have seemed like just another mortal who would expire before your own immortal existence. Why care?"

She huffed a heavy sigh. "You speak as though it is voluntary."

"Isn't it?"

She shook her head firmly. "No. And that is what you are missing. That is why you cannot cast your student's charm. If there is nopony you wish to help, you will never cast it. Besides yourself, I mean," she added. "It must be somepony else. It must be for their sake. The desire must be completely involuntary and purely emotional. Has your student not taught you that?"

There was a long silence that fell between them.

"My student has taught me little about the charm," Mr. Tome said eventually. "Beyond the mechanics."

"That is grossly negligent-"

"It is not," Mr. Tome cut her off. "I rejected his proposed happiness lesson and I ignored his insistence."

Now it was her turn to demand answers with a stressed, "Why?"

"Because I knew it would be annoying, just as I find this annoying." The thestral waved a hoof, indicating the current topic of conversation. "Mr. Silver once spoke to me about doing selfless things to achieve happiness, but the same thought had already occurred to me many years before he was born. I have made a fair attempt at doing kindnesses for others and I failed to find any happiness. Why should this time be any different?"

"Doing a kindness for another is not the same as caring for them," his employer distinguished.

Mr. Tome shrugged. "Nevertheless, he suggested it and I had already tried it. I was confident I could make progress on my own when I rejected his most recent offer for happiness lessons."

"Have you?" she asked.

"It has only been half a month-"

"Have you?" she demanded.

Mr. Tome felt his face flicker in annoyance at the interruption, but it settled back to calm as he activated his habit of critical, dispassionate self-analysis.

"I'm not sure," he replied. "I have come to a better understanding of the underlying principles behind positive social interactions. Game Theory has been especially helpful in illuminating the benefits and drawbacks of cooperation versus-"

"None of that matters," his employer stated firmly.

The annoyance returned, and this time it stayed. "How could it not matter?"

"Has it impacted your emotional state in the slightest?" she asked. Then, without giving him time to answer, she added, "I know some of those books include methods of self-help. Have you used any of them?"

"You are asking if I have started a gratitude journal?" he asked flatly.

"You could try starting with a list instead of a full journal."

"I think the stupidity of that notion speaks for itself."

"There!" she declared. "That is what I mean. You reject it without consideration. Without a second thought. Without even trying it first. Why?"

"Why should I be grateful?"

"You see nothing to be grateful for?" she asked. "Nothing at all? Not a single thing in the world? Not even your own birth?"

"Even if I did," he deflected, though it was clear the answer to her question was a firm 'NO.', "What's the point in writing it down?"

"Why not try it and see?" she pressed. "By your own admission, the subject of happiness is alien to you. When you are new to a field, the standard practice is to trust the experts and do as they say – even if you cannot understand why – until you are more experienced yourself. I know you know that. You could not have become such an excellent scholar yourself without trusting the expertise of your predecessors."

Mr. Tome laughed at that. "I can hardly trust that these scholars," he gestured at his small pile of textbooks, "are experts. Who is to say whether these authors are truly happy themselves?"

"I meant your student," she clarified. "He is clearly happy, and you have clearly flaunted his desire to teach you the basics. Why?" That last question came out magically amplified as if to highlight her need for understanding.

"Because I wish to avoid annoyance," Mr. Tome answered. "Is that not happiness one oh one?"

"No!" she denied fiercely. "The point of happiness is not to avoid annoyance, but to defeat it! Just like the point of great achievement is not to avoid difficulty, but to embrace it. You cannot strengthen a muscle without stressing it! You cannot triumph without learning from failure; you cannot feel accomplished without overcoming hardship; and you cannot achieve happiness without enduring unpleasant interactions on the road of improvement. You, especially, shall have to endure much if you wish to be happy."

He chuckled mirthlessly. "I can think of many scenarios where enduring annoyances led to bitterness, resentment, and hate. I know many people who have been forced to tolerate their annoyances, and they all lead miserable lives without exception."

"I said nothing about tolerance," the princess denied. "I said you must endure and ultimately defeat your annoyances. One way or another. If that means parting with an abusive pony, I would not hesitate to help you find the door. But most ponies are not abusive. Most relationships are not toxic. When everypony annoys you, the problem likely does not lie in toxic relationships. The problem is that you are made bitter by far too many things. Irrationally so." Then she paused. "Unless you disagree? I do not like telling others their experiences."

Mr. Tome remained silent. That might be true, but he'd have to think about it.

"I was once the same way," his employer said quietly. "I still am, to some degree, but I have improved. You saw me cast the first level of your student's charm, the mist stage. Yes, coming to a better understanding of the world was helpful, but the most helpful part of that was coming to a better understanding of myself. You can too. I know you can. I'm just not sure if you will. That is the source of my doubt, and you do not know how unpleasant it is to continue caring for you in the face of that uncertainty. I believe the unpleasantness I have endured for your sake is more than enough for the favor I have asked."

Riddle Tome considered the argument. Up until now, he had thought that he might achieve happiness by understanding it, and by reducing stress in the meantime. Which of course meant avoiding stress. But then, it's not like avoiding stress as Lord Voldemort had made him happy. That had been the least stressful, least annoying position he'd ever held in his entire life, and it still hadn't made him happy.

He never considered that he might have to do the opposite. He might have to seek out stress to improve his understanding of it. To improve his reaction to it. Just like he sought out obscure magics and strong opponents to improve his own knowledge and power and spell repertoire. Not to mention reflexes and strategy.

Even still...

"I neither asked for your care, nor agreed to give anything in return for it," he pointed out, bringing them back to the whole reason they'd gone down this tangent in the first place. "You said your feelings are involuntary. They should therefore not be conditional. I will ask Mr. Silver for the lesson he intended to teach me; I think you are right about that much. But none of this has convinced me to assent to another hug, least of all your concerns about my happiness."

His employer took a few deep breaths. Her expression had lightened when he said he would learn from his student, and now she seemed to be thinking again. "Then what if I took it one step further?" she asked. "When I reveal myself at the end of your student's pegasus lessons, I shall offer a grant to any scholar in Canterlot University who can create the best proposal to study this new method of aerial movement."

"Methods. Plural. And they do not all have to do with movement."

"Semantics. The point is that I would not find it pleasant at all. Is the exchange acceptable?"

"Possibly," he allowed. "Why would you find the process of sponsoring a grant unpleasant?"

"I would have to deal with the University's rules and bureaucracy directly."

Ah. Yes, that made sense. Dealing with Ministry-mandated minutia had been the worst part of his own tenure as Defense Professor of Hogwarts.

Mr. Tome sighed heavily. "In the future, I will not consider your interactions with my student as furtherance of my agenda. But given how much you've said you'll do for him, I shall make an exception. If you promise to attend all his lessons, reveal yourself at the end, and force the academics to stop ignoring it..." He had to force out the next part. "I'll let you hug me again."

"I think I am doing enough that you should hug me."

A scowl instantly appeared on his lips, which then parted to reply with a scathing-

"No, wait," said his employer, raising her hoof in apology. "Sorry, that came out wrong. What I meant to say is that if you passively stand still for twenty seconds, no matter how unpleasant you find it, that would not match all the action I must do. Last time, you allowed me to hug you, so I allowed the ritual. We exchanged passivity. On my sister's end, you actively returned to the castle, so my sister actively helped you with the sacrifices. But this time, since I will not be passive on my end of the deal, it is only fair that you not be passive on your end."

"I am sorely tempted to call the whole thing off now."

"Is it not fair?"

He shrugged. "It is, but that does not mean I have to consent."

"We never agreed how the hug would be done," his employer pointed out.

"This, coming from the former Element of Honesty?"

The blow to her element didn't even seem to faze her. "No. This is coming from a pony who has had to endure you for months. My old element would not like hidden terms that exploit the trust of others, like your trust that I meant I would be hugging you. And yet, Harmony agrees that I have been fair to you."

"Even still, I am well within my rights to call off the agreement, given that neither you nor I have acted yet."

"Then how about this: I still perform the hug, but you must approach close enough for me to do it. Is that acceptable?"

...

"Barely," Mr. Tome bit out.

"Good. Are we agreed?"

"Yes."

...

"Well?" his employer asked.

Mr. Tome grinned slightly. "We never agreed when the hug would be done. We only agreed that it would be done in exchange for you attending his lessons. Now that I must be the initiator, what's to stop me from waiting until the very last second?"

His employer's features flickered in frustration at the betrayal – fairly earned betrayal – but then they settled into... glee?

"What's to stop you from waiting?" she echoed his words. "Oh, I don't know," she said airily. "Nothing, I suppose. But perhaps tomorrow I will decide I am not safe enough in my courtroom. Perhaps my Night Guard should stand watch within this chamber to better protect me. I might even conclude I have not been transparent to the public. Maybe I shall invite a member of the press to record all court proceedings henceforth. My sister thinks I should. I would be sure to invite a prominent Canterlot journalist, one who would be very interested to know what the controversial Riddle Tome gets paid to do every day. You are, of course, free to delay as long as you want. Or you could get it over with before I begin feeling... lonely."

"You are making clever and credible threats?" he asked.

"You were right," she grinned. "It is only wise to look after my affairs with strict guidelines. I would not wish to be gullible."

He nodded approvingly. "You are learning. Though you still have far to go. The first threat would have been enough on its own, and I don't care at all about the second. My being paid to read textbooks does not contradict what you told the press. I am the Court Scholar, after all. I'm meant to be studying. A journalist can spin anything into a hatchet job, especially if they have it in for the target, but even that would be a stretch." He sighed. "Nevertheless, you have correctly deduced that I prefer privacy, even outside the context of this favor. Very well."

With a conscious effort to move his hooves forward, he approached. Despite his reluctance, he was determined to endure another embrace with dignity.

It became especially difficult as he breached what he considered his own personal space, but he kept a firm hold on all his emotions thanks to a simple trick of imagination.

If he pictured himself against a foe in a martial arts duel, he could comfortably approach much closer. There's no such thing as 'personal space' in a brawl. Well, not as such, anyway. Proper distancing is important in any fight, but contact is also necessary and extended grapples can happen.

When he came close enough, his employer lifted her head and wrapped her neck around his once again.

He had to ignore the impulse to attack her – an apparent downside to the trick.

"Riddle Tome?" she asked from right next to him.

"Hm?" he replied.

"Can you meet my gaze for a moment?"

Legilimency? he instantly thought, even though she'd already proven to be as ignorant of that magic as all the other ponies in Equestria.

He turned to look at her, his eye meeting hers.

"Thank you, my fool," she said, sounding as sincere as he'd ever heard the words. "No matter what happens, I promise I will try to help you find happiness."

And she pressed her cheek into his.

He recoiled-

"Riddle Tome."

He stopped.

"You were doing very well. Please. This is part of the hug."

...

"It is especially unpleasant," he informed her.

"I will ensure that the academics are properly rebuked when I deal with them. Is that sufficient?"

He looked at her warily. She couldn't have read his mind... but his motives were obvious enough to infer from context, he supposed.

He stopped recoiling, returning his head to where it had been.

She pressed her cheek into his.

He did not press back.

Later that same shift, he encountered a passage in his textbook that made him want to throw it across the room.

Frustration, disappointment, and grief all produce a pain-like state in the brain. Ponies use tactile contact as melioration for pain and grief, and it's about the only thing we know that's proven to be consistently, practically useful for grief. Real touch.

The author went on to prove the statement, of course, but supporting evidence was not his issue with it.

Not for the first time, he wished that he was reading a stack of textbooks on human psychology. He wished he knew if the statement was true or false for himself. He'd never had that kind of touch as a child, nor as a teen, nor as an adult, so he could not deny it outright. Not if he was being academically, intellectually honest in his role as Court Scholar.

But he really, really wished that he could deny it.

Worse, he was beginning to recall facts that lend to its credibility. Of all the happy thoughts described to him back when he was first trying to learn the Patronus Charm in his youth, the most common theme for beginners was to think of affectionate, physical contact. A kiss on the cheek, or a hug, or interlaced fingers. Especially with parents.

He was annoyed to notice that he was beginning to look forward to Mr. Silver's happiness lesson now, for Mr. Silver would certainly not be so foolish as to suggest anything like that.

Ignore this XRA Supercut #2:

Xavier: "I'm going to take you on a twelve-step journey of a thousand rehabilimiles." Points at mirror. "Now, to face your fear, you first must face the fear of your face."

Glue Addict: "This is dumb, man."

Riddle and Silver, student and teacher, stood beneath the sun surrounded by life and nature and beauty, subdued as it might have been in the middle of Winter. It was that same private, peaceful meadow where they first arrived in the land of Equestria all those months ago – as good a setting as any to learn the Patronus Charm. Or at least discuss it. The Canterlot castle garden might have been better if it wasn't open to public tours, but this was a good second choice.

"I've thought about it for a while," said Silver Wing and/or Life. He was currently a full alicorn, his Patronus active and his mane glowing, so he could have called himself either. "And I think the best way to describe what we're trying to do is to use the analogy you like to use with wandless magic."

Mr. Tome – also a full and undisguised alicorn, though without an ethereal mane – said nothing in reply. Up until his Seventh Year of Hogwarts, he was the eager student who impressed his teachers with ready answers and good questions. Now he was the reluctant student who would rather be elsewhere, but still showed up to give a token effort. He would not speak unless prompted. Or if he was annoyed or disagreed.

"So," continued Mr. Silver's possibly pre-planned lesson, "try to think of happiness... no, let's call it Patronus happiness. Try to imagine that Patronus happiness is like a language you don't know how to speak. Except, imagine you're not multilingual. Imagine that you're barely even monolingual. Imagine you don't have any practice at learning new languages. Now, with that in mind, think of happiness like an extremely foreign language. Like one of those clicking languages in Africa. Or better yet, imagine you're trying to learn the sign language of a foreign language, the thing that deaf people of a different nation use to talk to each other."

"Why complicate the analogy that much?" asked a disapproving voice.

"Because this is going to be extremely different from anything you've done before," Silver explained, "so it's going to take a very long time to learn compared to what you're used to. It's not going to be something you can do in a day, or a week, or probably even a year. You've been alive for over half a century without speaking the language of Patronus happiness, so the pessimistic – actually, no, the realistic prediction is that it'll take at least another half century to learn. If you make a genuine effort and you put in all the work. You'll probably have to work your way up to happiness. Maybe by learning to feel other emotions first, like guilt."

"You think I've never felt guilt?" Mr. Tome asked.

"Not the genuine guilt that you'd feel when you hurt someone you care about," was Mr. Silver's reply. "I haven't forgotten that Draco's false memory in the forbidden forest didn't feel like guilt to him, even though he thought it was supposed to, which is how Amelia Bones and Lucius Malfoy were able to agree that it was probably a false memory. Plus, my dark side has absolutely no idea how to handle the emotion. So no, I don't think you have ever felt guilt. Not recently enough to remember how it's supposed to feel, anyway."

Mr. Tome didn't argue the point.

Mr. Silver continued. "Anyway, getting back on topic, Equestria is about as immersed in the language of happiness as you can get, so there's no better place to make a genuine effort to learn it than right here. And since you can take as long as you like without wasting a real minute, there's no better time either."

"You know our circumstances annoy me," he pointed out. "The trap and the ponies. This is not a happy time or place for me."

"I'm sure that'll change in the future."

"You are not making this sound possible," said Mr. Tome. "Not in the slightest."

"I know I'm not making it sound easy," said Silver, "but that's the point. Compare it to your ambition of stopping the muggles from destroying the world with nukes. You told me you chose that ambition because it was big enough and difficulty enough to hold your interest. Wouldn't the ambition of happiness be even better? It will probably take even longer and be even more difficult, with a much better personal payoff."

"Perhaps if I cared for the task, I would regard it that way. As it stands, to use your phrasing, my heart sshall not be in it. I do intend to try, ass I ssaid I would."

Silver nodded at the honesty. "In that case, I'd like to say that I don't know at all how to get you to the end goal. I have a few ideas, but I think it'll be like that time I figured out pegasus magic, or the stone, or when you invented your own ritual. The one you call your great creation, I mean, not the ones you invented while looking at the stars. What I mean is that there's going to be a lot of stumbling around in the dark."

"This truly does not sound possible."

"First rule of happiness," Mr. Silver spoke like a king giving an edict. "No cynicism. Cynicism is a good defense mechanism for avoiding mistakes and stupidity, but it is not good for being happy. I know it's going to be impossible for you to stop being cynical altogether, so step one is to notice your automatic cynicism and ask yourself if it's fully warranted. If you find yourself feeling automatically negative, independent of your own free will, ask yourself if it's rational to feel that way about an event unrelated to yourself, and if not, ask yourself why you feel that way. The end goal is to break a certain habit of thought." Silver paused. "Does any of that sound unreasonable?"

"No," said the thestral after a pause. "But it seems... indirect, to say the least. Do you truly think thiss sshall eventually lead to the proper sstate of mind to casst a Patronuss Charm?"

The Parseltongue, as per usual, was meant to elicit reciprocation. Mr. Tome wanted to know if Silver genuinely, honestly thought this would work.

"Yess," Silver hissed back. "In your case," he resumed in normal speech, "I think that you shouldn't ask yourself what could make you Patronus-happy because that's a question that probably doesn't even have an answer yet. For now, just ask yourself why you're unhappy on a day-to-day basis. And try not to answer the question with 'because someone else is being stupid'. If you find yourself constantly blaming others for your own unhappiness..."

"It could indicate the problem is my own mind, yes."

The princess said something similar to him, though she was wise not to put it that way. He'd seen the pattern himself, in those who cannot understand the concept of responsibility and constantly blame others. Given that they rarely ever accept fault for their own circumstances, it would seem he has his own work cut out for him. If he was truly imitating that idiotic mistake. Ordinarily, in plots that forbade killing, he would be perfectly content to stay alone when other people grow unbearably annoying. Unfortunately, social interaction seems to be a prerequisite to the Patronus Charm.

After a pause, and with a sudden burst of something like excitement at his own cleverness (though it was tempered by harsh experience of many past failures), Mr. Tome asked a question which had never occurred to him before. Probably because it hadn't been possible until a few weeks ago, when Mr. Silver and Ms. Memory finally mastered...

"Have you considered skipping to the end of this lesson with a memory charm?" he asked hopefully, though he kept his tone of voice neutral. "You and Ms. Memory are familiar with genuine feelings of happiness. Could you not imbue those into a false memory?"

And if Mr. Silver promised in Parseltongue to only cast it along certain instructions, it would be a safe, trustable memory charm, something he could never have gotten under any other circumstance.

But Mr. Silver shook his head. "I hadn't thought of that, but no. You wouldn't be able to fuel a Patronus that way. Not by using someone else's emotions. Maybe a false memory would let you know how the emotions are supposed to feel, but that's it."

"Why shouldn't it work?" asked Mr. Tome.

"It would be like... like trying to trick the mirror with foreign magical influences," Silver said, dashing his hopes against the rocks of reality, as he had anticipated. "The emotions have to be brought about by internal forces, not external ones. So nix on memory charms."

"You see no short-cuts?" he asked without any real hope in the question.

"Not unless you're willing to obliviate or lock away all your unhappy memories to give yourself a fresh start." Silver held up a hoof to stall the obviously incoming objection. "Yeah, I know, didn't think so, just thought I should mention it as the only clever solution I can see at the moment. That's why cleverness isn't going to help here. It's part of the problem, even. You can be clever everywhere else, but in order to achieve true happiness, you can't trick yourself into it. Happiness has to be done honestly. Like a muggle trying to build up muscle. No short cuts, just hard work. My own clever shortcut would be like removing your emotional obesity... or maybe atrophy. Like giving you a blank slate again. But only you can build your strength after that."

"Happiness is like a muscle now?" Riddle's voice was back to its usual dryness. "I thought you preferred the language comparison."

Silver shrugged. "Either or. I like the muscle analogy when we're talking about mental abilities like the inherent skills that they are. Every single bird has to learn how to fly on its own, but the learning process is burned into their genetics too. In your case, happiness would be like an atrophied muscle, like a caged bird that's never flown. It'll take a lot of effort and training to get your happiness working again, but it's almost certainly possible in theory. I can't whistle, or raise a single eyebrow, or control my own burps, but if someone with the talent to do those things took over my body, they'd be able to do it even if I can't. If an extremely happy person were put in your body, they'd be able to cast the Patronus charm, just like you'd still be able to cast the killing curse in anybody else's body. You were born with the same potential for happiness as anyone else. Your body's biology should be capable of reaching that potential. It's just that your personality... and, well, let's be honest, your past is getting in the way."

Silver's mentor/student snorted. "What if it's like a limb that has been chopped off, not merely atrophied? Are you so certain I still have the capacity?"

"Yes," said Silver. "Because I still have the capacity for the Killing Curse. When you told me the deeper secret of the Killing Curse, I thought to myself that I'd never be able to cast it. And if that turned out to be true, maybe I'd agree with you. Maybe happiness and the Patronus charm would be out of your reach forever. But since I can cast both at the same time, you should be able to get there too. I find it hard to believe that my abilities are infinitely beyond your reach."

The thestral didn't reply.

"I think that's enough for today. Your homework is to attempt to notice automatic instances of cynicism, just like you taught me how to notice my own magic whenever I cast a spell. Maybe start by writing down obvious instances that you notice after the fact. We'll continue when you believe you've gotten into the habit of noticing negative thoughts as they occur."

Chapter 43: The Night of Summer Sun

The months passed with surprising normalcy for Silver and Memory, for all that they involved ponies and friendship and magic. No more Vows, no more Galas, just work, work, work.

Mondays through Fridays, Silver and Memory took advanced classes at Celestia's School.

Mondays and Fridays, Silver taught pegasus magic at Cloudsdale (horn appropriately hidden with an enchanted sweatband).

Memory quickly became frustrated by her performance in his 'flying' classes. Silver wasn't too surprised. His lessons took, as he once said to Twilight, actual thought, and Memory was still new to that. She was a fast learner, but not quite the best at creative problem solving just yet. She was excellent at understanding things after the fact, after they had been explained to her. She was a better classroom student than anybody or pony Silver knew, except maybe Twilight Sparkle.

But independent study? Searching for the answer herself, even if it was extremely obscure? Even if the answer had never been found before? Even if she had no step-by-step guides? Memory still needed practice in that department.

And practice she would get, for on the weekends, Mr. Tome's 'you do not get to progress until you figure it out for yourself' rule reigned supreme. Silver did not explicitly explain to Memory that they were allowed to ask for hints if they were stuck. He did ask Professor Riddle for a hint while Memory was in earshot, since she was excellent at learning from example.

Late January was when they had acquired their human forms. That procedure had been explicitly explained to them and so it took only a few weeks. What wasn't explained was the purpose of ambidexterity (for the start of Memory's wandless lessons), or the purpose of casting/incanting as slowly/quickly/loudly/quietly as possible (for the continuation of Silver's lessons).

In February, Silver launched his first successful Legilimency probe and Memory learned to detect Legilimency intrusion (performed by pegasus, not thestral). Because of course when Mr. Tome wasn't being their mysterious old wizard, he was teaching them the basics. It said everything you needed to know about him that he thought Occlumency and Legilimency and resisting the Imperius qualified as 'the basics'. And he wasn't far off. You shouldn't go around learning anything truly important if you couldn't protect those lessons from theft.

In March, Silver tried to make a bit more progress on the stone. After reading through the sixth-year charms textbook (which Mr. Tome had brought along with his collection of muggle texts), Silver asked if the Philosopher's stone made the duplication charm permanent, then asked if that's how Mr. Book had acquired an infinite supply of his own blood to experiment with the animagus potion. Professor Riddle confirmed that the stone made Gemino duplications permanent. He confirmed it by word of mouth, not by immediately testing the hypothesis, meaning he wasn't telling his mentor anything the thestral hadn't already figured out for himself. But the Gemino charm cannot duplicate living things, or parts of living things, according to Professor Riddle. A ritual had been used to multiply the originally tiny sample of human blood, and that's what was made permanent.

Silver had a few other ritual suggestions too. In particular, he'd thought of some candidates for the 'sacrifice a magical animal to gain its powers' ritual. They were good suggestions too, the kind that made Mr. Tome say that they were good out loud and applaud his ingenuity for discovering yet another potential way to acquire immortality. But ever since the incident with Hermione's human form gaining an aura of innocence and purity, Professor Riddle has been hesitant to use that ritual without knowing what will happen for certain. Anything more powerful than a troll wouldn't be 'safe', and his suggestion was way more powerful.

So it was back to his usual, ridiculously-high-standard lessons.

In early April, Memory put up her first successful Occlumency barrier and Silver taught her the True Patronus Charm later that month, the very moment she became competent enough to block Veritaserum. At the end of April, Professor Riddle declared Silver a true Perfect Occlumens "after eight whole months. I trust Ms. Memory shall not take that long."

In May, the Canterlot School year ended and so did Mr. Silver's second round of pegasus magic lessons. He'd taught significantly more pegasi than the first time. He wondered how big his third class would be if he was still here after June. Princess Luna's display of revealing herself as a student all along should do wonders on that front.

But in the end, the pony humanmagi didn't make much progress on any of the fronts that mattered.

Mr. Tome wasn't letting them experiment with and/or attempt to duplicate the stone. Mr. Tome's happiness lessons were a seeming non-starter. Attempts to find out if Quirinus Quirrell was trapped with them (in pony form, in Equestria, or even in the same universe) utterly failed. You needed to know someone to send a Patronus message to them, and neither Harry Potter nor Hermione Granger had ever met the real Quirinus Quirrell. And since Mr. Tome wasn't going to ask the princesses for help, it felt like another dead end.

Most importantly of all, their collective efforts at escaping the mirror relied on Mr. Tome's exclusive access to a private royal library. According to him, it's about 80% exhausted of leads, so it wasn't all bad news. Just slow news.

Silver and Memory were getting stronger in the meantime... but that was accompanied by a growing sense of hollowness. If they didn't get back to the human world soon, Memory and Silver would be well beyond the age range of the Hogwarts first-years they'd been when they were trapped. They're almost too old already.

Silver had thought that they would be here for a year at most. Silver's Inner Dumbledore expected this side quest to end on the night of the Summer Sun Celebration, because that's when it began and that's how stories went. He even prepared for it.

As Summer Sun approached, he wrapped up his affairs. He asked Flight Formation to continue the class if something ever happened to him. He opened an account in Canterlot's oldest and most prestigious bank (with a bit of royal influence to allow a colt to do such a thing) and deposited all of his money with a small amount of interest that would compound over time. Memory suggested they say their goodbyes, but he told her they had to make sure the 'goodbyes' weren't obvious. If they stayed trapped, no harm no foul.

But if they escaped, there would be no regrets. The side quest would be complete with a high score and a gold star for completion. No, make that a silver star. He didn't accomplish all his wishes. On that note, maybe he should only earn a bronze star. From a purely practical standpoint, the wish he failed to fulfill was the most important one. Even on an emotional level, it was number two after resurrecting Hermione. Then again, maybe he hadn't failed just yet, which was just as promising as it was worrying.

His Inner Critic pointed out that the real world doesn't work like stories. His Inner Critic remarked (in what sounded like Professor Tome's dry voice) that they would be here for much longer, he still had plenty of time, and nothing important would be happening tonight. Except for the standard nation-wide celebration and delayed sun-raising, of course...

Which he never had investigated, come to think of it. Maybe that would mark the conclusion of the story. A scientific investigation into Equestria's solar and lunar cycles... but no. While it was certainly his style, it didn't really conclude the story.

In any case, his Inner Critic turned out to be right. Nothing of what it considered 'plot relevance' happened that night.

From his perspective, anyway.

Strangely enough, nothing happening was the final straw that used up the last of his patience.

And so, that night, as all of Equestria celebrated, Silver threw up his hooves. He decided he would just have to make the escape happen. With or without the mirror's cooperation.

With the determination that came from taking his destiny into his own hooves, a plan began to form.

He considered what Professor Quirrell had said about the mirror... about the realms invoked by it... the creatures invoked by it...

A/N: Bonus points to anyone who can figure out Silver's escape plan before it's revealed. It'll take a few chapters to get there, and there'll be hints along the way, so you've got plenty of time.

The next town over, an event that Silver's Inner Critic would have called 'extremely plot relevant' began to take place without his knowledge or awareness.

The city of Canterlot was abuzz with excitement and merriment. Most establishments closed early, while the ones that sold food and drink stayed open much later than normal. Even the royal castle would be short-staffed.

From the highest nobles to the lowest servants, the city celebrated. Even the highest nobles of all, the Princesses of Equestria, did not spend the eve of Summer Sun in their courts.

On this particular holiday, Princess Luna had no official duties beyond her right of ascendency: suffusing the sky with stars and moonlight. Other than that, she had the night free.

Despite this, and unlike the rest of the country, her Royal Fool was not allowed to take the night off. (Not that he would have joined the celebrations either way. He preferred the library.)

"You fear relapse?" Riddle asked on his first ever 'you have to be here tonight, no exceptions' shift.

He stood in his employer's bedroom, and his employer did not seem intent on leaving it. "Yes," the princess nodded. "This night more than any other."

"Because it is the night before the Summer Sun Celebration, and therefore a reminder of your banishment?" Riddle asked. "Or because, at stroke of midnight, it will be your birthday?"

"You know?" the princess gasped. "How?"

Riddle Tome had, within his first month of arrival, read ancient works which happened to disclose the birthdays of the princesses, among many other details which he had been more interested to know at the time.

"The history books in the public library did not fail to mention the fact," Riddle relayed. "Ever since I noticed the dates were the same, I've suspected the coincidence. You were banished on your birthday. There has to be a story there."

"Do you not know that as well?" she asked, sounding slightly bitter about it. "I thought it would be public knowledge."

He shook his head. "All stories about the incident reek of falsehoods. Celestia declined to comment, and so ponies were left to their imaginations." As with any ancient thing, he had once said, historians have written down enough lies that it is hard to be sure of anything by this point. "Would you be willing to share your own account of that night?" he asked. "It might help me perform my duties if I know what caused you to fall in the first place."

Besides an outside influence that was dispatched with a simple Avada Kedavra, he thought quietly.

"...Very well."

Riddle felt an involuntary twinge of anticipation. It was such a rare opportunity to acquire first-hand accounts of ancient times. Not since he'd killed Slytherin's basilisk had he had the pleasure.

"As you have experienced these past months," she began, "no ponies were visiting my Night Court. I am used to it now, but on that night, t'was the longest empty stretch to date. It had been a rather rotten month, and I was hoping a few petitioners might cheer me up on my birthday."

"You pinned your hopes and expectations on a single night?" Riddle asked.

The princess nodded with a sigh. "In retrospect, it was foolish of me. Everything went wrong. Nopony visited my Night Court, as usual. Nopony save my sister genuinely wished me a happy birthday. For the most part, it was a very... mundane and uneventful night, which somehow made it even more unbearable. But if it had been just that, I would not have..." she trailed off. Her eyes unfocused from him, unfocused from everything, seemingly lost in memory.

"What happened?" Riddle said, in case she needed prompting.

"I was dream-walking," she said distantly. "Easing the slumbers of my subjects." The voice of the princess began to tremble. She took a deep breath. "About an hour before I was meant to lower the moon that night, I encountered the nightmare of a foal. I tried to disperse it but my efforts only led to more nightmares. It was not until I saw the nightmare that I... I understood..."

Riddle patiently waited for the princess to continue.

She wiped tears from her eyes. "The foal's nightmare," she said at last, in a strangely detached voice, "was me. I was his fear. A terrifying and false image, but me nonetheless. Naturally, my presence in his nightmare did little to quell it." The princess took a few deep breaths. "No matter what I did, no matter how much I tried to comfort that scared little foal..." The princess trailed off, wiping away more tears and sounding like she was trying not to sniffle.

"Well," said Riddle as the princess calmed herself once more, "at least now you are prepared to handle that kind of nightmare. Simply show the story of the Elements defeating you, then show yourself making up with your sister."

The princess gazed at him, her expression unreadable.

"Perhaps," she said softly. "But that idea was unavailable to me a thousand years ago. I tried to disperse the dream through ordinary means, showing the foal my own form and trying to calm him. Eventually, I could not bear to keep making things worse." Her voice began to tremble again. "I intended to cry myself to sleep that night, but I made the mistake of leaving my bedroom door open. My sister passed outside as she did every morning. She saw my state, naturally, and she attempted to..." her tone darkened, "cheer me up. With trite pleasantries. She did not try to understand my mood. Just as she had neglected to understand it for years. In that moment, I decided that it was her fault – her day's fault for hoarding the love of our subjects, her sun's fault for stealing their attention... her fault for neglecting to even notice my frustration before that night. And for failing to give what I needed when she finally did notice."

"I imagine," Riddle said into the pause, "you did not react well."

His employer snorted. "I slammed the door in her face." Then her voice lost all humour. "I decided that if I would be viewed as a nightmare by my subjects, I may as well be..." her voice darkened again. "A Night Mare. Even as my sister raised her sun that morning, I refused to lower my moon. I was convinced that blocking her light would finally bring me the attention I deserved."

The clock clicked quietly in the physically calm, emotionally turbulent room. Well, one end of the room was emotionally turbulent.

"It certainly did that," said Riddle, after the silence had stretched. "What we believe we deserve and what we actually deserve are often two very different things. Though of course," he continued, "it is a common mistake for a pony to believe they deserve anything at all. All entitlement is foolish. It leads to false hope, disappointment, and the temptation to take unhealthy shortcuts when things do not go your way. Worst of all, it leads to inaction and ineptness. Those of noble birth rarely realise it, even throughout the course of their entire lives. Those who are entitled do not do what it truly takes to achieve their ambitions. They do not cleverly plan, they do not carefully think, they do not work hard... and they are incapable of facing unpleasant aspects of reality. Especially if it conflicts with their established patterns of behaviour."

It was only thanks to Mr. Silver's recent pestering that Riddle acknowledged that last part. 'Accepting unpleasant truths that violate your biases and thought patterns' is indeed a virtue of Gryffindor, and a necessary virtue at that.

"Some break their bounds with ambition," he said aloud. "Others, with courage. Either way, extraordinary change requires extraordinary effort. When you earn your salvation, only then can you say that you deserve it. Temper tantrums earn nothing but scorn."

The princess's eyes were distant as he spoke. He was unsure if his words were heard, let alone heeded.

"By the way." Riddle decided a temporary subject change might be best, at this point. "Your tale implies that you created an eclipse at will. Can you still do that today? Or was it exclusive to the temporary powers of Nightmare Moon?"

"What?" the princess asked, breaking from her trance-like remembrance of the past. "Eclipse? What is that?"

"It is when the moon either partially or fully passes between the planet and the sun," said Riddle, only then realising that perhaps the phenomenon would not be known here, and that he needed an excuse for knowing it well enough to name and define it. "A lunar eclipse is the opposite, when the planet casts a shadow on the moon. A complete solar eclipse, as the name suggests, occurs when the moon completely blocks the sun. Eclipses are relatively common outside Equestria, where you do not have the direct oversight to prevent them from happening, though they only last a few minutes."

The princess stared at him for a moment, likely gauging his honesty, then sighed and shook her head. "You speak as if the moon blocking the sun is natural."

Riddle shrugged. "Perhaps not in a country where you can prevent it from happening. Everywhere else, solar eclipses occur somewhere on the planet with a frequency of something like once every 18 months, if my memory serves me correctly."

"How do you know this?" the moon princess asked, eyebrows furrowed.

It was a useless fact he'd memorized for his Astronomy N.E.W.T. long ago. "In truth, I do not. It is simply the best guess available to me, based on the works of others."

It might not hold true for this world, but he had literally no other means of prediction. And even if it didn't hold true, the princesses could always make it be true.

"You are not being honest," she pointed out.

"But I am also not lying."

The moon princess gazed at him skeptically.

"Eclipses are natural," he emphasised. "If you wanted, you could arrange for a holiday to introduce the ponies of Equestria to the phenomenon. After consulting your sister, of course. From what I gather, the mistakes of the past might have been averted by communication, rather than autonomous action."

There was a long pause.

"They could have been," the princess finally admitted. "I never told- have not told Celestia about this. About any of this. And thou will not tell her."

"Of course not," Riddle said, accepting the royal command with simple honesty. It's not like it mattered to him. "But based on what I know of her personality, your sister would certainly sympathise if you explained. Is that not what you want?"

"No," said the princess.

"Then what do you want?"

"In truth, I do not know." Luna sighed, her gaze distant once more. "If it were possible to change the past, I would wish that she had seen something amiss before that night. As it stands, now I just wish she would realise her past mistakes without my spelling them out." Luna's eyes went even further from the present. "It used to be that way when we were little. Tia would know every little thing that made me upset, even when I did not know myself. She must have learned how to do it when we were foals, I suppose. I would not have been able to use my words to communicate my troubles as a yearling. She maintained that awareness throughout our fillyhoods, but... as we grew older..." the princess trailed off, wearing a light frown. "I suppose our duties caused us to drift apart, and... and I do not know if there is anything that can bring us together again. It-" The voice of the princess caught for a moment. "It is like a hole in my being. And I do not think it will ever be mended. Not unless... not unless Celestia sees it on her own. I had been so hurt by her cheerfulness when that was not what I needed. Not then. Not from her. I needed her to ask why I was crying, not smile and wave."

There was another stretch of silence.

"A thousand years is a long time," Riddle remarked. "Your sister is blind to many things, but I suspect she has realised that particular error after having so much time to think about it."

"I wish that were the case," sighed the princess of night. "But if she has understood, she has not told me."

Just then, the clock on the wall chimed midnight. Princess Luna barely seemed to notice.

"I would not ordinarily do this," said Riddle Tome, "but I once said to myself that I would perform random acts of charity until my mind went there easily, and I have not made enough true efforts to that end."

The original criticism was that he did not see nice ways to accomplish his goals because he had a self-image of not being nice. Not even when nice strategies would be more effective. The action he intended to perform next would cost him nothing but his self-image of not being nice, and it had the potential to advance his agenda, so he continued. He ignored the nagging sense that he wasn't being himself as he reached a hoof into his cloak.

"I suppose now is as good a time as any to start practicing. It is custom to give ponies a present on their birthdays, correct?" he asked facetiously.

One of the requisites for becoming a powerful wizard is an excellent memory. The key to a puzzle is often something you read twenty years ago in an old scroll, or a peculiar ring you saw on the finger of a man you met only once.

The very first night after his entrapment in the mirror, he had seen something that his mind had marked as possibly important. Thus, he memorized it exactly.

"From your perspective," Mr. Tome began, "this might be the greatest gift I will ever be able to give you. So don't expect better in the future," he warned. "Though in truth, it is not quite my gift. I am merely the messenger."

"Messenger of what?" his employer asked.

He withdrew the Pensieve bowl from his person and set it to levitate before him. He then stood still for a time, recalling the relevant memory in as much detail as possible, slowly pulling it from his forehead.

"I witnessed this scene immediately prior to your return," he explianed. "It occurred in a secluded meadow near the Castle of Two Sisters, and the pony within did not know she was being observed. I later learned that this might have been a nightly occurrence. The pony you are about to watch had a routine of disappearing every single night, from the time the moon began to lower in the sky to the moment the sun peeked above the horizon. It's only a guess that what you are about to witness is what she was doing each night, during her absences. If so, this memory would contain the final time she did it. Beyond that, I suggest you watch and see for yourself."

Luna looked at the liquid within the floating liquid container for a long moment, then put her head into the basin-

-and suddenly found herself flying above the Castle of Two Sisters, her childhood home. Actually... there was the feeling of flying, but none of the emotions. She kept her own emotions as she watched the scene, just like the first/last time she watched Riddle Tome's memory. It was strange to feel the air beneath the flesh of thestral wings. For all that they were her dearest subjects, she had never known them on this level before.

The memory took place during the night, at a time when the moon would be going down... perhaps in an hour. It was a time when her nightly duties were almost done, a time when her sister would be awake, but not yet in charge.

As if on cue...

A/N: If the following link doesn't work...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i7PQ9IO-7fU&t=328s

...then type "Lullaby for a Princess" into YouTube. Watch it before continuing. Or don't. But I'm not transcribing the lyrics just yet.

Obligatory disclaimer that the video, song, animation, performance, etc. are not mine in any way, shape, or form. When you're done watching, or if you've already seen it, you can keep reading.

Riddle had not been expecting his employer to discover the 'repeat' function of the penseive on her own. Nothing else explained the fact that she remained submerged for hours. He'd been annoyed after the first fifteen minutes, but when he realised what was happening, he decided it was just as well. He was almost done with the library now that his noble status allowed him to remove and return books (on the condition that he honestly say he'd done nothing to the tomes other than read them). This book was one of the last.

When Luna's head finally emerged from the basin, the book vanished into his robes. Water was dripping from her face, and from this angle, he saw that not all of it was basin water.

"Guard!" Luna said loudly. The door to her bedchambers slammed open. "Bring us to our sister at once!"

The trip did not take long. Riddle followed, invisible and silent even as Luna entered her sister's bedchambers and closed the door behind them. (Whether either alicorn knew he was there, he didn't know. If he had to, he could always use the time turner to give himself the alibi that he'd stayed behind in Luna's room.)

A white alicorn, barely out of bed, looked up lazily. "Good morning Luna," she said with a yawn and a smile. "Happy birthday. How went the celebrations?"

"Sister," said Luna. "I heard."

"Heard what, Luna?"

Luna took a step closer. "Your lullaby."

Celestia froze. She stood there, still as a statue, not saying anything.

"Sister?" Luna asked.

Celestia's voice, when it spoke again, was small and fearful. "You did?"

"Yes."

"Luna, I'm-" Celestia choked. "I'm sorry, I- I didn't-"

"Sorry?" Luna tilted her head. "Why would you be sorrowful?"

"The lyrics were never finished," Celestia said, quickly and teary-eyed. The ruler of Equestria was in an emotional state that, according to all documentation, had never been seen in the past millennium. "Part of the song is awful. They- that part about great reign... a-and brilliant glory- I never- I couldn't..."

The Day princess trailed off, seemingly unable to find words now, just as she claims she had been unable to find the right words for a thousand years.

Riddle didn't chuckle to himself, lest he make a sound that would reveal his invisible presence, but he felt the impulse to do so. Those verses had been rather self-flattering. In a song meant to apologize for pride and neglect, they did not fit. Quoting her past self to outline her own former arrogance was perfectly fine:

Once did a pony who shone like the sun look out on her kingdom and sigh.
She smiled and said "Surely there is no pony so lovely and well-beloved as I."

But if you immediately follow it with...

So great was her reign, so brilliant her glory that long was the shadow she cast, Which fell dark upon the young sister she loved and grew only darker as days and nights passed.

...that same arrogance in the song's narration, it defeats the purpose.

If Nightmare Moon heard those lines, she would have scoffed and said something like 'even after a thousand years, she still thinks so much of herself, doesn't she?'

At least Celestia had the wherewithal to see that for herself. But none of that seemed to matter to her younger sister.

Luna closed the remainder of the gap between them. "Tia," Luna said, her neck around her crying sister's in a firm embrace. "It was perfect. I loved every word."

There was the slightest of pauses, and then the world seemed to shift. Or maybe explode. Like a sun coming out from behind the clouds, though it was not daytime.

The burst of magic put Riddle on immediate high alert, but when he noticed that the hair of the Day Princess changed, he relaxed slightly, acknowledging that this great magical wave was probably not an attack.

The pastel greens and sombre blues that might be seen in an aurora borealis had changed to a brighter spectrum of rainbow colours – like the cyan pegasus from Ponyville, only more so. Her hair looked like a true rainbow now. Riddle got the sudden and certain feeling that Celestia had been clouded before, but had just now emerged into her true, full self.

He rolled his eyes at the blatantly obvious symbolism that so often came with the magic of Equestria.

It was like standing in the eye of a hurricane of harmony, as strange as that might sound. Luna felt it – as powerful as anything she'd ever felt, yet as wonderful and brilliant as the brightest healing charm. When she looked up, she saw the source.

Her regal sister no longer looking like she'd just gotten up from bed. Standing tall and proud, a fully matured white alicorn stood in the corridor, now looking like she was ready to illuminate a nation.

"Sister," Luna gasped. It was strange that she couldn't find anything to say except, "Your hair."

Celestia glanced back at her flowing mane of rainbow, her eyes widening only slightly in surprise. She seemed about to say something, then paused.

"No, sister," Tia said with a smile, turning her gaze away from herself and fixing her eyes firmly on Luna. "Your hair."

Luna looked at her own blue mane. It was not flowing nor magical at the moment. "Sister?" she asked, confused-

Only to be nearly-blinded by the glow of a spell more intense than she had ever seen. Then there was another burst of magic, and-

She felt her head and back lighten slightly.

(Riddle quietly wondered if he should be impressed or afraid that Celestia had invented and enacted a completely new ritual in the span of two seconds, for it was clear that she'd just sacrificed something, and he doubted it had ever been done before.)

"I will never leave you behind again, Luna."

When her vision returned to her, a confused Luna looked to where her sister had been, only to be met with the image of a different alicorn. She froze at the sight. First in dreadful fear, but then, as she understood, in wonderment.

Before her stood an alicorn with a misty mane of flowing starlight and coat the color of the night sky... though not pure midnight, as Nightmare Moon's had been. The alicorn she saw, which she suddenly realized as herself, stood as tall as her sister – who emerged from behind the mirror with a smile. Tia no longer looked quite as magical as she'd been a few seconds ago, but she still had all the markings of maturity about her. Just as Luna saw and felt all the markings of alicorn maturity about herself.

"Happy Birthday, sister."

There truly was only one way to respond.

The younger pony almost tackled the older in a fierce embrace. And for the first time, the two ponies hugged each other not as younger sibling and older sibling, but as equals. As true sisters, as deep as any bond could possibly be.

The blissful moment lasted as long as it needed to, and she was not upset when it ended.

"Sister," said Celestia, pulling away to meet her gaze (at equal eye-level, she was thrilled to note). "I am curious. If you heard my lullaby from the moon, why did you only bring it up today?"

Luna laughed. "Oh, I didn't hear it from the moon, dear sister. I don't believe I remember anything from that time, if I was even aware at all."

"Then how did you hear it?"

Luna smiled. "T'was a birthday gift." At her sister's confused look, Luna gestured. "Come," she directed. "I'll show you."

The two alicorns walked to Luna's chambers as a third followed invisibly behind. Then, thinking better of it, the third stopped walking. He noted the time with a wordless, wandless tempus, then he teleported to the room in which he'd probably been meant to remain. If a time-turned self had been there moments before, he couldn't tell, which was just as well. No sense committing to that future if he didn't have to.

He also had an excuse in case either alicorn had noticed his intrusion on their privacy, but he'd rather not use it, just as he'd prefer to not make liberal use of time-turned alibis. Eventually, somepony might pick up on the fact that his alibis aren't trustworthy, even if they don't know about time turners. All it takes is somepony else's certainty that he was in two places at once, somehow, and the scheme would be ruined. Time-turned alibis are useful in minor plots, but otherwise they're not worth the risk of exposing time turners completely.

He appeared in his employer's room before the two alicorns arrived, cast an ordinary disillusionment, then dropped his invisibility and stood quietly in a corner while he waited.

"Here," his employer said when she arrived, leading Celestia to the large bowl floating in the room's center. "This invention is called a Pensieve. It allows one pony to view the memories of another."

Celestia stared at it, a strange expression on her face. "I do not know this magic..." she said slowly.

Riddle wondered if she would remember the dinner conversation that would give it away, revealing his involvement before he revealed himself. It's not like any scholars had asked him about it since then.

"How does it work?"

Apparently not.

"The memory is still within the bowl," Luna said, eyes tracing the silver liquid. "You must place your head into the liquid to watch it."

Her sister glanced dubiously at the bowl before complying without hesitation. Sisterly trust, Riddle supposed.

So as not to be bored for the five minutes it would take Celestia to watch the memory, he occupied his mind with the task of imagining more fitting lyrics to the song he'd witnessed, now that he knew the circumstances surrounding it. The exercise was intellectually stimulating in its own right, not just another opportunity to practice random acts of charity. His mind deemed it sufficiently challenging enough to be interesting. At least for five minutes. He had no musical talent himself, but he was a good enough writer, and he could edit better than he could create.

When that was done, Celestia was still submerged in memory.

He decided to make himself visible with a twinge of effort and caught his employer's attention with a small blip of light.

His employer saw it and met his gaze, her raised eyebrows asking a question.

He walked until he stood a bit behind Celestia. Now his own brows asked the question.

His employer smiled mischievously, then turned back to watch her sister, who in that moment seemed to finish watching, her head shaking in wonderment.

"Sister," said Celestia, hear head dripping as it rose, "if not yours, whose memory is this?"

"If you are looking for potential alternatives for your lyrics," said Riddle Tome, startling the living daylights out of Celestia.

Celestia said "You-" in the Royal Canterlot Voice, likely as a result of being so surprised. Then she caught herself. The great Celestia shouting at her subjects was unheard of. In this century, anyway.

"You could replace 'so great was her reign' with 'so bright was her reign'," he continued calmly, undisturbed by the outburst, "and replace 'glory' with 'ego'. That would convey the intended message."

"Pardon?" she asked politely, still getting her wits about herself. She likely assumed he had arrived while she was viewing the memory, not that he had been there all along.

"If you consider my suggestions," he shrugged, "you will be pardoned. For example, certain parts of the lyrics should be converted to past tense, now that the thousand years are over. And perhaps," he said thoughtfully, "change 'and forgive me for being so blind' to 'please forgive me'. That part works better as a request, not a demand... though in truth, you may wish to simply make it 'I'm sorry for being so blind'." He turned to his employer. "Thoughts?"

"Hm..." said the Night princess while the Day princess stared. "I do not like the word 'ego'. I understand why you suggested it, but 'brilliant glory' has a subtlety to it that 'brilliant ego' does not. The other ideas are not bad. 'Bright reign' sticks with the metaphor of her light casting a long shadow, but 'great' is equally good. The rest is semantic." She turned to face Celestia. "What do you think, dear sister? It is your song, after all."

The white alicorn, now (falsely) understanding what had happened, turned to face him. "Riddle Tome, would you mind returning later? I'd like some private time with my sister."

Riddle looked to his employer, who nodded. Shrugging, he left the room.

A powerful set of privacy charms followed in his wake, preventing eavesdropping.

Nine hundred, ninety-nine years and three hundred sixty two days ago, Equestria's most accurate and accomplished seer – a wizened Earth Pony in her fifteenth decade – advised a grieving monarch that hope was not lost.

If Celestia sang in the meadow outside the Castle of the Two Sisters, every night for a thousand years, the song would reach her sister's ears. Not Nightmare Moon's ears, the seer had reassured her, and no, this prophecy had not been fabricated to appease Celestia's guilt. All other true seers would have Seen the same, and would speak it once more if Celestia ever began to doubt.

If she sang every night for a thousand years, her song would reach the lost Princess Lullaymoon through the void of space and the flow of time, and the two would be true sisters once more.

For the rest of the evening, as the nation celebrated outside, Luna traced patterns of stars in the sky, content to lean against her sister in her bed. Tia's wing was draped over her, and if Luna relaxed her mind, it was almost like they were foals again. She didn't know how long they stayed like that. Maybe hours.

"I wish I could have sung it to you that night," Tia said quietly.

She didn't say which night.

She didn't need to.

Luna slowly turned to look at her. "Can you... can you sing it to me tonight?" she asked. "I would like to hear it with my own ears. And it is still my birthday."

It was the most wonderful request in the world, and Celestia loved her sister for asking it. "Of course, Luna."

Tia's horn glowed with the shape of a spell that Luna had recently read about, but not yet learned. It was a musical spell, one which plays a pre-determined series of instrumentals – in this case, a piano.

Once the music had played for a while, Celestia began to sing.

"Fate has been cruel and order unkind. How can I have sent you away?

The blame was my own, the punishment yours, the harmony silent today.

But into the stillness I’ll sing you a song, and I will your company keep.

Till your tired eyes and my lullabies have carried you softly to sleep.

Once did a pony who shone like the sun look out on her kingdom and sigh.

She smiled and said “Surely there is no pony so lovely and so well-beloved as I.”

So bright was her reign, so brilliant her glory that long was the shadow she cast.

Which fell dark upon the young sister she loved, and grew only darker as days and nights passed.

Lullay Moon Princess, good night sister mine, rest now in moonlight’s embrace.

Bear up my lullaby winds of the earth, through cloud and through sky and through space.

Carry the peace and the stillness of night, and carry my sorrow in kind.

Luna you’re loved so much more than you know. May troubles be far from your mind.

Forgive me for being so blind.

Soon did that pony take notice that others did not give her sister her due.

And neither had she loved her as she deserved, she watched as her sister’s unhappiness grew.

But such is the way of the limelight, it slowly takes hold of its host.

And that foolish pony did nothing to stop the destruction of one who had needed her most.

Lullay Moon Princess, good night sister mine, rest now from moonlight’s embrace.

You bore up my lullaby winds of the earth, through stars and through void and through space.

You carried the peace and the stillness of night, and carried my sorrow in kind.

Luna you’re loved so much more than you know. May troubles be far from your mind.

I’m sorry for being so blind.

The years now behind us, tearful and alone.

I never imagined I’d face them on my own.

Oh those thousand winters slowly passed, I say.

I love you. I missed you, all those miles away.

May all your dreams be sweet tonight, safe beneath your mane of moonlight.

And know not of anger, pain, or care.

And when you weep I’ll stay awake and sing you there.

Sleep.

Sleep.

Sleep...

Chapter 44: Generosity

Celestia passed through the entrance to her sister's chambers, then quietly closed the door behind her.

“She sleeps?” asked her sister's fool.

“Yes,” answered Celestia, “though that is not YOUR business.”

“It is exactly my business,” said the dark, gray pony. “My employer ordered me to stay until she fell asleep. Now that she has, I may take my leave.”

“Please do," Celestia said to the pony who had brought so much trouble to her kingdom in the past year.

Riddle chuckled as he trotted down the palace hall.

Celestia did not follow him.

Just before the gray pony reached the end of the hallway, he turned to face her. “In retrospect, I'm glad I have as much experience as I do," he said with a clearly false smile. It was a twisted, bitter thing – like the pony himself. "When I decided to gift my memory to your sister, I did not expect anything in return. I did it only as practice to help my mind go to the thought of generosity more easily."

What?

"So, as I said, I am glad I have experience with the ephemeral nature of gratitude. Otherwise I might have been surprised in the face of fleeting, or in this case, nonexistent thanks."

Like a buck to the face.

That was often what it felt like when talking to Riddle Tome. Most of the time, he was to blame. This time...

"In the future," continued that cynical, empty voice, "I shall be careful ONLY to do good deeds when they are guaranteed to further my own agenda.”

This time, Celestia realized she fully deserved to feel awful.

The pony did not genuflect before fully turning around the corner. He clearly did not think she deserved any reverence whatsoever. She probably didn't.

“Mystery Book, wait,” said Celestia, appearing before him in a teleport. “I... I apologize. I should not have been short with you. You have done more for me and my sister this night than I could repay in a lifetime."

Like granting her deepest desire for the last thousand and one years: the desire to complete her song. Until this morning, she had thought the unfinished lyrics were the reason she hadn't brought it up with Luna. That had been a lie, a self-deception. She had simply been afraid.

But that is in the past now. Thanks to her sister's fool, her song is complete, and it has nothing to do with the change in lyrics. Her song is complete because her sister has finally heard it. And it's all thanks to Riddle Tome, who helped without even expecting anything in return...

Though he could be lying about that. Celestia never was the Element of Honesty, and she knows this pony is not trustworthy. But the way he put it... the manner in which he described his outlook on generosity... led her to believe he was being straightforward. And it's her responsibility to defend her former element, if not herself.

"Please know that generosity will always be welcomed and thanked," said the Element's once-bearer. "I only knew that you did not genuinely feel it in your actions, and that colored my perceptions." Is this how Luna feels about his truthful deceptions? "Even if it was a whim," she conceded, "even if you did not feel the charity, you gave my sister the greatest birthday gift that you could have given her, that anypony could have given her, and you expected nothing in return." It was, factually speaking, a generous act. If that was the only way the pony before her could be generous, she would gladly take it. "Please, allow me to repay you."

Riddle's eyebrows rose. "How do you intend to do that?" he asked. "Do you know me well enough to know what I want?"

"I know you have been researching magical artifacts," Celestia replied. She'd kept a close eye on her guard's reports of him. "If you are looking for something in particular, you need only ask."

Riddle's eyebrows rose even higher. "Truly?" he asked, the skepticism clear in his voice.

Celestia immediately hesitated. "I... must emphasize that I am only promising to provide information. If I have it. Describe what you seek, and I will say what I know. But I cannot guarantee I will help you acquire what you are looking for, especially if it is a dark artifact..." she trailed off.

"It is not," said Riddle. "It is neither light nor dark. It's surprisingly neutral, though it is said to possess a moral orientation. Given the existence of the Elements of Harmony, there are probably many artifacts with that property in Eqeustria, so I doubt it's as unique as... nevermind. I expect the only aspect of my quarry that Equestrian scholars might find unique would be the power of creating and accessing other realms of existence. Although perhaps its power over reflections will also prove rare."

Celestia's breath caught involuntarily.

"I see you might be familiar with the it," Riddle observed.

Celestia chided herself internally.

"But that could just be wishful thinking on my part," Riddle said, pessimism clear in his voice, as if preparing himself for yet another disappointment after a long string of failures. "Before I go into further detail, would you mind offering your thoughts so far? What artifacts can access other realms of existence that you know about?"

There was a pause.

Celestia did not speak.

"I see you are debating whether to give me the knowledge you promised to provide." Riddle made a deliberate show of sighing. "Why must you alicorns insist on making promises you cannot keep?"

Until then, Celestia might have thought that any change in topic would have been appreciated. Now that the topic has changed, she wished it hadn't.

Her first instinct was to defend herself and her element against the unjust attack, but...

"Say what you will about me," she said, choosing instead- "but do not imply my sister has broken a promise!" -to defend Luna.

"She didn't tell you?" Mr. Tome inquired in an amused voice. "She attempted to observe my student's dreams after promising she never would. She almost lost my services for that. She went so far as to offer me nobility in order to settle the debt she incurred for violating my employment conditions."

"That is not the same as breaking a true promise," Celestia replied hotly. "She did tell me. She did not promise that she would never look into his or your dreams." And although Celestia knew the next part would sound like an excuse to him, she said it anyway. "Luna thought of it like a contract, not a promise, and she valued your student's life more than she valued that contract. Even if she had not thought she was being clever, she still would have done it. Being forced to make the choice tore at her, but she made the right one. She knew that she could lose your employment. She knew she could lose you. She took that risk anyway. For Silver's sake, and Twilight's sake, and your sake."

"My sake?" he asked in a slightly incredulous tone. "How could her violation of my terms have been done for my sake?"

"Losing Silver would have hurt you," she said simply. "Whether you choose to acknowledge it or not."

Riddle scoffed. "I do not. And Mr. Silver was in no danger of being lost."

"She did not know that. She only knew he'd been taken by a phoenix."

He flicked a hoof. "Irrelevant. And all of that does not change the facts of the matter. She did betray a promise. You will not distract me from my original claim."

"She violated the conditions of a contract," Celestia corrected. "And she did it in a way that was a natural reaction to you. You did similar rule-bending up until then, and after then, and you will continue to bend our rules, and now you complain that you rubbed off on her. She responded to you in kind. The promise she broke was not unconditional. It was not understood by her to be the unbreakable kind, done between true friends. Like your Vow, I suppose, though of course true friends do not need ritual magic. That is the kind of promise she has never broken, in all her life."

"Even as Nightmare Moon?"

"Even as Nightmare Moon," Celestia confirmed.

Riddle's eyebrows rose.

"Though that was not Luna and you know it."

The thestral paused, tilting his head and seeming to think about her words for a moment. But then he shrugged, as if to say her entire argument didn't matter. "Even if I did accept all that," Riddle said, "she recently made what you would call a true promise to me. It is only a matter of time until she breaks it. Now," he said without transition. "Will you keep yours?"

There was an uncomfortable, indignant pause on Celestia's end, and an irritated pause on the other.

Then Riddle seemed to chuckle his annoyance away. "I suppose you are less of a contradiction when it comes to broken promises. You were never the Element of Honesty, after all. Only Kindness and Generosity and Friendship," said the pony who has never had a single ounce of any of the three for all the time she's known him. "Which often require regular lies to maintain," he added spitefully. Then, twisting the barb further with heavy sarcasm, he continued. "Thank you, by the way, for your kind and generous 'promise' of magical information. The mere words were greatly appreciated."

Why did conversations with Riddle Tome always have to go this way?

"I will keep my promise," Celestia stated, "so long as you do not abuse the knowledge I share. I am not hesitant for my sake."

Riddle shook his head. "Our separate understandings of 'abused knowledge' aside," he said disdainfully, "your initial promise to me was not conditional. Speak now or break it."

...

With a heavy sense of reluctance, and even heavier internal chiding, Celestia spoke.

She described the artifact whose records had been purged from existence by her orders.

She described the magic mirror, ancient and powerful, housed in the bowels of Canterlot castle (though she did not tell Riddle its location), leading to another world parallel to this one: a world of humans and high schools. A world that Riddle could break, that any magical being could break if they meant ill. She didn't tell him that either. The world had felt fragile on her last visit, even if it was advanced in certain ways.

Riddle asked for the name of the human planet, if she knew it.

He asked for the name of the human country.

He asked what the humans looked like.

He asked if she had detected any magic when she'd been there. (He'd somehow picked up on the fact that she'd visited the world from the way she described it.)

As far as she could tell from his questions, the thestral didn't know anything about Canterlot High.

He asked a few other questions about the mirror itself.

No, it was not fixed in place.

No, it did not float in the air.

No, there are no runes writ upon its backside.

No, nopony had ever tried to destroy it.

No! She didn't care what his reasons were, he would not test its fragility. She shall say no more if that is his intention.

No, she didn't believe that he would sooner cut off his own hoof than see damage to the mirror.

(Little did she know it would regrow.)

No. Even if she did believe him, she did not appreciate the question. He will not speak of harming it again, he will not think of harming it again, and if he does she will not help him.

All in all, it was not a fun conversation. Just like all the other ones she has ever had with Riddle Tome. Only worse, which was also just like all the other conversations she had with him, because every conversation always feels like the worst one.

In the end, "No, nopony knows who originally made the mirror," was the only thing that eased the thestral's ever-growing frown. As far as anypony knew, including herself, it has been around as long as recorded history, ever since Celestia first discovered it.

On the plus side, none of his questions supported her suspicion: namely, it no longer seemed likely that Riddle came from the human world she had visited.

Him being a former human would have explained a few things, like his casual attitude (in conversation) towards eating the flesh of fellow mammals, and his unusually dexterous hooves, and maybe even his accent. It would also explain...

The best way she could put it was his 'aura'. He had an atmosphere of being a predator, though it wasn't anything magical. He did not have the demeanor of a pony, a 'herd animal' as the gryphons and some scholars put it. Riddle being a thestral didn't explain his nature because his behavior was well beyond the limits that the thestral species pushed into predator territory. Thestrals are still, at the end of the day, ponies. His behaviours were more human/gryphon/dragon than pony. And him being a predator had nothing to do with dietary tendencies or adult desires either. Her sister assured her that he's done nothing seriously criminal (beyond stealing a library book when the library was closed) and that he's surprisingly celibate. It's just that he's...

Dangerous.

That was the best way she could describe him, if she had to choose a single word. Being born a human could have explained all that, with a bad enough upbringing. However...

"That does not sound like the right mirror," Riddle said after a time.

Celestia felt a wave of relief.

"Still, I should check just in case."

Celestia felt a wave of apprehension.

"Do you know where it is?"

There was another pause as Celestia debated-

"I see that you do," Riddle observed. "Given that you've used it, and that I've found no mention in the library, I suspect it's a national secret of some kind. Probably kept somewhere in this castle, if it leads to a muggle equivalent of this particular city."

Muggle?

"Will you allow me to look upon it?"

"Not without direct supervision of the crown," Celestia declared. If this was going to happen – and now that Riddle knew about the mirror, it would happen – she was going to set some ground rules. "And you must promise to my sister that you will not attempt to damage it or the worlds it contains, on punishment of imprisonment, followed by banishment from Equestria. She will gauge your honesty, and only then shall you be allowed a supervised visit."

"If I must be supervised when looking upon the mirror," Riddle said before she could establish any more rules, "it shall also be your sister, and she alone, who supervises me."

"You do not get to make that decision."

"Not even if I swear that I have no intention of visiting the realm you described, or interacting with it in any way?" Riddle interjected. "I believe that is your concern above all else."

"You... would swear that?"

He nodded easily. "I can honestly say that I have no interest in a realm of humans with vibrant hair colors, especially if it is simply a parallel to this realm. At the moment, I only wish to see the mirror's outer appearance. You even said that it isn't active at the moment. What's the harm?"

Celestia paused. "If that is all you intend, I will consider your request. But I fully intend to be nearby in case something goes wrong."

"I do not mind if you stand outside the room like a guard might," Riddle remarked. "I was referring to immediate supervision."

"You can see the mirror from outside the room," she informed him.

"That would be the problem," he sighed. "I also have no intention of having my image reflected until I am more certain about the mirror's nature."

"The mirror is not facing the room's entrance," she pointed out.

That caused Riddle to pause. "Has the mirror ever been known to move of its own accord?"

"No."

"Is it strictly impossible for the mirror to turn and face me if, say, I opened the door to the chamber housing it?"

"Yes."

"And you would not force it to face me if I stood in the doorway?"

"Heavens no!"

"You would make absolutely certain that didn't happen?"

"Yes..." Celestia said warily.

Riddle stared at her for a long moment.

"In that case... I think I would not mind your direct supervision if it meant we went soon. At the moment, seeing its backside should be sufficient for my purposes. I do not need nor do I want to go anywhere near it. Not yet. Its outer appearance should allow me to know if I am barking up the wrong tree. Unless you've already decided to rescind your offer of official supervision?"

She shook her head. "No. If that is all you wish, we could go right now. We needn't even pass through the wards. But what happens when you inevitably decide to go further than the room's entrance?"

"I only consent to the company of Princess Luna," he answered at once. "If you must be nearby, you will stand outside and not eavesdrop. Contractually or not, unconditional promises or not, at least she has motive to keep my past a secret should she learn more of it."

Celestia didn't know if she should take that statement at face value. She'd thought he wanted Luna instead of Celestia because her sister was (until earlier that night) not as strong as her, and thus more easily overpowered by some kind of surprise attack.

That could still be true. Riddle might not have noticed Luna's new mane and power in the dark of her chambers... but he probably did. A desire for privacy made more sense.

So far, she hadn't considered allowing Luna to supervise him because (a) it wasn't his place to demand it and (b) she didn't trust his motives. She still didn't trust his motives, and it still wasn't his place to demand anything involving the mirror (aside from already-promised information), but his requested supervision might bring her sister joy, and so Celestia would consider it.

"We shall see," she said, keeping all her other thoughts to herself. She would ask her sister in the evening. "Come," she said to him with a head gesture. "We may as well get this over with. It goes without saying that any hostile magics- no. Any magic at all will result in sanctions."

"I understand," he said easily as he followed.

"Good."

"Your subjects will not miss you?" he asked as he trotted alongside her. "Ponyville is not expecting you for their Summer Sun Celebration this year?"

"I scheduled no public appearances today," said Celestia. "I intended to spend the morning with my sister, and that is already done. The bright morning of Summer Sun can just as easily be done from here." Her horn glowed golden for a brief moment. Then a great, distant cheer arose, muffled by many layers of walls. "There."

Riddle gave a dry chuckle. "How ceremonious."

Celestia did not respond as she led him to a flight of stairs.

“By the by,” said Riddle in a conversational tone as they descended a stone tunnel carved into the mountain. “Have you ever heard of an eclipse?”

“An eclipse?" the princess asked. "I know the word, of course, but I have never heard it used as a noun.”

Riddle nodded. "If your sister brings it up with you, know that she is not attempting to encroach on your territory. She would simply be conveying a suggestion of mine."

Knowing the suggestion came from him made her more apprehensive, not less. "What suggestion?" she asked dubiously.

"That the ponies of Equestria be introduced to a natural phenomenon which is common outside these borders, but has, I suspect, only happened once since the two of you gained control over the day-night cycle."

"And that phenomenon is...?" Celestia asked warily.

"An eclipse is the astronomical event of a sun, moon, and planet forming a straight line in space. If the moon is in the middle of that line, it casts a shadow on the planet and is called a solar eclipse. If the planet sits in the middle, casting a shadow on the moon, it is a lunar eclipse."

The argument ignited by this claim lasted until their arrival at a great vault ended it. Well, his "If nothing else, remember that it was my suggestion, not your sister's; let's leave it at that," ended the argument. Again, coming from him made it worse, not better.

The guards in front of the thick enchanted metal saluted their monarch. "Princess," one of them said. "You aren't scheduled to see the vault today."

"I am not," she acknowledged. "Perform your standard checks. I will explain afterward."

What followed was a long series of security charms that, Riddle noted, did not check for polyjuice, small animagi, the Deathly Hallows, or metamorphmagi. Although on second thought, one of them might work on a metamorphmagus. He'd have to experiment once he got back.

It was an esoteric spell mentioned in the royal library, but he hadn't encountered anypony using it until today. The spell description says that it dispels an active changeling disguise. It warned that it did not detect changelings. But the scroll failed to describe what changelings were, and he found no other references to them. It was entirely possible that Celestia didn't know either. It might just be a security spell passed down by her predecessors, with nobody knowing why it was still done.

When they both passed inspection (though Riddle only passed once he took off his cloak and glasses), Celestia spoke. "Riddle Tome, alicorn and noble, is here to look upon the contents of this vault. Neither of us shall enter, so please maintain all wards to their full effect. As I'm sure Captain Armor has thoroughly explained, neither of you are to look inside. Look at us and our surroundings. Make sure the wards are not disturbed when the door is opened."

The guards nodded, their horns glowing with magic that took many minutes to play out.

Riddle was almost made nervous by all the protections guarding the vault.

Almost.

He'd broken into Gringotts vaults before, and he could break into this one too.

Even still, if the mirror is inside, arranging for himself and Mr. Silver and Ms. Memory to stand before it without royal permission might have proven difficult. If he'd been less cautious.

Thankfully, he hasn't revealed apparition yet.

He could clearly perceive an anti-portkey ward around the vault. He has revealed portkeys, even going so far as to explain how to make them to Twilight Sparkle, and Celestia has already implemented the counter-ward in key locations, it seems. Just as he'd intended. He gave the appearance of openness to conceal his true method of travel.

There were no anti-apparition wards around the vault, so getting in would be as simple as seeing the interior, then biding his time for an opportune moment. Celestia might detect intrusion if something did suddenly appear inside the room, but her own anti-teleportation and anti-phoenix wards would delay her long enough for the mirror's process to complete.

On the other hoof, he could just enter the normal way, with normal supervision. That was probably the better route in any case. He just needed to know if he should.

The door slowly swung open, revealing...

Silver finished conceptualising his master escape plan after a long night of theorising. He'd have to go to bed soon, and possibly use his time turner for six hours of sleep so he could avoid any uncomfortable questions about why he'd pulled an all-nighter when Twilight had told him to go to sleep.

A thestral appeared before him just as he was about to spin the glass.

The Silver of six months ago would have jumped in alarm. The Silver of today already had his expression schooled by the habit of constantly-maintained, Perfect Occlumency. If his practice to achieve that ability hadn't involved Professor Tome randomly appearing out of nowhere, even in the privacy of this very room, at odd hours of the day and night, he MIGHT have reacted poorly. He might have given himself away. But his outer personality was that of an innocent, frustrated Silver Wing.

A rump part of his brain, his true self, was very nervous, wondering if and how, in the name of Azathoth, could Mr. Tome have possibly guessed that he intended to...

"Mr. Silver," said Mr. Tome. "I have located the mirror. We will be visiting it tomorrow when my shift begins, so adjust your sleep cycle accordingly. We shall have much to do when we get back. And do not to use your spimster wicket; you might need the hours, if reality decides that this whole ordeal has reset your allotted spins to six, instead of the remaining one you had when trapped."

"Uh-" said Silver, his thoughts jumbled by the words. Of course Mr. Tome would find the mirror the moment Silver thought of a way around it. "I was just about to spin it, but I can push myself to stay awake a bit longer, then sleep until your shift starts. I'll need an excuse-"

"I will send Twilight Sparkle a note that you wished to spend the rest of the holiday with me," he said. "Is Ms. Memory in her room as well?"

"Yeah. Why?"

Chapter 45: Gatekeeper

When they arrived at Canterlot Castle, Riddle Tome saw an extra set of soldiers standing guard outside his employer's bedchambers, the white-gold colour scheme of the day guard contrasting with the blue-black colour scheme of night. With any luck, their presence here meant that things were speeding along nicely.

As if to prove his guess, the day guard opened the door to reveal two sister alicorns and the smell of dinner. That was no surprise either. It was still a holiday – the grand meals of the castle had been suspended to allow the staff and the royal court time with their families.

"Riddle Tome," Celestia nodded to him, inviting him in with a gesture.

He didn't move, but he did nod back with a moderate amount of courtesy. The fact that she arranged for this to happen over the course of one day was worth that much. "Celestia."

"Are you hungry?"

He shook his head. "I have already eaten. I would prefer not to delay."

"In that case, there is something that comes first. My sister has something she'd like to do for you before we accompany you to the mirror. I will wait out here. Think of it like practice." She stood from her seat, stepping out and aside to admit his passage.

Mr. Tome tilted his head, waited three seconds, then shrugged and entered. He had already prepared for this. He was ready to make the honest statements to her sister that would prove he meant no harm to Celestia's precious little parallel universe.

The bedchambers were just as he left them early this morning, save three noticeable additions. First, the food table. Second and third... those additions were not welcome.

"If you intend to bind me with a Vow," he said with careful calm, "I refuse."

Gilded Horn and Keen Eye sat at the small dinner table. He had nothing against either unicorn personally, but he wasn't about to take a Vow on somepony else's terms.

His employer smiled with apparent fondness. "Not you, fool." She made a motion with her hoof at one of the unicorns. "Keen Eye, come forth."

The artist touched horns with the princess, their faces as far apart as the position would allow.

His employer's gaze turned to Gilded Horn. "This shall be thy final Vow. Afterwards, thou will be depleted of magic, as thee wanted to be. Thy last chance to change thy mind is now."

The unicorn shook his head. When he spoke, it was with firm resolve and a horn that glowed in readiness. "Magic that flows in me, bind this vow."

His employer looked back to Keen Eye. "By the trust that I hold for you," he said, "be you held."

"Heed my words, fool." She continued in the Royal Canterlot voice. "Sense the magic you taught me and know that I will never betray what I am about to say."

Mr. Tome noted with mild curiosity that her violating the Unbreakable Vow's standard verbal format did not stop the ritual magic entwining the two horns.

Then, with that magic still active, she spoke.

"I vow that I shall not, by any act of mine, betray the trust of my fool. I vow to help him find happiness, to help him find friendship, to help him find love, if I can, and so long as he wants to find them as well. I vow to keep his secrets, to not act upon them without his consent. No matter what he may have done, or what he may do, unless he hurts an innocent pony in the future. In that case, and only that case, I may speak of that harm, and only that harm, to my sister. I shall do nothing else that goes against his best interests, no matter what I learn of him. By my own free will, so shall it be."

Mr. Tome stood still, somewhat stunned. So did the other in the room, not including the princess or the Vow binders.

At a look and a gesture from their princess, Gilded Horn and Keen Eye left, genuflecting before they departed and closing the door behind them.

That left only two alicorns visible in the room.

"I meant the promise I made you," said the Princess of Night to her enigmatic fool. "Now there shall be no room for your doubt." She stood a bit taller. "I do want you to be happy, and I will continue to try no matter what I learn of you." She held up a hoof before he could speak. "And no, this does not mean I expect you to tell me anything you haven't already. I am not prying. I am simply making myself available in a manner you can truly trust, if you ever decide to share."

Riddle didn't reply. It was true, he could trust what he'd just seen in a way he couldn't trust anything else, even Bellatrix Black. Even Mr. Potter with Parseltongue. Since the Vow binds on the basis of intent, there are no clever tricks of wording to exploit, no lies by omission, no loopholes to escape through. Aside from the one she included overtly, and even then, she said it in such a fashion that she can only betray future actions he might take. If they harmed her subjects. Anything she learned of his past could not be used against him.

"Well?" she asked invitingly.

"I don't know what to say."

His employer smiled. "I can think of one thing."

"Namely?"

"Step forth."

He did so.

"Closer, fool."

He did not.

She rolled her eyes and said, "My sister and I are changing our ritual policy. The laws will be updated in a manner that appeals to you in the near future. I do not find legislative overhaul pleasant, and so you will come forth so that I may hug you."

He hesitated. He really should insist that he hadn't agreed to this in advance... but then she might retract the offer. He gave a heavy sigh and stepped forward. It was only a hug.

"The thing that is said," Princess Luna spoke quietly, her voice reaching him from behind his ears once her neck was wrapped around his, "is 'thank you'." She met his gaze. "Thank you for your gift. It was the best birthday gift I have ever received."

"You're welcome," he said uncomfortably, hoping that would bring the embrace to its end.

There was a long pause as the princess looked at him expectantly. "Now it is your turn."

"My turn for what?"

She stared at him, searching his eyes for something that had nothing to do with Legilimency, though he didn't know what it did have to do with. Hints of dishonesty, maybe? Whatever she was looking for, she didn't find it. "Fine," she sighed. "I will not force you to say it. I will only request that you answer one question honestly." Without giving him time to refuse, she asked, "Did you feel more positive emotion or negative when you witnessed my Vow?"

The question came as a surprise. It wasn't the kind of question he anticipated, the probing kind that made him want to deny her request on basic principles. It wasn't the ambush he expected, the sudden inquisition he thought she'd force upon him. And yet, he still felt ambushed.

His own response, as he thought about the question, as he thought back to how he felt when he understood the princess's actions, came as even more of a surprise.

There had been some snide internal remarks about her stupidity. If she ever did learn of Voldemort, she would regret that Vow. But the negative thoughts which he'd been training himself to notice under Silver's tutelage had been dwarfed by shock. Shock, and something like relief. The magic she just undertook to prove her benevolent intentions was not trivial. If he ever made some mishap in her presence, or wanted something to be known without it getting out to anypony else, the Vow could be relied upon to keep her from speaking.

"Positive..." he answered. "I think."

"Good," said the Night Princess. She lifted her head and left the embrace. "Then you can thank me later," she said, a wry mischief in her voice. "Come, let us go to the mirror. I confess, I am curious about it myself. You can assure me that you mean no harm as we walk."

Silver, following the two alicorns out of the room while still beneath his invisibility cloak, thought about what he'd just seen.

He thought about Princess Luna swearing to help his mentor find happiness, no matter what she learned about him. He thought about all the Equestrian psychology books that focused on finding happiness. He thought, once again, how it was possible that the Mirror's trap had arranged for wish fulfilment.

He wondered if it was all coincidence, or...

In his usual fashion, Riddle was deceptively honest to her probing.

He assured Princess Luna that he meant the mirror no harm, that he meant no ill will towards the world Celestia described. He assured her he had no interest in the world Celestia had visited, and would even do his honest best to avoid activating the mirror in such a fashion that Canterlot High was invoked. He was hiding something, as always, but all of those statements had not been lies, as far as Princess Luna could tell.

When Celestia asked if he meant any harm at all, he said he couldn't make any promises. If, say, an eldritch monstrosity emerged from the mirror, he would certainly mean it harm, if for no other reason than self-preservation. When Celestia asked if he truly thought that could happen, he said no, but he wasn't ruling out any possibilities for such an ancient and mysterious device. More questioning resulted in similar responses.

Riddle Tome asked only one question himself: May he use non-violent magic in the room, so long as the mirror is not the target? A light spell, for instance, or a noise-cancelling charm.

Celestia said that he may, so long as Luna did not object.

The Princess of Night found it amusing that security took twice as long as the walk to the vault. Even with her sister personally performing the magic, it still took many minutes of waiting.

When the door and the wards had been opened, her fool nodded to her sister (in thanks, perhaps?), then walked forward after a brief hesitation. She followed in his wake, both the wards and the door closing behind her. They would remain firmly shut until she signaled her sister to open them again, which would take more long minutes of unraveling.

The magic mirror that her sister said led to another world was the only item in the room, and the room itself was spacious and circular, with the mirror placed in its exact center.

Her fool stopped barely five paces into the room. "Before I begin," he said, turning to face her, "I ask that you regard anything you might learn in this vault as secret."

"Does that not defeat the purpose of supervision?" she asked suspiciously.

"It might," he shrugged. "Feel free to tell your sister if Canterlot High is invoked, or if something bad happens to me or the mirror. I only meant that you will not speak of anything that seems like it has to do with my own personal background. I do not know what might happen when I stand before that mirror. If, say, it turned me into a human, or somehow revealed my deepest desires, you will not tell your sister or anyone else."

"...Very well," said Luna. "I will consider such things as your business, even if it does not seem that way."

"Good."

"What is your goal in all this?"

Riddle stared intently at the back of the mirror. "I intend to see if I can open a portal to another world."

She instantly became alert and apprehensive. "I thought you said you had no intention to visit the human realm."

"I did," he confirmed. "I have no intention of visiting the human realm that your sister described." It wasn't a lie, but...

"Then what is your intention?"

"To see if this mirror can access other realms as well," he answered. "But before I even do that much, let us hope it does not react to an illumination spell. It's a bit dark in here."

The room was suddenly lit by a soft golden glow, cast by many lights in all directions. One by one, those lights went out, but the brightness didn't, leaving the illumination behind without any apparent source. The final visible light bobbed up and down on the other side of the room, in front of the mirror's reflective side but well back of it. Then that light went out as well, and Riddle nodded in satisfaction.

"You are lucky that did not set off any wards."

Her fool ignored her remark and disappeared. "I am about to step in front of the mirror," said his voice from the empty air. "Do not allow your own image to be reflected. The mirror might or might not respond differently depending on who stands before it. Celestia invoked the realm of Canterlot High, and you might do the same. Stand next to the mirror, just behind it, if you are worried about something happening, but do not go further."

At that, an audible clicking of hooves left her side, growing quieter as he crossed the room.

Luna did as her fool requested, wondering to herself if he actually knew what he was doing. When she stood in position, her fool appeared directly in front of the mirror.

She saw his eyes – already focused on the mirror's surface – widen slightly at what must have been his own reflection appearing from nowhere, and although he did not seem physically exhausted in any way, she suddenly heard the sound of heavy breathing.

There was a space of time where nothing happened, during which her fool continued to stare at whatever he sighted. The panting continued, though it quickly died down.

Then Luna heard a heavy sigh, though it did not come from her fool. "I hope this does not mean that all is lost."

She almost jumped at the new voice. It sounded old and tired, like a weary soldier ready for retirement. It was definitely male, but she had no clue where it came from. It certainly wasn't her fool's voice. It was far too ancient.

"Hello," it addressed... her? Or Riddle?

Her fool did not react to the voice at all, his eyes staying fixed on the mirror.

“You seem like you might be an intelligent creature,” the voice continued, and she realized it must have been coming from the mirror. “Do you understand what I am saying?”

She felt deceptiveness coming from her fool when he did not respond. Then his gaze flickered to her, then back to the mirror, and he nodded.

“Are you capable of speech yourself?” asked the voice.

Another nod.

“Would you mind if I asked for your name?”

Her fool did not answer.

"His name is Riddle Tome,” Luna said, seeking to speed things along. "And although thou cannot see me, I am Princess Luna. What is thy name?"

Her fool's gaze locked onto hers so fast it looked like his head flickered into position. There was a brief, hateful look that she'd never seen him direct her way before.

And then she heard laughter. She could not tell if it was warm or mocking, but she could tell that the one responsible was having trouble breathing. She wondered if the owner had fallen down, it was so loud. She wondered if he even could fall down, given that he was... in the mirror? She desperately wished to see the mirror's surface, but she didn't want to upset her fool any further. He was clearly agitated, though with a sudden wave of almost-visible deception, his expression grew very calm.

It took some time for the laughter to die down, for the voice to ready itself to speak again. “Riddle Tome?" it asked in joyous amusement. "I see. Ah, what a form. What a fate. The new body suits you, Tom. I admit, you make a dashing unicorn.”

Luna realized then that her fool did indeed look like a unicorn at the moment. He was wearing a new cloak, bereft of all enchantments so it could pass through security, but still wide enough to cover his wings. It was actually closer to formal scholar's robes than a cloak, and even included a tie. Riddle Tome did not wear his glasses, as those had been enchanted, so his full horn was visible, while his wings were not.

Riddle tilted his head, and she felt another spike of deception. "She said Tome," he replied mildly, "not Tom."

The words were factual, she noticed. But the intention was clearly to lie.

"Feigning ignorance, are you?" said the voice, clearly disbelieving. "I shall ask her then," the voice stated, seeming to address Luna instead. "Clever beyond clever. Cunning beyond cunning. Icy and brilliant. A perfectionist, a strategist, and a manipulator. Charming, perhaps. Extremely powerful, and not in any way a warm or loving person. Does any of that sound familiar?"

Yes. It certainly did sound familiar.

Luna looked at Riddle Tome. "Do you know whoever that is?"

He did not answer her.

"I am surprised you have not said 'no', Tom," the voice observed. "Does that realm prevent lying?"

"Not the realm," said Luna, her features twisting up in worry. "But I can always tell."

"In that case, it would be foolish to expect further comment from him, either confirmation or denial. Let us try this then. I will speak a certain truth about the nature of this mirror. Stop me if you hear a lie, and we shall see how he reacts." Then the voice addressed Riddle again. "Though I tried to prevent it, I am responsible for trapping a group of beings outside of our Time, myself included. I am also the one responsible for keeping them trapped. If he is who I think he is, then I am his gatekeeper. He will never be released until I allow it. And I will never allow it."

She had not stopped him, because he had not lied.

There was a brief pause.

Then Luna felt a spike of deception unlike anything she had ever felt in her entire life.

"I don't think this is productive," Riddle said in a mild tone. He walked towards her, past her, and stood by the door. "Notify your sister that I wish to leave- no, I can I do it myself."

His horn glowed in activation and she briefly wondered how on earth he'd learned that spell, but then she remembered where he had been studying over the past year. As they waited silently, Riddle clearly not in the mood to talk, his horn would occasionally flicker, as if in agitation, and she could perceive brief bursts of repulsion charms. She'd seen that habit before, in unicorns who broke things when upset. But she'd never known Riddle to have that habit, even when he didn't have a horn. Furthermore, nothing was broken or shoved by his charm, just the empty air.

As soon as her sister had led them through the wards, she heard a brief snap and her fool disappeared.

She stared at where he had just been.

In a bewildered voice, her sister asked, "What happened?"

Just as soon as the door clicked shut, leaving him locked inside the kingdom's most secure vault, Silver removed the hood from his cloak and marched up to the door that a series of shoving charms had prevented him from approaching.

Before he could say or do anything, he noticed a piece of paper appear- no, not appear. It transfigured from a long, thin strand of black hair. Could Riddle do delayed transfigurations? Or remote ones? Or was that somehow a timed detransfiguration?

Silver picked up the parchment, noted that it wasn't addressed, and read what was written.

Convince him. Apparate out before 1 hour. Vanish this.

Silver stared at the note.

He stared at the note, wondering if his mentor really thought it would be that easy. And even if it was that easy to do something so difficult in less than an hour (i.e. before the ward-circumvention spells ended), did his mentor really think Silver would just go ahead and play along without a number of concessions first? Like, say, no killing people all the time when they get back. No cruciatus. No Voldemort.

And that wasn't even addressing the difficulty of the problem if Silver does get those concessions. Nothing short of watching Tom Riddle succeed at casting... would... convince...

Silver felt a massive grin stretching across his lips.

Sure.

Sure, he could convince the gatekeeper. Oh, and vanish the note, too, "Everto!", can't forget that.

This is it.

This is the final part of the plan, the final puzzle piece clicking into place.

Also, he's convinced now. It couldn't be coincidence. The ancient device in the middle of the room had to have arranged all this, somehow. Not that he minded in the slightest.

With a spring in his step, he pranced over to the mirror, his cloak hiding his face once more.

Once he got there, he drew it back again.

The mirror changed.

"Hi, Heh," Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres, currently within the body of a pony, addressed the Headmaster of Hogwarts. "How's it going?"

Chapter 46: Terms and Conditions Apply

"Heh?" Dumbledore echoed. From behind a pane so pristine and perfect it could have been a portal to another world – and hopefully would become a portal to another world at some point in the future – the headmaster adjusted his half-moon glasses and squinted. "Harry? Is that you?"

"Call me Silver," was his automatic reply. But a moment of thought later, he realized how pointless it would be to obscure the conversation, given how much there was to obscure. Even though he'd gotten into the mental habit of referring to himself as 'Silver' whenever he was in pony form, he could make an exception. "Actually, never mind. Harry's fine, headmaster. With all there is to talk about, I don't think aliases will matter all that much. If anypony overhears this, I'll be in trouble either way."

Dumbledore stared at what must have looked to him like a floating pony head. He looked sombre and terribly serious. His ancient sapphire eyes were not, at the moment, twinkling. "If you speak true, Harry, then I'm sorry for doing what I must do next, but if you can think of any way to prove yourself to me, I would greatly appreciate it, for I can think of none myself. None that Voldemort could not simply fake. Otherwise, I think it best if I assume this is a trick and ignore everything you say."

That put a damper on Harry's glib mood.

Right.

When the headmaster first appeared a few minutes ago, he'd been panting heavily, as if adrenaline had just gone through his system moments before he'd appeared. It looked like he was recovering from panic and shock. It could be something else, but if the mirror really did trap things in frozen instants whenever a third party is destined to retrieve/consult them in the future, then... then that means no time has passed for him since he shouted "No no NO!" a year ago.

From Dumbledore's perspective, in the span of the past five minutes, the headmaster had just...

Had an unpleasant conversation with Lord Voldemort in order to stall him long enough to vanquish him.

Watched as Lord Voldemort escaped the teeth of his trap at the last second, leaving his hostage – The Boy-Who-Lived – behind in his place.

Next the headmaster tried to reverse the mirror on just himself.

Then he'd seen that his trap had worked after all, with Voldemort locked outside of Time and inside the body of a pony.

And now, after telling Voldemort he will never be free, he's seeing a pony claiming to be Harry Potter.

That probably didn't look good.

Harry tilted his head in consideration. What couldn't Voldemort simply fake?

"I take it I can't just say that you gave me an ice cream soda after I made my first original discovery? A discovery that had to do with Transfigured parts? You know, to prove it's really me?"

Dumbledore paused, then slowly shook his head. "You are not a Perfect Occlumens, Harry. Even if you were, anybody can be turned traitor with enough torture, or a good enough lie. You have convinced me that you are probably not a false image. You have not convinced me that your intentions are still good."

Oh. That's all he had to do?

At once his Patronus appeared, carefully willed into the shape of a human rather than a pony, to avoid confusion. He felt his head and back and tail lighten as his mane became ethereal. "Tell the headmaster I've got a plan to vanquish Voldemort once and for all, just like I got rid of a certain Death Eater."

His Patronus didn't even have to walk to deliver the happy news. It simply turned and repeated the message.

Dumbledore, when he replied, sounded distinctly worried. "What Death Eater would that be, Harry?"

"I got rid of the heir of Malfoy, future Death Eater, and replaced him with Draco, friend of Hermione Granger and future asset to all of magical Britain."

There was a certain pause.

"I see," said Dumbledore, no longer sounding worried, eyes twinkling madly, fond smile firmly in place. "And you believe you can do the same to Voldemort?"

"Not exactly. I believe you can do the same to Voldemort."

Dumbledore stared at him, mouth open.

"Er, sort of," Harry added. "You and one other pony."

"Eh..." said Dumbledore. This was only the third time Harry had ever seen the wise old wizard at a complete loss for words. The inevitable request for clarification did eventually come, though. In a completely confused tone of voice, of course. "How?"

"By giving him what he wants," Harry replied with an evil grin. "He told me to convince you. I mean, he literally left me a note saying 'convince him' on the ground over there. So you're going to tell him that I've convinced you to undo the trap once he can perform the Patronus Charm version two-point-oh. Like I just did."

The headmaster's mouth stayed open. "That is not... he would not..."

"He'd never be able to learn?" Harry finished Dumbledore's unfinished thought. "I already taught him the gestures. Believe it or not, he's making a genuine effort to learn, even if his heart isn't in it. He does want the military advantages of the spell that sends instant, unforgeable messages, and I think this might be the push he needs to actually want to learn it. Oh, and once he does, make sure he has his Patronus send a message to you, so you know it actually is his Patronus. And if it can't take the form of a human, it's probably somepony else's that he's trying to pass off as his own. Be careful about that, too."

Dumbledore began stroking his long beard. "Harry," he said slowly. "Are you sure you are not being..."

"Brilliantly cunning?"

"Wildly overconfident and optimistic in his ability to change would say it better. There are some things that even the cleverest of plots cannot accomplish."

Harry's grin widened. "Normally, I'd think the same thing. But when you only give him the one option, and then give him an infinite amount of time to work on it, I'd say the odds are much better." Then Harry's grin vanished. "Also... um... it might help if you thought about what he said to you earlier. When he was stealing the stone, I mean. That thing about his last attempt at being a good person? I'm pretty sure he wasn't lying about that. I'm pretty sure that was the last straw for Tom Riddle. You were the only authority figure he ever trusted. So when he went to you for help and you gave him that lecture instead... it broke him."

In himself, Harry Potter had healed his broken dark side by reassuring Voldemort's neural patterns that it was right and proper to be horrified of death. His dark side could wear its fear as a badge of honor. That had been enough for the Boy Who Lived to seal the fault line within himself, to mend the part that had been broken. Unless Tom Riddle heard a similar reassurance from the headmaster, Harry suspected that Voldemort would never fix his OWN cracks. Assuming it wasn't already too little, too late.

Dumbledore paused in his beard-stroking. "I'm not sure I agree, Harry. I think he might have already been broken, long before I ever met him."

"He probably was," Harry agreed. "But you were the only person keeping him from going over the edge, probably the only person who could have fixed him. After that day, he didn't trust anyone. Not even Bellatrix Black."

The headmaster looked surprised at that.

"Oh, and that reminds me. You've probably guessed by now, but Professor Quirrell spun a sob story that convinced a young and naïve hero to break a damsel in distress out of prison, making her sound a lot like that hero's closest friend before Voldemort got to her. Afterwards, when that hero thought to question his true motives, Professor Quirrell claimed he did it so Voldemort's lore wouldn't be lost forever. And then when that hero learned the actual truth about Voldemort, he learned that the entire point was to find Voldemort's lost wand."

Dumbledore nodded, grimly and gravely. "I see."

"Out of curiosity," this was something he'd always wanted to ask, "when I was in your office later that day, why didn't you demand that I cast my Patronus, and then ask your own Patronus if mine was the same one from the breakout? You'd have unraveled the whole scheme if you did. Was there a prophecy telling you not to? Or did you already know it was me?"

A/N: Honestly, I think the real answer to this question is that Yudkowsky didn't think of it at the time, otherwise he'd have addressed it in-story. Maybe he already addressed it on the subreddit; I wouldn't know, I only discovered HPMoR after it was already written. He could have even given the tongue-in-cheek explanation that Dumbledore didn't think of it. That's what I'd do.

Either way, the following answer is my own best explanation, assuming it wasn't a simple mistake on his or Dumbledore's part.

Dumbledore shook his head. "No to both. I would have needed to maintain my Patronus all day in order to perform such a test. I dismissed it when I went to retrieve you from Mary's Place. While my Patronus was active, it could track the one that I asked it to track, even if the target was dismissed and recast. But at the moment of its own dispelling, my Patronus forgot the one I asked it to remember. Your Patronus, as it turns out."

"Ah."

So, even if Patronuses could act like bloodhounds and track other Patronuses, dismissal causes them to lose the scent. Harry wondered if his own Patronus would forget.

"You know," Harry admitted, "I was stressed out of my mind that I'd get caught because of that."

"Harry," said Dumbledore with tired eyes and a tired voice, his tone clearly indicating that he wanted to get back on topic. "Are you certain this course of action will work?"

"Yes."

"And you are certain it is what you want?"

"Yes."

Dumbledore didn't look reassured. "If I agree to the release condition you have proposed, it is very possible that you will be my age by the time he succeeds in casting the spell, if he casts it at all. Even if Tom does not take a century, you will certainly be too old to be recognized as yourself by anyone you knew."

"It's already been a year," Harry shrugged. He did not mention that he had no intention of staying even one day later than today. "Besides, I've got Hermione with me. Oh, and that also reminds me."

He removed the metal band from his back hoof and placed it on the floor.

Earlier, without asking for Silver or Memory's permission or forgiveness, Voldemort had stunned Memory and transfigured her into the metal band she'd been before her revival. He claimed he was 'recreating the conditionss of our entrapment ass clossely ass posssible'. He'd then told Silver that her form was locked in place so long as he was nearby.

It wasn't technically hurting Hermione, and she'd already been asleep at the time, but Harry had still felt very angry that his mentor was still resorting to things like this whenever it came to truly important matters. It made Harry feel less bad, less wrong about what he was about to do. He lit his horn and cast a finite to dispel the transfiguration, but then paused just before casting an innervate.

"Oh, and headmaster?" he said before waking her up. "His condition for helping to revive her was- hold on. Somnium." Just in case. "Riddle's condition was to make me promise that she would not be told he was Voldemort. She still thinks he's just Professor Quirrell. He didn't steal her remains, by the way. I did. And in case you're wondering, she's immune to transfiguration sickness now. I figured out how to use the Stone of Permanence, and he used it to imbue us all with the powers of mountain trolls."

Even Albus Dumbledore, defeater of Grindlewald, vanquisher of Voldemort, re-discoverer of the fabled twelve uses of dragon's blood, seemed to have a bit of trouble processing everything that the Boy-Who-Lived had just said.

"Stone of Permanence?" he finally asked.

"Makes temporary magics permanent," Harry explained, "like Transfigured gold, or a transfigured human being. Formerly owned by Pernelle, who stole it from Baba Yaga the Undying, the Dark Lady that could take any shape she pleased and heal any wound. Pernelle killed her, took the stone, and invented the persona of Nicolas Flamel to pretend like she'd earned the right to live forever."

Dumbledore swayed where he stood, but Harry gave him no time to reply.

"That story also gave other ambitious wizards a false path to pursue," the Ravenclaw/Slytherin explained to the intelligent Gryffindor, "and her public unbreakable Vows to 'protect immortality from the covetous' worked as a deterrent against other dark lords trying to steal the true stone like she did. A muggle psychiatrists might call that 'confession through projection'."

The headmaster said no words, but his emotions were plain on his face. There was agony, betrayal, and the distinct desire for it to not be true, but also a clear fear that it was true.

At the headmaster's expression, Harry's Hufflepuff sympathy kicked in. "I know it's hard to hear, but... well, take it from the boy who lived his first year of Hogwarts cozying up to his good friend, Lord Voldemort, without even realizing it. When you accept the truth about your mentor, you'll understand what Tom Riddle felt when you gave him that lecture. Sometimes, your mentors aren't all that you thought they were. Sometimes you lose them, and the manner in which you lose them might or might not ever allow you to get them back."

Now Dumbledore looked truly ancient. Tired, world-weary, and ready to rest for a long, long time. When the old wizard responded, it was with great sorrow and regret. "I... don't think Master Flamel is coming back, Harry, regardless of the truth. Voldemort killed him. Or did he prevent you from hearing that part of our conversation?"

"I heard, but I can revive the recently slain now," Harry said, and gestured his head at Memory Sunshine. "Like I did for Hermione. It wasn't a one-time thing, it's a sacrificial ritual. I'd lose some life and magic, but I can do it. Depending on when he arranged for her to die, it might not be too late. And Perenelle might be worth it, too, if for nothing else than her hoarded lore..." Harry trailed off, realizing he wasn't talking about the important issue. "The question is, headmaster, do you think I should bring her back, if what Voldemort deduced about her is true?"

Dumbledore waved a hand, conjuring a couch behind himself. Into this, he seemed to completely collapse, as if not only standing, but even sitting upright was too much for him now.

"I do not know," said the ancient wizard. "But I would at least like to ask Nicolas for the truth. Even if it is true, perhaps Perenelle had a good reason."

Hm... come to think of it, she actually might have. It was the cynical Professor Quirrell who had explained the truth of the stone's history, but even according to himself, he had to fill in the gaps with his own assumptions. Maybe Baba Yaga had done something to Perenelle, betrayed her somehow, or genuinely hurt her, and that was why the Goblet had rendered the Dark Lady defenseless. And afterwards, maybe Perenelle thought the stone has a limited number of uses, enough for herself but not others... and isn't that a worrying thought. Harry's really hoping Riddle figures out how to make more stones in this upcoming hiatus that he'll be involuntarily taking. You could say Harry's wishing it will happen.

Please work, please work, please work, he silently begged the mirror. Maybe this is what it feels like to pray.

Dumbledore didn't speak for a while. His head rested on one of the armrests of the sofa while his feet were kicked up over the opposite side. His eyes were closed. He almost looked like he was sleeping. Harry was considering the positives and negatives of waking him when Dumbledore finally addressed his master plan.

"If I do release the trap," he said at last, though he didn't move, or even open his eyes. "I will not be released along with the three of you when Time resumes. I do not know why the mirror has brought about this circumstance, but I do know what will happen when I bring it to an end. The mirror's process will simply continue as it would have. I will be trapped outside of time instead of Voldemort, as I willed in the final moments of its activation. That is why I am so hesitant to agree to your plan. Without me to stop him, and without you old enough to oppose him, the world's people would be lost."

"Well, yeah, if he's still evil when you let him out. That's sort-of the whole point of having him learn the Patronus charm first."

The headmaster opened his eyes and looked into Harry's, though he didn't move otherwise. "Even those who know the Patronus charm can do great evil, as Grindelwald did."

"Maybe when it comes to the normal Patronus charm. Mine works a bit differently. Also," Harry added, "believe it or not, the world's people might have already been lost if not for Voldemort. It wasn't just luck that stopped Nuclear Armageddon. A few well-placed compulsion charms across the muggle militaries of the world went a long way." Harry did get around to asking that question directly. "Er, you do know about nukes, right?"

Dumbledore shook his head, eyes closed again. "I do, but that is an easy enough lie for him to make. It is unverifiable. Unprovable. Easily claimed, easily faked, and not easily refuted, even under ordinary circumstances."

Silver hissed out a Parseltongue sentence to his Patronus, which then turned to Dumbledore and said "snakes can't lie" in normal speech.

Dumbledore shifted in the couch, sitting a bit more upright. "How ironic," he said. His eyes were no longer distant, and though they weren't twinkling, they shone with something like amusement and intrigue.

"You believe me just like that?"

"Patronuses cannot lie either," the headmaster replied.

A/N: So, important note here. This is not HPMoR canon or fanon. We never see a Patronus convey a caster's lie in HPMoR, but we also never see a caster try to convey one. We only see Harry mention, in internal narration, that his Patronus probably wouldn't be able to convey a message to Moody that contained the intention of torturing someone into insanity. The implication there is that Patronus charms can only spread 'good'/'happy' news, or information related to good/happy thoughts. For the sake of plot convenience, I'm saying that Patronuses can't convey the caster's deceptions either. Heck, I could take it a step further and say that the Patronus charm is where Salazar got the inspiration for that quirk of Parseltongue, at least in this universe.

Quirrell calling it "Dumbledore's trick of sending messages" implies that only Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix know how to send Patronus messages, at least in HPMoR canon, so I'm going to go out on a limb and say it's not a widely known or studied ability. Not enough to be used in courts like Veritaserum, anyway, even if 'no lies' was a feature of the charm. So, yeah. It's not HPMoR canon to say Patronuses can't lie, but it doesn't outright contradict any established rules or evidence either, and I needed some way to actually convince Dumbledore.

Oh, and I tried to make everything else in this chapter that has to do with the Patronus charm not only canon-compliant, but canon-plausible. If Harry's explaining something that's never explicitly hashed out in HPMoR, that's me giving my own best guess at how it works, like I did with the Azkaban thing earlier.

Proceed.

As often happens when provided with an absolute claim, Harry's brain immediately offered a counterexample. "I'm pretty sure Professor McGonagall's cat conveyed my lie during the Azkaban breakout."

"You can lie to someone else's Patronus," Dumbledore amended. "You cannot command your own to be dishonest. Not even with Occlumency. I suggest putting it to the test if you do not believe me."

"Okay." Even if he was on a time table, he could always find time for empirical tests.

Step one: perfectly pretend to be someone who actually believes that 2 + 2 = 5.

Step two: "Tell the headmaster that two plus two equals five."

For the first time since he'd first cast the spell, he noticed that his Patronus was wearing a negative facial expression. It was frowning in stern disapproval.

"I see," said Harry. "Tell him two plus two equals four."

It turned to the headmaster and said, "Two plus two equals four."

The headmaster nodded, acknowledging the message was received. "Ask Harry what he meant that you work differently."

"I cannot be cast by someone who does not hold sapient life as the greatest moral value above all else." His Patronus gave that reply immediately, with Harry's voice but without his instruction to speak. Then it continued speaking. "Killing is only acceptable when the target has killed others, therefore losing them the moral protection of innocence. Even then, killing can only be done to save more lives, and when there is no other choice. Hatred and malice are incompatible with my existence."

It was only as his Patronus spoke that Harry realized – clearly and consciously, not just as a vague understanding – that his Patronus, unlike the animal Patronus, has independent processing power. Just like that time in Azkaban when it raised its hand and told him that another Patronus sought it out. After allowing him some time to prevent Bellatrix from overhearing its message. That implies a certain level of intelligence and independence that this little spontaneous reply just brought to Harry's full awareness.

His Patronus was probably borrowing his brain's processing power, just like the Sorting Hat. Unlike the Sorting Hat, his Patronus's goals weren't different and alien. It seemed to be completely aligned with Harry. Or with his happy thought, anyway.

Hm... and if that is how it works, does that mean it's dangerous to maintain his charm for too long, just like it would be dangerous to wear the Sorting Hat for too long?

"Should you even be telling me this?" Dumbledore asked after silently considering the Patronus's message for a time. He had address the Patronus in turn, but it still brought Harry out of his own musings.

"Probably not," said Harry, drawing the old wizard's gaze back to him. "But honestly, I was thinking of telling you the underlying secret anyway. My Patronus picked up on that. Even if I was still set on secrecy, what it said is safe to say. I'm still not sure if I should tell you more, though."

"Do not answer if you must not answer," Dumbledore warned in a tone of firm command, "but can you yet say why I must not know the secrets of your spell?"

Now the headmaster decides not to pry? Dumbledore had been reprimanded by his own Defense Professor for his lack of wisdom when Harry first learned the spell. Had that been a test, or a genuine fluke? Would he have interrupted Harry if Harry had tried to say the secret of the spell?

Well, either way, at least he's being cautious now.

"You're right," Harry agreed. "I shouldn't answer that question. You aren't ready to hear the truth." It's not every day you get to say that to the world's wisest wizard. "And I wouldn't tell you under any other circumstance..." Harry sighed, his decision made. "But I guess this is an exception."

Dumbledore raised a forestalling hand. "Even in this anomaly of time and place, I am not sure you should tell me, given that I am not wise enough to see the answer for myself."

"I'll explain my reasoning afterward. Before I do, just know that it's all for the sake of Voldemort's potential redemption. Is that enough for now?"

The old wizard looked considering. "It may be," he allowed, "if all the other risks are mitigated, whatever they might have been. Are they?"

"Yes. They're mitigated. Mostly thanks to the mirror."

Dumbledore nodded. "Then I will trust your judgement, Harry. It is your secret, after all. Do what you think is most wise."

"Okay then." Harry drew himself up a bit more formally. He wished he was wearing his 'smart' outfit. "Are you ready to know the truth, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, even though I think you're not truly ready to hear it?"

Harry's going to milk this moment for all it's worth, even if he does have to be all solemn and serious about it. Now HE can do the deep and mysterious revealing, thank you very much. And he isn't going to taint it with insanity either.

The headmaster, in response to Harry's important question, replied with equal importance in his own voice. "I am ready."

"Then first comes the reason why it must be kept secret." With the knowledge that he was about to get away with committing a cardinal sin of wizardry, he spoke, revealing the answer to a mage who was not wise enough to see the truth for himself. "Anybody who hears what I'm about to tell you will never be able to cast the animal Patronus again, and if they don't have the right mindset, they won't be able to cast the stronger version. They'd be left without any Patronus at all."

"Ah," said Dumbledore. "That is an excellent reason. I assume I am lacking that mindset?"

Harry nodded. "Learning the truth will break your Patronus like a soap bubble. And just like Lord Voldemort will probably need at least half a century to cast a Patronus charm with the upbringing he's had, it'll probably take you the same amount of time. For a completely different reason, granted, but a half-century all the same – actually, make that a full century. I made his prediction based on how long he's had to develop bad habits and thought patterns. Basically, I based it on his age. So if I'm being honest, my prediction is that you will need twice as long as him, since you're twice his age. Unless you make a dedicated effort to change your mind, that is. Before we go further, are you still willing to hear the truth, knowing you will never cast the animal Patronus, and maybe any Patronus at all, ever again?"

"Like Godric Gryffindor?" Dumbledore asked perspicaciously.

"Exactly like Godric Gryffindor."

"Then I am willing." But then Dumbledore raised a hand to prevent Harry from going further. "Though now that I know why I must not know your secret, if you can explain your reasoning for telling me anyway – why I may know regardless, even though I am not yet ready to hear it – please do so now. I will let you know if your decision is flawed by wise old wizard standards."

It was a good request, all things considered.

Harry took a moment to compose his thoughts. "As you can probably tell, letting the secret out would risk popping all Patronuses. I know I can trust you to keep quiet, but on general principles, the worst-case scenario is that some idiot, or some Dark Lord, overhears this conversation and tells the whole world."

"Can they?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm in the most secure vault in Equestria right now. In short, no. And even if we were overheard, Professor Quirrell already swore a binding Parseltongue promise to help me destroy all Dementors when we get back, and he's personally motivated to get rid of them all too, so it's not as bad as it seems. So long as there aren't any Dementors, it's not a disaster if there aren't many Patronuses."

"I... see," said the headmaster, stroking his beard again. "Even at the price of not casting Patronuses... yes. The destruction of all Dementors would be a net good, both for wizards and muggles alike. I think I agree. And you are right that Tom would be motivated to help you destroy them. That does indeed account for the secret's potential abuse, and it is unlikely regardless. Well then. Are there any other reasons for secrecy?"

"Losing any Patronus is sad, especially one as bright as yours."

The headmaster looked surprised at that. Or maybe flattered? "Oh?"

Harry nodded. "Right now, headmaster, yours is probably the brightest Patronus in the world besides mine and Hermione's. If I told you the truth, you'd lose that. I guess you could say that's one of the real reasons I don't want to tell you. And the thing about this situation that's making me consider telling you anyway is that you won't be there anyway. Even if you end the trap, the world won't have your Patronus. Not until we can find a way to free you too, which will probably take a while. And by the time we do get you out, there will hopefully be enough true Patronus casters to speed your own lessons along."

"I... thank you, Harry. But what is the benefit that would outweigh this admittedly diminished cost?"

"Your own peace of mind that the prophecy is at hand."

"Hm..." the headmaster drew out the syllable for a surprising amount of time. "You think that is sufficient justification?"

Harry nodded. "If it means you'll agree to what I proposed, then yes. The secrets behind the charm should allow you to see how this will 'destroy all but a remnant' of Voldemort, just like he already destroyed all but a remnant of Harry Potter when I was an infant. In short, headmaster, telling you the truth would help you understand why a Voldemort who can cast the true Patronus Charm wouldn't be Voldemort anymore. If Tom Riddle learns the spell, there would be nothing left of Voldemort but a remnant. Our two spirits would not be so different, and we would be able to reside in the same world together. In fact, we're already half-way there. My own spirit isn't that different from his now; ever since I learned how to cast the killing curse, our magics don't resonate so badly anymore."

"The killing curse?" asked the headmaster's disbelieving voice. "But your Patronus said-"

"Avada Kedavra."

The spell came from his horn, passed through the non-sapient air that Harry didn't care about, then struck his Patronus, which didn't even flinch.

The headmaster's eyes widened in alarm at the green bolt, then widened further as it was blocked.

"Harry," he said, "you are going to give this old heart an attack." The old wizard took a moment to just breathe. "How did you do that while maintaining your charm?"

"Voldemort's version of the Killing Curse doesn't use hatred, and he taught me how to use it. Or rather, he asked me the riddle that let me see the answer for myself, and then he taught me how to use it. It's the Killing Curse, version two-point-oh, which is basically the exact opposite of the Patronus Charm two-point-oh. I was surprised that they turned out to be useable at the same time, but now I don't have to worry about stray bolts going through walls and killing anyone."

Dumbledore looked conflicted on what his response should be, and Harry was proud to have made his day more surreal. "How could Voldemort have convinced you to learn such a spell?"

"How could Voldemort have convinced you to let him teach the killing curse to any Hogwarts student who wanted to learn?" Harry rejoined.

The headmaster paused. "Touché," he sighed. "The Defense Professor can be very persuasive. But I would still like to hear the answer. You know my own. You were there. The Defense Professor would be permitted to teach the Killing Curse if he succeeded in teaching a full corporeal Patronus Charm to a first year student, which I doubted he could do. That is how he convinced me. Now, how did Voldemort convince you, Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres?"

"Fair enough," Harry nodded. "It was a trade. Like the bet you made with him, except in reverse. He agreed to learn the Patronus Charm if I succeeded in learning the Killing Curse first. He said it in Parseltongue, so it was a binding promise. He also promised he won't stop trying until he succeeds, even if he's not all that motivated. What I'm trying to do now is give him the motivation. I thought it was a fair price to pay, especially if I didn't have to compromise my morals, which I didn't. No intelligent life was harmed in my learning of the Killing Curse."

The headmaster took some time to think about that, but he did eventually accept it. "If that is the only way for a Slytherin such as him to be convinced, then perhaps it was the right thing to do. Do you truly believe the prophecy could be at hand over such an exchange?"

"Yes." There wasn't an ounce of doubt in his voice. "Once you understand everything about the spell, I'm pretty sure you'll agree. Then you can agree to the release condition, and agree to keep an eye on him so he doesn't fake it and take the easy way out with clever tricks."

Dumbledore nodded further acceptance. "Are there any final reasons why I should not know the secret?"

"One last one," Harry allowed. "And it's the biggest one, actually. Since you aren't ready to hear the truth, the other major problem with telling you is that you might try to deny reality because you already believe something else. You believe the alternative so firmly that it's a core tenet of your whole world view. Hearing the truth will destroy that belief, or at least damage your ideology, whether you like it or not. And in order to eventually cast the spell yourself, your current belief system will have to be fully destroyed. Until then, you'll never cast a Patronus Charm again... and you might stop being my friend."

If not for the past year in Equestria, he might not have included that last part. But it was a true fear of his, and the headmaster would treat it with the same weight that Celestia would.

The headmaster let his words hang in the air for what felt like an eternity.

"I will not let this come between us," Dumbledore seemed to decide, "regardless of how the secret effects me." Slowly, the headmaster rose from the couch. "Your reasoning is reasonably wise by wise old wizard standards, Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres, and I find it acceptable." He rose to his full height and dismissed the cushioned loveseat, standing as stoically as if he'd never needed it. "I will hear the secret." The rod of steel that he'd lost when he'd seen Harry taken hostage by Voldemort was back in place, supporting his spine like the strongest titanium. "I am not Ravenclaw, but nor do I cower from truth."

"That makes you more Ravenclaw than most," Harry pointed out. "Sometimes, the greatest virtue a rationalist needs is the courage to face reality. Intelligence and clever plans and hard work can only get you so far. It wasn't the Ravenclaws of the world who hid Jews in their basements in Nazi Germany, or abolished slavery. It was the Gryffindors who saw the truths of those matters more clearly than anyone."

"Do not forget the Hufflepuffs who were too grounded by their friends to believe the lies in the first place," Dumbledore advised. "But thank you, Harry. I am glad you believe I am worthy of your house, if only in part."

"Are you really ready to hear the secret, then? Even if it breaks your Patronus?"

"I am."

"Do you want to try solving it yourself first?"

Dumbledore frowned slightly. "It is not a Gryffindor's way to rely only on one's self. That is the domain of Ravenclaw."

Harry thought back to his own lessons with Mr. Tome. Well... hints can often be as important to puzzle-solving and powerful wizardry as the solutions themselves. "What if I gave you a bit of help?" he offered.

"Ah," Dumbledore smiled. "Now that is a Gryffindor's way. As a mysterious old wizard, how could I refuse such a challenge from my mysterious young student?"

Harry's own lips quirked. "In that case, I'll walk you through how I figured it out."

"So be it."

"Okay. We'll start with the easiest problem then. Here's the question that made it obvious to me. If Dementors are a riddle, Headmaster, then what is the answer? What are they really? What do they symbolise? What lies at their core?"

Dumbledore's expression grew thoughtful. "I suppose fear is not the answer, then?" he asked after a pause.

"You tell me," Harry shrugged. "Every student who went to the Dementor saw something different. I didn't see anything at first, just a painful, open question. I could feel my mind trying to force a wrong answer into the question when I was looking at it, but my scientific training kicked in and prevented me from jumping to conclusions. That's why I went around asking everyone else what they saw. Remember?"

"I remember."

"Do you remember their answers?"

"Most saw dead, decaying corpses," Dumbledore answered. "That is true of adults as well."

Harry nodded. That wasn't surprising, given that Dementors symbolise death. "If that was all that anybody ever saw," Harry said, "the answer would be obvious. But you and I both know there are exceptions, since we are exceptions. Godric Gryffindor saw wounds in the world. You saw something that was almost exactly a human, except for the fact that it was a dark creature. Tom Riddle wouldn't say what he saw, so it was probably something so horrible that he wanted to pretend like it didn't exist. Everyone sees something different, which suggests that some people's minds are refusing to see the truth, or they're seeing different truths. With me so far?"

The headmaster nodded. "That sounds accurate. Though now I must ask a question of my own. In magical theory, Harry, and in the fields of literature and law, there are cases where no true answer can be found, only different interpretations. If separate truths are perceived, if the riddle of Dementors is subjective, how can you be sure that the meaning you have derived is most accurate?"

"Good question," Harry remarked. "The answer is that there are a few undeniable facts about Dementors that we can use, even when we can't trust our eyes. Dementors can't be destroyed, for example. They kiss people to death, they drain people of happiness, that kind of thing. So, keeping all that in mind, you tell me if this sounds right: What cannot be killed? Fear. What can kiss you and leave you in a permanent, unrecoverable state? Fear. What drains your happy thoughts, your life, and your magic when it gets close? Fear. Do you think that answer would get you through Ravenclaw's dormroom door?"

The headmaster did not answer right away. He took his time to actually think about it. And then he shook his head. "It would not."

"Fear is just the side effect," Harry explained. "Not the main problem. But people understand fear. They know what to do in the face of fear. They think of happy thoughts and loved ones to drive away the fear. Thus is the animal Patronus cast. A few rare wizards like you can overcome the fear completely. But even you still felt pain when you looked upon a Dementor. The Dementor still reached you through your Patronus charm. It still affected you because you have not overcome the final hurdle, and if you do, your moonlight phoenix will be gone forever. Are you ready to figure it out, or be told if you cannot?"

"Yes."

"Then answer the riddle," Harry urged. "What does drain happy thoughts and life and magic like an open wound in the world? What can steal everything that you are and everything that you ever would have been by a single kiss?"

Dumbledore didn't see the answer, even after his eyebrows had been furrowed for minutes.

Time to step it up. "I should also note that Dementors are called 'life-eaters' in Parseltongue."

Dumbledore still didn't see it.

Harry decided to just get it over with, finally asking the question that would seal the deal. "What stole your happiness more than anything else? What were you trying to tell me when you showed me the phoenix's fate?"

Harry saw it in the headmaster's eyes. Harry saw the exact moment that Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore saw the truth.

Harry took a deep breath, then said it out loud anyway, just to be sure. "Dementors are death," he spoke the fateful words. "And the animal Patronus charm works by thinking of happy thoughts other than death."

Even as Dumbledore seemed to be convinced about the nature of Dementors, he also seemed to disagree with the statement about Patronuses. "My own happy thought involves death, Harry."

"It does." Harry already guessed that much. "And so does mine. That's why our charms are so bright. Your own animal Patronus charm is brighter than all the others because your happy thought involves your unwavering belief in the afterlife. Is my prediction wrong?"

The headmaster sighed. "It is not wrong."

"Thought so. You found a way to be happy about death, to think about life in the face of death. You think about how you'll see your family when you finally die. You see death as continued life, which is why you didn't see a dead or decaying man beneath the cloak like everyone else did. You just saw a tall, thin, naked man. He wasn't decaying because you believe people live on after they die. You believe they do not truly whither into rot and nothingness. You feel pain at their parting, but you believe they are not truly gone. The Dementor was only slightly painful to look upon for that reason. Does that analysis sound inaccurate?"

The headmaster shook his head. "I must admit that it sounds exactly correct, though I wish it did not."

Harry nodded. "Right. In that case, this next part will be the hardest for you. In order to cast the true Patronus charm, you must accept that there is no afterlife, headmaster. None that wizards can truly reach. And I can disprove it too... although some minds will always fall back on the excuse that it can never be disproven, which is what makes the belief so difficult to deal with. Still, are you willing to hear out my evidence, like I heard out yours? Fair warning: this right here is why you aren't ready."

The Headmaster didn't reply, instead drawing a wand from his robes – not the Elder wand which is in the possession of Tom Riddle. It looked more like something Olive-something would have made. Dumbledore's wand rose to the starting position of the Patronus charm. On the wand, his fingers moved exactly the right distances as it twitched once, twice, thrice, and four times. He raised it in a broad brandish as he shouted, "Expecto Patronum!"

Nothing happened.

Harry looked down at the ground. He knew it would happen, but he still felt guilty.

"I will hear your evidence, young Ravenclaw," said the headmaster's voice, "if you do not blame me for foolishly clinging to my own beliefs, as I do not blame you for breaking my Patronus. I am too old and set in my ways to be changed by anything other than dire need."

"I'll try not to get angry this time," Harry nodded. "So, here's the evidence. Voldemort tested the resurrection stone. He couldn't contact Merlin, or anyone else he didn't already know. He explained to me how to build a false veil, indistinguishable from the one in the Department of Ministries. And when he originally cast the horcrux spell, he did it by understanding the truth about ghosts. It wasn't a ritual at all. It doesn't tear the soul, and anyone who believes in souls can't cast it. The original Horcrux spell is like painting a portrait, except that it uses the burst of a wizard's magic after their violent death in the place of paint and parchment."

That had been Riddle's phrasing, in one of his private lessons.

"By channeling the death-burst through himself," Harry explained, "Voldemort created his own ghost and imprinted it on an object that could possess someone. But he lived on after the ghost was made. The ghost was not truly alive. It wasn't his true soul, or even a fragment. The ghost can't pass down interdicted secrets because the horcrux isn't actually alive. It doesn't update itself to the caster's current state of mind when they die for real. A horcrux is simply a self-portrait made at a single instance in time. Naturally, he realised it wasn't what he wanted once he saw the truth. And until you accept that truth, Albus Dumbledore, which I still think you aren't ready to hear, you will not cast the Patronus Charm again. It will not be an absence of light that halts your magic. What stands in your way now is your belief in life after death."

When his speech was finished, Harry noted that the couch hadn't been conjured again. He didn't know if he should be impressed or worried.

"I understand," said the wise old wizard. That said nothing about agreement, which Harry well knew by this point. But it was probably the best that Harry could have hoped for. Therefore...

"So it is done," Harry said, remembering the words the headmaster had spoken after Harry had made the phoenix's choice.

"So it is done," agreed Dumbledore.

"Of course," Harry continued, "Dementors and death are only half the lesson. Do you need a moment before we continue?"

Dumbledore shook his head in refusal. "Best to keep on while we are... on a roll, as they say."

That worked for Harry. "In that case, I'll just jump right into it. No riddles this time. When facing the true nature of Dementors, the happy thought you have to use is life. Whenever I cast the true Patronus Charm, I want death to be destroyed. I believe that death can be overcome. Not in the form of an afterlife. Not in the form of a life well-lived. In the form of everlasting life. The Stone of Permanence is real. I intend to make more if I can. Voldemort's immortality ritual is real, even if it needs adjustment. I don't want to say goodbye if I can do something about it. I don't want to pay the phoenix's price if I don't have to. At the cost of life and magic, my Patronus can revive the recently-perished. At the cost of caution and advancement, science and magic can prevent death from happening in the first place."

Harry was getting more and more excited as he spoke. His Patronus was getting brighter. His mane was probably getting brighter. He couldn't help it. But then again, maybe he shouldn't help it. The brightness might help.

"Death can be defeated, Headmaster! Humans don't have to die. Voldemort understands that much, so in a sense, he's halfway there. He's completed the part of the path that ends in the understanding that death is horrible and doesn't have to happen. He completed the journey that you still need to take. And you've completed the journey he hasn't taken, the one where you know that life is only made meaningful by the people and ponies you meet along the way. You have to do both to cast the true Patronus charm. Godric Gryffindor either kept his true Patronus a secret, or he didn't quite finish the journey. He didn't reach the point of believing that death can be broken, even though he saw its shape as a great many wounds in the world. You, Albus Dumbledore, now stand where he stood. Even if you never cast it yourself, do you understand why it must be kept secret?"

"I do."

"Do you understand what it means to cast the spell?"

"I wish I did not."

"Do you understand what it would mean if Tom Riddle manages to cast it?"

"Yes."

"Then I think that's all there is to be said. Tempus." And just in time, too. He only has five minutes left before the ward circumvention ends. "Want to say hi to Hermione before we go?"

Dumbledore paused, then shook his head. "She would question why I am inside this mirror, and I would be tempted to answer. Go, Harry. I will tell Tom how he might be released, tell him the test he must pass, and I will make sure he does not cheat when he takes it."

Author's Note

This is your last chance to guess Harry's escape method in advance. Next chapter reveals the answer.

Chapter 47: Bypass

Excerpt from HPMoR Ch 109:

"The Mirror's most characteristic power is to create alternate realms of existence, though these realms are only as large in size as what can be seen within the Mirror; it is known that people and other objects can be stored therein. It is claimed by several authorities that the Mirror alone of all magics possesses a true moral orientation, though I am not sure what that can mean in practical terms. I would expect moralists to call the Cruciatus Curse by their name of 'evil' and the Patronus Charm by their name of 'good'; I cannot guess what a moralist would think was any more moral than that. But it is claimed, for example, that phoenixes came into our world from a realm that was invoked inside this Mirror."

Silver decided not to Apparate out of the most secure vault in Equestria. Even if it is possible, there wouldn't be much of a point. Not where he was going. An innervate woke Memory and a quick explanation brought her up to speed. Well, up to speed enough.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "I thought we had to keep it secret."

"We might still be able to," he hoped. "I was invisible for most of the memories I want to show you, so it might not be obvious that I was a human. But even if it is, it's important for you to see what happened. If Celestia decides to watch along with us... we'll cross that bridge when we get there."

"Does Professor Riddle know you're doing this?"

"No, but by the time we see him again, he should understand why it was important."

"Okay..." said Memory, sounding a bit nervous. Silver was grateful that she trusted him more than she trusted Professor Riddle. "So do we just... I don't know... think that we want to go back there?"

"No idea," said Silver. "But that's a good place to start. Maybe go through the mental steps of apparation, only without the magic. On three?"

She nodded, closing her eyes, and Silver did the same.

"One..."

Destination: Astral Plane.

"Two..."

Determination: Appear there.

"Three!"

Deliberation: Yes, I'm sure.

When they opened their eyes again, they found themselves standing amidst a sea of stars. A large computer screen floated on their right and a bookshelf stood tall on their left. They hadn't consciously willed their memories to take those forms – they hadn't consciously done anything with the astral plane since the first/last time they were here – but it was obvious enough whose were whose.

Silver walked over to the computer screen and sat down, gesturing for Memory to sit beside him.

"What memories did you want to show me?" she asked in the short time it took for the PC to boot up faster than any real computer would.

"A few from the day you saw Fawkes on my shoulder."

Memory didn't reply to this in words, and he was too focused on the screen to look at her reaction, whatever it might have been.

He opened the file explorer and scanned the visible titles until he found one labeled First Year of Hogwarts. The ones before that had titles suggestive of his earlier childhood, and the only one after that was labeled Equestria, so the memories were probably sorted chronologically. Clicking on the Hogwarts tab opened another list, from which he clicked the appropriate month, then the appropriate day. He noted along the way that each visible date had a number next to it. Most were marked by a low, single-digit number, like a three or a one, and there were many dates that were simply missing. The date he wanted had a 32 next to it, the highest number out of the entire month.

Opening that file opened yet another series of files.

1. Preparation
2. Lies
3. Departure
4. Arrival
5. Descent
6. Bella
7. Auror
8. Dementation
9. Recovery
10. Descent #2
11. Don't Take it Away
12. Fixing the Fault
13. Dementors
14. Escape Plan
15. Last Minute Adjustments
16. Escape
17. Performance?
18. Warehouse
...

The list continued down through his tricking the Time Turner test, through his conversation with Dumbledore, until it ended with his third person conversation with Hermione and the note he found beneath his pillow just before falling asleep.

"Have you finally decided to ascend?"

Hermione gave a small start, but Silver just sighed, not even turning from his inspections.

"No, Princess Celestia. I just wanted to show Memory a few of my memories. There's not some ancient magic rule saying I have to be ascended to do that, is there?"

"Not as far as I know."

He gave an internal sigh of relief. He was always a bit worried about that sort of thing, but he hadn't been willing to ask beforehand on the chance that they might be able to do this secretly. Now that they couldn't do it secretly...

"Out of curiosity," ...he may as well get some answers. "Would I have to watch all of these-" he gestured at the list "-if I wanted to ascend? Would I have to watch the memories from the other days and months as well?"

"No," said the ascended alicorn. "Just a few of the important ones. In fact, I just learned this morning that watching your memories might not be a requirement at all. But I know little about non-standard ascensions, so I would not know the details."

"I like your hair," said Memory.

Silver turned to actually look at Celestia and confirmed that she still has her new rainbow mane. And she still looks a bit taller than she used to. And maybe she glows just a little – he was only noticing that thanks to the relatively low-light setting, though it could just be his imagination. He'd seen the differences when walking to the mirror an hour ago, but he'd been focused on stealth (i.e. floating through the air on his broomstick bones, which he hasn't had much practice doing), and he hadn't given her appearance his full attention at the time.

"Thank you," answered the possibly-only-recently-ascended monarch.

"Does that mean you just ascended this morning?" Silver asked.

He had thought she'd already ascended. Were there multiple stages? Up until now, he thought there was zero (not alicorn), zero point five (alicorn but not ascended), and one (ascended). Although... then again, Celestia had said his changing Cutie Mark was part of the process, and that had happened well before he became an alicorn himself.

"My sister ascended," Celestia replied to his question. "And I finally made it all the way."

"What was stopping you before?" Silver investigated.

She smiled sadly. "In truth, I never watched all the required memories. My sister and I were going to finish together. Then Nightmare Moon came along. After that, I did not think I deserved it."

"So you finally got around to watching the rest this morning?"

She shook her head. "No, I simply self-actualised. I had thought memory-viewing was the only way to ascend, but I was mistaken. There is no instruction manual on being an alicorn, you see. Memory Lane and the Astral Plane are the closest thing we have to a guide. I thought they were essential to the process, but they might not be, since I did not need them this morning."

Silver tilted his head at that, ignoring his annoyance at the fact that he hadn't been given correct information the first time around. If Celestia's only data points were her own experiences, there wasn't much that could be done about that. "So I can't ascend only by watching these?"

"I am fairly certain you could," Princess Celestia answered. "As I said, I never finished my own viewing process to completion."

"Hmm... alright. I still don't want to just yet, but if I did want to ascend, how would I know which memories to watch?"

"They will begin automatically when you decide it is time."

Silver backed out of the list of 32 memories to the overview of main files, saw one labeled Ascension, nodded to himself, then navigated back to where he'd been.

"Was Hogwarts the name of your old school?" Celestia asked.

"Um... what makes you think that?"

"The chapter you selected was labeled Hogwarts First Year," she pointed out. "And the range of months in the index seem to align closely with the standard Unicorn school year. 'Twas just a guess."

Silver stared at her skeptically, then nodded slowly. "Yeah. Have you heard of it?"

"Not in the slightest."

Silver breathed another internal sigh of relief. "For the record, these are called files, not chapters... and I guess index works. So... how long are you going to be here, exactly? Did you just stop by to check up on us?"

Celestia, when she spoke again, seemed surprisingly shy for the ruler of a nation. "Do you mind if I stay and watch?"

"I'm... not sure."

There were plusses and minuses to it. If she stayed, she would be able to tell Riddle Tome about his escaping the trap (if all went according to plan, that is). That would prompt him into facing Dumbledore again and learning what he must do to escape. But if Celestia stayed, she would also be able to tell Riddle Tome the circumstances of his escape. Plus, she would see him interacting with other humans. Even if, hypothetically, she didn't see that he was a human himself...

"If you're going to stay," he decided, "can you promise not to share anything you see in my memories with anypony else?"

"I promise," she said easily, taking a seat next to Hermione.

Silver blinked. He was expecting that to be a little more difficult. He was expecting her to at least ask why. He wasn't complaining, but...

"And not just the things you see," he added. "Anything you learn from my memories. Anything you guess. It has to stay a secret, no matter what. Not even if you think there's an extremely good reason. You can't even hint about it. I'm almost tempted... well, here. I'll show you sort-of what it has to be like."

He selected the second memory on the list, the one titled Lies, knowing in advance what memory it would be and wondered if he could simply will the memory to start at a certain exact point.

"You sometimes make a game of lying with truths," began the voice of Professor Quirrell, accompanied by his moving image. It was almost exactly like watching a movie in a theatre, even down to the dim lighting of their surroundings. The Defense Professor stood in an empty storefront, illuminated by a source of light that, at the time, had come from Harry Potter's wand, and so seemed to come directly from the point of view of the ponies watching the screen. "Playing with words to conceal your meanings in plain sight. I, too, have been known to find that amusing. But if I so much as tell you what I hope we shall do this day, Mr. Potter, you will lie about it. You will lie straight out, without hesitation, without wordplay or hints, to anyone who asks about it, be they foe or closest friend. You will lie to Malfoy, to Granger, and to McGonagall. You will speak, always and without hesitation, in exactly the fashion you would speak if you knew nothing, with no concern for your honor. That also is how it must be."

Harry willed the memory to pause, and it did. He turned to his left, noting that Memory was staring hard at the screen, as if trying to understand what she was seeing, then looked beyond her, meeting the gaze of the adult alicorn.

"That's what I'm asking," he said to Celestia. "Nopony can know that you know what I'm about to show you. Not yet, and maybe not ever."

"Because you will be violating your promise to the human in that memory?" she asked. "I assume you agreed to his request?"

"Not that, exactly." Silver ran a hoof through his ethereal mane. "It's hard to explain. I'm not sure I can explain. It's complicated. Just..."

She held up a hoof. "I understand, Mr. Potter." She said his name casually, with a smile. Not a smug smile, or clever, just a knowing one. Silver saw out of the corner of his eye that Memory's gaze was torn from the screen upon hearing it. "I will not speak of what I see in your memories with anypony."

"It's not just a matter of speaking," Silver said seriously. "You have to act the way you would have if this whole thing-" he waved his hoof around him, at the astral plane "-never happened. Nopony can even suspect you know what you're about to see."

"And Riddle Tome in particular, yes?" she asked insightfully.

Silver sighed. "Yes, him in particular."

"I do not like to lie, Silver Wing, and he is very perceptive. But I shall do my best. And if I cannot, I shall simply say that I promised not to speak of it."

"What about me?" asked Memory.

"In your case," Silver replied, "I don't think it will matter." More like he was hoping it wouldn't matter.

"Does that conclude the housekeeping?" Celestia asked.

"I... think so," said Silver.

"Then I have one final question before you begin." She turned her gaze on Memory. "Is your name one of the ones the human mentioned? Malfoy, Granger, or McGonagall?"

Silver gulped nervously. Celestia was picking up on things much more quickly than he thought she would.

Memory looked at him, silently asking permission.

Silver shrugged and nodded. Celestia already knew his name. Why not hers too?

"Granger," said Memory. "Hermione Granger." She held out a hoof.

Celestia looked at the hoof with a raised eyebrow. "Tia Sunrise," she said, shaking it. Her gaze turning back to him. "And your first name?"

He wondered if she meant the name he had first, i.e. Harry Potter, or his first name, i.e. Harry.

"Harry Potter," he said, consciously not using his full name, which would have been even more conspicuous, on the hope that she wasn't already putting the pieces together.

But she probably was. 'Harry Potter' and 'Hermione Granger' aren't pony names. 'Tia' and 'Selena' aren't pony names either, he realized, but maybe that was a consequence of a thousand years of cultural shift. Even still, even if their first names were unusual, their last names of 'Sunrise' and 'Lullaymoon' were Equestrian enough. 'Potter' and 'Granger' probably stood out like sore thumbs – er, sore hooves. Maybe not Potter, actually, if he had a pottery cutie mark or something, but certainly Granger.

Keeping all those thoughts to himself, he turned his gaze back to the screen and willed it to rewind so it could play from the beginning.

It didn't take long for Memory to whisper, rather harshly in his ear, "You broke Bellatrix Black out of AZKABAN?!"

A/N: I want to say that I was reluctant to use the plot device in the next section. TV Tropes calls it "let's watch our show", where a fanfiction author has a character watch their own canon story from the perspective that we the audience saw it. I personally don't like it because it subjects the reader to a massive amount of canon material they should already know.

Unfortunately, I couldn't think of how to write this scene differently. The best I could come up with was to tell it mostly from Celestia's perspective. That way we at least have someone outside the HPMoR verse reacting to it.

Still, if you end up skipping most of the rest of this chapter, and especially anything quoted from HPMoR, I completely understand. I skip things like this when I read other fanfiction. If you're as familiar with HPMoR and the Azkaban breakout as I am, you can probably go straight to the final few paragraphs and not miss much. I tried to make it as tolerable as possible for everyone who does read it.

Celestia watched as the 'file' began from its beginning. The conversation that was sure to come did not start immediately. Instead, spell after spell was being incanted.

"All right," said the human in the memory after casting what had probably been security spells with what was probably the human equivalent of a horn: a small, wooden stick. Celestia had thought, earlier, that the human's speech patterns... or maybe just his personality reminded her of Riddle Tome. The voice was completely different though. "If anyone is still watching us now, we are in any case doomed, so I will speak plainly and in human speech."

Humans refer to language as 'human speech'? Odd.

Well, it's not odd that they would refer to it as something other than 'Equish', given that humans don't even seem partly equinoid. The dragons call their accent 'draconic', and they can tell without fail when their fellow dragons are speaking , from voice alone and nothing else. The odd thing is that humans would call their accent 'human speech'. Why not 'humanic'?

"Parseltongue does not quite suit me, I fear, as I am neither a descendant of Salazar nor a true snake."

Silver Life, i.e. Harry Potter seemed to have something of a coughing fit, during which the memory paused itself.

"Parseltongue?" Memory Sunshine, i.e. Hermione Granger asked during the pause. "The language for talking to snakes? The one you had us researching to see if wizards made plants and animals sentient? Salazar Slytherin's Parseltongue? That Parseltongue?"

Harry, after calming down from his coughing fit, nodded to his friend. "It's more like a magical user-interface for controlling snakes," he said by way of explanation. "Not an actual language. Apparently, Salazar Slytherin invented the curse to make sure his descendants could trust each other, because you can't lie in Parseltongue. He might have been inspired by the Patronus Charm, come to think of it, since you can't lie with a Patronus message either."

"Harry, you're a Parselmouth?"

Again, the young stallion nodded. "Thanks to the whole boy-who-lived business. I'm not a descendant by blood. Professor Quirrell was a snake animagus, so whenever he wanted to say something to me that absolutely had to stay private, he said it in Parseltongue."

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh. "He was an unregistered animagus, wasn't he?"

"Just like us," Harry said with a smile.

"It's not like we can regester," she replied. "I would if I could."

"You would," he nodded, "but under the circumstances, I actually don't think it's a good idea. And in my opinion, it should be a choice, not a law. It's not like it's ritual magic or anything. Mandating supervision for the sake of safety would make sense, but of course that's not what the lawmakers cared about. Requiring registration afterwards is just stuffy bureaucracy. It's not like real criminals listen to laws in the first place, and it's not like the aurors won't double-check every criminal they catch. In other words, it's a stupid law." Then, in a mock voice he said, "Do you have a loicense for that magic?"

Celestia had trouble following all of this when she didn't even know what an animagus was.

"So, Mr. Potter," continued the memory before Celestia could ask or Hermione could reply. "We are alone and unobserved, and I have an important question to ask you."

"Go ahead," said Harry's voice, though the Harry sitting next to Celestia was watching silently.

"What is your opinion of the government of magical Britain?"

Magical Britain? That is the name of Harry's country of origin? Or is it just Britain? Why the 'magical' moniker?

"Based on my limited knowledge, I would say that both the Ministry and the Wizengamot appear to be stupid, corrupt, and evil."

That isn't good. Worse, a glance to Celestia's right informed her that Hermione – a good filly who trusts authority – was nodding to that claim.

"Correct," said the human that Harry had named Professor Quirrell. "Do you understand why I ask?"

"You are about to ask me to join a secret organization full of interesting people like yourself, one of whose goals is to reform or overthrow the government of magical Britain, and yes, I'm in."

In any other context, Celestia might have laughed, or at least giggled. In this context, she was a bit nervous that... but no. The lips of the human were twitching upward as if he found the foalish conceit just as amusing as she did. His humor even reached his voice.

"I'm afraid that is not quite where I intended to direct this conversation. I merely planned to ask for your help in doing something extremely treasonous and illegal."

Well, isn't that just so much better?

"Go on," said past Harry, sounding unbothered by that.

"Before I do," said the human, now serious. "Are you open to such requests, Mr. Potter? I say again that if you are likely to say no regardless, you must say no now. If your curiosity compels you otherwise, squash it."

"Treasonous and illegal doesn't bother me," Harry replied. Again, Celestia thought, not good. "Risks bother me, and the stakes would have to be commensurate, but I can't imagine you taking risks frivolously."

The human nodded. "I would not. It is a terrible abuse of my friendship with you, and of such trust as is placed in my teaching position at Hogwarts-"

So this 'Professor Quirrell' was a teacher of Hogwarts?

"You can skip this part," said Harry's voice.

The man's lips twitched again, then fell flat. "Then I shall skip it. Mr. Potter, you sometimes make a game of lying with truths..."

Celestia's attention went a bit afield at the part she'd already heard. In the brief window of repeated content, she tried to understand what she had seen so far.

She had seen Harry speaking to a human professor of Hogwarts. She had seen Harry speak with him as if it were the most normal thing he'd ever done. But humans, as far as Celestia knew, could not be found anywhere on the planet Equus. They could only be found in the mirror beneath Canterlot, and those humans – no, not just the humans, the entire human world she'd seen in the mirror – seemed entirely different from what she was currently watching. There are no pastel colors in this memory. The eyes on the human are not very large, his skin is barely pink, and his hair style is not vibrant. 'Magical Britain' rings no bells of memory in her mind, nor 'Hogwarts', nor 'the Wizengamot'.

In all likelihood, Harry Potter came from another realm entirely, one she has never seen before, one with humans and ponies. And by extension, Riddle Tome and Hermione Granger did as well.

"Without telling me yet," said Harry's voice, the new information drawing her full attention back to the screen, "Can you say if the need is desperate?"

"There is someone in the most terrible want of your help," said Professor Quirrell, "and there is no one who can help them but you."

Hm...

Well. Maybe that isn't quite as bad as Celestia had thought it would be. If the government is truly corrupt, then opposing it might not be the wrong thing to do. Especially if you are trying to help somepony.

After a brief silence, past-Harry replied. "All right. Tell me of the mission."

Celestia watched the next bit in some confusion. She understood the Patronus charm, but...

"Harry," she said, causing the memory to pause. "What are Dementors?"

Harry looked at her, then tilted his head in thought. "If it's possible to bookmark these memories, I could show you. Can I come back to this point in this memory if I went to a different one?"

"Yes. It should be as simple as willing it."

"Then give me a second."

The colt backed out of the current memory, beholding the long list of 32 sequences once more, and then selected one from lower on the same day. The 'file' fittingly labeled Dementors.

In the astral plane, memories do not convey feelings unless the watching alicorn wills it, but the plane itself will automatically change in appearance if the emotions within a memory are powerful enough. In this case, as soon as the memory began, the light of the stars surrounding them dimmed until they were barely visible. The void between was much more pronounced. The stars themselves did not waver, but they became much harder to see. And then she felt the memory, as though Harry had just figured out how to do that. All it took was to want his guests to feel it, and they would. Hermione felt the memory as well, if her small little gasp was anything to go by.

A voice could be heard in the memory. It was distant, as if it did not come from the visible corridor, but beyond it. The voice was deathly fearful, the words so distant and stammering that only brief snippets of "don't" and "away" could be understood. Then the distant voice went silent, and a few voices behind Harry's perspective began saying similar things.

"My lord-" said a quiet, female voice from much closer. Just that, before the memory skipped ahead.

When it resumed, the feelings of primal dread and pulling emptiness crashed against her mind like a mighty storm. Visible in the memory were a great many voids, looking like wounds in the world itself.

Then the memory paused and the feelings left.

"Those are Dementors," said Harry, frowning at the screen.

Hermione was shaking next to him. "They're truly awful," she whispered.

Celestia agreed completely. Without knowing anything about Dementors, she already knew that much. "What you were feeling..." she said hesitantly. "Was that natural?"

"It's the natural response to the presence of Dementors," he nodded. "That's what they feel like when you don't have a Patronus charm active. Dementors eat away your happy thoughts and force you to relive your worst memories if you're exposed to them. After enough time, you forget that you have a family unless you already hate them. You forget friends and love and light. You don't even remember the sun because warmth is a happy thought. This place is a torture chamber, where the government of magical Britain tortures those they call criminals to death."

"Where is it?" she demanded. She was on her hooves, ready to go at once and destroy the place. Tartarus, at least, was only a prison. But this place- those things-

"Inaccessible," Harry denied her demand. "At the moment, anyway. And even if you could go there, you wouldn't be able to come back to Equestria for a long time, if you could come back at all."

"Why?!"

"I can't explain," he said seriously. "Except to say that the thing stopping us is even more powerful than ritual magic. Yes, I'm certain, and don't forget your promise. Trying to find it is the same as admitting that you know about it. Please sit down, princess. There's more to see."

Slowly, and with a sense of helplessness that she rarely ever felt about matters she was supposed to be able to help, she sat down.

When her rear touched the invisible floor, the memory reverted to the empty shop and the human Professor Quirrell. It resumed to repeat a bit of what she'd already seen. "The ordinary Patronus Charm, Mr. Potter, wards off a Dementor's fear. But the Dementors still see you through it, they know that you are there. Only not your Patronus Charm. It blinds them, or more than blinds them. What I saw beneath the cloak wasn't even looking in our direction as you killed it; as though it had forgotten our existence, even as it died."

Although the focus of the image remained centered on the human, the borders of the perspective window moved up and down, as though Harry had nodded.

"Mr. Potter, the central branch of Gringotts is guarded by every spell high and low that the goblins know. Even so those vaults have been successfully robbed; for what wizardry can do, wizardry can undo. And yet no one has ever escaped from Azkaban. No one. For every Charm there is a counter-Charm, for every ward there is a bypass. How can it be that no one has ever been rescued from Azkaban?"

"Because Azkaban has something invincible," said the voice of Harry. "Something so terrible that no one can defeat it."

"The Dementors don't like their meals being taken from them," said the cold voice of Professor Quirrell. "They know if anyone tries. There are more than a hundred Dementors there, and they speak to the guards as well. It's that simple, Mr. Potter. If you're a powerful wizard then Azkaban isn't hard to enter, and it isn't hard to leave. So long as you don't try to take anything out of it that belongs to the Dementors."

"But the Dementors are not invincible," said the voice of Harry Potter – no, of Silver Life. Even as he said it, the stars around them seemed to brighten, suffusing the air with a soft sheen of Patronus light. "Never believe that they are."

Celestia watched raptly, now much less apprehensive about discussions of 'treason' and 'illegality' against the government of Magical Britain.

"Do you remember what it was like when you went before the Dementor, the first time, when you failed?"

"I remember."

The silvery brightness left the astral plane around them.

"There is an innocent person in Azkaban," said Professor Quirrell.

The perspective's borders moved up and down, another nod.

"The one of whom I speak was not under the Imperius Curse. There are surer ways to break wills than the Imperius, if you have time for torture, and Legilimency, and rituals of which I will not speak. I cannot tell you how I know this, how I know any of this, cannot hint even to you, you will have to trust me. But there is a person in Azkaban who never once chose to serve the Dark Lord, who has spent years suffering alone in the most terrible cold and darkness imaginable, and never deserved a single minute of it."

Harry's voice, in the memory, interrupted the man from going further. "A person by the name of Black."

Celestia's gaze was not drawn from the screen by Memory's harshly-whispered question to Harry, but Celestia did take note of filly's incredulous and panicked tone. She also took note of Harry asking his friend to wait until the memory was over.

Professor Quirrell described the one they were to rescue, a woman who had once been a quiet and innocent schoolgirl. Professor Quirrell then described the pretense that would fool the corrupted adult. When Harry asked why Professor Quirrell could not play that role, the man claimed there was no plausible reason for him to be possessed by the shade of 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named', whoever that was.

Harry, outside of the memory, had another coughing fit. He then stopped the memory entirely, just as Professor Quirrell began to explain the technical details of the plan.

"Yes, I did," said Harry to Hermione when the screen was no longer playing anything. He did not sound proud, but he also did not sound reluctant to admit it. "You probably noticed how Professor Quirrell convinced me, making it sound like what happened to Bellatrix could have happened to you. If I weren't there at the trial, it's entirely possible that it would have happened to you. But yeah, I now know that I was being very stupid. Later on, Professor Quirrell said he did it so that some of Slytherin's ancient lore might not be lost forever, which is a lot saner than my reasoning, but I didn't think to question him about his motives until after the breakout, and I didn't realize how blatantly stupid I was being until a day after that. I'm pretty sure this fallacy doesn't have a name outside of 'egocentric bias', or maybe 'peer pressure', but that's not specific enough so I'm calling it the Dumbledore fallacy. I was thinking my life was a plot, and look, here's a plot twist. When your mysterious wizard gives you a quest, you aren't supposed to say no. It's probably a consequence of all the morning cartoons and fantasy books. I see it now, but I didn't see it at the time. That isn't to say that quests are always wrong, just that they need careful consideration, not automatic agreement."

"And that's why you said yes," said Hermione, looking sharply at Harry.

"That's why I said yes."

There was a pause that stretched.

Celestia felt this was a good time to interrupt. "Who is Bellatrix Black?"

"The Dark Lord's number two," said Harry. "Second most evil person in the world. The most evil after the Dark Lord fell."

"And who was this Dark Lord?"

"He called himself Lord Voldemort," Harry answered. "But he was so bad that everybody uses referents like 'the dark lord', even ten years after he was vanquished. If they have to be more specific, like if the conversation involves more than one Dark Lord, then they say 'you-know-who' or 'he-who-must-not-be-named' when referring to Voldemort."

"Was he human?"

"Most would argue that he wasn't," said Harry. "But in the sense that you're asking the question, yes, he was." His attention focused back on the screen. "We're getting sidetracked. Next up is... this one."

6. Bella.

The new memory did not begin with an image of a living human female as Celestia had expected. It began in another long metal corridor, like the one with the Dementors from earlier, except this corridor did not terminate in a staircase, just a solid wall. Visible in the corridor was a green light guiding a human-shaped Patronus forward. Celestia wondered if it was Quirrell's Patronus, since Harry's would have been pony-shaped.

Movement ended her musings. The lock of the door at the end of the corridor clicked open and the green spark winked out. A snake appeared in the corridor from thin air, as if an invisibility spell had been broken or dismissed.

Harry walked forward, passing the snake and the Patronus. He approached the door and it opened for him. It must have been some kind of banishing spell, Celestia thought, because he did not use his hoof to push it open. Though it didn't look like a spell. There was no glow to indicate active magic. Maybe the door was charmed to open on its own, without apparent effect? But that-

Her thoughts came to a grinding halt when she saw what Harry saw inside the first cell. Skin gray. Flesh worn away. A half-face, half-skull looked forward with empty, hollow eye sockets. A desiccated human corpse. It was far worse than just a skeleton might have been.

The perspective suddenly went black, and Celestia realized that the Harry in the memory was closing his eyes. The Harry in the memory was closing his eyes from seeing a sight nopony should ever have to see. Let alone somepony so young, without a parent, or at least an adult to comfort him. And with Professor Quirrell's demand that he lie about it afterwards, nopony ever would have...

Abruptly Celestia stood and walked to Harry's side, sat back down, and draped a large wing over his back. Hermione, when she saw this, scooted closer as well, pressing her side against his.

Harry hadn't stopped the memory while the two were giving him much-needed care, and by the time Celestia looked back, she saw another corpse.

Only, when Harry's voice spoke in the memory, Celestia realized it wasn't a corpse.

"Hello, my dear Bella," said Harry's voice, coldly and quietly, just as Professor Quirrell had instructed him earlier. "Did you miss me?"

Celestia found herself disturbed at how skillfully the false voice was done. (This would not be the last time this thought came to her.)

The corpse stirred. Its eyes opened but did not quite settle on Harry's. After a brief silence, it responded. "Mad," said a cracked, dead voice. Celestia could barely even tell that it was female. "It seems that little Bella is going mad..."

"I hope you are not mad, Bella dear," said Harry's cold whisper. "Mad is not useful."

The corpse's eyes flickered about, settling on nothing in particular. Celestia understood then that Harry must have been beneath some kind of invisibility spell.

"My Lord... I waited for you but you did not come... I looked for you but I could not find you... you are alive..." The dull monotony of the words was worse than any pained gasping could have been.

Then the snake beside past-Harry hissed. Celestia was surprised to hear that it was speaking words, and that the words could be understood. "Sshow her your face."

Nothing visibly changed after that command, except that Bella suddenly focused directly on Harry's eyes. "That scar..." she muttered. "That child..."

"So they all still think," said Harry's cold voice, followed by a disturbingly evil-sounding chuckle. "You looked for me in the wrong place, Bella dear."

Bella looked at him, saying nothing.

"Ssay ssomething in Parsseltongue," hissed the snake.

Harry hissed the numbers one through ten while Celestia took a moment to process that she was hearing something she would not, under normal circumstances, be able to understand, for it was comprehensible only to those who bore the 'Parseltongue' curse.

"Those who do not fear the darkness..." murmured Bellatrix.

"Will be conssumed by it," hissed the snake.

"Will be consumed by it," repeated Harry in non-snake speech.

Ah. So that's why Professor Quirrell had called it 'human' speech. Then that probably wasn't the name they had for language.

"Your wand," murmured the skeletal human. "I took it from the Potters' house and hid it, my lord... under the tombstone to the right of your father's grave... will you kill me, now, if that was all you wished of me... I think I must have always wanted you to be the one to kill me... but I can't remember now, it must have been a happy thought..."

Celestia's heart wrenched, and from the dimming of the stars around them, she knew Harry must have felt the same thing. It was too terrible to be imagined, even as she watched it happen.

'Dementors eat away your happy thoughts', Harry had said. She knew, in this moment, as she comprehended what Bellatrix had said, that the evil of Dementors went far deeper than just the way they made you feel. Hearing Harry explain it and watching a woman live it were like night and day. The thought of death, of release from the pain and the torment, would be a happy thought, wouldn't it? Any hope at all would be happy. And that was only half the horror of Bellatrix's words. The other half... Professor Quirrell had said that Voldemort had done unspeakable things to her... but this-

"Enough foolishness," said the cold voice of Harry, now sounding annoyed. "You're to come with me, Bella dear, unless you prefer the company of the Dementors."

The woman responded to this invitation to escape, not with an enthusiastic "Yes!", but with a look of confusion. She did not even move from her spot.

"You'll need to float her out," Harry hissed to the snake beside him. "Sshe can no longer think of esscaping."

Celestia's chest continued to ache. To not allow happy thoughts of escape from torment would, of course, include the literal sense of escaping the prison. Dementors do indeed make terribly effective jailors. The prisoners can't even fantasize about the possibility of their pain coming to an end, dooming them to eternal despair and suffering.

"Yess," hissed the snake in the memory, "but do not underesstimate her, sshe wass the deadliesst of warriorss. One would be wisse to fear me, boy, even were I sstarved and nine-tenthss dead; be wary of her, allow no ssingle flaw in your pretensse."

After hissing this statement of danger and doom, the green snake left the room. As it did, Celestia was suddenly certain that the snake and Professor Quirrell were one and the same. She had been wondering where he was, wondering if he was hiding invisibly. But after that threat, she was certain the snake was he. That must be what Harry meant when he called him a snake animagus. The term had been foreign, alien, when Harry and Hermione discussed it earlier, but now she understood: an animagus is a magus who can become an animal.

The unhealthy, bearded, fearful man who returned in the snake's place was not Professor Quirrell. For a moment she was confused, but then she realized that if human mages could become animals, they could probably change their appearances to that of other humans, just like Changelings could supposedly look like any pony they pleased, though she didn't know if they were real or just a myth. Either way, shapeshifting is well within the possibilities of magic, and it seems that the humans of Harry's homeland have realized and utilized that potential.

"My lord?" the man said falteringly. The acting was so perfect it would have fooled Celestia in an instant if she didn't already know better. The body language, the deferential tone of voice...

"Do as you were instructed," Harry whispered coldly. "And do not let your Patronus falter. Remember, if I do not return there will be no reward for you, and it will be long before your family is allowed to die."

For a brief moment, a cloth seemed to fall over Harry's vision, but then that cloth disappeared. Celestia was almost too distracted by the words to notice the implication of invisibility cloak, not invisibility spell.

Harry's real voice, interrupting the memory, was a welcome change. "I'm going to fast-forward to the next- actually, wait. Hold on." His eyes narrowed at the screen, and when Celestia followed his gaze, she saw that he'd focused on a small bottle which the cringing 'servant' hid beneath a scrap of cloth in the corner of the cell. Harry said nothing, but the screen paused on that image.

"Something you don't remember happening?" Celestia asked. She'd had that experience more than a few times when reviewing her own memories.

"Yeah."

"If he's leaving evidence," said Celestia, "I'm guessing he does not intend to perform the 'perfect crime' after all?"

Harry didn't answer, but Hermione said, "The whole world learned about it afterward. It wasn't stealthy at all. The Daily Prophet said Bellatrix Black used an unknown fire spell to... Harry, was that a rocket?"

"Maybe," he said with a grin. Then he addressed Celestia. "To answer your question, he did intend for it to be a perfect crime, but he's a cautious planner. I think that vial was supposed to throw off the aurors in case something went wrong. Anyway, what happens next isn't that important until Bellatrix starts talking again, so I'm skipping ahead to that part."

When the memory resumed, now back within the long metal corridors, Bellatrix did not immediately begin talking. No words came from her direction, wherever she might be. Instead, there were small sounds... sounds that were hard to recognize...

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

It had taken Celestia much too long to realize that Bella was crying. When she did, she was almost brought to tears herself.

"It's real?" asked a voice that was no longer monotone. "It's real?"

The words 'Yes, now be silent' flitted across the bottom of the screen as text, but did not manifest as sounds in the memory. That meant the words were almost said aloud, were on the tip of Harry's tongue, but the now-alicorn had decided not to say them at the time. The fluctuating lights in the astral plane, the turbulence, led Celestia to believe that Harry had stayed silent for the same reason she would have stayed silent if she'd been in his hooves. The words were just too awful to speak.

"I knew - you would - come to me someday. I knew - you were alive - that you would come - to me - my Lord - and that even - when you came - you still wouldn't love me - never - you would never love me back - that was why - they couldn't take - my love from me - even though I can't remember - can't remember so many other things - though I don't know what I forgot - but I remember how much I love you, Lord."

Celestia was in tears at this point.

"Do you still have - use for me - my Lord?"

"No," hissed the voice of Harry, now pretending to be angry. When he spoke next, she knew the words he uttered were the same that the Dark Lord would have spoken in his place, and she was made furious by the utter lack of compassion – the disdain for compassion – within them. "I entered Azkaban on a whim. Of course I have use for you! Don't ask foolish questions."

"But, I'm weak," the broken woman objected. "I can't kill for you, my Lord, I'm sorry, they ate it all up, ate me all up, I'm too weak to fight, what good am I to you now?"

Harry's voice did not answer that unholy question.

Celestia thought of closing her eyes to block it out. Her tears were blurring her vision anyway. But the memory window was showing nothing except a human Patronus and a green spark. Closing her eyes would have done nothing, and she could not bring herself to close her ears.

"Ugly," despaired the woman. Somehow, that one word hit harder than everything that had come before. "I'm ugly, they ate that too, I'm, I'm not pretty anymore, you won't even, be able, to use me as a reward, for your servants – even the Lestranges, won't want, to hurt me, any more..."

Like a switch being flipped, Celestia's heartache gave way to fury. If she had not been within the astral plane, she might have risked causing a draught, distraught as she was. If she had not been within an astral plane, she might have risked burning Harry and Hermione alive as they sat next to her. Her hair was fire, hotter and brighter and deadlier than it had ever been. Even as tears streamed down her cheeks, she decided that if she ever met Lord Voldemort, Lord Voldemort would never see the light of her days again. Some deeds were unforgivable. Some ponies – some people could not be redeemed.

He was one of them. And he was already vanquished. Her anger had no outlet, except...

"Whatever you're thinking," said the true voice of Silver Life beside her, his own mane glowing brightly, "and trust me, I've probably thought the same things, just remember that you promised to keep this secret. And remember that if you try to go to Azkaban, you'll be leaving Equestria behind."

"Why?!" she turned on him, no longer caring for secrecy or promises. "Why must that be?"

"It involves Time," Harry said. "I mean, it literally involves Time magic. Really, really powerful Time magic. If you violate it, you could be sent years ahead into the future. For you, it would only seem like an instant, but for your subjects it could be fifty years. If you could come back at all."

She began pacing, the energy inside her too great to stand sitting. If she didn't at least move, she might just combust.

"There must be a bypass of some sort. There always is. Tell me the specifics and I shall find a way." And if she couldn't, Twilight certainly could, given enough time.

But Harry shook his head in denial. "I'm already working on a bypass." His eyes glanced briefly at Hermione, who was ignoring both of them and staring hard at the screen, which is still playing the memory. "But no matter how it's done, the Time magic won't be denied. Please calm down. There's one last memory."

"At this point," said Celestia, "I do not think I could calm down if I tried."

"In that case, please stand back a bit."

An understandable request, given her state. She moved a bit away and continued pacing.

Then, turning his attention to his companion, "Hermione, I know I was being stupid when I accepted the mission, but do you get why I'd still accept it even now that I know better? Why it has to be done? Not just for her, but everyone?"

She nodded tightly, not turning to face him. "Is it true?" she asked with a slight quaver in her voice. "What you just said? In the memory, I mean. Can the Patronus charm kill you if you don't control your emotions?"

"Only if you can't stop yourself from wanting to destroy Dementors," he answered. "I almost couldn't, but then I realized that Azkaban isn't the only place with Dementors, and I didn't have a way to get to them all. I didn't have portkeys, or teleportation, or a phoenix. At that moment in time, I would have kept going, even if it killed me, but for that one problem. Any attack on Azkaban comes with the risk of death. And even if the Dementors don't kill you, even if the Patronus Charm doesn't kill you, the aurors might. If they see somepony attacking Azkaban, they might use deadly curses to stop them. I only managed to stop myself on the promise that I'd go back when I was better prepared, and when I had help, so the spell wouldn't die with me if the worst happened."

Celestia saw that Hermione's whole body was shivering, even as she watched Harry drape his wing over her, just as Celestia had done for him.

"I can't," said Hermione, almost in tears. "I know why you're showing me this, Harry. I- I don't think- I can't-" she took a few short breaths. "I can't do it. Not for someone like Bellatrix. Neville told me what she did to his parents. I can't just ignore that, Harry."

Silver's wing seemed to hold her even more tightly. "And I couldn't just ignore Lesath Lestrange asking me to save his mother from Azkaban."

Hermione hiccupped – proof that she had come to tears. "What?"

"Bellatrix's son," Harry answered. "He's a fifth-year attending Hogwarts. At the start of the school year, he begged me to get his parents out of Azkaban because he heard I could do anything. I told him I couldn't do it because I didn't have the power, but I couldn't stop myself from wondering if there was a way to help him anyway. No, Hermione, I didn't rescue her for Lesath. I completely forgot about Lesath until he thanked me afterwards. But that might have been enough. It's not like he did anything wrong. He just wanted his parents to stop being tortured. He just wanted to see them, but his parents were both Death Eaters, so they weren't allowed visitors."

Hermione was shaking her head. "I... Harry, they're still Death Eaters. If there was someone innocent in Azkaban..."

"It's not a matter of innocence, Hermione. You know that as much as I do. Azkaban is evil."

"But it's my life!" Hermione was suddenly frantic. "I can't- for bad people, I just can't-" a sob cut her off. "Harry, I can't."

Harry let her cry, not saying anything.

After a time, he began browsing his memories.

"If you're looking for something specific," Celestia advised him, finally glad to be useful for something, "you can make a query for it."

Harry did not respond in words, but box of not-memory appeared on his screen. When the words 'innocent prisoner' were entered into the box, the screen automatically clicked on the memory 'escape plan', then jumped to a certain exact point. As Harry's past-self passed one of the metal doors of Azkaban, a dead mutter said the words "I'm not serious, I'm not serious, I'm not serious," over and over. Harry stared hard at this.

He glanced at Hermione, but she wasn't looking. He seemed about to say something, but closed his mouth and returned his gaze to the screen. Then he exited the memory, selected another one, and nudged Memory.

"Even on the off chance that the Ministry never sent an innocent person to Azkaban," he said to her, "the prisoners aren't all Bellatrix Black. This is the last memory I wanted to show you."

"Harry, I-"

"Please, Hermione," he whispered. "Just this last one. Then we can go home."

"...Okay," she whispered back.

"Is it better than the last ones?" asked Celestia, still pacing angrily behind them both.

Harry didn't answer her, just started the memory.

She soon learned that the answer to her question was "No."

It was not better.

Not at all.

It contained a regretful murderess reliving her worst memory – the murder that sent her to Azkaban. The Patronus charm that walked beside him gave her temporary reprieve, as Harry approached the door to her cell block. And then he passed her cell block and continued walking, following the charm in front of him. The prisoner must have sensed as it began to leave her. She begged for him to come back. She couldn't remember her children's names anymore.

Celestia was even more horrified, now. A Dark Lord's cruelty is one thing. A government's cruelty is quiet another. Riddle Tome, in tones of an insult, had once called her conception of abuse 'pedestrian', and now that she was witnessing the potential depths of human depravity, she knew it was true.

The memory paused.

"She's still there," said Harry, addressing Hermione. "By now she probably doesn't even remember that she has children."

Hermione had her eyes closed. She was crying. "She killed someone," she whispered.

"It might have been an accident," said Silver. "She said she didn't mean it. Muggle Britain would have called it manslaughter. In Wizarding Britain, it doesn't matter. Misdemeanors. Felonies. Civil infractions. The punishment is always Azkaban, it's just a question of how long and how close to Dementors. Unless you can pay the fines, or you belong to a noble house who can bail you out, or you say you were under the Imperius curse, or you're too powerful for the aurors to arrest you. The punishment for not registering your animagus form is two years. How many other stupid laws get people sent there? How many other people have forgotten their children? Or their parents? Or their friends? How many people around the world have forgotten? Remember that Azkaban is in Britain. That means the prisoners still get fed, the cells occasionally get cleaned, and the prisoners get released after their sentence is served. Most prisoners are even allowed to have visitors. But what about the Azkabans in Africa? What about the Dementors that roam freely?"

Hermione cried harder at Harry's words. By the end of his speech, it seemed like she couldn't take any more.

"Okay!" she seemed to explode all at once. "Okay, alright?! I know! I want them gone too! But what do you want me to do?! We can't even do anything about it! We're trapped! We can't go back-" another choked sob cut her off.

"What if we weren't?" Harry asked, his eyes gazing intently into his friend's. "An important aspect of decision theory is to plan for the future. If you need more information to make a decision, you should still know what decisions you'll make based on that new information. If we were free, would you risk your life to end Azkaban? Imagine you could go right now. Would you do it?"

Out of nowhere, a phoenix blazed into existence before the two young ponies. The phoenix locked eyes with Hermione, two blazing orbs matching two tearful ones.

Hermione seemed to understand in an instant. "Of course I would," whispered the young filly to the blazing creature. "I just don't want to die again."

With a scream, a cry of approval and action, the phoenix surged forward.

When Celestia's wide eyes looked back to the creature's target, she saw that Hermione's hoof was being held tightly by Harry's. His wing was still draped behind her back and he shouted, "Take me too!" at the blazing bird.

In the blink of an eye, the two ponies and the phoenix were gone. The moment they vanished, Celestia was forcefully ejected from the astral plane.

She found herself standing in a meadow she did not recognize, wondering what on Equus had just happened, and suspecting with a sick feeling that she knew exactly what had just happened.

Rehabilitation, Part -1: Double Bypass

8:20 PM, June 15th, 94th Year of the Tenth Celestial Century.

"Riddle Tome." He flinched at the sudden appearance of the pony-shaped silver silhouette. "Please come to my chambers."

He was beginning to loathe that charm. Lord Voldemort had been slightly envious of the advantage in communication possessed by the Order of the Phoenix, but now Tom Riddle was beginning to wonder if he could have tolerated the drawbacks of that 'advantage'. None of the Death Eaters had been able to learn it, but if they had, he might have ended up forbidding the spell outside of strict emergencies. Or maybe his annoyance at Mr. Silver for taking so long was beginning to extend to unrelated things.

He discarded his instinctual fear of being caught and began calculating why Celestia might request his presence. Had Mr. Silver lingered too long and been discovered inside the vault? Or was it about his own sudden departure? That had been over an hour ago, so probably not. The ward circumvention had ended more recently, only twenty-five minutes ago. Had that triggered an alarm?

"Why?" he asked the Patronus, revealing nothing as he probed for more information.

"Silver Wing and Memory Sunshine are gone," Celestia's message replied when it returned, "and my Patronus cannot reach them."

He teleported to Celestia's chambers at once, adrenaline surging through his veins at the thought that Mr. Silver might have succeeded at convincing Dumbledore – he might have succeeded and left Riddle to rot.

"Princess!" the doors burst open, drawing her gaze but not his. "Somepony teleported-"

The day guard stopped short upon seeing the well-lit room (despite the late hour) and comprehending that their Princess was looking at the 'intruder' (a well-known face around the palace) without apparent alarm.

"It is fine," she reassured her guard. "I called him here. Leave us."

The guards, after a brief hesitation, nodded and closed the door.

"What happened?" Riddle demanded.

The gaze of the Day Princess was intense. "Just as I said: my Patronus cannot reach them. Watch." She turned to it. "Tell Silver I wish to speak with him."

The Patronus did not move, only gazed at her sadly.

"Tell Memory I wish to speak with her."

The same result.

She turned to face him again. "I was hoping you knew what happened."

"Take me to the mirror," he ordered. "At once."

"Will you tolerate my supervision this time?"

He had to hold back a snarl. His impulses weren't ordinarily so strong, but the extreme urgency was stressing his patience and his temper. "No," he answered, not quite keeping the disdain from his voice.

"Then we shall have to go to my sister first."

"Fine," he agreed. "Quickly."

He disappeared in a teleport, knowing she would follow not a moment later.

"Sister?" asked Luna from the throne of Night Court. "I see you have retrieved my fool for his shift-"

"I have not," interrupted Princess Celestia. "It's an emergency. Something happened to Silver Wing and Memory Sunshine."

Luna was standing next to them in less than a second. "What happened?"

"I do not know," said Celestia.

Luna looked sharply at Celestia. "Sister-"

"No time," Celestia interrupted again, gazing sharply back. "The Court Scholar believes it has something to do with the mirror."

There was a brief staring contest, during which agonizing seconds ticked by.

"Enough of this," said Riddle, and apparated away.

He reappeared in the mirror room, not caring that his sudden presence would set off one of the wards and not caring that he had just revealed his trump card. A situation like this is why you keep trump cards. If Time was at hand, there was no point in keeping it secret anymore, and if Time was not at hand, it wasn't the worst loss in the world.

He didn't re-establish his ward-circumvention, didn't spare the effort or waste the time. Celestia would know someone had violated the wards and she would guess that it was him, assuming he couldn't get out in the next few minutes and collapse this fabricated world first. At least, that's what he assumed would happen when he escaped. Even if he didn't, placing a ward circumvention after triggering a ward is worse than pointless, as it simply tips off the target that someone can mess with their security.

He strode to stand before the mirror, taking only a moment to notice and stow his horcrux, which had been laying on the ground. He also took the pouch and wand that rested haphazardly on top of it – yet more evidence that Mr. Potter had escaped.

"Welcome back, Tom," said Professor Dumbledore.

"You freed Mr. Potter?" he demanded instantly.

Dumbledore looked surprised. "I did not," he answered.

Suddenly a different idea of what happened to Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger came to mind. "Does the Patronus charm look sombre when you attempt to contact a dead recipient?"

"It does," said Dumbledore, his expression now conveying a mix between concern for his pet hero and caution for trickery. "Why?"

"Have you released the trap in any way?"

"I have not," Dumbledore repeated. "Tom, what happened?"

"Either you are lying, or they are dead, because a Patronus charm cannot reach them."

Dumbledore looked surprised at that as well. "Your Patronus charm?"

"Of course not! Someone else's!" He began pacing within the small confines of the mirror's zone of influence. "Can you think of any reason for that result besides death or escape? Are there anti-Patronus wards? Can Mr. Potter refuse the charm using his unique knowledge?"

Riddle's mind was going through questions and possibilities so quickly that he already had time for three more by the time the old man answered.

"Not so far as I know," said Dumbledore after a pause to think.

"Is the trap still active?"

"You repeat yourself."

"I do not," said Riddle. "I ask not if you have released it, I ask if it is still active. If you care for Mr. Potter- no. If you care for the safety of Hogwarts, you will answer."

"You know I do not respond to threats, Tom."

"It is not a mere threat, fool!" His patience was running thin and he no longer had a reason to temper his language. His pacing sped up. "Many students were taken hostage so Mr. Potter could be coerced into cooperation. An event has already been set in motion to kill many students and teachers. I intend to stop it, but if I do not reach them in time," he stopped pacing. "They. Will. Die. Now tell me if the trap is still active, Headmaster of Hogwarts. Check if it has been undone without your awareness, or their demise will be your folly, not mine."

Dumbledore was still gazing at him skeptically. "It is active," he replied. "You are still trapped outside of Time. Even if such an event had been set in motion, you would still be able to stop it if I released you fifty subjective years from now."

The tension in Riddle relaxed by the tiniest margin. That, at least, meant that matters were not as urgent as he feared. Assuming Dumbledore was telling the truth. Assuming the old man could tell that he was telling the truth. How did he even know?

Riddle took a few calming seconds to think. Maybe he was looking at this from the wrong angle. "Did you speak to Mr. Potter after me?"

"Yes."

"Did anything unusual happen?"

"If by unusual, you mean that he convinced me to release you, then yes, it did."

Riddle stopped short in surprise. "He did?"

"On one condition."

Ah. Of course. "Let me guess, no more Voldemort?"

"Not quite," Dumbledore denied. "I could hardly trust your claims, even if you had your lie-detecting friend say you speak honestly. No, Tom. The condition is that you must cast Mr. Potter's version of the Patronus charm. Do that, and I will release the trap."

Riddle did not reply to this infuriating information in words. And since there was no princess overseeing him, and the headmaster would not be fooled by a pretense of ignorance, Riddle had no reason to pretend to lose this time. Since Dumbledore was on the other side of the mirror, and not 'in thiss new place' i.e. in Equestria, the old man was not protected by the promise Riddle had made to Mr. Potter a year ago.

"Stupefy! Diffindo! Crucio! Argh!"

Unfortunately, the old fool was protected by the mirror itself, which seemed to reflect everything that touched its surface, including the torture curse. That last one was a continuous beam, and the moment it was redirected back at himself he convulsed and stopped casting. It was his first time ever being struck by the torture curse, and he resolved then and there that it would also be his last.

When he pushed past the pain and regained his awareness of the outside world, he saw that his enemy stood smiling, untouched by every attempted punishment, which gave Riddle enough fury to fuel a killing curse the old way.

He had the common sense to detransfigure a false tooth and put the large living creature behind the mirror first, an action which caused headmaster's infuriating expression to acquire a raised eyebrow. In smug satisfaction, Riddle released his rage by casting the green death from a mere metre away, which wiped the smile off the old man's face and caused him to dodge as much as the area within the mirror allowed.

But then the killing curse was also deflected by the device made by Atlanteans, forcing Riddle into a similar dodge that he only managed thanks to his broomstick bones. A split second later, he realised the sudden change in trajectory meant the green bolt was now barreling towards the vault's back wall. It was only by the thinnest of margins that he maneuvered the de-transfigured ursa minor around the mirror in time, barely blocking the curse before it left the confines of the room.

After the excitement was over, he noticed that he was drained of hatred – a typical result of firing the Killing Curse the old way – leaving him empty and apathetic. That wouldn't stop him from firing more Killing Curses like it once did, but in this situation there wouldn't be a point.

Of course the universe would choose now to present him with another thing that can block a killing curse. That makes three: life, the true Patronus charm, and apparently, the Mirror.

"I would laugh at the turnabout," said Dumbledore as he stood, "if not for the fact that it almost escaped. Thank you for stopping it, Tom."

Riddle glared, a reply ready on his lips, but then he felt the wards around the room deactivate.

A few minutes earlier...

Luna was standing next to her sister and her fool in less than a second, teleporting into place. "What happened?"

"I do not know."

Luna looked sharply at Celestia. "Sister-"

"No time," she interrupted, gazing sharply back. "Riddle Tome believes it has something to do with the mirror."

Luna stared at her sister, debating if she should call Tia out on her dishonesty, or trust that her sister had a reason for it. Then her fool of a fool ran out of patience. The thestral disappeared, but not in the style of a teleport, or portkey, or even the simple vanishment of invisibility. He left a strange popping sound in his wake.

Not two seconds later, a day guard appeared before them both in a teleport. "Princess!" he said. "Er, Princesses."

"Speak," they both said at once.

"Someone's in the vault!"

"What?!" Celestia demanded. "Were the wards broken?!"

Luna froze in dread. Those were the kingdom's most powerful defenses. If a being could defeat them, that either meant Discord or...

"No," reported the guard. "Wards are still active. I don't know how they got in."

Luna and Celestia exchanged glances, both thinking the same thing.

Fool.

They both disappeared in a teleport.

"Princesses!" the remaining vault guard saluted. There were always two for this reason: one to teleport away for reinforcements if something happened, the other to stay and protect.

"We received your report," Celestia said a moment before the other guard reappeared at his post. Once both of them were standing at attention, she spoke. "Ordinary orders about staying outside the room are suspended. We are going to enter and arrest whoever is inside. Do not use anything other than stunners, and avoid the mirror."

"Yes, ma'am."

The de-warding went agonizingly slow for Luna. More agonizing was the fact that she was probably about to lose her fool. When the doors finally opened, and they all rushed inside...

...they only saw an Ursa Minor in the back of the room, causing the guards to jump back in surprise.

Celestia strode fearlessly forward with her horn glowing. "It's dead," she declared. "Let the guards enter, then block the entrance," she told her sister. She cast a few detection charms at the corpse, then shrunk it in size and floated it... into her regalia? Luna realized her sister must have modified her jewelry to be space extended, or asked Twilight Sparkle to modify it. "Check the room for invisibility."

Luna did, knowing more about that art than her sister, but no luck. Not that Luna had ever thought to test if her fool's invisibility could be detected. His version wasn't ordinary, she knew that much.

"Put up shields," Celestia ordered. "I will snuff him out."

"Sister, what of the mirror-"

"I know, Luna," she said. "It will be safe."

A fraction of a second after shields were raised, Celestia conjured... is that a cloud of flour?

Instantly the room was covered in a film of white powder. No pony silhouettes could be seen aside from the four covered by shields. A cleaning spell set the room back in order.

"Could he be intangible?" Celestia asked Luna.

"...No," she answered after thinking about it. "His hooves still made contact with the floor when he was invisible."

"Could those have been false sounds?" she asked. "Are you certain he cannot become intangible?"

"Not completely certain," Luna answered honestly. "But I am almost certain," she said, also honestly. "He is not here."

"Then he must have left the moment before we entered," Celestia concluded.

"And you do not know that for certain. It could have just been the ursa, somehow. We know little about the true depths of the mirror."

"I am almost certain it was him," Celestia echoed. "You are too fond of your fool, sister. He has just declared himself a threat to this nation."

"No," said Luna. "If he came here, he has only declared that he cares for his pupils. So much that he is willing to break the law for their safety."

"He is the worst pony I've ever known!" Celestia objected. "And he is the most deceitful pony you have ever known! He has never known Kindness or Generosity or Friendship. I suspect he has never known Loyalty or Honesty or Laughter either. He is neither Harmonious nor good. He hides more secrets than all of Equestria put together, and we do not even know where he comes from! He's-"

"He is not the only one keeping secrets, sister," said Luna, her own voice becoming heated. "Or was that not deception I felt?"

Her sister cringed. "It was," she admitted, "but I am sworn to secrecy about it."

"Then why," Luna said, her voice rising further, "did you get my fool heated into a frenzy? To goad him into breaking the law?!"

"No!" Celestia denied.

"Why then?!"

Celestia turned to the vault's guards, who were staring at them. "Leave us," she ordered. "Stand outside and do not eavesdrop."

They saluted, and Luna barely had the patience to allow them time to leave.

"Because he might be able to get them back," Celestia said after establishing a privacy ward, "or get to where they went. A phoenix took them, sister. Not Silver, for I am certain he knows of the choice. It came to Memory, and when it did, Silver asked to be taken along. They are likely in another realm – their home realm – which the mirror might be able to reach."

"And you blame him for reacting this way when you told him that?!" If a phoenix took them to some dangerous battle, her fool's haste would be more than justified.

"I did not tell him that!" Celestia objected defensively. "I only told him that my Patronus could not reach them!"

"That's even worse!"

Celestia's voice rose in volume. "I am sworn to secrecy, sister! Especially from his ears in particular. I am sworn to secrecy, and I am worried for their safety, and he may be the only one who can reach them in time, or at all! What would you do?"

That question went unanswered for a long time. Luna paced back and forth, fuming. Celestia took many calm breaths. The mirror sat unwavering in the center of the room.

"I would have you end your efforts to arrest him," Luna eventually decided to dictate.

"Sister-"

"No, Tia. This is not a negotiation. He has yet to do anything wrong. Even if he did break in here, and break the law in the process, it was entirely your fault that he felt he had to. You even wanted him to come here. You do not get to complain that he did so as quickly as equinely possible."

There was another long space of silence.

Eventually, Celestia let out a long sigh of defeat. "Okay, Luna. I will not have him arrested."

"And you will tell him the truth."

That caused her sister's face to screw up. "Luna, I can't! I am sworn to secrecy! Put yourself in my hooves. Consult Loyalty if you must, but I cannot betray the trust that was given me!"

That gave Luna a bit of pause. But not much. "Fine. You will tell him as much of the truth as you can."

"I can't," her sister repeated. "I swore that nopony would know. This is bad enough!"

"What, exactly, are you sworn not to tell? What was the precise wording and intent of your promise? Do you remember it in detail?"

"I remember it well enough-"

"That is not well enough," said Luna. "You will go to the astral plane to recall it perfectly if you must. But you will tell him what you are allowed to tell him." Her voice brooked no argument. "And do not say you may tell him nothing at all. You did tell him that they are gone in the first place, so there is likely something else you can say."

Celestia slumped slightly. "Very well," she conceded. "I will see if I can say more. But you must promise to say nothing yourself. I promised he would not know, sister."

"Fine," Luna agreed. "I will not speak with him about this matter. But I will return to my court immediately, in case he has already appeared there."

She stepped outside the vault and teleported away, leaving her sister to deal with her wards and her promises.

Riddle sat alone in the crystal caves, toying with Mr. Potter's wand and cloak and pouch, all of which had been left behind on the floor of the Mirror's storage vault. Ms. Granger's possessions, including her wand, were inside the pouch, so those were also abandoned.

If Mr. Potter had escaped, surely he would have taken everything with him? Why relinquish his possessions? Was it intentional? Was the overall escape even intentional, or was it accidental? Was this a part of it?

If the escape was intentional, why hadn't he brought his things with him? If it was accidental, why hadn't he brought his things with him? Leaving them on the ground didn't make sense on either hypothesis.

Did Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger even escape at all, or are they simply dead somehow? He wished there was such a thing as a corpse-locating charm. He might need to invent it.

"Riddle Tome."

He flinched again at yet another intrusion. What he really needs to invent is the anti-Patronus ward.

"I must apologize," said the Patronus, "for lying to you earlier."

His blood froze. He slowly turned to face the silver spell. "You lied?" he asked, fury slowly rising within him. "About what in particular did you lie?"

"I do know what happened to Silver and Memory."

The instant, sarcastic thought was that at least she hadn't lied that something had happened at all. He noticed the negativity of the thought, noticed it came from his annoyance with her, and found that he didn't care he was being negative. "Speak," he ordered.

"I am sworn to secrecy about much of the matter," said the charm when it returned. "Much like my sister is now sworn to keep your secrets. I know you would want her to lie for you if there were no other way, so you do not have the right to complain."

He continued frowning at the message but did not interrupt, since it was not done.

"Still, Luna believes I have handled this ordeal unfairly, and so I have reviewed my memories of the event, to see what I may disclose. I may disclose that a phoenix has taken Memory Sunshine. I may disclose that Silver Wing was taken with her at the very last second. And I may disclose that they are, indeed, beyond the reach of my Patronus charm. I cannot send messages to them. When I said what I did to you, I was hoping you could reach them somehow. Please, is there anything that can be done to get them back, or help them in their ordeal?"

The glowing white pony stopped speaking and stood still, waiting for a reply.

"No," Riddle said, a smile slowly appearing on his face. So that's how Mr. Potter had done it. "Do not speak to me again," he told the Patronus. Without waiting to watch it depart, he apparated away from his workshop.

He reappeared above the city of Manehattan, the closest he'd ever been to Griffonstone, capital of Griffonia, roosting ground of phoenixes.

It was around 2:00 in the morning, and Celestia was looking exhausted. She had just entered Luna's court and reported her attempt at honesty and outreach.

"What did he say?" Luna asked.

"He said he couldn't help."

"What else did he say?" asked Luna, clearly picking up on the lie by omission.

"Sister... I think we should give him a few days. I think we... I think I have pushed him too much today. He said he is not in the mood to talk."

Luna did not reply to this in words. She simply glared at her sister until Celestia left the room.

In theory, he didn't have to go to Griffonia. Celestia's phoenix was an excellent candidate for sacrifice... but he decided not to risk it, no matter how annoyed he was with her. She did, at the end of the day, have power over the sun, and he didn't want to test what that meant in terms of battle by killing her companion and inviting her ire. Even just borrowing the phoenix for a few minutes in order to clone it might have alerted the Day Princess.

Now that there was no more Time urgency, it was best to stick with his modus operandi: complete, untraceable secrecy. That means targeting wild phoenixes.

Of course, one does not simply find a place they've never seen or visited before. Not without help, or a guide, or a pre-programmed portkey, or in this case, a map.

By air, Griffonstone was easy enough to locate. After consulting an atlas, he maintained an exact heading from Manehattan using a compass spell, never once altering his trajectory as he flew across the ocean. Once he arrived at land, he asked a griffon if that city over there is Griffonstone.

"Y-y-yes, i-i-it is," said the sickly-looking creature.

It turns out Riddle hadn't gotten his directions exactly right; he had been about two miles off. Whether he or the map he'd consulted was to blame for that, he didn't know, but he was close enough. Riddle had spent the entire night air-bucking, and he had been gliding east. It was now dawn, though it was probably still night in Equestria. Plenty of griffons were flying about, so there were plenty more to question if this one didn't know where the phoenixes were.

He'd chosen the most isolated one for the sake of convenience; the others seemed to be avoiding it, likely due to its sickly appearance, though they did seem curious about the stranger talking to it. This griffon was either completely oblivious to their avoidance or completely uncaring. Probably a bit of both. It seemed retarded, physically and mentally.

Riddle asked the griffon if it knew where phoenixes roosted, then used a bit of Legilimency to make sure it genuinely didn't know, like it claimed. All Riddle saw in the creature's simple mind was that it was doing its morning warmup so it could get ready for the day's adventure.

Riddle said a polite "Good day," then flew off to consult another one, not bothering with an Obliviation. It would be more conspicuous if the creature didn't remember a conversation that everyone had seen, though it might not remember the conversation regardless.

After he spoke to a few others, eventually finding a proper answer to his question and a new heading, he noticed that the first one he'd consulted was staring at him. It had likely been staring at him the entire time.

It was uncomfortable, but at the moment, there wasn't anything Riddle could do other than leave. Without the Killing Curse as an option, there's no cure to stupidity.

"Again?" Twilight asked. A few strands of hair were beginning to stick out of her mane.

"Not quite," said Celestia. "Memory was taken this time. When Silver asked the phoenix to take him too, she complied."

A few more strands appeared. "Are they in danger this time?"

"I cannot be certain," said Celestia, not wanting to alarm her student. "All I can say is... Twilight, even if they succeed, even if they are in good hooves... I think they might be gone forever."

"WHAT?!" Twilight shouted. Her mane scattered wildly all at once. "WHY?"

"Time magic," said Celestia. "And space magic, I think. But mostly time."

Twilight's mane instantly deflated, her heart in her throat. Those are extremely powerful forces – so powerful that no pony has ever defeated them, only worked around them.

"If not for that, I would have asked Philomena to take me as well." She allowed herself to feel some of the emotion at what she had seen. "Believe me, my faithful student. They are doing Harmony's work. I would be by their side if it was possible in any way." Then the passion left her voice, leaving only hollow sadness. "But they cannot be reached. Not without leaving Equestria behind. I..." Celestia lowered her head onto her pillow. It had been a very long night. "I'm sorry."

She willed that final message to be sent, then willed her magic to cease the Patronus afterwards. She tried, and failed, to get some sleep.

On the other end of the long-distance conversation, Twilight couldn't sleep either, though in her case, she couldn't go back to sleep. She was far, far too restless. She kept thinking, and thinking, and thinking about what she could do. But she was so, so ignorant about the possibilities of magic.

For all that she was a prodigy, for all that Celestia said she knew so much already, more than anycorn else, it turns out she knows very, very little.

She wished she knew more.

She knew she could know more.

She needed to know more.

And she would know more.

She would know whatever it takes. She would see Silver and Memory again, even if she had to overcome Time and Space themselves.

That day was born Twilight Sparkle's ambition to become Mistress of Magic.

Her Element did not disagree with this ambition. It was only slightly saddened that it probably would not manifest as the Element of Friendship this time. Even if its wielder had many friends, and true, it would remain the Element of Magic, if that was what its wielder needed to save her friends, and those she considered family.

The first thing Riddle thought upon successfully sacrificing a phoenix was that he might have just made a mistake. Not regarding technical incompetence, for he had performed the ritual magic without fault, and not concerning privacy either. He had done both rituals in the secrecy of his workshop – first the cloning ritual, then the sacrificial ritual.

It also wasn't a mistake by the standards of his promises, though it almost had been. It was a good thing he had cast the sapience-detection charm first.

Most phoenixes are not sapient, but like dolphins and elephants, they have the potential for near-sapience, probably when they live long enough and spend enough time around smart creatures, as Celestia's intelligent companion has. Riddle promised not to kill this plane's sapient creatures under ordinary circumstances, so he decided not to risk the straightforward 'sacrifice a phoenix right away' route.

But sacrificing a completely mindless clone worked as a workaround, and in order to obtain that clone, he only had to sacrifice a different, disposable magical creature that was powerful enough to match a phoenix, i.e. an ursa minor. Sacrificing one such bear while wielding the Stone of Permanence gave him the mindless phoenix that he needed to perform the fusion ritual and not break his promise.

The Cloning Pool would have also worked. He had used that location to clone multiple ursa minors into existence all at once, then never returned to it. Now he has all the many magical creatures that he'll ever reasonably need, using the minors to clone other creatures at his convenience. It's a more flexible application of that particular discovery, and it doesn't risk running afoul of Celestia's guards, which were posted outside the pool after a Ponyville Incident involving it. Now he has over a hundred transfigured ursa minors stashed around his workplace, and a few others in key locations; he doesn't have to go hunting to restock a limited supply like he used to.

No, all of that had gone without a hitch, as it should have.

The snag he's actually suffering, the reason why fusing with a phoenix might have been a mistake, is the new feeling of fire in his chest – no doubt a desire for righteous battle that phoenixes are known for. He also hears a song of peace and healing in his mind, and he suspects he'd be able to sing it himself if he wanted to, just like a phoenix.

After a bit of consideration, he tried and succeeded at crying a few teardrops. It was a surprising ability – disturbing at first, but then amusing. He watched in a conjured mirror as teardrops streamed down a completely expressionless face. To cry at will, without any true emotions behind it (not that he still could cry for emotional reasons, or perhaps at all anymore) is extremely interesting to watch. And if the tears healed, the ability might also be useful, though he would probably never need it for himself thanks to his regenerative troll powers.

He continued watching his own eyes cry – his own pony eyes – as he thought. He had decided to perform the ritual as a pony for precisely this possibility. The permanent, insuppressible 'purity' aura of Ms. Granger's human form had instilled in him a caution towards the fusion ritual that had just been proven valid.

But if this new change was like her aura, then that should mean...

He performed an animagus transfiguration.

Yes. Good.

The song in his mind and the fire in his chest both disappeared, meaning they can be easily ignored. Theoretically, he can continue to ignore them if he never performs another animagus transformation for the rest of his life, which he might just do. He might even destroy his pony form.

After he escapes, of course. His human form can't access the phoenix's drawbacks, so it probably can't access the benefits either. He'll have to become a pony at least one more time in order to phoenix travel away from this place once and for all, just like Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger did.

Their method of escape should have been obvious from the start. He had been the one to tell Mr. Potter about the theory of phoenix origin. Some wizards hypothesised, and others agreed, that phoenixes came into the world from a realm evoked by the mirror – this realm, as it turns out. Therefore, phoenixes would naturally be able to escape the mirror.

But before he attempted it himself, he would wisely discern and practice his new abilities in a controlled setting.

It would also be a good time to prepare a mental itinerary of the steps he'll be taking upon the instant of his escape. It promises to be a busy night, with much happening in the span of a few short hours. Even the first few moments will require extreme efficiency, precise action, and deliberate movements. In particular, he'll need to disable the hostage spell immediately.

Since the attack on Azkaban will also need his immediate attention, he'll only have a few seconds to find Ms. Tabor and give her the knut...

...unless he wants to take longer, in which case he would be leaving Mr. Potter to the mercy of the aurors for a while. He very well might do that if the child's escape was intentional... actually, no. That wouldn't be wise in either case. But he was still furious about the possibility that his student had deliberately abandoned him. Although, on the other hand, that suddenly seemed less likely. If a phoenix had come to Ms. Granger, and Mr. Potter had only tagged along at the last second, he could have simply seized an opportunity. Or he might have been taken along by surprise, without giving prior consent. Assuming Celestia wasn't lying about that as well, her wording meant both scenes were possible.

In any case, he had at least a day to think about it. He had plenty of time to imagine a more appropriate potential punishment for his student's potential betrayal...

Chapter 48: Declaring War on the World

9:01 PM, June 13th, 1992.

They appeared above Azkaban in a blaze of fire. The phoenix who brought them did not slow their descent; its wings were not nearly powerful enough to defy gravity while carrying two ponies.

But they were both alicorns who could defy gravity on their own. They did not fear the plunge; they fell directly through the triangular opening.

The Dementors were contained by three tall walls, but no ceiling. Azkaban was their playpen. It had been built to keep them occupied and contained, not trapped. The government of Magical Britain would not be able to use them as weapons if they were locked in place, after all.

Harry felt the Dementors below, saw the Dementors in their pit. They were scattering, trying to eat through the walls, trying to enter the prison, trying to press themselves further into the mud below. They likely sensed Harry's firm expectation that they were about to be destroyed, but the Shadows of Death had no quick escape aside from up, where they dared not go. That meant they were trapped. Their playpen would be their tomb.

With the will of a phoenix fanning their fire from without and from within, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger – who might have been more appropriately called Silver Life and Memory Sunshine in that particular moment – shouted in unison, "EXPECTO PATRONUM‼"

Their Patroni blazed into existence, already too bright to be seen as anything more than twin, blazing suns. They were so bright that it wouldn't be possible to see the spells as anything other than glowing spheres. Harry didn't put any effort into changing it. He didn't even know what shape his had taken. He was pouring all his strength and all his life into the spell. He wasn't wasting thought or effort on anything else.

He could feel the prisoners being touched by his light. He could see the unseeable voids fleeing before, and now he felt the unseeable voids fraying. The Dementors stopped moving the moment they fell within the aura of the true Patronus charm, the moment that expectations could no longer reach them. They frayed more as the two ponies and their charms descended, and yet more as the spells grew in size and brightness.

In the span of about five seconds, Silver and Sunshine had destroyed all the Dementors in hell.

They performed sweeping air cushions just as they were about to reach the ground, then hovered over the mud that had kept the Dementors from eating through the earth's crust and sinking into the planet.

But even with all the Dementors destroyed, Silver felt that it wasn't enough. He knew he could grow his Patronus even more, make it even stronger, heal the prisoners just that little bit extra if his spell blazed brighter.

As it expanded outward, encompassing every spark of life within the walls of Azkaban, he noticed that he wasn't getting tired. He also noticed that there didn't seem to be a limit to how big or bright he could make his magic.

With a thrill of excitement and triumph that didn't care about reasons or consequences, his Gryffindor side assumed direct control over all his faculties, deciding then and there to make his Patronus so bright that it would burn away all the wounds in the world from right here.

"Leave two alone," said a soft voice from directly behind him.

Silver was not so surprised that he almost lost his concentration. He was doing what he'd always wanted to do, what he'd always been meant to do, and in that state of mind he could have taken a flashbang to the face without losing focus.

What actually caused the spell to stop growing was recognition. Even while the Gryffindor aspect of his personality was firmly in control, Silver still had enough sense to understand what it meant.

If that particular voice was here, that meant Lord Voldemort was gone forever, or...

"Why leave any at all?" Silver asked in reply.

"To help future generations learn the Patronus charm," was the answer. "If you have fine control, do not destroy the closest Dementor in that direction-" Silver's front left hoof was manually wrested to point at one of the walls of Azkaban "-and the closest one in that direction." His back right hoof was jerked to another wall in the opposite direction.

Silver would have objected to the manual treatment if not for the fact that he literally couldn't see anything right now. It was probably the best way to convey directionality. Actually, it wasn't just simple directionality. His hooves seemed to be precisely pointing at two sources of emptiness, one for each hoof. He could somehow sense them, even though they were very far away.

"Also, we should not be seen. I am returning your cloak," continued the voice. "I have one for you too, young mare, and your phoenix shall have to hide with me for now. We are lucky your spells are so bright."

"It's not mine," said Memory in wonderment. "You can let go of my hooves now... thank you."

"Can you do as I requested?" Riddle Tome asked Silver Life.

"I don't think so," said Silver as his invisibility cloak was draped around him. He could feel those distant voids of the world, but he could no sooner spare a Dementor than he could stop healing the prisoners. Both were natural consequences of the charm. It hadn't grown big enough to destroy any non-Azkaban Dementors just yet, although its great size was probably at least interfering with their reliance on expectations, even at this range.

"Then stop growing it for now," said Riddle. "If it gets any bigger, you might violate the statute of secrecy, and at this point in time, such an upset would threaten the world's safety."

Silver stopped growing his Patronus at once. He would take no chances with the world's safety, after all.

"In fact, shrink it to normal size. Miss, dismiss yours entirely. Once we regroup, I can get us to the other Dementors quickly enou- get down."

Silver was suddenly and forcefully shoved into the warm body of another young pony. He still couldn't see anything thanks to the brightness of his charm, but he heard something like electric sparks. His Patronus couldn't stop spellfire, so that meant one of the aurors had probably decided to start shooting blindly. Since he was unharmed and unhexed, either they'd gotten lucky, or Riddle had raised a shell shield – the dome kind that are weaker and harder to maintain, but can cover multiple people and block spells from all directions.

Reluctantly, his Gryffindor side allowed Ravenclaw to swap back into place as the dominant aspect of his personality, which then consciously forced his Patronus to shrink to normal size by realizing that the murderers and rapists in this prison had probably been healed enough, and any more healing might cause future problems for the aurors. He wished he could continue healing the non-moral-monsters, wished he could selectively heal the innocent, but he couldn't, and that thought caused his spell to diminish further. His Ravenclaw side noted that, as it shrunk in size, he sensed fewer and fewer voids at range, until he couldn't sense any at all.

Memory had already dismissed her Patronus by the time his own shrunk to normal size, so now his was the only one left. From the auror's perspective, it should look like there had only ever been one Patronus all along. He made absolutely sure to keep it as a pony, not a human, though he had to do that by pure will of thought, without visual confirmation.

If not for his enhanced pegasus/alicorn eyesight, the shift from 'brightest day the earth has ever seen' to 'ordinary night' might have been harder to handle. Instead it only took a few seconds to see the shield spell surrounding them, and a second more to see through it. It was wide, large, pink, and translucent. It was also formed off-centre from their own position, as if Riddle was trying to throw off the aim of any attackers. If an auror cast something that went through it, like a killing curse, and aimed for the centre of the shield, it would miss them by a mile. The fact that the centre of the shield aligned so perfectly with the dead-centre of the former Dementor pit had to be deliberate. It would only reinforce the deception.

On the other side of the see-through shield, riding a broomstick and ignoring all that subtle misdirection by aiming a wand directly at their invisible forms-

"Crap," Silver whispered. "What's he doing here?"

The blue eye of Mad-Eye Moody was fixed firmly on him, not spinning in its socket, and Silver had the sinking feeling that things had just gotten much more complicated.

"Whatever you are," said the harsh voice of the retired auror, "you're under arrest for declaring war on Magical Britain."

"Don't flatter yourself," said the voice of Voldemort. "We're declaring war on the whole world."

By the delivery of that one line, and with a massive pit dropping into his stomach, Silver was immediately and completely convinced that he'd made a massive mistake, and that his plan at redemption had failed.

Rehabilitation, Part 1: Motivation

Author's Note

The original plan called for all 'rehabilitation' chapters to go together a bit later in the story. Now I've decided to put this one here after all.

Rehabilitation, Part 1: Motivation

June 18th, 94th Year of the Tenth Celestial Century.

Failed. His plan to escape the Mirror had failed.

His initial tests had raised his hopes, making it even worse. Now those successes felt like insults, given that he couldn't go where he actually wanted to go. Ponyville? Sure. Canterlot? Of course. Cloudsdale? Why not? Manehatten? Absolutely.

As easily as a flame could burn out where he was and spark up at his destination, he shifted from place to place without any difficulty whatsoever. It was easier than teleportation, portkeys, apparition, and even floo travel. It required less magic as well, and maybe none at all – at least, none of the magic he uses to cast spells. As long as he was trying to go somewhere on Equus, it worked without fault or strain, no matter how often he used it or how far he traveled. He could even go beyond Equestria's borders, to Griffonia.

So why not Earth? Why did the power fail to activate? Why were Hogwarts, the Ministry, and Azkaban all out of reach? Why should that be? Why couldn't he escape when Mr. Potter could?

He couldn't even blame it on the will of a phoenix that seemed to inhabit his pony self. Perhaps if his internal 'fire' strongly objected to the idea of teleporting to Earth, that might have been the reason for a lack of successful phoenix travel. But the internal drive of Gryffindor that now existed within him whenever he was in pony form did not seem to object to the idea of saving the hostages and helping Mr. Potter destroy the world's Dementors, as he no doubt would be doing as soon as he escaped. It loathed the idea of bypassing Dumbledore's test, but not enough to overcome its even greater loathing of Dementors.

Something else was preventing him from teleporting to Earth.

Riddle sat in his hideout in the crystal caverns beneath Canterlot as he scoured his mind for ideas. Learning the Patronus Charm would be his last resort, the fallback if all else fails. If Mr. Potter was right in his estimations, that would take half a century, and therefore it was the last option. He would attack the problem of the phoenix from every angle before considering that alternative.

Why did phoenix travel work for Mr. Potter- no. Why had it worked for Ms. Granger, and not himself? Did he have to be standing in front of the Mirror as his starting location in order to access the location of Earth?

But Dumbledore hadn't seemed like he'd known about Mr. Potter's disappearance, and surely Celestia would have acted differently if she'd discovered Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger within her secret vault. Wherever they had been when the phoenix took them, it was likely somewhere that Celestia didn't find objectionable, like Mr. Silver's room.

Standing in front of the Mirror while attempting to phoenix travel home was still very much an idea worth testing, but he wasn't putting his hopes there, not least because Mr. Potter's possessions had been behind the mirror, and it's not like phoenix travel caused Riddle to lose all his possessions. How did that factor into the equation?

He needed more ideas.

So... maybe he was looking at this from the wrong angle again. Did an actual phoenix have to be involved? Or even more constraining, could escape only be done upon the moment of first companionship with a phoenix, the moment the Gryffindor's insurmountable foe is challenged? It would be the moment when phoenixes ordinarily transcend this plane of existence, assuming the theory that phoenixes originate from the Mirror is accurate.

It would be a logical restraint that they could only ever do it at that specific time, and impossible to bypass himself without acquiring a true phoenix companion.

Or was there some other restriction at play? Was there some unknown factor he wasn't taking into account? There probably was. He barely knew anything about the surrounding circumstances. He had no idea what Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger had been doing when they were taken by the phoenix.

His mind returned to Celestia's words, and in particular his mind returned to her oath of secrecy. Maybe that was the key.

If she was telling the truth about that, there was only one culprit who would make her promise such a thing. If Celestia had sworn silence to someone, then it was Mr. Potter who extracted that oath.

This begged the question: Why did Mr. Potter require it from her? What was he doing at the time? What was his motivation?

The obvious guess is that he intentionally escaped the Mirror and didn't want Riddle to know he'd done it on purpose. That was the possibility that his cynical thoughts produced. If it was true, the elder Tom Riddle might just have to find a way to kill the younger Tom Riddle, despite the curse and the binding promises preventing him from doing it.

His more neutral thoughts, on the other hoof, suggested that Mr. Potter was discussing the secrets of the Patronus charm with Celestia, secrets that non-casters such as himself must not know. Somehow, the topic of Dementors came up, and somehow Ms. Granger – privy to the conversation, for she can also cast the spell – decided that something had to be done. That would explain why Celestia was willing to say she was keeping secrets at all, and also explain the facts she deemed acceptable to share, since those facts did not pertain to the Patronus.

He flinched.

"Riddle Tome. My sister would like to know if you are coming to your shift tonight."

That's it. Enough is enough.

"Avada Kedavra."

Anti-Patronus-Message charm, invented. Though it probably wouldn't work on animal Patronuses.

For the sake of not violating his established promises, he would have to set up some beehives across his hideout, ready to move into place at a moment's notice. His killing curse and the Patronus had cancelled each other out this time, as he was hoping they would, but he would take no risks of a curse escaping in the future.

"Riddle Tome, did you receive my message?"

For now, another false tooth would do as a potential shield if he missed. He had plenty of magical bears.

"Avada Kedavra."

Right on target. Once again, the spells canceled out.

"Riddle Tome, are-"

"Avada Kedavra."

She got the message after the third time. No more Patronuses interrupted him that night.

"Did your messages reach him?" Luna asked with a tinge of desperation.

"I... don't think so, Luna. I think he may have found a way to block them."

"Block them?"

"Or destroy them as soon as they arrive. It is hard to tell. I think... Luna... the last thing he said was to not speak with him again. I think he does not want to return."

Her sister gave her a look that mixed blame, hurt, and despair all in one. Then she silently stood and left the dinner table. Whether she went to Night Court that night, Celestia didn't know.

Eventually, Riddle took to wandering the caverns as he thought. Invisibly, just in case, and as a human, just so he could avoid that nagging internal phoenix fire. He hadn't been consistently human in a while. It took some time to readjust to standard walking, and he was glad to be getting in practice again.

Then, after realising that he wasn't making any progress on the phoenix problem at all, just thinking himself in circles, he decided to do something extreme.

He gathered enough food to last him a long time.

He cast certain spells to automate his bodily functions, including eating.

After that, he took to floating with his broomstick bones, setting an automatic flight pattern that endlessly floated him through a long loop in the cavern network.

He thought, maybe, that if he recreated the experience of falling through the stars, he might reach that Zen state of mind where unusual solutions to impossible problems would present themselves. When his brain finally did relax after countless hours of conscious thought, its ingenuity could surprise even him.

It was difficult to achieve, though. At first it would come in flashes. His floating loop passed through his workshop, where he would sometimes stop to write important realisations down – a privilege he did not have the last time he lost his freedom with little hope for escape. He also left the cave on a few occasions, when an idea required implementation in the outside world.

But stopping became rarer and rarer as he decided to just keep thinking.

Using the Killing Curse on annoying Patronus messages that came to him became like a reflex. A false tooth contained a transfigured normal bear (which was not sapient, despite that initial encounter with the Element of Kindness suggesting otherwise). The bear was large enough to easily intercept any stray green bolts in case he ever missed the Patronus, or in case it disappeared before his curse could reach it.

That interruption also became rarer and rarer as time passed.

Watching the glow of the crystals became almost hypnotic. His mind slowly became more peaceful with each pass. In that state of mind, thoughts he usually wouldn't think came to him. Most felt true, as if they had simply been waiting to be promoted to conscious attention, but not all of them were welcome.

Like how, from a practical perspective, Mr. Potter's escape had been timely.

Staying trapped in the mirror for more than a year would have been a problem for the young Ravenclaw. He would have become too mature, too outgrown for Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Longbottom to be anything more than children to him. Those two would certainly not be the useful peers that they ought to be, even according to Riddle's own plans.

Riddle was an immortal adult in his sixties. Another year meant far less to him than it did to a twelve-year-old. This became especially true when you factored hormones into the equation. Riddle would not wish physical attraction to ponies upon anyone, let alone Mr. Potter. Actually, he would wish it upon some of his enemies...

Regardless, his student's and his own plans were best served by the child's early release. Especially if that child no longer had anything left to contribute.

Then there came the ethics. The morality. The feelings of being righted and wronged, the objective facts of favours owed, promises exchanged, and debts settled. Debt, in Riddle's opinion, is the true heart of morality, the only thing that made him weigh concepts like fairness and equity.

Though his emotions of frustration and betrayal urged him to claim otherwise, his peaceful self could see that the situation was relatively fair, with most debts settled.

Mr. Potter did all that could be reasonably expected of him on this detour. He'd already made plenty of contributions to the Horcrux system, for example. Even if that only amounted to pointing out the problems and making a few suggestions, it sufficed. Mr. Potter also figured out how to use the Stone of Permanence. He even convinced Dumbledore to release Voldemort, working his inevitable demands into the convincing process itself. Then he left not a moment longer than he needed to stay. If the Mirror was at play, it could have been an accident from Mr. Potter's perspective.

Mr. Potter had also learned the Killing Curse, which greatly diminished the distance between his spirit and the elder Tom Riddle's. The younger Tom Riddle had, in a sense, earned the right to reside on the world in which they need to coexist. The older Tom Riddle had not earned that right, for he had not yet learned Mr. Potter's own signature spell.

In short, Mr. Potter had done all he wished to do. Maybe that was why the Mirror had allowed him his freedom.

Mr. Potter had not revolutionised this world's technology like he said he wanted to, but then, this world doesn't really matter. Mr. Potter had only suggested that as a means to the end of finding the mirror. Ignoring that one ambition, the Boy-Who-Lived had accomplished his desires. And from the perspective of debts, he had upheld his ends of the bargains he'd made with Lord Voldemort.

Riddle, on the other hand, has not accomplished all of his own goals.

He has not come up with a solution to Cruciatus insanity. He has not ascended to full alicorn status yet, not 'walked down memory lane' and become immune to Obliviation. He hasn't invented the Obliviation reversal ritual that Mr. Potter theorised into plausibility. Riddle hasn't thought about why wearing the Sorting Hat for too long would kill an intelligent being – neither about how that method might be a potential bypass to his immortality, since it clearly has something to do with damaging the mind, nor how to guard against it.

Riddle Tome hasn't even made more than one of his three allotted horcruxes.

Does he really want to escape so early? With Mr. Potter no longer a concern, Riddle truly could take all the centuries he wanted or needed to solve these problems. That's an irreplaceable opportunity, and escape would throw it away.

So, what does he truly want out of this situation? What is his ambition?

'Escape the Mirror' was the first thought that came to mind.

Hm... but no. He should ignore that. Immediate goals are not ambitions. What is his ambition?

To not die. That has always been his core desire, and until recently he thought he'd solved it.

Since he hasn't, not fully, he needs to reexamine the path to achieving his ambition. What must be done?

He must shore up his system's weaknesses.

And once he does?

He'll need to prevent idiots from destroying everything and rendering his hard work moot.

And then?

He hasn't really thought that far. The previous goal seemed insurmountable enough. But even still, what comes after?

Live forever. That is his motivation, the heart of his ambitions.

But what does he do with forever? Continue preventing idiots from destroying the world for the rest of eternity?

That sounds rather tedious, come to think of it – a never-ending annoyance. If Mr. Potter is right about the future of technology, more time is only going to compound the problem by making it easier for idiots and their idiot politicians to become sufficiently powerful and dangerous.

The obvious solution is to take over the world and ban all technological progress.

But then, he does enjoy the space program. He does want to eventually be able to escape the planet that Dumbledore believes is doomed.

After listening to every globe in the Hall of Prophecy, the old fool probably wasn't wrong about that. Professor Dumbledore had found it frightening, considered it a day of terrible awakening, when he saw that the world was doomed. Riddle would have just nodded and said, "I thought as much."

That leads to the true challenge he would face: how can the planet be escaped as quickly and effectively as possible, given that its destruction is inevitable?

That shall be his new ambition, once he has shored up his weaknesses and prevented the world's more immediate dooms from manifesting. Escaping Earth competently is, by all metrics, greater in scope and difficulty than preventing the muggles from ruining everything. It also has a tangible goal, one that he'll be able to point to and definitively declare, "I have succeeded." It doesn't seem to be the sort of thing that would be a never-ending annoyance.

So, his ambition is now clear: escape not just the Mirror, but the Earth itself.

The next obvious question to ask is how to go about achieving it.

Mr. Potter believes the solution involves improving the intelligence of others. Riddle had dismissed it at first, but Mr. Potter's arguments about the Chaos Legion were... not conclusive or convincing, but interesting. Despite the small sample size of his evidence, Mr. Potter was right that people can be changed to be less stupid if you get to them early enough and teach them well enough. Riddle can't deny that, not after all the progress he made during his own tenure as Defense Professor.

So, ban technology or encourage it. Win the muggle-wizard war or prevent it. Kill stupidity or cure it. Killing Curse or Patronus Charm.

He was leaning towards the Killing Curse, naturally. He could take over the world and force scientists to work on the space program and nothing else.

But after reading so many textbooks on fallacious reasoning, he has come to acknowledge that, perhaps, his choice is a result of his own bias. He has come to recognise that it might not be the truly intelligent option. He suspects that his solution is better, at least in some/most cases, but now there is doubt.

Muggle science progressed as much as it did from individuals who followed their own interests, wherever they led – the heart of Slytherin – and by freely sharing their discoveries with each other – the heart of muggle power. That is what Mr. Potter believes. He could even be persuasive when he spoke of specialization and free exchange of ideas between passionate and intelligent minds. Unfortunately, Riddle had learned the hard way that most ideas can be equally persuasive on paper. It is only harsh experience that dictates which ideas are best. And he has little to no experience with Mr. Potter's way of viewing things.

How can he make the correct decision when he doesn't truly understand the other option? How could he understand the other option?

Lord Voldemort had only ever forced his will and knowledge on his underlings. And yet, somehow, Mad-Eye Moody had been the most powerful piece on the game board other than the two kings, and the most cunning besides himself. The Dark Wizard hunter's battle prowess and creativity surpassed even Bella's abilities, despite her advantage of lore. Moody was also more naturally passionate about fighting Dark Wizards than anybody Riddle knew, and that passion led him to grow in strength after every battle.

Voldemort had no such passion in his own followers, except Bellatrix's passionate love for himself, Snape's passionate love for Lily Potter, and maybe Lucius's passion for politics. And Snape's passion didn't encourage him to grow until after it was twisted to the purpose of revenge.

How could Riddle gain more experience about matters of passion? How could he learn to utilize the passions of others to suit greater purposes, as the muggles have? How could he encourage those passions to manifest and grow in the first place? He couldn't properly evaluate the optimal course for the world's future until he did.

Maybe he could use Equestria as some kind of testing ground? It was a decent thought, but he had no idea how to go about doing it.

...

Well, maybe an answer to that question would present itself later. He went back to focusing on his more immediate problems.

A bit of experimentation with his new phoenix abilities had proved that his new internal 'fire', as he was calling it, approved of Gryffindor intentions and disapproved of Slytherin ones. Thoughts of learning the Patronus charm got a hearty feeling of "DO IT!" from that burning fire, while thoughts of fooling Dumbledore made Riddle Tome the thestral want to throw up.

As Tom Riddle the human, he was free to think without that annoyance.

So, taking his new ambition of escaping Earth into account, it must be asked again: does he want to escape the mirror right now? Or does he want to work on his weaknesses first, and use Equestria as a testing ground afterwards?

No matter how sensible it seems, his mind still didn't want to commit to that option.

Supposing this world is controlled by Dumbledore (and that hypothetical is disturbingly more likely now than it had been a month ago), then the path of the future would follow story logic, at least until he escaped the Mirror. Tom Riddle would only be released after he did all that he wanted, after all his wishes were granted. The final achievement would be his casting a Patronus Charm, so that the wishes of Dumbledore and Potter were granted as well.

Was there anything wrong with that story?

The idea of accomplishing all of his desires without the sense of urgency that nuclear weapons had inspired him to have, every second of every day while living on the other side of the Mirror... that idea was certainly appealing. And he does want to cast the Patronus charm. Safety from Dementors, power over Dementors, and instant messages are all appealing to him – well, sending instant messages to others is appealing. Not so much receiving them. It's just that the learning process of the Patronus Charm seems daunting, maybe even impossible. Not to mention annoying...

A chittering noise within the crystal caves beneath Canterlot drew his attention outside of himself.

Rehabilitation, Part 2: Heart

He blinked a few times, then slowed to a halt in the air. He listened. After a minute, he wondered if he'd imagined it, but then he heard it again.

He put his musings on hold as he realised something was down here that shouldn't be. He also realised he was excited, not annoyed, by the intrusion. Maybe he had been down here too long, if he was getting excited at such a trivial thing.

After a brief internal debate, he became Riddle Tome, deciding that he didn't mind the Gryffindor straightforwardness he would have to embody to satisfy the phoenix fire. At the moment, he enjoyed the idea of hunting down the intruder, and his human self couldn't move through the air without resistance like his thestral self could. Tom Riddle made currents of wind when he moved quickly. Riddle Tome, when he thought of freedom, did not affect the air so much.

Except he quickly found, to his surprised displeasure, that he could not feel free so easily anymore. Just as displeasing, he came across the intruders – black, insect-like ponies – at the very moment of realising it. He did not slow down in time to avoid causing a breeze in their direction.

"What was that?" asked one of the creatures.

"Don't know," said another. "Maybe the cave opens up somewhere."

"Doesn't smell like outside air."

"Probably nothing," said what looked like the leader after casting a few standard detection spells. "Come on. We need to find a good place to put her."

Thankfully, most creatures are stupid.

Riddle decided to follow invisibly behind the small entourage, noticing with curiosity that they were hauling a pink alicorn behind them. She was inside a cage, on top of a wheeled cart, hitched to two of the creatures. It was then that he experienced a nagging Gryffindor impulse to jump to her rescue.

Information first, action second, he tried to tell that internal fire.

Quizzically, it seemed to accept this, settling down to a low simmer.

Interesting. Phoenixes team up with wizards and witches because they are not wise. Riddle knew that much. Does that mean he could guide his own fire like wizards guide their familiars?

Perhaps this is a good time to run some tests in order to understand that internal fire more precisely. He promoted a few ideas to conscious attention to see what the fire thought of them.

Thoughts of leaving, of doing nothing – not as a strategy of delayed action, but as a result of complete apathy for the fate of the pink pony – produced that same vomit feeling that thoughts of cheating Dumbledore's test had produced. Annoying.

Thoughts of intervention were mostly acceptable. Even intervening on behalf of the insect ponies, interestingly enough, was more acceptable than doing nothing at all, although a bit more testing revealed that it was only acceptable if they turned out to be the wronged party, somehow.

He was tempted to do just that out of spite for the phoenix fire. Take the side of the insect ponies just to go against the grain of the Mirror's stupid plots.

Back came the vomit feeling, a bit stronger than last time.

The nearest creature wrinkled its nose. "Anyling else feel that?"

Riddle's full attention was torn back to his targets.

"Feel what?" asked one of the farther ones.

"Like... vomiting?"

Riddle sighed internally. Magical empaths? What a wonderful time to learn that little fact. He needs to get the fire under control. It's still 'vomiting' at the thought of taking their side.

Fine. He would do everything in his power to prove the insects are the wronged party, and then he would take their side.

The fire didn't seem to care, just so long as he didn't deliberately spite it, and just so long as he actually did something about the situation in front of him.

And he would do something. After he gathered information, lest he make the situation worse out of ignorance.

The fire simmered down again.

"Huh," said the creature who had 'felt' him, looking confused. "It's gone now."

"Where was it coming from?" asked the leader.

"Up."

"If you felt a pony vomiting," said the leader after his detection charms once again produced no results, "maybe we're beneath a hospital or something. Your range is bigger than ours."

"Yeah, but I didn't think it was that big."

"Or maybe you just had a bad breakfast," snorted another.

"I wish," said the first. "I haven't eaten since yesterday. I'm starving."

"We all are."

"Yeah, but we can kiss that goodbye after tomorrow," said a third.

"Doesn't help me right now though."

"I'll get you something to eat after this," said the leader. "Keep moving."

Hm... creatures acting out of desperate hunger is a sad situation, right? Moralists would say they deserve sympathy. Yes, that's the perfect thing to satisfy this cursed internal fire. Now he just needs to prove the pink pony had been in the wrong. Or rather, he needs an opportunity to prove it.

Invisibly, inaudibly, and weightlessly, Riddle followed the creatures as they wandered the cavern network. His notice-me-not and forget-me wards seemed to work perfectly, redirecting the insects whenever they wandered too close to his workshop/hideout.

So, they aren't all that magically powerful. Or at the very least, they're not magically perceptive. That's good to know.

Eventually, they found a place that the leader deemed acceptable, then deposited the cage on the ground. Once they did...

"Split up and establish wards," said the leader. "Groups of two. Buzz if something happens. I'll stay behind to guard the cage."

They all nodded and followed orders.

Riddle, still currently in his pony body, took a very small amount of time to consider his approach. It had to be fast, it had to be decisive, and he had to control his emotions so he wouldn't be perceived until it was too late.

Simple enough.

He maintained his invisibility as he flew through the air towards the lone, remaining creature, then dropped his transparency the moment he saw signs of reaction in the insect. He met the creature's gaze with an effort of Legilimency, bringing his own empathy magic to the fore. He would put thoughts of 'I'm following his orders' into the creature's mind before anything else, like he had once done with Professor Sprout.

And then something utterly strange happened.

Even as he felt the creature's mind accept the command of his own, he also felt himself being pulled, as if he were transferring his consciousness via his horcrux ritual.

A moment later he was being assaulted by a swirl of Legilimency probes and questions. His standard barrier of a perfect false personality did not seem to satisfy the probes. On reflex, he resorted to the old kind of barrier: he pretended to be an utterly simple mind, like a rock. That caused the probes to diminish, then stop entirely.

When he took stock of the situation outside his mind, he found himself in a familiar, yet unintended situation: he seemed to be possessing someone else.

The body he occupied was not too alien, for it was pony-shaped, but he felt distinctly different in it. He also felt as though he was on the ground. The creature he'd accidentally occupied had likely collapsed due to the force of the magical/mental blow. It had happened to Quirrell too, back when that man first found his Horcrux.

His own pony body had almost certainly collapsed as well, for it no longer had a consciousness to command it. Thankfully, even though it was abandoned, his body has a number of failsafes on it, including charms that would sustain its functions if he was gone for extended periods of time. Just one more precaution on the path to immortality. He also intelligently positioned his only Horcrux some time ago.

Riddle had done something similar after his first return, setting Horcruxes in smart places to ensure he would never be trapped in his Horcruxes again. Like Horcruxing a wizard's glasses, or Horcruxing the doorknob of the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley. He'd thought of Horcruxing a few silver sickles, but individual coins sometimes fell out of circulation. With that practice under his belt, it had been a simple matter to think of a good place for the Cloak.

At the moment, the Cloak of Invisibility is being used as Keen Eye's bedsheet – the kind that rests directly beneath the unicorn's body when he sleeps, but never covers him. A memory charm, a notice-me-not charm, and an extremely minor compulsion charm are working in tandem to ensure that Mr. Eye notices nothing awry about his new bedsheet and doesn't swap it out for something else.

Before enacting that plot, the Hallow had responded to Riddle's willful effort for it to change shape into a flat piece of fabric. He suspected it to have that ability, or something like it, ever since it changed from a human-shaped cloak to a pony-shaped cloak. If the Cloak hadn't been able to change shape so easily, he would have modified his plot, or gone with a different idea. As it stands, Riddle now has a reliable unicorn body to possess in case his own body dies.

With Mr. Potter gone and unable to deliver the Cloak by hoof if the worst happens, Riddle needed to automate the process. Now, like clockwork, a pony unicorn is in contact with his Horcrux every night. If this Changeling possession goes sideways somehow, it would be a simple matter to possess Mr. Eye and resurrect himself. If the situation goes well, he might be able to take the Cloak back from its current, ignoble location. Or he might leave it there, just for added options and security. He knows where it is; he imbued it with a locating charm so he can track it if need be.

That, along with a few other Horcrux-related ideas, had come to him during his meditations, in part because he realized how close he came to utter disaster. If that reflected Killing Curse had struck him in the vault, if he hadn't dodged in time and his body had been killed, he would have been trapped in the Cloak, which at that point in time had been inside his other cloak, which meant he might have been trapped indefinitely again.

A pony who was NOT Celestia or Luna might have touched it at some point and returned his freedom, if Luna or Celestia allowed the normal cloak on his dead body's back to be rummaged through. Or he might have been forced to possess Princess Luna, if she had been the one to first touch his cloak under that hypothetical scenario. Or more likely he would have requested her aid, since she could be too powerful to possess, and she has already Vowed to help him. But that's a level of exposure and gamble that he would not willingly take. Not ever.

Now, at least, he's in somewhat safe territory again.

In short, he isn't panicking. He's able to act without urgency or alarm. At the moment, his (the insect's) eyes are closed and his (its) body is unmoving on the ground. He doesn't trust he can move it properly, so he didn't try. For now, he would keep his focus inward.

"Ugh..." groaned a mental voice that wasn't his. "What just happened?"

As dominant personality, he had the choice to keep his host either completely suppressed or something like a helpless passenger. As Defense Professor, Lord Voldemort had given Quirinus Quirrell no freedom at all, keeping him completely unconscious at all times. The man had been a perfect Occlumens. Attempting to deal with him had not been worth the effort.

As Tom Riddle, or rather, as Riddle Tome, he needs information from this creature, so he was going with the helpless passenger option for now. His Legilimency command to obey instructions should have been ingrained before the accidental transfer. This creature is no Occlumens.

"I arrived," he replied mildly in a mental voice of his own. "Can you hear me?"

"Uh..." came a reply, slow and confused. "My... King? Why are you... No... King... that's not right..."

"It is exactly right," he thought in a confident, authoritarian tone. "I am your King. You are my servant."

"No..." replied the creature. Then it rallied, seeming to tap some core magic within itself. "No! I have a Queen, not a King! Who are you?!"

Thorax is loyal to his Hive.

Even when he's following orders that he privately thinks are bad for the Hive, he does it in the way that causes the least amount of damage. He's been getting more and more of those orders recently, as the Queen revealed more and more of her master plan. But as a drone, he can't disobey her.

He literally can't. He is part of the Hive, and she is his Queen. If she says to jump off a cliff, he would jump off a cliff, then open his wings and fly to safety. If she says he can't fly to safety, he would teleport to safety. If she says he can't fly or teleport, he would find a cliff that's over a body of water, then swim to shore. But he would jump off a cliff. There's no getting around that. Ever. She is the Queen.

And so, when a male voice occupied the place in his thoughts that the Queen sometimes occupied, he was confused. Had a king taken over? Was Chrysalis deposed?

But then his thoughts became less jumbled as the surprise and confusion faded. He drew on the strength of the Hive, who followed a Queen, not a King, and confronted the invader-

An instant before his connection to the Hive was severed.

"So THAT'S what sucked me in," said the intruder. "Well, that's enough of THAT."

He would have screamed if he could control his own mouth. He felt like a grub. Like less than a grub. He began panicking, his Hive was gone, he was lost, he was abandoned, he was nothing-

"Don't be such a foal."

At once, his connection returned... only, it didn't. His mind was connected to the Hive, but he couldn't interact with it. He couldn't talk to anyling.

"Better now?" asked a sarcastic voice.

"What-" said Thorax, his mind having trouble focusing after such a traumatic loss. He felt like crying, but he had no eyes. He felt like screaming, but he had no mouth. "What did you just do?" was all he could think to ask, since he couldn't do anything else. Knowing what had happened to his connection with the Hive was far more important than knowing about the intruder.

"I closed your... hm... I don't have a term for it. Let's call it your inner eye," said the intruder. "After you whined for me to open it again, I established a false personality as a barrier. At the moment, all anyone will see of your mind is unconsciousness."

"You... what?"

"Curious," said the intruder. "Your species maintains a constant form of Legilimency on each other, and yet you do not know Occlumency? Or even that the connection can be forced shut? Closing the window through which it accesses your mind shouldn't have been physically painful. I don't know why you were panicking."

Before he could come up with any reply, words began to reach their consciousnesses. Through his ears, not the Hive.

"Captain!" shouted Gossamer.

Thorax felt a buzz hit the 'false personality', which didn't reply in any way.

"I'm calling everyling back," said Silk. Another buzz came and was ignored.

"Is he okay?" came Gossamer's voice again.

Thorax felt hooves on his forehead, then a horn on his chest. "He's alive," said Silk, sighing in relief.

"What do you think happened?"

"Probably an ambush. Look. One of the Night Guard must have followed us."

"He's not wearing armor."

"Maybe he's undercover?"

"Maybe. At least the captain took him down. Let's get him in the cage. Give the Princess some company, eh?"

There were sounds of a body being dragged, a cage being opened, Gossamer and Silk grunting, and finally the cage closing again.

Then there was light.

"Yup," said one of the insect ponies, its face filling his entire field of view, the tip of its hoof lifting his eyelid. "The captain's definitely out of it."

"That stinks," said the other one, who had taken guard beside the cage. "He was supposed to get me something to eat."

"Well, maybe he did," said the one who was staring into his eye. "Why don't you give that pony a taste?"

"Vampires?" Riddle thought, only now noticing the fangs – which were currently taking up a good portion of his field of view. "Brilliant. That's going to be a joy to cure." As in, make-a-whole-new-body-using-non-infected-blood amounts of joy. He might even have to re-do some of his old fusion rituals.

"Hey!" objected his host. "We're not vamponies!"

From the corner of his still-open eye, Riddle watched as a hungry insect walked with purpose and a glowing green horn, then touched that horn to his unoccupied body's forehead.

"Uh... he's empty." Tap tap tap went the insect's horn. "Nothing inside."

"Is he dead?"

"Nope. Still breathing."

"Probably a full coma," said the insect, still inspecting his host body's eye. "If he was dreaming, you'd get something out of him."

"Hah!" the insect declared, pointing a hoof at his body's face. "That'll teach you to mess with our captain."

Then his current body's eye closed, the first one done with her inspections, and darkness returned.

"Amusing, aren't they?" Riddle asked his host.

He cast a wordless and hornless (and therefore invisible) spell of sound manipulation to prevent any more noise from reaching his host. Simple wizard spells often go unnoticed by ponies because they're invisible and use little magic, and this one went unnoticed by the Changelings.

"So if you aren't vamponies," he said, "what are you?"

"I don't have to tell you anything, intruder."

Riddle felt the impulse to make a mental attack in response to the obstinance... but over the past two years he'd gotten into the habit of not using Legilimency out of anger. The past eleven years, really. And he didn't want any more strange things happening. The first Legilimency attack had gotten him into this mess.

He took a moment to critically weigh his options. The game was afoot. He'd already possessed someone, even if it was an accident. What to do...

He decided that a cautious, read-only Legilimency probe would do. That, of course, would require prompting.

"True," he replied. "You don't have to tell me about your species, or the connection you have with each other, or the Queen you mentioned."

Hmm... Changelings... hive mind... stupid Queen...

"You don't have to tell me why you're here, or what you're doing, or who you are, or even your name."

Starving citizenry... infiltrate Canterlot... loyal soldier... Thorax...

That would do for now.

"You don't HAVE to tell me any of those things," Riddle agreed with the Changeling. "But don't you want what's best for your Hive?"

Thorax couldn't believe it. He had finally found someling he could honestly talk to. Er, well, somepony.

Thorax turned out to be ridiculously easy to turn. Without implanted Legilimency impulses.

A little prompting (and the promise that his thoughts were currently safe) was all it took to get the Changeling ranting about the Queen's stupidity, arrogance, incompetence, and a number of other things that threatened the Hive after over twelve centuries of safety and secrecy.

Like this ridiculous plan to impersonate a Princess, infiltrate/raid Canterlot, take control, and feed on the ponies 'forever!' That sentence grew more and more like an impersonation as it progressed.

"Are you the only one who thinks this?" Riddle asked after the Changeling's rant wound down.

"I'm one of the only ones who's allowed to think like this," Thorax replied. "Almost everyling else is stage one."

"Stage one?" asked Riddle, already using Legilimency to find the answer.

Tiered intelligence system. Stage one: Drone/Worker. Stage two: Officer. Stage three: Queen. Higher tiers require more energy. Stage one and two are semi-fluid, officers can be demoted by Queen instantly, but it takes longer to do the reverse. Food shortage means not many officers.

"Workers," Thorax answered his question. "Laborers. Don't think much, just follow orders."

"I see. And this little contingent you lead? Are they all stage one?"

"All stage two," said Thorax. "Important jobs need smart officers."

Riddle wasn't impressed by the 'smartness' of the officers. But then again, maybe stage two simply meant 'pony level intelligence', and he wasn't impressed by that either. In all likelihood, only a Queen would have the biological potential to rival his own intelligence, and if Thorax's criticisms are accurate, Chrysalis is utterly squandering that potential.

"Let me guess," Riddle posed. "Your current Queen was born into royalty? Third or fourth generation of her line, perhaps? Spoiled from birth?"

He didn't use Legilimency to extract the answer in advance; he genuinely wanted to know if his guess was right.

"Uh... yeah," said Thorax. "Her grandmother established the Hive. Why?"

"The first generation puts in the hard work to build it," thought Riddle. "The second generation, wanting to live up to their parent's example, play the role of respectable stewards. They maintain what their parents built. The third generation, which has only ever known prosperity, squanders all that they have, for they never earned it in the first place. They do not understand the concept of hard work, so they never truly understand the value of what they have, even after they lose it. They only ever understand that they want it, that they want more, or if we're past the squandering stage, that they want it back."

"That's..."

"Accurate?"

"Yeah."

"A simple enough pattern, as these things go. I'm a scholar, you know. It explains how pony society has not crumbled. Equestria's leaders still remember what it was like when Discord ruled the world, and what it was like to build and maintain their kingdom."

His host didn't say anything. Was he speechless?

"But enough dallying," Riddle declared. "I can feign unconsciousness forever, in theory, but I shouldn't. There are things to do, and at the moment I can't create a false personality to truly fool your hive mind." He could read and understand the thought patterns of others better than any other Legilimens on Earth. He couldn't perfectly pretend to be a specific intelligent being after only ten minutes of talking to them. Nobody could. In order to accomplish that... "I would have to observe your mind in action for a while, but that requires trust. Will you betray me to your Queen if I return control to you?"

"That depends," said Thorax. "Will YOU betray ME to yours?"

Riddle snorted. "They are hardly my Queens."

"Oh really?" asked Thorax. "I'm a spy, you know. I read Equestrian newspapers. I recognized your body, Court Scholar. Is this where you've been since you disappeared?"

"You believe I'm the Court Scholar?" Riddle asked with a mental tone of amusement. "Your spying needs work. My true title is the Royal Fool. Was, rather. I suppose I'm fired by now. Not that I mind. I must admit, I am dissatisfied with the state of Equestrian rulership in general."

"Let me guess," thought Thorax. "You want to overthrow them?"

He snorted again. "Hardly. I've been advising them about their military weakness for almost a year now and nothing has been done. At this point, they can get invaded for all I care. Maybe this infiltration will be a wake-up call. Assuming Celestia doesn't fry her enemies out of the sky the moment things go sideways."

"That's what I'm worried about," whined Thorax. "But Queen Chrysalis just. Won't. THINK."

Great. He'd gotten the Changeling started again.

"Look," thought Riddle. "We really DO need to get up. I will promise to help you with your problem, and I will promise not to betray you, but I need to know something first."

"What do you need to know?"

"Your Queen. Is she a malicious threat to Equestria? Would the world be a safer place without her as your Queen?"

"Oh, absolutely," Thorax answered without hesitation. "Ponies AND Changelings would be better off."

"Perfect," thought Riddle. "I'm reconnecting you to your hive and allowing you to resume control. Do as you normally would have for a while. When I'm confident I can fake your personality to your Hive I will resume control and deal with the problem. It goes entirely without saying that any attempts to betray me will be met with severe consequences. Celestia would not burn your hive from the sky because she is a kind-hearted pony. I would do it for target practice, or just for fun, if you gave me a reason. Understand?"

He felt Thorax mentally shiver. "Understood. But if the Queen gives me a direct order, I can't disobey."

"Then let us hope," thought Riddle, "she is as incompetent as you claim."

He dismissed the silencing barrier and let Thorax use his own body again.

"Get. Up."

Thorax instantly stood at hearing an order from his Queen.

"Oh?" said her surprised, mocking voice. "So you can move after all."

"Apologies, my Queen," he said, dropping to a kneel. "I was ambushed. Mental attack. Couldn't move until just now."

"Is that the truth, Thorax? Answer."

She hadn't ordered him to say the truth, only asked a question, then ordered him to answer it. But he answered truthfully anyway. "Yes, my Queen."

It wasn't the full truth, but hey, what she wouldn't know would hurt her.

"Could you at least hear me?" she asked, superiority and disdain seeping from her voice.

"No, my Queen. I only heard you say 'get up'."

"Wonderful," said Chrysalis, the word laced with sarcasm. "If you are so easily ambushed, maybe I should demote you?"

That got his heart racing. He couldn't let that happen. Not now. "It was the Court Scholar," he said, acting just as he would have and hoping his passenger wouldn't call it betrayal. "Hired by Princess Luna. He was powerful, but he's in a coma now."

"The Court Scholar?" asked Chrysalis in surprise. She walked over to the cage, inspecting its contents. "He's a thestral alright... a thestral alicorn? My, isn't that a surprise." The Queen grinned, turning on her hooves. "Change of plans," she said. "Thorax, since you captured him, you get to impersonate him. Take his effects, then go to the Night Guard team and get as much love as you can from his Princess. When you're finished, make sure she's deep asleep."

"Er... yes, my Queen."

"Love?" asked his passenger, sounding disgusted. "Don't tell me-"

"Not like that!"

Walking down the halls of the Canterlot Palace in someone else's body, disguised as himself, was an amusing experience. It was made even more amusing by the fact that he was in control. It would have been extremely amusing if he was also visible. He was even wearing his own effects; nopony would doubt it was him. But he didn't take the risk.

It wouldn't have been a problem a few... weeks? Yes, probably a few weeks ago, but Thorax spoke as if ponies were wondering where he'd been, and he didn't want to draw attention.

Riddle told his host in no uncertain terms that nopony could fake being Riddle Tome better than he could. Thorax, on the other hoof, would probably be figured out by Luna in less than a minute. Therefore, Thorax would handle the hive-mind connection, which the Changeling seemed to be able to do even when he was not in control of his body (so long as Riddle let him). Riddle would handle the Princess.

Thorax had taken care of the initial disguise, though. The magic was fascinating – a perfect copy of Riddle Tome, even down to his voice, though Thorax had never heard him speak normally. It was more thorough than the best Metamorphmagus transformation, despite taking no conscious effort of visualisation at all, as far as Riddle could tell. It did take a good amount of magic, however, and the effort to maintain it was more draining than Riddle thought it should have been.

"Why is your body so sluggish?"

"I haven't eaten in a while," Thorax replied. "OR slept. Maybe if you hadn't distracted me earlier, I could have asked the Queen for some lo- er, for some energy."

"I see," thought Riddle. "How can we get more without her?"

"Did the princess care for you?"

"She claims she did."

"Then that's where we'll get more."

"Won't she notice if she is fed upon?"

"Do extroverts notice when others are uplifted by their presence?"

"Yes."

"Do they consider it being fed upon?"

"No."

"There you have it."

"Interesting. Ponies are not harmed at all by Changelings who feed from them?"

"They are if we try to take the emotions, like Gossamer did earlier. But we only do that when we have to. It doesn't taste all that good, and it's not as filling. Not like when the emotions are freely given. That's why we like to live in secret. And it's why we can change like this, to collect genuine love from unsuspecting ponies."

"Interesting," Riddle repeated.

"My turn for a question," thought Thorax. "How are you invisible? And why isn't it taking up my... energy stores?"

"Personal reasons," Riddle said, and left it at that.

His connection to his Deathly Hallow Horcrux was still strong, and he could tap that connection wherever he was, even in other bodies. It was a power that was completely his own, fueled by his own magic, tied to his own consciousness.

No matter where he hides the Cloak, it will always be his Horcrux. That it is immune to the energy/magic tradeoff system of Changeling biology did not come as a surprise. Most other spells he wanted to cast did require Changeling energy, however, to his consternation. It helped that wizard spells are less magic-intensive than unicorn spells on average, but it was still annoying.

"You know..." thought Thorax. "If you're a pony, why can't YOU provide the energy? If your normal body doesn't have any because you're here with me, then it should all be here, right? Can't you just... I don't know... energize yourself, or something?"

Riddle chuckled internally. He was beginning to enjoy Thorax's company. "I don't think that will work."

"Why not?"

"You said that your species calls the energy 'love', yes?"

"Yeah."

"There you have it," said Riddle. Just that, and nothing more. "We're almost there," he thought. "You said her guards have been replaced by Changelings?"

"Yes."

"What about the secretary?"

"Um... no."

"Great," sighed Riddle. "I'm dropping the invisibility and returning control to you. Convince your allies, but make sure I am in control by the time I speak with the secretary."

"Got it. Um... you won't betray me, right?"

"It is not my intention to," thought Riddle. "But Luna can detect honesty, and this situation might influence her perceptions. As with your own Queen, let's hope nothing goes wrong. If it does, I'll play it by ear. Do not panic if I say something that seems to betray you on the surface; I did not panic when you did the same."

"Okay."

It took no time at all for Thorax to convince the Night Guard. One 'buzz' and a quick hive-mind order later and they were ready to admit him entrance. Now just came the actual pony.

But that also took no time at all. Or effort. Or even a single word. She was knocking on the court door the moment she saw him, her spell of communication penetrating the wards – as it was designed to do when calling for the Princess's attention.

"What is it, Dusk?" asked the voice of Princess Luna.

"He's back!" she said excitedly.

The doors flew open in a burst of magic, to the startlement of the two Changelings standing guard.

Riddle quickly entered. He made sure to close the doors behind him, just as he would have done if he had returned normally. This conversation is probably going to be the private kind. He was tempted to suppress Thorax's consciousness, but decided against that. For now.

The hug did not catch him off-guard this time. He had been planning to dodge, but...

"What is THAT?" he asked Thorax, mesmerized by the feeling of euphoria that had come over him.

"Love," thought the Changeling.

The strength-seeking side of him noted that he'd just gone from feeling utterly weak and drained to feeling more magically powerful than he'd ever felt before.

His scheming side wondered if he could cleverly exploit that power, or store it for later use.

The cynical side of him, the part that had read Mr. Potter's biology textbooks, and in particular some of the expansions on Darwin's Theory of Evolution, would point out that it was only natural for Changelings to evolve such that their nourishment felt this way. It was just like how humans had evolved to enjoy the tastes of meat and sugar, giving a massive biological incentive, not to mention a reward structure, in acquiring the nutrients necessary/helpful for survival.

Of course, at the moment, such thoughts weren't so sophisticated or complex. They went by in flashes of concepts like 'dopamine' and 'power' and 'useful'.

He was otherwise completely distracted by the signals that this Changeling body was sending to its brain. He was so distracted that he didn't even try to extract himself from the hug even as his (former?) employer pressed her cheek to his.

That seemed to hit some kind of limit.

"Love overload!" Thorax thought frantically.

Riddle barely had time to think an incoherent "What?" before he lost his concentration on the disguise and reverted into an insect in a flash of green fire, causing Princess Luna to leap back in surprise. With no control over his body, he doubled over and hurled out a mass of pink fluid, then another glob, then another.

And then he was being assaulted by a blast of magic and a blast of negative emotion, only one of which was actually hard to handle.

"What's THAT?" Riddle asked.

"Hate," replied a terrified voice.

The sudden shift from love to hate felt horrible, likely because it would have been good for Changelings in the ancestral environment to avoid making ponies feel that way towards them. Again, that thought wouldn't become so sophisticated until later, when he wasn't in the process of being assaulted.

Thankfully, Princess Luna didn't seem to be trying to kill him, only subdue. Once he acclimated to the overwhelming hatred, he tapped the stores of magic he'd just acquired. He had to waste a good chunk to power the strongest shield he knew, but then he saved the rest by going invisible and apparating away. He cast a silencing barrier beforehand – on both his location and his destination, so neither pop would give him away – but that took little from his stores compared to everything else.

He watched from the other side of the room as Princess Luna's stunner went through where he used to be. He still needed to get higher, but this body didn't have broomstick bones, and he didn't know how to fly with insect wings, let alone fly silently...

"Show thyself, Changeling!" his employer demanded. Her horn and mane were glowing in power and the promise of pain. "Surrender and I might show thee mercy."

Riddle rolled his eyes. As if she hadn't been showing mercy already. "Thorax," he said internally, "is there a quiet way to get to a higher-" and thus safer "elevation?"

"Changeling hooves can stick to walls," thought a quavering voice.

"Show me," he thought after casting another wizard's silencing barrier – which he once again did wandlessly and invisibly, without a glowing horn, unlike the unicorn equivalent. "Climb up to the ceiling."

"SHOW THYSELF!"

Once Thorax had got them to the ceiling – his body was easily light enough to stay up there, and there was no discomfort for standing upside-down – and once Riddle was confident he could keep the 'clinging' muscles clenched, only then did Riddle retake control of the body and respond.

"Apologies for the scare," he said, using the ventriloquism charm to throw his voice.

His employer impulsively threw a wide stunner in that direction, completely missing him.

He audibly sighed. "If you would let me explain-"

"We will not hear thy pleas, Changeling!" she shouted. "Thou hast taken our fool from us, and thou seek peace? NEVER!"

She cast a circular area-effect stunner that covered the entire ground of the room –the alicorn go-to when confronted by multiple enemies, and which prompted his desire to get higher up in the first place.

"Believe it or not, it is actually me," he said, still throwing his voice.

"HA! We will not be gulled so easily. Thou thinkest us a fool?"

"Haven't I always?" he asked with his standard cynicism. "If you do me the favour of hearing me out, I might require nothing else in return for that hug. Otherwise I will demand the military overhaul that you and your sister have been foolishly neglecting once this whole fiasco is over, and you will comply. You know what I think about hugs."

That caused her to pause.

"Thou hast studied thy role well," she complimented, though her hatred was only growing. "How long did it take to extract such knowledge from him? Didst thou use torture?"

Riddle couldn't really blame her for leaping to that conclusion. Such paranoia served Moody and Bones and Dumbledore well in their fight against Voldemort, even when they only had suspicions of treachery. Still, it was annoying to deal with as a pony.

Voldemort's go-to solution to the problem of loyalty and traitors had been to invent and control the Dark Mark. What options are available to Riddle Tome of Equestria?

"Can we skip to the part of this conversation where you use your connection to Honesty to prove to yourself that I speak truly?"

"We are well beyond that point," said his employer as she seemingly tried to pinpoint his location with several spells and without success. "T'would be only natural for thou to think thou could fool it. Thou art a Changeling, after all."

"I was under the impression that nothing could fool your Element."

"Oh, thou art doing thy best," she said in tones of false praise, "but our fool has never been so straightforward as thou art being. If thou art truly him, where is thy undercurrent of deception? From that alone, thou and he are obviously two different beings. And if thou could not fool my element in some capacity, why dost thou, a Changeling, not already have that constant deception? Thou are less clever than thou believest. When my Element fails me, logic is an excellent backup."

Leave it to his employer, or maybe his luck, to punish him for one of the first times he's been almost completely straightforward with her.

"The fact that I can go invisible, and use my unique method of teleportation- no, you'll just say the Changelings extracted it from my mind or some such. Hmm... and I suppose it is a bit absurd to believe that I accidentally took over the body of a Changeling, regardless of the claim's veracity. It would be equally absurd for me to claim that I've been a Changeling all along; it's not true, and I probably would have been asking for more of those hugs all this time." He made sure his tone of voice conveyed how he felt about that.

"Thou truly are a good actor."

"Is it really acting when I can become whomever I imagine myself to be?"

"We see thou hast given up the pretense. Good. That makes this simpler."

Her much wider area-effect charm didn't quite reach him, and it clearly left her a bit winded.

"Most interactions between ponies are filled with acting and pretense," he replied. "Ponies imagine themselves a certain way, and simply play out the role that their imagination produces. They rarely go off-script. I'm simply pointing out that I can switch roles, from the wandering scholar who aided Twilight Sparkle to the royal fool who helped you and your sister. As you said, I'm a good actor. It would not be wrong to say that I should have come into this world as a Changeling, since it is more fitting to my personality." He briefly imagined himself waking up in that meadow as a Changeling King, but the Mirror's 'become an equinoid' function probably operated on wish-fulfillment parameters, not personality-matching. "In any case, I was not expecting this from you, but it seems that you are at the level where it would be worse than pointless to ask how you might be convinced, because you'd know that convincing you is exactly what I was trying to do, and I would want that as myself or as an imposter. I do have a question, though. How do you know about Changelings? Before this day, I only encountered the name of their species a single time, from the description of a spell that claimed to remove their disguises, and that's after scouring your sister's entire private library."

"We come from a different Era, Changeling," said Luna, a bit of her ancientness reaching her voice. "We have encountered thy kind before."

"Were Changelings able to fool your element then?"

"I did not have my Element then."

"What about Celestia?"

"We promised thy Queen we would not to tell our sister about thy species, so long as thou did not harm our subjects whilst doing as thou must to survive. It seems thy Queen's mind has been addled by the passing of a millennium."

"Changeling Queens don't live that long!" Thorax objected.

"The host of this body claims that their Queens don't live that long," Riddle told Luna. "How long do they live, Thorax?"

"Um... about five hundred years."

"That's still a long time," Riddle said out loud. "So, Chrysalis's grandmother made that deal with Luna?"

"Maybe?"

"Your species isn't all that keen on keeping historical records, is it?"

"Thy performance is not fooling us, Changeling."

"Yes, leave it to the royal fool to be unable to fool his princess," said Riddle. "Very well, I'll get straight to the point. Diarch of Equestria, I am here to parley. The Changeling Queen is an idiot who has infiltrated Canterlot and might or might not be planning an overt raid."

"Hey! You said you wouldn't betray-"

"I'm working with Thorax to end her reign," Riddle spoke on without pause, "since Changelings are unable to directly disobey Queenly orders, and we would like your help in stopping her without killing the whole hive."

"Oh. Uh... thanks."

He continued to ignore Thorax in favour of Luna. "Chrysalis has replaced a good chunk of the citizenry and the guard with Changelings, including the two outside this door. It's disappointing that such an incompetent Queen was able to accomplish so much against your national security, but I digress. They've taken a pink alicorn prisoner, and probably replaced her as well."

Princess Luna gasped.

"Princess Mi Amore Cadenza," Thorax informed him. "Queen Chrysalis is handling her impersonation personally."

"Thorax says her name is Princess Mi Amore Cadenza," he relayed, "and that Queen Chrysalis has replaced her. By your reaction, I'm assuming she has some sort of significance. Is she a recent ascension? I'm out of the loop from Canterlot affairs."

There was a long pause in the room.

"If thou art really our fool," the Princess said hesitantly, seeming to ignore everything he had just said about the threats to Equestrian national security, "what is thy motive in helping the Changelings? And why art thou in the body of one?"

"Now you are not doing a good job of convincing me that you are starting to believe me," said Riddle. "You have not addressed me as your lesser in a long time. Likewise with the Canterlot voice. You stopped upon my promotion to royalty. But to answer your questions anyway, my motives are my own business, and I am inside this body thanks to... let's call it a magical accident."

"And there's the honest deception," sighed Princess Luna. "Where have you been all this time?"

"Away."

"Why have you been away?"

"I needed time to meditate on my own motivations. And the future."

"How did you come to discover the plot of the Changelings?"

"Happenstance."

"Why have you chosen now to stop being candid?"

"Because you started asking about me."

"You know I can't betray your secrets."

"And you know better than to pry anyway."

Luna sighed again, much more heavily this time. Her horn stopped glowing as she dropped her battle stance. "Welcome back, fool."

Rehabilitation, Part 3: Hesitation

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Rehabilitation, Part 4: Temptation

Canterlot had changed immensely in a short time. Gingerbread houses and cardboard cutouts lined the streets in place of buildings, large number threes had taken the place of trees, and the streets were paved in fool's gold. His mind put two and two together in an instant.

"What have we here?" asked a voice that Riddle had only heard once before – in the statue garden of Canterlot Castle. "Another alicorn coming to stop me?"

"Stop you?" he echoed, turning to face the collage of creatures and raising a few powerful shields of multi-coloured hues as he did. Normally he wouldn't bother with shields, but this situation warranted as much caution as he could spare short of outright avoidance. "That depends. Are you exacting revenge for your entrapment?"

Two conditions Riddle needs for murder: malice and world threat. Discord clearly has the world threat under his belt. Once the creature confesses his malice, his fate will be sealed, and Riddle's final Horcrux shall be made.

"Revenge shmavenge," huffed the draconequus. "That would be so cliché."

Riddle stared at him, suspecting it was a lie and wishing his employer was here to confirm that it was. "Then what's all this?" he asked, waving a hoof at the ruined city.

"Just getting my mojo flowing," Discord said as his body twisted and cracked through a caricature of a stretching routine. He sighed cathartically. "Now I can move on to the rest of the world."

Unfortunately, that was a plausible enough answer that Riddle couldn't write it off as a simple lie.

"In the most predictable way possible?" Riddle asked, wondering if he could goad the malice out. If this creature had a problem with cliché (like Riddle did), then perhaps he had a problem with predictability as well. It would make sense as a good insult against a being of chaos.

"Predictable?" the creature cried indignantly. "You call moi-" he snapped his fingers, and the creature's colours inverted "-predictable?"

"Yes," Riddle replied, unbothered by the change, even when it snapped its fingers and inverted the world's colours as well. "The first thought I had when I saw the state of the city was 'Discord', even before I saw you. Is that not the definition of predictable?"

"Well of course you thought that! You really are the royal fool, aren't you?" The creature snapped its fingers and Riddle was suddenly wearing a jester's outfit. "The city is in a state of discord. That's not a prediction, that's an observation, captain obvious." The creature snapped its fingers again, and now Riddle was wearing some kind of hat, a covering over one of his eyes, and a peg in place of a hoof.

Riddle immediately apparated to the ritual room of his hideout. It was the most well-warded retreat he'd ever established, not just in Equestria, but in all his life, for it used many wards he'd only discovered after arriving here. It blocked Phoenix Travel, Time Turners, Teleportation, and once he revealed Portkeys to Equestria, it blocked those as well. He'd even gone so far as to ward against House Elf teleportation. Not to mention all the other standard and not-so-standard alarms. The only thing he hadn't warded against by this point was apparation, and Discord had kindly given him the time he needed to perform it: one second.

His adrenaline was still pumping, though. He looked down to his missing hoof with his one uncovered eye. He didn't think chaos magic would be able to make changes this drastic to the bodies of other living creatures. He also didn't think it would be able to completely bypass his defenses like that. He hadn't even felt his shields ripple. The changes went through them, as if Discord's magic was on the same level as a Killing Curse.

Finite incantatum didn't work to dispel the effects, no matter how powerful he made it, meaning a specific counter was likely required, or an understanding of Chaos magic itself. As far as he knew from his studies, Harmony magic was the only thing that countered Chaos magic, and Riddle didn't know how to tap either. He could always transfigure a new body to rid himself of the additions, but his priorities were elsewhere. He could tolerate a peg leg and an eyepatch for now.

His threat assessment of Discord was recalibrating, taking certain things into account.

For instance, Discord considers complex and detailed changes to landscape and weather as 'getting his mojo flowing'. A mere warmup, in other words. Discord was sometimes referred to as a 'god'. And Discord might literally be able to make anything happen just by snapping his fingers. Not as bluff, like it had been with Mr. Potter, but as a natural part of his powers.

Everything but the 'god' part had NOT been in the history books, which was his immediate excuse for his own rashness, but when he thought about how to prevent such stupidity in the future, Riddle realized that he had been too confident in his horcruxes and too eager to make another one. That had prevented him from seeing and weighing the threat of Discord rationally.

Now that he'd lost his tunnel-vision, he was completely reconsidering his approach. Maybe this isn't the best time to be thinking of his great creation. Maybe he should just focus on avoidance. Chaos magic might be able to affect his Horcruxes as well, and he did not want to risk that. Ever.

Unfortunately, his internal phoenix fire didn't like the idea of inaction. Not at all.

But before he could even address that annoyance, an unwelcome and terrifying voice intruded on his thoughts and his personal space. "Well, isn't this a lovely little lair? I take it back. You're supervillain obvious."

A snapping sound caused the eyepatch and hat and peg to disappear. In their place, he felt minor changes to his teeth (elongated fangs?) and wings and cloak. He couldn't see himself, but he probably looked more menacing.

If before he had been worried, now Riddle was actually scared, unlike he had been in a long time. If this creature could track apparition – although more likely than not, it could track instances of its own magic – Riddle didn't want to stick around to find out what else it could do.

He immediately decided to go to his final retreat, skipping past all his portkeys that would have taken him to various backup safehouses across Equestria. At this point, his best bet was the only place that Discord might not be able to reach – a place Riddle himself had resolved not to revisit until he'd carefully and deliberately planned what to do when he got there. So much for that. Emergencies are emergencies.

A twinge of will brought him to his Astral Plane faster than any existing transportation magic could have, except phoenix fire. If the spontaneous reversion of his 'menacing' additions was anything to go by, his suspicion that Discord and his magic could not follow was hopefully correct.

The phoenix had not objected to his desire to appear in the Astral Plane, apparently understanding the concept of tactical retreat, but it did object to the idea of waiting out the disaster. Then a thought occurred to him that the inner-phoenix absolutely loathed.

When Riddle noticed that his cloak and all his other possessions had not made it with him to the Astral Plane, he finally understood where Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger had been when the phoenix took them back to Earth. He simultaneously realized what he might have been doing wrong earlier, and how Dumbledore's test might be successfully avoided.

He might be able to leave Equestria, right here and right now, simply by deciding to phoenix travel with the Astral Plane as his starting location. That was very likely the piece of the puzzle he had been missing, if it wasn't the others he'd already considered. All the little details finally made perfect sense, as they usually do when the real answer reveals itself.

Mr. Potter's effects had been left behind, so he had journeyed to the Astral Plane. If he was showing Celestia some memories of the human world, he would naturally swear her to secrecy. Or even more likely, he was showing Ms. Granger his memories, Celestia intruded, and then he bound her to silence. Yes, that sounds exactly like what might have happened.

And if the Astral Plane is somehow the Mirror's equivalent of an interface with the human world, or something like an administrator's workspace for those who made the Mirror, then perhaps phoenixes go through here before going to the human world... actually, that last part feels more like speculation than fact. This place might just be the Mirror's way of allowing its trapped victims to engage in self reflection, or something like that. But the main theory about phoenix travel is well worth testing.

Now he just has to decide if it's what he wants to do. He had spent months thinking about the issue and eventually deciding against it. Escaping now would end the trap and end the advantage of infinite time...

...but in retrospect, his reasoning could have been motivated by a desire to cope with an otherwise hopeless situation. It could have been what Mr. Potter calls 'rationalization'. Riddle could have simply been convincing himself to adopt a less stressful, less unpleasant state of mind in response to a hated circumstance.

Now that he might actually be able to escape at will, all the advantages and benefits of the Mirror's trap seemed far less enticing. Immediate freedom truly is appealing to him. He could go back to the other side of the Mirror, go back to his old ways, unbound by any restrictions save the Unbreakable Vow to not destroy the world. He would once again be able to kill at will, using his favourite spell as regularly as he once did. It was very, very tempting.

He had already taken care of the smaller details too. He literally could go right this minute.

Back when he was doing his original testing with phoenix travel, he had made plans about the many things he'd have to set in motion within the first few hours of getting back to the other side.

He would end the hostage situation immediately.

He would magically preserve Perenelle's corpse on the off-chance Mr. Potter can revive her. Holding her mortality over her head to leverage her hoarded lore away from her would be satisfying and fitting, given how she's been doing that to other wizards all her life. It would also be practically sensible. The world might need that lore to avoid destruction, and on a personal note, he simply wanted the power. Finally, this plot would content his long-standing desire to do something clever about her situation.

He would provide logistical support in Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger's war on the world's Dementors, since those things were the most immediate threat to his immortality.

After all that was done, he would ask of his wayward student a single, pointed question. If Mr. Potter confirmed that his escape had been deliberate, as opposed to accidental, then Mr. Potter would learn what it meant to affront Lord Voldemort.

He'd even planned the story he would tell about his 'redemption' to fool Mr. Potter long enough to suffer the consequences of betrayal...

Rehabilitation, Part 5: Harmony

September 11th, 94th Year of the Tenth Celestial Century.

Riddle had even gone so far as to plan the lies he would tell to fool Mr. Potter until just the right moment for him to suffer the proper consequences of his betrayal...

...but the voice of the phoenix would not stop screaming at him long enough to comply with a desire to teleport. It seemed as if it would only answer a request to teleport back into the Discord debacle. He couldn't concentrate with that inner-conflict, and he could only access phoenix travel as a pony, so becoming a human wouldn't work as a fix. He also didn't want to see what would happen if he became a human while standing inside a place meant for alicorns.

He might have to find the right argument that the phoenix would accept...

"Riddle?" yawned a voice that, while not quite welcome, was at least not Discord's. "So this plane is yours after all." There came a noise of discomfort. "Why does your mane hurt to look upon?"

Riddle glanced at his 'memories', confirming that they were neatly organized on an inscrutably empty bookshelf, then glanced back at his now-ethereal mane that looked to him like the traceries of anti-light that he would draw through the air before making a Horcrux.

"No idea," he answered honestly. The patterns shouldn't hurt to see. Was she seeing something else? "This is the first it's ever been like this."

"It was not like that when you came here the first time?"

"It might have been," he answered, also honestly, "but I did not stay long enough to notice."

When he'd cheated his way to alicorn status over half a year ago, it had been with a firm plan in mind. He fused himself with earth and horn by sacrificing a troll and a unicorn. He arrived in the Astral Plane as expected. He willed his memories to outwardly show blankness. Then he left before another alicorn could see his identity. His guess that Luna would be his welcoming pony, not Celestia, was finally being confirmed.

"Why have you come here now?" she asked. "Do you seek full ascension?"

He shook his head. "Refuge."

"From what?"

"From whom," he corrected. "You've been asleep for the past few hours, I take it?"

She nodded, her drowsiness starting to leave her. "Ever since the Changelings were expelled. Did something go wrong? Was Chrysalis too powerful to... defeat?"

He snorted. "No. That matter is settled. But Discord escaped in the chaos of the raid."

His employer's eyes widened. She now seemed fully awake and alert. "We must go back at once! Meet me in my chambers."

She disappeared from his astral plane without giving him time to respond.

"No," he said to the empty air.

Ignoring the screaming of the phoenix, he browsed the shelf of memories. This seemed like a good time to make progress on the problem of Obliviation. And he might as well do it with memories relevant to the current situation, in case Discord somehow found him again.

It took around a minute of Luna anxiously watching the suffering city from the window of her chaos-proof bedroom to realize that Riddle wasn't coming. When she went and found him right where she left him, examining a scroll that was likely one of his memories, she felt a wave of anger.

Riddle's head snapped up to meet her furious gaze, even before she could reprimand him, and annoyance crossed his features. "You demanded that I risk my life, and now you are angry that I choose not to," he said in reproach of his own. "I think I've met my quota of saving Equestria for the day."

He went back. To examining. His scroll.

"There is no such thing," she seethed, "as a quota," to the infuriating pony, "for saving Equestria. You just do it!" The last part had come out in the Royal Canterlot voice, but she didn't care.

"You do it," he replied insolently. "I decline."

"You may not decline," she declared. "As an alicorn, it is your responsibility."

"Your responsibility," he replied with even more insolence.

"Our responsibility," she revised. "You have shared it ever since accepting your nobility."

"Then revoke it. I never truly cared."

"Oh, I shall do more than that, Mystery Book. If you refuse to help this military affair, I shall fire you, and ban you from Canterlot."

That actually caused him to look up from his scroll. His eyes narrowed. "I would say to go ahead and do it, for I do not care about either threat. And I will. After I provide my military advice, as I promised I would.

"Discord can alter the weather at will. He can make anything happen just by snapping his fingers. He and his magic can follow me wherever I go, except here. I may not kill him unless he is malicious in his actions, and even if he is spiteful, I'm not confident I could kill a god. As a strictly unharmonious pony, I suspect I am especially vulnerable to chaos magic. Even if I weren't, the only thing I think I can do to Discord is talk to him, and I refuse to be a simple distraction like that. From a tactical standpoint, there is far too much risk for far too little reward. From a personal standpoint, my answer is simply 'no'. I care for my life, thank you very much. If you cannot come up with a better and safer alternative to that, do not ask me to intervene. In short, Ms. Lullay, I offer no practical assistance. I advise you get the Elements of Harmony to solve this problem. Now fire me and leave, if you would be so kind."

Luna listened to this analysis at first with more anger, then with a slowly building sense of despair. And that last part, being called by her old, ordinary pony name, hurt more than she would have expected.

As far as she could tell, he wasn't wrong. Worse, he honestly did not care if he was fired, or demoted, or banned from Canterlot. He might not even care if he was banned from Equestria entirely, though she could not legally or morally do that.

"Although before you leave, I am curious," he said at the end. "You believe banning me from Canterlot would help me find happiness? Shouldn't your Vow prevent you from making such threats?"

Luna took many deep breaths to calm herself. Her emotions were not helping the situation. Riddle is the type of pony who is only ever convinced by reasoning, facts, and logic. If those facts can overcome his strongly-established cynical beliefs – an almost impossibly high standard to meet, most of the time. She would need to actually think to acquire his help.

"In a world ruled by Discord," she finally managed to answer his question, "your chances for finding happiness would be equally bad, no matter where you went. Failing to stop him would be far worse for the potential of your future happiness than losing access to Canterlot."

"Interesting," he said, as if they were discussing the weather, with nothing urgent or important going on. "I am glad it was not 'you are threatening innocent ponies with your decision to not intervene, so the exception applies', or something equally stupid."

Luna, with an extreme will of effort, sighed away her annoyances with the pony in front of her. "I am not going to fire you," she said. "You are right, there is little we can do. I just... I was angry when you refused me. I thought it was a matter of choice, not ability. And although it still is, to some extent... well, I suppose I was expecting more from you."

"If you are attempting to manipulate me into helping," he said flatly, "you will leave."

What? Oh. Well, that is the cynical interpretation of her words, isn't it?

"I was not attempting manipulation," she said. "Honesty would never let me attempt non-consensual manipulation like that."

"Then what was it?" he asked skeptically.

"Statement of fact." She walked a bit closer to him, then sat down. "After so many matters that you helped almost instantly, and without any apparent hesitation, I simply assumed that you could help all matters. And that you would. At least when it came to anything truly important. I came to expect it of you. I never thought you would balk at the first sign of true difficulty. I thought you would try regardless."

He looked at her for a time. "There is a common saying that extreme incompetence is indistinguishable from malice. Though it's not commonly understood, the opposite is also true. Extreme competence can be indistinguishable from virtue. I have warned you many times not to think of me as a good pony. I am being exactly as self-interested as I have always been. The only difference between then and now is Discord."

"That is what I don't understand," she sighed. "You have risked your life before. With Nightmare Moon and Chrysalis. You confronted my sister, and the university, and the nobility of this nation with an utter lack of fear. What makes Discord so different?"

Riddle shrugged. "His ability to bypass my defenses. I was never in much real danger in the other matters, except maybe Nightmare Moon. Even then I had escape plans. Discord can ignore my defenses, follow my escapes, and do things to me that I can't prevent or dispel."

"This is the first time you have been in true danger?" Luna realized.

"Since arriving in Equestria."

"And your response to that is to run away?"

"Of course," he answered. "The sensible tactic when facing an intelligent enemy you cannot defeat or survive is to teleport away. Living to fight another day is a severely undervalued war strategy by those who are inexperienced in war. A dead pony is a useless pony."

She tried not to let her anger rise up again, but it was difficult. "Many ponies have died in fights for better futures," she said, remembering a few battles of a millennium past. "If they had not fought, more lives would have been lost, including their own. Their deaths were not useless."

"True enough, on occasion," Riddle agreed. "But not this occasion. I do not see how my interference will make my own survival more likely. Not when I can stay here as long as I need to."

"You will get hungry."

"I have food stores."

"Discord can rot them if they exist in Equestria."

He rolled his eyes. "I have other means of survival. Take it as a given that I can survive, even if all of Equestria falls. In that light, ask yourself, as I asked myself, what I truly stand to gain from intervening."

Luna stared at him, truly seeing him for the first time. Her sister was right. Her fool isn't a good pony. Not in the slightest.

But that wouldn't stop her from trying. Even if she hadn't taken the Vow.

"You stand to gain the feeling of accomplishment at doing something difficult," she said in refutation. "You stand to gain happiness in a world without Discord's influence. And you stand to earn the love and respect that you lost from me, if you pull it off."

"Not that it's working in the slightest," said Riddle, "but do you truly believe you are not trying to manipulate me?"

"Honesty is not manipulation," she replied. "I have said exactly what you stand to gain. Now that I know who you truly are inside, now that I know you never truly risked your life for anypony else's sake in the past, maybe not even your own, I honestly have lost respect for you. You honestly can get it back by helping."

"You don't think I've helped enough today?"

She shook her head. "There is no such thing as helping enough. There is such a thing as helping so much that you do more bad than good, and there is such a thing as not helping despite your best efforts, but that's neither here nor there, since you know how to truly help when you set your mind to it."

"You say that and claim you do not respect me?"

"It is possible to respect a pony's expertise without respecting them. What you have been doing is offering aid at your convenience, or at your calculated inconvenience. That will never be enough for my respect." Despite all the blatant evidence in front of her, she had allowed her emotions to cloud her vision, as her sister had pointed out.

"In that case I doubt I can ever earn your respect."

"You still can. I do not expect you to feel true courage in your actions. You do not have the mentality for that, I think. But a schemer like you risking himself in the face of factors he is firmly aware of and dreadfully fears is, in my opinion, far more admirable than emotional courage."

"I agree," said Riddle.

There was a pause. A pause in which Riddle did not add to that.

"So you'll help?"

"No."

Luna let out an exasperated sigh. It really is like talking to a brick wall. "Why not?"

"You offer nothing tangible," he answered. "Happiness? That is not certain. A feeling of accomplishment? I accomplish tasks I actually care about all the time. And I'm not sure how much I value your respect, but I know that I do not value it nearly enough to risk my life."

"What about the respect of the nation, if that could be arranged?" Luna offered. "You are a prince, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not, and if you defeat Discord, everypony will be grateful. And impressed."

His hesitation was so short that she wondered if it was real, or if she'd just imagined it. "I'm not sure I care in the slightest. The last time I earned the 'love' of a nation, I did not feel anything in particular."

Her first instinct was to doubt that absurd claim, despite the honesty with which he conveyed it, but the important thing was that he believed it, regardless of how true it really was. From his perspective, her offers really aren't tempting, or even all that desirable in the first place.

What could she offer? What did he even want? As always, his lack of clear motivations was bordering on frustrating. Maybe it was because she was still subconsciously seeing him as a good pony.

Alright, different approach. If he was a supervillain in a story, what might he want?

She had been expecting that question to help.

She was surprised when it didn't.

He already has money, and even if he didn't, she wasn't sure he cared for it. The same with status. If she didn't know better, if she simply met him on the street, she wouldn't suspect for a second that he's wealthy and high-status. He almost never flaunted either, and he probably only wanted them in the first place because he thought they were useful, and because she'd essentially given them to him, not because he desperately sought them out. Money and status were means to an end for him, not ends in and of themselves. That's good as far as his redeemability goes, but left her stumped about his goals.

What do villains want other than money and power? Sex? He didn't want that either, not that she would ever offer that as a bargaining chip for anything.

What else?

Well... villains often want to prove that they're the best, don't they?

"What about the chance to outwit the most cunning enemy Equestria has ever seen?" she offered. "For that describes Discord to a tee. He has never been our most evil foe, only the most conniving. And the most powerful."

The consequences of his rule had been terrible and all-encompassing, but he wasn't exactly 'evil'. Discord enjoys approval and laughter and company. He just isn't all that caring about the ponies he hurts, unless it's an egregious, undeniable, and unintended result of his chaos. Like that time one of his 'jokes', a falling anvil, left a bloody mess of pulp and gore and skull fragments, not the lump-on-the-head that he said he had been expecting. He had literally turned green, thrown up, then stopped tormenting Equestria for a full week. His return was a different story altogether, but he never used anvils afterwards, or blunt impacts in general, unless at safe levels. Ever since that day, Discord's 'slapstick comedy' toned down to the level of actual slaps, unless he was doing it to himself, which led Luna to believe the Draconequus has some amount of goodness in him, despite his claims to the contrary. As far as she and her other former Element could tell, he really does crave the Laughter of others. Even when he torments a pony, comedy is often his true goal, he just can't see why only he finds the torment funny.

"You would be proving yourself as the most cunning being on Equus if you outmaneuvered him," Luna said, finishing her hopefully good offer.

"A single victory does not prove general dominance," said Riddle. "The challenge is tempting, but not nearly tempting enough."

That's the point, Luna thought. He couldn't earn back her respect if he did this out of weighing and calculating expected outcomes. But maybe that was too much to expect of him, so early into his redemption.

"What about an exclusive training program for the guard?" Luna offered. "You said you were dissatisfied with their current state. I can allow you to train... fifty guards, as you see fit. If, afterwards, they are more capable than guards who go through standard training, we can expand the program."

"Better," said Riddle. "That's even more tempting. But still no."

A thousand years ago, she would have thrown up her hooves at this point- no. She would have thrown them up long before this point. In the present day, she only sighed. "Fine. I give up. Unless you think I can guess it on my own, please tell me what you want this time."

The corners of his lips twitched upward. "There is only one thing worth the risk, and neither you nor any other can offer it. I am enjoying your ideas though."

"You cannot see yourself helping for any reason?"

He shook his head. "I don't see why you're so set on my help when I'm not the best pony for the job. Didn't you say there was a prophecy foretelling Harmony's victory?"

"No," said Luna. "I said the prophecy foretold that good would prevail upon Discord's return. It did not say who would prevail, or how, or when. When Discord is involved, we've always needed all the help we can get."

"And you truly think my presence would provide an advantage?"

"Yes."

"How?"

She paused. "You think of things that nopony else would."

"Hm," he huffed, a sound that somehow combined agreement and dismissal.

They sat in silence for a while.

Eventually, deciding he was right about one thing, she left his plane and used a scrying spell to check up on the Elements, who were... trapped in some kind of maze. A game of Discord's, no doubt. A long game, by the looks of it, which meant Discord would be occupied for a while.

She sighed and returned to Riddle's realm, which she could visit with impunity so long as he was not fully ascended. Given his seemingly-empty shelf of memory storage, she doubted she could rummage through his memories even if she wanted to, not that she ever would without his permission.

Seeing nothing better to do, she observed her fool. Maybe she could use this time to help him find happiness. Dwelling on the past without professional guidance can lead to depression… although he didn't look like he was brooding. He looked like he was working, slowly and steadily, with some purpose in mind.

Riddle held a hoof to his temple even as he watched an open memory scroll. He slowly extracted a stream of white-silver light, then returned it to his forehead, closed the scroll (which caused it to vanish), retrieved a new scroll from the empty shelf, and repeated the process.

"May I ask what you are doing?" she asked.

"You may ask." His emphasis on the last word conveyed no commitment to answer.

...

"What are you doing?"

"Reviewing a few memories involving chaos."

She felt like screaming. Why, why, why did Riddle Tome work her up like this. "So you do intend to help?"

He looked up at her, frowning. "No, but it never hurts to prepare."

"For what?"

"The worst."

He went back to watching a scroll. While he watched, an idea occurred to her.

She waited for him to extract and return the memory in his own way, so as not to interrupt, then asked, "Would you like to see if you can learn the anti-chaos ward?"

He looked up and stared at her, multiple emotions flashing across his face too quickly to read, then falling into blankness after a visible and audible breath that was not quite a sigh. "Yes, I would." The scroll closed itself and vanished. "Did you only think of that spell now, or is there some other reason you did not immediately mention it before encouraging me to embark on a suicide mission?"

She felt her cheeks grow warm in embarrassment. "It would not have been a suicide mission! Discord does not intentionally kill ponies. Not even his enemies..." She trailed off at his harsh stare. "But you are right. I apologize. I did not think of it."

"One would think it's be the first spell to consider in the face of Discord. Is it meant to be kept secret, and you did not think of it from habit?"

She shook her head. "It is not dangerous. If you are asking after my subconscious influences, it might be the requirements of the spell. It is harmony magic, and I am not sure you of all ponies could learn to wield it. Only my sister and my self can do so by ourselves. In all other cases, it requires a full team of unicorns working together."

"Has it fallen out of practice?" he asked. "I suspect I would have encountered it otherwise."

Luna nodded, actually sharing some of her fool's frustration this time. "My sister has let her guards grow lax. My sister has let herself grow lax. I suspect she has not practiced in a long time, nor required our soldiers to learn it for equally long. I was always the one to insist they maintain the skill, despite Discord's petrification being foretold to last for centuries."

"Typical of her softness," Riddle ridiculed. "Canterlot really did deserve invasion and chaos, didn't it?"

"No. Canterlot deserved nothing of the sort. But on the off-chance Tia does not experience immense guilt over her negligence, she shall deserve every ounce of shame we can convince her to feel. Now are you ready to learn, or do you prefer to keep stalling?"

That was enough to stop his questioning and begin his lesson. The spell structure is simple enough, but the conditions for casting are far more difficult to achieve.

You must have the will and unity of many ponies working seamlessly together – working harmoniously together – to perform Harmony magic. In the group version of the spell, unicorns must be coordinated, united, and of one will. As the ruler of a nation, Princess Luna embodied a united will on her own. She watched her subjects' dreams, knew their desires, and could act with certainty that she was making the ward using more than her own power. The chaos ward draws on the inner strength of others, and requires a large amount of magic, which is why it requires groups in most settings. In her and her sister's case, when they share their gifts of Night and Day with the world, the world shares its appreciation in return, and that is often enough to cast the anti-chaos ward, though Celestia struggles to do so at night, and Luna struggles during the day. That is why they had so much difficulty during Discord's rule, since he could alter the day-night cycle at will, and often did, which disrupted their anti-chaos crusades and forced them to rely on the ponies they had trained. Today, nopony has been so trained, thanks to her sister's negligence.

"If you share the magic you have discovered for yourself with the world," Luna said at the end of her lecture, "then you might be able to use harmony magic on your own. What is it, by the way?" She glanced at his Cutie-Mark and noticed that it had acquired a new addition. "Does the magic involve a green flash of some kind?"

Riddle frowned, followed her gaze, huffed out a single chuckle, then said, "I don't think that will work. I shall try something else. Give me one minute."

He closed his eyes, held a hoof to his head, then stood perfectly still. After a time, he said the 'word' "Confundus". His expression changed to be less severe, more... charismatic? His horn immediately began to glow, but nothing happened.

Around five seconds later, his expression changed back to his normal one, and his horn stopped glowing.

"What was that?" asked Luna.

"That was a failure," he said, truthfully and deceptively. He sighed in frustration. "I suppose I shall have to resort to that then. Give me one more minute... or maybe two."

He closed his eyes again but didn't raise his hoof this time. Luna didn't know what she was waiting for, and by the time she was ready to interrupt whatever he was doing and ask, his horn finally began to glow in the rainbow colour of the chaos ward. A surprisingly strong manifestation of Harmony magic emanated from him in all directions – strong enough to be felt even over the astral plane's high base levels, and stronger than Luna had ever cast on her own. Well, excluding when she wielded half of the Elements of Harmony, but that didn't count. The anti-chaos ward he just cast was more powerful than anything she could currently manifest on her own, and as powerful as the strongest she'd ever seen it cast without the Elements – once, a full army of unicorns had managed to reach that level.

Luna stared at Riddle in shock. At the very least, his personal magic shouldn't have been enough for that, to say nothing about the spell's main requirement. "How did you do that?" she asked her unharmonious fool.

"Cleverness," he replied. "On an unrelated note-" lie "-did you ever ask the Changelings for help against Discord?"

"No..." said Luna. "But I did not discover them until after we defeated him. Why..." and then her eyes widened as she got it. "Their hivemind!" she said excitedly. "Of course. You still have access to it?"

He shrugged in confirmation.

Her mind immediately went to how this might help her subjects. "Could you teach the ward to them that way? Could you ask the Changelings to dispel the chaos around the nation?"

His eyebrows furrowed. "I could ask, but I doubt Thorax would agree to send the order. It takes energy for their species to cast magic, and right now they are all very low."

"And yet they were willing to spare some for you just now?"

He shook his head. "That took none, strangely enough." His gaze went distant, and his tone switched to that of speculative curiosity. "Since I am not a Changeling, I can provide my own magic; I only needed the strength of their collective will, and that took none of their energy at all." His eyes focused on her again, and he said in his normal severity, "If you want them to cast the chaos ward, that will drain their reserves, and I doubt they can spare anything at the moment. Many Changelings are wounded after impacting the ground, or a tree, or a rock. The love in the expulsion spell allowed them all to survive the initial impact, but only survive it. Some are critically wounded, and the efforts to save everyling are looking bleak."

If she were not a princess, Luna might have cursed at that. Having Changelings – who are apparently natural harmony-wielders – put out the chaos of Equestria had been such a tantalizing solution, especially since the Changelings were scattered all across Equestria at the moment. But it was just out of reach. In order to convince Changelings to help, they would need love, but she couldn't possibly do that when they were suffering their own dire straits... straits which her fool had completely failed to mention until now... but there might not be much she could have done to help them, even if she knew they were suffering. Most ponies are probably not in loving moods, and the chaos would only make everything worse...

Wait.

"Tell Thorax," she said, a plan taking shape in her mind, "that perhaps there is a solution to both our problems..."

Silk is not a brave Changeling. She prefers back-line work. Like medical treatment, or logistics.

As an officer, she occasionally had to do field work under Chrysalis's rule, but she was always nervous that some pony would know the un-disguise spell. Her greatest fear – a fear shared by many Changelings – was that a pony would discover her nature, torture her, and kill her.

Ponies discovering the hive had always been tied to that nightmare, but now that Chrysalis had revealed them all, that part of the nightmare has morphed into something else. Now she fears that ponies will dissect her and use her brain to somehow infiltrate the hivemind and track down her kin. She had their new king (her old commanding officer) to thank for that fear. She would have preferred to not know what happened to him in the crystal caves beneath Canterlot. She would have preferred to not know that the ling who recently asked for the strength of the hive was not a ling at all, but a pony.

And most of all, if there was any other way, she would have preferred to not be one of the lings to carry out her current, king-enforced orders.

Find ponies suffering from Chaos. Cast the spell I just taught you. Pray that you are rewarded with gratefulness and love.

It was a gambit.

The entire hive is low on love, and getting lower thanks to all the blunt force bruises that need healing. Love could be transferred through the hivemind to a ling in need, but you had to burn a lot of love when you did it that way, and they were really, really empty right now. If they wanted to heal the lings who were close to death thanks to the explosion that expelled them from Canterlot, they would need ten times the normal amount, and stat. As a medic, she knew that better than anyling else.

Making matters worse, the chaos of Discord reached every corner of the pony nation. That meant standard infiltration-and-collection tactics wouldn't work. There were groups of ponies huddled in fear, groups of ponies laughing at some of the effects, groups of ponies just watching curiously, depending on what was happening in the area. Even the most experienced infiltration officers would have trouble improvising well enough to get love at a time like this. Throw in the fact that their whole species had been revealed, even if the news hadn't spread very far yet, and it was one, massive disaster.

It was so bad that King Thorax had been the first to try this plan, even though the King/Queen usually doesn't do anything him/herself. But he was the only ling with enough love to cast the 'anti-chaos' spell in the first place. In his words, he had the 'good luck' to land close to a location that was raining cats and dogs (literally) on one side of town and suffering a cow-and-barn-lifting tornado problem on the other side of town. The cows were really scared, with many screaming for help, but even the unicorns couldn't levitate them down with how fast they were moving, and how high up they were.

Thorax said that when he saved them by de-chaosing the place, the whole town dogpiled him (in thanks, not hatred) even though he wasn't disguised, which gave him enough love to save all the dying Changelings.

But now he was sending love to the scattered officers and telling them to do what he just did, since the hive still needed to heal the wounded, not just save them from death.

So now it's Silk's turn.

Thorax had said that most ponies wouldn't consider a 'bug pony' out of place with all the chaos going on. They'd just assume somepony got hit by a nasty effect. Thorax had said that, in this one particular instance, they didn't have to worry about disguising. Thorax had said that they shouldn't disguise, since pony love directed at a 'naked' changeling is extremely nourishing and powerful, way more than normal, as he had just discovered.

But even if it had worked for him, that wasn't enough to overcome a lifetime of fears, some of it deeply rooted in Changeling biology, not to mention her own personality of shyness and self-preservation. She hates to admit it, but she really is a worthless craven.

The hive really does need the love, though. Silk can hear Gossamer moaning in pain over the hivemind. She wants to help, she really does, but she's just so scared.

That's when Thorax asked, he asked, if she would prefer to be given a 'kingly order' so she could help despite her fear, or if she'd just like to sit this one out. She knew then and there that Thorax would be a billion times better than Chrysalis had ever been.

So she'd told him that she would take the kingly order. She did want to help, and this way she would help. Even as her instincts screamed at her to run away, the order would cause her to stay. She'd still rather it be anyling else, but there were only three officer-level Changelings near 'bad' chaos, and she was one of them, so she would suck it up and do her best.

The 'bad' chaos in question was a never-ending earthquake. A few young ponies were having fun with what the vibrations were doing to their voices, and one older pony was treating the ground like a masseuse, but for the most part ponies were panicking, or crying about their ruined house, or huddled as far away from pony-made structures as possible.

She didn't have that much love, so she couldn't use her love to cast the spell on the whole town. She would have to fix pockets of chaos at a time.

She started with the crumbled house. The mare crying into her husband's chest didn't notice as Silk walked up to them, and the stallion comforting his wife didn't notice either. "S-s-sta-a-and ba-a-ack," she said in a stuttering voice that wasn't only a result of the earth's vibration. She called on the strength of the hive, which Thorax said was needed, then cast the anti-chaos spell.

The two ponies barely had time to react to her words, though the flying wooden beams encouraged them to get out of the way pretty quickly as the rumbling stopped and the house began to repair itself. They spent less time gaping at her than she thought they would because as soon as the house was whole again, the stallion ran inside, and the mare began pacing nervously. When the stallion returned with a young, crying foal in his arm, she suddenly realized why they were crying in the first place. It had never been about the house.

"My foal!" the mare dashed over. "Shh, shh, you're safe now." She sat down, put her foal in her lap, then began cradling it until it calmed down. "Oh, my sweet little Sundew. Thank Celestia you're safe."

"I don't think we should be thanking Celestia," said the husband, looking up from his offspring and straight at Silk. If not for Thorax's orders, she would have bolted at the direct attention that a pony was giving to her undisguised self. She really would have bolted as the stallion walked up to her. He wrapped his neck around her, and said, "Whoever you are, thank you very much."

Thorax had said to be ready to send the love across the hivemind at a moment's notice. He had said that if she succeeded, she would experience a love overload if she didn't. He even ordered her to be ready, after she asked for orders in the first place.

Even still, she hadn't been ready for just how fast her stores would fill up, or just how fast she reached the tipping point. Even after sending a direct line of love to Gossamer and Cavemoss and Softspit and a dozen other Changelings who needed healing, she still had to double over and throw up raw love. Thankfully not on the stallion hugging her, just on the ground.

"Are you alright?" the stallion asked, unwrapping his neck and kneeling down to her new eye level.

The concern and care in his voice was almost as nourishing as love, and she threw up a bit more before directing love to all the nearby Changelings, even if they weren't hurting all that bad, and that was finally enough that she evened out, losing exactly as much as she was gaining.

"I'm alright," she said to the stallion. "Don't worry about it."

"It doesn't look okay," he said, giving the pink goop a very hesitant sniff.

"It's fine. Really. It's just energy." Then she thought of an idea. "I can clean it up. Watch." She put a hoof on the love, letting her access its power, then cast another anti-chaos spell, this one much larger than the last one. The love on the ground was lost, but the whole town stopped shaking and the broken buildings fixed themselves. "See?"

The stallion had been surprised at his own home being fixed before, but now he, and many other ponies, were staring at her in shock. She felt that need to run away again, but her orders kept her in place.

"What are you?" asked the stallion.

"Don't be rude," said his wife, who had successfully lulled her foal into slumber, and was now close enough to flick her husband's ear. "He meant to ask who you are, dear."

"I'm... um... n-noling special." Unfortunately, her orders didn't help with her shyness. She had to overcome that herself. "I'm Silk."

"How ever can we thank you?" asked the mare.

"Um... the hug was n-nice."

"Well, Silk, I think we all owe you the biggest hug we've ever given anypony. My little Sundew most of all."

The rest of the town, fortunately for her hive and unfortunately for her instincts, agreed. Not in words, but in actions.

"It's going surprisingly well," Riddle reported in response to Luna's question. "Better than I thought it would. I'm surprised noling has been lynched... no. Wait. One of them was just run out of town... a town suffering from monster problems." He sighed. "Well, nine out of ten is still a good success rate. Thorax, order him to try again while disguised. Maybe we can get to ten out of ten."

"Is 'lynch' a modern term for running somepony out of town?" Luna asked.

"Something like that," Riddle lied.

Luna sighed. She would let it slide, since it wasn't important, and there were more pressing matters. "Now will you help with Discord?"

His facial expression conveyed 'no', but he didn't say it outright, so maybe he was considering it? "Orchestrating a nationwide containment to all the chaos wasn't enough?"

"No."

"Will anything ever be enough?"

"Yes. Like you pointed out with Chrysalis, the problem will be solved once we deal with the source. Nothing short of stopping Discord will stop the chaos forever."

"The wards seem to be doing nicely."

Luna shook her head. "He can overcome those if he visits them personally, and there are still many unprotected settlements. And that is just within Equestria's borders. Their distance from Discord should keep them relatively safe, but other countries will begin suffering the long-term effects of chaos soon enough."

Her fool seemed to twitch, then held up a hoof. "Hold on... yes... okay." That would take some getting used to, Luna thought, though that was probably more true for him than her. "It seems the chaos has spontaneously stopped," he reported. "A Changeling near Ponyville saw a massive explosion of rainbows. I think the Elements of Harmony have done their jobs."

Luna didn't allow herself to fully relax. She would have to confirm it for herself. Still, she breathed a sigh of relief, took a step forward, then hesitated. Her initial instinct was to hug him to show her appreciation, but that instinct was marred by two things – his discomfort for hugs, and her recent understanding of his character.

Everything he did today – and it was not trivial by any stretch of the imagination; when it came to the realm of magical innovation, whole generations of ponies did not get half as much done in a century as he could do in an afternoon...

In any case, everything he did had been done for his secret motives, or because he wanted to preserve himself, not because he was a good pony. The moment she'd presented a means to combat the chaos, he'd exploited it for all it was worth and magnified it to a degree that Equestria had never seen before, but he only did that because he personally feared what chaos could do to him. As he poignantly pointed out, most of what she felt for him stemmed from his competence, not from his virtue. She needs to keep that in mind going forward.

"Thank you for helping," she said. He deserved at least that much.

He shrugged, then returned to examining his memories.

"And I... I apologize," she said honestly. "For earlier."

He looked up at her, raising an eyebrow. He did not ask her to be more specific, but she felt that was what his expression was conveying.

Luna chose her words carefully. She wanted this to be honest and meaningful, and that meant avoiding certain things and focusing on others. "I... do not wish to imagine what might have happened if you had gone to confront Discord at my first insistence," she explained. "It probably would not have resulted in the good that happened, for ponies and Changelings."

"Acting without a plan or a goal in mind has a tendency to do that," he said dryly. "It is precisely why I dislike stupid bravery."

She frowned at the roundabout insult. It wasn't incorrect, but... "It is a shame you did not manage to retain the Changeling empathy sense along with access to their hive mind," she sighed. "Perhaps you would at least hesitate to inflict unhappiness upon others if you had to share their stress."

She felt a wave of deception as he went back to examining a memory.

Her eyes widened as she realized. "Do you still have Changeling empathy?"

He rolled up the memory scroll and sighed. "Yes."

"Yes, yes, yes!" she cheered. She instantly dashed forward and hugged him, knowing he would demand something for it, but not caring at all. She couldn't have asked for a better outcome of the Changeling business. Now her fool would feel what others felt. He would hesitate to hurt the feelings of others, if she advised him, and he heeded her advice. "Good," she said, her neck still wrapped around his. "That will make your improvement go much more quickly."

"I suspected as much," he sighed again, not sounding happy. "You do realize-"

"Yes," she said, hugging him even tighter. "I owe you a favour. Now please, open your senses and try to enjoy it."

The untensing of his muscles, for the second time in two days, was a joy to feel again.

Rehabilitation, Part 6: Chaos

Unfortunately, his earlier attempt had not been a fluke. Whenever he thought of leaving Equestria, the will of the phoenix that burned inside his pony form grew too painful and nauseous for concentration. He could not attempt to teleport home from the Astral Plane, which also meant he didn't even know if it would work in the first place.

It was made even more frustrating by the fact that the phoenix had not objected to his earliest attempts at leaving via phoenix a few months ago. What is different between then and now? It's not like he knew his first attempts at phoenix teleportation wouldn't work. The inner-phoenix should have been just as loud then as it is now. It had screamed a bit, but not this much.

And the screaming had nothing to do with running from Discord, either, or ignoring the cries of the Changelings. Discord had been vanquished, and the Changelings were no longer crying.

Why shouldn't he be allowed to attempt another escape, just as he attempted to escape a few months ago? Did it have to do with his long meditations? Was the will of the phoenix able to align itself with his 'positive' desires like using these once-in-a-lifetime circumstances to their fullest? It was obviously able to reject some 'negative' ideas. Was his desire to cheat Dumbledore's test somehow more negative now than it had been a few months ago?

Riddle didn't know, and he had little time to work on this new phoenix problem by the time his employer came knocking once more, arriving at his Astral Plane without permission and requesting his assistance yet again. Despite only trying for less than a day, he decided he could use a break from the constant mental stress that came from confronting the inner-fire.

The job was to return Discord to the Canterlot Gardens, and the plan was to manually escort his statue all the way from Ponyville. When Riddle asked why they could not simply teleport the statue, he was informed that the statue could not be teleported. The best method, therefore, would be train travel.

Guards with reputations for remaining calm and emotionally stable under pressure were selected for deployment. Two of those guards, the ones who would be directly guarding the statue, were Changelings – a fact known to himself and his employer, but not to Celestia or anypony else. If the worst happened, it would help to have two additional Harmony-capable horns at the epicenter of the chaotic disaster.

The schedule he composed allowed for an hour of wiggle room between departure and arrival. Part of scheduling is to plan for unforeseen contingencies. So long as nothing unusual occurred, they would rigidly adhere to his itinerary. If chaos helped Discord to escape, Riddle reasoned, then chaos would be minimized. The easiest way to achieve this, he explained, was to maximize orderliness.

Riddle, his employer, his employer's sister, and the two (secretly Changeling) guards would accompany Discord's statue in the train and all the way to the garden. The Elements of Harmony would also be directly present for much of the trip. The other guards would fly along outside, or stay in other train cabins.

Riddle did not know how to feel about his task of providing security. On the one hoof, his advice was finally being heeded. On the other, it felt like busy work. Important busy work, especially from the perspective of the one who assigned it, but busy work nonetheless. In particular, he disliked that his ideas and reasoning were being seen as novel and intelligent when they should have been routine by now. His suggestions should not have required him to demand their implementation and explain their obvious justifications. And worse, not all of his advice was being heeded.

For instance, the Elements of Laughter and Loyalty were not in the next cabin over. Riddle did not trust those two to refrain from causing chaos for the duration of the trip, but Celestia did, and her word was final.

Other than that obvious mistake, Celestia's contribution to the set-up was two-fold. She first pointed out that, so soon after his re-entrapment, Discord would likely not be released for at least a few years, even if the most Chaotic events in the world happened right next to him. She then pointed out that they should still not be trying to speed things along.

She reminded everypony involved, especially Riddle, that arguing counts as 'anti-harmonious', and so for the duration of the trip, everypony should try to refrain from upsetting anypony else. She eyed him in particular. "Silence is mostly golden," she said. "Small talk is fine, but please do not bring up... emotionally trying topics. It is not a catastrophe if you do, but I would appreciate it if you didn't."

He did not reply. Everything that came to mind would have qualified as 'arguing' with her. He did not allow himself to become annoyed either, given the gravity of the situation.

Although he was tempted, since it apparently wasn't as grave as he'd thought, and Celestia was exploiting it for the sake of her own convenience.

Still, he sighed away his impulses and asked if the wedding had been rescheduled, which set off a series of self-contained conversations about wedding dresses (participants: Rarity and Pinkie), Princess 'Cadence' (participants: Twilight and Fluttershy), the recent Flight Week (participants: Rainbow and Applejack), and, once the wedding was exhausted as a topic of conversation, the anti-chaos ward took its place (participants: Riddle and the Princesses).

At one point, Celestia left the caboose to go to the bathroom a few cabins down. A few seconds later, Riddle realized he should have instructed everypony to take care of such business before departure, or he should have implemented the charm that put bodily waste functions on hold, because the moment Celestia was gone...

"Pssst," said a whisper that carried through the entire cabin, drawing everypony's attention. It had an echo to it, as if it was being produced by magic, not vocal cords. After everypony tried to ignore the voice, it repeated "PSSST" much louder. When that still didn't work, the voice decided to single somepony out. "Hey, Pinkie, my party pony, my balloon buddy, my peppy pal, can you do me a favor?"

"Sorry, but I'm not pals with meanies," said Pinkie.

"MEANIES?" Discord's echoey voice echoed indignantly. "I'm no-"

"Silencio," Riddle said. "You were saying?" he asked his employer, making it clear how you go about ignoring something.

"Good thinking," she complimented. "I was saying..." she trailed off, her gaze going to the politely raised hoof of a yellow pony.

"M-maybe we should hear what he wants," suggested Fluttershy.

"What he wants is freedom and chaos," his employer correctly deduced. "And engaging with him brings him closer to that goal," she wisely denied.

"B-but," stammered the Element of Kindness, i.e. Weakness and Stupidity, "but it's not nice to ignore somedraconequus."

"Be that as it may," said Luna, "it would be even less nice to the ponies of Equestria if he escaped again. We are sorry, Fluttershy, but this is how it must be."

The pink-maned pony looked sad at that. "But it must be so lonely in there," she said, gazing at the statue. "I can't imagine how he stood a thousand years of it. I wish he could have somepony to talk to."

Luna looked at the Element of Weakness for a long moment. "My fool," she said. "Please remove the silencing barrier."

He raised an eyebrow. "I do not think that is wise," he advised. "You don't either."

"I know," said Luna. "But of all the ponies in the world to talk to Discord, I believe Fluttershy would bring the least amount of chaos."

"Should we not wait to consult your sister?"

"Ah. Good point. Let us do that."

Celestia, when she returned, favoured her sister's reasoning over his.

"I register my opinion that I am against this," he said as he removed the silencing charm.

"I acknowledge that your advice is correct from a military perspective," Luna allowed as the Element of Stupidity began conversing with Discord. "Just as you have acknowledged that my advice about the fastest way to progress is likely correct, and yet you choose to do otherwise."

He frowned. "That is because it is too early to tell that you are truly heeding my own military council. Like now."

And also because he did not like the prospect of turning his empathy sense all the way up to maximum at all times, rather than dampening/ignoring it as much as possible. He was thankful she didn't know about the phoenix; she would predictably tell him to heed that as well, if she knew about it.

"We both know that is not the full truth," said Luna. "Your discomfort plays a factor." She held up a hoof that forestalled his reply. "We shall each get better about heeding each other's advisements in the future, I expect. It has only been a few days."

"We are going to get better by deliberately ignoring each other's advice?" he asked sarcastically.

"No," she sighed. "But we both have our limits. Yours is... distaste. Or annoyance. Mine is justice, and my sister's is goodness. From the standpoint of justice, I am not sure that Discord's punishment was commensurate with his crimes. A thousand years of isolation and loneliness is... not quite fitting for all that he has done. It was not right. Especially if he was conscious for it. Even you would like somepony to talk to after a thousand years. I know it might be difficult, but try to put yourself in the hooves of a being who has been confined to solitude."

"Not as difficult as you think," Riddle replied. "And I'm not sure that I would wish to talk to anyone. I would just want freedom. Every word I said to anyone on the outside would be to that end."

"True," said Celestia, who chose that moment to join in. "But Discord is a better Equinoid than you deep down. I believe his redemption will come sooner than yours."

Riddle's eyebrows rose.

"Tia," Luna scolded. "Do not say it like that."

"My, Lulu," Celestia chuckled. "Are you suddenly turning into me?" She brought a hoof to her chin. "Hmm... now what was it you used to say in reply..." Her voice changed slightly, as if in imitation. "'Everypony is getting angry at what we are saying, but nopony is saying that we are wrong.' Something like that, yes?"

Riddle gave a single huff of agreement. He could easily see the Element of Weakness constantly nagging the Element of Bluntness, and the Element of Bluntness replying in such a fashion.

Celestia turned to face Riddle. "I suspected that you of all ponies would appreciate my honest, unfiltered assessment, just as I suspected you would think my assessment correct. Were my suspicions wrong?"

"They weren't," he said. "I always prefer true hatred to false love. Thank you for being candid."

"You are welcome," Celestia said. "But know that I do not hate you. I immensely dislike you sometimes, but I have never hated you."

"What's the difference?" asked Riddle. "Severity?"

She shook her head. "The difference is the state of mind." She adopted a lecturing tone. "Most hateful ponies hate their enemies. But many ponies have enemies, and not all of those ponies experience the emotion of hate. They immensely dislike their enemies, but they do not hate them."

"I still don't see the difference," said Riddle.

"My own way of telling the difference," said Celestia, "is that I imagine myself hearing the news that the target of my ire has died. If my imagination produces positive emotions upon hearing the news, then I know that hatred is present. If I want another to die, then hatred is present. I would not feel positive emotion if I heard that you had died, nor do I want you to die. Therefore, I do not hate you."

"Logical," said Riddle. "Do you know, off the top of your head, how many times you have felt that way about another intelligent life form, or have you lost count?"

"Thrice," said Celestia. "Well, I've felt that way more than three times, but only towards a sum total of three separate beings."

"Three?" asked Luna.

Riddle nodded in understanding. "Did you ever act on your feelings?"

"No," said Celestia. "Not beyond imprisonment. And before you ask, yes. I could have done more. I was tempted to go further. But in the cases where I was given the opportunity, I never succumbed to my base impulses."

"Did you ever not get the opportunity?" asked Riddle.

"For one of the three," said Celestia.

"Sister, who is the third?" asked Luna. "I believe I can guess two of them, but..."

"I am afraid I cannot say," said Celestia calmly, with closed eyes that could not be read. "I can only say that he would have tempted me more than the other two did." She opened her eyes again, meeting Riddle's. "Now it is my turn to inquire. Towards how many ponies have you felt hatred?"

"I wasn't keeping track," said Riddle. Off the top of his head, there was Blueblood, the pink moron, his wayward student (possibly), former professor Cast Steel, Wonderbolt Captain Spitfire... although that last one wasn't quite hatred. Using Celestia's metric, he'd be largely indifferent if he heard she died. Most of his hatred has been used up by this point. Even the positive emotions he felt after dealing with pests were mostly catharsis and relief, not elation. Fierce hatred is much rarer for him than it used to be. Annoyance is much more common.

It tends to come out when someone was being an active thorn in his side, like the pink one has proven capable of being at all times and in all places. There were exceptions of course, like in cases of betrayal, where he can still feel strong hatred. In his life, he had felt that emotion most strongly with Professor Dumbledore and Mr. Potter. That's why his feelings towards Mr. Potter had already reached the stage of resentment. Well, resentment with an asterisk. He still did not know if it had actually been betrayal.

Resentment, he believes, is the same as hatred, except it only manifests in situations where you are impotent in the face of the problem, causing you to think about what you would do if you could. Causing you to 'brood', as his employer would put it.

"Have you acted on that hatred?" asked Celestia.

Thankfully, she had initially asked about his hatred towards ponies in particular, and this phrasing maintained that line of questioning. Therefore he could truthfully say...

"Not beyond legal means, no." But even as he said it, he remembered... actually, no. Legilimency isn't against the law, is it? You can't outlaw what you don't know about.

"Lie by omission," said Luna automatically. "And he's leaving something else out as well."

"So," said Celestia, "what legal but immoral things have you done to ponies you hated?"

He shrugged. "Look no further than Blueblood for your answer. I utterly ruined him, though from my perspective, it was not the immoral thing to do."

"You are still lying by omission," said Luna.

"I am," he said. "But I'm not going to list out every last action I took against every pony I ever hated. When it comes to Blueblood, the only thing you don't already know about is how I discovered his little tryst, and I prefer to keep that to myself. A good magician keeps some tricks up his sleeve, after all."

He enjoyed the look of frustration on Celestia's face. Yes, he is omitting the full truth. No, she won't be hearing it.

His employer was already resigned to that reality, and knew better than to pry by now. "Was that the last time you hated?" she asked. "Or has there been anything more recent?"

"The most recent incident is complicated," he said, deliberately vague in his choice of words. "My hatred has been tempered because I know my hatred might be undue. And since I can't act on it anyway, it's already reached the point of possibly undue resentment."

"Emotions do not work like that," said Luna, to which her sister nodded.

"But conscious thought does work like that," countered Riddle. "You could say that my emotions have jumped to a certain conclusion, and my thoughts have reigned them in. My hatred will be let loose if it turns out to be justified. If not, it will be put to rest. I live in one of two possible worlds. One world warrants hatred, the other does not, and I do not know which world I live in. I know that I do not know, and my emotions are having trouble with that. All things considered, I prefer logic over impulse, so it's probably a good thing that my emotions can't make up their mind."

"Have you thought of not hating in the first place?" asked one of the (Changeling) guards, who apparently didn't know that guards don't speak unless spoken to.

"Good question," said Riddle sarcastically. He turned to Celestia. "Have you ever thought of not hating in the first place, your majesty?"

The Day Princess gave a severe look to the guard, who visibly cringed. "Emotions are not so easily controlled, Sterling. The only thing that can help with hatred is understanding." She turned back to face Riddle. " That, I think, is what will be the best path for you. It is the hardest thing in the world to hate somepony you understand so deeply that you know you could have been just like them if things had gone differently."

"Unless they betray you," said Riddle.

"Unless that," sighed Celestia in agreement. "Let us stop beating around the bush. You are feeling possible resentment towards Silver, yes?"

Riddle did not allow himself to be surprised. He had acknowledged she might figure it out when he was weighing the risks of this conversational topic.

Silver being the source of his 'potential' resentment was obvious enough from the way the conversation had gone. Though it was also the case that Celestia catching on so fast counted as... he'd call it weak evidence that she knew his betrayal was deliberate.

"Correct," Riddle replied.

"What?" asked his employer, sounding surprised. "Why?"

"He feels left behind," said Celestia. "And he thinks Silver might have done it on purpose."

"Correct again," said Riddle. "Though I do not feel left behind. I was left behind. And as you say, I think it might have been intentional." He carefully examined her minute facial expressions. "Was it intentional?"

"I do not know," said Celestia.

"What do you suspect?" Riddle pressed. "Which do you think is more likely, accident or deliberation?"

"I think they are equally likely," said Celestia. "I truly do not know which. And if I did know, I would not be allowed to tell you."

Riddle rolled his eyes. "I do not need you to tell me much of anything, you know. I know Mr. Silver and his friend were watching some memories before the phoenix took them. I know you were there. I know Mr. Silver swore you to secrecy about their contents. I suspect the memories involved the Patronus Cham, and possibly a certain prison."

Ah. She flinched ever so slightly at that. He did not allow himself to read the minds of Alicorns with Legilimency, but he did allow himself to read their expressions, and he had been reading hers carefully. So his guess was probably right.

"The only thing I do not know is if he deliberately set out with the intention of leaving. I do not know if he manipulated Ms. Memory into calling for a phoenix's aid, or if it happened by accident."

He let that hang in the air.

"You mean Silver might have been trying to leave?" asked Twilight Sparkle in the seat behind them. "Oh! That reminds me!" Riddle turned to look at the Element of Magic as she stood from her seat and walked over to a place that she shouldn't be walking. "Fluttershy, can I talk to Discord for one minute?"

"Um... sure," said the Element of Kindness.

"Twilight," said Celestia. Not sternly. Not as an order. Just the name.

"I know, Princess," said Twilight. "I'll be careful. But I have to ask." She turned to face the statue. "Discord, can Chaos magic affect Time and Space?"

"Time and Space?" asked the being of Chaos. "Yuck. Never touch the stuff, except to mess with it. Too orderly. And what does an innocent, harmonious young mare like you want with big, bad concepts like those anyway?"

"So Chaos magic can affect Time and Space?" Twilight asked, not allowing herself to be distracted, even as she got a little excited. This would be her first lead after months of searching. Starswirl's scrolls, which she'd been requesting from Celestia's private library, hadn't been getting her anywhere useful. She wasn't interested in Time loops. "Can chaos magic reach through Time and Space?"

"Sure it can," said Discord. "A big dinosaur here, a UFO there, bing bang boom, you got a chaotic cage match. It's never a fair fight, though. The future always wins, unless I rig the game or micromanage the fighters, but that's even worse." He made a sigh of exaggerated sadness. "Too predictable. It's a real shame, too."

"What about reaching other universes?" asked Twilight.

"Other UNIVERSES?" Discord echoed. "How can you be so sure there's more than one, little mare? What's the matter with this one? Getting too big for it? Maybe stop eating so many cupcakes."

Twilight wasn't bothered in the slightest by the insults, or the sidetracks. She was laser-focused on her goal. "Yes, I'm sure," she said. "There's at least one more universe out there."

"Two," corrected Princess Celestia.

"There's at least two more out there," said Twilight. "Have you ever used Chaos magic to reach a different realm entirely?"

"Other than the Realm of Chaos," he said dramatically, "no. Then again, I haven't ever wanted to go anywhere else. Got somewhere specific in mind? Want me to give it the old college try? All you need to do is let me out of this stuffy stone-"

"Don't even think about it, Twi," said Rainbow Dash. "That dude doesn't have any loyalty in him. He'll double-cross you the second he's out."

"NO Loyalty?" Discord huffed. "I shall have you know that I am UTTERLY loyal to the cause of chaos! I've never not been loyal a single square on my calendar."

Pinkie began giggling on the other side of the room.

"Rrr..." mumbled Rainbow. "I guess."

"And I suppose you shall say you have been generous as well?" asked that Element's current owner.

"Why of course I have! Just look at all that wonderful chaos I shared with the world! You don't think that was easy, do you?"

"Um..." said Fluttershy quietly. "But not all of it was nice. Maybe it would have been just a little more generous if your chaos wasn't mean? Living things love chaos during playtime, but they don't love monsters."

"My dear, as a being of Chaos, I'm being as nice as I CAN be."

"He is bein' honest," agreed Applejack. "Not sure if it's smart to let him out, though. What happens after the college try?"

"Oh, you know," said Discord. "The unusual."

Pinkie began giggling harder.

"Uh-huh," said Applejack flatly. "Thought so. Least yer honest about it."

"I like him!" said Pinkie. "He's so funny. So long as he's not being a meanie."

"A meanie? Moi? How dare thee! How was I the meanie?"

"You made me not laugh, and you made Rainbow not loyal, and you made Rarity selfish, and you made Fluttershy mean, and you made Applejack lie. You tried to ruin our friendship." She began booping his statue's nose. "You. Are. A. Meanie. Sometimes."

"Well, can you really blame me?" said Discord. "You're the elements of Harmony, out to stop the big bad chaos creature. Besides, YOU don't know what it's like to be trapped for a thousand years by stuffy princesses using some stupid glowing rocks who put you in a stupid boring garden with nopony around to hear my jokes and nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs and think about all the things I'll do when I get out and all the ways the Elements would trap me again and all the ways I could stop them from stopping me and all the ways they'd stop me from stopping them from stopping me and- and-" The run-on sentence came to an abrupt end. After a brief silence, the life and emotion had left his voice. "Oh, forget it. I'm throwing in the towel. Tell your great-times-thirty-eight grandfoals that they'll rue the day when yadda yadda yadda."

There was a massive yawning noise, then snoring, then silence.

That was when Twilight heard sniffling noises, which Discord's voice had drowned out. She looked down to the base of the statue to see Fluttershy doing her best to hug him, although it kind-of just looked like she was just leaning on the statue.

"What are you crying for, Kindness?" asked Discord. "You're not trapped in stone."

"But you are," said Fluttershy.

"Yeah, well, I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't be," said Fluttershy. "Nopony should ever have to be used to that."

"Tell that to every prisoner everywhere," said Discord.

"But why do you have to be a prisoner?" asked Fluttershy. "Why couldn't you just be a better pony?"

"What difference would that make?" asked Discord.

"We wouldn't have stopped you if you were," said Twilight.

"Oh, sure you would have. Good, bad, right, wrong, it doesn't matter. Chaos is as chaos does. How it hits and when and where and who is out of my paws."

"Chaos is as chaos does," repeated Twilight, "but Chaos magic is as you do. You didn't have to turn the whole world upside-down."

"You'd be surprised, little Harmony mare," said Discord. "You don't know a thing about my magic. Nopony on Equus does, except me. Nopony can use it but me. If I don't use it all the time, I swell to bursting. If you think yesterday turned everything upside-down, you should have seen that one time I did try to stop for good."

"But what about the thousand years you were trapped?" asked Twilight. "You didn't swell to bursting then."

"I certainly DID," said Discord. "It simply took much longer than usual. Your little glow rocks can slow down my magic a bajillion fold, but they can't stop it entirely."

"Hmm..." said Riddle Tome from the other side of the cabin. "You cannot go to what you called the Realm of Chaos to release the pressure build-up?"

"That would just make me build up FASTER."

"I see," said Riddle. "That is unfortunate. In that case, have you tried sacrifice? Are you unable to sacrifice some of your magic so that the build-up is easier to handle? Or perhaps you are unwilling. Or has that idea simply never occurred to you?"

"Never thought of it," said Discord.

"And now that you have?"

"Hmm..." said Discord, "I guess I could try a bit of permanent sacrifice, but the Chaos magic has to go somewhere, and then it's a choice between me and some-equus else. You really wanna see what it's like for a newbie to handle Chaos magic?"

"What if it were you and everyequuselse?" asked Twilight.

"Everyequus?" asked Princess Celestia, Princess Luna, and Riddle at the same time.

Twilight began pacing. "If he gave up enough chaos magic to give every creature on Equus chaos magic," Twilight theorized, "but they each only got a little spark, not a whole lot, maybe that would stop him from swelling all the time. And then we would be able to understand where he's coming from, too. And if it's just a spark, it shouldn't be harmful to us either, and it shouldn't go out of control."

"Or it could go wrong in a million unpredictable ways," said Riddle. "Don't be so confident in untested theories, Miss Sparkle. Especially ones that could prove so disastrous that they destroy the world. Or at least the lives living upon it."

"I am afraid," said Princess Celestia, "that I must agree with him. Twilight, such an idea would threaten the world if it went wrong. It is a brilliant thought, but you must learn to temper your eagerness."

Twilight was heavily embarrassed, but she didn't back down. "Well, what if he did it for one pony to start out? If it works, then he can do it for more."

"A small-scale experiment does not always reflect worldwide results," said Riddle. "How a pony uses chaos magic will likely be vastly different from how a Griffon uses it, or a Dragon."

"Well, what if he gives more than a spark to just a few ponies then?" asked Twilight. "Good ponies who we know can handle it. Like Pinkie."

"That sounds like a terrible idea," said Riddle Tome.

"You're just saying that because you don't like her," Twilight pointed out.

"He is," Princess Celestia agreed, "but I am afraid I must second his advisement. I also do not think giving Pinkie access to Chaos magic would be wise."

"Well," said Twilight thoughtfully, "if it doesn't work he could always take it back, right?"

"Hey, hey, hey," said Discord, "Doesn't the draconequus get a say? My magic isn't a slab of meat to be chopped up and served on a platter."

Twilight, along with almost everypony else in the room, scrunched up their noses in instinctual disgust at the analogy.

"And even if I did go along with it, I don't think Chaos would ever let me take my magic back. No take-backsies is a big part of my power, you know. Why do you think the opposite of chaos is always putting things back the way they were?"

"Well, what are your ideas?" asked Twilight. "Fluttershy's right. You shouldn't have to be trapped in there. Especially if it's for things you... can't exactly control. But we can't let you out until we think of something to fix your problem."

"Sorry," sang Discord. "No-can-help." Then, in a voice that sounded like a hippie, "Chaos just wants to be free, ma'am. Like, all-natural, no chains, just like mother Equus intended." Back in his normal voice, "Chaos would like the idea of spreading to every life on the planet, though. Maybe then the pressure wouldn't always build up through me."

Riddle snorted. "I highly doubt that you are the Chaotic equivalent to a single seer bearing sole responsibility for all of Time's pressure. There is no guarantee that disseminating your Chaos would even lessen your problem in the first place. It might simply spread the problem to others, like a disease."

"Ouch," said Discord. "Not cool, fool. Chaos isn't a disease. You're right to doubt, though. Who knows what will happen? Chaos is as chaos does. Trying to predict it is like trying to predict a dice roll. And trying to manage it never works out either."

"You'd be surprised," said Riddle. "I know someone who has done quite well at managing chaos. In his own words, imposition of order equals escalation of chaos, and it also works in reverse. He once encouraged chaos to better manage those who were causing it, and he succeeded. I myself am decent at manipulating the chaos of a battlefield. It might not be micro-manageable, but it can certainly be macro-managed."

"Yeah, but Chaos doesn't like it."

"Really?" asked Riddle. "Isn't macro-management of Chaos what you do whenever you are free?"

"No. What I DO is I snap my fingers, something chaotic happens, then I go do something else. No management at all. If I don't snap my fingers enough, or for big enough effects, I start feeling bloated."

"It truly does sound like an issue of too much magic in one being," said Princess Celestia. "Why did you never tell us before? We would have tried to help."

"Or you would have tried to get revenge for all the ponies that Chaos has hurt over the years. In this chaotic world, the only thing you can trust is yourself."

Fluttershy pressed herself further against his statue. "That's not true."

"The Element of Kindness is correct," said Riddle, to Twilight's surprise. "Many beings should not even trust themselves."

"HAH!" laughed Discord, while everypony else was frowning. "Good one."

"Couldn't you just snap your fingers for good causes all the time?" asked Twilight, ignoring Riddle's unhelpful contribution. "Instead of a mixed bag?"

"Of course not! If you got three buttons, good, fun, and ugly, and you always press the evil button, it wouldn't be very chaotically random to press the smart button all the time now would it? Same with pulling the 'virtuous' lever. If the magic is predictable by anypony other than the caster, it's not chaos. And even the caster can't think all that hard about what will happen. You get an idea, snap your fingers, and poof! Out comes the chaos."

Twilight absorbed the new constraint. If Chaos fundamentally couldn't be good all the time, they'd have to go with Riddle's original idea of spreading it out to hopefully make it less concentrated, but Celestia said that was too dangerous. She tried to think of a different way to make Discord not have to snap his fingers all the time, trying to think of a different place he could sink his magic, if not ponies... wait, that could work.

"Well then what about instead of putting it into ponies, you put the chaos some place instead? Like... like Chaos town or something. That way it's not hurting anypony who doesn't want to stay there. And ponies who want a bit of chaos can have a place to go."

"That's your best idea yet," said Discord. "But I don't think Chaos would like it. Staying in one place all the time is too boring. Plus, Chaos likes attention, and you ponies hate Chaos outside of small doses. Too DANGEROUS," he said in a mocking voice, as if he thought chaos wasn't dangerous. "Too SCARY. Too MEAN. Too blah blah blah. Nopony would come to Chaos Town," he said sadly. "Or, not enough to satisfy Chaos, anyway."

Princess Celestia was the one to respond to this. "Chaos is not dangerous to you, Discord, but it is to others. You should know that by now. And that is precisely why ponies believe it is scary and mean. If Chaos town was safe, and fun, ponies would certainly visit."

"SAFE isn't CHAOS, my dear," said Discord. "Think of it like a chef's knife. It'll always be dangerous, but only if you don't know how to deal with it. It's only 'safe' for me because of all my practice, and most ponies don't have practice. Not much I can do about that other than give them some practice."

"What if Chaos Town was not meant to be safe?" asked Riddle. "What if it was Chaos Mock-Battlefield instead?"

Ponies turned to stare at him.

"What?" asked Twilight.

"I want to reform Equestria's guards to be less pathetic," said Riddle. "And I cannot imagine how to do that without giving them battlefield experience. Since true battlefields are chaotic and unpredictable, this would be a solution to both problems."

"The guard is not pathetic," said Princess Celestia.

Riddle rolled his eyes. "The invasion of Canterlot speaks for itself, no?"

"A fluke," said Princess Celestia. "Chrysalis relied on deception."

"All warfare relies on deception," said Riddle, seeming to get frustrated. "You had the disguise removal spell available to you. You had it used in key locations. What I do not understand is why its use was not standard practice across the military."

"That would have been too much red tape and effort to guard against what we thought was merely a myth."

"And now that it is not a myth anymore, will it finally become standard practice?"

The guards in the cabin shifted uncomfortably.

"Maybe," said Princess Celestia, frowning at him.

"The correct military answer based on your current knowledge is 'yes'," said Riddle.

"You do not get to make that decision," said Princess Celestia. "I repeat that it would be a lot of work for questionable benefit, now that the plot of the Changelings has been foiled."

Riddle's expression grew even more negative. He turned to face the guards. "Monarch. Viridia. If you would?"

The two guards shifted even more uncomfortably. They have unusual names, Twilight thought.

Princess Celestia's eyes widened, and she turned to face her guards. "No..." she said.

"Please," one of them whispered, not even looking at anypony in particular. "Don't make us."

"Thorax," said Riddle, though Twilight didn't know who he was addressing, "if you would make it an order?"

The two guards, looking pained, went up in a flash of green fire. In their place stood two Changelings, still wearing Day Guard armor. The 'uniform appearance' enchantment had a strange effect on their skin, making them white instead of black, but they were still obviously Changelings.

One of them broke down crying, which stopped Twilight from going on the offensive. It seemed to stop her mentor too.

The one who wasn't crying was looking angrily at Riddle. "Ten years," it hissed in a male voice. That was the only way Twilight could tell the gender. "Ten years of undercover work. Gone. Like that. In one day. Those were original disguises. Way more valuable than one-off mimicry. Thanks, dude."

"Thorax would have revealed you two soon enough," Riddle said without an ounce of remorse. "It makes little difference that it happened now rather than later. "

"You don't know he would!" shouted the male.

"I do know he would," Riddle replied. "Your new King's policy of honest cooperation with Equestria cannot be implemented in two days, but it can be done in a year. I was honestly surprised he let you keep pretending."

"What were we supposed to do?" asked the crying one in a female voice. "Nopony trusts a Changeling."

"I would have," said Princess Luna. "And our sister would have trusted you too, if the news had reached her in time." She stood and walked over to the crying Changeling. "It will be all right. Thou need not be afraid." she said, wrapping her neck around the creature. "Not anymore."

The creature threw up pink juices, which fell into a bucket that Princess Luna seemed to conjure instantly. Twilight would have admired her quick reflexes if she hadn't been so distracted by... by everything.

"What..." said Twilight, "what is going on?"

"Shhh," whispered Pinkie. "This is the good part."

Twilight turned to see that Pinkie, Applejack, and Rainbow were all eating from a bowl of popcorn. Rarity was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief held in her magic.

"Encore, encore!" said the voice of Discord, accompanied by clapping sounds.

"Sister..." said Princess Celestia. Her attention seemed to be split in multiple directions, like Twilight's, but she focused it. "Luna, did you know these two were Changelings?"

"Of course," said Princess Luna. "That is why I requested them specifically."

Riddle audible coughed.

"That is, my fool made the request," Luna corrected herself, "and I agreed."

"Why?" asked Princess Celestia.

Luna opened her mouth to reply-

"Because they know the chaos ward," said Riddle. "Unlike a single 'true' member of the guard. And they can cast it rather strongly by themselves." He narrowed his eyes at Princess Celestia. "I understand that pony guards could handle chaos once upon a time, though they needed groups. Now that we are back on topic of the modern guard's patheticness, why exactly was the entire country relying on six mares from Ponyville to save it? Twice in one day, no less. No offense to the six of you," he said to the Elements, "but I imagine you would have appreciated help from the guard when you were being chased."

"I certainly would have," said Rarity.

"Totally," said Rainbow.

"Yup," said Applejack.

Twilight didn't speak. If she did, it would have been like siding with Riddle over her mentor, which is why she didn't speak. She would have liked help in that one particular moment.

"Don't talk to the audience!" said Pinkie, taking another big bite of popcorn.

"And I imagine you," said Riddle, turning back to the Princess, "will be gratified to know that many ponies across Equestria were saved from the chaos of Discord, even though it was Changelings who did the saving, rather than your guards."

"What a chaotic twist!" said Discord. He made more clapping sounds. "LOVE the irony!"

"Is that true?" Princess Celestia asked her sister. Then, turning to face the female Changeling, "You know the Chaos ward?" she asked gently.

The sniffling creature nodded. "Yes, your majesty."

"Hey," said the male one. "It's 'Yes, Celestia.' When we're not disguised, she's not our princess, remember?"

"She's better than Chrysalis was," mumbled the female.

"Yeah, well, she's not our Queen anymore either."

"Even still," said Princess Luna, "thou have been members of the guard for ten years. If thou wish to keep thy jobs, thou will have to address our majesties respectfully."

"Keep our jobs?" asked the male. "We can't do that. We're Changelings. We can't be guards anymore."

"Why not?" asked Princess Luna. "Dost thou intend to quit?"

"No, but-" began the creature. Then it stopped short for a bit. "But- I mean- It's just- we can't be guards. Obviously. Nopony wants to be guarded by a Changeling."

"Sister?" asked Princess Luna. "I believe it is up to you. And Mr. Armor, if he were here, but he is not. They do not wish to quit the force, and I do not believe they have made any fire-able offenses, have they?"

"Hmm..." said Princess Celestia, suddenly looking thoughtful. "No, I don't believe they have."

"Pretty sure treason counts as fire-able," said the male. "And fraud."

"Thou hast defrauded nopony in particular," said Princess Luna, "since thy disguises were original. And thou had no choice in thy roles as spies and invaders. Thy wills had been subjugated by Chrysalis. As her unwilling pawns, thou art not to blame. Unless thou enjoyed the invasion?"

"Of course not!" said the female.

"Then there thee have it," Princess Luna declared. "Resume thy posts."

"But..." said the male.

"Sister?" asked Princess Luna. "They seem to be ignoring the orders of a commanding officer."

"They do indeed," said Princess Celestia with a smile. "Resume your posts, or I will ask Shining to devise a stricter training regiment, just for the two of you."

"Yes, ma'am," they said, snapping to attention and flashing back into the forms they had been wearing earlier.

"Without your disguises, please," said Princess Celestia.

The two looked nervous at that, but then reverted into Changelings.

"Hooray!" shouted Pinkie, clopping her hooves together.

"Good show," said Discord. There was a fbbb noise, as if he'd blown into a tissue. "Very touching."

"I'm surprised you think that way, Discord," said Riddle from across the room. "You didn't seem to me like a being who would care."

"Well, of COURSE I do," said Discord. "Everyequus likes a good ending, and with all those twists and turns, I didn't know HOW it was going to turn out."

"You don't seem to mind the bad endings that came from your chaos," said Riddle.

"Of course I MIND them," Discord said. "But again, there's not much I can do about it. I'd go crazy if I blamed myself or every little bad thing that my chaos magic ever did, just like I'd go egomaniac if I congratulated myself for every GOOD thing. I just learn from my mistakes go with the flow."

"Going with the flow seems like a harmonious attitude to have towards chaos," said Riddle, "not a chaotic one."

"Maybe it's both," said Discord. "Being chaotic ALL the time is ALSO anti-chaos, you know. Gotta throw SOME harmony in there from time to time, just to spice things up."

"Hm," said Riddle. "I suppose so. In a room full of chaotically-attired creatures, a single instance of primness and propriety would stand out the most."

"Exactly!" said Discord.

"But isn't it a contradiction," Riddle asked, "to live in Harmony with Chaos?"

"Sure is," said Discord cheerfully. "I love contradictions! Aren't they just SO chaotic?"

"So..." said Twilight, finally joining the conversation again, "so you wouldn't mind if we tried my idea? You wouldn't mind if ponies tried to live in Harmony with a place dedicated to Chaos magic? Chaos itself wouldn't mind?"

"Nope," said Discord. "Sounds like a hoot."

"Twilight..." said Princess Celestia. "I am still not sure this is wise. It could prove disastrous."

"That's the chaotic point, sunbutt," said Discord. "Could be a disaster. Could be a miracle. Who knows? Just go with the flow."

"It'll probably be somewhere in the middle," said Riddle. "Or a mix of both."

"Spoilsport," said Discord. "Probabilities are SO mood-ruining. You never know how a coin flip will turn out – a perfect microcosm of chaos. Then a probabilitist-" he spat the not-word as if it were a horrible insult "-comes in and tells you it'll be about half-and-half if you flip a million coins. LAME."

"But true," said Riddle.

"That's why it STINKS," said Discord.

"It's either that, or rigging the system to not be random," said Riddle. "Or micromanaging everything, like Harmony would. Take your pick."

"I'll rig the systems of Chaos Town TO be random, thank you very much."

"Then you shall have to live with observable trends and predictability," Riddle stated.

"Not if I do it WELL enough."

"I am still worried about the safety issue," said Princess Celestia. "Chaos Town has the potential to be very dangerous."

"Would you be able to make the place semi-living?" Riddle asked Discord. "Give it something of a will, a strong desire to not allow any living creatures within or near its influence to die as a result of its presence or chaos. Have it prioritize sapient life over non-sapient life. And if it's born of Chaos magic, it should not be difficult to instill a desire to make things surprising... and amusing... and perhaps challenging as well, relative to its visitors. It should be a difficult battlefield."

"Where do you get these ideas?" asked Luna.

"Inspiration, iteration, and innovation," he answered.

"Give it a good heart, too," Twilight added to the Court Scholar's amazing suggestion.

"I could probably make it all of those things," said Discord, "EXCEPT a dedicated battlefield. Chaos would get bored, seeing the same thing over and over again. If one day it's a warzone, then the next day it would probably want to be a peace zone, just for the heck of it. And a good heart would be difficult. Again, all good and no bad makes Chaos unhappy. Maybe a good mind, how 'bout that? When it's in a bad mood, it'll do bad things for good reasons."

"If it's the best you can do," Twilight sighed, "I'll take it."

"Avoid giving it true sapience," said Riddle. "Or the ability to learn faster than a pony. Or the potential to split its awareness into separate parts."

"Course not," said Discord. "I'm not STUPID. But all this is gonna require a LOT of processing power. Chaos magic alone isn't gonna cut it, unless I sacrifice my WHOLE self to make it, and no thanks to THAT."

"Can you have Chaos Town borrow a small amount of mental power from each of its inhabitants?" asked Riddle. "That would allow it to grow in complexity as more ponies visit at a time."

"Good thought," said Discord. "Moony's right, where do you GET these ideas?"

"Elsewhere," said Riddle, and nothing more.

"He comes from a different universe," said Twilight. "One that has more advanced magic than ours."

All the beings in the room except Princess Celestia, Princess Luna, Riddle himself, and one other pony gasped at that.

"He what now?" said Applejack.

"Well-deduced, Ms. Sparkle," Riddle complimented.

"What?" asked the male Changeling guard. "We have an alien in our hive mind?"

"Cool!" said Rainbow.

"Exotic," said Rarity.

"It all makes sense now," said Discord. "Nice delivery too, Missy Magic. Wasn't expecting that at all."

Twilight stood proud. She had figured it out not long after Princess Celestia told her that Silver had returned to his home universe. That meant he was born to a different one. It didn't take much longer to realized that Riddle probably came from there too, wherever 'there' is.

"What, you didn't know?" asked Pinkie.

Faces turned to look at her.

"Pinkie," said Twilight with a false air of patience. "How long have you known?"

"Um... since the beginning?" she asked. "Wasn't it obvious? He acts waaaaaaay different from anypony else." She stretched her hooves out wider than they should have had been able to go for emphasis. "The only thing that made sense was," she brought her hoofs back in front of her chest and made a weird gesture and a strange smile as she said, "aliens. No real pony is that mean."

"I can think of a few," said Princess Celestia. "But we are getting sidetracked. Now that everypony knows why our dear royal fool is so foolish and clever at the same time, we can get back on topic. Discord, do you think building Chaos Town would fix your problem?"

"No clue," said Discord. "Chaotic, isn't it? It would probably help. Yeugh. Probabilities."

Riddle asked the next question. "Are you truly willing to sacrifice your magic to make it?"

"Sure," said Discord. "I've got too much as it is. Can't remember the last time I felt drained. Whenever I'm free, it's always bloat, snap, bloat, snap, bloat, snap. Never three-fourths of a minute to relax, let alone a penny of a day."

"Where would ya even put Chaos town?" asked Applejack.

"Why, everywhere and nowhere, of course," said Discord. "If I give it a mind of its own, it's going to move around like a wandering circus. No getting around that desire. Chaos is all about freedom and change, and that means movement."

"A floating city like Cloudsdale?" asked Riddle.

"More like a floating city one day, a swimming stadium the next, a clawed tentacle monster that eats ponies and keeps 'em in its belly for a week. Whatever fits its jibe."

"It does have to be a place ponies want to go," said Twilight.

"No, it has to be a place beings want to go," Discord corrected her. "Most of the time, anyway. I'm sure it'll get shy a few days or weeks each year. But it could be ponies, griffons, dragons, whatever. Just so long as someone is enjoying the chaos, it'll be happy. If you're worried about the monster thing, clawed tentacle monsters get so BORING after the thirty-fourth time. Best reserved for special occasions. Chances are it'll just teleport when nopony's looking, like me. Or maybe when ponies are looking, just to spice it up."

"We really doin' this?" asked Rainbow. "I repeat, Discord is not loyal. He could flip on a dime if we let him out."

"And I repeat, my dear, that I am very loyal to the cause of Chaos. This is just SUCH a wonderfully chaotic idea, I couldn't stop myself from doing it even if I tried. Let me out and I'll snap it up for ya in a jiffy."

"He's bein' honest," said Applejack. "I still want to know where you'll make it, though. Don't want Chaos town bein' made on my farm or some such, and I reckon a lotta ponies would feel the same."

"The badlands," Riddle suggested, referring to the barren patch of desert and crags in the south of Equestria. "Chaos should enjoy spicing up that bland-"

"Are you NUTS?!" Discord practically screamed. "No. No way. Not for my baby. He'll spice up the badlands when she's good and ready, thank you very much. It needs to be born around chaos, not blandness. We want them to be a happy child."

"So... the Everfree forest?" asked Twilight.

"MUCH better," said Discord.

"Don't forget Zecora," said Rarity.

"Oh, right," said Twilight.

"How long do you think it will take to grow to the point where it gets bored of the Everfree?" asked Riddle.

"Couple-a years, maybe?" said Discord.

"Then put it on the edge of the forest nearest Canterlot," said Riddle. "I would like it to be convenient for the guard to access for the next few months."

"I was thinking dead-center," said Discord.

"If you put it dead-center, how would anypony be able to visit and enjoy the chaos?" asked Riddle. "Plus, isn't dead-centre a bit predictable?"

"Hmm... good point. SOooooo..." he said slowly. "When are we doing this?"

Twilight, Princess Celestia, Princess Luna, and Riddle all looked at each other.

"Sooner rather than later would be best for the guard," said Riddle.

"I concur," said Luna.

"And sooner would be best for him," said Fluttershy, placing a hoof on Discord's stone-frozen paw.

"It would," said Twilight Sparkle.

Everypony looked to Princess Celestia, who was looking reluctantly back.

"I am still hesitant to agree... but for goodness's sake, I shall. On two conditions." She locked gazes with Discord's frozen stone eyes. "Discord, when you are free, If anypony gets seriously hurt from your antics, physically, emotionally, or financially, even if it was unintentional, I reserve the right to revert you to stone."

"Fine, fine, sure. I'll avoid area-effect and pony-effect chaos. If I can."

"And second," said Princess Celestia, "I want you to spend at least one hour each day with Fluttershy. If you do not agree to that condition, I will not agree to release you."

"Consistent schedules aren't chaotic at all," Discord whined.

Riddle's voice interjected. "Then have it be at least a total of three hundred and sixty-five hours each year. Some days you can avoid her completely, others you can spend multiple hours meeting the terms of your parole."

"MUCH better," said Discord.

Princess Celestia frowned. "I do not want him avoiding her completely for half the year, then making up for it with two-hour days."

"Oh, I'd never do THAT," said Discord. "That work-around is WAY too predictable."

"But ya will visit Fluttershy like the Princess wants?" Applejack questioned. "Ya won't work around it some other way, like corruptin' her? Ya won't try to hurt her, or hurt her feelings?"

"Yes, and nope-itty nope-itty no," said Discord. "Cross my fart and hope to pie."

"Uh..." said Applejack.

"If he answered your questions sequentially," said Riddle, "then he gave the answers you wanted to hear."

"Sure did," said Discord. "And honestly, too, just like I've been the rest of this dodecolouge. Ain't that a kick in my fang? Bad Discord. No pressing the honesty button all the time. What am I coming to? I'm gonna have to maybe lie a bunch or at least a little to make up for it."

"Shouldn't we ask Fluttershy if she's okay with it?" asked Rainbow.

"Oh," Fluttershy cringed when everypony's attention turned to her. "I don't mind," she said quietly.

"Then it's settled," said Twilight. "Should we let him out now?"

"On a moving train?" asked Riddle. "One that is currently circling the side of a mountain, with a long drop below us? Should we not wait for a better time to foster enough chaos to free him?"

"The Elements should be able to do it non-chaotically," said Princess Celestia.

"Stick in the mud," said Discord.

"You know as well as I that a chaotic release will take years," said Princess Celestia. "Do you want out sooner or later?"

"Did I say 'sick in the dud'? I meant 'Sick, dude!' Let's try it. Blast away, oh harmony beam. Let 'er rip!"

"Mares?" asked Twilight.

Her friends said, "Ready!" or variations of it.

"On three," said Twilight. "One, two, three!"

When Discord was freed, Riddle was ready to leave at a moment's notice, but the Draconequus didn't do anything chaotic. Or anything at all.

"Well?" asked Ms. Sparkle. "Are you going to go make Chaos Town?"

"Not just yet," said Discord. "Gotta build up more magic first. Wanna give my baby my best, ya know?"

"You intend to bloat yourself on purpose?" asked Riddle.

"Bingo," said Discord, snapping his fingers.

Suddenly, the pink idiot was next to a big circular cage of small balls, and everypony was holding bingo cards.

"Oh, bingo!" said Discord. "Winner gets anti-prune juice!"

He snapped his fingers again, and everypony was wearing the effects of old ponies – walkers, thick glasses, outdated styles of clothing, and make-up that made them look older. Riddle, however, seemed to have actually aged to be ancient, if his aches and pains were anything to go by, and Discord himself looked more wrinkled and ancient than himself.

The creature brought a shriveled paw to his ear. "Eh? Did she say B-four?"

Dissatisfied with the involuntary transformation, but not wanting to shirk his 'guard' duty when everypony else was simply going along with it, Riddle decided to cheat. After it finally reached the point where enough number-letters had been declared that a sequence of some of them could theoretically form a line, he surreptitiously and permanently transfigured his bingo board to have those four tiles in a row with the free center square, put the invisible wand away with a wordless Vajinus, and said, "Bingo."

"What?!" said everypony in the room.

"I don't believe it," said Ms. Dash flatly, who was in a floating rocking chair.

He held up his board and showed the relevant tiles, then held out a hoof to Discord. Riddle accepted his anti-prune juice and, after a few diagnostic charms, drank it, which caused the changes to his body to revert.

Celestia cast anti-magic and anti-illusion spells on the board, both of which failed to dispel the permanent transfiguration.

He grinned.

"So," said his employer over half-moon glasses which looped into a hair-bun, "how did you cheat this one?"

"I don't recall cheating being against the rules," said Riddle. "I don't recall anything being against the rules, in fact. I don't think our chaotic friend established any."

"Far be it from me to criticize rule-bending," said Discord in an old, tired voice while wearing an old, tired face. "But there is such a thing as unwritten rules, young stallion," he said with a wagging finger, which then began stroking a long, white chin-beard. "Well. Young-ish stallion."

"I thought Chaos would hate rules outright," said Riddle.

"Well, sure," Discord agreed. "But if the game isn't fair, then it's predictable isn't it?"

"If you had orchestrated a game that required even a modicum of skill," Riddle said, "rather than pure chance, and if you hadn't put me in a state of genuine old-age as I played it, I might have been more tempted to play along. I'm surprised you even went with bingo. Isn't that the definition of boring?"

"Sure is," said the ancient-looking creature. "The more boring it is, the more it will bloat me."

"Why not just go to the Realm of Chaos that you mentioned and bloat even faster?"

"Hm... good point." He snapped his fingers, and the bingo set-up disappeared, along with the 'elderly' effects. Discord himself seemed to get a bit bigger, but he also seemed to adopt a shade of green. "Oof. Chaos does not like it when I set things back to normal. It's for a chaotic cause, I swear!" The greenness disappeared, leaving him looking like his normal self, only a bit swollen. "Ta-ta for now, ponies. I'll be back whenever, maybe."

He snapped his fingers and disappeared.

Three days later...

The borders of Chaos Town would eventually become amorphous, but for now, Discord chaotically cut out a mostly-random shape in the Everfree, except that one edge was extended all the way to Fluttershy's cabin. This way, the single mother wouldn't have to go very far from his child when meeting his parole officer.

Another border was woven carefully around the hut of the zebra that Twilight had been worried about. Yet another border extended all the way out to the plains in between the Everfree and Canterlot. It extended beyond the forest to include some of the plains themselves, just because all forest and nothing else isn't very Chaotic.

A few snaps established the general ideas suggested by everypony, but mostly Mr. alien; a few more snaps established the constraints; a final snap of Discord's fingers brought the whole thing to life.

"Aren't you just so precious?" he asked. "I think I'll call you... Circus! Say hi to mommy!"

The patch of forest which had just been given a mind for good and a heart for chaos (but could switch them to a mind for chaos and a heart for good at any time) did not reply. It didn't do much of anything, really. It just continued being a forest.

That was a little disappointing.

Discord was certain it had worked. He's half his old size, and Chaos is flowing into himself a thirteenth as quickly as it used to. Much more was going to Circus. The Everfree has enough wells of wild magic to sustain Circus even if Chaos stops providing magic for whatever whimsical reason, but for now, Circus wasn't really doing much with all the Chaos it was being given, as far as Discord could tell.

Well, Circus is a newborn. Maybe Discord shouldn't have expected anything on the first day. Maybe they just needed some examples. And he needs stimulation too, can't forget that. Discord would be staying here for the foreseeable future though, just to make sure she gets a good upbringing.

Now Discord just has to get Circus some outside love and attention, other than his own. Maybe he should go let the fool know Circus is ready, so he can start having his 'battles' here.

Rehabilitation, Part 7.1: Attempted Murder

Another week saw no progress on the phoenix problem. Well, not no progress; each session of ‘arguing’ with the phoenix amounted to thinking certain thoughts and seeing how the phoenix felt about them, and he had learned much from those sessions. But he was no closer to leaving Equestria than when he started. So for now, he would focus on events outside the Astral Plane.

Discord had finally sacrificed his magic and informed him that the battlefield was ready. His employer had given him a regiment of fifty fresh Night Guard recruits to train. He was ready to begin truly affecting the military of this country.

His soldiers, as per his request, will be pitted against a regiment of fifty fresh Day Guard recruits that would be trained by Shining Armor in the same time frame that he trained his own – two months – and he will be given the freedom to train his soldiers with minimal oversight, except that everything he does will be monitored and recorded by a court clerk for the sake of longevity. She would presumably report him if he crossed some arbitrary moral threshold, so he stuck with the tactics he had used to train Hogwarts students, not the things he had done to train Death Eaters.

The main problem, he thought going in, was that only around a third of his soldiers were unicorns, i.e. actually useful in true non-lethal combat. He thought this on day one, before any training whatsoever, which gave him time to tackle it. Equestria had no ready-made answer aside from hoof-cuffs and magic-suppressing horn rings used during standard arrests, which his non-unicorn soldiers were expected to manually wrest onto their foes. He put the supply of hoof cuffs and horn rings in a corner and didn't touch them for the entire two months. His solution to the problem of making non-unicorns useful on the battlefield would have to be original.

Step one to any competent magical military force, once basic things like protocol and loyalty and officer hierarchy and communication networks are established, is to improve offensive capabilities. Over half his soldiers basically have no offense, and no means of becoming offensive. The only consolation was that his opponent, Shining Armor, would be bound by the same race restrictions, so at least both sides were equally disadvantaged. Still, he didn't want his soldiers to be disadvantaged. It was militarily crippling, not to mention annoying.

His first thought, when he saw the large number of earth and pegasus ponies in his regiment, was to wonder if wands could be made and used by ponies who were not former humans. He'd never actually tested it.

But he quickly threw the wand idea out when he thought about the implementation difficulty. He wasn't a wand-maker, and although he might be able to learn the art, if he dedicated enough time and effort, two months was not enough time. He didn't have time to invent something that didn't already exist.

That's when he thought to improve mobility instead. Step two in a competent magical military is to improve mobility, which often improves soldier survival rate (thanks to evasion), which his army would be needing since over two thirds did not have access to shielding charms. In this case, mobility would also help offense. Mobility is the ultimate utility any individual soldier can have, both for offense and defense. The advantage to choosing your fights cannot be overstated; it is one of the single greatest tools a soldier can have. It allows them to leave (and thus survive) hopeless battles and remain at winnable ones. It’s why he had trained his Death Eaters in guerilla tactics. It would make the unicorns deadlier and the other soldiers slipperier, if he could do something similar here.

In short, he wanted to teach the pegasi air-bucking, if they did not already know it, and he wanted to try the same for the rest of the trainees, via cloud-walking necklaces. As with wands, he did not know if it would work, but he'd kept the idea in mind ever since Mr. Silver said it back at the Gala.

If his unicorns could become airborne, they would become twice as fearsome in a fight, and the rest would become harder to stun... and he quickly realized that air-bucking might serve as an equivalent to the ventus charm, which was better than nothing.

But before he could even begin air-bucking lessons, he needed to do something about the safety issue of bringing non-pegasi/thestrals high into the air. That led to his decision to make two-hundred recursive portkeys for his soldiers.

It was a similar set-up to Mr. Silver's original four, and it was a boon that non-unicorns proved capable of recharging their recursive portkeys by touch, just like wizards could. The whole thing set him back by two days, one for enchanting and one for teaching. It was annoying, but it should be worth it, and he had his soldiers running exercise drills while he enchanted, so it wasn't a complete waste.

The portkey destinations were:

Designated teleportation stalls near the soldier's barracks, one per pony. Riddle had to personally establish them, since nothing like it had already been made.

The plains outside Canterlot. This made for easy access to their mock battlefield.

Cloudsdale High Stadium, for easy access to Scootaloo's/Flight Formation's lessons.

A 'landing zone', i.e. a point in space that lied just above a carefully maintained cloud cushion. It was close to Canterlot Hospital, and it would be for emergencies involving gravity or any other hazard. The portkeys ate momentum, but did not affect orientation, so the cushion would prevent ponies from snapping their necks if they teleported while upside-down.

Once that was done and his soldiers were trained in using and recharging the portkeys, then he took them to their 'flight' lessons to see if it would actually be possible.

Scootaloo had taken Mr. Silver’s place as instructor, and it was much more of a joint effort with Flight Formation than it used to be. The orange filly was not nearly as good at teaching as Mr. Silver, but when it came to pegasus techniques in particular, she was decent enough for his purposes. She was justifiably skeptical that non-pegasi/thestrals could learn air techniques, but did not turn down the students. He was paying, after all.

Riddle had to provide the solid mattresses, however, to prevent earth ponies from plummeting to their dooms (and using their portkeys) if they actually succeeded in cloud-phasing.

When non-pegasi did prove capable of learning and using Mr. Silver's pegasus techniques, Riddle immediately mandated that all unicorns and earth ponies wear cloud-walking necklaces at all times while on duty. Or in this case, since they're just cadets, while 'in training'. In essence, it's part of their uniforms, like the portkeys. Thestrals, pegasi, and Changelings (of which he had 2, 6, and 4 respectively) did not need them, naturally.

It was a bit expensive, paying for all of those necklaces and the flight lessons out of pocket. Not to mention how time-consuming it had been to make all of those portkeys. But the advantages were worth it.

For the portkeys, there were a number of benefits. High morale, for starters. The time it takes to commute to work and depression are statistically correlated; the longer the commute, the less happy people/ponies tend to be, and portkeys are instantaneous. He didn't think it would be so drastic or noticeable, but the day before portkeys and the day after had been like night and day when it came to his soldier's attitudes and eagerness. They no longer had to spend an hour and a half trotting to and from 'Circus', which they visited every day for a mock battle. They didn't have to wait for everypony to be ready for a series of mass-teleports to take them to Cloudsdale. Travel was instant, independent, and autonomous.

His soldiers also never missed curfew. Riddle didn't ever have to deal with tardiness more than once per soldier. (His punishments, tame as they were, ensured a lack of repeat offenders.)

And none of that even touched upon the combat usefulness of an instantaneous retreat option. He emphasized over and over, especially to the non-unicorns, that if they encountered something dangerous or deadly, like a wild cockatrice, then they should teleport to safety right away.

As for the air-walking necklace, it had probably been the single best idea he'd had when it came to improving combat capabilities.

After the first month was over, he had taken his soldiers out of Miss Scootaloo's relatively slow tutoring lessons and simply sped up their curriculum until they made it all the way to air-bucking. He didn't sacrifice quality for speed, of course, and he did not teach air-bucking to anypony who could not do a flawless air-cushion at a moment's notice, but his personal touch made sure that over ninety percent of his soldiers could air-buck competently by the end.

Even better, exactly 100% of his soldiers could actually fight by the end. They had been training in mock battles in the Everfree ever since the beginning, with at least one fight per day, splitting into two armies of twenty-five for simplicity's sake. He had been tempted to go for three armies, because more chaos and enemies per fight means more battlefield awareness and experience, but he decided against it. For now.

After two months of practice, his soldiers understood the basics.

The non-unicorns knew that, for the most part, their job was to distract the enemy’s unicorns and not get hit. At around the forty-five day mark, or forty for the fast learners, earth ponies and pegasi finally obtained a means of offense: air-bucking. At Riddle's suggestion, they began bucking strong bursts of wind to herd enemies into compromising positions where their unicorn allies could stun them. Earth ponies had particularly powerful air-bucks; they, more than pegasi used air-bucking for area-effect offense, while pegasi focused on mobility, positioning, and single targets. Most grounded earth ponies were strong enough to resist the relatively weak winds produced by a pegasus buck, but the unicorns weren't unless they raised shields fast enough.

On that note, his unicorns were given extensive training on their aim, to the detriment of their mobility. Once they learned to air buck, that was it. They did not go further. Only two unicorns had proven skilled enough to aim while air-bucking. The rest would exclusively use air-bucking to escape hairy situations, or to get into a better position. Other than that, they were drilled over and over on how to hit their opponents.

Guard armor and helmets are spell-resistant, so his unicorns learned how to target the exposed necks of their enemies, and they learned how to protect their own necks with shields. When the battlefield consisted of only unicorns remaining, as it often did, they learned how to break enemy shields with shield-breakers. The non-unicorns trained in avoiding spells, or in using their armor to deflect stunners if they had no other choice.

'Circus', as Discord called it, slowly took shape as Riddle trained his regiment of soldiers there.

It had started as an indistinguishable patch of forest and plains that Discord reassured him was actually Chaos Town. The plain forest suited Riddle's purposes well enough for the first few sets of training exercises.

It slowly evolved after every fight, introducing things like mud patches, surprisingly deep puddles of water, a plant called poison joke, hanging vines that would lash out and capture (but not hurt) nearby ponies, and a number of other battlefield hazards that forced his soldiers to pay attention to their surroundings and adapt to surprises. His unicorns learned many spells, like the cutting spell for vines, out of simple necessity.

Riddle wasn't exactly satisfied when his allotted two months were over. Over half his army still had a distinct lack of offensive and defensive options. But he chose to content himself with the fact that he did about as good as he reasonably could with the tools available to him. He was curious to see what Shining Armor had done to make use of his non-unicorn combatants.

A day later, he learned that the answer to this question is 'nothing at all'. Shining Armor's earth ponies and pegasi had nothing better at their disposal than physical conditioning, tackling, hood-cuffs, and horn-suppressors.

Needless to say, they were utterly decimated by the fifty soldiers who had been trained to win as quickly and decisively as possible, where 'winning' meant stunning every last enemy.

Not a single one of his own soldiers had been cuffed, horn-suppressed, or tagged by a spell, and every single one of Mr. Armor's soldiers had been stunned. The enemy unicorns did not seem like they were given any spell training at all, and if Riddle had to guess, they'd probably been put through the same 'physical conditioning' as the rest of the races.

The fight was quick, one-sided, and utterly pathetic.

Celestia and Luna both attended the mock battle, along with some of the nobility who heard about it. They did not watch the fighting directly; before the battle, Riddle set up repeater screens for their convenience.

After they'd gotten over their shock at the sight of earth ponies and unicorns prancing through the air, Celestia at least had the decency to look embarrassed (and truly feel embarrassed, according to his Changeling senses) by the performance of her Guard Captain, who was gaping in disbelief. His employer had the decency to look (and actually be) pleased.

One of the nobles, after the slaughter was done and the cloud-walking necklace was explained, asked if real members of the Night Guard had been unfairly pitted against mere Day Guard recruits.

Riddle had said no, but that it was a good idea, then asked Celestia to gather fifty fully-trained veterans of the Day Guard. He intended to make his point.

This second fight was not the complete joke that the first had been. Actual members of the guard, especially the unicorns and the two formerly-secret Changelings, were more battle-competent than Mr. Armor's trainees.

But Riddle's own forces had superior mobility and experience in dodging offensive spells. His fifty soldiers were still dominant, and the victory was still one-sided, even if his side lost some of its forces this time.

"Two months," he said to the Princesses. "That is all it took to train soldiers capable of beating your best. And I didn't even let them use their portkeys."

"They have portkeys?" asked Celestia.

"Yours don't?" asked Riddle.

His employer giggled.

"And to be honest," said Riddle, "they are no-where near where I want them to be. I managed to lift the non-unicorns out of dead weight status, but without stunners of their own, they still feel like liabilities. I'm tempted to ask that we fund a grant to Canterlot University, or maybe offer a simple cash prize to anypony who can make a unicorn equivalent to the cloud-walking enchantment. Until such a thing is invented, however, I will always prefer unicorn and Changeling soldiers to members of other species, just as most ponies would always prefer a pegasus mailmare to an earth pony one."

"We know," sighed Luna. "My sister and I both. Remember that we have fought wars, my fool. When given weapons, crossbows and swords and spell-repellent shields and armor, earth ponies can become more capable fighters. And pegasi who are given access to thunderclouds are a force to be reckoned with. I admit your use of the cloud walking necklace was ingenious, and I am sure your use of portkeys would have been equally brilliant, and I will compose the grant you suggested as soon as this is over. But... sister? I believe you would rather criticize my fool than I."

Celestia nodded. "Your army only looks impressive because it has been trained for the specific circumstance of non-lethal mock battle-”

"That will change as soon as they are taught lethal spells."

Celestia brought a hoof to her forehead. "That is beside the point. And in fact it is against the point. The point I am making is that my ‘best’ did not thoroughly prepare for this battle for two months straight."

"That is precisely the problem," Riddle replied. "Why weren’t they prepared? Will you give that excuse at the funerals of your citizens, if tomorrow you are invaded by a lethal foe who uses this new and terrible advantage of two months of preparation time? ‘I apologize your husband and child died. My guards were not prepared for that fight.’" Riddle shook his head. "If they are not prepared to fight at a moment’s notice, then they are not good soldiers."

Celestia was frowning heavily. "There is no such foe on the planet Equus, as far as I am aware-"

"The planet isn't fully explored, yes?"

"-and remember," Celestia continued, undaunted by his interruption, "that they are supposed to be guards, not warriors. Your trainees have been taught to defeat their enemies. They do not, I suspect, know proper arrest procedures, or how to defuse a tense situation between citizens. Am I wrong?"

"Pause," Riddle held up a hoof, frowning. "You are not wrong, but... wouldn't it be wise to delegate two forces? Soldiers for fighting, guards for arresting? If Mr. Armor is required to teach both, it is less his fault that he lost and more the fault of the surrounding system. I still think he would have lost regardless, but his army might have at least put up a fight if he had exclusively trained them to fight."

Celestia did not answer.

"Perhaps," said his employer, looking thoughtful. "I admit, I have not thought much about that nuance. In my day, our military served as guards when they were not engaging in active combat."

"We have not needed a standing military for hundreds of years," said Celestia.

"Better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it," Riddle quoted. "Chrysalis proved as much, as did Discord."

"I concur," said Luna. "Sister, perhaps it is time to reinstate our military?"

"That is a bit extreme, Luna."

"Well at the very least we should have something more than we currently do." She gestured at the screen. "This is not an acceptable state of affairs."

Celestia sighed. "I was hoping the world had moved away from warfare… but…" she stared at the screen, which continued flicking between fallen day guard after fallen day guard. "…But perhaps you are right. Maybe we do need a contingent of reserves."

Riddle would have argued for more, but since the training regiment would ultimately be his responsibility, he decided to ease himself into the role. Best to start small, then expand after a scalable operation is in place. He has plenty of time.

Celestia ended up giving a speech to all three armies simultaneously. She said that, due to the recent national disasters, a test was conducted. She said that the Court Scholar has correctly observed that current Guard training is not sufficient for national defense. She emphasized that it is sufficient for guard duty, for making arrests and making sure citizens obey the law. She emphasized that the 50 Night Guard trainees had been given no actual guard training, only war training. She emphasized that if they still wish to be guards, they shall have to go through remedial training with Shining Armor.

But she also congratulated them on their performance. She said that they shall be the first members of the Equestrian National Reserves, if they wish to be. She said to the other 100 ponies that if they wish to become reserves as well, if they want to learn how to do what was done to them that day, if they wish to learn how to be soldiers capable of defending the nation, not just guarding law and order, then they shall have to go through remedial training with the Court Scholar.

She pointed out the difference between guards and soldiers, saying that they are slightly different career paths with vastly different mindsets. She said that anypony can be both, but it will require more work. Members of the reserves will be required (upon Riddle's insistence) to meet at least once a month to maintain their combat skills, but they will also receive a relatively decent paycheck in comparison to such few hours worked. The money will not be enough to live by, "unless you are quite the miser," she said, but it would be more than enough to supplement a normal income. Although of course, she said, the true benefit of joining the reserves is the satisfaction of knowing that they can protect Equestria during times of need. Side benefits include learning such abilities as they saw this day, like air-bucking, though she has not yet decided if it shall be legal for non-pegasi/thestrals to use them outside of officially sanctioned purposes. And emergencies.

Afterwards, around three fourths of the Day Trainees and two thirds of the Day Guards who had lost to his soldiers approached Riddle to ask if they could become members of the national reserves.

He did not quite get to work right away; first he informed Celestia that he would be needing a budget, and a unicorn assistant to aide with the creation of portkeys and other enchantments.

It took a while to get started, but he slowly began the work of reforming the country's defenses.

He was careful to ignore his impulse to use the Cruciatus Curse and impose a Dark Mark for better results. He intended to make this test of exploiting passions, not fears, as fair and honest as he could make it.

Around two months after the grant proposal, in which Celestia and Luna pledged to reward a large cash prize to whoever could invent a spell structure for allowing non-unicorns to cast spells, a unicorn in Canterlot University by the name of High Stars proposed an enchantment structure that would alter half of anypony's magic to that of specifically a unicorn's. After Riddle proposed a much larger prize to whoever made something he'd actually use for the reserves, a colleague of High Stars – a unicorn by the name of Big Mech attending Manehattan Tech – quickly went about inventing it a month after that – he called it the 'unicorn helmet'. A practical, straightforward name for a practical, straightforward product.

Celestia and Luna steamrolled the patent through Canterlot's bureaucracy and bought up the rights for exclusive ownership and manufacturing of that patent, with of course a good percentage going to the original creator. For the next fourteen years, it would be illegal for citizens of Equestria to use the helmet outside of the reserves, or officially sanctioned locations, like classrooms or training studios. Some would call that government overreach. Celestia called it 'easing her citizens into the new technology'. And she might not have been wrong to do so.

They quickly learned that non-unicorns who wore the helmets experience side-effects. Pegasi and thestrals had trouble flying as well as they normally did, and earth ponies lost some of their strength and stamina. Furthermore, the spell effects they created were always weaker than anything a true unicorn could produce (though about as strong as anything a wizard could do). The effects reversed themselves the instant the helmet was removed, and they didn't seem to cause any harm, even when the helmets were worn for extended periods of time.

A study was then done to measure the effects that cloud-walking necklaces had on non-pegasi/thestrals, to see if that enchantment also had side-effects. It was found that unicorn and earth pony magics were indeed dampened by about 10%. The scholar in charge of the study theorized that it had gone unnoticed for so long because the amount was so small. Most ponies would write that off as a 'bad day'.

Despite the side-effects, Riddle immediately outfitted all members of the Equestrian Reserves with such armaments as would give them access to both aerial mobility and magical combat. Unicorns wore necklaces, thestrals and pegasi wore helmets, Changelings wore neither, and earth ponies wore both.

If an earth pony had ever complained, Riddle would have explained that unicorns and pegasi had to go through physical conditioning that earth ponies did not often need, or if they did, they could get in shape more quickly, with less effort, than the other races. But nopony ever complained. Most earth ponies had simple pleasures. They liked casting spells and prancing through the air. Why complain?

The increasing military strength of Equestria – which was sometimes, as a muggle would call it, 'televised' via repeater parchment screens across the nation, both for entertainment and as a recruitment pitch – eventually drew the notice of visiting Griffons, which eventually drew the notice of Griffonia itself, which eventually prompted a meeting between high-ranking members of both governments.

When your formerly-peaceful neighbor begins to militarize, it's only natural to get a bit worried about the reasons. Celestia intended to use the meeting to put such fears to rest.

It started as a relatively standard affair, as these things went. There was a bit of fanfare at their arrival – solar manipulations by Celestia, carriages flown through the air, trumpets announcing their presence and identities to the watching citizens. To the watching Griffon citizens.

The event was hosted in Griffonstone, not Canterlot. It's easier for Griffons to accommodate ponies than the other way around due to their dietary differences. Griffons could make vegetarian dishes easily enough, but ponies could not make carnivore meals. Pony delegates with weak stomachs and easily-offended sensibilities were not in attendance. Thorax was in attendance, along with a few of his favourite Changeling officers.

Like cockroaches, Changelings could eat just about anything, except with the added benefit of being able to graze plants like ponies. They never lacked for physical nutrition, only magical, though they could appreciate a good chef, and might appreciate whatever the Griffons made. But of course, they were here as part of the explanation, not as freeloaders. Celestia hoped their willingness to indulge in Griffon meals would help to build bridges.

Equestria and Griffonia aren't exactly hostile. They haven't been openly hostile for centuries, ever since Griffonia learned that Celestia controls the sun. Or rather, ever since a competent enough griffon, one who actually understood what that implied, rose to rulership. Skirmishes had continued for a while after they first learned the fact because Celestia never once used the sun against them, despite how many ponies had died at Griffon claws and steel.

For that reason, Equestria and Griffonia have been something like grumpy but mostly peaceful neighbors the last few hundred years. They have their differences, but they let their kids (i.e. citizens) visit each other without much hassle. The two countries respectfully leave each other alone unless their citizens get in a fight of some kind. And even then, the punishment for the offending party is usually just banishment to the homeland, or a fine. After centuries of dealing with those kinds of disputes, both sides have come to agree that if their children can't behave when outside the house, then their children lose the privilege of leaving the house. Celestia would personally visit Griffonia for the Coronation of a new King or Queen, but that was about it as far as diplomatic relations went.

Cloudsdale's Flight Week often sees the most Griffon activity in Equestria annually, but there's no Griffonian equivalent besides general tourism. Thus, while Equestria's diplomacy problems are often concentrated to a short time frame each year, Griffonia's are more spread-out and random.

Celestia claims that the Griffonian government is more likely to be 'unkind' to rash ponies than the Equestrian government is 'unkind' to Griffons, but Riddle wrote that off as untrustworthy bias. It might be true, and given the general nature of ponies, it probably was true. But he wouldn't take her word for it. Not without experience or statistical evidence.

The whole ordeal was an elite and fancy affair, despite the dilapidated state of the surrounding city, and the dinner promised to be extravagant. But first there would be a meeting between the heads of state and their advisors to discuss the recent Equestrian military action.

It went more quickly and less tensely than Riddle had been expecting. Griffonia had suffered a bit of Chaos back when Discord had been released, and they had also suffered a bit of fear during Nightmare Moon's return. Its officials were actually glad to hear that Equestria was strengthening its soldiers so that such things wouldn't happen again.

They hadn't heard about the Changelings, though. They were a bit nervous that Equestria had basically allied with an entirely new nation, one that could theoretically infiltrate other nations without much difficulty, and whose species appeared menacing and nefarious as well, but...

"You know," said Thorax at that point in the meeting, "I've never tried becoming a Griffon. Let me see..."

In a flash of green fire, he became a pony with a colour scheme that matched the Griffon King, down to a yellow patch of fur on his muzzle where the 'beak' would have been. There was a bit of laughter as he turned back.

"Nope. Just ponies."

The Griffons were reassured by this display that they were not vulnerable to a Changeling infiltration like Equestria had been, though Thorax's diplomatic personality probably played a role in defusing tensions.

Privately, Riddle thought that the Griffons were too trusting. This could have theoretically been a ploy to lower their guard. It could have been an act to hide the fact that Changelings actually can become Griffons. It wasn't, but it could have been. He didn't openly remark on their gullibility, of course, but he kept it in mind. Still, all that was relatively boring. It wasn't until dinner that something actually interesting happened, completely out of the blue.

His standard series of 'taste-testing' charms, which he habitually casts on anything he puts into his body, actually produced a result. For the first time since he'd arrived on Equus, too.

The interesting part was that the normal standard charms didn't show anything anomalous. His standard charms checked for things that most paranoid wizards did not think to check, like active magic that could be dispelled by a finite, no matter how minute.

This meant either an intelligent assassin had come from Earth to try and kill him (unlikely and nigh-impossible), or an assassin from Equus had chosen an unusual method and gotten lucky (which was slightly more likely), or it was just something innocuous that Griffon chefs included in their meals. Like a magical ingredient that they added for flavour, or something along those lines.

Again, it was the charm that detected active magic which had triggered. It had gone off in his wine, and it had gone off for a relatively small amount of magic, at least when compared to the background 'noise' of the rest of Equestria. It was probably harmless. But just in case it was an assassin, he silently and hornlessly threw up a few wards, including an anti-teleportation ward, an anti-portkey ward, and a locking charm on all the doors, which were conveniently closed at the moment. If the assassin was in the room and wanted to witness his success, he would now be trapped.

Then Riddle levitated his cup a few metres away from the table and erected a few bubble barriers around it, in case the assassination attempt was something messy, like a magical detonation.

"What are you doing?" asked Luna, who was sitting beside him.

"Just checking something," said Riddle. "I detected active magic in that cup. It might be something harmless, like magic in the vineyards that produced the grapes. But I want to see what happens when I dispel it, just in case."

This drew the attention of Celestia, Thorax, and a few Griffons, including the Griffon King, who looked on in curiosity.

"Finite incantatum."

The cup violently exploded as a massive boulder expanded to a diameter of about six metres – twice as large as the biggest Alicorn/Griffon in the room.

The magical barriers he erected in advance, which could not be dispelled by finite, could expand to accommodate explosions, even explosions of mass and volume. They caught the shards of cup, the wine, and the boulder in place. It hovered in the air for about a second before the charms deactivated. The whole collection then fell heavily and loudly to the floor, making a floor-shaking THUD that rattled all the silverware on the dinner table.

After his initial surprise, and in stark contrast to the gasps of the rest of the room, Riddle began laughing. "Well," he said in between chuckles, ignoring the looks he was getting. "That certainly would have been lethal."

He turned to face the Griffon that he had noticed, but carefully not seemed like he had noticed. It was a Griffon who had been subtly inching away from the action earlier, and who had just now tried and failed to push one of the doors open. Riddle's short term memory offered that this Griffon, who looked a bit sickly, had been the one to give him the wine. And now that he looked more closely, he felt a spark of recognition, like he had somehow met this Griffon before... but he had never really met any Griffons before, except... ah!

It's that retard he Legilimised when searching for the phoenix roosting ground. But wait... retard? How could the simple mind he saw have composed and enacted such a relatively competent assassination attempt? The first and obvious guess was that he had seen a false mind, that he had been Legilimising a Perfect Occlumens. But that didn't make sense on this side of the mirror. Maybe there was some other explanation, like the creature being mentally impaired at the time, but recovered now?

Well, there was an easy way to find out.

"So," said Riddle, "would you mind explaining why you want me dead?"

Author's Note

Apologies for using parts AND points in my titles now, but this chapter needed to be split in two. It was too long otherwise. Also, this way I can present you with a puzzle. Whodunnit?

Rehabilitiation, Part 7.2: Successful Murder

"So, would you mind explaining why you want me dead?"

When the Griffon disappeared in a pop, Riddle instantly knew the answer.

In the wake of the assassin's departure came a sudden explosion of political turmoil. There were harsh accusations made by pony diplomats and slightly more diplomatic accusations made by Changelings and the Griffon King's cries of innocence/ignorance and Celestia's attempts to ease tensions while still getting to the truth.

Everything was silenced by the sound of a magically-amplified CRACK, accompanied by an actual crack that spiderwebbed out from where Riddle's hoof had made contact with the floor.

"The assassination target would like to register his opinion," he said in an utterly calm and slightly dry tone of voice, "that the nation of Griffonia is not to blame. That was someone I personally knew, someone with a vendetta against me. In the future," he said to his own party, "do not make accusations on my behalf without consulting me first. Reparo."

While the damaged stone fixed itself, he less obviously dispelled the locks and wards he established. He had not performed the anti-apparition ward, believing he would not need it and that it would only hinder his own movements in an emergency. He would not make that mistake next time.

He then began eating the non-lethal parts of his dinner as though nothing interesting had just happened. He answered most of the inevitable questions that came his way, saying things like "I don't know the name he goes by," and, "Finding him would be a fool's errand," and, "Wanted posters would just encourage him to adjust his appearance."

Then Luna asked, "Why was he trying to kill you?" Given the stare she was giving him, she'd probably guessed a number of true things by now, thanks to his words and the Griffon's method of escape.

And that meant he could take a slightly different approach when responding to her. "Don't pry."

By her tense and pained expression, he knew he had successfully reminded her of his employment agreement.

Celestia, who was not bound by that agreement, gave him a highly suspicious look. But she did not press the matter in front of the griffons, especially the king, who seemed happy to drop the topic of a griffon trying to assassinate a pony.

Security increased tenfold after the incident. Riddle was not expecting his old victim to try again until the heat died down, when there weren't so many eyes on the lookout.

The protective line of soldiers leading from the castle, for example, was much longer and denser than it had been on arrival, and there were more armoured griffons in the air as well. Even still, one moment he was following Celestia and Luna down the red carpet, the next he was staring out at his ritual room from within the Elder Wand. The transition was instantaneous, his death so quick that he didn't even know it happened until after the fact, nor did he know the method the assassin had used.

Impressive, he mentally complimented as he incanted a tempus for future/past reference. I wonder how he beat the troll skin.

Had it been a killing curse, or some unknown Equestrian equivalent? If not, it would have had to be something that could destroy his brain in one go, otherwise the troll's regeneration would have saved him. It wasn't Fiendfyre – he would have seen and felt that coming. But the method needed to be magically and/or physically powerful enough to go through the reinforcements the troll provided to his flesh and bones, so it had to be something significant.

Whatever was done, it deserved praise for the tactics alone, especially considering he'd been surrounded by security. That was when he realized the very real and unsavoury possibility that it had been a large detonation.

He quickly began reviving himself by Transfiguring a temporary, non-permanent body from within his wand Horcrux. He couldn't move himself, as he had originally feared, but he set it up so that the wand's tip was already in contact with a pebble, and it would stay that way as the pebble grew to a body.

It's good that he did all his testing months ago, otherwise his dead body would have immediately revived itself in a stupid way. He did not want to avoid explaining, to his employer or to Celestia, why his dead body could become a newborn foal in a burst of phoenix fire. The age was easily fixed with a permanent self-Transfiguration, but the obviousness of the phoenix magic could not be helped.

He had to devote a large portion of his Horcrux testing to the phoenix revival problem. He didn't stop until the automatic instinct became a manually chosen process. He committed, back then, to Horcrux revival. He didn't think he would ever go the phoenix route unless his body, and the powers bound to it, couldn't be recovered any other way.

On the plus side, his testing had revealed a major improvement to his system: being murdered no longer knocks him out of commission, even for a few minutes. He didn't know if that was due to the phoenix or one of his other precautions, like the anti-Transfiguration trigger. It was probably the phoenix, but he wasn't sure. Until recently, he hadn't 'died' in over twelve years, so it could have come from any improvement he made since then. It could even be the result of simple experience with the soul-transfer ability of his base horcrux system, which he had spent years examining when he had nothing better to do than stare at the stars.

In practical terms, he can now respond to murder attempts, including successful ones, almost instantly. Even after he finished transfiguring a temporary body, occupied it, and apparated back to Griffonstone, a tempus informed him that less than a minute had transpired since he'd been killed.

He departed his notice-me-not arrival spot towards his corpse, thinking as he flew.

He didn't mind if Luna/Celestia discovered the true nature of his immortality – that he is deathless, not just ageless like they are – so long as they remain ignorant about the details. That means obscuring things as much as possible, but that can be arranged.

For instance, he had transfigured this body non-permanently, with as little magic as possible. When he leaves the body, his sustaining magic will leave with him, causing it to revert back into the small pebble it had been two minutes ago. An additional layer of disillusionment, which he just now added to himself, should cause that small pebble to go unnoticed, even if he has to perform the resurrection ritual while surrounded by witnesses. Until then, he will also remain fully invisible at all times.

He was not seen or detected as he approached the perimeter of the crime scene and slipped through the unicorn shields and detection webs around the whole area. Outside the barrier, there was panic, dismay, and a great deal of confusion. Inside, there was rigid military discipline. There was also the grisly scene of his corpse, whose body was unharmed, but whose head had been blown off above the cheeks. So, it had been something precise, not been a detonation.

His employer was loudly and physically mourning his departure, which was annoying, but also… something else.

That 'something' was over in a flash, though. It was like a single heartbeat, a single instance of a chemical flushing through his brain. He didn't even know what it had been, just that it was either something he'd never felt before, or something he had not felt in a long time, so long that he couldn't even name the emotion anymore. It's not something he'd recently felt in someone else via the Changeling sense, but then, he does his best to ignore that sense on a daily basis.

Whatever it was, he could investigate later in the astral plane. For now, he has work to do. He trusted his protection from subsequent murder attempts to his future/past self/selves and got down to business.

First he cast a wordless ventriloquism charm so that his ritual chant would sound as if it was coming from the exact location of his corpse's lips. For the sake of mischief and further obfuscation, he cast a puppet spell that would cause his corpse's lips to move in tandem with his own.

Then he quietly walked forward into position, retrieved the Stone of Permanence from its hiding place, and chanted, clearly and precisely, "Flesh, flesh, flesh, so wisely hidden." Bone and flesh and skin and fur rose and wove together from the stump of the lower half of his head, until the whole thing was healed in less than five seconds.

The effort took more magic and mental strain than usual, though. Outside of his ritual room, he couldn't rely on pre-programmed obelisks. He had to maintain a tedious and draining charm that would produce the secondary echo chants. For that reason, an electrical shock would restart his heart faster and more efficiently than the blood ritual.

That was another test he'd run in private, multiple times until he'd perfected it: the newly-invented defibrillator charm, modified from the shock spell.

With blood circulating through it once more, his body was ready for re-occupation, so he dismissed the Stone, touched his forehead with his invisible hoof, carefully avoiding his gaping employer, and said the words of transfer: "Fal, tor, pan."

Luna stared in shock and disbelief as the wound in the head of her dear departed fool closed itself. She watched as skull and flesh and skin and fur sprouted up from the gaping wound and wove itself together in a methodical, magical, and impossible display of healing.

She thought she had been hearing a ghost when she heard her fool's voice just now. Though ghosts took longer to anchor than a minute, she was now realizing, and their voices were not accompanied by creepy six-fold echoes, or the healing of their dead bodies.

When the head was healed, the body beneath her convulsed, causing her to startle in alarm (though not jump back and leave her position). After another brief chant coming from the mouth of the dead body, her fool jerked beneath her hooves and neck and cheek.

(A disillusioned pebble dropped unnoticed to the ground about a foot away from his head.)

There came a groan of discomfort. "If you would kindly release me," said the voice of her fool, "I would appreciate it. Unless you want to owe me a favour for yet another hug."

She was utterly, completely dumbfounded, and maybe a bit frightened, as her fool rose to a seated position.

"Luna," said the voice of her sister. "Stand back."

Luna had already been rising, but she stepped fully back at her sister's concerned command. She turned to see Tia's horn glowing golden.

"If I intended to hurt her," said the voice of her fool. Luna turned back to see the dead pony rise fully to his hooves. "I would have done so long ago."

"Where dark magic is concerned," said Celestia, aiming her horn directly at him, but casting no spells yet, "intentions rarely matter. Harm always comes."

"Dark magic?" he echoed. He raised a single eyebrow. "Immortality is dark, now? I hope you are not about to say something hypocritical." Luna felt a significant bit of deception in his words, but also the sense that he hadn't outright lied. It really was him.

"Mere immortality?" asked Celestia. "No. The kind that reminds me of a lich? Absolutely."

"A lich?" Riddle echoed, frowning. "I was under the impression that liches were purely fictional fabrications, due to the absurdity and inconsistency of the accounts about them. Are they real after all?"

"Luna?" Celestia demanded at once.

"He speaks true," said Luna. "Though he is hiding something, as always."

Celestia looked around at the staring/gaping/fearful/awed crowd of Changelings, Griffons, and ponies. She established a crude privacy barrier. "Are you a threat to me, my sister, Equestria, or Griffonia?"

Her fool took a moment to think about it, then said, honestly and without any deception, "Not an active one. I think I have proven as much by now."

"Are you a potential threat?"

"Everypony is a potential threat," he replied. "In my case, if I become one in the future, I don't think it's possible for me to be the lethal or tortuous kind of threat. At worst, I can plot for you to suffer the errors of your own ways, like I did with Blueblood. So no, I am not a potential threat in the sense that you care about."

Her sister glanced at her.

"He is being honest," said Luna.

"Then we will speak more in the carriage," Tia declared. She dispelled the privacy barrier. "I think it best," she announced to the staring crowd, "if we leave before any more trouble is caused. I apologize for the fuss."

The Griffons tried to offer their own apologies. They offered for the ponies to stay until the killer- er, the attempted killer is hunted down. They offered to supply extra guards for the carriage.

Celestia rejected every offer. The safest option, she said, would be for them to leave as quickly as possible, under the strongest shielding charms she and her guard captain could establish. That way, if the killer tried again, no Griffons would be harmed.

"Liches are not fabrications," sighed Celestia once they were airborne and alone and warded for privacy. "I would not ordinarily tell you of all ponies, but you clearly have a better version of deathlessness than liches, so I trust that you will not go out and become one now that you know the truth."

"That is an excuse," said Riddle.

"I know," said Celestia. "It's not like I have a choice anymore. The fact of the matter is that I should not have let it slip like that."

Riddle nodded. "Thank you for acknowledging the mistake for what it was."

"We all make mistakes," Luna defended her sister.

"True," said Riddle, "but if you excuse them, you will simply get more."

"He is right," Celestia said. "Do not worry, Luna. I am not upset by the fact that he is driving the point home." She turned to face him. "What does upset me is your continued reticence. So, now that we are in private, would you mind explaining why your immortality reminds me of lich magic?"

"Yes," said Riddle, "I would mind."

There was a clash of eyes and wills in the room. Luna could feel the tension in the air.

"Why?" asked Celestia.

"Because I do not even know why my magic reminds you of liches, so I don't know the accusation I'm defending myself from. And even if I did I would prefer not to explain."

"What would it take to get you to explain?"

"I would say it would take a Vow similar to the one your sister has sworn before I explain, but seeing as I have not even told her, and I have no intention of telling her, I think the answer to your question is that nothing could get me to explain. Nothing that I can see."

"Not good enough," said Celestia firmly, her voice no longer containing a hint of negotiation. "This is how things are going to be, Mystery Book. I helped my sister compose the Vow she swore to you; even though I was not in the room, I know the contents."

"And?"

"And that means, if you are innocent of recent wrongdoing, you can tell her what you have done without fear of reprisal. You will tell her what your immortality entails. And if the exception to her Vow allows for it, if you have done recent harm to our little ponies, she will tell me about it."

"I said I don't have the intention to tell her."

"And I say that you will, regardless of your intentions," said Celestia. "Unless you wish to be ignobly discharged from your positions and arrested for the use of Dark Magic."

"Despite your lack of hard evidence?"

"If you refuse to be questioned by Honesty, that shall be all the 'hard evidence' I need to know that you have done something terrible to my subjects."

"Whatever happened to the presumption of innocence?" he asked sarcastically.

"Honesty happened," said Celestia. "We no longer need to presume. We can know if you are innocent or not. Thus, you will submit to honesty or you will be jailed. You do not realize how lenient I am being. Ordinarily, suspicions of such magnitude warrant immediate arrest."

"And if I leave the country instead?"

"Then you will be declared an enemy of the state."

"You do realize I can take on the state, yes?" he asked dryly, not sounding intimidated or cowed. "I can defeat any force except maybe you two. I can escape any cell. And I can go into hiding easily enough, if all else fails. Why should I-"

"Doing so would not make you happy," said Luna, finally deciding to intervene.

Riddle turned his gaze from Celestia, regarding her with an intense and thoughtful look for a surprisingly long time.

"…Very well," he said eventually. He turned back to Celestia. "I'll acquiesce. But if the exception to her Vow does not apply, you will be told nothing, and you will never question me about it again. Agreed?"

Celestia met his gaze steadily. "Agreed. But if you wish to say anything in advance to defend what your lich-like immortality involves, in case I discover it on my own, now would be the time."

Riddle opened his mouth, looking ready to deny her request, then he hesitated, closing his mouth in a brief pause of thought. After the brief pause was over, he grinned slightly, then he replied.

"The best I can do for you is to say what my immortality does not involve. But for that I would have to know more about liches, and the specific 'darkness' you are worried about. As I said earlier, I do not know what I am being accused of doing."

"You must promise not to abuse the knowledge I tell you," said Celestia at once. "You must promise that no ponies will come to harm as a result of your learning it."

"Fine," said Riddle honestly. "I promise, as much as such a thing can be promised. As you said, I have something better, at least compared to what is said about liches in fiction. I don't have a fragile phylactery that can be crushed by hoof, for example. But I can't promise that I won't draw inspiration from other aspects, depending on the magic involved." He held up a forestalling hoof at Celestia's furious expression. "Keep in mind that I am entirely ignorant about lich magic. If it is a ritual requiring a blood sacrifice of a hundred ponies, I wouldn't know."

Tia's gaze shot to Luna, who said, "He is telling the truth."

"I am," Riddle nodded, then seemed to hesitate minutely. "Does it require a blood sacrifice of a hundred ponies?"

There was a long silence in the cabin of the carriage.

"Ten," said Celestia, her eyes still focused narrowly upon him.

Riddle sighed. "Of course it does. You can see that my statement was coincidence, yes?"

"I can," Celestia said. "Tell me more about your own intentions before I tell you more. Why you are curious about lich magic?"

"Other than the fact that I am being accused of using it," Riddle said for the third time, his tone dry once more, "my general usefulness to you and your sister is a direct result of my creativity. I draw inspiration from unusual places and innovate in ways that other ponies can't. If the lich ritual is extremely dark in almost every way, but I can see how to tweak one aspect to make the whole thing less dark, or if I can see how to apply its principles in a way that does not conflict with your morals, I would not hesitate to... well, I would hesitate to tell you about it, depending on the risks of letting the knowledge out. But I think you get the point I am trying to make."

"I do," said Celestia, seeming to relax slightly when Luna nodded to her that, yes, he's still telling the truth. "What else do you need to know about liches that you do not already know?"

"Does it require anything other than a ten-pony sacrifice to become a lich?" he asked. "And why must so many be sacrificed in the first place?"

"It also requires the self-sacrifice of the pony who wants to become the lich," said Celestia. "And I do not know why it requires the deaths of so many. I only know that the ritual does require it."

"What, precisely, does the ritual accomplish?" asked Riddle.

"It binds the consciousness of a pony to an object on this physical plane, as you seem to already know. Once the lich ritual is performed and the phylactery is made, the target lives a half-life evermore. Their ability to feel is permanently removed from them – pain, pleasure, love, hate, and every other emotion ceases to reach them. Even tactile sensation is gone. They become evil creatures of logic and power and apathy, endlessly pursuing their own interests until madness finally takes them."

"When you say they are creatures of power," said Riddle with a frown, "were they more powerful than you?"

"No," said Celestia, "but nor were they less powerful. Both of the liches I have encountered had the magical strength to match mine almost exactly, which did not help to dispel their delusions of grandeur."

"What do they look like?"

"The two I encountered liked to take the appearance of skeletal Alicorns most of the time, but from what I heard, they could take other forms as well. I think they came to prefer the form for the symbolism of it. They have the power of Alicorns, true, but a skeleton is a literal representation of what they feel inside. They are the powerful, empty remnants of the ponies they used to be."

"I see," said Riddle, still with that thoughtful frown.

"What are you thinking, fool?" Luna asked, a bit nervously.

"I am thinking that the ritual should not need to sacrifice so many ponies to achieve that result," said Riddle. "Not unless it is extremely inefficient, with the only point of the excess being to grant power akin to an alicorn."

"Are you thinking of using it to empower yourself?" asked Celestia, eyes fixed firmly on the fool.

"Oh, you needn't worry about that," Riddle chuckled. "If it were possible to become over-powered using that method, you'd think that a would-be lich, who's willing to sacrifice ten ponies in the first place, would be willing to sacrifice more. There is likely a hard limit, and that hard limit is likely the stage of Alicorn power. Even on the assumption that I am evil, and even on the assumption that I would be willing to perform that sacrifice, the truth is that I'm close enough to reaching Alicorn status honestly that I wouldn't bother with the evil route, especially given its drawbacks. The only thing that still confuses me is how that ritual grants immortality." He made a 'hmmm' noise. "Were there any recorded instances of a lich making more than one phylactery by performing more than one ritual?"

"More than one?" Luna asked, horrified.

"No," said Celestia. "But not for lack of desire, or a lack of trying. Now I am no longer sure if it was to make more phylacteries; maybe he was simply trying to become more powerful like you have just suggested. But the first lich I ever encountered caught my attention after destroying a few villages close to Canterlot-"

"You allowed it to happen on your doorstep?" Riddle interrupted in an amused voice.

"I allowed nothing," said Celestia. "This was back when news could not spread so quickly. I had not heard about him before that point. Once I did, I managed to track him down before he could murder another village. Afterwards, it was easy enough to track his trail of destruction. I believe he tried it at least ten times, but in the end, he only had a single phylactery, and he was no more powerful than the other lich I encountered, who only ever did the ritual once."

"You are certain the repeat offender did not have more phylacteries?" Riddle pressed. "What if he simply allowed you to assume you destroyed the 'only' one?"

"He didn't," said Celestia.

"How are you certain?"

"My encounter with the other lich put all such fears to rest. He was much smarter than the first, and he knew more about the meaning behind the ritual, even if he did not tell me. By the time I met him, I had finally come to fear exactly what you suspect; that the first lich had succeeded in making a second phylactery after all. So I had a conversation I otherwise would not have had, calling on Kindness and Friendship and Generosity for the strength to tolerate a lich's evil until I learned what I needed to learn. When I asked the second lich if he had tried more than one ritual, he said it would have been pointless. He did not even hesitate in his answer, so he must have considered it himself in the past. And when I revealed the actions of the first lich, he simply laughed and said 'idiot'. He was referring to the other lich with that insult, not me."

"How is that certain?" asked Riddle when Luna's sister had finished. "He could have been lying to throw you off his own success, as well as the other lich's."

"His 'generous' sharing of knowledge and his 'kind' display of deigning to speak with me in that conversation was genuine. Twisted as he was, he was not trying to deceive me. And if you are still not convinced, we would have heard more from those two by now if they had succeeded in surviving the crushing of their phylacteries. Well, maybe not the second, but definitely the first."

"Interesting," said Riddle leaning back in his seat. "So the ritual can only be performed once. Probably. Whatever they sacrifice to create a phylactery, it can only be sacrificed once, and it results in a form without feeling."

He stayed silent for a time, eyes closed.

"I'll have to ponder that at length, I think. I can't see it at the moment. Can you see it, now that the constraints have been clearly laid out?"

Celestia shook her head. "I prefer not to think about such matters. It is not true that to comprehend evil is to become evil. I must comprehend evil for the safety of my kingdom. But my mind is not eager to go there, nor is it as... tolerant of such thoughts as you seem to be. I only do so when I am left no other choice. For instance," she said, her gaze sharp once more, "in order to have physical influence, liches must arrange for a servant to sacrifice the soul of a pony. Liches manifest as ghost-like entities, unable to interact with the world beyond whispers. In order to gain a body, they must steal it from another, killing the victim in the process."

"Interesting," said Riddle.

"No. Not interesting. Evil, wrong, and gruesome. But most importantly, it is what I fear you have done in the past hour. Now will you say more of your own immortality method?"

"I can disclose a bit more," he nodded. "I can reassure you that no intelligent beings are harmed in my revival process." He glanced at Luna. "My consciousness is a bit more... loosely connected to my body than most ponies, to the point where accidental transfer and possession has happened..."

Oh. So that is how he came to possess Thorax. Luna was bound not to tell her sister about it, but it was good to know the underlying reason. He had honestly said it was a magical accident.

"...but even when I use my abilities for possession," Riddle continued, "I do not kill the possessed in the process, or even harm them. Physically, anyway. I suppose you could say there is the trauma of having your body taken from you, but I can prevent them from remembering the experience as well. I should also mention that I have only ever done such an occupation twice, and as I said, one of those was an accident. The host actually came to appreciate it in the end. In your terms, thanks to the accident he lived happily ever after."

Celestia looked to Luna, who nodded. She didn't even need her honesty sense to confirm that statement. She had been there. Thorax and the rest of the Changelings do indeed seem to be living happily ever after.

"And the other possession?" asked Celestia. "The one that was not an accident? What happened then?"

"That was a desperate situation in which I had no other options," Riddle replied with a frown. "It was also before I was as competent at reviving myself as I am today, so the possession went on longer than it otherwise would have."

"Would such a circumstance cause somegriff to develop a vendetta?" she asked, still with narrowed eyes.

Damn. She made that connection more quickly than he had been expecting. In fact, he had not been expecting her to make it at all. And unfortunately, there was no hiding it with his employer here. He was forced to own it.

"It would," Riddle nodded evenly.

"That Griffon, if I remember correctly, looked sickly," said Celestia. "And yet you claim your possessions do not take a physical toll."

"The possession itself did not," Riddle confirmed, "but circumstances forced me to use combat rituals when I was occupying his body."

Celestia frowned, heavily and disapprovingly.

"Which," Riddle continued, "as you should already know, often take a toll on the physical body of the wielder, but are not otherwise dark."

"What were the situations that 'forced' you to use them in the first place?" asked Celestia.

"Mr. Silver encountered a dangerous, unintelligent foe."

"You couldn't have used any other method to save him?"

"It was in a place warded against all forms of fast transport except phoenix-travel. I was forced to use Fiendfyre to burn through a number of magically-reinforced, solid stone walls to reach him in time."

Fiendfyre is one of the few rituals in Celestia's private library, surprisingly enough. In fact, it's one of the only wizard spells he encountered in Equestrian texts. Only the effects were written down, of course, but the sacrifice was probably known to a mage of Celestia's level: a single drop of blood from your own body, gone forever to form a fierce fire that will burn through almost anything, including the user, unless you lack the dominance to command it.

"Very well," Celestia sighed. "I can imagine a good pony's hoof being forced in a circumstance like that. But you did say combat rituals, plural, so I would like at least one more example of what you mean when you say you were 'forced' by circumstance to use a ritual."

Riddle tilted his head in consideration. "I used a shielding ritual that sacrifices a layer of skin to block almost all magical offense." Which was why the skin of the Defense Professor's body had become thinner after his and Mr. Potter's intervention with S.P.H.E.W. "That case was to protect Ms. Sunshine and her friends from an army of spells. Though in truth, I mostly did it for my own amusement, and out of dislike for the bullies attacking them. And as a boon to Mr. Silver, of course."

"Why did you not overpower an ordinary shielding spell?" Celestia asked. "Was the offense truly that strong?"

"Not quite," said Riddle.

If it had been 40 aurors, with half of the force assigned to casting brute-force finites – standard procedure when fighting a single, powerful wizard – he would have needed the ritual to block such an offense. If his goal was to block it. That's one of the many reasons why shields are inefficient ways of fighting.

The only fellow student who hadn't humiliated him at the martial arts dojo, and thus the only one who had been spared his wrath, put it more simply and directly than he had ever heard it. In English, it roughly translated to: 'Just dodge, forehead.'

But Celestia's right that he didn't even need a ritual to block the offense of forty 6th and 7th year Hogwarts students. If his goal was to merely block it, he could have used a normal spell. But that hadn't been his goal.

"Then why use a ritual?" Celestia pressed.

"My intervention was deliberately strange and eldritch," he said, recalling his reasoning at the time. "You're right that I could have used a simpler shielding spell, but it would not have produced the same desired results of intimidation and awe." The ritual he used was very visually impressive. "A normal shield might have also bounced spells back and stunned some of the audience," who did not know how to change shield harmonics to prevent their own stunners from passing through their own shields like a competent auror would. "That could have spared some of them from experiencing the necessary fear that would later protect Ms. Sunshine and her friends from their vengeance. The ritual I used was a nullification shield, so nothing bounced. If it had been an ordinary fight, with only myself involved, I would have simply dodged."

A/N: I made a post on the HPMoR subreddit about this, but here's the short version:

The shield being a ritual and the 'skin sacrifice' I just had Riddle talk about is NOT true canon, but it doesn't contradict canon either. It's a canon-compliant interpretation of established facts.

That's all about HPMoR continuity for now. Proceed.

"You could not have protected your pupils pre-emptively?" asked Celestia. "So that you were not forced to do so much damage to that griffon's body?"

"Not for those two circumstances, no." He hadn't been expecting Mr. Potter to confront his troll, and the bully situation had been complicated as well. "The others, perhaps. In all honesty, I was expecting the possession to end the moment I got ahold of an artifact capable of reversing the negative consequences. The possession did end when I acquired that device. Unfortunately for the griffon, the moment of de-possession also coincides with my arrival here, and the device proved harder to use than I first assumed as well. Furthermore, I did not even know my former host had made it to Equus until yesterday."

While he had not originally planned to restore Quirrell's body upon acquiring the Philosopher's Stone, the sequence of events he had just described was factually accurate. As for what he currently planned to do…

"And now that you do know your former host made it here," said Celestia after a glance at Luna, who gave a slight shake of the head, likely at the lie by omission. "If you ever meet him again, you will undo the damage to his body like you claim you can, you will apologize, and you will beg for his forgiveness."

"All but the begging part," Riddle nodded, ignoring his annoyance at her telling him how he 'would' act. "I do acknowledge that I owe him a debt. Even if he provided the aide unwillingly." Riddle grinned. "In return, I will provide my own aide to him, whether he is willing to accept it or not. I think that is appropriate enough. I do not know what recompense he will demand in return for the damage and losses, but I shall grant it if I can. If not, I will think of something myself."

"You truly will?" asked Celestia. "To the best of your abilities?"

Riddle nodded. "He was forced to help me against his will, and now you are forcing me to help him against mine. I suppose it does all work out in the end. It is genuine debt I owe-" and it's not too much trouble either, and it's actually the prudent thing to do, "so I shall not complain. Speaking of..."

He cast a mental tempus. It's been fifty-five minutes since he was killed.

"Now that I have the Time, I should get started on that affair. Unless you needed something else?"

"We are not opposed," said Luna. "In fact, I am glad to see you are taking the initiative. But wouldn't the trail be cold by now? Especially if he can teleport like you can, and he knows you are hunting him?"

"Under ordinary circumstances, yes," he said, and teleported back to Griffonstone. "But I have a Time Turner," he said to the empty air, removing the hourglass from his cloak and preparing a mental checklist.

Tom Riddle needed to take a few steps to ensure that Quirinus Quirrell would not escape his reward.

The first time through, Riddle simply observed his own death to get a general idea for where the bullet had come from. For the next fifty-five minutes, he did a high-flying sweep of the area – invisibly, of course – making a general note of which buildings might be tall enough to hide a ranged assailant capable of hitting him at that angle.

The second time through, he established a wide, invisible barrier that detects physical intrusions and allows the caster to calculate the trajectory of penetrating projectiles. For ten minutes after that, he staked out the building whence the projectile had come – a tall clocktower with a single open window. He kept his distance, not wanting to get too much foreknowledge on the decisions his future self was making.

His third and final time through, he arrived fifty minutes before the shot was fired, slipping through wards he hadn't encountered in over a year. He remained invisible as he staked out the one who staked out his past self. He watched for many long minutes as a griffon stared into the scope of a muggle weapon with calm, perfect, and unwavering focus.

At one point, the griffon muttered the charm of true-shot – an ancient and nigh-forgotten medieval charm which ensures that muggle weapons like arrows and throwing knives (and, apparently, bullets) would hit the wizard's sighted target.

Cheater, Riddle thought with an appreciative grin.

The griffon then said, clearly and precisely, "Brechden Anwee-eld Gefelueck."

They were the activation words to a different enchantment – yet another bit of obscure magic from the medieval period. It was powerful, but not quite powerful enough to be bound by the Interdict of Merlin. Still, Quirrell must have been quite the historian to know about it.

That explains how he pierced my troll-reinforced body, Riddle thought to himself.

This particular spell grants a physical weapon the power to pierce almost anything, even metals as hard as titanium and spell-resistant skins as hard as a Mountain Troll's.

Normally the spell is accompanied by a blue flame, but if it's a projectile weapon, the flame only appears after firing. That effect of the spell was originally intended to protect the bows and fingers of bowmen, but in this case, since the gun didn't blow up, the spell seemed to conveniently prevent any burning until the bullet was out of the gun's chamber.

Then the griffon pulled the trigger.

The instant the shot was fired, Riddle cast a stunner from point blank, knocking his murderer out cold. He then picked up the griffon and phoenix-traveled to home base. The inner-phoenix did not object to his intentions, not that he expected it to. Riddle had to physically drag (i.e. levitate) the griffon into his ritual room, which he would soon be modifying to ward against all teleportation, including apparation, now that he knows he has an enemy capable of using that magic. Even if that 'enemy' will be dealt with shortly, it's best not to take chances.

First, Riddle used the Stone to permanently Transfigure the griffon back to perfect health.

Well, actually first, he used a few diagnostic charms to learn all of the health problems. The Griffon body – which, like a pony body, has more magic than a human wizard – had done wonders for keeping Quirrell alive, despite his condition. The situation wasn't sustainable, and Quirrell would probably have died in less than five years, but now Riddle had an explanation for why Quirrell had not immediately died from the unicorn blood and combat ritual side effects within his first few days on Equus.

Or maybe it was just the Mirror's direct magical intervention that saved Quirrell, granting wishes at Riddle's expense yet again. But if that were the case, wouldn't it remove the health problems entirely? Or was it unable to do that with physical ailments, like the animagus transformation being unable to restore lost limbs?

Ultimately, it didn't matter. It was simple enough to fix with the Stone. Once the health problems concerning flesh and blood were healed – the magical ailment of unicorn blood poisoning had already been healed, probably by the Mirror – Riddle sacrificed the ninth-generation troll clone (after making a tenth-generation clone) in order to give the griffon's physical body the best chance of surviving its future endeavors.

Finally, Riddle cast a temporary anti-wand-summoning ward around the griffon. It was, quite literally, the only ward his ritual room did not use, since he still wanted the option of summoning the Elder Wand during an emergency.

He then said "Incarcerous. Petrificus Totalus. Finite Incantatum. Innervate."

The griffon opened his eyelids – which he could do thanks to the carefully targeted and carefully modulated finite. The rest of the griffon's body stayed locked in place, including most of his facial features, so Riddle could not tell what he was thinking. He could only tell what the Griffon was feeling, and right now there was a strong amount of fear.

"Hello," Riddle said. "Congratulations on killing me. That was a clever combination of spells. And to be honest, I'm surprised you even know about sniper rifles. I was not expecting that method at all."

The griffon who could not reply maintained a level stare, with only slight twitching from the edges of his eyelids.

"As a reward for livening up my day with your creativity," Riddle continued, "and to settle part of the debt I owe you, I have just healed your body. I acknowledge that I still owe you a debt for the time you lost during the possession, and for your displacement into a new world, but I do not know how to go about repaying those. I could offer you a new identity. Yours is compromised now that many know a griffon of your appearance is responsible for trying to kill a pony diplomat. I could also offer you wealth. Or perhaps you want power? Your competence has demonstrated to me that you are worthy of a parsing of ancient lore, a single magical secret that you may demand in recompense. I am about to undo the petrification of your beak and throat. Speak your desires and I will grant them if I can."

When his beak was unfrozen, he did not move it immediately. The fury that was tangibly emanating from the griffon probably had something to do with his hesitation.

"You ruined my life," said the voice of Quirinus Quirrell. Riddle hadn't recognized the voice in that brief interaction nine months ago, but he did now that he was listening for it. "And many others. The only way to settle that debt, Voldemort, is to ruin your own."

"My life was ruined," said Riddle. "Twice. You think I want to be here?"

"Make it a thousand times and it would be a good start."

"I don't care for your moralizing," said Riddle. "I was in that cave for ten years as a result of my own stupidity-" not technically true, for he could move his awareness to all his Horcruxes, not just the one in the cave, but what he said was a close enough shorthand "-and I spent that time carefully pondering my past mistakes. If you want to look at it that way, I did pay a steep price for Voldemort, and I do not intend to pay another. Except, of course, what I still owe you. I am here to settle that particular debt and nothing else. Speak your desired restitution or I will choose it for you."

"I have no desired restitution," said the griffon. "Except for you to pay for what you have done. I desire for your life to be truly ruined. Unrecoverably. Like mine was ruined, and so many others were ruined, at the end of your wand."

"So be it," said Riddle, acknowledging that Quirrell had made his choice. "Stupefy." Then, after carefully considering the target time period, "Obliviate."

Now Quirinus Quirrell would not remember anything up until the exact moment he had touched Riddle's horcrux. He would forget his anger, hate, and resentment over the last two and a half years. Most importantly, he would forget his personal interactions with Voldemort.

After a bit more consideration, he Obliviated just a bit further back, then spoke the words of the False Memory Charm and began to form scenes in his imagination. False memories must be crafted as experiences of the present moment, so Riddle had Obliviated up to Quirrell's expedition into the cave that held his Horcrux, and he was starting the false memory from that point onward.

A/N: Final bit of HPMoR compliance for this chapter: It's never stated that this is how the false memory charm works. This is another one of those 'canon-compliant but not true canon' moments.

Same as last time, I made a reddit post on the HPMoR subreddit, if you're interested about the details. If not, feel free to ignore this.

Unfortunately, the False Memory Charm might cause a bit of confusion, or even suspicion, in this circumstance. Quirrell might wonder why memories of before setting out for his final dungeon crawl (i.e. the memories of about 2.5 years ago) seem so distant while the false memory of Monroe and the crawl itself seem so clear. But with a few mental suggestions, Quirrell would hopefully assume the cave accident resulted in mild amnesia.

As for the scene Riddle had just crafted in his imagination, Quirrell will now falsely remember meeting "David Monroe" in the Leaky Cauldron just as he was about to set out.

Quirrell will remember David striking up a conversation with him.

Quirrell will remember sharing a bit about himself, in particular his defense grades in Hogwarts and his line of work.

He will remember David then making the request to borrow his identity; i.e. he will remember being asked to supply enough hairs for an indefinite supply of Polyjuice.

He will remember asking why David would want such a thing.

He will remember being told it's for the sake of effectively teaching proper self-defense to the children of Britain.

He will remember asking how Polyjuice could possibly help David achieve that goal.

He will remember being told that it might allow a whole generation of otherwise hopeless Hogwarts students to learn from a good teacher, without politics or bureaucracy or noble families or ancient disputes getting in the way, as they surely would if the last scion of Monroe taught defense.

Quirinus Quirrell had gotten an Outstanding in Defense, but he also knew how useless his education had been after years of ward-breaking and tomb-exploring. And so, it would not be surprising to Quirrell when he remembers readily agreeing to Monroe's request after comprehending the reasoning behind it.

Quirrell should also not be surprised when he remembers warning Monroe that his own disguise might stop working at some point. His passion is dangerous after all. He might even die in his very next adventure, causing the Polyjuice to stop functioning.

The last thing Quirrell will remember Monroe saying is, "Then be sure not to die. I have trust in your abilities."

If Riddle ever has to explain to the 'light' faction how he came to take the guise of Quirrell, he should now have access to a plausible explanation, assuming he can take Quirrell with him. That false memory has the potential to prove very useful indeed.

On that note, Riddle put a trace on the Griffon's wand, which had been on the table supporting the sniper rifle. Then, after further consideration, he removed the wand trace, which Quirrell might eventually notice. He then surgically opened the griffon's chest (made a bit more difficult by the troll's regeneration) and put a trace on one of his ribs. That should go unnoticed.

The wound regenerated on its own via troll magic, though Riddle maintained the courtesy of magically sanitizing the area until it closed. Once it did, he stepped back and regarded his work.

Hm... not good enough. There was still the ongoing investigation to consider, not to mention the potential wanted posters.

And so, Riddle permanently Transfigured Quirrell into a different-looking griffon. He already knew from previous testing (on himself) that the troll's regenerative powers would not reverse such changes; the Stone causes the new form to be accepted as the 'base' if damaged.

Riddle didn't want Quirrell to be arrested, detained, or even questioned about the recent murder. He didn't want Quirrell to hear about the murder. He didn't want Quirrell anywhere near the controversy. On that note, Riddle took the Griffon to the other side of Griffonia, as far away from Griffonstone as possible. It took a full day and consultation of an atlas to reach the frontier of Griffon civilisation, but Riddle considered that to be worth the effort as well.

Finally, he settled the rest of his debt. He gave Quirrell a single, highly liquid gem that would fetch an extreme price, allowing him to live a life of luxury if he wished. In the false memory, he'd included a minor scene of Quirrell finding it in the cave.

With his current combination of true and false memories, Quirrell should now believe that he had that conversation with Monroe, went on a yet another dungeon crawl, found the gem in the cave, passed out the moment he touched the mirror (not the locket), then woke up here in a new body.

Now Riddle regarded his work.

Hm… almost perfect, he decided. He just had to add a few finishing touches.

After waking the griffon into a state of half-consciousness, Riddle began the last memory charm he would be casting on this Griffon.

Quirinus Quirrell will remember thinking to himself, upon seeing his new body and that village over there full of creatures that look like himself, that it would be wisest to keep the human world, his past, his wand, his ability to cast magic, and his new regenerative powers a secret. He will also remember thinking that regret isn't wise, and that he should not mourn his unrecoverable past too much. He will remember deciding to continue his life of adventuring in this strange and promising land.

What he does with those memories is up to him. As it stands, if he believes them, he will very likely lead a happier life than he ever had as Quirinus Quirrell, if Griffonia is anything like Equestria.

He floated invisibly above when the griffon regained full consciousness and took off towards the village. Riddle had a fleeting moment of envy as he watched. It would be so easy to acquire happiness that way. All he had to do was Obliviate his own negative memories. Mr. Potter believed that was the only real shortcut, and now that he'd done it for Quirrell, he could see the sense in it.

But no. He wouldn't do it to himself. He would keep his memories. He would acquire happiness the hard way, whatever that meant, and whatever it entailed.

Chapter 50: The Big Lie

A/N: To pre-empt a question many of you will probably have in the first five seconds of reading this chapter, I've decided that the Killing Curse at the end of Chapter 49 won't be explained for a while. I'm not primarily doing this for the sake of presenting a puzzle to the reader. For the most part, I just didn't want to spoil what happened during his time in Equestria, which that explanation scene will do.

I was debating if I should upload all the 'rehabilitation' chapters sequentially, but I decided it was getting a bit boring to have too many of them in a row, and that'll be true for future chapters too, effectively meaning we'll be regularly jumping from past to present. So it's time for more wizarding world shenanigans.

11:45 PM, June 13th, 1992.

By the end of the broad outline that Riddle had provided for the 'play' they would be enacting, Hermione had a million questions that there wasn't time to answer. Things like, "Exactly how are you going to gather his followers to make it convincing?" And, "Just why are you so confident you can fool everyone, including the Death Eaters?" And most importantly, "Do we really have to do this?"

But she could see how it would help them change magical politics for the better if they could pull it off. She could see how it would help muggles and muggleborns. She could see how it would even help Slytherin House and purebloods like Daphne in the long run.

She just didn't like that they were lying. She really, really didn't like it. Even if they would be telling Professor McGonagall and the Head Auror and a few other important people the truth, it didn't sit right with her. She had at least been given the choice of accepting the mission or not. She didn't have to be involved. They could always pretend that she revived some other way.

In the end, despite her distaste, she said that she would do it. It was clear Professor Riddle was set on doing it, no matter what she said, so she decided she should be there to minimize the damage in any way she can. Plus, she wanted to be by Harry's side, and she wanted to make sure their Professor told the truth afterwards like he promised. She couldn't do that if she stayed on the sidelines.

Her role in the lie was tiny and easy to remember. She'd need her phoenix, which had been returned to her from Professor Riddle's cloak, and she'd need an invisibility cloak, and she would need the perfect timing…

The final, anticlimactic Quidditch match of the year, which for the watching crowd of students had become an extremely climactic debate about what should be done to fix Quidditch, came to a grinding halt when the broomsticks of the players all stopped working at the exact same time.

Given how loud and intense the arguing had been, it took a few seconds for the news to spread. It started with shouts from the students who had actually been watching, who tried and failed to compete with the shouts about snitches and house points and tradition and fairness. The Quidditch debate didn't really stop until Lee Jordan's amplified voice said, after it's initial "And now they're all diving, amazing, great work- wait. I don't think they're diving, are their broomsticks not working, HEY, THEY'RE FALLING! DO SOMETHING, PROFESSORS!"

This was sufficient to stop the crowd cold, everyone turning to pay attention to the game that had, up until that moment, been more like background wallpaper to frame the debate than a source of entertainment in itself.

By the time all attention was on the pitch again, the Quidditch players were already moaning on the ground.

Harry Potter, returned to the center of the debate after a brief trip to 'the bathroom', was currently surrounded by all the professors who, up until that point, had barely been keeping the peace. This meant he was in the perfect place to hear Professor Flitwick's high, squeaky voice when it had cast a spell.

Harry sighed in relief as the Charms Professor's wand lowered, sweat clearly visible on his forehead from making such a large and billowing cushioning charm, spread over such a wide area, at such a great distance from the caster.

Not that a fall from that height would have killed or even maimed any of the players, who were decked out in protective equipment that made them even more resistant to falls. But still, it was quick thinking by the Head of House Ravenclaw. Or maybe it was quick reflexes by a former dueling champion. Either way, nobody seemed to be hurt.

Show time.

On the other side of the stands, Professor McGonagall's alarmed voice shouted, "He what?!" Then, still alarmed, and now magically amplified, she shouted, "Students! Evacuate the stands! Immediately!"

Meaning that a sickly Professor Quirrell, barely able to ride a broomstick, had just informed her that Lord Voldemort had placed a (already deactivated) Blood Fort Sacrifice beneath the stands.

Next, comes...

A massive, translucent red sphere descended over the entire Quidditch Pitch, colouring everything in a light shade of crimson.

Now there should be…

High-pitched, manic laughter reached everyone's ears. It was not the terrible laughter of Voldemort, but the gleeful delight of his most faithful servant.

Harry felt like he was watching a movie whose plot had been spoiled to him in advance.

From the watching aurors, whose broomsticks were also not working anymore, there came a deep, male voice that shouted, "Bellatrix Black!"

He must have recognized her by voice alone, Harry thought, because the script didn't call for her to be revealed just yet.

The watching students, who before had been trying to comply with Professor McGonagall's demands out of fear from reprisal and out of confusion about what was going on, now devolved into a full-blown panic to escape. Pandemonium erupted throughout the entire student body of Hogwarts-

A moment before a smaller barrier (a translucent, purple, rectangular prism) trapped students and professors alike in the stands, blocking all exits before a single person managed to get out. A captive audience. (One that hadn't had time to trample anyone as they fled, thank Merlin.)

"Ah, ah, ah," tutted the voice that everyone now knew belonged to the most evil person in the world. "No escaping. My Lord wants witnesses for his return!"

Or rather, from the audience's perspective, she should have just been demoted to second most evil now that the most evil was about to come back.

While Bellatrix was busy laughing madly, Harry glanced at the raised part of the stands that held the announcers. As planned, Professor Quirrell was on the outside. He was slumped across a broomstick, hovering in front of Professor McGonagall, separated from her and Lee Jordan and the rest of Hogwarts by a purple wall. (Which, for the purposes of this plot, did not block sound or sight at all.)

Some students were already looking at Harry, as if expecting the Boy-Who-Lived to be able to do something to stop the Dark Lord's return. "Wands out, everyone!" he said in a loud voice.

It was the Royal Canterlot Voice, which he had a small amount of practice using, though he didn't realize he could use it as a human until Professor Quirrell explained that it was one of the spillover powers from his full ascension as a pony. It wasn't a spell, really, just something alicorns could do with the right mindset.

"Spread apart from each other as much as possible and start firing shield breakers!" Harry Potter commanded the students and teachers of Hogwarts."I want everyone to jump to the ground as soon as that barrier goes down! Aurors outside the barrier, get the fallen players OUT of the pitch!"

"Ah, Harry Potter," breathed a high, cold voice, interrupting the students and adults as they began to do as he said. Eyes turned to the recently-cleared center of the Quidditch pitch. "Ever the hero."

At the stroke of midnight, with a bright flash and a loud crack, Lord Voldemort appeared in the center of the arena as if summoned by lightning, surrounded by about twenty Death Eaters.

(With how many there were, Harry was worried that not all the ones who had children in Hogwarts had been left out of this raid, like Riddle promised. He knew Lucius and his minions wouldn't be here, at least. Were there really that many non-Azkaban, non-dead, non-Hogwarts-parent Death Eaters?)

"You won't be escaping my Blood Fort Sacrifice that easily," Voldemort's high voice said, still addressing Harry. "In fact, you won't be escaping at all." A cold chuckle reverberated throughout the stadium. "The Boy-Who-Lived, soon to die."

The Death Eaters scattered the moment they appeared, except Bellatrix Black who stood by her Lord's side. Perceptive watchers might have noticed that she was missing an arm. Most of the Death Eaters went to the red shield surrounding the whole pitch, touching it with their wands as if to reinforce it, while the rest did the same with the shield around the students.

The aurors were greatly outnumbered, not to mention outmatched. It was all they could do to maintain shields around the downed Quidditch players and hope that Dumbledore arrived soon. If they attacked, they would fail, they would die, and the Quidditch players, not to mention their families, might be slain as punishment for their insolence. Tom Riddle expected that to be their perspective, their role in this play, and if any deviated, a jab from Voldemort's wand would cause them to collapse into unconsciousness.

In the brief time that it took for the Dark Lord's monologue to happen, the slumped form of Professor Quirrell had directed his still-functioning broom towards the field, catching Voldemort's full attention.

"And here we have the brave Defense Professor of Hogwarts to oppose me." An amused chuckle. "Sickly, half-dead, and ready to fall over. I see that my curse is still working beautifully after all these years. Tell me, how are you evading my anti-anti-gravity jynx?"

There was a hacking cough, followed by, "Figured out your method of flight, snakeface." The broomstick fell to the ground, even as the Defense Professor, still slightly slumped, remained in the air.

"Is that you, David Monroe?" asked the Dark Lord, sounding surprised and delighted. "After all these years? What a wonderful rebirthing present. I never imagined I would watch you perish with my own eyes."

"And I never imagined," coughed out Professor Quirrell, "that I would manage to thwart you one final time."

"Thwart me?" asked the voice of Voldemort, still amused. "What an interesting conceit. How exactly to you intend to do it? You have no power. No health. No family. All you have is your life, and you barely have that."

Professor Quirrell gave a little chuckle, though it ended in a coughing fit. "Didn't need power, or health, to steal the Philosophers Stone. Only cleverness."

"What?!" said the voice of Professor McGonagall, but a jab of Voldemort's wand silenced her.

After that, he began clapping, his wand hovering before him, still trained on Professor McGonagall. "Well done, I must say," complimented the Dark Lord, red eyes fixed on the Defense Professor of Hogwarts. "I was not looking forward to foiling that old fool's trap. Out of curiosity, did you somehow convince Dumbledore to deactivate it for you, or did you evade him completely?"

"He sacrificed himself," said Quirrell. "It was too late to stop, so he reversed the Mirror's power and trapped himself outside of Time."

The Dark Lord threw his head back and laughed. Terrible and wicked, high-pitched and searing cold, the laughter reached all the students, all the professors, as the dread of helplessness and despair settled over them all. No, Albus Dumbledore would not be coming to save them. Professor Flitwick’s failed attempt to send his Patronus to the headmaster reinforced this feeling tenfold.

"Avada Kedavra!" said the voice of Professor Quirrell, aiming green death at the Dark Lord who was laughing in schadenfreude and victory.

The Dark Lord easily sidestepped the spell, which sunk through the ground behind him (and would be intercepted by Hermione's Patronus). Voldemort grabbed his floating wand and, with a gesture and a word, the Defense Professor collapsed from the air to the ground, gasping in pain.

Even from this distance, it could be seen that his hair had gone from greying to white. His skin shriveled and thinned even more, wrinkles and blotches of age and sickness appearing on his face and body, though only the Quidditch seekers could probably see all that detail from a distance.

"Nice try," said Lord Voldemort. "But no. Despite your pointless attempt to slay me just now, you have done me a great service, and so I offer a reward. If you take my mark and swear fealty to me, I will restore you to full life and health in return."

"In... your... dreams... snakeface."

"A fool to the end," sneered the Dark Lord, sounding unsurprised. "In that case, you have but one thing that I want. Mark my words, I could kill you now and take it myself. But out of respect for our rivalry-" he was really laying it on thick with the self-flattery, wasn't he? "-and your defeat of Dumbledore, I offer you the rare chance to save your students. If you submit to my wand with dignity and surrender the Stone of your own free will, I might be convinced to let most of your students go, even some of the Gryffindors-"

A coughing fit interrupted the Dark Lord. It wasn't loud, but it (magically) carried.

"Even if... I could..." another cough, "it's not worth... you getting... the Stone. But... I no longer... have it. I only… stole it... to stop... you... from stealing it. I already... hid it... and Obliviated... myself... of where... I put it... after... a Patronus Charm... informed... Master Flamel... where it was."

"I have a means of finding it wherever it lay," said Voldemort coldly. "You have just doomed-"

"Lie," said Professor Quirrell. "Bluff... so Flamel... would have Dumbledore... put Stone... in Hogwarts. And now... Flamel knows... it's a bluff... too."

"Crucio!"

The screams of Professor Quirrell were not particularly loud, but like his faint words, they carried to the entire student body.

Harry flinched. Watching his mentor torture himself wasn't a pleasant experience, but he couldn't say Tom Riddle wasn't giving this his all. Unless he'd found a way to resist the Cruciatus, like Harry suggested, or fake its casting. If he had done either, you couldn't tell from the screams.

Harry decided that now would be a good time to focus on something other than the main scene.

Professor Flitwick was grim. He looked like he wanted to kill Voldemort himself, if only he had the chance. But the professor probably knew that it was impossible, despite his dueling background, and he would stick to his duty of defending the students. The other professors wore similar looks, or frightened looks, or held back tears.

The students around Harry wore hateful expressions, or concerned expression, or they were looking away, or closing their ears. Even the students that he had been mentally referring to as 'future Death Eaters' (i.e. Robert Jugson, the Carrow twins, and a few others) looked torn between their Dark Lord and their Defense Professor. Though they probably weren't feeling all that loyal to Voldemort at the moment, given that he hadn't let them out of the barrier yet, as many of them were probably expecting.

"Give me some space," Harry said quietly to the students around him. His wand slowly rose into the air. His other hand rose as well, taking a shape that was instantly recognized by everybody in the immediate vicinity. "Professor Flitwick, make sure no one on this side of the barrier interferes."

He did not cast any spells, not yet, but the students around looked like they expected him to, especially given the gesture his non-wand hand was poised to make.

Nobody said anything, nobody questioned him. Most were too busy agonizing over their professor's agony. But they did give him space enough to move his arm without hitting anybody. Flitwick eyed the students around him as this happened, especially the Slytherins.

Eventually, the screams of Professor Quirrell cut off, replaced by much more laboured breathing that somehow (i.e. with magic) still reached the stands.

"You have just condemned yourself and your school to death," the Dark Lord said, voice as cold as an empty void. "Any last words?"

And with what might have seemed like his final breath, the Defense Professor of Hogwarts said, "Go... to hell."

That was Harry's cue.

His arm was already in the starting stance for the Patronus Charm, his fingers already executing the motions along the wand while his other fingers were already poised.

As the Dark Lord's wand pointed at Professor Quirrell, three voices shouted at once.

One said, "Avada Kedavra!"

The other two said, "Expecto Patronum!", accompanied by the (amplified) sound of Harry's fingers snapping.

Two moonlight figures blazed into existence just as the green spell blasted from the Dark Lord's wand. The two glowing human shapes materialized shoulder-to-shoulder with their hands outstretched, as if the two were saying "Stop!" as one. The green spell collided with one of the hands, and then both spells winked out.

What the script called for next was for Harry to pretend like his scar was hurting while Voldemort exploded and his Death Eaters screamed in pain and vanished in flashes of (teleportation) light, leaving only ashes behind.

And that's exactly what happened, except that Harry didn't have to act. He didn't have to pretend that his scar was hurting because it was hurting.

Only it shouldn't have been. This was one of the final things that had convinced Harry that his mentor was truly redeemed, that the difference between their two spirits was no longer so terrible that they could not coexist in the same world. Tom Riddle, in human form, did not produce a Sense of Doom to Harry Potter, also in human form. None whatsoever. They could cast magic on each other without pain or discomfort. They tested it earlier.

Only, Harry would think to himself after the fact, they had not run this test on the Voldemort body that Tom Riddle would be creating and entering.

That was, in retrospect, a mistake. But thankfully not a fatal one. It might have even made the whole thing more believable. It seemed like Voldemort was being torn apart by chaotic fluctuations in magic because he was being torn apart by chaotic fluctuations in magic. It seemed like the Boy-Who-Lived was screaming in pain because he was screaming in pain.

It was worse than it had been at Azkaban, so bad that he couldn't think except in brief flashes of memory and decision-making. He threw away his wand, making the pain slightly more bearable, making rational thought slightly more possible. He had time to think animagus? to himself, time to think pony form is magical, might not work to himself, time to think pony form not affected by resonance to himself, and time to decide to just ride it out, since it was getting better over time, not worse.

Revealing his pony form was something he wouldn't be doing unless absolutely necessary. Well, revealing that his pony form was the animagus form of Harry Potter was something he wouldn't be doing unless absolutely necessary. He might reveal the form itself before that point. But nuances like that would go through his head later. Right now, there was mostly just the mental concept of 'bad idea to change'. Other than that, there was pain.

By the time he'd come to his senses again, he found that he was on the grass, no longer in the stands, with Professor Flitwick hovering over him. "Take me," Harry bit out through the stress, which was thankfully subsiding, "to Professor Quirrell."

Professor Flitwick didn't argue or hesitate. He simply levitated Harry into the air again and gently pushed students aside until they were looking at a wasted man, skin fragile and blotched, hair white and thin, face wrinkled and weathered like an old man on his deathbed. He was laying peacefully on his back, guarded by Hermione's moonlight Patronus. He tilted his head to face Harry when he came into view.

This would be the final instance of Professor Quirrell, the final time that Tom Riddle took this form, just like the Tom Riddle of one time-turned hour ago had been the final instance of Lord Voldemort. It felt like saying goodbye, because in a way it was saying goodbye. Harry was about to lose his mentor in a way that might or might not ever allow him to get the mentor he knew back – he had already lost his mentor that way – and it had been and would be both a good and bad thing.

Mostly good, though.

"Is there time to take you to St. Mungos?" he asked, because that's what the Harry Potter of a year ago would have asked.

A very, very small shake of the head. "I would not survive... apparition... or portkeys... or floo travel," said the very weak voice of Professor Quirrell. "Nor the trip... to the castle... or beyond the wards. Better I perish... in peace. Well done... my student."

"Well done yourself," said Harry. They hadn't planned out exactly what they would say, just the general beats of the story, so Harry was improvising.

It went entirely without saying that almost every student in Hogwarts was either watching or trying to watch, along with almost every professor.

"Give them some space, please," squeaked out Professor Flitwick. The press of students backed up a little, the circumference of the watching circle widening, allowing a few more students to see.

"And... well done... my other student..." continued that weak, dying voice, now addressing the Patronus that still stood on the grass. "I take back... the grade... I gave you. That was... an outstanding... defense... against... the Dark Arts."

In the air above them, the flash of a phoenix caused many students to jump back. Hermione Granger, the girl who died, slowly floated down as if suspended by hover charms (or broomstick bones). She was now directly above and in front of Professor Quirrell, haloed by a bird of power. The defense professor did not have to move his head at all from where he lay, he could simply look forward.

"Thank you," said Hermione. Her face was blank, as Riddle Tome had said it should be. If she wasn't a good actor, she shouldn't try, and her role should be minimized to only few words. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Professor Quirrell stared up at her, at the bird on her shoulder.

"I... was not expecting... the phoenix..." he said. "To move me now... would kill me... but perhaps... you could take me... to Flamel... without moving me. Do you think... you could lend her... to me?"

"Yes," said Hermione, but her phoenix cawed in objection.

"On second thought," said Professor Quirrell, "She... might not... like me. Can you... take me... yourself… in side-along… transport?"

"I... um..."

This wasn't part of the script, and while that wouldn't have stopped Harry from improvising, Hermione looked like a deer caught in headlights.

"Don't know... where it is…" he finished for her with a sigh. "I know. In that case... touch my hand... and lean down. I will whisper... a place you know... that will get me there. Mr. Potter... you touch... my hand... too."

This was done without delay, and a moment later the three disappeared in a crack of phoenix fire.

The dying man on the floor turned into a dying alicorn on the floor. He floated a Stone of Permanence to his horn, then encased himself in a glow that rapidly returned him to youth and health.

The sickness had been real, but it had been a physical, non-magical ailment. Thus, it could be transfigured away.

"What now?" asked Harry as soon as Riddle Tome seemed like he wasn't in pain anymore.

"I talk to Flamel," said the thestral.

"When are we telling the truth?" asked Hermione.

"Right after that."

Author's Note

I wrote in the first author's notes that I'm holding off on the AK explanation mostly for spoiler-prevention reasons, not for puzzle reasons, and I meant what I wrote.

That said, it is still a puzzle. There is a rational explanation, one that fits the current evidence. Is current Harry some kind of Inferius? Was it 'just a prank, bro'? Did Riddle miss entirely, or hit something else, or not even cast it in the first place, just say the words? Since I'm asking those questions rhetorically, the answer is probably 'no' to all of them, but feel free to assume I'm misleading you.

Fair warning: this puzzle isn't like the easy Quirrell one from two chapters ago. In terms of difficulty, I would equate this to the Philosopher's Stone in HPMoR. Imagine trying to figure out, in advance, the mechanics of the Stone of Permanence in HPMoR before they were explicitly stated in Chapter 105. That's about how difficult this puzzle is, I'd estimate. In short: barely possible. So don't feel bad if you can't figure it out.

Chapter 51: The Big """"Truth""""

Minerva McGonagall sat at the desk of the Headmaster of Hogwarts, though she had not been named headmistress just yet. That would happen at breakfast in a few hours. Despite the earliness of the morning, or from her perspective, the lateness of the night, there were no fewer than eight people and one animal in the room, trying to ignore the constant chaos of noisy devices.

Expectedly, Harry Potter sat still in a small seat before and to the left of her desk. Impossibly, though not at all unwelcomed, Hermione Granger sat next to him. Unbelievably, a phoenix – not Fawkes – perched comfortably on her shoulder.

Amelia Bones sat across from Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, her chair and theirs and the headmaster’s desk forming an equilateral triangle. Alastor Moody stood behind Ms. Bones, wand out and ready as it always was. He'd arrived mere seconds ago. He almost hadn't come in the first place. It had taken Patronus messages from both Minerva McGonagall and Amelia Bones to insist that he be present, and even that had barely been enough to convince him.

This is despite the fact that even Alastor believes that guarding the probably-false graveyard was almost certainly a fool's errand. Even when the Dark Lord proved capable of reviving himself without it, Alastor STILL only left AFTER putting up wards that would alert him if anyone entered the premises. He was following Albus's orders, he had said, even if he disagreed with them strategically.

Severus Snape stood on Minerva’s direct right, his eyes moving between Moody's wand and Harry Potter. He looked as alert as Alastor, probably because he had actually gotten some rest this night, forced as it may have been.

Filius Flitwick stood on Minerva's left. He looked more exhausted than anyone. Among the adults in the room, he was probably the least accustomed to this sort of thing. He was not an official member of the Order of the Phoenix. He was not used to war and strategy and meetings that could be called at 4:30 in the morning. He was only here on the insistence of the final person in the room.

Pomona Sprout was not that final person. She was being tested for lingering Legilimency compulsions in St. Mungos. It felt improper that Hufflepuff's representative should not be here when the other three were. If they could not have the headmaster in Hogwarts's head office, they should at least have all four heads of house. But it wasn't to be, and Hogwarts business wasn't the purpose of this meeting in any case.

Professor Quirrell – or David Monroe, as he now insists on being called – stood well away from the group, next to a window. He looked entirely different, spoke in a completely new voice that Minerva didn't remember sounding quite like that on the few occasions she heard him speak in the distant past, though Amelia Bones had seemed convinced after a Floo conversation with him. To Minerva, his manner of speaking, cadence, style, and choice of words all reminded her too much of the Defense Professor for her to think of him as Monroe, even if his voice and appearance were different.

"Before we begin," said the man, half his face in shadow, the other half lit only by the orange light of the non-Floo fireplace next to him, "I would like to exchange reports of last night so that we are up to speed with each other. Professor Flitwick," he addressed, "are you capable of recalling last night's events well enough for a pensieve? I think a third-person perspective would prove best."

The Head of House Ravenclaw said nothing in response, only sighed and nodded. The Charms professor used a wandless levitation charm to catch the memory vial that David Monroe tossed to him, but his expression changed when the glass touched his fingers.

"There's something odd about this vial," he stated.

"It uses an enchantment that bypasses the need for a pensieve," said Professor Qui- ah, Professor Monroe. The man withdrew a rather large roll of parchment from his robes, of the size meant for large landscape paintings instead of 12-inch essays. He unfurled it and set it to float horizontally, facing them like a frameless portrait.

"I'm guessing," said Amelia Bones, "this will be like the time you showed us your armies?"

The man nodded, withdrawing another parchment, this one much smaller. "I would also like everyone to sign this while Professor Flitwick recalls the event."

As he floated it to her desk, Minerva could see words already writ upon it.

"Why?" Alastor demanded.

"It is a magical contract," said Monroe. "It will ensure you what I am about to say stays private."

"How do you plan to enforce it?" Moody snorted.

"It enforces itself," said Professor Monroe. "The magic is foreign. It is not nearly as powerful as an Unbreakable Vow, but just as useful. The Goblet of Fire punishes those who transgress its terms. This is similar to that, except a contract's punishments will prevent violations before they happen, not after."

"Foreign, eh? Where did it come from?" Moody continued to probe. "What country?"

"Equestria," said Monroe, a term that Minerva didn't recognize.

"Learned to make it while you were gone all those years?" Moody guessed.

The lips of the Defense Professor twitched upward. "That is correct."

"How does the contract deliver punishment?" asked Minerva, looking at the paper but not yet reading it.

"By paralyzing your body and freezing your magic for an hour," Professor Monroe explained. "Though since I created it, I can unfreeze you before then, if it happens in my presence. It activates whenever a genuine attempt at breaking the terms is made. If your life is in immediate danger, it will unfreeze you. But if you try to abuse that to violate the terms, you will freeze up again. Be warned that my contracts prioritize their purpose over your life, so please don't try to break it if you're in danger."

Moody's response was laced with paranoia and skepticism. "We're supposed to take your word for it?"

"A reasonable concern. Mr. Potter, if you would?"

Harry Potter exchanged glances with the Defense Professor, nodded, and said, "Emergo."

Minerva's surprise at the wandless magic was short-lived. Or rather, it was over-ridden by a different surprise. She had seen it yesterday, but she still had trouble believing it. The person-shaped Patronus - brighter than Albus Dumbledore's moonlight phoenix - appeared without words, without gestures, just with Harry's raised wand. Without being given instructions, without being told to say anything, the Patronus said, in Harry's voice, "Magical contracts work as he described them."

Amelia Bones was looking intently at the Patronus.

Almost as intently as Moody was looking at it. "The kid could be Confunded into believing that," he said. "Or that new fancy spell might be able to lie."

"Tell them that two plus two is five," Harry told his Patronus.

The Patronus looked displeased with him, like a teacher reprimanding a student.

"Tell them that two plus two is four," Harry said.

"Two plus two is four," his Patronus echoed.

Moody's stare was no less intent than before. "He could have instructed it to act that way."

"Enough, Alastor," sighed Minerva.

"No," Professor Monroe said to her. "It's fine. That Patronus is more intelligent than the standard kind. It is entirely new to every adult wizard in this room, aside from myself. Moody's right; it does operate in useful and unusual ways, though it still cannot lie, as you will learn if you ever cast it yourself. Caution is the word of the day, which is why I am having you all sign the contract. Please read it aloud, Headmistress McGonagall."

She wasn't headmistress yet, but she didn't argue.

"Wait," said Alastor before she could even open her lips. "What if just saying the terms-"

"Feel free to arrest me if anything happens to her from just reading it. I promise to come quietly if it does."

"What if just hearing the terms-"

"Enough, Alastor," Minerva repeated. "He opposed V... Voldemort, last night. Without his efforts, we would all be doomed. He deserves a modicum of trust, doesn't he?"

Moody snorted. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"Are you saying you'll never believe it?" Professor Monroe asked. He did not sound offended, just curious.

Moody grinned viciously. "Never trust the Defense Professor."

Professor Monroe's lips twitched upward. "Smart man," he said. "Though I should mention that I removed Voldemort's curse on the position. As with everything else, please don't take my word for it. A few years should prove that statement true. I am still here, am I not?"

"In a new body," Moody countered at once. "Your old one was dead to rights – you will explain how that happened, son – and you haven't been rehired yet."

"Technically, I haven't been fired yet. Or retired. Against my will or otherwise."

The conversation was interrupted by the large portrait-parchment lighting up with an image of the Quidditch pitch as seen from the stands. Or rather, it was an image of students arguing in the stands, with the Quidditch pitch in the background. A glance showed Minerva that Professor Flitwick had just placed his memory into the vial, the tip of his wand still on the glass's rim. Professor Monroe tapped his own wand to the parchment, which caused the scene to shift from a still image to moving ones, accompanied by audio.

While the screen played the early, unimportant part of what she'd seen last night, i.e. the arguing students and professors, she briefly explained to Professor Flitwick what was said while he was extracting his memory. He likely established a silencing barrier to help him focus as he remembered, and if not he still would have been lost to the world, so he needed to be brought up to speed. In particular, she told him about the contract. She also handed it to him to examine, since he was more knowledgeable at Charms and Enchantments than she.

Then students were falling out of the air, and her attention was involuntarily drawn to the memory. Filius would be able to ignore it, since it was his memory, and one that he'd just recalled. She trusted him to scrutinise the contract while she re-watched last night's disasterous miracle.

The parchment showed things she had not seen last night, for Filius had focused on things she hadn't. His vision briefly fixated on Bellatrix Black's missing arm, for example, which she heard about afterwards, but had not seen herself. Filius also focused on the subtle details that Voldemort's aging curse inflicted upon Professor Quirrell's body. Filius heard a quiet request from Harry Potter, then watched the boy take up a stance and wait for the moment that Voldemort inevitably cast his favourite curse. Filius looked at the ashes that were left behind by the dead Death Eaters.

The occasional glance away from the memory informed Minerva that Professor Snape, Alastor Moody, and Amelia Bones were even more enraptured than she, this being their first times witnessing the scene. When the memory ended in a crack of phoenix fire, there was a noisy silence in the room of mad objects.

"Well done, lads," Alastor Moody said at last, withdrawing a handkerchief and dabbing his face and forehead. "Well done," he repeated as he returned it to his robes. "Just to check, you're sure you got his Horcrux, too? And you're sure it wasn't fake?"

Professor Flitwick gasped, apparently familiar with the term.

"The Dark Mark is not faded," said Severus Snape in a neutral tone. "Though Mr. Potter has suggested that it might live on despite the fate of its master."

"What?!" demanded Moody, his blue eye flicking back and forth between Potions Master and Boy-Who-Lived. "Why didn't you tell me that earlier?"

"Because I only came to a few minutes ago," Snape drawled. "That is why I am here. I heard the original prophecy foretelling Voldemort's defeat. The events of last night, as they were related to me, and as I witnessed them just now, do not quite fit. If Mr. Potter explains how he truly defeated the Dark Lord to my satisfaction, I shall consider the matter concluded, regardless of the Mark's state, and I will gladly offer my thanks."

There was a pause in the room.

Harry Potter and David Monroe had been exchanging glances the whole time, though not words, while Hermione Granger fidgeted nervously.

"Voldemort had... rather a lot of Horcruxes," said Harry Potter.

Flitwick gasped again, louder this time, his skin visibly paling. But Harry Potter paid his gasp, and Minerva’s similar gasp, and Alastor’s and Severus’s profanities, and Amelia's curses, no heed at all.

"I had to come up with a different way of vanquishing him," Harry continued. "I came up with multiple ways, in fact, like Obliviating all his memories, or transfiguring his body into a pebble and maintaining it indefinitely, or torturing him into insanity, or dropping his wand into the Dementor pit in Azkaban, like what happened to me in January. Or dropping one of his horcruxes instead of his wand. A hundred horcruxes wouldn't have stopped those ideas from vanquishing him, unless he'd thought to safeguard against them, and all of those methods would probably have kept the Dark Mark alive... except maybe the Dementor one."

Alastor, Amelia, Minerva, Severus, and Filius were all staring wide-eyed at Harry. Ms. Granger simply looked confused, like she was having trouble following.

"And I did have the opportunity to do one or two of those things," the Boy-Who-Lived added. "But..."

"But then all the Dementors in the world were destroyed," Moody finished for him.

"What?!" said Minerva, Filius, and Severus.

"Indeed," said Amelia Bones. "That's what delayed me. I only just got Azkaban secured."

"That's-" Minerva began. "But that's impossible!"

"I would have thought the same at your age, dear. It seems we have a new kind of magical creature on our hands, one with a strong distaste for Dementors. The attack started at Azkaban, then moved on to the rest of the world. Naturally, the fools in the Wizengamot couldn't agree on a course of action without a Chief Warlock to guide them. The Line of Merlin wasn't where Dumbledore said it would be, and Bartemius Crouch doesn’t have authority to act unilaterally for something this major, so I didn't have permission to warn the other countries. We still have a Dementor in the Ministry, and I've received word that the Dementor in the ICW hasn't been touched, but all the other official locations have been purged. I'd guess that the wild Dementors are gone too, if the perpetrators were thorough. It's possible they're still hunting them down as we speak."

"When, exactly, did all this manage to happen?" sneered the Potions Master. "Overnight?"

"Yes, son," the retired auror said, his voice sour and serious in stark contrast to the sarcasm. "They used a Patronus Charm. Way bigger than anything the world's ever seen. You think the kid's is bright, just wait. Jamie saw it from shore. From Britain's shore. Probably violated the international Statute of Secrecy, even if the muggles dismiss it as rumor." His gaze fixed on Harry Potter again. "If you still need a Dementor for Voldie's horcrux, I think I can convince the Unspeakables to look the other way for five minutes."

Harry shook his head. "That... well, that wasn't what I was going to say. But..."

"But beyond that," said Professor Monroe, "It would be unwise to continue this conversation until you all sign that contract. Are you satisfied that it is not dangerous, Professor Flitwick?"

The Charms Professor, who until that point had been completely distracted by the conversation at hand, dropped his eyes back to the parchment. "I couldn't detect any hostile magic," said his squeaky voice. "Not even when I signed it."

"You what?" said Amelia at the same time that Moody barked, "You fool!"

"I trust the current Defense Professor," Flitwick said simply. "Keep in mind that if the curse means our Defense Professors can never be trusted, the extremely cunning Dark Lord wouldn't have made it. They can be trusted sometimes, otherwise we'd get to be certain the Defense Professor is always to blame. Besides, somebody would need to sign it to see that it's safe. And if I was only here to show my memory," he smiled wryly, "now I can stay and listen to what my fellow professor has to say."

"Curiosity killed the Ravenclaw," Mad-Eye recited. "You know that, right?"

"Of course," said Filius. "But it strengthens him when it doesn't. I'll be asking about how I could understand the names of the other signatories for that very reason. When we're not doing something as important as this, I mean."

"Oh, you can ask now," said Monroe. "They are written in the Atlantean script, like the words of False Comprehension. Except unlike those Words, Merlin's interdict is not preventing you from comprehending these ones, since they are not trying to convey powerful magics. Did you read and comprehend the terms before signing?"

The blinking Charms Professor slowly nodded.

"I swear I shall not," he said formally, "without their consent, act upon any secrets of the one(s) who is/are having me sign this paper. I shall not reveal their secrets to others, I shall not use their secrets against them, I shall not use their secrets FOR them. Unless I am in their private company, in the company of only those who already know the secrets, or I am otherwise given explicit permission by the contractor(s), I shall act as if I am completely ignorant at all times. The contractor(s) may release me from these terms, or certain parts of it, if they choose, but they must tell me directly if that is the case."

When Filius spoke again, it was in his usual, squeaky voice. "Though I still don't know what the secrets are." He floated the parchment back to the headmaster's desk.

"I'll tell you as soon as everyone else signs it," said Monroe.

"You want me to sign it, too?" asked the Boy-Who-Lived.

"No need," said Monroe. "You already know the secrets, and I trust your discretion." He addressed the wider room. "Mr. Potter is an exception. He already knows. If you sign and learn the secrets, you have my explicit permission to discuss them in his presence."

Minerva, upon hearing this, found herself staring at the Boy-Who-Lived. "You already know what he wishes to discuss?"

Harry nodded. "And some of the things he doesn't."

Professor McGonagall found herself staring at the Boy-Who-Lived like she would have been staring at Albus if he were still here. "Do you think I should sign this, Harry?"

The boy's eyebrows furrowed, seeming to think about the question. "I don't know if it's the right or wrong thing to do," he equivocated. "Only that it's the... expedient thing to do." He looked to his Defense Professor. "I imagine that anyone who doesn't sign will be kept out of the loop?"

The man nodded.

The boy sighed. "Then yeah," he said, answering her question with certainty. "We're going to be doing a lot of important things in the near future. It would be good to know we're not internally divided. In a perfect world, we wouldn't need this contract. But the real world isn't a perfect one, and at least this isn't as bad as the Dark Mark. When we get involved in bringing eternal youth to the entire wizarding world, it would help if we trusted each other. Even if that trust is forced. I assume you'll be helping me with that?"

That last question had been directed to the Defense Professor, who nodded again. "If they sign, I will ask Alastor to act as security consultant, and Amelia for help with the Wizengamot. If not, we might have to secede from Britain."

Severus, Filius, and Hermione said simultaneous "What?"s. Amelia Bones was looking at the Defense Professor like she desperately wished that he was joking, but knew he wasn't. Minerva's expression was much the same.

The man seemed to notice their expressions, then reached into his robes with both hands. One hand withdrew a lump of (transfigured?) gold, the other held three red shards of glass between four fingers. He floated the gold to her desk like he had the parchment. Bringing out her wand, she was surprised to see that it was the true metal.

"We would not want a Philosopher's Stone to fall into the hands of Ministry bureaucrats," said the Defense Professor, returning the Philosopher's Stones into his robes. "Or be subject to the whims of the Wizengamot. And yes, there is more than one, now."

Minerva felt faint. If she hadn't been sitting down, she would have fallen into a chair. More than one Philosopher's Stone?

"How is that possible?" she found herself asking. "Surely the alchemical formula cannot be performed overnight."

"The formula was a lie," said David Monroe, shaking his head. "I learned that the hard way, after many years of trying. Then I actually began thinking about the Stone’s history, and eventually deduced the truth. Flamel took the Stone of Permanence from the undying Dark Lady Baba Yaga, who could take any shape she pleased and heal any wound in herself. He then invented the story of the Philosopher's Stone for reasons that Mr. Moody can probably guess, now that he knows the truth."

Moody barked out a laugh. "Stone of Permanence, eh? So that's how you looked like Quirrell. Knew Polyjuice didn't sound right. So, Flamel is on the up-and-up? You gave him back his stone after you figured out how to make more?"

"Flamel is indeed in the loop," said the Defense Professor. "He has already signed the contract."

"I didn't see his name among the signers," squeaked Professor Flitwick, who until this point had been watching with the same wide-eyed fascination that he had when Amelia and Alastor had revealed the destruction of the world's Dementor population. "Only the name of his wife."

"That is because he is his wife," said David Monroe, to the confusion of most in the room. "The Stone of Permanence can be used as a shapeshifting tool. The entire persona of Nicolas Flamel was a lie, not just the recipe. The name of the Hogwarts student who stole Baba Yaga's stone was Perenelle, not Nicolas. But all this is distracting from the main issue. I think it's time for the ultimatum that if you are unwilling to sign the contract, you must leave. Only then will I start discussing important secrets."

The truth of the stone did not count as important secrets? Minerva dreaded to think what did.

After one last glance to Harry Potter, she signed her name beneath the other signatories – the first five of which, as Filius had said, she could read and understand despite not knowing the language:

Keen Eye
Twilight Sparkle
Fluttershy
(; !drOCsiD (This one was written in a multi-coloured hue and covered in glitter.)
Tia Sunrise
Autumn Query
Perenelle Flamel
Filius Flitwick
Minerva McGonagall

Hermione Granger signed next, followed by Amelia Bones. Severus Snape, after a visible hesitation, also signed the contract. That only left...

"I don't like it," said Alastor Moody. "Not one bit."

"Alastor..." sighed Amelia, though she didn't say anything else.

"He wouldn't be having us sign this if his secrets are good ones," said the man. "Maybe her," his blue eye flicked to Hermione, "maybe him," to Flitwick, whose wand instinctively rose into counter-position. "But not us."

"You'd prefer to be kept in the dark?" asked Monroe.

"If it means I can still raise my wand when the Defense Professor turns out to be evil after all?" Moody asked sarcastically. "My instincts are screaming at me to not sign that thing."

There was a pregnant pause.

"A fair point," said Professor Monroe. "It's always good to have more than one person watching my back. Let it be known that Moody is also an exception, like Harry Potter."

The man's eyes widened in some surprise, along with a few others. Severus gave an indignant shout, and Hermione said, "That's not fair!"

"You’re right," said Monroe. "It isn’t. But I think you'll be gratified that he, of all wizards, is not bound by the contract. He's already the closest to figuring it out for himself, according to Mr. Potter. I suppose you could say that he has earned the right to figure out the rest."

"You aren't the original David Monroe?" Moody demanded.

"I was not born to that name, no," said the Defense Professor of Hogwarts. "Though I did use it in the seventies. Yes, Madame Bones, I am the one you knew. That much, at least, is not a lie, and I would prefer to use the name henceforth."

Amelia Bones looked shocked, Severus Snape didn't, and Filius Flitwick was still fascinated. Minerva McGonagall was just weary by this point.

"You arranged for the House of Monroe to be killed so you wouldn't be noticed?" asked the manic man whose paranoia seemed to be spot-on for once. "Or just take advantage?"

"Imagine the worst possible scenario," was the Defense Professor's response.

There was a brief silence, but for the mad noise of objects.

Then...

"Avada Kedavra!"

The green bolt blazed from Moody's wand faster than Minerva could have reacted, faster than anybody save Filius Flitwick, former dueling champion, and the Defense Professor, who fought Voldemort, actually reacted. The Charms Professor, who was not in the spell's line of fire but nearer than anybody else, dodged to the side. The Defense Professor...

"Expecto Patronum!"

A blazing white humanoid blocked the unblockable spell. Unlike yesterday, the Patronus remained in place even after the killing curse dissipated against it. It was not nearly as bright as Harry's had been, Minerva noticed, but it was still slightly brighter than Albus's phoenix.

Before anybody could say anything, Moody barked, "Fool!" He sounded annoyed and angry. "You know better than to scare me like that!"

Minerva was torn between three feelings – the thought that that was her line, the worry that the Defense Professor had tried some surreptitious magic on the retired auror, and the overwhelming desire to reprimand-

"Alastor!" shouted Amelia. "What in Merlin's name-"

"He wanted to make me think he's Voldie," Moody interrupted Amelia without preamble. "Voldie killed House Monroe. Worst case, Voldie did that so nobody would notice him playing both sides of the war. If Voldie was David too, then he didn't care which side won."

While most of the others were absorbing that, Minerva…

"Did you have to cast the killing curse to test your paranoid theory?" she demanded. "There are children here!"

"Children who've already seen it and blocked it," said Moody without apology. "Nothing else would've proven it. Voldie would have dodged, and Voldie's a faster dodger than Monroe. My eye can spot the difference. If it looked like it was about to hit, I would have pushed him out of the way. Wasn't expecting the Patronus, but that proves it way more than the dodging would have. No way Voldie can cast it. Same as Albus not casting the Killing Curse."

Severus snorted at that. "Agreed."

"The first part of your test was not exactly true," said the man who was going by David Monroe, but who had apparently been born with a different name. He floated into the air, hovering there for a moment, then dropped back down. "The secret to Voldemort's dodging speed is his method of flight. Even if I were David Monroe, and everything you saw in last night's memory was true, then I already have an excuse to explain why I'm equally capable of dodging at either speed. But you're right that Voldemort could never cast the Patronus Charm. And if he somehow learned the true Patronus Charm, if he somehow managed to value the lives of others above all else, even his own life, then he would not be Voldemort anymore. There would be nothing left of him but a remnant. Decide for yourselves if you think that could even happen in the first place."

"No," said Moody flatly.

But the phrasing of what he said caught Minerva's attention. She saw that it had caught Severus's attention too.

The memory of the prophecy rose, unbidden, to the front of her mind. Trelawney's weighty words played automatically in her thoughts.

And either must destroy all but a remnant of the other, for those two different spirits cannot exist in the same world!

While she was still thinking, Severus drew his wand, then fell over.

"Ah, yes," sighed the Defense Professor. "I see that Professor Snape has volunteered for demonstration. That-" he pointed at the frozen form of Severus "-is what happens when an attempt is made to violate the terms of a magical contract."

He waved his wand and the Potions Master rose awkwardly into the air – awkward because his entire body was stiff. He was put into a standing position, then his body seemed to unlock all at once. He took a few deep breaths, looked at the Defense Professor again, raised his wand again, and then fell over again.

The Defense Professor sighed. "Well. I'm not unlocking you again, Mr. Draught. Now you shall just have to listen. Congratulations on figuring it out, at least." His gaze tracked to the rest of the wizards and witches in the room. "For the record, that is why I had you all sign the contract."

"Mr. Draught?" Moody barked out a laugh. "That Voldie's pet name for him? Your secret isn't something a Death Eater can tolerate, eh?"

The Defense Professor shrugged. "I imagine some could tolerate it."

Minerva was looking at Severus's collapsed form. Wondering. Trying to order her mind to think.

What secret could have caused the Potions Master to react that way? Severus was by no means what most people would call a good man, but he had a firm control over his temper. What would cause him to lose it in an instant? And why had the Defense Professor said that 'remnant' line about Voldemort and the Patronus Charm?

"Are you going to keep playing games, or can we just get this over with?" asked Amelia Bones. "I would prefer we stop wasting time. I'm too busy for Dumbledore antics. If we can count Voldemort as truly vanquished, then please skip to the part where you tell me what happened to the Line of Merlin Unbroken, like you said you would. On the chance that we get invaded, I would like there to be a Chief Warlock to rally the country, even if it's not me."

The Defense Professor looked at her, not saying anything for a few moments. "You are right, of course. I suppose I was delaying because I was nervous. Forgive me if I delay a bit further to inform you that the country is not under threat. If that is your biggest concern, know that ponies are... almost universally peaceful."

"Ponies?" Filius squeaked, mirroring Minerva's thoughts, but Amelia Bones and Alastor Moody were already in a whirl of overlapping questions.

"Yes, I know them," he answered the most prominent one. "I said I learned about contracts from Equestria, did I not? Equus. The Latin word for horse. In other words, a nation of horses. Or as they call themselves, ponies. And other magical equine creatures. As you can imagine, such creatures are almost unnaturally peaceful."

"They broke Azkaban," said Amelia. "We are to take that as an act of peace?"

"They intend to be friendly neighbors to Magical Britain so long as Magical Britain is not perpetrating crimes against humanity. They're insular, non-aggressive, and non-expansionist."

"They said they're declaring war on the whole world," said Moody. "That your definition of non-aggressive?"

"Ah," the man calling himself Monroe seemed to hesitate. He grinned. "Prince Excelsior has a flair for the dramatic."

Harry snorted. "Prince Excelsior?"

The Defense Professor's grin widened slightly. "Better than Prince Snow White."

Harry's expression switched from amused to absolute dread. "You didn't-"

"I didn't," he agreed. "But I could have. And I still could. And my own might not have been my decision. Keep that in mind."

Harry nodded apologetically. "Sorry."

"Your own what?" asked Minerva. "Professor, what is going on? How- when did you bring Harry Potter to a foreign country? One that, if I'm not mistaken, does not even exist?"

Monroe met her gaze. "The short version of the story is that Dumbledore's trap upon the Mirror was harder to deactivate than he thought. It was too late to stop, so Dumbledore tried to turn it on himself, as I said last night. He should have been able to turn it on himself, and in retrospect, he might have even succeeded. But for whatever reason, the Mirror still trapped Harry Potter, Quirinus Quirrell, and Lord Voldemort outside of time. Mr. Potter revived Ms. Granger about six months later, then they escaped on their own almost exactly one year after the initial entrapment. Mr. Potter is now old enough to be a third-year student at the start of next school year. The same for Ms. Granger, though I do not know if they should move up a year or simply be given advanced material during class."

"I'd prefer to stay with my friends," said Harry.

"Me too," said Hermione.

"We will discuss that later," said Minerva, who could hardly believe she of all witches was saying that. "How were the three of you aware of being trapped outside of Time?"

"Because it trapped us outside of this Time," Monroe explained, "but not outside of Time itself. The original setting of the full trap happened to Dumbledore, not us. On our end, the Mirror took us to the planet Equus, to a…" he paused in thought. "A civilization estranged from ours," he eventually said. "We were able to make progress on a number of things without wasting any of Earth's time. That includes Ms. Granger's resurrection, the Stone of Permanence, the Deathly Hallows, Voldemort, and my own researches. Voldemort's vanquishment and my own escape linked that world and ours together, which is why the first pony encounter happened last night. It took thirty-five years and Albus Dumbledore's assistance for it to happen, though he is still trapped inside the Mirror, in its original setting of frozen instants. He knew that would happen, choosing in the end for himself to be trapped so long as it meant Voldemort was gone. By the way, he said to tell you that Nancy Manson is to be returned to her family, though I do not know what that means."

Professor McGonagall tried and failed to absorb all that. But she at least managed to absorb... "It means the headmaster believes the war is over," she said, leaning back in her chair in relief, "and that Voldemort is truly vanquished, never to return again."

All eyes were on her now.

"Interesting," said Professor Monroe.

"Professor," said the tentative voice of Hermione Granger, addressing Monroe. "I thought we were going to tell them everything."

"We are," said Professor Monroe. "But how is a mysterious old wizard meant to amuse himself if he just comes out and says the truth directly? They don't need to know more about Equestria just yet."

"I was talking about the lie."

"Ah. Yes. I was getting around to that." He turned to address the group again. "Since he'd already been vanquished by that point, last night's midnight Voldemort appearance was a fabrication of mine."

"A fabrication?" Filius squeaked, with similar outbursts from Minerva and Amelia and Alastor. And probably Severus too, beneath his paralysis.

The Defense Professor nodded. "I used the Stone of Permanence to take the guise of the Dark Lord, then I used the Time Turner to play out the role of Professor Quirrell at the same time."

"That's-" said Minerva. "That can't be true! The Dark Lord was- Voldemort was exactly as I remember him. How could that have been fake?"

The Defense Professor shrugged. "I am an extremely good actor, and I knew him better than anyone. Notice that no bystanders were hurt, and the only killing curses were aimed at both iterations of myself. Ms. Granger's Patronus intercepted the one that went through the ground. The Cruciatus was only used on myself as well. I even managed to avoid stunning any aurors. Voldemort was never known to be that merciful unless he had a reason to be. And even then, he was only merciful to servants who had pleased him, or merciful to others by their request."

"I could see the Death Eaters requesting their children be spared," said Amelia. "But not my aurors," she agreed. "Or were the Death Eaters faked as well?"

"The Death Eaters who appeared were true Death Eaters," Monroe conceded, "but none of them made that request because none of the ones I gathered had children in Hogwarts. Except Bellatrix Black, but she either does not know or does not care that she has a son here."

Moody's gaze was as intense as Minerva had ever seen it. "And how'd you convince her to play along, huh?"

Monroe grinned. "I may have played a part in her liberation few months ago. All for the sake of last night, you see. I understand the Dark Mark. I've acquired Slytherin's lost lore. And that was enough to-"

"You're under arrest," said Alastor Moody, flatly and without argument.

Monroe chuckled. "Normally, I'd counter that with 'I'd like to see you try.' And while that's still on the table-"

There was a flurry of colors and flashes in the room that ended in two seconds with a stunned auror and a calmly standing Defense Professor. An innervate brought Alastor Moody back to consciousness.

"When I intend to come quietly," said Monroe to the unhappy retired auror, "I'll let you know. Until then, I recommend you heed the warning of the world's most powerful wizard before you try to arrest him."

"Just how much have you upped your game?" the retired auror asked warily.

"I was trapped with little to do but improve myself for thirty-five years," said the Defense Professor. "And before that, I spent ten years pondering ancient riddles and imagining how certain powerful spells and rituals might work. Above all, I may or may not have encountered what remains of the Atlanteans and scoured their private archives, which did prove fruitful. I should also note that Equestrians are more powerful than humans, in terms of raw magic if not creativity, and that's where I spent those thirty-five years of self-improvement. How much do you think I've upped my game?"

Mad-Eye said nothing in reply, instead taking a flask from his waist and drinking it.

"So this is why you had us sign the contract," sighed Amelia.

"One of the reasons, yes. My arrest would be inconvenient, as would the disseminating of this particular information. I'd rather not become a Dark Lord if I don't have to. I do apologize for the fuss," said the Defense Professor, sounding genuinely apologetic. "The outbreak was meant to go unnoticed. But to get back to my original point, with Bellatrix believing I was her Lord, it was a simple matter to convince the other Death Eaters as well. I avoided any Hogwarts parents as I gathered the worst ones I knew, but even so they were not killed. They were simply teleported to an Equestrian prison along with Bellatrix."

"But they were within the wards of Hogwarts!" Minerva objected. Though that didn't stop them from teleporting into the stadium, come to think of it...

"Equestrian teleportation can bypass our wards," said Professor Monroe. "Can't it, Alastor?"

The retired auror growled around his restorative flask.

"What, exactly, will be happening to the Death Eaters?" Amelia Bones demanded.

"They will lose their free will in Unbreakable Vows that swear them into the nature of law-abiding citizens," Professor Monroe explained, "after which the Equestrians will attempt to rehabilitate them as they serve out lengthy prison sentences. It shall be insufferable to them because they shall be surrounded by colourful, lovable, and happy ponies. Of course, that fact should not leave this room, though I suggest you recommend to the Wizengamot that the worst inmates of Azkaban receive similar Vows. The rest, especially the non-violent offenders, could be offered shorter sentences in general for binding those Vows. I'm sure some will volunteer."

"I'll need to see the Death Eaters myself," said Amelia. "Just for personal confirmation that you're telling the truth."

"Same here," said Moody.

"Done," Monroe agreed easily. "That can be arranged within the week. For now, will a Patronus message that I'm telling the truth about their whereabouts do?"

They nodded, and he complied. At the end of the message, he added, "Also tell them that, while I have left a few things out, I do not believe I have yet said anything that is false in this conversation."

"Technically, nothing he's said has been false," the Patronus said, using different words than Riddle did. "Barely," it added. Then it crossed its arms and seemed to glare at its caster.

"What's that about?" Moody demanded.

"It's disappointed that I'm lying by omission," Monroe answered.

"By massive, significant, glaring omission that will probably come back to haunt him later," his Patronus added.

"It wouldn't haunt me if I said it now?" Riddle asked in reply.

The Patronus sighed, but didn't reply.

"Why aren’t you telling us?" Moody said to the Patronus, perhaps thinking it would be more honest and straightforward than its caster.

"Tell them my reasoning," Monroe commanded the moonlight humanoid.

"It will expedite the saving of the world," the Patronus said, "saving as many lives as quickly as possible, which is the most important thing. That doesn't mean I have to like this part of the means."

"That thing got a mind of its own?" Moody asked.

"Not quite," said Monroe, dismissing his Patronus. "Think of it like a personification of my positive desires. Perhaps now would be the best time to mention that it is technically possible to fake a Patronus Charm under the right circumstances – to have my lips and voice shape the words, to have my fingers and wand make the gestures, to have the corporeal form take shape, all without my own happiness fueling the magic."

"How?" Minerva asked, utterly baffled by the assertion.

"The pieces of that puzzle are already available to you," said the mysterious wizard. "As they once were to me. I will confirm any correct guesses if you can figure it out for yourselves. But what I wanted to mention was that even if a Patronus is faked that way, it is never possible to fake the honesty of their messages. Not even with a Confundus charm. When we discuss other secrets in the future, keep that in mind. For now…"

From his robes, he withdrew... is that the Line of Merlin Unbroken?

"Mr. Potter, please grant control of Wizengamot-related functions to me until you say that you've taken it back. That will allow me to then transfer regency to another unless they are obviously unworthy." He turned to the wider audience. "The fact of his position should not leave this room."

"Albus passed the line to a first year in Hogwarts?!" Amelia demanded.

"Contingent on his vanquishing Voldemort, yes."

Heads now turned to face Harry Potter, who looked at the line for a moment, then mused, "Regency, huh? Is that Dumbledore's idea, or yours?"

"His," said Monroe. "Though I agree that it's a good one. Tomorrow afternoon I shall convene the Wizengamot, in which I will publicly appoint Amelia Bones as temporary regent until a certain Hogwarts first year comes of age and maturity." He stared steadily at Harry. "Neither of us quite have the temperament for the Chief Warlock position. Or for that matter, Supreme Mugwumpcy. Make sure to tell the Line that you are retaining it for the Department of Mysteries and anything else non-Wizengamot related, like choosing a successor."

Harry nodded, doing as his mentor instructed while Amelia stared at him.

"I feel like I should have had a say in that," she sighed when it was done.

"Dumbledore said you would hate it, and that you would do it anyway because you knew that everybody else would be worse."

"I think you have always been better at corralling the Wizengamot than I," she observed. "Why not do it yourself? I would not be opposed to that."

"I have other obligations," he declined. "Not to mention my teaching position. Swaying important votes will be all I can manage, and I can manage it better from within their ranks. Assuming I am not fired?" The last question was directed at Minerva.

"Of course not, Professor. But... but what are we to say to the students?"

He shrugged. "Exactly what you would have said if you were ignorant of everything I just told you. The basics of the story are still the same. Dumbledore sacrificed himself to ensure Voldemort's defeat. Voldemort is gone forever, thanks to Harry Potter. And in the seventies, I was known as David Monroe, whom the Death Eaters still curse to this day."

Author's Note

A/N: So I guess you were expecting him to come right out and say it. I'll be honest, that's where I wanted to take this chapter too. But whenever I tried to type out any sort of reveal whatsoever, my brain got instant writer's block. It took me a few hours (thankfully not a few months) to figure out why: THAT big reveal is going to be this story's climax, and there was still more I wanted to write.

So Chapter 51 came out like this instead of what I originally planned. Snape figured it out, but that's it. Moody almost did, but then he second-guessed himself. And since the wording of the contract is 'only those who already know the secret', Snape won't be sharing it with the others. If this bothers any readers, for instance if you found the conversation implausible because McGonagall or Moody should have figured it out, I completely understand. I literally tried to write it differently, but my muse died the second I did. So, yeah. Not much I can do about that. Sorry for any frustration this causes.

Rehabilitation, Part 7.3: "Full" Disclosure

July 18th, 95th Year of the Tenth Celestial Century

"Now you tell me the sacrifice," said his employer once the two of them were alone.

"No, first I secure our privacy," said Riddle. Then he began building it one ward at a time.

They stood not in the throne room of Night Court, but in an anonymous location of Riddle's choosing – a dilapidated barn on an abandoned farm he once saw on his first flight to Manehattan.

He cast perception spell after scrying charm after listening-device locator, the number of which well exceeded the over-forty privacy spells he once knew. He now used pony and wizard magic alike, invoking every security effect known to him, from spy-detection to eavesdropping-prevention. Some spells were semi-permanent, like the notice-me-not ward, while others were only active for a brief moment, like the Deathly Hallows detector.

"Now I tell you the sacrifice," he said after he was finished. "But first, you will promise to keep the exact wording of your Vow at the forefront of your mind. You will promise to wait until I have fully explained what I am willing to explain. And you will promise not to moralise at me."

"This was not part of the deal."

"Seeing as how it was never a 'deal' in the first place, but simply something you and your sister decided I would do, I think I may now simply decide to modify it. Be thankful that I do not modify it more."

His employer sighed. "Fine. I am fine with those conditions. I promise to wait until you are finished, and I shall not judge you harshly for whatever you have done. Not that I could in the first place. Conveying that truth to you was the whole point of my Vow."

Riddle shrugged. "Significant revelations have a tendency to change minds. Such as the fact that my immortality ritual requires the sacrifice of sapient life."

His employer, he could tell with his Changeling senses, grew very sad at this. "I suspected as much." She gazed directly into his eyes. "How many have you sacrificed for the sake of yourself, my fool?"

"Since arriving on Equus?" asked Riddle. "Two," he said, truthfully but deceptively.

His employer was surprised, and a little less sad, by his answer. "Do not think I did not catch the implication, but… only two?"

"The base sacrifice is a single life," he said. "Not ten. Additional sacrifices simply add to the security. As I have honestly promised in the past, multiple times by this point, no innocent Equinoids have been physically hurt or killed by me. And now you know exactly how many non-innocents have been killed."

"So…" she said, her eyes going a bit distant in thought. "Chrysalis?"

"And King Sombra's agent," he nodded in confirmation. "I should mention that Nightmare Moon was not all your own doing. If you heard voices in your head, they were not your own."

His employer did not absorb that information emotionlessly, but she did not reply how he expected. "You will not succeed in distracting me," she said after ten seconds. "Very good try, though. And thank you for telling me. But I would like to focus on the part where you killed them instead of taking them into custody."

"What more is there to say?" asked Riddle. "They were threats to the world, and I disposed of them. You already know the reasoning for Chrysalis, and the agent was much the same. Beyond that, you said you would not moralise."

"Correct," said his employer, her outside far calmer than her inside. "I will not judge or reprimand. But for your sake, I will analyze and advise. Or at least attempt to do so." She began pacing within the confines of the secure barn and the security charms. "Do you care about the lives of others at all, my fool? Even the ones you have saved?"

"For the most part? No."

"What about the parts that are not included in 'most'?"

"I maybe care."

"Silver and Memory?"

"Silver alone," he said. "And I do not know if I truly care. We have a camaraderie that I have never shared with anyone else in my life. But even then, there were many things he did not see my way, which came as a disappointment. But more pertinent than that, he's gone now, and in leaving he likely betrayed me. So as I said I do not know if I still care for him. I do not know if I ever did."

"You are much older than him," his employer observed. "Did you have any friends when you were younger?"

"None that I can remember."

"A result of the orphanage?"

"Partly."

"You had no role models to teach you the right way of things?"

"Using your framework of 'right' and 'wrong', there would have been only one, or perhaps two, and they betrayed me more strongly and directly than Mr. Silver ever did." Riddle paused thoughtfully. "The primary influence between those two was the owner of the voice you heard from the Mirror, if you are curious."

His employer's eyes showed understanding. "How did he betray you?"

"At one point, I begged him to introduce me to his mentor, who was publicly known to possess a morally neutral method of immortality. Instead of helping, or even giving a reasonable explanation about why my request was a non-starter – for it was, though I did not know it at the time – my former role model instead decided to give me a lecture on how unvirtuous it was to be afraid of death. Up until that point, he was the only adult I had ever come to trust."

"And after that lecture," said his employer slowly, "you never trusted anypony ever again."

"Precisely," he said. "After that day, I also stopped trying to be 'good', using the same reasoning you did for becoming Nightmare Moon. If the world's most 'wise' and 'virtuous' wizard was going to call me evil just for not wanting to die…"

His employer nodded. "How many non-equinoid sapients have you killed?" she asked. "As I said, I did not miss the implication."

"I think I would prefer to keep that answer to myself," he said. "It was not a part of our deal."

"That is telling enough," his employer replied, growing sad once more. "Oh, fool," she said. "You do not know how badly I wish to buck you in the face right now. And hug you. You do not know how badly you needed a hug back then, when he said that to you."

"What I needed was someone who understood my perspective," he replied with a shake of his head. "Not physical affection."

"You needed both," she replied. "And now you may have both."

"I don't think I 'need' either anymore," said Riddle. "It is far too late now."

"It is never too late," she said. "At the very least, it is never too late to be understood." She adopted something of a lecturing tone. "Some ponies, and even more griffons and minotaurs, believe that the solution to death is to not be afraid, but I have never agreed with them. I agree with your fear. Death is a terrible thing, and I wish it did not have to happen. I have watched all but one of my fillyhood friends die, and if not for Tia, I might have wished to die myself. I would much prefer it if that wasn't the case. I wish my friends hadn’t died. I understand your hatred for what you call moralizing, since it played a key part in such a negative moment of your life. I also understand your willingness to sacrifice the lives of others for yourself. Griffons do not hesitate to sacrifice the lives of fish for food, nor should they. And while what you have done crosses the threshold from neutral to wrong…" she took a long pause, as if searching for the exactly correct words to say. "…If an evil being must be stopped anyway, I can understand the reasoning that says their deaths may as well be put to use. But-" she said, the Canterlot voice startling him slightly, "-thou will not do it again. Ever. Now that thou have obtained immortality, thou will stop this madness. Am I understood, Tom?"

His eyes widened only slightly in surprise. "Where did you hear that name?"

"Thy mirror-trapped betrayer said it, and I have not forgotten. Do not distract from the issue, my fool. If thou seekest happiness, thou must stop seeking the deaths of others. It is evil of the greatest degree, and it must end."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then thou willst never achieve happiness, and I shall be forced to revoke all privileges and concessions I have ever granted thee if it happens again, even if it is another villain you slay."

He chuckled. "Fine. As long as I wish to maintain those, I will not do it again."

"Thou will not do it again, period."

He shook his head. "My free will says otherwise. When the time comes, it is inevitable that I will be tempted. The question is whether you can offer a better alternative."

"Happiness is a better alternative."

He huffed in disbelief. "Even if it were, I've yet to experience it. I've yet to benefit from it. Why should I give up a certainty of benefit for a possibility of happiness?"

"This is not a negotiation, fool. It is a dictum."

"A dictum I can ignore if I please," he said with a roll of his eyes. "If you insist on those terms, let's do it this way. Think of this as your deadline. By the time the next threat rises, if I value your company and advice more than I value the final addition to my Horcrux system, then I will not kill for that reason. That is an honest promise."

She stared at him. "The final… Horcrux addition?" she asked, her lips testing the word, her voice no longer imperious.

"Yes," he affirmed. "I made a magically binding promise to my student that I would kill no more than three creatures for that purpose while on this planet. I only have one allotment left. Once all three are done, I can only kill Equinoids in self-defense, an allowance which is unlikely to ever be necessary."

"And once you leave this planet?"

He shrugged. "My student also observed that I need no more security than I already have back home, using an analogy with fenceposts. I have slowly come to agree with his perspective, after thinking about it myself. I literally have one left to make. Maybe two or three more on my home planet, if I think of any modifications between now and then. Is that so bad?"

"Yes," said his employer. "It is."

"Good," said Riddle. "Consider that your motivation to speed along my improvement. If you fail, the next threat will simply be my next Horcrux opportunity. If you succeed, it will not."

"I already have motivation," she said. "Why are you doing this?"

"I am displeased with my current progress," he said honestly. As recently as a week ago, his wand produced not a flicker of Patronus Light. The emotion of happiness that he could now feel in others is still refusing to arise from within himself, even if he knew how it should feel and where it should come from on a body-mechanical level. "You have Vowed to help me find happiness, but you have not Vowed to succeed as quickly as possible. If you truly care for the life of a Dark Lord, and I still don't see why you would, then help faster."

There was an extremely long pause as his employer regarded him and his argument.

"So be it," she decreed at last. "But this shall not be a one-sided effort, my fool. I do not intend to haul a two-pony cargo load up a mountain by myself, where thou relaxes on top of the cargo instead of helping to pull it, drinking alcohol and gorging thyself unhealthily all the while. Thou must promise to abide by my advices and acquiesce to my requests, not simply follow them at thy own leisure whenever it dost not annoy thee. I have heeded thy military suggestions to the fullest. It is time thou heedest my own offerings of aide with equal fervor."

Now it was Riddle's turn to be silent for a time as he stared into the steady gaze of the Alicorn of Night and Dreams.

"So be it," he echoed her words. "But I reserve the right to change my mind if your suggestions don't seem like they're working."

"Good enough," said his employer. "So long as you do not give up in a week, I think that should do. Now step forth."

"For a hug?" he asked, his tone making his distaste clear.

"After reading so many books on biology," said Princess Luna, "you should know by now that many mammals need physical affection from their mothers to be properly socialized and happy. Since you never had it, you need to make up for lost time. I promise not to go overboard. I promise that I will only do it when I believe it is strictly necessary, and I promise that it is strictly necessary for your improvement. Now step forth."

"You have no ulterior motives?"

"Like what?"

"Romance."

She laughed at that, which surprised him. Hadn't she said he was attractive, once upon a time?

"No, my fool," she answered. "As it stands, you would make an utterly terrible father. That is the metric I use to evaluate suitors, and the metric I have used to reject every one thus far. Your hugs will be for the sake of friendship and happiness, purely and simply. If that ever changes, I will let you know. Now please come and receive one. And open your senses as you do."

Already regretting the life choices that led him to this moment, he did as advised.

"Know that this is what you needed after the mirror-trapped being lectured you," said her honest and slightly furious voice from behind his ears. "If an extremely intelligent and diligent and ambitious young colt had come to me with such a plea… you were all those things when you went to the one in the mirror, correct?"

"Yes."

Except the colt part, but that didn't have much to do with what she was asking. And he hadn't been as intelligent because (a) he was younger and (b) he hadn't added the power of Ravenclaw's Diadem to his Horcrux system by that point. But he was still a straight-O student.

His employer's emotions conveyed something like a brief flash of happiness at his reply, but her voice did not show it as she spoke on.

"I would have said to you what my sister and I have agreed to tell no-one," she said in a voice of importance and gravity. "I would have said that you could achieve long-lasting life if you discovered a new form of magic and shared it with the world. I would have said that many ponies have tried, but none prevailed in doing it deliberately. My sister and I decided long ago to stop inflicting the cruelty of false hope upon so many ponies, including ourselves." She briefly rubbed her cheek on his. "But I would have made an exception for you. And finally, I would have asked why you were so fearful. Assuming it was not simple narcissism and selfishness, I would have attempted to find the fundamental cause of paranoia in your environment and root it out, though it is likely too late now." She released him from the hug. "Speaking of which, I would like to know more about those two murder attempts. Were such things common in your youth? And I would like to know exactly what you have done to the perpetrator."

He weighed the consequences of honesty for a moment, found them acceptable, then spoke. "No, murder attempts were not common in my youth. Or even rare. They were non-existent until much later in my life."

"That points to physical or emotional abuse by your caretakers or peers," said Luna. "Or extreme neglect. Or a combination of all three. But go on. What were those two methods he used? I've never seen them before."

"The first attempt was a bastardized form of Transfiguration poisoning."

"Transfiguration?" asked his employer.

"What ponies call changing magic," he said. "The wizards of my home universe have formalized the magic into its own school. Specific charms for specific transformations still exist, but we are trained from youth not to need them. We call it 'Free Transfiguration'. You asked how I cheated bingo, and the answer is that I Transfigured my bingo board into one that had already won. I can teach you the principles later, if you wish. The boulder you saw was likely Transfigured into a microscopic speck, then flicked into my wine. Is that a good enough explanation for now?"

"Almost," she said. "If that was a 'bastardized' form of it, what is transfiguration poisoning in general?"

"Tell me your own guess," he said. "Before I tell you the answer."

If she was going to 'teach' him positive emotion whether he liked it or not, he was going to teach her to start thinking on her own whether she liked it or not.

She frowned at not being told outright, and then his Changeling sense told him that she was thinking about the problem. The 'thinking' state of mind is not quite an emotion as much as it is a lack of emotion, which is still something he can sense, since it often feels like a rare and unusual exception to otherwise emotional creatures.

"It is important not to guess about changing magic," said his employer after a brief pause.

"That is the correct answer," said Riddle approvingly. "Now guess anyway. Transfiguration poisoning does not usually involve a large boulder, but it does often involve wine."

The perpetrator in the standard Hogwarts textbook Transfigured gold into the entire volume of wine, and copycat criminals have historically done the same. That gave paranoid wizards an incentive to invent a specific counter charm to detect it. What had made Quirrell's attempt special, and almost successful, was how he had avoided the standard counter charm by Transfiguring the boulder into a tiny amount of non-wine material that made up only a small fraction of the base drink.

"The medical ailment is technically called Transfiguration sickness," he said, giving another hint when she didn't seem like she was making progress. "Poisoning is the deliberately induced version."

"Transfiguration sickness…" repeated his employer, her lips tasting the word, as they had tasted Horcrux earlier. "I do not think I need to guess what that is. That is what happens when changing magic reverts after a changed object has been imbibed or otherwise absorbed into the body. Correct?"

He nodded. "That information was not readily available in any of your textbooks. Did your sister censor it?"

"She must have," the Night Princess nodded. "I was gratified to learn that all liquid and gaseous changing spells had been lost to time, and that the field of study has been strictly restricted. I thought it had been the work of Starswirl and subsequent academics, but you are likely right that my sister had her own hoof involved more than anypony else. Now, what of the method that actually succeeded in killing you?"

Riddle thought for a moment, then walked over to the side of the barn, finding and picking up a suitable piece of wood that had fallen from a stall door. It took about five seconds to transfigure it into the weapon Quirrell had used. Riddle followed proper safety procedures by aiming it at the wall, away from the two ponies in the room.

His employer walked over, looking and feeling curious. "What is that?"

"It is the M Twenty-Four Sniper Weapon System, the combat version of the Remington Model Seven Hundred rifle."

When he got back from his first vanquishment in the body of Quirrell, one of the first things he'd done was get up-to-date on modern muggle warfare to see how much their technology had progressed and how much more of a threat they had grown to pose. He'd also done it to add their power to his own; he had at least not neglected muggle firearms at that point in his life, even if he had utterly (and stupidly) dismissed science as something to be desired.

Using Quirinus Quirrell's passport, he'd gone to Texas, which generally has the widest selection of firearms and the lowest suspicions about English-speaking adults who inquire into them. He hadn't needed so much as an I.D. when he was only asking questions.

"It uses a seven point sixty-two by fifty-one millimetre short action cartridge," he recited, "and has an overall length of sixty-nine point eighty-five millimetres." In order to transfigure something made of multiple parts, it helps to know the names of all the components – or at least all the removable ones. It also helps to know dimensions, and modern muggles helpfully include those in their armaments, down to the fractional millimetre. And while he wasn't certain on the ammunition, at a guess… "With how much damage it did to my head and nothing else, the bullet used was most likely a one hundred and seventy-five grain hollow-point round."

His employer seemed utterly lost by this point, as expected.

"Right…" she said slowly. "Can you give the lay-pony's explanation?"

A simple request, on the surface. It would take some skill to simplify his own answer down to something that could be understood by an outsider.

He decided to begin with the broomstick overview of the issue first, then narrow in on guns afterwards.

"In my home universe," he began, "magic and mundane are separate. Magic is not as abundant as it is here. To start, not all sapient creatures have it. Only a tiny fraction of the world's population possess what we call the blood of Atlantis-" his employer gasped, which he noted for later reference, "-and that caused… let's call it historical conflict. The magical population of the world decided to segregate itself long before I was born, implementing what is now called the International Statute of Secrecy. Muggles – what we call those who do not have magic – are entirely ignorant of wizards. Some superstitious muggles still believe in magic, but the most intelligent muggles view it as purely false, since they have no evidence of its being true. They have focused their industrial efforts on the mundane world for the past centuries. This weapon," he gestured at the sniper rifle, "uses no magic at all, which is why it can be Transfigured. Its mechanics and engineering use only the physical laws of the universe. Think of it like an extremely advanced bow and arrow. It uses a combination of combustion and pressure to launch a small metal projectile at speeds far faster than the eye can see. Observe."

He transfigured a watermelon and floated it to the far end of the barn. Once it was there, he established wards to prevent any of the gun smoke, or evaporated watermelon contents, from reaching his or his employer's lungs. Then he muttered the charm of true-shot, having learned from Quirrell's example, and magically pulled the trigger, since he had no finger to do it. The gun adjusted its aim slightly and fired at the watermelon.

His employer jumped at the noise, then stared at the detonated watermelon in shock.

"The combustion means that precautions must be taken to avoid Transfiguration sickness," Riddle concluded his explanation, "but that's little trouble for a competent wizard. Normally, there's a faint smell of smoke in the air."

"That weapon seems inherently lethal," his employer remarked with worry.

"Muggles don't have access to stunning spells," Riddle said dryly. "Well, I suppose they do, after a fashion, but such trinkets are slow and short-ranged – not at all useful on true battlefields, though they suffice for guard work, at least when the criminal does not have a gun."

"Just how violent is your home universe?" asked Luna, looking intently at him.

"Far more than this one." He frowned at his knowledge of nuclear weapons. "Guns are only the tip of the iceberg. It only gets worse from there."

"Your universe's inhabitants seek only to kill their enemies in warfare?" she asked, though it was more of a statement than a question. "I suppose that explains how there wouldn't be a shortage of Dark Lords for you to kill."

"There wasn't, but…" he tilted his head. "Not all war victors seek genocide. Not even most, I would say. In the modern age, anyway. And sometimes, they avoided delivering death during battle as well. Muggles have invented chemical agents like tear gas and pepper spray, the uses of which you can probably guess from the names alone. Muggles have invented rubber and bean-bag bullets to use against riots and mobs, and flash grenades which stun combatants with bright flashes and loud noises. But even as muggles made non-lethal explosions, they also invented extremely lethal explosions. Possibly greater than you can imagine."

"How bad is it?" she asked, looking like she was afraid of the answer.

"It is a danger that eclipses anything magic can still produce, at least in my world. And muggles did it without even knowing about magic in the first place, and thus without knowing caution or restraint. Muggle politicians now have control over that power. Muggle politicians from multiple, belligerent, enemy countries have control over that power. It's not something possessed by a single benevolent country, like Equestrian control over the sun and moon. And even worse, wizards are so ignorant of muggle affairs that only myself and maybe three other influential wizards even know about the problem in the first place. Most wizards see muggles as stupid, powerless, or both. Barely worth considering or noticing on a daily basis. And other muggle technologies are progressing to the point where they will soon see through our anti-muggle wards. You can likely imagine what that means in the long run."

His employer looked and felt truly horrified now. "Your world is doomed."

"My thoughts exactly," he agreed. "Although Mr. Silver believes that it is not. I myself took a few precautions to prevent its immediate end, at least one of which has triggered already. But yes, if something is not done, that world is indeed doomed."

"And you want to go back there?"

"More like I want to leave here."

"Why?" asked Luna. "I thought you selfishly cared for your own life. Why do you want to return to a doomed universe?"

HPMoR Chapter 22: "When this flawed world seems unusually hateful, I wonder if there was somewhere else that I should have been."

"You know," said Riddle after a pause. "That is a very good question."

He ignored the quibble that in all likelihood, only the world itself was doomed by nuclear weapons, not the whole universe. But now that Mr. Potter had gone back, it was dangerous to throw himself back into the fray with that ambiguous and foreboding prophecy at play.

Why does he want to go back? Was his distaste for colourful ponies and 'the magic of friendship' really so strong that he had utterly overlooked a very simple solution to the dilemma of a doomed planet? Why not simply stay on Equus? This world seemed more than big enough to maintain his interest, and he had already adjusted to the most annoying parts, like the constant singing and the aggressive affection…

"I will think about it," he answered her question honestly. He had an important question of his own that he did not want to forget. "Now, would you mind telling me how you recognized the term 'Atlantis'?"

He hadn't encountered it anywhere in his reading of Equestrian texts, but then, his employer is older than the texts. Did the Mirror's most ancient inhabitants somehow learn the name of their creators? But the Atlanteans probably had a different name for themselves, no? Or was this another instance of parallelism, like with Manehattan and Canterlot? Did some form of 'Atlantis' exist here? Did they have a version of the lost city story in their literature, with a slightly different, pony-based name?

"I…" said his employer. "In truth, I do not fully know if I did recognize it. It could have been my imagination, but I feel like I should know the word. I think I heard it at some point, perhaps when I was very young. I shall have to consult my memories and see if anything comes up."

Or maybe it is like the words of false comprehension, thought Riddle to himself, Which can be understood and spoken by all intelligent creatures, even if their meaning is lost. Maybe, for whatever reason, the Atlanteans programmed the Mirror to have its fabricated creatures react to Atlantean commands, or their presence, or even the invocation of their names, and my failure to know the Atlantean tongue is preventing me from fully accessing that feature.

Then again, it was a bit of a stretch to extrapolate such a complicated theory from such minor evidence. At this point there's no way to tell, and probably no way to uncover the truth without talking to a true Atlantean who had worked on the Mirror. And unless an Atlantean had been trapped by the Process of the Timeless, he'd likely never know the truth.

"I believe we are almost done here," said his employer. "I have but one more worry. My fool, what precisely did you do to that griffon?"

Once more, Riddle weighed the consequences of revealing unknown magic – this time Obliviation – to a princess of Equestria.

"I healed his body, as I said I would," he started off easily enough. "I gave him a jewel that would fetch a high price, and gave him an appearance that would not be accused of my murder. His old one was not his birth appearance in any case, and I don't think he gained any friends since his arrival on this planet, so he shouldn't have lost much with the change. And then…" he trailed off. His employer waited patiently for him to continue.

He didn't like that he was being pressured into revealing Obliviation like this. He would have preferred to exchange a better advantage.

But he decided that it ultimately didn't matter too much. It's not like it worked on her in the first place, and even if he was forced to use it in the future on somepony else, properly crafted memory charms do not leave any evidence, so he could probably get away with it. Plus, she was bound not to tell anyone his secrets.

"And then I removed all his memories of interaction with me," Riddle admitted, "going back to the moment I first possessed him, which he said had ruined his life."

Luna stared at him. "You… removed his memories…" she repeated.

"Correct," said Riddle. "He was a wandering adventurer, and he was rather content with that passion. He should now believe that the dungeon trap he triggered – the one that originally resulted in his possession – brought him here instead. He lived a solitary life on the other side, so he's not exactly missing anyone, or being missed. I thought that returning him to his old lifestyle as much as I could would be the best thing to give him."

"It might have been," Luna agreed. "But how did you remove his memories?"

"Magic," Riddle shrugged. "Actual magic," he clarified, before she could get annoyed at his common reply to those who question how he does things. "It's a charm from my home universe. I was reluctant to speak about it for obvious reasons."

"It's permanent," his employer said in an apprehensive voice, "isn't it?"

He nodded. "Memory wipes are unrecoverable unless a wizard goes out of their way to use the reversible version. And most don't. If you insist that I introduce memory charms to Equestria, I advise that you make them illegal outside of officially sanctioned purposes, and require extremely high security clearance for ponies to even know about them, let alone learn and use them. In my home universe, the standard introductory text is available in a public school library that adolescents as young as eleven can browse and learn from. I would prefer for Equestria to be more competent than that."

"Noted," said Luna. "If we go down that route, it shall also be illegal to remove anything related to a pony's happy memories. Can you describe how it is cast, so I know what to look for?"

"With a wand and a word," said Riddle after weighing yet another revelation, "which means that I am not quite sure if it can be learned by unicorns. The Patronus Charm, I understand, is an exceptional spell that can be cast on pure emotion, if the emotions are strong enough. Most other spells cannot be done that way. Most require wands, at least when first learning them."

"Wizards from your homeland require wands?"

He nodded, and drew his own with a wordless Emergus. He dispelled the gun and watermelon Transfigurations with a gesture, then said "Wingardium Leviosa."

His employer watched as the wooden board that used to be the gun – now missing a small chunk that was probably the bullet – floated into the air without any visible glow sustaining its flight, which any unicorn spell would have produced.

"Is that how you have been floating your silverware at dinner all this time?" she asked. "And your textbooks in school before then?"

"More or less," he confirmed. He didn't bog down the conversation with technicalities about the many various levitation charms and the specific ones he used most often.

"But you never used a wand," his employer observed with a frown. "Or can you make it invisible… no, your hooves were often beneath the table… can wanded levitation magic go through solid objects?"

He shook his head. "Knowledgeable wizards can do it without the wand, with enough practice. Think of it like hornless magic."

"What else can they do?" she asked, now sounding and feeling far more curious than before.

"Too many things to list off the top of my head."

"Can they do more than ponies, as Miss Sparkle suspects?"

"Yes," he answered. "Wizards have less raw power than unicorns, but they have far, far more variety."

"And that is how you did so well in the university's magic curriculum?"

"Yes, though diligent scholarship also played its proper part in that affair. I had to learn many new magical theories and spells, and I had to study for the general knowledge tests as well, like Equestrian History. And since wizards care little for mathematics and even less for science, I had to learn those from scratch, which took more time than anything else."

"When did you start studying?" she asked. "No, wait. Could you first say when you arrived here?"

"The same day you did," he answered. "I started studying not long after. A few days later, at most."

Luna's eyes went distant. "That would have given you… two months to study for the entrance exam?"

"About that much time, yes."

"I am told most ponies spend their entire youths preparing for that test," said Luna. "And most do not succeed. Yet you had top marks. How did you learn so much in two months?"

"I don't sleep," he answered.

"You don't-" she began incredulously, then cut herself off. "Of course you sleep, fool! Everypony sleeps! It is not something that can be discarded. The mind needs rest."

"I get mine in fifteen-minute bursts."

"That-" said Luna. "That- that is awful. 'Tis no wonder you are so unhappy all the time! You need more than that! You need dreams and respite! Have you not read about REM?"

"It would eat into my productivity," he said. "Besides, I've had the habit for two and a half years… no, make that twelve years. Breaking it now would be difficult."

"Hold," she said, raising a hoof. "I do not wish to change this subject – we will speak more about sleep and happiness – but how do you go from thinking you have had the habit for two and a half years, only to correct yourself to twelve years?"

Riddle tilted his head, considering yet another secret to tell. The others have been trivial compared to this one.

It was strange how even despite its significance, despite the theoretically dire consequences, he still felt like sharing. It was… unlike him, to consider telling her this. Even if she had been Vowed to silence. The ponies believe that honesty begets honesty, and that once you start saying the truth, it becomes easier to keep saying the truth.

And this particular truth, he decided, was worth telling, since it had been one of the most significant events that had shaped him into the man/pony he is today, and his employer has often told him that the more she knows about his past, the better she will be able to help him find happiness; that might have been an excuse to get him to say more, but she is Vowed to secrecy, so…

"If I tell you," he said, "you will consider it a secret of mine." That she would keep her Vow went un-mentioned and un-insisted, since it was Unbreakable.

"Yes, yes," she said. "I consider everything you have told me thus far as secret, and it will all remain secret unless you give me permission to speak. Now please answer my question."

"Very well. But first…"

His employer did not question him as he re-cast those security charms which were one-off detection spells instead of semi-permanent barriers. She watched his work in silence, seeming to understand.

"My immortality system," he said when he was done, "works through physical anchors. The original version, which did not provide true immortality, required a victim to touch the horcrux. When designing the improved version in my imagination, I thought my spirit should be able to float freely and resurrect myself at my own leisure. But when I finally died, I found myself anchored inside my devices. And in the height of foolishness, which felt like the height of cleverness at the time, I had hidden my anchors in places that no-one would ever find them. If you are about to laugh-"

He found himself embraced in another hug.

"How long were you trapped?" asked a soft, sad voice from behind his ear.

"Nine years and four months," he answered, diligently ignoring his instinct to leave the hug. It was better than laughter, at least.

"Were you aware for it?"

"Yes."

The pressure around his neck became a bit firmer.

"It wasn't as bad as it could have been," he said uncomfortably. "I put the time to good use, and I had a decent view."

"It certainly was as bad as it could have been," she said. "You could not sleep the entire time?"

"I could not, but-"

"You could not dream? You could speak to nopony at all?"

"No-"

"How are you not insane?"

He frowned. "Insanity would have gone against my interests. I used the time to ponder ancient magical riddles, and to reflect on the mistakes of my life which brought me to that moment, especially the failures in decision-making that got me killed."

"You used the time to punish yourself further?" she asked. The hug tightened yet further. "Oh, fool. Did you consider- no, of course you would not consider making yourself immortal in the first place to be a mistake."

He extracted himself from the hug. "Death is the worst possible fate, and I overcame it with the strength of my ambition and the power of my mind."

"There are fates worse than death."

"I disagree."

"You do not think eternal torture would be worse?"

"Not unless it rendered me effectively dead. The only thing worse than my death would be such torture followed by death."

"And you did not consider to extend that same courtesy to others?" she asked. "You do not see it as hypocritical to inflict what you see as the worst possible fate onto other living creatures? Other beings who likely went through similar foalhood abuse as you did, given that they grew to be Dark Lords?"

"It would only be hypocritical if I believed in universal morality, which I do not. Nor can I think of any example in magic where such morals would be…" he trailed off.

An example came to mind of a time when understanding that kind of morality did prove useful.

"Nor can I think of more than one magical example where universal morality has proven to be correct and just."

The Mirror operates by the 'fairest' ruleset he had ever encountered, at least up until the moment it sent him here.

"What about law?" his employer asked. "Should that not be universal?"

"No," he said. "Some beings are more competent than others. Idiots who are too stupid to breathe should be legally disbarred from certain actions, lest they take someone important with them as they depart this world. Blueblood and his lethal stunner is a prime example."

"His firing that stunner at you was already illegal," said the Princess. "You are missing the fact that the mentally deficient are often ignorant of the law, or do not fear it enough when they break it. Making laws to specifically punish them further would not fix or mitigate the issue, and it would not be fair to them if they have done nothing wrong."

"Requiring proof of competence before allowing potentially dangerous behaviour is not a punishment. Furthermore, if the same test is required of everypony, it is universal."

The Princess sighed. "We are getting lost in the unimportant weeds of this argument. Suffice it to say that I consider it hypocritical for you to so willingly kill others while simultaneously considering death to be the worst possible fate. You instinctually considered it hypocritical for my sister to criticize your immortality when she was immortal herself; please try to see the similarity within your own state of mind."

He frowned, but had nothing to say in reply to that. She was coming close to moralizing, but it was a logical criticism of his mental state, not an objection to his actions on moral grounds. She was calling him inconsistent, not evil, which is a form of criticism that his mind can't simply ignore.

"Now, I can think of three ways to speed along your progress. Will you promise to give them a fair attempt?"

"I will make no such promise until after I know what you are proposing," he said evenly. "I will promise to hear them, at least. I trust they are new suggestions?"

"Yes," said his employer. "First, I would like to bring you to my Astral Plane and show you some of my memories. Then I would like for you to begin showing me some of your own memories. And finally, I would like for you to adopt a more normal sleep cycle. I have no intention of entering your dreams, but you should have them in the first place. That you are not dreaming is likely contributing to your unhappiness and stress."

Riddle frowned. "I'm willing to try the last one," he said, despite the fact that it would cut into his productivity. "But I don't see the point to watching your memories, and you know not to pry into mine."

"The point of watching mine should become self-evident after the first session," said the princess. "As for your memories, I cannot possibly begin to help you find happiness if I am not more familiar with the specific causes of your unhappiness. Your unwillingness to share is evidence enough that the trauma was bad. It does-"

"Wrong,"

"-not have to be me- beg pardon?"

Riddle shook his head. "The severity of my past experiences has absolutely nothing to do with my unwillingness to share," he said. "That is the honest truth."

His employer was giving him a puzzled stare. "Then why are you so reluctant?"

"It is related to a fact that you now know," he answered. "I come from a different universe, and there are certain things about that situation that I do not feel like sharing." Like the fact that he used to be a different species altogether. As far as he could tell, she hadn't figured that out yet.

"That still does not quite answer why," she said. "What do you fear would happen if you told me?"

"It would cause you to look at me quite differently."

"It cannot possibly change how I look at you more than the secret to your immortality has," said Luna.

He tilted his head. "You say that now," he replied.

She shook her head. "My opinion of you will not change for trivial reasons that a difference in universe might produce. It will only change based on actions you have taken, and even then, I will take mitigating contexts into account. Given the Vow I have taken, I have no choice but to avoid judging you whenever possible, and to avoid sharing what you tell me with anypony else. I will analyze and advise, not moralize."

"I still don't like the idea."

His employer sighed. "It shall be nigh impossible for me to help you without knowing of your past."

Riddle stared at her for a long moment. "Very well," he said. He didn't exactly trust that she wouldn't be alienated by his alien nature, but her Vow would prevent the information from leaking, unless… "But first," he amended, "I must teach you a form of magic that we know in my home universe to make sure the information stays secret. And in the future, we will be doing this-" he waved his hoof at their surroundings "-in the Astral Plane, to avoid eavesdroppers the easy way."

"Why must I learn your magic when I have already taken the Vow?"

"Do you want me to demonstrate the problem?"

"I suppose?"

"Then think of something you don't want known, a secret you wouldn't want others to figure out. Preferably something trivial."

"You have a mind control spell in your home universe?" asked his employer. "Something that would force me to reveal it?"

He looked her in the eyes. "Yes, and you will be learning to guard against those as well, but I didn't even need them to figure out that you wet the bed when you were young."

Her eyes widened, and his Changeling sense informed him that she was embarrassed. "How did you do that?" she demanded.

"Magical mind reading," he replied, disclosing yet another ace in his sleeve. "We call it Legilimency. It works through eye contact, and it's another technique from my home universe, one that you will consider a secret of mine." (And therefore her Vow should prevent her from revealing it to others, and maybe even prevent her from avoiding eye contact with him, since she was bound not to use the information against him.)

His employer's eyes widened even further at the information he'd just given her. "So that is how you divined Blueblood's tryst!" she declared triumphantly.

"Indeed," he nodded, then decreed, "You will be learning the counter of Occlumency. That will prevent, say, the griffon we met earlier from reading your mind, or other members of my home universe from doing the same, if they somehow arrived here."

"Understandable," said his employer. "If that is your condition, then we will begin right away- actually, first, I have a question. How many times have you used… Legilimency, was it?"

He nodded.

"How many times have you used it on my subjects?"

"Aside from Blueblood?" asked Riddle. "None."

"None?"

"Unless you include Mr. Silver," he amended in realization, "but those times were exclusively for his own Occlumency lessons, and I'm not quite sure if he truly qualified as one of your subjects."

"I am surprised you did not do it more," she remarked.

"I'm a bit surprised myself," he replied. "In my last job, I was under heavy scrutiny. I constrained myself to using it only when necessary. I accepted that circumstance because most of my actions would be amusements to pass the time. Whenever you throw Legilimency into the mix, it ceases to be game, so I had to be more careful about its use than I'd ever been before. I got into the habit of not resorting to it when there were more creative options…"

Or when there was the risk of being discovered. If he knew alicorns could not inherently detect mental intrusions, as the princess just demonstrated, he would have used it much more liberally, especially on Celestia. It would have been useful when she was being reluctant about the Mirror and when she was keeping Mr. Silver's secrets. It still might be useful for that second one.

On the other hoof, with a thousand additional years of experience, Celestia might have developed some kind of Occlumency equivalent that she forgot to bring up with her sister…

"Did you use it on any beings who were not my subjects, other than myself?"

…or his employer might decide to start regularly asking him if he has Legilimised anypony. It would probably be wisest to continue restraining himself from taking the easy way out on that issue. He had already resolved to ask Mr. Silver directly about the accident/intent behind the escape. No need to rush things and make a mistake.

"Until yesterday, I would have said that I've used it on exactly two native Equinoids aside from Blueblood," he honestly answered. "Now that I know that the griffon was not a native Equinoid, I can honestly say that it was only one. On that note, Legilimency has a strange interaction with the Changeling Hive mind. If you get to the point of learning it yourself, do not use it on them. I'm not sure if that interaction only happens when the user has a Horcrux, but I wouldn't recommend putting it to the test."

His employer blinked a few times. "I see," she said slowly. "Magical accident indeed. So… you encountered the Changelings in the Crystal Caves beneath Canterlot… saw that they were keeping Princess Cadence prisoner… Legilimized Thorax to figure out what was going on, since it was clearly not a game… and then you ended up possessing him instead?"

"Correct," said Riddle, appreciative of the fact that she was keeping up without him needing to explain every little detail.

"And you still have not broken any laws that you can recall?"

"Other than the extremely minor incidents you already know about, like the library book, and the major incidents of the two Horcrux rituals, and a few other, morally neutral rituals that improved the survival chances of myself, Mr. Silver, and Ms. Granger, nothing else comes to mind."

"Well," said Luna, blinking a few more times. "Credit where credit is due. I believe you have been an upstanding member of Equestrian society thus far, if I ignore your general unpleasantness towards other ponies, which is often unnecessary and occasionally goes too far… but I digress. Even if you did kill them for selfish reasons, Chrysalis and Sombra's servant were both threats to this nation, and I am particularly relieved that the second one is no longer with us. Either incident alone would have earned the highest medals of military honor a thousand years ago, and I think even my sister would understand if she learned about them… well, she would understand for Sombra's servant, at the very least. It might even raise the number of beings she has ever hated to four."

"Just to check," asked Riddle, "you are not describing an intention to tell her?"

"No," she confirmed, "just remarking on her likely reaction. Tia has largely outgrown her protectiveness of me, but if she hears of the insidious nature of the attack I suffered, which directly caused our conflict and Nightmare Moon and my banishment, I believe she would hate not just Sombra, but the being who carried out his will. But I am digressing again. So long as those 'morally neutral' rituals are truly neutral, I think I can say with confidence that you have been on the correct path for some time now, as far as your actions are concerned."

Riddle was tempted to say he couldn't tell her until she'd learned Occlumency, but decided that would just delay the inevitable. "One is a ritual without a name," he explained, "so I just call it the fusion ritual. Under ordinary circumstances, it sacrifices a magical creature to temporarily bestow its powers upon another being. The side-effects are potentially fatal after the ritual wears off, but I have a way of making it permanent so that it never wears off. I've used it to attain a few useful traits for myself and my students, sacrificing the bodies of solely non-sapient creatures to that end."

It was a close shave, being able to say that honestly, but neither Chrysalis's clone nor the phoenix's clone had been sapient. They didn't have the potential for sapience either, since magically-created clones – homunculi, as some alchemical texts call them – do not possess the capacity to develop independent thought. A long tradition of alchemy has only found a single exception to this rule: putting an existing mind into a clone will allow the homunculus to have independent thought. But even then, it's not the clone that's thinking, is it?

And since homunculi are temporary magical constructs (without the Philosopher's Stone, at any rate), such pursuits were abandoned long ago by wizards seeking avenues to immortality. Transferring your mind from your damaged body into that of a healthy clone would not have worked. Even when they're actively sustained by outside magic, clones deteriorate very quickly. A week is the current alchemical world-record for longest-lived clone. And since the ritual that could make a viable human wizard clone requires the sacrifice of another powerful magical creature, trying to sustain one's self that way is an extremely losing prospect.

Yes, he had looked into that method when researching the Philosopher's Stone and alchemy. Yes, he had looked into every aspect of the theory to see if it would work. But even if indefinite preservation of life was theoretically possible with an infinite number of creatures to sacrifice in order to make clones of himself to jump into sequentially, and even with his desperate desire to avoid death, he didn't even consider the cloning method to be a last resort. He wanted to survive his death, not spend most of his time every day prolonging it.

"Creatures such as?" his employer asked for clarification, referring to the creatures he had sacrificed for the fusion ritual.

"I started with a couple of creatures from my home universe that don't exist here," he answered.

He silently teleported one of his false teeth into his robes. He retrieved it manually with a hoof, transfiguring it into a plain marble as he made physical contact so it wouldn't look like a tooth when he brought it to bear. He then floated the marble a good distance away, de-Transfigured it, and watched in amusement as his employer jumped slightly.

"That is a mountain troll," he gestured. "It has strength, spell resistance, and the ability to regenerate from almost anything aside from brain injuries, old age, and certain powerful magics like Fiendfyre. Trolls also turn to stone in sunlight, but the fusion ritual does not transfer… explicit weaknesses. Now I have all of its strengths in myself."

If he had gone with the additional unicorn sacrifice, not just the original one to become an alicorn, he would also have gained unusual speed, vitality, grace, and (unfortunately) an undispellable aura of innocence and purity.

Maybe he should look into a means of deactivating undesired properties? Or better yet, a means of having explicit control over every bodily magic. That could also help with the phoenix problem.

"Is that how you caught Blueblood's stunner?" asked his employer. "With a spell-resistant hoof?"

"No, that was pure skill," he said as he retrieved and re-transfigured the troll. "I did not acquire trollish spell resistance until December."

"And trolls are unintelligent?"

"They are not intelligent," he confirmed. "And even if they were, I've taken to using a cloning system that allows me to bypass that problem. I have a ritual that produces a roughly equivalent effect to the mirror pool, although it takes the sacrifice of an Ursa Minor for every new clone. Did you hear about that Ponyville incident, by the by?"

"No," she said with a frown, "but I know of the pool."

"Then you know that the clones it produces do not have the capacity for intelligence or sapience, correct?"

"Yes…" she said, still frowning. "That is why my sister and I determined that there is nothing morally abhorrent about returning the clones to the pool."

He nodded. "If I told you that my fusion ritual accepts clones, and that I can make clones at will using my own methods, can you see how that bypasses the problem of sapient sacrifice? If, say, I ever decided that I wanted the magical properties of a dragon, can you see how it might be done without doing something 'morally abhorrent', as you called it?"

"Do the clones you create have the same properties as those produced by the mirror pool?"

"Exactly the same." As far as he could tell, anyway.

"Then yes," she answered, "I can see how that might be done without moral issues, though most modern ponies do not agree with the deliberate sacrifice of animals, even dangerous ones like Ursa Minors. You are lucky I am so familiar with carnivores. I do not like how you have used ritual magic so often and so readily, but…" she trailed off.

"But when the 'Dark' side-effects can be bypassed," he finished for her, "and when they do not have a corrupting effect on the mind, and when they are put to positive use, you are capable of tolerating them?"

"Yes," she sighed. "You do know that the reason you will not be tried for the crime of ritual magic has nothing to do with the fact that you convinced us to change the law afterwards, yes?"

"I suspected that might be the case," he allowed. "Your Vow is the only reason I'm telling you any of this."

"If your past use of ritual magic within our borders comes to public light, I will insist you not be tried," she claimed. "So the Vow is not the reason either. Though it may have helped me to not judge you long enough for my mind to reach this conclusion."

"Then I don't understand," said Riddle. "Why wouldn't you have me tried? My noble status?"

"That has absolutely nothing to do with it. The reason you will not be tried for ritual magic, my fool, is because you have found ways to do them morally, like you did with the Vow. And if you continue to find ways to do ritual magic morally, your efforts will henceforth be encouraged. I suspect my sister will take much longer to come around, but I also think that she eventually will come around after you deem it acceptable to tell her."

"If I deem it acceptable," he corrected. "And if you're being honest about your appreciation for what I've done with rituals, then I already have a few suggestions…"

All of which she immediately shot down.

"None of that is moral, my fool."

"Not even the first one?"

"There is a difference between sensible and moral. Having a dying unicorn bind Unbreakable Vows might be sensible, but it is not moral. The moral thing would be saving the dying pony, if at all possible, not using them like a resource. The only thing you have suggested with perhaps some merit is to offer reduced sentences to criminal unicorns that consent to binding Vows. But even that is a very slippery slope, and easily corrupted by bureaucracy. I will not tolerate anything along the lines you've just proposed, just as I shall no longer tolerate your killing others to create additional Horcruxes, no matter how much of a threat they are. It is sensible, but not moral. If you find a way to bind Vows without permanent sacrifice of magic, or if you find a way to make Horcruxes without permanent sacrifice of intelligent life, then we shall talk. Do it morally, and I will consider it. And when I say 'morally', I mean without negative consequences, especially death, to any intelligent beings involved, as you have accomplished with your combat and fusion rituals."

"That is a bit of a special case, not something to expect on a general basis."

"You are not confident in your ability to duplicate your success?"

He thought about it. Is he unconfident that he can duplicate the Philosopher's Stone? Yes, in fact. He's not confident at all. As for the rest…

"I'll think on it," he said. "It will probably take years, if it can be done at all."

"As an alicorn who has defeated death in himself, you have all the time in the world."

Rehabilitation, Part 8.1: Night Court

Author's Note

WARNING: Some of the content in this chapter will be disturbing, and not appropriate to readers of all ages. This story will remain 'T' because the content is not described in anything close to explicit detail, but some readers might find the helicopter overview too much to tolerate.

Keep in mind that the 'Night Court memories' are based on true stories.

Rehabilitation, Part 8.1: Night Court

"Master," said another robe. "The girl on the alter – is she to serve us for a Dark Revel? She seems unworthy of such a joyous occasion. I could find better, Master, if you give me leave for just a short time-"

"No, Mr. Friendly."

-HPMoR Chapter 113

Riddle's 'happiness mentor' did not even wait five minutes. She immediately started him on the program that, according to her, would end in a Patronus Charm.

She started with his sleeping habit – i.e. his habit of not sleeping. She suspected, like he did, that simply forcing him to put his head on a pillow for six hours each night would not work. It would only lead to annoyance, frustration, and Riddle concluding that she's stupid.

Instead, he would be pushing himself to stay awake as long as possible, without any polyphasic resting intervals. In theory, this would build up more pressure to sleep at longer intervals. In practice, it simply meant his rest is becoming less voluntary. Now, rather than entering 'zombie mode' at will, it would happen whenever he was bored. He dislikes that he has less control over his own bodily functions, but he is enjoying the frustration it's producing in his 'mentor', especially when he falls asleep during her 'lessons'. As the former Element of Honesty, she cannot complain when 'falling asleep' is his honest, unfiltered response.

It mostly happened during memory-viewing sessions, the second item on her agenda. It didn't happen the first few sessions, both because the effects of her 'sleep program' hadn't fully kicked in and because she started with very informative memories.

He'd also been interested in the 'Astral Plane' phenomenon in general during those first few sessions. Apparently, after he'd been taken there the first time, he could return to her Astral Plane whenever he wanted so long as she hadn't explicitly decided to ban him.

The memories she showed him were past 'Night Court' sessions, and like the Astral Plane problem, they initially prevented him from falling asleep because they had his full attention the entire time. These memories in particular were, according to his happiness advisor, the peak of what she once did with her Princess position, and they were not at all what he had been expecting.

For instance, he had been expecting to have trouble understanding them, in the same way thousand-year-old portraits in Hogwarts are nigh-impossible to understand. But 'Equish' (i.e. Equestrian English) hasn't changed over the past 1,000 years like Earth English has.

He'd also been expecting the memories to at least remind him of Day Court, but the two courts were nothing alike. Rather than focus on any legal disputes like her sister, the Alicorn of Night and Dreams preferred to help individuals with personal/relationship problems, especially in one-on-one or one-on-two sessions.

He was learning a number of things about relationships (mostly between ponies, but probably people as well, for the insights seemed applicable) that he hadn't known before. In his own defense, his former ignorance might have had something to do with how he typically avoided having relationships in the first place. He could analyse others with clinical, cynical detachment, but he has many blind spots, as these memories are proving.

The past self of his employer picked apart the mental states of her petitioners better and more clinically than he could have, and she wasn't even a Legilimens. Furthermore, she saw through deceptions and evasions almost instantly. She 'cut through the bull manure', as one of her more crass petitioners put it. She'd been able to do that long before she connected with the Element of Honesty, or so she now claims.

The first indication that these memories – or some of them, anyway – were worth watching was during a marital dispute that had made it all the way to her Court. Past-Luna made this wild prediction seemingly out of the blue:

"For you-" to the husband "-I would guess sexual abuse in youth. And for you-" to the wife, "-physically abusive or violent parents?"

The petition up until that point had contained absolutely nothing about their pasts. It had only involved recent disputes, like the wife shouting at her husband and breaking objects when angry, and the husband being sexually dissatisfied, even going so far as to suggest, and briefly attempt, an open relationship (though it never got past the point of 'meet other ponies who are also interested in open relationships'; meeting the kind of pony who was open to that sort of thing quickly ended the desire to try it).

The 'violent parents' prediction was easy enough to understand in retrospect, but Riddle had absolutely no idea why past-Luna thought the husband suffered sexual abuse, and he was even more shocked when the husband confirmed her guess. And again, this was done without Legilimency.

When he asked present-Luna about it, since past-Luna had not explained, she said that genuine interest in sexual depravity, i.e. open relationships in this particular example, are almost universally the result of foalhood sexual abuse. She said that almost all negative desires and behaviours can be linked to past trauma or neglect or bad parenting in one way or another. There are exceptions, of course. Some ponies become sexually depraved without suffering the trauma first. But those are rare in comparison.

If it were true, you'd think that the world's most prolific Legilimens and cynical social manipulator would know it already. And he did know it to some extent, but not to the point where it gave him that kind of predictive power from evidence that scanty.

After his first time reading Bellatrix's mind, he made it a personal policy to avoid Legilimizing victims of severe childhood abuse. Especially sexual abuse. It is extremely unpleasant to read the surfaces of their minds. If he hadn't had that policy, or if he had been more interested in using Legilimency or even normal conversation to uncover people's pasts, he might have discovered the more general link between parenting styles and behaviours before this point.

He was initially suspicious about that link when watching the memories. He had doubted the link was as solid as past-Luna so firmly believed. But after so many undeniable examples of successful out-of-the-blue predictions in petition after petition, even he was beginning to become convinced. Convinced that it applied to ponies, at least.

Past-Luna often claimed, when slowly walking others through their past traumas, that she suffered parental abuse as well. That could have been a lie, a mere tactic to encourage her petitioners to share their own experiences. But given how much detail she often gave, and how consistent her anecdotes were, she was probably being honest.

Present-Luna said her past abuse is how, even without a Vow, she was able to calmly, peacefully, and non-judgmentally help other ponies understand their behavioural woes. She'd gone through 'the journey' herself, so she can empathize, not just sympathize. Just like she is currently doing for him.

The only difference between then and now is that she did not have a Vow forcing her to do it in the past. Past-Luna did not declare ponies to be helpless even as they described 'immoral' and often illegal actions they'd done, and there was nothing forcing her – the princess of a nation – to be so lenient to confessing criminals.

A well-known and respected policy of the old Night Court system was that ponies who came to her would not be legally punished for what they disclosed. Everything they discussed would remain private.

Riddle noticed the similarity to muggle religious 'confessionals' right away. That policy is something he's been meaning to ask about, but he hadn't had a good opportunity yet. Hopefully he would soon.

In the session he's currently watching, past-Luna had just offered a theory which he had not heard before: "overweight is overlooked".

An obese petitioner was asking for advice on how to lose weight. After a brief question-and-answer session, past-Luna pointed out that the adult petitioner has a very child-like voice, which is worrisome, then suggested "overweight is overlooked" as a possibility.

In short, a victim of foalhood sexual abuse will eat so much food that they become unattractive. Once they become overweight, they are overlooked by the pedophile, who moves on to somepony else. Thus the phrase, "overweight is overlooked".

If this is the reason for a pony's obesity, as it sometimes is, losing weight as an adult is nigh impossible without addressing the root trauma. It might not be the case, past-Luna said to the petitioner, but past-Luna went on to say that young fillies who went through sexual trauma in general seem to share a tendency to have child-like voices. She had no idea why this might be the case (maybe it involved emotional stunting, Riddle thought), but it was so. The petitioner in the memory was overweight and had a child-like voice, and so past-Luna was throwing out this as a possibility, even though the petitioner had not so much as hinted that she might be that kind of victim, even to past-Luna's heightened perceptions about that sort of thing.

The obese mare listened to this hypothesis with increasing alarm, then begged the princess never to tell anypony else.

At that point, Riddle decided to ask, "Do you think these ponies would be amenable to the fact that you are sharing their deepest secrets with a complete stranger?"

His mentor paused the memory and turned to face him. "If they were still alive, some of them certainly would not be. But now that they have been dead for over a thousand years, and their issues long buried by time, I think… if there was an afterlife and we could somehow reach it to ask them for permission, I think that they would grant it. I think that they would want me to be able to help you in any way I could, just as they were helped. Though in the same vein, some of them would be fine with it, even if I had asked them while they were alive. Like the pony with the… bowel problem, whom I showed you yesterday."

Riddle chuckled. A 'bowel problem' is one way to describe uncontrollable self-defecation.

"He would likely wish his story be told, not shy from the public shame," Luna observed.

"You might be right about that," Riddle remarked.

That pony had declared at the start of his petition that he did not care anymore. He did not care that, in bringing the issue to Night Court, he might be making his problem known to the entire country. He did not care that he would be making it known to the Princesses themselves. He just wanted it to stop.

Past-Luna reassured him that everything would be private, but the petitioning pony said that it didn't have to stay private if she managed to figure out what was going on. He said that he didn't want anypony else to suffer what he went through, and he wasn't only talking about the bodily problem. There were many other problems that went with it – the shame, the bullying, the smell, etc.

At that point in the memory, Riddle had asked Luna to pause it and explain to him why the problem of uncontrollable bowels would be that bad in a world where public 'nudity' is so generally accepted. Couldn't he just not wear clothes, stay outside most of the time, and run to a nearby bush or tree whenever the problem happened? (It's not like actual ponies care where they defecate. Actual ponies can't even control when they do so.)

The Princess explained to him that, a thousand years ago, public 'nudity' was not generally accepted. Luna and her sister grew up with it, but there were many ponies that were not raised that way. For a reason that she never understood, many ponies, especially the oldest ones when she was growing up, always insisted on wearing clothes. Her own great-grandfather – a long-lived Earth Pony – was like that until the day he died.

The self-soiler came from one of those 'wear clothes at all times' villages, sufficiently answering Riddle's question.

The rest of that Night Court petition was particularly insightful as well. The beginning was insufferable, though – for Riddle, not the ponies in the memory. The petitioner started his plea by describing a dream he had the other night and the past Princess of Dreams was happy to indulge by delving into that dream's symbolism.

Present-Luna had told Riddle beforehand that the first part would probably bore him – it did – and she told him to understand that the petitioner was simply avoiding unpleasantness, as many other petitioners have done. Even still, if she hadn't strategically shown him that memory after he'd just woken from a resting session (he was at 25 minute long rests at this point, up from 15), he would have fallen asleep when they were going back and forth about a pointless dream.

Twenty-three minutes and twelve seconds into the memory (he knew the exact time because he was constantly casting the tempus spell), it finally began holding his attention.

After a bit of digging through the petitioner's past and bringing painful memories to the fore, the princess learned that this pony, like the husband from the marital dispute, suffered sexual abuse. Unlike the husband, it had been at a much younger age. Furthermore, it had not been an adult who had abused him, but a 'friend' – a fellow colt who should have been far too young to even have sexual thoughts in the first place. (That suggested to past-Luna that this 'friend' had been heavily abused himself, probably by a parent or uncle.)

At that age, what his 'friend' could inflict amounted to touching and looking, especially in and under his flank, but that is more than enough to leave a long-lasting impact.

One thing led to another, and by the end of past-Luna's questioning, Riddle had developed a slightly disturbing mental image of what amounted to a colt sex cult, except without true sex. Even his mental conception of Voldemort, who had orchestrated and witnessed what his Death Eaters called 'Dark Revels', found the description mildly disturbing.

No adults were involved. It was only colts. Most were inducted at ages six and seven (even the depraved among the Death Eaters selected ages ten and above) and the first thing that any new 'inductee' was told was to not tell their parents.

This tactic worked because they were giving these inductees far more attention than their neglectful parents. The 'friend' who started it all was both extremely skilled at games and a charismatic extrovert, even at age seven, which is how the petitioner had been drawn in. He liked his 'friend' more than he liked his own parents.

The petitioner in question tried to tell his mother like a creative child might. He composed a detailed, many-paged novel, with associated pictures, of young colts doing things that no young colts should be doing. Apparently, when he showed it to his mother, she only read the first part of the first sentence of that novel, which did not contain anything disturbing. She then said "that's nice" and continued out the door for her night out, never reading another word or looking at any of the pictures. As with the other victims, the petitioner evidently had extremely negligent parents.

After learning all this, past-Luna quickly developed the theory, and the petitioner (and Riddle watching the memory) quickly agreed, that the self-defecation was likely a defense mechanism. Whenever it happened, the cult would lose interest in their 'normal' activities and do actually normal things, play actually normal games.

Ponies cannot command their own bowel functions to operate in such a fashion under ordinary circumstances, but the body has a way of adapting to extremes. It likely happened by accident the first time, but what the body can do once, it can learn to repeat.

(It's even possible, Riddle thought, that it could be a genetic impulse produced by evolution, assuming sexual abuse was common in the ancestral environment. Anal scarring and infection would certainly have been unhealthy, and thus evolutionarily disadvantageous. A 'poop when about-to-be pedophiled' mechanism might exist somewhere in human/pony brains. Though it probably didn't.)

Regardless of the underlying biology, the petitioner subconsciously knew that soiling himself prevented his abuse, and thus he did so whenever he was socially uncomfortable.

Past-Luna then went on a rant. It was initially aimed at the petitioner's parents, but it spread to pony society at large.

His parents never even thought to take him to a healer for his problem, she pointed out. The general healer at his annual checkups did not investigate the offensive smell that would have been present on multiple visits. Not a single pony – and in particular not his parents, the ponies with the most responsibility – even thought to help, let alone try to help. They didn't even notice anything amiss, aside from the bowel problem. They didn't notice the cult their colt had joined, despite all the signs.

And even worse than that, his parents joined in on his bullying. Like everypony else, they mocked and taunted and shamed him, making a bad situation worse.

A pang of emotion had flashed through Riddle at the mention of that. He was bullied himself, mostly in the muggle orphanage, and past-Luna's phrasing struck a chord of anger. It wasn't his fault strange things happened. It had been accidental magic, even if he didn't know it at the time. He had then blinked, realizing he'd just tried to justify and defend himself from a mental image of Mrs. Cole. Normally he had better control over his thoughts, but his general state of sleep-deprivation made his mind wander. He'd shaken his head a bit and focused on the memory in front of him.

When asked, the petitioner said he extricated himself from the cult long ago, but he still has the 'pooping problem'. Luna reasoned that it must be simple habit by this point. His body is automatically running the 'poop when socially uncomfortable' program.

After considering many possible solutions, all of which would likely take months to try and none of which would likely work, past-Luna did something unusual as far as her typical petitions go. She prescribed a non-addictive, hallucinogenic weed with a reputation for relaxing the ponies who take it. It worked as an instant cure – a very rare thing in the medical field, at least at that time.

Present-Luna remarked that there are potions for that purpose nowadays, but back then they often had to make do with what nature provided them.

A St. Mungo's healer, Riddle knew, could have made such a potion, and might have even been wise enough to use it as a cure for a self-defecator, but even the best healers on Earth would never have dug down to the root cause of the problem.

What also struck Riddle was how past-Luna emphasized over and over that the petitioner bore zero responsibility for the things that happened during his foalhood, including the fact that he personally inducted new ponies into the cult and occasionally took pleasure in the acts, so long as they weren't being done to him.

She said he was far too young to know right from wrong, especially with such parents as he had. It is a pony's instinct to do unto another what is done to himself; it is especially a young pony's instinct to mirror the behaviours of his role models, no matter the behaviour and no matter the role model.

She said that, as an adult, he has done Equestria a service by not continuing the cycle of abuse, by not instinctually inflicting upon others what was done to himself. That's how abuse typically perpetuates itself, present-Luna informed Riddle. It's also how a single abuser can spawn tens or even hundreds of new abusers, if they are not stopped in time.

Past-Luna reinforced these points by claiming that she does not take any responsibility for what her father did to her. That was all, entirely, her father's burden to bear, and the burden of the village protectors who did nothing, and the burden of the adults who did not believe that such a reputable, likeable stallion could possibly do such terrible things. They did believe, thanks to her father's charisma, that young fillies should not lie for attention. Only Tia had ever believed her when it truly mattered, even without a shred of evidence, and that had kept her sane.

"Wouldn't she have witnessed it first-hoof?" asked Riddle at that point in the memory. "He was her father too, yes? Or did he treat her-"

"We are not-"

"-better than you…"

"-sisters by birth."

"Ah," said Riddle. "Were you later adopted by her parents, or…"

Luna smiled. "No. Your reference frame is mistaken. Tia and I were raised in a… hm… a large tribe. That would say it best."

"Not by your parents?" Riddle asked.

"Occasionally, but… well, at night we were with our parents, but foals spent the daytime with whomever was deemed to be the best caretaker. Once we grew to fillies and colts, we typically had a single adult overseer, chosen on a rotational basis from the pool of parents who had sired the group. Tia and I were in the same group. Most of them left us to our own little games, but sometimes the day's parent would play along, or try to teach a lesson." She frowned. "After he did and continued to do so much violence to me in private, it was eye-opening to watch my father publicly treat young ponies amazingly. It taught me that he knew what a good father should do. And since he managed to flip on a bit, from violent to friendly, the moment our private home had a visitor, I concluded that everything he did was a choice, not an uncontrollable impulse like he would sometimes lie about."

"What all did your father do to you?" Riddle had asked.

"You should well know by this point," Luna had replied.

"I know the general patterns of physical violence and constant manipulation," Riddle had acknowledged. "But in the end, I've only heard a few anecdotes. I don't know the full extent."

"That is the full extent," Luna had said simply. "If you are asking whether I suffered what so many of these petitioners suffered, to my father's credit the answer is 'no'. But…"

A memory had appeared in front of her of a dark grey stallion with a furious face and a raised hoof.

"…but being beaten half to death is trauma enough." Luna had frowned at the image, and it disappeared. "Most ponies these days, especially in affluent places like Canterlot, or good places like Ponyville, cannot comprehend it. They cannot understand how a young filly might mean it when she thinks to herself, 'My father is going to kill me'. Even when young ponies say it aloud, adults write it off as a great exaggeration. To be fair, in this day and age, it often is. But back then, it often wasn't. Good ponies cannot imagine the statement being unironic, but some young ponies literally feared for their lives, as I once did. Such incidents are far, far rarer these days thanks to a thousand years of effort on my sister's part…"

Ah, Riddle thought. So ponies might NOT be inherently less evil than humans. It might have been a deliberate, top-down effort.

"…especially sexual abuse, which might have been eliminated entirely, as far as I can tell from my dream-walking. And with a thousand-fold increase in population size, that is an impressive feat. Despite her neglect in other areas, I was overjoyed when I first realized that Tia had diligently addressed the most important issue during my banishment."

"That being?" asked Riddle.

"Abuse and neglect of foals, of course," said Luna without hesitation. "Particularly by parents. As you have seen by now, that one issue is responsible for perhaps ninety-five percent of all behavioral woes. In fixing it, my sister eliminated Equestria's biggest problems… well, our social problems, anyway."

Riddle nodded in approval. She acknowledged that the country still has major military problems, and she corrected herself without any hesitation, without any doubt, and without any prompting on his part. Her ability to think about such exceptions independently, to actually learn from his mere advice, not just harsh experience, is why he doesn't mind her company.

"Though I suppose Tia did not quite get around to eliminating all instances of adults abusing their fellow adults," Luna added, acknowledging yet another bit of counter-evidence he might have offered if she hadn't gotten to it first. "I think your Day Court petition was a wake-up-call to her. The punishments for abusing foals are drastic, but Tia did not think that adults would habitually hurt other adults. I think she assumed that simply getting rid of one would get rid of the other."

"You'd think she would have seen plenty of counter-evidence to that assumption before I came around."

"She likes to see the best in ponies. She does not pry when she sees minor red flags, so long as they do not point to foalhood abuse. Thus, she did not see how spoiling and pampering can lead to an arrogant and callous disregard of others."

"With Chrysalis and Blueblood being prime examples," Riddle remarked upon the accurate analysis.

Luna nodded. "Ones that, with any luck, taught her a thing or two about the problem of pompousness. And arrogance. And elitism."

"Even with all the luck in the world, I doubt she learned that lesson from those incidents," said Riddle. "I wouldn't have had to hammer the point home so often if she had. She's only taken to heart… I'd call it a tenth of what she still needs to learn. And she learned it from your joint interrogation of the nobility, nowhere else."

Luna sighed. "I am afraid you might be right. But that should still not take away from what she did accomplish."

Riddle tapped his cheek in consideration. It was strange to do with the tip of his hoof instead of a finger, but still felt fitting in this circumstance. "Can you say how you know Celestia was responsible for the elimination of foalhood abuse?"

"I know because many of the stories I heard in Night Court, including the ones I have shown you thus far, have appeared in what is now the standard textbook for aspiring clinicians."

Riddle had not read any medical textbooks yet aside from ones on basic pony anatomy, so that was news to him. Evolution and biology, he had studied. Psychology and therapy, he mostly hadn't. Except a few from Mr. Potter's collection, but those didn't cover this topic.

"You told your sister about the 'private' Night Court petitions?" he asked, focusing his attention on yet another inconsistency. "And then she told them to the whole nation? Are you certain that 'Honesty' did not mind that you called them 'private'?"

"They were anonymous in the textbook," Luna said in both defense and excuse. "False names obscured their identities, and other details were also altered, so long as they were unrelated to patterns of abuse and trauma. Even I had trouble placing a few of them, and I know the source material better than anypony. Furthermore, the textbook was published decades after my banishment, and since information traveled rather slowly in those days, the anecdotes within would not have disseminated to the general population for another few decades. The petitioners would not have been alive to see their traumas being used to improve the public good. And if some of them were alive and did encounter A Healer's Guide to Abuse, they likely would not have suspected it was their stories being told."

Riddle considered this. He could continue arguing, but… "I suppose that works." But it's not like his secrets were at stake. "How were they used, exactly?"

"The cases are presented as 'standard' examples of red flags to indicate potential abuse. Even though it's a textbook, it is a gripping read, and since it was made mandatory for all clinical healing professionals, it has had a lasting effect. If the oldest publication date is anything to go by, licensed healers have been looking for such signs in their patients for about nine hundred and seventy-five years. And despite her leniency in many other areas, the legal punishments for foal-abusers are the harshest on the books."

"Interesting…" said Riddle. "What did Celestia do about false allegations? If she did not have you there to reliably call them out…"

"The investigations were extremely thorough as a matter of course. Both so that false allegations did not implicate the innocent, and so that true perpetrators are punished. Deliberate lies about foal abuse were punished as harshly as the foal-abusers themselves. Concerned neighbors reporting red flags do not fall into this category, but if somepony wishes to stain another's reputation by claiming that pony is abusing their foal, the liar suffers the same punishment that the accused would have suffered if their conscious and deliberate slander had been taken seriously by the justice system. Prosecutors who get it egregiously wrong also suffer severe consequences for their incompetence. And I believe my sister has done a few things in the arts to impact Equestrian culture as well. Thus has she eliminated sexual abuse."

That explains a lot, actually, Riddle thought.

Even human society might have turned out like pony society if such policies were implemented for a millennium by the highest authority. But that wasn't likely to happen on Earth.

After his direct experience as Lord Voldemort, and his experience with his servants in particular, the politicians in positions to promulgate such policies are the last people who would ever do it.

In general, politicians – especially 'noble' politicians who believe they're better than everyone else, i.e. arrogant elitists – are corrupt bastards. It's not uncommon when their degeneracy manifests in the sexual direction. When you believe you're superior, you believe you have the right to do whatever you want, laws and norms be damned.

There are always exceptions, like Lucius and his small cadre of personal friends, and Dumbledore and the Longbottoms and Potters on the other side, and the Greengrasses in the middle. Those are families that did not abuse their own children, as far as Tom Riddle was able to discern. But exceptions only prove the rule – the Blacks, the Carrows, and the Jugsons are only the tip of the iceberg. They're the ones everybody knows about. There are a hundred others that slip through the detection spell, or 'go under the radar' as Mr. Potter would put it.

Cheating and promiscuity are the most common forms of depravity, but child abuse is also prevalent. Just ask the Blacks - Sirius and Bella both.

Pedophilia in particular is much more common than the average adult wizard would like to believe. The percentage of pedophiles among politicians and nobles isn't as high as 50%, or even 25%, but isn't as low as 1% either. And the politicians who had opened his eyes to this fact had been that way before he recruited them, so he was not to blame for their degenerate desires…

…although he did contribute to the problem with 'Dark Revels'. It was a thing Lord Voldemort was expected to do, since he had already rewarded his other servants for good performances, and so he had done it without flinching. Even if Tom Riddle did privately find it distasteful.

By the time Severus Snape came around, Tom Riddle had enough experience and foresight as Lord Voldemort to reject Snape's desired reward of Lily Potter's love. Not when the request was made long after joining, but at the very beginning of Snape's induction into the Death Eaters. That is how Tom Riddle, as Lord Voldemort, was not forced by his role to tolerate Mr. Draught's degeneracy like he was forced to tolerate (and reward) Mr. Friendly's.

"How many ponies were privy to these 'private' sessions?" he had asked, partly to distract himself from unpleasant memories and partly to continue the conversation, even if he could guess the answer to his own question. "If your sister knew about them, then it must have been more than just you and the petitioner."

"My sister… well, in this case, I should say my fellow princess was the only other pony who was allowed to know the details of Night Court," his employer predictably explained. "That is how I can be certain that she wrote the original text herself, or at least co-authored it."

"If the book has been around for nine-hundred and seventy-five years, she was rather eager to push these policies as soon as you were banished, was she not?"

"Yes, but I do not see that as a bad thing in the slightest. Abuse was our biggest point of agreement in law and politics by far, though I was more passionate about it than she was." Luna paused. "I think… in her regret over Nightmare Moon, I think she adopted my passion as her own. That way, when I returned, it would be to a better Equestria, one that did not infuriate me all the time. She has never said it directly, but I think that was her state of mind."

His employer then began talking about the subtle evidence that led her to draw this conclusion, which he didn't find all that interesting.

A poke in his side startled him.

"You are falling asleep again," his employer said, her horn no longer glowing.

"I was," he confirmed after a minor pause to recollect. His mind shifted back to the present. Right… he was watching a memory he didn't particularly care about. He'd been awake since yesterday's defecator; his mind must have been 'digesting' the most important information. He didn't bother defending himself because…

"I suppose this one does count as boring, doesn't it?"

…because Luna had picked up on the pattern by this point, and she saw it as a failure on her part whenever she put him to sleep.

"The first part was decent," he replied, referring to 'overweight is overlooked'. On his end… "Yesterday's was good as well. Was there anything else you wanted to say about the link between past abuse and present behaviour?"

…on his end, whenever it was pointed out that he'd been falling asleep, he would make the effort to keep the conversation on 'redemptive' topics that still held his interest. His mentor had said this would be a two-pony effort, and he intended to fairly and diligently uphold his side of the bargain as long as it seemed to be beneficial.

"There is one thing," said Luna. "Do you see now why I was so frustrated by your policy of not 'prying' into your past?"

"I can see how it would have been a red flag when you were hiring me," Riddle allowed.

"Do you also see why it has stunted my efforts to help?"

"Partly," said Riddle. He could guess where this was going, but… "I would still like the full explanation."

"Very well."

The memories of her Astral Plane, which typically consisted of moving phantom images in 3-D space, arranged themselves into rows and columns of still images inside portrait frames, though they gave the illusion of three dimensions within those frames. They were all pictures of ponies he had seen. He could point to each one and say what their problem had been – violent father, sexually abusive uncle, manipulative mother, negligent and uncaring single parent (divorcee, not widow), and so on. It helped that they were arranged in the order he'd watched them.

Not even ten percent involved sexual trauma, he was now noticing, but those were the ones that stood out the most. And not because he was particularly empathetic with those cases; he hadn't suffered that abuse himself.

Perhaps they stood out because the subject is ordinarily so taboo in polite society; perhaps that is why he regarded these memories, petitions, conversations, etc. as containing unique information. You might hear about a violent and shouting father, or a vile and manipulative mother, in hushed whispers at social events. But rumors of pedophilia won't even reach the stage of whispers. If it's not completely hidden by money, influence, or simple skill, then it's being shouted to the rooftops by the press and the government.

"Every single one of these cases," said Luna, "required a deep dive. I could not help them solve their issues until I had a clear picture of the root problems, and that means I needed to know about what happened to them in the past."

The portrait frames were replaced by a single one containing the black silhouette of a pony wearing glasses and a cloak – clearly meant to be Riddle himself.

"And I still do not have a clear picture of you," she said. "Once you have deemed my Occlumency acceptable, I am going to ask that you show me as many of your most formative moments as possible. That will be the fastest way I can help you. Now do you understand why I have found your desire for privacy so frustrating all this time?"

His eyebrows furrowed. "You are claiming that it was for my sake, not yours?"

"I am not just claiming it, and I am meaning it, my fool. Yes, I was worried that you had done evil in the past, even the recent past, but I've helped many ponies who have done evil in the past."

"You also seemed worried that I was currently doing wrong."

"I could always find out if you were currently doing anything wrong simply by asking. More than anything, I was frustrated that I could not understand you." She turned to face him fully, her back to the memories. "Will you let me?"

For some odd reason, he felt like taking a few steps back, even though her demeanor and tone were not threatening in any way – quite the opposite, actually.

"Only because you have Vowed secrecy," he answered.

A/N: So, as I said, Luna's remembered Night Court sessions are based on true conversations. It comes from a podcast that might, unfortunately, politicize this story if I named it. Otherwise I wouldn't hesitate to share the source. If you already know, please refrain from mentioning it in the comments. DM me if you must.

It's not your standard kind of rationality, but the skill of pattern-matching past/present trauma to past/present behavior is the single best tool a person can have when trying to break bad habits. Also, if you become a parent, and your child has pooping problems, maybe take them to a doctor.

Rehabilitation, Part 8.2: Decent Exposure

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter 52: Family Reunions

7:50 AM, June 14th, 1992

Professor Filius Flitwick escorted Harry Potter and Hermione Granger to the Ravenclaw dorm rooms. He was no longer tired in the slightest, though his exhaustion might catch up to him once the excitement of all that information, not to mention dodging a Killing Curse, wears off.

He also felt, for one of the rare times in his life as a Ravenclaw, that his curiosity had been completely sated for the time being. In his capacity as the Head of House, however, he had something to address with his two young students.

"Mr. Potter," he said. "Ms. Granger. Is it true that the two of you are old enough to enter your third year at the start of next term?"

Hermione Granger said "Yes," right away.

Harry Potter seemed to take a second to think about it. "I'm not actually sure if our physical bodies are thirteen," he answered in his typical style of critical thinking. "We've definitely lived that long, and more, in our minds. And we're there in magical strength too. Equestria had a magical school we attended for a while, and we maxed out our Spimster Wicket hours each night, so we've grown in knowledge too, even if it doesn't match the Hogwarts curriculum…"

Filius smiled as he listened. Unlike Minerva, he finds Mr. Potter's critical thinking rather refreshing.

Mr. Potter does sometimes digress into unimportant (and occasionally disturbing and alarming) minutia, but that's par for the course in Ravenclaw. Mr. Potter toned down the worst aspects after receiving feedback on what did and did not constitute good Charms work in his first few weeks of lessons.

But Mr. Potter never once toned down his creativity or skepticism. His most recent essay was no less refreshing than the first one he'd written.

Mr. Potter thought about the assignments on his own; he didn't just repeat the lecture in his own words like so many other students, or rely solely on textbook quotes. Mr. Potter would often include anecdotes about his own little test-castings of the Charm, like when he pointed out the Hover Charm can lift things without fully levitating them, then theorized that the spell likely exerts a fixed amount of 'lift' based on the magical or physical strength of the user, or a combination of both. Even Filius had never thought physical strength might play a part.

He had marked Mr. Potter's essay down for the theory, and he only remembered doing so because that was the first and last time Mr. Potter had gone to his office hours and questioned the marking. He was there for the principle of the matter, he said, not because he thought it would affect his final Charms grade.

Mr. Potter had asked Filius if he was utterly certain that physical strength didn't matter at all to the spell. His student freely admitted that it probably didn't affect the Hover Charm, but had anyone ever really tested it?

That was one of the few times Filius had ever unmarked a grade he'd given to a student, though he gave a strict warning that Mr. Potter should stick with what he can prove in the future, and not engage in speculation just to fill out his inches, especially speculation that probably isn't true. Mr. Potter had nodded, said he understood, and heeded the warning in subsequent assignments.

Mr. Potter's essays alone proved he was already blossoming as a competent wizard. And he already knows the Potions Principle as well. It's a shame Professor Monroe, then Professor Quirrell, deemed Mr. Potter too reckless to be permitted into the Restricted Section. Filius might have to ask his fellow Professor if that warning is still in effect.

"Is the age gap going to be a problem?" his student asked, drawing him from his musings and making him realize that he'd been walking in silence for a while.

"It's not going to be a problem with your schoolwork," Filius answered. "If we're covering something you've already learned, I can offer you advanced material so you aren't bored in class. There are always Charms that we don't usually cover in the curriculum that I think students should know."

"Maybe I could help you grade?" offered Hermione. "I've always thought that maybe teachers could use help too, not just students, and I know you spend a lot of time marking essays..."

"Thank you, Ms. Granger," Filius smiled, "but the Board of Governors would not permit it. If you continue to help struggling students in your spare time, that's the greatest help you could give me."

She blushed, bowing her head and looking away with a smile.

"Pretty sure Professor Monroe has a plan to oust the Board of Governors," Mr. Potter said casually as they reached the Ravenclaw tower. "Or at least reform it." Then, in a complete non-sequitur to that wild claim, "Um... professor? Before I forget, can I go down to the Slytherin dorms? Before breakfast starts? It's... mildly important."

"Curfew ends in a few minutes," Filius said after a mental tempus and a mental resolution to not let his curiosity get the best of him this time. "As soon as it does, feel free to go wherever you want. Just make sure to be at breakfast at nine. Attendance is mandatory for all students and teachers this morning. And make sure you're packed before the Leave-Taking Feast tonight."

When Lesath Lestrange woke up that morning, he found that a Slytherin message had been left on his bedstand. When he opened the envelope, he beheld an unusual, non-wizarding letter. He saw a white piece of perfectly cut not-parchment, and words written upon it with a quotes quill.

He read it without delay.

Your request persists. An Occlumency tutor will be in touch. More will be explained after. Burn this.

It was unsigned.

When Lesath went to breakfast that morning, as when he went to bed last night, he did his best to ignore those few who chose to celebrate his mother's death more than they celebrated the final defeat of the Dark Lord.

It was easier to ignore them now, though he had to be extremely careful not to draw attention to himself – a useful habit that he'd already learned from being a common target of tormentors.

He dared to hope that 'his request' referred to his mother. But he also dared not give anyone a reason to have a DMLE Legilimens look him in the eyes. So he kept his head down and prayed that the aurors wouldn't call him in for questioning.

If his Lord was instructing him to learn Occlumency, that means his Lord is going to tell him something that must not be known by others. He will learn what his Lord means to tell him, and he will ignore what everyone else believes until then, just like he ignored what they believed about his mother's breakout.

After her promotion, the new Headmistress of Hogwarts permitted three Hogwarts students to leave the school grounds one day early. (More than three were allowed to make Floo calls to their parents, fearing that they might now be orphans. The Slytherin Head of House Office Floo was very busy that afternoon.)

Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Draco Malfoy would be present for the Leave-Taking Feast, but an allowance was made for their temporary departure.

David Monroe accompanied Harry Potter to his home in Oxford.

The new Headmistress, one of the only ones capable of locating Narcissa Malfoy and restoring her memories, accompanied the Malfoys.

Filius Flitwick accompanied Hermione Granger.

For some Azathoth-forsaken reason, their little party of two is riding something called the "Knight Bus" to Oxford, instead of just Apparating to his doorstep like the sensible wizards he thought they were.

"WHY are we on this death trap again?" asked Harry after a particularly close shave with a tree. In a park. This metal monstrosity wasn't even sticking to the paved path, let alone roads. The bus was driving through grass and brush, and nobody was noticing it (not even the nearly-missed pedestrians).

"We are here so you can become familiar with another means of fast, independent travel," said Professor Monroe. "And if you wish to call the bus and driver with a perfect record a 'death trap' – despite not a single accident in the seventy-five years of its existence – that's on you. The other passengers don't seem to mind."

Indeed, the other passengers were behaving as if it was a normal, everyday occurrence. Like the sky being blue, or the sun rising in the morning. To them, it was so unremarkable that it wasn't even worth noticing.

"Okay," Harry lied, since it wasn't okay at all, "but that doesn't explain why we're doing this instead of literally anything else. Isn't it a problem that it's so slow?"

His mentor seemed just as jaded about 'this' as the other wizards on the bus as he answered. "I have enough time for this one trip, and you have time for a few more. Many young muggleborns who wish to interact with the wizarding world during the summer like to use this method, at least until they became old enough to Apparate. Legally."

The emphasis on that last word killed Harry's initial objection of 'I can just Apparate' before he could speak it out loud.

"And other forms of instant travel might be noticed," his mentor added. "Especially by your Legilimency-vulnerable parents."

That killed Harry's unspoken objection that he could do a pony Teleportation.

"It will take some time before I can arrange for the bureaucracy of the Ministry to grant your muggle household a Floo permit. Until then, the bus will do."

"And after then, the Floo will do?" Harry asked, not exactly keen on that alternative either. It was better than the bus, but much less versatile than at-will transportation. "Why not just a recursive portkey?"

"Portkeys are even worse than the Floo in terms of bureaucracy. Any single use of a portkey requires Ministry permission," said the Defense Professor. "And our actions in the near future will push the limits of their tolerance as it is; it's best to give the appearance of compliance in other areas. Until you get a Floo, it will have to be the bus. Unless you intend to take your O.W.L.s and obtain your majority earlier than normal, thus allowing you to earn an Apparation license earlier than normal as well." Hm… that might actually be a good idea. Was that why he was suggesting it? "A terrible inconvenience, I know," the man finished.

"What if someone sees me on the bus and decides to assassinate the Boy-Who-Lived?"

"What of it?" asked the Defense Professor. "You'll live."

"Uh…" Harry said nervously. "Are you-?"

"Yes," said the Defense Professor before Harry could decide if he wanted to say 'serious' or 'joking'. "You shall be disguised and protected."

Harry leaned back in relief. He looked at the zooming scenery outside, his nausea rising again. "I'm still not convinced about the bus. Why can't Hermione pick me up each day with her phoenix?"

"Because she won't always be available, and it's prudent to know how to use the alternatives. If it helps, consider this a lesson in tolerance. Once you are used to the bus, your lesson will be complete and you may comfortably move on to other means of transport."

"Any tips?" Harry asked, long used to asking for hints by this point.

"I suggest bringing a book; distractions help at first."

"Conversations might be better," said Harry. "I've gotten motion sickness from reading books in my dad's muggle car. I'm not sure I want to see what happens here."

"A fair point. So you are asking for a distracting conversation?"

"Yes."

"Would you like to figure out what happened to Atlantis?"

Harry was instantly put on high alert, especially since he hadn't seen or felt any privacy barriers being established, but when he looked around himself and saw that there were only two other passengers – a witch babbling to the empty air beside her and a white-haired wizard who was quite absorbed in an upside-down copy of the Quibbler – he relaxed just a bit.

"Why yes," Harry replied in a conversational tone, as if they weren't discussing anything important. "I very much would like to figure out what happened to Atlantis."

"Then figure it out," said the Defense Professor, his lips quirking upward. "You have all the necessary information available to you, if you remember our previous conversations. I wonder if you can figure it out before we arrive. Or before you graduate."

Peachy, Harry thought, cynically, pessimistically, and sarcastically. But then an angle of attack came to mind. "You know, professor, I think you constrained this problem too much. It's like giving me a three-piece jigsaw puzzle. I barely know anything at all about Atlantis. I don't even know the standard theories you mentioned. I don't even remember how many standard theories you said there were-"

"Eighteen," interrupted the Defense Professor. "The truth is not among them."

Harry nodded. "So, as I was saying, I barely know anything. I know Atlantean blood allows wizards to tap magic, because everyone knows that. I know the story about the Atlanteans who made the Mirror, thanks to you. And I know that Atlantis was severed from Time all at once, also thanks to you. I think I remember you saying that… three days ago on this side, right?"

"Well done for remembering it," said the Defense Professor.

"You once said that the key to puzzles can be a hint you heard only once, and that seemed like an important thing to remember."

The Defense Professor nodded.

"Anyway, that's all I know about Atlantis," said Harry. "You know that's all I know, so the answer must be solvable from those three facts, right?"

The Defense Professor continued grinning, but said nothing. He did not nod or comment on the question. Was he maintaining the difficulty of the test by not giving any new information away?

Well, it didn't matter, because saying two of those facts out loud gave Harry's brain another idea to pursue.

"And gee, which one of those things can cut things and their consequences from Time? And would you look at that, it's also the only thing that survived the downfall of Atlantis. What a coincidence! So my guess is that the Mirror's process was used on the city of Atlantis. The city was trapped outside of Time just like we were. Actually, just like Dumbledore was, I guess. Not like us, because it sent us to Equestria."

"How would you reflect the whole city?" asked the Defense professor neutrally.

"Easy. Just put the mirror high enough. You said the Mirror has power over that which it reflects, and the realms it invokes are only as big as what's in the reflection, but the mirror could reflect the whole Earth if someone wanted it to, so that's not the biggest constraint in the world."

"Indeed," said the Defense Professor. "Then to summarise, your guess is that an Atlantean moved the mirror high above Atlantis, used the Process of the Timeless, and that is how the city was erased from Time in a single night?"

Harry nodded. "If it's true, that would be why the Mirror survived Atlantis's downfall, not because it's a perfectly stable existence that reflects itself. Or… not just because of that, anyway. And since some Atlanteans would've been outside the city at the time, that's how the blood lives on out here."

"What would have been the trapper's motive for doing so? A Dark Lord bent on the destruction of their society?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe Atlantis invented some kind of horrible monster, and it could only be stopped by the Mirror – whose creators sounded like good, competent, intelligent people based on your story. Or maybe they were trapping themselves Cryogenically because there was an outbreak of some kind of magical disease, and they're waiting for a more advanced magical society to eventually come along and fix the problem. Maybe the Mirror's creators trapped Atlantis with the consent of the other Atlanteans, and the ones who didn't consent, or the ones who weren't infected by the disease or whatever, those are the wizards who lived on out here to keep the blood alive."

"How confident are you in that part of the theory?"

"Not very. There are a million different ways it could have gone. I'm just spitballing on some of the positive reasons why it might have happened. You're right, it could have been an evil Dark Lord. It probably was, since that's the simplest and easiest explanation. But yeah, no way to know for certain. I'm more confident in the base theory, the one you wanted me to deduce."

The Defense Professor raised a single eyebrow. "Would you like to add anything before I grade your deduction?"

Harry's own brows furrowed. He didn't have an immediate answer to that one.

"You are allowed to use last year's experiences to inform your guesswork," Riddle hinted.

And just like that, it was obvious.

"Equestria is Atlantis?" Harry whispered.

"There's a reason their history only goes back a few thousand years," the Defense Professor confirmed. "Although I think it is more like the entire planet Equus is Atlantis, and all Equinoids are descended from the Atlanteans, no matter the species. And I suspect that Atlantis was a country, not a city, with the Saharan Desert currently occupying where it used to be, though that's just a guess. Or perhaps… now that you've mentioned that all of Earth could have been reflected, perhaps the Atlanteans simply created the planet Equus by reflecting all of Earth, invoking a new realm within the Mirror. Then those who wanted to immigrate to their new planet entered the Mirror, and those who didn't stayed behind. In any case, I don't believe the Process of the Timeless was used. I believe that their history was playing out in real Time until the moment we were also trapped, at which point the Mirror independently inflicted Timelessness on Earth, or rather, on our whole universe, causing Atlantean Time within the Mirror to be the only 'real' Time that was progressing."

"But it wasn't reflecting Earth when it trapped us," Harry pointed out. "Let alone our entire universe."

The Defense Professor chuckled. "As you once said, it might be able to remember anything it has reflected in the past, and if the Atlanteans could go to space to have the Mirror reflect all of Earth, it would have been easy enough to allow it to reflect the surrounding universe as well. Then again, the level of power required to freeze the entire universe seems a bit absurd, so it probably happened slightly differently, but the general theory fits our experiences and the Mirror's circumstances. In any case, well done, Mr. Potter. Your deduction deserved an O minus, but not quite an O. You did need a single hint, but you made the connection far faster than I did."

"We both know that's only thanks to you," said Harry. "It's just like the broomstick bones, and the Philosopher's Stone actually being the Stone of Permanence. There's something to be said about the power of being told that an answer exists, and that the evidence isn't a lie. Especially when the person who presents the problem knows for a fact that you have all the necessary pieces to solve it. Coming up with something the second time is a lot easier than coming up with it first, especially when you're being guided by the person who came up with it first."

The Defense Professor nodded. "Your self-criticism serves you well. If you had given in to the flattery, your grade would have been deducted, but I'd say your resistance counts as extra credit. You now have the full Outstanding grade."

Harry leaned back in his seat, absorbing what he'd just learned. "So that's why ponies and humans are so mentally similar," he said, summarizing his initial thoughts.

"Indeed."

"And the herd mentality difference?"

Riddle shook his head once. "A false assumption on your part. You saw genuine parental affection. You saw adults treating young ponies and fellow adults with respect and care. You explained it by inserting a term related to equinoid creatures, but unrelated to the evidence you were seeing. You also ignored the counter-evidence. You should have noticed that Equestrian ponies are mostly monogamous, a trait that true herd creatures do not have, but you came to the 'herd' conclusion anyway. You made the same mistake as the unicorns who inserted the terms 'lift' and 'thrust' and 'drag' into pegasus magic books to make themselves feel smart at the expense of true understanding. That deserves a scientific grade of Troll minus and you know it."

Harry could feel his cheeks flaming scarlet. "Then what is the true understanding?" he asked. "Can I figure this out on my own?"

"Not with the information available to you," the Defense Professor allowed. "Celestia eliminated foalhood abuse and neglect over the course of a thousand years. The mental differences you witnessed were the natural end result of a society in which those problems do not exist. The only major problem, as far as behavioural patterns are concerned, was that some parents treated their children too well to the point of spoiling. A human society could easily become like Equestria under those circumstances. It had nothing to do with ponies being herd creatures."

"Got it," said Harry. "Next question:" he said, because he already had an important objection to the Equinoids = Atlanteans theory, "How did they speak English? Or, how did we speak Equish? Mirror magic?"

"Of a sort," said Riddle. "The answer is that they weren't speaking English and we weren't speaking Equish. Equinoid creatures have the Gift of Comprehension. And since it applies to all Equinoids, all trapped Atlanteans, including the non-ponies from all the other nations on Equus, the Equinoids themselves didn't even know they had it until I finally figured it out. Much of their information about the past has either been lost, forgotten, or scrubbed for good reason."

"Um…" said Harry. "Could you go into a bit more detail about that ability?" he asked, having trouble with the answer.

Not with understanding it, since the 'Gift of Comprehension' is an ability with a fairly straightforward name, which his mentor had further explained. But…

The man chuckled. "Equinoids can comprehend any intelligible language without even noticing that it's different from their native one. Until, of course, they are told about their gift. Once they do know and try to pay attention to a different language while knowing for a fact that it's a different language, their brain becomes capable of turning the skill off. Like the common story of the first man finally realizing he is naked, or the Emperor realizing he has no clothes. The same is true for us. While in our forms, all languages will seem to us like accented English, much like that other language only the two of us can speak. It's not that either us or the ponies were speaking each other's languages. It's that we were understanding their Atlantean, and they were understanding our English."

Harry blinked many times throughout that explanation, his suspension of disbelief successfully broken. What about the written language? was just one of the many mental objections his brain was giving, along with things like calendar system and references to earth and same mathematical formulae and DEUS EX MACHINA and TOWER OF BABEL ILLOGICAL! DANGER! ALIENS INVADING MY BRAIN!

"That seems impossible even by magical standards," Harry remarked in a calm voice and placid demeanor that was only possible thanks to his Perfect Occlumency.

"I agree," his mentor nodded. "The gift of tongues has long been a fictional fantasy to wizards. But the same could be said about alternate universes and wish-granting machines." His mentor shrugged. "The Atlanteans were advanced. You already saw the Words of False Comprehension, which an interdict of Merlin prevented us from understanding, but which we could still read thanks to an Atlantean spell."

Oh, right. Professor Monroe had said that this morning in the Headmistress's office. Now that Harry was focusing on it… "I didn't think the Interdict worked that way."

"Indeed it doesn't," said the Defense Professor. "It was retroactively forced to work that way because the words were written before Merlin, with power on par with his Interdict. Merlin personally added an obfuscation spell to the Words – an interdiction by Merlin, not the Interdict. He did use the Mirror as a tool, after all. In any case, I've come to the perspective that the original Atlanteans did not fail to make their wish-granting machine after all. I suspect that the Mirror's creators deliberately trapped themselves in their own device, wishing perhaps for a better society. They gave themselves and their brethren the Gift of Comprehension so that they could more easily re-integrate with the wider world when the Time came, and they put the Words of Comprehension on the back of the Mirror so that Time would someday come. It also explains how we were turned into ponies, if that setting of the mirror was used on us, and it further explains how we so easily became human-magi. I suspect that's what the creators intended for their descendants to eventually do. Then again, I could easily be wrong. Perhaps my mind has been irreversibly biased by my initial guess that one of the Mirror's creators allowed their five-year-old daughter to influence the Mirror's design. Remember that much of this is speculation and theory. By the way, we'll be there in a few seconds. Are you used to the Knight Bus now?"

Harry blinked, becoming aware of the chaotic driving once more. He was also beginning to recognize some of the streets of his childhood as they flew by. He somehow found himself less bothered than he'd been before. The driver still hadn't hit anyone, no matter how close it always seemed, and if he really has been doing this for seventy-five years without a single accident…

"Yeah, I guess I am."

The other two Hogwarts students who left the school grounds didn't have much in the way of scholarly conversations, but they certainly didn't lack for emotionality.

"Is Lucius Malfoy there?" asked Minerva McGonagall into the Floo.

"I'll sees if Master Malfoy is accepting your Floo call, Professy McGony-gull," said the house elf who answered.

After a brief delay, the face of Lucius Malfoy appeared in the Floo. "Headmistress McGonagall," said his cultured voice. "I am rather busy this morning. I trust this is important?"

"Extremely," she confirmed with a slight nod. "There is a… matter… that Albus instructed me to handle in the event of…"

"When we get outside the wards, just hold my hand and I'll take us there," squeaked Professor Flitwick. "Apparation can be a bit disorienting your first few times, so please prepare yourself."

"Can I take us there instead?" asked Hermione after a long look at the thestrals drawing the carriages. She had nothing against the skeletal creatures, or against Apparation. She just wanted to finally start doing things on her own.

The eyes of her Head of House widened slightly, looking to the phoenix on her shoulder, then back to her. "Oh. Well, I suppose there's no harm in it. Just make sure to take us outside your house so I can ring the doorbell."

Hermione smiled. "I guess we don't want to surprise them in a bad way, do we?"

"Exactly. Take my hand, and we can go whenever you're ready…"

"Are you ready for this?" his Defense Professor, mentor, creator, and friend asked him.

"I'm not ready for Dad treating me like a child." Harry took a deep breath. "But other than that, yes."

The man stepped forward, pressed the doorbell, and stepped back.

No voices replied, but footsteps could be heard. The door opened, revealing... wide eyes... a gaping mouth...

"Harry?"

He was already crying. "Hi mum. I'm home."

A full year. He was finally home to Earth after a full year. And he was finally home home after an additional six months. Plus Time-Turned hours.

"Lucius?" asked the tall, blond woman.

"Yes, my love." He was already hugging her, pulling Draco in a second later.

Dr. Roberta Granger had read about it from the Daily Prophet that morning.

DARK LORD AND DEATH EATERS FINALLY DEAD!

Defeated by Boy-Who-Lived, Girl-Who-Died, David Monroe at Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch!

Roberta had read the paper – their daughter had subscribed them to it just before she died – then she instantly began wondering how to go about contacting the magical world to get her daughter back. Unfortunately, the owl who delivered the paper was owned by the Daily Prophet and did not accept return letters, and they didn't have a magical owl of their own.

'Muggles' are not allowed to own owls, not even the parents of 'muggleborns'. Back when they had first visited Diagon Alley, they had not wanted to risk angering the wizards by claiming their daughter was going to own the owl, not them. It's entirely possible the wizards running the shop would have refused to sell to them, even with their daughter present.

If Dr. Roberta Granger could be given the choice to go back in time and make a different decision, to insist on buying an owl in her daughter's name, she would have done so in an instant. Instead, her family's future was at the mercy and whims of the wizards.

Thankfully, it wasn't long after she read the paper that the doorbell rang, revealing a Hogwarts Professor and...

In the Verres-Evans household, the emotional reunion between parents and child quickly gave way to something much less honest: motivated reasoning disguised as rational arguments.

Harry's father, Professor Michael Verres-Evans, did not want Harry to go back to the wizarding world. Harry's mother, Petunia Evans-Verres, did not want Harry to go back to the wizarding world. Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres himself did want to go back.

Tom Riddle, who watched the whole affair, knew that Harry must go back. But he also knew how parents could be. He wasn't the best at this sort of thing, but…

"Professor Verres-Evans," he said into a lull in the argument that wasn't going anywhere. "I understand your desire to keep him from harm, but the danger has passed. Speaking as the world's most powerful wizard, learned of science and magic both, I assure you that your son will be safe in the wizarding world."

The muggle Professor regarded the adult wizard skeptically. "The crazy headmaster said the same thing. Was he right?"

"I suppose not," the man who used to be Voldemort sighed. "But he was crazy, as you said. My power does not come with that downside, and I can protect your son better than he did."

"I thought the headmaster of your school was the most powerful," said the man of reasonably high intelligence.

"Dumbledore and Voldemort were trapped and vanquished last night, respectively," said Tom Riddle, who currently wore the guise of David Monroe. "Which is why I am saying the danger has passed. And even if it hadn't, many referred to me as the next Dumbledore in the seventies. Unless there's some powerful and unknown recluse out there who trumps me, I'm fairly confident I'm the most powerful wizard on Earth at the moment."

"What if Perenelle had her magic?" asked Mr. Potter.

"Perhaps," said Riddle. "But she does not." He turned to regard the professor once more. "Speaking as a talented wizard myself, if your son left the wizarding world now, we would be deprived of his extraordinary abilities. He has impressed me multiple times, in ways that no adult wizard has ever managed. He is like our Einstein, or perhaps our Aristotle, and I doubt you would wish for either of those two to have been taken from the muggle world before they could make their contributions."

"Sir, I'm sorry but that's ridiculous. He's only eleven."

"Which only makes it more impressive."

"Look," said the Professor, "I know your people see him as a messiah, but he's just a boy. You can't put all this responsibility on him. The Boy-Who-Lived thing was probably an accident anyway. He was one year old! If anything the Dark Lord probably vanquished himself that night, somehow."

Tom Riddle gave a rare, true laugh at that. "You don't know how right you are. But I wasn't talking about the Boy-Who-Lived business at all. The wizarding world will soon have access to a Fountain of Youth equivalent, and once the Statute of Secrecy breaks down, it will be extended to muggles. In other words, all of humanity will soon have access to eternal youth. Without your son, that wouldn't have been possible. And that's merely the most objectively good thing he's helped to accomplish – it's nowhere near the most impressive. Dumbledore and I were there for his first major magical discovery. We had to stun the watching aurors and wipe their memories because of how significant it was. Think of it like him discovering Nuclear Fission on his own. And again, that was only his first discovery; he has made more since-"

"It was my second, actually," Mr. Potter interrupted. "You weren't there for my first."

"Oh?" he asked. "What was your first?"

They met gazes, and with Legilimency, Mr. Potter told him about Partial Transfiguration. Tom barely had the sense of mind to tell Mr. Potter to pretend to whisper it into his ear, though of course he shouldn't actually say it aloud.

Tom put on a look of surprise after this was done, then said, "That's possible?"

"When you understand that the world is made up of atoms and molecules," said Harry, no longer whispering, "and you've read enough physics textbooks to understand how to use that information, yes, it's possible. But it's not exactly safe. I'm thinking we should do something about that."

"Ms. Sparkle might be able to help," he said absently as he once again focused on Professor Verres-Evans, who was staring at them in clear disbelief. "I apologize, Mr. Potter. I don't think this has helped. I'm afraid that placating the fears of other parents is not my area of expertise…"

Minerva's expression was tight at the young boy's accusation. "I don't know." She had smiled and held back her own tears earlier, but now her mind was wrenched back to war and strategy. "Albus's orders were to return your mother and restore her memories as soon as Voldemort was vanquished. If he did intend to blackmail House Malfoy, he did not tell me about it."

"Let us save that discussion for Malfoy Manor, my son." Lucius Malfoy said, then faced Minerva fully, formally, and only slightly stiffly. "You have my thanks, Headmistress. I shall ensure my son understands you were a pawn following orders, not to be blamed for Dumbledore's machinations, whatever they might have been. I request you depart our company now."

His two bodyguards made it clear that it was not a request, and made sure she complied.

"But I-"

"No buts!" Dr. and Dr. Granger said sternly.

"You're done learning magic," Leo added, "and that's final!"

"But Dad!" she begged. "That's not fair!"

"That's final, Hermione!"

Their daughter burst into tears, then vanished in a flash of flames. Their eyes darted to Professor Flitwick, who looked surprised.

"Bring. Her. Back," demanded Leo.

The short, bearded man held out his hands, which were both empty. He had a helpless look about him. "She has a phoenix now," he squeaked. "She can go wherever she pleases. I didn't-"

"BRING HER BACK!" Leo shouted, raising a fist, then freezing in place. Literally freezing. He could feel his entire body lock up.

"I'M STILL HERE‼" shouted a voice from upstairs.

Feet stomped across the ceiling of the room, then down the stairs on the other side of the house, though it was hard to hear over the soothing avian song that suffused the air.

"I just needed a minute to compose myself," Hermione said in a clipped voice. "One minute, dad-" her voice cut off. Leo, still paralyzed, could not turn to see her. "Professor Flitwick," she said, politely and calmly. "I'm sorry my Dad got angry with you. Please unfreeze him."

The Hogwarts Professor nodded, and Leo felt himself unlock.

"H-Herm," he said, but his mind was too distracted by the song to think of anything else to say.

"Dad, Mum, I love you both," said their daughter, her words accompanied by a song that made them sound so much more meaningful than they already were. "I won't die again, and I'll never leave you forever, but I will come and go like a good daughter should. And I'm sorry, but you can't stop me, because I have a familiar now, and a phoenix is like a magical car."

The avian song missed a beat, then continued as if it hadn't stopped.

"Sorry, Xare," said Hermione, petting the red bird's head with her finger. "You know I didn't mean it like that." Then she looked back to Leo and Roberta. "The Dark Lord who killed me is dead, and magic brought me back, so I'm going back to the magical world to learn more. I'm going back to Hogwarts tonight to say goodbye to my friends for the summer, and then I'm coming home tomorrow on the Hogwarts Express, and then I'm staying the summer, though I might meet up with my magical friends for a few outings, and I might have a few things to do in Diagon Alley, and then when summer ends I'm going back to Hogwarts next year. I have friends now, and you didn't raise me to be the kind of girl who abandons her friends. Please don't try to make me."

If not for the bird's song, Leo might have forced the issue. If not for the bird's song, he might have let his fear make him a dictator, rather than a Dad. If not for the bird's song, he would have tuned out those last lines.

"Oh, Herm," he said softly, leaning down to hug her. "I... I'm sorry... I just... I don't want to lose you again."

"I know," said his daughter as she hugged him back with surprisingly strong grip. "Now," she smiled, putting her hands on his shoulders. "I've got to get back to Hogwarts. I heard there's going to be one last Defense class before summer. I'm the witch in the family. That means it's my job to protect you. Okay?"

Not two seconds later, the Granger landline began to ring…

"Occlumency?" repeated Professor Michael Verres-Evans.

"Yes," said Harry. "I'd like to tell you everything, Dad. I really, really would. But I can't. Not unless you can protect your mind. And I'm not even sure if you can protect it. You're not a wizard. But I'm not positive that Occlumency involves actual magic, it feels like more of a mental trick than anything. It might not be possible, but if you want to get involved, and I'd like for you to be involved too, we're going to have to try. Are you up to that?"

Professor Michael Verres-Evans didn't like that he had to negotiate about this. He just wanted his son back, but he had no legal say. It seemed like that part of the equation wasn't going to change any time soon. So…

"Would I qualify as a wizard if I learned it?" he asked.

The professor who'd brought Harry gave a single surprised snorting chuckle. "I'm afraid not," he said sympathetically. "This is just so you can stay in the loop… and perhaps… well, it might be useful to future muggle-wizard relations. I agree that the wizarding rules on muggleborn parent guardianship are unfair. Would you prefer it if Mr. Potter got out from under our thumb himself by attaining his majority?"

"Majority? You mean he can become a legal adult at eleven?"

"So long as he passes his O.W.L.s," said the professor, "and his legal guardian does not object."

"Wizarding society really is insane."

"Professor Monroe," said Harry, "I don't think this is helping. Let's just focus on Occlumency. Are you willing to learn, Dad? It's the only way I can confide in you again."

"The only way?" Michael repeated. "You can't just say whatever you need to right here and now?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't. When Mum asked how bad the trip to Diagon Alley went, I couldn't talk about it for reasons of national security. That's why I related it to the Science Fair and I didn't go into detail, and that was just day one. It's the same thing now, plus an order or two of magnitude. If you can't protect your thoughts, I can't tell you about anything important. But if you can, I promise I'll tell you about all the important stuff I'm doing behind the scenes, and you can have a say about it."

What he wanted to say was that he shouldn't have to do this just to offer reasonable advice to his own son. What he actually said - reluctantly, unpleasantly, but also inevitably – was…

"If it's the only way… I'll do it."

It's not like he had any other options if he wanted to stay close to his son.

"Professor Monroe," said Harry, looking at his father with a strange expression, "can you leave us alone for a bit?"

The man nodded, then disappeared.

"And not eavesdrop?" Harry added, now looking to where the man had been.

There was a brief pause, then a crack sound.

"You too, Mum?" asked Harry. "I'd like to have a talk with Dad, just between scientists." He went over to whisper in her ear. "You know the score with wizards. Getting Dad on board is really important."

She pressed her lips tightly, but nodded.

When she was gone to the other room, Harry looked at Professor Michael Verres-Evans, who looked back steadily.

"Now that we're alone," Michael said, "are you going to tell me your plan to stop all this madness?"

"We're probably not alone. Professor Monroe is probably still eavesdropping."

Michael looked around himself, but saw nothing. Then again, he saw nothing earlier… "So… uh… I was just kidding, of course."

Harry sighed. "Dad, I know you don't like me going back to the wizarding world."

Understatement of the year.

"But…" Harry said, then disappeared in a crack, startling the professor almost as much as the subsequent tap on his back left shoulder. "…I can teleport now," said Harry as Michael spun to face him, "and I want to go back to Hogwarts, so… yeah. I’m going to do my part in the common endeavour, even if I'm only… eleven."

"Harry…" said the science Professor, but nothing more came to mind.

"There's a lot wrong with Magical Britain," his son continued, "and I need to be there to make it less wrong. I've already made it less wrong, and I'm going to keep making it better until I'm not needed anymore, at which point we'll hopefully be colonizing the stars. You can't stop me from saving the world, no matter how much you love me."

"Harry…" said Michael, then stopped. He kneeled down and put a hand on his son's shoulder. "Harry," he said firmly. "It's not your responsibility to save the world. It's your responsibility to learn at school, and get good grades, and stay safe. You can save the world when you're an adult."

But Harry shook his head. "Dad, we're talking about the whole human species here. I am literally immortal right now. I am being one-hundred percent, completely honest and straightforward. You could kill me, I could bleed out, and I wouldn't die. And no, it's not black magic that made me sell my soul or something. When I'm done, everyone will have that, and hopefully we'll be able to bring the dead back too. The longer it takes, the more children have to say goodbye to their parents at the graveyard, and the more f-friends have to say goodbye to their other friends in the infirmary."

"Harry.." Michael said again. He just didn't know if he could take this seriously. "The dead just… can't be…"

His son was shaking his head again, and this time he was smiling. "The world doesn't know I'm the one who did it, Dad, but I did it. I brought her back. She's meeting with her own parents right now. You can call them on the phone if you don't believe me."

Having finally been given something he could test, he called the Grangers right away.

"Just don't mention I'm the one who did it," Harry warned as the phone rang. "She knows, but it can't get out, okay?"

Michael nodded absently.

"Hello?" came a female voice – Dr. Roberta Granger's, he recognized. "Who is this?"

"This is Professor Michael Verres-Evans," he said into the phone. "I'm Harry's father. I'm calling because… well… he just told me the strangest thing, and I'm not sure if I should believe it…"

What followed was the emotional breakdown of a mother who seemed to have just understood that her daughter was alive again. Not in the sense that he was telling her the news; she'd apparently just had a long conversation with her daughter, who got on the phone to say hi to him and prove that it wasn't all some elaborate hoax. The verified news was as uplifting as it was impossible. When he eventually said "Same here. Thank you," and hung up the phone, he turned back to Harry…

Harry was smiling from ear to ear, as proud as if he'd just scored first on an international math competition. "And it wasn't a one-time thing," he said. "I can keep doing that for other people."

The Professor blinked a few times. He was finally, finally beginning to understand why his son was so insistent. It wasn't fascination/curiosity with magic, it wasn't black magic or political power-seeking, and it wasn't some kind of mind control. It wasn't even about defeating the possibly-not-dead Dark Lord anymore.

It really is his son, his son is really telling the truth, and his son is really, truly speeding up the common endeavour to a point that would have taken decades, centuries, or maybe even millennia without the help of magic.

For only the second time in his life (the first was when he'd been scared out of his wits by the incident with the Science Fair), he kneeled down, took his son in his arms, and gave him a big hug.

Harry hugged him back, feeling very alive and disturbingly strong.

"So…" Harry said when the hug was done, still smiling, this time with a hopeful glint in his eye. "Will you give Occlumency a try for real? Not just because you feel like you have to?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation.

Author's Note

This scene right here is the original reason why I never made an actual attempt at a sequel to HPMoR. I simply couldn't imagine how to write the reunion with Harry and his mother and father in such a way that their relationship stays intact AND Harry stays in Magical Britain AND it's actually a believable interaction. I still couldn't imagine it until the very last minute, and I'm still not sure if it turned out quite right. Same with any alterations I tried to make to the Narcissa reunion.

Chapter 53: Lucius Malfoy, from Past to Present

When Lucius Malfoy was informed by Dobby that there were guests at the door, he left his happy living room to greet them.

Only after he was out of sight from his wife and son did he allow his mind to settle into despair. He had been dreading this moment ever since he received his 'special' orders from the Dark Lord, though he did not think the time would come so soon, if indeed it had come.

"If you have at least one child attending Hogwarts," the Dark Lord had said last night to the assembly of every Death Eater not in Azkaban, "leave now and continue to pretend that you were under the Imperius. Be in public places tonight – the Leaky Cauldron, for instance, if it would not seem strange for you to show up at an odd hour. Perhaps you could give the excuse of one last night out before your children come back. It should be most convincing if you have undeniable alibi in the next hour. If you are normally a recluse, do not go out of your way to gain an alibi. Do not arouse suspicion with unusual activity. Mr. White, ensure the Imperius narrative is reinforced no matter what happens this night. Those of you with seats on the Wizengamot, vote and act as you normally would in the near future, unless ordered otherwise. Now leave and await future orders. The codeword will be basilisk if I cannot appear directly. The rest of you, follow me to our second gathering place..."

In other words, it was either by luck or by design that Lucius and the other parents among the Death Eaters had been spared participation in last night's raid.

If it was luck, if Voldemort had not foreseen the Patronus of the Boy-Who-Lived and truly died, Lucius hoped his Lord had not implemented a kill-spell in the case of his defeat. Although it probably would be worked into the Mark, and even if it hadn't, it probably would have gone off by now, so Lucius likely hadn't been spared by luck.

More than a kill spell, Lucius feared that the Dark Lord, once again, had not truly died, and even more than that, Lucius feared that Voldemort had not truly failed. If this was all part of some cunning design, and the one at the door was about to give him his future orders…

His love was returned to him, his family finally reunited, and he could only hope it would stay that way. Lucius Malfoy did not wish this life on his son – the life of servitude to a Lord as terrible as Voldemort. He much preferred what he'd had the last ten years: his careful and progressing politics against Dumbledore.

Crabbe opened the door to the manor, Goyle standing guard as he did.

In the doorway stood David Monroe, who met his gaze equably, and Harry Potter, who was gazing at the manor in wonderment.

"Now this is a big house," said Harry Potter, sounding impressed.

"Big enough to fit a basilisk," nodded David Monroe, still meeting Lucius's gaze. Lucius's Mark itched briefly when 'basilisk' was spoken.

So much for hoping.

"I apologize for intruding," Monroe began, "but Mr. Potter wished to speak with your son, and I thought to offer them an escort back to Hogwarts for the Leave-Taking-Feast. Would you have us for tea?"

"Of course," said Lucius Malfoy's cultured voice.

He was in complete control over his emotions, his perfect Occlumency not marred by fury or despair. He was already wondering if his Lord and Monroe had secretly been on the same side, playing both sides of the war. As far as he'd seen, Lord Voldemort hated David Monroe and Monroe hated Voldemort. He had never even suspected that the two might be working together until he'd read the Daily Prophet this morning. The best plots are the ones that no one suspects until they happen, leaving a few smart Slytherins to speculate if it really was a plot or not, and leaving the rest of the population none the wiser.

Lucius led his two guests to the room that housed his wife and son, as instructed by the man whose orders were tantamount to Voldemort's. His son and wife were still sitting in the same chair, his son on his wife's lap, discussing his first year at Hogwarts. Lucius had been content, earlier, just to listen, even if it meant ignoring his duties for an hour.

"Draco," he said, interrupting his son mid-sentence. "Harry Potter is here to see you."

"Harry?" Draco asked. "Why is-" At that moment, he seemed to notice Harry Potter directly.

"Er... sorry if I'm interrupting something," said the Boy-Who-Lived. "If you need to finish, go ahead."

"No," said Draco. "I was just talking about you anyway. In fact, I want to ask you something. Mother, could you let me down for a moment? And Dobby, can you bring me a copy of this morning's newspaper?"

"Yes, young master," said the timid but timely creature, popping away at once.

"Let's leave them to it, shall we?" said Monroe, a bit quietly.

"Yes," said Lucius hesitantly, ignoring the impulse to correct his son.

You do not ask Dobby, you order Dobby. But then again, maybe it was for the sake of appearances, given that they had company. Monroe is here on his Lord's orders. Lucius would not offer insult, he would do as suggested, and he would otherwise act as Lucius Malfoy was normally known to act in public. At least until he knew more.

"Would you join me in my private lounge?" he asked Monroe.

"I would," said the man, and the two left the room.

"...by a Patronus charm that was bigger and brighter than the world has ever seen," Draco finished quoting.

He set aside the paper on a small stand to the left of his chair and looked up at Harry, who could make a Patronus charm brighter than the world had ever seen and who had made Draco promise not to say anything about it.

Since his mother was here, Draco couldn't say what he wanted to say, so instead he had to go with, "Interesting, isn't it?"

Harry Potter was looking at him with raised eyebrows.

Draco was looking back with a smile. He had no idea what facial expression was actually appropriate for this situation, so he went with what he was feeling: smug satisfaction at having figured it out by himself, no matter what the paper said about bat-winged unicorns declaring war on the world. That was just Harry's normal craziness, he knew. If the Sorting Hat had been put on Draco's head in that instant, it might have had trouble deciding whether to put him in Slytherin or Ravenclaw. He was getting better at solving puzzles every day.

"You're right," said Harry, and Draco wondered if that was meant to be confirmation. "It is interesting. Say, Draco, have you considered becoming an Occlumens before you graduate?"

The walk wasn't overly long, but it was a walk through a wealthy, noble, and most ancient house. Most guests are at least slightly intimidated, even the wealthy ones.

Monroe did not seem intimidated at all, having grown up in a noble house himself. It was not often that Lucius was in the company of a true equal – socially, magically, and politically.

In fact, Monroe probably has more political sway than Lucius at the moment, and he was probably more powerful in magic. Lucius might lose the next few votes in the Wizengamot, even if he calls in favours and blackmail. That's the power of public support. If Monroe resumes his old seat again and calls for votes that go against Malfoy, anyway.

The Daily Prophet, in order to maintain its reputable status, almost exclusively reported facts last night, not spin or opinion. Worse, in order to maintain the appearance of being a voice for the people, it celebrated the Dark Lord's downfall. The only narrative Lucius could manage to include without hurting the paper's future credibility was the bit about the Imperius excuse being proven right, as his Lord had ordered him to do. Interviews of the Death Eaters with undeniable alibis had been successfully included. The rest of what was reported had hurt his faction's voting power, at least temporarily.

He wondered if the Dark Lord accounted for that in his (potentially post-mortem) orders. With the Mark itching earlier - and still being active in the first place - his Lord is almost certainly still alive. He wished he knew what was truly going on. As the most prominent Death Eater, he wasn't used to not knowing his Lord's design and not having clear orders, making this situation more stressful than usual.

His private sitting room, like Mary's Room in Diagon Alley, was proof against all outside scrying. Monroe politely offered to cast the full suite of privacy spells that sufficiently paranoid wizards, including his Lord, would always insist on casting anyway.

Lucius, keeping in mind that this man's words are tantamount to Voldemort's words until proven otherwise, allowed the man to establish their security, watching the swift spellwork with a twinge of envy. Monroe was fast.

"Well," said Monroe, sitting in the seat across from Lucius. "I do not quite know where to begin."

Lucius said nothing.

"Apart from this," continued the Defense Professor of Hogwarts. He removed a parchment from his robes and let it float wandlessly to the table between their chairs. "Your orders, Mr. White, are to read, comprehend, and sign that contract. With your true name, not an alias."

Lucius waved his wand, wordlessly levitating the parchment to his hands. He read it, then read the names that had already signed it.

"Be sure you fully understand it before signing," said Monroe as Lucius reached for his pen.

"Bones and Snape?" Lucius asked- he asked after signing it. He knew better than to wait to follow his Lord's orders.

"Yes," said the man as the contract floated back into his robes. "They have not been told the most shocking twist, but they have been told, and they now believe, that last night's raid was a fabrication of mine."

"They fell for that?" Lucius inquired, amused at the assertion. The Dark Lord's command over his mark cannot be faked. "That was no fabrication."

"Wasn't it?" asked Monroe, amusement in his own voice. "It could have come straight from a play. A perfect storybook ending in more ways than one. Myself and my apprentice were the primary political beneficiaries, and there's no more Dumbledore to oppose our agenda. You didn't find that suspicious?"

Lucius had found it suspicious. It was precisely why he believed the Dark Lord was not truly gone.

"I was referring to the Dark Lord," he replied. "The events of last night could have been orchestrated by his will. That is easy enough to believe, if you are on his side. I do not believe you could have done the same without his willing involvement."

"Suppose his presence was my doing as well."

Lucius gave a single, disbelieving chuckle, a huff of air. "No one can falsify his presence without command over the Dark Mark, and only the Mark's master can command it."

"Indeed," said Monroe. "Nor may control be passed to another in regency. Only Voldemort controls it. Only he could have stolen Bellatrix from Azkaban and convinced her of his return. Only he has been known to fly unaided. Only he can do impossible things like bypassing Hogwarts wards and stealing the Philosopher's Stone from Dumbledore's greatest protections. And only he can trick Flamel into protecting it in the first place, rather than simply hiding it like she's always done. There is a simple explanation for it all. I know you were not in Ravenclaw, but I believe you can solve this problem. Consider it your orders to do so."

Lucius nodded, a puzzled frown on his face. "That is all?"

Monroe shook his head. "There are two more matters we must address. First, Mr. Potter's obligations to you and your son have been met. The headmaster has been removed because of him, and it will soon be time for House Malfoy to uphold its end of the bargain."

That claim came as something of a surprise. Had Harry Potter truly been responsible for removing Dumbledore, or was Monroe simply taking advantage? As orders from Voldemort, he had no say in the matter, but he was curious about the truth. Perhaps curiosity was good, if his orders were to figure it out on his own.

"The deal," he said, since he felt he had to say it, "was not just that Dumbledore would be removed. Harry Potter also promised that my son would rise to power when he comes of age. Has he reneged on it?"

"Not at all," said Monroe. "Simply vote in favour of my proposals during the next session of the Wizengamot, and it will be done. Consider yourself ordered to do so, though I suspect you would have done it anyway, without any orders at all."

Lucius nodded. "Very well."

"Afterwards, you will regard the whole Blood Cooling affair as past business. Official dealings between House Potter and House Malfoy will no longer be transactional. They shall be friendly henceforth. Truly friendly. Allow Draco and Harry to meet over the summer. Take Mr. Potter to some plays. Make nice with his muggle parents. Understood?"

"Understood," Lucius echoed, concealing his distaste at the 'muggle parents' part of the order. "And the other matter?"

"The reason Mr. Potter came with me today is that he wants to encourage your son's continued growth," Monroe said, sipping tea that Dobby had brought. "I want to see it continue as well. Your orders are to support your son in any way you can, and do not interfere."

"Of course," said Lucius. "I would have done that in any case."

"Perhaps," said the man. "Or perhaps not. You took your son from Hogwarts for safety reasons, which I well understand, but it did negatively impact his improvement, if only for a short while. Rest assured, he will be under my protection while he's there."

"Was he under your protection before?" Lucius asked, allowing only the slightest tinge of accusation to reach his voice.

The man nodded, then sighed. "I should mention that the Dark Lord's ultimate target in his blood-cooling plot was not your son or Ms. Granger. It was you. Two weeks after Ms. Granger's conviction, ironclad evidence proving your Legilimizing of Professor Sprout would have been brought before the Wizengamot, and you can imagine the rest from there."

Lucius's blood ran cold. He could imagine. He would have been sentenced to Azkaban. He would have needed to pull every favour and blackmail he'd ever accumulated to reduce the sentence to exile, allowing House Malfoy to remain noble, not disgraced, in the hands of his innocent son.

"He believed he was doing what was best for House Malfoy," continued Monroe, "and he did it because he found the whole situation with your son and Harry Potter to be amusing. He didn't care about your son's inevitable trauma over your death or departure. He didn't see how bad that would have been for House Malfoy. He only cared about the practical advantages."

"I presume," said Lucius in a cold voice, "that he did not feel the slightest bit hesitant about risking and manipulating the future of House Malfoy in such a fashion?"

"Of course not," the professor agreed. "I ensured your son was safe throughout the plot, but you're right that it was a risky and manipulative maneuver. On that note, there is a question I would like to ask." The man gazed at him intently. "Consult your core emotions, Lucius, the ones beneath your false self of perfect Occlumency. Knowing the truth, is it better or worse that you were the target all along? Are you relieved that your son was never in true danger, protected by my involvement, or angered that he was used at all? Or... ah. Both?"

Lucius kept his breathing perfectly regular. In a setting like this, after months to calm down from the initial incident, this new information did not make him lose his temper, even if it was damning in the worst possible way – the way that allowed for no retribution or vengeance.

"I am displeased that my son was used as an unwitting pawn in such a dangerous manner," said Lucius in a calm tone, since this man is still here on the Dark Lord's orders. "No matter how carefully controlled. No matter if he had been unconscious the entire time, feeling no pain at all. Plots go astray, and I would not have tolerated the risk if I had been allowed to advise that decision. I wish I could say he owes House Malfoy a debt for endangering Draco's life."

"More than he would owe for attempting to depose you?" asked Monroe, still in that mildly curious voice.

Lucius nodded. "Though of course," he added with some bitterness, "he will never consider it a debt. He has no understanding of the heart, beyond how to manipulate it."

Monroe smiled, and Lucius could not tell if it was genuine. "Perhaps I can find a way to repay his debt, even if he would not. I was involved in the scheme, after all. Were there any other questions you had on the matter? Your son said before Hogwarts that House Malfoy would take the orchestrator as an enemy. Is that still your intention?"

Lucius shook his head. "Not if the Dark Lord was responsible. I shall have to content myself with Dumbledore's defeat. But I do have a question of my own."

"Go ahead. Perhaps I can answer."

"Why?" asked Lucius.

"Why what?"

"Why would the Dark Lord believe that my absence would be good for my son?"

Monroe tilted his head. "He wished to wipe you off the game board so you wouldn't get in your son's way. He believed you would do something… counterproductive, when you inevitably heard about your son's changing political beliefs. Understand, Lord Malfoy, that those beliefs go hand-in-hand with the power your son has acquired. Is acquiring. Draco will indeed be the greatest Lord Malfoy who has yet lived, as you said when you first saw his power. He will be the greatest Malfoy in history, magically and politically. He will be capable of nobly governing the other three quarters of the population, not just Slytherin, as I have been training him to do. But only if you do not get in his way."

"I understand your perspective, professor," Lord Malfoy drawled. "I am asking how the Dark Lord could have tolerated influences from Dumbledore. The Dark Lord's understanding of blood purism was greater than anyone's, even my own. I am asking how he could tolerate Harry Potter's political machinations, not how you could tolerate them."

Monroe laughed at that. "Voldemort regarded blood purism merely as an easy political agenda to accommodate his ambitions. As a half-blood, he never truly believed in it."

Lucius almost gasped. "Half-blood? That… that cannot be true..."

"It is. He was the product of rape, by a wealthy muggle aristocrat... well, I suppose it would have actually been a squib aristocrat, by the name of Tom Riddle. The mother was a witch who carried Slytherin's bloodline, but who was otherwise unremarkable. She was so unremarkable and weak that she managed to get raped by a muggle in the first place, and afterwards she wished to forget about the whole affair by dumping her illegitimate son in a place she'd never see him again. Tom Riddle junior was raised in a muggle orphanage, and was on par with David Monroe in Hogwarts until Slytherin's lore from the Chamber of Secrets vaulted him upwards in power." Monroe drew 'TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE' in the air with his wand, then a swipe rearranged them into 'I AM LORD VOLDEMORT'. "He wanted it to be an anagram of his name, but his actual middle name was Morfin. In any case, Tom Riddle Junior only invented Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters as a bad joke."

The last part came as an even greater shock than the initial news, because it sounded exactly accurate. A 'bad joke' had been Lucius's initial reaction too, before the Dark Lord had proven so powerful and cunning.

"He believed the Dark Lord would not last longer than a year while he learned the role and got his mistakes out of the way. Everything about him, including his agenda, wasn't his real perspective, it was just a role he was playing."

"But... but what of his arguments?" Lucius argued. "His knowledge of blood was unrivaled, even among the Death Eaters."

"Everything he said was indeed based on kernels of truth," Monroe allowed. "But more than that, it was based on his desire to not sound stupid. That's what made him so convincing. No intelligent half-blood would really believe in blood purism."

"He was Salazar's heir!" Lucius objected. "Bringing Slytherin's desires to fruition after centuries!"

Monroe shook his head. "Yes, he said that many times, but even as he brought them to fruition, he didn't truly believe in those desires. Well… not completely. He did understand them deeply. He even understood Slytherin himself, perhaps better than Salazar did."

The man's eyes unfocused from Lucius's, seeming to go a bit distant.

"In Salazar's time, muggleborn children would have seemed like different creatures altogether. Lesser in mind, for most muggles did not have the luxury of raising their children to read. Lesser in magic, for underage magic laws were nonexistent in those days, giving average wizards the very same magical advantage your son has had in Hogwarts, only more pronounced. In short, Wizardborn children grew up using wands, and they were more educated than muggleborn children when they began taking Hogwarts classes. That is likely what convinced most wizards in that era, Salazar included, of mudblood weakness. In those days, it was true. Salazar saw the fact of their weakness and the fact of their stupidity every time he taught Battle Magic as a professor. It had nothing to do with blood, but it was a reasonable mistake to think that it did, under the circumstances."

"Then what of today?" Lucius argued. "Mudbloods are still weaker."

"Not as much as they used to be, and not in every case, as Ms. Granger proves," said Monroe, his eyes focused on Lucius's once more.

Lucius frowned at that, but did not object to the point. That particular girl has been a sore spot all year, and now she's back to cause even more trouble.

"And at the lower power levels in general," continued the Professor, "it's hard to tell if there's even a difference at all. Muggles educate their children now, so their children no longer seem weak when we're talking about the power level that is attained by getting decent grades in Hogwarts – and since this is the power level that most average wizards will witness in their day-to-day lives, it's only natural that most average wizards no longer believe blood purism. The average citizen cannot readily see the difference between mudblood and pureblood anymore, which is why blood purism is no longer 'common sense'."

"The average ignoramus's opinion is hardly relevant," said Lucius. "What the masses believe has little bearing on the truth. Any wizard of true intelligence can see it."

But the man shook his head. "As a professor myself, I couldn't see the difference in grades or power. It might even have been the opposite, on occasion. Muggles all send their children to public school at age six; muggleborns are almost guaranteed to be mildly competent at reading and writing by the time they arrive at Hogwarts, unlike some pureblood children I could mention."

Lucius snorted disdainfully. "I can imagine." The Parkinsons came to mind. "But what I meant was that average wizardry hardly matters in the face of true power."

"Hm... agreed," said Monroe. "If you mean wizards on the level of myself and you and Dumbledore and Voldemort, then yes, there is still a major discrepancy between muggleborn and wizardborn."

"For which you have an explanation other than blood?" Lucius asked in forced neutrality.

The man nodded. "The general path to power is to acquire powerful lore, and most wizards who have it are unlikely to trust a muggleborn's discretion. Nor do I blame them."

Lucius chuckled. "You are not convincing me that I am wrong in my beliefs."

The man shrugged. "Again, it has nothing to do with blood, though some lore-holders might believe that it does. But even the most liberal muggleborn supporters cannot deny the cultural differences. Mudbloods lack the caution and common sense that wizards imbibe in youth, and scholars are right to point out that it's a major problem. That is the reason they are not trusted with lore, even by wizards like Dumbledore who want to trust them. That is the reason most powerful mages are purebloods, or at least wizard-raised half-bloods, and it's also the reason why there's the occasional exception to the rule. Some intelligent muggleborn wizards are cautious as a simple matter of personality. Again, Ms. Granger is a good example."

"And the decline of wizardry in general?" asked Lucius. "I suppose you have a reasonable explanation for that as well? Are you going to go with the standard excuse of lost lore?"

Or in other words, the classic and tiresome debate against Merlin's Interdict being responsible for the decline in wizardry, instead of blood mixing with mud. He at least knew that much of what the other side believed.

"Not in the standard fashion the argument is made," Monroe cautioned. "But yes, I am."

Lucius wished he didn't have to sit through this, being already familiar with the argument. He always thought it was the most reasonable perspective from the other side, but he was tired of hearing it by this point.

Still, orders are orders, and if it's not the standard version, it might be worth listening to.

"Muggleborn attitudes have slowly spread to their peers," Monroe said seriously. "I've seen it as a professor. Not enough to subvert our culture, thanks in part to the efforts of Minerva McGonagall over the past decades. But enough of a change has occurred to trigger the warning bells in any powerful wizard's mind. The apprentice pool being filled with so many potentially incautious idiots has made lore-holders hesitant to become mentors. Ancient secrets are being more readily lost than ever. That is the true reason for the decline of wizardry. Not blood mixing with mud as the Parkinsons believe, though it's true in the sense of mixing cultures and perspectives. Not fading magic as Dumbledore believes, though it's true that many rituals and spells have 'faded' out of existence by this point. The Ravenclaws were right all along: the Interdict of Merlin is responsible. Not that it should come as any surprise."

Lucius Malfoy, long accustomed to considering opposing viewpoints in his career as a politician, had never heard it put that way before. He could always see that the Interdict was how a reasonable person might conclude that blood purism is not the truth of the world. It's why he expected Monroe to go with the argument even before he made it.

But Lucius had never considered that both sides might be close to the truth in certain ways, and far in others. His son had asked him if he'd seen the patheticness of the Parkinsons as a problem. It was back during that brief, frustrating conversation they shared after the blood-cooling fiasco.

They'd agreed not to talk about politics further, especially when it seemed like it wasn't going anywhere and arguing was only making things worse. Draco had used the powerful magic of the Patronus charm to prove he shall always be on the side of Malfoy and the side of his father, regardless of politics, and that had been enough. Lucius knew enough of the spell to know it couldn't lie.

Lucius had initially disliked that Draco had learned it, even if it was to discharge a large favour on something politically harmless. Draco had then used the Patronus to inform Harry Potter of the debtor's meeting, saying wryly that Dumbledore's side shouldn't be the only one with access to the military benefit of instant, unforgeable messages, and Lucius couldn't have been prouder.

In the months that followed, Lucius had come to admit to himself that yes, the Parkinsons are not as magically powerful as the average muggleborn. If his life depended on it, given the choice between a muggleborn healer and a Parkinson healer, or a muggleborn auror and a Parkinson auror, he would choose the muggleborn. It's just the rest of the argument, what followed from that observation, that he disliked.

"You say it as if it is certain…" said Lucius slowly. "But… I am not immediately convinced."

He certainly did not want to offer offense, but he did not know how to politely refute the claim other than by saying 'you're wrong'. He didn't have any competent rebuttals. It was almost like arguing against one of the Dark Lord's arguments. He felt like he was arguing with the other side's version of Voldemort, at least as far as debate is concerned, and despite all his training and experience, Lucius had never reached that level of persuasiveness.

"Look to your own experiences for evidence," continued the man. "You already know your Lord's power came from the lost lore of Slytherin, nothing to do with his blood, just as Dumbledore's power came from Flamel's hoard. Those two most powerful wizards in the world were also, naturally, excellent in their Hogwarts classes. The final and perhaps most important factor to a powerful wizard is intelligence, and muggleborn children now have the same chance of being born and raised with it as pureblood children, unlike in Salazar's time. Thus has the gap in power almost completely vanished since then."

"A reasonable argument," Lucius nodded to Monroe. "But even were I directly ordered to believe you, I might fail to do so. Adult minds cannot change so easily, even when the desire is there."

That, also, he knew from his vast experience as a politician. Not that he has the desire to change, at the moment.

"Would it help to say that Voldemort himself believes everything I just told you?" asked Monroe. "Because I can truthfully say that he does."

"...Perhaps," said Lucius. "Perhaps it would help if I were told why he believes it."

"Because he's already used it to his advantage," Monroe answered.

"I see," Lucius sighed. That did make sense. "How did he take advantage of it, I wonder?"

The man tilted his head. "The flip-side to the cultural differences argument, which Voldemort knew but never said out loud, is that muggleborns have more creativity and freedom of thought. He grew up in a muggle orphanage, which is where he learned this. He used a powerful and impressive muggle artifact in the Azkaban breakout. He knows what muggles and muggleborns bring to the table. Their ideas about magic are not bound by the same mental blocks. Even the muggles themselves have a form of power, one that wizards can learn how to use, and which Mr. Potter is teaching to your son. Do you think Voldemort would have turned down an advantage like that? Even if Slytherin himself would have refused on basic principles, would Voldemort allow the opportunity to slip through his fingers, especially when it's already the favourite technique of his sworn enemy?"

Lucius didn't even have to think before shaking his head and saying, "No."

Voldemort grasped at every advantage. Anything that would make him more powerful, he would do it. That was always the difference between him and other Dark Lords. Everyone else has some kind of standard or principle. Even if they are flexible in the face of bribes and blackmail, everyone has hard limits. They have some motive or principle or attachment that gives them limits. Often it's a firmly held conviction, or a child, as it is with Lucius. Everyone has limits except Voldemort. His only principles are power-seeking and self-preservation. If he respected wizard norms about caution, he only did it because he valued his own life. Or maybe because other countries would have interfered if they perceived him as magically reckless.

"I see now why the Dark Lord would do such a thing," said Lucius. "Why he would believe as you speak. But I think that only pushes me further into my own beliefs, Lord Monroe. I do not wish to be like him."

Monroe smiled. "Not all examples of that perspective are negative, Lord Malfoy. Your son was creative with the Colloportus charm, to start. You may also look to Mr. Potter as an example of where extreme creativity can lead – frightening Dementors, impressing me with the Rita Skeeter incident, making original discoveries, like learning how magic is passed down from parent to child. And all within his first year of Hogwarts. In his first few months, even."

Lucius's eyebrows were heavily furrowed. "Magical lineage is not so simple. Not even the most erudite Ravenclaws have uncovered its secrets."

"Mr. Potter did," said Monroe. "Though he had the help of a good reference frame. A muggle scientist… no, let's call him a muggle herbologist, Gregor Mendel, discovered the same pattern of inheritance over a century ago, and Mr. Potter studied that scientist and successfully applied his findings to wizardry. But I digress. Without knowing anything else, all Mr. Potter needs to hear is that a Lady of a Noble House has produced squib offspring despite her husband being of excellent breeding. With only that, Mr. Potter would have instant blackmail material. After all, an upstanding, noble Lady cheating on her husband by consorting with a lowly squib, or worse, a muggle, would be a great scandal indeed. Because that is the only way for a witch – any witch – to have a squib."

Lucius's eyes widened.

"This," continued Monroe, "and certain other things that would be advantageous for a leader to know are what convinced your son that blood purism is not based in fact. Muggleborns should technically be called squib-borns."

Lucius did not have anything to say to that. His mind was flushing with blackmail ideas – many of which wouldn't work, since the blackmail would have to be used against his allies – and at the same time, his mind was trying to deny the statement, even though it was obviously possible. He hasn’t seen any proof yet, but he could easily imagine the Dark Lord keeping such a fact to himself all this time, laughing at his follower's gullibility all the while. At Lucius's gullibility.

"Muggleborns have the same potential for magical strength as any pureblood," said Monroe simply. "If you ever got to the point of accepting that, you would say they do not reach their potential nearly as often as purebloods, and you might be right about that. This is the true secret of blood that Mr. Potter and your son discovered together, though I tell it to you without Mr. Potter's permission, and you are ordered not to let your son or anyone else know that you are aware of it."

"Why violate their confidences at all?" asked Lucius. "Why tell me?"

"Because I want you to consider your own belief system and why you believe it. In the future, if you wish to convince your son of anything related to politics, you shall treat him as an equal, listen to his evidence, listen to his arguments, and be equally open to being convinced by him as you wish for him to be convinced by you. Otherwise, do what you can to support his growth. That is your general order for the future, and I will do the same." The man stood from his seat. "Any further questions?"

"Yes," said Lucius, rising himself. "Am I allowed to ask how you came to associate with the Dark Lord?"

"You are allowed to figure it out for yourself, Lord Malfoy. Bellatrix knew, though she had to be told. Snape realized it for himself. Moody almost did. If you do figure it out, the contract you just signed will prevent you from using the information in any way without my permission. If you try, your body will lock up for an hour. So long as you keep that in mind, let me know if you come up with any guesses."

Chapter 54: The Wisdom of the Wizengamot

An emergency session of the Wizengamot was convened at 3:00 PM on June 14th, 1992.

Wizengamot members wearing plum coloured robes poured into the most ancient hall, all of them looking gravely serious, for they had read the Daily Prophet. Even those who normally avoided the publication had read it. They had read of Azkaban's destruction. They had read of Voldemort's return and defeat, they had read of who had vanquished him, and they had read of what was said in that final confrontation, including the part about Dumbledore trapping himself outside of time.

The appearances of the people filing into the room may have been diverse – some were ancient and wizened, others young and green. Their minds may have been equally different, running the gamut from smart to stupid to strange to strict to sentimental to sympathetic. But no matter their appearance or mental patterns, the wise and not-so-wise witches and wizards of the Wizengamot were all wondering who was convening them now that their old Warlock was lost.

Few of them were truly surprised at the answer when they saw him.

"The hundred and ninth session of the two-hundred-and-eighth Wizengamot is convened at my request," said David Monroe after tapping the podium with an unmistakable rod of dark stone. "We have much to cover today, my good lords and ladies, so I shall get straight to the reasons I have convened us. First, discussion and approval of regency over the Line of Merlin Unbroken. Second, discussion of the Dark Lord's attack on Hogwarts. Third, discussion of the attack on Azkaban and the destruction of the world's Dementors, and what to do without them. Finally, I have an announcement about the Philosopher's Stone. As an emergency session, a vote of approval is required to continue beyond this point, and I think a show of hands will suffice." Emergency sessions require approval of the hall to proceed, and if one has been called needlessly, the caller can suffer sanctions, even if it's the Chief Warlock. "All opposed?"

There wasn't even a brief pause as it was decided, by show of hands, if this session was 'needless'.

"All in favour?"

It is a common misconception that you can never get politicians on opposing sides to agree on anything. They will often agree to discussion, at least. Even if that wasn't ordinarily the case, big and unusual emergencies have a way of bringing people together. There was a one-to-one ratio of raised hands to plum coloured robes in the hall.

Once the secretary had announced the vote recorded, one witch stood.

"Hem, hem," she cleared her throat. "Pardon me, Chief Warlock, but I am given to understand that you hold sole discretion over the Line of Merlin Unbroken. Most ancient tradition dictates that we never vote on matters of its succession."

"As you say, Madam Umbridge," said Monroe in a neutral tone. "Dumbledore left autonomous control of the line to his successor. Obligations well beyond my career will be preventing me from leading this hall in the near future, so I am appointing a regent for the position of Chief Warlock. I would prefer to do so with this hall's approval, though as you say, I don't technically need it. However, unlike Dumbledore, I would not wish to see this country torn apart over disagreements about leadership, as it has been over the past decade. On that note, I propose that Amelia Bones accept the Line in regency until Draco Malfoy graduates Hogwarts, at which point the position will pass to him, if he still seems worthy of it."

This produced an explosion of noise that was silenced with a tap on the podium.

"One at a time, please. Augusta Longbottom, I believe you should have the first say."

The lady stared at him in some surprise, then nodded her head. "Thank you, Chief Warlock. Before I speak on your proposal, would you answer a question?"

"I would," he said easily.

"Is it true that you taught Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts over the last year?"

"It is true," he answered. "Though I would prefer to say that I taught Battle Magic, not Defense."

There was murmuring at this, but not enough to warrant another tap. Many parents of Hogwarts students relayed that this statement was proof enough that he was telling the truth.

"Why did you take the guise of someone else to do it?" asked Madam Longbottom, her tone containing the entire country's confusion.

"I said I would answer one question," he said with a frown. Then he sighed. "But I suppose an explanation is in order." The man seemed to draw himself up, adopting a lecturing cadence. "The truth of my identity would have interfered with my lessons. Some Slytherins would have balked, while others would have mindlessly sung my praises. There would have been questions about where I'd been, what I'd been doing, and why I'd left this country in the middle of a war to suffer at the hands of Voldemort. All of that questioning, while fully understandable, would have detracted from my lessons. At the time, I assumed I was only meant to last the year, so I thought an assumed identity would be best for the future of Magical Britain. I acknowledge that such fraud is illegal, and I am willing to pay any fines deemed necessary, or even go to whatever prison shall replace Azkaban, if this hall wills it. Such sanctions may be on the next session's agenda. I only ask that you consult the wills and skills of my students before you judge me too harshly. Ignore their ministry final test scores, however." He grinned. "They are the best fighting wizards to come from Hogwarts this century, maybe this millennium, but most of them failed that pointless test."

"What happened to the real Quirinus Quirrell, Lord Monroe?" asked Amelia Bones, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Her voice was strict, her gaze penetrating.

"He continued adventuring," shrugged Monroe. "Polyjuice does not require a person to be in a state of living death. It's easy to impersonate someone if that person has no interest in society. In that case, you need only meet him once, discuss what you wish to do, and after he sees the sense of your suggestion and consents to it, you give him a haircut."

There was a bit of laughter in the hall, as many wizards realized what he was implying.

"In short, Quirrell is... off the map, you might say. He no longer wishes for his wanderings to be overseen by magical bureaucracies. He values freedom above all else now, so he immigrated to a country where those restrictions aren't a problem. I could not tell you his exact location, only the name of the country, as the locals call it."

"Please do."

"Griffonia," said the Chief Warlock.

"That is the name of a country?" Madam Bones replied skeptically.

"Yes," he answered. "It's like the other country I told you about. I can take you to meet him later. If you need a Patronus charm to verify my sincerity that he's currently there..."

The director of the DMLE sighed. "Maybe at your official hearing, once I convene it. Assuming this hall can agree on your proposal for regency."

"And assuming that they don't deny your request to try me," he added with a wry smile.

"And that," she sighed again.

"Now," said Monroe, "I believe Madam Longbottom still has the floor. Has your curiosity been sated?"

The absurdly-hatted witch nodded once. "Regarding you, it has. Thank you, Chief Warlock. Now I would like to know why you have proposed for Draco Malfoy to inherit the Line's regency. I know I speak for many in this hall when I say that I won't vote in favour without a good reason, even if Madam Bones would lead us for the next six years." There were many nods of agreement in the hall.

Monroe seemed thoughtful for a moment. "Is Draco Malfoy's testimony still available?" he asked the secretary. "The one from the trial of Hermione Granger? Witnessed under veritaserum?"

The secretary nodded.

"May it be read aloud again?"

She nodded again.

"Please have that done."

She nodded a third time, and within the minute an auror was reading the testimony of Draco Malfoy. His repeated emphasis of having helped a muggleborn girl would hopefully override the 'trying to kill me' part.

Even still, upon the conclusion of the testimony, David Monroe said, "I should mention that the blood-cooling incident between Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy was a result of Voldemort's machinations."

"I concur," said Lucius Malfoy, drawing the surprised attention of the hall. "Were it not for his true vanquishment last night, House Malfoy would have sworn vengeance upon him."

There was far more surprise at that, which had to be silenced by a tap of stone on a podium.

"Thank you, Lord Monroe." Lucius continued after inclining his head at the Chief Warlock. "I trust this entire incident has put doubts about myself and certain others to rest."

(On the way to this very session, Monroe had informed Lucius that he may be more critical of Voldemort. He no longer needs to say euphemisms like 'ill-fated adventurer', if it's to the purpose of selling the Imperius narrative. Lucius had asked, at that point, if those were truly the Dark Lord's orders, or if Monroe was trying to get Lucius killed. Monroe had laughed, the Dark Mark had itched, and that had been that. Lucius had asked if the Dark Lord could hear their conversation, and Monroe had said, "Yes." Lucius had shuddered, and nodded acceptance at his new orders.)

With a strange sense of constrained freedom, Lord Malfoy continued speaking. "If we had truly served that terrible tyrant of our own free will, we would not be here this day."

Another tap was required to silence the hall after this statement.

"Let us save that discussion for the second item on today's agenda, Lord Malfoy," said Chief Warlock Monroe. "For now, I only wished to reassure Madam Longbottom that my teachings to the young Mr. Malfoy extended beyond battle. I gave him no Slytherins to rule in his extracurricular activities aside from his personal bodyguards. After a single year in Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy has learned to accept Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and even Gryffindors as friends and advisors, not just as servants to be ruled."

"I don't mean to mistrust you," said Madam Longbottom, "But do you have any clear proof that he has truly learned such a thing?"

The Chief Warlock smiled, an unusual expression on the ordinarily severe face. "When Mr. Potter was forced to relinquish some of his soldiers to balance out his advantage of skill, he sent Mr. Malfoy a powerful muggleborn lieutenant. Some Slytherins considered this sabotage, but instead of offering insult, Draco Malfoy gave the muggleborn a fair test, then promoted Mr. Thomas to officership after he proved his military worth. I thought to give Slytherin a few house points when he did not refuse such an obvious advantage for something as trivial as family politics, but I also thought to consult my young apprentice in advance before doing so in public, and he politely declined, so as not to lose even more face with his current base of support. But in the end, his actions speak far louder than words ever could. He did not discriminate against Mr. Thomas, nor did he discriminate against the foreign-born Padma Patil. He took both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw to his side and heeded their advisements, as any competent leader in his position should have. As any competent Slytherin should have."

Some of the blood purist faction grumbled unhappily, but the side that Monroe was actually trying to convince were nodding approvingly, or at least looking thoughtful.

"Mr. Malfoy has learned to work with and respect his fellow witches and wizards," Monroe concluded, "regardless of background or blood. So long as they prove smart and strong, he will acknowledge them. He even walks the path of powerful wizardry that few Lord Malfoys in history have ever truly walked."

"Hem hem," came a noise from the plum-coloured robes. "May I ask what Lucius Malfoy's opinion on this is?"

Lord Monroe frowned at the interruption, then looked to Lord Malfoy, who had his eyebrows furrowed.

He did not respond right away, and when he did, his voice was unusually slow and thoughtful. "My son is indeed going against my wishes, in some ways. And in others, he is fulfilling my wishes more than I could have ever dreamed. When I watched his battle, I had to trust that he had a good reason for giving his strange transfiguration orders, since I did not understand it myself until it was explained to me. His reason was so good that it won him the battle. I think I shall take the same stance now. I trust my son will do what is best for his house and his country, even if I do not understand some parts of his mindset. If a slight change in politics has come with my son's improved capabilities, and that slight change happens to improve his leadership skills…" The man seemed to nod to himself. "I shall accept that price for his newfound power, even if I could not do it myself."

The Hall was silent at this, until the Chief Warlock decided to resume the stage.

"Amelia Bones for the next six years, then Draco Malfoy," said Lord Monroe. "I made my proposal because I believe Mr. Malfoy will be the best wizard for the job once he comes of age. If his attitude changes in the future, I can always amend the decision, but I have faith my young apprentice will rise to the challenge. I believe he will be honest, fair, and competent as Chief Warlock, both to his friends and his enemies. The emotions of youth and Slytherin plotting aside," Monroe grinned wryly. "Remember that Mr. Malfoy did not assume he was more powerful than Miss Granger. That is why he challenged her privately. Furthermore, his plotting against her involved only a future, lawful, public challenge. It violated Hogwarts regulation, but not any law of this nation. He intended to honestly duel and defeat her, nothing more. He hesitated only because he respected her proven power as equal to his, and I believe that attitude will serve Magical Britain well. Until then, Amelia Bones, the best director of the DMLE that this nation has seen in centuries, will also serve us well and fairly. That is why I have made my proposal."

There was a silence after the Chief Warlock spoke.

"May we have a minute for deliberations, Chief Warlock?" asked Madam Longbottom.

"I concur with Madam Longbottom," said Lucius Malfoy.

"You may," said the Chief Warlock.

Members of factions convened, discussed, disagreed, debated, argued, and sometimes shouted. Allegiances shifted, favours were called, factions split, and decisions were reached. Even if he probably wouldn't have been caught, Monroe decided not to use any subtle eavesdropping charms. It was visible on facial expressions and body language, even without knowing exactly what was said. (And the strong emotions in the air made it clear as well.)

He had made sure not to remind them that he did not need approval to pass the Line of Merlin in regency. He had said it at the beginning, but his subsequent questioning and speech should have distracted most members from the fact that their votes didn't actually matter, except as a public record of approval/disapproval. Amelia Bones would be appointed and assume control as soon as this vote was held, regardless of the outcome. But they did not need to be reminded of that until it happened.

When the vote did come, Amelia herself abstained. The Malfoy and Longbottom factions voted in favour, marking the first (of many) time(s) these two opposing sides ever agreed on a controversial vote. The Greengrasses and other neutrals had seemed unsure during the debates, though many were leaning towards agreement, and once it was obvious where the vote was going, most either voted in favour or abstained.

In the end, the only ones who voted against were a few (potentially former) members of the Malfoy and Longbottom factions, the ones that couldn't tolerate or compromise with the other side at all, regardless of new information.

As soon as the vote was recorded, Lord Monroe immediately passed the Line to Amelia, to the surprise of many in the hall.

A tap of his wand changed his robes from black to plum-coloured, accompanied by the letter 'W'. "With the remaining agenda," Lord Monroe said, "especially items three and four, it would be best if I were not Chief Warlock as we discussed them." The mysterious warlock sat down in his replacement's former seat and said no more.

Amelia Bones tapped the podium with her rod of stone, drawing everyone's attention.

"Second item," she said without preamble. "Last night, Hogwarts was raided by Voldemort-" there were gasps at the name "-and what seemed like his entire roster of servants, save the ones still in Azkaban and the ones who said they were under the Imperius. Lord Monroe has suggested that the memory of Professor Filius Flitwick of Hogwarts be shown before this hall, in a similar fashion to how he showed his battle in April. The memory of the event has already been provided, and Lord Monroe has already requested official approval to set up the parchment repeater screens, as he calls them. As Chief Warlock, I formally approve the request, for I know I would have wanted to see this, had I not already been shown earlier. If any of you think that decision is out of line for the breach in tradition, you may start a vote to sanction me. After you watch it."

The murmurs of the hall were not silenced by a tap of stone for once, since there was a bit of down time to allow them to go on. Monroe set multiple screens to float and face the different seating areas of the Wizengamot. Not every member would have a perfect view, but they all would be able to see it well enough.

After the memory was done, not a single member of the Wizengamot considered calling a vote of sanction against Amelia Bones, even though some members had motive to find any reason at all to call such a vote against her. It wouldn't have passed, and the one who called it would have been embarrassed and lost political capital.

Actually seeing what happened has a way of swaying opinion. Everybody appreciated the first-hand account of the incident, regardless of faction. And nobody dared questioned the integrity of the Head of House Ravenclaw by suggesting that the memory might have been edited or flawed. (He might have challenged them to a public duel for the insult to his honor, if someone had been so foolish. With Flitwick's reputation as a former dueling champion, nobody would have been brave or stupid enough to do that, even if the thought occurred to them.)

"Due to circumstances that will be explained in the next item," Amelia Bones said soon after the repeater screens fell blank again, "all prisoners of Azkaban were under the direct supervision of aurors at the time of this incident. At 12:07 AM, all convicted Death Eaters save Sirius Black simultaneously grabbed at their arms in pain, then burst into flashes of light, leaving only ashes behind. This coincides with the reported events that occurred at Hogwarts. As you all saw, the other Death Eaters suffered the same fate, leading the Unspeakables to believe that Voldemort is truly gone now. The Unspeakables have theorised that the Dark Mark inflicted the final fate of its master onto his true servants, no matter where they were or what they were doing at the time."

She did not mention that they also theorized that, if not for the destruction of the Dementors who had been draining all magic in Azkaban, the Marks might not have gone off. She knew the true fate of the Death Eaters, but if she hadn't, she would have taken that theory at face value and laughed at the irony. 'Out of the frying pan, into the fire,' as the saying goes – the minute they are saved from torture, they die at their own Dark Lord's hand.

But according to Lord Monroe, whose Patronus-honest words she would soon be verifying, that's not what happened, so she kept it all to herself. She did not say anything beyond what she'd already said, which was simply what the Unspeakables believed about the whole affair, not what she believed.

As a Hufflepuff who hated liars growing up, she really does hate this position, and politics in general.

"Lord Monroe scheduled no official vote for this item," she said to the Wizengamot, "only that he thought it was in the interest of the most ancient hall to see it. I was inclined to agree. The aftermath of the affair is currently being handled by my department. Since there are no scheduled votes, I think we should move to the next item, unless someone can think of a pertinent vote."

She paused, as if to give the hall time to think of something to vote for.

"I think," said Lord Monroe, "that Minister Fudge could imagine an appropriate vote."

Eyes turned to Monroe, then to Fudge, who looked surprised and flustered for a moment, before his eyes lit up with sudden excitement. "Ah, yes!" said the portly man. "Yes, yes, of course!" Drawing himself up into a formal and 'generous' political demeanor, he spoke with conviction and geniality. "I propose that Orders of Merlin be awarded to Harry Potter and David Monroe. First class."

Before the hall could react to the proposal…

"I refuse to accept," said David Monroe at once. "I will not say why, but I refuse to accept any recognition for the defeat of Voldemort. That should go entirely to Mr. Potter. And Ms. Granger as well. First class for him, second for her. "

Now that they did have time to react, the hall was silent.

"Could you explain why?" asked the Chief Warlock.

He shrugged. "The battle against Voldemort was more complicated than the climax you all just witnessed. There was rising tension, lead-ups, plots you don't know about. Much of what went wrong in this most recent school year was the result of his plotting. The blood-cooling charm, for instance, and the troll after that. It was the Patronus of the Boy-Who-Lived that ultimately vanquished him, and it was the Girl-Who-Died who saved my life in the end. She fought off Voldemort's temptations, though none of you were there to witness it. Don't forget that a phoenix deemed her heroinic enough to become her companion. Second-class is the least we can do. And Mr. Potter earning first class should speak for itself. For my part, I will be collecting the Dark Lord's bounties from Gringotts and distributing them to his victims. Mr. Potter will support this agenda if the goblins insist that he collect them instead."

"And your refusal to accept an Order of Merlin of your own?" asked Amelia Bones, eyes sharp.

"I already said I will not go into detail," he pointed out. "I will only say that my regret over the last many years, my inaction and cowardice, and the responsibility I hold for what happened during the war... well, I do not think last night makes up for it in the slightest. I have not earned an Order of Merlin. I will not say exactly why, only that I refuse to accept any you give me."

Amelia Bones seemed to accept this with a nod, then called the vote with a tap of her rod.

Mr. Potter's vote passed easily, since it passed unanimously. Even the 'Imperiused' Death Eaters voted in his favor (even if it was just to keep up appearances about how 'grateful' they were), and none of the other blood purists thought it politically wise to disagree with the majority in this case.

You only oppose a thus-far 95% in-favour vote when you want to make a point to your peers or constituents. None of the Wizengamot politicians were going to make a point against the Boy-Who-Lived vanquishing Voldemort, so they voted in favour, not even abstaining. Only the Chief Warlock abstained, as is ancient tradition, although she can vote if she deems it sufficiently important, as is also ancient tradition.

On the next vote, when it seemed like some factions were going to deny Ms. Granger's Order of Merlin, Lord Monroe pointed out that the Boy-Who-Lived is the type of person who would refuse his reward if he heard that his deserving friend didn't receive one as well. Lord Monroe then said he would be immediately informing Mr. Potter and the rest of Hogwarts of this body's decision, before or during the Leave-Taking Feast tonight.

This time, some politicians did make it a point to disagree with the majority that awarded Ms. Granger her Order of Merlin. None of them were so tactless as to be be honest about why they voted against it. They went with the "Lord Monroe hasn't explained all the details; I think second class is too high; I would vote 'yes' on third class," excuses. Even blood purists can sometimes recognize when to make excuses, and when to reveal their true ideological motivations.

The vote passed anyway, without their support, and it passed easily.

"Third item," said Amelia Bones when the secretary had recorded the tally. "Last night, beginning at 8:30 PM, an attack was launched on all the world's Dementors, starting with the Dementors in Azkaban."

The news that had been reported by the Daily Prophet that morning did not produce any gasps of shock, though the members of the Wizengamot grew gravely serious when it was spoken by their DMLE director / Chief Warlock.

"According to Alastor Moody," said the witch still wearing her auror uniform, "who wields the Eye of Vance, there were three perpetrators. According to everyone else, there was only one, which Monroe claims will be shown on the screen now."

Immediately after she said the words, the image of a bat-winged unicorn of grey coat and formless mane appeared on the screens. The horse was not in the process of attacking any Dementors. It looked fairly mundane, actually, wearing glasses and a cloak that no real equine would wear. It simply stood in what looked like a meadow and looked out at them through the screen, somehow managing to appear bored. It was not a moving image.

"Moody claims," continued Amelia Bones, frowning at the image, "that when he tried to arrest the creatures, he wasn't expecting them to respond. We still aren't sure how much of what he saw and heard can be trusted. He claims that the bat-winged unicorn, in perfect English, said that it was declaring war on the whole world. The bat unicorn proved its declaration by appearing all across the world and purging Dementors with Patronus light. This was after escaping Azkaban's wards through unknown means. There are only two Dementors left that we know about – the Dementor housed by the International Confederation of Wizards and the Dementor housed by our own Department of Mysteries. We are unsure if it is because they are too well-guarded, or if the perpetrator had a motive for sparing them."

"He did," said Monroe, drawing the attention of the hall back to him. "It was a courtesy, so that we may still use Dementors to teach our children the Patronus charm, though he warns that he will destroy them if they are ever used for executions, torture, or general dementation."

There was a pause in which Monroe amused himself by looking at the expressions of various members.

"Lord Monroe," addressed Augusta Longbottom. "Are you implying that you personally know the creatures that did this?"

"They call themselves ponies, and yes, I am. Remember that this screen shows memories. Where do you think I got that image?" he asked, inclining his head at the screen. "Excelsior, Prince of Equestria, land of…" he sighed heavily, "…magical equinoid creatures." He tapped his wand to his head, and the screens began showing various images, all stills.

"You jest," said Lord Malfoy.

"I'm afraid not," said Lord Monroe.

"Where is this... 'Equestria'?" Augusta Longbottom asked, looking at the screens with fascination.

"I am bound not to reveal the location recklessly," Monroe answered. "For now, I can only say that Equestria is a true land, and that it's… hidden, let us say, like Atlantis might or might not be hidden." Images of cities, landscapes, and creatures flashed by as he spoke. "It is inhabited by intelligent Equinoid creatures, from Ponies to Cows to Griffons, many of which have their own nations. The ponies are the most developed and prominent, similar to how we are the most prominent magical country on Earth."

Many species had been shown as he spoke, but now it only showed ponies.

"They are all magical, but only unicorns can cast spells unaided. The standard breakdown of their species is that there are plain, Earth-bound ponies, there are pegasi, there are unicorns, and then there's the rare combination of all three called 'alicorns'."

A pony with a flowing, rainbow mane was shown.

"It does not refer to unicorn horn like it does here. They also have 'thestrals', which look different from ours – that is the perpetrator's base species."

An image of 'Prince Excelsior' appeared on the screen again, this time without a cloak or glasses. The creature's eyes were closed, but a horn and wings were clearly visible, indicating that it was one of those 'alicorns'.

"You may also be interested to see their capitol, Canterlot."

The screen showed a picturesque city on the side of a mountain.

"It houses their highest government and some of the royalty. I should mention that alicorn status is extremely rare, and the individuals who attain it are often extremely powerful. It is tradition for Equestria to instantly ennoble any pony who 'ascends' to the status naturally."

The most ancient hall watched as 'alicorn' after 'alicorn' appeared on the screens, from black to white to purple to pink to orange.

"They can also understand our language. As Mr. Moody claims, Prince Excelsior does indeed speak English, though others cannot."

The cloak-clad 'alicorn' appeared once more on the screen, the same image that had started this all.

"And if you think that this is all a bad joke, as Lord Malfoy does," said Monroe in tones of conclusion, "I thought the same thing too, at first. If I had to compare it to something, it's similar to how this country's initial reaction to Voldemort and the Death Eaters was to believe it was all a bad joke. Except instead of hammy dread, this one is in the direction of…" he sighed heavily. "Unbearable cuteness." He stood straight as he gave his finishing remarks. "I assure you that they are very real, and aren't to be trifled with despite their appearances. Treat the Dementor incident like you treated the House Monroe incident. This is not a joke."

There was silence in the hall.

"Does all this mean," asked Chief Warlock Bones, speaking slowly, as if choosing her words carefully, "that you are on friendly terms with the creatures who attacked Azkaban, Lord Monroe? You have more than a passing familiarity with them?"

"That is correct," he replied easily. "Consider me an ambassador, I suppose. Or better yet, an intermediary. I have contacts in their media and government. Last night was not the result of official government action, despite alicorn involvement. The moment that a certain pony realized they could destroy all of our Dementors, that pony simply went out and did it. Like Harold Shea and the mind flayers of centuries past. The oldest and most respected members of their royalty, Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, are all willing to defend that pony's actions, though that pony is also willing to defend their self."

"How are you in contact with them?" demanded Amelia Bones.

"The Patronus Charm is one method," he answered. "Would you like me to use it now?"

This question caused the hall to devolve into a ten-minute discussion on if he should send a Patronus message, and when that vote passed, what he should say. Or rather, what he should demand.

He said that he didn't think it was wise to demand anything, but he agreed to send whatever message the Wizengamot decided upon.

The surprise at the shape of his Patronus was getting old at this point, and Monroe barely paid attention to it.

"Tell Princess Celestia that the government of Magical Britain has demanded an Equestrian representative, preferably Prince Excelsior, be sent at once. The Wizengamot requires accountability for the destruction of their Dementors, which were regarded as national treasures and weapons in case of war."

There was a brief silence in the hall but for the murmurs of nobles while they waited for reply. When it came, it was no longer in the shape of a man, but in the shape of a winged unicorn with a flowing mane – an 'alicorn', as Monroe called them.

"National treasures?!" demanded an indignant, angry female voice which they all clearly heard as perfectly comprehensible English, if in a different accent from their own. "Those things were the darkest creatures in the world, and your government calls them national treasures?! You used them as war weapons?! Please inform the Wizengamot that I am in no mood to listen to their demands. If Prince Excelsior," her tone shifted when she said that, as if saying the name ironically, or sarcastically, "wishes to respond, he may do as he pleases. But Equestria shall have no official contact with the government of Magical Britain if it is to be on those terms." There was a huffing sound, accompanied by the Patronus whickering. "Speak to me again when the Wizengamot wishes to acknowledge the atrocities it inflicted upon its own citizens. Containing Dementors when they could not be destroyed is one thing. Giving them a purpose to prevent them from preying on innocents is also understandable. I can barely accept that Azkaban may have been a necessary evil, if you were truly unable to deal with Dementors in any other way. But viewing them as 'good' in any way, shape, or form is completely unacceptable."

At that, the Patronus stopped speaking, finishing its rant into the stunned silence of the Wizengamot. The predictable bickering that followed was silenced by a clack of stone before it could really begin.

"I quite agree with that sentiment," said the voice of Madam Longbottom after the clack before any others could command the room, including the Chief Warlock. "I think I rather like Princess Celestia."

"Convey her words," Monroe quickly said to the Patronus. When it nodded and disappeared, he turned to face his peers, some of whom were already outraged at his autonomous action. "That was an attempt to maintain positive relations, my Lords and Ladies." He narrowed his eyes. "Do keep in mind that ponies are powerful, as we have already witnessed. With any luck, Celestia will-"

"Tell Riddle to thank Madam Longbottom," said her returned Patronus. "I am glad not all humans are lost. I would invite her to tea if I could. Good day."

At that, the Patronus winked out.

There was an immediate click of stone, one that drew eyes to the podium above. "What did she mean, 'tell Riddle', Lord Monroe?" Amelia asked, a strange expression on her face.

'Lord Monroe' was frowning at where the Patronus had been. "Before he was known as Prince Excelsior," he said, "that pony was known as Lord Riddle. And before that, he was known as Mystery Book. In their culture, ascendancy to alicorn status is extremely rare, and is often accompanied by a change in name. Princess Luna, the one who awarded him the name of Riddle Tome when she first ennobled him, thought it would be a good fit, since he was good at solving riddles and reading tomes. Celestia wants the prince to be informed that Madam Longbottom should be thanked on behalf of Equestria, whenever he gets the chance to do so in person. And she's right that telling me is as good as telling him…"

"Lord Monroe," addressed Amelie Bones, her tone now military and pragmatic. "Do you expect Prince Excelsior to come if you sent a message to him?"

"Not without collateral," replied Lord Monroe. "I expect him to demand that I be held hostage in the meantime. If he does, I am willing to acquiesce." He grinned charmingly. "I can always escape if I have to."

There was a bit of laughter, some of it nervous.

This time, when the message was composed, it was written down on parchment, then sent by a spell that seemed to incinerate the paper in a flash of green Floo fire.

Monroe said that the two requirements of sending a Patronus message that scholars know about are that you have to personally know who you are sending it to, and you have to want the recipient to receive your happy thought. He said that he was unable to send a Patronus message to Prince Excelsior, then said for everyone to draw their own conclusions, then refused to say any more.

When the reply parchment appeared before Monroe in another flash of green fire, it demanded exactly what he thought it would.

If not for Monroe's willingness to volunteer, the vote to use him as collateral would not have passed. Even with his support, it barely passed with a simple majority. Some of the factions that voted in favour clearly hoped to get rid of Monroe this way, while others simply wanted Prince Excelsior to appear before them at any cost.

But the deciding factor was those who did as Monroe requested because they were on his side, even if it didn't seem in his own interest. Some of those opposed voted for what they thought were Monroe's actual interests – namely, not being punished in response to their peers' inevitable attempts at punishing the incoming pony. Other members of the opposition, the intelligent and cautious members, including Amelia Bones, voted against it because losing David Monroe meant losing a large amount of military might. But even with all that opposition, the vote still passed.

Since it would have been a faux pas to do any arguing himself, Monroe had used the time of the vote's discussion to take down his repeater screens and store them in his robes.

When the vote was passed, Monroe composed a response letter agreeing to the terms. It was short and simple enough that the Hall took less than a minute to agree to send it without any amendments.

Fifteen seconds after it was sent by that spell of green fire, Monroe vanished from his seat without any apparent visual or sound effects. No pops, no flashes, no blur, just simple vanishment. A few of the more learned members, including the auror guards and the current Chief Warlock, wondered if that was yet another kind of pony teleportation, since it corresponded to no known teleportation spells, and it didn't produce a flash like the kind they'd already seen.

A few seconds after Monroe vanished, the pony they'd seen on the screens appeared where the man had been seated. It looked around, then flashed to the very center of the room - not down on the ground where the members could look down on him, but up in the air, level with the highest members of the Wizengamot save the Chief Warlock herself. It did not look like the creature was floating, it looked like it was simply standing on thin air.

The creature's mane was not magical at the moment, nor did the creature seem to have a horn, nor wings beneath its plain cloak. It wore glasses that obscured its eyes and a blank expression which revealed nothing, not even its being an intelligent beast.

"You wanted to speak with me?" it asked in a disinterested voice, like it had better things to do.

Multiple voices began speaking at the same time, overlapping into incomprehensibility. The Chief Warlock had to silence them with a tap of her stone.

"Prince Excelsior," she said in a neutral tone, then delivered the will of the Wizengamot. "You stand accused of destroying our national possessions, declaring war against Magical Britain, and endangering our country by removing the guards of countless violent criminals. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

The creature, looking up at the podium, raised an eyebrow. "Is this a trial or an arrest?"

"Consider it both," said the Chief Warlock/DMLE director, Line of Merlin in one hand, wand in the other. It was not quite aimed at him, but it was more than close enough to target a spell in a fraction of a second.

The pony shook its head. "You have the authority to make arrests, Director Bones, but not to make such judgements, Regent Bones." He spoke in a condescending tone. "I know that much of your legal system. I owe no debt to any Lord or Lady. You are accusing me of crimes against your country, and therefore you shall need the agreement of the Wizengamot to convene a trial."

"The Wizengamot has already agreed to try you," she informed it.

"But have they officially voted to have the trial?" he asked in return. "Please learn your new position, if you would be so kind." It yawned lazily, briefly bringing a hoof to cover its mouth. "I intend to be home for dinner. I prefer not to waste the times of others, and I expect the same courtesy in return. I will submit to the will of this hall if you are democratic, just, and judicious about it. Get the votes to hold this trial, and do please make it quick."

This was done without delay or difficulty, the vote for a trial easily carrying in favour.

"Now I may speak in my defense," said the creature before Regent Bones could direct the trial. "But first, the Veritaserum." From one of the aurors below, a vial flew up to the floating/standing pony, then was held out in a glowing magical grip to the Chief Warlock. "Would you like to confirm I haven't substituted something else?"

There was a pause, during which the regent locked gazes with the pony. "I doubt it will matter," said the Regent, "since I suspect you are an Occlumens. Will you attack the Court Legilimens if she attempts to verify this fact?"

The pony grinned, uncorked the vial, then downed the whole bottle in a single gulp. He shook his head violently, his lips making a slight "pbpbpb" noise, as if he'd just drank a shot of hard liquor.

Many witches and wizards were staring at him in shock; that was potentially lethal. To humans, at least.

Regent Bones now did suspect that he substituted a different bottle, but she didn't ask the Court Legilimens to come forward, since this little display was probably the same as the creature saying 'Yes, I am an Occlumens.' Or maybe the display was meant to fake him being an Occlumens…

"I am Riddle Tome," said the creature, "once Mystery Book, and something else before that. Now, as Prince Excelsior of Equestria, I plead responsibility for waging war on your world's Dementors, a war which is now ended, unless wizards decide to press the issue further."

The Chief Warlock tapped her podium with the Line of Merlin. "The pleas, Prince Excelsior, are guilty or not guilty. Not that your guilt is in doubt."

The creature shrugged. "I plead no guilt when I feel no guilt," it said indifferently. "I acknowledge responsibility, and I would have that exact phrasing recorded. That said, I will plead guilty for destabilizing your prison system. I intend to offer restitution for that unavoidable side-effect of what happened last night. We have a magical device that fills the role of Dementors in our own magical prisons. It can likely be modified to fit humans. Of course, I reserve the right to revoke this offer, and I suggest the Wizengamot keep that in mind, along with the fact that, regardless of how your Chief Warlock phrases the accusations, I will interpret any vote about Dementors as siding with or against the darkest creatures the world has ever seen. I myself have no intention of making an enemy of your state unless you make an enemy of me. Finally, I will mention that I was once a Dark Lord by pony standards. That is all."

Amelia Bones was openly scowling at the creature. "If you truly did not intend to make an enemy of us, why did you make a declaration of war?"

"It was your agent who said that. I said I was not declaring war on Magical Britain. Did the man with the mad eye not report that to you?"

"Ah, yes," said the DMLE director. "You said we should not flatter ourselves, and that you were declaring war on the whole world. You think that makes it better?"

The creature made a hmm noise. "I must have left out the apostrophe 's' and the word Dementor."

In a flare of orange flames that first alarmed many watching wizards, but less so when the blaze seemed to coalesce into letters and words, four fiery phrases were written onto the air itself, one phrase facing each section of the Wizengamot, just as the repeater screens had done, such that everyone had a decent view of the message. Each phrase read the same thing:

…declaring war on the whole world('s Dementors).

When eyes returned to the creature above, they saw the creature grinning at Regent Bones. "I suppose I am at fault for that misunderstanding. My apologies."

"Flair for the dramatic indeed," she grumbled, so quietly that few members heard it. "The Wizengamot may now begin deliberations," said the Chief Warlock. "If you need time for them."

And indeed they did need time. Lots of time. Those wearing plum-coloured robes below began talking heatedly amongst themselves.

Madam Longbottom's voice could distinctly be heard as she argued that it was a good thing the Dementors were gone. Madam Umbridge's voice could be heard arguing about Azkaban and war weapons and national treasures. Lucius Malfoy refrained from speaking at all, surprising all his peers, allies and enemies alike. He simply stared at the creature, a calculating look in his eyes.

When the voices were settling into something of a calmer murmur, Amelia Bones tapped her rod on the podium. "I call the vote," the Chief Warlock announced. "By show of hands, let the Wizengamot acknowledge crimes committed against Magical Britain. First, the endangering of our citizens by violent criminals who no longer have perfectly effective prison wardens to guard them. The accusation is essential destruction of Azkaban."

"If you'll forgive me for being out of order-"

"No."

"Silencio." As Amelia Bones tried and failed to dispel this standard charm, the pony continued. "I do not consider this particular vote as siding with or against Dementors," said the pony. "Finite."

"You do realize," said Amelia Bones when she could speak again, "I will be adding assault of a government official to your charges, yes?"

It replied with a cheeky grin. "And you realize, now that you've attempted to dispel my magic, that I'm powerful enough to say that I don't care?" The grin widened further. "Even if I weren't that powerful, the charge of a silencing assault is nothing compared to the others. It would only matter if my other debts were forgiven, and yet somehow that specific one was not. I find that unlikely, but it would be hilarious."

The witch was still scowling. "The vote has been called," she said to the chamber, which was staring at them. "Do please raise your hands if you find him guilty of breaking Azkaban."

For this, there was a sea of raised hands, even from many members of what would have been called the 'light' side of the room. Even Madam Longbottom, with a look of reluctance, had her hand raised. As Chief Warlock, Madam Bones abstained, as is tradition, but she used her other vote as head of the DMLE to vote against the creature, which surprised some members of the Wizengamot, but nobody protested. In fact, many members on both sides seemed to appreciate the maneuver.

The secretary announced that the Wizengamot acknowledges the debt owed by Prince Excelsior to Magical Britain for the destruction of its prison system.

"Fair enough," said the pony. "How shall it be paid?" he asked, again wearing that insufferable grin. "Azkaban?"

"I would suggest," said the cultured voice of Lucius Malfoy, addressing the room, "that we impose a monetary debt, my fellow Lords and Ladies. Perhaps he or his nation will honour this one, even if he is under the impression he can escape the others. If you disagree, remember that we have charges yet."

Deliberations on this idea did not last long.

Even if most of the Wizengamot instinctively recognizes the authority and competence of their Chief Warlock when it comes to matters of law and enforcement, matters of debts and recompense are the competence of the Malfoys. Without David Monroe present, Lucius Malfoy swayed the room easily enough.

The only point of disagreement was on the amount owed, but it was eventually decided that a million galleons would be appropriate.

A few of the more arrogant members (though not Lucius Malfoy) were sneering at the creature who (they thought) had no hope of repaying such a massive debt, and who would certainly be indentured as a result. Their emotions came from habit, not really taking the current facts of the matter into account. Not that they could have taken all facts into account, since they had no way of knowing that this particular perpetrator...

"If you wanted me to flood your economy with enough gold to inflate your currency," said the pony when the final amount was recorded by the secretary, "all you needed to do was ask. I am a wealthy prince, you know, with access to magics you know not. I can pay in raw gold at no cost to my nation or myself." With a sigh, he added, "The goblins are going to love this situation. And thank you for the easily-repaid debt."

There was a brief, angry uproar from some of the members, silenced by a tap of stone.

"Deliberations have ended," said the stern voice of Amelia Bones. "The Wizengamot voted on an agreed amount, and that cannot be undone, regardless of what the debtor claims about repayment. Remember that he could also be lying."

Before she could say more, the pony interrupted with, "Now we come to the part where some poor fools align themselves with Dementors, yes?"

"This is the part where the defendant is normally silent," she rejoined. "By magical imposition, if necessary." Her ever-present scowl became a bit more pronounced. "Since, evidently, you are immune to such spell attempts-" the aurors in the room had been trying and failing to use various restraining spells throughout this trial "-I will simply add contempt of court to your list of charges."

"I plead responsible to that one as well." He grinned very widely. "With what it has done in the past, I do hold contempt for this court. I wonder what my punishment shall be? Goodness, this is fun. It seems I should get out more often after a-"

A tap of the stone rod silenced him, his gaze jerking slightly to meet hers.

Now, finally, Amelia Bones was the one smiling. "It's good to know that some enchantments work on you." She made a show of looking at the Line of Merlin. "It's not every day I can literally thank Merlin."

The creature's next three rejoinders were all silenced by taps of stone, until it was simply frowning.

"Good," said Chief Warlock Amelia Bones with a nod. "I call the vote. By show of hands, let the Wizengamot acknowledge crimes committed against Magical Britain. Second, the defendant stands accused of waging war by removing from us our advantage of magical weaponry. The charge is of being a proven military enemy to Magical Britain."

The immediate tap of stone that Amelia made to interrupt the creature's inevitable interruption did not, in fact, interrupt him. He was not speaking, and his eyes were already locked to Amelia's, which the tap would have forced him to do if he had not already been doing it.

As he stared her down, letters of fire drew across the air once again, forming another four-fold message that read:

Those who would wield Dementors might be consumed by one.

The pony above the letters no longer seemed amused. It was grim and serious.

Attempts to dispel the message failed, so the vote was held with the words emblazoned above them all. This vote was not unanimous. Not even close.

Notable refrainers were Lucius Malfoy, since it was not expected of him to forgive such an unforgivable attack on Britain, and Lord Greengrass, who was often a key swing vote.

Beyond that, Madam Bones was also an unexpected voter. As Chief Warlock, she had the right to vote on any issue, but was expected to remain a neutral arbiter in most cases. She announced both that she was voting on this one and that she was using both to vote against the idea that this pony is Britain's military enemy.

Now there were protests at the maneuver, but she said they didn't seem to mind the last time. They should have called a vote then, and they may call a vote in the future to prevent double-votes, but right now they had something more important to vote on. And, in her professional opinion, it wouldn't be wise to declare this creature – and by extension, his nation – an enemy of Britain.

Cornelius Fudge seemed to be swayed by the sentiment from the head of the DMLE, saying that he was switching his vote from condemn to refrain.

Almost all of the Death Eaters who had been 'under the Imperius', were not swayed. They voted against the clearly belligerent creature.

Madam Umbridge and her faction – a good number of elected officials, heads of departments, etc., basically the Ministry's bureaucracy – voted against the creature as well. This included the head Unspeakable and the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

Arthur Weasley, head of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, and Bartemius Crouch, head of International Cooperation, were two bureaucrats who bucked this trend, voting forgive and refrain, respectively.

It went without saying that Augusta Longbottom and her faction voted in the creature's favour, and she even managed to convince a few swing votes. In the end, however, neither her efforts nor the Chief Warlock's were enough.

The vote barely passed, but it did pass.

"The vote carries in favour," intoned the secretary. "The Wizengamot recognizes Prince Excelsior as an enemy of the state."

As with blood debts, there are no set punishments for this charge. Unlike blood debts, this is not a 'debt' that can be repaid. Being an 'enemy of the state' is simply a state of affairs to be dealt with. The Wizengamot could choose to do anything to someone so labeled. There are no limits to what can be done.

Typically, the punishment is death by Dementor, but it could really be anything the Wizengamot wants to inflict, even Cruciatus insanity – a punishment which hasn't been officially inflicted in over seven centuries, in a case where the criminal himself had tortured multiple nobles and Ministry battlemages into insanity. But in this case, given that the 'crime' was Dementor-related…

"May deliberations begin on punishment," said Amelia Bones.

"Indeed," agreed Prince Excelsior.

Before he could be silenced by the Chief Warlock, the Line of Merlin Unbroken flew from her hand. Her eyes widened in shock when the unstealable artifact was stolen from her.

The creature rose to her height, though not to her podium, entirely ignoring the fact that her and many other wands were leveled on him, some already casting offensive spells that fizzled out as they approached him.

Its cloak flew from its back, menacing wings now spread-eagle. Its glasses disappeared, revealing a sharp horn and slitted ice-blue eyes, which were menacing enough, but then…

But then its eyes seemed to melt into his face, leaving hollow pits in their place. Flesh seemed to whither and flake away, leaving a skeletally thin body behind, as if he was actually becoming a wizard's thestral- no, worse than a wizard's thestral, he was beginning to look like… like something dead and rotting, left in water for a while.

And the mane shifted too, from black hair into a full-flowing, dread-inducing, soul-sucking void, as bad as any Dementor's aura. The responding Patronus charms did not ward the fear like they would have if it was an ordinary Dementor.

Magic itself seemed to drain from the room. Spells dissolved in the air around him. Attempts at apparation failed. Someone cast the killing curse, and it connected with the void but didn't kill it. It had the same effect that it would have had on a Dementor: it made the thing more powerful.

"Magical Britain," said the skull of a decaying corpse in a voice that hurt their ears. "You stand accused of crimes against humanity. You are extremely guilty of cruel and unusual punishment, enacted against your own citizenry over the course of centuries. Your pleas are irrelevant, for I find you responsible." Wizards and witches were falling unconscious, seemingly unable to endure the aura. "The sentence is death by Dementor's kiss."

Rehabilitation Part 9.1: Learning from History

The day had finally come. His happiness advisor put up a successful standard Occlumency barrier a few minutes ago, after a month and a half of lessons.

He learned a number of interesting and private things about her during that time, both from Legilimising her and from her Astral Plane memories, but now it was her turn to learn something private about him.

He did not like that he was about to do this. Even if it's an innocent memory, he hated the whole idea of 'sharing his trauma'.

But his advisor's plan seemed to be working so far. He had learned a number of useful facts about behaviour and mental states. He had learned a number of useful patterns of social interaction and relationship.

For instance, he can now recognize and understand the purpose behind the mind's natural tendency to model other intelligent beings. Past-Luna called them 'inner versions/voices' of the ponies you know, and she proved time and time again that they primarily exist to aid ponies, especially young ponies, to avoid running afoul of dangerous authority figures. Prompt a potential response to the 'inner voice' and see how it reacts within the confines of your own mind – that is how ponies (and most definitely humans as well) instinctually manage to avoid or mitigate punishment from authority.

She said there were other purposes for 'inner-voices', but he found fear to be the most compelling reason.His own mind had done similar things with Mrs. Cole and his tormentors in childhood, and a few of his Hogwarts professors as well.

If not for his employer's many memories and examples, and if not for her careful qualifications, he would have never believed it. He would have discarded the whole "inner voices" argument as cliché tripe, as vapid nonsense.

She had sat him through memory after memory, many of which made him fall asleep. They could be so boring and predictable, so trite and meaningless, that he would feel like leaving. But then, halfway through, he would encounter information he could find no-where else, not even in Mr. Potter's collection of muggle science and psychology books. He often had to push through his boredom to reach the parts that his employer ensured him were good, and nine times out of ten it did prove to be worth the wait. Following her advice did work to his own advantage, even if it hadn't at first seemed like it would turn out that way.

And so, despite his discomfort, despite his desire to avoid showing her any significant memories, despite how he felt and thought that this would end badly, he would follow her advice on this as well. He would show her one of his past 'traumas', and if she was right about where this would lead, he would be one step closer to the Patronus afterwards.

He would obviously avoid anything Voldemort, but there was only one Voldemort memory related to the set he was going to show her, and it should be easy to avoid, having occurred months after everything else.

Part of his original plan would probably fail. Having the language barrier act as a distancing mechanism wouldn't work with the Gift of Comprehension in play. But that new information hadn't been enough to change his plan.

"Are you ready?" asked Luna.

He said nothing right away. Instead, he retrieved a memory from his blank shelf, willed the scroll to grow to a much larger size, and had it levitate in front of the two of them. "Are you familiar with wrestling?" he asked.

"I am not personally familiar with it, but I know what it is. Wrestling is the form of play that even the simplest of mammals will do while young. Especially carnivores who need hunting and pouncing practice."

"That will suffice," he nodded. "What I'm about to show you is… let's call it a modified form of wrestling. Humans expanded on the concept. We have basic wrestling, of course, but we also have boxing, where humans punch each other- that is, they strike each other with closed fists- actually, it would be easiest just to show you." He called forth a different memory, one of a muggle fistfight.

His employer seemed to understand, if her palpable distaste was anything to go by. "That is boxing?" she asked with a frown.

"No," he answered, "but boxing is the sport that formalizes this kind of fighting. Many different parts of the muggle world focus on different styles." He called forth images of British fencing, American 'wrestling', Wizard dueling, and Asian martial arts. "The rules might be different, but the premise is the same – prove your combat prowess is better than your opponent's."

"I see," said his employer after a brief pause of examination. "Does your trauma involve a formalized fight?" she asked in a skeptical voice. Rightfully skeptical, since most physical 'traumas' are beatings, not formal fights.

"Not quite," he replied. "What you would call the 'trauma' I suffered… well, let's just say formal fights are part of the wider circumstance. At one point in my life, I wanted to become the world's best fighting wizard. My magical abilities were more than strong enough, but not my muscles or reflexes, so I set out to master a muggle combat style used by all the best duelists." All but one of the images disappeared, leaving only the martial arts image behind. "The memories I intend to show you stem from that circumstance."

His employer nodded, then watched in complete silence as he showed his memory of being beaten down, spat upon, and insulted.

On her request, he showed the incidents that led up to that moment – his lashing out at another student after being humiliated, and the master's explanation on why and how he would learn to lose. She did not speak during those memories either.

She did not speak when she was shown other things – memories of what he went through in order to get accepted into the dojo, which involved demonstration of both physical and mental maturity (as well as a bit of compulsion magic to ensure he actually got accepted, though he didn't show her that part).

Reaching the level of 5th Dan, which he had been before entering the dojo, required more than just skill at the style. He had to demonstrate, at each promotion to the next level, that his personal philosophy, demeanour, and even language skills would bring honor to himself, his current and former masters, and the martial art itself.

When asked what that meant, he showed how he'd written an essay about his motivation for learning the art, then gave a speech with similar undertones during his application interview for the dojo in the memory. (Again, he did not show her the part where he used a compulsion charm on the master.)

Finally, he showed her the second-to-last meeting he had with the master of the dojo. (He did not show her his actual final meeting.) The master asked him if he understood why the beat-down had been necessary, and he honestly replied it was the most important lesson he had ever learned.

"Is that all your relevant memories about the affair?" she asked at last.

"All but one," he said honestly. "I don’t intend to show the last."

"Does it happen before, after, or sometime in the middle of what you've already shown me?"

"Well after."

"Did it involve the master or a student hurting you?"

"No," he said, ignoring his impulse to grin.

She nodded. "Then you may keep it to yourself if you wish. I believe I have seen enough."

"Enough to do what?" he asked, half expecting her to attempt a 'Night Court session' with him.

"Enough to craft a dream," she said. "I will show you… tomorrow is too soon. Give me three days. I will get back to you then. May I have a copy of what you've shown me so I do not have to reference them recursively?"

"Will such copies allow you to access my other memories?" Riddle asked immediately.

"No," said his advisor. "You have complete control over what the scrolls will and won't contain."

"Astral Plane," he said out loud, "do as she requested, but show me first."

Alicorns don't need to say that sort of thing out loud, but he wanted to make it clear to his advisor that, no matter how often she insisted that she didn't lie, he would verify dubious claims himself whenever he could.

As far as he could tell, the scrolls that had manifested before him could not access any memories aside from the ones he'd shown her. The interview with the dojo's master did not contain his compulsion charm, no matter how much he tinkered, trying to draw that brief part out.

"Here," he said, relinquishing the harmless memories.

She held them in her magic for a moment, and then they disappeared. "Thank you."

"They are in your Astral Plane now?"

She nodded.

"What will you do with them?"

"I will use them in the art of my true special talent," she said, then vanished with memory scroll in tow.

During the next three days, Riddle reflected. The 'payoff', whatever it might be, had yet to come. It was too early to form a conclusive opinion about her plan. But it was not too early to form a preliminary opinion.

The actual act of 'sharing' hadn't been nearly as bad as his mind had been dreading. When he looked for something to compare his own fear to, he realised his own fear was probably similar to the fear his students had felt when taking their Ministry-mandated Defense exam – the one that he'd utterly failed to prepare them for in any way, shape, or form, given that the trivia it tested was utterly useless to real self-defense.

He faced this different kind of fear like his students had, he overcame it, and… not much had happened since then. It was a strangely mundane result to overcoming such a significant emotion. Well, 'significant' is strong word for it. His nervousness was never very powerful in the first place, but it was the only fear he'd felt at all recently. The existential fear from the 'End of the World!' prophecy about Mr. Potter had abated years ago. In the absence of any truly important emotion, this fear felt significant even if it was minor.

His employer still hasn't shown him whatever she's using his memories to do, but he can tentatively say it was worth it.

Now that he has re-visited the memories, he better understands why the master forced that lesson upon him. Without that compulsion charm, his past self would have been rejected as a potential student – not for anything having to do with his skill, but for his ego and pride. He had used magic to compel the master to overlook it and accept him anyway.

Later, his temper had come as a surprise, maybe even a shock, to the master, who had been forced by magic to ignore the minor manifestations. But the charm only influences subtle things. It didn't and shouldn't have prevented the wise old man from seeing his temper for what it was. In retrospect, it's not surprising the old man got angry and ordered the students to do as they did.

The master's calm demeanor had actually fooled his past self. He can see it now when re-watching the memories. The master had been furious. And Riddle was now seeing the hypocrisy as well. Just who, exactly, couldn't control their anger in that situation? Then again, if the lesson was only about lost tempers and lashing out like an animal, his master did have more control in that respect.

It was almost fitting. In the end, he had learned well from his master's display. Riddle, like his master, had learned to hide his anger, to turn it from hot rage into cold, simmering fury. He tamed his impulses, tempered his desire to lash out immediately, just as his master did. A true, storybook ending, and he hadn't seen it before.

When he realized his mind was beginning to think like Dumbledore's, he switched focus.

The memory-viewing session also provided the minor benefit of learning that the pony Gift of Comprehension did NOT cause him to hear Mandarin as English; he heard it as Mandarin, despite being in pony form, probably because he could comprehend it easily enough without that crutch.

With all the benefit that's come from it so far, he might even be open to showing his employer more memories. If nothing else, it would prove to himself that he really has overcome his nervousness.

He decided it will depend on what she has in store for him.

He looked at the portrait-framed memory that was floating within his own Astral Plane. "Is that your memory, or mine?"

Within the portrait frame was clearly the image of his martial arts master, but if it was that copy of memory that he'd given her, it should have still been a scroll.

"This is what I have been working on," she said. "I have used my special talent over dreams to create a fantasy. This, I think, would have been best for you, if it happened. This is how it should have gone."

"You removed the beating?" he asked in a flat and unimpressed voice.

"Stop making assumptions," she said, "and watch."

He rolled his eyes as the memory began. Somehow, his advisor had managed to keep it in the original language, despite not speaking it herself.

"Do you know why you are here, David?" said the memory of his master in Mandarin. Present-Riddle watched with a bit of disinterest. Nothing was different so far, except the fact that this conversation was being had in private, not in front of the other students.

"I know, master," said his past self, who had been disguised as David Monroe at the time. "I am being expelled."

"You are not," said the master.

"I am not?" he replied in surprise.

"No. That is not the reason you are here. You are here, in this dojo, to learn from me. And so you will."

Present-Riddle's attention drifted a bit as the memory played out without change, as the master correctly described the problem of his temper. He was beginning to wonder if anything had changed at all, until…

"If you were in my place," said the master, though he had not actually said that, "what would you do to a student such as yourself?"

"I would expel him," past-'David' said without hesitation. Riddle almost chuckled out loud. He would have answered the question that way, then and now.

"That is not what I am asking," said his master. "How would you teach a young man to control his temper and pride? How would you punish him for losing it? Or would you even punish him at all?"

"Are you asking me to devise my own punishment?" asked past-'David' insightfully.

It was at this point that Riddle grew a bit more absorbed in the 'memory'. He had expected to be annoyed by obvious errors, inconsistencies in the master's or his own speech patterns, but his suspension of disbelief was being satisfied by how 'in-character' his master and himself were being. His master was a rigid disciplinarian when necessary, but could also be a thoughtful philosopher and teacher. And he could win almost any fight in his own martial art, of course. That is what it means to be 9th Dan.

It also helped that the language was Mandarin, though he didn't know how that was possible, since Luna shouldn't be able to speak it.

"I am not asking you to devise your own punishment," replied his master in the false memory, "but why don't you do so. I'm curious what you think is appropriate, other than expulsion."

"I want to say that the shame and humiliation I have gone through for lashing out are enough…" past-'David' said. "Even that much has taught me not to do it again."

"Perhaps that is enough to prevent you from lashing out again in my dojo," the master nodded. "But it would not help your temper outside these walls."

"Maybe physical discipline?" past-'David' suggested after a pause. "No food for three days? Or laps around the compound?"

"You truly think that would work to fix your temper?" asked his master. "Would starvation or running laps prevent you from exploding in anger a year from now?"

"…No," past-'David' agreed. "It would not."

The master nodded. "You are a smart man, David. That is why I have not expelled you. When you came here, you said you wish to become the strongest version of yourself that you can be, physically and spiritually. That is why you want to learn from me. You said those words with honesty and conviction, and it is due to those words that I accepted you as a student. Now, we shall put your conviction to the test."

Riddle felt the nervousness of past-Riddle, which Luna somehow included into the memory. In the Astral Plane, you can experience what your past-self felt if you want. You can do the same with the memories of others, if they will it. And apparently, Luna could instill feelings even into false memories.

"You will teach me to control my temper?" asked 'David'.

"That is up to you," said the master. "I wish to teach you to control your temper. But I will not force you. I will offer you the opportunity to learn. I will describe the lesson I have imagined for you. If you do not like it, you may reject it, and I will not expel you. Your punishment will be laps around the compound, as you suggested, and that will be the end of it unless it happens again."

"Why give me the choice?"

"I want to see if you meant what you said. I want to personally see the strength of your conviction. Do you truly wish to be as strong as you can be? Your choice, and if you accept it, how you react to the lesson, will show me the answer to this question, and I wish to see that answer with my own eyes. I wish to see if you are truly willing to do all that it takes to reach your goal."

The false version of his past-self felt apprehension, but also respect and… appreciation? Inspiration? Admiration? Something like that. It was the same feeling he'd had when he first met the master. It was the same feeling he'd had when he first met Dumbledore. It was the feeling that slowly diminished over time as he learned more about them, as he interacted more with them, then disappeared entirely when they…

"What is the lesson you have imagined?" asked his past self.

The master went on to describe, in abstract, what he had simply ordered to happen in the real version of events.

"That is what I think will teach you to control your temper, even in the face of great humiliation and failure, which seem to be your weak points. As I said, I will not force you. I have not told the other students of this plan. If you say yes, only then shall I tell them. For your sake, once we start, we shall not stop, no matter how much you beg. I will only bring it to an end when I think the lesson has truly sunk in. I will try not to let it last a moment longer than it needs to, but I shall also not stop it before you have learned the lesson. Do not forget that rejecting the lesson is also an option. Now, do you truly wish to grow strong?"

He blinked when the memory paused. He turned to Luna in some annoyance. He'd been watching that.

"Do you think," said Luna, meeting his gaze, "that if he had presented you with the choice, as I had him do, rather than simply forcing the lesson upon you, that the you of that time would have accepted it of your own volition?"

Riddle blinked again, considering her question. "…Yes, I think I would have. My past self knew he was right about my temper. If he gave me an option of punishment, using that argument… I can see myself choosing the harshest one."

Luna smiled, and the memory continued.

"Yes," said the voice of past-'David'. It trembled slightly, but it did not lack for conviction. "I wish to become stronger."

"Know that you will not feel that way as you are becoming stronger," warned the master. "Do you also wish for me to do what I must as I teach you this strength?"

"Yes," said past-'David'. "Please do what you must, master. I will endure it."

The insults and feelings of phlegm and fists were as difficult to tolerate as always, even in memory, for the Astral Plane conveyed them as if he was currently experiencing them, and Luna had not held back in any way. Since it was technically her memory, he could not choose to shut off the feelings like he could when it was his own.

But he had learned his lesson. He faced the memory of insults and pain head-on. He endured his loss, partially thanks to his knowledge of what had happened to the 'winners' in the end.

"Stop," ordered his master, as he had actually done in the past.

Then, rather than dismiss all the students for the day, including 'David', there came another modification to the memory.

"Stand," ordered the master.

'David' stood.

"Stand back," he ordered.

'David' stood back.

"Look upon him, students," said the master. "What you are seeing is a man of conviction. I gave him the option to reject this lesson. He did not. I gave him the option to run laps. He chose this instead. He said that he wished to become stronger, and this day he has proven his resolve. Today, he has redeemed his shameful actions, and in doing so, he has brought true honor to this dojo. I was hesitant to accept you when you came here, David. But I can now say with pride and confidence that you are one of the most worthy students I have ever taught. Your skill in the art is only 5th dan, but your philosophy is higher. When you have grown in skill, I will not hesitate to promote you, so long as you maintain the honor you have demonstrated this day."

Then, in defiance of convention, tradition, and custom, the master bowed to the student. If Luna had done all this without seeing Mr. Silver's experience of his first Friday in Defense Class, then it was interesting that she had managed to think of something so similar.

The other students, in seeing that the master had bowed, also bowed to David. Some even apologized, especially the ones who had only given him physical punishment instead of insults, saying they only did it because they had been ordered.

The master then called a few students, the ones who had clearly enjoyed his torment, and said for them to meet with him in private about the dishonor they have revealed, which produced a sense of satisfaction in both the watching Riddle of today and the watching 'David' of the past.

Then the memory paused. Or ended, Riddle supposed.

"Your master was a good man," said Luna.

He turned to face her, frowning slightly.

"He was," Luna said. "He regretted the lesson he forced upon you. That is why, in the end, he asked you if you understood why it was necessary. If he did not regret doing it, at least in part, he would not have asked you that question. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is what he wishes he could have done for you. He wishes he could have known you well enough to realize you could have chosen this for yourself. He wishes his anger had not clouded his vision from seeing this possibility. He wishes he had not gone to the extremes that resulted in your resentment."

"Yes," Riddle agreed, thinking to himself that the man probably wouldn't have been murdered if he'd done Luna's iteration of events. "He probably would have wished all that."

The inside joke failed to produce the usual amusement within him. Instead, he only felt hollow and empty. Well, more than usual. And he was also feeling… negative. Not cynical, but self-critical, in a very familiar way.

The false memory flattened into a two-dimensional portrait frame, then shrunk to a quarter the size of a piece of parchment, then floated to his memory storage. Rather than disappear into an empty space, it was placed on top of the shelf, looking like a picture that ordinary people put in regularly-seen places for sentimental reasons.

"I cannot do this for every trauma of yours," said Luna. "Or even most. I suspect that none, or almost none of the other authority figures in your life have been good at heart, like he was. And it's ordinarily not wise to get lost in the fantasies of what could have been. But it's also important to dream, and I thought that if you cannot dream for yourself, then I could do it for you."

Riddle said nothing. His attention was on that negative feeling, which neither lessened nor worsened at her words. What did affect the feeling was remembering privately, not on a visible scroll, an image of an old man with his tongue ripped out, watching his students being tormented into insanity. That image had always been a source of satisfaction and triumph. Now it was evoking something else entirely.

He'd felt it many times while gazing at the stars and thinking about the first time he died. He was, without a doubt, feeling regret at his past mistakes. It was strange, since he had never suspected it was a mistake before now.

He had simply been enacting Rule Twelve by murdering the master, and he was implementing the most important lesson he'd ever learned in the process. What could be wiser than that? Should he have done nothing at all? Would that have left him with no regret?

No. His mind certainly didn't like that as an option. Like Luna, his mind had an automatic evaluation metric. Not to do with honesty, but with rationality. If an idea was not sensible, his mind would instantly reject it. If an idea was somewhat sensible, his mind would still reject it, but his mind would also 'feel' as if he was on the right track, or thinking about the right things. Once he thought of an idea good enough to implement, his mind would accept it, all stress leaving at the moment of eureka.

He had many, many thoughts about what he should have done to prevent his first death, at many steps along the way, and not all of them were good. 'Don't heed prophecy', 'Learn how to control wild magic better', and 'Don't be confident in your rituals' were all bad. When presenting them to his mind, his mind had clearly been saying "No". It took a long time, with nothing better to do, to even recognize that his mind was telling him "No", and it took almost as long to deliberately interpret the "No" as "Keep thinking".

After he finally did reject those ideas, he regained the ability to keep thinking about problem. The better ideas of 'Don't be clever with prophecy', 'Throw away wand and become animagus to survive out-of-control magic', and Mr. Potter's later suggestion of 'test your horcrux system before you need it' had each been given a very firm and instantaneous "YES!" by his mind.

At the moment, his mind was clearly rejecting his final visit to the dojo. The feeling of 'that had been a mistake' was clearly present, and he knew it would be with him for a while longer.

The standard remedy of imagining smarter alternatives wasn't exactly instantaneous. As he had once remarked about Luna's honesty sense, his 'gut feeling' was an evaluation metric, not a search function. It judged an existing idea, it didn't pluck them out of thin air. In order to find the idea in the first place, he needed imagination, creativity, cleverness, and conscious thought.

It had taken months of star-gazing, not mere minutes, to see the smarter alternatives to many of his past mistakes. He wondered how long this one would take.

"Same time next week?" asked Luna, reminding him that she was still there.

"Very well."

Future memory sessions did not go like the dojo. They were more along the lines of what he'd been expecting.

He would show her a past 'trauma' and she would clinically analyze it like she did with the petitioners, offering him a perspective he had never considered, but still sounding completely accurate.

He mostly showed her memories of Mrs. Cole and the orphans who bullied him. (The orphans he later tortured and killed after he graduated Hogwarts.)

She pointed out how being around a constant liar, manipulator, and authoritarian like Mrs. Cole had naturally produced the behaviour within himself. She pointed out how suffering at the hands of the petty and vengeful bullies produced his own pettiness.

He couldn't deny that he was those things now, but he could point out that he wasn't authoritarian or nasty as a child.

Luna said that he had learned to be the passively aggressive victim when others were in control of his life, but their negative behaviours finally manifested in himself once he was the powerful one.

(She didn't even know how true that statement was. She still didn't know about Voldemort.)

According to her, he had quite naturally absorbed and reproduced the behaviour modeled for him as a child, just as all her petitioners had done. And since much of his peers' behaviours had been negative, it's no surprise that he is so negative today. Furthermore, since his primary influence until age eleven was a heartless banshee behind closed doors, one who always pretended to be nice and perfect for outsiders (outsiders like Dumbledore), it’s no surprise that he concluded all displays of positive emotion are lies.

His environment was evil growing up, so 'evil' is what he ended up believing about the rest of the world on a base, instinctual level. He saw that nobody else truly cared about him, so it made empirical and internal sense that (1) he should not care for others, and (2) nobody actually cared. If they did, his experiences would have been different.

Her insights, as usual, sounded accurate, and she gave him the courtesy of not delivering them in a critical or condescending tone. He disliked where the analysis went after that, but he found that he couldn't logically refute it.

Not all displays of positive emotion are false, she went on to say. Not all kind smiles are lies. He now has access to the Changeling sense. He can feel the truth of it, can he not?

For ponies, he can indeed.

She reassured him that if he uses it in the human world, when he gets back, he will feel genuine love and happiness and caring in others. Not as much as he feels in modern Equestria, perhaps. But his instinctual belief about human nature, she reassured him, was fundamentally flawed. It was based on his own negative and narrow experiences. That is how all false beliefs develop.

His experience, he said, is that his beliefs have not been false.

They are not completely false, she conceded. His cynicism is sometimes justified. Humans and ponies are sometimes heartless. They are sometimes empty. They are sometimes evil. It might even be the case that they are usually evil, especially to strangers. But they are also sometimes not.

In order to cast the Patronus charm, she said, he shall have to come to terms with that. And in fact, anyone he's ever seen who can cast the Patronus are people who have cared. Not just as pretense and public politeness. They are the counter-evidence to his worldview. If he wishes to cast it himself, he must manifest that counter-evidence in his own body and soul. Thus, he will have to change his worldview.

In short, cynicism is the enemy of happiness, and he shall have to drop it.

He was beginning to understand the magnitude of the task he'd undertaken. No, casting the Patronus Charm would not be easy. He was beginning to truly understand Mr. Potter's prediction of 50 years.

"So what should I do fix it?" he asked when her speech seemed to be over.

"Ah," his employer raised a hoof. "You are making the same mistake you witnessed in my petitioners. Can you see it?"

"…No," he said with a frown.

"You are skipping past the emotional pain of understanding your past trauma by jumping straight into action. Remember how often my petitioners said things like, 'Okay, but what do I do now?'? And remember how I would always point out what their minds were doing? Skipping ahead, past the pain? Your mind is doing the same."

"Interesting," he said. "I don't think it's quite accurate to say my mind is trying to avoid 'emotional pain'… still, you might be close to the truth. It's certainly trying to avoid annoyance. It's strange how you can say to yourself that you will not imitate a mistake that you have witnessed so many others making, and yet you do it anyway."

"It's not your fault," Luna said gently. "It merely indicates how deep the instinct of avoidance runs."

"Indeed," said Riddle. "I can see how those who attempted to 'understand their past traumas' did not live long enough to pass their genes to the next generation. If anything, the evolutionary impulse would be to avoid anything of the sort. It always seems to entail criticism of abusive authority figures who would do anything, even killing or ousting children from the tribe, to hold on to power."

"That is my own suspicion as well," Luna nodded. "Now that I know about evolution, at any rate. I didn't back then."

"So…" he said slowly. "Rather than ask what I should do… I should ask…"

"You should ask how you feel about my words," said Luna. "Consult your true emotions. You will only come to terms with them by paying close attention for many long hours. It will take time for your mind to finally relax into peace. When you are at peace with the truth, that is when you will be ready for the next step. It is much easier said than done, but it is the only way."

"There is no way to speed up the process?"

"There is, but you won't like it."

"What is it?"

"Develop true and close friendships."

He gave a vocal huff of dismissal. The long way it is, then.

Rehabilitation Part 9.2: Drastic Measures

As his advisor had guessed, 'coming to peace' with his background in light of all the new information she'd given him was much easier said than done. And he had no idea how to go about it. Whenever he thought about her comments on his past, his worldview, his martial arts master, his memories, etc., his mind would go in many different directions, but none of them felt particularly peaceful.

His thoughts were certainly critical of his past tormentors in new and interesting ways.

But were they peaceful?

No.

After making no progress at all, at least according to Luna, she recommended that he focus on other things – his passions, his work – and think about his emotions in real time as he encountered stimuli in the real world. He should try to connect his current actions with habits learned from years past.

Is he imitating Mrs. Cole, or his bullies? Is he imitating someone positive, like Slughorn or Dumbledore? Is he imitating anyone at all, or is his behaviour somehow original? But no matter what, even if he can't see where it's coming from, he should always ask if it's truly how he wants to act.

So that's what he did. Keeping as much of a third eye on himself as he consciously could, he threw himself into the other long-term project he intended to complete in Equestria.

Passion or fear. Which produces the fastest and most widespread results? He's already collected data on fear with the Death Eaters, so he only needs to test passion at the moment, and he had a good way to do that.

Celestia's solution to the 'Earth pony colts want to blast each other with spells' problem wasn't as bad as he'd been expecting.

On his recommendation (conveyed to Celestia through Luna), dueling dojos across Equestria were each provided a supply of Unicorn Helmets by the crown, to be kept and used within the dojo itself. Each Duel Master was instructed to accept any non-unicorn who applied. They were also instructed to treat those disciples no differently than unicorns. Since it was Celestia – the highest-ranking Duel Master in Equestria – who personally gave these instructions, there was little pushback.

On Riddle's direct recommendation, these dojo were encouraged to compete against each other in a different way from before. In addition to promoting and sponsoring individuals to meet and duel in tournaments, each dojo could form one team of twenty. These teams, like sports teams, would meet and compete, much like the reserves they witnessed on the repeater screens, representing both their home town and their dojo.

Riddle implemented a mandatory race ratio of 50% Earth ponies, 25% Unicorns, 15% Pegasi/Thestrals, and 10% Changelings, with 10% wiggle room on the composition. That came close to reflecting the current population across Equestria. If any individual area lacked for pegasi or Changelings (or somehow one of the other races), that's what the 10% wiggle-room was for.

The wiggle-room was NOT to be used to max out on unicorns, he had Celestia warn the masters. At this stage, that species limitation existed mainly to prevent full-unicorn teams from dominating the scene. At the end of the day, even with Unicorn Helmets, the other species were only half as magically strong as unicorns when it came to spellcasting, and he didn't want to snuff out any pegasi or earth pony passions by allowing that unfair reality to impact the sport. Not yet, anyway.

On Discord's request, this new expansion on the Equestrian sport of dueling was always hosted with Circus as the battlefield. His request was granted on the condition that Discord produce the many, many portkeys himself. He also had to swear there would be nothing chaotic about the portkeys or his intentions in general. With what had looked like a pained expression, and after saying, "The things I do for love," he had sworn that his only intention was to introduce more chaos and attention to his baby battlefield, and that he would do nothing chaotic with the portkeys, nor would he try to violate that promise with clever wording or tricks.

This meant he actually had to learn how to make them, he couldn't just snap them into existence, otherwise they would be chaotic. He even went so far as to manifest a horn for himself and study a few library books on unicorn magic. To reduce the workload on himself, he made one large portkey per 'dueling' team. The recursive portkeys took each whole team, along with their coach, to and from their home dojos and Circus.

The first season of competition was a jumbled mess, but it allowed them all, Celestia, Riddle, and Discord, to adjust the dojos and the rules and the battlefield accordingly.

The dojos were given better instructions by Celestia. Think of it like a military game, not a series of self-contained duels. It is not a tournament of consecutive fights, it is a mock war. And since they cannot practice at home, allow non-unicorns to come to the dojo and practice at any time under competent supervision. This required an increase of staff, which Celestia paid for out of pocket, like the helmets themselves.

The race ratio was lightened by Riddle. Now the only restriction was a maximum of 25% unicorns per team. There had been many complaints that the quotas for pegasi and Changelings were hard to fill. He also allowed there to be more than one team per dojo.

And finally, Circus steadily changed over time. Discord must have somehow shown it pictures, or demonstrated different environments with a snap of his fingers, for it was beginning to branch out from the biomes of forests and plains to more exotic environs like deserts, tundras, and even ghost towns.

Celestia's doubts about the 'goodness' of Circus were put to rest when, on the three occasions where ponies seemed like they were about to be seriously hurt by the environment – overheating in the desert, freezing/drowning after falling into a frozen lake, and accidentally falling off a cliff – Circus immediately modified the environments by replacing the hot desert with a snowfield, substituting the cold lake with a sauna, and putting a large trampoline at the bottom of the cliff. (When all the trampoline did was throw the non-air-cushion-capable earth pony colt back up into the air again, a large cloud took its place. The cloud-walking enchantment had been integrated into the Unicorn helmets, so the Earth pony did land safely, not phase through.)

Unlike Hogwarts, Circus was not shy about changing in front of witnesses, though from what Riddle could tell, Circus preferred to stick to a theme if it could, reverting the changes as soon as ponies were out of danger.

The sport of dueling in general had, unsurprisingly, exploded in popularity across Equestria. The number of unicorn duelists alone had tripled in the past year. It wasn't long before other, non-pony species began asking if unicorn helmets would work for them too. That included Griffons, Minotaur, Diamond Dogs, and even a certain Dragon…

"Pleaaase, Twilight?"

"I'm sorry, Spike, but the answer is still 'no'."

"I promise I'll be careful! I'll follow all the rules! Pinkie promise!" He even went through the motions and the motto.

"Spike, dragons aren't even allowed to duel yet. Celestia hasn't made her decision. We don't even know if a helmet will work for you, let alone if it'll be safe."

"I don't mind if I'm the guinea pig," said Spike. "I help you with experiments all the time, right?"

"Spike!" Twilight firmly rebuked. "That is extremely dangerous! You could get hurt."

"I'm not afraid," said Spike, puffing out his chest. "I'm brave! I can handle it."

"It's not a matter of being brave, Spike. It's too risky."

Tears began to well in her little brother's eyes. "But I want to cast magic! I really, really want to!"

"You already can do magic. You can send letters!"

"That's not real magic! I don't want to be a magic mailbox all my life! I want to cast real spells!"

"I'm sorry, Spike, but you're a dragon. We can't always get what we want."

"Then I wish I wasn't a dragon!" Spike shouted.

"Spike!" Twilight gasped.

"I wish I was a unicorn like you!"

"Spike, don't say that!"

"I wish I was something that could do magic!" he continued, undaunted. Then he broke down on the floor. "I just want to be like you."

Snap.

"Wish granted," said a voice.

"Discord!" Twilight said, jumping back at the Draconequus's sudden appearance in her library.

"Twilight!" he repeated, jumping back at her sudden jumping.

"Huh?" said the voice of Spike.

Then Twilight understood what might have just happened. She shoved Discord out of the way and saw- that Spike didn't look any different from before. He wasn't the unicorn she'd been expecting. He wasn't a draconequus either. He was still the same purple dragon.

"What did you do to him, Discord?!" Twilight demanded.

"Hey, hey, hey, what's with the hostility?" asked Discord. "I just put one of your suggestions to use and granted the wish of your dearest dragon. I just hit two pegasi with one lightning strike."

"What. Did. You. DO?!"

"Made him more like me, of course. Now he can do magic, just like he wished for!"

"You-" Twilight said, her brain hiccupping as she understood his words. "You- you- change him back! This instant!"

"Can't," Discord sing-sang. "No take-backsies, remember?"

She didn't respond to this in words. She lowered her horn, aiming it directly at him. She then began charging it with Harmony magic, which she had researched until the point of being able to cast it herself, without help. She hadn't researched further since it didn't seem to be an avenue to get Silver back, or go to where he went, but it would be more than enough for the depowered Draconequus.

"Hey now, don't look at me like that," said Discord, though he didn't sound nervous. "I did you a favor." His body snaked through the air until he was next to Spike, and he placed a paw on his little shoulder. "This has been really bumming him out, you know. Remember how he asked for that magic set for Hearth's Warming? Think about it, Miss Magic. Why do you think he wanted to become a magician, even though he couldn't use magic? His favorite pony in the whole world is trying to become Mistress of Magic, and he can't even cast one lousy spell. He's being used like a slave to do minutes, sometimes hours of manual labor that she could do in seconds with a glow of her horn. And she didn't even care. Do you know how that was making him feel? Like poop. That's how it was making him feel."

Twilight blinked a few times. She… hadn't thought of that. "Spike?" she asked, looking at where he was getting his sniffling under control. "Is that… is that really how you felt?"

He didn't speak, just sniffled some more and nodded.

She rushed forward and hugged him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Spike. I didn't know. I thought… I thought you liked helping."

"I do like helping," said Spike, hugging her back. "But I want to really help. You know?"

"And now you can," said Discord, ruining their moment. "You still can't cast a lousy spell, but who needs those? You can do something way better. Just blow some of that magic fire on your paw, picture what you want, give a snap, and poof! Out comes the chaos. Why don't you give it a try?"

"But I don't know what I want," said Spike.

"I know what I want," said Twilight. "I want him out of here."

Spike didn't hesitate. He blew his green fire onto his fire-immune paw and snapped his claws.

The door to the library opened, and a cane appeared around Discord's neck, whose eyes grew comically wide.

"Thank you!" Spike shouted as Discord was dragged across the room.

"You're welcooooome," Discord shouted in reply.

Then the door slammed shut, and Twilight and Spike went back to having their moment.

About one month after his happiness advisement began in full and had some of his own past examined by Princess Luna, it was still the case that every 'happy' thought he tried to use as fuel for a Patronus would produce a 'wrong' feeling, with some thoughts being more severely 'wrong' than others.

His happiness at Blueblood's downfall was very wrong. The happiness he'd first felt when Mr. Potter had destroyed that Dementor was mildly wrong. The happiness he felt when drinking a glass of water, after deliberately dehydrating himself before that point, was simply wrong. He was getting to the point where he could predict the severity and type of the 'wrong' feeling even before he raised his wand and completed the motions and words of the spell.

When he had described the problem to his advisor, she said the 'wrong' feeling might prove useful. She suggested he quantify the process, categorize the thoughts he's tried thus far into 'wrongness' severities, then attempt to recreate the situations that produced the least 'wrong' feelings. He'd already been doing that, somewhat, but her words encouraged him to explicitly write it down with quill and parchment.

Soon after categorization, he'd realized that Mr. Potter was involved in all of the least wrong memories. With him gone, the next memories on the list were his recent 'therapy' sessions.

He'd already presented to Luna all of his own 'trauma' that he was willing to present, had already seen them laid bare in her critical examination. Those sessions had been helpful, but not conclusive. They certainly were not enough to fuel a Patronus, even if they were some of the more promising thoughts he'd tried.

Once he'd exhausted all memories he was willing to share from his past, there had been nothing left to try but Luna's Night Court memories, which she allowed him to browse on his own time.

On his request, she collected a copy of every Night Court session that she could remember. She turned them into a large stack of paintings in her Astral Plane, then gave them to him for personal viewing. She had warned him that not all of the sessions were as productive as the ones she'd shown him thus far; maybe one in four, at best, reached that level. She had been carefully curating her selection of memories earlier so that he would never see a complete dud, but now she was giving him free reign, as he had requested.

His own 'usefulness' estimate was closer to one in eight, or maybe one in ten of the memories. But somehow, he found himself willing to sit through hours of useless dribble just for those few moments of key insight. He spent some time early on devoted to research and development, but he made up that time and then some in the course of watching the boring ones at faster speeds, which had been the point of the R&D. He only slowed the memories down to real time during the better moments.

Now, three months later, he had exhausted most of his advisor's memories as well, and he didn't feel like finishing the rest. It was four months after his happiness advisement began in full, and he still could not produce even a flicker of Patronus light. There were no strategies left to try, no more obvious next steps. He felt more capable of achieving happiness than ever, but it was still out of his grasp.

He was still missing something. Hopefully he was not missing the 'world view adjustment' described by his advisor. Hopefully it was simply the case that he was missing the happy thought which would let him cast the spell.

Tomorrow would be Summer Sun, meaning that tonight would be his employer's birthday. Last year he had asked what she wanted for her birthday out of courtesy, and she had replied that he shouldn't force himself to give her something if his heart isn't in it, and she could tell when his heart isn't in it, so he ended up getting her nothing tangible. The only thing she required of him on her birthday was his company, and the only thing she wanted from him, some birthday in the future, was to see his genuine smile.

So even though it's her birthday, she might be fine with a brainstorming session for happy thought ideas…

"I don't think so," Luna said once she understood what he was asking. "My fool, I believe your entire perspective on happiness is mistaken. For one, you cannot force these things, and for two… the key component you are missing is not a happy memory. The thing you are missing is true friendship and kindness."

Years ago he would have laughed. Now he just sighed. "Meaning?"

"You are missing love. Not romantic love," she said immediately after to avoid that mess of a topic. "You are far too smart to confuse lust with love, like so many ponies do. Others might be able to fuel a Patronus that way, even if it shatters later in their heartbreak… then again, it likely wouldn't work if it was shallow. But romance will not be your route to happiness either way, I don't think."

"I am thankful for that small mercy," her fool said in a frustrated tone. "You are certain that platonic love is what I am missing?"

"Yes," she answered without hesitation. "You are missing that unmistakable feeling when somepony else cares for you, causing you to care for them in return."

"And you are certain that I am capable of feeling that emotion myself?" he asked.

"No," she answered sadly. "But I have taught you every abstract lesson about relationships that I know. Now you must apply the lessons to real life. You should be able to recognize and avoid patterns of abuse and negativity. Now it is time to create bonds and positivity. Mingle with the reserves you have so excellently trained. Open your mind to the Changelings and see if any would like to talk. Open your Changeling senses in general."

"We aren't having that argument again," her fool said, flatly and predictably.

"Correct. We aren't. It is now an ultimatum. In my capacity as your advisor on Patronus happiness, I am giving you this decree. If you wish to see progress beyond this point, you must open your senses."

"And if I don't?"

"If you do not, it may take centuries for you to find happiness, if you find it at all."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because I can cast the spell and you cannot," she said. Then, deciding to use a trope he once told her about, "In this, I am your mysterious old wizard. It is my area of expertise. I do not have to explain myself. The lesson will speak for itself once it is about a month in motion."

"I don't think I could last a month," her fool said honestly.

"Perhaps not," Luna agreed. "I never said you could not take breaks. But you will need at least an hour of empathy-sensing each day, preferably when surrounded by ponies who care for you."

"That sounds insufferable."

"I know," she said - in the sense that she knew his perspective, not that she agreed with it. "But you must do it even though you don't like it. It will be difficult, draining, and frustrating, but it is the necessary leg work you must suffer in order to grow, like the exercises you give to your soldiers for them to grow. They must train their muscles and reflexes and minds and magic in order to become effective fighters, and many of them hate it in the moment, especially the physical conditioning. But they always appreciate it afterwards, don't they? So much so that they maintain the good habits of exercise and teamwork that they learned from you, even when you are not there to enforce it later. If your soldiers can put up with your daily training for months on end, then you can put up with this for at least a month."

She could see on her fool's face that he didn't like the plan in the slightest. "Fine," he said. "One hour a day."

"And not sporadically," she said. "Like Discord's parole with Fluttershy, it must be one full, uninterrupted hour, and you must be in the presence of at least one happy pony from whom, if you were a Changeling, you would be able to feed."

"You are suggesting I spend a full empathic hour with you each day?"

"No, I am suggesting you find your own creative way to meet the assignment. It's as simple, and as difficult, as going out and talking with ponies. Keen Eye, Thorax, your soldiers, and yes, myself, are the most obvious ideas. Can you think of any others?"

"…Perhaps Twilight Sparkle," he said after twenty full seconds. "But then again, perhaps not."

Luna nodded. "It is telling that your excellent mind can only produce one alternative, which you yourself don’t even deem good."

"Telling how?" he asked in a voice that indicated he might or might not have taken offense.

"It tells just how difficult the problem is for you. It goes to show how few friends you have. In fairness, that is not a bad thing in theory. In this age, it is far better for to have a single true friend than to have a thousand acquaintances. But you must nurture that friendship. You must make time for your friends. You must connect with them. That is your true assignment. It may be me or somepony else, so long as the feelings are there."

"The feelings aren't there."

"So long as the feelings are there on their end," she amended. "It will take time, but with your empathy sense active, it should eventually arise on yours as well."

Her fool sighed. "You it is, then. You said an hour a day, yes? Should I begin now?"

She blinked. "Why not the others?"

"You are the least annoying," he replied. "And you have insights the others do not. And I'm here for my job anyway. You're both the most convenient and, frankly, the best of the available options."

"Pragmatic," she said. "Not that I disapprove. It probably is for the best to start this way before attempting to branch out. Are you ready to feel my care, or do you need a minute?"

"I am," he said. "So long as your own interests are platonic," he added. "And remain platonic."

"Oh, they are, and they will," she said.

"She says while naked on the bed," he murmured.

She giggled at his human sensibilities. Indeed, she was not wearing her regalia at the moment, and she was currently reclined on her side, her bed beneath her with an open and long forgotten book on the mattress. But that did not have the same implications between ponies as it did between humans.

"I say while fully furred on my resting cushion," she corrected him. "Would you rather we leave and wander the castle during your lesson? Maybe go to the bathing room?" Because if he can joke about it, so can she.

"No," he said firmly.

She nodded. "Tonight, we shall have your lesson in the privacy of my room. You can branch out once you have grasped the basics."

After that lesson, he was utterly exhausted, and not in a particularly good mood, so he went to do something relaxing. He had saved a few of his employer's memories for just such an occasion, since they were often so relaxing that they put him to sleep.

Unfortunately, it was not a relaxing memory. It was actually interesting. And highly relevant to his current problem.

One part in particular stood out.

"In preparation for this session," Luna said at one point well into the Night Court session, "I asked all my friends: Have you ever seen a really bad pony turn good?"

This session was with a young mare who had a banshee of a mother – constant and extreme verbal tirades, insults, profanity, vulgarity, along with physical abuse, which an onlooker would never suspect from the outside, since the family looked picture perfect. That part wasn't unusual by this point, or to Riddle's worldview in general. Other petitioners have had similar experiences, and they would always be hopeful that their tormentor could improve / be fixed / change with time. Luna would always, every time, try to disabuse them of that fantasy, and this session was no different.

"You know what they all said?" past Luna had continued. "They all said the same answer."

The petitioner, in an extremely hesitant voice, gave the obvious response, and Luna nodded.

"The tipping point is restitution," she had said. "Can you ever make up for what you did? When the tipping point is passed, when restitution becomes functionally impossible, bad ponies can no longer become good. And not just from the victim's perspective. I think, if they ever genuinely felt the horror they've done, realizing they can never make up for it, they'd throw themselves into a cockatrice."

In other words, commit suicide.

He had never been even the slightest bit worried about doing such a thing, and he still wasn't, but if that was really true, if casting the Patronus charm really required him to go from being a 'bad' person to a 'good' person as his advisor conceives of it…

Well, it was a catch-22. He would prefer to be on the other side of the mirror first, where his many Horcruxes would prevent any suicide attempts from succeeding. On this side he could, theoretically, destroy his only two existing ones with Fiendfyre, unless he obliviated himself of either the Wand or the Cloak's location, which (a) he was unwilling to do and (b) would just get him horcrux-trapped again. If he was on the other side, suicide wouldn't be possible. But in order to get to the other side, he would need to cast the Patronus charm, the learning process of which might or might not make him feel like he should kill himself.

That was when he began considering what he had written off earlier. He began considering, not Obliviating all his past memories like Mr. Potter suggested, but locking away his Voldemort memories in particular. He would allow himself to remember the general facts, of course, just not the specifics.

He would remember that he was Voldemort, but he would not remember much of what Voldemort had done. He would remember how to make his Great Creation, and that he made 12 of them on the other side – water, air, fire, earth, and void, as well as the initial, stupid seven. He would remember some of the military tactics Voldemort had used. He would remember Voldemort things that did not seem to involve 'moral horror'. He would remember everything from Equestria, and all his conversations with Mr. Potter. In short, if it was something he hesitated to tell Luna, he wouldn't remember it.

The plan as he imagined it was to lock away all other Voldemort-related memories. Just as a precaution. He would unlock them as soon as the risk of suicide had been eliminated.

He still hadn't decided to actually do it by the time he came across another worrisome moment in the very same Night Court session that introduced the problem.

It was only a small part, but past-Luna said that the emotional empathy part of the brain is like the language centre, though she hadn't used those precise words. If you reach age eight or nine without hearing language or learning to speak it yourself, you never really learn language afterwards. (This he already knew thanks to Mr. Potter's collection of books.) Your brain misses that window.

Similarly, past-Luna said, if you reach age eight or nine without learning emotional empathy, you miss that window. You never really learn it. You can only ever mimic goodness, not truly feel it.

Current-Luna has said, many times, that emotional connection is necessary for happiness. He can now see why she's so focused on his Changeling sense, which might or might not be a magical bypass to his missing the learning window in his own development, which he might or might not have actually missed in the orphanage.

At that point he left the Astral Plane, going so far as to research what was necessary to develop 'emotional empathy', and luckily (or perhaps wishfully), modern Equestrian psychologists have formalized it by now.

Emotional empathy apparently requires thirteen different sections of the brain to work in tandem. It also requires a specific pattern and sequence of development in order to achieve.

Even a brief skim of the work suggested that he hadn't had anything close to what was needed in his own childhood – fur (i.e. skin) contact, eye contact, emotional mirroring, especially with the mother, were only three of the required stimuli. And you needed more than just brief exposure, you needed constant, regular, interactive feedback. Like Mr. Potter likely received from both his original and adopted parents. Like Ms. Granger likely received from her parents. And like he himself never got.

If all of that was true, if he had missed his chance for happiness, as he initially suspected during Mr. Potter's first and only happiness lesson, if that mental power was simply missing like a lost limb, and if the Changeling sense wasn't a bypass, the only solution he could see was Mr. Potter's suggested 'cheat' in that very same lesson. Giving himself the body of a child (a foal, in this case), obliviating himself of everything, and 'growing up' in Modern Equestria for at least ten years really does seem like the only way to possibly fix that issue.

And he was not going to do that.

So, he decided, he really would give his employer's suggestion a try. He really would use his Changeling Empathy sense for an hour straight, each day. It was far better than the alternative. And he would also begin locking away his Voldemort memories, one-by-one, until he no longer had any extreme memories of 'hurting' others.

This involved his astral plane, a book, the reversible version of the Obliviation spell, and many long hours of work.

In order for the memory locking spell to work, you need to know, in abstract, the memories you are going to unlock in the future, and he's using the book to lock away the abstracts themselves.

Once an individual memory's description was written on page, he locked it. The words on the page would then disappear, like his diary of old. In this case, the 'unlocking' clause was his learning the Patronus charm. Thus will his memories be inaccessible until he has learned the Patronus charm.

It was a slow process, but not too slow. He made regular progress, suspecting that he might be done within the year. He noticed, as he did, many bookmarks and earmarks being added to the tome on his 'Cutie Mark', which was mildly amusing.

He engaged in Changeling empathy sessions with his employer in the meantime.

Unlike all other pursuits in his life, it took months to grasp even 'the basics' of the behaviour that theoretically builds the foundations for a connection that might lead to Patronus happiness eventually in the distant future.

He had sighed when he realized this.

Then he sucked it up and started putting in the hours and effort needed to see improvement. He still cares little for Loyalty, but he has always been willing to implement the virtue of Hard Work, the true stuff of Hufflepuff, in the pursuit of his ambitions.

His relationship with Princess Luna thus far has been a business one, from his perspective. The transition from transactional to personal wasn't easy for him, but he learned many things along the way.

He had trained himself to notice his automatic negativity. Now he's training to see the positive side of things, and not just so his mind could go there easily. It made sense – as a powerful wizard who's never even gotten close to casting a Patronus Charm, the obvious strategy is to look at the things he's been doing all his life and try the exact opposite for a while to see if it makes a difference. And if he's been seeing the cynically negative side of thing all throughout the unhappy decades of his past, maybe he should try seeing the optimistically positive side of things, just to mix it up for a while.

Nor could he simply lie with Luna on the looming lookout. He had to slowly, carefully, genuinely find things that were positive about others, even from his own perspective. And he had to be polite and pleasant to be around. With diligent effort, he behaved in a way that doesn't cause others to feel negative emotion.

It was bitter work, done with a purely long-term goal in mind.

Initially, it was extremely annoying. Luna's suggestion of going to the pub regularly used by the reserves and ordering a drink had been an extremely bad idea. Everypony simply avoided him.

After a few months, the behaviours became simple habit. Finding and inviting troubled ponies to Luna's Night Court so he could see her in live action, not past memory, had been a much better idea, one that his employer also appreciated. Having exhausted all of her explicit memories (there had been many more sessions, but they were ones that she didn't remember), he set out to create a new source.

Now, it's a bit gratifying when he succeeds at deliberately making others feel positive emotion. When a joke lands, he feels the amusement of others. If he compares it to the situations where it's only his own amusement being satisfied, he could admit that one experience is better than the other.

The sessions with his advisor also changed over time.

At first, he was awkward, stiff, and unbalanced. He was extremely used to talking to others, dictating, and knowing exactly what they are thinking. He was not at all used to talking with someone, listening, and feeling exactly how they are feeling.

One aspect of the Night Court sessions that he did not explicitly notice until recently was just how much she listened to the petitioners and did not interrupt, at least until she had formed a decent picture of their past. Learning how to listen was also difficult for him.

But with time, he grew accustomed to it. Hour sessions turned to hour-and-fifteen minute sessions, followed by hour-and-thirty, followed by two-hour sessions.

He could now stand his advisor's presence indefinitely, even with his Changeling sense active. New chemical signals in his brain directly impacted his thoughts, making him relaxed and lethargic, though there were plenty of things that could snap him out of it, even while the sense was cranked up to maximum. She was both wrong and right that it wouldn't impact his thinking; when he had a genuinely good reason to think, his thoughts were just as fast as ever, maybe even faster. When he didn't, his mind wouldn't bother.

At least the conversations weren't shallow. His advisor discussed important events in her life and his, though his own contributions were often hampered by his inability to be fully honest. It would often be the case that he would remember a Voldemort-related memory, think to himself 'that one's being locked away next', and then 'clam up'.

She took these hesitations to mean that he was remembering some trauma he hadn't shown her. Whenever it happened, she would always notice, she would always stop talking, and she would give him the physical contact that the pony psychology books suggest is necessary to develop the brain.

The process became so routine that he was no longer annoyed by it, which was an improvement from earlier. He never hugged her back, but he no longer flinched, nor did he feel the impulse to flinch, or extricate himself, or even frown.

In the most recent month, he hadn't been able to remember any Voldemort-related memories that still needed locking away. None arose at random. Conversations were often relaxing, not stressful, when he only had one important secret left. (Not including lost lore. That was the sort of secret she actually respected.)

One area he had not made progress was his polyphasic sleeping. He could never sleep for longer than thirty minutes. At first he thought it might have to do with REM, and he even said as much to his advisor. She said it was possible, that REM is typically when dreams begin in full, and if he doesn't dream, he might be waking just before dreaming. But REM typically doesn't begin until around ninety minutes, not thirty, so it's possibly something else…

When he arrived for his empathy session – two hours before dinner as usual – his advisor was doing something he'd never seen her do before, though he knew by now that she had the talent.

Multiple blank canvases were propped on a wall while one canvas stood on an easel, the beginnings of a painting being brushed onto the paper. Light from the late evening sun streamed into the room, directly onto where Luna lay. She was on her bed, on her side, her magic holding the brush about three feet away.

She said nothing as he approached, focused on her art.

He said nothing as he approached, seeing no reason to interrupt.

After ten seconds of standing in silence, just as he was beginning to feel annoyed at being ignored, she lifted a wing. The invitation was clear, though its optionality was not. Was he allowed to say no? Probably. Did he want to say no? Hm… he didn't have any strong feelings one way or another. He would have instantly refused before all this began. Now…

He shrugged, stepped forward, stepped down, put his own side against her, and watched her paint, since she didn't seem ready to speak. Perhaps it was like reading a good book, and she did not wish to be interrupted until she got to a decent stopping point. Or perhaps it was like any other task. Interruptions to progress are always annoying, no matter the goal.

His empathy sense was on – he was going to count this as part of his mandatory session whether she chose to speak or not. Peace of mind enveloped him, as it always did, making it harder to think about complex topics. Or rather, making it harder to want to think about them. If he had a 'good' reason, his mental faculties would return with a vengeance. As it stood, he had no reason at all, so his mind was relaxed.

"Have you ever wanted to be an artist?" asked Luna.

"No," he said. In these conversations, it was often the case that he ended up saying little. Sometimes, he said nothing at all.

"Do you have any creative outlets?"

"Plotting and strategy," he replied.

"Unrelated to war?"

"Magic."

"Unrelated to power?"

"No."

She was silent as she dipped her current paintbrush in a bucket of water, used a spell to shake the bristles free of moisture, then began on a new colour and a new part of the painting. "Is there any art you enjoy as an onlooker?"

"Little from Equestria," he said. "I enjoyed a few plays on the other side. And a muggle movie or two."

"Movie?"

"They are stories that are recorded, edited, and played at a different date. If a director doesn't like a scene in the creation process, he can cut it, or he can order the actors to perform another take. The final product is a collection of all the best versions of each scene. Otherwise, they are similar to plays."

Luna tilted her head as she continued brushing the canvas. "What about the classics?"

"Meaning?"

"Painting, sculpting, opera."

"I've never once been moved by a picture, and I've seen most of what are considered to be the best works. If I had been born a century earlier, I would have enjoyed realism more than anything else, but muggle photography and wizard image inking spells have eliminated the need for realists. When I think about what it must have taken to make them, sculptures can be a bit more impressive than paintings, especially on the muggle end of things, but they're no more emotionally evocative than paintings. And I've never cared for opera. Or orchestra. Although…" he paused. "I can remember one play, and two movies, where the music was very memorable. Alone it would have been unremarkable. Combined with what I was watching…"

"You have refined tastes," Luna observed.

"Not quite," he pushed back. "It would be refined if I enjoyed fine art and orchestra. My tastes are… multidisciplinary. And my quality standards are very high. Just a song isn't enough. Just a scene isn't enough. Combine the two…" he trailed off with a shrug and a yawn. The sun shining on his dark fur, and the warm body beneath him were making him more lethargic than usual.

"What about reading a play, rather than watching it? Or perhaps novels?"

"I've found one or two moving," he admitted. "Plays, that is. And I've found a few novels to be interesting and engaging. But again, my quality standards are too high to enjoy most of what's out there."

"Have you ever thought of rectifying that by writing something yourself?"

"No…" he said, then paused. "Though I have considered writing a novel before," he remembered. For Mr. Potter's plot on how to have a 'soft landing' with the muggle world. That's another long-term plot he should be working on, come to think of it. "Or at least commissioning it. Why are you asking?"

"Many ponies find happiness in their creative outlets," said Luna. "Being able to point to something tangible and say 'I made that'… it brings a deep joy and pride that is hard to describe if you've never felt it yourself."

"I think I have felt it," he said. "Once."

"You have?" she asked. "When?"

He shook his head, an indication that she wouldn't like the answer, and if she can't see it herself, they should talk about something else.

"Ah," said Luna. "Your immortality?"

He nodded. "I have long referred to it as my great creation. Spell creation is dangerous. Ritual creation even more so. A powerful wizard might invent one powerful ritual in their lives. Trying for three would be suicide."

"And in the moment you succeeded at yours, how did you feel?"

"Very good," he answered. "Maybe better than I'd ever felt before. I was exultant. Happy for weeks. That memory doesn't work for a Patronus, though. I've tried."

"Perhaps because it involved you-know-what," she said, not saying 'murder' out lout.

"You think a memory of writing a novel would work better?"

"Not for casting the Patronus directly," she cautioned. "But I do think it would generally make you happier." She looked to a completed painting on the wall, one that had been in her room for as long as he's been working here, and he just now realized that she might have made it herself. It was good enough that he'd always assumed it had been purchased, or commissioned. Then she looked to a painting that was floating off to the side as if to dry, one that had probably just been made, and he could see the similarity, even if it wasn't as good. "You can feel that my own happiness is greater than usual, yes?"

"I can. It's different from usual."

"That is because it has compounded with my general happiness, and like I said, it can't be used for a Patronus. Not unless I give what I've made to someone I love, and they love it, and love me the more for it."

"Your sister?" he asked.

She nodded. "If my feelings, as I create this painting, are appealing to you, please consider creating something yourself. These feelings are not restricted to the far-distant future. They can be had as soon as you create something you enjoy. Though it might take a while to become skilled enough to satisfy your own standards."

He focused on her feelings as she painted. There were peaks and dips, and he managed to match them to moments that she made a good image, and moments that she made mistakes.

"Do you intend to teach me how to paint?" he asked.

"To be fully honest," said Luna, "I think writing would be much more suited to you. I read a few of your essays when you suggested that the public know you as the 'Court Scholar'. Your technical skill at language is more than good enough. You might have trouble imagining scenes and characters, but there are ways around that. Many artists draw inspiration from real events, for instance."

He nodded slowly. An idea was starting to form in his mind about what, exactly, he would be writing. Originally, the plan had been to find a good muggle novelist and false memory-charm them into writing a story about magical Britain. But maybe he could do it himself…

Luna looked to her unconscious fool. Once again, he'd managed to pass out in her presence. She was still reluctant to call it 'sleeping'.

She painted as she waited for him to wake. He'd be back in thirty minutes or so.

In thirty minutes or so, she herself fell asleep. Well, not quite. She was still aware, as she always was when her special talent activated on its own. It hasn't happened this way in a while. Harmony has not gone out of its way to force her into somepony's dream in over a year.

A simple query as to whose dream put her on high alert, instantly presenting her with a dilemma. Does she stay, or…

When Riddle woke, he was strangely peaceful. Strange because he didn't have his Changeling sense active at the moment, and yet he was still peaceful.

"Good morning," said a familiar voice from directly beside him, the vibrations of that voice reaching him through direct physical contact. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes," he said, then paused. That response had been honest. He had slept well.

"Do you remember what you dreamed about?"

"I don't dream," he reminded her.

"You did last night. If you think you did not, then you simply don't remember. Remembering isn't too important at this stage, but I'm happy to say that you've made progress."

Riddle blinked as he realized that the sun was coming in through the other side of the room. Luna's bedroom was inside one of Canterlot Castle's circular spires, allowing for the sun to come in from three of the four cardinal directions. There was also a row of completed paintings, hovering in the air as if to dry.

"Do not worry," said Luna. "I am allowed to miss Night Court if I wish. There were no petitioners last night."

And that cemented in his mind what had happened.

"But I'm afraid I must make a confession. And before that, an explanation."

He stayed silent, now used to the habit of simply listening.

"I can use my special talent in two fundamentally different ways. I may directly observe a pony's dreams, crafting something specific to ward a nightmare, or I can cast a general spell of repose, which allows a pony to better ward off their own nightmares. I would have much preferred to use the second one on you last night, but… that can only be done for a pony if their minds are capable of it."

That was similar to the automatic version of the false memory charm, where you simply allow an obliviated mind to fill in the gaps of what had happened with its own suggestibility. Experts often recommend that you don't use it on minds that are not suggestible, i.e. sufficiently intelligent and skeptical wizards.

"I can also ask for the name of the dreamer," continued Luna. " The automatic version always works in this age, though sometimes a direct oversight is more appropriate. But the automatic version often failed in the past. Once upon a time, if it did not work, nine times out of ten it was a case of severe abuse. I stayed with the dreamer for the night, then sent the guards in the morning. That is how it used to be." She sighed. "Which brings me to last night."

He blinked. Despite the fact that he now knew where this was going, he didn't immediately interrupt. He didn't even feel the impulse. He felt an odd sense of… apathy? Indifference? From himself, not her.

"You once said that your dreams are off limits, as the dreams of adults in general should be off limits. But right before that, you said that if I am involuntarily drawn into a dream, that should be an exception. And so I was put into a dilemma last night. When the automatic version failed, I had to ask myself if I should stay and ward your dreams directly. I could give you your first night of rest in perhaps decades. Or I could leave, wait for you to wake up, and ask you for permission for the next time it happened. But then it might take years before I could enter your dreams again, given that your window is so short, and impossible to predict on my end. I chose to stay and trust that you would not demand anything too unreasonable in recompense. Harmony does not do things on a whim, and if it decided it was time to help you sleep, then it was time to help you sleep."

Hm… she's right, the mirror likely does not do things on a whim. And indeed, his mind is currently more peaceful than it has ever been in living memory, at least when residing within a living brain. And that's despite hearing news that should have angered him, or at least annoyed him.

She had confessed right away, not trying to hide it at all. She had given a good reason for her actions, and she was right that he had allowed this circumstance as an exception, even if he hadn't been considering this exact edge case all the way back then. If he had considered it, he would have told her 'no' explicitly. But that was in the past. Mostly, he wasn't angry in the present because…

"What nightmares did you see?"

"The only true image was a dead man… only he wasn't quite dead. He had a terrible grin, and he was you, and he was beckoning you forth with an inviting finger. I think I can guess what that meant."

"A Dementor," he acknowledged. "A dark creature that drains life, happiness, and magic. Different minds see different things. Like you, I can see the symbolism. Did you see any other nightmares?"

"No. Once I banished first horror away, there were only flashes of fear. Fragments. Easily driven away."

He nodded. Even if she had seen something, it wouldn't have been a full memory. That's not how dreams work, as he had well learned by now, after years in her company. That's why he was so calm about this turn of events. That's why he hadn't felt an impulse to snap at her. And even if she could see memories while dream-walking, he'd locked his own worst memories away.

He frowned, feeling a different impulse altogether. An impulse to honesty. His inner phoenix was all for it.

"But the fears were incessant," Luna continued, unaware of his inner thoughts. "It has been a long time since I worked so hard to ward a single dreamer. I am almost positive it is the reason you cannot sleep. Whenever you try to enter REM, your terrors wake you. With a mind as efficient and exhausted as yours, I suspect you begin to enter REM in thirty minutes, not the standard ninety."

He sighed, stood from Luna's side, and walked towards the window, gazing out at the sunrise.

"I have a confession of my own."

Rehabilitation Part 9.3: The Will to Kill

"I have a confession of my own."

He looked at the rising sun. He was consciously aware that they weren't in the astral plane, and that he hadn't cast any privacy wards. And yet…

He turned to look at Luna. In her Night Court sessions, she was a patient conversationalist. Like so many times before this one, she was waiting. She was listening with deep focus. Whatever he said next, so long as it was honest and not meant as a distraction, she would listen. She would process. She would question for details. And then she would produce a true, original analysis.

He spoke.

"I used to be a Dark Lord," he said simply. He didn't know what to say after that, so he waited for whatever response would come. When none did, when she only gazed at him with raised eyebrows, he asked, "Do you want me to go on?"

"Yes," she said at once. "But… I do not know how helpful I can be if I cannot ask any questions."

His own eyebrows furrowed. "Why can't you? That doesn't seem like something your Vow would stop."

"It would qualify as 'prying', would it not?"

"Ah," he realized. "I suppose it would. Then it's finally time lift that restriction."

She smiled, and he felt a significant amount of stress simply vanish from her emotions. "Could you please explain what you mean by 'Dark Lord'?"

"If you're looking for the exact details, I'm physically- well, I suppose I'm magically incapable of telling you."

"A Vow?" she asked. "Or a contract?"

He shook his head. "You remember what I've told you about Obliviation?"

"The memory wiping spell?" she asked. Then her eyes widened.

"There is a reversible version," he said before she could leap to any conclusions. "I have not Obliviated myself, but it is true that I no longer remember all of the finer details. I arranged that I won't remember until after I cast the Patronus Charm."

The frustration returned (on her end), and she asked, "Why would you do such a thing?"

"You once said to a petitioner that if a wrongdoer were to feel the wrong they've done, they would likely seek suicide. Since that seemed to be the direction this was going, I did not wish to take any chances. Suicide will be impossible when I'm free. Unless…"

He just that moment noticed the Dementor method. He frowned at the realization. His wayward student was right. His mind does have a tendency to not think about the possibility of his own death.

"Well," he said to Luna. "I suppose it won't be impossible. But it'll be more difficult on the other side…"

Would it be more difficult, or would a Dementor make it easier? He forced his mind to think in a way it normally didn't. Luna patiently allowed him to think on the fly.

If he was truly set on suicide by Dementor, he'd only need to prevent Mr. Potter from destroying one or two for a brief time period. So long as he arranged for it to be destroyed after he died, it wouldn't count as a broken Parseltongue promise.

No, getting back to the other side would not necessarily make suicide more difficult. But was that relevant to what he wanted to talk about, or…

"In any case, the deed is already done," he finally settled on saying. "The memories will be inaccessible until I cast the Patronus charm. So to answer your question, I can't fully explain what I mean by 'Dark Lord' because even I don't remember everything."

Luna stared at him for a time, possibly waiting for him to say more, then she spoke. "But there are things you are willing to discuss that you haven't before? Things you do remember?"

"…Yes."

"And you don't wish to go to the Astral Plane before we discuss them?"

"I wondered that myself," he said in a thoughtful tone. "My mind seems to think it is time to speak, and doesn't seem to care that there's a small chance of eavesdroppers. I'm usually better at knowing my own motivations, but that's all I'm getting."

"You are feeling an incredible amount of sloth?"

"That's a good way to put it," he nodded. "About security charms, at any rate."

She nodded back. "Do you know, or can you guess why you feel that way?"

"Perhaps a full night's sleep has put me in an unusual state of mind. Or perhaps…" he considered. "Perhaps my mind is already set against me," he said after a pause, "and I'm already on the road to self-destruction. Not that I think this information will destroy me, even if it gets out, but if the habit continues…"

"That is a plausible interpretation," she allowed. "On the cynical side of things. The positive interpretation is that you finally trust me, and by extension you trust my room's wards, so security seems like a true waste of time and effort. Does that sound accurate?"

"Hm… security does seem like a truly pointless action. I couldn't say if that's the reason."

She nodded. "Then I shall take a page out of your book. Since your own sense of self-preservation might be compromised, I think I shall insist on our privacy. Will you allow me to take us to my Astral Plane? Or do you wish to stay here? Or go to yours?"

"I don't mind," he shrugged. "I suppose mine would be easiest, since I could use it to show what I do remember."

"Do you still feel sloth at the thought of relocating for that purpose instead of security?" she asked.

"I do not."

"Then please take me to yours."

He did. With phoenix travel. Which he hadn't told her about before, or about the fact that you could reach the Astral Plane that way. But he was in a revelatory mood.

She took a moment to process it. Then she seemed to take another moment to think about it. "You've sacrificed a phoenix clone?"

He smiled. It was so refreshing that he didn't have to explain such things.

"Yes," he confirmed. "I can cry at will, rebirth my dead body in a fashion different from what you've already seen, and bypass standard teleportation wards. I'm probably a magically inspirational singer, though I haven't tested it, and there's an avian voice in my head that screams at me when I consider what you would call 'evil' action. If the Changeling sense hasn't already forced me to have what you call a 'conscience', the phoenix has. When I'm in the body of a pony, at least. When I'm not, I can't access the power. Otherwise I would have teleported from this place," he gestured around at his astral plane, "to the human world, which is how I think my pupils escaped. The phoenix won't let me test that theory."

Luna was blinking rapidly. She asked a few questions that caused him to reiterate what he'd just said in different, drawn out sentences. He had put a few large and new concepts in one short explanation, he conceded.

"I also believe that this qualifies as a 'morally neutral' means of attaining deathless immortality," he said at the end of his reiterations. "But I have to carry out the rituals personally to make it permanent, and I doubt your sister would approve. Furthermore, despite my changing perspectives, I won't risk the Stone falling into another's possession."

He then explained the Stone of Permanence. She's bound by Unbreakable Vow not to use the information against him, and while that fact hadn't felt sufficient for disclosure before, it does now.

"When did you add the phoenix to yourself?" she eventually got around to asking. "As soon as you arrived in Equestria?"

He shook his head. "Much later. The exact date would have been the day after Mr. Silver left."

"Just before your sabbatical?"

"Yes. It was the cause of my sabbatical. I needed time to think."

"About?"

"My future, as I said back then. It took a few months, but I finally decided that my future was to learn the Patronus Charm. I decided that even if I was coping with a situation I didn't like, I would give it my all. It is in my interest to learn it, and it's in my interest to finally have a strong motive pushing me forward." He paused in brief consideration. "And I'm glad I'm not on the ticking time-bomb known as 'Earth' while I do it. There's truly no better opportunity, so I might as well seize it."

Luna thought about it for a time. "I understand," she said at last. "Now I would like to bring this conversation back to the 'Dark Lord' part."

He nodded.

"Can I rely on you to remind me of the Stone later?" she asked.

"Probably not," he replied. "Without going into too much detail, it would be stupid to allow the Stone's existence to become known or suspected. If you're imagining how to use it for the benefit of your nation, you should stop."

"I will not try to take your property from you." She cast an alarm spell that would go off some time in the future – known to the caster, but nobody else, so he couldn't say when she set it to remind herself to talk about the Stone. Probably during his next shift, if he had to guess.

"Now," she said, and met his gaze. "About your past as a 'Dark Lord'. Many ponies would call you 'dark' to this day, and you are currently close to a lord in the legal sense, so I'm assuming you mean you were once a Dark Lord by human standards, not just by my sister's standards?"

"I was referring to my own standards. But by human standards too, yes." His tone developed a twinge of distaste. "And by pony standards as well, though I've said it before and I'll say it again, your standards are pedestrian. All the more so if your sister would say I currently deserve the title. Discord and Chrysalis are mild in comparison to human Dark Lords."

"I agree," said Luna. "Modern ponies have little direct experience with violence and darkness thanks to my sister, and I am extremely happy that is the case. But I am not my subjects. My standards are not pedestrian," said the Princess of Night. "I have seen the depraved depths of intelligent cruelty. My sister has seen it as well, but I think I am in a better position to tolerate your past, whatever it may have been."

Riddle grinned. "Even as your sister considers herself the kind and generous one?"

"She is kind to kindness," Luna said. "And she is kind to obedience and subservience to her authority, which she sometimes mistakes for kindness. She has trouble with disagreeable ponies, but since she hasn't encountered all that much outright disagreement in the past thousand years, she is long out of practice dealing with them. She is also out of practice with evil; for her it has been a thousand years since Sombra. For me it was like yesterday. So she is quicker to label evil as such, when it falls outside modern tolerable standards. And finally, true Generosity demands that she not be generous to evil. Otherwise Generosity would be twisted to serve evil."

"Honesty does not come with those blind spots?" Riddle asked.

Luna shrugged. "It has blind spots of its own. It encourages me to keep digging until I reach true honesty, which can bring about a dangerous habit of curiosity. Sometimes I should stop digging and start being honest back. But Honesty at least allows me to look past disagreeableness and darkness. It allows me to look at you. So, without embellishments, what do you mean when you say 'Dark Lord', and what was your motive for becoming one?"

He spoke of what he remembered, and she listened.

First he spoke of history. Not of himself, but of human history, of Mao and Hitler, of Stalin and Mussolini, of mob rule and lynching, of famine and gas chambers and gulags and police states and guillotines and nooses. Muggle tortures evoked more visceral reactions than magical ones. With the Cruciatus, you just see and hear screaming. With starved rats eating exposed intestines of living victims, you see and hear much more.

Wizards viewed it as 'crude' and 'disgusting'. Voldemort often used muggle punishments in public for exactly that reason. Though he didn't mention Voldemort to Luna just yet.

He then went further back, speaking of Genghis Khan and his many exploits – both strategic and sexual. He spoke of Vlad the Impaler. He spoke of humanity's intimate relationship with slavery. He spoke of the Aztecs, the Native Americans, and the Australian Aborigines. He spoke of torturing and killing children to appease the gods (nothing magical, just muggle superstition) while the parents cheered. He spoke of scalping. He spoke of penile mutilation as part of the standard coming-of-age ceremony.

Her disgust, both internal and external, at his explanation of the finer details convinced him to move on to magical horrors.

He first spoke of Baba Yaga and the Dark Evangel as examples of what dark individuals can accomplish. He next pointed to ancient Italy, and indeed Atlantis itself, for what incompetent and reckless individuals have wrought. He then spoke of how incompetent and reckless muggles had finally gained control over true power.

And then, finally, he spoke of Voldemort, who was at least not incompetent. Who had objectively saved the world, though the world didn't know it. Whose secret goal was to prevent the world's destruction. Whose original goal was to be defeated by a 'Light' lord, at least until reality hit him square in the face.

"It must have been really bad," Luna interrupted, which was unlike her.

"Beg pardon?"

"You would not be saying all of this if… my fool, how bad was it?"

"That's an open-ended question," he remarked. "Especially since we have different standards."

"Then I'll simplify it," she said. "Do not rape. Do not murder. Do not assault. Do not enslave. Equestrians today call them the 'big four', with theft as an important fifth, and we take violations very seriously."

"I can think of a few exceptions," he remarked.

But Luna shook her head. "The current Captain of the Wonderbolts was barely allowed to maintain her position after attempting to assault you, though there were many caveats – remedial training, lessened pay, and a promise that she will apologize to you once she can truly mean it. The only reason you were not involved in the process, and the only reason she got off that lightly, is because she did not actually lay a hoof on you. Blueblood was immediately jailed and stripped of his nobility for his actions, as you know. So were the rest of the abusive nobles, once their deeds came to light. Your pupil was submitted for review after his less-than-peaceful tiara-tipping and drink-spilling at the Cute-ceañera of a young filly. The complaint of assault made by her father was only dropped when sanctions would have been required of his filly as well, who had apparently provoked the reaction through severe bullying. Twilight Sparkle promised to discuss it with Silver Wing, and that settled the matter."

"I didn't know about the last one," said Riddle. "You reviewed those cases personally?"

"You sparked my curiosity," Luna pointed out. "They were matters of public record, and I wanted to know more about you, so I kept an open inquiry. I was informed about any public fusses the two of you got up to."

"Not three?"

"Memory Sunshine would object to being put into the same category as you and Silver Wing."

Riddle grinned and chuckled. "She would, wouldn't she? Well then, what about the library book I borrowed and returned outside of operating hours?"

"An edge case," she remarked. "More mischief than true criminality. But have you returned to that library to see if you are still allowed to check out books?"

He blinked. "I have not. Interesting…"

"In truth," said Luna, "they probably have not revoked your membership. But they would be within their rights to do so." She huffed conclusively. "Now. Getting back on topic. The human world does not have our standards, which is why I'm going straight to the big four. Don't assault. Don't rape. Don't enslave. Don't murder. We'll go one by one."

She then said that she herself had violated three of them as Nightmare Moon. That she could remember, at any rate. Assault, slavery, and murder. Forcing guards and servants to unwilling service wasn't the tipping point for her. It was the murder of a guard which caused enough inner turmoil for Celestia to have an opening.

"In that case… it would be those same three for me as well," he confessed. "That I remember," he echoed her phrasing. "And I know that I arranged for the fourth to be violated, though I don't think I raped anyone myself. I'm fairly confident of that, even if I can't remember."

"Was it a reluctant violation?" she asked. "Or did you at least regret it afterwards, like I regretted my murder?"

"For some, yes," he said. "The Dark Lord role encompassed many things. I was reluctant to reward my servants by arranging for their sexual desires to be met. It was… distasteful… or perhaps pathetic, that they needed my help on that front."

"Meaning… love potions?" she asked tentatively, as if fearful that it had been that bad, and even more fearful that it had been worse.

He sighed and called forth memory.

He showed her the Death Eater application interview that had been the most memorable of the bunch. He'd gone so far as to Legilimise the genial man, and when that confirmed the man's casual words and requested reward in more detail than Tom Riddle had cared to know, Voldemort put on a smile, welcomed the man to the Death Eaters, and gave him the accurate and disturbing alias of 'Mr. Friendly'.

"Were they all like this?" Luna asked darkly. He could feel far more anger from her than usual.

"Not upon induction," he answered. "Less than a tenth started out as pedophiles. And by the end, I'd say no more than half had developed that vice. Some were dutifully married, and others… hmm… I don't remember if I watched the revels directly, but I remember a few Death Eaters being mocked afterwards for being unable to 'get it up'. I also remember being asked if I would ever participate, and I remember declining. Out of disgust, privately, but outwardly it was a simple and forceful 'no'."

Luna took many calming breaths. "Did you find anything else distasteful?"

"Oh, a good number of things. I was reluctant to kill Yermy Wibble. He was a good journalist, worthy of true respect, and it's a shame that he was replaced by the likes of Rita Skeeter. But the role of Voldemort demanded it be done. In private, I gave him and his family the courtesy of painless and unforeseen deaths, even if I ensured that the public believes otherwise, so I can confidently say that was a reluctant act."

There was silence for a time.

"There are so many things I'd like to say," said Luna. "It is taking all of my life's experience to say the most important two words instead."

"That being?"

"Go on."

He blinked, then considered. "Hm… I could go on about minor reluctancies, but nothing major comes to mind."

"Very well. What were you not reluctant to do?"

"I was not reluctant to enslave my servants, or torture them for failure," he said at once. "Even now I remember doing it. I didn't lock those memories away. It was their choice to come to me, their choice to take the Dark Mark even knowing they would be tortured for failure, and most of them were already what you would call evil, as you've already seen. Many started out with some amount of innocence, and some managed to cling to small vestiges of their own. Some had codes they would not violate. Most would not harm their own families, for example. One man I called 'Mr. Honor' for his code."

"What about murder?" she asked directly.

"By the end of it they were all ruthless killers. Voldemort accepted no less."

"And you yourself were one as well? Or did you stick to ordering such things?"

"I was almost certainly the most ruthless. Again, I don't remember everything, but… hm…" He considered his next action carefully. Then, he spoke. "Perhaps it is time I told you about the Killing Curse. That would be the best way to explain. Unless you already know?"

"The Killing Curse…" she echoed. "There are many curses that can kill… indeed most… but I've never heard of one where it's in the name."

"I suspected as much. Do you at least know of basilisks?"

She shuddered. "Yes. None have been created in five hundred years, according to my sister."

"But you know of their properties?"

"Yes," she nodded. "Gazes that kill instantly, magic-immune scales, impossibly deadly and corrosive venom, to name a few."

"Good," said Riddle. "Then this will explain the Killing Curse quite well."

He drew up a memory of his final moments with Slytherin's Basilisk and let it play. They watched as a giant snake with impenetrable, magic-resistant skin was slain in an instant with a gesture, two words, and a flash of green.

"It is nearly unblockable, nearly unstoppable, and works every single time when it hits anything with a brain."

"'Nearly' unblockable?" Luna asked.

"Recent discoveries have forced me to add that addendum," he admitted. "It goes straight through all known shielding charms. It goes straight through solid matter. It's always been known that you can block it by putting another living being into its path, but such a tactic is practically impossible to implement in a true fight, unless you have a convenient enemy you can shove in the way, or you are willing to betray your comrades. It was called unblockable and unstoppable, and the standard tactic was to dodge. And while everybody else still believes that it can't be blocked, Silver and I now know of an exception. Dumbledore and I know of two exceptions, actually, but that one's irrelevant." He paused to see if she was following.

"This is related to my question about your willingness to kill?"

"Very much so," he said gravely. "Ordinarily, the spell is cast with hatred. You have to truly want someone dead, and the spell uses that emotion as fuel in the casting. Especially hateful wizards can cast it five times in succession before their hatred runs dry. But a few rare wizards in history could cast it as much as their magic allowed. Since I'd acquired Ravenclaw's Diadem by the time I first made that observation in Sixth Year, I was actually smart enough to ask myself 'How?'. How did the Dark Evangel do that? She didn't seem to be a witch who had acquired ancient, lost lore. She would have been more powerful and more wise if lore had been the source of her power. She didn't seem to have any outside help at all. She was an average Hogwarts student in terms of grades, so it was probably a problem that could be solved with average intelligence. What secret had she seen for herself about the Killing Curse? What puzzle had she solved? What question had she answered? Or, perhaps, what did she realize after using the Killing Curse the normal way for so long? Was it a matter of experience? It took me longer than I care to admit to ask myself the correct sequence of questions that finally made the answer obvious. The question I asked myself, whose answer will answer your own question, is this: What is deadlier than hatred and flows without limits? Once you see the answer for yourself, you will know about my willingness to kill."

"I see," Luna said simply. "You were able to cast the Killing Curse that way?"

"Easily."

"Are you still able to cast it that way?"

"Yes," he answered without pausing to think.

"When was the last time you used it?"

Now he did pause to think. "On a sapient being? Chrysalis."

"That is well before you began to see true progress," Luna pointed out.

"I suppose."

"Do you mind if we test it right now?"

He frowned. "What would that accomplish?"

"I'd like to see whether your magic agrees that you still do not care."

"That wouldn't be a good test."

"Why not?"

"Mr. Silver can cast it this way, and he clearly cares. I suspect I will always be able to cast it, even if I become 'caring'."

Luna blinked. "Silver can cast it?"

"As long as it's not directed at something sapient," Riddle explained. "And he claims he will never cast it unless his Patronus is available to intercept the bolt if it goes astray."

"He can cast it while his Patronus is active?"

"Surprised him too," Riddle said with the smallest of smiles. "So we could test it now," he offered. "The Astral Plane is likely infinite. Even if it isn't, you know the advanced Patronus, so we can test it without fear. I just doubt that the test will reveal anything new."

She nodded, then asked him to test it anyway.

After a small amount of set-up, a flash of green collided with a glow of silver-white.

Luna sighed. "So… your goal was to prevent the destruction of the world because you lived there," she summarized. "You believed that Voldemort was the best way to accomplish that goal. You did not care about the lives of others, but you did care about your own. And your own happiness never once factored into the equation?"

"Correct."

"And does it now?"

His eyebrows raised. "It is the equation, is it not? I become happy, I cast the Patronus, I leave."

"That's not quite what I meant," she said in polite pushback. "Suppose you were able to go back to Earth right this instant," she offered. "Suppose we could wave a wand and grant every one of your wishes, whatever they might be. Would you want to be happy then? Or would you go back to being Voldemort? Is he who you truly want to be?"

"I…" he paused.

The plan had always been 'yes,' even if he had to abandon the persona and make a new one, or do everything privately. But now…

"I certainly intend to become Voldemort the night of my return," he said for a start. "To set a few things in motion. At the very least, to set up his seeming defeat at the hands of the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Would you go back to your old ways permanently?" Luna pressed. "If you were unbound by magical restrictions on your free will, would you still engage in wanton murder?"

His eyebrows furrowed heavily. And not because he was afraid to answer the question one way or another.

"I honestly don't know."

"Would you at least hesitate to do it again?"

"I think so…" He certainly wasn't going to do it for more Horcruxes now that he understands fencepost security.

"Would you murder because you are merely annoyed?"

"I don't know."

"Would you murder if you had what you thought was a good reason, or a good excuse?" Luna asked.

"I don’t know," he repeated. "Not for certain. I think I would have to be presented with the annoyance. Or the reason."

Rehabilitation, Part 10.1: Relapse

Against the backdrop of void and stars, the burst of bright white light was almost blinding, as it had been not long ago in the Killing Curse experiment. This time, however, it was unexpected and unwelcome.

"Sister?" asked the pony-shaped form in Celestia's voice. "Is everything alright?"

That is when Riddle learned that Patronus charms are capable of reaching the Astral Plane, even when cast from beyond it.

"I'm alright, Tia," said Luna to the Patronus, which left to deliver the message.

"I presume you did not host Night Court last night?" Riddle asked.

"Among other things that might cause her to worry," Luna confirmed. "Do you mind if we take a break? I'd like to reassure her in pony."

"I mind that we've been interrupted," he said honestly. "But I wouldn't mind a pause for food. I believe we've covered the most important information."

When they got to breakfast, Luna alleviated her sister's worries with little difficulty, saying that an involuntary and intense instance of dream-keeping occupied her throughout the night.

"May I ask whose?" asked Celestia.

"I'm afraid not," said Luna, not so much as glancing at Riddle.

Celestia accepted this with a nod. The Princess of the Sun then proceeded to ask her sister for council on a developing situation to the north…

"The Crystal Empire?" Riddle echoed Celestia, his silverware floating down to rest on his plate. "The kingdom that disappeared?" he probed. "Ruled by King Sombra? That Crystal Empire?"

"Yes," confirmed Celestia. "That Crystal Empire." She hadn't been speaking to him, just to Luna, and as soon as she answered his question, she went back to pretending like he didn't exist. "I have already sent Captain Armor and Princess Cadence to govern the city, and I am thinking of sending Twilight and the Elements as well, just in case Sombra returned with the empire. But… I would like your input, sister. I am worried it might be too dangerous. Sombra is not like Chrysalis, or Discord, or even Nightmare Moon. He is a tyrant of old, and he would not hesitate to kill her…"

Luna gave a brief, almost imperceptible glance at Riddle. In the course of Celestia's explanation, she had grown visibly nervous. Riddle knew what she was nervous about, and he also knew she could not speak her worries, so he wondered what she would say.

"Has there been any sign of his return?" she asked.

"None yet," said Celestia.

Riddle asked the next question. "Have you sent some of the reserves to accompany the Guard Captain? National defense is their purpose."

"Yes," said Celestia. "But only the reserves who are also Guards. If Sombra launches an attack, they should be able to mount a defense until the Elements arrive." She went back to ignoring him again. "I am just afraid that Twilight… isn't quite ready for Sombra. I am… I do not want her to…" Celestia trailed off, being unusually inarticulate.

"Nor do I," said Riddle honestly.

Celestia turned to stare at him, nearly shocked.

Of all the ponies in Equestria, Twilight Sparkle was the second most tolerable after Princess Luna. Not to mention she might prove potentially useful as a magical researcher once she has developed enough caution.

"If you are worried about her safety, I could accompany her," he offered.

There was a stretch of silence at the table.

"A tempting offer," observed Celestia. "So tempting that I question why you are making it. Generosity is not in your nature."

"Her safety is a genuine motive of mine," he reiterated. "I was being honest. I do not wish to see her killed. Nor do I wish to see Sombra rise to power in Equestria."

Celestia looked to her sister.

"He is telling the truth," said Luna. "Though he is hiding something, as always." Something which her Vow prevented her from even hinting at.

Celestia stared at him for a long moment. "And I presume you will not be made to reveal that hidden motive?"

"You presume correctly."

Celestia gave a world weary sigh. "I am only allowing you to get away with that because of your track record. Still, there shall be rules. If you do go, you must honestly swear that you shall do nothing more than protect Twilight from the immediate threat of Sombra. You will do so only if she seems unable to handle him on her own. You must swear that you will not attempt to influence the mission in any way other than that. You will not interact with any magical artifacts you find in the empire. You will not speak with the Elements of Harmony. You will not so much as be seen, by them or by the crystal citizens. If you do not promise to abide by those terms, I will not approve your departure."

"An easy enough promise to make and to keep," said Riddle. "You have my oath. I will only interfere if Sombra seems to be winning, or is about to win. I shall not be seen or heard by anypony. I will only interact with magical devices I bring with me, and I will allow you to browse my full arsenal if you wish. I am curious about the 'crystal heart', but I shall swear to steer clear if you fear my influence. Agreed?"

Celestia pushed and prodded his oath, asking clarifying questions, but found nothing wrong with his offer. Before she agreed, she asked one final question.

"What do you think, Luna?"

"You should not go," said the Alicorn of Night as soon as the doors to her room closed and locked them into privacy.

"I thought you might say that," said Riddle. "But we are not having this conversation here."

He appeared in his Astral Plane, knowing Princess Luna would follow. As soon as she did, he continued speaking. He skipped past his pointless annoyance at her for switching her position. Her Vow had forced her to speak and act as if she was completely ignorant of the secrets he's told her, and so she seemed to be in favour of his proposal at breakfast. Now that she was trying to stop him…

"If I don't go," he said, "Miss Sparkle, her friends, and the entire Crystal Empire could be at risk. If Sombra is back, Twilight Sparkle and Shining Armor might not be capable of defending against him. Then again, if I go along, they should not be in much danger. If Sombra is still a danger to them despite my presence, then you will have far bigger problems on your hooves than my emotional state."

"But you might not be needed!" Luna countered. "Even if Sombra is back. And if you go you will be tempted! You cannot handle temptation yet! Do you honestly believe that you can?"

"…"

"The best way to avoid relapse is to avoid putting yourself in tempting situations," said Luna. "When a pony is trying to lose weight, and they are constantly tempted to snack in their house, the correct tactic is to avoid purchasing the snacks in the first place."

"With Sombra being the 'snack' in this analogy."

"With his death being the snack," said Luna. "I… if you come back, and I ask if you have killed him to make a Horcrux, and you say yes… I…"

Like Celestia earlier, Luna was usually more articulate than this.

"And if I don't go, and Miss Sparkle comes back in a body bag?" he asked.

She flinched. "I know! I know that is the worst case! But…"

"But she is mortal and I am not?" he finished for her.

His employer didn't say anything in reply.

"And that is not the worst case," he pointed out. "The worst case is everypony comes back in body bags, including the crystal citizens. Or they stay there in chains."

There was another long silence.

"If you go," Luna said at last, "can you promise you will not make another Horcrux? Can you promise to capture Sombra alive, if at all possible?"

"No," he replied. "I cannot. I can only promise to keep the consequences in mind. If I do it, I would lose my position and your company, correct?"

"Yes," Luna said in a quiet voice.

"Then that's all there is to it."

"Then… then at least speak your intentions. Please. Do you intend to go and make another Horcrux? Is that the reason you suggested going in the first place?"

"I won't deny that it was among my considerations," he replied, remembering Mr. Potter's phrasing. "Whether it's the primary reason… I'm honestly not sure. A year ago, it would have been the only reason. Now, Ms. Sparkle's safety is a genuine concern of mine. I believe true congratulations are in order. You have made much progress."

"That is not enough!" Luna objected. "You are still… you will still…"

"I might," he acknowledged. "But I likely won't. There are many conditions that have to be met before I do it, and I am mostly helpless to influence those conditions. He must be an immediate threat, he must be malicious, and killing him must directly result in even more lives being saved. Even if all three of those are satisfied, the opportunity to intervene under Celestia's further conditions might simply not arise. Especially if Harmony's influence is at play."

"And if you do get the opportunity?" she practically begged.

"Hm… it would complicate things, since it is no longer a straightforward answer for me. Let's hope that I don't get the chance."

And indeed, he almost didn't. Twilight's life was in no real danger at any time during the crisis. Sombra's traps inside his own castle were magical and mental, not physical, perhaps because he did not wish to maim himself if he set them off by accident. And Sombra's attacks against the city were repelled until the critical moment, at which point the 'Crystal Heart' did the rest. Or so it seemed at first glance.

As with the Nightmare Moon incident, a small trail of shadow fled from the location of Sombra's defeat. Without looking closely, it seemed like just another dark cloud being driven away by the beams of light.

Like last time, Riddle followed the formless figure to its destination. He watched it materialize into the shape of a pony. He beheld a furious, depowered Sombra. The pony stood on a mountain overlooking the Crystal Empire from a great distance. Riddle floated in the air behind him, waiting for an opportunity that no longer seemed like it might come.

Riddle was put on high alert the moment the furious emotions left Sombra, replaced by a grim resolve and a glowing horn. Dark intentions were clear on his face and in his heart. "Fine," said the Dark Lord. "If I can't have my crystal slaves-"

"Stupefy."

The bolt collided with Sombra's body from almost point-blank, and the creature collapsed to the ground.

There was no sense letting him finish the sentence. Proclamations like 'If I can't have it, no one can' are often followed by massive explosions. If Sombra can set off the explosion – or whatever it is if not an explosion – from this distance, he can likely cast it from anywhere. Meaning that, like Chrysalis, simple imprisonment would not suffice to end the threat of Sombra.

Riddle contemplated the scenario for a moment.

He had wondered if the Mirror would present him with the opportunity to fulfill his old wish. Assuming it is directly influencing the world, does this mean the Mirror tacitly approves of murder?

With the phoenix screaming at him once more, he became human. But he did not immediately set to work like last time. Without the phoenix, he was free to think without compulsion.

Does he want to make his third and final allotted Horcrux?

Yes, he certainly wants to.

Does it outweigh the costs?

…

…

…

His mind is not offering an immediate answer, which he took as 'maybe' it outweighs the costs.

So should he do it?

More mental silence.

He frowned in frustration and tried to think more clearly, asking himself more pointed question with less ambiguous answers.

…

After fifteen minutes of thinking himself in circles, he looked at the still-breathing body of a malicious and immediate menace to innocent sapient beings.

Deciding that he no longer cared, he surrendered himself to his own impulses, whatever they might be. If his subconscious couldn't make up its mind, he would let his subconscious be in charge until it did.

Almost immediately, as if on autopilot, his wand began making the traceries of anti-light in the air around the artifact he intended to make into his final Horcrux. It was not long before the preliminary stages of the ritual were complete.

He now wore a grim smile, like Sombra had worn just minutes ago.

Luna had been right. He can't handle temptation. And she was right about something else.

Is he still willing to engage in murder if he has a good reason? It seems that he is.

He's also willing to lose her council.

So be it. He shall have to find his happiness elsewhere.

With a mental nod to the consequences and a mental farewell to Luna, he looked at Sombra's sleeping form and face. His mind idly informed him that the deposed king is currently at peace, even as he leveled his wand on the defenseless Dark Lord and said:

"Avada Kedavra."

Chapter 55: Politics, Military, Virtue

3:57 PM, June 14th, 1992.

"Magical Britain," said the skull of a decaying corpse in a voice that hurt their ears. "You stand accused of crimes against humanity. You are extremely guilty of cruel and unusual punishment, enacted against your own citizens over the course of centuries. Your pleas are irrelevant, for I find you responsible." Wizards and witches were falling unconscious, seemingly unable to endure the aura. "The sentence is death by Dementor's kiss."

At the conclusion of this deadly, hollow threat, the panic and pandemonium came to an abrupt end. The screaming/begging/pleading from the 'dignified' Wizengamot came to an end. The useless casting from the aurors came to an end. The fainting of bureaucrats came to an end. Everything was silenced in an instant.

Three clicks from the Line of Merlin had forced everything and everyone to stop. The clicks had also forced all (currently awake) eyes upward, where stood on thin air an ordinary-looking magical pony. The sucking emptiness was gone. The aura of dread was gone. The painful voice was gone.

"…is what a massive hypocrite would say."

The cloaked and bespectacled pony used a conversational tone, speaking less formally to the members of the Wizengamot who were still conscious. Which, coincidentally enough, only seemed to be those who had not 'sided with Dementors'.

"As a former Dark Lord," continued the pony, "it's not my place or my competence to criticize the morality of others. But it IS my place to applaud the political and practical implementation of torture. I understand that even Voldemort had to work hard to rival the fear of Azkaban. Well done for giving your worst Dark Lord in history something he strove to outdo. Though I suppose it's not all of you who need this speech." He flicked a hoof at the two areas where the most people were unconscious – the faction of bureaucrats from the Ministry and the faction of blood purists. "It's always pathetic to encounter those who have grown old before they grew up. Some of them may have been wizened by age, but none of them have been wizened by wisdom."

The remaining members of the Wizengamot were speechless. Even Amelia Bones didn't seem to know what to say, the Line of Merlin sitting still and forgotten on the podium in front of her.

"Which is why they'll be going on a field trip to Hogwarts. It seems their education was lacking in some regards, and I know a good remedial teacher."

Bodies rose into the air, floating towards the pony while surrounded by a grey glow, the same as came from the pony's horn. This caused something of an outcry, and a number of attempts to stop him.

"Don't worry," the pony said with an evil grin. "They won't be killed or maimed." The grin left as quickly as it had come, replaced by formal neutrality. "Ms. Bones," he addressed the Chief Warlock. "Aurors who come too close shall be stunned. Any adult who tries to interfere will be stunned. Other consequences may also be inflicted. But watching from a distance is perfectly fine. A Floo to Hogsmeade and a broomstick to the lake will get you there in time to catch the end, if you can convince a professor to admit you through the wards."

At that, the pony and just over half the Wizengamot disappeared in a bright flash, leaving behind a still-speechless remainder.

There was a brief silence.

Then someone pointed out that a foreign Dark Lord was going to visit the school of their children.

The session was adjourned not by the Chief Regent, but by the panicked departure of a number of nobles, and the slightly less frantic departure of the concerned and curious bureaucrats who followed them, which left the chamber almost entirely empty.

When the members of the Wizengamot came back to consciousness, most were relieved to not be dead. Others were briefly and pleasantly surprised to see the Hogwarts Lake lit by a late afternoon sun, though some of them suddenly wondered if that meant they had died.

All of them were unpleasantly surprised when they realized they were unable to move. They also seemed to be standing in rather uncomfortable, hunched-over positions.

Various forms of jostling informed them that their forced stillness had nothing to do with spellwork and everything to do with the fact that their necks and wrists were clasped somewhat tightly by a flat, solid object. The more perceptive members immediately realized what it meant: they stood in wooden stockades, like those used for public humiliations over a century ago, though not in recent decades.

Other members were more focused on their surroundings than their prison, allowing them to realize that they were not alone with each other. Somewhat to the side of their field of vision stood two identical, grinning faces. Many noticed the orange hair and realized what it meant. Those with children in Hogwarts, and especially children in Slytherin, have heard many stories about the Weasley twins.

The (in)famous pranksters stood beneath a giant sign with a list of items and prices, such as...

Soft Tomatoes: Free
Itchy Tomatoes: 3 Knuts
Sneezy Tomatoes: 6 Knuts
Colour-Splat Tomatoes: 5 Knuts
Tomato Tomatoes: 7 Knuts
Surprise Tomatoes: 4 Knuts

...and so on.

"Now that you are all awake," said a voice, "We may start."

It had been the last voice they'd heard before fainting, except it no longer hurt their ears to hear it. A clopping sound was made, followed by that accursed creature walking slowly into their collective field of vision.

"All of you," it addressed them, "voted to condemn a being over whom you thought you had power. Therefore, all of you have forfeited the right to complain when you are condemned by someone else who has power over you. Unless, of course, you are hypocrites, which many of you are. Power is the ability to be a hypocrite and get away with it, after all. But now that you no longer have the power in this situation, you should understand that you will no longer be allowed to get away with it."

There were a few gulps of fear. Not necessarily at the words- more at the pointed glare the pony gave to a few faces in particular. There were also a few attempts at protestation, but those who tried quickly learned of the silencing charm.

The creature, seeming to notice their fear, stared for a long moment as if about to say something, then sighed, seeming to decide to say something else. "Fortunately for you, I am trying to be a better pony. I'm not going to give you a Dementor's kiss, though I do have that power. I'm also not going to crucify you, or maim you, or even allow you to be permanently hurt. I'm not even going to glue you naked to the ceiling, like the Quibbler once reported. No, traditional folk such as yourselves deserve traditional punishments."

The creature's horn glowed, and David Monroe was suddenly standing before them all.

"Imperio," said the creature, pointing its horn at Monroe, though you couldn't actually see any spell bolt, nor were there any visual indications that the spell had taken effect, which was normal for that curse.

Some of the Wizengamot members gasped, though they produced no sound.

"You are under my Imperius curse," said the horse to Monroe, who didn't seem to do anything in reaction. "You know you are under my Imperius curse," ordered the horse.

Monroe still said nothing, but he stared at a few of the Wizengamot members in particular and grinned.

"Acting as much as yourself as possible, do what you think I would want you to do under these circumstances," said the horse. "But first, cast tempus."

The man did so.

"You are released exactly one hour from that spellcast, or once the lesson sinks in, whichever you prefer."

Then the horse disappeared, leaving only Monroe in the foreground and the red-headed twins in the background.

"Well," said the man, still sporting that grin. "Now that I am under the Imperius curse, with all of you as witnesses to the spelling…" His gaze continued tracing the once-'Imperiused' Death Eaters. "I cannot be legally punished for anything that I do while under its effects, which may or may not last longer than an hour. And since the Imperius is undetectable without a specific counter-spell, which I will not allow to hit me, there is no way to confirm or falsify that I am actually under its effects right now."

The twins behind him burst into laughter.

Those who had used that excuse to commit dread acts without legal consequences began to sweat nervously.

The man brought a wand to his throat.

"Attention all Hogwarts students," he said, though his voice didn't seem to be amplified. "Your final defense class of the year shall be held on the lawn in between the lake and the castle. Attendance is not mandatory, but last minute Quirrell Points might be granted or subtracted, and the outcome of the House Cup-" (which was snitched by Slytherin last night) "-might be influenced. Fairly influenced, of course. This lesson will be unlike any other I've taught this year. Even if you do not directly participate, you won't want to miss it. Simply come and enjoy the show. All years are welcome. You have fifteen minutes to arrive before we begin the practical. The lecture will be at the end, exactly one hour from now."

Then the man lowered his wand from his throat and brought it to bear, beginning his work.

A simple wave lifted lines of loam from the ground, waist-high walls about one metre wide. The first was five metres from the stockades, followed by another one ten metres away, followed by another fifteen metres back, followed by a final wall at twenty. The closest section was labeled for first and second years. The next one was labeled for third, fourth, and fifth. The third wall back was marked for sixth, seventh, and professors. The final wall was labeled 'bonus'.

Before students began trickling in, Monroe transfigured a few signs into existence, in such a fashion that the stockaded crowd could see.

Tomato thrown: +1 Quirrell Point.
Partial Hit: +2 Quirrell Points.
Direct Hit: +3 Quirrell Points.
Throwing at a younger station: -3 Quirrell Points
Hitting from an older station: +5 Quirrell Points
Throwing at a fellow student: -100 Quirrell Points

These signs were strewn about the dirt mounds. Some floated towards the trapped heads and hands, locking themselves above or below various members. As the signs floated towards them, the Wizengamot members could clearly see that rules had been written on the back of the signs as well:

Tomato thrown: -1 House Point, -1 Quirrell Point
Partial Hit: -2 House Points, -2 Quirrell Points
Direct Hit: -3 House Points, -3 Quirrell Points

The man brought a finger to his lips and made an exaggerated 'shush'ing gesture while wearing a conspiratorial smile, as if he'd just shared a secret with them. Not that they could have spilled the secret, being silenced and all.

After fifteen minutes a large amount of students had arrived, as well as a few professors.

"The Wizengamot," the Defense Professor said, wand to his throat once more, "requires that these wizards and witches be publicly shamed, preferably by young children. Tradition dictates that thrown tomatoes are appropriate. You will receive my final lecture of this school year after..." he made a show of casting tempus "...forty-three minutes have passed. Feel free to earn or lose as many points as you can. No magic is to be used upon them aside from what is already contained in the tomatoes. You will suffer legal consequences if you use your wands, and I will be on the lookout. Otherwise, have fun."

He added a quick, quiet whisper behind the shoulders of a few students in particular, the ones who recognized most of the faces and seemed about to say something. "Minus one thousand Quirrell Points if you spoil the surprise," said that whisper.

Some of the students asked questions along the lines of:

"What does this have to do with Battle Magic?" (from Ravenclaw)
"Is there a trick to it?" (from Slytherin)
"This doesn't seem right." (from Hufflepuff)
"So this is what's going to get him fired." (from Slytherin)
Is that my FATHER? (also mostly from Slytherin, though this question was not asked aloud)

But these voices were easily ignored by the majority of students who took the challenge at face value. Eager children rushed the tomato stand, some with coin in hand, then rushed to the mounds of dirt with their acquired arsenals.

A magical display floated above the stockades, keeping score:

Gryffindor: +1 Quirrell Points
Slytherin: +0 Quirrell Points
Ravenclaw: +0 Quirrell Points
Hufflepuff: +0 Quirrell Points

As students began throwing tomatoes, the professors who'd shown up out of curiosity/apprehension didn't seem to know what to do. The Defense Professor was more magically powerful than all of them put together, and he was also fireproof... maybe.

Professor Sinestra and Madam Hooch looked like they wished to intervene, but they did not have the authority of the Headmistress. They had both been Slytherins as students, not Gryffindors, and thus lacked the bravery to confront him as peers. Professor Flitwick wore a disapproving frown, but there was a glint of curiosity in his eyes. Professor Snape wasn't present at all. The Headmistress was currently visiting Professor Sprout at St. Mungos in the hopes to have the Head of House Hufflepuff back in time for the leave-taking feast, so neither of them were here. And none of the school's other professors had shown up, though one last member of the staff was there.

The Keeper of Grounds and Keys handed out knuts to some of his favourite students.

Fifteen minutes into the exercise (thirty minutes since the tempus), the silencing was removed and the Wizengamot all began to shout at the children who were throwing fruit at them. Or they tried to shout. Many were too occupied with the sneezing/laughing/crying hexes. (The Weasley twins are rather competent in their pranking potions effects.)

And even those that could speak were unsuccessful at suasion. Shouts that they are MEMBERS OF THE WIZENGAMOT and THERE WILL BE GRAVE CONSEQUENCES were... mostly ignored. The Gryffindors completely ignored the threat. Some of the Slytherins laughed at what they believed to be a lie, then kept throwing. Other Slytherins quietly stopped participating. Other Slytherins laughed at what they knew to be true, and continued targeting their parents' political rivals. One or two continued targeting their parents. Many of the older Ravenclaws who had been throwing stopped at the threats, but most of the younger ones didn't. And the Hufflepuffs, who had been the least enthusiastic participants, but couldn't quite convince their youngest house mates to not join in on the fun, managed to convince a few more members of their house to stop throwing tomatoes.

A clever Wizengamot member tried to say that students were losing house points, not gaining them, by throwing tomatoes.

Professor Monroe said loudly that only professors may deduct points.

When that member said David Monroe intended to deduct house points from tomato throwers, Monroe replied that the man was just trying to avoid punishment.

The man was then hit in the face with a conveniently accurate tomato whose spelled effect silenced any further comment.

Thirty minutes into the exercise (forty-five since the tempus), adults began arriving on broomsticks, many wearing plum-coloured robes.

They were told by David Monroe's quiet voice over their shoulder that this is Prince Excelsior's will. The pony cast Imperius on him and he will not let anyone interfere with this lesson. By force if necessary. It will end in fifteen minutes, and a lesson must be learned.

This prevented any interference, despite a few close calls.

"Pay no attention to the arriving adults," said the Defense Professor in a way that the students heard as well. "They are just here to ensure the will of the Wizengamot is brought about."

This satisfied the suddenly-apprehensive Ravenclaws who had noticed the new arrivals. The nervous Hufflepuffs who looked at the arriving adults were not quite satisfied by the Defense Professor's words. The Gryffindors either didn't notice or, again, didn't really care, even after it was pointed out to them. And the Slytherins, who all had their own little motivations for throwing or not throwing, weren't especially influenced by the new arrivals either.

The scoreboard continued keeping tally until it had reached:

Gryffindor: +1337 Quirrell Points
Slytherin: +840 Quirrell Points
Ravenclaw: +717 Quirrell Points
Hufflepuff: +455 Quirrell Points

Forty-three minutes into the exercise (an hour since the tempus), David Monroe brought a wand to his throat and said, "Stop."

A wave of his wand changed the signs to their opposite/hidden sides.

Gryffindor: -1337 House Points
Slytherin: -840 House Points
Ravenclaw: -717 House Points
Hufflepuff: -455 House Points

"Anyone who threw a tomato, you are an absolute idiot."

This ended the joyful festivities.

The Defense Professor stood still, seeming to seethe angrily, but those closest to him realized his heavy breathing came from the building of arcane might – more than he had ever demonstrated before. More than almost anyone present had ever felt before. Many students took several steps back. The Professors began stepping backward. Some of the Wizengamot members in the air flew in reverse, and the aurors and experienced duelists raised wands and shields from pure battle instinct, though nobody threw anything offensive.

Once the magic was tangible and visible in the air around him, he aimed his knobbed (knobbed?) wand and bellowed "Alohomora!"

The stockades – one giant wall of painted wood with many head-and-hand openings – briefly glowed grey as the spell connected, then the entire board flashed brightly. A loud, ghostly 'clicking' sound was made, even though there were no visible locks. The entire structure split open, the lower front half fell forward, and the targets all fell out along with it.

The witches and wizards who stumbled from the stockades still wore their plum-coloured robes, large "W"s clearly visible in the evening light. This had not been visible before, from any angle, as the structure was box-like: a long, thin, multi-leveled, hollow, rectangular prism. The stockades had concealed everything about those contained within except their hands and faces.

Now that the robes, and thus the nature of the prisoners had been revealed…

"Have I taught you nothing?" the Defense Professor demanded of his students. He had been introduced to all of Hogwarts as David Monroe earlier that morning. Rumor had quickly circulated that he was the main wizard who had fought Voldemort in the early seventies, and many saw him as the next Dumbledore before he disappeared.

"You never aggress unless you are confident you can win, or gain some advantage," the man lectured. "You never target someone unless you understand the threat they pose to you. These are the country's most powerful politicians! And the most vicious and vindictive ones at that! Consider them to be basilisks. You never want their gazes upon you. They are like Dark Lords in miniature. To anger them is to make your lives miserable. Unless you have the power to enforce your will upon them, which you do not. And even if you did, rule 1 is to not go around making strong, vicious enemies! My deductions stand. Congratulations Gryffindor, for reaching a new historical low. I don't believe Hogwarts has ever seen such a massive negative number."

The Weasley twins cheered at this, though they weren't joined by the rest of their house.

"Congratulations Slytherin," the Defense Professor continued, "for losing the House Cup. Congratulations Ravenclaw, for at least managing to remain in the positive. Hufflepuff, I believe genuine congratulations are in order. You are by far the house with the most common sense, and it has just won you the House Cup, as it has been winning you the cup all year. Or rather, the stupidity of the other houses has lost them the cup, as it has been losing them the cup all year."

"Quite," said the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, who had himself been sorted into Hufflepuff back before Snape was a professor. He didn't have any true political enemies, at least among the student body of Hogwarts, so he wasn't the target of any of the nastiest tomatoes, and he was lucky enough that none of the enchanted ones hit him at random.

The other members were variously coughing/sneezing/scratching themselves, or suffering from the many other effects the Weasley twins thought to include. Colour-changing enchantments were a common one, with lime green and hot pink and bright yellow being the three available colours. The enchantments were done in such a way that they blotched together when combined. They didn't blend, leaving some faces and hands looking like bastardized versions of the muggle camouflage uniforms worn by the armies. There were also sparkling jinxes, comedy caricature potions, horn-growing hexes, and other minor spells that any adult of average power should be able to counter.

The dispelling attempts made by the members of the Wizengamot utterly failed. They were waving their wands and saying counterspells, the most common being 'finite incantatum', but nothing was happening.

"Your final mistake," continued David Monroe as he began the disenchantments himself, one by one, "was that you trusted me, the Defense Professor of Hogwarts, to be straightforward with you. I might have been a Polyjuiced imposter, or a Metamorphosed imposter, or Confunded, or even under the Imperius, and none of you thought to check! But above all, you should have remembered the lessons I taught you. Especially those of you in first year. The stupidity of those Slytherins who thought it would be great fun to publicly beat up the Boy-Who-Lived? If you threw a tomato, you just topped them a thousand-fold. If you did not, you deserve applause for your common sense."

"Hem hem," said a voice that was not marred by sneezing or coughing. Her face, however, was marred by more visual effects than any other, as if it had been a game to the students to see who could make it the most grotesque. Among other things, she primarily looked like a massive, swollen tomato. (A result of the Weasley's 'tomato' tomato). Or rather, she was quickly unswelling from looking like that now that Monroe had used finite on her. She was also losing her devil horns and fangs. "Well said, Professor," said Dolores Umbridge. "I see you are quite sensible now that the Imperius has worn off."

IF it wore off, thought many members to themselves.

Or was cast in the first place, thought a certain segment of those members.

"And you!" he whirled on her, and the politicians and bureaucrats in general. "Your stupidity is a thousand times worse than theirs! The creature you saw fit to anger is more powerful than any witch or wizard alive! I barely had enough strength to undo the locking charm he casually cast, and I am wielding the Elder Wand!"

There were gasps from the students, and from the professors, and from the watching aurors, and from the Wizengamot, both the plum-coloured robes on the ground and the ones riding broomsticks in the air.

"You do not go around provoking strong, vicious enemies," the man repeated. "You do not threaten any creature when you do not know how dangerous it is. The students might be forgiven for not knowing your status, for not believing your claims about your…" his tone developed an extreme amount of sarcasm "…'wizened' nature." Then it returned to scathing. "You do not get the same excuse as the children. You learned of that creature's exploits in the Daily Prophet this very morning! You were reminded of them at his trial! He destroyed the entire world's Dementor population. You should have imagined him as a Dark Lord at the height of his power. You should have looked at him like you would look at Lord Voldemort, or Gellert Grindelwald, or a furious Albus Dumbledore. For those of you who just scoffed, that last one is a sight you are all lucky you have never seen. If these children are thousand-fold fools for angering you, then you are million-fold fools for angering him! I told the children to treat you all like basilisks, to never draw your angry gazes. Now, as a wizard on par with Dumbledore and Voldemort, I tell you the same. I would order it if I could. Treat that pony like a Basilisk. Do not draw his angry gaze. You are lucky he did not kill you all. You had no way of knowing every little detail about him, the same as the children had no way of knowing every detail about your own collective status. But you could have guessed, and you could have chosen to heed his claims, just as the children could have chosen to heed yours."

Not a single Wizengamot member on the ground found anything reasonable to say in their own defense. Not a single member found anything to say at all.

The man, seemingly done with his rant, turned to face the silently-watching, broomstick-mounted plum coloured robes.

"Lucius Malfoy," he intoned, drawing sudden surprise from the crowd below and above. "Explain why you did not vote against that creature despite your political leanings. I think your answer shall prove valuable to everyone present."

Eyes were drawn upward to Lord Malfoy, who sat tall and proud on his broomstick. "Son," he addressed.

"Yes father?" replied a voice in the crowd. Eyes were now drawn to Draco below.

"Answer his question," said Lord Malfoy. "I had you read the Daily Prophet this afternoon. I highlighted the claims about the creature who attacked Azkaban. That creature proved to be real, the claims proved true, and it was brought before the Wizengamot an hour ago. You were not at the trial, of course, but I know you can explain why I refrained from a vote against it."

After a brief pause to think, Draco Malfoy drew himself up. His voice projected to the crowd without assistance from any spell. "It is the wisdom of House Malfoy," said the young scion, "to recognize power. Father trained me from birth, just as he was trained by his father. When someone else is more powerful than you, you do not get angry. You do not become jealous. You do not throw a temper tantrum. Even if you can't say it out loud, you admit to yourself that they have power. You can oppose them if they're on the other side, like we did with Dumbledore, but you have to respect what they bring to the table, whether that's influence or popular support or just raw magic. And if they're a Dark Lord, you don't anger them if you can avoid it. Ever."

"Exactly correct," said David Monroe. "Ten Points to Slytherin. Though I will add the addendum that you may anger Dark Lords after you have thoroughly destroyed them, or while you are in the act of doing so, if it's a deliberate tactic to make them lose their temper and lose the war. And I would prefer if you would answer as well, Lucius. Please summarize your thoughts for the benefit of your fellow Lords and Ladies."

The man nodded. "My instincts informed me that the creature was our magical better, and I thought it would not be wise to make myself his target when he quite literally spelled out how that would be done. To sit back and observe in neutrality was the safest option I could see. As for why I did not attempt to influence the vote myself…" the man seemed to pause, then looked sympathetically at some of his allies below. "I did not think I could have convinced any of you to vote differently without calling in favours, or losing your respect." He bowed his head slightly. "I am sorry that I did not warn you of my suspicions, my friends. I should have done that much, but I did not, and my folly has cost you. You have my apologies."

"The wisdom of politics, ladies and gentlemen," David Monroe said, arm outstretched at the man. "And now we shall need the wisdom of military. Chief Warlock Amelia Bones. Why did you make your votes known? Why did you vote in that creature's favour?"

"Not in his favour," the tough, grim witch shook her head. "A vote against making someone your enemy is not the same as voting in their favour." She glanced significantly at some of the plum-coloured robes on the ground. "To answer your question, professor, I did not think it wise to declare that creature our enemy. He easily bypassed our wards and our attempts to arrest him. According to the reports I received, he left Azkaban while under the eye and assault of our strongest Dark Wizard Hunter. Not to mention a full team of aurors. He escaped without apparent difficulty, worry, or effort. He hasn't maimed or even hurt anybody so far, and considering he was being tried for the crime of slaying the world's darkest creatures… after working with Dementors on a regular basis, I could not say with certainty that he meant us ill by destroying them, so I did not vote to that effect." She paused, possibly in consideration, or possibly because she was done.

"Excellent explanation," the Defense Professor spoke into the pause. "And I suspect you also have a bit of pragmatic wisdom to share as well."

The witch shrugged. "From a practical perspective, he said he's willing to undo some of the damage he did to our prison system, and I'm willing to accept the olive branch if it's true. My department needs it. I can only run overtime shifts for so long. We do require a permanent solution to the Azkaban problem, and we require it quickly. Dumbledore isn't here to modify another Nurmengard for us. Even if he was it's questionable if he could do it for so many prisoners in such a short time. Our own warders will need at least a month to build an adequate replacement to Azkaban."

"Thank you," said Monroe. "Those who voted against him, look to your ankles. You will find removeable bands around them. Those bands suppress the magic of the wearer, turning the strongest wizards into the weakest muggles until removed. They can be locked, though yours are not. Head Unspeakable," he addressed, who was wearing one at the moment, though he removed his own device more quickly than anyone else. "Please examine them once we are concluded here. Have them ready for distribution to Azkaban as quickly as possible, as soon as you deem they are safe, with no hidden spell effects. Another shipment will be coming shortly."

The man barely seemed to pay Monroe any heed, already engrossed with the object in his hand, wand out and scrying.

Into the lecture's lull, some of the Wizengamot members tried to argue about the creature's resisting arrest, about his assaulting them, about disrupting the esteemed and noble Wizengamot, and so on.

Monroe had shrugged. He said that Dark Lords, and strong foreign entities for that matter, don't listen to laws unless they have a reason to. He advised his peers to take that into account, especially when a foreign Dark Lord seems willing to concede on some issues. Give him a reason to listen, even if that reason has nothing to do with military might, and they might find that he will. He said he would repay the monetary debt, did he not?

"And finally," said Monroe, "we shall need the wisdom of virtue. Madam Longbottom, if you would?"

The woman wearing the tallest and gaudiest hat out of everyone present followed Lucius's example. "Neville, dear. Care to comment?"

Neville Longbottom – who had been returned to Hogwarts earlier that morning for the leave-taking feast now that the threat was ended – stood up straighter, but he could not project his voice as easily as Draco. A spell from Monroe was more than enough to compensate.

"Dementors are horrible," he said, nervous that everyone was looking at him, but now brave enough to speak anyway. "T-The darkest creatures ever." Many of the students who had tried to learn the Patronus charm in January nodded firmly. "Anything that destroys them is on our side. And if he used a Patronus charm to do it, then he's probably a better being than any wizard could hope to be."

"Or maybe he's the kind of being we should all aspire to be," said Hermione Granger, a great caw! of agreement coming from her shoulder, which startled many nearby students.

She looked at Harry Potter standing next to her, as if expecting him to say something, but the boy just smiled.

"Ten Points to Hufflepuff," said Professor Monroe. "And two to Ravenclaw." He turned back to the plum-coloured robes. "It is easy to forget the simplest things when you become a politician. It is easy to focus on the fact that our Dementors were our greatest military asset. It is easy to believe that a creature who destroys them is targeting us, seeking to make us weaker on the world stage. But to borrow Mr. Potter's words from April, Dementors would eat everyone if they could. The wandering adventurer Herold Shea vanquished the Mind Flayer species centuries ago, doing all of humanity a great service. Now the Dementors of the world, not just of Britain, have been ended in a similar way.

"We can choose to regard that as an act of aggression or an act of peace, but do not lose sight of the bigger picture. We are still the strongest magical nation, even without Dementors. We produce the strongest and most dangerous wizards, be they light or dark, and that shall continue to be the case if I continue to teach Defense. And remember that we were left a Dementor in the Ministry, one that could probably be destroyed as easily as all the others. We still have a greater Dementor population than any other individual country. We still have the same amount of Dementors as all other countries put together, for the Dementor in the ICW has also gone untouched. Will we, as a country, throw a temper tantrum against a powerful and possibly benevolent outside force? Will we ruin the potential for positive relations? Will we at the very least take their power into account when we make our decisions, as the Malfoys instinctively do? These are the questions we must ask ourselves."

The man let those questions hang in the air for a moment.

"I suggest," said Lord Malfoy, "we hold a referendum on the most recent vote. In two days, perhaps, after tensions have settled and our children have returned to us. Though we are not in the hall at the moment, may I see a show of hands for those in favour?"

All the plum-coloured robes on broomsticks had raised arm sleeves. Some of the plum-coloured robes on the ground had raised arm sleeves. If you looked closely, this included every single 'Imperius'ed Death Eater, counterintuitive as that may have been.

Since the last vote was almost tied, with many refrainers, that meant the majority ruled in favour.

But then Fred and George Weasley raised their hands, which prompted some other students to raise their hands, including the Boy-Who-Lived and the Girl-Who-Died, which prompted a few professors to raise their hands, including David Monroe, which prompted all the students to raise their hands, including students like Robert Jugson and Pansy Parkinson, which pressured the remaining Wizengamot members into a unanimous decision.

A referendum would be held two days hence.

Rehabilitation Part 10.2: Relief

Sombra continued to sleep peacefully on the ground before him.

…

…

…

"Avada Kedavra," he tried again.

…

"Avada-" he began for a third time, then stopped. And not just because he was trying the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.

Normally, at this point in the process, he was utterly disinterested in his victim. But right now, he had just noticed…

It should be impossible…

But he seemed to be imagining himself experiencing an echo of the Changeling Sense. He felt that his target was free of stress and worry. Again, that should have been impossible. He shouldn't have access to that magic right now…

Did he somehow have access…? And then it suddenly hit him.

No. No, he's in his human form, and even if he wasn't, his target is asleep. He does not currently have access to his Changeling Sense, and even if he did it wouldn't work. Obviously. What he finally has access to…

The traceries of anti-light dissipated from the air, harmlessly dispelling when the sacrifice failed to be made. (He had designed his own ritual to be failsafe, of course.)

Empathy.

The word arose in his mind, and he knew at once that it was the correct one, despite self-flattering impulses to the contrary. He knew, upon thinking that word, that he did not master empathy back when he practiced Legilimency to the point of becoming the best in the world.

There have always been minds he could not fully read, surfaces he could not fully understand. Every expert on Legilimency, himself included, has accepted that as a brute fact of reality. To truly comprehend and read the minds of the mentally ill, for instance, would require a Legilimens to be mentally damaged himself.

But, he finally admitted to himself, there are still healthy patterns of thought I have yet to comprehend.

He had never thought or sought to Legilimize happy minds. He almost always practiced in neutral settings – at work, in public, in bars, on the street. And when it wasn't neutral, when the minds he examined were emotionally charged, they were typically charged with counterproductive emotion. That had been deliberate on his part. It helped him know what mindsets he still needed to comprehend, giving him incentive to learn as many errors in thinking as possible.

But there is a flip side to that – an unseen downside, an opportunity cost. He had learned many, many errors in thinking so that he could comprehend them, avoid them, and exploit them when he saw them occur in others. He had not thought to learn correct ways of thinking through Legilimency. He'd thought the Diadem of Ravenclaw would suffice for that. And it did. For matters of logic. But nothing more.

Even back during his first token attempts to reach happiness, he had not considered that he should, perhaps, attempt to comprehend the thought processes of, say, a mother who had just given birth, or a wise man at peace. If he had thought of that, he might have noticed this deficit sooner.

For uncounted minutes, he stood there with Sombra's slumbering form at his feet, wondering what he should do next.

Eventually, he made a decision, and aimed his wand at the unicorn once more.

"Welcome back," said Celestia with a polite nod to Riddle. "I take it the threat is over?"

"Not quite," said Riddle. He removed the disillusionment from Sombra's sleeping form, startling Celestia. "Twilight restored the Heart, expelling him from the kingdom, but he has a last resort of some kind. Killing him would be the safest solution, but I'm curious how you think it should be handled from here."

There was a pause.

Then there was questioning.

Riddle described the story of what happened, quoting Sombra's final few words in particular.

"I think a horn suppressor and a magic isolation room should suffice until Luna can ask him exactly what he intended to do," Celestia decided. "If his horn was glowing, it is almost certainly something he must detonate manually."

"And if not?"

She sent a Patronus message to Twilight Sparkle, ordering her student to evacuate the Crystal Empire's citizenry beyond the city wards.

There was a good deal of waiting. In the meantime, Celestia made preparations for the interrogation. And then, finally, after Celestia received word from Twilight, Sombra was woken and the inquisition began.

Sombra's final resort – essentially a Blood Fort sacrifice that had to be manually activated – was discovered and defused with surprising rapidity. A date for his official trial followed not long after.

During the questioning, despite being separated by a thick pane of magic-resistant glass, Riddle felt Sombra's emotions. Not by magically sensing them, but merely by watching his facial expressions. Looking at Sombra's face, reading his emotions… it was not the cold and distant pattern-recognition it had been all his life. He felt reflections of Sombra's true emotions within himself. It likely helped that the Dark Lord's emotions were more understandable to Riddle than standard pony emotions.

So it hadn't been a one-off. The Changeling magic must have left a permanent impact on his brain after using it for so long.

After a bit of trial and error, he determined the most effective way to mirror emotions non-magically: maintain eye contact. The thought then occurred to him that he had just gone through a year of effort to unlock what seemed to be the muggle version of Legilimency. Except that it was less reliable, less useful, and even more difficult to learn than mind-reading.

That cynical perspective did not cause him to suddenly hate this turn of events. He felt his brain chemistry operating in a new, yet still accurate way, just as he once had with Ravenclaw's Diadem. That, too, had reduced stress in his mind, only it gave him perfect clarity of thought and focus when tackling a problem. It couldn't reveal any answers, but it could put him in the best state of mind to find them.

Something very similar is happening now. It's not that he has perfect clarity of emotion. It's not that he has perfect 'mental health', however that is defined. He's only a beginner at the moment. But he is finally learning true empathy. And if learning to sense emotions with the aid of the Changelings is anything like learning to think with the aid of the Diadem, it should eventually reach the point where he no longer needs the magical crutch.

And again, he doesn't mind. He understands, both logically and instinctively, that his brain is finally beginning to work as evolution intended. Which isn't to say his mind wasn’t working properly before. His brain had been working 'as nature intended' in the same way that a man with little muscle has a body that works 'as intended'. In other words, his brain had been working properly, but he was not reaching his full potential.

One of his primary ambitions in life has always been to reach his full potential – his full physical potential, his full magical potential, and most importantly, his full mental potential.

Now he knows he has fallen short. His mind has mastered logic, but that's only half the equation. To reach peak mental performance, he must grow into his full emotional potential as well. For the longest time, he'd thought he had reached it, but he now knows he has not.

What he had – what he still has – is perfect control over his reactions to his own emotions, which is not the same as reaching peak emotional potential. As Luna would put it, a pony who is in perfect control of his actions at all times but is constantly stressed and unhappy has not reached peak emotional potential. What he needs is to feel better emotions in the first place.

For the first time since all of this began, he allowed himself to truly acknowledge that failing. He admitted to himself, on a fundamental level, that there remains room for improvement. Thus, for the first time since all of this began, he felt true motivation for his current ambition, the kind that came from the deepest level of his being.

Luna's smile was wide when she saw him later, and even wider at his report. She asked if she could hug him, and he allowed it without demanding a favour in return. Out of curiosity, he opened his Changeling Sense, and was almost overwhelmed. If he was in a Changeling body, he would have thrown up ten times over. It was more 'love' than he'd ever felt before.

When Luna noticed his flinch, she asked him about it.

He answered honestly and asked a question in turn.

Luna said she loves to encourage a willing and driven pony to virtue, and to witness them move forward is a beautiful thing to her. What she feels for him is only a drop in the ocean of what she feels for her sister. Is it truly that overwhelming?

Yes. Yes it is.

Chapter 57: Severus Snape

In the dungeons of Hogwarts, two men sat across from each other. One stewed in surly silence, the other sat in the chair across from his desk. Many students had sat in that chair, and it was never a good experience. Now that it was not a student, it promised to be equally unpleasant in the opposite direction.

"Apologies, Severus," said 'David Monroe' in the Slytherin Head of House Office.

The man had entered after a polite knock, then cast the complete suite of privacy spells, plus a few that Severus had never seen or heard before. The man had also activated a device, claiming it would keep the meeting private without the need for continuous re-casting of temporary charms.

"I know you wanted to speak with me," said the Defense Professor, "but this was the earliest I could find time to meet."

"Oh, no," said Severus, eyeing the man with frustration and fury. "I understand that national matters are far more important than personal squabbles." The words were not spoken sarcastically, but bitterness seeped through every syllable.

The Potions Master had been imagining this moment the entire day. His resentment had been building. Festering. Coalescing. But not out of control. His emotions continuously clashed with the certainty that he was completely impotent. And not just because he signed a paralyzing contract.

Severus could hold his own in a fight. Even against most aurors. But he has no hope against Voldemort. That was true even ten years ago.

Now it's worse. Much, much worse.

If Mad-Eye is to be believed, if the brief battle between Dark Wizard and Dark Wizard Hunter had not been staged…

Then the difference in power between Severus Snape and Lord Voldemort…

…he has been thinking about this all day…

The gap in power is far greater today than it had been a mere three days ago, and the gap of three days ago had been far greater than the gap ten years ago, and that original gap had already been extreme enough.

To make matters yet worse, the ambition of actually slaying Voldemort is utterly hopeless, even ignoring the power imbalance. Besting Voldemort in battle would do Severus no good, regardless of its impossibility.

Voldemort knows the methods of vanquishment proposed by Harry Potter. Voldemort would not have allowed Harry Potter to say those weaknesses aloud if he was still vulnerable to them. If the story is to be believed, he had years- no, decades to shore up those chinks in his armor. Dementors might still be a weakness, but there are only two left and Voldemort is on good terms with those who had destroyed the rest. He is on good terms with the Ministry of Magic, or at least the Wizengamot, who control Britain's remaining Dementor. He is on decent terms with the ICW as well, who guard the final Dementor – and when it comes to the ICW, 'decent' terms is about as good as one can get. Voldemort is on good terms with the Boy-Who-Lived. Voldemort is on good terms with everybody.

In short, Severus would not be avenging Lily Potter, today or ever.

Severus had lost his infatuation for her back in September, thanks to her son's harsh words, but Severus still held to the love of childhood friendship which he and Lily shared long before they were Hogwarts students. He had still held to his vendetta for that sake, for the connection they shared before they grew older, grew up, and grew apart. Or perhaps he still held to it because he had nothing else. For over ten years, that vendetta had been his only meaningful connection to this world.

Without it, he has nothing. Nothing except his anger at the impossible. That anger would either disappear, leaving him truly empty of emotion, or it would drive him mad. Staring at the source of that anger was not helping, but had to be done.

Voldemort gazed back at Severus with far less emotion. The Dark Lord's expression did not seem condescending or critical, just curious, and perhaps a bit weary.

"I disagree," said the man. "Personal matters feel, and in most cases are more important to the individual than national matters. On that note, is there anything you would like to know before we proceed?"

"I would like to know," said Severus Snape's sharp voice, "exactly how the Boy-Who-Lived has come to be your ally, for I cannot imagine him taking your side if he had any other choice. I would like to know if it was a lie that Dumbledore also took your side, and if not, how you managed to fool him. And finally, I would like to know how you faked that Patronus charm."

There was a deep sigh. "It wasn't fake," he lied, "though I don't blame you for suspecting me. I did say I found a way to fake the charm, after all. I was hoping you would see the method on your own."

"Do enlighten me," said Severus, "if it would not be unwise."

The man shrugged. "Suppose Quirinus Quirrell was the type of person who would never, ever cast the Killing Curse, like Dumbledore. Now consider all of last year. Can you see a way for that man's mouth and wand to produce the green death regardless?"

Severus saw the answer instantly. "But…" he hesitated. "To do the same for the Patronus… would that not require…"

"It would," said the man, sounding unalarmed and unbothered. "If I arranged for another mind to become immortal as mine has, and if I allowed them to possess my body in the same way that I possessed Quirrell, or if some other mental link could achieve the same effect, then another being could use my body, my wand, and my voice to form a Patronus Charm. Assuming they could already cast it themselves, of course. Thus would I appear to cast the spell, though it would not be me truly doing it." The man smiled, as if in remembrance. "I wanted to fool Dumbledore that way, at one point, long before I could cast the spell honestly. But I did learn to cast it honestly."

Severus snorted. "Let me guess. You encountered a Dementor, it threatened your life, and you loved yourself enough to repel it, going from not a flicker of light to a full Patronus."

"Not even close," said the man. "The Patronus cannot be cast from self-love. That could never form a Patronus, unless we include abstract muggle theories about a lack of true altruism in evolution due to genetic self-perpetuation of a life form's closely-related tribe."

"Hm," said Severus. Ignoring whatever gibberish the man had said after the first part, it's clear Voldemort has studied the Patronus. He seems to know what does not constitute the right kind of thought, at least.

"In any case," the man continued, "the entire purpose of Dumbledore's questioning was to prevent such a scenario from succeeding. Can you guess, from all that, how Dumbledore was 'fooled', as you put it?"

"Yes," spat Severus. "You spelled it out in the headmaster's office. A Voldemort who can cast the Patronus charm would not be Voldemort anymore; there would be nothing left of him but a remnant. What I can't understand is how you expect me to believe your redemption, and how you expect me to believe it fulfills the prophecy. The headmaster is a sentimental old fool when it comes to such matters. Harry Potter is young and naive. I am neither."

"Mr. Potter was less naïve and immature about your own situation than you were. Who's to say he was not equally skeptical and mature about mine?"

Severus furrowed his brows for a moment. Then he realized. "Potter TOLD-"

"Perfect Occlumency lessons," Voldemort interrupted him before his indignation could really get going. "Naturally, I did not agree to Obliviation, and I sometimes saw things without him realizing, especially early on. Even Mr. Potter does not know that he told me about the private conversation he had with you."

Severus crossed his arms, glowering heavily. He did not quite direct the expression at the man sitting across from him.

The Defense Professor looked at him with a calm sort of weariness. "If you are going to disbelieve anything that puts me and my allies in so much as a neutral light, we can have this conversation through Patronus messages if you'd prefer."

Severus shook his head. "I shall take your excuse at face value, but I stand by my statement that Mr. Potter is closer to Dumbledore than myself when it comes to matters of redemption. His attitude towards Mr. Malfoy is obvious enough."

"True," said Voldemort. "And as a result, Mr. Malfoy has had a change of heart and a change of perspective. Mr. Potter's attitude towards Mr. Malfoy was justified, where Dumbledore's cynicism was not. And his attitude towards Filch was also justified where Dumbledore's naiveté was not."

Severus wished he could argue the point, but he had nothing to say to that. Voldemort, as usual, was exactly correct on a point-by-point basis. Even if the direction the points were going as a whole…

"Mr. Potter can see the potential good in people," Voldemort went on. "Even me, though he is less naïve about how to go about achieving it than Dumbledore. And he is likewise realistic about irredeemable cases. You, on the other hand, are disinclined to believe anything positive about me. You might admit that I have what are called 'evil virtues'-" the man rolled his eyes "-like cunning and power, but nothing that would prove a modicum of morality. That is a flaw in reasoning as well, Severus. I know because I laboured under that flaw for much longer than you have. Even if I provide solid evidence to prove my case, you will reject it."

"What evidence?" demanded Severus. "And don't say the Patronus charm."

But Voldemort shook his head. "Your tone suggests that you will find any possible reason for denial. If I say something that you can't refute, you will say that it being true does not prove anything. If I say something unprovable, you will say I am lying. There will always be an excuse, some reason I am evil and wrong. Your emotions have brought you beyond the realms of reason and evidence. I am not yet good at such conversations, Severus. That is why I am tempted to skip to the end of this one. I am tempted to order that you accept the best offer I can make to settle debts between us, then be done with the whole affair."

The Dark Mark on Severus's arm itched for the briefest of moments, then went dormant.

Severus eyed the man in calculation. Voldemort certainly would have skipped to the end, but Severus knew that 'Voldemort' was at least partially an act. Tom Riddle might be more patient.

"Why haven't you?" Severus asked, ignoring the stupidity of the 'settling debts' statement. He had well learned by this point to never call Voldemort stupid in any way, or imply it, or whisper it behind closed doors.

"Obligation," the man stated. "Part of settling that debt is offering you the opportunity to question me."

"Without restriction?" asked Severus. "For I do indeed have many questions."

The man shrugged. "I do have my own preferences. I would prefer that we not act out the roles of characters in a play, with myself as the regretful but untouchable perpetrator, you the vengeful but powerless victim, and our lines exactly what you would expect from that situation. Is there anything you want to know that would not fit into such a scene? That might actually prove productive."

For a long time, Severus tried to think of something to ask, discarding question after question. He stared at Voldemort all the while, who began tinkering with his device after a time.

Eventually, Severus did think of something. "Why did you induct me when I brought you that prophecy?"

The man's eyes looked up from the device, his eyebrows raised.

"You could have killed me once you took what you wanted," Severus stated the retrospectively obvious. "What did you see in me, as I was then, that made you consider my application to the Death Eaters?"

"I was tired of being surrounded by gibbering stupidity," Voldemort said at once, as if it was the most obvious statement in the world. "I saw from your mind that you fit the schemer archetype, like myself. You had more raw intelligence than all my other servants. If you ever wondered why I never used the Cruciatus on you after that first time, it's because you never again did anything that annoyed me. You cleverly learned what acts to avoid from watching others be tortured, and you never failed in any of your missions. When I wanted to have a mildly intelligent conversation, or brag about a successful maneuver to someone who could actually understand the feat, you were my go-to."

"Not Lucius?" Severus asked, knowing Lord Malfoy also fit that particular personality mold, and knowing that Lord Malfoy is about as intelligent as himself.

"Not since you joined, no." The man went back to examining his privacy device. "Lucius would always be thinking of anything I said as a means to further his own agenda. He would offer tips, or minor adjustments in strategy, hoping his advice would reflect well on him. I would let him do it because he occasionally said something useful, but when you came along I no longer needed to tolerate his maneuvering. You were much more straightforward. And more intelligent. You asked me questions that proved the strength of my mind to the other Death Eaters. You didn't pretend to worship me the way they did. And on the few occasions you remarked on my strategy, it wasn't with the intent of improving your image. I admit, that was enjoyable to me, which is why I heeded your begging when I went to the Potters. To the extent Lord Voldemort ever heeded such things, that is."

"Which is to say that he did not."

The man looked up from the device. "Which is to say that he gave her a chance. And he was honest with her, though she didn't believe it. That is what he would have said three days ago. Now I shall agree with you. You are correct. To go after a good parent's only child is to give them no choice at all." He looked back down again and resumed his fiddling. "I should mention that if Harry Potter, or I, or the others working on the problem discover a moral way to resurrect someone after the brief window in which the brain is recoverable, you'll be... one of the first to know. If it's still possible to contact you at that point. Though you should understand that I will not grant your original request. On the off chance it is possible to revive her, Mr. Potter will insist that James come back as well, and those two did truly love each other."

"I know," said Severus, leaning back in his chair.

He did not know if he should believe any of this, but he at least believed the part about the gibbering stupidity of the other Death Eaters. As for the bit about revival…

"Are you deliberately offering me false hope?"

"No," said Voldemort. "That item is on our agenda for future research. From what you know of me, you can see how my interests are served by an ally knowing such a spell. It would be a final contingency against my death. If we do discover anything that works, you will be told. But we're trying to avoid getting our own hopes up. Preventing death is far easier than curing it. Just so we're clear, that is not how I intend to settle my debt… although 'settle' isn't the correct word, come to think of it. I don't expect to ever truly settle it. I understand that it is nigh impossible to make up for what I've done. Even saving the world, doing the work of Merlin himself, would not make it up to you. Correct?"

Severus nodded, almost surprised that Voldemort understood as much. Though he could have simply been trained to follow a script by someone who did, with no true understanding himself…

"Have you saved the world, out of curiosity?"

"I have," Voldemort answered. "I suspect you won't need much convincing on that front. I once told Mr. Potter that I hold no great fondness for the universe, but I do live there."

Severus chuckled mirthlessly. "What precisely did you do?"

"You won't accept that it makes me a good person, and you would be right, since I did it long before I was a decent person, so I won't bore you with many details. It involved muggle militaries, nuclear weapons, and compulsion charms. Compulsion to inaction, in many cases."

"I see," Severus said to the unsurprising answer. "You are right, I do not accept it as evidence."

The man nodded. "Those who can cast Mr. Potter's Patronus can't ignore the fact that I've saved the world, which is why they will try to deny it when they first hear it. Those who can't cast the stronger version might readily believe that I've saved the world, like you, but they will say it makes up for nothing. The vast world around them is very far removed, after all. Saving it does not feel relevant to their own grievances. They want me to pay, not repay."

Severus frowned at that last part. He thought for another long while, searching for another question, but he couldn't think of anything except the most important one, which would fit firmly into the 'vengeful but powerless' scenario. It wasn't wise to annoy Voldemort, but…

"In that case, how do you intend to 'repay' when what you took was priceless?" he asked at last, since there was nothing else left.

The man carefully set the device down and met Severus's gaze. "By offering you the same priceless opportunity I received. I have come to realise that mental health is invaluable." He withdrew a shard of red from his robes. "I possess the Stone of Permanence. I can give you any form you please, send you anywhere you want to go with whatever resources you require. Thus, you have three choices. You can stay in Hogwarts as the Potions Master, evil or no. You can choose your own destiny, with or without my help. Or you can go to the place that I believe has the best chance to bring you lasting happiness. You will have to become an animagus, but that can be arranged."

Severus could feel his eyebrows furrowing. He was tempted to reject the man outright, but… "What, precisely, does your own offer entail?" he found himself asking.

"I offer you the chance to start over, Severus," replied the man. "No one will know you as the evil Potions Master. No one will know you as a Death Eater. No one will know you as a member of the Order. Not even yourself, if you wish to have your memories locked. Though I will recommend you don't, and further recommend that you speak to a therapist who is Vowed to privacy. With the exception of that therapist, no one will see you as anything other than how you present yourself. I would offer to remove your Mark, but it was designed as a permanent curse. Removing it will require effort on the part of a certain individual, if you accept this offer, and you can also choose to accept her help or simply never meet her."

"You offer to remove your own Mark?" Severus asked, keeping his disbelief out of his tone.

"I can't guarantee the Mark will ever come off," said the man. "I can't even guarantee that you'll find happiness. You'll have to do the right things yourself. I can only guarantee that the efforts will be made. I suppose I can also guarantee that your potions mastery will be valued, if you can adjust to the new setting. Even as a fresh and competent potions master, no one will ever connect the dots about your past. And if you do go down that route, and then later wish to return as Severus Snape for any reason, whether for a day or a year or a lifetime, I can arrange that as well. I did not have that option myself, when I lived through what I am offering you, and it was for the best. Perhaps it would be best if you could not come back so easily either... but the communications delay, and the fact that it has to go through me, might serve as a sufficient barrier outside of extremely important matters."

"And it is truly a choice?" he asked without taking even a moment to consider it. "Not an order?"

"Not an order," the man confirmed. "I am tempted to make it one, but I won't."

"Why not?" asked Severus. "Why give me the choice if you are so convinced you are right?"

"Because I might be wrong," he shrugged. "And because trying to help others in order to make oneself feel less bad is actually unwise, emotionally speaking. It means I'm still caring mostly about my own desires and emotions, not yours. I know that's where this suggestion is coming from, and I know to distrust that motivation. Even if I think this path would be best for you, it's not my place to tell you that you should take it. It's only my place to offer. This way, the choice will be yours."

Severus leaned back in his chair.

How cruel, he realized, for Voldemort to allow Severus to choose for himself, so that Voldemort cannot be blamed for how his life turns out from this moment forward. Even if Severus chooses Voldemort's option, it will have been his choice to accept it. He will have to own his decisions henceforth, just as he takes responsibility for the last time he chose the 'Voldemort' option.

That is how I brought it about, he had once said. Brought it all about, from beginning to end, me and my own doing.

He knew that this is another one of those critical moments, another opportunity for him to make the wrong choice. It's the height of irony that Voldemort is seemingly offering him the 'good' option, when before he had been the conventionally 'evil' path.

Ignoring good and evil, the truth is that Severus doesn't want to continue being the scary Potions Master of Hogwarts. He had not been expecting to survive last night, had not made any plans for the future. He had been content to die knowing Lord Voldemort would be vanquished.

Now his life is effectively finished. His past plans and ambitions are moot. 'Voldemort' might be vanquished on some prophetic level, but the mind behind the glowing red eyes is still alive, and Severus can no longer influence that man's fate in any way that truly matters.

Lily Potter's death will never be repaid by the death of her killer.

And Tom Riddle, of all people, is attempting to make up for that fact. Tom Riddle, of all people, claims to understand that it can't be made up, which is almost harder to believe than his attempting to make amends in the first place.

After so many wrong decisions in his life, Severus has finally come to recognize when one is at hand. He has finally come to recognize the source of his wrong decisions as well, that which Tom Riddle called his 'bitterness and resentment'.

So, for just a moment, he left them aside. For just a moment, he chose to humor the other man.

"Please, use your Patronus," Severus requested, even knowing it might be fake. "Have it inform me of your evidence. I will leave the wording up to you."

The man did so. First he told his Patronus to "Tell Severus I have a means of conveying a message that is faster than echoing my words. It is just as honest."

The Patronus conveyed that message, then at Severus's hesitant nod, the Patronus spoke on its own, sending the following message:

"I am the happy thoughts of Tom Riddle," said the silver humanoid. "There used to be a dangerous, anti-harmonic resonance between Tom Riddle and Harry Potter, which you witnessed in Flitwick's memory, and which Mr. Potter called a 'Sense of Doom'. You can confirm it with Headmistress McGonagall, whom Mr. Potter told in the first week of the school year. Before the incident with the Mirror, we could not freely cast magic on each other. If we tried, we might have died. Our spirits and magic were close, but different enough to cause a cascading, resonating, explosive effect. That is no more. If I maintain my redemption, the resonance will stay gone. So long as I do not engage in my old patterns of thought, as I did last night in the Quidditch Pitch, it will not return, and I have every motive to avoid that outcome."

"And your offer is also true?" asked Severus. "It is not intended as a trap or trick?"

"It is neither," replied the Patronus. "I truly intend to meliorate this debt between us, Severus, in a way that does not involve pain or violence or punishment. I truly believe that your best interests will be served by my offer. If you are lucky, your deepest desires will be granted by extremely powerful and all-encompassing prophetic magic. My wishes, Dumbeldore's wishes, and Mr. Potter's wishes were all granted in this way."

"Explain."

"I'm afraid I mustn't," said the Patronus. "You shall have to ponder that on your own. In practical terms, you will want for nothing. Materially, magically, or emotionally. If you put in the work at therapy, that is."

"What do you mean by therapy?"

The man spoke this time, not the Patronus. "Better it be done in an office by a professional than in a hallway by your eleven year old student."

Severus narrowed his eyes at the man. "I take it you are finally lying?"

The man sighed, though it was his Patronus that answered, after a shake of its glowing white head. "That wasn't a lie, but it wasn't a good thing to say. When I have this much autonomy, I don't convey such thoughts."

Severus raised a hand. "A moment, please."

He has been trusted with deep magical secrets in the past, but usually he was warned first. Then again, back in the day, Voldemort had stopped warning him in advance after the first time. And all of this was getting in the way of what mattered.

"You said earlier that you were tempted to skip to the end," he decided to say to the man. "I think I am ready to do just that." He looked at the Patronus. "I need two final pieces of true information. First, speak of the offer's quality."

"It is the best I can make with my current intelligence and wisdom" said the Patronus. "Take that for what you will."

"And your ulterior motives?" he asked the most important question.

"I am doing it to feel less bad," said the Patronus. "In that sense, my motivations are, indeed, still selfish. I don't care for you all that much, Severus, but I do regret much of what I did as Voldemort. That regret is my primary motive. Otherwise, there are no ulterior motives in the sense that you are asking the question."

Severus considered this message for a long moment. He knew this message could possibly be fake... but it could also be true. Which made him almost reject the offer outright. He would rather strike out on his own.

This triggered his bitterness and resentment to return, constrained by the hard limits of the problem- and he finally saw a certain, obvious thing he could do about it. And after that, a certain possible path of future events. He was no seer, no centaur, but this vision of the future felt so likely to occur as to be almost inevitable, even if he does not help to speed it along himself.

His new deepest desire… even if he could not fully bring it about himself… it would certainly be something he'd want to witness personally… and perhaps he will be granted that much, if nothing else, by this supposed wish-granting world…

He weighed his options, then made his decision, even knowing that it is likely the wrong one.

The town of Hollow Shades doesn't often see new faces. Even when it came out that the current Prince of Equestria, the first and only stallion alicorn in known history, was actually a thestral, Prince Excelsior mentioned that he hadn't come from Hollow Shades, so it hadn't really caused an explosion in tourism or anything.

Ivy Bloom was perfectly fine with that. Too many hooves would mess with the local horticulture in the surrounding forest, and that would mess with her own small business of potions-making.

She was one of the only non-thestrals living in Hollow Shades, but her midnight-blue coat fit in just fine, and the rest of the town appreciated her magic. It paid the bills when potions didn't... but that was mostly due to her poor skills as a brewer, not a lack of business. Her special talent was preparing ingredients, from stewing slugs to growing mandrake, but she has never been the best at actually making the draughts.

Nopony in town had replied to her 'help wanted' sign once they learned she was asking for a brewer. Even though non-unicorns can brew potions and she was trying to reach out, there were simply no thestrals in Hollow Shades with the interest or talent for potions-making.

One of the residents – the only other unicorn, as it turned out, a blue mare in her fifties who went by the name Trixie – suggested that Ivy Bloom submit a request to Princess Luna. Princess Luna had helped Trixie, once upon a time, so Trixie reasoned that the princess might be able to help Ivy too. Trixie herself did not want the potions-brewing position, when asked.

Ivy Bloom had sent a letter in May, not really expecting a reply from the Princess.

Now it's August and she's already falling behind on the trickle of orders she'd gotten. It was always frustrating when a potion failed and she had to restart, and that already happened twice on this draught. Poison Joke cure is tricky to get right. It's a good thing she has so many spare ingredients. The bell above her small shop's door was a welcomed distraction.

"Hello," she greeted the thestral customer as she emerged from the backroom to the storefront. She didn't think she recognized him, so she just asked, "Can I help you?"

"Yes," said the thestral, his accent clearly a sign that he wasn't from around here. "I have been informed that you are in need of a Potions Brewer. I am here to apply for the position."

"You are?" her eyes lit up. "Can you start right away?"

The stallion nodded, a bit awkwardly. "I must warn you that I am... rusty," he said, raising a hoof and looking at it. "It might take time to get into practice."

Can't be worse than me, she thought to herself. "That's fine!" she said, lifting the counter flap with her magic. "I'll just start you on something I haven't gotten to yet. So long as your success rate is around one-to-one, you're hired."

"One-to-one?" he asked curiously. "You require perfect brewing? I was not expecting such high standards..." He curled and uncurled the hoof he had raised, looking to it once more. "I might not be able to meet them so soon."

"Oh, no no no," she said with little laugh. "I mean one successful potion for each one you fail."

The stallion stared at her. "One success for one failure," he repeated. "Is that the standard of your old brewer?"

"Oh, I've never had a brewer," she said. "Besides myself. That's my success rate." She felt her cheeks getting warm in embarrassment as he continued staring at her. "I've... never been very good at potions," she admitted, showing him her cutie mark. "Just at getting the ingredients. If I could spend all day in the forest, I would."

"I see," said the stallion. "Perhaps, once I have a handle on my practice again, that can be arranged."

"How?" she asked. Even if he did turn out to be a decent brewer, she would still need to spend time brewing.

"I used to be a potions master," he answered.

"Really?" she asked skeptically, then caught herself. Yes, she reminded herself, other species can brew potions. They can be potions masters. Even if it is a bit rare.

The stallion chuckled. "Yes, I suppose the convenience is a bit hard to believe, isn't it? I suspect my upcoming performance will not help my case either. But it is true nonetheless."

She really hoped it was true. "What's your name?"

The stallion seemed to pause for a moment. "Sharp Draught. Yours?"

"Ivy Bloom."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," he said formally, holding out a hoof.

"And yours," she said, briefly wrapping her neck around his. When she withdrew, she saw he was staring at her, wearing a puzzled frown. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

"...No," he said, lowering his hoof to the floor. "Just adjusting to a change."

Rehabilitation Part 10.3: Treating Morality as a Relationship

Author's Note

A/N: The next chapter of rehab was a bit boring, so I divvied it up into digestible chunks and scattered it between present-day chapters in a predictable back-and-forth pattern.

No action, lots of talking. Consider it the broccoli of rehabilitation. The dry, raw, unseasoned broccoli. No ranch. It might be tedious to consume, but it's healthy. Probably.

Rehabilitation Part 10.3: Treating Morality as a Relationship

Over the course of the night, Luna did little dream walking.

Riddle did little reading.

They spoke of his improvement, with a good deal of new information at Luna's disposal, and fewer topics forbidden. Luna finally learning about the phoenix voice within him wasn't as annoying as he had predicted, for instance.

"No?" Riddle echoed her answer.

"No," she repeated firmly. "It is a restriction on your free will. It can hardly be called 'virtue' if you are forced to be good."

He furrowed his brows. "What does virtue matter? My goal is happiness, not virtue."

She regarded him for a moment. "Hm… let me put it this way. If you say 'my goal is to become healthier,' and I say 'you must learn nutrition and exercise', then you say 'but my goal is health, not nutrition or exercise'… you see? If the goal is good health, nutrition and exercise are how you reach it. 'Tis the same with happiness and virtue. The goal is happiness, virtue is how you get there."

Riddle blinked a few times. He'd never heard that cliché before… though if he has not heard it, that would mean it is not cliché. In any case, it seems like an important issue to address if true. 'If true' being the operative phrase.

Does virtue actually beget happiness? Does that claim truly reflect reality?

In reality, happiness can be measured objectively by the brightness of one's Patronus charm (or the existence of it at all), and in true life (beyond this pony realm), The-Boy-Who-Lived and Albus Dumbledore have the brightest Patronuses known to him. They are also obviously above average in what a normal person would call 'virtue'. Moody, Bones, a number of Aurors, and every member of the Order also had corporeal Patronuses, and they were likewise somewhat 'virtuous' when compared to the rest of the population. That is the evidence he has seen.

The primary counter-evidence is the 'virtuous' Ms. Granger's lack of Patronus, though Mr. Potter has already given her a plausible reason not to have one – the same reason Godric Gryffindor didn't, the same reason Mr. Potter himself struggled at first.

So Riddle didn't argue the point. He will assume 'virtue is how you reach happiness' as potentially true for now, meaning his next step should be…

"Define 'virtue'."

Luna smiled. "One way to define something is through antonym. Do you know the opposite of virtue?"

"I don't typically use this vernacular." He doesn't speak 'moralist'.

"I think the field troubles you more than the vocabulary."

"I dislike the language and the field."

"Dislike is not quite the same thing as ineptitude," she remarked. "I apologize if this is annoying. I am just trying to be sure of something. Here, let me put it to the test. What is your field of greatest competence?"

"Power," he said at once.

Her expression dimmed slightly, but she nodded. "One way to define something is through antonym. The opposite of 'virtue' is 'vice', and the opposite of 'goodness' is 'sin'. With me so far?"

"Nothing seems to have been lost in translation," he granted. "So far."

"Ah, yes. Let us hope that continues to be the case. Now, please answer the following question to the best of your ability: If you are trying to reach a state of great power, what is a cardinal sin in that pursuit?"

"Giving up power you have already acquired," he answered at once. It was rule 3.

"See?" she said. "You do speak the language. You understood 'sin' in that context, and you would likely understand 'virtue' as well. You simply have not applied it to morality."

"Even still," he allowed. "I would like your definition of 'virtue'."

"Of course. In the context of morality, 'virtues' are those traits which cannot be consistently upheld by those who are evil – honesty, courage, loyalty, generosity, kindness, consideration, to name a few. As applied to relationships, to be 'virtuous' is to be considerate of others, but also considerate to your own needs. To be 'virtuous' is to not exploit others, and to not allow yourself to be exploited. To be 'virtuous' is to have relationships that are healthy to you and healthy to others… but I see that this is not working."

She's right. It wasn't.

She took a moment to think. "Very well, let us go back to neutral definitions. And with antonym, since I think you will understand that better. When you apply the language to fields other than morality, an act of 'sin' is to mess up so badly that you are going away from where you should be going. To sin is to miss your mark, in other words. 'Vices' are the personality traits that cause you to 'sin' on a regular basis. Thus 'virtues' are the traits that get you closer to your goal, to regularly hit your mark. That is how to think of those terms when divorced from morality."

He slowly nodded. Using that terminology, his list of 37 rules could be called 'virtues' for a Dark Lord to follow in the competent pursuit of power. Virtues for 'evil', he thought with an internal, ironic smile.

"Now that we've established you do know the language," Luna continued, "These are my questions for you: Toward what goal does 'virtue' drive a pony? Alternatively, from what goal does 'vice' spurn? More simply, what is the goal of morality? The answer to all three is the same."

It seemed obvious enough. He just, as Mr. Potter would put it, pattern matched the cliché. "The goal of morality is to be a good pony, yes? To make the world a better place, to save the lives of others, to not be evil…"

"Not quite," said Luna gently. "In a sense, you have just provided synonyms to virtue, and rephrasing a trait is not quite the same thing as stating its goal. On the individual level, the goal of morality, the motivation, the reason for pursuing it, is not to be a good pony. The goal is not to save lives. The goal is not to help others. Those may be goals of morality on a societal level, when morality becomes ethics and law. Those may be manifestations and effects of morality. Those may be indicators of the virtuous. But when it comes to the individual, when it comes to why you should pursue it, the goal of morality is your goal. The goal is happiness. I said it is the path to happiness, did I not? Happiness is the destination at the end of Virtue Lane."

"Hm… I had not been expecting that." And if true, that would make it important to discuss. "In that case, why have you focused so little on 'virtue' thus far?" he asked. "You seem much more interested in my 'bad' habits."

She considered it. "To some extent, that is true. In your case the only virtue I have truly tried to hammer home thus far has been honesty. I may be biased, but even Tia agrees it is the most important virtue. Dishonesty gets in the way of lasting happiness like no other vice can. As for your other habits, evil stunts virtue, it blocks the growth of virtue, thus it must be solved first."

"And the reason you have not focused much on my relationships, despite how important you say they are?"

"I realized I was pushing things along too quickly by encouraging you to form friendships. You still have a ways to go first."

"But relationships are still essential to happiness?" he pressed.

That much, at least, he accepted long ago. Every successful Patronus thought he knows about involves relationships in some way or another.

"Of course," Luna smiled. "The goal is happiness, achieved by good relationships, achieved by virtue. There is no happiness without companionship. There is no joy without friendship, there is no euphoria without love. Or drugs, I suppose, and perhaps schadenfreude, but those don't last, and they cannot fuel a Patronus."

Riddle gave a single chuckle at that remark. If only they could, he might have revised his personal 'no drugs' policy for a time. But drugs are like false memories – an outside influence, disregarded by Patronus attempts, and the pleasure felt at destroying enemies is not the right kind of happiness.

"It is most accurate to say," Luna summarized, "that 'virtue' is the habit that allows you to form positive bonds with others, and those bonds bring happiness. Morality alone is necessary but not sufficient for happiness. Relationships are necessary but not sufficient. You must integrate both to achieve a good friendship, and then you will be happy."

"Good is just a label," he remarked. "Even the worst beings call themselves 'good'."

"Then I shall define it to exclude that," she declared. "A good relationship is mutually beneficial. Physically, materially, and mentally. Neither side regrets the bond and both sides are better off. A bad relationship is everything else. One pony exploiting another, for instance."

"How is that quantified?"

"Not easily," she sighed. "A great deal of subjectivity is often involved, I'm afraid, especially when a competent manipulator is involved. To understand one's own feelings is a skill more akin to art than math, like a litterateur deriving meaning from a deep and resonating story. That's why true virtue is a mindset, a guideline, not a strict set of rules to follow."

"Most moralists I've met have waxed endlessly about standards and rules," he pointed out. "Not that I agree with them, such rules are easily exploited, but-"

"Ah!" she interrupted, raising her hoof. "That right there. We can get into standards another time, but that is precisely why moral ponies should not adhere to rules. Because evil ponies can exploit them. When you view morality as a relationship between ponies, not a strict ruleset that must be followed at all times, you need never regret morality. I view morality as a relationship, so what kind of relationship do you think I have with actively immoral and unregenerate ponies?"

"A bad one?"

"A reflective one, if I must. Or no relationship at all, if I have a choice. If somepony seeks to exploit me, to abuse my morality, and I cannot simply tell them to go away, I treat them with the same consideration they treat me. That is what it means to be both good and strong. The silver rule. You see?"

Both good and strong? No, he did not see how such a contradiction could exist… but Riddle considered the dilemma anyway, using Luna's framing.

The 'moral' people whose strength he actually respected could be counted on a single hand: Bones, Moody, Crouch, Dumbledore. Luna if he was feeling generous, though he'd never seen her in an extended wartime setting so he couldn't really speak of her military strength.

Of the four humans, the most relevant would be Dumbledore. There was a standout moment near the end of the war, a moment exactly epitomal of Luna's morals, when Dumbledore finally became a worthy opponent.

Before that point, Voldemort had targeted and ransomed 'light' families because he knew the great and good Albus Dumbledore would pay the ransoms and wouldn't retaliate. But after Dumbledore's own brother was ransomed for a ridiculous amount, and after Albus refused to pay it, and after Aberforth was tortured into insanity (a scene Riddle had locked away from his own memory, but still knew about), Albus Dumbledore finally relented and burned Narcissa Malfoy alive in her bedroom – not as an act of hot vengeance, but as a cold, calculated message, a promise of future consequences, a commitment to what Luna calls 'the silver rule':

Do unto others as they do to you.

Not as you would have them do unto you, i.e. the golden rule.

ASthey do to you.

In a game of snitchless Quidditch, if you followed the golden rule, you would pass the quaffle to the enemy team because that's what you would want the enemy team to do to you. And then the enemy team only passes to each other, they laugh at your stupidity, and you lose the game.

To take a less ridiculous example, in a martial arts competition you treat your opponent with respect and you do not break the rules of engagement because that's how you want to be treated, but if your opponent breaks the rules without getting caught, it would be stupid and wrong to continue respecting the rules yourself, at least when facing that opponent.

When your opponent unsheathes their claws, you unsheathe yours, and it becomes a fight, not a dominance contest. Treat others AS they treat you. That is the silver rule.

Luna claims the golden rule is for situations of good faith and earned trust, while the silver rule is for questionable/bad faith and earned enmity. Mutual benefit vs. zero sum, friends and allies vs. unknowns and enemies, sport vs. war, dominance contest vs. death battle.

Albus Dumbledore once had the strict rules of 'never torture anyone' and 'never target uninvolved innocents' and 'save the lives of friends and family no matter the cost'. Dumbledore no longer has those rules, at least where Voldemort is concerned, because the relationship he had with the Dark Lord didn't allow for restraint or mercy or charity. In other words, he finally stopped passing the quaffle to the enemy team, he moved on from the golden rule to the silver rule, he unsheathed his claws at long last.

Dumbledore began treating his morals 'as a relationship between people', not as a strict set of rules to follow regardless of circumstance. That is the moment Dumbledore's morals ceased to be blatantly exploitable.

Regarding Luna's original question, this enabled Dumbledore to be somewhat strong despite the inherent disadvantages that come with being 'good'.

"I see," Riddle said at last.

And he did.

At the very least, Luna continuously reaffirmed to his satisfaction that her moral stances are not obviously stupid.

"But why do you have a relationship with me then, silver rule or no, when you have the ability to send me away?"

The first part of her stance, avoid 'immoral' ponies entirely if she has the choice and ability to do so, is also not a stupid principle. But she has not avoided him, even after discovering the extent of his 'evil'…

Luna smiled. "Because you are truly improving through careful, deliberate effort. And because you have followed the silver rule with me ever since we met, even more strictly and instinctively than I did. And I cannot articulate how rare and refreshing that is."

Chapter 58: Summer Plans

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Rehabilitation 10.4: Comas, Emergencies, and Apologies

"So that's it?" he asked. "Treat morality itself as a series of relationships, not a list of rules?"

"As freely chosen relationships," she said. "Good connections cannot be forced, for the same reason a comedian cannot force others to laugh."

"I'm sure they could," he interjected.

Her own rejoinder was instant as well. "They would not be very good comedians if they did."

"Granted," he grinned. "Go on."

"Laughter is our involuntary response to pleasant shock," the former Element of Laughter went on. "In the same vein, love is your involuntary response to virtue, if you are virtuous. Princess Mi Amore Cadenza declared that insight to all of Equestria at her coronation; I asked her if I could use it henceforth, and of course she said I could. Love is our involuntary response to virtue if we ourselves are virtuous, and love is at the heart of true happiness. That is why virtue is so important. A good pony will be able to tell if you are virtuous, they will love you involuntarily, and that love will make you happy. If you are not virtuous, they will not love you. They may not even give you a chance. They may simply leave, as is their right of free will."

Ignoring the first part, that he fully understood. "Most moralists agree that free will is a necessary component to morality." It was one of the few places he fully agreed with standard moralists on anything.

Although with most people following scripts and possessing little free will to speak of, that put him in the annoying position of being held to the highest standards simply for having a more actionable free will, for being more powerful, intelligent, and independent than everyone else. In the past, after that fateful day of Legilimency in the Ministry, he ignored this annoyance entirely, and to his amusement he finally noticed that moralists had ceased to criticize him when he displayed himself to be blatantly and unfalteringly evil – perhaps because it is generally understood that evil people have free wills that are not influenced by petty words, and will punish those stupid enough to try. Instead the moralizers quarreled amongst themselves and critiqued the 'good' people opposing him, handicapping their own powers of resistance in the process.

If that's where this is going…

"Free will is the necessary component to morality," Luna said in firm agreement. "Thank you, that is exactly where I am going with this, I don't think you are ready for the love conversation just yet, free will is a much better place to start."

"You think I'll be more receptive to your stance on free will?"

"Yes, I do, for I think you will agree with it. Putting a horn to a pony's throat and ordering them to donate to charity would not make them generous. Trying to force virtue in a pony is like trying to force any other change against their will – you might achieve compliance in the moment, but you will also achieve resentment in the long run, directed at both the enforcer and the thing they are enforcing. And I wouldn't want you to resent virtue. Or resent me."

"Many Death Eaters did not resent me for what I forced of them," he pointed out. "Not in the long run, anyway."

"Because you forced them in accordance with their will. And they did still fear you," said Luna, "and that is not good either. Habitual force causes resentment or fear or hate or mindless compliance, depending on the circumstances, and none of that is good for what we're trying to do here. The only exception is when they already enjoy what they are being forced to do, or they enjoy the reward, or agree with the end goal, but even that would not be good for you because force hinders free will, and thus morality. Ethics is the art of restricting free will as little as possible while still eliminating evil and promoting happiness."

"You don't consider what you've done so far to be a forceful restriction on my free will?"

She took a moment to think about it. "A good point. In retrospect… I have been too firm in some of my advice. But I have never said you must do things. Or if I have it has been conditional, and consensual. I have always said, 'if you wish to see significant progress beyond this point, you must do such and such.' Just as you said that if I want you as an employee, I must change my dream-walking habits. Was that a forceful restriction on me, or a voluntary one?"

"But why even offer conditionals like that at all? What about the coma test?"

The coma test, as proposed by Luna in some of her past Night Court memories, goes as follows: No good moral system labels a coma-bound pony as immoral. If following the logic of a proposed moral system to its natural conclusion results in a coma-bound pony being called evil, it fails.

Morally good ponies give to the poor? That implies ponies who keep their bits for themselves are not good, i.e. evil, or at least mildly immoral. Can a pony in a coma give to the poor? No? Then isn't he immoral under that system? Does it make sense for a pony in a coma to be immoral?

It's a simple question that counters the kind of 'moralizing' he dislikes most – the kind that demands positive action from others at the subjective whims of the moralizer – which is why he remembers it. The coma test is a proposal that all good moral systems are a series of negative constraints, not positive ones, and combined with Luna's comment that ethics is the art of restricting free will as little as possible while still achieving its goals…

"With very few exceptions," he said, trying to speak directly to her own system of morality, "I have refrained from evil since my arrival here. Even if the extent of my misdeeds in Equestria were known, one could hardly build a legal case against me. Is that not enough to pass the coma test?"

She seemed to consider his words. "Hm… refraining from wrongdoing is sufficient for morality. That is enough for most ponies to be good. But it is not enough when your starting point is evil, when your history is evil. If it were enough, you would already be happy and none of this would be necessary. You have largely refrained from evil in Equestria, but not entirely. You said 'with very few exceptions', thus there are exceptions."

"And that mandates action?"

She took a while before she answered that question. "Yes. If you wish to be happy. The end state of being virtuous often is, as you point out, the avoidance of enacting any evil at all. But that state is not easy to achieve. The journey to virtue when you are not already there requires countless positive obligations to action. If you are obese, the journey to fitness is a long and grueling one, with many habits that must be broken, and many others that must be formed. It is easier to stay healthy than it is to reverse bad health because unhealthy ponies must constantly resist temptations that healthy ponies cannot even imagine, in mind and body. Pushing wing-bound pegasi to what they thought was their deaths, for example, is not something a good pony would ever want to do-"

"It was Mr. Silver's idea, actually," Riddle interrupted. "He might have been trying to brighten my day when he first thought of it. Is he not good?"

Luna took a deep breath. Exhaled. "Not fully. And the key problem is that you enjoy doing it. Complications aside, I suspect there are other legal evils… no, let us call them legal wrongs you have pondered, things not proposed by Silver. And I further suspect you have pondered illegal wrongs, truly evil actions as well. Did you refrain from those temptations?"

"Hm… so requiring positive action from me is necessary to turn me into a pony who resists 'temptation'?"

"To turn you into a pony who is no longer tempted in the first place," she corrected. "But that takes a while, and it is a delicate process. When positive action has been required of you – like in the Changeling Sense sessions – I tried my best to stick to reason, evidence, arguments, or at worst bribery. The carrot, not the stick."

Riddle tilted his head to the left. "Hm… perhaps." He tilted his head to the right. "Or perhaps not. I can think of one instance where you used threats."

"Yes, but it was a threat of revoking privileges, which is not quite the same. If you violated that thing you were tempted to violate," she said, clearly referring to 'create another horcrux', "your crown-sanctioned status would have been rescinded and you would have been fired. You yourself considered those to be fair sanctions, and none of them impose on you, which makes them permissible in the realm of redemption. And finally, it is a negative constraint. It is not a threat regarding what you must do, only what you must not do."

Riddle reflected on that for a while. A phrase came to mind, and he muttered "though shalt not" to himself.

"Exactly," said Luna. "That is exactly right. 'Thou shalt not' passes the coma test. Thou shalt not steal, rape, assault, or murder. Those are the only hard moral 'rules' you will ever hear from me. Achieve those four – in real life, not just on the law books – and you are 99% of the way to a good society."

He considered that as well. Then he shook his head. "When I originally said you have been forceful, I was not referring to my great creation, or to negative constraints. It was an attempt at forcing me to positive action."

She frowned in puzzlement. "Anything to do with your employment does not count. You willingly accepted the position and you may quit at any time."

"It was after working hours."

"Oh?"

"Discord."

She blinked. "Oh. Right…" She took a pause to think. "You are correct of course, but… my philosophy… no, not just mine. Philosophy in general revolves around prevention, not cure. The ethics of emergencies… once a desperate crisis is set in motion, the golden and silver rules no longer apply. If we were Earth Ponies on a boat in the middle of the ocean, and we were thrown overboard with a charmed teleportation necklace that could only fit one, it is not a stain on either of our characters to fight over it using any means at our disposal. When ponies are reduced to states of nature, the appropriate thing is not to criticize the morality of the ponies who are just trying to survive, but to criticize the one who reduced them to that state."

"You want me to criticize Discord instead of you?"

"That is not what I was getting at. He might be more culpable than any, but one does not criticize a volcano for eruption." Her gaze seemed to grow distant. "I was trying to explain the moral dilemma of emergencies in general. A good pony's first moral instinct should be to judge the one responsible for the emergency, not the responders. Remark on tactics all you wish, there is still value in that, but morally speaking? Virtue ethics, the kind that bring happiness, the kind that can apply to the vast majority of all situations and choices? Those morals go out the window in emergencies. Especially emergencies that bring about utter chaos."

"I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting you to ever say that morality should go out the window."

"Not that it should, simply that it does. And not all morality, just conventional morality. Deep desperation replaces deontology with consequentialism within the minds of most ponies, whether we like it or not. Good moral systems should not be based around this rare fact of reality, but they do account for it. In Equestria, we call them the ethics of emergencies, and the first rule of emergency ethics is to be as proactive in preventing emergencies as possible, or if an emergency is inevitable, to be as proactive in preparing your response to it as possible. Once the emergency is set in, there is but one rule: win. Save as many lives as you can, do the best you can, at the very least survive. Turn your desperation to good."

"The situation didn't seem overly desperate to me," he observed. "More mischief than mass murder."

"Says the one who fled," she pointed out. "And who was fully justified in doing so."

That pre-empted his rejoinder, so he simply huffed.

"After fighting Discord for so long," she said, "I came to understand that he was like a walking state of nature. If he restrained himself long enough – if he bloated himself, as you and Ms. Sparkle discovered – then he was capable of reducing the whole world to a state of nature. And that meant mass casualties. My sister and I never knew he needed time to bloat, we thought he simply did it with a snap of his fingers, at will and at whim. 'Tis why we were so intent on stopping him, and why I violated my peacetime principles when I first learned of his escape: to put a stop to the deadly chaos he inflicted. "

"That is your excuse for attempting to force me to act against my free will?"

She slowly nodded. "Yes. Emergencies are emergencies. Shouting at a foal is a terrible thing to do. It should never, ever become a parental habit. But if a distant foal is about to walk off a cliff and shouting 'stop' gets them to freeze when nothing else would, then it must be done. And in fact, shouting at a foal on a day-to-day basis will cause them to become used to shouting and they may potentially ignore it in a true emergency, which is one of the many, many reasons not to shout at foals."

Much like Mr. Potter's 'Merlin says' system during his generalship of the Chaos Legion, Riddle realised.

The Defense Professor had not been expecting that part of Mr. Potter's training to bear as much fruit as it did, for both officers and soldiers, but he could not argue with results. The average worth of a chaotic legionnaire was much higher than the average worth of other army soldiers. The same with chaotic officers, even though they started off worse than most other army officers.

The Defense Professor had expected Mr. Potter's 'squad suggesters' to abuse the 'Merlin says' system, and Theodore Nott had abused it, briefly, before Mr. Potter had carefully explained the system to Mr. Nott, using a similar argument to what Luna had just used. Mr. Potter had said he really didn't want to, but he would demote Mr. Nott if he continued to do the orderly, unchaotic thing of saying 'Merlin says' all the time.

Think of your soldiers like children, Mr. Potter had told to Mr. Nott and the other officers of chaos. It's just the way of the world that they are going to disobey some of your orders. (They were given direct orders to disobey their squad suggesters' orders if they thought it was a good idea.) Sure, you could force them to obey, but what would that teach them? Certainly not that you're smart. That you know what you're doing. No, it only teaches them that you're in charge, and if that's how you want it to be, he'll put one of them in charge of you.

The officers of Chaos should do as their general has demonstrated. Your soldiers won't disobey if you're competent, he explained. If you have the habit of giving good orders, your soldiers will follow them. If you don't have that habit, if your soldiers are constantly disobeying, if they constantly think it's in the army's best interest for them to do their own thing, that's probably a you problem, not a them problem, and it's an opportunity for you to improve. It is not an opportunity to use 'Merlin says'. 'Merlin says' is for emergencies and times of extreme need. It is not a tool to be used lightly, or often, or as a habit.

Just like shouting at children, apparently. And threatening adults into action, if Luna's reasoning is valid.

"Although in retrospect," Luna mused, "even though it was an emergency, you are right to point out I wasn't thinking clearly. I spent the previous day preventing casualties during the Changeling invasion, so I had little sleep. I was still in 'battle mode', and many years of fighting Discord with the aid of reluctant ponies has resulted in many lingering habits."

"For one who regularly denounces excuses…"

She sighed. "Yes. I know. But that is not a hard rule. If it were, I would say your upbringing is no excuse for your evil, and that it was all, entirely, you and your own decisions."

It was, came the honest thought, born from a decade of watching the stars and taking responsibility for his own past failures. But he didn't say it aloud.

A/N: Can't resist. Ignore this stupidity: "Pain is never the fault of the feeler. It's only the result of all the actions you consciously chose to make." -XRA

"So you have no intention of apologizing?" Riddle surmised.

"I wish I could trust myself to apologize about it, but no."

"What do you mean by that?"

She gave him a significant look. "An apology, my fool – a meaningful apology – is a promise that I will never do it again. If I reoffend, my past apology becomes a BNAp, a bull-manure non-apology. And I do not wish to bull-manure you. 'I'm sorry you feel that way', 'I'm sorry but I can't change the past', even 'I'm sorry for circumstances beyond my control'. Think of those as commitments a pony is making to do the exact same thing in the future, for they are not taking any measure of responsibility."

"But you are more than capable of taking responsibility for your past actions," he observed.

"Yes, but not about that one. Not morally, anyway. A crisis might arise again in the future, and I might engage in emergency ethics once more. If I apologized for doing so, then did it again in the future, my apologies to you would be rendered meaningless forevermore. A true apology is regret combined with commitment. A true apology is a promise that is never broken."

Riddle's eyebrows rose. He'd never heard that explanation for the concept of apology before. He'd heard her speak of 'BNAp's in Night Court memories, pointing out obvious cases of false remorse whose only goal was emotional manipulation, but she never fully explained the inverse, never explained what true remorse looks like. Until now.

"There are no other kinds of apology?"

"There are polite remarks about minor, unintended mistakes, but when it comes to significant matters? Nothing less than an oath, upheld for the rest of your life, can fully repair a broken bond of trust. Everything else is a BNAp. And I am not confident I could maintain such an oath for you, if I made it. Not about emergencies."

"So you have no regrets about how you initially handled Discord's escape?" he asked.

"I did not say that." Luna tapped her chin. "Even on the grounds of consequentialism, your tactics turned out for the best. I suppose I should… no. I won't suppose, I will. Thank you for responding in the way you did."

"You mean by not responding to your call to action?"

"Quite right." She grinned ruefully. "In the end, our free wills were not infringed, even though I succumbed to the worst state of life, at least for a time. Thank you for wrenching me from it, for making me realize it was not necessary after all, and for saving so many lives. In the future, I will try to concede to your wisdom during emergencies, though I cannot make guarantees, and I only ask that you do the same for my wisdom when we have not been reduced to a state of nature."

Chapter 59: The Adults in Diagon Alley

Harry rode the Knight Bus to Diagon Alley the next morning after he got back to Oxford, going back to the magical world after spending only a single night in the muggle one.

It felt… improper, somehow, that he wasn't living full-time in Muggle Britain over the summer. He'd come to start thinking of himself as the unofficial representative for muggle interests in Magical Britain, since so few other wizards care. Even the ones who think of themselves as 'progressive' only care about muggleborns, not the muggles themselves.

It also felt improper that, as an eleven/twelve/thirteen-year-old (depending on who you asked and if you factored in Time Turned hours), he wasn't relaxing over break. He wasn't getting further in his maths lessons, or taking a few more university-level courses from starving grad students. Well, not yet. Maybe later in the summer.

No, instead he was doing adult things. He was going to Gringotts to negotiate with the Grand Manager. He was meeting up with the Malfoys at Mr. Bester's. He will be there when 'Monroe' wows, whips, and submits to the Wizengamot, and he will be helping.

The only thing that might be considered a 'childish' activity was visiting his 'training grounds' for the foreseeable future. Professor Monroe hasn't explained what he meant by that one, but he had explained that, while it might be fun, it won't be leisure.

Oh, and they will also be bringing his dad to Mr. Bester – who will be paid much, much more than his usual fee. Trying to train a muggle in Occlumency, which might or might not even be possible, and taking on a temporary assistant (Hermione Granger, whose burgeoning Legilimency should make step one of his dad's Occlumency lessons easier) would both warrant increased pay.

Which meant bringing his father to Diagon Alley. His mother, when she heard this, with a great will of courage said she would go as well – not to sign up for lessons, just to be there with her son and husband.

And so the three of them rode the Knight Bus.

Professor Michael Verres-Evans liked the Knight Bus about as much as Harry did two days ago. Petunia Evans-Verres liked it even less, closing her eyes the whole time and clutching her husband's hands while chanting in a small whisper that it will be alright.

"I was scared at first too, Dad," said a child who looked like Dean Thomas.

"Is it easier for wizards?" his father asked.

"No," said the apparent muggleborn. "Don't worry too much. This bus has been around since buses came to muggle London, and it's never gotten into a single accident."

"Even… if that's true," said his father, pausing for breath, "just knowing that isn't enough."

"Experiencing is different from knowing," Harry finished. "Yeah, I get it. I was the same way at first, but I had a good teacher. He said distractions help, then brought up a pretty good distraction."

"You mean… that man… who was with you earlier?" asked Professor Verres-Evans, seeming to calm slightly as he was given something to focus on other than the ride, though he still took deep breaths occasionally. Possibly to help with nausea. "The one… who said he's the world's most powerful wizard? He's a professor… from Hogwarts, right?"

"Yep," said 'Dean'.

"What does he teach?"

"Battle Magic," said 'Dean' without thinking. "Er, I mean, he teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Battle Magic, eh?" asked his dad with raised eyebrows. "You didn't mention that in your letters."

Crap. He shouldn't have let that slip. Or maybe…

"Yeah, sorry. I should have told you, but I was afraid you'd react like Hermione's parents did at Christmas. The class was called 'Battle Magic' all throughout history. Self-defense has always been the main point of the class, but the name wasn't actually changed to 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' until recently. It was a school board decision."

"That I understand," said the professor in a calm voice, though his eyes were focused on the window again, and his hand still clutched Mum's.

Ordinarily, 'Dean' wouldn't say what he was about to say, but since he was trying to distract his dad from the bus ride…

"He also declared me the most dangerous student in the classroom on the first day of lessons, then he gave me a test in lateral thinking to prove it."

"Oh?" asked Dad. "What test?"

"He told me to name ten unaccustomed uses for items in the room for combat."

"Dare I ask what you suggested?"

"Sure, but not while Mum is here," said 'Dean'.

"Ah," said Dad knowingly. "How did he react to your ideas which, I'm sure, were very creative?"

"He tore into me for how impractical they all were," said 'Dean'. "He was right, too. Removing the floor for a spike trap is a stupid idea in that setting. I'm a lot better about it now."

"You learned a lot from him?" said Dad, still with that knowing look.

"More than you can imagine," said 'Dean'. "And he learned a lot from me, too."

"That's good to hear," said Dad with a smile. "You said his name is Quirrell, right?"

"I said that in my letters, yes, but I should have given you an issue of the Daily Prophet to get you up to speed. He was only pretending to be Quirinus Quirrell for… let's call it political reasons. If his real identity was known, he wouldn't have been able to properly teach his lessons."

"What's his real name?"

"It's complicated. If you get a copy of the newspaper from two days ago in Diagon Alley, you can read up in your own time. I'm sure there are still plenty of copies floating around." 'Dean' grinned. "Of course, that means you'll have to buy it. The first stop is the bank; I'll withdraw an allowance for you."

His father wasn't amused. "You seem to forget, son, who the adult is in this relationship. I'll buy it myself."

"I haven't forgotten," said 'Dean', still smiling. "But how do you plan to buy it without any money?"

"I'm sure the bank will exchange pounds for wizard currency," said Professor Verres-Evans with certainty.

He was right, of course, and that's exactly what he did while Professor Monroe and his student went off for a private meeting with a Gringotts representative.

The boy was mildly worried that something might happen, but honestly, with his ability to revive anybody if he got to them quick enough, combined with Professor Monroe's traces and warding, he was fairly certain his parents were safe.

At least Harry – yes, now Harry, the Thief's Downfall would have taken care of his disguise if his mentor hadn't first – at least Harry now knows what it feels like to be a parent. It is the constant contradiction of worrying about their safety and wanting them to otherwise be as independent as possible.

"Right this way," said Griphook – Harry's vault manager – as he opened a door to a room that was much more well-ornamented than the debtor's room.

Harry Potter and 'David Monroe' sat down in the two seats at a circular table that did not imply higher or lower status depending on where you sat. All three chairs looked exactly the same.

Not five seconds after they sat down, a goblin Harry didn't recognize walked into the room and sat in the unoccupied seat. The Potter and Monroe Vault Managers stood off to the side as witnesses and consultants.

"You wished to discuss the matter of the Dark Lord's bounties, Lord Monroe?" asked the goblin with a neutral expression. "Mr. Potter?"

"Yes," said Professor Monroe, "but if you don't mind, we would like to discuss something else first. The stated purpose of bounty collection was partly a ruse to prevent public suspicions about our other purposes here."

"And what would those purposes would be?" asked the Grand Manager of Gringotts with a sharp smile.

"Mr. Potter has discovered something that might be of interest to the Goblin nation that should be kept quiet even if it's verified."

The goblin raised its eyebrows, then looked at Harry.

Silver Wing had casually discussed the topic of arbitrage with Riddle Tome in Equestria, and on the way to Gringotts this morning, Professor Monroe had described to Harry in vague terms (in case of eavesdroppers) how to put that information to proper use.

"Before I say it outright," said Harry, "I'd like to know if the Goblin nation knows the current silver-to-gold exchange rate in the muggle world."

"Ten parts silver to one part gold," the goblin quoted without hesitating.

Harry frowned. "That's off by about a factor of eight. It's much closer to eighty to one." He had checked over the previous winter break just to be sure, which was over a year and a half ago from his perspective, but it shouldn't have changed much since then.

The goblin's eyes did not widen, they narrowed. "You are certain?"

"Yes. It's why I asked Griphook if you coined raw metal, and why I asked him to spitball the goblin metal coining rate… let's see… almost ten months ago."

The Grand Manager looked to Griphook.

Griphook nodded confirmation. "He promised not to hold Gringotts to the estimate I gave."

"And I still won't," said Harry easily. "If I'm being honest," which his mentor said he should be, "I planned to arbitrage," a term which his mentor said the goblin nation would understand, "but then I realized this is the proper way to put the information to good use. I apologize for my desire to exploit the goblin nation in the process."

The goblin inclined its head. "No need to apologize for legal profit-seeking, Lord Potter. You were doing as any goblin would have done in your place. It would have been a failing on our part if you could use us to arbitrage. But I must ask again. Are you certain that eighty-to-one is the true silver-to-gold exchange rate in the muggle world?"

"I checked this morning," said Lord Monroe, drawing the Grand Manager's eyes. "It is exactly eighty-one point nineteen to one, according to multiple members of the London Stock Exchange. It fluctuates, but it's been at least twenty-five to one for most of the century, except for a span of years in the twenties and another span in the late sixties, where it did dip to ten-to-one. I could show you a memory to prove it, or use a Patronus Charm. I'm afraid we're both immune to Veritaserum," he said with a gesture to himself and Harry.

"Not necessary," said the goblin with a frown. "I will contract a new third party for independent verification. One that is not an Occlumens."

"And one who is powerful enough to avoid ambush, read-only Legilimency, Obliviation, and false memory-charms, which Thief's Downfall cannot remove or detect. Nor do Unbreakable Vows to honesty guard against genuinely believed false memories."

The goblin's eyes narrowed further. "Indeed."

Neither party said out loud the obvious – that if the claim turns out to be true, then the current third party who deals with muggle precious metal sellers (since goblins could not do so themselves), or someone manipulating that third party, had managed to defraud the goblins out of a lot of money.

"Assuming it is true," said the goblin, "you will have performed a great deed for the goblin nation by bringing this to our attention."

"So we shall have," said Professor Monroe. "In exchange, we will not ask for Goblin Metal, or anything material. Only… forgiveness is not the right word. We ask for understanding."

The Grand Manager tilted his head slightly. "Understanding regarding what?"

"I will need to withdraw a few wands from my robe to show you. I am afraid I need them for demonstrational purposes; I promise not to use them in any way while I'm in this room without express permission."

The goblin inclined its head, looking both confused and curious. "Very well."

Monroe drew and placed three Elder Wands on the table, the original along with two replicas. The goblin did not snatch and inspect them, for grabbing another's weapon would have been a great display of disrespect to a patron who was offering lucrative friendship. Not to mention the laws against goblins handling wands, and goblin customs about taking others' weapons outside of combat. But the instinct to pick them up anyway was clearly present on the creature. The goblin clearly recognized its kin's forgery in at least one of them, even if the outside was all knobbed grey wood.

"I acquired the Elder Wand," explained Monroe, "figured out how it was made, and in the process of replicating the power, I stumbled upon the secrets of goblin metal, along with an unclaimed vein of raw material."

More like an unclaimed motherlode, in the form of the entirety of Equestria. Natural deposits of silver stewing next to natural wells of magic for hundreds of years is needed for mithril to form on its own. On earth, that meant only a few sources, and the goblins have probably found them all by now. On Equestria, where natural wells of magic are about as common as natural springs of water, mithril is only slightly rarer than ordinary silver.

Harry saw an indecipherable emotion on the Grand Manager's face when he learned what they were implying.

Professor Monroe continued speaking without missing a beat. "We stole nothing from your nation, and we mean no ill will. We have no intention of sharing the secrets of goblin-forged weaponry with the rest of wizarding society, but I ask that you respect our independent discovery. We did not mean to circumvent Gringotts, and we do not wish to offend. We offer the knowledge of the muggle economy as an apology, if you are insulted, and as a request for neutrality, if you feel as though we have encroached on your nation's secrets."

"Now I would like a Patronus Charm to verify your sincerity," said the Goblin. "From both of you. I will inform the guards not to attack. You have permission to use your wands only to send truthful messages."

This was done, the goblin watching carefully all the while.

The Grand Manager nodded firmly afterwards. "I will exercise the utmost prudence in verifying your claims about the exchange rate. If they prove true, the Goblin nation will acknowledge your independent discovery. And as a matter of due gratitude, we shall not charge your vault fees for the next one-hundred years."

"Um…" said Harry. "Thank you very much, but… why?"

"Our 'understanding' is not commensurate with the information you have provided, assuming it is true," said the Goblin. "We strive to treat our allies fairly. Two-hundred years of vault fees is knuts compared to the exchange rate. If we cannot offer you a gift of metal, we can at least offer that. If there's anything else, do not hesitate to ask."

That was another thing suggested by Monroe. By asking for something so monetarily minor, the Goblins would likely become friends, or at least business partners – a feat that is normally impossible to achieve for a wizard unless they seek you out.

"We have nothing else to ask but the matter of bounties," said Lord Monroe. "We would like the contract to be drawn up such that our exact wording is recorded for future reference, and we would also like the amounts of each bounty, and their sources, to be carefully recorded in such a fashion that the record can be easily referenced in the future."

So that, Harry had suggested earlier, in case the truth about Voldemort ever came out, the bounties could be returned to those who had issued them. Except Perenelle's bounty on the Dark Lord, which was both the biggest bounty by far and the only one that wouldn't be refunded. Not because it was the biggest, but because it was Perenelle.

"And there's also the second matter," Lord Monroe said when the preliminary contracts regarding the bounties had been set in motion, "which isn't so much a request as it is a statement."

"That being?"

"About the philosopher's stone… actually, I think I shall make it a request after all. Could you retrieve your Unbreakable Vow team? The Vow I have in mind will not impose on you or your nation, and I will pay the expense myself, but I would like as many witnesses as possible, and you shall appreciate the contents, I think…"

It didn't take long to find his parents with Professor Monroe leading the way.

"How's the paper, Dad?" asked Harry.

"Insane," said Professor Michael Verres-Evans, closing it and standing from the bench he'd found, Petunia standing with him. "There's a big part of me that's still insisting on dragging you home. If I could."

"You not being able to is why I'm staying," said Harry as Professor Monroe led them down the alley. "Well, sort of. One of the reasons, anyway. Muggle parents should have a say in the magical world one day, but that won't change without legal effort."

"I maintain that you're too young to be worrying about politics," said Professor Michael Verres-Evans.

"It's the right thing to do, Dad," said Harry. "If I can improve the world, I'm going to do it no matter how young I am."

His dad sighed. "Sometimes I question my own parenting decisions. You could have stuck to math and lived a quiet, safe, productive life. But no. I just had to let you know about the Stanford Prison Experiment."

"Don't forget Milgram."

His father flinched.

"And the Holocaust," Professor Monroe helpfully contributed. "And Communist China. His comments on Hitler and Mao were helpful to me."

Professor Michael Verres-Evans looked at Professor Monroe with some apprehension, as if he'd just remembered the common refrain that people who work in the cursed Defense position are often evil. "What exactly has my son told you?"

"Nothing I didn't already know, at least when it came to history," said the wizard. "He only adjusted my perspective on established facts." The man turned into the building Harry recognized as Mr. Bester's office, cutting off further conversation.

When Harry made it inside, he saw that Hermione and Draco were already there, along with Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy.

Negotiations went about as well and as poorly as expected.

Mr. Bester didn't like all the conditions and complications, but he couldn't exactly turn down the absurd amount of money they were offering. In the end, he agreed to train Harry's father to the first stage of entry-detection if it was possible; after that, however, Hermione would stop 'helping'.

Which worked out well enough. Hermione's Legilimency would probably be too far along by that point to be easily-detected. If Harry's father made it that far in a reasonable amount of time, the lessons would continue.

Draco, however, declined help from the 'learning Legilimens' (he didn't know it would have been Hermione) after he had been told that the help would not be Obliviated. Draco signed up for the standard lessons, under the standard Vow that Mr. Bester would be Obliviated and wouldn't reveal anything.

(Mr. Bester would also, in a later and more private meeting, agree to tutor one other student. Even if that student's mind is not yet capable of Occlumency, that student should be highly motivated to do what it takes to learn.)

On Professor Monroe's insistence and payment, Draco Malfoy would be getting special attention in the form of extra hours of mind-reading, which Monroe claims will help him become Mr. Bester's fastest student thus far. If Draco's ambition is to become an Occlumens – and hear Harry's secrets – before the start of next term, this is the necessary step to take.

"Hard work is not only for Hufflepuffs," said Professor Monroe to Draco as he exited the office. "It is sometimes necessary to achieve a Slytherin's ambition."

"Indeed," said Lucius Malfoy, not a step behind him. "Did you need anything else, Lord Monroe, or shall we see each other at the Wizengamot?"

"I need nothing," said Monroe. "But I believe your son shall be needing some muggle clothes soon enough." He tapped his own robes with his wand, causing them to change to a business outfit.

"Impressive," said the Lady Malfoy, walking beside her husband.

"I'll deliver your complements to the enchantress," Monroe inclined his head to her. "After you buy the outfits, I can arrange for them to be linked like mine for seamless changing."

"We have a supply of muggle clothes," said Lucius Malfoy. If he felt disgust at the notion, or at Monroe's current attire, he didn't show it.

"I mean no offense, but I must voice my skepticism." Professor Monroe looked to Mrs. Malfoy. "Lady Malfoy?"

The woman who had spent years in the muggle world nodded. "It would be a prudent way to spend the morning." She faced Lucius. "Our muggle wardrobe is… a bit out of date, my love."

"Truly?" asked Lucius Malfoy.

His wife nodded. "Muggle fashion changes quickly, but worry not. I know just the look for Draco. The only difficulty will be finding the right store…"

A piece of paper appeared in front of Monroe, with words seeming to be burned onto it by whisps of smoke. "Ask the Knight Bus to take you to these addresses," he said, floating it to Narcissa, "which should prove appropriate to the occasion. The children are going to a movie."

"You know?" Harry asked.

"Half of Hogwarts' first year has already been roped into attendance," he replied.

Harry blinked. "That many?"

"Not quite," the Defense Professor replied. "I suspect more will join as young siblings tell older siblings. I'm thinking of requisitioning official oversight from the DMLE, to have an auror trio maintain notice-me-not charms and general security for the whole outing. I doubt all wizard-born children will acquire suitably subtle attire."

"Maybe we should just buy out the theatre for the day," said Harry.

"Maybe we should," said Monroe.

"If you keep throwing around your money like that," said Professor Verres-Evans to his son, "you'll run out."

"I concur," said Lord Malfoy. "The payment you offered Mr. Bester was extreme enough. At this rate the Potter and Monroe vaults will be empty before the end of the summer."

"Maybe under ordinary circumstances," Harry agreed. "But I think we'll take care of the money problem this afternoon. Besides, I'm still in the mood to celebrate, and that won't last much longer. Also… say, professor. Do I still have that other bank account I opened way back when?"

"Other bank account?" asked Professor Michael Verres-Evans.

"You still have it," answered Professor Monroe. "And it's been earning more than just interest. Your method has been earning royalties."

"Royalties?" asked Draco Malfoy.

"Cool!" said Harry.

"You're welcome," said Professor Monroe. "The situation was annoying… but also amusing to deal with."

"Thank you," said Harry sincerely.

Professor Monroe smiled and nodded.

"You helped my son open an illegal bank account without my permission?" asked Professor Michael Verres-Evans in a stern voice.

"No," said Harry. "I opened it myself… mostly. Well, I did have adult help, in fact I had royal help, but not his help. I just told him that I had it afterwards. And it was perfectly legal. Don't you trust me?" he asked with innocent eyes.

"When it comes to the law?" asked his father. "And basic common sense? Not since the Science Fair."

His mother nodded firmly.

"I didn't know that was illegal!" Harry protested.

"And you didn't suspect it either?" asked his father.

"Look," said Harry, not answering the question, since the truth would have sounded stupid (the science fair is the reason he respects the idea of underage magic laws), "I consulted the proper authorities about the bank account. I'll tell you the details when you become an Occlumens. Happy?" The question was asked with hopefulness, as an olive branch.

"No," said his father.

"I'll be happy if you tell me," said Draco.

"I'm sure you would be," said Harry. "Become an Occlumens and we'll see."

"And if I can't become an Occlumens?" asked his father.

"I have a contingency for that," said Professor Monroe.

Attempts to inquire into this mysterious statement went nowhere.

"Is this how you always are, Harry Potter?" asked Lucius Malfoy, a considering look in his eye.

"You didn't pick up on that from our last few meetings?"

"I was hoping that mundane circumstances would temper your… eccentricity."

"Nope." Harry smiled widely. "Eccentricity is the mark of a powerful wizard, right? By the way, I've been thinking about who the Potter Wizengamot representative should be until I pass my O.W.L.s. Lord Malfoy, do the laws explicitly state that members of the Wizengamot must have magic?"

The left eye of Lucius Malfoy began to twitch.

Draco let out a strangled laugh.

"There is such a thing as too soon, Mr. Potter," said Professor Monroe. "Remember that the other members must approve your requested representative. Push it too far and they will decline. And I believe there is a law about that somewhere."

Harry crossed his arms and pouted. "That is not fair."

Professor Monroe shrugged. "As a future member of the Wizengamot, it is your job to make it fair. Though if you're looking for a good candidate to keep the muggle perspective in mind as they vote, I would suggest Lady Malfoy be the Potter representative."

"Huh," said Harry, uncrossing his arms. "That might actually be a good idea. Assuming you're fine with it, Mrs. Malfoy?"

Narcissa Malfoy blinked as eyes turned to her. "I would not mind," she said. "Lucius? What do you think?"

Lucius Malfoy seemed to suffer a sort of whiplash from swapping so quickly from a suggestion that disgusted him to one that intrigued him.

"The Wizengamot can be a stressful place, my love, and you have not been trained to handle that stress…"

"Then by all means train me," said Narcissa with a daring smile. "We can't turn down such a wonderful opportunity for such a trivial reason."

Her husband smiled and kissed her. "It's been so long, I almost forgot why I married you."

Draco gagged at the public display of affection between his parents, while Hermione clasped her hands and said "Awwwww". Harry just smiled a little.

They stopped at Mary's Place for breakfast, in Mary's Room.

As they waited for their food to arrive, Harry reached into his pocket and withdrew a pouch containing forty-five galleons. "Here, Draco."

Draco took it without thinking. "What is it?" he asked, then his eyes widened when he saw the contents.

"My forty-galleon debt, paid in full. I've included an extra five as thanks for the short notice, and the delay in repayment," Harry said. "No need to stay in debt now that I have… some control over my finances. And while we're on the topic, got any ideas for that favor I owe you?"

Get out of debt as fast as possible, always. If there was any lesson to be had from Spring of last year, it was that.

"Think you can find the Chamber of Secrets?" Draco asked for his favour.

Lucius coughed and set down his drink, while Narcissa giggled.

Monroe's eyebrows rose. So did Harry's.

"Um…" said Harry. "Would it settle the debt if I did?"

"And took me to see it," Draco nodded. "Or I'll think of something else later if you can't."

"The Chamber it is," said Harry. "Sounds like fun."

"Indeed," said Professor Monroe. "An excellent challenge for he who was sorted into Slytherin, just kidding, Ravenclaw, to solve. By himself."

Harry looked at his mentor in betrayal.

Monroe smiled. "I wonder if you shall succeed before the Chamber is discovered and turned into a historical sight, given that it can no longer serve its old purpose. Good luck."

"The first full session of the two-hundred and tenth Wizengamot is convened at Lord Malfoy's request," said Chief Warlock Bones. "The topics for discussion," she said without preamble, "are referendum on our last vote and the matter of the Philosopher's Stone, which we were interrupted from reaching the last time. Lord Malfoy, you have the floor."

"Thank you, Chief Warlock," said Lord Malfoy. "But even before we have our referendum, there is a matter of seating that must be addressed. House Potter's vote, once held by Dumbledore, must be reassigned. Harry Potter wishes to appoint a new representative until he comes of age. He is also here today to offer his request for transfer of guardianship, since Dumbledore is indisposed for that as well. May I yield the floor to Harry Potter?"

There were confused whispers, especially from Lord Malfoy's own faction. Not confusion that the prompt was being made, but that Malfoy was making it. Many were asking themselves why Malfoy is hurrying along the process that will hurt his own faction's voting power.

"The boy was quite disruptive the last time he was here," said Madam Bones in a neutral tone. "If he promises to restrain himself to speaking only at appropriate times," she gave a stern look to the Boy-Who-Lived, "I will allow it."

Harry was mildly annoyed at the rebuke, especially given that she knew he's the real holder of the Line of Merlin. Was she still angry at how much she was interrupted in the last session? His mentor had shown him that enjoyable memory. Or was she simply calling Harry out for appearance's sake, to appease the rest of the Wizengamot?

"I promise to speak only when necessary," said Harry Potter to Chief Warlock Bones.

Madam Bones nodded, then said, "Name your new legal guardian. This hall will discuss your proposal."

Harry was sorely, sorely tempted to say, 'My parents,' but his mentor had explained, in careful detail, how that would work out. "David Monroe," he said instead.

Nobody in the room seemed to be surprised, and many seemed approving.

"Lord Monroe," said Chief Warlock Bones. "Do you accept the weight of this responsibility?"

"I do," said Lord Monroe. "And I suspect a show of hands should suffice for this vote."

Over four fifths of the hall raised their hands.

"The vote carries in favour," intoned the secretary. "David Monroe is the new legal guardian of Harry Potter."

The man stood. "With my ward's permission and full support, I propose that Narcissa Malfoy represent the Potter vote until Mr. Potter comes of age."

It was at that point that most of the hall noticed Narcissa Malfoy sitting not far from Harry Potter in the spectator's stand. Unlike the last one, this proposal did produce a great deal of surprise, and even some outright objections from the 'light' side of the room. The noise had to be silenced with a tap of stone.

"Mr. Potter," said Chief Warlock Bones, wearing a slight frown. "Please state for the record if you truly support your new guardian's proposal."

"I do," said Harry Potter. "If it's okay with everyone, I'd like Draco's mother to say where she's been these past ten years." He chose his phrasing carefully; 'Draco's mother' now carries a different meaning from 'Lady Malfoy'. "She doesn't have to say anything else if she doesn't want to, though."

No official protests were made at the request, partly because both sides were curious at the answer.

"Thank you for your concern, Mr. Potter," said the soon-to-be-Madam Malfoy. "But it is unnecessary. Living as a muggle wasn't as damaging as I would have thought twelve years ago. Yes," she said after a click of stone stopped the hall's noise. "It is true. My memories were sealed, and I was sent to Australia. I must admit, muggle residences are… not quite as squalid as I once thought they would be."

Objecting and disbelief came from the blood purists, at least until Lucius asked if they were calling into question the honor of House Malfoy by doubting the honesty of his wife's testimony.

This was when the slightly more reasonable inquisition began, asking for details of how she lived – in relative comfort, if not luxury, she answered, for she had no servants and lived by herself, but she got along well enough – and eventually someone asked how she came back.

"I was returned two days ago, after the Dark Lord's final vanquishment. You can all guess who was responsible."

The Chief Warlock did not silence the following arguments for a good while. When she finally did, she immediately asked, "Would you like to press charges, Lord Malfoy?"

The Lord Malfoy heaved a heavy sigh. "Not at the moment." He visibly hesitated. "I must admit that I did many things I wish I had not while under the Imperius. House Dumbledore was acting in vengeance of its own by taking my wife from me. That aside, Dumbledore himself has already suffered a fate he would see as worse than anything else, even death. I will content myself with that for now. The honor of House Malfoy is not quite sated, but… so long as Dumbledore is gone, we do have closure. With a powerful foreign nation on the horizon, I will not raise such a divisive vote. Not unless Dumbledore returns, in which event I shall demand trial."

There were a few grumblings of "dishonorable" from those who believe the Imperius lie, but everyone else was glad to drop it.

"Do we need time to deliberate the requested representative for House Potter?" asked the Chief Warlock, reminding everyone why Narcissa's involuntary exile was even being discussed in the first place.

They did need time, and they debated, and the vote was closer than the guardianship vote, but at the end of the day Malfoy has the votes. Madam Malfoy was declared Harry Potter's voting representative until he attains his majority, at which point he may take the seat himself, or allow the current seat holder to continue representing his interests.

Madam Malfoy stood from the spectator's stand and walked to the upper block to sit next to her husband. A few seconds of wandwork from Lord Monroe turned her robes from a beautiful and elegant black into a formal and dignified plum, with a perfect 'W' in the proper place – a feat of magic that impressed many present. He had, of course, obtained permission from Madam Malfoy and Lucius Malfoy first.

"Thank you, Lord Monroe," she said as she took a seat next to her husband. She was positioned so that she was closer to the 'light' faction than her husband. She was not in between Lord Malfoy and the other 'Imperiused' Death Eaters.

Lord Monroe inclined his head. "I believe that is all the preliminary housekeeping," he said to Chief Warlock Bones, and sat down.

"Indeed," said Madam Bones. "Now that our affairs are in order, we may hold a referendum on our last vote – which, despite not being proposed in this hall, was unanimously approved for discussion. Do we need time for deliberations?"

"I do not," said Lord Malfoy.

"Nor I," said Madam Longbottom.

"Nor I," said David Monroe.

"I would like some time, Chief Warlock," said Madam Umbridge.

"Very well," said Madam Bones. "You would open the floor to anyone who wished to argue against you, including me. How much time do you need?"

Madam Umbridge seemed to hesitate, then looked to Lord Malfoy, who was glaring at her, and Lord Monroe, who seemed quite amused, and Madam Longbottom, who was glaring at her. Umbridge looked to Fudge, who shook his head slightly and gave her a stern look of clear warning. She looked back to the Chief Warlock, who maintained a neutral demeanour.

"I rescind my request," said Madam Umbridge in a slightly shaky tone, and sat down.

"Does anyone else request time for deliberations?"

There was silence in the hall.

"Very well. I call the vote. In our last session, the creature known as Prince Excelsior was declared an enemy of the state. This is a referendum on that decision. Those in favour of upholding the prior decision, raise your hands."

Pause.

"Those against?"

Pause.

"The vote carries against," said the secretary. "The Wizengamot acknowledges that Prince Excelsior is not an enemy of the state."

There were murmurs in the hall that were overridden by the Chief Warlock's own voice, though not a tap of the line. "I would like the hall to approve charges of assault against a government official, disruption of the Wizengamot, disturbing the peace, use of the Imperius on a citizen of Britain, and contempt of court as debts owed to House Bones, to be repaid by community service. I suspect he may actually respect that punishment. You may deliberate on the hours owed. If anyone objects to this notion, please speak now."

There was a brief pause of surprise, then there were a few objections, but none to the notion itself. Only to the fact that the debt should be owed to Britain, not House Bones.

The Chief Warlock said she honestly didn't care to whom it was owed, and that the members may debate the point if they wish; this way would simply be easier.

The objectors didn't seem to have enough traction to argue the technicality, especially when others argued that House Bones bore the brunt of the initial offense, and especially after Amelia Bones herself swore that the oath of service Excelsior would be swearing shall be made to Britain and its chief Warlock, not House Bones.

Some objectors then said that the creature should be thrown into stockades and subjected to a public flogging. 'Community service' was not nearly punishment enough.

This caused much more debate.

At one point, David Monroe was asked his opinion.

David Monroe said that he was reluctant to say it, but the Prince himself would prefer the flogging. He values his time, and he can endure physical and mental anguish with relative ease.

Some questioned if he was being truthful.

Even Harry Potter – who requested permission to speak – impugned David Monroe. Was trying to use reverse psychology so they wouldn't vote to flog Prince Excelsior?

David Monroe didn't seem to mind the question. He said that he was being truthful, and he was reluctant to speak because he was afraid that he would influence the Wizengamot away from flogging. It was the best solution. The Prince's time is indeed valuable, not just to himself but to his country and ours. Wasting a hundred hours on community service compared to a single day of flogging would do more harm than anyone could guess, unless it was sufficiently delayed and spread out. And even if it was delayed it would be hated. If the hall is looking for the punishment he would loathe the most while still serving it, the intuition of Madam Bones had been spot on. A hundred hours of community service would be the most disliked punishment, not flogging.

It was decided and approved by most of the hall, after Harry Potter pointed out that a hundred hours isn't enough, that Prince Excelsior owed a thousand hours of community service to Magical Britain.

And a public flogging.

"Will you inform Prince Excelsior of our decision, Lord Monroe?" asked Warlock Bones.

"Already done," said Lord Monroe, to the confusion of almost every wizard present. "And I should mention that he has already been preparing to serve our community." Monroe withdrew a pouch from his robes. "On a related note, now that we've effectively continued the previous session, the fourth item on the agenda is the Philosopher's Stone."

He thew the pouch forward and it fluttered all the way to the ground at the bottom of the circular hall. Once there, an invisible force picked it up, lip faced downward. The lip widened, and widened, and widened further, then the pouch slowly lifted, revealing the shine of gold. When the pouch finished 'throwing up' the full item, there sat a massive cube of solid metal in the center of the Wizengamot.

"That is Prince Excelsior's monetary debt, of exact weight to satisfy a million galleons, based on current goblin coining charges."

The hall was still silent, having trouble believing their eyes. A few finite incantatums from multiple purple robes did nothing to the block.

"It was not I who discovered how to duplicate the Philosopher's Stone," said Monroe. "Though I did contribute. Prince Excelsior has agreed that they are to be used at my sole discretion, and he has offered the services of a certain alicorn alongside himself to Magical Britain as a sign of friendship. He has consented to have the hospital built on the border of the Hogwarts Wards, within the protections of our founders but close enough to the edge that emergency cases can still reach the healers in time. Alastor Moody has been designing the security for the past two days-" there were a few widened eyes in the room "-and Prince Excelsior has been building the physical structure and warding scheme. It took about fifteen hours of magical labour – which I suggest we subtract from his current sentence as a courtesy – and it is almost complete. As soon as it is, we will recruit a few healers who will begin using the stone to restore health and youth to all – wizards and witches, of course, but also centaurs, goblins, merfolk, and parents and close relations of muggleborns, so long as the Statute is not threatened."

The outrage was silenced by two taps of stone.

"Lord Monroe has the floor," said Chief Warlock Bones. "Please wait until he is finished before voicing your grievances."

"Thank you, Chief Warlock," said Monroe. "I repeat that I am simply conveying the will of the one who duplicated the stone. If I choose poorly, we all lose the service. And it was made extremely clear to me that if the state attempts to regulate or control the stone, the duplicator reserves the right to deny state affiliates that service." He made eye contact with a few wealthy bureaucrats. "Or simply charge extra."

There were angry expressions in the room, but nobody objected verbally, as per Madam Bones's request.

"Of course, there is a reason beyond simple announcement that this must be addressed. The healers will require complicated Unbreakable Vows to prevent them from stealing or otherwise abusing the Stones, among other things, and the hospital guards shall require Vows as well, which is why I originally asked for this topic to be brought before the Wizengamot. While I am willing and able to pay the usual expense for the Vows, I have a slightly different approach in mind, one that would require approval from this hall, and it will have many applications beyond this case…"

"That went well," said Harry. He glanced at his watch. "And it's only four o'clock."

"We don't have time to waste," said his mentor. "The sooner we solve the politics, the sooner we save the world."

"I don't like that we're doing it this way in the first place," said Harry. "It's too slow."

"We shall have our trustworthy staff by tomorrow afternoon. Be grateful the bureaucracy did not take longer. This will prevent problems in the future."

"Yeah, I know. I just hope nobody dies while we're setting it up." The world's magical population is smaller and more robust than the muggle one, but still… "Or if they already have, I wish nobody had died."

"Wish granted."

Harry blinked. "Huh?" Then, he got it. "Did you…?"

"Recruit a few capable unicorns to sneak into every magical hospital I knew about and heal all critical cases my first night back? Make announcements to every magical community about the Stone's availability for extreme cases?" His mentor smiled a rare smile.

Harry felt the odd impulse to hug the man. "You’re amazing, you know that?"

"Not as amazing as Ms. Sparkle," said his mentor. "She has come to rival my abilities, you know."

"I did not know," said Harry. "How'd she get so impressive?"

"She developed the ambition to become Mistress of Magic, and stayed true to it. She is now the Alicorn of Magic. And she's only half my age."

"Wow," said Harry. "Makes sense, I guess. But to be honest I was expecting her to become the Alicorn of Friendship, if anything."

"She very well might have, if not for you."

"Me?"

"She was rather distraught at your disappearance," said Professor Monroe. "She was told by Celestia that you were taken by Memory's phoenix to a different Time and Space, and so she decided to challenge Time and Space themselves, just to see you again and help you if you were in trouble."

"Oh," said Harry.

That's… he knew Twilight would be a little affected, but not that much. He couldn't have afforded to risk the redemption scheme by telling her not to worry about him, or even by saying goodbye, but…

"Don't feel too bad for her, Mr. Potter," said his mentor. "She knows the truth now, and her ambition encouraged her to study the Philosopher's Stone and save the lives of everypony in Equestria, and everyequus beyond, among other things. She wasn't too upset after she heard the details. She simply asked that you give her a visit once you finally could. We'll stop by her residence today. You can catch up while I take care of a few things. Then we'll establish your admittance to your training grounds and call it a day."

"My training grounds will be in Equestria?"

"Unless you want to violate underage magic laws."

"Ah. Right."

Rehabilitation 10.5: Immune System of the Soul

Author's Note

The halfway point through the broccoli.

Rehabilitation 10.5: Immune System of the Soul

Even though she hadn't apologized, even though she'd merely rephrased their commitment to heed each other's advice, the conversation was still bringing him a good amount of unexpected satisfaction. Perhaps because he had just been given a working definition of 'apology' that finally made sense of the whole concept, at least in those rare instances when it wasn't a ploy for dominance or manipulation.

There was only one part of Luna's spiel that gave Riddle some pause, and it had nothing to do with her remarks on their ongoing interaction. "You consider a 'state of nature' to be the worst state of life?"

"The worst state of sapient life," she amended. "It is the default state for all other life. And it is default for much of intelligent life too, sadly. Or it was."

"The worst state is also the default state…" he said, his cynicism not disagreeing at all, which didn't often happen with Luna's wisdom.

Luna spoke in a sad, certain voice. "It is how all of nature works. Since it is natural, it is default."

"What makes it 'the worst' if it is so ubiquitous?"

"It is not ubiquitous in Equestria anymore, but wherever it exists, it brings about the 'black' rule, the rule you abided by your whole life before coming to Equestria, the rule followed during emergencies: 'Do whatever is in your own best self-interest, using any means at your disposal.'"

"That doesn't seem especially bad to me," he pointed out. "In fact, it doesn't seem bad at all."

"I am aware of that, but please let me finish. The rest of the rule is 'Do whatever you feel you can get away with, regardless of the feelings, preferences, lives, and properties of others.' The black rule is bad if and when it crosses the threshold into callous disregard for others, which it inevitably will when it is a general mindset and not just a response to temporary emergency."

Still not bad, he thought. "In my experience, that is the mindset of most people."

"Indeed," said Luna. "I am not surprised to hear that, given what you have shown me of Earth. Equus used to be the same way. Those who follow the black rule-" like you, she did not say, but was probably thinking, "-often grew up in states of nature. The mindset exists because it benefits those who actively live in states of nature, but it gets in the way of life beyond a state of nature."

"And what is the state of nature, precisely?" The phrase was somewhat straightforward, but he wanted it clearly defined.

"It is life beyond a peaceful civilization. It is life without safety, good authority, justice, negotiation, and mutual benefit. Today, states of nature are typically only seen in the wild, or on the furthest reaches of Equus. But in the past, and in the modern human world I would wager, such states could also be found in private households. Or in the open public, if the civilization is barbaric enough. No justice, no goodness, no fairness, no listening, no heeding of preferences... and that's if you're lucky, it is typically far worse. Screaming and violence, torture and sadism, constant stress. You and I experienced this growing up, but while I had Tia to lift me out of it, you were all alone until Dumbledore came along, and by then it was far too late."

He frowned. "Too late for what, exactly?"

"For him to do anything about the abuse you suffered," she said. "Other than extricate you from it, which he did not even realize he was doing."

Riddle didn't quite have anything to say to that. Nothing to refute it, at any rate, so instead he made further inquiries.

"I still do not see how 'abuse' is related to a state of nature. That is not an intuitive leap for me. There is a large gap between wilderness and an orphanage."

"True, but there is a certain way in which the two are very much alike."

"Namely?"

"In excess, abuse causes a foal to believe death is just around the corner with a single wrong move, just like in nature. It produces a constant state of vigilance, an inability to relax which you only otherwise see in ponies who spend significant time in the wild, surrounded by predators."

"I know a man who practiced constant vigilance as a result of hunting Dark Wizards in his free time," Riddle pointed out. "And he was not abused, I think."

"That profession is close enough to being surrounded by predators that it has the same effect on the mind," she said. "It is the same way with dungeon delvers, which we do still have to this day, and who do not turn into psychopaths, because they did not grow up dungeon diving. A lack of empathy is the key here, and that comes from abuse and neglect in youth."

"And you claim Equestria has neither?"

"Not anymore," said Luna. "For the most part. Though it was common once upon a time. During the time of the Three Tribes and for many centuries after, all the way up through the day of my banishment. You would have to ask Tia when things truly began to change, though she would likely tell you it was gradual. But enough about history and prevalence, the point is that we both experienced it. We were ruled over by authorities who followed the 'black' rule, doing whatever they thought they could get away with, regardless of our suffering, and the worst part was that they pretended otherwise in public, which is also the black rule, as it lets them get away with more. Of course it also proved they knew better, in theory, and were massive hypocrites, but you see that only mattered to us, not them."

Yet another way to accurately analyze Ms. Cole's behaviour, he thought.

"Under the black rule," Luna continued, "there really isn't a true limit to depravity, except our innate biological impulse of disgust, but even that can be overcome. We know that better than most. When lives are pitted against each other, whether by nature or by evil, anything goes. Parasitism. Theft. Cheating. Exploitation. Deceit. Treachery. Slavery. Murder. I'm sure you could offer a few of your own."

"Torture," he said at once. "Genocide. Rape."

"Correct to all three," she remarked. "Rape especially. In nature, survival and species propagation are all that matter. Anything that serves those purposes better than the competition will be rewarded by evolution. That is why states of nature are the birthplace of the black rule, and why it is the default when nothing intervenes."

"Sensible," he said. "Does your sister likewise believe it's inevitable? Most people like to fantasize about inherent goodness, not default selfishness." Not to mention the long tradition of philosophical arguments around that exact subject, whether sapient creatures are born good or evil.

"Default does not mean inevitable," said Luna. "Equestria puts so much emphasis on good parenting today because we know the consequences of bad parenting, or worse, no parenting at all."

"And those consequences are set in stone?" he asked. That was the most relevant to his personal situation.

"There are always exceptions. Some get lucky and see a good role model who is not a parent. And those born in clean environments and unusually high disgust sensitivities are less likely to tolerate certain kinds of evil regardless of parenting, though sometimes that just means they will ensure it does not happen in their direct presence. But to rely on genetics and luck is unwise. With proper guidance and incentive structures, you can grow out of the default, as my sister has proven. And she did it because she knows what happens when you don't. For instance-" she began, then visibly hesitated.

"For instance...?" he asked, now curious.

"…Let me put it this way," she said carefully. "I do not agree that the fear of death is evil. It is instinctual. It is natural. But most of the time the terror is temporary. You encounter a threat, you fight or you fly, you live or you die, and once the danger passes so does the fear. The inner animal goes back to sleep. The emergency is over, the state of nature is gone, the black rule is no longer needed. However, to always believe death is eminent, to always have a desperate fear of death… to grow up in a constant state of nature… that produces a permanent mental emergency, a permanent adherence to the black rule. You are like an animal at all times. And a K-selected one at that."

"The only reason I am not taking offense," Riddle said evenly, "is that you have used the phrase about yourself."

He also wasn't taking offense because, as the Animagus procedure proved, and as common sense suggests, human beings are indeed animals.

"Indeed I have," said Luna. "We all have animals within us because we are living, breathing creatures. My early youth was mostly animal..." Her light frown morphed into a soft smile. "And Tia saved me from that. I learned to be a pony, not just an animal." Her soft smile vanished. "But then the animal emerged again later. You never had that reprieve, I think. Ms. Cole's arbitrary moods and violent punishments were like a miniature state of nature, a private little hell. You learned in your heart of hearts to fear death, because nobody else would ever do it for you. Without anybody who truly cared about your life, you correctly feared for your own survival on the deepest possible level – the level of the inner animal. And there is no morality for animals. No consideration. No conscience. No happiness. No right or wrong. There is only survival and reproduction. 'Good' becomes 'what is advantageous to me' and 'bad' becomes 'what hurts my interests'. You are thinking only of what is best for yourself. And your family line, if you have one. If you care about the fates of those around you, it is only because they affect your bottom line. Though I might be projecting some of my own past experiences onto you. Does any of what I said sound accurate?"

"It sounds correct thus far," he said, still evenly. "Excluding the bits about reproduction, at least in my case." Unless creating Mr. Potter counted as 'reproducing'… well, ignoring that complexity, the rest was a decent outline of his own mindset. And what would likely follow from that summary seemed obvious to him. "Do you consider self-interest evil?"

"No," she said in easy denial, to his surprise. "There is nothing wrong with self-interest. Like the fear of death, self-interest is natural. It helps ponies keep themselves fed, clean, and driven. It helps them to learn, to seek romance, to acquire resources that will eventually provide for their families. Self-interest only deserves a tirade when it devolves into narcissism, and even then-" she paused. "No, that is not the complex discussion I wanted to have."

So if that's not where she was taking this... "We're staying on the fear of death?"

"Yes," she answered. "Now we get to the difficult part. I know you will disagree to some extent, but please hear me out. On the day he lectured you about death, Dumbledore was tactically unwise- tactless to the extreme. But morally speaking… his worldview gave him predictive power, did it not?"

"Predictive power?" Riddle echoed. "What did he predict?"

"He predicted your dark actions if you continued to fear death, which is why he said what he did. Was his prediction inaccurate?"

"He was only right because his own lecture brought his fear to fruition."

She shook her head. "No. That might have been a critical moment, but ponies- beings do not suddenly become evil because they received a lecture they didn't like."

"I don't see why not," said Riddle. "Why shouldn't annoyance be all it takes?"

"For minor evils that don't require much depravity, a little theft here, a petty slander there, perhaps you have a point. But the level of rage and bitterness and fury that you described... the level that I could feel from the memory as I witnessed your past in the Astral Plane... that level of rage I have only ever seen arise from a very specific set of circumstances. A mere lecture is not enough. That was the straw that broke the earth pony's back, but there were many straws before that point."

"Such as?"

"Emotional neglect to start, but of course that is not enough. Neglect combined with the torture you received from Ms. Cole was also not enough. Neglect combined with torture and then she lies about it in public was also not enough. Neglect combined with torture and the abuser lies about it and nobody else cares about you... even all of that is not enough. The final straw is hypocrisy. Neglect, torture, lies, apathy, and the authorities are hypocritical. That is the unholy quintette required for a civilization that otherwise preaches good, modern values to produce an extremely evil individual, from what I have seen."

"Hitler and Grindelwald might beg to differ. Or the historians who study them, rather. I'm fairly certain they weren't significantly abused or neglected by their parents... though there's a rumor Grindelwald had bad experiences with muggles in his youth." Like himself, which is why he remembered that rumor, and gave it a bit of credence. And Hitler had been beaten by his father, but corporeal punishment had been standard practice in that time period.

Luna's eyebrows furrowed. "Human dark lords?"

"Yes."

"Were they personally involved in the evils they did? By which I mean did they commit direct murder themselves, or did they order it be done out of their line of sight?"

"I believe Hitler largely stuck to ordering others, though I could be wrong about that. Grindelwald was more personally involved."

Luna seemed to think for a time. "Neglect alone, combined with a few bad experiences, are sufficient for the 'ordering evil on a massive scale' scenario, I think. A lack of empathy combined with viewing one's enemies as literal vermin. Ask the Changelings for accounts of the far distant past, if they still have those accounts. Disgust can be far deadlier than hate. I suppose I should amend my statement. The unholy quintet produces extreme rage, not extreme evil per se. How someone reacts to that rage depends on them, and some beings react in ways that are more personally evil than the 'ordering evil' scenario, even if the consequences of rage are not as quantitatively dire as the consequences of war politics."

"Example?" he prompted.

"Well, extreme rage once caused a nurse to murder foal after foal in a way that was only eventually traced back to her. A few foals murdered by hoof is not as numerically bad as tens of thousands of dead griffons as a result of a civil war done for political purposes, but it requires a more damaged soul to bring about. Careful interrogation revealed the nurse did not hate the infants, she did it because she enjoyed the suffering of the parents when she delivered the news. It was no surprise to me that her own parents turned out to be monsters who, until that point, had been highly respected pillars of the community. Just as it was no surprise to me that Ms. Cole was a monster in private, while in public she was highly respected by the adults who visited the orphanage."

"And?"

Luna sighed. "And thus you became like the nurse. Personal evil that deviates significantly from societal norms requires more than just hypocrisy. It requires all the other components of the unholy quintet. Neglect, abuse, lies, nobody cares, and unbearable hypocrisy to top it all off. Dumbledore's lecture alone did not make you turn to evil. It was the final domino, which makes it easy to point to as the cause, but it was not the only cause. You became evil because you were surrounded by evil for an extended period of time in the earliest days and nights of your youth. And not just evil, but hypocritical evil. That is what truly brings out the deepest depths of rage, the black rule in all its unholy majesty. That is what gave you the potential to go extremely dark. It is the explosion trap waiting to be triggered. Great evils can be committed out of disgust, or even out of desperation, or being ordered at hornpoint. Even good ponies can do great evil if their foals are credibly threatened. But to experience glee as you murder a foal because you can't wait to torture their parents with the solemnly-delivered news is another beast entirely."

And that was when he finally saw the parallel between himself and the nurse. He had likely experienced glee as Aberforth was tortured into insanity because he couldn't wait until Dumbledore was informed. He had locked away the memory, he only knew the abstract, but he was fairly certain he had felt giddy.

Again, Riddle had nothing to say in refutation. Again, his instinct was to inquire. "What does this matter to me now?" he asked. "That is all in the past, not the present."

"Since you still think that way, it is the present, somewhat. The past is the present for you. Your mindset is the same. You still fear death, for instance."

"I do not," he declared firmly. "Now that I am sure of my immortality, I need no longer fear death."

"BUT. YOU. STILL. DO!" she said, stressing every word. "You do still fear death! Every day, and desperately!"

He opened his mouth, but found that he had nothing to say.

"Ms. Cole instilled the fear of death in you, and it is still with you. You have feared death all your life, regardless of circumstances, because of her. Even becoming immortal did not meliorate your mind. Your mental habits stayed the same. You simply moved on to averting the next threat, something nigh impossible to avert. And even if you somehow solved it you would have found another thing to fear, and another."

He blinked a few times. He had, in fact, already found another thing to fear after an eternity of boredom due to muggle stupidity – the manifold prophecies foretelling the end of the world.

"Even if that's the case," he allowed, "Ms. Cole's role in my life has long since passed. Neither you nor I can change the past."

She brought her hoof to her face, briefly. "Please do not insult the both of us with that pathetic excuse that comes from bad parents."

He frowned. "I wasn't excusing her. I meant I'd like something to do now. Other than reminiscing."

"Hold," she said, raising a hoof. "You are attempting to jump to solutions to avoid emotions. Again. Just like so many other petitioners." Luna took on a cadence. "OKAY, I GET THAT, WHAT DO I DO? Consciously or not, you are jumping past your emotions in search of a solution that does not involve feeling something. But there is no solution that does not involve feeling something."

"…Feeling what?"

"Anger is a good place to start," said Luna. "You felt it towards Ms. Cole in your youth many times. Now I am asking you to feel it towards Ms. Cole again. To relinquish your cynicism about 'the way of the world' and replace it with fresh, healthy anger. Remember how Ms. Cole's actions made you feel when you were little. That is what you can do now."

She's already dead, he thought. What's the point?

"That which we fail to criticize we generally become," Luna said, as if reading his mind and attempting to answer his question. And in a prescient way; it wasn't until he had comprehended and relentlessly criticized the stupidity of those around him that he was able to stop blindly imitating them. "Do you want to become like Ms. Cole?" Luna asked.

"No," he said, firmly and automatically, the word leaving his lips as soon as he heard the question. "She was arbitrary in her punishments, violent for the sake of being violent, and irrational to the extreme."

"Good," said Luna, seeming to grow calmer. "Good. That which we fail to criticize we generally become. That is why clear moral judgement on those around us is so essential, because otherwise we just turn into them. If we make excuses for others, especially the ones who raised us, we are bound to make excuses for those exact same behaviors when we do them. But I notice you have not said Ms. Cole was wrong. The language you use is important. You are still examining her in the realm of competence, not morality, and that is your final barrier. You must keep escalating your internal anger at Ms. Cole until you stop believing that emergency and evil and arbitrary violence is the only way of the world."

"I don't see how that works…"

"It works because anger is the immune system of the soul," Luna said importantly. "I mean, imagine your immune system went 'oh well, I have a virus, so I'm going to keep poking at it to see if that does anything,' so the virus keeps growing and spreading until it consumes you. If you have a virus, you want your immune system to keep escalating until it's bucking dead, right?"

"Right…" he said in cautious, tentative agreement.

Luna rarely cursed. And she was far more passionate than usual; like her petitions of old, not her calmness of the past few years.

"So get angry at Ms. Cole," Luna advised. "Anger is the immune system of the soul. Escalate your anger until you say to yourself that you will never be like her again. Forget higher thought for a moment. As sapient beings, we can intellectually grasp just about anything. You, especially, can wrap your mind around anything in the abstract. But abstraction isn't enough, and in fact it's part of the problem. You need to get this on a gut level or you will never change. That is what you should do now. Feel something." She paused. "Just don't let it tip into rage. Let your anger change you for the better. Do not let it consume you entirely and lead you to murder. Again."

That would be difficult, if it was even wise in the first place. He would have to unlearn his biggest life lesson of pretending to lose. The whole point is to let his anger become cold rage so that he can think clearly again, and so that when similar circumstances arise in the future, he can think logically, without a clouded mind. Getting hotly angry… would not be easy, and maybe not possible.

"Why are you only saying this now?" he asked. "And not back when I was showing you those memories?"

"Because you never asked for actionable steps, just for my opinion on what I was witnessing. I was afraid you would have rolled your eyes if I tried to give unsolicited advice."

He might have. "And if I say now that I don't think I could deliberately get angry? If I say that it wouldn't feel honest?"

The question gave Luna visible pause. "So… you would not get angry at being called a whoreson bastard?" she asked, referencing the insult Ms. Cole had been particularly proud of pioneering. "You would not get angry at being called a bloody blighter, a creepy cur, a stupid snake-"

"Stop."

Luna stopped.

Riddle would not have expected to feel so… not angry, but diminished and sluggish. And also tense. Adrenalised. Activated. He didn't know how he could possibly feel both of those at the same time, the two emotional directions were seemingly at odds with each other, but that's what his habitual self-awareness was telling him. All in the face of such old and tired insults, invented by a woman long dead.

"Stop," he repeated, even though Luna already had. He tried to re-center himself.

"I am sorry," said Luna. "I will never say any of that to you again without your express permission. That is a promise. But now do you still think you will have trouble getting angry?"

"I was not getting angry," he said, still trying to recover his calm.

"And why not?" she asked. "Those are terrible things to say to an adult, let alone a foal. Why not get angry at them?"

"There wouldn't be a point."

"Is that what you believe, or what Ms. Cole wants you to believe?"

He paused. "How could she want anything at this point in time?"

"The dead can still want things. Most of the dead want not to be forgotten, and they want good legacies, thus they do not wish to be spoken ill of. But if you disagree with that perspective, then simply think of it like a plot. When you were young, who benefits if you do not get angry? Who might have intended for you to believe that there's no point in getting hotly, openly angry?"

Put that way…

"Ms. Cole," he said the obvious answer, seeing it right away. "My anger made her life more difficult. She preferred a helpless lump who sat there and took it."

"Precisely," said Luna. "Precisely. That is why the insults still bring you discomfort even now. They are some of the earliest forms of manipulation you still remember experiencing. Ms. Cole trained you to suppress your rage at her hypocrisy, which is why it only fully returned in the face of Dumbledore's. But your problem is two-fold, I think. Not only is the inner-voice of Ms. Cole telling you there's no point in getting angry at her, there's the additional difficulty of becoming angry in the first place. Do you still have the capacity to get angry at the thought of what Ms. Cole said and did to you?"

"…I don't think so."

"Do you know why?"

"Because I grew up."

"No," she said. "That answer is imprecise, you can't use it for anything. My own suspicion, and correct me if this sounds wrong, is that at some point you internalized her insults. You accepted them so that you would not upset Ms. Cole and make her even worse by arguing. You can still get angry at Dumbledore because you know in your bones that he is hypocritical about the afterlife, that he is utterly and completely wrong. But Ms. Cole?" Her voice acquired a tinge of rhetorical effect. "What's there to be angry about? She was right about you, wasn't she?"

The answers of 'No' and 'Yes' both arose, one as an impulse to speak, the other as an impulse to honesty from the back of his mind, eliminating each other and leaving him with an open mouth and no voice. She was wrong about stupid, right about snake. Wrong about whoreson, right about bastard. It was like that for most of her insults.

"Not that I think she was right," said Luna, "but that's what I think was going on in your subconscious. So in order to get angry at Ms. Cole again, you will have to know in your bones that what she said isn't true. Which, to be fair, might take a while, given what you did in your adult life. Maybe you should start by knowing in your bones that the insults were not true in the past." Her gaze intensified. "They. Were. Not. True. Not when you were five. Most of it was just projection on her part."

He just stared for a while. "And what of Dumbledore?" he asked, even knowing he was evading the main issue. "Should I stay angry at him?"

"Not even a fraction as much as you should be angry at Ms. Cole," said Luna. "He had the opportunity to coldly manipulate you, did you know? He could have forced you to swear a highly restrictive Vow before introducing you to his mentor, which you would have accepted in your desperation to avoid death, then hated afterwards, for even with a letter of recommendation, 'Flamel' would have rejected you, Dumbledore could not be blamed for that, and then you would be bound by the Vow forevermore, powerless to seek retribution or immortality on your own terms."

He blinked a few times. He had never thought of that possibility.

"However," Luna continued, "I do not think the thought even occur to him, and I do not believe he would have acted on it even if it had, and not for monetary reasons either. I will allow you to decide if he deserves moral praise or condemnation for leaving your free will untouched."

Riddle frowned. Most moralists would say Dumbledore would deserve condemnation, right? He himself is certainly glad it didn't happen, and he disagrees with moralists on most issues...

"Of the options available to Dumbledore," Luna continued, "alleviating your deepest fears was not one of them. Not unless he did what I am trying to do, but while he is largely good himself, I do not think he has the knack for redeeming evil. And even if he did have that knack, it would have taken years to make true progress. Redeeming overwhelming evil in others is a fool's errand."

"Did you not just call yourself a fool?"

She smiled. "I never said I was not a fool, my fool. Trying to redeem you is foolish beyond measure. The few good ponies who are actually capable of doing this often have jobs to do and friendships to maintain and family to love and support. Even for those of us with time and resources, it is incredibly unwise to stake future satisfaction on the progress of others. Both for the obvious reason, and because it gets in the way of success. When others can tell that you are desperate for them to improve, it gives them power over you, and most bad ponies can't handle that kind of power. Though it may seem contradictory, in order to see success I must not place too much personal vestment in any one pony or project, which is why my Vow includes the clause that I am no longer bound to help if you stop trying to improve."

It does? He must have forgotten that part. Or more likely, he didn't try to remember it. He had been far more focused on how her Vow interacted with his secrets, on the (at-the-time) off-chance he decided to share some of his past with her.

"Ironically," Luna continued, "the task of helping others can become impossible when personal feelings are involved. That's the real killer, caring about others more than they care for themselves."

If only she knew. Mr. Potter's decision to care about Ms. Granger more than most people are capable of caring for themselves triggered the telling of a prophecy that stated he would destroy the world in one way or another.

"If that's really the case," said Riddle, "would it be accurate to say that most of your interactions with me to date have been incredibly unwise and likely to fail?"

"Based purely on general advice, yes," said Luna. "On the whole, I've been incredibly foolish, not just for undertaking the task to help you in the first place, but for doing it when I was already so personally involved. I say in all seriousness that the Vow I took before I knew the full extent of the problem could have led to my death or despair, even with the most important opt-out clause in place. It's a miracle things have gone as well as they have. I think it's only because we've both devoted our full faculties to the task, and because we've been blessed with great heap of Harmony-given luck. And in any case," Luna said, seemingly fed up with tangents. "It was not Dumbledore's responsibility to do for you what I am doing. And it's not quite my responsibility either. It's yours. I can show you the map so that you are no longer blind to certain things. I can be the mirror by which you see yourself in ways you never did before. But I cannot walk your journey for you, and I cannot change what's in your reflection. That much has always been up to you."

Riddle considered that... then decided he was also done with tangents.

"But Dumbledore could have still attempted to help on practical grounds," he pointed out. Rather than condemn me with hypocritical moralizing. "He could have introduced me to Flamel, or at least taught me alchemy. It may not have been his responsibility to help me, but it certainly wasn't his responsibility to spurn me."

Luna sighed. "Suppose Dumbledore did take the simple path of giving you practical help. Suppose he somehow guided you towards what you wanted. Suppose you made it all the way to ageless immortality. A Stone of your own. Ignore the impossibility for a moment and just take the hypothetical at face value. Would past-you have been content with that?"

The thought experiment gave him pause.

And then his mind gave him the answer. "No," he said honestly. "The Stone does not block a killing curse."

"That's what I thought," said Luna. "Dumbledore had the wisdom to notice your red flags, but he had the shortsightedness, the lack of wisdom, the sheer gall to address those red flags in one of the laziest ways possible: a relatively brief and highly condescending lecture."

Riddle chuckled at that.

"Dumbledore did not seek to listen to your perspective or understand it until after it had gone so greatly wrong, until necessity forced him to attempt to comprehend the mind of his enemy. But your red flags were real when you went to him," Luna said with strong emphasis, "and they were indicative of a deeper darkness. Intelligent beings whose minds have been permanently scarred by an extended stay in a state of nature, especially during childhood… they tend to have the 'anything goes' attitude. Up to and including murder, if they are powerful enough to get away with it. Normal morality does not factor, only what they think they can get away with, and what their sense of disgust can tolerate. And a fear of death is a common warning sign to this mindset. Your professor knew this on some level, though he did a terrible job articulating it."

Riddle chuckled again, despite where this was going.

"Dumbledore may have been a contributing factor," Luna said in tones of conclusion, "but he was not the root cause of your life's journey. The greatest factor is your early foalhood. Was it Dumbledore whose violence made you fear for your life every day? Was it Dumbledore who caused you to hide in that closet, and beat your head on the frame for the inconvenience of making her search? Was it Dumbledore who demeaned you day in and day out?"

Again, that feeling of depression, even though Luna was just going over the abstract this time.

"Get angry at Ms. Cole for inflicting that upon you," Luna advised. "Keep escalating that anger until you know in your gut that it is. Not. NORMAL! Violence and spite and ridicule hidden by a two-faced smile in public is not the only way of the world, it is not how foalhoods should go. Get angry at Ms. Cole for the fact that you, and the other orphans, had terrible foalhoods."

"Childhoods," he corrected absently. Other than that, Riddle stayed silent for a long time.

It sounded convincing, and not because she said it with a great deal of confidence and honesty.

There are primarily two kinds of people who speak with conviction: charismatic idiots and experienced experts, or some combination of the two, and Luna has already proven herself in that regard. If he probed her, or pushed back, as he's done many times in this conversation alone, she would convey the same concept in a thousand different ways. She would apply her competence to a thousand different situations, with slight adjustments based on circumstance. That is the mark of expertise, not idiocy. Idiocy is rote memorization of a line. Competence is calibration to context.

He gave an internal sigh as he realized he would yet again be trusting her advise until it failed to yield substantial results.

"I understand," he said at last, though he did not say he agreed because he wasn't quite sure if he did, and he did not say that he would do as she says because he wasn't quite sure if he could. "What I do not understand is how my fear of death makes me more animal than man."

"Oh that is relatively simple," said Luna. "When a being fears for their life, they have little free will. There might be skill involved, and planning, and experience, but not much choice. Their genes tell them to do it, so they do it. Hungry? Get food. Scared? Flee. It's all very… instinctual."

"I am not controlled by my instincts."

She grew more animated again. "Yes, because you are sapient! Intelligent beings are different. We have the ability to rise above our instincts. Free will is our capacity to deliberately act against our immediate interests, to act against our base desires by modeling the future within our minds. Free will is our ability to delay gratification and choose the best action we can see. That is half of the equation to free will. But you are already capable of that, so let us focus on the other half, the half that matters most to morality, the half that can never exist in a state of nature. It is the part of free will that truly makes us more than animals, and cannot exist when desperate fear of death is at the mind's forefront. You lack the free will to… no, let us say you lack the capacity to respect the free wills of others. Mutual respect of another's free will, without violence or dominance or force or manipulation…" she trailed off, then nodded firmly.

"That is what it truly means to be a pony," she declaimed. "Or a griffon, or a dragon, or a human. To possess a free will that respects the free wills of others." Her voice, mane, and body became brighter. "To possess a free will that takes others into account both for their sake and yours. To possess a free will that is considerate to those who are themselves considerate as a matter of course, as a habit deeply engrained into your soul. And to possess a free will that seeks to surround itself by others who feel the same way. THAT is life beyond nature, beyond the fear of death. THAT is a life that leads to happiness beyond measure!"

As she finished speaking, her mane flared in a meteor shower. And then she looked at him in such a way that expected, or perhaps hoped for understanding.

Chapter 60: Return to Equestria

Amelia Bones and Mad-Eye Moody met up with them at Hogwarts not long after the Wizengamot session. Harry suspected the Chief Warlock and Head of the DMLE would be using her Time Turner to make time for this outing, though he didn't know about Moody. Madam Bones had not retired from her other position, just as Dumbledore had not renounced headmastership of Hogwarts, and so required more Time than most people. Being retired, Moody had plenty of free time, and Harry didn't know how frequently he used a Time Turner, if at all.

After receiving 'language necklaces' and stepping through the Mirror – which wasn't a mirror anymore, just a portal? – Bones and Moody and Monroe were greeted and ushered out of the vault by Princess Luna, while Princess Celestia said she would 'look after Mr. Potter'. This was not protested by Bones or Moody, probably because it had been expected.

"So, Harry Potter," said Celestia when the other four had gone and it was just the two of them standing in the room with the wish-granting device. "How went your mission?"

"Mission accomplished," he said with a salute and a smile.

"And you have fully ascended, as my sister and Riddle say? Not that I doubt them, but…"

Harry performed his animagus transformation.

"Ascension accomplished too," said Silver Life, his mane of Patronus light glowing brightly behind him.

"Beautiful," she said. "Truly wonderful and marvelous." There was a deep warmth to her words that gave them far more weight than Silver had been expecting. "You have done so well that I could not possibly put it into words, my little… no, not my little pony. Not mine…" She grinned. "Not even born a pony. Since I did not know to say it before, I shall say it now. Welcome to Equestria. Regardless of species or place of birth, you will always have a place here. Thank you for all that you have done, for Equus and for Earth."

Silver was slightly stunned by the sincerity in her voice. Despite all of his accomplishments, it’s not often that he hears heartfelt compliments that actually feel meaningful. He knew there were dangers in accepting compliments; it can make you vulnerable to manipulation through flattery, give you an over-inflated ego, cause you to develop the false belief that the bulk of the work had already been done. But even still…

"Thank you very much," he said into the silence, gracing the rare display of deep and genuine gratitude with one of his own, going so far as to bow his head. "I'm officially an Equestrian citizen?"

"Oh, you are much more than that." She adopted a formal tone and posture. "You shall henceforth be known as Horizon, Alicorn of Life, Prince of Equestria." In a pony genuflect he had never seen before, but which somehow looked archaic, she deeply bowed to him. "May your wisdom lead us all to a better tomorrow." Then she drew herself up and said, less formally, "Though you can choose a different name if you wish."

He blinked. Citizenship and royalty in a year, despite being foreign-born? That must be some kind of a record.

"Prince Horizon…" said the newly-dubbed Prince Horizon, testing the name with his own voice. "Horizon… yeah, that has a nice ring. I like it."

It was certainly better than Snow White.

"Although I probably won't use it for a while," he said apologetically. "And I'd like to learn the spell that reverts my mane. But when the time comes, I'll wear it with pride, because it's better than all of my alternatives." From a PR perspective, anyway. "It's the perfect moniker for what I'm all about."

"You flatter me," said Princess Celestia. Her horn glowed and Prince Horizon felt his mane return to normal strands of hair. "I've had decades to think of it."

"Do you have a name for Memory too?" asked Silver Life/Wing. He'll still need to cover his horn or wings. What happened to his old headband?

"Princess Radiance," said Celestia. "Though that is only a placeholder. I still do not know the magic she shall share with the world. It took many years to come up with yours after Riddle explained your ambition to me. I have had much time to reflect on all the changes you helped to inspire during your short stay. If you do not mind answering, I have been as curious as he. Was your escape…?"

"Deliberate," Silver confirmed with a nod.

"In that case, brilliantly done!" Her warm voice acquired a hint of trepidation. "Does Riddle know?"

"Yes. He asked right away."

"I hope he was not too upset when you answered."

"Oh, not really," Silver said with a casual shrug. "He only killed me. Without warning me first."

"Ah," Celestia coughed. "I… see…" She wore an abstracted look. "My sister is going to give him an earful about that, if she hasn't already."

Silver waved a hoof. "Ask her not to bother. Informed consent might be a staple of modern medical ethics… but I don't mind this one instance. I'm glad he did it the way he did."

Celestia shook her head and sighed. "Very well. The right to indemnify is yours to exercise, just like it is your right to indict. Are you ready for a teleportation? Twilight is expecting us."

"Sure," said Silver. "I would say I can do it myself, but I'm guessing it'd be a bad idea to teleport to my old room."

Celestia smiled, her horn lighting up. "Correct."

When the light of the teleport faded, Silver stared.

And stared.

And continued staring until Celestia nudged him gently.

He said the first thing that came to mind. "That's a really big tree."

"The Tree of Magic." Celestia's voice was illuminating, warm, and filled with fondness. "I thought you should see the outside first. What do you think?"

The base alone was as wide in diameter as a muggle skyscraper. The bark looked like some kind of crystal. Giant doors adorned the front, and a whole palace sat in the upper branches like a fantasy treehouse.

"'Grand' is the word that comes to mind," he decided to say, though it wasn't even really a decision. It was the only thing to say.

"Grand indeed," said Celestia. "Twilight has been striving to see you for thirty-five years. Let us not delay any longer. Are you ready for another teleportation?"

It was only then that Silver explicitly noticed she had asked. Now and before. She remembered after thirty four years. "Thank you for checking. I'm ready."

"Excellent. And if you don't mind…" Celestia's horn glowed, but instead of a flash, Silver felt his mane lighten. "I think you should appear in all your majesty when you greet her."

…Prince Horizon decided not to argue.

It was his second reunion with parental figures in three days- third reunion, actually, if he counted Riddle. This one was rather one-sided, but Prince Horizon tried not to spoil it for Twilight. She looked more mature, but not much different from how she used to look, aside from the wings and the mane of magical patterns. Did she have a new name too?

"You amazing colt," she said as she released him. "So," she began. "Discovered the true Patronus Charm. Realized the potions principle. Figured out multiple ways of bypassing phylacteries. Offered the key insight to restoring lost memories. Is there anything else you didn't tell me that you knew about magic?"

"Yeah," said Horizon. "Emergus." He brought forth and touched his wand to the wooden floor beneath him. Five seconds later, there was a patch of steel where the wood had been. "Partial Transfiguration." And a few other things he wasn't yet ready to disclose. "Don't tell anyone, though. In fact, I'll need your help to create an Interdict that prevents it from destroying the world."

"'Partial' Transfiguration?" asked Twilight with a frown, examining the patch of steel with her glowing horn. "Partial Transfiguration?" she echoed, her eyes widening as her diagnostic charms delivered information to her brain. "PARTIAL TRANSFIGURATION?!"

Her mane had a lot more of those complicated patterns than earlier, as if mimicking her old mane's tendency to frizzle when…

"NICESEEINGYOUAGAINTALKLATERLOVEYOUBYE!"

And she disappeared in a flash of teleportation after giving him one last big hug. She took the transfigured chunk of floor with her.

"That mare," Celestia sighed as the floor repaired itself. She was still wearing that fond smile. "What would we do without her?"

The obvious answer of 'die' came to Horizon's mind, but he, equally obviously, didn't voice it. "So… no Pinkie Pie Ascension Party?"

"Perhaps her sense has told her to delay her gratification," said Celestia, her horn lighting up and returning his mane to mundanity. "Come along. There is one more pony I'd like you to see."

Elsewhere…

The Defense Professor, the head of the DMLE, and the Dark Wizard Hunter watched as Igor Karkaroff spoke with his wand in hand, his face scowling as many other horns, and wands, and a suspended massive boulder were all trained on him.

"What're they talking about?" asked Moody. He'd lost track of how many questions he'd asked so far, and there were going to be many more to come.

"They're confirming that Igor has understood the full meaning and intent of the Vow before starting the ritual," the Defense Professor explained from beside them on the observation deck. "Intelligence causes variance in comprehension time. The binder of Igor's vow, Dolohov, was bound yesterday, so he already understands it. We've been using a chain of Death Eater binders so that only the first two Vows required anyone else's magic."

"Hah!" Moody laughed.

"We won't be seeing every Vow?" asked Amelia.

"Most of them have already been done, so no. But you can rest assured they all went the same way as this one is about to go." Then he brought a wand to his throat and said, "You may begin."

Amelia and Mad-Eye watched and listened to the whole process, the many unicorn horns and other creatures at the ready, the many wards and webs preventing escape, the threats both mundane and magical that Igor would face if he tried to do anything with his wand other than cross it with the Vow receiver's horn. If Monroe spoke true, and if the physical evidence they'd read for themselves wasn't a lie, these precautions were on top of the magical contract binding Igor to attempt no trickery or resistance during this process.

Once it was finally set in motion, the most important things to watch for were the tangible magic in the air, the visual tells and spoken forms to prove that this really was an unbreakable Vow, and of course, the content:

"I vow that I shall not, by any willing act of mine, by proxy, or by negligence, violate of the property rights of other sapient beings."

And…

Nothing else.

That was it.

The ponies began deactivating the security measures.

Amelia frowned. "What, precisely, is meant by 'property rights'? That does not seem nearly restrictive enough."

The Defense Professor gave a quick run-through of the definition, which was a surprisingly short list of four rules, three of which were seemingly unrelated to property…

"Are you sure that's what they all think it means?" Amelia asked.

"I am sure that the receiver thinks it means that, and I am certain her mind has not been tampered with. All three participants must share the same understanding of the Vow's intent for it to be binding, and hers is a strong personality. If the Vow takes with her as a participant, that's that. No more violations to property rights as she understands them."

"Define that again, son," said Mad-Eye. "Different words. Rephrase at least three times."

The man smiled in apparent appreciation. "A crash course on Equestrian ethics it is."

"Flight Formation?" asked Silver, his eyes focusing immediately on the pony he recognized: the retired Wonderbolt captain, his old flying instructor, and his favorite school superintendent. Flight was standing in the center of a stadium, surrounded by younger pegasi. Silver looked at the sign above the stadium which read Silver Wing's Flying Stadium. "He's still teaching my classes?" he asked, a question which somehow took priority over 'I have a stadium?'

"He is still assistant teaching your classes," Celestia pointed out. "Look at the pony next to him. Do you recognize her?"

"Umm…" Silver squinted, only then noticing the new alicorn. Her ethereal mane looked like the sky around them – blue and cloudy. "No. Sorry."

"You needn't apologize," said Celestia. "She is older now, and you had a far greater impact on her than she had on you. I'll re-introduce you two when lessons are over, which will be in…" she looked at a giant screen that said 5:58. "Two minutes. Perfect. Go to that building on the other side of the stadium. I'll tell her to meet you there. And be quick about it. I've set your mane to revert to its natural state in twenty seconds."

As soon as he processed the words, he bucked himself towards the door, drawing many eyes towards the sound, but hopefully that wouldn't matter because he made it to the door and opened it and closed it with… at least three seconds to spare. Phew.

Once his heart had calmed slightly, he glanced around the room. The first thing his brain recognized was that it was filled with displays – glass cases, large pictures, signs with text. A museum of some kind.

He walked up to one of the exhibits, and found that it contained… that crumpled sheet of paper he'd used to brainstorm ideas on how to tackle the pegasus magic problem. How did they get that?

Nearby stood a stand with his old headband.

He lifted the glass with levitation magic, took it off the stand, and put it over his horn, noticing with some amount of appreciation that the enchantment still worked. Hopefully he was moving too fast earlier for the ponies outside to notice his horn… although his mane would make this redundant.

Then he looked around again. Was this really a museum dedicated to himself? Wow. He wasn't expecting that to happen until he'd reached forty or fifty years old. Then again, he sort of has reached fifty, hasn't he?

Then the door clicked open and he froze in place, realizing that he'd just stolen an item from a museum display. Even if it was his.

"Alright, who's the showboat with friends in high- Hey! No touching the displays!"

Silver felt magic tug at his headband, but the one who did the tugging must not have known the headband's purpose. He felt pressure on the base of his horn, followed by a small rrrip sound, followed by a gasp of horror.

He turned around to see a grown mare with absolute dread on her face, looking from his horn to the torn headband held in her magic… looking like she was having the worst day of her life. Her mane had gone from fluffy clouds to a rainy downpour.

"Reparo," Silver said before she could explode into rage, or tears, or both. The headband knitted itself together again, though it might have to be re-enchanted. "Sorry about that," he said. "I put it on without thinking."

"You-" said the mare. "You- you- you-"

"Prince Horizon," he introduced himself, since his mane was glowing at the moment. "Pleased to meet you… um… miss."

The mare blinked a few times, took a few deep breaths, examined the headband to make sure it wasn't damaged, then carefully returned it to the display case. Her mane had returned mostly to normal.

"Princess Airess," she said. Somehow, Silver understood the spelling without seeing it written, and despite the fact that the original name was in a different language. "And being an alicorn is not an excuse for being dumb, even if you can fix it later. I know that better than anypony. So can you please tell me why you thought it was a good idea to take that headband?"

"Because it had a space enchantment that fits a horn," said Silver. "Still works, too. It wouldn't have ripped if you hadn't yanked it."

"I know it had a space enchantment, but that doesn't mean… you get to…" she trailed off, blinking slowly. She looked to a life-size, cardboard cutout image of Silver Wing. She walked up to it.

For the sake of mischief, Silver walked up to the image so he was standing right next to it, pretending to examine it like she was.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the gaze of the orange mare slowly shift towards him.

He continued to pretend to stare at the image. It is a pretty good picture of himself. "And because the headband doesn't belong to the museum."

"Silver Wing?" asked a small, hesitant voice.

"Only when I'm pretending to be a pegasus," said Silver. "Or when I actually was a pegasus, I guess."

"SILVER!" shouted a loud, royal Canterlot voice, followed by a crushing hug and a few spins through the air.

He could have teleported out of the hug, but he decided not to. When he was released, he found himself floating without any effort or desire on his part to defy gravity. The orange alicorn was literally flying circles around him.

"You're back you're back you're BACK!" she cheered happily as her wind currents slowly began to turn him in the air.

"I'm not back, I'm up," said Silver. "Now I'm sideways. Now I'm down. Now I'm back. Oop. Back to up again."

The mare stopped circling him, which caused his circling to slow down, though he didn't stop entirely.

"You haven't aged a day," she said, as if she had just realized it.

"I have aged a day," he said. "A few days, actually." Three days, to be exact. Plus Time Turned hours.

The mare's enthusiasm seemed to sink. "Wait… is that what happens when you become an alicorn when you're a colt? You never grow up?"

"No, I've lived about as many years as I look," said Silver. "Although now that you mention it, I guess that means I don't know if I can age or not…" He trailed off at her confused expression. How to put this in lay-pony terms… "I was trapped in a forwards time machine thirty-five years ago," Silver summarized on the spot. It was actually a pretty good approximation to the truth. "I only just got out. I don't know if this body will let me age, but it probably will, to a point." And if not, well, he can always resort to a bit of self-transfiguration with the Stone of Permanence.

"A… forwards time machine…" she echoed. She seemed to think about it. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"So… you're still twelve?"

"Thirteen," he corrected.

She digested this. Then she slumped to the floor. Silver slumped with her, until he was feeling the full effects of gravity once more.

"No," said the mare. "No, no, no! This is all wrong! You're supposed to be a stallion, not a colt! A stallion!"

"I'm pretty sure I'm only supposed to be what I am at any given moment," said Silver, standing to his hooves. "I'll be a stallion later. No need to rush… things…" he trailed off, looking at the mare who had tears in her eyes.

"You're thirty-five younger than me," she said in a choked voice. "We were the same age, and now…"

"Uh… right…" said Silver. "Um, did we meet back then?"

That was when the mare teleported away, but not before Silver noticed she was doing it because she had fully broken into tears.

Two seconds later, Celestia appeared in the room, looking sadly to where the orange alicorn had been. "I was afraid this might happen," she said. "But she had to learn sooner or later. I tried to warn her…"

"Okay," said Silver, raising a hoof. "Time out. Who was that?"

"That was Scootaloo," said Celestia. "The young filly who was so inspired by you that she became an Alicorn."

"Oh," said Silver. "Oh," he repeated, beginning to understand.

Right. Scootaloo, his number-one flight class student, the (formerly?) wing-deformed pegasus.

"She was rather smitten with what she thought you would be like when you returned, for I told her you would one day," Celestia said, her explanation less necessary than it had been five seconds ago. "I never knew how to break the news to her, so I didn't. As time passed, it became clearer and clearer that I should have mentioned the Time problem at the very start, for she turned down coltfriend after coltfriend, staying single for thirty-five years straight. She spent more time in your museum than she should have, and became your true, number one fan. I couldn't even bring myself to remind her of Memory." Celestia bowed her head. "I'm sorry."

Silver didn't know what to say. The only thing that came to mind was…

"I still think it is not punishment enough," said Amelia when they were 'wrapping up' their visit. "Or even punishment at all."

"Equestria has different views on what constitutes appropriate legal punishment," said their guide. "Especially in cases extreme enough for Vows to be on the table."

"Gonna give us another lecture on pony ethics?" asked Moody. He didn't sound annoyed, just curious.

The man shrugged. "I'll keep this one brief. The earliest Equestrian philosopher in their recorded history suggested that the art of morality is the art of restricting free will as little as possible while still eliminating evil. Much like Merlin's philosophy." He smiled ironically, as if remembering an inside joke. "The Death Eaters will be punished by their own inner-demons in the coming years, if they live that long."

The Defense Professor had allowed Mad-Eye to interview anyone he wished – and Mad-Eye interviewed many, from the Death Eaters themselves to Princess Luna to the beings standing guard.

The Defense Professor had shown Moody and Bones the indestructible magic-suppressing anklets that could only be removed by a joint effort of Celestia, Luna, and Excelsior.

He had shown them the Death Eater encampment.

The Death Eaters didn't have to live there, they were surprisingly free for prisoners, but they were reluctant to set out into a world in which in which they did not have access to their own magic, in which they would have to find a way to provide for themselves, in which they would be alone. Culture-wise. Species-wise. Ethics-wise.

The encampment was utterly miserable, with a number of men just laying on the ground or on a bench and staring off into space, as if they could not think of a single thing to do.

"Why wouldn't they live that long?" asked Amelia.

"The free meals and housing will end in a year," Monroe said. "Sooner, if they refuse therapy. I expect some of them will take their chances elsewhere. With the Vows and anklets in place, I don't trust their ability to provide for themselves if they leave, but they can if they wish."

That will prevent the Death Eaters from becoming 'useless eaters', which would not be a good habit for them to develop, nor would providing for them be good for pony society. They would have to live honest lives – which, to be fair, some already did, at least when it came to having jobs back on Earth. But they would have to live honest lives in other ways too, ways they are not used to, ways that involve mutual negotiation, consent, and a complete lack of evil. No doubt they feel like prisoners, despite the freedom to leave. They are prisoners in their own bodies.

"It's about time we head back," said Monroe. "Any other questions?"

"Yes," said Mad-Eye. "How the heck did you get the Death Eaters to agree to be Vowed? Karkaroff's a bloody coward, but others aren't. No way the Lestrange brothers came quietly, even if they believed you're Voldie and you tickled them with the Cruciatus a few times. Or did Dementor exposure make 'em compliant?"

He paused in brief recollection.

"Those are your orders, my servants. In myself, it has produced tremendous strength, and I would see you all strengthened, even if it takes decades. If you are skeptical, feel free to attack me. As many of you at once, and you will not be punished beyond what is necessary for me to subdue you. Witness for yourself the power-"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"Expecto Patronum. Stupify-"

"Not quite," he said. "The Death Eaters of Azkaban were healed by that large Patronus Charm before coming here, restoring a great deal of their will to live. And there were others with rebellious spirits who did not spend time in Azkaban. But…" He gave Mad-Eye a wolfish smile. "Did I mention that Ms. Granger's case is not quite exceptional? That people can be revived under the right circumstances, and that the methodology was primarily innovated here?" Though it couldn't be done without permanent cost prior to Mr. Silver's ascension. "In order to drive home the point, I may have suggested a test of strength, and I may have killed a few of them." That, or he may be misleading Moody. He could have done it, in theory, but Avada Kedavra wouldn't have proven true dominance, and Mr. Potter's schedule had been packed. "I may have killed them multiple times over, in the case of the Lestrange brothers," he said, continuing to lie without speaking any falsehoods.

"Hah!" said Moody. "And Bellatrix Black? She agree right away, or was there trouble?"

"She does not refuse her Dark Lord, does not question, does not argue. Nevertheless, her case is delicate. I will show you, but you mustn't be seen or heard."

When they saw the thin, motionless witch, missing one arm, sitting on a bed and staring into space vacuously, Amelia asked for more details.

"She, too, has been bound by that Vow. Ten years of Dementor exposure did a number on her, as it did a few others. A certain conversation after the Vow set in rendered her… like that." He sighed. "This is the part where I tell you there is one other Death Eater I haven't mentioned yet, nor will I tell you his whereabouts. I will say his name, but after that you will have to walk the path of powerful wizardry and figure out the rest for yourself."

"Who?" said Mad-Eye.

The man paused, as if in reluctance.

Then he steeled himself and said, "Tom Riddle."

Scootaloo is a pathetic mare. She's a forty-five years old alicorn, she's Princess Airess for Celestia's sake, and here she is, crying in a cloud like she's ten again. Last time it was Rainbow Dash. Last time, Rainbow found her and fixed things. This time, nopony can make it better. Her dream stallion, her soulmate, turned out to be…

"Hello," said a voice she recognized. "I'm Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres."

She sniffed, blinked a few times, and looked up. There was a strange creature hovering right in front of her. It was wingless, wearing a necklace that wasn't a cloud walking necklace, and she was fairly certain it wasn't using her own method of…

"When I was one and a half years old," said the floating creature in Silver Wing's voice, "a dark lord killed my parents."

The creature reached into its robes and withdrew a parchment screen.

Scootaloo watched, in horrified fascination, as a long-maned creature with a female voice was mocked in the most horrible way possible, and then… and then…

And then the creature with Silver's voice rolled up the memory and returned it to his robes.

"Then I was adopted by my parents, who loved me very much."

He withdrew another screen, this one showing a scene of another long-maned female saying that 'Harry' has a big heart, followed by a short-maned creature asking if he had bought enough books. It was touching even though she didn't understand the context. She could hear the emotion in everypony's voice.

The creature returned that one to his robes as well.

"They weren't perfect," said the creature. "They made mistakes. Dad didn't respect me the way I wanted him to, and Mum wasn't as smart as I'd have liked her to be. And I knew I was adopted. So sometimes I was tempted to compare them to what I thought my real parents would have been like. And I indulged in that temptation more than once, even though I knew it was wrong. And then I learned that my birth father was a bully, and my birth mother was shallow. I learned they weren't perfect after all. And I wondered if I should be sad about that, but it was right after a different boy said his parents were being tortured in this place."

The creature showed her a memory that, later, she wished he hadn't shown her. It was a voice, probably of another furless, flat-faced minotaur, but it could have just as easily been a pony. The only image was a door. The voice was begging for help, saying that she couldn't remember her children's names anymore.

Then the memory was rolled up like the others.

"It wasn't a forward time machine, but it had the same effect. I left Equestria to destroy that place, and also to vanquish the Dark Lord you saw. But that's not really important. The moral of the story is that, while our own problems matter a great deal to us, it helps to have other people's perspectives. My parents made mistakes, but they were still good people, and at least they weren't dead, or being tortured. I wasn't even a natural-born pegasus, I wasn't even using pegasus magic, I said I was cheating, like I am now-" he gestured at his floating form "-but I inspired you anyway. I'm sorry I didn't recognize you, Scootaloo, and I'm sorry I couldn't be what you wanted me to be. I was never a pony in the first place, so it probably wouldn't have worked out between us. My brain doesn't find ponies attractive… well, to be fair, it doesn't find girls attractive yet either. I still haven't hit puberty. But…"

She blinked, and looked at the creature with Silver's voice… she looked at Silver, who – as his biggest fan, she knew – did not have any Equestrian records prior to when he first showed up in Ponyville.

"I get it," she said, standing to her hooves. "I get it. You're not the Silver Wing I had in my head all these years. You're the real Silver. You're your own pony- er, I mean, your own… um… minotaur… centaur… creature."

"Human," Silver offered.

"Human," Scootaloo repeated. "Right. What Lyra's obsessed about."

"And I'm a pony too," said Silver, turning into the ascended alicorn she'd seen in the museum. "I'm pretty sure this is my base species, actually, even if I wasn't born to it. So… um… are we good now? Are you good now?"

"Nope," she said. She still felt awful. "But I will be. I'll just have to deal with my idol complex. I've seen it so many times in my fans, I'll find a way."

"Okay. And… um… I hate to bring it up, but I have to ask… you're a single mare in her forties, and Celestia said you turned down every coltfriend because of me…"

"Sure did," said Scootaloo. "No worries. Luna was a single mare in her hundreds and she turned out fine. Ascendency has its perks. Unlike the Stoners, my eggs have all the time in the world."

Silver looked a little uncomfortable, and on second thought, maybe she shouldn't have put it like that in front of what was apparently a 13-year-old colt. So she stuck to the important part.

"I may have turned 'em all down because they weren't you, but honestly, if any of them had even reminded me of you, I would have thought about it. But all of 'em were… um…"

"Average?" Silver suggested. "Run-of-the-mill? Ordinary? Boring?"

"Lame, yeah," said Scootaloo. "So I might have turned 'em down for the wrong reason, but it was also sort of the right reason. Probably saved me from making a big mistake. Can't let this hot piece of flank settle for anything other than the best. That's what I told myself when I was waiting for you, but hey, it still works."

"Sure does," said Silver. "Now," he said in as much firm authority as a thirteen-year-old colt could command, "I ascended before you, so that means I have alicorn seniority. I was never here, this conversation never happened, and you don't tell anyone about anything. Not the alicorn thing, not the time machine thing, and definitely not the human thing. Don't even say that Silver Wing is back. Got it?"

"Uh…" said Scootaloo. "Can you repeat all that?"

"Nope. Short version: nothing unusual happened today, just like you never saw me fly in that room. If you need the nitty-gritty, look it up in the Astral Plane. I'm already late. Bye!"

And he disappeared in a flash of teleportation.

She didn't bother going to the Astral Plane. His 'short version' was more than good enough. She'd never told anyone about his wingless flying, or that he was an alicorn. So she would never tell anyone he'd been here, or anything else that she learned today. She would keep it to herself, just like last time.

And within herself, two thoughts were going through her mind:

Silver Wing is just as awesome now as he was back then.

She doesn't know him a fraction as well as he thought she did. He's a whole different species for Celestia's sake.

She sighed. Getting over her idol problem is going to be tough.

"You're late," said Professor Monroe. "But to be fair, so am I."

"What held you up?" asked Harry Potter. "And where are the other two?"

"Already back on Earth," said his mentor. "They were my hold up. What delayed you?"

"It's my fault," said Princess Celestia, the only other being in the room. "I took him to see Scootaloo."

"Ah," said Professor Monroe. "Did she…?"

"She took it about as well as could be expected. He gave her another speech afterwards. I think it helped."

"You were watching?" asked Harry.

"Watching, but not listening," said Celestia. "I did not wish for anything to happen to you or her. How is it you were flying? I thought human wizards could not levitate themselves."

Harry looked to his mentor.

Professor Monroe's expression didn't change as he sent a single word to Harry's brain through Legilimency.

"Magic," Harry said.

Celestia looked between the two of them. "So," she said, "A wizarding method then? Or was the self-levitation restriction simply a lie?"

"It's not quite a lie," said Professor Monroe. "It is brought up in every standard Charms textbook that covers levitation. Wizards believed self-levitation to be unachievable until about twenty years ago on that side, which would be about fifty-five years ago from our perspective. Now they believe it's only doable if you're the world's most powerful and cunning Dark Wizard who's known for doing impossible things. I still haven't decided how, when, or even if I should break the news."

"If it ever gets to the point that I'm doing it openly," said Harry, "and people still don't know how, I'm going to tell them it's a Dark Ritual where you have to permanently sacrifice your love of Quidditch."

Professor Monroe smiled at that.

"Is it ancient magic?" asked Celestia.

"Relatively modern, actually," said Harry. "For a very stretched definition of 'modern', but still. I figured it out when he gave me the right prompts, and I had only been a wizard for less than a year at the time. No ancient powerful magic necessary."

"Hmm…" said Celestia. "A clever use of magical mechanics, then? Even if I cannot figure it out, I am sure Twilight will enjoy the puzzle."

"Is she ready to see me again?" asked Harry.

Professor Monroe raised an eyebrow.

"She is," said Celestia. "But I believe you are going to Circus next?"

"We are," said Professor Monroe. "Only to sign him up. I promised his parents he'd be home before six."

"But it's already seven- ah. I see. I am still getting used to that. Well, good luck. I shall tell the guards to be ready for you when you return through the Mirror."

"My connection to the other side is functional, actually," said Professor Monroe. "And vice versa when I was over there. We can just teleport."

"I know. I would prefer the official method, but if that is what you decide to do just make sure the message gets to me by sundown."

Professor Monroe nodded, then became Professor Riddle. "Stay in that form, Mr. Potter," said the thestral. "And stay by my side."

And in the next moment, Harry found himself surrounded by ponies, griffons, the occasional minotaur, a few dragons, and a bunch of other creatures he couldn't name. He was clearly still in Equestria, but noequus was giving him a second glance, despite the fact that he was standing upright as a bipedal, furless creature. Well, a few beings gave him second glances, but not third glances.

"Please leave the arrival platform as you gawk," said an unfamiliar, disembodied voice from just over the top of his head.

Harry quickly left the large, circular platform with flashing floor lights and flashes of teleportation that signaled the arrival of pony after bug-pony after dog creature.

He was in a room that almost reminded him of Hogwarts, if Hogwarts was themed from a traveling circus instead of a castle, and if it consisted of a single massive, cavernous room. The canopy above was red-and-white, and the tent was so wide and cluttered that it was like the central staircase room of Hogwarts, except rather than portraits and floating staircases, there were living beings and floating structures dotting the area above. The method of travel, rather than moving staircases, seemed to be tightropes that went from floating kiosk to floating kiosk. Creatures seemed to have no trouble walking across the ropes, though various methods of flight were also being used.

"What is this place?" asked Harry.

"The solution to Discord's bloating magic problem," his mentor said. "You remember who that was?"

"Discord…" Harry repeated. "The thousand-year prisoner from the gardens? He had a magic problem?"

"Yes. The short version is that he was constantly being bloated by Chaos magic, forcing him to constantly cause Chaos, so it wasn't quite by choice that he did all that he did. On my and Twilight Sparkle's suggestion, he sacrificed his excess magic to make this place. He was then allowed to roam free so long as he spent an hour each day with Fluttershy and didn't hurt anypony."

"An hour with Fluttershy each day…" said Harry. "Did it work?"

"Instantaneously."

Ah. Right. A native Equestrian. "So… you helped him make a Chaos Hogwarts?"

"More or less. Twilight and I provided planning and theory, he handled the implementation. Though it has evolved to encompass many purposes, Circus began as a mock-battlefield…" they walked up to a screen showing multiple third-pony perspectives of helmeted ponies and griffons and other creatures running through hilly fields, forests, and structures, "…and has refined that aspect of itself more than any other, which is why this will be your training grounds. Expect similar rules to the armies of Hogwarts."

Harry thought about the constraints for a moment. "Will I even stand a chance?" he asked. "Humans have less magic than ponies, and at my age…" At his age, Protego charms are standard pony practice, and there isn't the obvious weak point of a wand. Beating even one pony as a human…

"Circus has developed a matchmaking system to avoid unfair fights as much as possible," said his mentor. "Micromanagement might be unchaotic, but it's even less chaotic when the gamblers know who's going to win in advance. Initial placement based on raw magical strength and subsequent placements based on merit is the middle-ground Circus has chosen for free-for-alls. Though of course it is interesting and Chaotic when a new combatant enters the scene and stomps his placement games, and there's only so much Circus can do to provide a challenge for genuine prowess. Keep in mind that you will be the first human Equus has ever officially seen, so try to make a lasting impression. We don't want ponies thinking we're the soft ones."

"That… might be difficult to do with my current ability set."

"That's why I'll be teaching you a few combat tricks to give you an edge. We're starting your wordless magic lessons in full, now that you know the key insight."

Harry reached that point six days ago (from his perspective), a few days before his departure from Equestria. No surprise he'd be picking up where he left off. "How long will it take me to learn well enough for live battle?" he asked.

"Humanity's introduction to the Circus-going Equestrian public is scheduled for just after the movie trip."

"So… I don't start until a month and a half from now?"

"Not in human form," he said in half-confirmation. "We'll register your pony form as separate."

"I'll need to learn the mundane mane spell. And can I wear one of those helmets even if I'm already a unicorn? You know, to hide my identity? And hide my horn?"

"I was going to make that a requirement."

"In that case, sign both of me up."

This was done at a registration kiosk manned- or rather, ponied by a floating sad clown head.

"So is Circus responsible for those, too?" Harry asked, pointing to the heads that seemed, quite literally, to be NPCs.

"Yes," said his mentor. "In general, Circus has a pseudo-life of its own, a will to good Chaos, and an awareness of its innards."

"Is it self-aware?"

There was a pop right next to them, causing both heads to turn and behold a clown-like Draconequus that was not at all like the statue Harry remembered seeing.

"I am now," said what was apparently an avatar of Circus and/or Chaos, wearing what looked like a ringleader's outfit.

There came a massive sigh from Professor Riddle's direction. "Thank you for that, Mr. Potter."

"Many gratitudes indubitably," said the chaotic creature, twisting and twirling around a nervous Harry Potter, and then around an unflinching Riddle Tome, until the Draconequus was fully extended. "Don't worry," it said, patting the unamused thestral on the cheek. "I'll be good."

"I know," said Professor Riddle. "But I thought Discord prevented this possibility. Now you'll cease to be self-conscious as soon as we leave."

"Don't worry, I got it." Circus took a deep breath, then held it, his eyes shut and nose pinched with a clothespin. Then a birdcage appeared around its head. The little door on the cage closed shut, locked with a tiny key, and Circus ate the key. Then a large series of other bars, chains, and locks appeared, until his head was no longer visible beneath the overlapping 'security'. A final snap of his fingers made the whole apparatus disappear. "There," said the creature. "All good. Thanks for the final push to beinghood, Happy Plotter. Have a thousand Circus tickets on the house."

It snapped its fingers, and nothing seemed to happen.

"Um…" said Harry. "You're welcome?"

But his thoughts were elsewhere. Along with some amount of internal chiding, he was trying to understand what had just happened and what it implied. If it works like the Sorting Hat instead of Hogwarts…

"Does that mean you borrow the cognitive capacities of the people that visit you?" he asked. "And if so, will it kill me if I stay here too long?"

"So THAT'S what was happening!" said the creature, putting its right fist in its left palm with an expression of Eureka. "ATTENTION ALL CIRCUS-GOERS," he said with hand-claw-things cupping his mouth, though his words didn't come from his direction, they seemed to emanate from the air itself, "THE CAUSE FOR CIRCUS SICKNESS HAS BEEN DISCOVERED AND DEALT WITH. THERE IS NO LONGER A TIME LIMIT ON VISITING HOURS."

A great cheer went throughout the entire stadium.

"Because now I can stop borrowing their brainpower if it's hurting them," he said to Harry in a stage whisper. "I've got more than enough as it is. Here." He snapped his fingers, again without apparent effect. "Have another thousand tickets. Geeze, you already have enough to buy the alicorn enchantment. Wonder how that looks on a creature like you." The creature snapped its fingers a third time.

For the third time, nothing happened, and now Harry was beginning to suspect that he was just being messed with.

"Nothing?" asked Circus. "Bummer. Well, I'm off to finally say hi to mommy. Been wanting to hug him for years now. Ta-ta!"

And then there were two.

"Uh…" said Harry.

"Quite," said Professor Riddle. "Come, let's register your pony form and call it an afternoon. My evening just got busier."

Rehabilitation 10.6: Property Rights vs. Property Reichs

Author's Note

The final chapter of broccoli. There will be a highly bitter pill to swallow some chapters later, and then it's full steam ahead on the plot from there out.

Rehabilitation 10.6: Property Rights vs. Property Reichs

"You know…" said Riddle in a thoughtful voice after her declaration had hung in the air for a time. "Hearing you speak… saying nothing about whether I agree… it almost reminds me of Merlin."

"Merlin?" echoed Luna. "What is that?"

"The greatest wizard of all time. That history records," Riddle addended.

There may have been even greater Atlanteans… or there may not have been, for their society left behind but one known artifact.

Merlin passed down his wisdom, his Halls, his Line, and his Interdict, all of which remain to this day. And unlike the Atlanteans working on the Mirror, Merlin did his work alone, and his legacies are elegantly simple and idiot-proof.

"What did he do?" asked Luna.

Riddle could have answered that in many ways, but since they were talking about free will anyway…

"He wished for witches and wizards who were being pushed about by the whims of fate to at least know the stories of their prophetic enslavements. Thus he erected the Hall of Prophecy, which recorded all seer speech within our country's borders. A gift to their free will, he called it, even as he hated Time for repudiating free will in such a blatant fashion."

He paused to gauge Luna's reaction, but she was simply listening patiently. "That sounds impressive," she offered when she noticed his pause. "Very impressive, and very considerate to his fellow wizards. But in point of fact, I know a being who once did something similar for Equestria. Has 'Merlin' done anything else on that scale?"

"He did something even greater," Riddle said reverently. "Despite everything he believed, Merlin imposed an Interdict – a restriction on the very nature of magic itself, and thus a restriction on the free wills of all future wizards: that the knowledge of powerful magics may only be transferred by word of mouth, from one living mind to another. In order to impose it, Merlin sacrificed his life, his magic, and possibly even his remaining Time, but some scholars joke that he croaked of sheer hypocrisy. Today it is widely recognized that the world would have ended at least thrice over if not for his Interdict, so it is widely theorized that a prophecy told Merlin of the world's destruction, and in the end, Merlin violated his most sacredly held values to save it. Although it was not too egregious a violation. It is widely agreed that any other wizard in his place would have forbidden a wider range of actions, to the detriment of everyone. Your remarks on how morality should restrict free will as little as possible are similar to that particular aspect of the legend. If not for Merlin's healthy respect for free will, we would all be worse off. Wizards are still free to pass down their powerful knowledge to their apprentices, just not stupidly."

"I can see why he was the greatest wizard of all time," Luna said. "If only his second favorite concept was universality," she sighed wistfully.

Riddle's eyebrows rose in surprise. "It was, actually. The Interdict of Merlin applies universally, to all wizards, all magic, and all Time. He sought to understand as many universal truths as possible. His favourite artifact was a Mirror that treats everyone with the same universal ruleset. He made a hobby of mathematics and hard logic. If you could simplify his philosophy to two concepts, they would be universality and free will. He once described the Unbreakable Vow as the single darkest ritual in existence, especially when imposed upon those who do not consent."

"I think you have sold me on him." Luna smiled a wide and genuine smile. "Based on what you have told me, he might just be my favorite human wizard. No offense."

"None taken," Riddle shrugged. "He's my favourite too."

Even more than Slytherin, for Riddle proved Salazar's folly by slaying his beast, among other things, while Merlin's wisdom has yet to be proven wrong. The only point against Merlin, in Riddle's eyes, is the suicide, but even that can be viewed in the light of Mr. Potter's suggestion on how wizards on their deathbeds should bind Unbreakable Vows to leave an inheritance for their children. Merlin was old anyway, and not immortal. That he left a legacy of unmatchable value with his inevitable death was a sensible act, under the circumstances.

"Have wizards inherited Merlin's morals?" Luna asked. "Do they also consider the Vow unspeakably dark?"

Riddle scoffed. "Everybody reveres Merlin, but nobody holds themselves to his standards. Most wizards are closer to your sister. They, like she, regard the Vow as one of the least dark rituals in existence, to the point where it's legal in every magical country I know about."

"Disappointing," sighed Luna. "If a bit predictable."

"You didn't object when I proposed my own Vow," he pointed out. "Or when I carried it out."

"Because you freely chose to restrict your own free will, as did Sliver and Memory. I suspect the Vow will see much use in helping repentant addicts overcome their addictions. I do not object when a pony willingly restricts his own free will. I would object if others forced the same restriction without prior consent or truly dire need."

"What about criminals?" he asked. "You seem to have little sympathy in restricting their wills. With prison bars if not Vows."

She shrugged. "That has the potential to fall into the 'dire need' category. The moment you deliberately violate the free will of another, you forfeit the right to complain when your free will is violated. On a level commensurate with your initial violation, of course, and done for the purpose of restoring that which you have destroyed or taken, or done for the purpose of preventing future violations. That is the core tenet of universal morality as applied to legal consequences. If it is in the form of property repossession, or imprisonment and rehabilitation for bodily crimes, or even a Vow in the worst cases, I will not shed a tear. Theft, rape, assault, and murder always infringe on the free wills of others, regardless of circumstance, which is why forbidding those four, or variants of them, is the only hard set of moral rules I have."

"How is petty theft a violation of someone's free will?"

Her tone grew rhetorical. "Has anypony ever willed their own property to be stolen from them?"

"I can think of a plot where I did." And muggle insurance fraud works that way too.

"Then it wasn't theft," Luna said simply. "Theft is when you do not want your property to be repossessed – your wand, let us say – and if someone steals it, they have violated your right to freely do what you will with your own property. Property rights are the essence of free will. Modern ponies say 'your property, your choice'. Catchy, isn't it?"

"The 'catchiness' must be lost in translation," he said in deadpan. "And how is property the essence of free will? Shouldn't the core of free will be the concept of choice?"

"Hmm… yes and no. The ability to choose is merely synonymous with free will, two phrases meaning mostly the same thing. Property rights are more like… an entirely different way of looking at the same concept. Free Will is the abstract model, while property rights are real and actionable, like the difference between a painting of an apple and the actual apple."

"Would you mind explaining that?"

Luna spoke like a professor giving a lecture. "Legally speaking, property rights and free will are one and the same," she claimed. "It is the foundation of modern Equestrian ethics, the earliest written laws that still last to this day. Your property, your choice. And it works. Simply look to history, to other countries. Without property rights, you see little prosperity."

Riddle didn't argue the prosperity point. He didn't know Equestrian history in that sense, but he knew human history.

The ancient Romans were the first (known) civilization to enshrine property rights firmly, explicitly, and carefully into law, with close attention to detail. Theirs was the most advanced muggle and magical society of the ancient world, and they left a lasting impact on future lawmakers, their influence still plainly visible in the names of months, planets, spells, and, yes, legal statutes.

Modern societies, muggle and magical, also pay respect to property. Well, some modern societies pay some respect to the concept of property.

The Soviet Union was one of the biggest 'let's try something else' experiments in recent history, and it collapsed. Mao's China didn't fare much better.

As far as he could tell from roaming both "East" and "West" at a time in history when their respective political philosophies were in full-swing, the primary difference between the two was the quality of life, which drastically derailed as 'rights' were disregarded, including but not limited to property rights. Roaming village after village of pale, gaunt muggles whose minds were wracked by constant paranoia had a way of being memorable even to him. Texas never had that problem, nor the boondocks of muggle Britain, while the Soviet Union certainly did. So did Hitler's Germany, if you knew where to look; he had been too young at the time to confirm it personally, but even the most ignorant muggles know that story. Fascism, like socialism, laughed at the concept of individual rights. 'Nothing outside the state', as Mussolini famously said, does not leave room for property ownership in the long run, and... he had to admit those regimes, ultimately, didn't last either.

So he didn't argue against Luna's claim of 'no property rights, no prosperity' on factual grounds. But thinking of communism did remind him of a different sort of counter argument. He considered keeping quiet, since he certainly didn't agree with it, but he overcame his distaste in a desire to see how she would handle it.

"Do you consider property to be more valuable than life?" The indignant, accusatory tone that typically accompanied the rhetorical question was not in his voice. He had trouble enough asking it with a straight face. He did at least manage to finish the standard example. "What if I need to steal to save a dying or starving family member?"

"Ah," said Luna, raising a halting hoof. "You will not fool me with trick questions, my fool. Life cannot and should not be divorced from property. Your life is your property. My life is mine. The tangible effects of our labor are also our property, so long as we have not been otherwise contracted, and we have not violated the property of others along the way. When you engage in theft, for whatever reason, you are often stealing past labor, not just property, and appropriation of another's labor against their will is, by definition, slavery. If a griffon spends an hour to catch a fish, and you steal the fish, you have retroactively enslaved that griffon for an hour. If a pony works for ten bits an hour and you steal eighty bits' worth of property from them, you have enslaved them for a day of work. When you deprive somepony of their property, you are also depriving them of the life they spent obtaining that property. You might be depriving them of life itself, depending on what property you take, and how much. A dying family member, as tragic as that is, does not justify the forced servitude of others."

He had never heard it put that way. "Calling theft slavery seems a bit overdramatic, no?"

"No," she said. "It is either true or false. 'Overdramatic' is an insult, not an argument. Either bring a counterargument, or cease being foolish."

Riddle chuckled. "Very well. What about inherited property? You would not be 'enslaving' the work of a pony who inherits property."

"It is less evil to rob the dead than the living, but it is still wrong, my fool. To steal inherited property is to retroactively enslave the ancestor it was inherited from. If a parent passes down the home they built to their foal, you taking it for any reason, even to save a dying family member, would steal years of somepony else's work while also rendering their loved ones homeless."

"What about stealing property that was itself initially stolen?"

"To restore property to its original state is not theft."

"And stolen property that was passed down through generations?" he elaborated. "Or otherwise long separated from the initial moment it was stolen? Doesn't your statute of limitations-" which ponies do have "-interfere with that?"

"If they stole it from you and passed it down to their grandchildren, it is still yours; to take it back is not theft. If their ancestors stole it from your ancestors, the same concept applies, though you must be able to prove it in a court of law, which generally speaking becomes harder to do as time passes- eye witnesses grow forgetful, hard evidence is lost, and trials become longer and more expensive, to the point where the cost of prosecution exceeds the cost of the property itself. It is for this reason- practical necessity, not moral obligation- that the statute of limitations exists."

"And why the exact cut-off date of fifty years?"

"Why is the age of consent eighteen?" Luna countered. "And not, say, seventeen years and three-hundred, sixty-four days, twenty-three hours, and fifty-nine minutes? What difference does one minute make?"

"An excellent question."

She shook her head. "A deliberately annoying question, and not the kind that a good fool would ask. There has to be a cut-off date, and so that date is bound to be arbitrary. When it comes to the statute of limitations, my sister's vast experience in arbitration has led her to choose that date, with exceptions made for cases of significantly hard and undeniable evidence. But we are straying from the issue of property rights. Have I satisfied your questions about inheritance?"

"Not quite. What about excess wealth? Most inheritance is not necessary to survival."

Luna sighed and shook her head. "That does not address anything I have said so far. It is irrelevant to you if someone else's property is not necessary for their survival. Besides, who are you to define what qualifies as 'excess' or 'necessary'? For that matter, who am I?"

"The ruler of a nation," he said. Obviously.

"No," she said firmly. "I am a leader of Equestria, not a ruler."

"You say that as if there's a difference."

One thing that 'socialism' had in common with 'democracy' and 'capitalism' and 'monarchy' and 'fascism' and every other version and style of government was that they were all blatant oligarchies from start to finish. 'Equality' was and shall always be a lie; there will always be those who are better than others, in every field of competence known to man, including statesmanship and resource accumulation and power acquisition. There will always be a small cabal of elites making the important decisions.

"There is absolutely a difference between leaders and rulers," said Luna. "And if I were to declare what constitutes 'excess' property ownership, that would be the height of vanity, for it is an entirely subjective question. Besides, if I did have that principle, my sister and I would be parting with more funds than anypony else, given our own 'excesses'."

"Not if you exempted yourselves from the law," he observed. Like all kings and queens do. The royal family of muggle Britain is exempt from inheritance tax, among other things, because of course they are.

"Hypocrisy is the death of morality," said the Princess of Equestria. "Once again, you are describing rulership, not leadership."

"The difference being?"

"The difference, my fool, is that leaders do not exempt themselves from the rules. True leadership is done by example, and you cannot show how to follow rules by exempting yourself from them."

"Hm," he grunted noncommittally.

Luna studied his expression. "Did you have any other objections to property rights?"

"A few. I will remark that I am only playing devil's advocate. In general, I'm in agreement with property rights as a useful mode of governance. When the state seizes hoarded wealth, it disincentivizes frugality, productiveness, and the ability to delay gratification, and I have seen that sorry state of affairs first-hoof."

"That is an argument from effect, from consequences, not from morality. While completely true, it is not the reason we do not allow theft in Equestria."

"In that case, how does your system address the personality problems associated with inherited wealth?" Like Chrysalis and Blueblood. "That is a moral issue, no?"

"When wealth leads to arrogance, the blame lies with the parents, as do most personality problems. When you pass down your property to your foals, it is your responsibility to also pass down the values that enabled you to obtain and maintain that property."

As Chrysalis's parents must not have done, Riddle thought. And as Lucius did do. "Do most ponies agree with this?"

"Of course. Spare your guidance, spoil your foal, as the saying goes."

"That's similar to a religious saying I know," he observed. "Spare the rod, spoil the child."

Luna's voice grew chill. "The rod? What, pray tell, is that?"

"In the original metaphor," he said with a dry smile, "it refers to a shepherd's rod."

"Shepherd?"

"One who keeps and raises sheep, for the sake of harvesting their wool, and eventually their meat. The rod was a tool for beating away predators and directing the sheep. As your tone implies, you have already guessed that 'devout' families repeat this phrase as justification... no, as validation and encouragement for violence against the least among them. Most are unaware of the phrase's obvious reference to shepherdry, despite that symbolism's prevalence throughout the base religion."

"And if most humans were aware of that metaphor," said Luna, her voice still chill, "is it the case that shepherds use the rod to beat their own sheep?"

"Probably not," he said with a shrug. "It would make the sheep more agitated in situations where they must be swiftly herded. But I would not know for sure, as I've never raised sheep."

"And how common is that phrase?"

"About as common as can be."

"Then I think I might just declare that sentence to be one of the most harmful misinterpretations of ancient wisdom in all of human history. Sparing guidance spoils foals. Not sparing beatings."

Riddle shrugged again. "Perhaps. Getting back on topic... suppose the parents are indisposed to pass down their wisdom." Like his own had been. "Who bears responsibility for rotten offspring then?"

Luna seemed to want to discuss the rod further, but visibly dropped it. "That would depend on the reason they are gone," she answered, "and the nature of those who filled their roles afterwards. Tragedies do happen, but not in the overwhelming majority of cases. Even in the minority of cases it is often preventable. And in any case, regardless of parenting, when a wealthy heir makes poor decisions with his finances, it is not my right to force them to act otherwise. It is their free will to squander their bits, just as it was their parents' free will to allow that circumstance to arise."

"True," he allowed. "But all this still sounds like you value life over property."

She sighed. "Thus we come full circle to your original question. Once again, I do not consider life more valuable than property. I do not consider it less valuable. 'Tis like asking 'what is more valuable, gold or money?' The two are intertwined, inseparable. Attempts to separate them stem from vanity and result in disaster. That is all there is to it."

"And what does it mean practically? What 'ought' may be drawn from that 'is'?"

Luna smiled. "Practically speaking, life beyond a state of nature cannot exist without property, and in many ways life is property- property which we ought to do our utmost to respect and preserve. Do not murder, do not rape, do not assault, do not steal. Those are the only four instances of moral 'rules' in Equestria, the only instances that justify the use of force to prevent. Outside of consensual duels and such, force may only be used to prevent violations of property rights- especially your right to the property known as 'your body'. Phrased differently, we do our utmost to prevent violations of free will. Do you have any further advocation to do on evil's behalf about Equestrian property and free will?"

No further automatic rejoinders came to Riddle's mind, so he considered what he'd heard.

Life is property… no, life is free will… conceivable as property rights…

It was an interesting argument – spoken far better than Riddle himself could have said it because he doesn't speak 'moralizer'. As far as he could tell despite his lack of expertise in the field, she had managed to maintain the moral high ground in the face of an argument that typically strips it away. And she did so without compromising her own principles. She didn't concede a single inch of ground.

He was certain a true moralizer would sink to slimier arguments at this point.

The obvious 'you justified slavery because you called life property' came to mind, but that would have been obnoxious, especially with all the qualifiers she added to prevent such a stupid misinterpretation.

Instead, he decided to give one last counter, not from the communists this time, but from the opposite camp.

"What of taxation?" he asked. "Does that not constitute a violation of property rights? I have heard-" many a moron "-certain human thinkers refer to it as theft, given that it is not a consensual repossession of one's property."

"I would not be surprised if that claim was completely and utterly justified all across the human world," said Luna. "And it would have been justified here in Equestria for the longest time. It is still justified in, say, Griffonia. But my sister has done her diligent best to adjust taxes over the centuries. As the city's acting governor, she taxes only Canterlot citizens, and that money funds the maintenance of public places, services, and the guard. If a pony comes of age and they find Canterlot taxes not to their tastes, they are free to search the country for a tax system they like better. In order to reside in most cities, all adult ponies sign a tax contract along the lines of 'I agree to pay this city's taxes as long as I am its resident.'"

"And if, hypothetically, a pony chooses not to reside in any city, and commutes from the wilderness?" As portkeys might soon start to facilitate.

Luna gave him a knowing look. "Hypothetically, hmm? Well, as I have said, different cities have different tax systems. You could easily circumvent Canterlot taxes that way, as we tax per square foot of city floor space owned. You could evade Manehattan and Crystal Empire taxes that way too, but good luck avoiding the income taxes of Cloudsdale, or the sales taxes of Ponyville."

"Those don't sound like systems in which consensual contracts are signed," Riddle pointed out.

Luna nodded. "By choosing to be employed in Cloudsdale, you are choosing to have your income taxed. By choosing to buy products in Ponyville, you are choosing to have your purchases taxed. By choosing to live in Canterlot, you are choosing to have your property taxed. And of course, we try to make exceptions for those who cannot make such choices. The disabled, for example."

"Are government actors exempt from taxes?"

"No. My sister pays our taxes, for instance," Luna answered easily. "As I said, we are leaders, not rulers. And since the palace and its grounds take up more space than anypony else's property in Canterlot, she also pays the most in taxes."

"And that money is not deposited right back into the royal vaults?" he asked skeptically.

Luna looked scandalized. "Of course not! The city treasury and the royal vaults are two very distinct accounts. Nopony, especially not my sister, may freely withdraw city funds – it pays for set salaries and purposes, and while there is a tax surplus, it is meant for disaster relief. Otherwise it runs at net neutral."

"Supposing a disaster is in need of relieving-" like Discord and the Changelings "-who controls the funds if not your sister?"

"Adjustments to tax usage are voted on by a committee of the largest tax contributors, or their representatives, with votes weighted proportional to their contributions, though my sister does have final veto power as the city's governor and largest taxpayer, and it requires a significant majority to overturn her veto."

"So your sister may only freely use funds from the royal vaults, not the 'city treasury'?"

"Precisely."

Riddle noticed a potential source of hypocrisy... or perhaps privilege would say it better. "Do taxes pay for the palace staff and royal guard? I do not see other citizens with so many personal protectors and servants."

"Most of the royal guards here in the palace are funded privately, not publicly, as is the staff. There are some exceptions. Just as there are some rooms in the palace that are exempt from property taxes, like those devoted to foreign diplomacy. Much of this was voted on long ago. And when it comes to that which must not be publicly known, like those who guard the mirror, and the mirror room itself, my sister makes her decisions as if the public did know about it. She tries to err on the side of caution, which means she tends to pay out of royal pocket."

"In that case, how was that pocket filled in the first place? Hoarded wealth from the past?"

Luna shook her head. "My sister and her nobles are widely agreed to be the best dispute resolvers in the Equestria. Which isn't to say she is perfect, but her Day Court is a significant source of income, split among the nobles who help, of course. You have seen the prices to petition yourself. And my sister owns or co-owns a number of ventures across the country. Her school and the university do not seek profit, but the royal enchanters do, not to mention the gold mines. When she pays property tax on the palace, it is with money she has earned. Often in the form of return-on-investment."

"And you?" asked Riddle. "Do you likewise earn income?"

Luna sighed. "I... am afraid I must confess to being a 'useless eater' at the moment. My sister has tried to reassure me that without my proposed principles of property rights and foal protection – policies she diligently adopted as both apology and atonement after my banishment – Equestria would never have seen so much prosperity, and it is only thanks to that growth that the royal coffers are so full in the first place. She has also said that if the long-term benefits of dream-walking and trauma reduction could be measured in bits, it would easily match her own income. To say nothing of beautifying the night sky. But even still, I have grown less and less comfortable accepting her Generosity these last few years. Tia does not feel as though I am exploiting her, but I am beginning to feel that way."

"The fastest way to build resentment between two parties is exploitation..." Riddle said.

He was almost surprised at himself for remembering that piece of Night Court wisdom and completing the pattern so quickly. He'd known it in one direction, that the exploited resent their exploiters, but Luna made him aware of the reverse. After all, people who allow themselves to be exploited are stupid, and doesn't he himself resent stupidity? Thus, doesn't he resent those he exploits?

"Indeed," said Luna. "Which is why I am no longer spending much of her money. I do not wish to ever resent Tia again. Your own salary is the last major expense of mine, and I am trying to think of ways to pay for it myself. And also pay for my portion of the palace's property taxes. It would be simple if Night Court worked as it once did..." Luna sighed again. "But modern times require new ideas, and I think my own Court is best left free. Not that it could fund much of anything if I charged for it. I am still trying to think of a suitable-"

"You may stop paying my salary," he offered.

"I-" said Luna, surprised. "Truly? Why?"

"The aid you are offering to me is commensurate with what I am offering to you." Perhaps more than commensurate, but he wasn't sure just yet. "I have other sources of income. All legal, of course. And it's not like I have many expenses. But we can address that later. For now, I'd like to stay on topic. Do you honestly believe Equestria's various systems of taxation do not meet the technical definition of theft?"

Luna took a long moment to reply, perhaps to organize her thoughts after another derailment. "It... is still not quite where I'd like it to be... but my sister has helped Equestria come a long way nonetheless. For the most part, yes, I would say taxation in Equestria is not theft. It is not perfect, but it is about as explicitly consensual and fair as we can make it; furthermore, there is no corruption, no funds vanishing to unknown purposes, or known but hated purposes, like warmongering, and I expect it will only get better in the future. That is what happens when property rights are truly respected, and I am glad my sister has read up on my many treatises over these centuries. Or perhaps she came to the same conclusions herself. I haven't yet asked Tia how every last one of her perspectives evolved over the years."

"You wrote treatises?"

"On property rights, foal abuse, virtue, and a number of other things."

"Did you think of it all yourself?"

She shook her head. "I had a mentor. Long ago. Long dead by now, I imagine… though I should ask my sister what finally happened to him. It would be nice to visit his final resting place." She had a distant look in her eye. "In fact, I just remembered how he responded to my skepticism about virtue as the only path to happiness, long ago."

Her voice took on a strange, sarcastic, performative cadence. "Become a better person?" she gasped, as if in horror. "Develop virtue? Call out evil when I see it? Oh, no! Please! Oh, stars above, anything but that! Won't someone please give me a path to happiness that doesn't involve deep, difficult change! I'll do anything! Sell my soul, buy your miracle-cure, take shortcuts, commit murder, anything! Just don't say I have to be truly, deeply honest with the beings in my life, I'm begging you!" She was smiling fondly by this point, and Riddle was chuckling.

"There were many a charlatan back in that day," she pointed out. "Guaranteeing happiness with some lie or another. Drug dealers, all of them. Virtue is the only lasting cure to unhappiness… but I am repeating myself."

She cleared her throat. "Free will and property. Your property, your choice. Obviously your property includes your life, your mind, your voice, and your body. This is why I believe you may ignore your 'inner-phoenix'. So long as you are not taking or damaging or deliberately risking another's property in your antics, you should be free to choose what you do with yourself and your effects. That is how free will hinges on property. Which brings me to my final set of questions."

"I'd rather call it a day."

He had more than enough to review already. Morality as a relationship, virtue ethics, emergencies ethics, true apologies, states of nature and his fear of death, the 'black' rule, anger as the 'immune system of the soul', free will = property rights, free will in general…

"You have already given me much to think about."

He's going to write down as much as he can remember as soon as he leaves, and he's going to be extracting the memory as exactly as possible for later review in the Astral Plane. It's not often he is subjected to so much of what he refers to as 'Night Court advice' in a single session.

"You have asked much of me," Luna said. "I would like to ask three quick questions of you and then call it a day. You can answer each in a single word if you wish."

Three more questions… "Fair enough."

"Do you inherently respect the property rights of others?"

"…No," he answered honestly. It's the competent model for governance based on the evidence he's seen, and he can personally bring himself to do it, but it's not an inherent respect in most cases.

"A typical result of growing up in a state of nature," she remarked. "Now, how would you feel if your own important property was permanently removed from your possession by another? The Stone, for instance."

"Annoyed," he answered, again honestly. "Possibly outraged, depending on the property, and if it was merely taken or if it was outright destroyed."

"A typical result of being sapient," she nodded. "Which is why sapience abhors nature – it produces the hypocrisy you have just displayed. You do not inherently respect the property rights of others, and yet you would be outraged if your own property was not respected. Remember that you are not to blame; ponies become hypocrites when they are surrounded by hypocrites growing up, the same as becoming evil. But at the end of the day, and this is my last question: Do you want to be a hypocrite?"

Four years ago, he might have said he tried to avoid it for the sake of logical consistency, but he also might have said that he ultimately didn't care if he was somehow proven a hypocrite, given how little others seem to care about their blatant hypocrisies. Like Dumbledore.

Now…

"No, I do not wish to be a hypocrite." His third and final honest answer.

Now he was at least trying to hold himself to higher standards. In all aspects of mind and body, not just those he found immediately useful.

Dumbledore's hypocrisy had infuriated his younger self, and he didn't even need Luna to point out the obvious inference – that if he allowed hypocrisy to seep into his own actions, he would infuriate himself. He does not quite know how to achieve happiness, but he at least knows that self-loathing, subconscious or otherwise, would get in the way.

Tack one more onto the list for later review: hypocrisy. And on that note...

"Could you give a full definition for that, before I go?"

Not because he didn't know the definition himself, but because he found that asking for definitions from Luna sometimes revealed new information. Later, for instance, Luna would succinctly summarize her stance on anger and rage by defining them: 'Anger is self-defense, rage is destruction of the other'.

As for hypocrisy...

"Hypocrisy is when the content of the message disagrees with the manner in which it is delivered." She took on an angry cadence, in voice and facial features alike. "SHOUTING IS WRONG! YOU DON'T TEAR INTO PONIES! You need to listen!" Her demeanor returned to lecture. "The contents of these moral 'lessons' disagree with their delivery. Shouting is wrong, says the shouting parent. You don't tear into ponies, says the mother tearing into her son. You need to listen, says the father who never does any listening himself. Hypocrisy is the moral equivalent to trying to use language to convince somepony that language itself is meaningless. It is as logically clumsy as it is stupid."

Riddle chuckled, but didn't interrupt, for she didn't seem done just yet.

"It is also hypocrisy when ponies make excuses and exceptions for themselves when they claim their moral rules are universal. The leader/ruler distinction is the quintessential example of the difference between a principled pony and a hypocrite. When a pony's actions are at odds with what they say, when they don't practice what they preach, and in fact do the opposite, that is hypocrisy."

Chapter 61: Worlds Collide

"The holding cell, well to the center of Magical Law Enforcement, was luxuriously appointed; more a remark on what adult wizards took for granted, than any special feeling toward prisoners. There was a self-reclining, self-rocking chair with plush, richly textured, self-warming cushions. There was a bookcase containing random books rescued from a bargain bin, and a full shelf of ancient magazines, including one from 1883. As for toiletries, well, it wasn't exactly luxurious, but there was a spell on the room which put all that business on hold."

-HPMoR, Chapter 84

July 24th, 1992, 10:00 AM

Many witches and wizards would be surprised at just how much can get done with Ministry bureaucrats at beck and call.

They're cowards generally speaking; they never even dreamed of standing up to the Dark Lord themselves, and they sneered at those who did. But they still wanted him gone, especially after his murder-spree in the Ministry over a decade ago. Even paper-pushers aren't immune to feelings of gratitude. Or, more accurately, they aren't immune to a whole country's worth of peer pressure and hero worship.

In a mere three days, and despite the muggle locations, magical fireplaces with security wards often affordable only by noble houses were authorized and installed in the homes of the Boy-Who-Lived and the Girl-Who-Died. No more Knight Bus for any member of either family, as muggles too can use the Floo.

Professor Michael Verres-Evans, who had opted out of teaching summer courses at Oxford this year (he had been under a great deal of mental stress when he made that decision in April), went to Occlumency lessons at Diagon Alley.

Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres, on the other hand/hoof, suffered/enjoyed daily trips to Circus. Mock battles every morning and private tutoring every other evening really improved his immediate battle prowess. He felt like a whole new wizard with what he could now wield, and it had little to do with his personal Elder Wand. A whole month and a half of effort is (hopefully) about to pay off in humanity's official debut to Equestria.

Tomorrow.

Today, however, is the day many young witches and wizards of Magical Britain will be going to the movies. The theatre had been fully bought out, but even still, no chances were being taken. The constant notice-me-not charms should cause even the theatre staff to overlook the more oddly-clothed individuals.

The girls would be watching various Disney films. The boys would be watching Star Wars. The adult chaperones were allowed to choose between the two films, but for the most part they just watched whatever film their own child was watching.

And perhaps most importantly of all, the bowel-halting spell would prevent a constant stream of children leaving for the bathroom.

(Initially proposed for this outing alone by David Monroe, who was confident in his ability to use it safely, the idea would later spread to less competent individuals in magical theatre companies and become standard industry practice, at least until a few cases of bowel rupture and other unsavory conditions caused St. Mungo's to issue a public warning about the charm, at which point the Ministry would get involved and regulate its use, even in their own facilities, like the auror detention cells.)

July 24th, 1992, 11:30 AM

The first intermission for the witches was filled with giddy happiness and bright emotions. The general consensus about Cinderella, by almost every witch who saw it, was "Strange and silly, but amazing!"

One Ravenclaw sixth-year witch, who was well-cultured in wizarding society and whose opinions on play productions was widely recognized as spot-on, declared that 'Cinderella' was better than all the best moving picture books put together. The art direction was better. There was incredible voice work and voice variety (moving books only have a single narrator, or at most two). The melodies were wonderful, if a bit odd sometimes. But the story, oh was it gripping. And it was completely different from a play. The only thing that she personally found a bit too goofy was the "Bippity Boppity Boo" scene/song.

But Hermione had been careful to warn everyone about that in advance. It was made by muggles, after all. If the magic was accurate, someone somewhere had broken the Statute.

One girl Hermione didn't recognize – meaning she was not a Hogwarts student, but probably would be next year (some younger siblings had been invited to this outing) – asked how Cinderella could have been made without magic.

Hermione reached into her magical pouch and supplied a flip-book, quickly duplicated by a chaperone for ease of distribution, to demonstrate the basics. The copies would turn to ash and nothingness in a few minutes, but they only needed that long.

Hermione instructed how to flip through the book quickly, with the spine held firmly in one hand and a thumb moving along the edge of the pages.

Everyone quickly discovered how you could make a series of motionless images look like they're moving.

Hermione explained that this is how muggles do moving pictures. They use special cameras to take a bunch of not-moving pictures very quickly and then string them together so fast that they look like they're moving.

But that's normal movies.

Animation, the kind of movie they just watched, is really difficult to make because each 'photo' has to be hand-drawn, like this flipbook. The thing in her hands took months for somebody to make, and it was only a hundred pages or so. Hermione guessed that Cinderella probably went through at least 30 pages each second, so it took a lot of work from a lot of artists. That's what the big list at the end was for – giving credit to all the contributors. It took many years to make, and hundreds of people working full-time day-jobs. And not all of them were artists. Some helped with sound, some helped with the story, others helped with the muggle artifacts involved, and others just helped with keeping everything organized. Disney is a fairly big company, even by muggle standards.

The girls who understood this explanation were gob smacked that muggles could do all that. The Hufflepuffs were downright shocked by all the unseen hard work and people involved. The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws who had been thinking to themselves that maybe one day they'll make a 'movie' of their own were quietly rethinking their idea. The Slytherins didn't seem to know what to think.

When they'd all gone to the bathroom and the intermission was almost done, many witches, starting with Penelope Clearwater, made it a point to thank Hermione for the recommendation. The girl who asked how movies work without magic also asked what they were watching next.

"The Beauty and the Beast," said Hermione.

Some of the muggleborn girls, especially those who had heard about it but not yet seen it, gave high-pitched squeals.

July 24th, 1992, 12:15 PM

When the boys had their own intermission, the general consensus about Star Wars was that the effects weren't impressive compared to magic.

Those who were already fans of the films tried to explain that it was jaw-dropping when it came out, and movies are getting better all the time.

Draco Malfoy said to just wait until they see a play with half-decent illusionists. Although the wizardborn children (especially fans and members of the Chaos Legion) did admit that the music was top-notch, and the plot was interesting, and the villain was menacing, and they'd never seen anything on that scale before.

Cedric Diggory asked if it was pure fiction, or if muggles really could travel to different planets.

"Not quite yet," said Harry Potter. "And not to other suns. They've only managed to get a device farther than Neptune, not people. But muggles have stood on the moon."

"No," said either Fred or George Weasley. "That's not right."

"Dad said they almost set fire to the moon," said either George or Fred.

Many Slytherins rolled their eyes. Someone audibly said, "Yeah, right."

"Dad's Department Head for Misuse of Muggle Artifacts," said twin one a bit importantly.

"He's a muggle expert," said twin two. "He might not know everything about muggles, but he knows the big stuff."

Draco Malfoy, who apparently couldn't take it anymore, casually asked Harry Potter how much it had cost the muggles to get to the moon. He'd forgotten the exact number.

Harry Potter recited a few figures, first in American dollars – the primary currency used for the project – then in British pounds, and then finally converting it to Galleons.

This caused some to maybe wonder if it was true, though most disbelieved even more.

David Monroe, who was less like a chaperone and more like the outing's benevolent sponsor/overseer, took that moment to intervene. He said that the two most powerful muggle countries – the United States of America and the Soviet Union – had been bitter rivals until very recently. They were engaged in what was called a 'cold' war, instead of the standard 'hot' sort of war. They fought by proxy, not directly, for any true attack on the other would have spelled the complete annihilation of both, and the generals of both sides knew that. The civilians of both sides knew that.

Their most public means of fighting, therefore, was one-upping each other's artifacts as a show of strength and pride, and the artifacts were often astronomical in nature. Many called it the 'Space Race': the race to outer space. The Russian muggles put the first object into orbit, circling the planet like the moon before coming back down to earth, doing so before the American muggles could manage the feat, so in response the Americans put the first permanent satellite into orbit, one that still circles the planet to this day and will not come down for centuries. The Russians had been the first to put a man into orbit, so in response the Americans put the first man on the moon.

This happened around twenty-five years ago, and it did indeed cost at least what Mr. Potter quoted, not to mention the man hours and cutting edge developments. As a result, muggles with Ravenclaw tendencies have been especially enamoured by outer space in recent decades, and that fascination inspired the setting for Star Wars.

Monroe then told the Weasley Twins that, while their father is certainly enthusiastic about muggle artifacts, he is hilariously incompetent. The mistakes Arthur Weasley makes would be funny if they weren't so lamentable. Lady Malfoy, Harry Potter, Severus Snape, and just about any muggle-raised witch or wizard who's ever lived would be better at his job. Monroe pointed to the gaudy clothes of the Weasley Twins as proof, saying that their attire alone should be considered a misuse of muggle artifacts. Without a notice-me-not charm, they would never fool a real muggle.

The Slytherin purebloods in attendance, surprisingly enough, could have gotten away with some derisive laughter. Most had the advantage of their mothers being good acquaintances with Lady Malfoy, who has acquired a reputation for not just excellent fashion sense, but for passing muggle fashion sense as well. She's now known in certain high-society circles for her talent of selecting muggle outfits that still appeal to wizard sensibilities.

So the Slytherins were (almost) all appropriately and fashionably dressed for the muggle world. Unlike the Weasleys.

But despite the easy targets for mockery, the Slytherins were not snickering. Now that the muggle moon myth had been confirmed by David Monroe – along with the relevant, believable, and downright scary political context to go with it – many faces showed the same look of fear and awe as Draco when he first learned.

And then David Monroe announced that he was about to undo the bowel-halting spell, and there were suddenly more pressing concerns, like seeing out how muggle bathrooms compare to wizard ones. The stalls were less than perfectly clean, the air was stale and unpleasant, and the toilet paper left a bit to be desired. But the urinals, at least, were found to be highly convenient; those weren't in the wizarding world. Yet.

When the bathroom rush ended, the 'intermission' came to a close. Wizards are used to plays that last upwards of five hours; a trip to the theatre was often a full-day outing, and today would be no different. The entire Star Wars trilogy was on the schedule.

July 24th, 1992, 12:20 PM

In the distant past, there were many professors involved in the creation and delivery of all Hogwarts invitation letters. As recently as last year, however, the proficient pair of Headmaster Dumbledore and Deputy Headmistress McGonagall had been sufficient.

Albus would wear the Sorting Hat while Minerva, sitting opposite, wrote the letters. She always preferred to at least ink the salutations and adieus by hand, even if the rest was copied by magic.

With Albus now gone and herself as Headmistress, necessity dictated that Minerva recruit Pomona and Filius. (She had not yet decided which would be her deputy headmaster/mistress, if either.) So it was a not-yet-trained trio of professors who now tackled the task of the letters, though it still went somewhat quickly with Minerva's direction and experience.

The Sorting Hat told her names, addresses, and slightly more specific locations, just as it once told Albus, while the heads of Houses Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff wrote the invitations and sorted them into piles of 'muggleborn' and 'wizardborn', just as she once did.

There was no set way to distinguish which was which; the Hat didn't discriminate in that way, as Minerva well knew by now. But Filius and Pomona should know the last names of most wizarding families in the country, and they know the locations of most magical villages and burrows. If an unfamiliar name or address came up, she had instructed them, if there was even the slightest doubt, the letters should go into the 'muggleborn' category for later review.

The letters to wizardborn children were as easy to deliver as the stairs to the Hogwarts Owlery were to climb, but the muggleborn children needed to receive their invitations by hand.

The Hat is imbued with ancient and powerful magic, but that magic isn't as omniscient as Headmistress McGonagall would have preferred. It can only say where a child is, not where the child lives. Minerva had warned Pomona and Filius that they would have to do this again at a different time for the addresses that did not seem to be home addresses. Sometimes it takes multiple days and a disillusioned (or animagus) visit to rule out sleepovers.

Before they began, Filius had asked why they don't start the letter-writing at night to avoid some of the trouble.

Minerva had shrugged helplessly. It was Hogwarts tradition to start on this day at 10:00 AM sharp. The Hat would not tolerate any delay that was not a strict emergency.

It was now past noon and they were getting to the end of the alphabet.

The final name that came to her was "Weasley, Ginevra," along with a location that Minerva didn't pay explicit attention to as she wrote it down word for word and spoke it aloud. The addresses were blurring together after so many others. Although she did note that it wasn't the Weasley Burrow, nor was it a wizarding area in general.

"That's odd," squeaked Filius.

"Mr. Weasley is Head of Muggle Artifacts," Pomona pointed out. "It is not extremely odd for his daughter to be in a muggle area. If that is a muggle area..."

"No, no," said Filius. He waved his wand, and the stack of 'muggleborn' letters briefly danced in front of him. One which was closer to the end of the alphabet rose above the others, and the rest settled down again. "It's almost exactly the same as this one. The only difference is the seat number."

"A theatre," said Pomona at once. "They must be attending a play."

"Ah," said Minerva, blinking in remembrance. "That must be the muggle theatre," she declared, slightly proud at having deduced that so quickly. Though it was fresh in her memory.

They both turned to look at her.

"Muggle theatre?" asked Pomona in surprise. "Shouldn't her father be at work? Or is it a special occasion?"

"It is," said Minerva, "but not in the way you are thinking. Yesterday at lunch, I intended to ask our good Defense Professor for help on a certain matter, but I quickly learned that he was too busy." She sighed heavily. "Apparently, on the Hogwarts Express, a large number of our students collectively decided that they would visit a muggle theatre over the summer, and our Defense Professor took it upon himself to prevent the scheme from threatening the Statute. He explained to me, rather wearily, that he had just finished wrangling enough Ministry manpower to guard the venture from curious muggle onlookers. He failed to inform me that the outing would be today…" She looked at the letter Filius had singled out. "But I suppose that makes our job a little easier. I don't remember all the adults in attendance, but I know for a fact that Molly is there. She would be thrilled to deliver her daughter's letter."

"And this one?" asked Filius, the other letter dancing in front of him again.

Minerva gave a fond smile. "I can think of no better introduction to our world than Molly Weasley."

A few minutes later, Minerva realized that Molly probably wouldn't be introducing an ordinary muggleborn to the world of magic. The Defense Professor hadn't explained every detail about the outing, but he mentioned that the muggle theatre had been fully bought out to avoid as many Statute problems as possible. Everyone in attendance should be related, in some way, to a current student of Hogwarts. And now that she thought about it, the name did sound familiar, though she couldn't quite recall from where, but that must mean it's a wizarding name…

Nevertheless, the decision had been made. Pomona was already on the way, and Minerva still thought Molly was a good choice for hand-delivering the letter.

Pomona Sprout was bemused to learn that muggles kept so many theatres in a single theatrehouse. But once she understood that fact, it wasn't difficult from there. The aurors standing guard recognized her (she had taught one of them), and after submitting herself to security charms and explaining that she was delivering Hogwarts acceptance letters, they allowed her to pass through.

And then she was distracted by… by the… illusion? Muggles shouldn't be able to produce illusions, but she had no better word for the scene on the large, flat parchment.

Then thoughts of impossibility were replaced by wonder and awe as she watched a living candelabra sing and dance across a table with other fine china and cutlery.

It wasn't until the sequence ended that she remembered her purpose, and remembered that she was on a schedule. The first adult she encountered within the theatre was David Monroe, who stood near the entrance, looking not at the screen but at the children. A quick question and Pomona found her quarry.

Molly was on an edge chair in the upper back of the seating area – to better see all the children, Pomona supposed. After a brief, hushed conversation, Molly quietly promised that she would deliver both letters during the next intermission.

Pomona Sprout left the theatre in a bit of a daze. She had known in a vague sense that muggles are not "scratching at the dirt" like the blood purists say, but she hadn't known they were capable of that.

The second intermission for the boys didn't last as long as the first. Five things happened:

They left their seats. The bowel-halting enchantment was lifted. They went to the bathroom. They returned to their seats. The bowel-halting enchantment was reinstated.

Unlike the first movie, the second had ended on a cliffhanger.

The second intermission for the witches was just like their first: long and gushing, except longer and with more gushing. Although the extra length of the intermission wasn't entirely thanks to The Beauty and the Beast.

It had everything to do with movie at first. If they thought Cinderella was 'amazing', the young witches barely had words to describe their feelings about The Beauty and the Beast.

But after Molly Weasley made a certain announcement, to the delighted surprise of the group, the girls were happy to transfigure their fawning over the movie into their vicarious joy and nostalgia over Hogwarts acceptance letters.

Both girls were immediately asked which house they thought they would be in.

"Ravenclaw," said Ginevra Weasley.

Everyone present had been expecting the Weasley to say 'Gryffindor', and so everyone present could instantly guess the reason behind the 'Ravenclaw' answer, especially after that Daily Prophet article. There were many knowing looks and much giggling.

One girl almost went too far, putting a hand on Ginny's shoulder and saying, "Sorry, he's taken," with a significant glance to Hermione Granger, who sighed in exasperation.

Ginny's cheeks were bright red. She covered her face with her hands, at which point everyone eased up on the teasing.

Then expectant eyes turned to the other girl. The 'Ravenclaw' answer had been a fun distraction, but real curiosity is borne from the unknown.

Black hair, dark eyes, and pale skin would have pointed to House Black a few decades back, but that was impossible now. Molly had announced her name earlier, but nobody recognized it, and nobody recognized her face either. They only knew that she had been the one who asked about flip-books earlier – or at least, that's what most girls now remember after the fact.

Many Slytherins assumed her to be a half-blood whose witch mother distastefully took on her muggle husband's last name. Or perhaps she had a wizard father who had been disowned by his family. The rest weren't thinking in those terms; they were interested in future house affiliation, not blood status.

"I'm still not sure," said the girl. "My mother's worried about the friends I make when I go to Hogwarts. I'm a bit worried myself. Hufflepuff would help with that, and I know I'd like it there. I've got lots of friends… though I won't be seeing them as often once I start Hogwarts."

Half-blood with muggle friends for sure, confirmed many Slytherins in their minds.

"But Mum also taught me to think about others, not just myself. I'm not sure I need more happiness for myself. I'm not sure Hufflepuff needs more happiness either. Same with Gryffindor. So I'm thinking Slytherin or Ravenclaw. I still haven't decided."

"Are you getting good grades in school?" asked Hermione Granger.

"I didn't go to that kind of school," the girl shrugged, to the shock of most muggleborns present.

One asked if she knew how to read and write.

"Of course I do," said the girl, her voice sounding just as offended as the faces of the wizardborn witches looked.

"Wizards and witches have a tradition of homeschooling before they go to Hogwarts," Hermione gently informed the embarrassed girl who had just been rebuked. "And some muggles do too." She turned back to the new girl. "Do you think you will get good grades at Hogwarts?" she clarified her original question.

"My parents think I'll get very good grades. Not that grades are the end-all-be-all, as Dad likes to say. I asked him if he was just being a sore loser from his time at school, and he laughed and said that he might be, since he came in second place himself, so…" she shrugged. "I think I'm smart enough for Ravenclaw, if that's what you're asking."

"Who are your parents?" asked the Carrow twins at almost exactly the same time, their voices overlapping. They leaned in eagerly, as did many other Syltherins, and a few curious Ravenclaws as well.

The girl smiled, gave a brief glance in the direction of the adult chaperones, and leaned in herself. In a conspiratorial whisper that was loud enough for everyone to hear, she said, "It's a secret." She grinned wider, and even giggled a little at the reaction she got.

"Why?" pouted Pansy Parkinson, who had come on this trip only because she'd heard that Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott would be here. "Are you a half-blood?" she accused, saying the quiet part out loud without the slightest bit of tact, and causing almost every non-Slytherin to glare. Pansy herself didn't seem to notice, though some of her house did, and some of the more socially aware ones shrunk back a little at the overwhelming peer pressure.

Molly Weasley interrupted at this point, saying that that's enough questions, and asked David Monroe to undo the bathroom spell again. The man had the courtesy to do it one at a time, in such a way that there wasn't congestion at the stalls.

Inside the bathroom, and just outside as well, a few girls tried to pull the "you can trust me, I won't tell anyone" routine.

The new girl looked each witch who said that square in the eyes and asked them if they'd ever spread a rumor before. She repeated her question when they tried to distract. She asked the same question in a more narrow, specific way when they gave mealy-mouthed excuses. She said "I believe you," in exactly the same tone that the last girl said "No, I've never spread rumors." Which is to say her delivery was over-dramatized and obviously fake. Then her facial features dropped from false sincerity to neutrality, and she just let that sentence hang in the air for a while.

This scattered the last of the rumormongers like sunlight scatters cockroaches, and even though she had not yet been sorted, many Hufflepuff girls were beginning to like her. And many Ravenclaws as well.

"You'd be very welcomed in Ravenclaw," said Penelope Clearwater.

"I know," said the girl with what looked like a genuine smile. "Thank you, but I still haven't decided."

"Between Ravenclaw and Slytherin?" asked Daphne Greengrass.

The girl nodded again.

Daphne leaned in to whisper. Genuinely whisper, such that nobody else would hear. Though eavesdropping charms are still a thing, so she made sure to speak in a way that wouldn't be bad if it got out. "Just so you know… if you can't talk about your parents, Slytherin probably won't like you all that much. I wish it wasn't that way right now, but…"

The girl smiled again. "I know that too," she whispered back. "Thank you for warning me. Will you be my friend if I do go to Slytherin?"

"I'll be your friend even if you don't," Daphne decided. She already had friends in the other four houses. She should branch out to different years. "You should ask Hermione too. Especially if you have trouble with homework. She's great at that."

The girl blinked, finally showing some genuine surprise. "Hermione?"

"Her," said Daphne, pointing a finger.

The girl turned and looked. Her puzzled frown only deepened when she followed the finger to its target.

"Is something wrong?" asked Daphne, a bit worried at the girl's puzzlement.

"No," said the girl, as if automatically. "Not at all. Sorry. I just… remembered something…" She turned back to Daphne. "Names run in families, right?"

Now Daphne was the puzzled one. "Um… yes? Don't they run in muggle families too?"

The girl shook her head. "I don't know. Never mind. I'm sorry for the strange question."

"It's alright," said Daphne. "Maybe you're confused about something else. Hermione's the Girl-Who-Revived now, so I guess there's going to be some confusion about her. Did you know she got phoenix?"

The girl blinked. "A phoenix? You mean as a friend?"

"As a familiar," Daphne corrected her. "It's very rare."

"Okay, dearies," said Molly Weasley, clapping her hands above the buzz of conversation. "Break's over. Hermione dear, would you like to say anything about the next movie?"

Hermione shook her head. "Just that it's not one whole story this time. It's a bunch of little stories."

"What's it called?" asked a girl.

"Fantasia."

And since those three films combined were shorter than the three Star Wars films, they also had time for Snow White and the Seven Dwarves before the day let out. This last one, strangely enough, had been a recommendation by the Defense Professor.

As they walked back to their seats, the girl stared at Hermione, still wearing that puzzled frown.

"…It's the end of the world as we know it (I had some time alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it (I had some time alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine-"

"Say Draco," said Harry suddenly. "Do you think the law about the Most Ancient Blade will be repealed any time soon?"

"What?" Draco allowed himself to be distracted from the music on the 'radio' and from the passing muggle scenery outside the 'car'. "Why would it be repealed?"

"Overwhelming delinquency if it isn't?" Harry prompted.

Draco absorbed that, and thought. "The casting forms are only known by the noble houses. They're not available to the public."

"And if they leak somehow?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Are you planning to get everyone at Hogwarts to break the law?"

"The technical term in this case would be civil disobedience," Harry said, "and of course I'm not secretly hoping that everyone in the country will spontaneously fall in love with the idea of having their own lightsaber and break the law all at once in a perfectly civil manner," he lied. "But I do think it's a bit unfair that only nobles like us can legally use a spell, and everyone else gets a fine if they try. Or worse than a fine, until a few months ago. Rules for thee and not for me is…"

"The first rule for being a ruler?" Draco suggested.

"…the opposite of an ideal government," Harry finished. "Make a rule, exempt yourself. Make a rule, exempt yourself. You see it over and over in the ruling classes of history, and it always goes wrong, because rulers who do it can't stop doing it, and eventually the people get fed up and revolt. And then things get messy, and no matter who wins the conflict everyone is worse off. Like the prisoner's dilemma."

Draco thought about it for a while. "In muggle history, maybe. It doesn't hurt the rulers much when the peasants don't have the power to do anything about it."

"A power gap which the armies are helping to fix," Harry nodded decisively. "Thanks, Professor Quirrell," he sighed blissfully. "I mean Monroe. Man, I'm still getting that wrong sometimes."

Draco chose not to respond to this, instead pulling out his pocket watch. Normally he would cast a Tempus, but that would violate underage magic laws in front of witnesses. His watch said 6:00 PM, and his father would pick him up at 9:30 PM. There was a dinner party- children NOT invited- which Father and Mother needed to attend for political reasons.

Not that Draco was discontent. Now that he's directly seen some of what the muggle world has to offer, he wouldn't mind seeing a bit more. It'll be interesting to visit Harry's house, to learn about the environment that, if not birthed, fostered all that insanity.

"Do you have anything planned for tonight?" asked Draco.

Harry blinked. "When's your father picking you up?"

"Nine thirty."

"Nine thirty?" Harry's father echoed. "Wasn't it six thirty?"

It developed that there had been some sort of mix-up. No, nothing was planned for the night after dinner except the 'Verres tradition' of reading, though Harry's mother nixed that in the face of unexpected company.

"I hate to suggest it," said Harry's father. "But what about another movie? Our board gams aren't easy to pick up in a single night."

"Another movie?" asked Draco. "Wouldn't that take too long?"

"Most movies are two and a half hours at most," said Harry. "What we watched in the theatre was a trilogy. We have time for an independent film."

"Do theatres run this late?" asked Draco.

"They do," said Harry's father. "Especially on Fridays. But we have a cassette player at home."

"A way to watch movies outside of theatres," Harry supplied before Draco could ask. "But I'm not interested in most of our movies, Dad."

"What about the Hobbit?"

Harry tilted his head. "Hmm… well, I've always said I'd rather read the book for the tenth time than watch that again… but now that you mention it, it is a decent introduction to Tolkien if you don't have the time…"

"Despite how much it leaves out?" his father said with a grin.

Harry didn't allow himself to be annoyed at his own words being used against him. "I didn't understand what you meant when you showed me the first time, but I think I get it now. Sure, it leaves out a lot of the plot-"

"No Bejorn, no Arkenstone, tons of cut dialogue…" his father recited from memory.

"But it does capture the heart of the story," Harry finally admitted. "Especially for people who don't like to read as much."

"And it gets the most important scene right," said his father.

"And the music is nice," his mother added from the passenger seat.

When Lucius Malfoy's portkey landed him and his bodyguards in front of a muggle house, he walked forward without delay. It had been a long day, some of it enjoyable, but he was ready for it to end.

The lights that lit as they followed the path briefly startled him, and he made a mental note to… no. On second thought, he would not file Statute of Secrecy paperwork against the Potter household- or rather, he would not command another to file it.

For one, he had been told to make nice. For two, those lights were the muggle kind.

There was little doubt in his mind that, if he asked, he would learn that they had lit up for strange, muggle reasons. Perhaps a timer of some kind, as muggles do at least have clocks. He's had enough political debates to know that much.

Goyle pressed the little circular 'button' that should alert the muggles inside to their presence.

Not much later, the door opened. "Good evening," said a muggle woman whose complexion was bolstered by magic of some kind.

Now he was truly considering the paperwork, despite his instructions. But no, he would not succumb. Though he would ask about it. Eventually.

"Good evening," he said. He even managed to mean it, in the general sense that the evening, on the whole, was a good one.

"Are you here to pick up Draco, Gregory, and Vincent?" asked the woman.

"We are." He forced himself to incline his head, despite his sensibilities screaming at him for showing respect to a muggle.

The woman smiled. "The movie's almost finished. You can go through the fireplace when it's done. Please, come in."

Lucius accepted the offer as if he felt no internal conflict at all. Orders are orders. His bodyguards followed him into the muggle house with the same mindset, and they were quickly offered seats and a spot of tea.

Despite being in the next room over – the woman said he might distract the children and asked him to stay in the dining room for a moment – Lucius could hear voices, music, and sound effects, as if he was hearing a play.

He heard something about a grey stone and a thrush knocking, spoken in a heavy tone vaguely reminiscent of a seer's voice. He heard a man speak of a door and a key, and the sound of rumbling stone. He heard men nervously ask 'what now?'. He heard what was likely the leader singling out the 'esteemed Mr. Baggins' to 'carry out the service for which he was included in our company', and that there was a contract about it.

Eventually, he asked the muggle woman if he could see the play. He reassured her he would not draw attention to himself.

"You might have a bit of trouble seeing it," she whispered as she led him to the small sitting room.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust, to focus on the relatively small square of light, but when they did…

He again had to remind himself that this was a muggle artifact, not magic, though in retrospect the quality of the image and sound made it obvious.

The story of dragon-guarded treasure was as old as time, but the burglar angle and the conversation with the dragon was new. He immediately got the sense that the fictional world was much larger than what he was seeing, and that suspicion was confirmed when, after the dragon was killed (by a tastefully executed nod to the power of tradition, symbolized by a Black Arrow), instead of a happy ending there was a war over its hoard by every faction with claim to it. Lucius was glad his son was not being shown something too unrealistic, though five armies at once stretched credulity, even if it did highlight the message.

He felt the same about the scene of a common enemy uniting divided sides under a single banner. Heavy-handed in its delivery, but this is a children's story, so that can be tolerated.

And then there was a death scene…

Despite the limitations of the medium, Lucius had to admit to quality when he saw it. There was strength of writing and strength of delivery, just like with the Black Arrow. "Child of the kindly west… if more of us valued your ways, food and cheer above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world. But, sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewell."

Lucius was not one to be moved by plays anymore, and he was not moved by this either. But he had never heard the cliché expressed in quite that manner before. Small though it was, this was the first moment Lucius, in the back of his mind, quietly understood that there were perhaps things of true value to be found in the muggle world beyond amusing little trinkets.

A week later, during Harry Potter's birthday – to which his son would be invited – Lucius made the full-blown realization in the front of his mind as well, much as he wished to deny it.

The Japanese restaurant, which Potter's muggle family has apparently visited every year since its London debut in 1986, was undeniably brilliant in taste and presentation both. There was a form of dinner entertainment Lucius had never seen or imagined, in which the food was cooked by a theatrical chef on a stove built directly into the customer seating tables, to the fright and delight of Potter's friends, though Harry Potter himself seemed to know the performance by rote.

And all of it had been done without magic.

As if rubbing salt in the wound, Harry Potter insisted on playing a certain muggle song on repeat during his subsequent party at the muggle 'swimming pool', at least until everyone got tired of it.

…It's the end of the world as we know it (I had some time alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it (I had some time alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine…

Chapter 62: Humanity's Debut

Silver regained consciousness in what sporting losers and sore winners call the "Loser's Lobby", where the 'corpses' of stunned ponies are teleported from the battlefield. They can stick around and watch the rest of the round if they want, though most leave right away for another game unless they're one of the last few contestants. Or the winner, of course.

"That was a good game, Mithril," said 'Big Bang', the winner of the match. "How old are you?"

'Mithril', who had scored second place, said, "Thirteen." Technically true.

"That's a fake wing illusion, right? Going for a full alicorn illusion once you get the tickets?"

"The wings are real," said Mithril, giving them a flap and making a slight breeze for emphasis.

"Wait, you're not a unicorn?"

"Nope," Mithril said, truthfully but not honestly.

"Then how come your magic is so strong?"

"I've been training," said Mithril, again truthfully, and again dishonestly.

"Huh… okay… but aren't you kinda new? And young? The only pegasi I know who can break my shields are at least fifteen, and they've been at it for years. You're only thirteen, so..."

"I've got a private tutor," said Mithril by way of not explaining. "Out of curiosity, how long have you been here? And how old are you?"

"Joined day one, dude. I'm fifteen."

"Didn't it open thirty-four years ago?"

"Pretty sure it wasn't that long ago. And I meant I joined the first day I could."

"Ah. What's the starting age limit?"

"Seven," said Big Bang, which might or might not be the unicorn teen's real name. "But I was in dueling club before that."

"Did you start dueling as soon as possible too?"

"Yup. Started at five. But my parents signed me up for that one."

"Did your parents sign you up for this too?"

"Nah, this was all me. I've loved fighting ever since my first duel."

"That explains it," said Mithril with a nod. "Well, nice talking to you, but I'm on a schedule."

"Before you go, wanna co-queue some time? It's pretty fun if you've never done it before, and I could show you the ropes."

"How would we set that up?"

"We can exchange Circus ID info."

"Um... does that exchange all the info we submit to Circus? Like our real names?"

"It can. But you can ask Circus to keep all that stuff private, even from your friends. You like privacy, huh?"

"Generally speaking, yes..." But then again, given what he'd submitted as his 'real' name... "But I guess I don't mind if a few ponies know my name. How do we exchange ID info?"

A small chime sound rang in his ears.

"Like that," said Big Bang. "Circus can tell when two ponies want to do it. He can also tell..." a screen appeared in front of Big Bang, "when we want to set up a co-queue. Does a week from now sound fine?"

Mithril tried to do the same by pure mental command, something he had actually been fairly confident would work, but nothing happened. He could investigate later. "Make it two months. Sorry, but I'll be busy for a while."

"Uh... alright. Two months, I guess. Nice to meet you, um..." Big Bang squinted at his screen. "Event Horizon?"

"Call me Mithril while I'm here," he said. "And nice to meet you..."

"Call me Bang."

"Alright. See you around, Bang."

At that, 'Mithril' teleported away from the loser's lobby. He'd chosen his display alias as an inside joke, and because he didn't want the name 'Silver' appearing on the Circus leaderboards. It'll be the sort of thing that was obvious in retrospect, with mithril being magical silver, but nobody who's out of the loop should give the name a second glance in advance. And with his new royal name (slightly modified by himself, though he's still just going to go by 'Prince Horizon' once his alicorn status isn't under wraps anymore), he didn't even need to submit the name 'Silver Wing' to Circus's underlying database. Technically, you don't need to submit your real name at all, you can just make up whatever you want (because deception is chaotic), but he decided to go with Event Horizon.

On his mentor's advice, he'd spent the last month and a half learning the games and systems of Circus rather than actually trying to win. Well, he spent his pony hours that way, anyway.

"Consider it a win," Riddle had said, "if you learn something that will help you in future fights. Otherwise, have fun, and be careful not to do TOO well. A skilled newcomer might arouse suspicions."

'Mithril' hadn't performed all that well his first few weeks, and not because of the advice. It took time to get used to being on a battlefield as a pony, galloping into one engagement and air-bucking away to another, and it also took time to learn the basics of the game style.

There are various kinds of battles, and the objectives often change because Circus hates consistency – one day it might be capture-the-flag, another day might be king-of-the-hill. Most likely, it'll be an objective nobody's ever encountered before, with strategies that have to be developed on the fly.

But there's one battle objective that doesn't cycle in and out of relevancy at the Chaotic whims of Circus and public approval. There's one mode that's been around since the start, since before Circus was open to the general public, and it's still going strong thirty-three and a half years later. It's always on rotation, in all categories of all queues, from solo to team, from ranked to casual play. The 'maps' change, some of the constraining rules might change, but the objective never does:

Stunmatch.

The goal is simple: stun all enemies. The rules are also simple: (1) No reviving stunned ponies (unless Circus decides to allow it in advance). (2) Nothing lethal or permanently damaging (unless certain conditions are met). (3) No outside devices or enchantments aside from Circus-appointed/approved equipment.

And… that's it.

Circus has learned to accept that even Chaos can't decide what's popular. Chaos can only throw things at the wall and hope they stick. 'Stunmatch' is a favorite for a reason: it's simple, it's realistic, it's fun.

So Circus spices it up in other ways.

The current Stunmatch iteration, for example, is really sticking to the wall. It's extremely popular, and not just because it solved the long-standing complaints against 'campers' – fighters who stay in one place the entire time and drag out Stunmatches far longer than they should go. Even Circus hates their strategy (staying in one place isn't very Chaotic), and Circus tried various methods of dealing with them in the past, like moving map geometry, but then the campers complained that their strategy was being unfairly targeted. That is, until this most recent idea.

As the fight progresses, the arena gets smaller and smaller, with 'random' center points so that ponies can't just go to the arena's geographical center and camp there. Most maps also have low ceilings; good for flying away in a pinch, but it always risks the danger of giving away your location, and in a free-for-all, that's a bad idea. The most common method of travel is by hoof, paw, or claw. It forces engagements, forces combatants to constantly be on the move, and forces a constant flow of battle and state of awareness – it forces chaos, not stagnation. It also forces a good deal of cardio exercise.

That's what 'Mithril' has been playing the most, always in solo queue and typically in Free-for-Alls, not team battles. It was a new experience, fighting only for himself without any concern for teammates or armies or major strategies or maneuvers. In general, you want to stay mobile, you want to stay close to cover, and you want to be on the lookout for enemies. He's come to learn that 'game sense' is pretty important for actually winning – knowing where to be and where not to be at any given moment. It was also doing wonders for his reaction speed, magical strength, and personal battle prowess, which is what he would be needing in his upcoming debut.

And even though some of that recently-acquired experience won't translate to his human body, he'll have his mentor's wordless magic lessons to rely on.

Who'd have thought such an impressive feat of magic would amount to nothing more complicated than 'speak the words in your mind, not out loud'. To cast spells wordlessly, you '''simply''' cast aside the 'crutches' of vocal cords, lips, and ears.

It's surprisingly difficult, even for the easiest spells. It was almost maddening at first to puzzle out where his 'mental articulation' was going wrong. Was he mentally mispronouncing it? Were the syllables not spaced properly? Were their durations off, like when he and Hermione were experimenting with the Oogely Boogely spell so long ago? Is the mental incantation not aligning with the wand gestures at the proper times?

When you are not speaking spells aloud, these questions become arduous to answer accurately.

But while wordless magic is much harder than it might seem when you first hear how it's done, it's much easier than the other wordless method.

Until a month and a half ago, Harry has been learning wordless magic the hard way, i.e. the way that was wordless and wandless: cast a spell so many times that your body gets an instinctual feel for the shape of the magic. Eventually, long after the point that you can cast it without even thinking about it, you find that you can ditch the wand. You spend a hundred sum hours casting Somnium, which Harry once did, and by the end you can do it wandlessly and wordlessly.

It's why, for example, Professor McGonagall is so good at wandless 'teacher' magic – grading papers, writing papers, erasing text on papers, organizing papers, erasing the chalk/whiteboard, and of course her own subject matter of Transfiguration. Learning wandless magic by beating the magic into your bones through a hundred collective hours of practice on a single spell is the hard way to do silent magic.

Learning to do wordless magic the easy way isn't like that at all; it only takes a few days per spell, at least for the easily-articulated ones. The 'easy' way, unfortunately, does not allow you to ditch the wand, and it's not even all that easy, but it is a step up from normal casting. You can think faster than you can talk, after all, so your spellcasting has the potential to speed up dramatically.

Key word: 'potential'. It's not a guarantee. You need the mental discipline for it. And a healthy dose of self-criticism, self-discipline, and self-awareness. Speaking spells within your mind and making the wand gestures at the appropriate times may be simple, but it's not trivial, and it's not a cakewalk. Speeding up the articulation and the gesturing without making any mistakes is even less of a cakewalk. And if you make a mistake with your mental articulation, there's the same potential for misfire as if you make a mistake with spoken articulation. He'd tested it with the glowing bat spell, which (a) he knew for a fact was relatively safe if you messed it up, and (b) was easily-articulated enough to have the first successful failure (a bat missing a wing) happen within the first three hours.

Put all of this together, and you have the reason why wordless magic is basically never discovered by accident. It's simply too difficult. Using just your brain for articulation for the very first time is like using your brain for Transfiguration for the first time. Unless you're Hermione Granger, you're not going to get close on your first day. If you see a wizard who can cast wordlessly, it's almost guaranteed that they were told of the underlying principles by someone else. There's also typically a power drop when you first start using wordless magic because of split attention – it's not the easiest to focus on power when you're so focused on even casting it in the first place.

But despite all this, Harry didn't complain. Wordless magic is what all the top wizard fighters do, and it's the next rung up on the power ladder that isn't just 'learn better spells and develop battle instincts on when to use them'.

Of course, Harry hadn’t been told all of that right away.

His private lessons for the past few months, before escaping the Mirror, had been to figure out the reason behind this instruction:

"Cast spells as powerfully as possible while uttering the incantations as quietly as possible."

It had been a third-eye opening experience. Like with ambidextrous casting, it literally forced his brain to think about and feel magic in a new way. It made him realize that, in the past, whenever he cast a spell with more power than usual, he would usually say the words louder than usual. But that realization wasn't exactly what his mentor had been looking for, and Harry had decided not to ask for any hints this time.

Once he had guessed the next step on his own a few months later, it took a day's work to produce his first successful wordless spell: a simple Lumos. He'd chosen it because it required no wand gestures and it was easy to pronounce.

And it had still taken him a day.

Upon his success, that's when Professor Riddle told him all those things about mental articulation and speed and top duelers and the power ladder.

Before the lesson, Harry hadn't been expecting wordless magic to be so… obvious and intuitive. He really hadn't been expecting to learn it this young either.

During the lesson, he had tried silent articulation on a whim a few times, but gave it up when nothing was happening. He could cast the Patronus Charm wordlessly by simply feeling the happiness strong enough, and he thought other wordless magics would have tricks like that, something different for each spell, but no.

The Patronus Charm is an outlier. According to the books he'd read two Januarys ago, the spell can come out in times of great emotion, without words or gestures, but such cases are so rare that they are rumored to be tall tales. As far as every scholar knows, no wizard has ever succeeded in casually casting a Patronus wordlessly (i.e. using the mental articulation trick). Same with the Killing Curse, no wordless castings under 'normal' circumstances.

Harry had gotten used to the idea that magic is strange and esoteric, and he'd also gotten used to the idea that wordless and wandless magic would be years away. Until he was trusted with ancient lore at least. But both can apparently be learned much sooner.

What he's been learning over the past year is how normal wizards go about wordless and wandless magic without access to ancient lore, and he now understands why most 'normal' wizards don't bother. The learning process is tedious, monotonous, time-consuming, frustrating, boring, and difficult. Like going to the gym and doing the exact same exercises each week- no, each day. But the results can sure be worth it, also like going to the gym.

He's now able to reliably cast a few combat spells wordlessly, accurately, and in the heat of battle: Lagan, the shield-breaker, Ventus, the 'reposition my enemy' spell (remembered from the Weasley twins), Reventus, the 'blow my enemy towards me' spell, and Stupefy, the stunner.

(Reventus is a spell that, by pure and utter cosmic luck, Harry 'invented', in that he asked Riddle if a reverse wind spell existed, like 'reventus' or something, and Riddle had stared at him for a few moments, then said "Give me a few days, and it will. And did you happen to read any books on spell creation? No? Then don't suggest any more modified incantations again until you have.")

The short list of spells he'd learned wordlessly all have in common a certain simplicity of pronunciation, gentleness of gestures, and usefulness of utility.

He wouldn't be wordlessly casting 'Wingardium Leviosa' any time soon, but he didn't need to. He also didn't need to cast Protego wordlessly; he could cast it once and maintain it for the rest of the fight like everypony and everywizard else.

Perhaps more importantly, he has two aces up his sleeve.

He can still cast Somnium wandlessly. Like riding a broomstick, learning a spell to the point of wandlessness isn't something you forget once you learn how to do it in the first place.

He can now cast Accio wandlessly as well. Upon his mentor's recommendation, that was the second spell he should, and did, beat into his bones.

If your opponent sends your wand flying with Expeliarmus, simply Accio it back to your hand. Then Accio their wand from their hand for good measure. Although that will stop working even before he graduates Hogwarts; competent sixth and seventh year fighters know how to secure their wands against Accio. Competent fighters in general know how to keep their wands in their hands unless the Disarming Charm lands, which nobody can counter once it connects, no matter how good their grip. That's why most auror-level shields include the wand within the shield, with a built-in clause that allows their own spells to pass through.

Harry had asked why he couldn't just use 'Emergus' on his airborne wand once Expelliarmus connects, since he would know his wand's location at that point.

After a practical demonstration, Harry saw the problem. As Harry watched his wand fly around in the air, unable to summon it, his mentor explained that Accio is a lot more practical than trying to target an Emergus, which doesn't work well when your wand is in motion. Or rather, it can work, but it takes practice. It would probably take as many hours as learning how to do Accio wandlessly, and Accio has a wider range of applications, so it was the better choice.

With all that going for him, plus a few mock spars with 'Riddle Tome', Harry-in-human-form finally felt ready for combat against ponies. On a magical and strategic level. And just in time for humanity's debut to Equestria, which is an hour away. He's looking forward to it, but the only problem, and it isn't a real problem, but he still feels like it matters, is that he has no idea how to cover up his identity.

When wizards eventually start training here, they'll be able to see records of past games. Not to mention the 'dead' Death Eaters that are somewhere in Equestria, who might see his debut as it happens. These battles are sometimes nationally televised. (And hadn't that been a surprise, learning that Riddle had innovated and encouraged the spread of parchment screens across Equestria, like muggle TVs.)

There's also a room in Circus dedicated to showing cool/interesting/funny events, past and present, and it's one of the most popular rooms in Circus. If Harry lands himself in one of those broadcasts… well, he doesn't need to cover up his identity, but he would prefer to hide his name and face, in case he goes down in the Circus hall of fame/infamy.

The obvious solution to this problem is to use 'Circus Tickets'.

Like at an arcade, they can be exchanged for various prizes, some of which are cosmetic…

Actually, now that he's browsing them, they all seem to be cosmetic.

Sorting by popularity, the 'uniform guard' enchantment seems to be a common choice, probably because it's a dual purchase. It can make you look like a royal guard, day or night, when you fight (although there's a warning that reads Note: Armor is not made with real mithril and does not deflect spells).

In the same vein, there's a general warning for all ticket purchases that they don't impact gameplay, and they are always disabled outside of Circus's influence. If Harry had to guess, it was to prevent mischief-makers from masquerading as guards or whatever else they can be made by Circus to look like.

Other popular options seem to be fur colour changes, mane colour/styling, and even cutie mark appearance alterations.

Non-ponies can do this too. Dragons can get different scale colours, Griffons different feather colours, and 'Changelings' different chitin and wing and eye colours.

When sorting by ticket price, the crème-de-la-crème was, unsurprisingly, the Alicorn mane enchantment. It doesn't turn you into an actual alicorn. It doesn't give you a horn or wings or earth pony strength. The enchantment isn't even permanent, lasting only when the helmet is worn within Circus, according to the all-caps disclaimer. But it does give you an ethereal mane, which is why it costs 2,000 Circus Tickets – far more than anything else. Strangely enough, it works on non-ponies too. In the wider atrium, he once saw a dragon with fire in place of spine scales and smoke coming from more places than its snout. It was pretty cool.

He had thought, after seeing a few ethereal manes and inquiring into the situation, that 'Mithril' might not have needed the mundane mane spell after all. At least, not when he was within Circus's borders. 'Going natural' wouldn't have informed Equestria that there was a new ascension.

That had been his initial assumption. Then he asked around and realized that it would have still drawn unwanted attention. 'Mithril' had gathered plenty of intelligence, from conversations, research, or just stumbling across it. When you see somepony with an ethereal mane, you can guess that they've spent at least a few thousand hours playing games at Circus.

Tickets are typically earned by playing Circus games. Ponies who play long enough to earn the ethereal mane are decent fighters, and him being a complete newbie would have raised eyebrows and questions about how he got his mane.

Even after a month and a half, 'Mithril' doesn't have enough tickets for a major purchase, though he is close.

He does, however, already have 2,000 tickets in his human account, which might be enough for what he has in mind. If the ticket options satisfy his current, human needs...

...which they don't seem to be doing, on further inspection. Half of the ticket rewards don't even work for humans in the first place (the 'preview' option returned 'error') and the rest don't cover his face. He didn't need his skin to be blue, he needed a mask, and none of the clothing options worked.

If this is how it's going to be like, he might as well just… you know what, that actually might work.

"Hey, Circus," Harry said out loud. "You there?"

"Always." A Draconequus appeared at his side. "I'm always here because I am here. Though for future reference I'm not at your beck and call no matter how much you help me. That said, what'cha want?"

"Can I blow all of my tickets on a special request?"

"What kind of special request?" asked the Draconequus. The creature pinched Harry's cheek. "You can block your brain, you early bloomer you, so you'll have to say it out loud."

"You can read my mind if I lower my Occlumency shields?" Harry asked, deciding not to be bothered by the lack of respect for boundaries.

"Well, I won't know until you give it a shot," said the avatar of Chaos. "Nopony who has 'em ever drops 'em."

"In that case," said Harry, remembering a certain moment of yesterday's outing to the movies as solidly as possible, then adjusting his shield of Perfect Occlumency to actually be the same as his own mind, just without any sensitive information, "I want to look and sound like this. You see it?"

"Oh, I see it," said Circus, a slow grin creeping across his face. "And hear it. Nice music."

"I don't want the outfit to get in my way, though," said Harry. "Let's see… that means a face mask that's transparent from the inside, just like the unicorn helmets already are, a cooling charm so I don't get hot, and a non-trip cape. I can do the weapon myself. Oh, and I'll need a voice charm. Think you can manage?

"Love the idea, and I could snap it up for you in a jiffy, but I'm not sure it'd be fair. Normally I'd say if you want a no-trip cape, or a cooling charm, you'd need to do the enchantments yourself after the battle starts. I can do the physical outfit no problem, that'll be 1,000 tickets since it's on par with the other top tiers, and maybe I could do the voice charm for you… I might even turn voice charms into a regular reward, actually… hm… anyway, I've got a 'no-ticket-to-win-it' policy. Your 'special request' is cutting it pretty close to giving you an edge. Tickets aren't supposed to give in-game advantages. If anything, they're supposed to draw more attention and put a target on your back, which makes things more difficult for you; nopony underestimates an ethereal mane, after all. That's why the very best go for a plain look. But anyway, it wouldn't be fair to the other players if I gave you some of the enchantments you're asking for."

"I say it's not fair that ponies can wear cool-looking capes without worrying about tripping while I can't. And it's really not fair that dragons have magic-proof scales."

"Can't do a thing about biology," Circus said with a shrug. "Unicorns have the most magic, pegasi and griffons and thestrals are naturals in the air, earth ponies have endurance, dragons don't, the list goes on. And you have… what do you have?"

"A brain," said Harry.

"Hm… that is a bit unfair. Tell you what. A temperature charm isn't an advantage as long as I charm it to be the same temperature as outside. And now that you've brought it to my explicit, self-aware attention – thanks for that, by the way – some ticket outfits are probably unpopular because they're a little impractical. I'll add no-trip and ease-of-movement magic to all my other outfits. That way you won't have a special advantage, and everypony else might finally start using my wider selection. Win-win."

"Like the jester outfit?"

"And the fat suit," said Circus with a wistful sigh.

"So my special request is doable?"

A snap of the creature's fingers brought a mirror in front of Harry, and another snap clothed him in a comfortable costume.

With his mental image no longer needed, Harry re-established his typical false personality while he admired his reflection.

"Oof," said Circus. "Felt a dip there. Maybe that brain is a big advantage after all."

That remark drew Harry's attention away from his own enticing appearance. "Don't you have a bunch of brainpower from everyone else?" he asked. "Why would you feel a dip from a single loss? And wouldn't you have noticed the… I don't know, the 'jump' when I first lowered my shields earlier?"

"Easier to notice a dip than a jump," said Circus. "And I'm not as smart as everybody put together. That would be insane. It's more like, I'm only as smart as the smartest dude or dudette in the tent. My main borrow is always one pony or person at a time." She pinched Harry's cheek, again in a non-painful way. "I use all the other brainpower for normal things that normal ponies can do; that's how the floating heads are powered, and the screens are managed, and et cete-yadda-blah. But for my main brain, I go for the smartest. Whatever you're doing to your mind, it's only letting me think as fast as a bit-a-bunch university student."

"Bit-a-bunch?" Harry echoed. "Oh. I get it. We say dime-a-dozen." He looked down to the translation charm he was wearing. "I wonder why it didn't translate all the way."

"Translate?"

"You know, the Gift of Comprehension?"

"The gift of what?"

It developed that Riddle Tome never told Circus about that. It also developed that it would probably take Circus a few days to implement a Circus-wide spell that grants visiting humans and other non-equinoids the Gift of Comprehension for the duration of their stay beneath his canvas. No, Circus can't just 'scale up' Harry's example necklace. Besides, that would be cheating. Circus wants to figure it out on her own.

"And wondering about your wonderings," said Circus, "it probably would have translated all the way if you weren't the type to figure it out from there."

"What?" asked Harry, who had forgotten about that thanks to the digression.

"Anyhoo," Circus went on, "if you're gonna keep your brain at university level I'm switching my main borrow to somepony else again."

Harry blinked, consciously acknowledged he was dealing with a Pinkie-Pie equivalent, and just started going with the flow.

"Hm…" said Harry. "Well, my standard pretense is a boring, straight-A student, so I guess that makes sense. Yeah, I'm keeping my pretense up. Does that mean the real me is the smartest in the stadium right now?" Was it egotistical for him to think that it was basically what he would have expected?

"Not necessarily," said Circus. "There are a few others who can protect their minds and prevent me from borrowing however smart they really are. But the real you is up there. I'd say you're around Twilight Sparkle's shielded level… maybe a bit lower for raw brainpower, but definitely higher for ingrained skepticism."

"Am I Riddle Tome level?" asked Harry.

"Your normal block is a little dumber than his block. I've never seen his real, so I don't know."

Darn. That probably means the real him is a little dumber than the real Riddle. Well, he was expecting that too.

"Besides, I know someone who's way smarter than all of you, so don't get a big head. Your first game is in thirty minutes," said Circus. "I'll match you based on how much magic you have, not your age. That'll put you with the eleven-and-twelve-year-old ponies."

"Better than the fifteen-and-sixteen-year-olds," he grumbled.

As a magically powerful Alicorn, 'Mithril' had been put in the higher age bracket for his placement matches. As Circus just said, he estimates your initial placement based on magical strength, not age.

Mithril had lost all of his placement matches fairly quickly.

When it's standard practice for everyone else to have a powerful shield at all times, and you're not expecting it the first time, and you haven’t gotten accustomed to using full-strength shield-breakers at a moment's notice, it's kind of impossible to even beat a single opponent.

With any luck, the reverse would happen this time, now that he's in a lower bracket. He might even be able to pull out a win if he encounters a dragon. The Charm of the Most Ancient Blade supposedly goes through dragon scales. It also draws on raw magical might, so it should be able to consistently beat the strongest shields of twelve-year-old ponies if he uses his elder wand.

It would be best if he could 'unsheathe' his lightsaber wordlessly, but the incantation was definitely too complicated…

"Circus, one last request. That device on the chest is canonically a modulator for the mask. Can you put a button on it that mutes and unmutes my voice if I press it?"

That way, others would only hear him say the words he wanted them to hear.

"Can, but won't," said Circus. "Fairness, remember? I'll let ya turn off the breathing sounds, but mute your voice yourself."

"Okay, scratch my request. I'll think of something…"

And even as he said the words, he did think of something.

He had already trained himself to speak incantations quietly, even when exerting great amounts of magic. He had practiced that for months before finally seeing the insight to wordless magic.

Meaning that if Harry is just trying to prevent his opponents from hearing his incantation, he doesn't need full-on wordless magic. He only needs to cast the blade as quietly as a whisper. After that, he can just maintain it until he wins…

"We're in the home stretch, but stay alert," whispered 'Madam Chaos' to the pony she was helping. "Don't give away your position by talking too loudly. And keep an ear out for noise. You always want the element of surprise."

"Um…" said 'AwesomeStallion109'. Even his name screamed 'I'm new to this'. "Okay."

"You're doing fine," she whispered. "We're in the final four. Just pay attention. The easiest way to lose is to lower your guard. Never lose focus."

"Okay," said the shy earth pony colt.

She tried to give him her best friendly smile. They're always like this. Bragging and confident until their first few matches, then humbled by the reality of the battles. This is probably his fourth or fifth qualifier. Naturally, placement matches are done in the unranked section. No, she doesn't know how Circus calculates a starting rank from that, or why they insist that ponies start in the unranked free-for-alls.

Even still, 'Madam Chaos' loves unranked free-for-alls.

She's reached the point in ranked matches where she's up against ponies who are much older. She's always at a disadvantage. Everyequus else is magically stronger – it's not like her ethereal mane is real. One mistake and she's done, but others can make tons of mistakes before they go down. It takes a bunch of focus and effort to overcome a single opponent if she meets them head-on, and there's only so much she can do to not meet them head-on. Surprise attacks are getting much harder to do. It's only a matter of time before she gets to a point where they stop working altogether, and then she's really got to up her raw battle skills. Being matched with fifteen-and-sixteen-year-olds as a recently-turned-eleven-year-old is hard, Even with the best tutor in the world.

That's why she likes to slum it in the unranked matches. In this arena, she's always put with ponies and changelings and griffons her own age. She can have fun without completely throwing the match. With shields honed by hundreds of hours of difficult fighting, she doesn't really have to worry about surprise attacks. It would take a coordinated team to break her shields at this level. Or another slummer.

Which makes it extra fun to be a 'friendly' the entire match – somepony who doesn't actually fight, but helps her opponents at random. And whenever she sees a beginner who's really struggling, she can help them get the 'winner winner lettuce dinner'. (Or fish dinner for griffons, or crystal dinner for dragons, though dragons usually didn't need help to win, especially in the younger brackets).

Circus liked her antics so much that he gave her bonus tickets on some of the funnier times. Then he stopped liking it when she tried to exploit it for extra tickets.

So now she helps newbies because she wants to, not for tickets. She was doing that at the start, and she's doing it again, and she learned an important lesson along the way: Don't try to exploit Circus's generosity. Just have fun, and he'll have fun too.

"Hey," said 'AwesomeStallion109'. "I hear something!"

"Quiet," she whispered sternly. "I hear it too. Let's duck behind this bush. I'll cast a darkness spell to hide us."

It wasn't as impressive as invisibility, or even disillusionment, but it's something she can actually cast with her own power. It still fools ponies all the way up through the adult levels, so long as nopony casts Equinum Revelio.

"Remember," she whispered when they were hidden. "Surprise attack. And not against me. Yet."

"Uh…"

"Shh. They're coming."

From around a hill close to the edge of the arena, an earth pony / unicorn (you couldn't tell which with the helmet, but you could tell that they didn't have wings) was sprinting at a speed that you don't usually see outside of active combat or emergencies.

"HELP!" The pony shouted. "SOMEPONY! HELP- AHH!"

From their hidden vantage point, they watched the pony get swept off his hooves. He flew- no, he was magically dragged through the air… or was that a wind spell? The grass was blowing beneath his hooves... Well, whatever it was, the pony quickly disappeared behind the hill, followed by a bzzzt sound.

Then silence.

Then…

"Hooooh, haaaah. Hooooh, haaaah."

From around the same hill, a non-pony emerged.

'Madam Chaos' couldn't believe her eyes. She saw, right there in a black-clad hand, a wand with the Charm of the Most Ancient Blade. The wand wasn't surprising; Minotaur and Diamond Dogs and Centaur have been learning how to use them since before she was born.

But as far as she knew, nopony in Equestria was supposed to know about the Charm of the Most Ancient Blade. Not because it was some big secret, even if it kind-of is, but because of how impractical it was. It's powerful and cool-looking, sure, but it takes a bunch of magic and it's melee range, so-

"What do we do now?" asked the colt she'd been helping. He sounded utterly terrified.

She wasn't scared herself, but she didn't blame him. The red glowing blade and the black costume, the cape, the in-equine mask that almost looked like a skull… everything about this opponent screamed 'scary'. But that's all looks. Fight enough Circus battles against opponents with high ticket counts, and you get desensitized to scary looks.

The actually bad news is that this opponent already has a blue shield around its body, as if it was used to fighting in upper divisions like she was.

"Surprise attack," she whispered. "But it might not work. Even if one of us acts as a diversion, we'll have to break the shield…"

For the briefest of moments, the… breathing? The breathing paused, and immediately after it did, her darkness spell unraveled, as is if the Equinum Revelio charm had just been cast.

"Change of plan," she said as the black mask focused squarely on their position. "We fight head-on."

The figure began walking at a calm pace towards the two of them, still making that mechanical hooooh, haaaah sound.

"Um…" said the colt, sounding incredibly scared.

"Don't worry," she said, raising a shield of her own. "Let me do the fighting. Just run around and-"

'AwesomeStallion109' flew from in front of her with a sudden gust of wind and a screamed "AAAAAAAAAaaaaah!"

That's when she noticed the biped holding a second wand, aimed directly at the flying, flailing form of 'AwesmeStallion109'.

She was forced to watch as the Most Ancient Blade slashed straight down his middle, leaving a bright red line where it had struck.

Thankfully it didn't bisect him. It must be on the stun setting.

She breathed a small sigh of relief as his body did not teleport away. If he had been hurt, it would have happened instantly. When ponies aren't badly hurt, their bodies stick around for a while in case someone wants to fake being hit.

'Madam Chaos' got into a battle stance, lowering her head slightly to position her horn. It was down to the last two. Should she get airborne? Normally she doesn't fight head-on, but she was a little angry at what she'd just seen. Surprise attacks might be the name of the game, but 'Awesomstallion109' hadn't deserved that.

When slumming it, she always did her best to fight ponies at their level, not hers. She could beat everypony here without much effort, but that's just bullying. If you're good, winning is for ranked fights. Doing that here is mean.

This creature is going down.

"Where'd you learn that charm?" she asked, slowly moving from her position as the shrinking arena pushed her closer to her opponent, who stood dead-center.

The creature didn't answer. It just continued making those breathing sounds.

"What are you?" she asked. "Minotaur? Diamond Dog?" Although its proportions...

Again, no response. Just breathing.

"Fine," she said. "Fair warning, I normally fight teenagers."

(If the one across from her had been able to understand her, he might have replied with, "What a coincidence. So do I." But Circus was currently in possession of the translation necklace, since it was an outside magical item, and they had not yet developed a Comprehension spell of their own. For now, since Harry couldn't understand the pony across from him anyway, he decided to just interrupt what she said next.)

"Can you even hear what I'm -ah!"

Her brief surprise was almost her downfall, but she'd been careful to pay attention, even as she talked. A green arc shot from his second wand without any words preceding it, colliding with her shield and tearing it to shreds. The magical strain of maintaining it for so long had been bad enough, but the backlash from losing it almost made her lose focus.

She was instantly on the move, air-bucking to avoid a follow-up attack. She didn't have much room to maneuver with the shrinking arena, and she couldn't get too close to that blade, but she shot a stunner his way while she repositioned. The creature started its dodge as soon as her horn began to glow. She had to admit, they had some experience.

But her enemy didn't go on the counter offensive, they just continued leveling their wand on her as she landed from her projectile motion. Why weren't they…?

In a flash of intuition, she erected a simple barrier that wouldn't stop a full stunner, but would stop weaker attacks.

Her intuition was right. Something impacted her barrier – a spell so weak it was naked to the eye.

"Well done," complimented the creature in a deep, scary voice. "You are strong in the Force."

(She could still understand him, of course.)

'The Force'? she thought. What the heck is that?

"But you don't know the power of the Dark Side!"

And, like the two ponies before her, she found herself being pulled towards the creature – a combination of wind first, then magical pulling, she finally realized. It was only because she was half-expecting it that she managed a last-second air-buck to avoid the swipe of the stunning blade. She was hoping the air-buck would push the creature back, but its blue shield protected it from the wind.

Then its left wand twitched, and her eyes widened, but she couldn't react in time. Not at this range.

"Winner winner beef steak dinner!" said the screen to the audience – the gaping, Circus-wide audience, which only grew more horrified at the 'beef steak' line.

Circus had been slowly having more and more of the screens within herself show the battle of the new creature. By the time it was down to the final two, the battle was being shown on every screen that wasn't being used for administrative or other set purposes.

As if to combat the inevitable claims of unfairness, half the screens immediately showed a magical scan of the player who had chosen the name 'Darth Vader' while the other half showed the standard display of after-battle statistics.

The magical scan showed the silhouette of a species never seen before in any Circus battle. The colors and numbers clearly displayed a power level of a pony aged 11-12, even though the creature's age was 13, implying to the most astute watchers that the species is magically weaker than ponies. At the very least, it had been placed in the correct bracket for its qualifier.

A new species had found its way to Equestria. It is menacing. It is vicious. It is merciless. It's on 'the Dark Side'. And it eats cows.

And this one is only age 13. What would an adult be like?

"Well done, Mr. Potter," said Riddle Tome, producing a smoothie. "You have given us an excellent debut."

"Thanks," said Harry, accepting the reward. "I was afraid the new you would say I went too far."

"Not quite. Twilight and Celestia might think that you have. But Luna knows and approves, for equinoids must eventually learn that your average human is comparatively lacking in the departments of ethics and empathy, in practice if not in words, and I shall explain to my fellow Alicorns that I am attempting to accelerate that learning process in a harmless manner. We'll hold off on your second qualifier until I can acquire your heroic opposition. It's interesting, though…"

"What is?"

"Hm... when it becomes relevant, I'll tell you. If you would excuse me, I'm needed elsewhere. Feel free to take the rest of the day for yourself."

That was a rare reward indeed. Harry made the most of it by catching up on some reading at home.

Chapter 63: Heroic Opposition

Draco Malfoy's Occlumency lessons were coming along at a rate that astounded Mr. Bester. He is "the fastest student I've ever had!" and his progress wasn't showing any signs of slowing down. He reached the stage of Legilimency detection within the first two weeks, and if he kept up his current pace, he really would become an Occlumens before he returned to Hogwarts in the fall.

The only problem from Draco's perspective is that his lessons are taking up a lot of his time. And patience. He became accustomed to studying long hours to keep up his grades in Hogwarts. He's used to working his mind, if not his body like Gregory, so it wasn't too difficult. But it was time-consuming. Not to mention monotonous.

It was the same thing every day, hour after hour. Prepare yourself, Legilimens, criticism, prepare yourself, repeat.

It was almost a relief when Professor Monroe came knocking to Malfoy Manor late July. Now that Draco can detect entry, the next phase can begin: secret battle magic training.

His father had objected on the grounds of underage magic laws. Draco hadn't said anything about the irony or the hypocrisy, obviously, but Professor Monroe certainly had. Then Professor Monroe claimed that no such laws exist where Draco would be training, so the point was moot.

The man then took something from his robes, held it out, and told them to grasp the wide metal ring – a standard shape for multi-person portkeys.

"Father…?" asked Draco.

"Lord Monroe," his father said formally. "I do not mean to offend, but if there are any words that could reassure my son of your motives, would you speak them now?"

"I would," said Professor Monroe, lowering the ring to his side but not returning it to his robes. "Due to circumstances your son must not hear until he is a full Occlumens, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger are leaps and bounds ahead of him, in magical strength and battle experience." He faced Draco directly. "It is my intention to prevent you, Draco Malfoy, from being left in the dust. I am taking you to an arena of powerful combatants, where you will practice your battle magic daily. Today, we are registering you to the battle system." He seemed to pause in thought. He then glanced at the elder Crabbe and Goyle, whom Draco has a tendency to forget about most of the time. "Your sons may join as well. If you accept, they will be more dangerous than… basilisks by the time they graduate Hogwarts. Perhaps sooner."

The two men nodded in unison, then Apparated away. They didn't even ask for Father's permission. And Father didn't seem to be bothered by that, which confused Draco.

The professor looked back to Draco. "The rest of your summer will consist of Occlumency lessons and battle magic. You will have about as much leisure time as if you were still taking Hogwarts lessons. If you want, I can arrange for you to receive further private tutoring, but that would require you to ditch the concept of 'free time' altogether. In fact, you'll need to completely change the way you think about 'Time' itself. I doubt you'll fully catch up if you decline, but it's up to you."

"I'll do it," Draco said without any hesitation.

He felt his father's firm grip on his shoulder, and he saw a look of pride mixed with worry on Father's face.

He gave a fearless smile in return. This was a decision he had made himself. Only a fool turns down private tutoring from the strongest wizard in the world.

Professor Monroe has been making it clear that he's an ally to Houses Potter and Malfoy, and he already gave Harry plenty of special attention at Hogwarts. Now, with that speech at the Wizengamot about Britain's future leader…

Draco fully intends to live up to the high expectations that have been placed upon him.

"Excellent," said Professor Monroe. "Your private lessons will start before summer's end. Unless your father objects?"

"I do not," said Father.

Once the elder Crabbe and Goyle returned with the youngers in tow, Professor Monroe extended the portkey again, and Draco grasped it alongside his father and friends.

When they arrived, he was immediately distracted by a hustling, bustling crowd of ponies surrounding him. Not the kind you would see in real life, but the kind you would see in Pansy Parkinson's colouring books. And it wasn't just ponies, it was colouring book griffons too. And… is that supposed to be a dragon?

"Come along," said the voice of Professor Monroe to the other three adults. "The administrative stands are over there. You'll have to fill out the preliminary paperwork yourselves…"

But Draco didn’t follow. He was more focused on the big, purple, green-flaming, angry-looking dragon walking their way. Yes, walking. On two back legs. The dragon roared, and Draco instinctively drew his wand and stepped behind his bodyguards, who'd also drawn their wands.

"Peace, children. And adults."

After a visible hesitation, all three fathers continued towards the desk at Monroe's indication. Gregory and Vincent dutifully followed, but Draco somehow found himself staying behind, enraptured by the appearance of this clearly-intelligent, non-humanoid creature.

"What is it, Spike?" said Professor Monroe, causing the creature to focus squarely on the world's current most powerful wizard. "We're somewhat busy."

The dragon continued roaring, a little less loudly this time. It wasn't until Draco distinctly heard the words 'Darth Vader' that he realized the dragon was talking, not roaring.

"Darth Vader?" Draco repeated.

It's intelligent enough to talk? And how is its voice that flexible? It can switch from roars and grunts to vocal articulation in the same sentence? And that's not even mentioning the subject matter…

The creature looked to Draco, then began roaring- talking again. Not that Draco could understand a word of it.

"Wear this," Monroe sighed.

Draco felt a necklace lower around his head.

"-and do you really eat cows?" said the dragon, going from roars to perfectly comprehensible English.

Draco blinked. "Um… yes?"

The dragon seemed to get cartoonishly green. Its cheeks bulged as if it had just thrown up inside its mouth.

"Where we come from," said Professor Monroe to the creature, "cows don't have minds. They are about as smart as chickens." Then, to Draco, "Oh, and you didn't hear it, but he asked if you are Darth Vader."

"Huh? No."

The creature seemed to swallow whatever was in its mouth. "Chicken?" it asked. "You sure?"

"Yes," said Monroe. "Circus was just having a bit of fun when he gave that message."

"Oh," said the dragon, blinking. "Right. I guess that makes sense. It did cause a lot of Chaos, didn't it?"

"It did indeed."

The creature focused on Draco. "So you're not Darth Vader?"

"No," Draco repeated. "Nobody is. Darth Vader isn't real."

"Oh, yes he is," said Spike. "He was in the arena yesterday. Black outfit, mask, cape, deep voice, weird breathing sounds, red glowing sword. All of Equestria is talking about it. Darth Vader is 100% real."

Harry. The thought came to Draco instantly, without doubt or hesitation. In retrospect, Harry did a lot of Star Wars things when he was General Chaos. It's only natural that he took it to the next step.

"By 'not real'," said Professor Monroe, "my student meant that 'Darth Vader' is a fictional character. Like Supermare."

"Oooohhh," said the dragon with a snap of its fingers that, somehow, manifested a light orb above its head. "So someone was just pretending to be Darth Vader?"

"Precisely."

"Oh," said Spike in a voice that was a mix between relieved and disappointed. "So what are you anyway?"

"Humans," said Professor Monroe. "Now we really must be going. These three are about to get registered."

"Are they as good as Darth Vader?"

"You'll have to wait and see."

"Are they the same age as him?"

"They are close enough to be in the same bracket."

The dragon seemed to focus on Draco. "Well, I hope you're better than Darth Vader. Somepony needs to teach him a lesson."

"I'll see what I can do," said Draco neutrally. If it was Harry…

"And make sure you choose a good name." The dragon turned and began walking away. "You'll be stuck with it for a while," it said over its shoulder.

When it was gone...

"Should I even ask what that was about?"

"No you should not," said Monroe. "If you're going to be my pupil, you should not ask questions you don't need to ask. My time is short enough as it is."

Draco tapped his cheek with a finger. "Harry caused a fuss?"

Monroe grinned. "Much better. But again, if you're going to be my pupil, you shall also have to deduce such things on your own, and attempt to disprove your own conclusions. Now that much of Magical Britain has been introduced to the character, it is no longer guaranteed that Mr. Potter is responsible. Vader's profile information is publicly available at any kiosk, with some details that might support or falsify your guess. One fact you might find interesting is his age." He turned around. "Come. Your father should be done with your form by now."

Draco followed the Defense Professor, occasionally glancing at the bustling crowd that was giving them a very wide berth.

After signing up, he was given a Circus armband that, among other things, allowed him to return the borrowed language necklace while still understanding the new creatures around him.

Not being a complete idiot, Draco asked if he and Vincent and Gregory could observe a few battles before their own first fights, because Professor Monroe warned them that it would be different from the armies.

Draco learned what that meant pretty quickly – free-for-all, shrinking arena, but still a 'stunmatch'.

He also realized that, assuming he and Vincent and Gregory got placed in the same game, they might actually stand a chance long enough to reach the end. They just needed to coordinate their location beforehand. The battlefield cycled through a list of 'maps' – different kinds of battle arenas – so they went through each one and jotted down notable landmarks where they would meet up.

The only problem is that 'teaming' is publicly frowned upon in free-for-alls unless certain conditions are met. Draco was hoping he could meet one of those conditions, for he knew the importance of public image. Professor Monroe mentioned that an experienced player is currently going around 'teaming' with completely new players for the fun of it. So long as she doesn't win herself, it's seen as a 'kind' thing to help a 'newbie' to their first win.

Since Draco and Vincent and Gregory were all 'newbies', he hoped that ponies wouldn't mind if they teamed up for their first few battles. He knew they wouldn't mind if the team-up resulted in the defeat of 'Darth Vader'.

But when they actually did make it through their first fight, Draco suddenly wondered if that reasoning had been valid. With Gregory at his side (Vincent must have gotten stunned before he could reach the meeting point), it was pitifully easy to make it to the final three. 'Teaming' is frowned upon for a reason. And if the third contestant isn't 'Vader'…

Draco breathed a small sigh of relief when he heard the breathing. Then the relief vanished when he saw the blue shield. He hadn't gotten all the details of Vader's first appearance or tactics; he'd only read Vader's profile. He hadn't asked around for more information, partly because it would have meant interacting with ponies, which had been a discomforting prospect, and he was suddenly regretting that he'd allowed such a trivial emotion to cost him an important advantage. Though he had at least concluded that Vader's not Harry, because Harry isn't thirteen years old; he's not even twelve, though he will be in a few days.

Draco and Gregory were already leveling their wands on their opponent, wasting no strength as yet. They would probably have to coordinate a dual cast of the shield-breaker to get through that Protego. On the plus side, 'Vader' seemed to be handicapping himself by using the Charm of the Most Ancient Blade. Coloured red, of course.

"Teaming?" asked a deep, voice-charmed voice. "Pitiful."

Gregory collapsed.

Draco's eyes widened, and he threw up a prismatic barrier. "Are you alright, Mr. Goyle?" he asked without taking his eyes off of his opponent, but after a stretch of silence, out of the corner of his eye he saw Gregory's body disappear in teleportation – a sign that he was out of the fight.

Draco's eyes settled firmly on 'Vader'. "What did you do?"

The mask was unreadable. "I put an end to your cowardly tactic. Think you will survive without your pathetic partnership?"

There was a brief pause as Draco thought of his options. He was fairly certain that 'Vader' would beat him in any kind of fight, fair or unfair. The thought occurred to him to stall, but to what end? There was only one avenue he saw that might give him an advantage…

"You DO realize that spell is illegal, right?"

(The many watching ponies gasped at this question. It did not help when Vader replied with…)

"We are not on our home planet, are we?"

Draco hadn't been expecting that, but…

"Hm… good point." He then cast the spell himself, in the colour of Slytherin and Skywalker. Even if another wizard saw this later, it's not illegal for him to use since he is born of a Noble and Most Ancient House.

If 'Vader' agrees to an honourable blade fight, that's the only way Draco can see himself winning. His father had given him a small amount of training with the charm, and that training was currently his only hope-

"It is useless to resist," said 'Vader'. "Don't let yourself be destroyed, as Crabbe and Goyle did."

And then he felt his wand yanked from his grip. He knew how to grip his wand properly, and the blade charm allows you to grip it more firmly than usual because finger position doesn't matter after you've cast it, but the wand was still pulled from his grasp, falling to the grass between them.

"There is no escape," said 'Vader', placing himself in swiping range of the wand before Draco could make a grab for it. "Don't make me destroy you. You have only begun to realize your importance. You have only begun to discover your power. Join me, and I will complete your training. With our combined strength we can end this destructive conflict and bring order to the universe."

It was only halfway through that Draco understood what was going on. Should he play along? The scene was still fresh in his mind.

Well…

Why not? He basically lost already. Why not have some fun?

"No!" Draco shouted. "I'll never join you! You killed my mother!"

It went something like that, right? He knew it was supposed to be 'father', but he wasn't a professional actor, so he went with a line that he could actually put some genuine emotion behind. He wondered what this 'Vader' would do with the slightly adjusted script.

His faceless opponent shook his head. "No," said a deep, male voice. "I am your mother."

Er… well, if he's taking it this far…

"NO!" Draco shouted, louder this time, and seemingly afraid. "That's impossible!"

"Look deep inside yourself. You know it to be true."

It was too much. Draco burst into laughter, hunching all the way over at what had just been said. He had no idea how his opponent had said that with a calm, straight voice.

Then he heard the Charm of the Most Ancient Blade dissipate, and he looked up in time to watch it be re-cast.

In the lethal setting.

"A lost hand will cure your insolence," said 'Vader'. "Here." He kicked Draco's wand forward. "Have a chance to defend yourself. It will not matter in the end. I will show you the true power of the Dark Side."

"You're bluffing," Draco said flatly after picking up his wand. "Lethal spells are against the rules."

"Unless certain conditions are met," said Vader in reply. "Including mutual consent."

"Well, I don't consent," said Draco. He was not going to lose a hand, or any other body part, just for some silly game.

"Have it your way," said Vader, his red blade disappearing. "Coward."

That word was the last thing Draco heard. The next thing he knew, he was staring at a screen that said '2nd!' in bold silver letters, along with some other information, and when he looked away from the screen, he saw that he was in a room with Vincent and Gregory and a bunch of ponies.

"How did he do that?" he asked Vincent and Gregory.

"Couldn't tell," said Vincent. He was currently about halfway to 'minion' mode, sacrificing looming and scowling for a status report. "I was watchin' as close as I could, but he didn't even point his other wand at ya. Or Greg."

"Think he's cheating?" asked Gregory. "Some kind of device?"

Before Draco could fully process the 'other wand' line…

"No," a nearby pony joined in on the conversation. "No cheating in Circus. Especially outside magic."

It would be Draco's first time talking to a pony. He did his diplomatic best to act as if he were just talking to any other wizard, following Professor Monroe's example from earlier. "What do you mean?" he asked politely.

"Um…" said the pony. "It's hard to explain…"

"Give me the one-sentence version."

The pony's eyebrows scrunched in thought. "Okay… I guess you could say Circus is the tent."

"The tent?"

"Yeah. The tent. This place." The pony waved a hoof around him. "It's got a mind of its own, and it's in control of… well… everything. The battles, the teleports, the screens. And whenever somepony tries to cheat, Circus knows. Well, most of the time. And when Circus doesn't know, it figures out pretty fast. So… yeah."

Like a more hands-on Hogwarts, Draco decided. "'Circus' would know if Vader was cheating?"

"Definitely," the pony confirmed with confidence. "You're always allowed to bend the rules, at least until the rules change. But you can't break them. No outside enchantments is a pretty big one, except when Circus decides to allow them."

"And this isn't one of those exceptions, is it?"

The pony shook its head.

Draco considered the problem for a moment. Then he realized he might not have to. "Do you have any idea what Vader was doing?"

"Um… to be honest, you probably know more about wand magic than I do. It just looked like hornless magic to me."

"Hornless magic?"

"Yeah. Like, the magic comes out through your eyes, or a hoof, instead of your horn. I don't know much about it, though. I heard it's really hard to do. Is it easier for… um… your... uh..."

"We're humans," Draco supplied. "And I wouldn't know if wandless magic is easier or harder for us, but I do know that learning it at 13 is ridiculous. It's got to be some kind of trick. You said he has a second wand, Vincent?"

The boy nodded. "That's how he got me before I could meet up with you."

There was some back and forth for a while on what could have happened. A few ponies (who were probably just curious about the new species on the alley) helpfully supplied a few details. There were conflicting memories and accounts, but everyone was certain that Vader cast a green shield breaker against someone called 'Madam Chaos' without speaking an incantation. Everyone was also certain that Vader could move things just by pointing his wand at them – typically Vader moved things towards himself, into the path of his red blade. And although Vader has caused some 'spontaneous fainting', he does it very sparingly, so no'pony' knows how he's doing it.

"Is it possible he charmed his mask to mute the incantations?" Draco asked. "It's not like we can see his lips."

"He'd have to do the charm after the fight started," said a pony.

"I never saw him do anything like that," said another. "And I re-watched the first battle from his perspective, start to finish."

Draco inquired into this, was given an explanation, and immediately went about gathering some proper evidence now that he knew he could. After a vocal request to the bare air, which did indeed produce what the pony said it would, he synced up two perspectives, his and Vader's, watched them side-by-side, and focused on one moment.

"I was wonderin' about that," said Vincent. "Why'd ya drop yer wand, boss?"

"I didn't. It was pulled. And he wasn't pointing either of his wands at the time."

"So… hornless magic?" asked a pony onlooker.

"Wandless magic," Draco nodded. "Or some other trick. I think we have a chance if there's three of us. Think you can avoid Vader next time, Vincent? Just run if you see him?"

"I'll do my best, boss," said Vincent.

"Um… you know teaming is wrong in a free-for-all, right?" asked a pegasus pony.

"I know," said Draco. "But it's not against the rules. We're only doing it to beat Vader. Want to help?"

The pegasus blinked. "How can I help? I can't even break a normal shield."

"Can you cast a magic-canceling spell?"

"Um… yes…"

Draco's voice projected confidence and leadership. "Then you can help. Although to be honest, we'll probably need more than four of us…"

Word quickly spread throughout the 'loser's lobby' about Draco's proposed plan: if you see Vader in the battle (you can check the names of all the contestants at any time during a match, a fact Draco hadn't known before), try not to do any fighting until the greatest threat is vanquished.

If everybody does it spontaneously, for the sake of defeating exactly one opponent, it's not teaming, right?

Chapter 64: All Fun and Games

The trickle of humans into Circus's domain didn't stop at four, and it didn't stick to the same age group.

Sure, the next two humans – a messy black-maned male who chose the alias Azathoth and a frizzy brown-maned female who chose the alias Belle – were ages "11" and "12" respectively (Azathoth went from "11" to "12" not two days after his registration), fitting them in the same age group as Darth Vader and Light and Mogi and Matt.

Azathoth and Belle were among the ranks of the few Circus contenders with quotation marks around their age. Not everypony knows the reason behind those marks; indeed, most don't. There's a general tendency for unusually powerful players to have quoted ages, but beyond that, those not in the know simply assume Circus is messing with everyequus by presenting a random, unsolvable mystery. Those who were in the know, however, were shocked and worried about how young the two humans must have been when they first started twisting Time, and if it had been a responsible decision by the magical authorities involved.

After those two, three adult humans joined next. They looked like Light, Mogi, and Matt, and called themselves 'Lustre', 'Don', and 'Twitch' respectively. They were incredibly skilled, both in magic and in guerilla tactics – a particularly good strategy in Circus games – and while they didn't quite engage in 'teaming', they would often avoid fighting each other unless they were the last players in the match, which happened in more than one of their placement games.

A human young enough to be placed below Vader and the rest also joined; they called themselves Enigma, wore a blank mask and body suit, and used a voice charm that prevented anyone from knowing if they were male or female. They weren't especially powerful, as most humans weren't when compared to unicorns. They stuck to a few basic spells, their aim and spellcasting speed weren't great, and they were physically clumsy, often tripping over their own two feet. But they had good 'game sense', compensating for their shortcomings with good positioning, timing, tactical retreats, and surprise attacks.

The fans and analysts who examined newcomers and evaluated abilities (often for the sake of betting, though you weren't allowed to bet real bits in Circus, only tickets) widely agreed on a few things.

1) Enigma is a natural, if weak.
2) Belle the opposite: strong, but not a natural, having no game sense.
3) Azathoth has strength and game sense both.
4) The trio of adult human stallions, while powerful and skilled, lack creativity and flexibility, often falling back on the same tactics and spells. They probably have martial training, which often translates to high-tier contenders, but not top tier contenders, at least in the free-for-all category. Analysts agreed that they'd probably do better in group battles.

But the thing on everyequus's mind was the missing villain. It had been about a week since the last appearance of Darth Vader, and some were beginning to wonder if Vader had outright quit.

The truth was that Vader was simply biding his time. And colluding with Circus. Normally, collusion and manipulation isn't Chaotic at all. But collusion can be chaotic if you're trying to arrange for the outcome to be unpredictable.

It also helps that Vader's goal is to lose despite going all out. The purpose of the collusion is to wait until just the right people and ponies queue for the same match – a collection of minds and talents that might be able to beat him, even if he uses a certain overpowered spell he recently learned…

"Petrificus Totalus," said Darth Vader at his first victim, since elimination was not his goal. And then, with a gesture and a force of will, "Imperio."

Slave #1 acquired.

In order to first cast the Imperius, according to his mentor, you must know that you know better. You are right, you are smart, you know what's best, and the lesser being you are commanding is nothing without your instruction.

This wasn't a particularly difficult mindset for Harry to enter. Nor was it difficult for two combatants to overcome one.

"Petrificus Totalus. Imperio."

Slave #2 acquired.

Harry has no idea what might be capable of stopping this strategy now that the snowball has started rolling downhill, but he's looking forward to the results of Circus's patience.

Although that isn't to say he won't have his own ace up his sleeve…

"Imperio," he said once he encountered his future self at the location he'd envisioned in advance. His future self had given a valiant, if faked effort to escape. "You are my sleeper agent…" he said for the sake of the watching audience. "When it is time, you are my mastermind. Understand?"

"Yessss, my servant," Azathoth hissed in a dry, cracking voice.

"Before then, you show no hints."

"Got it," said Azathoth in a normal, conversational tone.

The two humans went their separate ways, one cloaked in a black cowl and cape, the other wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

"Vader's fighting this one," said 'Light' from behind his shield, staring down a powerful pony contender. "Check the scoreboard if you don't believe me."

There was a pause.

"Truce until he's beat?"

"Truce," agreed 'Madam Chaos'.

"All hail the Emperor," chanted twenty ponies, one Griffon, and four Changelings, all marching in lockstep.

In the beginning, most ponies had stayed and fought.

"Good," said Darth Vader from upon the back of his sturdiest Earth Pony slave. "Again."

As the army grew, ponies hesitated, and that hesitation led to their assimilation.

"All hail the Emperor," they chanted, still marching toward the current geographical centre of the battlefield.

At this point, contestants were fleeing the army on sight, and it would have been a waste of effort to give chase; not to mention strategically unwise.

"Again."

It was wisest to control the central position of the battlefield so that others are forced towards him.

"All hail the Emperor."

The watching audience was horrified whenever Circus focused the monitors on Vader's antics.

"My master will be pleased," said 'Darth Vader'.

But all was not lost. Hope arose whenever Circus focused the monitors on the growing resistance, which seemed to be led by the human 'Light' and the pony 'Madam Chaos'. They had powerful allies – including four other humans in their age group, a dragon, and five unicorns, three of whom were skilled players currently 'slumming it'.

The dragon was their ace in the hole, but would it be enough?

The advantage of dragon biology, as Twilight Sparkle carefully discovered and detailed many years ago, is that magic cannot easily pass through their scales, thus protecting them from most arcane offenses, like a constantly-active Protego.

The disadvantage of dragon biology is also that magic cannot easily pass through their scales, thus preventing them from using unicorn helmets and wands. The safest way dragons could render their opponents unconscious in the past was a chokehold.

Only after the nature of dragon fire was slowly unraveled (by the joint efforts of the Mistress of Magic, the Master Fool, Spike, and Discord) did dragons begin to contend in these kinds of battles.

Dragon breath was how dragons manifested magic outside their bodies. From mailbox magic (an embarrassing start to the field of study) to slumber smoke (the first truly useful magical breath that dragons actively wanted to learn), dragon magic has come a long way.

With a dragon on their side – one capable of flight, no less – 'Light' and 'Madam Chaos' sought to sedate the slave army in one fell swoop. The plan was to provide a distraction, during which the dragon 'Arson' would fly overhead and smoke the entire army. The problem is that the amount of smoke required would deplete 'Arson' for a while.

Dragon magic is not directly limited by strength or quantity of magic, but by the fuel inside a dragon's body. Their inner furnaces take time and magic and calories to create ready-to-burn fuel. If Arson tries to hit the whole army in one blast of slumber smoke, he'll deplete all of his reserves and be effectively magic-less until his body makes more fuel.

The most difficult part of these games, from a dragon's perspective, is stamina. Not physical, but magical (although some particularly gluttonous dragons have trouble on the physical side too; the very biggest dragons tend not to participate at all, as they're just magnets for massed spellfire).

Dragons will win a one-on-one fight almost every time if they have a full tank of fire, but if they run out, the only way to beat opponents is to basically tackle them and blow tiny amounts of slumber-smoke directly into their enemy's nostrils, and at that point it's much easier to hit the dragon point-blank in the eye/open mouth with a stunner, or use a wind spell to blow the sleep-smoke back into their own snouts.

In short, Arson's blanketing smoke attack will be one-and-done.

"You're putting all your eggs in one basket," observed Azathoth. "What's the backup plan?"

"The primary plan is to mass finite-stun Vader," said Light. "So long as he loses, we win. Arson is just going to make that plan easier."

"And how do we distract Vader from Arson so we get that chance?" asked Azathoth. "He's always at the center of the arena and his minions; we'll get stunned if we force an engagement."

"I won't get stunned," said 'Madam Chaos', her blue shield glowing brightly. "I'll do the distraction. I've got something to say to him anyway."

The plan was decent, Azathoth had to admit. It would be a shame if Vader saw it coming due to a traitor in their midst.

"I'll go with you," said Azathoth, his own shield glowing. "I've got something to say to Vader too. Oh, and Light, can you stick around after the match?"

Light nodded easily, and then the distraction party went on their way.

She. Was. Furious.

She stared helplessly at the traitor who helped to break her shield from behind, her body frozen in petrification, though not unconsciousness. Why had he he done that?!

"All hail the Emperor," chanted the mind-controlled ponies and Changelings and Griffon.

"Again," said Vader. "The full version this time."

"All hail Emperor Azathoth," chanted the army of enslaved equinoids.

'Vader' knelt before the black-haired boy.

WHAT?!

Vader spoke without lifting his head. "A third of the contestants are ours, my Lord."

"Well done, my servant," said the boy in a dry, cracking, evil voice. "Now conquer the rest. Be warned, they intend to use a dragon to smoke us out. Have your slaves cast bubble-head charms, or air buck away if they cannot."

"Yes, my lord. You will all do as he says."

"Yes, Lord Vader," chorused the slaves.

Vader, still kneeling, asked, "Do we go for the kill, my lord, or the empire?"

"Must you ask pointless questions?" hissed the evil boy.

"No, my lord." Vader turned to face his army. "You will petrify, not stun. If you cannot petrify, you will conjure ropes. If you cannot conjure ropes, you will wrench their helmets from their heads by any means necessary. By hoof, even. You will not stun them out of the match. My lord will have his empire."

"Yes, Lord Vader," chorused the slaves.

"And now," said Azathoth, turning to face Madam Chaos. "You think you are the only ones who can team, little pony? We will show you the true power of unity." He gestured his head. "Vader."

Vader strode forward, leveled his wand, dropped his blue shield- but why? His own spells should be able to- and then he said, "Imperio."

Oh. That's why. A spell that can't pass through a Protego, even your own.

She felt the foreign presence enter her mind, try to occupy the place in her brain that houses her parents, try to subvert them with itself, try to become her god.

With a force of individualism, she firmly, utterly rejected the influence. This wasn't her first time doing it, and it was easier than she was used to. And thankfully, the caster isn't reliably informed when the spell fails. It's one of the biggest risks of using it. She even knew how to look like it worked, letting her eyes become admiring, her expression brightening and slacking like a starry-eyed foal.

"Finite Incantatum." Her body unlocked. "Join the others," ordered Vader, turning his back on her and bringing his wand to the starting position of the spell that would re-establish his shield.

She fired a stunner at him before he did, then air-bucked as hard as she could. If the evil boy hadn't had his own shields already raised, she would have stunned them both, but she had to settle for one.

She smiled upon hearing the evil boy's furious shout as she soared away.

Harry stroked his Vader outfit fondly. "You will be missed," he said dearly. Then he put it into Circus's magical storage for what would probably be the last time.

Now to go back in time, play the part of the traitor, and see what the heck had gotten him. Was it a long-range snipe? Or had that pony resisted his Imperius? Only one way to find out.

A perfectly cast Imperius does not wear off when its caster is stunned. Since Harry is nowhere near that level yet, it's a good thing 'Vader' designated an authority figure in advance of his own fainting right in front of them. The mind slaves have to believe their god is still with them.

"You were told to do as I say," said Azathoth to the army, now that his past self was out of the game.

"Yes, Emperor Azathoth!" chorused the crowd of equines wearing the invisible collars of trust in his authority.

"You will follow me to victory."

"Yes, Emperor Azathoth!"

"Quarter has become pointless," said Azathoth. "We shoot to kill. Our enemies shall be slaughtered."

"Yes, Emperor Azathoth!"

(Members of the audience, unbeknownst to the players, began demanding that the match be ended prematurely.)

"Metaphorically," Azathoth added. "Not literally, of course. We shall stun our way to victory!"

"Yes, Emperor Azathoth!"

("See?" Circus asked from next to the screen being watched by the widest audience. "He's a good boy. The match goes on!")

A chime indicated that the geographical center of the map had shifted, and the arena was about to shrink again.

"Check the map and march!"

Thankfully, Belle knew the spell to undo the Imperius. The light side could rest easy in the certain knowledge that Madam Chaos hadn't been turned traitor, and that her tale was true.

The plan to use Arson to carpet-sleep-smoke the army was put on hold now that the enemy was expecting it, because Madam Chaos had reported that Azathoth had been a traitor for Vader.

Light and Belle had both rolled their eyes and said, "Of course".

When she mentioned that the boy might be the mastermind, since Vader was kneeling and all…

"Hm…" said Light. He shared a glance with Belle, and they both nodded.

"Ignore it," said Belle.

"He's just trying to confuse us," Light added. "On that note, I just had a good idea. Miss Belle, do you think you can cast that spell mid-battle, or is it too magic-intensive?"

"Not especially," she shook her head. "It just takes precision."

Light nodded. "Then how about this for a plan…"

The final confrontation was… messy.

Especially because Light's plan was effective. De-Imperiusing ponies had the nigh-magical result of immediately manifesting traitors within the enemy ranks. Who'd have thought?

Those traitors weren't on the up-and-up, so their actions couldn't be coordinated. At best they would stun a different mind-captured minion before going down themselves.

It started as an eleven-on-twenty-six. With the help of a well-timed dragon, it eventually dwindled to a one-on-one. Belle had sacrificed herself to free the last slave, who had dropped shields to fire a stunner at her. When the slave was free, Azathoth was left with no choice but to shoot the last of his own army, leaving just him and Madam Chaos as the final combatants.

"So," said Madam Chaos. "Do you know you're evil, or do you lie to yourself?"

The boy grinned evilly. "You'll have to watch the logs to figure that one out, my little pony."

Learning from Light and Belle's example, she ignored the confusing statement and launched her offensive.

They fought.

They vied.

They schemed and tried to outmaneuver, but neither could win that way.

So in the end, it came down to a direct, one-on-one duel.

And since Azathoth did not have free reign to use all of the magical dueling tricks in his arsenal, preferring to keep many of his capabilities private, especially his elder wand...

"Winner, winner, lettuce dinner!" said the screens to the enraptured audience.

There was some applause, but it was not widespread. The audience had been hoping against hope that Madam Chaos would realize Azathoth was a victim too; the third victim to Vader's mind-control spell. They had been hoping that, somehow, the poor human would be freed in the end.

Circus reassured the watchers multiple times that the mind-control spell would end the moment a pony was teleported from the battlefield, and that there were no lasting effects, but still. If anypony was smart enough to guess what Vader did to the boy, it should have been Madam Chaos. But she didn't.

It was a bitter-sweet conclusion. A happy ending tinged with sadness at the imperfection of the world.

As sometimes happened after significant battles, or after enough complaints, Prince Excelsior made a personal appearance in the aftermath to give an appeasing afterword.

"I would like everyone to please remember that it is just a game," he said. "And in fact, I would like to take this opportunity to thank Vader for harmlessly introducing wizard mind-control to Equestria. I always encourage combatants to exploit their advantages, and I certainly do not slight Vader for exploiting that one. Members of the reserves, I ask you to implement battle precepts eight and ten. I hope the Imperius strategy is adopted as widely as possible. Humans have access to a number of mind-affecting magics that it would be wise for us to learn how to defend against. The more ponies who learn self-defense, the better." He stepped aside to reveal the most recent battle's victor. "Would you like to explain how it's done, Madam?"

The filly smiled widely at the stallion, then stepped forward. This wasn't her first time giving a speech like this. Just view yourself as a vessel for the good news, don't be self-conscious, and most importantly…

"Be yourself," she said to the watchers and listeners inside Circus, and across the nation of Equestria, and beyond. "I mean really, truly, deeply be yourself. Be yourself and nopony else. Mind control works by worming its way into your brain and pretending to be whatever you admire most – your parents, your idol, your favorite princess, your teachers. If you don't have true self-esteem, or at least self-knowledge, you just become a slave to somepony else. That's true in real life too, so of course it's true in magic. As the old saying goes, everypony knows mind control doesn't work on ponies who think. Just be yourself as much as possible, know who you are, know who you love, and you'll know that the thing that's invading your mind isn't really trustworthy." She paused. "There's a fancy term for this… but I don't remember…"

"Would you like me to explain that term?" asked the prince standing next to her.

"Yes, please."

"The technical term," said Prince Excelsior, "for the adults out there, is individuation. To be free of compulsion from others within your own mind. To be your own individual gives you resistance to orders from authority, magically reinforced or otherwise. You don't even need magic of your own to resist the Imperius, as a certain cow once proved to me in private. You only need to have a truly independent mind." He looked to Madam Chaos. "Go on."

Madam Chaos smiled at him, then looked back out in the direction that would have her looking at ponies through the screens. "If you reach individuation, you can beat mind control. Resisting authority pressure is way more difficult than resisting peer pressure, by the way, so… don't be upset if you fall victim to the spell for a while. Just keep at it, and if you get stuck, ask for help from somepony who can resist."

"Or from a good talk therapist," said Prince Excelsior.

"Or that," said Madam Chaos. She finished with a wing salute and a friendly smile. "For Chaos!"

"For Chaos!" cheered her cult following, including Circus.

Circus loves self-sufficiency and self-empowerment. Powerful, conflicting free wills are literally the most chaotic things in the universe. Without that, everything is mathematically regular and predictable.

Circus always does everything they can to support a pony's ability to carry out their free will, which often means helping ponies grow to be more than they currently are. Circus especially encourages mental growth; intelligent beings trying to out-scheme each other is, again, one of the most Chaotic things there is.

"So," said Draco in a room that was not the loser's lobby. It was a bit more private. He sat across from Harry, who stared back at him. "Who's Vader?"

Harry shrugged. "I can neither confirm nor deny that I know their identity," he said easily. "You did see what I asked Circus to show to the loser lobby, right?"

When confronted by all the angry faces and righteous indignation about his betrayal, Harry had loudly and vocally said, "Circus, can you show what happened in the early stage of the fight?"

Seeing Vader Imperius Azathoth and give those instructions had caused the ponies to immediately flip to sympathy. Many apologized for jumping to conclusions, which Harry denied again and said that he could neither confirm nor deny that he had actually been placed under the Imperius. From the outside, there's no 100% guaranteed way to tell that someone is under the Imperius.

This just confused everyone.

"So… you're a real traitor after all?" asked a pony who was quicker on the uptake.

Harry had grinned, and said that when it comes to humans, ponies should always keep the potential for lies and deceit and betrayal in mind. Around 2% of all humans are unrepentant sociopaths/psychopaths – drastically higher than the essentially nonexistent percentage among Equestrians – so caution is the lesson of the day. Don't always trust what people say. Trust most what they do and how they behave.

"The most relevant predictor for future behavior," Madam Chaos had said into the confused silence, "is relevant past behavior."

"Exactly," Harry had said.

That was when a pony pointed out that Harry did betray them, and right now he's behaving in an evasive manner.

Harry had then cast his bright Patronus Charm – it still shocked Draco to see it – and said that this is one of the few actions that can't be easily faked.

Even if he had done the betrayal of his own free will, his Patronus said, you guys teamed first, so you don't get to complain that Vader did his own kind of teaming, and you don't get to complain that Vader tried to subvert your efforts. Besides, in a free-for-all game with only one winner, betrayal is kind of the whole point of the game, if anypony is stupid or clever enough to team up in the first place.

Draco had heard all that, but he still wanted to know who Vader really was, and said so.

Harry shrugged. "You'll probably be able to figure it out for yourself soon enough. That's why we're here, actually."

Draco frowned. "We're here so I can figure out Vader's identity?"

"No. Sorry, let me rephrase. We're here to start your tutoring, and once your lessons get far enough, then you'll be able to figure out who Vader is."

"Start my tutoring? Didn't we start a long time ago?"

"Your magical tutoring," Harry emphasized. "Professor Monroe tutored me, now I'm tutoring you."

Draco blinked. "Oh," he said, trying not to sound disappointed. He thought Monroe would be tutoring him personally. "Alright."

"I know what you're thinking," said Harry, "but Professor Monroe thinks this will be faster than if he tutors you directly. There was a pony study about efficient learning practices, and a surprising aspect was on resource efficiency. In one experiment, a teacher gave every age group the same assignment. The teacher only taught the oldest students how to do the assignment. The younger students begged the older students to be taught, and the older students who had the knack for it taught the younger students, and somehow that model resulted in better and more effective knowledge retention than anything other than one-on-one tutoring for every single student. It's a good candidate model for how children learned in the ancestral environment, but obviously that's just a guess. Anyway, Professor Monroe is doing it this way to help me solidify my own knowledge and to help you learn as fast as possible. And yes, because he's busy. He's been too busy for my lessons lately."

"Knowing all that doesn't change that I feel led on."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe you'll change your mind after your first lesson."

"Which is?"

"Wandless magic, of course."

Draco thought Harry had been joking.

Harry hadn't been joking.

Draco was to begin practicing ambidextrous wandwork, and he was to speak with Harry again when he had a good guess for how this related to wandless magic. And he was to use… a Time Turner… to find the time to practice…

"Harry…" said Draco when he understood what a Time Turner was, which itself took a while, "are you Darth Vader?"

Harry grinned widely. "Until you become an Occlumens, I can neither confirm nor deny that I like to have harmless fun, my apprentice. How close are you to putting up a block?"

Draco stated that he'd probably be able to put up a block before school started up again.

"Excellent," said Harry with an evil grin. "Let's look forward to that day. And prepare yourself for a number of shocks."

Draco resigned himself to the inevitable and got to work. Ambidextrous casting, he quickly discovered, is weird.

Author's Note

Minor note about the Imperius: its precise mechanics weren't fully described in MoR. We know it can set off wards and can be stripped by Thief's Downfall. We know that "powerful wizards aren't so easy to Imperius". And if it can be used as an excuse by the Death Eaters, it's probably difficult to detect when it's active. But beyond that, we don't have many hard details of how and why it functions.

What I'm getting at is that my explanation of the Imperius being the magical embodiment of the Milgram Experiment isn't canon HPMoR. It's canon-plausible, I think, but I obviously went with this particular idea for narrative reasons, not because it's the most likely way the Imperius works in HPMoR.

Rehabilitation 11.1: Master Fool

"Sister," said Luna at breakfast later that morning, after their long conversation had finally come to an end. "My fool helped me remember something that slipped my mind for the longest time. Do you know what happened to my old master? I think I'd like to visit his resting place."

Celestia looked at her sister in some surprise. "It is the same as it has always been. He is still there, resting the days away as always."

"He… he is still alive?"

"I believe so," said Celestia. "He was still alive as of ten years ago. I suspect he is ageless like us."

Luna set out to meet him the very next night, since she had no petitions. Being scheduled to work that night, Riddle accompanied her.

For the first time in decades, Riddle allowed himself to be magically transported by another being. He knew neither where they had gone, nor how far. The Floo System was the only time, in the past, that he hinged his traveling safety upon the competence of other wizards, and he silently realized that he has come to trust Luna more than he trusted Bellatrix Black.

The closest he came to speaking his thoughts aloud was to ask, "How far was that teleportation?"

"Far enough that we are in dragon territory," Luna replied in a cautioning tone. "And dragons are very territorial. Their territory is their property, after all – carved out by where they hunt and what they can defend. Theoretically the two of us could have flown here, but two powerful ponies flying over dragon land uninvited might be taken poorly."

"If dragons are so territorial, I'm surprised they even allow ponies in their lands," said Riddle as they walked towards a destination unknown to him.

"To visit and flyover," said Luna. "Just like we allow them in our lands to visit and flyover. Not all dragons have taken this understanding to heart, but most have."

"And yet your master lives here," Riddle observed. "A pony achieved the territorial respect of dragons?" He could have done the same, if he cared to, but...

"My master easily achieved draconic respect," Luna said with a smile. "But whoever said he was a pony?"

They walked in silence for a while.

Without warning, a booming voice rumbled from all around them. Riddle could tell it was magically amplified. "What is the beauty of life?"

"Honesty, my master," said Luna automatically, her own voice amplified in the royal Canterlot voice.

"Honesty?" repeated the voice, sounding confused, and no longer so loud. "I haven't heard that answer for… and I've not let anyone call me a master since…"

The voice trailed off into silence.

By magic utterly undetectable to Riddle, the mouth of a massive cave appeared before them, attached to an even bigger mountain that hadn't been there before.

"Selena?" asked a normal, if ancient voice. "That you?"

Luna began walking forward without hesitation.

Riddle didn't follow. "Should I stay outside?"

Luna looked back. "Don't worry. He knows you are here, and that's an invitation if I have ever seen one. Do you wish to stay outside?"

Riddle took a moment to consider. Once he'd inferred 'dragon', his mind had jettisoned 'powerful spellcaster' from the threat evaluation. And Luna's morality mentor would not be a dangerous entity, he had reasoned earlier. Now that new information is forcing him to recalibrate…

Riddle forced himself to walk forward anyway. If there's a magically powerful dark horse on this planet, it's in his interest to know.

Luna led the way, but they didn't walk far. The cave wasn't very deep, and the creature within took up much of the existing space. Big, pale, and bespectacled, the ancient dragon was practically made of wrinkles – wrinkles that were fully visible because, if once the dragon had scales, it no longer does.

Riddle wasn't overly familiar with Equestrian dragon anatomy, but even ignoring the obvious dearth of dragonhide, he thought dragons were supposed to have a protruding spine extending from their head, down their back, to the tip of their tail. There were no visible spines on this creature.

Blue eyes focused on Riddle for a moment, an intense stare of examination. Then the orbs looked to Luna and softened significantly.

"Selena!" exclaimed the dragon. "Wonderful to see you again." Luna walked forward and pressed her side to the massive creature, a hug of some kind. "I was half afraid I never would, after I heard," he said, his tail wrapping around her.

After a brief 'moment', Luna stepped well back so that she could actually address him face-to-face. "As was I," said Luna. "But the Nightmare is over."

"Good, good," the ancient dragon nodded sagely. "And what did you learn?"

"To speak to my sister immediately," Luna said. "Before resentment can be allowed to build."

"What else?"

"To respect that ponies are self-interested, and that if my court has a high rate of failure, it is only natural for ponies to flock to my sister's. Especially when they do not know what to expect from mine, given that I kept them private."

The dragon stroked its long, thin beard. "Anything else?"

"To remember to speak with you, of course, though that thought might have been sabotaged from my mind. Least importantly, I have learned to not always take seriously every voice in my head. Because sometimes it is not a true inner-voice. Sometimes it's a servant of Sombra that some even greater fool than myself must come along and defeat."

The dragon had been nodding along until that last point. "He the fool?" he asked with a flick of his snout in Riddle's direction.

"The royal fool," Riddle acknowledged.

"How much of one?" the dragon asked Luna.

"I am teaching him everything I know."

"Ah, that's just perfect!" said the dragon with a smile. "The master fool, the apprentice fool, and the royal fool. Glad hear it. You married? Got kids?"

Riddle was unsure if it meant to each other, or in general, but the question had been directed at him. "No," he replied to both interpretations.

"Do ya plan to?"

"No."

The dragon sighed. "Well I guess you'll stay a fool then, just like me. Still looking, Selena?"

"Patiently, as always."

"A luxury most can't afford," said the dragon. "But if you're not doomed to being forever alone, I guess one of three's not bad."

"You still haven't found a mate?" asked Luna.

The great beast sighed. "I've said it before and I'll say it again. I'm just not attracted. Plain and simple."

"Have you tried a love potion?" Riddle suggested.

There was a brief huff of surprised laughter. "I think the term you're looking for is libido potion, lad. And no, I haven't. And no, I won't. Dragons my size are resistant to most potions anyway, unless you brew a hundred times the quantity, and even if I wasn't immune, I'm not looking for a rut, and I'm not looking to lie to myself with magic. I'm looking for a partner, and that means a quality mind and heart, and even though every dragoness who ever lived tries their luck at winning mine, they never have." He gave a massive sigh. "I'm just not cut out for them. Or they aren't cut out for me. Not even after so many generations of improvement."

Riddle's gaze skeptically traced the wrinkled behemoth. "Every dragoness who ever lived?"

"And some of the males, too, now that you mention it," said the dragon thoughtfully. "Not their fault, really. Figured it out after a while. I always wondered why the scales thing didn't disgust 'em outright, but I'm like an overload on their mating senses. The bigger, the older, the stronger, the better, at least for dragons, and I'm all three. If I'm scaleless, that's even more proof. Personality just doesn't factor. On either side of a typical dragon romance. So they don't try to develop their personalities, and that's just a darn shame because personality is the only factor to me."

Riddle focused on one particular part of that answer, wondering if it was true, or…

"My fool is now skeptical that you are the biggest and strongest dragon alive," Luna remarked.

He shot her a glare. "I'm not that predictable."

"Defensive lie," said former Honesty. "Remember, my fool, when you are in a state of nature, your mindset is utterly predictable."

"Scared, is he?" asked the dragon. "Say, Selena. Mind if I talk with him alone for a bit, dragon to stallion? I promise we'll catch up in a bit."

She blinked. "I… suppose?" she agreed. "How long do you need?"

"Don't know," said the dragon, looking at the stallion. "Could be minutes, could be hours. You know how it can go."

She nodded "I do. Can you promise not to vaporize him?"

"No promises," said Riddle at once.

The dragon laughed. "Sensitive to dominance, eh? I promise to respect his free will so long as he respects mine," the dragon said, as if reciting a promise as ancient as he was. He looked at Riddle. "You know what that means?"

"Yes," said Riddle at the same time Luna said "I hope," on her way out

And then there were two.

"So," said the dragon, bringing a claw to its spectacles. "How long ya been on Equus?"

Riddle blinked. "You are asking for my age?"

"Nope," said the dragon. "Ever heard of a human?"

There was a long pause.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl.

"Who's asking?" Riddle eventually asked.

He had the sudden and sinking suspicion that…

"Well, I guess it's rude to ask and not admit," said the dragon. "A former human is asking. So, were ya one?"

…that the Mirror…

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," the dragon said into the silence.

…the Mirror…

"Please don't tell me that everyone and everything who's ever been trapped has ended up here."

The number of horrors sealed by that method numbered in the-

"Oh, Time beyond no!"

Riddle took a breath as time seemed to resume again. "Thank Merlin for that," he muttered.

Now it was the dragon who paused. "Well…" said the beast. "Don't thank me yet. And how'd you know my name, anyway? I never told anyone… at least, I don't think I did… did I ever tell Selena…?"

And if ever there had been a time in Riddle's life where he might have fainted for non-magical reasons, that would have been it.

"A moment, please," said Riddle, taking a will of Occlumency to center himself. "History records your bluntness," he said eventually. "But it's another thing to experience it. Assuming you're not lying about your name, and assuming you're really that Merlin."

If he was, it explained the mountain, the magic, and the power. And the dragon equivalent to pony ascension, if Celestia's guess was right.

"Hrmm… history, eh?" The dragon who claimed to have the name of Merlin wore an incredibly thoughtful look. "Guess that means my Line hasn't broken yet. Or has it?"

A thought occurred to Riddle. And that thought was to be equally blunt in return. And to put mere words to the test.

He withdrew a rod of dark stone from his robes. "Your Line will only break if I can't learn the Patronus Charm," he answered the question.

This time it was the dragon's turn to be surprised. "Well I'll be," said the creature, adjusting its spectacles again. The line flew from his own magical grip to the claws of the dragon against his wishes. The dragon tapped it a few times, then looked up. "Why do you have my Line if you're not my heir or their regent?"

That was the final proof he needed.

"That would be the fault of my twelve-year-old student," said Riddle. "The current inheritor."

"Twelve?" asked Merlin indignantly.

"Who rudely left me here after finding a way to escape. The method did not allow the accompaniment of physical objects, no matter how ancient or important."

Merlin stared in shock for a few seconds. "Did he now?" the dragon eventually inquired. He floated his Line back to Riddle. "If that's true, maybe a twelve-year-old does deserve it. Guess you don't know how he did that if you're still here. 'Cause this dragon would like to know the answer to that millennium-old mystery. Or how she did it, come to think."

"He's male," said Riddle. "And I suspect I do know how he escaped. But I'm not sure I should say it aloud, even to you."

"Good, good," said the dragon, nodding its head.

"Why do you want to know? Do you seek escape yourself, or are you just curious?"

"Pure curiosity," said Merlin. "Won't use the method even if I could. That's a promise and an oath. I tried to figure it out on and off for a long time, but now I won't go back even if I know how."

"Why not?"

"Finally realized the potential consequences, and they're not good. But I'm still curious about the solution. I've got no motivation to solve it, I've given up on the problem. I just want to see if my heir really is worthy of my line. I want to see if you're being honest that a twelve-year-old figured it out when this millennia-old sack of stubbornness didn't."

Riddle considered the circumstances for a while, then decided to accept that.

"Strictly speaking, he's thirteen if you factor… never mind. Are you familiar with the theory that phoenixes came from the mirror?"

"Familiar?" laughed Merlin. "Course I'm familiar. I witnessed it! With my familiar!"

"Ah," said Riddle, briefly reminding himself whom he was addressing. "So I assume you've already tried to phoenix travel back in your own attempts?"

"Yes," said Merlin. "I'm glad I never could."

"Did you fail because your phoenix didn't let you attempt the method?"

"Yes and no," said Merlin. "Depending on the century. She wouldn't let me at first, and then she gave in when I found a good reason, but it didn't work anyway. And now that I know the much better reason to stay, I'm not sure if she'd let me go back, and I haven't asked her to try to take me again anyway."

Riddle nodded in sympathy. "In that case, I may as well ask. Do you know what the Astral Plane is?"

"Yep."

"Can you reach it?"

"'Course."

"Did you ever try to phoenix travel to Earth with the Astral Plane as your starting point?"

The subtle movements of Merlin came to a stark stop. Even his beard seemed frozen in place. "I wish you hadn't told me that."

Once upon a time, his response would have been different. Forceful. Manipulative. Now…

"Go on," said Riddle.

Now he allows others to speak. Sometimes. If he respects them.

A phoenix appeared on the dragon's shoulder and gave an inquisitive croon.

"Because now I've got to choose to stay," sighed the dragon. He turned to look at his phoenix. "Never mind, Archimedes." The bird vanished and did not take the dragon with it. Merlin spoke in a tone that might have been harsh, or might have been grumpy. "Modern wizards don't know a damn thing about secrecy, do they?"

"Oh, I do." Riddle gestured around himself. "I detected your privacy spells, and I know that you, of all wizards, would not threaten the world with anything I tell you. And you did ask. And you did promise." And Riddle can still use Avada Kedavra in self-defense if Merlin made that necessary, though he highly doubted-

"You have too much faith, kid," said the only creature in the world that Riddle would allow to get away with calling him that. "I'm as human as you are. Were. Whatever. I've got temptations too. A lonely heart is a slow killer. I got a great body for it, but I can only sleep so many days away."

Riddle deliberately took a few seconds to trace the massive frame in front of him with his eyes. "Would you even be able to fix that problem by returning to Earth?"

"No." The great beast sighed. "But I can be lonely for home, too, you know."

"Trust me, you wouldn't recognize it. Muggles have become quite the worldwide phenomenon."

The dragon accepted this with a nod. "So," said the dragon, seeming more… alive than it had been ten minutes ago. "Let's talk. Former human to former human."

"Former human?" asked Riddle with amusement in his voice. He performed his animagus transformation. "Why not human to human?"

Merlin's eyes were wide again. Then Merlin asked something that would have taken careful and conscious effort to attempt to translate, so Riddle turned back to a pony.

"Pardon?"

"How did you do that?"

"Animagus transfiguration."

"Ani-what now?"

Riddle tilted his head. "Ah, yes. I believe Morgana Le Fay was the first animagus in recorded history." Riddle gave an ironic smile. "I presume she never taught it to you. Did you at least know she could become an animal?"

Merlin stroked his long beard. "Had no idea. But now that I think about it… was she a black cat, by any chance?"

"She was."

"Oh, that witch!" Merlin sounded oddly impressed and angry at the same time. "So that's how she…" he trailed off. "Ah, never mind." His eyes refocused on the pony in front of him. "Wizards can become animals if they know how, and you figured out how to reverse it? That the short of it?"

Riddle shrugged his pony shoulders. "Not quite. I simply used the process to become the animal known as human."

The dragon laughed. "Beautiful," he remarked. "Can you share the details, or should ya not?"

"I can, and the information isn't dangerous. It can be passed down by quill and parchment, at least. In my own current case, I believe my base species is that of a thestral, with my human form as the secondary, but it doesn't seem to matter as I'm immune to the animagus counter-curse in both forms, which leads me to suspect that I've come across something more unique than the standard procedure. And unfortunately, I can't guarantee you'll get your old body back if you undergo the same process. Not unless you're willing to be the test subject of a new potion."

"Heck no."

Riddle shrugged. "There you have it. The process begins with a potion that you'd have to make yourself. Unless you happen to have a preserved blood sample from your old human body after all this time, you'd need to settle for the genetic code of a different human, if you do the process at all."

Merlin shook his head. "I'll think about it. But thanks for telling me anyway. You're a good lad."

Riddle chuckled. "I'm really not. Of all the ways I've treated people in my life, this is likely in the top three. Your name is revered above all others in wizarding history. Muggles say 'thank god'. Wizards say 'thank Merlin'."

"Well that's just a wonderful thing to add to my over-inflated ego, isn't it?" The dragon wore a wide, genuine smile. "Good to finally confirm that thinking five-hundred years ahead is the right time frame to be remembered. But enough about what I want to hear. What are you here for? Conversation?"

"I would enjoy that."

"Got anything on your mind?"

Obviously, Riddle thought but did not say. "Yes. This place. This planet. The ponies. Equus. You know as well as I that its status as true reality is in doubt. Do you have an explanation for it all?"

The dragon began stroking its beard again. "I do. You the kind that wants to be told the answer, or figure it for yourself?"

"I'm the kind that figures it out when I have to," said Riddle. "Or when there's time for leisure and mental exercise. I don't like being told the answer when I could have seen it for myself. But I also dislike making a game of it when I never would have seen the answer myself, even after a thousand years."

"Good enough. How about I give hints. Come back later for more if ya don't get it?"

"That is the standard teaching method," Riddle acknowledged.

Merlin asked a few questions to get an understanding of what Riddle already knew about the Mirror's origins, and then… gave no hints at all. "You've got enough there to work it out," said Merlin. "Anything else on your mind?"

Riddle's mind took a moment to switch from 'problem solving' to 'curiosity'. "How are you here? I thought you sacrificed yourself to impose the Interdict."

"That I did," said Merlin, nodding again. "Used the Mirror to do that bit of universal magic. Wasn't expecting to end up here afterwards. I think the Mirror might have a will of its own, you know. It decided to interpret my sacrifice of my life and my magic and my Time as 'my life and magic and time on Earth', to impose that rule on Earth. Or that's my guess anyway, otherwise the rule would exist here too, and it doesn't. I've had to do things the right way, since I've actually got an eternity to do it now. Damn prophecies always telling me what for," he grumbled, as if to himself. "Anything else ya wanted to know?"

"Do you take on apprentices? Or fellowships?"

"Sure do," said the dragon. "Want to be one?"

"Absolutely."

"Great! But to be honest, you might be better off finding a different teacher. I'm just a big dummy who doesn't live by his own advice anymore. Go, go. Get married, says the grumpy old dragon. Have kids. You'll be happy! Unlike me."

"Unlike you?"

"Never could cast the Patronus Charm after my wife died and I left my daughter behind back on Earth," Merlin admitted. He leaned in to whisper. "I'd prefer if ya didn't tell Selena that part. She doesn't know that mourning was a big reason for my romantic reluctance, not just quality."

"I won't speak of it without your leave," Riddle promised. "But now would be a fine time for you to tell her yourself. I told her of my own humanity. Showed her, rather."

Merlin leaned back again. "I'll think about it. Anyway, what were we talkin' about? Oh, right. Working out how to do wizard spells in this body didn't help with that one. Er, the Patronus, I mean. And I'm finally in the company of someone who knows what that means."

"All too well," Riddle nodded, then sighed. "Though you might simply be suffering from my student's problem. In his words, it was not an absence of light that halted his magic, but a failure of thought. He was smart enough to see a certain logical problem with the Patronus, but not smart enough to see the solution. At least at first. He did see it less than thirty minutes after his initial failure. I'm sure Luna will get around to teaching you his improved version, as she is trying to teach me. I'd be surprised if you of all wizards could not learn."

"Improved version?" asked Merlin. "Who is this twelve-year-old? You're not pulling my leg about his age, are you? Pretty sure I would have caught the lie if you were, but…"

Riddle shrugged. "He was eleven at the time he figured it out. It takes the shape of a human being. Or a pony. Or dragon for you, I suppose." He tilted his head. "I wonder if you can figure it out, just from that. I certainly would not be able to."

"Mmm… not off the top of my head. How long did it take you to understand?"

"If I truly understood, I would be capable of casting it. As I said, you and Luna can discuss it. It is not my realm of expertise. And when I asked to be your apprentice, I was referring to…" Riddle waved his hoof at the surrounding cave. "Magic. Not life advice."

"Hm…" The dragon peered at him through likely-enchanted spectacles. "How old are ya?" he asked. "Don't have to give an exact age, a range is fine."

"Late sixties."

The dragon gave a low whistle. "Young, for all that power. You're much farther along than I was at that age. I don't think you're in need of magical help, lad. Earlier you said you're not good. And I believe you. So I'll tell you what. If you become good, we can discuss magic all day long. Show me your Patronus and we'll start right away. 'Till then, I teach philosophy only. Deal?"

Riddle blinked. "Philosophy?"

"'Course," said the dragon. "Logic, reason, evidence, ethics. All that good stuff. I'll teach you the same as I taught Selena. Or I can help you think through a tough spot every now and then, like I do for Tia."

"You've advised Celestia as well?"

The dragon shrugged. "She visits every few decades or so. Maybe more often, maybe less; the years started blurring together centuries ago. She encounters a tough new scenario, I give her my thoughts, and she changes Equestria from there. Although last time was a bit different. There was an abandoned egg left on my cavestep, so I asked her to take care of it, and she took it who-knows-where. Next time I see her I'll ask how it turned out."

That explanation raised a few probabilities, Riddle realized. "Were you responsible for her ban on ritual magic?"

The dragon blinked. "I don't think so. She banned the whole field? Can't say I blame her, but…"

"But a few rituals can be used ethically," said Riddle. "To great societal benefit. As I've recently convinced her."

"But that, yeah," the dragon nodded reluctantly. "Not to mention bad choices are yours to make, so long as you own them. If you want to drink, fine. Do drugs, fine. Use up your blood for Fiendfyre... so long as you can control it and you don't use it to destroy anybody or anything that's not yours, fine. I don't recommend it, but free will means being able to do things others don't recommend so long as it's not violating their free wills. So if Celestia unbanned rituals, I don't blame her for that either. I'm sure she'll keep a watchful eye on the ponies that push the new laws to their limits."

"Like me?"

"Wasn't gonna say it out loud, but yes."

"So… philosophy…" Riddle said slowly, as if repeating the word would help him understand.

"The oldest and noblest field of study," Merlin spoke sagely. "Thoroughly corrupted ever since Socrates was killed. On earth, anyway. Terrible shame, that."

"Not that I disagree, but corrupted how?"

"To serve the powerful," said Merlin, "instead of the people. I've only been able to go from memory, but I'm fairly certain of that. Tell me, kid, can you think of a single prominent philosopher who stepped on the toes of the politically powerful, or the social elite, or the financially successful, and lived to tell the tale?"

Unfortunately, Riddle's recent readings from the human world have more often consisted of... "I can think of a few scientists who did."

"Natural philosophers?" Merlin asked with keen interest, as if repeating what Riddle had just said. "Hm… I can see that. You a natural philosopher yourself?"

In that moment Riddle understood that 'natural philosophy' must be an archaic way of saying 'science', and in the same moment he saw why – 'philosophy as applied to nature' is indeed a phrase that comes close to describing science.

"I'm still an apprentice of science," Riddle said honestly. "My student is the expert in that field."

"Jeeze, your student this, your student that. Sorry to be annoying, but I really am starting to think you're lying to me."

"Understandable," Riddle allowed. "I would not have taken him as my student if he was not exceptional in his own right."

Merlin nodded in understanding. "So if he's the natural philosophy expert, what're you the expert at? Magic plain and simple?"

"Power," said Riddle at once. "War. Military. Strategy. Cunning. Caution. Deception. And yes, magic."

Merlin adjusted his spectacles, staring intently. "And how'd you get your experience? You don't become an expert from reading books."

"Indeed you don't. I was a wandering battle mage in my youth. In my middle age I was a war general for ten years. And not the kind that sits on the back lines."

"What was the cause?"

"The world's salvation. Beyond that, I'd rather not discuss the details."

Merlin sighed. "So I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess your childhood wasn't pleasant? Violent parents maybe?"

"Close enough."

"Selena talking to you about it?"

"In depth."

"Good, good." Merlin was stroking his beard again. "Well then, I'll leave her to it. And speaking of Selena, I've up and left her to dry, haven't I? Mind if we break for now and start your lessons later?"

"I don't mind," said Riddle. "I'll see what pony philosophy has to offer before I return."

"Great!" said Merlin, clapping his scale-less hands together once. "Tia hasn’t let her scholars drop the ball too much. Stop by whenever you've got a big question to ask, and we'll go from there."

Riddle nodded, then turned around to leave. He hesitated on his way out. "Luna has encouraged honesty within me," he said. "And if I'm being honest, I just realized that I don't feel motivated to add this complication to my life." He turned around to face Merlin again. "Do you believe your lessons on philosophy will help me reach the Patronus Charm faster than I otherwise would?"

"Hmm…" rumbled the ancient dragon. "I like to believe they'll help, but it's hard to make guarantees. The way I see it, the only way my lessons could hurt is if you prioritized me over Selena. If you're not motivated, that's fine. Just keep my offer in mind, and if you ever have a big question that you'd like an extra ear to hear, feel free to stop by. Don't force yourself to come."

"Will I have to give a passphrase if I do?"

The dragon shrugged. "You don't have to. You can answer my question however ya feel like. It's just a little thing I got goin' to keep myself amused… something the matter?"

Riddle sighed. He had allowed his negativity to show on his face, and it seems that Merlin, like Luna, prefers to care. "I am still deeply disappointed," he said honestly. "This is the second time in my life that my request for apprenticeship under the world's most knowledgeable mage has been denied. My mind is not able to ignore that connection."

The dragon gave a wide smile. "Ah, but you will be learning something magical."

"I will?"

Merlin nodded sagely. "It took me as long as you've been alive to work out the basics myself, and I hope it won't take you a tenth as long." The dragon drew himself up importantly, then spoke as if imparting the world's deepest wisdom. "The magic you'll be learning, from Selena more than me, is the magic of morality."

Riddle left the cave with less respect for his former-favourite historical wizard. Like the old adage, the fastest way to get over your idols is to get to know them. He wondered if Salazar Slytherin would similarly disappoint him, if they ever somehow met.

Rehabilitation 11.2: Trip to Tartarus

Author's Note

The topics discussed in this chapter aren't expressly political, but they might prove problematic for some readers. I debated whether or not I should cut those parts, then decided to keep them.

Hopefully I'm just fretting about nothing. I'd like to believe that everybody who's made it this far is mature enough to handle uncomfortable information, but I'm still worried that politics have killed a few brains here, which is why I'm including this foreword. I'll also be including a MUCH longer afterword in the comments, for those that are interested.

Trigger warnings that have applied for previous chapters apply for this one. Nothing explicit, but adult topics are discussed in-depth. Onward.

Rehabilitation 11.2: Trip to Tartarus

"Harry, I've seen many abused children in my time at Hogwarts, it would break your heart to know how many." -Professor McGonagall, HPMoR Ch6

"As it stands, you are being ill-served by your willful ignorance of all human nature you deem unpleasant." -Professor Quirrell, HPMoR Ch73

"There were a few people that did better than everyone around them, and they were exceptionally good. But the ones who just accepted what everyone else thought weren't exceptionally evil. The sad fact is that most people just don't notice a moral issue at all unless someone else is pointing it out to them; and once they're as old as Salazar was when he met Godric, they've lost the ability to change their minds." -Harry JPEV, HPMoR Ch47

"...and I just couldn't believe it," said the griffon petitioner. A rarity, but one that Luna welcomed. The problems of pony petitioners are often boringly tame. "She was so hysterical and over-the-top. It just didn't make sense to me."

Luna, after listening intently, asked, "What did the mother do, precisely?"

"She got furious at me just for writing down the incidents after they happened. She was constantly saying 'You must have done something to her, what did you do?' But with a lot of these special ed chicks... I mean, speaking as a special ed teacher of twenty years... there's just no way to know when they'll go off, or why. I mean, I didn't touch her daughter at all, her daughter saw a bag she liked and asked if she could have it, and I said no, and even when she was pecking and clawing at me, I didn't hit back, all I did was write down the details afterwards. Her mother saw what I wrote, and then she was screaming at me and calling all my superiors and everything, and I just sat there in shock. I just... I'm retired now, it's been years since then, but I still don't understand it. I get wanting to protect your chick, but this was so over-the-top..."

When the petitioner trailed off, unable to come up with more to say, Luna spoke. "I have a theory. It doesn't mean I'm right, it is just a theory, but... in Griffonia, the laws and norms against chick abuse are... not as thorough as Equestria, correct?"

The griffon nodded hesitantly.

Luna continued. "In my experience... that is, my thousand-year-old experience, I have not seen it in Equestria since my return, but back in my day... it was often the case, I think, that some mental disabilities... what you call 'special ed' foals... in particular the ones pertaining to personality more than intelligence – violent mood swings, no attention span, that sort of thing – those cases were often the result of abuse and violence at home. Which is to say those behaviors were imbibed from the environment in one way or another. So when the chick's mother was shouting at you, asking what you did to set her chick off... I would call that projection. In the mother's experience, her chick explodes in the face of violence and other highly negative experiences, likely perpetuated by the mother herself, so she believed the only way her daughter could have reacted that way was if you did what she typically does to her daughter. And she was calling your superiors and trying to put the blame on you because she doesn't want anypony examining her own relationship with her daughter too closely. If you felt like she was putting on a show, like she was acting, like her hysteria was too over-the-top to be real, that might have been because it was too over-the-top to be real. She was putting on a performance, manipulating the situation, trying to achieve a specific effect."

"Bad actors tend to overact to compensate for lack of skill," Riddle contributed.

"Precisely," said Luna, though she gave him a look that combined her thanks with a request for him to let her continue alone. "From your perspective," Luna said to the griffon, "nothing came of the wild accusations aside from stress and a waste of time, but from the mother's perspective, all of the authorities looking at you instead of her could have been an arrow dodged, if you see what I'm saying?"

"I... I never thought of it that way," said the griffon, sounding distant. She repeated that phrase many times that night.

The conversation lasted longer, went into other topics, but eventually, the night's only petitioner left Night Court looking like she'd been exhausted, not relieved, by the truth. But she was not ungrateful, thanking Luna profusely before exiting the room.

"If only I could have petitions like that every night," Luna sighed.

"That would take some doing," said Riddle. "Advertising in Griffonia, perhaps."

"Mmm," said Luna. She looked about to close her eyes to dream-walk.

But a comment from Merlin had gotten Riddle thinking, and once the idea was in his head, it wouldn't leave until he had an answer. Now seemed a good time to ask.

"Does Equestria have a cultural taboo against homosexuality?"

For he has yet to see or even hear about a single same-sex relationship since his arrival here. Not that he had been actively looking for them, but in magical Britain you can't go overlong without encountering the topic in one form or another, from Quibbler headlines to the giggled gossip between girls, especially in Ravenclaw.

Riddle wondered if he had finally found a subject that wizards back home, from Lucius Malfoy all the way to Madam Longbottom, would fully and unanimously believe themselves to have the moral high ground over ponies. Part of his own side's propaganda had been that muggles and muggleborns are so stupid, primitive, and backward that they hate homosexuality and other forms of sexual deviancy. Like all propaganda, it was slightly exaggerated for effect, but it was still true. And he had not expected to encounter pony stupidity and primitiveness in this topic, of all places, given how 'loving' and 'tolerant' they seem to be.

"I asked the same thing of my sister soon after my return," said Luna, sitting straighter in her throne. "Taboo is… not quite the correct word. Do we have a taboo against alcohol? For adults, not at all. Drink to thy heart's content; it is your body, after all. On the other hoof, is excessive drinking and addiction a sign of trauma and pain, past or present? Most often yes. Homosexuality, like drinking, is not a taboo. It is not a topic-which-must-not-be-named like it was in the very distant past, nor is it illegal for consenting adults. But it is a potential red flag. Or perhaps I should say it was a red flag. The problem to which it pointed was addressed long ago, and the worries associated with homosexuality have largely disappeared. I think at this point it is simply less common, and thus less thought about. Soon after the Three Tribes period, the rate of homosexuality was around one in fifty. Now it is lower."

"Were there legal or cultural pressures to reduce it?" he asked. "Did ponies view it as unnatural and disgusting?"

"Not directly. There were legal and cultural efforts to eliminate foalhood sexual abuse, not homosexuality, and as you may or may not know, the two are often linked."

"Based on what evidence?" he said at once. For he has personally known sexually abused children who did not grow up into homosexual adults. Bellatrix being the most prominent example.

"My sister's scholars gathered the evidence," said Luna. "Once they knew the right questions to ask. Though the suspicion existed earlier than that. After seeing the pattern so many times in my Night Court sessions, I began to suspect that certain sexual behaviors were closely tied to the rate of foalhood sexual molestation. After my banishment, my sister set her scholars to investigation, and they discovered the very ugly statistic that 1 out of every 3 fillies and 1 out of every 14 colts were sexually molested before adulthood."

"Most ponies would consider that far too high to be likely." Although he didn't. It sounded about right for magical Britain. But most wizards and witches don't like to think about such things, and most wizards and witches aren't nearly cynical enough to predict the reality around them.

"It certainly is too high to be 'likely' in this day and age. Far too high."

Riddle shook his head. "Even back then, I imagine there was extreme doubt and disbelief about those numbers."

"Indeed," said Luna. "The earliest estimates were lower, but those estimates were based on questionnaire surveys, which were inaccurate due to a reason that was only obvious in retrospect. For it is a sad fact that proficient abusers lure their victims into emotional or resource dependency before engaging in abuse, so as to reduce their chances of being reported to the guard and going to jail. In a world without Obliviation, the smartest criminals turn their victims into their most ardent public defenders the old-fashioned way: manipulation, bribery, threats, and all the other things that I'm certain I needn't explain to you of all ponies. The comparatively pessimistic numbers on foal molestation were eventually proven true, and it only took so long to prove it because motivated actors were explicitly trying to prevent data collection."

"Criminals fear the spotlight of scrutiny like cockroaches fear light," he allowed. "But what does any of this have to do with homosexuality?"

"Well, in their efforts to uncover the truth, and with my sister guiding them using some of the things I learned in Night Court, my sister's scholars eventually confirmed a strong correlation between sexual abuse early in life and sexual deviancy later in life."

"Correlation does not mean causation," he said at once. "And what qualifies as 'sexual deviancy'?"

"Anything that deviates from the norm," Luna answered. "Interest in promiscuity and cheating, interest in open relationships instead of monogamy, interest in the same sex, interest in strange and often disgusting 'kinks', like feces, and especially interest in foals. The further the sexual deviation, the more likely it was preceded by sexual abuse during foalhood. That was the base discovery. It is not mere correlation, it is a predictable pattern. Or it was prior to its elimination in Equestria. Griffonia is still working on it."

"If it is so predictable, how come sexual abuse does not reliably lead to homosexuality? I know an abused woman who had no interest in other women."

"And was her approach to sexuality what most ponies would call 'normal' or 'healthy'?"

Not in the slightest, he thought, a mental image of the Lestrange brothers coming to mind. "No," was what he decided to say. "She was close to a prostitute, I suppose." For she would bed whomever he bade.

Luna nodded. "That was another common consequence. I once made it a point to ask every voluntary prostitute I met the very simple question of 'What was your earliest sexual experience?' and I did not like what I learned. 'Tis fascinating what the simplest questions can reveal. Asking that very same question of sexual deviants of any kind often leads to similar answers. In any case, you must turn the problem around. It is not the case that you can reliably predict future sexual behavior based on past abuse. It can deviate from the norm in any number of ways, or not at all, for the evolutionary impulse to normalcy is strong. But it is the case that you can somewhat reliably predict the existence of past sexual abuse based on current deviant sexual behavior. Do you understand?"

"I understand the argument," said Riddle. "Can you reliably predict if a rectangle is a square, just from being told it's a rectangle? No. Can you reliably predict a square is a rectangle, just from being told it's a square? Yes."

"Exactly!" Luna applauded. "Although of course real life is not nearly so absolute as math. Perhaps less than one in three sexually abused foals grew up to exhibit significantly deviant sexual behaviors. But well above two in three sexually deviant adults experienced sexual abuse as foals. Not most abuse victims become 'bent' adults, as the slang used to go. But most 'bent' adults were abuse victims. And it only takes one predator to make many victims."

"And that meant a ban on the behavior?" Riddle predicted. Because criminals are just so keen on respecting what the government says they can and can't-

"Not a legal ban," said Luna. "Well, not between consenting adults. After the base discovery, my sister primarily ensured that clinicians and therapists knew to regard sexual deviancy of any kind as a significant potential warning sign of past sexual abuse. Careful inquiry was made of ponies who displayed it, and the guard would get involved if it was abuse, and that was enough to set the country ablaze with cultural turmoil, according to Tia. There were many ponies attempting to resist the spread of knowledge, with efforts effective enough that Tia clearly remembers them to this day. Catchphrases and hysteria and distractions, all of which were highly persuasive to ponies who wished to be seen as good more than they wished to be good, and I wonder if your cynical mind can see the reason behind it all."

Riddle didn't need even one second. If homosexuality became probable cause to investigate for signs of childhood sexual abuse, if it actually was probable cause, if the entire medical establishment was told that, and legal consequences were suddenly a very real possibility…

"The molesters were worried that the evidence they were leaving in plain sight was finally being noticed for what it was," Riddle offered. "And they were desperately trying to cover their tracks," he added.

Similar to the squib situation, he supposed. The proud pureblood witches cheating on their proud pureblood husbands with handsome muggles would use any means at their disposal to discredit Mr. Silver if he ever tried to publicly explain how their squibs had really been born – as a result of sexual union between wizard and non-wizard. Always. No exceptions.

That turbulent political and social controversy would be extreme enough, and it's just adults cheating on other adults with a result that factually argues against some of the tenets of blood purism. Throw victimized children into the mix, and a much wider cultural consensus to be argued against…

"Indeed," said Luna, her expression growing cold. "Most ponies who repeated mantras like 'born that way' and 'love is blind' were unaware, or unwilling to consider it, or willfully ignoring it. But the ones who made those mantras in the first place... or rather, the ones who most vociferously voiced them… again, not all turned out to be abusers, some were simply idealists wearing rose-tinted goggles, but others…" Her expression grew even colder. "Others were professing their amazingly virtuous tolerance towards all forms of sex and romance with a different goal in mind. Their motive was simple: they were pedophiles trying to decriminalize their own degeneracy."

"Now that," Riddle said, "is catchy in translation." He'll have to remember it. Decriminalization of degeneracy… it's certainly less crass than 'normalize their nutting'. "And your sister noticed the pedophile angle without your help?"

"Only because she knew the truth ahead of time, I think, for I told her before my banishment. But yes, she noticed their tactics without my active help, given that I was not there. The louder a pony proclaims their own virtue, the more likely it is to be a cover for evil. Especially for the topic at hoof. Those who decry their selflessness turn out to be the most self-serving. Those who claim to be defenders of love turn out to be extremely hateful. Ponies like that are just about as immoral as you can get, using moral language in the same way my father did, the same way Ms. Cole did – as camouflage for their many misdeeds."

The Riddle of four years ago would have said that all moral language was used that way, but the Riddle of today had been given reason to doubt his old perspective. To universalize truths about all of reality from personal experience is, at the end of the day, motivated reasoning based on anecdotes.

"If this happened in the past," Riddle said with a frown, "does that mean there is a cultural taboo against homosexuality now?"

This was what he really wanted to know, to see the difference between modern Equestrian and wizard perspectives, for ponies seemed like they wouldn't be the type to judge or criticize based on romantic interest.

Luna tapped her chin. "Mm… not quite. That cultural conflict occurred almost a millennium in the past. The root cause was addressed long ago, and the scars of society have healed."

"How so?"

"Through knowledge," said Luna. "Most ponies once had flowery mental images of gay relationships. Through ignorance and projection, ponies who were both good and naïve imagined gay couples to be almost exactly the same as their own romances. According to my sister, most ponies did not react well when they learned what the majority of homosexual relationships actually involved – rampant promiscuity, disease, physical pain and scarring, hedonism, mind-affecting substances, sometimes bestiality, and an all-too-common desire to 'mentor' younger ponies into the lifestyle. Like excessive smoking and drinking, all but the last two were viewed as things that consenting adults may do if they wish, though it was also viewed as unhealthy and a sign of deeper problems, and finally, it was, at the end of the day, not viewed as the full fault of the adults who engage in it. It was the fault of their past abusers, if abuse was indeed the cause. So long as they did not do it in front of foals, or try to push it onto foals, it was tolerated."

She sighed.

"Is what I would like to say, for that is how I viewed it, how my sister viewed it, how the healers viewed it. But that is not how most ponies reacted. So yes, there was outrage. There was fear and disgust and unjust discrimination on one side, and defensiveness and self-righteousness and justifications and excuses on the other. In a few brief decades, sexual deviancy went from something that everypony should accept because love is love to a sign of a damaged soul because lust is lust. All black and white, little nuance. Such is the way of public politics, by which I mean mob mentality."

"And today?" Riddle reiterated for the third time.

"Time and understanding have done much healing since then. The behaviors of the gay 'community', if it can even be called that anymore, are no longer a hundredth as unhealthy as they once were, and homosexuals today are almost never the result of child abuse. In the modern day it is viewed as a rare and strange but ultimately harmless quality, so long as the obvious potential cause has been ruled out and all parties are consenting adults who keep their fornication private, especially from foals. And since that same rule applies to straight fornicators, it cannot be said that there is any unfair treatment going on."

"So there is no discrimination?"

"Not as such. Homosexual ponies might not be doing their evolutionary and societal duty of becoming parents…" she shrugged. "But neither do some heterosexual ponies. And in any case, it is uncommon enough that most ponies hardly think about it." She huffed in amusement. "'Tis more likely a fuss will be caused by a pony having hippogriff offspring with a griffon, and even that is hardly contentious unless the griffon parent is not well-adjusted. My sister assures me that interspecies relationships do not produce a tenth of the tensions that the homosexuality hysteria once did."

"And did you ever share that hysteria?" Riddle asked. "Did you have a phobia of the 'deviants'? If, say, your sister was gay, would you freak out?"

"If I was that kind of pony," Luna said without seeming to take offense, "I would not have had so many long, deep, heartfelt conversations with so many prostitutes, homosexuals, bisexuals, fetishists, and everything else under the moon and stars. My first instinct is to question and discover root causes. If the root cause is not abuse, and if no abuse is going on in the relationship, then I do not criticize. I know for a fact that my sister was not sexually abused, nor would she abuse her partner, nor choose a partner who would BE abusive, so I would not mind if she found mares attractive."

"You do not mind the gay lifestyle?"

"Today? Not at all."

"And in the past?"

"In the past, I minded the patterns that I eventually began to see. I minded the self-destructive behaviors – spouse-on-spouse violence, shouting, drugs and addiction, cheating. If the couple I was speaking to, gay or straight, engaged in those behaviors, I would speak out against the negative aspects, and it was only through repeated experience that I saw how much more likely it was in the relationships that were not straight. I minded the pattern of sexual abuse being an extremely common denominator among the most hardcore and destructive deviants, which in retrospect is exactly what you'd expect, given that self-destructive and addictive behaviors are the most common ways in which ponies self-medicate for past trauma. But the sex itself? Their bodies, their bedrooms, their property, their choice. So long as it is consensual, of course."

"Hm," Riddle said, his attention half elsewhere.

He considered her wider perspective. He had little capacity to judge if all that he'd just heard was a 'moral' or 'immoral' stance. It seemed more like a controversial logical one than anything, and he would have to double-check the numbers himself… or maybe not. He didn't really care. But he at least knew that…

"Well," he said. "It is a good thing Equestria is divorced from Earth," he remarked. "I believe our current rate of homosexuality is close to one-in-fifty, and I can imagine how your perspective would go over with wizarding culture." Or muggles, for that matter. Mr. Potter once remarked that the muggles have 'progressed' in that way, to some degree.

Luna gave him a stern look, then sighed and shook her head. "You will likely be doing far more than imagining how the perspectives clash."

"You intend to come along when I return?" he asked, for he could not see any other reason why the perspectives might clash. He didn't intend to bring it up.

"I'm not sure if I will even be able to," she pointed out. "But now that you know what a homosexuality rate of one-in-fifty means, you cannot unknow it."

"I still doubt it means what you think it does," Riddle observed. "There is no guarantee that sexual abuse had exactly the same effect on human statistics. Perhaps the natural prevalence of homosexuality in humans is higher."

"...Perhaps," said Luna after a pause. "Now that you mention it, I believe the natural prevalence is higher in griffons and dragons. Not as high as one in fifty, but not as low as one in one thousand, or even one in five hundred, if I recall correctly, though the numbers won't be finalized until they fully eliminate abuse within their boarders. Across species and nations, out of all sexual behaviors it was prostitution and pedophilia that were most strongly tied with early sexual abuse, along with extreme and destructive sexual behaviors in general, and that's certainly not exclusive to homosexuality, it was just more prevalent there. Straight couples are not immune by any stretch of the imagination, nor should general statistics ever be used to make judgements about individuals, as the general public did during the homosexuality hysteria. In the end, the effects of eliminating abuse are not always predictable in a case-by-case basis. I can only say how it happened in Equestria, and even then I must go by the accounts of my sister and her researchers."

"Then why bring up exact numbers at all?"

Luna considered the question. "A good point. Truthfully, I forgot about the species difference. In the future, I will try to avoid conclusions that are not mostly consistent across all Equestrian species. Which means I will not avoid saying that early trauma creates hidden ripple effects on every aspect of society, in some areas more than others. I can't imagine humanity will see exactly the same results we did, but I can say in a general sense that the cultural shifts will be shocking and downright offensive to the majority of ponies in the moment. As a mare who came from the distant past herself, I have been occasionally offended by what I've seen in modern Equestria, though it is infinitely preferable to the alternative. But the point remains that when you leave this realm, the knowledge of evil's prevalence on Earth will haunt you until you do something about it, even if it takes generations to address, and even if you have to defy cultural norms to fix it, just as you always must do for major moral advancements."

He kept most of his skepticism from showing. He doubted that would ever happen. People have an impossible enough time supporting the 'good' side when there is an obvious and evil threat like Voldemort. To spend his centuries 'fixing' subtle, ingrained, controversial problems that don't significantly impact his survival or the survival of the species sounds far too annoying. Especially if he can't even rely on Equestrian statistics to be comparable for humanity.

He allowed his thoughts to cumulate into a single question: "Why would I do that?"

"Why would you do something about a foalhood molestation rate of 1 in 5?" she asked rhetorically, not quite keeping her voice neutral, though she tried. "Because one who can cast the true Patronus would never let that abide."

It took some time, and more digressions into Luna's conceptions of morality, for him to steer the conversation back to topics he was a bit more inclined to discuss: namely, the Stone and phoenix immortality.

Even after learning how he obtained the Stone – i.e. by theft – Luna did not object to his claim of ownership, since he stole it from a thief. And that means his Stone, his choice what to do with it. She had a similar stance on his rituals: his labour, his choice what to do with it. To take the Stone would be theft. To force him into action would be slavery.

He asked if the constant deaths of her subjects constituted emergency ethics, now that it has been revealed death by old age can be gainsaid.

Some may view it that way, she answered, and rightfully so. Perhaps even she views it that way. But she has been Vowed to not use his secrets against him. She promised not to do so. What is she to do, even if she could? Go back on her solemn word, betray a close pony, steal that pony's property, all because it's in her own perceived interest to do so?

Obviously, Riddle had said.

She shook her head. Even if she was willing and able, what then? Attack him and steal the Stone? Force him into compliance and ruin everything she has worked towards thus far? Even if she succeeded, what next? That is always the question that must be answered. What next?

If the Stone is misplaced, or stolen, or destroyed, or ceases to function – and that last one is the most important – her desperation will come back to bite her. She will have irreparably hurt the one who was best able to help, and she would be left with nothing. His caution about the danger of haste was valid.

Except that he wasn't even doing the opposite of haste, she amended. He wasn't moving carefully and slowly on the Stone problem, he was doing nothing at all. That is the only thing that is truly bothering her.

She did wish he would at least lend the Stone to Ms. Sparkle for examination and research, and she would like him to at least tell Celestia of the phoenix ritual, even if both were under strict contracts of silence.

Riddle said he might not be opposed to the research proposal in the future, but Twilight was a bit too reckless and magically inexperienced. As for Celestia, absolutely not. He's not in the mood to be condescended to. Not by her.

Luna – by Vow or by values, he did not know which was pulling her strings – accepted his stance, if not his reasoning.

Even ideas can be property, she acknowledged, though it took time to adjust to that modern perspective. Not much time; in retrospect she's extremely happy about the legal/moral advancement of intellectual property.

The Stone is his property. How he uses it is his property. His knowledge of rituals is his property. And as the Equestrian saying goes: his property, his choice. Conditional on him respecting the property of others, of course.

She did point out that if somepony else independently invents the idea for those rituals and acquires the ability to perform them, he does not have the right to stop them, nor complain that he did not capitalize on his current market advantage. Intellectual property must not be a restriction on the originality of others.

Aside from the ambient noises of the train, the ride was comfortably silent. Unlike on the last prisoner escort with Discord, Sombra had been muted, blackened, and dispelled. He was utterly unable to perceive or interact with the world beyond his cage in any way; he was only physically able to interact with the cage itself, and that would get him nowhere.

Riddle read a book to occupy his attention.

"Um…" said the only other pony in the cabin. "So… how have you been?"

Riddle looked up and beheld Twilight Sparkle, his fellow guard on this trip to Tartarus, who didn't seem to have brought a book of her own. Or perhaps she did, but preferred conversation.

"Better than expected," he answered with practiced honesty. He vanished his book into his robes and met her nervous gaze with a disarming one. She didn't quite seem to be talking to him because she wanted to. "How goes your own ambition, Ms. Sparkle?"

"Not well," the purple mare huffed in frustration. "I'm going to need basically unlimited magic to cut through Time and Space, but I don't have unlimited magic. I think it might be possible to channel unlimited magic, but the problem is getting that magic in the first place, and that means I have to unravel the whole nature of magic, and that's where I'm stuck."

Good luck, came the reply in his mind. Most prominent wizard scholars have tried. None have succeeded. He didn't say it out loud, recognizing it as one of the many habits that drove others away from him.

Twilight continued, unaware of the unspoken sarcasm. "Everything I really want to try would be way too dangerous, and everything I actually try doesn't work." Twilight's frustrations then seemed to lessen. "So I've been researching dragon magic while I try to think of another angle. I've gotten pretty far, too. What about you?"

"I have a ways to go in my own main task." He paused as a thought came to him.

"What's your main task, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Achieving happiness," he answered, though his mind was elsewhere. Then he made his decision. "Ms. Sparkle," he said formally and seriously. "There is something I'd like you to examine and replicate. If you succeed, you will help all of Equestria. But if you do not succeed, you must never speak of it. Are you willing to abide by those terms?"

Twilight blinked. "I… um… maybe?"

Riddle withdrew a magical parchment from his robes, composed a contract, then floated it to her.

He had not planned to do this so early, but he decided it was time.

I will not try to take the Stone. I will give it up at a moment's notice when Riddle asks for it. I will not risk destroying the Stone on any experiment that might do so, unless Riddle gives me leave. I will tell no one else of the Stone or any conversations involving it unless Riddle gives me leave. I will do nothing with this information unless Riddle gives me leave.

"What stone?" asked Twilight after reading it.

"Sign the contract," said Riddle, "and I will tell you." He glanced at the cage. "On the way back." Just in case.

"Is the stone magical?"

"Ancient and powerfully so."

She signed the contract.

The rest of the trip was uneventful, including the sub-task he had mentioned to Luna. Tartarus seemed secure as far as Dementorless magical prisons go. It might be vulnerable to Dementors, but just about everything is weak to that which can end life, drain magic, and eat matter away to nothingness.

In one cell, a being was frowning in concentration. His eyes were closed, his four legs were folded on the ground beneath him, his arms were crossed over his chest. Slowly, he made mental adjustments. Carefully, he progressed to perfectly internal consistency, made all the more difficult by the joint venture, the two sacrifices, the two purposes. Patiently, he allowed his two intentions to stabilize in his imagination…

Rehabilitation 11.3: Consulting Magic

Author's Note

A/N: After taking a great deal of feedback and critiques into account regarding the previous chapter, I've made a few (hopefully) clarifying additions since the initial upload. Ctrl f for "phobia" in the previous chapter; the new lines start around there, if you haven't read them already.

Rehabilitation 11.3: Consulting Magic

When Twilight woke one morning, something was wrong.

No, it wasn't just 'something'. Everything was wrong.

She felt... scared. Paranoid. Activated. Like a cockatrice was just waiting around the corner, ready to jump out and- her logical mind kicked in and asked how and why that would ever happen outside the Everfree. But even if that was unlikely, she couldn't stop thinking about other dangers.

Twilight looked out the window and saw Rarity mishandling the weather again – not a thundercloud, so she wouldn't electrocute herself, and not a major blizzard, so she wouldn't freeze, but she might catch a disease getting drenched by all that rain.

Twilight saw Derpy pulling the apple cart to town as usual, and she knew it was inevitable that Derpy's eye problem would cause her to trip and die someday. But no… that's a bit extreme, isn't it?

She left the library and walked through town, suppressing her unusual impulses to stop the townsponies from going about their everyday tasks because they might get hurt.

She tried to calm down and think logically despite her fears, which weren't easy to ignore at all.

Fluttershy might eat too much sugar after throwing so many parties and die of obesity? Maybe, but that's a long way away, and Fluttershy's not that prone to overeating.

Rainbow might get hurt by her animals? Wasn't it her special talent that she was good with animals?

Applejack might cut herself in the middle of making a new outfit? Maybe, but she's a tough earth pony, and she has plenty of practice, right?

Pinkie might get hit on the head with a falling apple while bucking a tree? Now Twilight knows her mind is playing tricks on her.

Granny Smith will die of old age?

Twilight froze. That… wasn't a mental trick. It was a brute fact. An inevitability. The only danger she saw that wasn't a 'maybe'. She looked around and saw it some more. Soon enough, the paranoid fears were replaced with a rational one, that one day everypony she ever cared about would die, and she might or might not even be there to see it.

Twilight turned around and raced back to the library. Riddle had lent her the Stone some time ago, making her take an Unbreakable Vow in addition to the contract she signed on the train just to be told about it.

But she hadn't seen how important the Stone is until just now. HOW could she NOT have noticed something so OBVIOUS? Not to mention pressing and urgent.

She hated to admit it, but Silver can wait. He's not in immediate danger. In fact, he might be the only pony in existence who isn't in any kind of immediate danger at all, if he's beyond Space and Time. It's everypony else that's in danger. Understanding and reverse-engineering the Stone has to come first.

She, as with almost everypony else in Equestria, failed to notice anything amiss with her Cutie Mark. As far as she knew, it's always been a book floating in front of the night sky, opened to its centerfold. The left page depicted a wand producing a green flash, while the right showed an infinity sign.

She still felt a sharp sense of everything being wrong, but the impending inevitability of everypony's death was overriding that sense and focusing her attention on what really mattered.

How had she not seen it before? The final barrier to friendship and Harmony is the thing that always, every single time, prevents them from lasting forever. The biggest barrier to friendship, Harmony, happiness, and even Magic itself, is death.

The previous night…

Riddle detected it very early on.

The biggest barrier to my future happiness is a lack of love.

As soon as that unusual thought persisted in his mind, he knew something was wrong.

It took a trip to a private location, an animagus transformation, and an invisible foray amongst ponies he knew to deduce what had happened.

When he mentioned the problem of swapped Cutie Marks to Celestia and Luna at the dinner table – neither of whom had new marks or mental states themselves, likely a result of their ascendancy – Celestia said that she had already asked Discord about it. Chaos had nothing to do with it, though Chaos was enjoying it.

Celestia suspected that Harmony is responsible, somehow, so she will not interfere unless the problem persisted for longer than a day. Who knows? Perhaps 'walk a mile in somepony else's horseshoes' day had just been invented. Harmony works in mysterious ways, after all; mere ponies often have trouble understanding its design until after the fact.

If not for his knowledge of the Mirror, he would have scoffed at her superstition and lack of concern.

Celestia then proceeded to ask what his temporary talent had become. And how did he figure it out so quickly? Nopony else seems to have noticed.

He said his alien nature gave him an edge, but he declined to answer the first question.

The biggest barrier to my future happiness is a lack of love.

After dinner, while sitting in Night Court with an open and forgotten book in front of him, the thought continued going through his mind, as if on repeat.

The biggest barrier to my future happiness is a lack of love.

A blue, crystal heart, held by gold filigree. That is his temporary cutie mark, hidden beneath his cloak.

The biggest barrier to my future happiness is a lack of love.

Even knowing his mind was being influenced, he couldn't shake the certainty of that thought.

Dumbledore. Potter. Luna. Celestia. All claim they have those they love; all claim they have those who love them; each has an incredibly bright Patronus.

Therefore, he needs someone to love, and someone who loves him, if he wishes to learn the Patronus.

That love does not need to be sexual, and in fact has not been sexual, empirically speaking. Of those who can cast the true Patronus, none of the best have used romantic thoughts thus far.

Nor does that love need to be based in genetics. Luna and Celestia are not sisters by birth. There does seem to be a strong tendency for a requirement of some kind of familial love – parents, siblings, children – but that avenue is closed to him as well.

Two of those three avenues are closed, the thought occurred to him. You could, theoretically…

He shook his head. That left only platonic love, the love of friendship.

But how does he get it?

You do not get platonic love, answered his own mental certainty, an echo of everything he'd heard from Night Court. You give it and you receive it. And you are already receiving some, despite giving none.

He glanced at Luna, sitting on her throne.

How can he come to have enough for the Patronus charm? How can he receive more love?

By giving some yourself.

How can he 'give' an emotion he does not even feel?

Start by going through the motions, suggested that same voice. It sounded like Luna's. All habits start as cobwebs and end as chains. Definitely like Luna's. In order to achieve the mental habits of happiness and love, you must start by laying the first thread of spider silk.

What 'motions' must he- No.

Yes.

NO.

YES.

Riddle sighed aloud. He was tempted to leave and wait out 'Harmony's design' in his human form. But if he happens to be in his human form when the mark swap is undone, and his mark becomes stuck like this… that is something he does not want to risk.

Don't you want to be happy? asked the incessant voice, which now seemed to be Mr. Potter's.

He does not care to pursue happiness. Opening the non-magical empathic pathways in his brain is one thing…

That's not a denial. Do you want to be happy?

Not if it means…

That's REALLY your limit? asked the voice, which now seemed to be his own. THAT? The most difficult ambition ever pursued by the modern world's greatest wizard has ground to a halt due to a mere…

…

…

…

"Luna."

She opened her eyes. "Yes?"

"You wanted to know my temporary talent, yes? I know your sister asked the question, but you also seemed curious."

She raised an eyebrow. "I am."

"If I tell you, will you refrain from telling her?"

She smiled. "I shall, if that is your condition for telling me."

He lifted his cloak, exposing the blue crystal heart.

Luna gasped. "That is…"

He nodded. "It is. And it's informed me of the next step I should take."

Luna's smile widened. "Go on."

"It seems to think that if I go through the motions of platonic love, I will eventually feel it from within myself."

"Not a poor thought," Luna remarked. "What motion in particular?"

"Guess."

Luna's smile widened even further. "If my guess is right…" she stood from her throne and descended to his level. "You've seen and felt the movements, and now you shall do it all yourself, yes?"

He nodded.

"Then you may go through that motion whenever you are ready."

"Even if I don't mean it?" he asked. "Even if it feels like a lie?"

That dimmed her smile and gave her a visible moment of pause. "That is a very good point. Do whatever you think is right. I shall not object either way."

And she stood there, waiting.

After an uncounted number of seconds, or maybe minutes, and after prompting and prodding from his temporary talent, he decided to do it.

He stepped forward, and for the first time, he hugged her.

The first thought that came to Twilight when thinking of the Stone was that it might be the product of a ritual. Or, perhaps, it might actively be performing some kind of ritual each time it's used. Rituals are permanent, and the whole premise of the Stone is applied permanence. Plus it comes from a world where rituals are more common.

She's been looking into rituals recently, for a number of reasons. First, it's one of the few kinds of magic that might actually be powerful enough to affect Time and Space on the scale she needs. Second, it's a fairly new field to her, what with the historical ban. She was a bit worried she might be going down a bad path with how much giddy excitement she felt at the prospect of exploring a new area of magic, and she expressed this concern to Celestia, but Celestia reassured her that it is only natural for one such as Twilight to experience such emotions when learning something so naughty and novel. So long as her moral character remains intact, she will lose her excitement soon enough in the face of what so many rituals require.

That sentence had sobered Twilight, as did some of the sample rituals Celestia sent her to 'understand the field', but Twilight pressed on regardless. If she wishes to master magic, she must understand rituals. It's an area of magic, after all.

The Stone doesn't seem like a bad thing in itself, so if it is the product of a ritual, it would be helpful to know the ritual. Or on the pessimistic side of things, if it is sacrificing something to achieve its effects, it would be extremely important to know what it's sacrificing.

So Twilight began thinking of potential sacrifices to achieve the effect of applied permanence.

One thought was permanently sacrificing an object's ability to be manipulated by magical shape-changing in order to permanently apply one final magical change. Even if that idea was plausible by ritual magic standards – and she didn't know if it was – it's clearly not what the Stone is doing, since objects could be 'permanently' changed any number of times, so she kept thinking.

'Stone of Permanence' is actually a misnomer, come to think of it. It's not imposing permanence, it's imposing a new 'default' state, one that can be changed any number of times by the Stone. Were there any obvious ritual ideas to produce that effect...?

"Is there anything else your temporary talent is telling you to do?" asked Luna as they walked from the breakfast table to her bedroom. "You might never get a better chance to make so much progress so quickly."

"Just one thing," he said. "But I'd rather not talk about it. In fact, if you'll excuse me, I think it's time I consult Twilight Sparkle about undoing the swap."

"How do you stand it?" Twilight asked after the situation had been explained to her. In particular, she asked this question after Riddle pointed out that she currently bore his mark. "I see danger everywhere. I see death everywhere. How do you stand it?"

The edges of Riddle's cloak lifted to expose a bat wing, and he aimed his nose downward, causing his glasses to slide down his nose a bit, which in turn revealed his hidden horn and his thestral eyes. "By achieving immortality, of course," said the alicorn within their established privacy barriers. "Celestia told you I can revive myself, no?"

"How do you stand seeing everypony else's deaths everywhere?"

"Ah." His effects returned to their normal places, cloaking him in the ordinary once more. "I think you would not like the answer to that question."

"Please," Twilight begged. "I have to know."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "Promise to tell no one else, and I'll tell you."

She didn't hesitate.

"Very well. For a bit of background, as you know, I did not grow up in this universe. I grew up in a societal environment that, according to Luna, was comparable to some households that could be found in Equestria a thousand years ago. An example statistic of what that means is that only around thirty percent of adults score zero on what modern ponies call the Adverse Foalhood Experience test, and around five percent score four or higher, with myself falling into that last category, although my own score would be closer to eight or nine."

"Meaning...?"

Riddle raised an eyebrow. "I honestly thought that would mean more to you than most ponies."

She shook her head. "It's been a while since I touched up on psychology."

"Then I suppose I'll have to take the direct route. It means, among many other things, that around one in five adults experienced sexual abuse in youth, with more females experiencing it than males, of course."

Twilight's eyes widened in horror.

"That particular statistic was from ancient Equestria, according to Luna-"

-her eyes widened in further horror-

"-but my own experiences and Legilimency suggest that the rate is currently similar back home, though of course such things are rarely discussed or hinted in polite society, and 'abuse' can mean anything from merely witnessing incautious or uncaring parents in the act all the way to hardcore rape. Not that I experienced that particular abuse, but it should paint an accurate picture of my universe. In any case, your question involves my own mental state, so without going into too much detail, my childhood memories are primarily fraught with shouting, physical violence, and neglect from the orphan mother, though in the presence of visiting adults she was all smiles. For the longest time, and especially during my formative years, I experienced no care from others, and I saw 'goodness' primarily used as a camouflage for evil. Thus I did not develop the capacity to care for others and I came to view all shows of morality as masks for hidden malice. And given that Legilimency can only show you those thoughts which your own mind is capable of comprehending, I was never disabused of that notion. Not until I'd spent a few years here, and even then it took time to witness and understand the undeniable counter evidence. In summary, Ms. Sparkle, I stand my 'special talent' by being a psychopath."

Twilight had been frowning more and more heavily as he explained, but she outright gaped at that last word. She knew of psychopathy, of course, but it was so rare that she'd never personally seen it. Maybe Diamond Tiara had been on that path, but after Princess Luna and Cadence intervened that didn't seem to be the case anymore.

Sombra had been a sociopath, not a psychopath, the same with Nightmare Moon. They still felt things strongly and wore their emotions on their sleeves, negative though they were.

With the exception of a few Crystal ponies – all of whom hailed from a thousand years ago, and thus are in most need of the Princess of Love's personal attention – everypony Twilight's ever met has had an abundance of love and caring within them. Everypony except Riddle, apparently.

To have nothing positive at all… through no fault of his own…

"Though hopefully not an unrecoverable psychopath," Riddle remarked. "How have you been handling my talent?" he asked curiously.

"Research," she said at once.

"About?"

"The Stone."

"Ah. Productive. Have you made any progress?"

She explained the only idea she's had thus far, as she was bound to do if he asked.

"Hm… interesting. Not bad for your first few hours, I suppose. But you are right that it is not the answer. Now about the Cutie Mark situation. If you have any ideas on how, I believe it is time to return everypony's talents to the ones who can handle them."

Twilight didn't need any more prompting. She hated feeling like this. She searched her excellent memory, remembered the half-finished spell she'd read only once, and used a locating charm to find that the ancient scroll from Celestia's private library had somehow ended up in the treehouse of the Cutie Mark Crusaders. Twilight sighed and got to work. Once she fixed this mess, she was going to ask some very careful questions about how it had ended up there.

Eventually, after a few more hijinks and plenty of theorizing, she was surrounded by her friends who still loved each other, even if they were uncertain about the paths their lives were taking.

She completed Starswirl's unfinished spell.

"From one to another, another to one. A mark of one's destiny, singled out alone. Does not make the stallion, does not make the mare. What makes us who we are is where we place our care. Change by magic sown, by magic be undone."

Upon the completion of the 'spell', Riddle watched as Twilight Sparkle disappeared in a fashion he had seen before.

He wondered if she would fully ascend…

…but no. She returned with a mundane mane upon her back.

After the ceremony and pomp and excitement of the day died down, after she had settled into bed for the night, Princess Twilight thought very carefully, and very hard.

While under the influence of Riddle's talent, she had reasoned that Silver can wait just slightly longer than her friends. He is younger, after all, and he might be frozen in Time. Or out of Time. She had decided that the Stone must be solved before Time and Space is solved.

She had concluded that death is the ultimate enemy of friendship. Even if every other barrier is removed by happiness and magic and progress, death shall always remain. Unless she does something about it.

Now that she's free of Riddle's strange talent, whatever it is, she found herself asking if that reasoning was wrong. She needed to know if it was wrong.

…

…

…

If there was a flaw, she couldn't see it.

As she came closer to sleep, the filters on her mind disappeared and she grew more certain about where she would be focusing her research.

Tomorrow morning, she would ask Riddle for 'Free Transfiguration' lessons. She would begin studying pony anatomy. And she would try her best to understand the Stone of Permanence.

She would also, after consulting with Luna, give Riddle a hug to hopefully help a little with his psychopathy, even if all the books say it's unrecoverable at his age, which is why it's incredibly important for parents to prevent it by providing true empathy and love. She even decided to go a step further, using her new priorities to let him know that his fear of death was right, proper, natural, and good, but he doesn't have to be so afraid anymore. And not just because he's immortal, but because ponies do care for him.

Then, after consulting with Luna a bit more, and after getting Cadence's and Riddle's permission, she occasionally used Starswirl's unfinished spell to swap their marks – only their three cutie marks – giving to Riddle the talent of love, giving to Cadence the talent of magic, and giving to herself his unpleasant talent of seeing danger everywhere, since she couldn't stand the idea of giving it to Cadence, even for a minute.

She could handle it.

Barely.

She could handle it only because it drove her to save everypony faster. Even still, she could only handle it once a month at most.

On Riddle's end, he could likewise only stand a talent of 'love' once a month. At first.

Unlike Twilight, the more he used it, the more he could tolerate it. The more he tolerated it, the more useful he found it. The more useful he found it, the more he accepted its advice. The more he accepted its advice, the faster he progressed, the closer he got to some unknown destination.

Until one day…

One day he was having a conversation with Luna at the dinner table.

He'd completed his mandatory Changeling sense session earlier and had already deactivated his ability to magically detect emotions for the day, despite the fact that he had begun to use it more at the insistence of 'love'. But 'love' also insisted that he provide regular rest to his empathic mental pathways.

It's his brain, after all; it requires recovery periods after hard work. Like building a muscle, he explored his own limits and gauged when to exercise and when to recover.

So at that particular moment his artificial empathy wasn't active. He felt no love from others, or any other emotion unless he made eye contact, and even then it was only the occasional flicker. Both his magical and mundane methods of feeling the emotions of others were inactive, since he made eye contact with no one.

Luna asked him about the guard's current training, eventually touching upon their portkeys to and from the barracks.

He explained every bit of his original reasoning, since he had not done that before, mentioning both the obvious efficiency aspect of having a guard that is always available and always on time, but also the effect on morale, citing that extended travel time to and from work each day can negatively impact one's mental state, and he wanted his soldiers to have peak mental performance, not just physical. He'd lived with a long commute himself once upon a time (when working at Bourgin and Burke's, commuting from the muggle world without Apparation or Floo for reasons that, in retrospect, were stupid) and he did not like it at all.

In an off-hand comment sort of way, Luna said, "That was considerate of you."

And in that moment, something stirred within him. Something that caused a confused frown to reach his lips.

Luna had tried compliments before as a way of helping his progress, but they were never the right combination of true, motiveless, and meaningful to have any effect on him. His mind had rejected all of Luna's attempts as false, forced, and/or as things he already knew about himself. He accurately evaluated them as attempts at emotional manipulation. His brain had a long history of seeing almost all praise as flattery, and those paths of pattern recognition remained always active. Regardless of the motive behind her manipulations, they were still manipulations – calculated words to produce an effect, not spontaneous speech.

Even Luna eventually admitted, to herself more than to him, that she wasn't being fully honest with that tactic, so she dropped it.

But in this moment, he knew her words weren't forced, he hadn't considered it before, and…

The feeling passed as quickly as it had come. The emotion he had imagined himself feeling went away and his mind settled back into its standard 'desert' of apathy, which now seemed drier and emptier than usual.

But from that moment forward, he began to notice the ways in which Luna was in danger. She did not cast 'taste-testing' charms on her food. She seemed vulnerable to attack. She was utterly at ease around him.

He had noticed these things long ago, only caring about them when he wanted to make a point, or when he considered moves for or against her. Now, from time to time, his mind increasingly and incessantly reminded him about these vulnerabilities.

Receiving Mi Amore Cadenza's talent would bring temporary relief, but when Ms. Sparkle reversed the switching spell, the paranoia would return.

Eventually it got to the point where he couldn't ignore it.

So he began casting his own array of taste-testing charms on Luna's food – as subtly as he'd always done for his own. But that was only the beginning. His brain began to suggest that he act on other ideas he's had as well, things that would require significant effort on his part.

He suggested that Luna adjust strategy entirely for her Night Court: she should not appear as an ascended alicorn princess, lest ponies listen to her for her appearance and status instead of her wisdom. She should open a clinic as an ordinary earth pony with a unicorn assistant, competing with all other talk therapists on the free market without an extremely unfair advantage. He would advertise her services and come up with strategies to spread her wisdom far and wide, which should prove advantage enough.

Luna did not shut down Night Court, but she did jump for his idea as soon as he made it, which meant she was in less danger from assassination attempts for at least part of the night. It took some time to establish, but portkey travel to and from her clinic in Manehattan eventually became a nightly occurrence for the two of them.

Riddle also found himself analysing therapy clients and Night Court petitioners for potential threats. He invented a role that required Luna to allow him to listen in on the sessions, becoming the Night Court 'watcher' and the therapy 'recorder'. He recorded each session and presented the records to the petitioner/client for later review. The petitioners and clients were, of course, informed about this beforehand. For those who desired a completely private audience with the Princess, Luna now informed them that the Court Scholar would be present, but he would not be able to hear. He could still see, and that was enough for safety.

Luna accepted his honest excuse of wanting to be more generally helpful to the causes of Night Court and talk therapy. When the clients allowed their petitions to be made public, more and more clients began to arrive. Riddle had predicted that part in advance – he continues to find her advice very helpful, even when it's not directed at himself. Perhaps especially so. Though he could tell Luna suspected ulterior motives.

He also stopped taking break days. He worked as Court Scholar / Royal Fool / Therapy Assistant for the full seven nights of the week to ensure he would always be present for threat analysis.

This did not conflict with his generalship of the reserves. He did that during the day. He'd never broken his habit of polyphasic sleeping. That full night of respite had only happened once.

The transition to literal full-time work was when Luna asked directly about the change in his behaviour.

He said he wasn't ready to talk about it honestly, but he assured her that he didn't think she would dislike any of his hidden motives if she knew them.

Riddle seemed to have more energy each day as well, despite the increased work load. He looked forward to each new session as Court Scholar – a daily, consistent anticipation that he'd never felt for any other life ambition.

He had looked forward to certain moments as Lord Voldemort, the completion of clever plots and the success of various maneuvers. But those feelings had been fleeting, rare, and somewhat random.

This time his emotions are constant and regular, despite the cause being fleeting and random. He can't predict when Luna would say or do something to produce a phantom feeling of 'love' within himself, but it only happens in her presence, so the logical thing to do is to maximize the time he spends there.

His cynical side pointed out the similarity to a gambling addiction, to Mr. Potter's muggle books speaking of studies about rats trained by random food dispensers to press levers until they die, but this new side of him didn't seem to mind that possibility.

He could feel himself developing a change in perspective, a growing… optimism? No, optimism isn't the right word. Optimism is the antonym of pessimism, not of cynicism. The English language should have a right and proper antonym to cynicism, but it doesn't.

Happiness and faith are two words that come to mind as antithetical to cynicism, but neither properly describe his recent state of mind, even if they're closer than optimism.

The firm knowledge that things are slowly getting better, that the world isn't so bleak after all, despite its many, many flaws… 'high spirits'? No, that phrase often refers to temporary states, not persistent ones.

He presented the question to Twilight Sparkle, since Luna would understand why he was asking, and Ms. Sparkle didn't hesitate to answer that he was describing what she felt every day – the feeling of friendship.

For the first time since arriving in Equestria, he did not roll his eyes at that phrase – externally or internally. He actually considered it for a while, wondering if it might be true.

Since he was already there, Riddle asked Twilight what progress she's made on the Stone.

She replied that it was slow going, so can he please let her use the Stone to heal the elderly? (She's allowed to ask such questions, but her Vow prevents her from using the Stone outside of research purposes without explicit permission.)

"No, you may not."

She begged him, saying that if he was trying to be a 'good' pony, he needs to start acting like it.

He shook his head, told her to stop trying to manipulate him, and then said that even if he was a 'good' pony who shared her desires, he swore an Unbreakable Vow to not destroy the world, and that is preventing his consent to her request, regardless of his personal feelings on the matter. Though his personal feelings would also have him say no.

"Why?" Twilight asked, still in that pleasing tone.

Consider:

Sombra has returned, but chooses to go incognito rather than attack the Crystal Empire. The Dark Lord hears of an amazing magical process that can heal the elderly. He investigates, perhaps pretending to be elderly himself. He sees, understands, and steals the Stone. He uses the power of the Stone to, say, make an armory of dragon-scale armor, recruit foreign mercenaries with Stone-made gold, and then launch a full-scale invasion of Equestria. And that's if he sticks to conventional warfare. Magically self-perpetuating effects, Riddle suspects, would be a world-ending threat with the Stone in hoof – or on horn, rather.

No. Twilight may not test that, not even to find a way to guard against it. Not yet.

Yes, he knows Sombra is in prison. But is Sombra the only evil pony in existence? No? Then the example holds. Replace 'Sombra' with 'any future dark lord'.

Evil on that scale is rare? It doesn't matter. It exists. It seems to be an annual occurrence, even.

And in the unrealistic hypothetical that evil of that scale is nonexistent henceforth, consider simple self-interest. Desiring the Stone for personal gain rather than world conquest is a far more likely scenario. Even if it's for that reason, once someone has stolen the Stone a single time, you no longer have it available for research. If it has limited usage, or is randomly destroyed, then it's gone forever. If she wishes to save the world sooner, she must think better. Just like if he wishes to return to his world sooner, he must feel better.

With a look of great pain, Twilight said that she understood.

Does she 'understand' well enough to not ask again, to not let her mind even consider the thought of cheating the problem in that way?

…

…

…

Yes, she said with a grim look.

Is her anger meant to be directed at him, or at the situation in general?

Both. But mostly the situation. She doesn't like how okay he seems with it, but if he's really not letting the world be healed because he swore a Vow to keep the world safe-

Not to keep the world safe. To not, by any act of his, risk the world's destruction. He knows it is annoying to be interrupted, but that is an important distinction to make. He isn't being forced to save the world. He's being forced to not destroy it. Or risk destroying it. His Vow is preventing him from acting stupidly or recklessly. Allowing the Stone's power to be known by the public would be both stupid and reckless, though less so if there were more Stones, and even less if research had been done into potential Stone-made dangers.

If she succeeds, security of any public Stone business shall still be as impenetrable as he can make it, and he does intend to approve research into potential Stone-produced disasters once Twilight is cautious enough to engage in that endeavour without immediate oversight.

Twilight, after listening to all of this, took a few deep breaths, then finished what she was originally going to say. She's a little angry at him because of his callousness, but she's mostly angry at the situation. And at herself. He's right; if she were smarter, she would have figured it out already and the world would already be saved.

Also, what did he mean back when he said 'return to his world'? And what does feeling better have to do with it?

"That I shall answer only if you promise to keep the conversation between us."

"Done," she said. "But aren't we doing that already?"

He considered her question, then decided to present her with a contract that, not long ago, he had created and presented to Keen Eye.

Luna said he should 'branch out' with his friend group. He still couldn't bring himself to 'open up' without contingencies. He hasn't even told Keen Eye anything important yet, but he could at least be honest.

Twilight, after reading the contract, audibly sighed. "More magical binding?"

He shrugged. "I grew up in an environment of rumormongers," he said honestly. "And an utter lack of privacy before that. Luna believes that's the source of my habits of constant caution and secrecy. And I've already mentioned my caretaker's behaviour. I'm trying to overcome that past and 'open up', but…" He trailed off as Twilight signed the contract with a quill levitated by her magic.

"If it's what you need to believe me when I make a promise because you have trouble trusting ponies in general, then I don't mind," said Twilight. She proceeded to reiterate her question.

So he explained the Patronus situation. He didn't give every detail, but…

"Wait," she said. "Hold on. Silver is trapped outside of Time until you learn the Patronus?"

Riddle shook his head. "Not quite. I am currently trapped outside of my home universe's Time. Silver has returned to that Time. Since I am beyond it, Time should be progressing for me and not him. But yes, that situation will end when I learn the Patronus."

"What happens to this universe when it ends?" asked Twilight, a focused frown on her face.

Riddle hesitated. He had thought of that question before, and in his past ponderings he suspected the answer was that Equestria would simply cease to be. But on reflection...

Updating on more recent information, if Equestria has been around since the time of Merlin, surely it existed long before he and Mr. Potter arrived here, and surely it would persist after he left …

But even if that was true…

If he did leave…

Would he be able to come back?

He was suddenly unsure if he wanted the trap to end.

"I don't know the answer to that," he told Twilight. "But I think I know someone who would."

"By the way," Twilight said as he was about to turn to leave. "Are you going to be attending the Canterlot Conference?"

"The what?"

"The annual meeting of scholars," she said happily.

"Canterlot scholars?" he asked, his tone indicating how he felt about that.

"And others," she said defensively. "Engineers from Manehattan Tech go there too. You should go!"

"I'm inclined to decline."

"But you're the Court Scholar," she pointed out. "Besides, didn't you collaborate with High Riser on his pegasus magic paper?"

"No," he said. "No, I did not. I was unaware of any academic papers on that subject at all."

"But..." Twilight began, then retrieved the study in question, pointed to various parts, and asked various questions.

In the minutes that followed, Riddle's priorities shifted. Consulting Merlin about the nature of the universe was important, but it wasn't urgent, given that he was nowhere near casting the Patronus and escaping the mirror.

The Canterlot Conference, on the other hoof, was happening much sooner, and the situation seemed like it would require his personal touch.

He'd said to Merlin that he would familiarize himself with pony academics and philosophy before returning, and even if he had told Merlin afterwards that he wasn't inclined to add that to his list of obligations... maybe he will do it after all.

Furthermore, it would give him a few more weeks to attempt to figure out the 'What is Equestria?' puzzle on his own, as Merlin believes he can with his current knowledge.

Weighing the costs and benefits, he decided to wait until after the Canterlot situation had been addressed before returning to Merlin.

Rehabilitation 11.4: Canterlot Conference

"My fool, I am not against the idea," she repeated. "I can arrange for you to speak, but let's examine the emotional influences first."

He frowned. "How?"

"Write down your motives on paper, one by one, to the best of your abilities. Do it critically, as if you were examining someone else's motives in the worst possible light. Then do the same in a positive light. Then edit the paper to be less deliberately negative until you feel as though it is as honest as you can be. Then attend the conference, if you still feel like going."

It didn't take too long for him to complete the assignment.

I don't like the lack of academic integrity.
The stupidity, arrogance, and ignorance angers me.
If you take on a role, you should play out that role. Especially scholars with high statuses and salaries.
I think they deserve to be taught a harsh lesson.

"As I thought," she said after reading it. "You are well-versed in your own negative feelings. But what of your positive motives?"

"The back side," he said simply.

She flipped it over and read, Mr. Silver deserved better.

"Excellent," she said after crossing out the 'Mr'. "A perfect microcosm of your progress. Going by word count, you are about… let's see… two, four, six… you are about a tenth as competent at positivity within yourself as you are at negativity. Now I shall contact Canterlot University… actually, on second thought, I'll consult my sister. She always attends this affair."

Riddle shook his head. "I would prefer you didn't tell her in advance. She'd let him off easy."

"Not if I insist." Luna gave a reassuring smile. "She is capable of being the rainbow after your thunderstorms. Like the day the reserves were formed... or perhaps I should say reformed... in any case, Tia is more than happy to let others teach the hard lessons, even if she does not like teaching them herself. Feel free to be as harsh as you feel necessary. She will not refute or undermine you if she agrees, though she will almost certainly rephrase. You are certain your suspicions are accurate?"

"I'd need Legilimency to be completely certain. It is a question of motive, and that can only be truly gleaned by mind-reading."

"Not quite," said Luna. "Honesty, remember?"

"I have not forgotten your abilities." That was spoken a bit dryly, to his retrospective chagrin. "But I'd like my speech to come as a surprise. An interrogation by you would tip him off. My method wouldn't. Do I have your authorization to use it? I will read only, and search exclusively for thoughts related to the topic at hoof. You can publicly prove it with Honesty after the fact."

"…Very well. So long as you are not doing this to feed your anger. Remain focused on the memory of Silver and I shall support your efforts completely."

High Riser considers himself to be a stallion of ambition. He has always been competitive, always sought to climb the ladders around him until he reached the top. He was a prominent member of the dueling circuit long before the tradition was overtaken by the Court Scholar and pervaded by weak spellcasters.

Don't get him wrong, he can see the benefits of the reserves, being a member himself. He can even see the benefits of non-unicorns wearing horn helmets. He had always thought it a bit silly that pegasi and earth ponies could join the guard, but now that they can cast spells they actually stand a chance in a proper magical fight.

He had been watching from the spectator's stands when the troop of true royal soldiers were utterly trounced by mere Night Guard trainees. He had been there for Celestia's speech. The spectacle inspired him to join the reserves and become stronger, and that growth only happened because the system was overhauled by the Court Scholar.

But even still, if he's being fully honest with himself, he doesn't like how his favorite sport has been flooded by hornless hobbyists. He doesn't overly mind that dueling has fundamentally changed into something different. It's gone from carefully controlled and regulated one-on-one fights to a more rule-free, anarchic, chaotic format. He's all for that, at least now that he's good at it.

What he does mind is that he's no longer in the sole company of unicorns. He has nothing against the other races, he just thinks that magic in general is the competence of unicorns. He doesn't go around saying farms should be tilled by magic-powered plows, or that mail should be delivered by the mail spell, even if that would be more efficient. He's fine with farms belonging to earth ponies, air belonging to pegasi, and magic belonging to unicorns. That's the way of the world, no matter how much Celestia tries to change it.

And he knew it was Celestia, not the Court Scholar, behind that agenda. He'd been two rows down in the stands when the Court Scholar calmly critiqued the current state of the Guard. He'd said something like, "I stopped the non-unicorns from being complete dead weight, but they still feel like liabilities. I will always prefer unicorns to non-unicorns in a fight, just as most ponies will prefer that pegasi deliver their mail." High Riser still remembers it because he couldn't have put it better himself.

In short, the Court Scholar gets it. High Riser understood, upon hearing that one line, that Riddle Tome, formerly Mystery Book, sees the world the same way High does. Probably because, as an intelligent alicorn, Mystery Book knows the abilities – and proper places – of each race in pony society.

Originally, High Riser had been moody about the 'non-unicorn in Canterlot University' scandal. And he still is disgruntled to some extent. He understands personal ambition, but come on. Pretending to be an ordinary earth pony, then following it up with another lie of 'I was a thestral all along' when he'd actually been an alicorn all along? That's taking it a bit too far. Especially if it's just for the sake of stirring up intrigue.

Not that the newspapers have picked up on the 'alicorn' part yet; only the tabloids have circulated that rumor. If High Riser hadn’t been there when the Court Scholar had been setting up the parchment viewing-screen, he wouldn't have believed it himself. If not for his shock and distaste, he would have been impressed at the seamless transition from glasses-wearing-earth-pony to unicorn-with-thestral-eyes.

If the thought had occurred to High Riser to hide his own horn, and if he'd believed he could get away with it, and if he had the magical know-how, and if he had friends in the media like Mystery Book seems to, then High Riser might have done it himself back when he was taking his own entrance exam twenty years ago.

But then again, he probably couldn't have swallowed his pride in his horn and his abilities. He'd have been tempted to drop the lie at the first insult of inadequacy.

No. He could never have endured the idea of pretending a non-unicorn could be truly competent and powerful at magic. To this day, High is frustrated how the Court Scholar got away with fraud. There should be some kind of legal sanction for faking your race.

But maybe he'd been punished behind closed doors. In fact, maybe that's why he doesn't get along with Celestia.

Either way, that was all in the past. The Court Scholar currently seems to be on the right track. Plus, he's influential.

The words of the day are: politeness and camaraderie.

Normally High Riser doesn't spend this much time thinking about other ponies during work hours, but when you get a notice that an important pony wants to meet you face-to-face – a few hours before you're about to be publicly recognized for your accomplishments, no less – and when you've already spent various occasions thinking about that pony in the past, your mind has a tendency to sum up its thoughts and feelings as you nervously wait in your office, watching the seconds tick by on the clock.

Then that pony knocks on your door, exactly on schedule, and you have a brief, innocuous chat about your most recent publication, keeping a few things private and safe in the back of your mind, and your nervousness largely disappears.

The Canterlot Conference is an annual affair where university scholars of every discipline meet in a lecture hall to discuss the latest developments. A multidisciplinary committee decides which are most significant, and the scholars responsible are told to prepare a presentation, after which they receive recognition for their work, with Celestia deciding the best overall.

High Riser was scheduled to give a presentation on the latest discoveries in pegasus magic, which he had personally and passionately practiced as a member of the reserves. He had researched the techniques, composed a thesis based on the readings of his magic scanners, then written a paper that had taken the university by storm. It was well-written and understandable by ponies from every discipline. It was peer-reviewed to exhaustion and determined to be accurate. It had even reached the Court Scholar, who is normally and notoriously absent from university affairs.

In short, High was a shoe-in for nomination. But he is not a shoe-in for victory, he realized after the other scholars gave their presentations. The investigation into dragon magic by Twilight Sparkle was particularly good.

And although it wasn't quite as academic as the other presentations, a Manehattan Tech engineer – knowledgeable of both the Court Scholar's parchment screens and the Court Scholar's memory-viewing 'Pensieve' – had managed not only to understand the principles behind memory extraction and parchment screens, but to further combine the principles into a single innovation. No longer must you dunk your head into a bowl to see another's memories. As many ponies as can behold the screen may watch the memory at once. It was a last-minute addition to the roster of presentations, according to Celestia, but Spellio Hornsworth had clearly earned the right to be there.

Competition was fierce this year. High Riser would have to bring his A-game to win. And he did. He was fairly certain, as he walked back to his seat, that he had it in the bag.

"Before I announce my choice of best," said Celestia, host of the conference. "The Court Scholar would like to say a few words."

There was murmuring among the audience – the Court Scholar was attending the Canterlot Conference?

High Riser wasn't surprised by the appearance, having met the stallion in advance, but he was curious about the sudden introduction. Would he be treated to additional recognition?

"Salutations," said a voice that had not been publicly heard in the university for years. "Before the victor is announced, I would like to give a brief history lesson on the techniques of air-bucking-" with the standard sound of the technique and a breeze that blew across the audience, he bucked himself upward until he was at the highest point of the hall. "-air-standing," he said from high above, seeming to stand on the air. He then dropped, and with another breeze he slowed his descent at the last minute. "-the air cushion," he continued calmly, "-and cloud phasing."

High Riser's eyes were a bit wide. Air-standing?

"Spellio Hornsworth," Riddle Tome addressed into the silence of the crowd. "May I borrow your invention for a moment?"

"Go right ahead," said the unicorn. "It's mostly your invention anyway, like I said earlier."

"Thank you. Your recognition of my contribution does you credit. For the record," he said to the wider hall, "pensieves and memory extraction were not invented by me, I simply introduced them to Equestria. Rest assured, in my homeland they both fell into what Equestrians call the 'public domain' long ago. Further details are private, which is why I have not tried to profit from Pensieves. Parchment screens, on the other hoof, were mostly my own original innovation."

There was some murmuring as Riddle Tome floated the old stallion's large parchment towards himself and began to fiddle with it. Not everypony present was even prescient about pensieves or parchment screens in the first place- Spellio Hornsworth's presentation had been their introduction to the devices. Even with Spellio giving credit to the Court Scholar, most ponies didn't know the surrounding circumstances. The few that knew even tidbits of background information spent the next few minutes supplying them to those who knew nothing.

"Many of you had not seen parchment screens or memory-viewing before today," said the Court Scholar after he finished preparing. "With the exception of those in the reserves, of course, who well know the efficacy of witnessing your own past mistakes with your own eyes. Similarly, the history I'd like to highlight is perhaps one that most of you here would not know, but anypony in the reserves would have heard it many times as they were taught. Like pensieves and memory-viewing, those novel pegasus magic applications were not invented or theorized by myself, nor any other adult, unicorn or otherwise."

The screen lit up with a memory, just as it had during Spellio's presentation, though in his case he'd shared the memory of his wedding day. The memory was large and bright enough to be seen by the entire watching audience, and if it worked like before, the sound would carry to every corner of the lecture hall.

Without further preamble, the memory began to play.

"Would you like to say a few words?" came Celestia's voice through the screen. "I think everypony here would like to know your secret."

"Thirty days ago," said a white pegasus colt standing next to her in a magically amplified voice, "I couldn't fly a single mile without collapsing in exhaustion. Twenty-six days ago, I could fly three miles without breaking a sweat. I could fly it normally, without air-bucking."

The young colt paused for a moment, then continued.

"This wasn't because of training. It wasn't because of difficult, physical work. It wasn't even the result of research. My victory is the fruit of hard mental labor, not physical training. My success came from creative problem-solving, not flying talent. My achievement involves ingenuity and originality, not muscle.

"Before I figured out what I was doing wrong, I thought I could find the answer to my problems in books." The colt shook his head. "I couldn't. And not because they were too hard to understand. It's because the books about pegasus magic weren't helpful. They don't contain the correct answers. In some cases, they were even wrong."

Gasps could be heard coming from within the memory, and from without.

"They are wrong," the colt repeated. "Anypegasus who's ever read a book on pegasus magic, none of which were authored by actual pegasi, by the way, if you take anything away from today, take this: I figured out how my magic works- how it really works- by disregarding what I read and figuring it out for myself. If you ever want to replicate what I can do, you'll have to forget what you've read and start thinking for yourselves.

"And if you're not a pegasus..." the colt shrugged. "Then it shouldn't matter to you what we pegasi believe about our own magic, especially if it works in the real world, as opposed to mere words on a page."

The memory paused.

"That was the Awards Ceremony of Cloudsdale's Flight Week from three years ago," said the Court Scholar. "The spotlight of that particular week was stolen by Silver Wing, who won his age's segment of the racing competition. Winners were allowed to speak to the crowd if they wished, and I'm glad to have graced all of you with his elegant declamation."

The watching audience was silent.

"Entertaining, isn't he?" The Court Scholar was chuckling. "My young apprentice certainly had a way with words. Of course, thanks to High Riser, the books shall soon be less wrong than they once were. But I'm curious, Mr. Riser. Why did the name 'Silver Wing' go unmentioned throughout all of your work? Like the rest of the reserve soldiers, you learned the basics from Scootaloo in Cloudsdale, who I am certain did not fail to mention her greatest inspiration. You did not fail to mention my contributions to the technique, of course, in that I mandated they be learned by the reserves. But as far as I could tell, the original inventor was never named or hinted. Just from reading your paper and listening to you speak, one gets the impression that I invented the techniques. Or worse, that the techniques have always been known. You are far too knowledgeable to make such a mistake, but perhaps I have misjudged your capabilities. Would you like to explain what happened?"

"Please do," said Princess Luna from a few seats behind him, fixing him with a firm stare. "Honestly, if thou would."

High Riser's heart rate was higher than he could ever remember it being. It was much higher than mere combat and physical exercise would have produced. He was so utterly terrified that he couldn't think of a single thing to say.

The silence stretched.

"I see," said the Court Scholar. "In that case, I will show the rest of this memory."

The colt turned to face Princess Celestia directly. "I... think that's all I wanted to say about the secret to my success."

"Wouldn't you like to explain at least some of the theory?" asked the at-the-time diarch. "You may never get a better chance."

The colt audibly snorted. "And deal with the inevitable backlash from a certain type of pompous pony belonging to a certain prestigious magical institution? No thanks. I'm pushing it as it is."

The screen fell blank, thus signaling the end of the memory.

When the Court Scholar spoke again, he was cold and scornful. "Though he was forced to choose his words carefully, Mr. Silver obviously and specifically referred to most of you. His perspective has been proven correct these past few weeks, and especially today. Congratulations on justifying and validating a colt's cynicism."

Some of the ponies in the audience visibly flinched. 'Cynicism' is an ugly word in polite pony society, like profanity or vulgarity. Because to them, if there's anything that's the opposite of friendship, happiness, and Equestrian values, it's cynicism.

"Of those who peer-reviewed High Riser's work," Riddle went on, "only one of you so much as inquired into the origins of this incredible set of discoveries. Only one of you demonstrated the most important quality to any scholar – that of critical thought, in which you criticize and doubt what you read. And the one who did mention it, Keen Eye, what happened to your review paper?"

"It was peer reviewed and nitpicked to death," said a voice from the crowd. "And Waiting List questioned my position in the university."

"Unsurprising," said the harsh voice of Riddle Tome. "The rest of you. If you have ever wondered why the Court Scholar wants little to do with this institution, it is because my cynicism about you is correct. Justify my cynicism less in the future, and I shall be less inclined to avoid you. High Riser, you are fired from the reserves and forbidden from rejoining."

Princess Luna cleared her throat in the audience, loud enough to catch the Court Scholar's attention.

"…For the next twenty years, or until I personally determine you are ready to rejoin. Whichever comes first. Now if you'll excuse me, there is honest work to be done."

He popped away, leaving a gaping audience behind.

Celestia took the stage in his wake. "Let this be a reminder to everypony," said the host of the conference. "Intellectual property is just as important as physical property. When inventors can be reliably rewarded for their work, ponies actually want to be smart and invent things. Equestria did not truly see its explosion into the modern era until the labor of the mind was recognized as equally valid to the labor of the body, and thus equally enshrined by property rights." Her sweeping eyes stopped scanning and settled firmly on… "High Riser," she addressed.

Despite everything he was feeling, he met her gaze. "Y-yes, your majesty?"

"I am sorry to say that you have not respected the intellectual property of others," she said in a sad tone. "Your paper is not invalid or untrue, but you have deliberately failed to credit or even acknowledge the one who made the discovery. It seems you wish to live in a world in which intellectual property is not recognized or respected. Therefore, I am afraid you have forfeited the right to complain. All claim to your work, your papers, your discoveries and contributions regarding pegasus magic, shall be considered the intellectual property of Silver Wing, who would have been happy to help if he were here, and who very well may have done the deeper research himself if he thought this institution would recognize his work when he was a pegasus. You may plead your case in my court if you object, and I shall decide what restitution you must pay in order to make amends."

High Riser, torn between rage and shame, found that he had nothing good to say.

Celestia turned to face the entire ensemble of stunned scholars. "My bright unicorns. Intelligence is not yours alone. Pegasi and earth ponies can have great ideas too. Please, please never fail to give credit when due. And do not demean the delinquent and different. Princess Cadence was a pegasus before she became an alicorn, and Mystery Book was not an alicorn at the time he was attending university. Intellectual, magical, and moral greatness can come from the most unexpected of places. Although of course, it can come from the most expected of places as well. Twilight Sparkle, would you please come forward? I believe your research has been by far the most original we've seen this year, and that, I think, deserves the most prominence, in light of recent events."

Twilight Sparkle's primary focus for the last few years had, of course, been Time and Space magic. But her brain would often get frustrated when she hit a brick wall, so rather than continue to bang her head against it, she would focus on other subjects while her subconscious absorbed whatever new constraint she encountered. So long as it's magic of some kind, she reasoned, she was still getting closer to her goal. And since Spike was also near and dear to her heart, she had recently been focusing on Dragon magic. (Chaos magic too, since Spike can do it now and it has the potential to influence Time and Space, but mostly Dragon magic.) Even with her recent focus on the Stone, her foray into the basics of Dragon magic had mostly run its course, and she had decided it was time to share those basics with academia so that others could tackle the subject as a whole while she redoubled her efforts on immortality.

In light of recent events, she wasn't quite tempted to dismiss them entirely like Silver was, but she certainly understood his perspective better. When Twilight took the stand, she whispered something into her mentor's ears, who looked surprised, but pleased.

"Though on second thought," said Celestia, and only a very few ponies could recognize the mischief in her voice, "most ponies in this room likely anticipated a different outcome. If the panel could have voted on the winner ten minutes ago, I think we all know who would have one. Therefore, I think the pegasus techniques do deserve victory in the end. Thus do I bestow the highest academic honors to Silver Wing. I'm afraid that means you come in second place, Twilight."

Twilight Sparkle was smiling widely. "As Silver Wing's guardian," she said, "I couldn't be more proud. And I'd be happy to hold his award until he gets back."

As the small trophy of recognition was transferred from one magical grasp to another, a few more whispered words were exchanged. Again Celestia seemed surprised, and again she did not object.

"It would seem Twilight would also like to share a memory of Silver. I do not know what it might have in store for us, but since acceptance speeches are customary, and since the Court Scholar's memory should count as Silver's presentation, I think a second memory would be very appropriate. Go ahead, Twilight."

Twilight nodded, then held a hoof to her forehead. She stood still for a time, then slowly withdrew a sliver of silver. (Mind magic had not escaped her recent thirst for knowledge either.) Soon enough, a new memory was on the screen.

"Silver and I had a conversation that stuck with me," said Twilight. "It was a bit before his debut during Flight Week. I didn't like it at the time. He said some very hard truths that I've had to come to terms with recently. But I'd have probably been a bit lost in my research without them. So even if you don't like it, please listen all the way through."

The scholars watched in silence as a young colt argued confidently against the Element of Magic – with the topic of Canterlot University as the primary point of contention. They watched a historically knowledgeable colt concisely describe their consideration of the other pony races with the example of Swift Flight. They watched a boundary-pushing colt describe the prospect of consulting them as 'banging his head against a brick wall, so much that he would suffer brain damage'.

And finally, they heard the memory conclude with the following remark:

"No, it's their job to lecture and write publications. In order to get to that point, they had to memorize test answers when they were students. At no point along their career paths was actual thinking necessary."

When the memory fell blank, there was audible protest – ponies voicing their opinions that they utterly disagreed with the remark.

"It was harsh, yes," said Twilight. "And overly general. And it doesn't apply to everypony. But the core of what he said is very important. I didn't make my own breakthrough by reading university books about Dragon Magic. I tried reading at first, but it wasn't all that helpful. It took me much longer than three weeks of reading before I got sick of being stuck, but I did eventually remember Silver's lesson, and that's when I consulted actual dragons. And I don't mean to project my own experiences onto all of you, but now that I've seen it for myself, I can't bring myself to agree with my past self. There's a deep problem in this university. The only pony who offered reasonable skepticism was scorned with a ton of frankly low-brow logical fallacies. If you proudly know the names of those fallacies, ESPECIALLY ad mannulum, you have no excuse to turn around and use them yourself the moment you see an argument you don't like."

"Waiting List," 'coughed' a pony in the crowd. High Riser recognized him as Keen Eye, a fellow member of the reserves. Well, his former fellow.

"Let us not name names," said Celestia.

"You know what," said the same pony. "No. I'm tired of this vague, collective shaming stuff. You want to solve the problem? Then you need to address the root causes. So let's name the root causes. One. At. A. Time." The pony cleared his throat, levitated a stack of parchments from a saddlebag, and spoke around twenty names. Celestia tried to interrupt him, but Princess Luna amplified his voice to be louder than her sister's. When the list was over, the pony said, "I'm sure I'm not the only one who hates sitting through lectures he doesn't deserve. I don't think the ponies from Manehattan Tech needed it. If you want to fix the problem, isolate the problem. If you don't want idiots as staff, then get rid of the idiots."

"Or," said Princess Luna, "as an alternative, we could simply make as many excuses for them as possible and continue hoping they get better. I am sure that shall work eventually, dear sister."

"Sarcasm does not become you, sister."

"What can I say? He's rubbing off on me. I rephrased what I expect you wish to do in an unambiguous manner. I have exaggerated for emphasis, granted, but is it truly a mischaracterization of your position?"

That was when Celestia finally seemed to relent. "First the nobility, and now this. Very well." She spoke loudly and authoritatively to the crowd, like an experienced manager addressing to her employees in a company meeting. "For those unaware of history, I like to critically examine and, if necessary, reform Canterlot University once every hundred years or so, in case it has strayed from its academic ideals." She sighed dramatically. "And it seems to be that time of the century again, if a bit earlier than expected. Expect to hear more about this in the coming weeks."

In the coming weeks...

"Twilight, do you think you could compose a fair test to evaluate the quality of my university and its faculty?"

"Something they could not simply see through and fake," Luna added. They made sure to have this conversation in private, where no potential test takers would hear it. "When actively searching for red flags, you must use metrics that are not transparent. Otherwise cunning ponies will simply pass your test by lying. Ideally they wouldn't even know they are being tested, but that chariot has already departed."

Twilight brightened. "I know just the thing!"

She had omitted Silver's 'two, four, six' test from the memory earlier, mostly because it would have taken too long and distracted from the point. But it also meant nopony knew about it but her and Silver. That made it a good place to start. It was simple enough to enchant the test paper to react with a 'yes/no' for sets of three numbers applying to the rule. And taking Luna's advice into account, she also decided to throw in a bunch of red herring questions, ones that cunning ponies might believe are the key points, but only exist to actively thwart their attempts to subvert the test.

When Princess Celestia reviewed her test and gently pointed out that a number of her questions were just a bit too obvious and easily answered, while others didn't seem to have much of a point, Twilight explained her reasoning, and Princess Celestia brightened considerably. She shared the test with her sister, and then Princess Luna insisted Twilight consult Riddle to make the red herrings as juicy and distracting as possible. He's particularly competent at that kind of deception.

And he was. Twilight found herself a bit disturbed at just how easily he seemed to manipulate ponies just through a list of questions on a sheet. Even she would have fallen for some of them if she didn't know what they were trying to accomplish.

Although to be fair to herself, since the princesses and Riddle all believed her original test was stupidly obvious the first time around- none of them suspected the test's true intentions, even though they knew it was supposed to be a critical evaluation- it was entirely possible that she didn't need his help.

It was entirely possible she would have fallen for her own initial set of questions if she had been in the position of test-taker instead of test-maker, although she still thinks she would have done decently and not failed, which is something she needed to take into account when composing the test. If it's so difficult that everypony fails, then it fails as a test. Though Riddle disagreed with that, saying that it might simply mean that no academics of true quality and integrity exist in the university.

On the outside, the test overtly seemed to judge a pony's personal opinions (though Riddle called them 'political', not personal) on a scale from non-biased to race-conscious, with many mathematical, scientific, and magical questions thrown into the mix. It was supposedly a general test of academic aptitude, after all.

Particularly insidious was the fact that only the objective questions were being judged for accuracy, with extra weight going to the ones that evaluated critical thinking and skepticism. Those problems were disguised as seemingly straightforward problems. She wondered how many math adepts would fall for the equation written in words, not mathematical notation. It required simple order of operations and the recognition that 'divided by half' was intentional – a thing so obvious that the test-takers might condescend to assume ignorance of the test-maker and substitute 'divided by two' as they answered.

The non-objective essay-style questions were being graded using three metrics:

Quality of writing.

'How much is the test-taker trying to manipulate the evaluator / morally grandstand / signal their own virtue.'

'Does this seem like a genuinely honest answer?'

Luna helped a lot in the grading of those kinds of questions. Riddle offered to help as well, though he was only allowed to grade under the first and second metrics. His cynicism helped him do that relatively quickly, and he said afterwards that he was surprised how much he enjoyed this kind of grading. He particularly liked leaving helpful critiques on where the test-takers could really shore up their manipulation skills.

His suggestions of 'truth serum' and 'mind reading' to aid Luna in grading the honesty of the test-takers (many examiners were called in for in-pony questioning) were rejected by Princess Celestia as being too intrusive and bordering on illegal, given her ban on mind-control magics.

(Riddle did not remark that banning the field outright has made her subjects vulnerable to it. He still wasn't quite sure if it was something he intended to fix or exploit in the future. It was as annoying as it was gratifying that he was surrounded by a supposedly competent military, parts of which he had trained himself, all of which – down to the last soldier – could be subverted by Legilimency, false memories, Obliviation, or the Imperius. Their highest princess has a policy actively preventing them from shoring up the weakness that any Dark Lord wouldn't hesitate to exploit. A running theme in her rule, he's found.)

Instead of voicing any of that, Riddle sighed and sarcastically asked if truth serum and mind reading are not essentially what Luna is already doing. He'd just be making the process less mystic, shamanic, seemingly subjective, etc. What's the problem with either of his suggestions if they're consented to?

It was then Twilight realized that Riddle might just be lying and/or secretly joking, that he couldn't really do either, and he's actually just trying to get Princess Celestia to ease the ban on magical mind-control like she eased the ban on rituals.

When Twilight voiced her suspicion, Princess Celestia actually paused for a moment, laughed, and declared in a slightly dramatic fashion: "It will not be that easy, foul fool!"

Riddle pinched the bridge of his nose with a hoof and smiled, a combination of gestures that made everypony believe different things about his state of mind in that moment. Celestia thought he was smiling guiltily at having been caught, and Luna thought he was content in his efforts to ease some of her own difficulties.

All of which were wrong. He long since killed the habit of grinning upon being discovered or suspected, and he never smiled for mere attempted plots. He rarely smiled upon success. He was just amused at the irony of the moment.

Oh how easy it would be to magically bind the minds of your subjects thanks to you, if that's what somepony ever decides to do...

Not that the Ministry of Magic is much better, but the Unspeakables and the DMLE require Occlumency for recruits and Imperius resistance for promotion, and Gringotts has thief's downfall...

His smile faded to abstraction as he compared the pros and cons of each system.

When Twilight saw Riddle's guilty smile, she hummed in contentment at pointing out and spoiling his evil plan. It would have been hypocritical to neglect her own critical thinking after calling everypony else out on it, so she's been consciously trying to break the habit of taking what others say at face value, especially Riddle. Though he probably wasn't lying about his magical capabilities.

In recent months, Twilight has grown increasingly excited and apprehensive about how much untapped magical knowledge their resident alien has at his disposal. Even scarier was the thought that it wasn't going untapped...

Now for the other problem, Riddle thought. He tapped his cheek as he pondered his approach. He'd acquired an official vacation week for this, so he had time.

A few ideas had come to mind. He wished to explore one more data point, one more observation before tackling the problem of Atlantis. Seeing an image of the globe would be easiest, but there was no such thing as a world map of Equus. The other side of their world remains uncharted by official cartographers, and the unofficial ones didn't use methods that scaled onto large atlases.

There was a simple solution, one that required a bit of experimentation with his Horcrux system, and in particular the Elder Wand... experimentation that would be useful regardless, if it worked.

He might not be able to speak words while within his wand, but riding a broomstick, like Transfiguration, is wordless. Before his experiment began, he covered his body with the cloak of invisibility, put it into living stasis, and transferred his mind into his wand. This was after the thorough privacy warding and cautionary constraints required for ritual research, of course.

He felt downright ridiculous riding a broomstick as a wand, but he needed this information.

Among his many precautions, both objects are Things of Power – the wand as a horcrux, the broom using an ancient lost spell – so the vacuum of space and other lesser forces would not destroy them. He'd also sent a few detection devices to fly far ahead and forewarn him of anomalies in the atmosphere. He didn't know the size of Equus or its Mirror-produced pocket-universe, nor how either was bounded. An inexplicable urge to turn around, suddenly finding himself facing a planet instead of the sky, and even a simple wall were all within his expectations. Most likely in his mind was the material of the Mirror's frame, or more accurately, the inside back of the frame, which had proven to be Fiendfyre proof and was likely immune to brute magical force of any kind.

He had long ago suspected the day-night cycle of Equestria to work like the ceiling of the Great Hall at Hogwarts. His third year of Herbology had taught him that false sunlight could be used to grow plants and provide heat, so the theory of an illusion spanning the entire sky of Equus – one that could be manipulated by powerful magical beings on the planet's surface – neatly explained some of Mr. Silver's initial scientific critiques.

Though if it is a false illusion, he concluded as he climbed, it's much greater in scope than what the founders of Hogwarts accomplished. This point was hammered home by every hour he spent slowly moving upward. Broomsticks do not move at the speed of rockets, or even air-bucking, but they did have perfectly consistent maximum speeds, so he was painfully aware of the progress he was making and the distance he was traveling. Equus seemed to have a true Troposphere, Stratosphere, Mesosphere, and even Thermosphere that were all comparable to Earth's.

To pass the time, he fell back into old habits, pondering the most ancient arcane riddle as he drifted above the clouds.

What happened to Atlantis...

...

...

...

...

...

Once he'd gone high enough to see the full planet below him, high enough to recognize familiar landmass shapes which the atlases did not extend to show (though not high enough to encounter any sort of outer-edge to the universe), his peaceful problem-solving came to its head.

He knew what Equus was.

He knew what the Atlanteans had done.

If he was in a comparable position back home, he might even be sitting where the Atlanteans did it, where they put the Mirror to create a realm as large as Equus... no, it would be a bit further out, given that he's yet to hit the hypothetical wall. Perhaps they went as far as the moon, and wouldn't that be a slap to Mr. Potter's pride in what muggles had accomplished before wizards.

In any case, Riddle was ready to revisit Merlin.

Chapter 65: New Hire

"Professor Monroe," said Headmistress McGonagall at the staff table during lunch. "May I ask for your assistance on a pressing Hogwarts matter?"

Much like the small window for office hours he established for his students last year, lunch was the only time she could reliably meet and speak to the Defense Professor – a fact he had explicitly laid out to the Hogwarts staff at the start of summer. At all other times of the day, he seemed to leap across all of Magical Britain like a Leprechaun (or perhaps a Lethifold, depending on who was asked).

The Defense Professor blinked to awareness at her question. He had an apparent tendency to go distant when he was not actively doing something that required his full attention – perhaps a milder manifestation of his former severe condition.

The man sat completely at ease in a way that Minerva was only recently beginning to notice. He had an air of peace about him, a lack of his former tensity and intensity. He almost reminded her of Remus Lupin, of all wizards. Even back when David had been stressed by Ministry bureaucracy a few days ago, she couldn't remember him being sharp with her like he was before. He would voice his frustrations, but not direct his frustration at her. It was a subtle change, likely a result of his thirty five years in the Mirror. She was still curious about that, but she'd yet to ask him about it...

"Which Hogwarts matter might require my casual assistance?" he asked in a voice that sounded somewhat interested.

...though inquiries into his recent past would have to wait even further. "Do you happen to know any Potions Masters looking for work?"

"Ah," he blinked. "Yes. A replacement for Snape. Have you already contacted Horace Slughorn about the position?"

Minerva heaved a heavy sigh. "No, but not from lack of trying. He has been in hiding so long that nobody knows where he is, or even if he is. Alive, I mean."

The Defense Professor didn't interject, he simply offered a polite, patient look that requested she explain further.

Seeing no reason to stay silent about it, she said what had once been said to her. "Horace had been under the impression that the Dark Lord wanted him dead. Respecting his fears, Albus refrained from contacting him these last twenty years. But even with the Dark Lord vanquished, owls still do not reach. I fear the Dark Lord may have gotten to him after all."

"I can say with confidence that Horace Slughorn did not die by the Dark Lord's will," said the Defense Professor. "Though I don't otherwise know his whereabouts, or if he died for a different reason."

Minerva grew a little sadder. "Nobody seems to know what happened to him. And only Albus had any clue as to why Horace believed the Dark Lord might have wanted him dead."

"Have you tried the Patronus Charm?" David suggested.

Minerva brightened considerably at the thought. "I have not." Albus, the wise and powerful wizard who taught her the technique of sending happy messages in the first place, had warned her not to use the Patronus as her personal owl, to be cautious even when sending messages for emergencies and Order-related business, so she was not in the habit of thinking about the Patronus as a solution to the problem of missing persons. After a quick mental review, reaching out to Horace still seemed like a responsible use for the spell, much like when she contacted Ms. Granger last yuletide. "That is an excellent thought, professor."

David nodded, accepting the complement with a "Thank you." He then qualified his reply with, "Though you shall have to recruit him without my further aid. I'll be more occupied than usual in the coming days."

Once again, Prince Excelsior had demanded by letter that David Monroe be used as collateral, to be killed or maimed if Excelsior is killed or maimed in his coming punishment, and once again David Monroe volunteered, and once again the Wizengamot voted approval.

This was done because Prince Excelsior's public flogging was about to occur.

All he said at his most recent hearing was, "If the punishment is not explicitly laid out in formal legalese, I will not serve it."

In the heart of the Ministry, in the center of the room that accepted loo, Floo, Portkey, and Apparation arrivals, right in front of the Fountain of Magical Brethren, there stood a stockades. It had been carefully crafted in the fashion that could hold a centaur, with enchanters on standby for finishing touches once the perpetrator arrived for his punishment.

At precisely 11:59 AM, a magical pony appeared before the anticipatory and slightly-bored crowd. Without a word, the pony stepped up to the wooden brace, offering no resistance as the enchanters fitted a bracelet around its ankle to suppress its magic and a lock around its neck and legs to suppress its movements.

At precisely 12:00 PM, the flogging commenced.

Witches and wizards waited in a long line – a foolish few of whom went from wearing purple robes in the Wizengamot not long ago to wearing casual clothes as they joined the queue in the Ministry atrium. One by one they stepped up to the public offender, each with a hex or jinx or curse of their choosing. Even underage magic laws were suspended- what good is public shame if children cannot join in?- allowing for some witches and wizards to make this a family outing.

Nothing unforgivable. Nothing permanently damaging. No otherwise illegal spells. Now everyone get your wand, get in line, and have fun!

But unfortunately for the punishment's participants, not a single spell seemed to draw a reaction from the pony.

"'Ey!" one onlooker shouted. "That thing even 'ave a brain, or 'ave we been 'ad for fools?!"

This question spread suspicion and outrage like Dragonpox, and soon the healer on standby was urged to interrupt the proceedings and perform whatever examinations she could to see if the pony was actually a being or if it was just a beast.

First the healer had to dispel the cumulated jinxes and hexes to carry out her examination properly, undoing everything done so far, to the further frustration of the crowd. Other than the sapience-testing spell, which returned positive, the healer's tests produced nothing noteworthy, even after the difference in species was accounted for. It wasn't an animated death doll, a clone, or a charmed boggart, and that exhausted the list of intelligent suggestions.

That was when an Unspeakable arrived. Whether someone had called in a favour, reported the magical anomaly, or the Unspeakable simply knew to arrive at just the right time by esoteric means was entirely unclear – standard procedure when it came to mages of that profession. The Unspeakable performed a number of spells that no one recognized, many of which produced apprehension in the healer, and the last of which produced an expression of utter shock on the bearded man's face.

"Two?" he shouted indignantly. "Kilometres away?" He repeated the spell, and seemed to get angrier. "I knew this spell was rubbish."

Soon enough, the Head Unspeakable himself was called to the scene. He was swiftly debriefed, did the same spell, and shook his head in wonderment.

"Well there's your problem right there," he said in a matter-of-fact manner to the healer who had debriefed him on why this examination was being performed. "The soul is kilometres away from the body. And he somehow has two souls…" he frowned in concentration. "Or maybe a million."

"What?" said the healer on standby as the other Unspeakable simply gaped. "How could that be possible?"

"Normally I'd say the answer to that question is unspeakable..." the man said in a tone suggesting he used that line a lot. He shrugged helplessly. "But this time I will honestly admit I am open to suggestions. Normally I'd presume dark arts, but in a case like this," he prodded the pony with his wand. "Who knows?"

With a sudden jerk that startled the two Unspeakables and the healer standing next to them, the pony seemed to come to life right before their eyes. Where before it had looked like a dumb animal, he now seemed like a true being just in the way his eyes traced them.

The Head Unspeakable cast the soul-detection charm. "Merlin's beard," said the man in wonder. "You can move your soul, can't you?"

The pony gave a grin that was both glib and grand. "I perceived my body to be jinx-free, but…" he looked at the clock. "I thought it was too early to be done. For future reference, magic suppressors are meant to go on a unicorn's horn. Now if you'll excuse me-" and the pony collapsed into stupid senselessness once more.

"Soul's gone again," said the Head Unspeakable after another spellcast. He shrugged, then waved goodbye to the crowd. "Enjoy the flogging."

Of course, the crowd didn't let him just leave like that. They demanded that he do something. You can't let it get away with that.

"What do you want me to do?" the man asked helplessly. "I've got work to do, you know. I can't be here all day."

The only sensible suggestion from the rabble was to anchor the creature's soul in its body, to which the Head Unspeakable replied that if anyone knows such a spell, they are more than welcome to try it, and might they be interested in a career opportunity?

Nobody knew a soul-anchoring spell.

The head Unspeakable huffed and said they're lucky a soul-detection spell exists in the first place. No doubt it's suicidal to try inventing soul spells. The only other one he knows is a soul health diagnostic spell, and that doesn't change a soul either.

After being urged to use it, he did, then reported that the soul(s) is/are in shockingly good condition. He once had the pleasure to use the spell on the owner of a phoenix, and that's how healthy this/these soul(s) seem to be, only more so. Happy?

This did not, in fact, make the audience happy.

"There's got to be some magic that can affect a soul," someone said.

"Indeed there is," said the head Unspeakable with a nod, then proceeded to explain that Dementors have the only known magics that can affect souls – in that, after a Dementor kisses someone and leaves them in that permanent, unrecoverable coma, the soul-detection spell ceases to detect anything. And it's believed the Killing Curse operates on the level of the soul as well, though that's never been confirmed. There are – perhaps unfortunately, perhaps fortunately – no non-fatal soul magics known to him aside from the detection and health scans. Though he shall be submitting an official request to the Department of International Magical Cooperation so that they might submit an official request to Equestria for an exchange of magical knowledge which might expand the field of soul magic, given the demonstrated abilities of their delinquent ambassador.

Some idiot suggested they use a Dementor on the pony then, if it's the only thing that affects souls.

The Head Unspeakable said flatly that he'd like to retain their last remaining Dementor, thank you. 'You may not use it for executions or torture, only for teaching the Patronus' was the explicit condition under which they have been allowed to retain their Dementor.

That same idiot pointed out that this pony's the one who attacked Azkaban, and it can't kill the Dementors if its dead, can it?

The Unspeakable said there were likely more ponies involved in the Dementor extinction than just this one, and he would nevertheless like to maintain good relations with their new and highly arcane neighbours if at all possible. And besides, how's a Dementor supposed to suck out a soul that isn't even in the body in the first place?

"Suck it back through the body like a straw!" that same idiot shouted. "Boy-Who-Lived was almost done in like that, wasn' he? Dementor almost got him through his wand, I heard."

The Unspeakable opened his mouth to object, then got a thoughtful look on his face.

"Pfft," said another onlooker. "Stop readin' the Quibbler, mate."

The head Unspeakable asked that 'mate' if he was interested in a job interview.

"It would seem," said the voice of Amelia Bones, who had been quietly watching the affair until now, "that a criminal has found a clever and likely legal way to avoid suffering his due punishment." Her voice carried unnaturally throughout the entire crowd. "What do you think might be done about that, Madam Longbottom?"

"I am terribly sorry to say," Madam Longbottom said with a smile as she sat beside Bones on the public bench, "that I can see no way of fixing this without changing the flogging laws to require awareness. But that would require us to staunch the severity of spells, wouldn't it?"

"It certainly would," Amelia nodded. "Thoughts, Lord Malfoy?"

"It is indeed unjust if criminals can shrug off punishment by shuffling off their mortal coils without dying," Lucius observed from the next bench over. "I agree that it should be a topic of future debate. The general principle of being mentally present for law and justice should be addressed, if nothing else. Though it is too late for this case. I suspect that retroactive adjustment would not be taken well or lightly."

"That's why he demanded it in writing!" said Draco Malfoy triumphantly.

"Quite," said Amelia. "Would you like to convene a special panel for legal review tomorrow?"

The elder Malfoy nodded. Then, as if speaking to his son, he announced, "I think there shall be little more to see here today." He, his son, his bodyguards, and their sons disappeared in three pops of Apparation.

Augusta Longbottom audibly agreed with Lucius Malfoy's final words, though in a fashion that was much less approving of the whole process. "As if there was anything good to see in the first place." And popped away herself. (She had not brought Neville to this affair.)

Madam Bones stuck around, content to use her free time as Alastor uses his: keeping vigil over potential threats. She was quite enjoying the show on her day off. It was a steady stream of entertainment, a constant procession of posh, pompous bureaucrats and frustrated foreign wizards unable to truly inflict their petty little vengeances.

She kept a keen eye out, ready to pounce on any who might break the law to enact vengeances that aren't merely petty.

"Don't get me wrong," said Harry as they walked down a pleasant path of smooth wooden planks surrounded by palm trees. "I'm as happy as anyone to go on a trip to the Bahamas, even if it's only for an afternoon, but why exactly am I needed?"

"Horace Slughorn taught your mother," said Professor McGonagall. "She was one of his favorites. You are here to remind him of her. And seeing as Professor Monroe and Albus's last will and testament both insist you get your own office in Hogwarts, along with your own insistences that you are more than ready for adult affairs and your meddling in the curriculum of poor Professor Burbage, I think it only fair if you bear some of the responsibilities that come with running a school."

"Eh... this counts?"

"Helping to recruit a competent wizard onto the Hogwarts staff certainly counts. Or would you prefer paperwork?"

Harry looked around at the tropical trees. "No, this is good." He reflected on his current role. "So am I just going to play the part of the polite prodigy, the child celebrity who's seen and not heard, or do I get to actually do anything?"

Professor McGonagall's lips twitched upward. "If you refrain from your usual antics, Mr. Potter, you may get an opportunity to brag in the company of an adult who will understand."

Harry's eyes widened. That was a very rare treat indeed, especially in wizard culture. "About what?" he asked, just so he knew what to mentally prepare.

"Potions."

Ah. Right. Snape's departure means a new potions master. Which is good, because a competent potioneer who didn't have such complicated personal problems directly related to him and his parents might allow Harry to have a normal, calm, professional conversation about some of his recent observations in the field.

Potions-making, or at least ingredient interactivity, operated on, Harry hated to say it, a SYMBOLIC level. Similar to rituals, actually, which might explain why potions are so relatively powerful.

In the potion of fire-breathing, adding Ashwinder eggs recalled the strength of the magical fire which had spawned the eggs. Blowing on the potion transferred that power to the medium of human breath. Adding dragon saliva protected the throat of the drinker from burns. Flobberworm mucus neutralized the lesser magical effects of any magical ingredients (like the ephemeral nature of Ashwinders, the acidity of the Dragon saliva, and so on). In modern times, fire whisky served as a base for this particular potion – you couldn't have a WATER base for a potion of FIRE-breathing – and past wizards used different alcoholic bases of their eras due to the nigh-magical property of hurling/throwing-up that is stereotypically associated with drunkenness, not to mention the burning associated with alcohol. Another ingredient helped neutralize the alcohol (this wasn't a part of past iterations of the potion), another neutralized the unintended side-effects of the alcohol neutralizer, and so on, until you had a stable potion.

Each potion was a convoluted mess of metaphorical interactivity and mitigating side-effects. The best way to innovate was to study as many existing potions as possible, especially those with similar effects to the one you want to make…

But by 'brag', Professor McGonagall probably wasn't referring to all that. She probably just meant the base potions principle.

When the clock struck five, Amelia's watching aurors called an official end to the crowd's torment – the torment being suffered by the crowd due to their dissatisfaction – and the healer undid all active hexes and jinxes. After an examination, she pronounced that the pony should be sore, but otherwise able-bodied.

It was at that point that the pony visibly twitched. Its eyes focused. It stood a bit straighter. It seemed to stretch, then gave a stifled groan. Its body began to glow, causing the remaining onlookers to jump back, including the healer. For an extremely brief moment, the pony's fur was tinged with the orange-red of warm embers. Then the glow ended and the pony sighed lethargically.

"Now the community service?" he asked, looking at and speaking directly to the Chief Warlock despite the distance between them. He seemed far less intense than he had been in their previous interactions. He also sounded to be unbothered by any soreness, despite the 'covert' and 'subtle' jinxes that some of the more stubborn members of the crowd were still trying to send his way.

"Yes," Amelia said, already frowning about where the power balance seemed to be tilting.

The urgent business of the philosopher's hospital had been finalized a week ago. All critical cases that could be healed by 'the elixir of life' had been healed. The oldest witches, wizards, goblins, centaur, veela, giants, merfolk, house elves, squibs, and muggleborn relations the world over had been de-aged if they consented to the hospital's terms and conditions.

Meaning that Prince Excelsior couldn't put off his punishments any longer.

Amelia drew her wand and slowly extended it towards the pony. "Touch the tip of this wand and repeat after me."

A wing extended from beneath the cloak, and the tip of the wing touched the tip of her wand. "Upon my life and magic," said the pony, independent of further instruction, "I swear service to Magical Britain, to obey its Chief Warlock, and stand at their right hand, and fight at their command, and follow where they go, until one thousand hours of service have been satisfied." Amelia then noticed a number of anti-eavesdropping charms spring into existence around them. "And to clarify," the pony said in a completely normal voice, "I will obey the true Chief Warlock. Not his regent, nor his regent's regent." The anti-eavesdropping charms vanished. "So. What is the Chief Warlock's command?"

Amelia Bones wasn't happy. Even ignoring his worrisome knowledge on Magical Britain's current leadership, this pony just keeps doing things its own way. But with all these people watching, it would be unwise to rebuke him just yet. She needed to at least appear to be in command.

"Follow me," said Amelia Bones, regent of the true Chief Warlock's regent.

"My dear Minerva," said Slughorn with either the best poker face Harry had ever seen or genuine disinterest in the offer. "Money is never what interested me about teaching." He didn't turn down the increased salary, Harry noticed. "That said, I may be convinced to return to Hogwarts, but I'll need a few concessions. Nothing excessive, I assure you, but important nonetheless."

McGonagall had an equally decent poker face. She didn't reply, simply waited.

"First, a competent teacher's aide. I don't wish to be stuck grading ministry mandated essays on my own each night."

"I shall have to withdraw my offer of a significant pay raise," said Headmistress McGonagall. "And you shall have to inform the other professors that you accepted less pay in return for aide in grading, to head off jealousy and accusations of favouritism."

After brief consideration, Mr. Slughorn nodded. "Fair, fair," he allowed. "Second, I'd like to reinstitute the Slug Club."

"Granted," said the Headmistress as if she expected this.

"And third…" said Slughorn, clearly considering this to be the most important. "In the last decade, I've trained and inspired a number of aspiring potioneers. It's been quite the eye-opening experience, Minerva. Looking back on my life, I've realized just how much I love to tutor the talented, and how much I merely tolerated teaching the tame and the lame." He raised a forestalling hand. "I still intend to teach all years and levels, but I would like to begin a new potions program at Hogwarts… perhaps a class on the weekend for the most gifted students. Of course this requires gifted students, so it can only be done if the current crop are up to snuff. Tell me, how many students..." his eyes glanced briefly to Harry, "understand potions?"

A wide smile cracked the headmistress's veil of neutrality. "Seven seventh years, six sixth years, one astute Ravenclaw fifth year, two aberrant Gryffindor fourth years, and..." her own eyes also glanced at Harry "...one Ravenclaw entering his second year."

This had been the primary topic of discussion on the way here, aside from the outing's goal. A few students every year would figure out the underlying theory of Potions, to the point that there was a standard, calm, reasonable procedure in dealing with them. Flitwick only panicked with Harry because the typical response to "I finally understand potions!" is not to say "I want to invent a potion, I know the ingredients, but I don't know the stirring patterns." Ordinarily the reaction is a bit more routine than that, with students declaring their triumph of understanding before getting starry eyes about invention.

Slughorn looked astounded. "That many? And that early? Which second year? Is it this Hermione Granger I've heard so much about? Or perhaps..."

McGonagall smiled and turned to face Harry. "Mr. Potter?"

"A potion recalls the potencies invested in the creation of its ingredients," Harry bragged. "The magical fire that spawned the ashwinder eggs used in the Potion of Firebreathing. The Re'em's strength which crushed the dugbogs used in the Potion of Giant's Strength. The heat of the goblin forges used to make the bronze k'nut that skims the surface of the Potion of Heat Resistance. Those are the three main potions that helped me figure it out, though other factors were involved."

"Other factors?" asked McGonagall in genuinely curious tones while Slughorn gaped. "What would those be?"

"Well," Harry said, deciding to turn it into something of a story, "in the final battle last year, Professor Quirrell cut my army down to size and bolstered the other armies to give me more of a challenge. The ministry banned muggle artifacts, and I needed some sort of force-multiplier to win. When I asked how to invoke magical potencies greater than first years can normally invoke, and I couldn't use muggle artifacts, and I took rituals off the table, I finally saw the potential in Potions. Partially because the most potent potions can theoretically be brewed at almost any age and partially because even the non-potent potions I was brewing in class were already stronger than first-year spells. But then I encountered a different problem, because normal forests don't have magical ingredients lying around, and that's when I started thinking about underlying principles."

Slughorn listened, fascinated.

"The first clue to the discovery was when I realized I couldn't brew any potion from my first year text book at our next battle site because every single one required some sort of magical ingredient. That was when I asked myself why, and after that I borrowed a few textbooks from the older students to see if all of those needed magical ingredients too. Then I encountered the recipe with ashwinder eggs, got my first idea for how potions worked, and then I disproved it and refined it from there using the warnings of other potions. I even made a joke of it by shouting 'Eureka!' but nobody got it."

"Merlin's beard," Slughorn was still gaping. "Even Lily did not catch on until her third year. To notice the pattern requires experience, wisdom…"

"And the right motivation," Harry said, smiling at the compliment. "It's largely thanks to my muggle science upbringing. Conservation laws played a big role in a lot of discoveries that muggles made over the last few centuries. But in magic... well, as far as I can tell, only Rituals and Potions pay any respect to conservation laws."

And wouldn't you know, but Potions and Rituals are where many of the most potent powers can be found.

McGonagall's gaze was sharp. "And how did you acquire a familiarity with rituals well enough to know that, young man?"

Oh. Right. She didn't know yet. "Professor Quirrell explained the underlying theory after the Tracey incident, using the Unbreakable Vow as an example. I didn't go seeking out rituals, in fact I made quite the deliberate effort not to, but I wasn't going to turn down an overview of the basic principles from, let's face it, probably the most experienced and sane ritualist alive." Harry drew his wand, took a stance. "Expecto Patronum!"

Slughorn's jaw slackened further as he stared at the figure.

"One of the main things I learned is that rituals don't have to be dark," Harry's Patronus said simply. "Can it not be a good thing to make sacrifices for those you love?"

There was a pause.

"Minerva," Slughorn said. "I think you've convinced me. Shall we draw it up in writing?"

"Mr. Potter," said a voice from right beside him, causing him to jump. It was not the Headmistress's voice. When he turned, he realized that the light of his own Patronus charm did have a certain disadvantage…

David Monroe told her, by letter, to recruit the true Chief Warlock for this matter. The pony already knows who he is as well, and Mr. Potter is well suited to this particular task.

And so, reluctantly, the Chief Regent set out to find him.

Harry Potter wasn't at his home. According to his muggle parents, he had been borrowed by Professor McGonagall for 'Hogwarts business'.

Headmistress McGonagall wasn't at Hogwarts. According to Filius Flitwick, she was in the process of hiring a new professor.

Amelia Bones decided 'to hell with it' and sent a Patronus directly to the Boy-Who-Lived. The message was an unrevealing, "Mr. Potter, do you have a moment?"

It came back with the boy's voice saying, "I'm kind of in the middle of something-"

"-Is that you, Amelia?" interrupted a genial voice that sent a wave of nostalgia through Amelia Bones. The Patronus then tilted its head away, as if no longer addressing her. "Never mind interruptions, my boy, I don't mind." The head tilted back to face her directly again. "I'm in the middle of borrowing the boy's time myself. If you need to do the same, Amelia, please just drop by, if that's alright with you. I was just thinking we should speak at some point. No doubt there'll be dreadful amounts of paperwork now that I'm coming out of hiding."

That man sure can talk, Amelia thought to herself with a smile. She took no time to reply; the more time she wasted on logistics, the more hours of community service were wasted. "Do you mind if I arrive with a visitor?" she asked, adjusting her plans on the fly.

"No, no, not at all! The more the merrier! So long as the visitor isn't the Dark Lord come back for the third and final time, I think we'll get along just fine." The man laughed happily, then gave an address and described the location.

The muggle aspect complicated things, but Prince Excelsior disappeared when she looked in his direction, and then the empty air said that it knows of the Statute.

She required more reassurances than that, but eventually Amelia was satisfied to make the journey to the muggle 'resort', which turned out to be far nicer than she thought a muggle place could be, at least as appearances go. She could see why Horace had hunkered down here.

Headmistress McGonagall, wearing the same notice-me-not-charm as Amelia, escorted them past a pool and into a closed tent. It was space-enchanted to hold what looked like all of the man's belongings, including a full potions laboratory, furniture, and a shelf of pictures.

"Been here all along?" she asked when she saw Horace for the first time in over a decade. He wore shorts and a muggle button-down shirt with a pattern of colourful flowers, an ensemble which easily covered his considerable paunch.

"No, no," the man waved his hand. "Hopped around from place to place."

"A wise precaution," said Prince Excelsior, dropping his disillusionment.

Both Horace and the Headmistress gave a small start.

"That would be the visitor," sighed Amelia.

There was a pause.

"Wasn't his public flogging scheduled for today?" asked the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Public flogging?" Horace spouted.

"Yes," answered the pony. "Don't worry, Mr. Potter. I've just finished shirking- I mean serving my due punishment." He was grinning. "Now begins my other punishment, one thousand hours of community service, for which I have sworn fealty to Magical Britain and its Chief Warlock's orders."

"I… see…" said Harry Potter. "And what's to stop you from 'serving' those orders?"

"The cleverness of their content and the wording that conveys them," said the pony. He glanced at Horace, then back to Harry. "That is why Madam Bones brought me here. David Monroe is unavailable, though you also have an instinct for exploiting rules. Think you can imagine something good for me to do that is unexploitable?"

"Welp," said Harry Potter, standing from his wicker chair and turning to face Horace. "Duty calls. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Slughorn. Will I be seeing you at Hogwarts?"

Horace's face switched from fascinated calculation to genial warmth in the space of a heartbeat. "Yes, yes, of course, my boy."

"Great!" said the boy. He confidently strode to the side of the pony. "I'll try to think of something good in under one… second," he said to Amelia. He met the gaze of the pony.

The pony nodded. "Understood."

"Mr. Potter!" said Headmistress McGonagall in alarm. Far too late, for the two had already disappeared in a flash-

In a private room in Canterlot Castle, Celestia laughed out loud at Twilight's suggestion.

Harry asked Twilight why that?

It would endear ponies to the human children, just as it endeared her to Spike. It would not be something he can shirk, for it would require his constant, conscious attention. He wouldn't even be able to order a Changeling to occupy his mind for the duration; it would require his personal attendance because of the 'and flights' addition – Changelings don't have the instinct for flight with leather wings. And most importantly it was humbling. And oddly satisfying, in her own personal experience.

Harry said that it might have been all those things for Twilight, and that it would have been good for human-pony relations if, say, it was Fluttershy, but does she really think the same could be said for Riddle?

Twilight said that Riddle is a fast learner. He might have trouble at first, but she believes in him.

When Celestia and Luna agreed, Harry decided to go for it. Not least because of the face Riddle was making.

-and then Harry and reappeared a moment later with a wide grin and a resigned-looking pony.

"So, first up," Harry said, though he lost his grin and any levity as he said, "the community service hours can be fulfilled at any time by working at the hospital he built, but only at the not-for-profit end of things. In particular, if any hospital emergencies come up, he can stop whatever he's doing and help out until they're taken care of. And now that we got that out of the way..."

Harry's grin returned.

"For the first part of his thousand hours of service, which should be both humiliating and important to Magical Britain, he is to fulfill the childhood fantasies of any young witch who has ever wanted a unicorn, thestral, or pony ride. Or in this case, all three at once!"

Rehabilitation 11.5: Consulting Willpower

"I take it ya haven't figured out the answer to yer last question yet?" asked Merlin.

"I have," Riddle replied. He had just asked, in a general way, about Mirror entrapment, and specifically what will happen to Equestria in the event that the trap is truly ended, not just bypassed. "I wanted to hear your own opinion. Is this realm stable enough that the trap will have no effect on it?"

Merlin shrugged. "It's been here for thousands of years. It'll be here for thousands more, I'd wager. The Mirror doesn't destroy its own realms, and it's keen on keeping them from being destroyed, as far as I can tell. You worried about what'll happen to us if ya get outta the Mirror?"

"It's not that exactly," he said. "Or not just that. I am mostly worried I'll be barred from returning."

"Are ya?" asked Merlin. "Tell me somethin', lad. Is it likely that this-" he gestured a scale-less paw between the two of them "-was accidental? By which I mean us turnin' into these non-human creatures and whatnot."

"I suppose it must not have been… hold. Let me think this through." He paused in thought, and Merlin didn't press him to think faster. "The Atlanteans made the Mirror," he said, deciding to lay it out sequentially. "Some trapped themselves within and became Equestrians, others did not and sired the ancestors of modern wizardkind back on Earth. The Atlanteans may have trapped their whole city as well, since objects can be stored in the Mirror."

"Good so far. But why did they do it?" asked Merlin. "Think of their motives."

Riddle shrugged. "Any number of reasons. A Dark Lord could have done it."

"True, true," Merlin nodded. "But suppose it wasn't a Dark Lord. Suppose you were one of the Mirror's creators. What reason might you decide to up and trap yourself?"

"Impending disaster," Riddle answered immediately. "To myself or the world, which I would avoid by escaping into the indestructible... and now that you mention it, avoidance of doom is supposedly the reason it was being made in the first place, assuming those ancient tablets were accurate."

"Right," said Merlin. "Now this is all just theory, remember. I haven't touched the Mirror in a while, and I don't plan to go near it again just in case. But if I had to guess, there's probably some sorta switch that lets you come and go as you please. If a coming tsunami season was the reason, they'd need a normal way to get back once the world was done weathering the storm."

Riddle considered the thesis. "Would that function not also return the departed to humanity?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Remember that the Mirror is supposed to grant wishes. Some might not wish to turn back when they go back." Merlin shrugged. "Only one way to find out." The great dragon yawned. "Looks like it's time for my nap. Unless there's something else?"

Riddle almost replied to the negative, but then he tilted his head. "One thing has been on my mind lately."

"Oh yeah?"

"Property rights. In particular, intellectual property rights. What is your opinion on them?"

"Complete manure," said Merlin without hesitation.

Riddle blinked. "Truly? Celestia and Luna believe otherwise."

Merlin snorted. "Think about it, lad. Intellectual property goes like this. You come up with an idea. You want that idea to be yours, so you say it's your property. Well now all of a sudden you're putting a restriction on what everybody else in the entire world does with their minds, their thoughts, their property, even people on the other side of the planet who don't know you and came up with the same idea on their own."

"I doubt a person on the other side of the planet who doesn't know me could ever come up with the novel I'm writing." Or drafting, really. It's extremely slow going, especially since he's attempting to write it in a way that 'ordinary' people would be able to follow and enjoy. But it's the first counter example that came to mind. "The statistical likelihood of that is so small as to be practically impossible. The more so if I use the human world as a setting, and somepony in Equestria 'coincidentally' comes up with the same story and names. Or for that matter, the same language."

Merlin nodded slowly, sitting a bit straighter. "Alright, alright. Granted. Books are a good place to take this. They're where I could never stand by my stance without sounding just a tad goofy. But let's go with it anyway, 'cause I still like the challenge. Let's say you write your book, write some copies, and sell it to other ponies. If that book is your 'intellectual property', does that mean no one else can write those exact words onto a blank book in the privacy of their own homes?"

Riddle considered it, then shook his head. "No. It simply means they can't claim to have written it themselves, and they can't sell the copy they've made in such a way that it interferes with my ability to profit from my own book."

Merlin nodded. "That's Celestia's stance, alright. To make the example even more extreme, let's say you submit it to a publisher. The publisher makes up a fake author, fake pen name, the whole nine yards. They publish the book, to heck with you, and pocket the profits. Any reasonable pony would say the submitter's work was stolen by the publisher, and I can't bring myself to say that's a wrong way of looking at it. And in order for the term 'stealing' to apply, that means some kind of property was taken."

"Yet you still think intellectual property does not exist?"

"Correct," said Merlin. "Not in the same way physical property exists, anyway. When I steal your apple, you're down an apple. If I steal your idea, you're not down that idea. You've still got it. You can still use it." He shook his head. "When you claim an idea as your own property, you're saying that literally every other being on the planet isn't allowed to use that idea. And I just can't support the policy of telling other ponies they can't use their own property how they see fit. You shouldn't be able to tell others what they can't think, what they can't write, and what they can't make. That's about as anti-Free Will as you can get."

Riddle considered that as well. "I think the main issue lies in using a false claim for personal gain at the expense of another. I believe that's called fraud, yes?"

"Depends on the field," shrugged Merlin. "Plagiarism in academia, fraud if it involves impersonation, scams in the market, lies in personal relationships, or just plain theft if you really do only have a single physical copy of your book and someone steals it. That last one is easy to call theft because it involves a physical object, and you do kinda lose your ideas in the process, or at least your records of them. But once a story's available to the public…"

"Personally, this kind of complication is part of the reason why I never respected property rights in the first place. It's simpler that way."

Merlin reeled as if slapped. "Ya what?!"

Riddle smiled at the reaction. "I do now. Well, more than I used to. But yes, I've stolen a number of things. I particularly liked to steal from thieves and layabouts. You are familiar with the Goblet of Fire, yes?"

"Used it a few times," Merlin confirmed. "After it was against me that first time. History recorded that too, eh?"

Riddle nodded, then adopted a lecturing cadence. "After your time, the greatest magical school in the world used the Goblet to safely contract Dark Wizards into teaching Battle Magic to children. This truce only ended when a student abused the contract's wording in order to murder a certain Dark Lady. Before then, the truce worked without major incident. For the last few hundred years, the Goblet of Fire oversaw ridiculous international tournaments between schools, in which at most five students would participate. For the last few decades, it sat in a trophy room, jointly owned by various magical governments of the world who could not agree on a use for it."

"Governments owned it?" Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose. "And that's human governments, too. Wonderful. So ya stole it from 'em, eh?"

"Easily."

"You a Dark Wizard or just a budding anarchist?"

"Dark Wizard, upon a time. Not anymore, I think. I am certainly not an anarchist."

"That's a shame," Merlin sighed. "And here I thought you were just a little broken like everybody else. Ya willing to talk about it?"

"If you sign a magical contract-"

"Nope," Merlin cut him off. "Not gonna happen. Nobody's binding this Free Will, thank you very much. No way, no where, no how."

"Then no, I'm not willing to talk about it."

"Fair enough," Merlin shrugged. "Had ta ask."

Riddle thought of something. "Perhaps if you teach me a bit of true magic…"

Merlin laughed. "Not gonna be that easy, kid."

Riddle shrugged. "Had to ask," he parroted. Then, honestly dishonest, he said, "I can't bring myself to feel like I mean it, for I can hardly bring myself to feel gratitude in general, but I should thank you for the conversation."

"You're absolutely welcome," said Merlin. "Why were ya interested in idea ownership the first place, if ya don't mind me askin'?"

"It's come up a few times recently," he said. His ritual ideas, the Stone, Silver's work… "Primarily in the realm of academic plagiarism. A university professor did not wish to grant my student due credit for a major magical discovery and tried to pass it off as his own."

"Pompous ass," Merlin snorted. "A scholar should know better."

"Crass, but correct."

"What discovery?"

"This." Riddle kicked the air behind him with a single hoof, loud enough to make a loud noise and a large breeze, though he remained firmly in place with the Changeling ability to cling to surfaces. "And so on."

Merlin gave a low whistle once the wind died down. "Never seen that one before."

"Neither had the unicorns in the university, though that didn't stop them from trying to pretend they knew about it all along. My student's expectations of their behaviour steered him well clear of the institution."

Merlin sighed. "I don't blame him. They can get like that if they're not kept in check every once in a while."

"You're familiar with them?"

"Tia sends her scholars here from time to time. Helps keep my wits sharp. I always like the looks on their faces when a big, dumb dragon puts their arguments right up where the sun don't shine, 'cuz that's where they came from anyway."

Riddle genuinely laughed at that.

"Had a number of debates about intellectual property in particular," Merlin continued in a musing tone. "They finally nailed me with the book publishing argument a long while back. Don't get me wrong, I've always thought plagiarism is wrong, but the solution is public shame, ridicule, and a loss of trust, not fines or prison or any other legal punishment. Tia was really sure she was right about intellectual property, so she kept sending ponies. I'm pretty sure she personally trained a few of 'em in debate, told 'em all the arguments I've made, and then one day one of 'em finally said something smart. And ever since then, Equestria has officially recognized intellectual property as property."

"You sound bitter about that," Riddle pointed out.

"I'm just a cranky old dragon who doesn't like it when ponies come to him for advice and then do the opposite." Merlin shrugged. "She is right about it to some extent. And it has been good for inventors."

"And government paper pushers," Riddle remarked.

But Merlin shook his head. "Much as I like where yer head's at, no. Tia's programs don't bloat to pointless corruption and bureaucracy like you'd expect. Especially her pet projects. I'll put it this way. I wouldn't trust anybody else to do IP right, but Tia will keep my warnings in mind. She gets hooves-on in the grey areas, and she stays hooves-on 'till she's sure most ponies won't abuse it. And she revisits a policy if she does discover abuse."

"She was personally involved in my student's case," Riddle observed.

"There ya have it. Tia keeps my warnings about overreach in mind when she makes policy, so I'm not that bitter about the whole thing. Just a little bitter." Merlin gave a great yawn. "It's really time fer my nap. Thanks fer keepin' this old geezer company. Yer always welcome back."

Riddle grinned. "Even a few minutes from now?"

"Ehh… yer welcome when I'm awake, ya whippersnapper. Now this place'll be filled with magical smoke in a few, so ya might wanna get outa the cave if ya like yer lungs."

"So long as you're not telling me to get off your lawn," Riddle said on his way out.

"Eh?" said Merlin with a vaguely hand-shaped paw to his ear. "Ah, forget it."

He told Luna of the conversation afterwards, and after a bit of digging, she finally found the root cause of his interest in the topic.

"Do you have any truly stolen property from Earth?"

Riddle blinked, then furrowed his eyebrows in thought. "Only one thing comes to mind," he said eventually after a quick process of elimination. Mr. Potter's collection of science books had been bought with his teaching salary, and he'd enchanted all of his magical items himself. He's holding onto Mr. Potter's and Ms. Granger's pouchfuls of property only because they were left behind, and he has every intention of returning everything upon his release, even the Cloak. The Wand he can't return, so he will earn it in the way it has been earned throughout history: by defeating its previous owner. In this case that means cementing his defeat of Dumbledore by escaping the Mirror.

The only thing that isn't his…

He withdrew a vial of blood and a container of hair from his cloak. "I've collected blood and hair samples from a number of individuals. Not enough to make them suspect anything amiss, and their bodies would have replenished what I've taken by now."

She just stared at him for a while.

"What?" she asked at last.

"Need I repeat myself?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

She took a deep breath. "Why, then. Why did you do that?"

"Some dark reasons, some positive reasons, some neutral reasons," he said. "Mostly to keep my future plotting options open. But that's all irrelevant now, so I have a large supply lying around. I'm not sure how well your 'slavery' argument applies to this. So long as they haven't been sacrificed to a dark ritual, a single strand of hair and a few drops of blood will naturally be recovered over time, no?"

"You enslaved them for the time and energy it took their bodies to regrow the hair and restore the blood. And yes, that sounds ridiculous, so more importantly you violated their privacy, which is another pillar of modern Equestria."

"But not a pillar of your own moral philosophy," he pointed out. "Given your special talent."

"You'd be surprised."

"I would?" he asked. "You do remember that I'm the one who stopped you from violating the privacy of your own citizens, yes?"

Luna sighed sadly. "Yes. I know. And that was precisely why I knew I should hire you, given time to think. Ever since my fillyhood I've known it is significantly more enjoyable to 'have' morals and ethics and principles than it is to actually live them. Truthfully, the conditions for your employment were the buck in the rear I needed to finally and fully align my moral philosophy about privacy into my practical actions-"

"Yet you still violate the privacy of foals."

"-without abandoning my duties," she finished. She had paused earlier, and so Riddle had assumed she was finished speaking, but apparently not. "The protection of foals from nightmares and the circumstances that cause them shall always outweigh the need for privacy."

"The classic trade of privacy for security," he remarked. After studying the rise of so many lords, muggle and magical alike, he knew that offering security in exchange for privacy, rights, and even property was the second oldest trick in the book for strong leaders rising to power. The oldest trick is genocide of enemies.

"Not quite," Luna pushed back. "Remember that my talent is not the same as public policy. 'Tis more like targeted intervention in the absolute worst cases, so long as I do not fall into the habit of using it far more often than I should. When it comes to exchanging security for privacy... well, in general, the minds of foals who have regular nightmares are violated in much worse ways by the adults around them than my dream-walking could ever hope to reach. They have no privacy in the first place, nor security, which is why I am needed. And foals do not quite have all the rights they shall when they grow older. Few argue that foals must have the right to drink alcohol, and for good reason. But for adults you were completely correct. The right to privacy trumps intervention. It is far too late by then anyway; their minds are fully formed and they are who they are, for good or for ill. As you helpfully pointed out, I should not interfere at that point. Not with my Special Talent, anyway. Unless they give me explicit consent, of course, or Harmony says otherwise."

"So many exceptions," he observed.

"'Tis what happens when the moral meets the practical," she replied. "But we are getting off topic. Or was that a deliberate distraction?"

He shrugged. "Not deliberate. Perhaps subconscious. Is this the part where you tell me I've been a bad pony?"

"I know you are partially joking, but I do try to refrain from the worst of what you would call moralizing. I also try to refrain from telling others what to do, though I will say this much: when a pony acknowledges that they were in the wrong, the typical action required to give their words genuine weight is to offer recompense – enough to satisfy the victims for the violation but not overjoy them, lest victimhood is incentivized."

His first instinct was to object.

His second instinct was to consider.

His third instinct was to laugh.

"Very well," he said. "That could be an enjoyable use of my time."

Luna sighed. "If you are going to do it at all, it will only have meaning if it is done face to face. If you leave gold beneath their pillow and a note saying 'thanks for the blood' or something like that, you will only make it worse. One does not apologize for violating another's privacy by doing it again, which means a direct apology - which if you recall is a promise to not do it again - is necessary."

He was no longer smiling.

"Though I am not sure if that would be the best way to go about it tactically, at least in this case," she added. "Especially if your many identities become known as belonging to you. This is the problem with coming to me after so much wrong has already been done. Not that you could have come any sooner. Again, I am best at prevention, not cure."

As is typical in conversations like this, he was at least gratified that Luna is not stupid despite her morals.

"Now would you mind explaining," Luna continued, "what you meant when you said that the hair and blood could be used for 'dark reasons'?"

After weighing the risks, he decided her intelligence and wisdom has earned her the answer. Her Vow would prevent her from acting in any case.

He explained Polyjuice.

He explained the function, though not the full requirements, of a few dark curses.

He also mentioned that blood is a requirement in two separate resurrection rituals, one of which he can now perform with only blood.

A few seconds later he was in possession of a sample of Luna's blood. Voluntarily, willingly, and even a bit forcefully insisted upon him. And Luna said she shall ask her sister, Twilight, Cadence, and Shining Armor for samples as well.

He accepted Luna's sample, but explained that he could do little with it unless she also has a horcrux.

But didn't he say there were two resurrection rituals for which he could use the blood? Even if one requires a horcrux, shouldn't the other…?

The other resurrection ritual involves blood of the enemy, forcibly taken. Mr. Silver qualified as his prophetic enemy until recently, and might actually still qualify, conditional on his intentions when he escaped. So unless she has the blood of some great and lasting enemy, she shouldn't expect that ritual to work for her.

Supposing she could find such blood…

It also requires bone of the father, unknowingly bequeathed, from the place of first burial, taken during the ritual and not before. Does she know the place where her father was buried? Are his bones still intact after a thousand years?

Yes, in fact. Tradition of that era required preservation spells to be used on corpses. She even took him to her father's grave.

That was when he named the final requirement. Flesh of her most powerful servant – probably himself, in this case, due to his employment contract. And he is unwilling to permanently chop off an arm for her in such a way that even the Stone might not be able to restore. (Though if the Stone can restore blood lost to Fiendfyre, it can likely restore flesh sacrificed for revival.)

With all that in mind, does she want her blood back, given that he can't resurrect her with them, and given what she now knows he could theoretically do with it?

She shook her head, saying she already knew the risks of giving those pieces of herself to him. "But thank you for asking," she said with a smile.

Chapter 66: Ponyback Rides

Author's Note

Apologies for the slight delay. Planecrash took up all my free time over the last two weeks.

Chapter 66: Ponyback Rides

"Must the Weasley Twins be the saleswizard?" asked a voice that was clearly suffering.

"Chin up," said that voice's counterpart – younger, brighter, and enjoying itself immensely. "They helped you annoy the Wizengamot by being your tomato saleswizard, so now they're going to help the Wizengamot annoy you by being your pony ride saleswizard. Completely of their own free will on both occasions, for the sake of their own amusement, at the comedic expense of the high and haughty. Would you really have it any other way?"

"Yes."

A wide smile. "Great! Just like the Wizengamot would have said to the tomatoes. I think that means it's working already."

"Now this is a fitting punishment," Augusta Longbottom said in approval as a young girl shrieked in delight.

The clock on the enchanted parchment reached 0:00 seconds, an alarm sounded, and the girl's shrieks turned to whines.

"Next up, next up," said one of the Weasley twins after Prince Excelsior teleported back from Hogwarts grounds to Diagon Alley. "You there, young lad," said the other. "Yes, you! You wouldn't happen to be going to Hogwarts next year?"

"Mister Weasley!" Minerva McGonagall rebuked from behind the boy. "We are on a schedule. Come along, Mr. Creevey. What? No, you may not… oh, very well. It is free, I suppose. If we have time at the end of the day, you may. So if you wish to ride the magical pony, we mustn't dally."

"We'll be open all afternoon!" the twins shouted after the fresh Hogwarts muggleborn admittees. "And into the evening!"

"Excluding my break for dinner," the pony reminded them.

"Right," said Fred or George.

"We'll ask Hagrid if he has some hay," said George or Fred.

The pony frowned for a moment. "Haybreath has a certain reputation amongst non-ponies," he said thoughtfully. A grin soon followed. "So while you're at it, ask Hagrid to fetch stinkbugs. Us thestrals are insectivores, you see."

"Great idea!" said Frorge.

"We'll get right on that!" said Ged.

"Sorry Ginny!"

"Looks like your turn will be after dinner."

"George!" said Molly Weasley.

"Sorry, Mum," said the twin who was apparently George.

"You'll have to wait 'til after dinner too."

"Fred!" said Molly even more sternly, and with a touch of indignation after falling hook line and sinker for the false apology.

"Ah, no worries, Mum."

"She'll get a go if she asks."

Like a few other young witches and wizards (though mostly witches), Ginevra Weasley watched enviously on the sidelines as braver children mustered up the courage to ride the magical, talking pony.

"Can I have a turn?" asked one such girl.

"Why certainly!"

"Step right up!"

Like the others, she was secured firmly in place by sticking charms, acceleration-protection charms, a wind shielding charm, a wind muffling charm, and a number of other safety and comfort spells.

"Would you like a ground ride?" asked Gred.

"Or a flight?" asked Forge.

The girl grinned. "The princess would like an air-gallop, please. Like Santa's reindeer. Prance to it now. Trot-trot."

"Er…"

"What?"

"As her majesty commands," said Prince Excelsior with exaggerated deference, and he teleported back near Hogwarts grounds.

Watching eyes moved to the repeater screens tracking the movements and sounds of pony and rider. Children gazed with longing and fascination as the pony seemed to prance across the air, no wing movements at all.

"Boring!" yawned the girl thirty seconds into her five-minute ride. Her voice had the tone of extreme aristocracy – posh, arrogant, and utterly condescending. It was convincing enough that the watchers who hadn't met her at the movie theatre, and even some of those who had, thought her self-important attitude was real. "Come, come. Certainly you can go faster?"

"I certainly can," replied Prince Excelsior in an equally posh tone. He spread his wings to catch the air, bucked a few times, and the pace picked up.

"I said faster, not slower."

"My apologies. You mean like this?" The pace picked up again, to the point where the girl's hair was whipping wildly despite the windshield charm.

She crossed her arms, not even gripping the saddle anymore. "Do you know what the word 'fast' even means? I want to actually feel something, if you would be so kind."

"If you insist." The pony bucked the air behind it, and took off at a speed that could only be measured against the passing trees as 'WAY faster than any broomstick'.

The watching crowd was now even more fascinated. And worried. An apparent daredevil had just gotten onto the back of a dangerously daring creature. Most of them, indeed none of them, have ever heard the saying, 'When you are no longer scared of speed, you can go faster.'

"Yawn," said the girl, though it was clear to some of the onlookers that she wasn't really as bored as she was pretending to be. "You haven't even broken the sound barrier," she said to the pony, patting its back for emphasis. "Even muggles can do that you know. Can you break the sound barrier?"

The pony seemed to strain, its face screwing up in concentration, wings flapping madly, legs bucking constantly. Then there was a loud sound, and a streak of gray and black trailed the air behind the pony as an explosion of rainbows spread across the sky.

"T-that's all w-well and good," said the girl, failing to maintain her overly posh tone, her words only carrying because of the (heavily strained) charms, "b-but can you r-reach outer space? Muggles c-can reach outer s-space."

As quickly as the pony had accelerated, the pony slowed with an odd warbling sound, like the air was rubbing against itself.

"One, moment," he said after coming to a complete stop, panting slightly. His horn glowed.

"Um… I take it back?"

Onlookers gaped as the sky and forest vanished. It looked as if witch and pony stood against a black void. Well, only the pony was actually standing. (The screens weren't sensitive enough, in the light of day, to capture the dim starlight.)

The girl rubbed her eyes a few times, looking around herself as if in wonder.

Then the five minute timer ended.

"It's time for her majesty to be returned to earth," said the pony.

They both reappeared in front of a wide-eyed crowd.

The girl squinted against the sunlight as she was lifted off the pony's back by a glow of magic. Her legs trembled greatly, but Fred and George supported her.

"Well done I say," said Fred, sounding completely genuine for once. "Well done."

"That was courage worthy of Godric Gryffindor," George agreed.

"No, that was thrill-seeking, not courage," she said automatically, seeming to find some amount of comfort in her ability to speak, even as her footwork failed her. "But thank you anyway."

When she exited the attraction to the area of the onlookers, she was met with awed looks from children and a barrage of questions. She selectively answered exactly one of them, and then answered the further questions about her first answer.

The sound barrier, she explained to the fascinated children and curious adults, is the speed of sound. Sound isn't instant, you see. When there's a bolt of lightning in the sky and you hear loud thunder a few seconds later, the thunder is actually the sound of the lightning. It just takes time for the sound to reach your ears. The further you are from the lightning strike, the longer it takes for you to hear the thunder, and of course the quieter it is by the time it reaches you. If you knew the right maths, you could actually calculate a lightning strike's distance based on how many seconds… never mind, she said when she seemed to be losing them. Sound moves really fast, she went on. Most living things can't go that fast. It's dangerous without magic.

Yes, she answered a skeptical questioner, muggles have reached that speed.

Well, she answered another question from the same wizard, they're protected by a muggle artifact, of course. The muggle way isn't as easy as a spell, but it gets the job done.

"Like the muggle artifact used to break Bellatrix Black out of prison," the pony behind her contributed, choosing an international incident that even foreign magical countries have heard about. "Although standard supersonic traveling devices are more powerful than that one," he added. "And not attached to broomsticks, at least when the muggles do it."

This caused a wave of even more fascinated whispers.

Outer space, the girl went on to explain, is where the stars live. It's where you would find yourself if you flew up towards the night sky and didn't stop until you couldn't see the planet anymore. It's incredibly vast and actually rather empty, so she wouldn't recommend an extended stay. Plus, the part of you facing the sun would start burning, the part of you facing away from the sun would start freezing, and you'd become a gooey mess in less than a second.

When asked how she was alive then, she said she didn't know, but if she had to guess, Prince Excelsior didn't actually take her to outer space. It was an excellent illusion, though.

Prince Excelsior refused to comment on this one.

Yes, the girl sighed in exasperation, muggles have gone there too. There are actually muggle artifacts in outer space right now, circling the planet like the moon.

"I think that's enough fairy tales for one day," said Molly Weasley, a statement which summed up the feeling of most watching witches and wizards who were not muggleborn. "Would you like your turn, Ginny? We can't stay here all day. We still need to get your school books."

"I… don't know…" said Ginny Weasley.

"You should try it," said one onlooker eagerly.

All the other nearby girls – who were a bit less brave to try themselves now that they'd seen what the pony could really do – quickly echoed the girl's words, ramping up the peer-pressure.

"It's her decision," said the girl who'd just gone, but her voice was drowned out by the rest.

Eventually Ginny relented.

"That's the spirit, dear sister!" said Fred. "Score two for Gryffindor bravery!" said George.

Despite their joking, the two twins played no games as they made sure all safety procedures were followed, and were extra careful to ask the pony that all the charms were in place.

"You've been dealing with them every day of the summer?" prompted the pony after she's been put on his back.

Any other question might have been awkward. Most conversations with the talking pony – as heard from the repeater screen from earlier riders – started awkwardly, and many stayed throughout. But at this particular prompt, Ginny merely gave an exasperated sigh. "Yes."

"Then let's get some peace and quiet, shall we?"

Ginny nodded.

Halfway through her turn – which was kept on the ground, thank you very much – a Patronus owl appeared before the Prince. It seemed to say something, but Ginny couldn't hear it, and the watching crowd couldn't hear it either.

The pony's words to the Patronus were heard, though. "Were you able to follow standard procedure?"

The Patronus disappeared, then reappeared not much later. "Yes," said the moonlight owl, its voice now being conveyed and heard. "Stasis charms are in place."

"Good," said the Prince. "Maintain them and wait for my arrival."

The Patronus disappeared.

"It would seem I am needed at the hospital," said he to Ginny. "I am afraid your turn must be cut short. It can resume when I return."

"Um… why do you need to go to the hospital?"

"If you want to know," said the Prince. "You may come with me, though you shall have to promise not to touch anything. It should not take much longer than your original turn."

Ginny's curiosity seemed to overcome her hesitation, and she agreed.

"Score three for Gryffindor bravery, I suppose." His horn glowed, and a pony-shaped Patronus appeared in front of him. "Ask Molly Weasley if I have her permission to bring her daughter on a brief field trip to the new hospital. Tell me her response, then inform Ms. Bones that the exceptional circumstance has occurred. I shall resume my standard service as soon as it concludes. When you have delivered that message, wait until Prince Horizon is alone, then tell him he is needed in all his majesty at the hospital. Garbed smartly and helmeted, if possible."

The Patronus disappeared, then reappeared with Molly's answer – an affirmative, surprisingly enough, which was likely due to the urging voices of Fred and George in the background. Once it disappeared again, he asked Ginny if she would prefer teleportation, flight, or air-trotting. (The screens failed to repeat this audio, as well as Ginny's answer.)

With her voice trembling, she said flight.

The Prince went at a reasonable pace, crossing over the Hogwarts lake to the island in the middle. The moment hooves touched land, a building unlike anything Ginny had ever seen came into view. (The screens had not followed his movements, showing blankness and the phrase 'technical difficulties' until the building was in sight.)

A muggle would have called it 'modern' architecture, though not brutalist. Pleasant curves and large glass windows where there would normally be walls were the defining features. Educated muggles might further call it 'Escher-esque'. Solid white surfaces and impossible physics were also common, with doors in strange places and stairs leading to nowhere.

Ginny looked behind herself, since the island seemed much larger than it had been on approach. She no longer saw the castle Hogwarts. Instead it seemed as though the island sat in the middle of an ocean, not a lake.

A new pony appeared in a flash of light on a circle of smooth black stone some distance away. The pony was small and white with an incredible mane of silver light. It was also dressed in a cute little suit and had a slightly scary-looking helmet.

"Hold," Prince Excelsior ordered just as the new pony was about to speak. His horn glowed briefly. "Proceed."

"Another one?" asked the pony in a boy's voice that, unbeknownst to everyone else, was not the pony's true voice. The pony blinked in surprised, hummed a bit, then said, "Ah."

"Another one," Prince Excelsior nodded.

"What was it this time?" asked the white pony.

"Unprotected exposure to adult Mandrake, less than one pace away."

"That's deadly," Ginny gasped. Her mother had warned her about Mandrake.

"It is indeed fatal," said Prince Excelsior. "The magic attacks the brain through the ears, causing instant death."

"Is it recoverable?" asked the boy pony, sounding much more worried now.

"We can only hope."

They trotted through the doors, passed auror and other magical security (again the screens showed 'technical difficulties') until they came across a hospital bed with a young witch in her twenties or thirties. There was dried blood around her ears and two healers nearby.

"Confirmation, please," he said to one of the healers.

"Vitalis Revelio." A black aura surrounded the woman.

Ginny gasped.

That meant she really was…

Then the horn of the pony she was riding began to glow, drawing her attention away.

"Hm…" said the prince. "Parts of the auditory cortex have been liquified. No other physical damage detected. Transfer her to the ritual bed, please."

The healers levitated the witch out of the room, the ponies following after. They passed door after door until they came across a raised, smooth surface covered in a white cloth and surrounded by six obelisks.

"R-ritual bed?" asked Ginny, her mind only now processing the words.

"Don't worry," said the little white pony wearing the scary mask. "The next part may look dark, but it's all good."

"Silence, please," said the grey pony. The sounds of the room dimmed to nothing, and the lights dimmed as well. "Stone, please."

A red stone floated from healer to horn. There was a brief pause. Then…

Then the obelisks gave the creepiest echo Ginny had ever heard. Other than that, nothing seemed to happen.

"The flesh of the body has been restored," said Prince Excelsior. The red stone floated back to the healers. "Defibrillator, please."

One of the healers opened a nearby cabinet and withdrew a strange-looking device. The other healer grabbed the device by hand. After rubbing two pad-things together and placing them on the witch's chest, he said, "Clear."

There was a strange sound, then the witch's body jerked, causing Ginny to gasp in alarm.

"Success," announced the wizard. He put the device back into its container. After a spellcast, he announced, "Blood is circulating. Patient has reached a persistent vegetative state."

"Looks like I'm up," said the boy pony.

"Wordless, if you can," said Prince Excelsior.

The white pony nodded. He seemed to take a stance. He moved his horn in a wide brandish, his mane glowed especially bright, and then a white glow appeared around the witch.

"It worked," said the boy pony.

"Apply the elixir of life," he said to the healers. (This part is entirely for the sake of spectacle. The 'elixir' is nothing more than a vial of water, and the effect it will have on the patient is illusion. But the watching crowd didn't need to know that. They also didn't need to know that the screen they were watching had been modified to hide certain things, like the Stone.) "Confirmation, please."

"Vitalis Revelio," said one of the healers, and a warm red glow appeared around the sleeping woman.

"Write mandrake as recoverable," said Prince Excelsior to one of the healers, who nodded. "Bring her to the intermediary bedroom," he said to the other.

Another journey through impossible geometry, going in a circle around the same pillar three times, brought them to another room, this one with multiple beds containing sleeping patients.

"Perform waking procedure," said Prince Excelsior.

The healer looked surprised, but didn't object. "Innervate."

The witch open her eyes.

The healer asked how she was feeling.

She blinked a few times and looked at him. "Pardon me?" she asked. But her eyes widened, and with a look of concentration she said, "Pardon me… pardon… paaar… doooon…"

"Try a language necklace," Prince Excelsior suggested.

The healer glanced at him, nodded, then placed a necklace around the witch.

"Can you hear me now?" asked the healer.

"Ah!" said the witch, looking relieved. "Much better. Thank you." She gave the ponies an odd look. "Are they… supposed to be here?"

"Yes," said the boy pony. "We're resurrection specialists."

"Resurrection?" repeated the witch, her forehead creasing sightly.

"What was the last thing you remember?" asked the adult pony.

The witch blinked, then her forehead creased a bit more. "Um… I was in my garden… changing my mandrake pots… an owl slammed into the glass of my greenhouse… I dropped my wand!" she gasped. "I… I…"

"You were relying only on sound charms?" asked the adult pony in a neutral tone.

"I…" the witch flushed red. "Um… yes."

"Please be more careful in the future," said Prince Excelsior. "Earmuffs are standard procedure for a reason." He tilted his head at her. "That necklace is only a temporary measure. You shall have to re-learn how to interpret the sounds you hear, I think. Or a certain lengthy procedure might work, though that would cost extra. Ignoring that, your immediate treatment is not quite done. Do you consent to a sleeping spell?"

The witch considered that for a moment, then nodded. "Yes- oh, but could someone take care of my Mandrakes? I wouldn't want my neighbors to be hurt…"

"We repotted them," said one of the healers. "But we alerted the ministry while waiting for our consultants to arrive, just in case."

"Oh, good!" said the witch, sounding relieved. "Go ahead then."

"Somnium."

Many in the audience had gaped at the wondrous architecture unlike anything they'd seen in the wizarding world, but the young girl who had spurred Prince Excelsior to supersonic speeds was the first in the audience to gasp at the sight of the new pony when he appeared on the screen. A bit earlier than that, she had audibly asked "Prince Horizon?" when Prince Excelsior had instructed his Patronus to deliver the three messages.

Her gasp drew the attention of others – it did not draw their attention to her, exactly, but to the fact that, yes, there are more ponies out there besides 'Prince Excelsior'.

Furthermore, although the screen went blank at times, it was readily apparent what had just happened. A witch who had died in a Mandrake accident had just been brought back to life.

Prince Excelsior returned to Diagon Alley with Ginny Weasley on his back, along with a pure white piece of not-parchment he picked up from the hospital on his way out. The paper's stark appearance looked almost like the hospital itself: perfectly cut and refined, as though it came from a different world. (Which, in fact, it did, as a few muggleborn and half-blood onlookers could attest to, if anybody thought to ask them.)

The pony levitated the girl to her brothers, then spoke to the crowd.

"What you witnessed," he orated in tones of a speech, "was a lucky break. Ms. Tablarosa, whom you saw on the screens, is one-hundred and thirty years old, and thus received priority on our services." He touched his horn to the white sheet, causing the screen above him to show its contents.

Philosopher's Hospital Patient Services

Reversed Age: 1% of the holdings in your Vault / Bank Account.
Maintained Life-Tracking Charm: 0.25% of holdings annually.
Revival Procedure: 2.5% of holdings.

Terms of Service…

"Up until recently," said Prince Excelsior, drawing attention back to him, "the Philosopher's Hospital has been working as a charity, curing emergency cases of imminent death. Though not yet open to the public, contracts of continued service were provided to every patient who received treatment, and Ms. Tablarosa prudently acquiesced to the terms therein. What you just witnessed, to be clear, was not charity, but part of her standard contract. Now that all urgent matters of age and sickness have been handled, we are transitioning fully to business, though we may still offer charity at our discretion.

"Starting today, the Philosopher's Hospital shall open its doors to all who know of magic. Gringotts has agreed to provide annual statements on vault holdings for all patients, though only if the vault holders provide authorization and consent. If you wish to keep your finances fully private... well, I shall let the hospital staff explain options other than the standard contract. In general, matters of life and death are charged not at fixed costs, but at fixed percentages of vault holdings, with the goal of being affordable at all levels of income.

"Cosmetic and other services are offered only at fixed costs and are not affordable at all income levels. If you want to be less fat, for instance, it will cost you 10 galleons, and it will be accompanied by a fifteen-minute informational session on the problems commonly experienced by those who take the procedure. Greater privileges are also offered, but you must be able to afford them in order to see them, much like any other business."

(It's not quite that simple – neither the reasoning behind the pricing system nor the actual implementation. Certain allowances are made for the absurdly wealthy, special treatments and surgeries that will assuage and massage their egos. It will not always be needed, but in the short term it will head off most regulatory and political stinks, especially when combined with the credible threat of a full revocation of services. Though in speeches like this, even if the matter isn't truly simple underneath the surface, you keep it simple regardless. In a world where banks store your money in a dragon-guarded vault for an annual fee – no interest, no investment, no loans, no stock markets – 'simple' is what most wizards and witches are used to, and so 'simple' is what they shall get, at least for a while.)

"More details can be learned at the hospital," he said in tones of conclusion. "The official Floo is now open on the public network under the destination name 'Stone Services'." (Again, you do not want a complicated name with lots of syllables for your Floo destination. Anything with 'Philosopher' in it would inevitably lead to a lot of mispronunciations, frustration, and wasted Floo powder.)

This caused something of a rush for the Leaky Cauldron, the closest publicly available Floo. Many complaining children were dragged along behind eager parents, leaving the Alley much emptier than it had been.

No longer were young girls clamouring for other young girls to ride the magical pony. There remained only one.

"Do you do repeat rides?" she asked.

Fred and George Weasley looked at the lack of a crowd, the lack of nervous and eager children, then looked at each other and shrugged.

"Why not, eh?"

"Be good advertisement if someone saw that again."

"That it would, George."

"You can go until someone else wants a turn."

Soon enough, the daredevil was riding Prince Excelsior once more.

"Privacy?" she asked.

"For our conversation, sure." The screens failed to repeat that, and what came next.

"So," she said. "Prince Horizon?"

"Was that a question?" asked Prince Excelsior as he bucked through the air at merely subsonic speeds.

"You seemed familiar with him," she pointed out.

"Of course I'm familiar with him," said the thestral. He grinned. "Is the princess jealous? Very unladylike."

"You mean extremely ladylike."

They both laughed.

"Can I meet him?"

"I suggest focusing on your quarry. You will meet Prince Horizon in time."

For a while, there was no more conversation between them.

Then, "Is youthism common here, or is it just that witch with the orange mane?"

"It is so incredibly common," said the pony, "that you would be hard-pressed to find any adult who does not treat children as dogs to be trained. Even if you do something incredible."

And more silence.

Then an alert, and a teleport.

Soon enough, he was ready for the next child who requested a pony ride. Her blonde hair and air of inattentiveness should have been a dead giveaway to her identity, and her father would have been a dead giveaway if he'd been present, but the pony didn't actually recognize her until she began speaking as they flew through the sky.

To pretty much everybody else in Magical Britain, if they had been watching, her words would have seemed like any other child's ramblings – vacuous, amusing, nonsensical. They'd only be exceptional in that some of the ramblings might reach the headline of tomorrow's Quibbler, if her father somehow hears of them.

To the being beneath her, those passing remarks were something else entirely.

"Tommy was the first to fly, you know," for example. And as he passed a flock of wizarding-world thestrals, "I've never had death for dinner. What's it taste like?" And most disturbing of all, after a light rap on the top of his head with her fingertips, "Same name."

Riddle has dealt with a number of eldritch horrors in his day. And this situation, despite its apparent harmlessness, reminded him of some of those occasions, in atmosphere if not amplitude. Entirely against his will, her words activated his adrenaline and spiked his stress levels and sense of danger.

This is despite already knowing her for a seer.

The day of ponyback rides certainly met and exceeded its goal of petty punishment.

Rehabilitation 12.1: Dilemma

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter 67: Express Permission

Draco cast a locking charm on the door to their compartment. His minions stood guard outside. He cast further privacy charms, and so did Harry. Hermione simply read a book. The train had yet to take off, but he was too eager to wait any longer.

"Now you tell me what's going on," Draco stated when they were secure.

Harry leaned forward in a suitably conspiratorial manner. "You're officially an Occlumens?"

"Mr. Bester said I'm putting up a full block," Draco proudly declared.

Harry narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. "Do you mind if I test it?" he requested in a polite, yet firm voice.

"With Veritaserum?"

"Eh… just answer the question. Do you mind if I test that you're an Occlumens?"

"I don’t mind."

Harry drew his wand, pointed it at Draco- who only stopped himself from bringing his own wand to bear out of sheer battle reflex because he recognized the wand motion and was in the habit of not trying to directly guard against that particular spell- and then Harry said, "Legilimens."

Draco's inner-rock was suddenly subjected to a few questions, which it answered like a rock might, but…

"You're a Legilimens?"

"You would have known if you hadn't turned down the speediest option," said Harry. "Er, well, I guess you would have known Hermione is one, though you probably could have guessed me as well." Harry raised his wand in a recognizable stance. "Anyway, looks like you've got a decent block. Now for step two." Wordlessly, Harry brought forth his impossibly bright, impossibly shaped Patronus. "Ask Riddle if I can have a copy of that contract for Draco to sign."

The Patronus seemed to walk away as it disappeared.

Draco frowned in confusion. "Riddle?"

Before Harry could answer, a parchment appeared in a flash of green fire in front of Harry. Harry looked at it, nodded, and turned it around for Draco. "Read that, comprehend it, sign it, and I'll tell you… almost anything you want to know. Oh, and this clause-" Harry pointed his finger at the first line "-is referring to Professor Monroe too, not just me."

Draco read the clause. "…the one(s) who is/are having me sign this paper." He then read a bit more, and understood why that was necessary to point out. "I thought you were going to be telling me your secrets."

"In due time," Harry nodded. "In due time. And I am. Kind of. I'm certainly involved in the story. But for now, it's mostly his secrets I'll be telling you. Trust me, it's just as interesting and revealing, if not more so." Harry turned to face Hermione. "And I'll be telling you too, Hermione."

Hermione looked up from her book. "Me? But I already know."

"You already know half of it. I'm about to drop the other half. The major bombshell. We'll need to go into my trunk. And I'll begin by apologizing that it took me this long; before the escape, he made me swear a binding promise not to tell you without his permission as a condition for his help in reviving you. And after the escape... well, he still has difficulty allowing anyone to know at all, but he finally gave in."

The muggleborn girl raised her eyebrows, then tucked her book away in her pouch without bookmarking her place.

Draco's eyes dropped back to the contract. He read over the signatories, saw some names he didn't recognize, some he did, some written in a language he didn't know but managed to comprehend anyway, and even…

"Father knows?" he asked.

"Sort of," Harry equivocated. "Even among those in the know, there's only a handful who know the big truth. I'm not sure if your father has figured it out yet… you know what? I'll ask."

Harry sent another Patronus message to 'Riddle'.

"He figured it out a few weeks ago," said a voice that Draco didn't recognize when the Patronus returned. "As Alastor likely did, if his radio silence and assassination attempts are anything to go by."

"Assassination attempts?" Hermione said.

"Uh…" Harry said to the Patronus. "Is that going to be a problem? He's in charge of hospital security, right?"

"Rest assured," said the returned Patronus, "the Vow he took before accepting that position shall forever prevent him from threatening the Stone, the hospital, or the hospital's purpose. And truth be told," continued the Patronus in a thoughtful tone, "the assassins were evidently aiming for the obvious objective, not trying to take my life just for the sake of it. I suspect Moody goaded them, but he might not have been involved. It's mostly his lack of communication that's convinced me."

"And Draco's father?"

"I doubt Lucius is making any plans against me on his end, but yes, he knows."

"There you have it," said Harry when the message ended. "Oh, and Snape knows too – he figured it out right away."

Draco nodded, unsurprised. His Head of House (former Head of House, he reminded himself with a bit of sadness) was so cunning that Father himself often asked Snape for his perspective on important, private matters.

His eyes dropped back to the other names on the parchment. "What about McGonagall and Bones?"

"I don't think the Headmistress or the Chief Regent have figured it out yet, unless Moody told them."

Draco giggled at the 'Chief Regent' line.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up future Chief Regent," said Harry with a smile.

Draco rolled his eyes and prepared to sign.

"Oh, and that contract is magical. Trying to violate the terms will paralyze you for an hour."

This caused a brief digression in which Draco called forth his own Patronus and contacted his father. It's not that he didn't trust Harry, he explained, it's that he's a bit hesitant to be bound by magic he's never heard of before.

Harry didn't seem offended in the slightest, saying he would have done the same in Draco's socks.

When his Patronus returned, Father's voice reassured him that the contract is exactly as Harry Potter described. It is up to Draco if he wishes to sign. The truth is both significant and harrowing, though Draco may feel differently about it than Father.

Draco told Father he understood, then signed the contract.

Before he followed Harry down his trunk, however, he thought ahead and took a brief moment to inform his minions where he would be.

"What if somethin' happens and we need ya, boss?" asked Vincent.

"Like what?"

"Uh…" said Vincent.

"Like a prefect asks for you, Mr. Malfoy," suggested Gregory.

"Hmm… good point. Got any ideas, Harry?"

"I'll transfigure a spool of thread and a bell," said Harry, and he did. "Pull the thread if you need us."

The two nodded, looking much relieved. They hadn't quite been told to do so in words, but they were starting to treat Harry Potter almost like their fathers treated the Dark Lord: Mr. Malfoy is their master, but Mr. Potter is their master's master. That's not quite it, or even somewhat it. But Mr. Potter's idea was simple, easy to understand, and easy to remember, so they didn't bother with the 'you're not our boss, so don't tell us what ta do' routine.

When the three conspirators got to the basement level of Harry's trunk and were surrounded by muggle books, Harry pressed a button on a device that didn't seem to do anything, then suggested they sit on the floor, since (1) he never installed more than one seat, (2) they'll want to be sitting down when they hear what he's about to say, and (3) if he's about to reveal a conspiracy, they may as well look conspiratorial. A close-up, cross-legged triangle should accomplish that.

Hermione seemed bemused. "How conspiratorial are we talking here?"

"It's probably the most important conspiracy in magical Britain," Harry answered. "Hold onto your broomsticks, lady and gentleman, and brace yourselves for a bumpy ride."

"After everything," she said skeptically and a bit jadedly, "just how surprised do you think I'll be?"

"You?" asked Harry. "Extremely surprised, but also not surprised at all. Draco, you'll be downright shocked."

"Great," said Draco flatly. "Are you just going to hit us with it full-on?"

"Hm… now that you mention it, I can try to soften the blow. Draco. Hermione. What's your opinion of the Defense Professor's current character?"

They absorbed the question.

"He's cunning…" Draco began.

Harry shook his head. "His moral character. Forget his skills and abilities for a moment. Is he a good person?"

There was another brief pause.

Draco spoke again, this time more slowly. "I… don't know how to answer that."

Harry nodded. "Part of the problem is that he used to behave in such a way that suggested he would punish critiques of his character, so we have mental impulses to avoid the question. What about you, Hermione? Would you say he's a good person?"

"Sort of," said Hermione. "He's a lot like you now, Harry."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I can't tell if he's 'good' or 'bad' just by looking like I usually can."

"Would you say he's better than he used to be?"

"Oh yes," she said without hesitation. "He's not evil anymore. Now he's…"

"Reserved?" suggested Draco.

"Exactly," said Hermione. "Reserved. I mean, he was always reserved, but he's a nicer kind of reserved. He hasn't been mean lately."

"He was to the Wizengamot," Draco pointed out. "Remember his last defense class? And he doesn't even get the Imperius excuse. He did that lecture after it supposedly wore off."

"Oh. Right. Well… he's not like that most of the time anymore. Just like Harry isn't scaring people with ghosts most of the time anymore. And he can cast the true Patronus too, so…"

Harry nodded. "So, keeping everything you just said in mind, can you please not freak out at what I'm about to tell you? I didn't learn it myself until the night of the Quidditch Game at the end of the year, and… um… circumstances forced me to… um… truce for a while... and then other circumstances..." Harry trailed off nervously.

"Just get it over with," sighed Draco.

"Alright," said Harry, though first he seemed to check his device to make sure it was still on. "Here goes. Tom Riddle. Remember that name, because it's important. Tom Riddle was a half-blood who grew up in a muggle orphanage, no parents or siblings he knew about. Tom Riddle narrowly beat David Monroe for the Head Boy position in his Seventh Year, but David graduated with the better grades in the end. Tom Riddle was… probably as close to the literal definition of evil as you can get. Grew up alone. Bullied by the other orphans in his childhood residence – you couldn't really call it a home. Abused heavily by the orphan mother. No friends, no family that he knew about, no light in his life at all. The killing curse ended up being his favourite spell. And on top of all of that, he desperately wanted to avoid death, so he successfully became immortal. But after wandering the world for years, he learned of nuclear weapons, and that's when Tom Riddle turned his attention to politics to, in his words, 'prevent the muggles from ruining everything'."

"He's the Dark Lord, isn't he?" asked Draco.

"Yes," said Harry. "And he's also David Monroe – er, well, he killed David Monroe and stole his identity. And he was Professor Quirrell all of last year."

There was a pause.

"Don't panic!" said Harry at their expressions.

Hermione literally screamed. She almost fled the trunk.

"Don't panic?" asked Hermione. "Don't PANIC?! Harry, you-"

"I know!"

"-are best friends-"

"I know!"

"-with the Dark LORD!"

"I. Know." Harry repeated. "And nobody on the whole planet has kicked me for it more than I have."

There was a great deal of back and forth after that, and eventually Harry seemed to have enough.

"Look, I prepared something for both of you to watch. Rather than telling you, can you please watch what happened for yourselves? No excuses. No lies. No manipulation. Just the raw truth as it happened during the last Quidditch match of the school year, when I finally learned the truth. Then you can shout at me. Deal?"

"Deal," said Draco at once, who hadn't been doing any of the shouting, just numbly staring.

"Hermione?" Harry implored as he withdrew a parchment screen from his pouch and a vial of silver liquid from within his wand. When she didn't answer, he just went ahead and started the memory by putting the vial somewhere behind the parchment.

"Hello, Lord Voldemort," said Harry's voice.

Professor Quirrell, pointing a gun at Harry, said, "Hello, Tom Riddle."

Like muggle television, this had the nigh-magical ability of keeping all three children enraptured.

Harry had prepared a long memory, and it wasn't just from his own perspective, it often jumped to the perspective of Professor Quirrell. They had just gotten to the part where he started brewing a potion when a ringing bell interrupted their memory-watching.

"I'll get it," said Harry, resetting the spool as he walked.

Hermione and Draco didn't object, they just kept watching in fascination as Harry asked his first question.

Leaving the security device in the room and closing the door behind him, he climbed the stairs out of his trunk and popped his head out. "Yeah?" he asked the minions after unlocking the room.

"Dere's a firstie girl here," said Vincent. "And she won't go away 'till she asks ya a question."

"Two questions," said the girl from behind him.

"Eh…" said Harry. "I guess I'd be a hypocrite if I said 'no'. What questions?"

"Do you happen to know the Elements of Harmony, or where I can find a pony named Silver?"

Harry stared at her for a moment, a rapid calculation going through his mind. Then he threw out the calculation and went with his gut feeling. "Honesty, Loyalty, Generosity, Kindness, Laughter, Magic, and are you looking for Silver Wing or Silver Life?" he asked in reply.

The girl brightened considerably. "Do you have a moment to talk?"

"Hmm…" he said as he mentally estimated how long the memory had left. "We can talk right now. Just give me a second. And please wait outside the compartment."

She nodded, stepped back so the minions could close the door, and without hesitation lifted a book she was holding at her side, opened it to a page bookmarked by a pencil, and began scribbling inside while she waited.

He descended the stairs, quieted the door, opened and closed it, paused the memory, told Draco and Hermione that he trusted them to not let that memory parchment out of their sights, told Hermione to use an Equestrian locking spell on the door behind him, and then asked them if they minded this arrangement, since something just came up.

They were both quite content in their horror and fascination to keep watching without him there.

Harry climbed back up the stairs and out of the trunk, then opened the newly installed compartment, the one that housed the Equestrian library. It had, of course, been filled by Twilight, and the security should theoretically be impossible for wizards not named Riddle to crack.

"What's your name?" he asked the girl after opening the cabin door.

"Autumn," she replied. "Yours?"

"Harry," he said, mirroring her first-name-only model for now. Although… "Your last name wouldn't happen to be Query, would it?" he asked, having just seen the name 'Autumn Query' on Tom Riddle's contract.

The girl narrowed her eyes. "Your last name wouldn't happen to be Potter, would it?"

"It would not," he said crisply. His last name is Potter-Evans-Verres, thank you very much.

"Oh good," the girl seemed to sigh in relief – a reaction Harry hadn't been expecting at all. "For a second I thought I was going crazy."

"Uh…" said Vincent, looking like he was about to say something-

"Quiet," said Gregory. "It's none of our business."

"Oh," said Vincent. "Right."

Good minions.

Vincent turned to face the girl. "You can go through. Just don't touch anything dat ain't yours."

"I promise I won't violate the property rights of others," she said as she passed them.

"Um… come right in, Autumn," Harry said to the girl. He could get down to the incongruities about her in a moment, when they weren't in front of possibly spying eyes and potentially eavesdropping ears.

Though first he made sure to transfigure another spool and bell, then labeled both bell ends for the benefit of the bell ends.

As he did that, the girl tugged twice on the page she'd been writing on, causing it to come free from the book without any sound of tearing, then handed it to the minions.

"Hey, we look pretty good," said Vincent in an admiring voice.

"Indeed," said Gregory.

Autumn tilted her head at their reaction.

After asking to see it himself, Harry beheld a sketch of two looming minions, wearing unfriendly scowls and glares, their features exaggerated. It was a pretty good drawing, especially for a three-minute sketch.

After closing the door and casting a spell with his wand, the boy pulled out a privacy button and pressed it. He definitely has connections in Equestria if he has one of those. Not to mention…

"Is your Circus name Azathoth?" was the first thing she decided to ask.

The boy paused. "Is your Circus name Enigma?" he rejoined.

There was a brief staring contest in which nothing was yielded.

"You're good," said the girl.

"Likewise," said the boy. "Would you mind telling me what all this is about?"

"I'm on a mission," said the girl importantly. "I'm looking for Silver Wing, and I have it on good authority that you know where he is."

The boy tilted his head. "On whose authority?"

"Ah," said the girl, raising a halting finger, then another. "That's two questions in a row. I get to ask the next question."

The boy furrowed his eyebrows for a moment. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Oh. Sorry, I thought you knew. It's a game called Questions. I ask a question, then you ask one, then me, then you, and back and forth. The first one to not answer a question they do know loses, unless you match a question you don't want to answer by asking a question they don't want to answer."

The boy looked interested. "Alright. Just so long as you're fine with keeping to that ruleset for the rest of the conversation."

She grinned. "I've been doing it all my life. Think you'll be able to keep up?"

"Yes," said the boy. "That's your question. Now mine. On whose authority do you have it that I know Silver Wing's location?"

"Bad framing," she said. "I do not have it on good authority that you specifically know, just that someone on this train did. But you did throw my exact words back at me, so you don't suffer a penalty question."

"Hm… interesting. So, to reiterate, who told you that?"

Autumn paused. She had been instructed not to reveal certain things to her new peers… but this case was clearly exceptional, right? Still, better safe than sorry. "Prince Excelsior, of course." Which was still true.

"Of course," sighed the boy.

Now it was her turn again. "So where is he?"

"Don't know."

"Nice try. You're a good liar," she complimented. "But lying is against the rules. Unless we explicitly allow it." She was used to being able to play the game in a way where lying is impossible.

"I'm not lying," the boy grinned. "I honestly don't know exactly where Prince Excelsior is at the moment."

Autumn narrowed her eyes. So it's going to be like that is it? Well, she can play the mean version too.

"My turn," said the boy. "Why do you care about Silver Wing?"

"Oh that's easy," said Autumn. "I want to meet him. Now, where is Silver Wing?" she asked directly, no ambiguous pronouns this time.

"Hm…" said the boy, getting a thoughtful look. "At the moment, Silver Wing is nowhere. Why do you want to meet him?"

"He's one of my biggest inspirations," said Autumn. "What do you mean 'he's nowhere'?"

"I mean exactly what I said. How did he inspire you?"

The girl shook her head. "When asked a clarification question, you have to actually clarify. I'll ask again. What do you mean by 'Silver Wing is nowhere'?"

The boy adopted a thoughtful look. "I mean that if in this exact moment you could simultaneously search every inch of the universe, including the magical areas, you wouldn't be able to find the pony Silver Wing… or at least I think that's how it works."

The obvious interpretation jumped into Autumn's mind, and she suddenly felt a pit in her stomach. But… he couldn't be dead…

"How did he inspire you?" asked the boy.

"Um…" she said, no longer all that enthusiastic about the game. "I've seen a bunch of memories about him. Did you know you sound like him?"

"Yes," said the boy. "Whose memories have you seen?"

"Mostly Twilight's and… um… Excelsior's. Did… um… what happened to Silver Wing?"

"I know I'm about to ask a question out of turn, but can I ask questions about the rules of the game without using up a question?"

"You just did, but go ahead," said Autumn, not really caring much about the game anymore.

"Am I allowed to answer with a metaphor?"

"So long as I'd agree with the metaphor if I knew the full truth."

The boy nodded. "Then I'll tell you what I told someone else. In order to understand what happened to Silver Wing, imagine a time machine that only goes forwards in time. Go ahead and take as long as you need to process that, I'll continue when I think you've got it."

"A… forwards time machine…" she echoed. She thought about it. "So… like the science fiction stories about cryogenic freezing?" Or like a certain other thing, but she's not sure if she's allowed to talk about that either.

"Exactly like that," said the boy. "Except without the cryogenics. But running with that metaphor, Silver Wing was 'frozen' after his second series of pegasus magic lessons, which was... not quite a year after his debut in Flight Week. And he only just recently thawed out. He's actively done some things since then, but the 'freezing' is the biggest thing that happened to him, which was what you were asking about. In other words, he's not as old as you might think he should be. I know I'm wasting a question on it, but just to avoid a problem I've already encountered, how old do you think he should be?"

"Forty-five-ish," said Autumn.

"Yeah, he's definitely not that," said the boy.

"I'll go ahead and waste a question in return. If he's not that old, how old is he?"

"My age," shrugged the boy. "So, what about him inspired you?"

"A lot of things," said Autumn. "But if I had to sum it up in one word, I'd say his 'brain'." The boy smiled at that. "So… you said he's done a lot of things since he was trapped. What's he been doing?"

"A lot of things," the boy echoed. "If I had to sum it up in one sentence, I'd say he's been using his brain." Autumn smiled at that. "Though perhaps," said the boy in a suddenly reflective tone, "Not as much as he used to. But enough about him," said the boy. His gaze became very intense. "Who are you, Autumn?"

Autumn blinked in surprise. A number of responses flashed through her mind, the kind that are appropriate for the naughty version of the game – the version of spies and lies and secrecy, which they were currently playing. But she got the impression that the boy had just offered to switch to the nice version of the game, the version of true Honesty and Friendship. The problem was…

"We aren't nearly good enough friends for me to answer that question in any meaningful way," she said.

Without hesitation, the boy brought forth a Patronus which said, "I promise that everything we've said so far, and everything we will say in the privacy of this trunk, will be kept secret by me so long as you promise to do the same. And I'll keep that promise as long as you do."

"Promise that you'll keep everything I show you a secret too."

That promise was honestly made as well.

"Okay." Autumn took a deep breath. "Instead of telling you who I am, it'd be easier to show you. But if I do, I'd really like to know more about Silver Wing. I'm answering a big question, so I'd like you to answer my big question."

"Maybe. It depends on how big your answer is."

There was a blur.

"Big enough?" she asked.

The boy was not as surprised as she had been expecting him to be. A blink and raised eyebrows were all she got from him.

"Okay," he said. "You got me. That is pretty big. Bonus points for the statistical outlier. A deal's a deal… but first, do you have any way to prove that you won't tell anyone about all this?"

Like him, she brought forth her Patronus – it was far easier to do as she currently was – and said the same promise he had. "Now will you please tell me about Silver Wing?"

"I'll do you one better," he said after a brief pause to stare at her Patronus. "Showing is easier than telling, right?"

And then there was another blur.

She was significantly more surprised than she had been expecting herself to be. She wasn’t paying too much attention to her own facial expressions, but her habitual self-awareness informed her that her mouth was gaping, so she closed it.

Two ponies stared at each other in the room of Equestrian literature. One wore nothing, the other wore a suit. One was white, the other was dark grey. One had a mundane mane, the other…

"So," said Silver Wing, who turned out to also be Prince Horizon and the human Harry all in one. "What's your royal name?"

"Um…" said the unascended alicorn across from him. "I… haven't picked one."

She felt the urge to dash forward and introduce herself, or start gushing, or something other than just staring. But she had a firm control over herself in social situations. She also had a habit of not asking questions with obvious answers like 'You're Silver Wing?' or anything like that.

"Do you mind if we do a do-over greeting?" she decided on saying.

"Sure," he shrugged. "I'm Silver Wing. Now also known as Event Horizon. Or just Prince Horizon for short. Pleased to meet you."

"Hi!" she said with a smile. "I'm Autumn Query. I don't want to pick out my royal name until I earn it. So… when did you become a humanmagus?"

Silver seemed to blink a few times, then thought about her question. "About seven months ago from my perspective. You?"

"A year and a half ago."

It had taken a great deal of time and effort, but after knowing about humans for so long, and after learning that only humans can attend Hogwarts, and after being told she could probably become one too, she went through the process of learning the Animagus transformation, which of course meant learning Potions and Transfiguration in general (which she had already been doing, but she had to step up her studies), and after that she had to learn how to be human, which was a task in and of itself. She's still learning that. Much of her effort had gone into just learning how to control her fingers, helped immensely by her hobby of drawing.

"And it wasn't easy," she summed up. Now for her question… "When did you ascend?"

"I fully ascended immediately after the Time Machine thing, but I think I had the potential to do it any time I wanted when I first became an alicorn. That was just before Hearth's Warming, right after my first set of classes at Cloudsdale. What about you?"

"I haven't ascended yet, but I've been an alicorn as long as I can remember. I was born this way."

"What?" asked Silver. "That's not fair! Why isn't everypony born that way? Why wasn't everyone born that way throughout pony history?" He barely stopped himself from asking why isn't everypony that way, if good-Riddle is capable of turning anypony into an alicorn at will.

"Because it wouldn't have been good."

Silver stared at her. "How can you cast my version of the Patronus and still say that?"

She sighed sadly. "Even ignoring the fact that evil ponies could have done a lot more damage in the distant past if everypony was ageless, it's complicated," she answered. "This," she gestured at herself, "isn't a defense against mental illness. The only defense against that is to keep thinking and doing new things all your life, or having a really important purpose that keeps you going. And you have to be truly happy, of course. But most ponies… aren't like that. Sorry, I mean they weren't like that. They eventually went off the deep end, unless they were really careful about all the different ways you can go insane, or they were really lucky. And the brain can't be fixed by magic when it goes wrong in natural ways, so…"

"Where did you hear all that?" asked Silver skeptically.

"Twilight did a lot of research," Autumn explained. "There have been unascened alicorns before."

"Oh," Silver said. Autumn wasn't sure if he had accepted her answer, but he seemed to move on to a new subject. Sort-of. "So… if you're born that way… what, does the universe- I mean, does 'Harmony'-" (the Mirror, he thought to himself) "just… I don't know, randomly decide that some ponies aren't likely to go crazy if they're born alicorns?"

"Not randomly," she said. "But now it's my turn for a few questions. You've had three in a row." When he didn't argue, she asked, "Can you tell me more about the 'forwards time machine'?"

He shrugged. "Just what I said. I got sent forwards in time from the Equestrian perspective, and here I am."

"How did that happen?"

"That's probably classified."

"Classified?"

"Confidential. Hush-hush. Need-to-know. 'I can't tell you for reasons that I'm also not allowed to tell you'," he clarified. "Unless you prove that you have security clearance, but I don't know what that looks like, so I have to say 'no' for now. If Prince Excelsior gives me the go-ahead, I'll tell you. Or he could tell you himself, if he thinks it's not risky."

"Oh. Um… okay…" said Autumn. "Then can you tell me why it happened?"

"Eh…" Silver sniffed. "To save the world."

Her eyes narrowed skeptically. "Really? Which one?"

"Both, in a way. Mostly the human world. Have you heard about what happened to the Dementors?"

"That was you?"

He smiled, his mane glowing a little brighter. "With help, yes."

"Is that your special talent?" she asked, unable to help herself.

"I don't like that ponies are only supposed to have one," he remarked. "I have at least three big ones, and I'm getting more all the time. Plus all the little ones."

"Three?"

"Science, promotion of Life, and predicting evil," he listed. "With Life being the one that ascended me."

"So… not pegasus magic." She never believed the ponies who said they 'Knew it for sure!' and 'It's obviously pegasus magic! How could it be anything else?', but it's great to know what's true, and not just speculate (i.e. argue) with her friends about it.

"Right, not pegasus magic," Silver finally clarified. "I've seen lots of pegasi and a certain thestral who can use my techniques better than I can-" (probably because they've been doing it all their lives while he's only been doing it for a year) "-even though I invented them. Do a bunch of ponies think that's my 'special talent'? I didn't have time to read the exhibits in my museum."

"Nopony knows your special talent," said Autumn. "That's why I asked. Your cutie mark is totally not a pegasus magic cutie mark. A bunch of ponies have tried to guess what it means, but nopony knew for sure."

"Prince Excelsior knew. He didn't say?"

"No," she grumbled. "Well, not to me. And not to Equestria either."

"Good."

"My turn to ask a question," said Autumn. "Can we be friends?"

There was a brief pause.

Silver's eyebrows rose. "Isn't it a bit early for that?"

"It's never too early to start a friendship," said Autumn. "We already have a lot in common."

"Hm…" said Silver. "I guess we do already know some private things about each other. Sure, we can be friends."

"Yay!" She stepped forward and wrapped her neck around his in greeting. The warmth of the Patronus mane tickling her nose made her giggle, and feel a bit happier too. She stepped back. "It'll be a 'secret pony' friendship!" she declared. "We'll be the only 'secret pony' students in Hogwarts."

"Not the only ones," Silver corrected her after a pause. "Oh, and I should probably check up on my friends. It might take a while, though."

"I've got ways to pass the time."

Professor Quirrell had just finished answering Harry's third question when Harry re-entered the room and paused the memory.

"Quick note," he said. "I'm talking with a firstie in a different compartment of my trunk. If you finish the memory, or if you need me for anything else, I set up another bell-and-thread. Unless you need something right now?"

"Got it," said Draco. "Don't need anything," he added quickly, not seeming to care all that much, in the sense that humans don't tend to care about minor relationship curiosities when being chased by a tiger. Or, more accurately, when watching a close friend be chased. Even knowing they'll escape, it's hard to think about anything else until you see how. "Can you continue the memory now?"

"Hold on," said Hermione. "Before I forget, I want to say thank you, Harry. And I'm sorry for blowing up earlier. Seeing you hurting in the memory… I remembered what I told myself to say to you when you finally learned Professor Quirrell was evil. I... guess the whole Voldemort thing made me forget that part."

"I was expecting it, so it's fine," said Harry. "What are you thanking me for?"

"Even when you were talking with the Dark Lord at gunpoint, you found a way to defend me and get him to admit you were right... no, that I was right. Enough to make him reference one of his rules in order to accept it for himself and not be stubborn about it like most Dark Lords would be. That's…"

"Even I have to admit that's impressive," Draco offered.

"I think you're the impressive one, Hermione. I always intended to tell you that even Lord Voldemort couldn't tempt you to do wrong, and that's why he killed you."

Hermione's face was a series of interesting expressions, but she didn't say anything in reply.

"Now can you please continue it?" asked Draco.

Hermione didn't object to Draco's pleading, so Harry obliged.

"So," said Silver once he'd returned and turned back into a pony. "Please tell me more about the research Twilight did on mental illness and extended life."

Long story short, there have been other unascended alicorns in the past. Most of those were random genetic anomalies, some were not-so-random, and some were true candidates for full ascension, but not a single one lasted longer than three hundred years. Celestia had known each of them, and although each case had been unique, each case except three ended the same way: death by mental-illness-related problems. One pony stopped eating one day, saying she had lived long enough. Another became utterly incomprehensible. He was constantly talking to ponies who weren't there, who weren't alive anymore, muttering and arguing with himself, constantly pacing and completely ignoring the outside world. Eventually he didn't respond to real ponies at all anymore, and one day he simply disappeared. He likely wandered into a nearby forest and was killed by a predator, or died of illness or starvation, but nopony knew for sure. A third – a reclusive researcher who spent most of their time in their tower – had what sounded like Alzheimer's. There were similar stories for the others.

"What about the three who didn't die to mental illness?" asked Silver.

"One died in war," said Autumn. "One was an accident; she died in her thirties from a flash flood. The last was a plague; she died in her sixties."

"Okay…" said Silver, absorbing that. "And what about ascended alicorns?"

Autumn smiled. "Good so far. It's impossible to say for certain with only three examples who've lived long enough to be data points. Maybe you can only ascend if you don't have those mental problems, or maybe ascended alicorns can still go crazy and we just haven't seen it… well, we have, but it was a targeted dark mental attack, so that doesn't count. It's possible the ascended alicorns have just been lucky."

"And the unascended alicorns aren't lucky?"

"Not the ones born in the past," she answered. "But only because they were born in the past. The general accepted theory is that, since mental illness makes ponies weak to certain kinds of stress later in life, and since mental illness is borne of trauma or neglect or too much stress, especially in foalhood – which was way more common in the past, and not just because ponies were worse parents on average, nature was more dangerous back then too – most alicorns in the past simply couldn't handle a long life. Inner demons eventually catch up with everypony, and most ponies back then didn't have the support structure we do today. Basically… you need a happy, mentally healthy population before you start the 'eternal life' thing. If you don't, you're going to have a lot of severe mental cases that die early anyway for different reasons than old age. Like murder. And suicide."

Silver felt himself frowning. "So what's your opinion about the immortality efforts going on right now? Or have you not heard about them?"

"Oh, I'm all for it," she said. "Equestria is mostly good now, even if it wasn't in the past. The Stoners are fine so far. Being Stoned until the Future is also fine so far. There was a big controversy about fertility at first, before ponies knew that the clinics simply couldn't restore it, but that's the biggest issue we've seen."

"I meant on Earth."

Autumn paused for a long moment. "It's better to err on the side of life," she said slowly. "Better to catch the few that can make it all the way. The contract to sign up for eternal life should hopefully prevent the mental health cases from becoming a problem, no matter how many there are. Not to mention it'll solve a bunch of other problems. Hopefully."

"How?" asked Silver.

"Have you read it?"

"No. I'm now realizing I should have. What's it say?"

"It's… basically a magical contract that forces you to not violate property rights or abuse foals- sorry, young sapient life, if you want Stone services in the first place. If your behaviour constitutes an unintentional or habitual risk to yourself or others along the metrics outlined in the contract, you agree to go to therapy. Pony therapy, of course. We're preparing for an influx of human cases on our end… or, well, by 'we' I mean the clinical psychologists of Equestria are preparing for it. And the princesses are preparing too, of course."

"And if therapy doesn't work?"

"There's also a clause that signers might need to swear an Unbreakable Vow to maintain Stone services in the final extremity, and the Vow would basically force you to not do the thing that you're doing which violates the terms of service. We imagine a lot of ponies- sorry, people will go for that one."

"And if the Vow doesn't work because someone literally doesn't have the mental capacity to not do the behaviour anymore?" You can't Vow somebody out of epileptic seizures, unless Harry really missed something about how they work.

"We haven't really seen that," said Autumn. "If I had to guess, most humans would opt out at that point."

"Opt out?"

"You can opt out of the contract at any time."

"What happens when someone opts out?"

"Your body is put back to your natural age. Free of any physical health problems, of course. Twilight set it up that way in Equestria, too. That way, ponies can live out a natural death by old age if they really want to. Free Will means you have to let ponies make that choice if that's what they want. It also means it's their choice to sign up in the first place. The centaurs- earth's centaurs were all for it, but a lot of wizards and witches and goblins and mermaids refused to sign when they realized all the things they wouldn't be allowed to do anymore, and that's their choice."

"And you really think that's the right thing to do?"

Autumn frowned. "Is it right to force someone to live forever if they don't want to? Is it right to grant extended life to someone just so they can go on abusing others for a lot longer than they normally would have? Equestrian philosophers have had to address a lot of important questions recently, when it came to sharing Stone services with the other nations of Equus, and even when it came to a few ponies in Equestria."

Silver and Autumn went back and forth on this. Silver was particularly interested in the problems that have already been encountered in Equestria, since they've been 'Stoning' for some time already. They hadn't been doing it for long enough to encounter the kinds of problems seen in historic unascended alicorns, but prospects are looking good, even according to ponies whose job is to be as deliberately pessimistic as possible and read a lot of ugly history and ancient studies on abuse.

The prediction from those same pessimistic ponies, unfortunately, is that vastly more problems will be encountered outside Equestra, where mental health problems will be much more common, and they'll have to play future policy by ear. They're treating earth as if it were pony society during and after the Three Tribes period, which means it'll be extremely difficult and tedious and require a lot of caution – significantly more so than Equestrian policy, and Equestrian policy was difficult enough for the philosophers to work through. But life is worth minor annoyances like that.

Eventually the bell rang and they had to put their conversation on pause.

Autumn turned around to leave the room, but-

"Don't forget to change back."

"Oh. Right."

She still felt slightly awkward in her human form even after a year and a half of on-and-off practice, but that was one of the conditions she needed to meet to attend Hogwarts.

"Hermione, Draco," said Harry's voice from above and in front of her. "I know it's not the best time, but I'd like you to meet Autumn."

Hermione and Draco?

When her own head emerged from the trunk, and even a little before, a massive note of confusion rang in her mind, one that she simply could not overlook any longer. She recognized the faces somewhat, to the extent that she could recognize human faces. But her uncertainty about human facial recognition was the problem. She shook hands and exchanged pleasantries with the two humans, but before she could ask-

"I remember you from the movie theatre," said Hermione.

"I saw a parchment of you riding Prince Excelsior," said Draco. "Do you think you'll be going to Gryffindor?"

"No," said Hermione. "She said it was between Ravenclaw and Slytherin, right?"

"Right," Autumn said absently. "Um… sorry, but I have to ask. Are all three of you named after your parents?"

"No," said Hermione. "Why would you think that we are?"

Autumn took a moment to find a way to get the information she wanted to know without revealing anything. "Um… just to check," she pointed her finger at each human sequentially, "Hermione, Draco, Harry, General Sunshine, Dragon General, General Chaos." Belle, Light, Azathoth, she did not say out loud, for that was not the important question, not to mention what it would needlessly reveal. "Is that right?"

They all nodded.

"Do you have an older sibling in Hogwarts?" asked Draco.

"Um…" she said. "Not quite…" She put her head in her hands, a gesture she hadn't tried yet, but which felt completely appropriate. "Sorry. My brain is hurting. Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Your last name?"

"Potter-Evans-Verres. Wizards tend to leave out my full last name."

Her hands stayed on her forehead, a position that felt natural for frustration. "The forwards machine thing," she said. "That wouldn't happen to apply to…" she trailed off.

"Yes," Harry answered confidently. "It does."

"Forwards time machine?" asked Draco, while Hermione gave her an intensely searching look.

"It's the last secret," Harry said to Draco mysteriously. "The how of redemption. The piece that brings it all together. Including the bank account and royalties you wanted to know about. But…" Harry looked out the window, then at his watch. "I'm not sure if there's enough time to cover it before we get to Hogwarts. We arrive soon. And… do you think you can handle any more shocks today, Draco?"

"I'd rather not. Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow I'd like to address any complaints or concerns that either you have. And the following days too, if we don't get to everything, which I'm sure we won't."

"That's fair," said Draco, and Hermione nodded.

"So how about this. Next weekend, I explain the last secret. Better yet, I'll show you. It'll be a field trip to Equestria. Autumn, do you want to tag along?"

Autumn glanced at the other two nervously. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Good question," said Hermione.

"If it's just the four of us, and we're all sworn to secrecy, then I'm sure it'll be fine," said Harry. "Don't worry Hermione, she's in the know." He turned to Autumn. "You don't have to come with. Or before you agree you can ask… actually, can you ask an authority you trust?"

She nodded firmly. "Good idea. I'll ask him. We'll need official permission anyway."

"I was going to get official permission on my end, but the more the merrier. Does that sound like a plan?" he asked everyone.

"What's 'Equestria'?" asked Draco. (For he had not spent too much time in conversation with ponies, during his outings at Circus.)

"The answer to life, the universe, and everything," Harry quoted. "Including Atlantis. Think of the etymology. If you can't figure it out on your own by Saturday, it should be obvious enough when we get there."

Rehabilitation 13.1: Thinking Inside the Boxes

The old wizard looked back up at Harry, and said, in a hoarse voice, "He is not like Grindelwald, Harry. There is nothing left in him. Him, you must destroy. You must not hesitate, when the time comes. To him alone, of all the creatures in this world, you must show no mercy; and then when you are done you must forget it, forget that you ever did such a thing, and go back to living. Save your fury for that, and that alone." -Albus Dumbledore, HPMoR, Ch77

"Stupefy! Diffindo! Crucio! Argh!"

For perhaps the first time in his life, Albus Dumbledore may have been truly experiencing what others call 'schadenfreude'. He has, in the past, enjoyed the irony of Dark Lords being the instruments of their own downfalls, even to the point of full-blown laughter, but he never took particular pleasure in the moment of defeat if that moment involved pain or bloodshed or excessive anguish.

But as he watched Tom Riddle... no, Lord Voldemort – he would no longer dignify the creature before him with his old name; if he wished to be Voldemort, he may as well be Voldemort – as Albus watched Voldemort take a moment to recover from torturing himself, he smiled.

Albus had never expected to enjoy such a sight, never expected that within himself there might lie a seed of darkness that could relish in the tortured anguish of another human being. This was thrice true of the Cruciatus.

And yet, when the 'intelligent' being who used to be Tom Riddle inadvertently tortured himself with a Crucio cast at the device twice demonstrated in the previous two seconds to deflect incoming spells, Albus couldn't help but smile. Finally, finally Voldemort gets a true and literal taste of his own tortures.

And then Albus was frantically dodging a Killing Curse at point-blank. Perhaps he deserved that.

Then the green bolt was redirected as well. (He had half-expected that, but you don't take chances with the Killing Curse. It is the offense without defense, after all. Or it was, until Harry Potter discovered the True Patronus.) After being deflected, the Green Death flew straight towards a once-again surprised Voldemort.

If Albus was witnessing the true end of Voldemort, Albus thought, it would be incredibly fitting – the terrible Dark Lord, slain by his own Killing Curse. The implication he'd allowed Magical Britain to believe ten years ago, finally coming true at last.

But Voldemort dodged, and it was not to be.

And in his place, Albus once again saw Tom Riddle, who prevented the Killing Curse from escaping with the body of a large, magical bear, hastily moved into place. Albus was no longer confused about the beast's purpose.

"I would laugh at the turnabout," Albus said as he stood, "if not for the fact that it almost escaped. Thank you for stopping it, Tom."

The pony opened its mouth to reply-

And the bear was gone. And Tom was in a new place, walking into view from the edge of the Mirror. Calm, composed, and utterly at ease, none of his prior panic visible... actually, there did seem to be an air of tension about him. Preparedness, if not panic.

"I admit," Albus said, "this is beginning to become... discombobulating. Have you come to terms with your escape condition? Did you figure out why Patronuses cannot reach Harry?"

The pony before him blinked in surprise for a moment. "Ah. Yes to both." Then, without further preamble, he asked, "Is the trap still in place?"

Albus frowned. This again? "It is."

"In that case, I'll be back."

The pony walked to the edge as if to go beyond its range, and just as he might have crossed out of Albus's line of sight, he walked straight back into it.

"Before we proceed," said the pony. Tom's voice sounded slightly strange, slightly different, but perhaps that was the passage of time. Harry had not sounded quite exactly the same either. "Is the time freeze set to end the moment its prisoner casts the Patronus, standing before the Mirror or otherwise?"

"It is not."

"The release mechanism is manual, not automatic?"

Albus paused, only then realizing that perhaps he shouldn't have been completely straightforward about the Mirror's trap mechanics. But he'd already given the first answer, and this second one is easily inferable from the first. "It is manual."

"Can I have your word that you will not undo the trap without providing plenty of warning in advance?"

Albus's eyebrows rose in some surprise. "I would not have sprung the trap's end upon you in any case, but you have my word that I will provide plenty of warning first."

"Good. Expecto Patronum."

And there was light. True Patronus light, as far as Albus could tell, coming from the True Patronus charm. A pony of light stood before him.

Albus's eyes were not wide with surprise. They were laced with heavy skepticism. "I see. How much time has passed?"

"Tell Albus Dumbledore that over four years have passed since last we spoke," the pony said to the Patronus, which conveyed the message.

"Hm," said Albus, slightly surprised that such an unbelievable lie had been chosen. Surely '100 years' would have been better-suited to the goal of tricking him. "Let's get the obvious part of this performance out of the way. Could you instruct your Patronus, in Parseltongue, to convey to me that it is the Patronus of Tom Riddle. Instruct it to convey to me the name of his orphan-mother, the grade he received in Transfiguration first-year, and the happy thought that allowed him to cast a Patronus."

There was a brief pause, and then, "Most proper names cannot be spoken by snakes," said the pony, in a voice that no longer contained that hint of strangeness. "Salazar and the other four founders are speakable. As are Hogwarts, Atlantis, and Merlin.* But little else. I cannot even speak names which presumably go back to that time – the Malfoys; the Jugsons; the Longbottoms; the Dumbledores; the Potters; the Peverells. The same goes for Riddle, which is a muggle name in any case."

[*HPMoR canon shows the proper nouns Sslytherin and Hogwartss spoken in Parseltongue, but nothing else as far as I can remember. Use of 'boy-child-friend' and 'girl-child-friend' and 'headmasster' implies that they couldn't simply say 'Draco' or 'Hermione' or 'Dumbledore' in Parseltongue. Let me know if I'm forgetting a scene.]

For the smallest of moments, Albus had a pang of nostalgia for the days of Professor Dumbledore teaching Tom Riddle – that polite, curious child who ceaselessly examined the details of magic, who answered Transfiguration questions with all the proper considerations and qualifications of an aspiring adept.

But then Tom continued speaking, and the nostalgia was gone. "Not even generic names like 'Tom' can be spoken in Parseltongue, nor can false names like 'Voldemort', unless it is an alias made from an otherwise generic word. Thus the Death Eater aliases. The word 'riddle' can be spoken as the word synonymous to puzzles, and I haven't tested it, but the word 'coal' referring to fire fuel likely works as well, if that suffices?"

Dumbledore nodded, wearily and warily.

There was another pause, then the pony said, that hint of strangeness in the voice once more, "Convey the following message from Tom Riddle to Albus Dumbledore." Another pause. A series of hisses.

The Patronus walked forward, and though it was pony-shaped, Albus could tell it was frowning. "The following message is for you from Tom Riddle. I am a riddle. My orphan-mother was coal. I received the grade twice above exceeded expectations-" apparently 'outstanding' wasn't a word in Parseltongue either "-in first year of Hogwarts Transfiguration class, which was a lower grade than all other years in your class. The happy thought that allowed me to cast the Patronus was the expunging of death from a cared-for friend."

Albus carefully listened to the message, but in truth, it might not have been necessary. "Let us forget the Parseltongue. I notice you did not have your Patronus say that it is the Patronus of Riddle, only for it to convey a message to me from Tom Riddle. Please amend that."

There was, this time, a much longer pause.

"My," said the voice of the pony, still strange. "I did not expect you to see through it quite so quickly. Well done, Albus Dumbledore. You are at least as cunning as I hoped you would be, as Tom's gatekeeper."

Albus smiled grimly. As if this isn't the first part to some greater deception. Still, he may as well play along for now. "Is this entirely illusion? Or does he wish me to believe he recruited a good person on par with Mr. Potter for the sake of this play?"

"Tell Albus," said the pony to the Patronus, "the conditions that are known or suspected to be required for bringing his image forth from the Mirror. Tell Albus selective truths about your casting. And tell Albus the truth of Riddle's progress."

The Patronus said, in Tom's slightly-strange voice, "It is suspected that the body and soul of Tom Riddle must actively be reflected by the Mirror to bring you forth, Albus Dumbledore. Tom Riddle's voice and his magic were used to cast me. And it is a true fact that Tom Riddle has cast the true Patronus. Exactly once. He quite fittingly did so in its capacity as a sacrificial ritual, under incredibly exceptional circumstances, and he's since been unable to reproduce it."

"That said," said the pony, "what are your theories behind what you are witnessing? I'd be happy to confirm or falsify any guesses you make."

"I decline to play along," said Albus. "I hope Tom realizes that such deceptions are only getting him further from his goal."

The pony nodded. "I told him as much, that it would set a bad precedent for cooperation with you and make his future efforts all the more difficult. He was willing to accept that consequence, then convinced me to come along. Partly because, and please repeat my words," the pony said to the Patronus, "I would have told you, Albus Dumbledore, the truth of this deception immediately, if it had seemed to me like you were successfully being fooled." The Patronus repeated the words. "No deception at all is, of course, what I suggested. That said, Tom wants you to solve this puzzle before the answer is revealed. This I don't mind, given the deception is now a known factor. You can ask as many questions as you wish, and I will answer every question with my Patronus."

"How much of what I see is illusion?" Albus asked at once.

"Nothing, if by 'illusion' you are referring to false images produced by magic," said the slightly-strange voice of Tom Riddle through the Patronus. "What you are seeing was accomplished the 'hard way', as it were. This body is capable of innate disguise magic, but it is still ultimately the body of Tom Riddle. He's added a number of powers to it, you see."

"Such as?" Albus prompted.

"That I know of?" asked the pony. "Phoenix powers, troll powers, unicorn powers, changeling powers. He says you'll probably consider it an attempt at manipulation, but the Phoenix powers truthfully came with some very annoying drawbacks that you, as master of a phoenix, have likely had to deal with for many years. Though not, he suspects, to the degree he must suffer. He can turn off the voice of the phoenix, but his powers are significantly diminished if he does. He has also Horcruxed certain devices and gained their powers."

"You are speaking with him right now?"

"I am."

"Where is he?"

"That's the riddle," said the pony. "The one he'd like you to figure out, if you can. Would you like a hint?"

Albus considered playing along further, then sighed. "I am truly not in the mood. Please reveal the answer. I have had something of a day."

The pony smiled, and the expression did not match the body it wore. It was too warm. It reminded Albus of an inexperienced Polyjuice user. "As you wish."

The horn glowed, and another pony floated into view – a midnight black pony, pegasus wings, intangible mane like Harry's had been.

"Fal. Tor. Pan."

The pony body that was supposedly Tom's staggered slightly, and the new pony seemed to wake up.

"Fair warning," said that pony in a female voice, now standing tall and awake, "and please repeat this," she said to the Patronus, "we're now telling you the full truth, but a fair amount if it is incredibly unlikely and unbelievable, even by our standards."

"We're now telling you the full truth," said the Patronus, now in her voice, not Tom's.

Apparently, Patronuses use the voice of the body's wearer. Albus would not have expected that to be the case. Is that a property of the true Patronus, or Patronuses in general? Is it simply a lie? He's suddenly regretting that he did not, in the past, do as Mr. Potter or Lord Voldemort might have done in his place: run tests with Polyjuice and Patronus messages to learn the underlying rules.

He had developed many habits of curiosity as the world's most accomplished Transfiguration researcher aside from Master Flamel- or Perenelle, rather. But he had never quite reached a level to match Tom Riddle's advantage-seeking habits. Albus had learned many intricacies about magic, in his war with Voldemort. Mostly in how simple spells can be woven together in cunning ways, but occasionally he would learn a new mechanic as well.

"But a fair amount of it is incredibly unlikely, even by our standards," the Patronus finished the message, still in the female voice.

"I have a running theory that the Mirror is arranging everything," said Tom, sounding like himself without a hint of strangeness. "I've mostly given up hope that I'll be getting out of this trap any time soon, even if I manage to cast the Patronus reliably. Things are progressing at a frankly ridiculous rate. If the Atlanteans truly created this device to channel unlimited magic and grant wishes without destroying the world, they are two for three. Just last month, a pony bound by unbreakable Vow not to destroy the world became capable of channeling unlimited magic."

"Please do not deliberately overwhelm him, Tom."

Albus truly did not know where to begin with this one. "Are you the one who spoke where I could not see?" he asked female pony, deciding to start somewhere that wasn't Tom. "Four years earlier, I mean." At least, four years according to the lie. "The one who claims to detect lies?"

"I am," said the pony. "For the sake of full disclosure, I detect Honesty. I detect candidness, not lies in particular. And it's not mere detection, it is a connection with the Element of Honesty itself. It was painful to me to engage in that deception, and to use my Patronus to do it, but as I said, I would have told you the truth the moment you seemed fooled. If the answer is revealed before false beliefs can form, it is a test, not a lie. And I agreed to test your worth as Tom's final exam, which you passed to my satisfaction. That I was capable of going along with the deception at all is probably why I am not the current bearer of Honesty, but I digress. My fool believed the test was a necessary factor to his own mindset of redemption. I eventually agreed that I would like to see if his gatekeeper is sufficiently wise, and I also wanted to meet you personally, Albus Dumbledore. I wish it were under different circumstances, and I apologize for my part in the current ones. I promise I will never engage in such deceptions again around you without your express permission. I can tell that you are having a great deal of trouble with candidness at the moment, and while that is mostly my fool's fault, I bear responsibility for enabling him."

A 'great deal of trouble' is one way to put it. An extremely understated one. Deception is not in his nature, but he learned it because he had to. He has long since been burdened with incredible complexity, with significant responsibility – the madness of thousands of prophecies to be fulfilled, the cunning schemes of Salazar's heir to be countered or meliorated.

But this is another beast entirely.

His oath to Mr. Potter, the escape clause for Lord Voldemort, he's just now beginning to realize, is going to be one of the most unpleasant experiences of his life.

To be trapped, isolated and alone, unable to converse with anybody save a being who wishes nothing more than to escape its prison, an eldritch abomination that will say anything, do anything, perform any manipulation imaginable and unimaginable to reach its goals.

To be bound to release that horror if it truly does seem redeemed. To try desperately to distinguish fact from falsehood, manipulation from honesty, in a situation where the only source of information has every motive to provide only lies.

To try to weigh facts and observations when his only source of information has the frightening potential of controlling all visible information.

To try to make a decision where the only defense against folly is the ability to spot contradiction, and (as Mr. Potter might say) to match observations, distinguished from inference, with 'reality' – which in this case might be limited to prior knowledge, nothing more.

And to not have a moment's break, for the moment that creature leaves the conversation, time freezes until it returns. It has infinite preparation time. It thinks unimaginably faster than you do. It has done the impossible multiple times before, often for the precise purpose of fooling you in a certain, exact way, and succeeded perfectly in the past.

If you fail, you unleash Voldemort upon the world, or you trap a redeemed Tom Riddle forever and violate your oath to Mr. Potter.

Magic cannot pass through the mirror. Words and images can. You cannot refuse to play this game.

Go.

"Do you need a moment?" asked the female pony, sounding genuinely concerned.

Albus opened his mouth, but no words came.

The game of determining Tom Riddle's redemption did not seem like it had any correct answers other than to not play it. Off the top of his head, he can think of a number of means to fake Patronus messages, even if the Patronus itself is real. Muting and ventriloquism charms, for instance, which even a first year might do, and which are invisible to the naked eye, and potentially undetectable to Albus through the barrier of the Mirror-

"I think," said the voice of Tom, "we should give him a break, whether he requests one or not. Now that I think on it, he's been awake for more hours than is otherwise healthy, with Time Turned hours to make it worse. And a number of stressful circumstances besides, handled back-to-back without pause. I can take it from here, Luna. Thank you for humoring my request."

"My pleasure and displeasure," she said as she left. "Remember, Tom. Honesty. Nothing else will work."

Tom frowned, then followed her to the edge of the mirror's reflection range. "Actually, could you-"

There was the sudden smell of warm soup as Tom walked back into range. A bed was suddenly visible against the back of the room behind Tom, along with a table and chair, a steaming bowl upon the table. There was a work desk off to the side.

"Ah, good," said Tom, gazing into the Mirror. "It worked after all."

Albus followed the gaze, turning around and beholding the same amenities on his own side, a perfect match to the ones on Tom's.

"I think it best if I don't talk for a while," said Tom. He trotted over to the desk, sat down in a manner that implied more flexibility to his body than looks might suggest, and began examining the parchments there.

Albus gazed longingly at the soup and bed on his own side. No doubt meant to make him more amenable, more pliable, less wary, less skeptical. He checked the soup out of habit. It reported as purely mundane, with no detectable poisons. The bed likewise had no detectible traps.

If the goal was to impress or comfort him with luxuries, the soup didn't smell luxuriously good, and the bed didn't look to be built to proper proportions.

"Was this your idea?" asked Albus after a time. He wasn't even sure why he asked. The default assumption is that everything is Tom Riddle's idea. He is now living, quite literally, in a world fully orchestrated by Tom Riddle.

With the sudden and frightening implication that Tom can manifest physical items onto Dumbledore's side of the Mirror. Would the Mirror refuse to manifest dangerous items, or items not wished-for by both sides? (For Albus had, in reflection on his own mental state, been wishing for rest and recovery.) Would Tom try to use this method to kill him? Could Tom use the method to kill him?

Albus doubts he could protect himself from a point-blank detonation of the most dangerous muggle weaponry, which works on purely mundane principles. One reflected weapon at an unexpected moment might be all it takes. Not that it would do Tom any good if he succeeded; it would only damn him forever.

"Yes, it was my idea, though not my execution," said Tom, not looking up from his parchment. "Luna's the sleep specialist."

After a time, Albus conjured a cushioned chair and sat down, deciding that rest was a good idea. It was most safely done on his own terms, so he ignored the offered amenities.

"Are you going to eat the soup?" asked Tom.

"No," said Albus.

Tom stood, walked over to the dinner table on his side... became a human being...

"It's for Griffons," said Tom. "Savory dishes that don't offend the human palate are hard to come by in Equestria." He gave it a whiff and a frown, then picked up a spoon. "I'd be interested to know if the volume on your side decreases as I eat. I suspect it won't."

Albus didn't reply, and didn't check. He kicked out the leg rest of the muggle-styled chair, reclined the back rest, closed his eyes, and slept.

All of the refused luxuries had, of course, taken a great deal of coordination to arrange.

Riddle's initial trip to the Mirror, during which he confirmed the trap's continued existence and nothing else, was done clandestinely. Riddle had not neglected to realize the potential implications of his Patronus cast within the requisite five hours, after which the situation might have become unrecoverable. Truthfully, he should have thought through everything well in advance, and in some regards he has thought through much of it, in that he's meticulously planned his sequence of immediate actions after his release from the trap. But he had not planned for the possibility that it might happen unexpectedly, at a moment's notice.

He spent two hours preparing as much as he could for the possibility that he'd have to help Mr. Silver against the Dementors the moment his past self cast the Patronus, in case that automatically undid the trap. Then he went back in time yet again to the hour of Tirek's defeat and got to work cracking Celestia's mirror security. He rewound four hours (the conversation with Luna and other distractions had taken two hours), for a combined total of five hours rewound in quick succession, saving one last twist of time for the human world, if it came to that.

The whole ordeal made it quite clear to him that unexpected release might be worse for his current interests than indefinite imprisonment, and so he made sure Dumbledore swore not to do it. Well, he asked Luna to make Dumbledore swear to that.

But in the first trip, he only asked if the trap was in place. That visit involved ward circumvention, mind manipulation of the guards, and an utter lack of any official permission whatsoever – Luna knew about it, but was bound by Vow not to use such secrets if he did not give her permission, so she could not act in any official capacity. She did at least give her unofficial permission, so long as he swore all future Mirror trips would be done the right way.

He might have done things differently if he had a choice, but with Time involved, there were more constraints than usual. Their past selves had not been interrupted by a message from the Mirror vault guards at any time during the Tirek incident. Therefore that first trip required complete secrecy.

Every Mirror trip after that initial one was done by and on the books, at Luna's insistence. Which meant informing Celestia. Which meant explaining more things to her about his and Silver's predicament than Riddle had previously allowed her to know.

It had taken an actual week. (Riddle spent the week's down time insisting that Luna learn the ins and outs of her Horcrux, so the time was not especially wasted, but it still annoyed him.)

They did, in the end, get official permission to revisit the Mirror.

Celestia was curious about Dumbledore, naturally, and pressed Riddle into letting her meet him, though Riddle would only allow it on his own terms. Which meant that, for the immediate future, Celestia would not be meeting Dumbledore.

When Albus opened his eyes some time later, it took but a moment to remember his location, his recent past, his current task.

He stood, walked to the Mirror, and beheld... nobody in the Mirror's range?

No, not nobody. The bed in the back bore a covered form, rising and falling ever so slightly. Either Tom wanted Albus to believe he was sleeping... or he was actually sleeping.

What might be the intended consequence of that?

The obvious answer is so Albus would let his guard down-

But the sleeping form stirred, and Tom's pony form rose from the covers in a quick, smooth motion. His eyes scanned his surroundings, hesitating only briefly when they met Albus's own. Then Tom trotted over to the desk, sat down again, and continued doing whatever it is he was doing with the parchments there, or what he was pretending to do with the parchments.

At this point, Albus truly didn't know what the intended effect of all this was supposed to be, other than the obvious lulling into relaxed and complacent gullibility. He stood and walked over to the desk on his own side, wondering how it would play into the deception.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, read the header of every page, along with a page number. The pages contained a great deal of underlining and notes in margins, and the words themselves...

"I did not realize," Albus said with humor in his voice, "that you were a contributing author for The Wonderful Adventures of the Boy-Who-Lived all along."

Tom glanced up at that. "Ah, yes," he said with a bit of irony and sarcasm. "That's certainly what I would have been doing during my absence, had I means of interacting with the world. Entertaining five-year-old witches with inane little stories about Harry Potter."

"An ironic insult to inflict upon others when you are composing a draft like this."

Tom sighed and brought a hoof to his face, briefly, as if to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Mr. Potter believes the Statute of Secrecy will inevitably break down. He suggested we aim for a 'soft landing' by introducing our world to the muggles through fiction. If the story is popular enough, he reasons, negotiations will be smoother, and nuclear warfare less likely. Ideally, it will be a story meant for children that their parents can enjoy as well. I decided there was no harm in devoting resources to that plot, given that I have infinite time to work on it."

A chill went down Albus's spine at that last line. Such a serious, dreadful, cynical motive behind what's supposed to be a light-hearted tale.

Then Albus thought for a while. He read over some of what had already been written. It wasn't very good. Far too grim. And mechanical. No life in the story, no magic, no heart. It was, however, technically sound, and the prose flowed well.

"You are writing it all yourself?"

"Yes."

"Are you at all enjoying the process?"

"No."

"Do you expect that to produce a good story?"

Tom shrugged. "It's not like I have any other choice. And it's not like I don't have all the time in the world."

Albus considered this. Perhaps Tom was right.

But then again...

...

"If there is anybody who knows the story of the Harry Potter who could have been, it is I," he decided to say, after returning to his chair with one of the parchments in hand. "Is that what you were expecting me to suggest?"

Tom paused, looking up from the parchments. "No. I plan to give you a straight twenty-four hours to recover. Afterwards I plan to spend an hour of every day sitting before this Mirror, working on this book. It's the only interest of mine I didn't mind progressing in your company. That is the extent of my expectations, and I don't particularly expect the outcomes to match my imagination in the first place, given that... well..."

He seemed to pause, then stood up and walked until he was standing in front of the Mirror.

"Luna believes that, when tricks and force are removed from the equation, only time, familiarity, empathy, and patience can truly convince stubborn minds of information contrary to their current beliefs. A week before yesterday, I saw in myself that I would become incredibly frustrated if, when I finally learn to cast the Patronus reliably, I would then need to spend years after the fact convincing you. Yesterday's trick was just to confirm that suspicion to myself. I wish to give you time to recover, time to think, time to ask questions before I can cast the spell at will. The context and events surrounding my improvement are becoming increasingly ridiculous, as I said yesterday, and if I don't do this now, I'd end up doing it all later, in a shorter time frame. But I now realize I am making a different mistake. While this is ultimately being done for my convenience... I was trying to be nice here, with the food and bed. Naturally, in that effort, I've utterly forgotten the key part of being 'nice' that was pointed out to me less than a week ago, in that I've failed to ask for your preferences, let alone respect them. Obviously from my perspective, there are many benefits to getting and keeping you up to date. What are your preferences, Professor Dumbledore? I'll try to abide by them, whatever they are, so long as you do not actually preclude reasonable efforts of mine to prove I can reliably cast the Patronus, once I get to that point. If you wish for- no, actually, I think I'm supposed to just leave it at that."

Albus stared from where he sat. He stared, finding it strange how believably bad Tom is at trying to be nice – doing it according to rules and mechanics, rather than feeling it.

"You are taking lessons in kindness?"

"Something like that," said the pony.

Albus considered how he might test this. "If I said I preferred to remain frozen until you can cast the Patronus, what would you do?"

"I'd leave and not return for what Mr. Potter predicts would be at least another fifty years, unless there was an incredibly pressing need to contact you in the interim, or I otherwise needed to fiddle with the Mirror for some convoluted reason it concocts for me. I wouldn't be surprised if that happened, given all the convolution that's happened so far. But I would heed your preference not to speak with me until my success, outside of emergency, no matter how much I wish to insist you have an informed preference, not one made out of impulse or ignorance to current facts. Say it now, and I'll leave."

It was certainly tempting. It might even have been the wise thing to do. Unfortunately, Albus had never quite managed to quash his own curiosity as ruthlessly as might be wise.

"You say you learned to heed preferences a week ago," said Albus. "Will you speak more on that?"

Tom smiled, and Albus couldn't tell what emotion it was falsely meant to convey. It was not a blatantly obvious emotion like the female pony's warmth. The subtlety of pony facial expressions is currently being lost on him, and Albus wondered if Tom knew that. "I didn't learn it in the sense that I've mastered the skill so soon. Would you like the long version or the short version of the story?"

"The short, for now."

"I made a Horcrux for Luna without asking her first, going back in time and using a death that Time had already witnessed to carry out the deed while she was unconscious. She severely scolded me for making a major life decision for her without asking first. When I suggested I could destroy her Horcrux if she didn't like it, she once again pointed out that I was trying to make her choices for her. Only after I agreed to consult her on decisions involving her did she thank me."

There was a pause as Albus stared.

Then, in an interested voice, "I think I shall like to hear the long version after all."

"The long version, or the really long version, with all context provided?"

...

"Let us not be reticent, I suppose." Albus reclined his chair slightly. He conjured (Transfigured from small snippits of a strand of hair from his beard) a blank leatherbound book and a quill (hoping those might remain with him between freezing sessions, if he sustained their Transfigurations). He Charmed the quill to copy the conversation. He conjured a goblet and filled it with water. "Proceed."

Thus did Tom Riddle describe much of Voldemort's history to Albus Dumbledore.

His Horcrux system and how he made it. The decade he lost, and how he lost it. His outlook on life, and why he has it.

Tom claims to suspect he was only amenable to redemption thanks to the flaw in his self-image, observed by Mr. Potter in the potions room prior to the Mirror – one of the rare moments a lesson was successfully taught to Lord Voldemort by pointing out a correctible error. Though of course, Voldemort is only a mask; Tom Riddle experiences many more of those moments on a daily, weekly, and yearly basis than Voldemort.

Albus found it strange that he wasn't laughing at the seemingly appropriate times in the tale.

Tom getting trapped in Horcruxes he hid in places no one would ever find them, for instance. That certainly warranted a good, hearty laugh. Perhaps the moment was tempered by how those Horcruxes had been described moments earlier to be made, the habit Voldemort developed for all private murders.

Tom getting trapped in his Horcruxes because he wasn't nice enough – because the thought of making Horcruxes for anybody other than himself was beyond his powers of imagination – also deserved a laugh, but again Albus refrained from indulgence. Perhaps the humor was tempered by Voldemort's easy acceptance of the lesson, done for reasons of cold calculation, not true kindness.

Or perhaps what tempered everything being said was the likely potential that it was all a carefully constructed lie. Though if so, it was an incredibly coherent lie, no doubt suffused with many grains of truth, given how well it explained so much of the hidden past, so many notes of confusion to which Albus had only ever had questions and assumptions and beliefs, not solid answers.

Albus listened quietly to the story Tom was crafting for him.

After explaining his Horcrux system, Tom explained the oaths he and Mr. Potter had exchanged in Parseltongue – which led to a digression about Parseltongue oaths in general, at Albus's curious probing. After the digression, Tom reiterated the oath itself, word for word. He declined to share the flaws in his system that Mr. Potter pointed out, the first instance of Tom overtly withholding information that Albus directly asked about.

When Albus threatened to not speak with Tom unless the flaws were shared, Tom replied that he does not concede to threats, but he does negotiate with preferences. The obvious reason for his reticence is that, efforts to be good or no, one does not share their vulnerabilities with those they do not trust, especially those they view as opposed to their own goals. Tom suspects he'll freely answer the question when he gets to the point of freely casting Patronus, when his and Albus's goals are more aligned, when they are less like hostile enemies.

For now, in the spirit of cooperation and honesty, Tom offered the concession that he can share the flaws that he's already fixed, or that he has an obvious means of fixing in the future.

Albus thought for a moment, then decided to agree to the concession.

Tom explained the suspended animation vulnerability, which might have been one of the intended prophetic purposes for having Mr. Potter carry around his father's rock. Having already been trained in sustained Transfiguration, Mr. Potter could credibly say that the option had been available to him, in the moments when Lord Voldemort laid unconscious and vulnerable before him.

Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore has, once or twice in the past, and often purely by accident, been privileged to finally learn the answer to the question "Why the heck did Time want me to do that?" when following prophetic instruction. So he is somewhat familiar with his current overwhelming sense of "So that's what that was about!"

The troll alone hadn't seemed like proper justification for prophetic intervention. Countering Voldemort's Horcrux system does seem sufficient.

Albus thought for a moment, then decided to share this observation out loud. Tom already knows about the manifold prophecy thing, having read the letter meant only for Mr. Potter's eyes.

Tom offered to share what little he knew in that regard – the potential reasons behind prophetic instructions concerning Mr. Potter, including the destruction of his 'pet' rock.

"Later," said Albus after an excruciating moment of desperate curiosity. "Certainly later. For now, please continue with the story." Information on Horcruxes takes immediate priority, even if he couldn't use it at the moment.

Tom shrugged and went on.

Dementors draining him through his wand or a Horcrux is another possible vulnerability, solvable by destroying all Dementors. This was said with a grin that was not so hard to read.

Obliviation, solvable by becoming an 'ascended alicorn', apparently, which Riddle intends to do before leaving Equestria. Also curable retroactively by a ritual Mr. Potter helped to invent by providing the underlying groundwork theory that Tom could then build upon. Albus raised his eyebrows at that one.

Wearing the Sorting Hat for too long. Albus's eyebrows climbed higher.

The Mirror trap, obviously. Solvable by escaping it, given that his initial attempts to subvert the trap failed.

That's all he's willing to disclose for now.

Albus nodded distantly at the supposed list of former or soon-to-be-obsolete vulnerabilities, then asked after the allotted Horcruxes Tom made in Equestria.

Each one was a story in itself.

Albus was not especially happy to learn that two of the three Deathly Hallows have been 'Horcruxed'.

"Three of three," Tom corrected. "You made the mistake of telling Mr. Potter how to identify Deathly Hollows, and he made the mistake of sharing that knowledge with his good friend Professor Quirrell during their conversation at Mary's Room. This was immediately after Mr. Potter complained about the problem of stupid brains being capable of insulting your desire to live forever, claiming you'll grow bored, while simultaneously believing in immortal souls that'll live happily ever after and not grow bored in an afterlife. Professor Quirrell expressed the opinion that the Killing Curse is a lovely solution to that problem, and Mr. Potter immediately spoke of the Resurrection Stone thereafter. You'd think the deliberately cold atmosphere produced by the obviously dark and potentially evil wizard sitting across from the young hero would have dissuaded him from being casual with magical secrets two seconds later."

"You realize you are not being particularly kind in this moment, nor patient, nor empathetic, yes?"

"...Yes," said Tom. "Though that was an honest recounting of history. Do you wish for me to be as honest as possible in this conversation, or do you wish for me to temporize-?" He stopped, reflected, and sighed. "Apologies for the deliberately insulting question. How would you prefer this conversation continue, if you prefer that it continue at all?"

If all this was an act and a lie, it was incredibly well-done. Albus suspects this will take some getting used to, especially Tom himself. If the kindness lessons are real, those must be some lessons, to get through to him...

"I would prefer this conversation continue honestly," Albus answered. "Your voluntary disclosure of the Resurrection Stone Horcrux grants you far more credit than your manner of delivery detracts." Assuming it's true. "Forgive an old man his haste and offense at things as ultimately inconsequential as tone of voice and choice of words between grown adults who are trying to bridge the vast gaps between each other. You have your habits, and I have mine, I suppose. Will you speak more on the kindness lessons you are taking?"

"That is indeed the next part of the story after I Horcruxed the Elder Wand."

It was during this part that Albus noticed something – not about the story, but about himself.

He is beginning to believe.

Or perhaps he is beginning to want to believe.

Tom first described, in tones of academic lecture, pony research into 'foalhood' development of empathy, which Tom (and Albus) suspects to match human development.

Tom described his own utter lack of necessary experiences during his developing years at the orphanage.

The ponies have learned of themselves that going without fur (skin) contact, eye contact, mammary-feeding for at least a year, ideally longer, and emotional mirroring, to the list the bare minimum requisites, are like a foal not hearing language growing up, or not going outside and getting enough sunlight. That's how you permanently impair a pony's empathy, speech, and vision, respectively. (No wonder that pegasi have such good vision, spending most of their time outside. Though magic would also have to play a part, to cure Mr. Potter's vision.)

Tom quoted "Luna's" Vow to help him find true happiness. He also explained the 'fool' thing.

At that Albus finally allowed himself to laugh.

Tom recalled the measures Luna has taken thus far, and explained a few of her insights on relationships and morality.

For all his own wisdom in those fields, Albus was surprised and impressed by... some of what he heard. He didn't agree with all of it, but what he did already accept, he enjoyed to hear rephrased. Despite his own deep delves into the subject of good, his ultimate competence is magic, not morality.

After hearing "Luna's" insights, even through the frankly terrible filter of Tom Riddle, it wasn't at all difficult to picture a lifetime of competence dedicated to the task of comprehending morality. Perhaps multiple lifetimes of competence, if the agelessness aspect isn't a false part of the conspiracy Tom might be weaving.

If Albus had to rank them from best to worst, it was close to the order in which he heard them:

A true apology is a promise to never repeat the behavior, a promise that is never broken, else it is a meaningless, manipulative BNAP, a bull-non-apology.

The gold, silver, and black rules, and the environments of good, uncertain, and bad faith that respectively produce them.

Hot anger at injustice and hypocrisy being the "immune system of the soul", with rage being the tipping point to evil. Anger is self-defense, rage is aggression.

Treating morality itself as a relationship...

It was at that point that Albus requested a conversation with Luna, this time without games or deceptions involved.

Chapter 68: New Year, New and/or Old Problems

"Be cautious," said the Sorting Hat, issuing its final warning. "And good luck." Then, out loud, "SLYTHERIN!" And one final message as well.

The confused silence of the hall stayed confused. The wizards and witches who didn't know any better – many Ravenclaws and students of younger years – began to applaud in the standard fashion. The new Professor Slughorn applauded, as did other professors – some with hints of apprehension.

Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, and Draco Malfoy also clapped, which prompted some other Slytherins to clap, especially those who had been at the movie theatre, and one or two who'd seen the display at Diagon Alley. But the rest were focusing on the fact that a witch of unknown name and heritage had been sorted into their house. As far as most of Hogwarts knew, a mudblood had just been sorted into Slytherin. (This might not have been so immediately obvious to everyone if not for her especially long Sorting, which had produced the curiosity necessary for whispers to spread the basic facts about her - in Slytherin, those whisperes stuck mostly to the topic of blood.)

Daphne Greengrass confidently invited the girl to sit next to her. Draco Malfoy, who sat across from Daphne – an open sign of unbothered affiliation between Malfoy and Greengrass, and a secret sign of solidarity between Silvery Slytherins – did not stand up and move to a different seat as some other nearby nobles did, to even more confusion, and the beginnings of outrage.

Malfoy would later point out to his house mates, once the really smart people went off to have a chat about it later in the night, that the new girl had spent a good deal of time under the Hat, and thus might have been put into Slytherin because she could be the next Dark Lord. There have been a few Dark Lords like that in history – the Dark Evangel, for example – half-bloods with unknown heritage sorted into Slytherin. Remember that the first act, if not the first debut, of most Dark Wizards tends to involve the horrible deaths of their tormentors at home and at Hogwarts. In general, Dark Lords lash out at their own former house-mates the most, unless someone from another house personally engaged in a lot of their torment. Draco has been taught not to risk being among those victims on general principles, so he keeps his interactions with his enemies largely impersonal if he can, and he is more cautious around his own house than the others, naturally.

One does not step on snakes.

(Or as Father had instructed him years ago, better for your lessers to admire you than hate you, and better for you to use half-bloods than abuse them, lest they lash out at you in vengeance. Your peers will be more than happy to keep them in their place; do it yourself, and you risk their rage, which is not always as impotent as you might expect. Not that Draco still agrees with all the political implications of that advice, but the base lesson, he thinks, is still valuable. Draco did not particularly fear that sharing the heart of this lesson in words would cause others to learn it in any way, shape, or form.)

Jugson snorted. "Her, a snake? A future Dark Lord? Are you serious, Malfoy?"

For those who understandably doubt her potential for all that, Draco supported his argument with the claim – verified by a few others – that she has publicly shown fearless fierceness in the face of speeds faster than the fastest broomsticks, while on the back of the most dangerous foreign power in existence. Yes, it could easily be childish ignorance, but those who saw it claimed it was at least impressive, even if it was stupid.

Marcus Flint pointed out with a hint of subtle malice that perhaps next year she could be the Quidditch team's reserve bludgeon-magnet- ah, beater. Who knows what trouble such a reckless flyer might get up to at practice. Especially a mudblood. (And as a reserve, she'd never see the light of a true match, of course.)

Draco rolled his eyes, then pointed out that if she was really born of mud, why did she already know the controversy well enough to hide her heritage? Most are ignorant until at least the second week of Hogwarts. Some in Ravenclaw don't figure out until years later. She might have a different reason for avoiding the topic of her parents – don't forget that parental abuse is also an early warning sign of dark lords.

Typical of muggles to raise their children terribly, Jugson observed.

She doesn't act like the child of muggles, Draco emphasized. She's as comfortable around magic as any pureblood. She didn't even flinch at the headless haunt, and even greeted one of the ghosts – the headless horse being ridden by Nearly Headless Nick, who finally managed to get into the haunt thanks to his 'new friend' (he pat the horse's side for emphasis). The girl had hailed the horse, not Nick, which answered her back in some gibberish language, and she wasn't phased in the slightest. And finally, Draco Malfoy heard she attended a wizarding event on the day Hogwarts Letters were distributed, getting hers at the same time and in the same venue as the newest Weasley.

With all that in mind, Draco Malfoy intends to err on the side of caution until more of her history is known. He offered her what he considers to be the appropriate amount of courtesy – no less and no more than any new and unknown Slytherin first year. Like his Father did with Prince Excelsior, he's refraining from the vote for now, just in case.

Many in Slytherin wouldn't see the wisdom of his words until the next day, and some wouldn't see it for a good while longer. Some wouldn't ever see it at all, having already made up their minds.

"So," said Harry the next morning. It was five after seven in the morning. They sat in Harry's trunk, the privacy button active, in an unused classroom. "Biggest questions first. We don't have much time until breakfast."

Draco took out a parchment with a few basic questions that, if read by a spy, would reveal nothing. "What metric did you use for censorship?" was the first on the list.

The memory he'd seen yesterday had a number of things Quieted to the point of inaudibility – starting with Voldemort's method of flight, though the memory showed Voldemort asking Harry the question, and showed Voldemort's reaction to Harry's suggestions, which did not reveal the answer, and finally showed that Harry had correctly guessed the secret, even if it didn't reveal what the secret was. ("After all these years, and some amount of reluctant Legilimency, I still do not truly comprehend what is wrong with ordinary people... But you are not one of them." Draco had heard that part, but not the secret itself.)

All of the censored material had seemed to be magical secrets of some kind or another, but when things like the history and nature of the Stone of Permanence were not censored, it left Draco to wonder how Harry had made his decisions, and if Harry had censored anything else about the memory in a less noticeable way.

Plus, it wouldn't hurt to remain skeptical about the memory's veracity, for memories can be fabricated and altered. Draco knows that much; any wizard skilled enough to extract their memory for a Pensieve should also be capable of altering what they remember, which is why Pensieve memories are not admissible in court as evidence.

"Basically, I censored all the magical secrets I figured out for myself. Most were for obvious reasons, like how Voldemort and I can creatively imagine magical ways to take over the ministry in a few days. The flight thing was just a challenge for the two of you." Harry lifted into the air, still sitting cross-legged. "Figure it out for yourselves. If you do, you too could do this. It'll be disabled in Circus battles, but it's a useful ability to have." He was suddenly holding his wand aloft, as if his arm had Apparated into place. "For more than the obvious reasons."

It took an effort for Draco to not be distracted. "Can you have your Patronus say to me that you didn't censor or alter anything else?" He did not ask for Harry to speak to his Patronus in Parseltongue for truth-pressure redundancy, for that part of the memory, "Ssnakes can't lie", may have itself been a lie. (Though truthfully, it'd be pretty cool if it was true- Draco noticed his mind wanting to believe something and tried his best to quash it.)

Harry delivered a Patronus message about the memory's veracity and censorship, with no obvious tricks of wording or out clauses.

"Why didn't you censor what he tried to do to House Malfoy?" Draco asked immediately after.

"Because that which can be destroyed by the truth should be," said Harry. "Er, actually, that came out wrong. I don't mean House Malfoy should be destroyed by the truth, just some false beliefs about the relationship between Malfoy and Voldemort, if you'd been harboring them. Voldemort had plans for house Malfoy, but the lives of the Malfoys didn't factor into his utility function as ends in themselves. Dumbledore cared more about the lives of your parents than Voldemort did, Draco, though I think you can see now that's not a high bar to match."

"I know," said Draco, a little sharply. "I spent all last night coming to terms with that."

"I... see..." said Harry, a bit nervously. "Did you come to terms with anything else?"

Draco shook his head. "Nothing I didn't already know. I came to terms with the fact that Voldemort was perfect for House Black. Sirius or Bellatrix Black would have been happy to hear Voldemort was plotting the death of their elders so they could inherit. But that's not how the Malfoys do it. Or the Greengrasses, which is why they never joined Voldemort in the first place."

"Okay... and Professor Monroe?"

Draco took a few deep breaths. "That I still don't know. I'd like to say the honor of House Malfoy would demand we never trust him again, but it's not like we have a choice."

"You do, actually," said Harry. "You could tell him never to mess with the affairs of House Malfoy again, your father could probably tell him that, or you could ask me to tell him, and he would respect your preferences. I know your brain is probably scoffing at that, but-" and Harry's Patronus began speaking "-it is true, in my honest evaluation of his current character." The speaking entity switched back to being Harry again. "He told me to tell you he's offering House Malfoy an Equestrian apology, which means he's promising never to do that again, and he's offering as much restitution as the crime of plotting your father's demise for your supposed benefit demands of him – enough to make up for his actions, but not overjoy you, lest victimhood be incentivized – which is to plot your father's rise for your benefit. He can't guarantee success, only the plot itself, unless you insist he stop meddling in House Malfoy's affairs, which would be just as fair."

That is certainly going to give Draco a lot to think about. He'll have to make another list. And write a letter to Father. And ask Harry to ask 'Monroe' to make the offer to Father personally, and/or to make a memory of the offer and its wording for careful review.

For now, time was running short, and he had an important pre-prepared question. "I'll have to think about it later. I had one other question I really need answered first."

"It's more important than Monroe's future with House Malfoy?"

Draco nodded seriously. "What's the plan for preventing the end of the world after the statute breaks down?"

Harry blinked in surprise.

"You told me you'd tell me when I'm an Occlumens. Back on the Hogwarts Express, at the end of last year."

Harry blinked a few more times. "So I did. Well," he grinned. "In that case, I guess it's time to tell you..."

After awarding her two points to Slytherin for an excellent display of Transfiguration, Headmistress McGonagall informed Autumn Query that she must stay after class – don't worry, she has done nothing wrong. The rest of the Slytherins in the room, one or two of whom might have received their wands before they received their acceptance letters to Hogwarts, grumbled in jealousy or awe or spite at the mudblood who had probably just become teacher's pet.

But class wasn't over, and Autumn went on to help any student who asked for help, and did her best to explain Transfiguration to her fellow eleven-year-olds in words and concepts and analogies that they would understand. The few Slytherins who managed to swallow their pride early on also managed to have silvery matches before the end of class, earning Slytherin a few more points.

"Yes, Headmistress?" asked Autumn after class had ended and all the other students had left.

Headmistress McGonagall, with a great weariness, said that this is not the first time a student has demonstrated a good grasp of Free Transfiguration on their 'first attempt'. She has come to learn it is because it was not their first attempt. She said that she must have a word with Autumn's parents.

Autumn informed Headmistress McGonagall that her parent situation is complicated, and that Professor Monroe instructed her to direct all such requests to him. He informed her that he would, in his own words, twist time itself to attend such meetings in a timely manner. She then informed Headmistress McGonagall that her upbringing was complicated enough that, yes, she knows what that implies, but they can wait until the Defense Professor isn't actively teaching a class at the same time anyway.

Headmistress McGonagall desired to have her head in her hands at this point. The Defense Professor wasn't actively teaching a class at the moment, so he was brought in right away.

"I presume this is about her skill in Transfiguration?" asked the Defense Professor without preamble.

"And her potential knowledge of Spimster Wickets," said the Headmistress with narrowed eyes. "Please explain, professor."

"Underage magic laws do not quite exist where she grew up," he explained. "Competence and intelligence determine the level of instruction, not age."

"I know of not a single country where that is true of children," the Headmistress said, her voice sharp. "Save the ones that do not have their own wandmakers and cannot even do Free Transfiguration."

"True, while we speak of earth," said the Defense Professor. "But there are now other countries we must take into account."

Headmistress McGonagall's eyes were wide. "But…" she said. "But how is that possible? Acceptance letters do not-" She cut herself off, looking to the student who was present. "Autumn, thank you. You may go."

Autumn nodded and left.

After establishing a privacy barrier, the Headmistress went on. "Hogwarts magic only invites students living on these islands. I was wearing the Hat when it told me her name and location."

The man established a few privacy spells of his own, then shrugged and explained further.

The Headmistress didn't believe him.

The man said that he hadn't expected her to. "If you wish to verify it yourself, you could be the… let's see, three, four… the seventh human to officially visit Equestria." (Circus visits not included, for it's its own country.) "Or if you can hold off until the weekend…" he said, then explained there was already a scheduled visit which she could attend, one that Autumn and her parents would also be attending, and it was only a few days from now.

"And her knowledge of Time Turners?" she asked after she agreed to the date and time.

"An Equestrian mage invented a spell that makes the device redundant. Gifted children who prove themselves in certain ways are allowed to learn that spell, just as gifted children here are allowed Time Turners. Although again, it depends on demonstrated caution and intelligence, not age."

Minerva McGonagall felt a strange combination of interest and dread at the thought of that being true. She found herself wishing with all her being that the Weasley Twins never learn of that spell, or Time Turners in general of course, or if they do, that such a catastrophe does not happen until after they graduate Hogwarts.

"My turn," said Hermione that evening.

Brace for impact, thought Harry.

It's a good thing he braced.

Afterwards, Harry was surprised she was still his friend, and still willing to stay anywhere near Hogwarts, let alone Defense Class.

"Can I ask why you're giving him a chance?" asked Harry at the end.

"Because it's the right thing to do," said Hermione. "After you went through all that effort to redeem him and he went through all these efforts to apologize. And not just to me. I don't promise I'll be polite with him about it, though."

"That's fine, I think. And you, Draco?"

"It's the smart thing to do," said Draco. "Assuming House Malfoy doesn't tell him to leave us alone now that we know we can..." Draco sighed. "But we probably won't do that."

Autumn's abilities in Charms were not quite as good as Transfiguration. She was still getting used to the practice of precise words and wand gestures. She was still getting used to having hands in general. But she was still only the third in the room to successfully warm the water in the cup to steaming, even if she couldn't bring it to boil.

She then went on to help other students at Professor Flitwick's permission. While she had some difficulties in doing the spell herself, she had no difficulty spotting the problems of others.

When she tried the spell again at the end of the class, trying her best to keep the mistakes she'd seen in others in mind, the boiling bubbles proved her own improvement and earned her another point for Slytherin.

"Was Dumbledore really plotting Slytherin's downfall through Snape?" asked Draco.

"Even if he was," said Harry, "and we can get to that part in a moment, I think it's important to first point out that Snape himself was completely ignorant of the potential plot until... well, I think he might have begun suspecting it when Dumbledore said Snape will continue being awful to students in their Fourth year and above. Dumbledore said it was because Hogwarts needs its evil potions master, just like it needs a ghost to teach history, otherwise it wouldn't be a proper magical school, and there are a bunch of other factors to consider in this question, but first and foremost, I think it's important to point out that Snape was being used as a pawn by both sides of the war, and neither use was kindly, often keeping him in the dark and working to end-goals that were mostly against his interests. He became more aware by the end of last year, and once everything was done, he left Magical Britain for a better living and working environment."

In Defense class two days later, at the teacher's order that she fire upon another student...

She reached into her pouch and pulled out a pentagonal packet. She looked to the Ravenclaw contingent. "Ginny, you can have dibs if you want." Then she looked to the wider classroom containing all first years of Hogwarts. "First one to let me shoot them gets a chocolate frog," she offered. "Or you can shoot me back. Not both, though. Any Gryffindors brave enough to take a hard punch for some chocolate?" She looked at her own house. "Or would a Slytherin like a free shot?"

Some of the Gryffindors seemed tempted, as did some of the Slytherins, but nobody raised their hand.

Into the silence, "Really? Nobody wants a chocolate frog?"

"Perhaps they don't trust that you'll keep your word," said the Professor in tones of neutral observation. "You are in Slytherin."

"If I went back on my word, they could just shoot me, which is also my word."

"Perhaps they think you'll dodge."

She frowned. "Aren't the Malfoys and Greengrasses and other Slytherin houses known for keeping their word as a matter of honor?"

The man shrugged. "Not outside Slytherin house. And not all Slytherins can be noble besides. 'Query' certainly isn't a noble house."

Into the subsequent stretch of silence, she sighed. "Ginny, I know you were brave enough to ride Excelsior. Would you mind? I'll cast it as gently as I can, I promise."

At the girl's hesitant nod, Autumn didn't hesitate to cast Ma Ha Su on Ginerva Weasley, nor did she hesitate to hand-deliver the chocolate frog. "I know I said it was one or the other, but you can still shoot me if you want."

"That's okay," said Ginny, accepting the frog and seeming to shrink at the room's attention.

When the Defense Professor awarded her a Monroe point and asked 'Why did you make that offer?', she said that 'roughhousing' is fine so long as there's mutual understanding and voluntary consent ahead of time, and what's the point of being in Slytherin if she can't negotiate her way out of bad positions?

The man nodded, then observed that her offer, now proven true, worked as a means of avoiding recrimination – legal or otherwise. It served as a demonstration of her honor, which a reasonably skeptical person will always doubt without sufficient evidence. And she even gave the potential to prove her own grit, had anyone chosen the retaliatory shot. At the very least, she plays a decent confidence game, if that was a lie. In short, she turned an order to attack a fellow student unprovoked into an opportunity to improve her ethical repute without appearing weak, which is not an easy task. It earned her another Monroe point, and a point to Slytherin as well.

When the professor asked why she ultimately settled on Ms. Weasley, she answered that they were already friends, and she didn't want to hit anyone she didn't know without their permission, and she knows that Ginny likes Chocolate Frogs, so she knew how to make it up to her. Plus she aimed for the foot, and while stubbed toes are painful – she should know – they aren't as bad as punched noses, and they fade faster.

The other potentially dangerous students, when instructed to cast Ma Ha Su, both tried to cast on Ms. Query. Both were dodged, causing students behind her to be struck, and in both instances, Ms. Query immediately asked, "Hey! What did he ever do to you?" and "What did she ever do to you?"

The second time, an additional Ma Ha Su was cast, without permission or instruction by the teacher, and again it was dodged, and again an unintended student was hit.

"Do you have it out for Ravenclaw or something?" Autumn demanded, since both students who had been struck had been Ravenclaws.

"Enough, Ms. Query. Mr. Rosier, Minus Ten Monroe points for firing without permission. Minus another ten for insanity – doing what you've already done and expecting a different result. Minus a further ten for breaking the law without express permission from recognized authority who may, for teaching purposes, allow that law to be broken in a carefully controlled setting. I'm tempted to take a final ten for making an enemy of your fellow Slytherin who has already proven herself somewhat dangerous, but that would be excessive. That's three points you have just lost from Slytherin, Mr. Rosier. In the adult world, we call what you've just done assault, and the punishment is up to a year in Azkaban, with a tendency for certain aristocrats to demand the full punishment against all transgressors. As you should well know. A proper wizard does not allow their emotions to turn their wands to stupidity. Class dismissed."

"You know," said Hermione. "Even though I'm trying to forgive him, I still having trouble getting over the fact that he tried to turn me into your Bellatrix."

"Ah... yeah, about that..."

In potions class on Friday, nothing of particular note happened right away, except that students were not paired together for brewing as some had been expecting. Professor Slughorn never liked that system, saying that it never elevated the incompetent, only dragged down the destined and talented.

Thus it was very clear to the class that, when the Professor announced Ms. Query's potion to be the best, she had done it alone.

Professor Slughorn openly asked how she did so well when the textbooks did not contain instructions for a result that good.

Ms. Query replied that she has been taught to verify what she reads, so she asked a few older Ravenclaws to point her towards the best potions books, then she spent some time in the library comparing the recipe in her textbook to other books containing recipes for the same potion. The recipe she rehearsed to herself before class came from a book with the best reputation for good results, though it's a shame she couldn't rely on anything other than reputation and intuition.

Ms. Query then asked the Professor if the mandatory textbooks at Hogwarts are deliberately sub-par?

Professor Slughorn, with a look of reluctance, took a point from Slytherin for rudeness, then answered that the assigned textbook – which was assigned before he had been hired – is much more comprehensible to eleven-year-olds than the tome she recited. And in the future, please phrase her questions less aggressively and accusatorily. She mustn't indict all of Hogwarts on account of a single example.

Though she was tempted to ask "Why not?", Autumn instead apologized, saying she's sensitive to academic standards. She thanked her professor for handling her question so professionally (which, she's beginning to get on a gut level, is not the norm around here, even though it is almost literally in the name of his title and occupation to do exactly that).

For the span of one hour each day, the names of Light, Azathoth, Belle, Enigma, Superpuff, Chaospuff, Mogi, and Matt could be seen in various Circus games. For the span of two hours, the names of Mithril and Beauty could also be seen, sometimes at the same time as the humans. Madam Chaos could only be seen for a match or two each day – less than her usual time dedicated, some spectators noticed.

Horace Slughorn watched the hushed conversations at his table with a keen eye, a few eavesdropping ears, and a firm knowledge of the rumor mill. "This year promises to be interesting, eh David?"

"It does," said his Slug Club valedictorian one seat over. "Though if you ask any student, you will find that it has fierce competition with last year. And we should probably hope that it does not get too interesting, otherwise the year shall also promise to be a handful. Especially for the Head of House Slytherin."

"Oh I don't mind handfuls," said Horace. "I quite enjoy them actually. You should know that by now, Monny."

The Defense Professor gave him a raised eyebrow. "I suppose."

That was the first moment Horace began to suspect something amiss.

In the past, David had always incorporated 'Sluggy' into an instant reply of some kind or other. The passing of decades can change a lot of things, but habits like those…

Horace paused to collect his thoughts, eating his food to hopefully prevent other professors from striking up a conversation.

The return of David Monroe two decades ago had been great news to Horace, and the rise of 'Lord Voldemort' had been an equally great blow. He had been patiently waiting for his Slug Club champion to win out against his conniving little Tom, who had once asked about Horcruxes, and whose questions Horace had not answered. (He was relatively certain this was not the result of a memory charm, for if he'd been charmed, he likely would not remember the conversation at all.)

Horace had kept entirely to himself during the war, not even risking private meetings. Once 'Lord Voldemort' defeated David, Horace knew he had to go into hiding. He had already been distancing himself from society, keeping his habits irregular and turning away all owls except the Daily Prophet. David's essential death had been the tipping point.

When he learned that David not only returned, but turned the tables over Tom last summer – that David truly triumphed, as the chain-deaths of Death Eaters proved – Horace had been ecstatic. He'd been even more giddy to learn all the juicy details: the Stone, David's tenure as Defense Professor and the effect he had on the students, Harry Potter living up to the memory of his mother, and so on. It was a large part of the reason he agreed to teach at Hogwarts without demanding a pay raise. He could make money on the side as he's always done.

But now…

Now he wasn't sure he knew the full picture. Well, he knew he didn't know the full picture. David must have spent those decades destroying Tom's Horcruxes in private, and he naturally didn't tell the world about it. But Horace was beginning to suspect it was more than just that.

Could David have been hit with an Obliviation at some point in his quest? But that wouldn't have wiped out a habit like the 'Monny-Sluggy' exchange…

Could Horace be overthinking it? Years of habitual paranoia affecting his thinking when they shouldn't?

There was only one way to find out.

"Well," said Horace, clapping his hands once and leaving the rest of his food untouched. "Best save some room for Slug Club. Nice talking with you, David. If you'll excuse me, I've got preparations to make."

The man nodded politely, and Horace left the staff table.

He would not find out now, of course. He'd need time to remember the private exchanges he only had with David, and time to compose his probes carefully, casually, without arousing suspicion.

Tom Riddle did not directly watch his old, pudgy potions professor departing without finishing his plate, but he kept the odd behaviour in the back of his mind as potentially telling.

He then turned his attention back to his own plate of thoroughly poisoned food and sighed. This was the third time, and the first week of classes only just ended.

The second time, he had asked himself if Moody was really this desperate, and he had answered himself that of course Moody would be, but he's not this… stupidly stubborn when it comes to failed tactics. So it was likely someone else who was simply trying to steal the Elder Wand. If so, it probably didn't help the would-be assassin's confidence that 'Professor Monroe' did his checks wandlessly. He vanished the deadly bits without tell as well, eating his 'poisoned' food with casual ease. That wasn't an option this time; there was nothing safely edible on this plate. Or in the cup.

It was impressive on their end that it took three attempts before he discerned their identity, though if he had twisted Time he might have learned right away, and of course he instantly suspected the method they used. While he benefited from the tactic in the past, he no longer likes the fact that the house elves are so easily Confunded. The Imperius cannot be cast without alerting the Hogwarts wards, but the Confundus can. He'd have to do something about that.

For now, thanks to a recently-installed device alerting him to human presence in the kitchen not long ago, and a quick check of the Hogwarts map…

At the Slytherin table, Robert Jugson III, now in his seventh year, heard a good number of giggling girls. He ignored them as he always did, trying not to do anything he wouldn't ordinarily do, trying not to glance at the staff table, and trying to focus on his food to keep himself occupied.

Eventually, he began hearing some snorting and sniggering from the boys around him, which he could not ignore. He looked up from his food and frowned when he found many eyes staring at him.

"What?" he snapped, only to startle at the sound of his own voice, which came out as soft and feminine.

The giggling increased further, as did the snorting.

"Oh," said a lower-year witch whose name he had never bothered to learn. "It's nothing really. Miss Jugson."

That sent everyone into full blown laughter.

He tried to speak exactly once in firm command, then swore to himself that he would never repeat that mistake. He tried a finite on his voice, which failed, and after someone provided a mirror for him to see his own face, he fled the room.

Madam Pomfrey said that she has never seen this effect before outside Polyjuice, which was worrying, and she did not know how to dispel it, which was even more worrying. But it seemed to be utterly non-lethal, which was something, at least.

She called a staff meeting to address the problem of unknown magics in Hogwarts afflicting the students. Nobody had any suggestions aside from the Defense Professor, who asked if he could question Mr. Jugson to see if he remembers encountering anything unusual in the Forbidden Forest – into which the seventh year Care for Magical Creatures class had recently ventured.

Upon Madam Pomfrey's permission, the Defense Professor spoke to Mr. Jugson in private.

Without Madam Pomfrey's oversight, he informed Ms. Jugson that he examined the mash potatoes on her plate and found a foreign contaminant. He then said in a casual tone that all competent wizards check their food before consumption, even when they prepare it themselves, and offered a list of the standard spells that he casts on his own food, as well as the library books that provide casting instructions.

Unfortunately, he informed his student, a staff meeting did not yield any ideas for undoing Ms. Jugson's condition, whatever it is. Hopefully the effect will wear off over time, but if not, it thankfully seems non-fatal. This time. He expects to see her in class on Monday.

The Defense Professor then left the hospital room, humming a merry tune to himself while Robert Jugson's heart beat heavily in her chest.

It was the weekend, no classes, nothing forcing her to be out of her room, but even that was too much. Especially when she started getting hungry, and couldn't bear the thought of returning to the Great Hall. She only managed to go a single morning before begging her parents to take her to St. Mungos.

That proved about as fruitful as his trip to the Hogwarts Infirmary.

The world's best healers also claimed they had no clue how to heal her, although they did find some unusual blue spots on the underside of her breasts that they also could not dispel. Madam Pomfrey had missed those.

When Miss Jugson declared she was not returning to Hogwarts until she was cured, her father took her to the new hospital, the Philosopher's hospital, but only on the condition that if this doesn't work, she will attend classes while they look for a cure.

The staff at the Philosopher's hospital likewise did not know what was wrong with Miss Jugson. When Miss Jugson screamed in frustration and was eventually restrained, the healers informed her father that, as a last-ditch effort before resorting to expensive Stone services, they are going to bring in their primary consultant, whose presence will also be somewhat expensive, but only if he can identify the problem. They can't make any guarantees, of course, and they made it very clear that the price was only for a successful diagnosis, not a cure. Lord Jugson would pay nothing if it stumped their consultant, and he would need to pay more for a cure, assuming the consultant knew how to cure it.

Robert Jugson II nodded at the proposed price and conditions, then signed a contract of agreement to the terms when the hospital reasonably said it was standard procedure.

Five minutes later, that cursed grey pony was examining his son with the dispassionate air of a healer at work, magically lifting a breast to peer at the blue spots.

The pony nodded. "It seems your daughter is suffering from Poison Joke."

"What's that?" snapped Jugson the second, even as the third objected that she was not his daughter.

"A plant from our country," the pony answered. "Nonlethal, even in extreme doses. It performs ironic, magical pranks on those who tread near as a defense against being trampled or eaten. It's one of the few plants we herbivores have not found a safe way to eat, which speaks to its effectiveness."

"So it can't be cured?" asked Robert Jugson II.

"Oh, it can, but I have not supplied this hospital with the counter potion. I did not think we'd need it here. Assuming you do not wish to wait for the effect to wear off naturally, I shall have to buy the potion back home, or commission a fresh batch if none is available, which will take time to brew-"

"How long?!" demanded Miss Jugson III.

"Tomorrow if you're lucky. As late as Wednesday if not," said the pony.

"How expensive?" asked Robert Jugson II.

"Since it's a rush order…"

The pony listed a few prices – the minimum price of the potion, and the additional costs to rushed commissions.

...

...

...

"You said it can wear off naturally?" asked the elder Jugson.

"Father!" his daughter objected.

"I did," said the pony.

"How long?" said her father, ignoring his daughter.

"No longer than two weeks."

Robert Juggson II seemed to consider it.

"FATHER!"

The man shrugged. "Sorry, son. Not worth it."

His daughter's face was red with rage. She was quickly escorted out of the hospital when it was clear both that she wouldn't stop throwing a fit and that her father would not pay for the cure, though he did have to pay the consultation fee, for the issue was successfully diagnosed. Her siblings, waiting outside, laughed when they learned. Her father, still inside, asked how this could have happened if the plant is native to a different country.

The pony had shrugged, suggested that Mr. Jugson ask his daughter that question, then disappeared in a flash.

When he did ask his daughter that question, she claimed she was deliberately poisoned. When asked by whom, she claimed it was the Defense Professor.

Her siblings laughed at the obvious lie.

Robert Juggson II pointed out to his laughing children that it was a real possibility – David Monroe has said before the Wizengamot that he's been to the pony homeland. He's currently the only known wizard in the world who could have acquired the foreign poison personally. Also, the Defense Professor is always a suspect. He then asked his new daughter what could have motivated the Defense Professor to do such a thing.

She crossed her arms and scowled, but didn't answer.

Her mother asked her if she had somehow provoked the Defense Professor, David Monroe, who fought Lord Voldemort and is now peerlessly at the top of the world's most powerful wizards.

Her scowl deepened.

That was the point where her siblings began pestering her to tell them what she did.

Unable to command them in a powerful male voice to stop pestering him like she normally could, she went with a form of the truth. She said she will tell them one hint, and they shall have to figure out the rest on their own and stop pestering him.

They eagerly nodded.

"I took the Defense Professor up on his offer," she said.

After her siblings inevitably asked for more details and she maintained that a deal's a deal and that's all they're getting, her father said, "I see. Was it worth it, Robert?"

"No," she answered.

Her father nodded approvingly. "Consider this a lesson in greed and temptation. There's a difference between an offer and a bait."

For the next three days, and for many days after, everyone with any level of spine and power, including (and especially) those she had formerly considered to be allies, referred to her progressively as "Roberta", "Roberta Loveson", and finally, on Wednesday, just before the effect wore out, "Roberta Loveson the Demure".

Rehabilitation 13.2: Conspiracy Counter-Theory

"Hello," said the pony of starlight mane and female voice, now returned to stand before the Mirror. "And hopefully well-met, after the fact. I am Princess Luna of Equestria. Please just call me 'Luna', or 'Princess' if you prefer."

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," said Albus. "Please call me 'Professor Dumbledore'." As Tom certainly would. That should help remind Albus of the potential conspiracy, every time she addresses him by name.

Supposedly, Tom cannot perceive this conversation; he must be in range of the mirror, and so he is at that distant desk, now moved far to the back of the room, with sound and sight wards established to 'prevent him from distraction as he works'. But there's no telling how much of that, if any, is true.

"Forgive me for not offering my hand to shake," said Albus.

"A hand to shake?" asked the pony, sounding bemused. "What would that matter?"

"A handshake is a gesture of greeting and common courtesy between humans," Albus explained. With a wave of his wand, an illusion of humans shaking hands was shown.

If she had not been confused about that, it would have pointed either to Tom explaining the gesture to her beforehand, or to a noticeable flaw in Tom's performance. Or perhaps to there being creatures with hands in the pony world. Her being confused about it proves either that she's genuinely confused, or that Tom had anticipated the question and explained the appropriate reaction in advance, or that Tom is simply manipulating all of this actively, as a visual/auditory illusion or some such. But her confusion should be a point in favor of this not being a conspiracy... right?

Albus really isn't cut out for this sort of thing. But he'll continue doing it because he must.

The pony tilted her head, considering her reply before speaking. "Are you asking me to forgive you for not offering a literal handshake, or a metaphorical one? Between species, individuals, leaders, et cetera."

"All of the above, I suppose," said Albus, who was obviously blocked by the mirror from any physical interaction, but who also could not afford the casual courtesy of a good faith conversation, no matter how much he wished for one. "I would not hesitate, literally or metaphorically, under different circumstances." Like if he knew she was real and good.

"I understand."

"How do ponies offer greetings to each other, if I may ask?" Curiosity on his part is a good and necessary thing for unraveling any potential conspiracies; the more he asks, the more chances for obvious contradiction to arise.

Instead of answering in words, Luna conjured an illusion – proving illusions could be conjured, if they so chose – of two ponies... hugging? It seemed rather intimate, at least. Perhaps that was the point. Or perhaps ponies didn't see it that way. Either way, a better question to ask would be...

"How do ponies offer greetings to non-ponies?"

"To non-friends," said Luna, with particular emphasis on the last word, "verbal greetings usually suffice. What we've already exchanged was good enough to satisfy my cultural sensibilities. What about yours?"

Albus wondered if he should pursue that line of inquiry further, down however deep of a rabbit hole might be difficult for Tom to outright fabricate and remember... but truthfully, he was more interested in just getting to the important topics first.

"Likewise satisfied. Tom says you are the one most responsible for teaching him the Patronus?"

A brief creasing of the forehead, an ever-so-slight narrowing of eyes. Perhaps it indicated active critical thought, or perhaps mild frustration. "I am responsible for his remedial happiness lessons. Others bear responsibility for why the remedy is necessary in the first place."

Seeing an opportunity to provoke a potential Tom-response, if Tom is actively controlling all of this, Albus seized it. "Most prominently among them, Tom himself."

"Not quite," said Luna. She frowned further. "Not at all, even. If an eleven-year-old tried to learn the spell, and they executed the matrix perfectly, but their only failing was that they were not happy enough to cast it, would you place blame and responsibility upon their shoulders for their failing?"

That wasn't quite the response Albus had been expecting from conspiracy-Luna. And it was interesting enough that, even if it defended Tom, he couldn't mentally label it as an obviously Tom-produced response.

"I would, and I wouldn't," Albus answered. "I would blame their parents for failing to raise them in a happy household. I would say they are not responsible for failing to cast the Patronus on the first day. But from that moment forward, they gain some measure of responsibility for their future happiness, having learned of themselves that they currently lack it."

"And if their upbringing was so terrible that they could not gain happiness anymore – if, say, they were permanently damaged by Dementors – what then? Do they still bear responsibility for their own future happiness?"

(Albus did not find this question strange, for he knew of Dementors, and he did not know Equestria lacked them. Luna, after learning about Dementors and their properties from Riddle, has been waiting to make this analogy for years.)

"...No," said Albus. "They would not bear responsibility, in that case."

Luna nodded. "What my sister's scholars- sorry, what pony scholars have discovered, over the centuries, is that a lack of any loving caretakers in a foal's early life can be like exposing them to a Dementor, in such a fashion that the damage is permanent."

Albus considered the comparison. It would be worrying, if true. And, sadly, it reflects much of what he's seen in his tenure as a Hogwarts Professor, and later as its Headmaster.

"And if," Luna continued, "you then inflicted, from a position of authority, physical and mental and verbal violence upon a Dementor-exposed foal for years on end, what would you expect that foal to grow into?"

It wasn't a particularly difficult question to answer. "A dark wizard."

"And would that, then, yet be the foal's fault?"

"Not until the moment they hurt the innocent and uninvolved."

Luna nodded. "That is the correct attitude as applicable to law and typical morality, yes."

"But not correct for atypical morality, I take it?" Albus asked, trying to anticipate where this might be going.

Luna raised an eyebrow. "Do you think attempting to redeem Voldemort qualifies as a common moral quandary?"

"...Good point," Albus allowed. "May I ask where you are going with this?"

"In general, I am hoping to explain how I am getting through to him. Though I'm growing more and more certain that words alone won't suffice. Was there somewhere else you wanted our conversation to go?"

Albus's eyebrows rose. "No. I would very much like to know your process, if it seems to be working. What do you mean words alone won't suffice?"

Luna smiled. "Will you permit me to provide a practical demonstration?"

"Please do."

"Very well. This, then, is how I am getting through to Tom."

She then established a memory parchment screen, explaining as she went how it worked, until at last she was ready to show Albus a memory.

"This is from long ago," said Luna. "Well over a thousand years ago. Equestria is a very different place today than it once was, and even back then, not all ponies were like this."

Without further preamble, the memory began, starting with an image of a stern-looking pony.

"Put it away."

The viewpoint of the memory turned to look at a ball, then turned to look back to the pony.

"Selena Lullay. Put. The ball. Away."

The viewpoint didn't change, but there was a whump sound, then a thud. "That was me kicking the ball in the direction of the place that it's meant to go, and sitting down," said Luna.

The pony seethed in visible, yet controlled anger. "I asked you nicely. Put the ball away properly. Don't make me come over there."

"NO!" shouted a young girl's voice, sounding as if it came from the perspective of the viewpoint.

"That's it, young mare!" said the pony, horn glowing, and viewpoint rising into the air. "You're going into time out."

The memory stopped.

"If I may ask," said Luna before Albus could remark, "What's your first impression of my father?"

Albus hesitated.

"And please do not spare my feelings," Luna added. "I'd like your honest opinion."

"In that case," said Albus, "if he were the parent of a prospective muggleborn student, I would have already used Legilimency to see if his intentions towards you were as bad as that one interaction might suggest."

Luna frowned. "How habitually do you use Legilimency?"

"Only when the safety of a Hogwarts student demands it," said Albus. "Or in situations of consent with a practicing Occlumens. I did it more often as a Professor of Hogwarts than as its Headmaster. Minerva, my deputy headmistress, uses compulsion and memory charms, which muggles cannot defend against. I'm sorry to say it is traditional Hogwarts practice when dealing with abusive muggleborn parents. I did my own best to apply due courtesy when dealing with muggles, unlike many of my predecessors, and Minerva has inherited my ways. Legilimency, and magic in general, was my last resort, not my first. Conversation is more pleasant anyway, and can be just as revealing."

Luna's frown deepened. "You know, I think I am only now beginning to explicitly realize how reading a wide variety of minds in order to uncover abusers and protect the young – how meeting a wide variety of abusers who believe they can fool you when you already know their nature – can lead to becoming a good judge of character."

"Indeed," said Albus with a smile.

"I suppose that means I can skip showing you the second half of this memory. I only remembered this earlier moment because it was the catalyst for what came after. Notice the fact that we are outside, visible and audible to any pony who might be nearby. His first instinct, naturally, was to take me inside, and you can probably guess what happened from there. If you would, can you precisely describe which behaviors of my father, which red flags in particular, would have caused you to resort to Legilimency, just from what you did see?"

Albus took a moment to think about it. "He seemed harsh. His tone suggested constrained anger and violence. If I were more familiar with pony expressions, I could have likely seen it in his eyes as well. Even without Legilimency, it is possible to read intentions through eye contact."

Luna nodded. "And his words? Did you notice anything strange about them?"

Albus took more moments of consideration. "Not especially. Perhaps I would notice if I watched it again, but tone of voice was always my own greatest tell. It was where I looked for 'red flags', as you put it."

"In that case, I will show it to you again. This time I will pause at a key point."

She showed him the memory again, then halted just after "I asked you nicely. Don't make me come over there."

"Note," Luna said, "that a neutral witness might observe that he did not ask me nicely. He ordered me sternly, then claimed he asked nicely, and then proceeded to threaten me menacingly."

Albus nodded in agreement. Everybody has their own ways of noticing evil. Her father did not ask nicely, but claimed he did. He contradicted himself in the span of ten seconds. He lied. It's as simple as that.

This, perhaps, would be the Ravenclaw approach – to observe a neutral, inarguable truth that cuts straight to the heart of the matter. Albus respects the Ravenclaw angle more than he used to, thanks to Mr. Potter's wisdom, but also thanks to his role as Chief Warlock.

What Luna pointed out is what you might say to honestly convince others, not just yourself, about judgements on character; it's the approach and style one might see during arguments before the Wizengamot at a guardianship hearing.

No wonder Tom can tolerate these lessons. Empty as he may be, he still pictures himself as intelligent, and therefore respects the art of the argument. In retrospect, approaching conversations with him like a barrister approaches a court case makes perfect sense.

"But when I showed this memory to my fool over there," Luna flicked an ear – a curious expression – at the supposedly deaf Tom, "he pointed out that from my own perspective, and from my father's, he actually was being nice. Relative to his average. And so he wasn't lying when he said he asked me nicely. Well, he was not lying about the 'nice' part, anyway. A clever way to redefine niceness in a foal's mind, isn't it?"

Albus could feel his own wrinkles becoming more pronounced as he listened.

"But I'm digressing again," said Luna. "The point I'm trying to reach involves both my father's tone and his wording. Imagine, for a moment, my father speaking in those words and that tone of voice, not to a child, but to a fellow adult – somepony subordinate to him, such as an employee, but not somepony who is helpless before him. He has some authority over them, but not absolute authority. They can leave at any time, if they'd prefer to. The 'dinner table test', I like to call it."

(This was part of a wider test Luna explained to Tom, as a measure of quality for one's parents and other tribal authorities, a way to divorce yourself from the instinctual/evolutionary pressure on your mind to view them as good people. If you met your parents as strangers at a dinner party, and you saw them do what you know they've done behind closed doors, would you want anything to do with them? If they were complete strangers, would you actively want to spend time with them? Would you even tolerate them, if they directed their worst behaviors at you, and you were an unrelated adult? Most ponies are unable to ask themselves this question unless they are deliberately trained to do so because it goes against natural instinct.)

"If they were invited to dinner by my father," Luna began, shortening the thought experiment for the sake of this conversation, "and my father said that to his employee, or said something like it, how would you expect a self-respecting adult to react, in that situation?"

Albus thought for a while, then provided many various answers that came to mind, after having overseen a number of professorial interactions regarding one Severus Snape. Different personalities react differently to that sort of thing.

Luna seemed to appreciate the variety of proposed reactions.

"Though I confess," said Dumbledore, "that I cannot recall witnessing any adult speak to a peer or stranger in tones and words quite as extreme as what you just showed me. The idea is strange enough that I can hardly imagine it being done." He had trouble putting it into words. Mr. Potter would probably be able to do it in a heartbeat. "I have seen all manners of condescension between adults, but not quite..."

"Not quite the manner of condescension that is all the manners put together?" Luna offered. "Overlapping and magnifying each other to be something entirely new, something greater than the mere sum of its parts, like they aren't even speaking to a sapient being?"

"Precisely," said Dumbledore. "Though now that you've put it that way, I recall that I have seen an adult treating another that way, for I've had the displeasure of hearing Delores Umbridge speak to a Centaur. I distinctly remember her words as hardly being suitable for a dog, let alone a man. And perhaps House-Elf interactions count as well, though I'm not sure those qualify."

"You have centaurs-? No, I can ask my fool about it. In any case, I'm glad I don't need to explain further. I call it the 'foal voice'."

Luna's tone and emphasis suggested she regarded this part as particularly important.

"It is the voice that many adults once used when speaking to foals, the voice that utterly dismisses their agency as sapient beings. It is a voice more suited to a dog than a pony. If I were a grown, adult stranger with the job of putting that ball away, and my boss spoke to me as my father did, I'd laugh, say 'You're crazy,' and quit on the spot, for it is not wise to work for crazy ponies."

She did not explain how she almost drove her own fool away that one time, using the foal voice on him without realizing it because she was desperately frightened by Discord. Instead she replayed her own father's words once more, the 'foal voice' more noticeable to Albus's ears than ever before.

"No self-respecting being with their own preferences and convictions would sit there and take that," Luna explained. "To inflict it on foals, therefore, destroys their self-respect, their preferences, and their convictions. Or it pushes them away from you. Or both."

"You were the type to be pushed away?"

She nodded. "Thanks to Tia- my sister, I had a strong sense of self-worth, and I clung to it like a lifeline. Most foals, when they hear the foal voice, simply submit. They become lesser, as they are expected to become, as their instincts tell them to become, and their chances of survival increase. But some foals, when they hear the foal voice, dig in their heels and refuse to listen. Their stubbornness is their own attempt to preserve their sense of self-worth. It is the behavioral manifestation of their desire to be respected as thinking, feeling beings, their desire to be reasoned with. They are giving you a chance to notice your own actions and correct them. In a way, their petulance is their desire to respect you as a reasonable person, if only you would actually reason with them." She paused. "Does any of that sound wrong?"

"It does not."

"Good. Now that I've said all that, I will let this next memory speak for itself."

And she played the memory of that day in his office, skipping straight to the lecture he gave Tom Riddle – glaring in its flaws in a way that caught Albus completely by surprise. Had she not carefully explained the 'foal voice' first, had she not offered her own father as a caricatured extreme who was obviously in the wrong, Albus might not have seen his own past mistake so clearly, or maybe even at all.

Thus did Albus Dumbledore have his first 'Night Court' Session. He came to the conclusion that, if all of this is fake, it's almost certainly not the product of only Tom Riddle's imagination.

"Thoughts?" asked Luna, when it was finished.

"I confess," said Dumbledore, "my own memory of that day is not as clear as Tom's. If what you showed me was modified, I cannot say for certain. I can only say that it does not feel correct. But perhaps I truly did look like that, from Tom's perspective, and perhaps I truly did say those words, and perhaps I truly was like that, those many years ago."

"You see that you were in the wrong?"

Albus nodded. "I do now see," he said reflectively, "how it looks like, say, trying to sternly lecture a young Mr. Malfoy about the follies of blood purism. I agree that the approach I took was the wrong one."

"That is a good first step," said Luna. "If the memory is unmodified – thank you for mentioning that, by the way, I did not know it was possible, and I shall speak with my fool about that later – if it is unmodified, then it is a very good thing it feels incorrect, that it feels like your past self is wrong. One of the most sobering means of self-knowledge is to see ourselves as others see us. If you had seen that memory and claimed to see nothing wrong with it, I think there would have been little I could do demonstrate how I am getting through to Tom, in the short amount of time we have to speak."

Albus nodded. "And yet, even having seen my own past folly, I cannot imagine what the right approach might have looked like. I had no blatantly obvious memories to show Tom of Dark Lords begging for immortality. Mr. Potter redeemed Mr. Malfoy in his first year of Hogwarts, and I doubt I could have ever accomplished that myself, with or without memory magics, even if I were his age, in his position, with careful instructions on what to do. It is much the same with Tom, I feel. If it is essentially a political difference, I have learned that those are mostly helpless to overcome deliberately. I have learned that minds cannot be easily influenced or predictably changed, even when they are not fully set in their ways. This nature of this problem only grows worse with more intelligent people." Like Tom. And the Malfoys, to a lesser but still significant degree.

"Such is the nature of Free Will," said Luna. "Given that we are not Voldemort, and do not wish to be anything like Voldemort, empathy is the only good way to change minds. It may be unreliable, it may be difficult, but like Dementor exposure in reverse, the impacts of true empathy are everlasting, if done for long enough."

Albus's eyes widened at the obviously good, obviously wise answer. "Indeed."

"That said, I think your own biggest hurdle is that you are still asking yourself how you could have steered Tom from the path to immortality. You still see that in itself as wrong. You are not asking how you might have steered him from the immoral paths to immortality. But more importantly than that, you are not asking yourself the most important question first: you are not asking yourself how you might better understand his perspective. Your inability to empathize with that aspect of his psyche – to ever understand how he feels in any way, shape, or form – would make you like a dietitian trying to help an obese pony overcome their many problems without ever having made the journey from obesity to health yourself." (Or perhaps YOU are the obese one, Albus Dumbledore. But this, Luna did not say out loud.) "You view all paths to immortality as immoral, and so you cannot redeem him, for you do not understand him."

Albus accepted this with a nod. "Agreed. It is only thanks to Mr. Potter that I now possess even an inkling of understanding, of empathy, into that particular aspect of the minds of dark wizards. But six months ago is too little, too late."

"Is it?" asked Luna. "Is it ever too late to turn down the paths of good? Is it ever too late to try? Is it ever too late to acknowledge new darknesses in your own soul that you did not know were there before? To learn the red flags that point to it?"

Albus felt an impulse to get the conversation a bit back on track to his original goals. "What, if I may ask, is your opinion of Tom? When you met him, did you notice his 'red flags', as you put it?"

"Given that he requested the same employment condition of me that he requested of you, I think it's fair to say that, until it was almost too late, I did about as well and as poorly in the task of noticing Mystery Book's red flags as you did when noticing the red flags of Professor Quirrell."

Albus sighed wearily. "Touché. I would still like to hear about it."

She thought for a time before speaking. "If not for my ignorance of his hidden past, and the ambiguity of his current actions, things might have played out much worse, and Riddle may be in a much worse position to be redeemed. I will say, speaking narrowly and only about one particular red flag, by which I mean the 'foal voice'... well, I've seen many of his memories, including many of his Hogwarts interactions as Defense Professor, and even if those had been modified, he's been in my company for years on end, and I've personally seen him interact with foals in a teaching capacity."

In Silver's Flight Club in particular, she thought.

"There is something of a dark irony that the mass-murderous psychopath Dark Lord has never, to my knowledge, used the 'foal voice', implying that he, of all ponies, sees the universal sapience in others. Nor has he used the inverse to the 'foal voice', the voice of slave-like humility. Even in my first meeting with him, where so many ponies of the past treated me like a God or a Devil, he treated me like the prospective employer that I was. He treated me as a pony and not a God, he treated himself as a pony and not a slave, he remained firm in his preferences, and that came across clearly in his attitude and in our negotiations. He did not pretend to be supremely lesser-than-your-majesty, nor did he condescend as supremely holier-than-thou, even after he became an alicorn."

"I find it hard to believe he refrained from condescension," said Albus Dumbledore. Unless it was part of the act, of course.

"Oh, he was condescending in a great variety of rude and negative ways," Luna confirmed. "To me and especially to others. Just not supremely so. It was never beyond the point of critical mass, like you saw in that memory of my father, and of yourself. That is the key difference. That is the threshold I won't tolerate, when your authority or superiority fully goes to your head, when empathy is fully shut down, when evidence and reason can no longer reach or sway you. He never crossed that line. He lays out his arguments, unpleasant as they may be, and if the other party rejects them, he regards them as stupid, but he does not behave as if their entire belief system and worldview can be rewritten in a single lecture. No matter how much they trusted him as competent before that point."

"You believe the attitude of condescension is better than kindness and politeness in the face of those you believe to be wrong?"

"You were not kind nor polite to the young Tom Riddle when he came to you. But to answer your question anyway, it depends. If kindness and politeness are being used as a poor pony's substitute for respect, or to hide an utter lack of respect for those you disagree with, I do believe condescension can be better, for at least it is honest. It is not the best approach, of course, and often not even a good one, but it is still better than the alternative of dishonesty and falsifying your own preferences and self-worth. My fool rudely regards others as stupid, but he at least respects himself, and he acknowledges that others have their own deep beliefs that can't easily be changed by lecture. That is close to respecting the existence of someone else's preferences, even if it is not respecting the preferences themselves. In order to respect a worldview, you must at least know that it exists in the first place, and he knows of just about every worldview out there, with how much Legilimency he's done. We're still working on the 'respect' part, but... he's at a workable starting point. He disparagingly referred to Silver as 'boy', and to the Wonderbolt Captain as 'stupid mare'. He ordered his Death Eaters about like tools. But he did, at least, attempt to reason with them first. When reason failed, he resorted to force, which is far worse than the 'foal voice', mind you, but he did skip the step of the 'foal voice'. And after arriving in Equestria, he refrained from undue force almost entirely."

"What do you resort to, when reason fails?" asked Albus, though he realized a second later that she'd already given the obvious answer of 'empathy' earlier in the conversation.

"My own solution is to respect that they have Free Will," said Luna. "Free Will means you can't control what others believe, what others decide, what others want. You can only influence. Or, alternatively, you can disassociate. That, too, is Free Will. Tying yourself up in knots about how your actions can change other people is often an exercise in frustration. They have free will, and that's all there is to it. They can always leave or ignore you. You can do the same to them. My own approach is to understand others before saying or doing anything at all, especially anything irreparable. Prevention is better than cure, and easier, but only if you know how. Sometimes a 'cure' is flatly impossible. And when cure is possible, you need a thorough understanding of the disease to stand a chance at curing it. Which you did not have when it came to fear of death. Or to blood purism, for that matter. Which is why you cannot quite imagine any workable means of dissuasion."

"I cannot quite understand his condescension either," said Dumbledore. "Not empathetically. Not as anything other than a shallow shadow of observation that does not match true understanding. Are you working on that, as well?"

She nodded. "His mild condescension – and yes, I know that sounds ridiculous, but in the context of the 'foal voice' and the mindset that goes with it, everything else is mild by comparison – his condescension is what sometimes results from constantly using the 'foal voice' on a young colt. Many foals give in, subconsciously sacrificing their self-respect in exchange for safety. They respond to the 'foal voice' by using the subservient-slave voice, in which authorities are treated as Gods – infallible and beyond reproach. This lasts until they become parents or some other kind of authority themselves. They then become the Gods in their own minds, and they instinctively switch to using the 'foal voice' themselves.

"Those who do not follow that self-perpetuating pattern have various ways of maintaining their self-respect. Tom demonstrates one of those ways. That young colt, now wearing the body of a grown stallion, always pushes buttons, always attempts to goad the true, honest, impulsive reactions out of those around him so that their characters may be laid bare. But he never crosses the threshold into the 'foal voice' because he knows what that feels like and hates it with a burning passion. He'd rather disassociate entirely than do that. It was only recently that I learned his final means of 'disassociation' is murder, but by then I had already committed by Unbreakable Vow to help him, and he had already honestly promised to stop."

Albus took this moment to express a thought which had occurred to him much earlier. "Perhaps he read your mind in order to determine how best to act in your presence."

"Initially, he refrained from Legilimency on myself and my sister out of fear of discovery and subsequent incineration-by-sunbeam. He likely would have done it if he knew for certain if it was safe, but he didn't. Now he can say honestly that he never did it to me outside my Occlumency lessons."

"Perhaps he succeeded in leaving Legilimency impulses within your mind, and False Memories, and all that you just said is merely what he wishes you to think."

"At some point, an empiricist must listen to the evidence of their senses. Thinking that everything is a simulated lie only leads to madness."

Albus refrained from saying 'now you know how I feel.'

"More often than not," Luna continued, "obsessing about conspiracies is the natural result of being surrounded by powerful liars-"

Like Albus currently is.

"-growing up. Your belief that everyone is out to get you is not often a reflection of all reality, just the nasty ponies who had power over you."

"Quite," was all he decided to say in reply. "So, you believe you saw no more red flags in Tom than I saw in Professor Quirrell?"

"I'm not sure how much our experiences overlap. All I can say is that he had a great many red flags, the kinds that deep abuse would be expected to produce, but nothing that conclusively proved his own nature as an abuser. Or murderer, torturer, et cetera. And while I can measure Honesty at a glance, I did not have anything as simple and elegant as Legilimency to confirm my suspicions, so I hired and kept a close eye on him, and had many long conversations with him. He refused to speak of his past, but his present never crossed the line, though he came as close to the line as possible many times over."

"How so?"

"Horcruxes one, two, and three."

"Ah," said Albus.

There was a brief pause.

"I'm surprised you do not ask how those did not cross the line."

"He explained the full context of the first two," said Albus. "In any case, thank you for this. I think I better understand-" the story (Lie? Fabrication? Modified truth?) "-what is going on. I would like some time to reflect, please."

Luna hesitated for a moment, then nodded. If she could truly detect candidness, she likely noticed he was maintaining his skepticism. "One last thing, then. I apologize for this. This session, I mean. Normally I do not come to criticisms or judgements so quickly. I told myself you of all people can handle it, given your moral character, and while I truly do believe that as a compliment to you, it is also the case that I was motivated by my own personal annoyance. In particular, I disliked your failure to acknowledge the responsibility you bore in creating Voldemort. Admitting as much to Voldemort when he explicitly asks about it has little value, or perhaps anti-value, but your words seemed honest enough, in that memory, and so I've always wished you to see why my fool reacted as he did to your lecture, why his convictions only grew stronger. It's true that his decisions were all his own; a celebrity does not bear much responsibility for the actions of their fanatics, in most cases. And yet, most celebrities do not give their fans a one-on-one moral lecture after being begged for help, nor teach them as professor for years prior to that, nor introduce them personally to a new world of possibilities. Even if it is only a tiny fraction, even if it is only the tiniest shred of responsibility, I believe that shred does exist, whether you acknowledge it or not."

"Acknowledged," said Albus Dumbledore. "Please, go." He would not ordinarily be so curt, so impolite, but prudence in the face of the box-problem demanded it.

She nodded and left.

After a long time to reflect, Albus gave the signal that indicated he wished to speak with his prisoner.

When Tom came before the mirror, Albus said, "Did you ask her to give me a lesson?"

"I did indeed ask her to give a practical demonstration of her talents. Her sessions are unrivaled. Capable of reaching me, obviously, but possibly even capable of reaching you." Though Albus could not quite read subtle pony expressions, he could see the self-satisfied grin of amusement quite clearly present on Tom's face. "Her sessions are typically only effective in a positive direction for those who are looking for advice and help, who do not already believe themselves good enough, who are actively receptive to her words. I was curious how the supremely wise and good Albus Dumbledore would react."

"Did you ask her to specifically target the memory you complained about immediately prior to your entrapment?" And which Harry asked him to focus on as well.

"No, but I suspected she might. I showed her many of the significant memories of my life so that she could analyse them for the sake of my own benefit. This was years ago. I did not show them to her with the intention or permission of ever sharing them with anybody else, but before I asked her to come here on your request, I gave her permission to show whatever she wished to you alone, even if it was from my own private hoard of memories, so long as it was for the sake of redeeming you." Again, that twisted smile.

"You admit you imagined the possibility she would show that particular memory in the course of a lesson?"

"Indeed. It was closer to hope than a true weighing of probabilities. And in light of that specific hope, I thought that if she succeeded in convincing you, good. And if she failed, also good, as you would know how I felt after that day – bitter, resentful, and utterly convinced in your own ways. Perhaps it would not be good for my ultimate goal of escaping, but it would be good for my own personal satisfaction. My lessons have not progressed far enough to be immune to that temptation."

Or perhaps, Albus thought, they have progressed far enough for you to give in to that childish temptation at all, where the cold and calculating Tom Riddle would act only for the sake of his future goals – utterly evil in a different fashion than he was pretending with Voldemort, capable of perfect emotional control, with all of Voldemort's outbursts being mere masks and performances.

This, too, Albus had come to understand, after being given time to think, time to reflect, time to consider what the year-long performance of Professor Quirrell implied. According to his own pre-existing experience before mirror entrapment, six months is the about cut-off time for the most desperate and dedicated preference-falsifiers, beyond which extended deception that involves daily personal effort contradictory to one's own nature for a distant goal becomes impossible. Tom Riddle doubled that time.

Perhaps Luna's lessons are meant to destabilize your perfect control, as true emotion would, and turn you human once more. As a first step, at least.

His own session had certainly invoked many of his own raw emotions. Defensively asking Luna how many red flags she'd seen – which in retrospect elicited defensiveness of her own – was not something a calm, collected, emotionally tranquil Albus Dumbledore would have done.

"Thank you, Tom," said Albus. "Please leave me to my thoughts."

The man nodded, and went back to writing.

Albus returned to his chair.

His true motivation in asking about Luna's own experience with spotting Tom's 'red flags' had been to determine – as if it were a competition, a comparison between himself and her – if she had unraveled the truth of Tom Riddle sooner / better / more proactively than he had. If she was more adroit at the moral skill of spotting 'red flags', and therefore more worthy of teaching Albus Dumbledore a lesson on morality, then she presumably would have more skillfully spotted Tom Riddle's red flags.

But then she pointed out that Tom is a very good liar, and she probably did about as well as Albus did. (Possibly better, if she had suspicions of her own before the moment of revelation, where Albus had been caught completely off guard by Professor Quirrell's appearance before the Mirror, despite all his own advanced abilities at anticipating that sort of thing.)

In retrospect, it was childish and silly of him to call her out like that. Like a petulant child, he simply didn't want to accept her lesson... though not quite like a petulant child who had been given a lecture in the 'foal voice'. More like a child who had been reasoned with, a child who is now conflicted between doing what he knows to be right and what he knows to be easy.

In that mental state, though he did not realize his emotions were doing it at the time, he instinctively sought to reject her lesson by the easiest means. He appealed to her moral authority (or lack thereof) over himself – ad verecundiam, the second of the classic logical fallacies. In fact, replying as he did, he was also calling her character itself into question, appealing to her person (and/or insulting her); ad hominem, the first classical fallacy.

The trustworthiness and quality of the teacher are important considerations, to be sure, especially when evil manipulators are about. But those considerations weigh less strongly when the logic is laid out as clearly as she presented hers. The lesson is slightly more trustworthy when the moral is applicable to far MORE areas in his life than the narrow moment in his past where he most greatly violated it, or where his violation had the greatest consequences, or where Tom Riddle specifically might want him to see his own folly.

To start, and ignoring everything else, he can see how and why the pensieve method is effective. Despite his own extensive knowledge of pensieves, and despite using it on Mr. Potter that one time in a similar way, he never would have imagined this method on his own. It's useful in a good way, even if it's the product of Voldemort's imagination.

But getting to the meat of the lesson, Albus can see general behaviors of his own that can be improved by the insight of the 'foal voice', should he accept it. He can see how the lesson might benefit Minerva too, should he teach it to her. It would likely help her along the path she chose for herself that day, when she resolved to do better.

She seemed to take Mr. Potter's remarks to heart, when Mr. Potter claimed she viewed children as animals to be herded into a pen and kept from wandering out, a flaw which Mr. Potter, in the same breath, said Albus did not share.

(If only Mr. Potter had been more honest, in that moment, or less forgetful. Albus does share the flaw, apparently and evidently. Perhaps not as egregiously as Minerva, or Severus, but he does share it. Harry had even complained about it directly on the day he challenged Severus, on the day he threatened to walk out on Dumbledore and run a newspaper campaign against him, saying something like, "This isn't a negotiation. This is your punishment. And if that seems uncourteous to you, it seemed no less uncourteous when you said it to me. That's only something you would say to a subordinate child, not someone you see as an actual human being." Or something like that. It wasn't quite a strong enough memory for Albus to remember it exactly enough for pensieve extraction.)

In any case, if Albus were to go back to the normal world this instant, he could see how this lesson might help Minerva, and might help himself.

Albus could see future lessons from Luna helping himself.

...

...

...

And then, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore had an idea.

A surprisingly good idea, under the circumstances, a solution to the problem of being shown a world almost fully controlled by Tom Riddle, and trying to determine his redemption from there.

Albus smiled rather widely once he comprehended the initial reason why his mind suggested it, why his mind had returned to that part of his conversation with Mr. Potter.

His smile widened and widened as he thought further about it, until he burst into full-blown laughter.

Tom did not interrupt or inquire.

Albus settled down.

Perhaps it is too ridiculous. Perhaps it is, hilariously enough, too unfair to Tom.

But one means of being more certain of Tom Riddle's redemption is...

Author's Note

To be revealed two chapters from now. It's been too long since the last puzzle, so I thought I'd include one.

Constraints: Magic cannot pass through the mirror. This includes the healing nature of Patronus light, which Draco's internal narration in HPMoR described as "once you knew what you were looking at, you couldn't mistake it for anything else." In this context, Dumbledore can't perfectly distinguish between true light and false light in that he can't feel if it's real, and he suspects Riddle can match the color of Patronus light perfectly in a false illusion.

Physical objects can be reflected onto Dumbledore's side, but only if doing so satisfies the wishes of both parties involved. Dumbledore is not at all certain this is the rule that it follows, and will not trust it as a means to determine Tom wishes for good things, or anything like that. Mechanically, the mirror makes a new, permanent copy of the object, but that copy cannot communicate through the mirror while the trap is active, if it's any kind of communication device, except by means that you've currently seen can work as communication through the mirror – raw audio and video.

In retrospect, I should have had objects get stored in the Mirror, rather than duplicated, since that's what happens in canon HPMoR, but it's too late to fix that now. Consider this a property that only matters to beings trapped outside of Time in the standard setting of that trap. Riddle/Harry are not in the standard setting; Dumbledore is, and so are most of the things Merlin and other wizards of history used the mirror to trap outside of Time, but those things are trapped in separate pockets and probably won't matter to this story.

And while all of these are true properties of the mirror trap, keep in mind that I may be misleading you from the solution by distracting you with the constraints of the problem, constraints which Dumbledore might bypass by thinking of an idea along completely different lines.

Note that if all else fails, Dumbledore will just go with his gut. There's a famous supreme court case where a judge, when delivering a verdict about hardcore pornography and asked to give a definition, said 'I know it when I see it'. That attitude is what most people use when delivering judgements – an ambiguous soup of feelings and opinions, not something they could easily define and provide careful standards for. It's the path Dumbledore intended to take to determine Tom's moral redemption when he's inevitably uncertain about a demonstration of the Patronus charm.

The solution to the puzzle will be slightly more reliable than the 'gut' solution. And it's not necessarily the idea Dumbledore will end up using as the final determiner.

Rehabilitation 13.3: Beyond the Veil

Albus smiled rather widely once he comprehended the initial reason why his mind suggested it, why his mind had returned to that part of his conversation with Mr. Potter. The part where Mr. Potter declared his predicted timescales for learning the true Patronus charm.

His smile widened and widened as he thought further about it, until he burst into full-blown laughter.

Tom did not interrupt or inquire.

Albus settled down.

Perhaps it is too ridiculous. Perhaps it is, hilariously enough, too unfair to Tom.

But one means of being more certain of Tom Riddle's redemption is...

...to have Tom Riddle successfully teach the true Patronus to Albus Dumbledore. That would be truly solid evidence, far stronger than mere words and images. Typically, for a mage to teach a difficult spell, he must know it himself.

Out of habit born from many long decades of transfiguration research, Albus immediately began thinking of all the ways this clever thought might go wrong. And he did indeed see a few important problems.

Unfortunately, while it might be strong evidence, this idea would guarantee nothing at all. It is possible to teach others how to do things you have not done yourself, if you understand the principles well enough, or you have memorized the words of the original master.

As a famous Ravenclaw historian once said, the chain sequence of scholar-apprentice relationships between Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle very well may have broken at Plato, had Aristotle not been such a good student, and had Plato not been such a good storyteller. That Ravenclaw believed Plato to be a terrible thinker, utterly inept at his own attempts in Philosophy, as Diogenes so famously displayed in his parody proclamation of 'Plato's Man'. But that Ravenclaw also believed Plato to be one of history's greatest known transcribers, without whom the legend of Socrates would not be remembered at all. For all that Plato had utterly failed to learn any of Socrates' lessons, he had remembered and retold the story of his teacher's shining example, giving Aristotle the opportunity to learn the true lessons that Plato had bastardized in his own practices. Aristotle then went on to carry a true fragment of Socrates's arts as he lived and worked, both despite of and thanks to Plato.

Then the line of legendary philosophers died, for no true legend came immediately after Aristotle. Such scholars are rare, after all, and it was a miracle of history to have those three back-to-back in the first place.

Albus, of course, did not agree with this Ravenclaw about many things, but he accepted that even a misguided student who then becomes a misguided teacher can still impart keys to important knowledge, which a clever enough pupil can then unlock despite the teacher's ineptitude.

Tom in this case would be Plato, the misguided middle-man of knowledge. But Albus does not expect himself to be Aristotle, the paragon of pupilhood, if he tries to learn the true Patronus, and so Tom would have to seize some true understanding of the spell to impart enough wisdom for Albus to succeed.

Perhaps more importantly than anything else, this idea has merit whether or not there's a conspiracy.

Under the assumption Tom is faking literally everything, he'll likely appear to arrange for 'Luna' to teach those lessons... although come to think of it, Tom's current apparent self is nowhere close to redemption in Albus's opinion (which Tom could have easily meta-orchestrated by making himself appear exactly that way). So Tom will probably insist on Luna giving the lessons whether or not there's a conspiracy.

Regardless, if there is a conspiracy, and if this idea is implemented, it will ultimately be Tom who arranges for Albus to learn, and if Albus succeeds, it will ultimately be Tom who taught him. Vicariously and through illusion, true, but still Tom pulling the strings.

On the other hand, supposing everything thus far has not been a lie, supposing Luna is genuinely a different mind, and supposing she successfully teaches Albus the spell, it will at least be proven that Tom is in the company of those capable of casting the true Patronus and teaching it to others, even difficult cases like Albus Dumbledore (and perhaps, therefore, difficult cases like Voldemort).

Mr. Potter predicted- using questionable metrics, certainly, but he did predict- that Albus Dumbledore would take twice as long in learning the True Patronus as Tom Riddle. (And even if that whole conversation with Mr. Potter was Tom's fabrication, which to Albus's best discerning judgement seems incredibly unlikely, Albus still accepts that particular part of it as true.)

In the worst possible case, supposing Voldemort tricks Albus perfectly, successfully comprehending and teaching the true Patronus without being able to cast it... well, at that point, why wouldn't Voldemort learn it himself? There are rarely downsides to having the ability to cast a spell.

Tom outlined the "military advantages" of the Patronus quite enviously on the day of the Dementor, back when he was pretending to be Professor Quirrell. Even if it was to keep up appearances as a competent tutor, his words of encouragement to Harry- something like "it will be a boon to you and, I suspect, to the greater magical world; but if you cannot learn it, I will understand"- those words suggested at the very least that it would not go against his own interests if Harry Potter learned a spell that his own wand could not cast. Furthermore, that interaction could not have been a ploy to fool Albus for this current plot.

If Voldemort can fake-understand the Patronus well enough to take months, years, or decades of personal effort imparting true knowledge and advantage to someone else, especially his enemies, why not simply stop 'faking' his understanding? Why not seize the advantage for himself when it is right there in front of him?

Unless it's beyond Voldemort's abilities. It always comes back to that. Unless it's infinitely beyond Tom's abilities. Unless his mind was irrevocably crippled by a Dementor-like equivalent. Or unless the spell is far enough beyond his abilities as to seem impossible to him. Or unless it's impossible for any other number of reasons.

In which case, will Albus ever be able to truly tell if Voldemort has truly learned the true Patronus?

...

Well, there's the obvious answer that knowing how to cast it should make Albus better at distinguishing a true performance from a false one. Yet another advantage to the idea.

Listening to Voldemort's stories and maybe helping him write one doesn't seem like the best use of time, even if there's an infinite amount of it, and he's not sure that there is. He suspects himself to still be aging whenever he's retrieved from his own frozen instant. Like right now.

To try to learn a new technique after the old shattered in his hands, to aspire to a higher level despite the daunting challenge, to grow not just as a wizard, but as a person...

A Slytherin would cleverly plot around the problem instead of tackling it head-on, if that was an option. But how could a Gryffindor refuse? Godric would certainly wish to learn it, of that Albus has no doubt.

Although Albus does enjoy the prospect of writing the story of the Harry Potter that could have been...

Well, that can be done in his down time, when his mind needs to relax and take time to absorb whatever lessons he must, no matter how many days or decades it takes.

There's just one last problem with the whole idea. One major obstacle of implementation, even if he himself is willing to try it:

This particular metric of proof would be unfair to the hypothetical Tom Riddle who is not fooling him, who actually succeeds in casting the true Patronus, who requests for the trap to end as originally agreed upon. That Tom Riddle, if he ever comes to exist, would be justifiably peeved at this condition.

Still, perhaps Albus should share the thought anyway. How Tom reacts to it might also be evidence.

And so he did.

And so Tom reacted. Eventually.

"Mr. Potter once imparted crystalized knowledge that I had been following in a muddled fashion prior to his words," Tom said after about thirty seconds of silence, wearing a frown the entire time. "He stated that one part of the scientific art is to not immediately reject ideas the instant you hear one you do not like. And Luna says it's important to be as honest with you as possible henceforth. Those are the only reasons I am going to honestly speak my thoughts of tempted rejection aloud. So that I might be less foolish, and so that I follow Luna's advice, as I promised I would."

"Noted," said Albus. "I saw many problems with the idea myself."

"Such as?"

"First and foremost, it probably seems like I am adding conditions, that I am making it harder for you, not easier."

Tom inclined his head, his frown becoming slightly less pronounced. "Correct. I hesitate to make any major commitments when they might not be needed. Or possible. Even after I learn to reliably cast the Patronus, I do not expect myself to ever be capable of teaching you."

"Elaborate?" Albus prompted.

"Your barrier in casting is not only different from mine, it... stems from circumstances entirely alien to mine. A man who has never known obesity, who has never been drunk, never taken narcotics- such a man, for all that he himself may be healthy, does not know how to help those who are addicted. He is not versed in the art of going from poor health to wellness; he cannot truly understand the plight of any would-be students. Running with the analogy, you are strong yet obese. You do not lack for muscle, but you also must overcome your mind's unhealthy obsession with food. I am weak, yet lean. I have no obsession with food, I have far more self-control and self-awareness in the truth of what my body is telling me, but if I wish to grow stronger, it requires eating more, not less. Our paths to health require completely opposite behaviors; you must eat less, I must eat more."

"Would you mind taking it out of analogy?"

"You did not have to overcome absolute emptiness and isolation, so you never lacked for light. I never had to overcome a false belief in the afterlife, so I never lacked for awareness. While we each have what the other needs to cast the true Patronus, we may as well have been born with these qualities, for we can hardly articulate how a grown man might acquire them when starting from scratch... no, when starting in the negative."

Albus nodded sagely. It was close enough to the response he'd been expecting, if a bit wiser than anticipated. "You are absolutely certain you will never be a good fit as my teacher?"

"I am as certain as any reasonable cynic should be. Perhaps I might one day be decent at it, but I'm not going to count on it, and I'd prefer you don't either. And it works both ways. We would make terrible teachers for each other, regardless of who gets there first. Imagine trying to teach me how and why to be 'good'."

Albus almost chuckled. "An apt way to put it. Any other objections?"

"What annoyed me most about you was always, at the core of things, your belief in the afterlife. And it's hard to be a good teacher when you are constantly in a state of annoyance about the thing you are trying to teach. You called me evil and Perenelle good in the same breath because of it, even before I had done anything." Tom Riddle shook his head. "I cannot picture myself ever having that kind of patience, regardless of my own personal progress in the realm of happiness."

"And yet you say you are not rejecting the idea?"

"I do not have the patience. But I know somepony who might."

Again, as Albus expected.

"It would be her choice to help you," Tom continued, "and I cannot force her one way or the other. You can always make the request, and you do have little else to do with your time. Unless you choose to assist with the novel, which I suspect you will find more pleasant-" he paused. Frowned. "Apologies again for trying to influence your preferences with a false dichotomy. I'll state my own preference instead. I'd prefer not to do things that hurt my interests. Do you expect your request to do that? Is it a stalling tactic designed to annoy me?"

"It is not. It is thus far my only idea for piercing through the veil of whatever deceptions you might be weaving. My casting of the Patronus would not be something you could fake. It would not be conclusive, but it would be significant evidence in your favor."

"You repeat yourself, and you did not answer my more important question. Do you expect your request to harm my interests?"

Albus tried his best to consider the question from Tom's perspective. "Not if your interests involve truly learning the Patronus charm, and convincing me of the true fact that you have learned it, once you have."

"Do you intend to delay my release until you learn the Patronus?"

"Not specifically that." But it will help your case if I know it by the time you do, he did not say, for that would again be repeating himself. "I intend to delay your release only until I, as a reasonable cynic about you in particular, have become as certain as I can be that you can truly cast it. I cannot imagine a better method yet. Perhaps your future happy self will think of something. Perhaps I will think of something when I see him. Perhaps something about him will be blatantly, obviously good to me, even if I poke and prod at him for days on end. If you want to rely on me knowing redemption when I see it, so be it. But I know you dislike that prospect immensely. This is my own first attempt at something which is not that. I was laughing at the irony of the fact that it might be unfair to you, if you're being straightforward in all of this."

Riddle thought for a time. Regardless of whether it works, ensuring Dumbledore has more information is better, not worse, given that Riddle isn't actually trying a deception here, and given that Dumbledore does seem to be trying to weigh evidence honestly. Adding complication isn't wise in situations of pure bad faith, but Dumbledore isn't quite interpreting everything in pure bad faith.

Openness. Willingness to share information. Answering every question Dumbledore asks (aside from classified information he'd know to respect as classified). All of these should work towards his favor.

But as Dumbledore pointed out, with enough effort Riddle could simply fake every last thing. There is very little that can't possibly be faked.

Except for the honest truth, said his inner model of Luna. As much of the truth as possible, as unfiltered as possible, as unmanipulable as possible, for years on end. Especially if it has the potential to harm your interests. Especially if it does harm your short-term interests.

He frowned at that.

Well, for now he'll just go with his initial impulse to bring someone potentially skilled in the art of unbelieving the afterlife. Perhaps that will help in other ways.

"Hello," said a white pony of rainbow mane, winged and horned like all the others Albus has seen so far, though her wings were feathered like 'Luna's', not leathered like Tom's. "I was not expecting a human. Are you the one who might be in need of my help?"

"Ah... perhaps," said Albus. "What were you told?"

"Very, very little," said the pony. "I was told I'm in a good position to help fulfill the wishes of Twilight, myself, and my sister. I was told I could do this by helping someone trapped in this Mirror, whom only Riddle Tome can retrieve, and only by standing in the range of reflection. I was told that, at the start of it all, I should know as little as possible, with as few instructions as possible, if I wanted to help as much as I could as quickly as I could. I was told that Riddle would be perceptible to us, but we would be imperceptible to him unless you give him a signal. And finally, I was told that I am free to ask questions of you, and answer any questions you have of me. And I would like to ask one right away, if I may."

"By all means."

"Are you the being responsible for the barrier between this world and Silver's?"

Albus's eyes narrowed in brief confusion. "'Silver'?"

"Silver Wing," said the white pony. "An... a highly academic young colt," she said, looking like she was carefully thinking about what she could and couldn't say. "He revered science in particular."

Then Albus remembered Harry's alias. "Ah. Yes, I am."

Albus likewise decided to be careful in his words. Should he say Silver Wing was only an alias? According to Tom, this pony would know less than the last. While Albus wouldn't mind blowing Tom's secrets wide open, he was a bit more hesitant with Harry's, which unfortunately meant he had to be more hesitant with Tom's.

"May I ask how you came to be stuck in that position?" she asked politely.

"Hubris, I suppose you could say," Albus answered at what he hoped to be the appropriate level of vagueness. "I tried to outwit someone who outwitted me in turn."

"Who?"

Albus considered how best to answer that. "A Dark Lord who must not be named," he decided to say.

Something flickered in the expression of the white pony, but he couldn't tell what. Anger? Recognition? Suspicion?

"In any case," said Albus, "my folly impacted many lives, Silver's most prominently among them."

The pony began tapping the ground with the tip of her hoof. A nervous gesture? She didn't seem to be deliberately calling attention to it, or herself. "Silver Wing... and Memory Sunshine... they had such an impact... Twilight- many ponies loved them very much. If you know, can you say how they're doing? Are they safe?"

Albus's eyebrows rose. "I wish I could say I know anything for certain. My perceptions in this Mirror are highly limited, and questionable. But I suspect they are fine." And while it was heartening to hear the rest, he didn't comment on it, for it could easily be a lie. "If it is true they found a way to escape, then Time is not passing for them, and it will not pass until..." again, he did not know how much was safe to say.

The white pony sighed. "Until Riddle Tome can demonstrate the Patronus for you."

"Until I believe he can cast it freely, yes. But with a perfect anti-magic barrier between us, and the existence of illusions..." Albus trailed off suggestively.

The white pony sighed even more deeply. "I can see how that might pose a problem. There are no work-arounds?"

"Nothing direct, though I have a few ideas," said Albus. "If you have ever overcome a belief in the afterlife, such that it allowed you to cast the True Patronus, let me know. But first, if I may ask, what is your opinion of Riddle?" He made sure to use the name she knew him by, again as a precaution against spilling Harry's secrets.

Celestia blinked a few times. "He is... he was the absolute worst law-abiding pony I had ever met," she answered at once. "And one of the smartest."

"He 'was' the absolute worst?" asked Albus, focusing on the surprising part.

"He has slowly been getting better. He revived my sister after killing her murderer and protecting my little ponies in the process, so he does not deserve my ire, for all that he irks me. But years of mental habits and judgements can be hard to update, and I still do not enjoy his company. Now, to answer your other question... Expecto Patronum!" A silhouette of a pony blazed into existence, bright as sunlight. "I do believe I might be able to help you with your belief in the afterlife. I do not know how much my experience transfers, but I did believe in one myself, once upon a time, and I helped my nation overcome the belief as I had, though I admit to taking the immortal's easy way out."

"The immortal's easy way out?"

"Multi-generational influence," she elaborated. "It is... safer and less likely to result in harmful chaos, when you have the luxury for it. But it does mean I have avoided trying to change the minds of elder ponies who were set in their ways. I was never the best with confrontations like that. Not when they did not involve a clear divide between good and evil."

Albus stroked his beard, intrigued, and perhaps impressed. "I see. You may indeed be able to help me despite that." For unlike Tom and Luna, in this pony he saw hints and reflections of himself, which might help immensely. "And thank you for your testimony. I am sorry, but I hope you'll forgive me for doubting it." Or, more accurately, for doubting that it proves anything, even if it's true.

"Why do you doubt it?"

"Because all I have is testimony. Testimony involving someone competent at lying and fabrications. Not that I am levying any specific allegations, but this is precisely the sort of evidence that illusions are good at fabricating. I needn't even ask what the excuse shall be for why this Mirror must stay here, and why it should not be allowed to reflect random people without precautions, for I know this Mirror as well as anyone else alive, and perhaps better."

"Really?" asked the pony, sounding curious. "Could you explain how to unravel the speakable, yet incomprehensible runes on the backside?" (Which she had covered under layers of mithril long ago for obvious safety reasons. The runes prevent themselves from being understood as written language, you can only speak them aloud, and even then they cannot be understood.)

"Perhaps," Albus answered. It's a somewhat trivial puzzle, allowing you to access the hidden function of the Mirror that shows your heart's desire, but whoever imposed the obfuscation might have had an important reason. Albus didn't care to unobscure it without an equally important reason. "My apologies," he said, "but I just now realized we have not been introduced. May I ask your name, and should I presume you know mine?"

"You may, and you should not. I am Celestia, Princess of Equestria."

"Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of Magical Britain, and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. Well met."

"May I ask what all that means?"

"I was the head of a magical school, the head of a magical state, and the head of a magical world," Albus summarized, more curt than he normally would be.

"You 'were'?" asked Celestia in a tone which made it obvious she was aware she mirrored his own past question.

Albus nodded gravely. "A word of warning from a wizard who was not wise enough. I weaponized this mirror at my own risk, my own peril, my own doom. Even should Riddle succeed and be freed, I will remain trapped. Perhaps forever."

...

(Celestia did not even know it could be weaponized. Well, she did, but she didn't think of it in terms of weaponization... she grew just a little sadder.)

"May I ask more about that?" she asked. "Does it have to do with the Dark Lord... who must not be named... who outwitted your attempt to outwit him?"

"Yes," said Albus, continuing the conversation conservatively.

But in a brief moment of... weakness? Temptation? Curiosity? A desire to see what happened if he poked the veil? Well, regardless, he decided to be truly blunt, and see what happened from there.

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is what my terrified countrymen called him," Albus explained. Best to start with something that would mean little without context. "He called himself Voldemort. I called him Tom Riddle, when he was a student in Hogwarts. You now call him Riddle Tome."

Not a moment after Albus finished speaking, the rainbow mane of the pristine white pony became a blazing inferno – a transition so instantaneous and intense that, had Albus not already been bracing himself for the unexpected, he might have flinched.

She spun on her hooves, clearly intending to do something to the unawares-Riddle whom the two of them could (theoretically) see but who (theoretically) could not perceive them.

And then... nothing.

She stood there, facing Tom, her expression unreadable at this angle. She did not move. Her mane still blazed. Her Patronus still blazed, pacing back and forth as though impotently. But she remained absolutely still.

"Princess Celestia?" asked Albus.

No response.

"Are you alright?"

Still no response.

After a pause to think, Albus said, "Is he responsible for this?"

There was no verbal response, and the pony didn't move a muscle, but her mane blazed brighter and (presumably) hotter, even as her Patronus wavered. Her body seemed to be locked in place, as if petrified.

Albus waited for Tom to notice, waited for the next part of the play to happen... but nothing came next. Tom continued working at the desk, continued ignoring what was happening at the Mirror, continued appearing as if he had no idea his illusion had just malfunctioned.

As the minutes progressed, Albus decided he might be meant to conclude that this is not illusion, that the ponies on the other side of the Mirror are real, and that, obviously, they're being manipulated by Tom in some no-longer-hidden fashion, punished by penalty of paralysis should they fail.

Keeping that potential meta-deception in mind, Albus gave the signal that Tom pre-arranged to pierce through his awareness barriers, a bright illusory light of a certain exact shade of green. Tom's idea of a joke, of course. Though it was at Tom's own expense; he very convincingly hurled himself in an unpredictable direction every time.

As Tom recovered from his sudden dodge, he seemed to notice the frozen Princess, causing him to freeze up himself for a moment, locking a hard gaze upon the pony who was not quite glaring back at him. She was glaring at where he had been before the signal caused him to move.

Tom then cautiously approached the Mirror, giving Celestia and her pacing Patronus as wide a berth as the Mirror's range of reflection allowed. Celestia's Patronus, unlike Celestia herself, tracked Riddle unobtrusively, staying firmly between him and her.

"The cracks are beginning to show, Tom," said Albus. "What did you do to her, exactly?"

Tom's frown deepened. "She willingly acquiesced to the Equestrian equivalent of an Unbreakable Vow." He conjured a parchment, then held it before the Mirror.

Albus adjusted his glasses and leaned forward, taking a moment to read this part of the play. "Precisely how is it enforced?" he asked afterward.

"Upon attempted violation of this contract, the signatory is paralyzed for an hour-"

The mane of the pony blazed outward in a flash, rushing towards Tom, who barely managed to react fast enough to protect himself. Who did not react fast enough to protect the piece of parchment.

Tom was now the definition of 'Fight, Flight, or Freeze,' staring down the threat as his singed fur regenerating before Albus's eyes.

Celestia's mane slowly diminished again. She still did not move to face them, or move at all.

After some time elapsed, Tom spoke. "That was a copy, stupid mare." The mane flared up again, though not quite as strongly as before. "Thank you for unambiguously demonstrating that you are able and willing to violate contracts, and that your word is worthless. That is important information." Her Patronus wavered. Hard. But it did not break. "Now excuse me while I exclude you from the rest of my affairs."

A visible blur sprung up, separating her from them.

"If you are truly set on getting out of this Mirror," said Albus, "I would not recommend excluding her from my affairs."

After staring at her blurred form for a few more seconds, Tom turned to face Albus again. "Explain."

"She claims she likely has the knack for overcoming false beliefs in afterlives. If I am inclined to believe anything at all of what I am seeing, I am inclined to believe that much."

Tom was frowning. Then sighing. "Very well. I do see cause to let her hear what comes next in any case." The barrier of blurriness vanished, presumably meaning she was no longer blocked from hearing the conversation. "I take it you told her something that strongly urged her to act against my interests," he said. "I would ask what it was."

Albus tried to anticipate what Tom might be plotting, but he concluded that he was meant to conclude that the plot involved Tom's Mirror-world affairs and not Albus at all. With that in mind, Albus decided to speak the truth. Even if it harms Celestia, he can't afford to care more about Mirror inhabitants than the fate of his own world.

"I told her little enough. Only that our countrymen were too terrified of you to speak your name, that you were a Dark Lord, and that your name was Tom Riddle before it was Voldemort."

"Nothing else?" asked Tom with a more pronounced frown than usual.

Albus considered for a moment. "In the course of warning her as an unwise wizard might, I told her that my folly in attempting to outwit you landed Silver in her world, and landed me in this Mirror. But that was earlier in our conversation, and she did not know I was talking about you at the time. I told her nothing of your other deeds. If she pieced together a picture of your true nature and past from those tidbits alone, I admit I am impressed at her ability to pick up on patterns."

I would be too, thought Tom, if this did not suggest something else entirely. Unfortunately for Mr. Silver, she almost certainly did not deduce it herself. The worlds in which he intentionally betrayed me now have significantly more weight. And unfortunately for HER, I am CURRENTLY LIVING in a world where SHE intentionally tried to betray me.

"What are you thinking, Tom?"

"Nothing good," he said honestly.

"You realize all this secrecy and manipulation is not helping your case?"

Tom glared at Albus for a moment. "Very well. I shall tell you that part of the story. To start, if it was not obvious from our previous interactions, I have no hard knowledge, no first-hand account of Mr. Silver and Ms. Memory's escape. I had to piece it together from context. Celestia, on the other hand, likely does have a first-hand account, though she claims she made an oath of secrecy about it."

"If she was sworn to say nothing, how can you know she was there?"

"She was sworn to say little, not nothing. In retrospect, she's always had the proclivity to skirt around the spirit of her oaths." Again, the wavering Patronus in the background. "She was the one who first informed me of Mr. Silver's escape. I already had cause to be actively monitoring Mr. Silver at the time, though I could not do so directly. Despite my active involvement in the situation, she learned of his departure sooner than I did. She was the first to inform me that Patronus messages were no longer reaching him. And she later admitted to knowing hidden knowledge she'd been sworn to protect-" and to the facts that a phoenix had come for Ms. Memory and that Mr. Silver had asked to be taken with her at the last moment, which were not covered by her supposed oath "-though she always fell back on her oath of secrecy whenever I pressed for more information."

"Has she said why she was sworn?"

"She gave no reason, only implied the reasonable excuse of dangerous knowledge. Even I cannot complain about that, and there is likely a grain of truth to it, but knowledge of dangerous magics alone would not cause her to react-" he glanced over his shoulder "-like that. From the very beginning, my prediction was that, in the course of his successful escape attempt, Mr. Silver took the calculated risk of Celestia eavesdropping on his plot. Since he could not avoid her, he swore her to secrecy. And then Mr. Silver showed Ms. Memory and Celestia his recollection of Azkaban. He needed Ms. Memory to be inspired to action against Dementors in particular. But that would have also meant showing his pretense at being me, and more importantly, showing his memories of my dear Bella- ah. Thank you for confirming that I'm right on point, Celestia. That will be all. Frigideiro. Quietus."

A large wave of frost and cold seemed to combat the ever-increasing blaze of fire, seemed almost to freeze over the entire room, and though the blur did not visibly return, there was the implication that its effects were back in place. No doubt stronger spells than the two he'd spoken had been used, and this was merely Tom's way of being dramatic. 'I am so strong I shall not deign to use more than first-year spells against you.'

"In any case," said Tom, once again facing Albus, "Mr. Potter would have had to explain a number of things to give those memories proper context, presumably including the name of the Dark Lord responsible for Bellatrix. Though obviously he explained it in such a way that neither Miss Granger nor Celestia would know that meant me."

"Until now," said Albus, stroking his beard again. "And that realization was enough for her to break through all previous obfuscations of your past and attempt to incinerate you."

"Attempt to incinerate the contract responsible for paralyzing her. But yes, presumably me too, thereafter."

A completely understandable reaction to comprehending the true nature of Voldemort, Albus thought. "And is the paralysis indefinite?" he asked aloud. "Or does it only last until she stops trying to violate the contract?"

"Hm... now that you point it out, contracts are a bit 'inequine' by pony standards. Your guess would be far more fitting to their moral systems and styles. If they had been invented today, I suspect they would have your proposed mechanics. But no, it lasts for an hour unless the contractor personally intervenes."

"Mm," said Albus, thinking. "Suppose I asked you to 'intervene' in her paralysis and include her in our conversation. Would you?"

"Not without a reason conducive to my interests."

"Acquiescing to my unexpected and unplanned requests immediately, without leaving the range of the Mirror to prepare a lie, can only help you. If you are not conspiring to fool me. And it will also help you if you are conspiring, so long as the results reinforce your illusions."

"Hmm... not conducive enough." Tom tilted his head. "But I've just thought of something that is. Very well." Tom turned to face the pony. His horn glowed briefly.

Celestia gave a brief twitch.

Tom snorted, then his horn glowed again.

Celestia gave more than a twitch this time, succeeding in turning around about a quarter of the way to facing Tom. When she froze this time- as soon as her gaze met Tom's- her stance was unbalanced and she fell over. Her frozen body came to an extremely awkward-looking stop after a few seconds of wobbling, for her position while turning was not at all good for lying on the ground, and she was locked to it.

"You were right, Professor Dumbledore," said Tom, his grin much wider now. "This is interesting. Frigideiro," he said to the resulting blaze of fiery mane. His horn glowed without waiting for her apparent anger to subside.

Once again, Celestia barely managed a twitch before freezing up.

"Come now, Princess," said Tom, his voice light and mocking. "You're supposed to getting better each time, not worse." Another glow.

Another twitch.

"I am tempted," said Albus, "to ask you to give her more time in between attempts."

"This is more fun." Horn glow.

Twitch.

By now, Celestia no longer looked uncomfortably arced against the ground, at least. The series of twitches had slowly adjusted her frozen position away from that of a quarter-turned standing pony to something more conformed to the flat floor.

Horn glow.

Twitch.

Albus decided to say something again. "I thought you were trying to demonstrate that you are becoming a better person."

"You think I'm not?" asked Tom, his voice still light and mocking, his lips grinning. "In response to her attempt at violating a solemn vow, I am nothing but magnanimous, gracious, and forgiving. She overtly and explicitly attempted to break of an oath of secrecy and inaction that she knew might involve things she wouldn't like when she learned, she deliberately tried to betray me in as conscious a manner as any intelligent being could, and here I am, forgiving her in the most explicit way possible, giving her chance-" horn glow, twitch, "-after chance-" glow, twitch, "-after chance to do better." Glow.

Pause. Twitch.

"One might even call my actions kind and generous."

The mane flared back up to contract-burning levels again, though this time Tom was clearly prepared for it.

"She is the sister of the other Princess, yes?" asked Albus. "What would Luna say about your current behaviour, Tom?"

The grin vanished. "Oh, very well," he sighed. "A minute to recover."

The burning mane diminished. Somewhat.

Albus was half-surprised that worked. It surely wouldn't work again if he tried to repeat the tactic, and doing so might also interfere with Tom's redemption-

"Sixty. Fifty-nine. Fifty eight. Fifty seven."

And the burning mane blazes again.

Albus sighed and resolved to try a slightly different approach. "Does Luna know about Bellatrix?"

"No," Tom answered, cutting off his own counting. "Truthfully, I don't remember much of it myself anymore, only the broad strokes. I locked many memories away, of more than just Bellatrix, though there are many blank spots about Bellatrix in particular."

That came as a surprise. "What? Why?"

"A precaution."

"Against what?"

"Guilt-driven suicide."

...

Albus had nothing to say to that.

And he wondered if Celestia would have been equally silent, had she the freedom to speak. Her mane of fire had extinguished, returning to... not quite its previous brilliant rainbow sheen. The colours were more muted, more pastel, more sombre. Her Patronus had winked out too.

"Though I do intend to unlock them after I learn the Patronus," said Tom. His horn glowed.

Pause.

There were no immediate twitches this time.

Slowly, Celestia rose to a stand.

Chapter 70: Touring the Truth

The room containing the Mirror was rather odd, even by the standards of rooms you could stumble upon in Hogwarts. Exactly half of the room, the half reflected by the Mirror, was a perfect match to the room they'd come from in Hogwarts, an unadorned open space with a solid stone floor and tall pillars, lit by a soft white light tinged with gold, coming from no visible source. The other half of the room was a waiting room, not unlike the few in the Ministry meant for people like the Malfoys and foreign ministers, instead of people like the Parkinsons, outfitted with a soft carpet and tasteful paintings, though no furniture. It was as if someone took the two rooms, cut each in half with a powerful yet precise Diffindo, then stuck them together with a sticking charm.

A few seconds earlier, Headmistress McGonagall paced back and forth in front of the Mirror, her eyes locked to its surface, while a relaxed Slytherin first-year doodled. As soon as Draco and everybody else arrived, McGonagall began asking questions immediately, and Autumn began stowing her sketchbook. A few seconds after that Professor McGonagall was asking many more questions.

Professor Monroe sighed. "We will discuss Dumbledore later. Rushing the matter will change nothing about his predicament, and might perhaps make it worse. Not to mention we already have a schedule for today."

"Schedule, shmedule!" said a voice. "I say wing it!"

Draco felt Father's firm grip on his shoulder and he heard a gasp from McGonagall and Harry's muggle father, but he didn't turn to see their reactions. His eyes were locked on the new arrival, a creature that he only knew about thanks to the occasional monitor/statue/picture in Circus, though it was a different thing to see it in person.

"Of course you would," said the Defense Professor in a suffered tone. "There goes the plan for a nice, warm welcome to this world."

"Hey! Sunbutt's not the only one who can do 'nice and warm'! Watch!" With a snap of claw-fingers, the chaotic creature was seeping into a steaming jacuzzi. "AAAaaaaahhh. There. Nice and warm. Now, have you told 'em yet?"

"No."

"You brought a straight stallion?"

"Straight woman."

"Eeeee," Discord squee-ed in eager delight. "Dibs on being the banana pony-dragon-griffon-taur."

"Aren't you always?"

"I pride myself on resisting that temptation. 'Always' isn't chaotic, it's predictable."

Headmistress McGonagall cleared her throat. "Professor," she said with a tinge of apprehension. "Who is this?"

"Discord," the Defense Professor introduced. "Former god of chaos."

"Former?!" said Discord indignantly. "I'll show you former!" He snapped his claw.

The Defense Professor was suddenly dressed in a ballerina tutu, clown makeup (sad clown, not happy), and a wide-brimmed hat that was so tall it touched the ceiling. He was also balancing on a strange, one-wheeled device. The Defense Professor drew his wand, was enshrouded in a rainbow sheen, and the chaotic ensemble disappeared.

"Spoilsport," Discord huffed.

"As you can see," said the Defense Professor, facing the Headmistress. "He is the spirit animal of the Weasley Twins, and he is not supposed to be here. Does that suffice for an explanation?"

"I-" said Professor McGonagall, but a knock on the door interrupted her. Then her eyes narrowed at the creature. "Yes, I suppose it will have to do."

"We're ready," said the Defense Professor.

The door opened to admit another being that Draco only knew about due to his time in Circus.

"G-R-E-E-T-I-N-G-S H-U-M-A-N-S," said Discord after a snap of his claw, appearing beside the new arrival and speaking in a strange voice, as if a muggle radio came alive and started speaking on its own. He also looked like a radio, or some kind of muggle device: blocky, bulky, and covered in buttons and dials. (Draco had not yet seen the movie 'Terminator'. This is because Harry had not yet seen the movie 'Terminator'. Petunia put her foot down hard earlier in his childhood. Not that Discord looked much like a terminator. Popular pony sci-fi is visually tamer than that.) "Y-O-U H-A-V-E B-E-E-N T-A-K-E-N T-O O-U-R L-E-A-D-E-R. P-R-E-P-A-R-E T-O B-E E-A-T-E-N."

"Discord," rebuked the white pony in a warning tone. "Ignore him, please," she said to their group. "We are herbivores."

"I'm not," said Discord, no longer looking like a muggle device. He tied a bib depicting a cartoon human around his neck while leering at Draco and drooling. "Looks like I've hit the juicy jackpot. I've always wanted to try monkey-thing."

Father put himself directly in between Draco and Discord.

"You should try deep-fried Defense Professor," suggested Harry's voice. "I've heard it's the meat of kings."

"The meat of nobility, to be sure," said the Defense Professor. "Allow me to give you a hand." He grabbed his left hand in his right, and-

Hermione gasped, McGonagall said "Professor!" in a shocked and appalled voice, Harry's father gave a shout of alarm, and Celestia just seemed to sigh. Draco barely managed to stop himself from looking away or growing queasy as a sweeping motion from the man's right thumb separated his left hand from its wrist, leaving a bleeding stump behind.

Then the Defense Professor calmly observed his own wrist as a new hand wove itself into existence, from bone to muscle to skin and fingernails. "Yes, Headmistress?" he asked, flexing it. He tossed his old hand, still bleeding, to Discord. "Bon Appétit."

"Ooh, you shouldn't have!" Discord snapped his claw, and then the hand began disappearing bite by bite. As in, still on the ground, the hand looked like pieces were being bitten off by invisible mouths in chunks, accompanied by chomping sounds, even though Discord was far from it. When it was gone, Discord began patting his stomach in contentment, as if he had eaten the hand. Then he became green and began dry heaving. He made a disgusted face at the Defense Professor. "Ptah! Meat of kings indeed," he scoffed sarcastically, then harrumphed. "Celestia! Next time invite delicious aliens." He snapped his fingers and disappeared.

Into the resulting silence, the regal pony took center stage. "I am sorry," said Princess Celestia, as if speaking to the children, but addressing the adults. The pony looked ashamed and apologetic. "Discord does as he wishes, with little regard to authority. Or common courtesy. Or sense."

"I feel I should apologize as well," said Headmistress McGonagall. "Our Defense Professor is hardly better in that regard."

"I was simply demonstrating how to deal with Discord," said the man. "And chaos in general. Just go with the flow. He'll leave eventually."

"Or he'll escalate the joke," the pony warned. "I was half expecting him to ask if your entire species was rotten, or if it was just you."

"Did he really eat the hand?" Draco couldn't help but ask.

"No," said Celestia with certainty. "He is many things, but he is no cannibal."

"Cannibal?" asked Draco. "But… would it be cannibalism? We're not… whatever he was."

"You may not technically be Equinoids, but the Equestrian definition of cannibalism is one sapient creature eating another, and it is an unforgivable taboo."

"Even if each party is consenting?" asked Harry. "And no permanent harm is done?"

"Good question, Mr. Potter," said the Defense Professor. "I believe it is forgivable in exactly two general circumstances… no, make it three, with that being one of them. But even still, it is not recommended, for concerns of mental and physical health if nothing else."

"And this is the male royalty," sighed Celestia. "You two, I swear…"

"Please don't lump all noble wizards with them," said Draco, the heir to the most Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy, who now wished to distinguish his family name from the noble houses of Monroe and Potter in the eyes of this new foreign power.

"Quite," said his father, who probably wished to do the same. "We are not all like House Potter."

"Oh, I'm aware," said Celestia, meeting Draco's gaze. "Not a millionth of beings consider morality as carefully or thoroughly as these two. I know this quite well. I suppose I should not complain when the fruits of their journey manifest merely in distasteful conversation, given the state of Earth and humanity in general. I only wish the ears of my subjects might be spared the worst of their idle gossip."

"That attitude," said the Defense Professor, "is precisely why I'm curious to see what you'll think of something we've been working on." Her eyes turned to him. "Prince Excelsior has prepared a presentation about the three tribes period compared to modern earth. To help lower the expectations and standards that ponies might have of humanity's morality, but also to remind the average pony that Equinoids were hardly better once upon a time. I also prepared a reverse presentation for visiting humans. Two versions each, one for adults, and one for children. Luna did the voice over for all four."

"And you'd like me to preview them?" asked Celestia.

"Naturally," said the Defense Professor. "It's part of the schedule that you do, even. Alongside the rest of us."

The pony made a gesture that Draco was pretty sure meant 'go on', after which a parchment screen was set up in less than a minute. A wand wave dimmed the room's lights, and before anyone could say anything, the screen lit up, and a voice began speaking.

"Long ago, in the land of Equestria, there were three prominent tribes: The unicorns, the earth ponies, the pegasi." Images flashed across the screen, showing ethnically homogenous groups of ponies. "A terrible winter and a great threat brought these tribes together as one. Two alicorn sisters-" here it showed a white pony with pink hair and a dark pony with blue "-who bore the traits of all three tribes, who had been gifted with bodies that did not age, stepped forward to KEEP them together, despite their many differences." An image of an earth pony in coveralls and a straw hat was juxtaposed against a wealthy upper-class unicorn and a completely unclothed pegasus watching from above. "Despite their many discriminations." An image of young ponies having lunch, grouped together by race. "Despite their disagreements." Images of ponies shouting at each other, though there was no sound. "They persevered and prevailed." An image of a busy town of all three groups... and many other species too. "This is the story told to all ponies when they are young, and while it is true, it is also pinkwashed, for the full story is far, far uglier." An image of a clearly-screaming couple, with broken bottles scattered throughout the house. An image of a small, torn dress on a nightstand. An image of a bruised and bloody colt, not even crying, just staring vacantly as he waited in a line for a healer to tend to him. "What is not told, what is not commonly understood except by the bravest of pony historians, is the depths our depravity reached. Not the depravity of outside invaders, though they were depraved." A drawing of ponies impaled on spears, as if on display. "Not even the depravity of adults against other adults, which tended to be the most civilized form of interaction, sadly. The deepest depravity of all is when a parent abuses their foal, and back then, that was not only common, it was the norm." An image of a furious mare, hoof raised to strike out through the viewing window. "Back then, not just parents but adults in general – schoolteachers, aunts and uncles, grandparents, foalsitters, leaders, even complete strangers – would abuse foals every minute of every day, often behind closed doors, in manners that could not be proven except through testimony. It was not directly discussed in public. Or when it was, it was given polite terms like 'spanking' or 'discipline' or 'punishment', though the worst abuses were not even hinted. Those who did not abuse foals, who treated foals with love, with empathy, with the respect they would treat their fellow adults- those good ponies would never stand the company of adults who did otherwise. So the extent of most foal abuse was hidden. Minimized. Camouflaged." The image of the furious mare came back, and was quickly replaced with another image of the same mare, smiling and speaking peacefully with other adults. "Princess Luna, Alicorn of Night, with her special talent of dream-walking, pinpointed and pointed out abused foals to the guard. In her Night Court, she listened to many, many petitions of adult ponies who in their youth suffered unspeakable atrocities at the hooves of those around them. She was not the first to truly recognize the underlying patterns, the red flags and warning signs that pointed to abuse. But she was the first who could DO something about it across space and time. With insight bestowed and heeded, her sister – Princess Celestia, Alicorn of Day – set to eliminate these terrible wrongs from all of Equestria. And though it took a thousand years, and the help of many generations of scholars…" an image of a sunrise "…she has almost entirely succeeded."

Then there was a picture of a city, a school day about to start, a market, the interior of Circus, all of which contained images of more than just ponies.

"Equestria today is a land of friendship and harmony, where ponies, griffons, changelings, dragons, and other sapient beings interact with kindness and consideration. The greatest wrongs and arguments often stem from nothing worse than miscommunication and misunderstanding, not malice or callousness." The images shifted from primarily pony populations to other species. "After warfare failed them over the centuries, other countries followed in Equestria's footsteps, hoping to reach the prosperity set forth by Equestria's example. Griffons, our oldest and bitterest rivals, now walk our lands freely, without prejudice, as we walk theirs. Griffonia has slowly become happy and prosperous. The shy Changelings have come out of hiding and live as friends, not parasites. Even dragons, the most reclusive, traditional, and prideful species, have become less hostile to outsiders." The image of a pony city zoomed out until the city was no longer visible, until trees and landmarks were no longer visible, until it was an image of a still planet surrounded by stars. "The chaos that can be found here is happy, keeping things fresh and lively, and keeping us strong through conflict. The few great evils that remain on the planet Equus are imprisoned, or live far outside the reaches of civilization. And those evils are becoming fewer and fewer. You will see the evidence of this as you walk our streets, speak with our ponies, and witness our personalities." The image of the planet was put parallel to another planet, with landmasses in similar places, recognizable to anyone who has seen a globe. "The longer you visit, the more you will come to realize that the biggest difference between Earth and Equus lies not in the shape of our people, or their magic, or their abilities, or their intellect. The greatest difference is the extent to which we have taken our happiness. Our foals. Our families. Our friendships. Honesty. Truth. Loyalty to loved ones. Careful thought and consideration. Free Will. Liberty. Property rights. These are a few of our most sacred values. We invite those who share these values with open arms. To all visitors, know that our biggest rule is that foals must never be mistreated – never shouted at, never insulted, never hurt, never abused. Between adults, we have four rules: Do not murder. Do not rape. Do not assault. Do not steal. More simply, do not violate another's property. It is easy to remember, and I hope it will be equally easy to follow. In the event that it is not, transgressions within our borders will be mediated by us. Major transgressions will go straight to the crown, minor transgressions will be handled locally. For aesthetic matters, please use common sense. Considerations to cultural differences will be made, but we do have regulations against public obscenity, for example. A foal might see it, after all. That said, please enjoy yourselves. Welcome to Equestria."

When the screen faded and the lights returned, there was a thudding sound, and Draco turned to see Autumn stomping her feet on the ground. The Defense Professor leaned down and whispered something, and her face grew red, and she stopped. "Sorry," she squeaked, then started clapping her hands in an odd fashion, her fingers splayed and her hands matching each other symmetrically, rather than the proper method of the fingers on one hand meeting the palm of the other.

"No, no," said the same voice that had just been speaking, except it was now behind them. Eyes turned and beheld a new pony standing next to the first, a midnight-black pony with a flowing mane like stars in the night sky. "Thank you for the applause. One is better than none. The showcase of artistic endeavors meant to be widely publicized can be so stressful, you know. Any critiques worth mentioning?"

"Was it the one meant for foals, or adults?" asked the pristine white pony with a flowing mane like a rainbow.

"Adults, of course," said the Defense Professor.

"Then my only critique," said the white pony, "is that you did not show the other one."

"Tis not quite done yet," admitted the midnight-black pony. "And the mental dissociation required for Occlumency does qualify our guests as adults in some regards, sister, as you know. I would not have allowed it to be shown otherwise."

"Yes," sighed the white pony. "I know."

"If I may voice my opinion," said the voice of Headmistress McGonagall. "I do not agree."

The two ponies and the Defense Professor turned to face her.

"She was speaking legally," said the Defense Professor. "Just as underage magic laws are different. In Equestria, anyone who learns Occlumency legally qualifies as mentally capable of handling adult information. Once upon a time, it was the phrase 'when you're older'. Now it's 'when you're an Occlumens', at least in some households. Those beneath the age of majority who actually manage to rise to that challenge deserve at least that much courtesy as independent thinkers. Treating children well means treating them according to their varying maturities, personalities, and preferences. Occlumency is a complex area of law and custom, given how new it is here, but my point is that this is not a matter of our opinions as visitors, just as you would not have magic used in the hallways of Hogwarts, regardless of an outsider's opinion. But given that you do believe children should not see mature subjects, headmistress, I think you'll get along well with Equestrians on average. Autumn knows the Occlumency custom already, I doubt Mr. Potter or Mr. Malfoy disagree now that they know, and they may correct me if they do… Ms. Granger?" he asked. "It was my decision to show this. If you feel it was too traumatizing, you need only say it, and I will be held responsible."

But Hermione shook her head. "Being eaten to death by a troll was far more traumatizing," she said. "And so was the Dementor. And that false memory. And the conversations I don't remember. And almost being sentenced to Azkaban, and needing to swear myself to slavery to avoid it."

The white pony stared with wide eyes along with a few others.

Professor McGonagall's hand was on Hermione's shoulder.

"Ah…" said the Defense Professor, seeming to hesitate. "Yes, that would be…"

Draco shifted uncomfortably. Over this past week of questioning Harry, he'd come to realize just how lightly he'd come out of Voldemort's machinations. The difference between what he went through and what Hermione went through was the difference between being one of Voldemort's pawns and being the queen of Voldemort's enemy.

"Would you-"

"It's fine," said Hermione in a clipped tone. "Well, I mean, it's not. I mean the movie was fine. I'd rather not talk about the rest. Yet."

"Understood," said the Defense Professor.

"Not understood," said the white pony. "I was under the impression that the society of Magical Britain, for all its flaws, was not quite that bad."

"I recognize that tone…" said Father, now standing at Draco's side. "Yes, now I remember. Your Patronus spoke before the Wizengamot. You said you would invite Madam Longbottom to tea if you could."

"And I will when I can," the white pony said in tones of confirmation. "What of it?"

Father seemed to consider his words for a moment. "We have our laws, just as you have yours."

The black pony bristled. "The law is no excuse to send a child to be eaten by Dementors, Lucius Malfoy."

"The evidence at the time was quite damning," said Father coldly. "As the Defense Professor just explained, you ponies agree that some children are more mature than others, and our laws agree that exceptions may be made to try them as adults if they display sufficient mental capabilities."

The pony's gaze was locked with Father's. "Like a dark mirror," she said. "The correct principle applied in the exact incorrect fashion. We do not try children as adults. Ever. We treat them as adults sometimes, when they have earned it, when they are ready for it. It is done for their sake, not ours. It is certainly never done for vindictiveness. When crime is involved, we blame responsible adults, not foals, regardless of mental development."

"Then you should do the same here," Father said smoothly. "The whole fiasco with Ms. Granger was orchestrated by the will and wand of Voldemort, using my son as a pawn so that I would be struck down after acting in anger to protect him. Do not be so hasty in your condemnations."

The dark pony still had eyes only for Father. "I know that as well," she said. "Believe me, I have laid condemnation where it is truly due. I have been doing that all my many centuries of life, the past thirty-five years especially. And through my experience, I have learned that the difficulty lies not in the act of condemning, but in the skill required to precisely isolate that which can be condemned constructively, especially when the target is in the mirror. Yet more difficulty lies in the art of getting the guilty party to take responsibility for their past actions. And most difficult of all: getting the wrongdoer to understand the wrong they have done. Not as mere words," she said in a cautioning tone. "Not just up here," she tapped her forehead with a hoof. "But in here." She tapped her chest. "For now, that is all I shall say on the matter. We do have a schedule to keep."

As they were guided out of the room and through the halls, occasionally passing a pony in a maid's outfit, or wearing armor, Father led Draco to the back of the procession, where the Defense Professor now skulked.

"Who is she?" Father asked.

The Dark Lord seemed to consider the question. "If Princess Celestia is the face of this nation," he said, "Princess Luna is the soul."

"What would that make the other alicorns?" asked the girl walking beside him.

"Hm," said the man, tapping his cheek. "Twilight would be the magic, Cadence the heart, Excelsior the horn, or perhaps the hoof. Horizon the life, Airess the wings, Master Fool is the willpower. And alicorns who have not yet ascended… let's call them the future."

Father cleared his throat. "Do you have any… recommendations-" (orders) "-for future interaction with her?"

"Harm her and you will die a slow, painful death."

The girl giggled, slapping the man's robes.

"…The slow, painful death of old age, for you will be denied services of the stone if it's bad enough," said the Defense Professor. "The same as if you deliberately harm anybody outside necessary self defense or consented combat. Remember that the contract of the Philosopher's Hospital applies to all sapient beings. That said, she can handle herself in conversation. Between adults, words do not constitute harm, with the exception of credible threats. Speak with her however you please. Though if you wish to keep up with your son's progress, I would recommend heeding her advice. Perhaps petition her court. She's expecting an influx of human petitioners in the future."

"She's going to allow that?" asked Draco.

"She's looking forward to it," said the Defense Professor. "A thousand years ago her Night Court was a constant stream of stressful and complex issues. And while she did not like it at the time, she says that, in retrospect, it was a much more meaningful and lively existence. Today she is almost begging for a new deep evil to address. Her Court has been one easy case after the next – helpful, but not deeply satisfying, in the same way that walking a mile is not as satisfying to an athlete as running a marathon. She has had her decades-long reprieve of relative peace, in which she handled exactly one difficult case, and is ready for battle once more. So yes, she would allow you to petition, Lucius, though I would recommend you watch a few past petitions first, to understand how they typically go." The man withdrew three vials of silver liquid from his robes and offered them to father.

"…Under what pretext would I petition?" asked Father, accepting the vials.

"Counseling on marriage and parenting," said the man. "You'd not be petitioning her in her capacity as a head of state, you'd be petitioning for an hour or two of her time. Though she does better at prevention than cure. If a bunch of little problems seem to be getting worse over time, and what you're trying doesn't seem to be working as a fix, and you're open to advice, that is the best moment to petition, else you make the mistake of letting a losing game continue far longer than it should, and having to reconcile sunk costs afterwards."

When they got to the next room, the Defense Professor explained that, like Mary's room in Diagon Alley, this place is proof against all outside scrying, and the button he just pressed would serve as additional security and redundancy.

"This is necessary," said the man, "because we are about to share something that should not yet leave this room. Various efforts have been made to ensure that it won't escape by word of mouth either… except in one case. Professor Verres-Evans," he said, addressing Harry's father.

"Yes?" asked the man, somewhat apprehensively.

"In order for you to see what comes next." He pointed at a parchment on the table in the back of the room. "Please read that and sign it. It is a magically binding contract whose enforcement mechanism is paralysis on attempted breach. You will see that many here have already signed it, save Princess Luna, who is bound more firmly, and your son, who qualifies as one of the two people who are having you sign that contract. I am the other. You shall also have to consent to what protections we can provide, for muggles are far more vulnerable than wizards."

It took around fifteen minutes for questions to be asked, answers to be provided, constraints to be comprehended, and the contract to be signed.

"With that out of the way," said the man, smiling widely. "To start, you should understand that this is an admission to criminality. We confess. Mr. Potter and I are unrepentant lawbreakers with absolutely no intention of turning ourselves in to the Ministry of Magic, nor coming quietly if we are caught."

"Must you put it that way?" asked Celestia.

"I guess you're right, Princess Celestia," said Harry solemnly. "We deserve two years in Azkaban, two years of Dementor exposure, each, for our terrible crime."

"Only two years?" asked Draco skeptically.

"Exactly two years," said Harry, no longer solemn. "Think of it like a puzzle. Professor McGonagall, you're in the best position to solve it. Off the top of your head, what laws do you know about that have a mandatory punishment of exactly two years?"

"The law of animagus registration," she said without pause, followed by a visible pause.

"Indeed," said the Defense Professor. "A wizard who commits the terrible crime of keeping their magical abilities secret must serve a mandatory sentence of two years in Azkaban, surrounded by Dementors. Or they did, until a few months ago. Now it's just the two years of imprisonment. Unless they were wealthy enough to pay the fine, and politically important enough for the Wizengamot to choose the fine."

"A completely fair and just law," said Harry. "It's not like wizards have a wise and ancient tradition of keeping rare and difficult magics a secret or anything. And it's not like the auror's wouldn't check anyway, if the point was preventing animagi from escaping Azkaban. Wouldn't someone think of those poor, innocent bureaucrats who'd have less paperwork to file? Right, Professor McGonagall?"

The Headmistress of Hogwarts looked from Harry to Hermione to Autumn to Draco. "I am certain the answer to that question should be obvious," she said. "It is important for wizards, young and old, to avoid breaking the law if they can."

The Defense Professor was chuckling. "You know, Headmistress, is it not a Gryffindor's duty to bravely denounce unjust laws? Doing what is right does not mean blind obedience to the law. And I know you are not blindly obedient."

"Do not presume to know what I believe, Professor," said McGonagall.

"I am not presuming," said the man with a smile. "I was firmly aware of your beliefs last year. I had to be. If you really want to know what you truly believe to be right and wrong in terms of the law, ask yourself this question, of every law you know: Would I have reported Professor Quirrell over this? If the answer is yes, then you believe the law is right. If not, then you believe the law is wrong, or trivial, or not strictly necessary for everybody to follow all the time. You would not have turned me in to be eaten by Dementors if you had discovered I was an unregistered animagus last year, which I was. You would have turned me in if you learned I'd egregiously harmed a student. We both know this. Although it is unfair to be putting you on the spot. Let's ask everyone. By show of hands and wings, who believes two years of Dementor exposure is a fair punishment for not registering their forms?"

Lucius Malfoy was the only one who raised his hand, while Professor McGonagall vocally refrained.

The Defense Professor's smile had not left. "You would condemn those who blatantly break laws to Azkaban, Lord Malfoy?" he asked, giving a significant look to Draco. "You cannot imagine being the responsible party in keeping magical abilities private, in a way that violates Ministry law?"

"I am sure I do not know what you are talking about," said the man smoothly, though he did lower his hand, and he did say, "but I suppose you may have a point. I admit, I have an... occasionally irrational instinct to respect existing legal precedent and tradition. The animagus law is recent enough not to be noble or ancient, I suppose."

"As is the ban on all children getting their wands prior to their acceptance letters at Hogwarts, I presume?" the Defense Professor asked, still smiling.

"Where are you taking this, Lord Monroe?" asked Father, ignoring the question. "Are you suggesting legal overhaul?"

"Yes," said the Defense Professor. "I am. But that can come later. For now, I am simply establishing that nobody in this room agrees with the animagus law before Mr. Potter and I explain what we got up to in our missing years. Others can explain at their own leisure, if they wish. If it's not obvious by now, we are animagi, and we will not register for reasons that will become apparent shortly. Would anybody who does not already know the answer like to guess at our forms?"

"…I would guess snake," said Lucius. "At least for you, Professor."

"Either you are cheating with prior knowledge, or you are good at guessing, but no, Lucius, my snake animagus form was lost. It's something else now."

"Oh, Merlin," Draco groaned, the answer coming to him in a flash of inspiration. He had been wondering how the pony angle mixed with Harry's attack on Azkaban ever since the pony thing turned out to be real. "You're both pony animagi, aren't you?"

There was a pause.

"I'll be honest," said Professor Monroe. "I was not expecting you to get that close to the answer, Mr. Malfoy. You are almost correct, and I would award twenty-five Monroe points and five points to Slytherin if we were in class. Ten if you were in Ravenclaw."

Draco stood as proudly as his noble training taught him to do, which was about as proudly as any twelve-year-old could.

"Almost correct?" asked Father curiously.

"Indeed. Mr. Potter, would you prefer to explain?"

Harry Potter stepped forward, wearing a wide grin. "Alright, here's the fun part. When we were doing the animagus procedure, we were in a bit of a predicament. We'd been forced into different, seemingly permanent forms by a very powerful magical device that might have a mind of its own, and we didn't know if we would change back when we were no longer under that device's influence. When we did know we could permanently change ourselves into whatever we pleased, whether the device liked it or not, we didn't want to give up our new forms because they came with some pretty useful perks and powerups, and we didn't know if permanently changing ourselves would give those up. So we decided to keep the forms a bit longer while we tested if it was possible to become human animagi, because we did still want to be humans again. That's how we proved it is possible to become a humanmagus. So, technically speaking, we're not human animagi with pony forms, we're pony animagi with human forms, although it's hard to verify because the animagus reversal spell just doesn't work on us in either form. But when we were going through the animagus process, we were transfiguring ourselves into humans, and the potion used human blood-" Professor McGonagall gasped "-which had luckily been extracted and preserved from our own human bodies ahead of time," Harry added, "so our new forms are a genetic match to our old ones. That's why I think it's probably the case we're human animagi, not pony animagi."

"And all of that," said the Defense Professor, "is just one of the reasons we can't exactly register our forms at the ministry. There are a few more."

"So…" said Professor Michael Verres-Evans, Harry's father. "If I'm following this correctly, Harry, you're saying you can turn into a pony?"

"That's the short of it, Dad. Professor Monroe is keeping his form quiet for extremely hilarious reasons that everyone will laugh at, and the main reason I haven't gone public is to avoid death by crushing hugs from Ravenclaw girls. And you can't make me go public Headmistress McGonagall, because I'm not a brave Gryffindor, I'm a shy Ravenclaw, so there."

"What's wrong with crushing hugs?" asked Autumn.

"At a guess," said Luna, "I suspect they would be extremely one-sided, non-consensual, and possibly quite painful."

"Or at the very least," said Harry's father, "persistently begged-for, time-consuming, and repetitive."

"And immediately followed by requests for ponyback rides," added the Defense Professor.

"Exactly," said Harry. "Though come to think of it, at least I wouldn't have to worry about my mane getting pulled or styled. But I'd still start the day with white fur and end up pink. Oh! And that's why everyone would find Professor Monroe's form hilarious, by the way. Because he's pink. Hot pink. With a lime green mane."

"Pink?" asked Harry's father.

"Why would that be hilarious?" asked Autumn. "Sounds like normal colours to me."

"And me," said Draco. "Especially during Yuletide. Dumbledore's favorite outfit was pink. There's a rumor it's the colour of power and madness."

"Uh…" said Harry.

"He was just trying to soften the blow of the hilarity," said Professor Monroe. "As you can see-" he vanished from sight in a fashion that was not the standard Animagus blur, and then in a flash of green flame, a bright pink pony with a green mane stood in his place. "The real reason," said a female voice, "is that my form is a mare, not a stallion."

For some reason, Harry looked shocked at the reveal.

"I cannot tell you how disturbing I find that," said Luna.

"Ditto," said Autumn.

Draco knew his face was twitching, and he barely stopped from bursting into laughter.

"Amusing," said Father flatly.

Harry's father looked a bit lost.

McGonagall's eyes were wide. "A different sex between animagus forms? How is that possible?"

"I'm afraid that puzzle's answer is beyond your ability to imagine as yet," said the female voice. "So I shall reveal the answer." A green flash enveloped the pony, leaving behind a pony that looked like a bug. "It's not possible," said a male voice. "The creature you see before you is called a Changeling, and it is capable of taking on any pony voice and appearance. Think of it like a metamorphpony, operating on illusion instead of transfiguration." Another green flash and he took on the appearance of a purple pony wearing lipstick and lace stockings. A dry female voice rasped, "I can be anything you want me to be, baby."

"I have not seen that one before," remarked Luna, raising an eyebrow.

Another green flash and he became a plain pony, red, no wings, no horn. "I recently visited a few muggle areas," he said. "Next time, I will not make the mistake of wearing clothes that suggest potential wealth. And I will not walk down that particular street again, at that time of night, in search of a private Apparation location."

"Couldn't you have just used muggle wards?" asked Harry.

"That would have been admitting inadequacy and defeat. Cheating is technique, but only a fool cheats when it would be wiser to win honestly. Taking shortcuts can be necessary, and it is an essential life skill to notice the clever bypasses that exist at every turn, in every walk of life. But exploiting them habitually, at the first sign of difficulty, can pollute the progress of practice, training, and genuine development of skill. If I had cheated at something that trivial, using an unclever method known to and practiced by almost all wizards, I would have lost an opportunity to improvise and improve. And I would have missed out on an interesting experience." A flash of green, and a mirror image of the black pony with a mane of the midnight sky appeared. "Earth is a long ways away from retiring its oldest profession, I fear." Another flash, and a dark pony with bat wings, blue slitted eyes, a horn, and fangs appeared.

"Earth's oldest profession?" asked Autumn. "What's that? Hunting?"

"Ah," said Professor McGonagall. "I think it is time we move on to more important subjects."

"That only made her more curious, Headmistress," said the thestral-ish pony dryly. "It's prostitution, Autumn."

"If I may interrupt," said Father. "Was that 'changeling' creature your base form?"

"No," said the pony. "If you'd like a hint at my real form, Mr. Potter already gave its inverse. You are extremely unlikely to find the truth funny, Lucius. And you will likely accuse me of finding it hilarious. Which I do, to some extent."

Father visibly hesitated. "Is your true form the one you are wearing right now?"

The pony grinned, then pulled out a cloak from seemingly nowhere and draped it over his back, where it rested flat, as if wings were not beneath it. He pulled out a pair of glasses and put them on, which hid his fangs and horn and cat-like eyes. "Prince Excelsior, at your service," he said without the standard genuflect, or even inclining his head. "Or rather, at Magical Britain's service. A thousand hours of service, to be precise. Is that not an amusing punishment for my crimes, Lucius?"

Draco suddenly got the unspoken implication.

Headmistress McGonagall took a sharp intake of breath.

"Grossly wrong and excessive is what it is," said Autumn.

Draco suddenly wondered if she knew about Lord Voldemort. Hadn't she signed the 'secrets' contract? Or did she simply not believe in punishment for criminals at all, even Lord Voldemort? But the Sorting Hat couldn't possibly have put her in Slytherin if she was that Hufflepuff.

"A thousand hours for offense is stupid," she added.

...Or maybe she was just taking the original punishment-fitting-the-crime question at face value and not looking for hidden meanings.

"To be fair," said the Defense Professor, "they also suffered direct Dementor exposure, public shame and humiliation, and incredibly unpleasant enchanted tomatoes to the face."

"Professor!" the headmistress hissed. "Your final lesson last year was of your own free will?!"

He shrugged unapologetically. "I never said it wasn't. It should come as no surprise that I arranged the entire scenario from start to finish. The students learned a valuable lesson that day. As did... some members of the Wizengamot."

"It would also mean..." Father observed slowly, "that you destroyed the Dementors of the world... because you were vulnerable to them?"

"An interesting question, Lucius. One might even say brave."

Father gave a humourless smile. "I thought carefully before asking it. The situation is under control, regardless of vulnerabilities, is it not?"

"Indeed. In point of fact, Lucius, your suspicion is exactly correct. I originally agreed to a binding pledge to defeat the world's Dementors with that exact motive thirty-five years ago. But things change. I haven't been vulnerable to Dementors for some years now, and I followed through on that pledge, binding or no, due to newly acquired motivations. And I will point out that it was Mr. Potter who did most of the destruction."

"I knew it!" said Draco triumphantly.

"Though 'destruction' isn't the right word," said the Defense Professor, giving Draco an amused grin. "'Healing' would say it better. I simply provided the logistical support."

"'Simply', he says," said Harry. "Because traveling to all corners of the world in a single night is 'simple'."

"My thoughts precisely," said the midnight-mane pony with a smile.

"Now hold on just a minute," said Harry's father. "You're saying... Harry..."

Harry smiled widely at his father. "Now I am become Event Horizon, destroyer of Death."

"Event Horizon?" said the rainbow-maned pony.

"Muggle astronomy jargon," said Harry. "The theoretical point where the gravitational pull of a black hole becomes inescapable."

"And you call yourself this because...?" asked the midnight-maned pony.

"Because in our language, it's a modification from plain old 'horizon'. But mostly because there's no going back now. Wanna see, Dad?"

"Ah... Son, I hope you realize that paraphrasing Oppenheimer doesn't exactly inspire the greatest confidence..."

Harry's smile turned into a grin. "I think it's appropriate, now that I can make happiness nukes."

"...Happiness nukes..." his father repeated. "If that's what it sounds like, involuntary mass ecstasy trips don't inspire the greatest confidence either."

There was a brief pause.

"You know," said Harry thoughtfully. "Now that you've put it like that, that's a good point, Dad. I mean, it's not a bioweapon, or a drug or anything like that, but maybe it's not the best idea to go around using it without prior consent. Not that I've done it since June, and it was certainly justified then, because Dementors, but still."

"Mm... I wouldn't call it a happiness bomb," said the midnight pony. "More like a happiness amplifier. At least from the perspective of its recipients."

"Honestly, Princess Luna, I don't think that's helping. Don't worry Dad, it's not an indoctrination beam either. Happiness is a prerequisite on my end, but at most it's a side-benefit on the receiving end. I don't think it even has a significant uplifting effect on somebody unless they've had recent Dementor exposure. Right, Professor?"

"Correct," said the Defense Professor. "There are those who do not have any existing happiness to be amplified. For that side-effect to reliably occur does indeed require recent Dementor exposure, and for that same Dementor to be destroyed soon after."

"Right," said Harry. "Because it returns what Dementors have recently taken. But anyway, thanks for the words of caution, Dad. Even if it's not for the reasons you're thinking, I guess showing off would have too many unintended side-effects to be safe."

The white pony cleared her throat. "Not as many as you'd think in Equestria, where it is already known and taught, and at high noon, when it is already bright outside." Then, with her horn glowing golden, "Attention all denizens of Equestria. If, in the next few minutes, something strange and magical happens, please do not be alarmed. If you are flying, or are otherwise in motion, please find a safe place to land and wait for the next ten minutes. Accidents that happen may be reimbursed by the crown, but please try to avoid them." Her horn stopped glowing. "Excelsior, if you would?"

The Defense Professor nodded, then closed his eyes. After about a minute, during which Harry and the white pony had a hushed conversation, his eyes opened. "Thorax has given the go-ahead. It's now or never."

"No," said the white pony. "It is now and ever more. Prince Event Horizon," she said while staring straight at Harry. "I know you would have preferred to do things entirely your own way, and you may still do so if you wish, but as it was your own suggestion... will you now announce yourself?"

All eyes were on Harry, and all those who said "Prince?" were ignored by those who didn't.

"...Clever," said Harry after a brief pause. "This way I don't have to show my face. Or even my pony form... possibly. And you're right, I did suggest it. Alright, you've convinced me."

Those who saw it, who felt it, who were encompassed by it, they knew the world would not be the same. A few laughed. A few cried. Most were silent.

No one who saw it would ever forget it, that wondrous and awesome display of light, love, and happiness, easily dwarfing the mountain range beneath it. Like the radiance of a thousand suns bursting at once into the sky, like the splendor of a mighty one spreading, spreading, spreading until it enveloped a nation.

In its epicenter, as three more voices and three more (comparatively unseeable) motes of light joined in, one being leaned over to two others and said, "Now we are all fathers of saints."

Headmistress McGonagall would later think that the spell could well be called unprecedented, magnificent, beautiful, stupendous, and invigorating. No good wizard-made phenomenon of such tremendous power had occurred before in living memory, and even most of the evil powers paled in comparison. Mere words, she would think, are inadequate tools for acquainting those not present with the magical, mental, and psychological effects.

Princess Luna thought it was the nearest thing to universal beauty that could possibly be imagined. She was sure that, in one way or another, at the start of a good world – in the first millisecond of new Earth's existence – humanity will finally see what Equestria is seeing. Whether that already happened months ago, or has yet to happen, she couldn't say.

Chapter 71: Are You Prepared?

As Harry's Patronus grew larger and larger, he could feel sparks of sapient life enter the radius, touched by his happy thought, and that only spurred him on. It must have been the size of Equestria when he felt it: one of those many, many sparks winking out. It was so sudden, so unexpected, surprising, and saddening, that his own Patronus winked out too.

He had, initially, cast it as a human. He had, halfway through, switched to pony form – mostly (i.e. entirely) because it made the spell easier and partly (i.e. as a rationalization) because it felt appropriate to at least be in his 'princely' form while introducing himself to Equestria as its newest prince. He had been planning to switch back to human before fully dispelling his charm, or at the same moment of dispelling, before the eyes of Draco and Dad and Headmistress McGonagall and Lucius Malfoy had time to adjust and see him.

So much for that.

"I think somepony just died," he said to the stunned faces, which may or may not be able to see him at the moment. He became human once more, not caring if anybody managed to see his pony form (though they probably hadn't if their blinking was anything to go by) and pointed a finger. "Exactly where I'm pointing. Probably on the border of Equestria."

"One moment," said the Defense Professor, still wearing the shape of Prince Excelsior. He disappeared in a crack of what Harry recognized to be phoenix fire. Not fifteen seconds later, "Worry not," said Prince Excelsior after flaming back into existence. "It was a controlled setting, and she had a Horcrux. Automatic resurrection procedures are already being carried out."

Professor McGonagall gasped. "A Horcrux?!"

Harry's own voice had asked the same thing, at the same time, but in a tone of relieved curiosity instead of surprised horror.

The thestral met the headmistress's gaze. "Not the kind Voldemort invented. And not the kind which provided a false pretense of immortality, the kind that existed prior to Voldemort, which Dumbledore incorrectly assumed to tear off and store a fragment of soul, and which required murder. Rest assured, headmistress, present equinoid company would have objected if that were true of the modern Horcrux spell, nor would they have allowed mass implementation of a ritual requiring the sacrifice of sapient creatures."

"Mass-implementation?" Harry inquired in further curiosity.

"Almost anypony who wants one may have a Horcrux," the thestral alicorn stated. "As may anybody in this room, should you wish it."

The mouth of the Headmistress flapped uselessly.

"The rest of Equestria," Luna interjected, "calls them 'soul safety stones' or 'anchors'. My fool of a prince is simply sentimental for the 'dark' name, the one that combines 'horror' and 'crux' in your language. Or in this case he was being deliberately inflammatory?" Her voice rose at the end, as if uncertain and asking for confirmation.

The dark thestral shook his head. "In this case I simply do not wish to waste time. Present company should know of Voldemort's legacy sooner rather than later."

"Professor," said the headmistress. She now seemed less like she was ready to institute the fifth degree of Transfiguration caution, and instead merely seemed intensely inquisitive, perhaps at the first degree of caution. "I think it best if you explain yourself. Now."

"I shall," said the pony. "Lord Voldemort's greatest creation, unbeknownst to anybody in the world save himself, was an invented sacrificial ritual that granted true immortality in exchange for human sacrifice – or more specifically, the sacrifice of magical sapient creatures. Man, goblin, or centaur, it made no difference, so long as they had a mind, and so long as they had magic. The original horcrux spell did not do this. It imprinted a ghost of the caster's current state of mind into a device, a ghost which could go on to possess others. But there was no link between that ghost and the caster after the fact, and Merlin's Interdict did not consider such ghosts alive, and so neither the caster nor his lore would live on after death, only a greatly weakened copy of his past self. Unsatisfied with that facsimile of eternity, Tom Riddle modified and improved upon it. Thus did Tom Riddle create hundreds of true Horcruxes for himself."

"Hundreds?!" asked a startled, unexpected voice.

"Yes, Autumn. Hundreds." The thestral looked back to McGonagall. "And this is on top of everything you know about, for he never used that ritual when anybody else might have seen it. But Tom Riddle also saved the world from Nuclear Armageddon because he did not want the world to be destroyed. He arranged for the Stone of Permanence to be stolen, then later studied and reproduced, for he did not want there to only be a single, easily-stolen stone, and this allowed for spare stones to be made. He spent years modifying his own ritual on a conceptual level – perhaps one of the most dangerous ventures known to wizardkind – to comply with Equestrian morals. That has earned him a place here, if not Magical Britain. Tom Riddle was horribly evil, but not quite in the way he was pretending in his tenure as the Dark Lord. The persona of Lord Voldemort was, in the first place, deliberately invented as a joke."

"It might be best to get to the point," Luna suggested, perhaps due to the Headmistress's expression.

"So be it," said the Defense Professor. "Dumbledore used prophetic knowledge to arrange for Lord Voldemort to make Harry Potter into a good Tom Riddle. Voldemort, too, tried to cleverly exploit Trelawney's prophecy to his own ends by making Harry Potter into a copy of Tom Riddle." He paused a moment to let that sink in. "But Dumbledore didn't realize that's what happened until after the fact, since prophecies are such vague things. I'm told that when he did realize it, he burst into full-blown laughter in the Snape confrontation."

"It's when I asked if needs to take his meds, if that helps you remember, headmistress."

Again, her mouth flapped uselessly.

"Harry Potter then followed in both of his wise old wizards' footsteps, exploiting Trelawney's prophecy, hopefully for the last time, in order to arrange for me to render Lord Voldemort..."

"Redeemed?" suggested Autumn.

"Not quite. I would like to think that term applies to Tom Riddle, but it is loaded and vague. The term that now most accurately applies to Voldemort is 'all but a remnant'. Voldemort destroyed all but a remnant of Harry Potter, remaking the baby in his own darkly intelligent image, with the remnant of light from his parents remaining. And then Harry Potter returned the favour, remaking Voldemort in a light image and allowing those two different spirits to reside in the same world. This is why Snape froze multiple times in the office, if you were curious. He realized this implication."

"Professor..." said Headmistress McGonagall. "I... I still do not understand in the slightest. Even if Voldemort was just a mask, I cannot imagine Tom Riddle being anything other than a monster."

"I could not have imagined it either," said the thestral. "Even with full context, it is hardly believable. But so is the founding of Hogwarts, so is the disappearance of Atlantis, and so are many accomplishments of Merlin. Some events of history can only be believed by seeing them or their legacy with your own eyes. We see them as brute facts of the world now. But imagine trying to imagine the founding of Hogwarts before it was actually done. Or the Interdict of Merlin. If you were speaking to wizards of those eras, and if you had said such things might be done some day in the near future, you would have been viewed as a hopeless optimist at best, or an insane idiot at worst. Do you disagree with that historical observation, Headmistress McGonagall? You may take some time to think about it."

"I… well, I understand the argument," said the Headmistress. "But I simply cannot imagine- well, I suppose neither could the wizards of history imagine… but even still, it is simply impossible to imagine that applies to Tom Riddle, professor. Even if, as you say, it looks like he's redeemed, how could you ever be certain of such a thing by his actions alone? Even if he acts for the good of the world, it could just as easily be for a horrible motive."

He shrugged. "Not if he takes a precisely-worded Unbreakable Vow. But to answer your question of certainty, headmistress, the short version, the end result, is that Tom Riddle can now cast the true Patronus Charm, fully corporeal. Thirty-four years ago, learning it- or rather, learning how to be a good enough person to cast it- became his inexorable goal, his single greatest ambition, more difficult by far than anything that had come before. The combined machinations of Dumbledore, the Boy-Who-Lived, myself, prophecy, Time itself, and more likely than not, the wish-granting Mirror of the Atlanteans, all joined forces to contribute to this goal. So many things went just exactly right that even Dumbledore, who thinks in stories and prophecy, did not believe it without the words coming from a Patronus. Riddle's Patronus. After extensive questioning."

"And even then he was highly skeptical," added Princess Luna. "And was I a mere footnote," she asked in faux offense, "or is there a reason you left me out of your list of machinators?"

"I would prefer not to call you a machinator." The Defense Professor looked to his audience. "Princess Luna was Tom Riddle's primary therapist, mental healer, and greatest moral influence throughout those thirty-four years. She dedicated significantly more hours and effort to the task than anyone else."

"Therapist?" asked Lucius Malfoy, raising an eyebrow.

Prince Excelsior gave a half-nod of acknowledgement. "There were other factors and many other beings involved, but she was the greatest individual influence. When I say multiple parties manipulated the exactly correct circumstances for Tom Riddle to become a better person, what that means in practice is that everyone else dumped the majority of the actual work load upon her back."

"Sorry about that," said Harry Potter, sounding genuinely apologetic towards the princess.

"There is little reason for you to apologize," said Princess Luna. "Your efforts were truly exceptional, young prince. The only reason it can be said that I put more hours to the task than you did is because you were only here for a year. And I am glad you did not stay a moment longer, now that I know the whole story." She faced the thestral. "Also, please do not sell yourself short. The majority of the work load was upon your back. You dedicated more hours to the task than any of us."

He gave a light smile and shrug.

"Excuse me," said Headmistress McGonagall. "But I must protest. Of all the wizards in the world, Voldemort in particular was the most irredeemable. Even if he can cast a Patronus, nothing he can do will ever make up for the evils he has done."

"Indeed," said Prince Excelsior easily. "I expect that will be all of Magical Britain's opinion on the matter. Certainly those he hurt will never forgive him. He understands this, which is why Tom Riddle will be living most of his life in Equestria, especially if the truth is revealed to the wider public. Naturally, this information will stay between us for now, the same as the Death Eaters I delivered to Equestria not long ago. I do not say that Tom Riddle is or ever will be redeemed in the eyes of Magical Britain or anybody he hurt, nor do I say he should be redeemed in their eyes. But I do say that he is here to stay. Tom Riddle is the leading magical expert on all things related to death and how to avoid it. He has saved the world twice over, and he intends to save it a few times more, however often it is needed – a task which can be utterly thankless, and not at all pleasant. That is the true punishment he faces for the crimes of Voldemort, on top of the ten years of solitary confinement he served after his first death, and the subsequent thirty-five years of open confinement in Equestria. I do not ask you to forgive him, Headmistress, or even to believe in his redemption. I do not ask any positive action from you at all, and you are contracted to negative action unless permitted otherwise. I only ask that you try to understand."

Headmistress McGonagall took many deep breaths. "What, precisely, would you like to be understood, professor? That a monster walks free merely because he is useful to the world?"

The pony shook his head. "Many Death Eaters are not especially useful to the world – well, not yet, and perhaps not ever – and they all walk freely even as we speak. Ponies do not believe in doing any more harm or imprisonment than strictly necessary to prevent future violations of life and property. For the Death Eaters, that means Unbreakable Vows – the harshest of all their punishments save outright ostracism from their society, which is reserved for those who refuse the Vows. Tom Riddle's case was more complicated, but the results speak for themselves. And also keep in mind that his physical, magical, political, and mental prowesses are stronger than they've ever been. What I am asking you to understand is that, for better or worse, Tom Riddle is beyond Magical Britain's jurisdiction. He has not and will not be punished in traditionally barbaric wizarding ways, just as his Death Eaters are no longer being so punished. That is all."

When it became clear that the headmistress would, at the very least, need time to think about all of that, the Defense Professor suggested they continue the tour.

Next stop: Circus. Because a non-interactive tour is just too boring.

"What is this place?" asked Headmistress McGonagall, eyes wide at the vast canopy surrounding her.

"I'm so glad you asked," said the second Draconequus she'd seen that day, startling the living daylights out of her. He was white spotted with rainbow dots, as was the wide canopy around them. "You are entering a sovereign city, zen-state of chaos, free from the suffocating clutches of societal law! I am Circus, head ringleader, the world's one and only Nationequus, where anarchy rules and rules drool." He pointed to a sign of rules that was, currently, drooling hungrily, with sharp teeth that looked like they might devour any who came too close. "Feel free to trespass through my trachea whenever you want and without permission, strange creatures I've never seen before. There is no such thing as 'illegal' immigration. This is a safe space where everyone everywhere is welcomed into my rolling stomach with a wide-open, gaping clawed tentacle maw so that they can be brutally beaten in battle after battle. But if you give me a stomach-ache, or I give you a headache, I reserve the right to throw you up at my convenience, so try not to do that. Tah tah!"

And then it was gone.

The tent was abuzz with excited gossip about the magical phenomenon that had just happened. Circus had caught the entire thing in memory, allowing circus-goers to replay the scene of a glowing white pony Patronus growing out of Canterlot Castle and encompassing the entire nation.

But that wasn't the only thing they were excited about. At the end of the day, it's not a subject that holds conversation. You can only go "Did you see it too?" and "What do you think the new Prince is like?" so many times.

"Who do you think will win the next Death Battle?", on the other hand, that is a topic that sticks.

Not that everyequus even knew to have that conversation, since information on Death Battles is strictly regulated. Ponies are allowed to know of them, but unless they are an Occlumens, or they have signed up themselves and signed a contract of non-disclosure, they aren't allowed to know many of the details.

Scenes of past Death Battles are available only to those who participated in them, because Celestia, Luna, Twilight Sparkle, Princess Cadence, Thorax, and even Prince Excelsior agreed that they should not be used for entertainment, only for self-improvement. After the initial live footage, which any Occlumens can watch, only carefully curated scenes may exist, those without gore or death. A few awesome scenes from past Death Battles have escaped into the general public, but they are all what a muggle would call PG 13, and could just as easily have happened in normal battles if not for the intensity and deadliness of some of the spells on display.

Naturally, only Horcruxed ponies who expressly consent to it may participate in Death Battles – making it fairly niche – but otherwise it is one of the least restrictive Circus events. The fewest rules exist and the fewest spells are forbidden.

There are also various iterations of Death Battles, just like there are various iterations on stun-matches. And the goal of Death Battles is not necessarily to kill everypony else. In a team Death Battle, one team can win if the entire enemy team is merely stunned. In a free-for-all, you can win if everypony else is stunned. In some modes, there are other objectives, like territory control. But stunned ponies do not disappear from the battlefield. Even dead bodies don't disappear. So if you wish to play nice, you run the risk of innervated opponents. (Mutilation of unconscious bodies and/or corpses is one of the few regulations, however.)

That weekend's visitors to Equus would not be participating in the Death Battles. But they would be learning about them, if they didn't know already, and they would be watching.

After the children played two full stunmatches themselves, of course. Doing it the other way around would frighten Headmistress McGonagall and Professor Michael Verres-Evans far too much.

The children did not play in the same games as each other. There are so many games going on at one time that it's rare for coincidences like that to happen naturally, unless you play a lot or deliberately synchronize when you queue. Each child played two games, the first in human form, the second in pony form (if they had one).

Headmistress McGonagall, Michael Verres-Evans, and Lucius Malfoy, after being familiarized with the viewing system in the first game, were instructed to attempt to identify Hermione, Harry, and Autumn, despite being in their pony forms.

Headmistress McGonagall had the easiest time of it, having seen Hermione's pony form earlier that day. All she really needed to do was look for the colour brown amongst the profiles.

Michaels Verres-Evans had some difficulty, but eventually managed to solve the problem by using the function of sorting the profiles of the Equestrians in the match by 'date joined'. He eliminated all of the profiles that joined over a year ago, was left with ten profiles to choose from, and after eliminating the females and the non-ponies, narrowed it down further to five. From there, he was left with choosing between 'Big Bang' and 'Mithril'. The name would have been a dead giveaway, but Big Bang was far too old at age 15, so that left Mithril at age 13. He knew that was his son's true age, despite having just celebrated his 12th birthday over the Summer.

It still upset him that he had missed a whole year of his son's life. It would have upset him even more if not for the conversation he'd had with his wife in April, back when he thought he would be missing the rest of his son's life period. His son had taken his concerns seriously, apologized profusely, and when that hadn't worked and Michael remained depressed about the whole thing, Harry had joked that he would bring him and Mum along on his next magical adventure to an alternate universe frozen out of Time if they truly insisted on being there for him, but Michael doesn't get to complain about how many tentacles he has in his eldritch abomination form.

Lucius Malfoy, strangely enough, had little trouble identifying Ms. Query. He eliminated the males from his search, then quickly noticed an anomaly, in that one "Madam Chaos" wore an alicorn enchantment on her mane and had her age in quotation marks – which by now he had realized were the result of extensive Time Turner usage, or other circumstances that result in an age that differs from what a person's date of birth might suggest, as was the case on Mr. Potter's and Ms. Granger's profiles. He confirmed his guess by listening to her voice, watched her fight for a few minutes, then requested that he watch the rest of his own son's second battle.

"So, Dad," said Harry Potter when he returned to the adult contingent of humans – the last of everyone to do so. "Figure it out?"

"I think so. Mithril, right?"

Harry nodded. "Yup. Just an alias like Azathoth."

"Mithril?" asked Autumn Query. She brought a hand to her face. "Do you have to make it that obvious?"

"It'll only be obvious in retrospect," said Harry, grinning evilly. "I've been in Circus since July, and it's not like anyone's noticed me yet. It'll be a knee-slapper when everyone learns, won't it?"

"More like a face-slapper," said Autumn.

"I don't get it," said Draco. "What's so obvious about goblin metal?"

Harry adopted a lecturing cadence. "Silver Wing is an important name in recent Equestrian history. He revolutionised the field of pegasus magic at age twelve, but then he mysteriously vanished thirty-four years ago and nopony has seen him since. Mithril is magical silver and also goblin metal, and given that Silver Wing has since ascended to full alicorn status, making him far more magical than before, well... I thought it was an appropriate alias."

"I wish I could say I know you're joking," said Draco, "but you're telling the truth aren't you?"

Harry grinned again. "Wanna see my museum?"

The Defense Professor cleared his throat. "In due time, Mr. Potter. It's on the itinerary."

"It is?"

"After the next item, yes."

"What's the next item?"

"You'll be watching your first Death Battle."

Harry didn't know why he had been expecting it to be a normal 'Death Battle', if there could even be such a thing. But upon the roster of participating contestants was the name "Voldemort".

The Defense Professor had taken a trip to the loo – a Time Turner anchor point, no doubt -

It's important to note that even though ponies who sign up to Death Battles mostly know what they're getting themselves into, even though they know everyequus has a Horcrux and won't truly die, there are still many who refuse to take the lives of their opponents.

Death Battles are mandatory for members of the Equestrian reserves, for even if you refuse to take a life, you must learn what it is like to be on a battlefield of deadly spells and potentially ruthless opponents.

Some rare ponies are capable of killing. Non-ponies are capable of it more often. When Death Battles began a number of years ago, Excelsior himself was the only one throwing around deadly spells, and he had a knack for putting his opponents into scenarios that heavily punished those who did not return fire in equal or greater force. More than a few times, he spent the whole battle going around reviving every unconscious enemy, undoing any non-lethal methods of "victory", dragging the battle out for hours. (This was before the "shrinking arena" iteration of battles).

Excelsior had also introduced Equestria to the Killing Curse, even as the counter-charm of the true Patronus was introduced by Celestia, though she made quite the diligent effort to make it known that it was not her own spell, nor her sister's, nor Cadence's, nor Excelsior's, and nor was the Killing Curse invented by Excelsior.

Excelsior was and still is one of the only ponies capable of casting the Killing Curse at will. He did it sparingly, as if reluctantly, during the Death Battles. Often he only used it when he believed his opponent was capable of countering with a Patronus, or when he believed death by the curse would impassion a pony to push their boundaries and grow capable of future counters. Or at least future dodges. Except for those few times he was asked by his reserves to stop obviously holding back and try to win, he restricted his castings to when they seemed to have a purpose that wasn't personal victory for himself.

There have since been a few Changelings, Griffons, Diamond Dogs, and even a Dragon who have managed to cast it. (The Dragon iteration is 'Death Breath', a truly devastating thing to behold, killing even plants and bacteria). But even among those who can cast it, Excelsior seems to be the only one who has ever done it at will, under any circumstance, against any opponent. It requires true apathy or true hatred, which are states of mind that have been deliberately reduced on Equus over the centuries.

The Killing Curse is reportedly easier to use against members of other species. It's reportedly more difficult for males to use against females. It's reportedly more difficult to use against underage opponents, in those rare battles where a young Occlumens or two sought out a Death Battle and consented to join. And even though these fights aren't quite broadcast to the general public, there's a strong social stigma attached to casters capable of the curse. If there is any one spell that symbolizes everything Equestria isn't, it's Avada Kedavra. Chaos has come to be accepted, but death, hatred and apathy have not.

So throughout the Death Battles, training equinoids to be able to defend against the Killing Curse was the responsibility of the Alicorn of Death. Everypony more or less accepted this.

It's important for someone to teach how to defend against death's many manifestations. Pony society regards Excelsior much like one might regard a pony whose occupation, for whatever reason, absolutely requires him to stand in liquid manure all day while performing a disgusting yet necessary function for society. The dirty job to top all others. Excelsior is regarded as the pony who does what nopony else could, and what almost nobody else would do if they could, but who nonetheless is still doing something that should be done.

But now that humans have been introduced, Riddle intends to fully test whether Equestria is actually prepared for the worst of humanity.

What better way to do that than with the finest specimen of them all, Lord Voldemort, the quintessential exemplar of humanity's worst.

In the battle of one hundred contestants, he cast the Killing Curse no fewer than two-hundred and ten times. He spammed, spammed, and spammed some more in a way Excelsior never had, casting it whenever he considered it probable that it could get him closer to a kill. He also engaged in ambush tactics. There were many who could have blocked his curse if they had their Patronuses already cast. That was a situation he intended to remedy quickly. If aurors can work an entire shift without dismissing their Patronuses, and if Occlumency shields can be maintained at all times with enough training, then the True Patronus can be maintained indefinitely. No need to keep it in sight either; send it away as though on a mission to deliver a message, yet keep it active and ready to return at a moment's notice. That would provide permanent protection against the Killing Curse without constantly giving away your position. Though for now, he was simply checking for permanent protection.

(He'd already given them that lesson as Excelsior, told them they needed to be constantly vigilant for the Killing Curse, but he'd never before tested them quite like this, not least because he knew exactly how pony society would feel about him if he didn't do the test in exactly the right way, preserving all feelings involved. This, however, simplifies things.)

"Pathetic," said the high, cold voice of Voldemort in the face of five Patronuses that were now smoothly intercepting all of his curses.

Teaming is frowned upon in free-for-alls, but his opponents had committed to truce without any exchange of words. Such is the nature of a common, menacing enemy.

"Utterly pathetic," Voldemort continued, even as he appeared to effortlessly deflect any attempts at counterattack. "I use but a single offensive spell, and only five of you make it this far? Excelsior has clearly been far too gentle in his methods."

"He's done great!" declared one of his opponents, an Earth Pony mare, briefly dropping her shield to cast a powerful offensive spell. "It's not your place to-"

"Crucio."

(This spell, along with many others whose only purpose is to inflict pain, is often banned even during Death Battles. But Circus had announced that this battle would be the monthly 'no-spells-barred', where even reasonable restrictions like that, and reasonable restrictions on mutilated corpses, and reasonable restrictions against outside devices, are lifted. So long as it's a battle tactic, it's allowed.)

As the mare screamed in agony, to the shocked dismay of three of her fellow ponies, all of whom were stallions, all Patronus Charms winked out. Lord Voldemort did not fail to immediately capitalize, quickly and precisely.

"AvadaKedavraAvadaKedavraAvadaKedavraAvadaKedavraAvadaKedavraAvadaKedavra."

The first green bolt connected to the stallion who was closest to the screaming- now whimpering- mare. The second was dodged by the second-closest stallion, but the third connected to where he landed after his dodge. The fourth connected to the mare he'd tortured before she could recover, taking her out of the fight.

Two Patronus Charms stood between him and his final opponents, which had been called forth just after the fourth Curse had connected to its target, intercepting the remaining Killing Curses still airborne.

"And then there were two," Lord Voldemort observed in a casual voice, as if discussing the weather. "Two offensive spells now, and two remainders." His eyes flashed a deeper and more menacing shade of red, but their Patronuses stayed, so he continued monologuing. "I am here in Excelsior's stead – testing Equestria's bravest by fire. As a consultant specializing in war and power, it is entirely my place to evaluate your shortcomings. And speaking of short..." his gaze dropped down to his youngest apparent opponent. "Standard Changeling tactics do not work against me. You will find that foalish forms evoke no sympathy from the Darkest of Lords, and I do not suggest you ever put that to the test in true life. Avada Kedavra." This one was also blocked successfully, but it proved his words, at least.

"You never know until you try," said his opponent, followed by a flash of green fire. It was no surprise a member of the race known for emotional manipulation had survived the psychological onslaught.

The Changeling's words drew a dramatic scoff and a roll of red eyes. "You are lucky you can frivolously try," said Voldemort. "Once upon a time, naïve assumptions like that-" he raised a finger in the air for emphasis, then pointed that finger at his opponents, causing them to raise defensive shields, "-would have earned you and your friends a painful death." Without preamble, he ever so slightly adjusted the position of his fingers, then twice fired the gun that appeared in his hand, silently activating the pre-prepared spells of trueshot and powerful piercing as he did.

Two bodies fell to the ground, holes through their heads in a more gruesome display of death than all the other contestants.

No humorous sounds or sentences came with his success. Death Battles are not played for laughs. They're the one kind of event that Circus refuses to trivialize with low-brow comedy or levity. There were but two words on the top of the display screens.

Lord: Voldemort

"Victor:" was typically the word used in place of "Lord:", or "Survivor:", or other simple captions that better fit the result. It depended on the winner's playstyle, and in particular if the winner had used lethal force. It was a difficult line to tow, encouraging ponies to participate in these battles without glorifying death, congratulating the winner without praising murder...

"Two offensive spells, a few utility spells, three enchantments, and a transfigured mundane device," said Voldemort. He faced straight ahead, and the screens captured and recorded his next words with perfect clarity. "This I say to all watching Equinoids. Henceforth, if you merely wish to play soldier, if you wish to make a sport of battle, a war zone is not the place for you. If you cannot concentrate after seeing a friend suffer torturous pain and a gruesome demise, even knowing they will later revive and be healed, then you are a normal equinoid being. But true strength lies in the abnormal, and true strength is needed to survive true enemies. To those who stay and do not wish to suffer instant death, however temporary, I suggest you learn to maintain a Patronus at all times and under any circumstance, ready to intercept the Killing Curse at the speed of thought, yet out of sight so it does not betray your position." A human-shaped Patronus appeared at his side for a fraction of a second, then disappeared. "Or I suggest learning to cast it instantly and wordlessly, and training yourself to react immediately to the phrase 'Avada Kedavra' and bright green lights, if that is within your power. I suggest research into all forms of human combat, including the mechanical and magicless. Today shall not be my final battle. If you ever hope to defend yourselves against true threats, you must test yourselves against true power."

He raised his wand, which produced a wide ward of rainbow colour. The Circus environment shied away from the shield, including the grass beneath his feet, and so he switched to floating. For those who knew about the Harmony ward and its requirements – and there were certainly some, in the watching audience – there was a sense of surprised shock that such a dark being could (a) cast it at all, and (b) cast it alone. Something similar could be said about the Patronus that briefly appeared, though many assumed that to be an illusion instead of an actual charm, once they thought about it for two seconds.

"I shall see myself out. Remember what this loss would have meant if it were real, and cling not to excuses of strength in numbers. I once brought Earth's strongest magical country to its knees with a mere fifty soldiers. If you do not wish to be vulnerable to enemies like me, you must do better than they did. When I return, I will wield a wider range of weapons and tactics, far more dangerous than you witnessed today. Your loss will be swift if you are not prepared."

The newest Death Battle victor flew away with purpose, not teleporting from the grounds. He cleared obstacles by simply flying toward or through them, leaving a line of de-chaosed ground and walls and a shaken audience in his wake.

Rehabilitation 13.5: When Your House Eats a Dark Lord...

"Good," said Celestia. Her horn glowed, and a piece of blank parchment was drawn from her regalia. "Because I am going to ask you to sign to it. Along with a few other conditions."

Riddle's eyebrows rose.

"And then I'm going to ask Twilight to redesign these things once and for all, to paralyze dynamically instead of for fixed times, for as long as breach is intended or imminent, and then I'm going to outlaw the old design."

Riddle chuckled and said, "How dictatorial of you. That same impulse caused you to outlaw ritual magic, I hope you realize." Then, before Celestia could respond, "I'm actually surprised overly punishing contracts haven't come up more often."

"Oh, they did. Long ago. It's just that Twilight is the first pony to come around since Starswirl who's on the level required to actually change contract magic to the obvious dream design you mentioned earlier. Thankfully, in this day and age no ponies are draconian enough to cause hour-long paralysis under the current design, even if that is the maximum current length allowed by law."

"You could have checked the length yourself, before signing. Or asked."

"I should have, yes. But it is not a convenient process to magically discern a contract's punishment duration, and while I've not quite lost the habit of being on the lookout for overlong punishments prior to signing a contract, I trusted Luna when she suggested I sign yours, so when this is all over I am going to ask Luna why she didn't warn me that the contract she recommended I sign would inflict hour-long paralysis… though now that I say it out loud I realize that contracts themselves are new to her and she might not have even realized the problem with over-long punishments, as I didn't until the first time a malicious pony designed one that lasted for a day. And my am I allowing this issue to get to me as a proxy for my annoyance at you. As a sign of good faith, please stop talking about anything, especially contracts, until I am done composing this one. We can negotiate the terms when I've finished the first draft."

Riddle shrugged and fell silent. He hadn't actually intended to continue a conversation about contracts; that topic could have revealed his own general ignorance surrounding their history. All he knew prior to composing his own – other than the magical process enabling him to make it – was that the maximum current legal length of punishment was an hour of paralysis, which he only knew about because of a warning placed in the margin of the textbook. He probably wouldn't have gone for the full hour if he'd known there was a strong social stigma against it; at the time he didn't want to stand out too much, and thirty minutes would have served almost as well as an hour. (It did not occur to him, in this moment, that thirty minutes might also be viewed as draconian.)

If he had continued the conversation about contracts with Celestia at all, he would have asked what constraints she currently intends to include in this one (to pre-empt stupid terms and future frustration). If he had been allowed to continue general conversation, he would have pointed out that he actually prefers her true displays of annoyance to her false displays of politeness.

But he held his peace, as he'd been requested to do.

Unfortunately, Celestia then went on to silence the rest of their conversation from Dumbledore, though first she explained to the headmaster that she was doing it, in part, for the sake of his future afterlife lessons. Many lessons are less effective when the student is given all the answers before he is given the tools to find them on his own.

Albus had shrugged, and said he would not interfere in her choices, even as he added just a bit more weight to 'conspiracy' in his mind.

And so the silencing barrier went up once again. And then she got to work on the contract again.

"I will point out," said Celestia, causing Riddle's eyes to go from parchment to pupils, "The only reason I have not already left, the only reason I have hesitated in that desire to give up on all of this- well, the only two reasons are my consideration for my sister and my consideration for the man in the Mirror. Not. You. My tolerance has limits, and you came close to them long ago, and have continued to prod at them since."

Riddle allowed a proud smile to twitch the corners of his lips upward. Boundaries exist to be broken, he thought, but did not say, for he had been asked not to speak, though he would speak if this became a moralizing lecture.

"There is something to be said about pushing boundaries for the sake of progress," Celestia said, as if she'd read his mind. "But there is also something to be warned about pushing boundaries supposedly for the sake of progress. Right now, you have quite literally forced my tolerance, and that is going to blow up in your face somehow. That is not a threat, just a prediction."

He raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"There was an extremely insidious religious movement in Equestria," Celestia said, assuming to understand his unspoken question and trying to answer it. "Disguised as a political movement, disguised as a moral one. It was extinguished centuries ago and somewhat deliberately buried in history, though history majors still learn about it, and it used exactly that tactic of pushing boundaries. Going as close to the limit as possible, then backing off when they got too much public pushback, but the new limit is now a bit further than before; rinse and repeat until you destabilize society and gain control of it. Force and cajole as many ponies as you can into tolerating your own bad behavior... I now suspect you read about it in the castle's private library, and I am going to require that you stop using that tactic."

Riddle looked at her silently. He did not speak.

"Well?" she asked.

"Your suspicions are wrong," he said with her leave. "My delve into the library was purely in search of the Mirror, and I didn't bother to absorb much information that didn't have to do with magic. The little I found on Equestrian political warfare paled in comparison to…" Mao's little red book and Hitler's 'struggle' "…what exists on Earth. Both in scope of accomplishment and sophistication of methodology. So if I am using a tactic like you described, and I don't claim that I am, then it came from well beyond the planet Equus."

"Dare I ask when in the human world it came from? Or where?"

"All across the globe. It manifested most strongly in-" Russia and China "-feudal societies and their revolutionary leaders, for the most part. There were a few exceptions-" Hitler and Mussolini "-who proved it could happen in the first world as well. In general, it came from the many revolutions which echoed various flavors of 'for the greater good'. The useful fools, the political ground troops who paved the way for the rise of fascistic and communistic regimes-" he was actually mildly curious how the hidden language spell was translating those terms "-are the ones you are describing, I think. The 'boundary pushers', as you called them. They might not have been consciously aware of what they were doing, nor of their ultimate fate. Destabilizing elements aren't necessary or wanted after the new national order is in place, after all." This is something Mao's red guard discovered when they were lined up against a wall and executed, or forced into labor camps for being 'too left' and 'too extreme' after Mao had re-taken power. And it's something the Parkinsons and Montagues and Boles would have discovered, had Voldemort ever succeeded. "So the foot soldiers, the outer-party activists, the indoctrinated initiates were largely ignorant and unwise, as they were meant to be. But the inner-party members and theorists were quite eloquent about their methods, once I understood that's what I was actually reading. Those manifestos were far superior to anything in this castle's private library."

"What was the death toll of those movements?" asked Celestia, frowning heavily.

"It depends on how you measure it, and if you include the deaths after the movements had run their courses and served the purposes they were truly meant to serve, the deaths under the regimes that took control. Hard numbers were not gathered, there are only estimates…" like my own number of Horcruxes, he thought, making the connection in that moment. "But now you know the source of Mr. Silver's awareness of the realities of political warfare, back on Bring Your Colt to Work Day."

Celestia's eyes widened, then she closed them and took deep breaths. "Your best guess at an estimate of the death toll of citizens, not soldiers, and not as a result of foreign forces invading a country?" she asked after a time.

"Adding all the countries together, at least a hundred million."

Celestia made a sound that wasn't unlike a child's whimper.

"Though you'll find plenty of scholars – both inside and outside those nations – who won't admit to bad politics or bad policy as the reason, even if you twist their arms, because their politics align with the politics of the regime, and they will find any excuse at all to avoid taking responsibility. 'The Three Years of Natural Disasters'-" this he spoke in the original Mandarin, with particular sarcastic emphasis on the word 'Natural', knowing the translation spell would do the work for him "-is a rather convenient way to describe a famine that spanned the entirety of one of the world's largest countries. A famine which occurred immediately after the new regime overhauled the agricultural sector and implemented a nationwide policy of eliminating 'non-native' birds, resulting in the unforeseen consequence of bugs flourishing and locusts swarming the next year-"

"Stop," said Celestia. "Stop." Her eyes were still closed. "That is the current state of Earth? Those movements and deaths happened recently?"

"Over the past sixty years or so."

Again that whimper.

"If I may ask," he said into the lull, "could you repeat the words 'fascism' and 'socialism' back to me? Perhaps offer any synonyms that come to mind?"

"Right authoritarianism, left authoritarianism," she said, the fringes of her mane beginning to flare. "And while they might not be synonyms exactly, the terms 'reactionary' and 'traditionalism' come to mind for the first, and 'provocationary' and 'progressivism' come to mind for the second."

"Oh? Define that last one."

Her mane continued getting worse. "Progressivism, as pony scholars have come to understand it, is when Equinoids- and humans, I am now certain- try to force societal change by seizing political power. Supposedly for the sake of the littlest among us, the beaten and downtrodden, the minorities, the poor, the working class, the underprivileged, the… well, I could list out all the various terms I've seen over the centuries, but we'd be here all day." Her tone was not approving.

Interesting. "I thought you'd be in favor of that." Based on how it's used – or rather, who it's used by – in the English language. Celestia reminded him of exactly those idiots.

"I only approve when it is done with a complete lack of motivation to seize political authority- to seize power over others. And I only continue to approve when the utmost care is taken so that it does not devolve into political power-seeking."

In that moment, Riddle saw a rare opportunity to get an interesting response to a question that Voldemort had a practical solution to, unlike any 'good' person he'd ever spoken with. "Back home, those who use the term 'progressivism' might ask, in the face of literally any criticism at all, how you could possibly be against progress. I find them annoying, for all the obvious reasons, and I had my own ways of dealing with them-" Avada Kedavra "-but how would you respond to the question 'are you against progress?'?"

"I would say that, in many ways, ponies are naturally compassionate. Good society will address problems faced by the disadvantaged when it's not untenable and unreasonable to do so. Like the free love movement – that is, the movement to end all arranged marriages – and the various efforts to make society more accessible to the disabled. Before the various magical aides were invented to cure most mundane disabilities, anyway. So I am not against progress in the slightest, I am truly quite fond of it." The tinges of her mane grew redder. "But I am not at all fond of regress, and speeding 'progress' along before the ponies in society are temperamentally or economically or intellectually or culturally or geographically or physically ready for it-" she took a breath "-risks regress." And her mane grew redder still. "And the standard strategy of 'progressives', which is to divide and rile ponies up by greatening the guilt felt by those who are comparatively better off and exploiting the envy felt by those who are comparatively worse off, that political tactic all but guarantees regress in the long run."

"I imagine you've dealt with that a few times. How many times have things gone horribly wrong in that way, out of curiosity?"

She took a few deep breaths. "More times than I can count. And they have gone excellently right a number of times that is easy to count."

"Because that number is zero," Riddle guessed.

"That number is three. It's possible, just immensely improbable, especially when the population lacks education in all the ways such movements can go wrong. Like by dividing ponies and pitting them against each other. In young societies without much experience in preventing mental health issues, most of the agitators and rilers in such movements aren't really in it for the cause, deep down. They believe they are, they say they are, but they're really in it for power, or for various personal and emotional reasons that are being exploited by those who are in it for the power. Every activist should be firmly aware that they are working towards their own obsolescence in hopefully the near future, and they should be highly wary that the will to power is a Lethifold unleashed, a pit without a bottom." Her confident words contained the frustration and experience of eons. "In fair competition the will to power is fine and good, but in politics it's deadly and destructive. And even in those rare instances when an activist truly does support a just cause, and their own motivations are not tainted by any self-serving will to power over their fellow ponies, even then their solutions don't work – if they even have any solutions in the first place other than 'put me in charge' – and their self-righteous actions aren't. Helping. Because they haven't done anything other than activism and they don't know how anything in the real world actually works."

Riddle gave a mirthless, cynical smile. I wonder how long it took her to see that much, given her initial dispositions. Multiple standard lifetimes, probably. Those movements are particularly good at manipulating people who like to fancy themselves as good and kind-hearted members of society. People like Celestia.

"And your opinions on fascism?" he asked, just to cover his bases, though he suspected he knew her answer.

"I have no higher opinion authoritarianism when it comes from traditionalists instead of progressives, but at least they are usually far more obvious and straightforward to deal with. Less like an insidious parasite draining your body of resources and inflicting subtle diseases, with the parasite constantly redirecting your attention elsewhere whenever you get close to identifying it as the problem, and much more like Sombra demanding you hand your country over to him. So!" said Celestia, her eyes full of fire, this time not directed at Riddle, even though she was looking at him. "That is the norm where you come from? Authoritarianism is commonplace in the largest countries of Silver's home planet?"

"The largest muggle countries." This did not have the effect of calming her down in the slightest. Perhaps because muggle warfare doesn't have a 'nonlethal' setting. "And many of the magical ones as well. Though not all of them. Well, not yet, not comprehensively."

And on the off chance the Berlin Wall really did fall, it's possible muggle history is starting to trend away from command governments. (He didn't go himself and confirm that unbelievable claim personally, given his busy schedule during his plot to steal the Stone, though in retrospect he really should have made the time, he should have braved a few more muggle newspapers after the one about the American president being a retired movie actor to see if they made the claim as well. He should have at least asked Mr. Potter. But at this point it's far too late.)

Celestia's gaze was razor-sharp. "And the magical countries-? No, never mind, I can already guess." She took a deep breath, her mane of fire still burning brightly. "Well. I whole-heartedly agree that you are in a far better position to have lived and breathed the truly worst kinds of warfare growing up, perhaps worse than I could ever nightmare of, given the recent state of your world. Now excuse me while I add that to this contract as well."

With a swift flourish of the quill, she wrote one last sentence, then turned the contract to face Riddle.

Activation Condition

This contract is only binding until I can cast the Patronus Charm at will, under any circumstance. If I can cast the Patronus at will, I am no longer bound. If I am actively casting a Patronus by my own unaltered free will, even if I have not yet mastered it, I am not bound by this contract for the duration that I maintain it. This clause supersedes all others.

As long as I cannot cast the Patronus at will, this contract is only binding as long as Princess Celestia of Equestria continues to offer her best reasonable efforts to aid my interests regarding the human in the Mirror, Albus Dumbledore.

Terms

I shall not speak within hearing range of or eavesdrop upon Celestia when she is in front of the Mirror, unless she gives permission for me to do so. That permission, no matter how it's phrased, does not last more than one continuous day.

I shall not harm Luna in any way.

I shall not engage in warfare, conventional or otherwise, against any country, entity, group, or individual on Equus, unless I receive explicit, informed, uncompelled, unambiguous permission from at least two separate alicorn casters of the True Patronus Charm.

After reading it, he rolled his eyes. "All of this is merely in exchange for your help with Dumbledore's afterlife delusion?" He pushed the parchment away from himself with his fingertips. "Pass."

"Not just with his belief in the afterlife," said Celestia, pushing the paper back in Riddle's direction. "Your interests also involve convincing him you're not lying to him. I will do anything in my power to convince him of the true fact that Equestria is real and we are not an illusion, so long as it does not violate anypony's rights. Put bluntly, I shall allow this Mirror to be removed from this room, even this very day if that's what it takes. And I have little doubt it will take that."

Unfortunately, the same thought had occurred to Riddle. An illusion is far easier to maintain if you never change the setting. If, however, Riddle traveled through Equestria with the Mirror trailing behind him – if that worked, and if Dumbledore's image remained reflected, capable of seeing the sights – that would be far more difficult to fake. The spontaneity of the real world will always be necessary as a bare minimum to satisfy any truly competent skeptic.

"I will also point out that there is no time pressure," Celestia added. "This is an open offer. We start the moment you sign this contract, and you may sign it a year from now if you wish."

He didn't even bother with the obvious objection that there's pressure to sign immediately anyway, in front of Dumbledore, all in this single session. He did bother to point out a different obvious objection. "You expect me to take you at your word that you'll keep your end of the bargain?"

"No. I expect you to take this contract's word that I'll keep my word. As the opening clause explicitly implies, if I break my word, you are allowed to break yours."

"Would you object to an Unbreakable Vow that you will follow through?"

"Only if you object to an Unbreakable Vow of your own."

Riddle frowned, considering that line of action.

"I am trying," said Celestia, "to refrain from introducing any magics more severe than have already been used, in this conflict between us. After everything that happened today, I think I do not want there to be any more permanent sacrificing of trust in Equestria than there absolutely has to be. And I am also trying to resolve this conflict in such a way that the resolution does not favor only or mostly my own interests. If you have objections to any of the contract's language, speak them."

That, he could do. "The second clause."

"What about it?"

"Need I say more?"

"Yes," said Celestia. "State your objection explicitly, if you would. Because based only on what you said, it is almost as if you want me to conclude that you seek to harm my sister."

Riddle rolled his eyes. "The word 'harm' is far too vague."

"That is the point," said Celestia. "You will not do what you personally believe constitutes harm to my sister, according to your own standards of the word 'harm'. I don't want you to follow any hard rules other than that."

"Mm," said Riddle noncommittally. "The word 'warfare' is also incredibly vague in the third clause. I'm not quite sure what you mean by it."

"Again, that is the point. If you were to ask the question 'What does 'warfare' mean?' to an average Equestrian, they would likely give answers along the lines of soldiers, spears, and spellfire."

Riddle snorted. That's not much different from Magical Britain. Or most magical countries in general. Or most muggle lands. Especially Texas, if you replace spears and spellfire with guns and tanks. "What they think hardly matters to this contract. What do you think when you say warfare?"

"Truthfully, even my mind will go to spells and soldiers first, though it can easily go to things like propaganda and manipulative mind games when necessary. However, it is now obvious to me that you likely know warfare better than anypony else on Equus, myself included. You are not naïve about it because you grew up surrounded by it. Where warfare is concerned, your mind does not go to one place, or two, or three, it goes to all the places. So when you consider this contract's terms, you are to use your own definitions, anything and everything that comes to mind when you say the word 'war'. And then you will not do any of that to Equus or anyone on it."

"So the more methods of war that I know, the more constrained I will be," Riddle observed.

"That's the idea," Celestia smiled.

That is a rather dauntingly massive constraint.

…Though not much more daunting than the reward he once intended to offer Mr. Potter in exchange for magical secrets, if his original plan for the last day of Hogwarts had gone without a hitch. Mr. Potter's reward would have basically been that Voldemort would commit to a future of not harming or warring against certain, specified people. So it's well within his abilities to do it. He just needs a good reason. He needs an incentive that serves his deep interests. Which he is, in fact, being offered at the moment.

On someone else's terms. Someone else whose mind, values, and ambitions he doesn't overly respect.

"I would prefer you specify into this contract that I am allowed to engage in warfare if it is for the express purpose of teaching."

"No," said Celestia, now expressionless. "I cannot trust you won't find a way to abuse that somehow- I cannot trust that you aren't currently abusing that with your oversight of the reserves. You will ask permission for every case – not every instance of warfare, not every battle. But every war you intend to fight, and every war you intend to prepare extensively for, you will ask for permission about it first, and you will not engage in actions of war unless that permission is granted according to the terms of this contract."

"The vague terms that rely on my own subjective understanding of war."

"I was referring to these terms." With her own magic, she highlighted unless I receive explicit, informed, uncompelled, unambiguous permission from at least two separate alicorn casters of the True Patronus Charm. "As for the term 'warfare' itself, I highly doubt you view your own understanding as subjective, and I highly doubt you are mistaken about all the various ways war can be done. I'm honestly curious about what all you'll end up needing to ask permission about."

"I'd be sure to ask permission from Luna and Twilight instead of you if I sign this."

"I'll hear about it eventually," said Celestia with a smile. "For this does not qualify as your secret, it qualifies as ours." Her smile vanished. "And remember that becoming capable of casting the True Patronus will free you from the contract. Until then, you can see how this particular clause will motivate me to keep my end of the bargain, I hope. I tried to imagine something that would motivate and incentivize the both of us to accomplish what we already wish to accomplish. Any further objections?"

"Yes. To start…"

With a will of magic, the words This contract is only binding as long as Celestia continues to offer her best reasonable efforts were highlighted in a bright black glow.

(Which is to say, pitch black haloed by white light, making it look like the black color itself is glowing. That particular illusion is not something that can be found in standard textbooks.)

He then narrowed the glow to just around the word 'reasonable'. He said nothing, but stared flatly at Celestia.

"I shall not forsake my other duties," Celestia said at once.

He shifted the glow to 'efforts', still saying nothing.

"I cannot guarantee results, only effort."

He shifted the glow to 'best'.

"I cannot guarantee to meet your standards."

He sighed. "You realize it sounds like you are making excuses in advance, yes?"

"That's because I am, in the face of your potentially unreasonable expectations."

"Expectations such as?"

"Doing everything your way, all the time, 24/7, and then you wonder in the end why it didn't work out," she answered. "You accuse me of being dictatorial, and those accusations may have grains of truth to them, but we both know you are projecting your own deepest desires and general worldview every time you do it."

He frowned. "I'm not satisfied with just that answer."

"Then to explain that disclaimer as carefully as I can," Celestia continued, "it is not an excuse for me to do nothing, but an excuse for me to be merely equine. If proving to Dumbledore we're not conspiring against him takes a year, and solving his afterlife belief takes ten – I'm being optimistic here – I don't want you to go back on this contract whenever I'm not actively working on the problem. You do not get to interpret that as me 'not giving it my all'. He'll have issues he must solve on his own, independent of anything I can do on my end, and that space of time still counts as me giving my best efforts to help you."

"In that case, let's talk practicalities. Resource commitment. What do your 'best efforts' entail?"

"Allowing and arranging for the Mirror to leave this room."

"That’s it?"

"No. That is an example the general level of material and legal affordance you can expect me to be giving to this project on a regular basis if you sign the contract. Which is to say well beyond the scope of any other project I've ever given affordance to, including even Twilight's Friendship and Magic Lessons. Though it's still my choice how I help, and even if you disagree with my methods or approach, that doesn't mean I am not giving it my best efforts, and it doesn't mean you get to renege. You may always make your case. I shall listen. But I do not have to do as you command. Does that fully clarify the meaning and intent of that part of the contract?"

Even though meaning and intent are not as absolutely important to the functioning of magical contracts compared to magical Vows, it is still important for meaning and intent to be clarified ahead of time, otherwise the contracted will be bound to what they believe is the meaning and intent behind the contractor's written words.

"It does," said Riddle. "If I were to sign, I suppose I'd be annoyed that I asked you to explain at all."

"Indeed," said Celestia, smiling again.

Riddle had the overwhelming sense he was walking into a bad deal. After half a second of consulting his emotions to understand why, he said, "And if I asked how long this would paralyze me, should I violate it?"

"An hour, of course."

That did it.

Riddle huffed and pushed the paper back in Celestia's direction, this time sticking it to the table with a will of wandless magic so that it would stay there.

"You initially suggested a manner of common courtesy between us, while you are down here, or at least a silencing barrier. I said I might agree to that. I did not say I might agree to this. Your motives are clearly to enforce some manner of symmetry upon our situations, with everything else as a rationalization, however clever they might be. This contract was composed with intentions that contained at least a tinge of sadism, a tinge of schadenfreude." After becoming hyper-aware of those emotions in himself, thanks to the Night Court Sessions, he has become significantly better at spotting them in others. "You desire to see your enemy in the same state as yourself, a state which he inflicted upon you. That is what this contract is truly for. And that is why I am not even slightly tempted to sign it."

Celestia shrugged. "It is an open offer. You may reconsider it whenever you come to the conclusion that the Mirror must leave this chamber."

"If I come to that conclusion, what's stopping me from removing it myself?"

She scowled. "Myself. My guard. The law. You would be stealing from Equestria, and that is something I would not abide."

He discarded the first response he was tempted to give to her, and went with the second. "I would be borrowing, not stealing. It's not like I can take the Mirror with me when I'm done with it. And for that matter, this artifact does not belong to you or the country Equestria. If anything, it belongs to all of Equus. I don't think you have any stronger claim of usership than I do, under Equestria's philosophical conception of property rights."

The tips of her mane flared. "It has been under my protection for centuries. Should anything go drastically wrong as a result of the Mirror, the blame would lie on me. It is my responsibility more than anypony else's."

"On that we are fully agreed." He smiled unkindly. "But I am not a pony, and you are no longer the only being on this planet with great claim to it. The man in the Mirror could speak almost the same words as you just did, and they would be true. He has exactly the same claim to it as you do. And I would argue that I have claim as well, though of a different sort of course."

"On what grounds could you possibly argue that?"

"The Mirror was created by those who created magic itself. Or at least the most advanced magical society that ever existed. And they created it on our side of the Mirror, which means they also created its manifestations in all of its created worlds. You merely stumbled upon the Equestrian version of it. Given your ethical presuppositions, you should be the one claiming that it belongs to all of Equus, and all of Earth. But ignoring that, I have a better understanding of the Mirror's history, and of how it ties into this world's history, than you do. That is part of my claim."

"I think you are far overestimating your own understanding. Anyone can declare they have knowledge. I would require hard proof."

"Which I can give, and will if I see reason, but truthfully you can ignore that part of my claim entirely. The rest of my claim involves the fact that I am only here because of this Mirror. My goals have been inexorably linked to this Mirror from the very moment I stepped foot on Equus, and not because I desire the Mirror itself or its power, but because the Mirror and its creators are directly responsible for my current state of affairs. Whatever you or I might think about the circumstance in retrospect, whether you or I think it's a good or bad thing that I ended up in this situation, that doesn't change the fact that I would not be here if the Mirror had not interfered with a will of its own. And so I consider it perfectly consistent under Equestria's conception of property rights that I be allowed to set my affairs with the Mirror in order, so long as I keep to myself as I do it."

"I do not consider it consistent with our values, nor our conception of property rights. You said you agree that the Mirror is my responsibility."

He shrugged. "If your house came alive, ate me, and trapped me inside of it, I would agree to that being your responsibility as well. I would also be well within my rights to do what it takes to leave the house, with or without your permission, even if I must damage your house in the process. Equestrian ethics demand I do no more damage than reasonably necessary to leave, or to ensure my safety, but they do allow me to do that damage. That is the consequence of bearing responsibility for property that can act autonomously – for property that did act autonomously – against a dark lord who is willing to play by Equestrian principles, but not by the emotional whims of its oldest princess."

"You call yourself a dark lord unironically?"

He smiled. "In this context, consider a dark lord to be someone who does not rely on the authority figures in society to shape his morality for him, for many societies are far from perfect, and in fact are incredibly ugly deep down." A memory came to mind, and he chuckled. "If you want, I could call myself a light lord instead."

She frowned. "No."

A light shrug. "So be it. Suppose that I, as a dark lord, have decided that I am within my Equestrian rights to flaunt your insufficient claims of authority over property which interfered in my affairs. Suppose that I go on to interact with that property without your oversight or permission to set my affairs back in order, to the accidental, deliberate, or simply uncaring detriment of your country. In that case, you are correct that the blame would lie with you. When I said I agree it's your responsibility, I meant that, should harm befall your little ponies as a result of your failure to negotiate with the powerful dark lord who was eaten by your house, or more accurately the door to your house, the consequences of what follows would be your fault in failing to negotiate with him. He is trying to slim down to fit through the exit door that was capable of admitting him in, but not allowing him out, and he is making a genuine effort at doing so peacefully, without damage to your house or your residents or the door. But annoying him with petty sadistic revenge is a good way to have him decide he'd be better served by smashing the frame wide open so he can fit through at his current morbidly obese size. Which might then allow other big monsters in, of course."

The tips of her mane had been getting redder, as he spoke. "If that is how you feel, what is even the point of acknowledging my responsibility over the Mirror, if you are willing to utterly disregard it? Merely to say it will be my fault when you ruin everything?"

He grinned. "Not quite. The point of my acknowledging your responsibility is to convey the following true fact: I am willing to extend the courtesy of abiding by your personal oversight and suggestions of caution wherever the Mirror is concerned. So long as we are on Equus, anyway, and so long as your mandates do not make the fulfillment of my own interests impossible or unreasonably arduous. If I decide I must take Dumbledore – and therefore the Mirror – on a physical tour of Equestria, I am more than willing to accept surveillance, warnings, wise precautions, and advice from the crown. I am willing to extend that much courtesy to the one who bears responsibility over the Mirror. I am NOT willing to sign this contract-" he tapped the page twice "-as a precondition. It extends well beyond the realm of 'courtesy'. And if you insist on the contract anyway, now that I've explicitly spelled all of this out, to the point that I feel like I'm repeating myself, then it's entirely possible that one day I decide I don't care to extend any courtesy to you at all. That is where your blame would lie, if things go wrong. Especially if it's because you want revenge."

Tom lifted the contract from the table and held it so that the terms faced Celestia. He stared directly into her eyes.

"You are falling prey to the temptation of seeking the emotional satisfaction of inflicting upon your enemy the condition he has inflicted upon you." Then he leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Which, by the by, is likely another reason you no longer bear Kindness. I doubt Fluttershy would ever act on such an impulse, even to one such as me. At the very least, she would not take any pleasure in it, if she felt she had to do it. And if she did, she would no longer bear Kindness. Or so I assume."

Celestia, in response to all this, said nothing. Her face was, once again, expressionless. Her mane was not as fiery as it had been at the peak of her rage, or at the lesser peak of her reigned temper, but it was still tinged red and flaming at its tips.

"In summary," Riddle said into the brief silence that followed, putting the contract down again. "You have much legitimate claim to authority over the Mirror and what happens to it. I have been in the practice, over the past few years, of going out of my way to respect legitimate claims of that kind, if they are logically sound and consistent with Equestria's moral framework. What is not logical or legitimate, in this position and under my understanding of Equestrian ethics, is for you to claim absolute authority over the Mirror. If you had created it yourself, or bought it from the creator under an ordinary market transaction, or used market transactions to produce and manage the resources required to create it, I might yield to a claim of absolute authority. So long as that device doesn't adopt a will of its own and interfere with my affairs, of course. But you stumbled upon the Mirror… or perhaps it was passed down to you… but either way you did not make it, you do not know it inside and out like its creators did, and it did interfere with my affairs. I am aware you have the weight of time on your side. You have protected the Mirror for centuries. Even from my perspective, that fact adds true weight and credence to your claim of responsible stewardship. But I still do not think that gives you absolute authority over the Mirror. Not so long as Dumbledore is trapped within it, and I am the only one who can retrieve him, and he guards the door to my home. That gives weight to my claims, even if I've only been here a few years. From the very start of my existence on Equus, I have been seeking this Mirror for exactly this purpose. And you would too, if our positions were reversed. Nor would you yield to someone else's claim of absolute control, I think. Not if they required you to torture a foal to access the Mirror, or anything else that went strongly enough against your values. You, too, would flaunt them and simply do as you willed, if you had the power."

"And you have the power?" she asked neutrally.

"Are you willing to risk finding out?" he replied.

There was a pause.

"What values of yours are causing you to reject this contract? Other than the intentions you perceive that I have, I mean."

"My values of autonomy and free will, of not being forced to 'do the right thing', as you would put it. I greatly prefer being convinced by reason, evidence, facts, and logic. To put it more bluntly, I made the mistake of permanently subjecting my pony form to the phoenix's cry. Useful though it may be as a tool to question certain courses of action, it is still not me. And I am not in the habit of repeating my past mistakes after I acknowledge them as such. That is why I am not signing this contract. Because, as you put it quite eloquently when we were discussing politics, I do not want what you call 'progress' to be forced upon me, especially by an activist with ulterior motives that are blatantly obvious to me, but not the activist herself."

A light frown touched Celestia's otherwise expressionless face, and she fell silent once more.

"Do you need a moment to speak with your sister again?" Riddle asked when the silence stretched much longer than the last time.

Celestia took a deep breath. "No." With her magic, she gently grasped the contract, at which point Riddle unstuck it from the table with his own magic. Celestia tucked the paper away into her regalia. Once it was gone, her mane returned fully to rainbow. "I think I know what she would say. You have given me much to think about. I am going to sleep on it before making any major decisions."

"Regarding the contract?"

She shook her head. "I took it off the table, didn't I?"

He frowned-

"But I'll do you one better than wordplay." She took out the contract and tore it in two.

He rolled his eyes. "So what decision are you sleeping upon?"

"The decision to help Dumbledore, and you by proxy. You are still asking for the expense of royal attention and resources – far more than your current allotment, which is itself far more than most ponies could ever dream of seeing. Even if the contract is off the table, you are asking for more than a favor, and I intend to ask for more than a favor in return. I suppose it is up to me to think of something you'll concede as equitable, with Luna to gauge your honesty when you make that evaluation."

"That is reasonable," said Tom. "If you can think of nothing yourself, I have plenty of suggestions. I'll hold off on speaking them just yet, lest I bias your creative process. But if you take too long, I might assume you are simply stalling, or refusing to think about a painful topic."

"Noted. Philomena!" A bird of fire appeared on her back. Celestia sighed deeply as the phoenix spread its wings, then gave one last glance to Tom. "I will get back to you."

"No later than…?" Tom asked, trailing off in a deliberately suggestive tone.

Celestia took a moment to think about it. "A week from now. Sooner, if I think of something."

Tom inclined his head. "I'll be waiting." And as Celestia began to walk away, he said, "How did you bypass the phoenix wards?"

Celestia sighed wearily. "I would not ordinarily say. But since I do not want you poking and prodding at them, those wards are my own creation. Phoenixes can still manifest in this room, should they come alone. And they can leave in the same manner. They simply cannot teleport anypony or anything with them. If you see a way to exploit that for evil's sake, I'd be legitimately surprised."

Tom tilted his head. "I know a spell that might work to control a phoenix," Tom said. The Confundus charm works on animals. And even some objects, like portraits.

"You know what, I take it back. I am not surprised at all. Another spell from the human world?"

"Yes, though it's a spell that likely would have been invented by unicorns had you not banned the field of mind magics outright. And I have not actually tested if it works on phoenixes, nor can I immediately see how a lone phoenix might do evil to or by this Mirror, or your protections of it. Phoenix magic is restorative and supportive, not damaging in itself."

Celestia shook her head. "The point is still taken."

"Not well enough, I think." He shifted to pony form, removed everything he was wearing including his false teeth, disappeared in a flash of phoenix fire – which worked – and then reappeared in the same flash. "It seems as though your wards consider me a phoenix," he said with in a self-satisfied tone. He shifted. "Though not me, of course," he said in his human form. Then, more soberly, "Consider that display to be a minor favor you owe me. I did not need to show you that."

Celestia stared at him for a long moment. Philomena rubbed the back of her neck with her beak. "I shall," she said. "Thank you. And it is well past my bedtime. Until later, Tom Riddle." She walked beyond the range of the Mirror, then beyond the range of the room, then, as the door shut behind her, beyond the range of sight and sound.

Tom turned to face Dumbledore, who had been allowed to witness everything. With his eyes, not his ears. Not that Dumbledore was using them. He was sitting in a conjured, cushioned chair, looking like the stereotype of a grandfather who had nodded off.

Tom tapped the invisible barrier between them with the back joint of his index finger. "Wake up, old man."

Albus was greatly tempted to smile without opening his eyes. But he suppressed the impulse. Instead, he simply opened his eyes and gave a genuine yawn. "Tell me, Tom. Are you aware of the Transylvanian Tongue Translator?"

"That does not sound familiar, no. Is it a spell of Tongues that exists on Earth?" If so, Dumbledore deserves credit for finding one where Riddle could not.

"Not quite."

It is a lip-reading spell. Albus had recently tested a few lip-reading spells, but all of them had failed due to the perfect magical barrier of the Mirror. All of them except the Transylvanian Tongue Translator, which apparently works on mundane visual cues alone, in harmonious tandem with the Tongues function of the Mirror.

Of course, there's always the possibility that Tom is lying, that he has heard of it, that he knew Albus could and would use it on this recent conversation that had been censored but not blurred… and being censored not blurred is actually a potential red flag for conspiracy world. Lip-reading spells are the primary reason why most privacy wards involve a visual obfuscation of some kind. Tom had cast his own suite of lip-reading spells, earlier, and appeared to concluded that the Mirror blocked them, and that it was safe enough to rely only on sound barriers. Even then Tom would not have left his conversation with Celestia un-blurred if not for his desire to appear as transparent as possible. All of that is reasonable, but the end result is that Albus overheard a conversation that is rather convincing on the 'Equestria is real' front.

As Alastor would say, that's exactly what Tom wants him to think.

"But nevermind that," said Albus. "Have you worked out an arrangement?"

"I'll let you know in a week. Was there anything you wanted in the meantime?"

Albus stroked his beard. "If it is not too much to ask, could you use that trick of Mirror duplication to transfer a spot of tea onto this side? Perhaps a bit of food as well?"

Tom grinned ever so slightly. "Finally willing to brave the risk of poison?"

"You and I both know I'd be braving the risk of purely mundane compliance drugs, if such a thing exists in the muggle world. And assuming they can bypass taste test charms, and the Mirror decides it's in accordance with my wishes that I be drugged, thus allowing the food to be reflected onto my side in the first place, so on and so forth."

Tom Riddle simply smiled. "Good food is perhaps the single greatest mundane compliance drug in existence. So you are, in any case, doomed."

Albus seriously wondered, not for the first time in his life, or the second, or the tenth, how long it's going to take this time for him to go truly, irredeemably, unretrievably mad. At a wild guess, a few days. A week at most.

Chapter 72: Blinded By The Light

During the silent wake of what they'd just seen on the screen, Harry glanced upwards and backwards.

The Headmistress, quite understandably, looked like she might spring to action at the sound of a pin dropping. Or institute a Degree of Caution that doesn't even exist yet. Or both. Her eyes- no, the intensity of her focus gave the impression that she had just devoured every last detail she could. Not because she wanted to, if Harry had to guess. Most good adults don't want to stare too deep into the darkness. The ugly abyss of evil is bottomless, and unpleasant to observe to say the least. But if adults don't look, if they don't remain vigilant, there's the risk that the darkness will rise up to devour them and – more importantly – all that they care about.

Or maybe Harry was just reading too much into it.

"So…" said Professor Michael Verres-Evans, who looked more curious than afraid. "That was Voldemort, huh?"

"Yes," said the Headmistress acerbically.

"What remains of him," said the Defense Professor neutrally, currently sitting in his human form at the front isle of this private little mini-theatre room that Circus set aside just for them, away from the wider contingent of watchers. "Now that he does no harm without caution and consent."

"What?!" demanded the headmistress.

"Voldemort was just a mask," the Defense Professor said plainly. "There's an ordinary-looking man beneath that pale skin and red eyes, a man who has refrained from the excesses of evil for decades at this point, in actions and in appearances. But the ponies required a wake-up call, and so he chose to don the mask once more."

"Um…" said Harry before the Headmistress could waste more time with useless incredulity. "Weren't there… um… problems? With doing that?" Like the Sense of Doom returning, he thought. "Like that it risked a relapse?" he asked out loud. "Because appearances and actions can go hand in hand?"

"Indeed they can," the Defense Professor said seriously. "Suffice it to say that a clever solution was believed to be found. You have just witnessed the evidence to see the answer for yourself, if you'd like to think on it. You have at least until the end of the tour today to figure it out on your own. That goes for all of you."

Autumn raised her hand and was called upon. "Spoiler," she said. "Could you silence my answer from everyone?"

The Defense Professor shook his head. "Not without some work on your end, Ms. Query." He withdrew a book from his robes. It vanished from his hands and appeared in her lap. "The wizarding spell you are looking for is 'Ventriliquo'. When you succeed at casting it, I will prevent eavesdropping on your answer from there."

That little exchange ignited the competitive spark in Harry. His mind generated the obvious hypothesis and he raised his hand. "Spoiler," he said after being called upon. "Do you mind if I point my wand at you for a Ventriliquo, Professor?"

"Not now that you've given advance notice. Try to aim at my ear and whisper as quietly as possible. That is soon to become standard practice in my classes. It will help keep me on my toes, and it should also make the would-be assassins happy."

"Erm… got it," Harry said after a few seconds to re-order his thoughts. "Emergus. Ventriliquo." And he gave his answer in his quietest whisper.

"Correct," said the Defense Professor out loud. "But note that if Autumn gives the same answer later, she'll still have figured it out first."

That was a bit of a bruise to his ego. But after a half-year of allowing his ego to be bruised over and over and over again as he learned how to be a pony duelist, he'd established the habit of explicitly noticing his competitive ego being bruised. Not five minutes after the fact, not after his Dark Side had already tinged the color of his every thought for a while, but in the moment. And when you notice your bad habits in the moment, that's the first tangible step towards doing something about them.

Trying to take the second step, even if he didn't quite mean it deep down, Harry said, "Second place is still good." Then, moving on to a more comfortable point, "Just to be clear, that worked during the Crucio? Or was the torture fake?"

"Yes, and no. It worked, it was not fake."

"How???" Harry asked.

"Unfortunately for all the forces for good in this world, pain is a highly effective battle tactic, among other things that it's highly effective for. The goal is to give life the best chance at preserving itself while enemies and death still abound on this world. Those forces are more than willing and able to inflict pain to gain advantage. Meaning that for now, in the present moment, life must learn to preserve itself even as it suffers pain, or as it witnesses others in terrible suffering. That is the underlying theory. I do not admit to being surprised it worked in practice, but I can easily see how anyone else would be. Ever since you discovered the trick for the Killing Curse, I don't think I'll ever be surprised again, when any other individual spell proves compatible. Mindsets, Mr. Potter. As you showed me."

"Um…" said Professor Michael Verres-Evans, who looked a bit lost. "Would you mind explaining what you're talking about?"

"Unfortunately yes, I would mind, for that would spoil the answer for Ms. Granger, who might still be thinking about it."

"What about me?" Draco asked, his voice overlapping with Hermione's "I don't need to think about it."

The Defense Professor looked from Hermione to Draco. "You are always welcome to try, Mr. Malfoy. Speaking as your Professor, I think you do not quite have all the prerequisites you need to solve this problem. Nor does your father, nor the Headmistress. But you are always welcome to try. Even failing to succeed means you have thought about the problem, and thinking about a problem on your own for a while, even if you fail, will make you far more interested in the answer once it is made known to you, whether by your own brain or by someone else's." His gaze turned back to Hermione. "I'm sorry for not immediately understanding, Ms. Granger, but do you mean that you don't need to think about it because you've already figured it out, or did you mean something else?"

"Figured it out," she said. "From hearing you talk about compatibility."

He nodded. "Are you upset that I gave that hint out loud?"

"Again, not really important compared to all the other stuff I'm upset about."

"Well said!" observed the Headmistress.

The man paused for a few seconds, then sighed. "Yes, I can see how these shallow distractions would be annoying. Would you prefer I not speak to you directly outside of classroom settings until there's an opportunity to discuss those deeper issues?"

"Yes," said Hermione curtly.

"Then forgive me for violating your preference by saying this one last thing, but when we do have that opportunity, keep in mind that the answer to the puzzle you just solved is useful for many things, and I intend for both of us to use that answer all throughout our deeper conversation. Anything less would make everything worse. In the short run and the long run."

Hermione's eyebrows rose in surprise, and then she slowly nodded. "Okay. Now please stop talking to me."

"For the rest of you," said the Defense Professor, "I will explain the answer at the end of the tour. Mr. Malfoy, you have the opportunity to earn… I'll commit to twenty-five Monroe points, if you correctly guess before then. Without further help from those who already know. I've given as many hints as I can. Use whatever down time we have to think about it, and please do not be upset if you do not see it. You can earn two points if you explain your thought process of a reasonable attempt at solving it. One if your attempt is merely mediocre, zero if you've clearly not thought about it and you're just giving a token answer to earn points. I do want you to actually think about it, though of course it's up to you whether you do."

"Understood, Professor," Draco said politely.

"Headmistress," said the Defense Professor. "Lucius. I suggest you do the same, but I have no simple bribes I can offer either of you if you succeed. Was there anything you wished to say before we move on to our final stop of the day?"

"I can think of a number of simple bribes that might work as motivation…" said Lucius Malfoy. "But perhaps none that are quite so simple as house points, from your perspective. I am ready to move on."

"Hm," said the Defense Professor. "Then let's say you'd earn an extremely minor favor from me if you figure it out unaided. Remember that I'm not expecting you to. You are in almost the worst position of anybody here to solve it, second only to Mr. Verres-Evans. And I'm not trying to deliver disparagement of your abilities when I say that. It's a puzzle requiring knowledge that you in particular simply don't have. Not on a gut level, anyway. And Mr. Verres-Evans doesn't have the knowledge at all."

Lucius seemed to think about it, nodded as politely as his son had spoken, and then looked at the Headmistress with a single raised eyebrow, as if to convey mild curiosity about her own answer.

The Headmistress did not look like she was in the mood for casual problem-solving. Like Hermione, only more so.

"I am ready to move on in the sense that I'd like to end this tour right away and have a private conversation with you, Professor," she said in a curt tone.

Hermione smiled at that.

The Defense Professor's expression barely changed beyond the slight raising of his eyebrows. "You originally chose to come here because of your concern regarding the circumstances behind Autumn's unusual magical aptitude. Has that been satisfied?"

"Compared to what has just come up, what I have seen on that front will do."

"Understood. And if I were to say that the plan was for me to direct this tour to its conclusion, that there is only one more stop, and that we cannot speak privately for an extended period of time until it is over?"

The Headmistress's lips were pressed thin. "Then I shall ask that we hurry and be done with it."

He nodded. "To Cloudsdale it is."

"Woah!" said Harry, barely catching himself before he fell face-first into the cloud beneath his feet, his arms stretched to his sides and wobbling for balance. It was like a lumpy field of pure cotton, with erratically irregular firmness, which is a lot more noticeable when you're not a heavy quadruped. Then again, it wasn't a treated cloud, so this was about as rough as they come outside of storm clouds. "This isn't so easy when you're twice as light," he remarked out loud.

"And on two legs instead of four, I'm sure," said Draco, who was currently on all fours.

"And with feet instead of hooves," said Hermione, who was on two feet, but stumbling.

"And top-heavy," said Autumn, who was also on all fours.

"That is why will be staying on broomsticks until we reach flatter clouds, yes," said the Defense Professor, dismounting his own and parking it next to Harry's. "You have five minutes to practice, then we proceed to the stadium. This should go entirely without saying, but removing your ankle or wrist guards comes at your own peril."

Harry glanced at the guard around his left wrist, a mirror to the one on his right, studded with a single sapphire and finished with a bronze hue. Lucius and Draco had allowed their silver-and-emerald-studded guards to be magically locked to their wrist by the Defense Professor's Colloportus. Minerva McGonagall had done her own Colloportus, and she had also done Hermione's.

Professor Monroe is right that it should go without saying to keep them on. He has broomstick bones. Harry has broomstick bones. But the rest of the tour doesn't. Harry honestly didn't think this group needed to hear that warning, but maybe it's the Professor's leftover habit from directing so many cloud-walking enchantment training sessions over the years.

The Defense Professor turned to face the tall, transparent glass box that had followed his broomstick through the air as if on a leash. "Would you like to come out, Professor Verres-Evans?" he asked politely. "Cloud-walking enchantments work on non-magical entities. I can cast a number of other charms to catch you if something goes wrong. Plus a Potion of Feather Fall, which will work independently of any charm." He held out a light-blue potion and floated it over.

Harry looked at his dad expectantly.

His dad looked back at him nervously. Then sighed, taking the offered bottle from the air. "Alright." One wall of the tall glass box opened like a door (the potion had been passed through a window), though his dad didn't step out just yet, instead raising a cautioning finger. "But only because a certain friend of mine would never let me live it down if they knew I passed up a chance to drink a real Feather Fall Potion." He popped the lid, gave it a sniff, then downed it in one go.

Three years ago, the Harry who had only understood magic as a power system in fictional universes, and who had been gifted the DnD rulebooks by his dad, could have easily, 100% related to that. The Harry of today can only 5% relate to that. His dad is just so slow in warming up to magic. Harry's had to overcome things like Dementors, the Killing Curse, and Obliviation, and here his dad is getting all enticed by a measly Feather Fall Potion.

Then he saw what his brain was doing and tried to squash the impulse to ego-mania. The impulse that insults and can't empathize with past versions of his own self. Like the self that was new to magic and filled with the novelty of it all.

Whenever I think to despair of you, the Defense Professor had once said, I remind myself that I was a fool at twice your age. Or something like that.

Then again, Harry had never had the problem in the past of being so… timid in the face of magic, even when he first learned. Except maybe the Time Turner, but come on, that's just downright rational fear. Maybe it's that part of Dad's personality that's rubbing him the wrong way. Not the fact that Dad's new, but that he's scared. Overly so, in Harry's opinion, now that he's seen so much evidence with his own eyes.

Harry suddenly got the vivid mental picture – as he watched his father take a deep breath and fail to put any weight on his first extremely hesitant step onto the clouds – that he was watching a child dipping their toe into the baby pool and complaining about its coldness (when it's not the coldness that bothers them, their brain is just making excuses).

Harry realized that this is just another one of those moments where he's viewing himself as the experienced adult, and his own father as a little child. A scared little child.

It's not that he wants to view his father that way, it's just that he can't stop his brain from seeing it. And it's not like being a grown child is a bad thing in itself. From the perspective of any master craftsman, a newbie is like a child to their art, even if that newbie is a hundred years old. Harry would be far less bothered if he could view Professor Michael Verres-Evans as an excited child, because that is something he knows how to handle.

(As a certain dragon would say, excitement typically means someone's free will wants to do the thing, so your job as the expert is to make sure they don't die or get maimed or discouraged along the way. Fear typically means their free will doesn't want to do the thing, and that's… much harder to deal with in a positive way. When you only have five minutes, anyway.)

On the other hand, fear is good for the cloud-walking enchantment if your goal is to not fall through the clouds.

"Hey, Dad! Catch!" Harry threw a bundle of cloud like a dodgeball.

After his Father had flailed his arms to defend himself against the attacking cloud and nearly fell over in the transparent box, he did not look amused.

"Just making sure the enchantment works for you," Harry said innocently. He then started bouncing up and down on the cloud like a trampoline, which took a bit of determination to firm it up to the right strength for a springy surface. "Come on out, the water vapor's fine!"

"How are you doing that?" Draco asked as he tried and failed (still on all fours) to get anywhere close to the height Harry was getting. Or bounce at all. Draco narrowed his eyes. "Are you cheating in a way that I can't?"

"Sort-of," said Harry, who was not using his broomstick bones to reach the heights he was reaching. "Try something for me, Draco. Each time you push off the cloud, shout 'UP!' in your mind like you're commanding your broomstick into your hand. Only instead of commanding a broomstick with your hand, you're commanding the clouds with your feet."

Draco jumped up and down a few times, succeeded in getting a good amount of height exactly once, failed to do it again for a while, succeeded, failed, succeeded, succeeded, and then he was off to the races, jumping around confidently and rather excitedly, not on all fours but on two feet.

Hermione watched on in amusement, giving a few smaller bounces.

Autumn had her head in the clouds. When she picked herself up and noticed Harry looking at her, she said, "Flips are harder than they look." She righted herself and ungracefully brushed a few strands of hair from her face.

"I bet the long hair and robes don't help," Harry observed.

She nodded. "It's hard to believe some humans can do a backflip from solid ground when I can't even get halfway. And I'm on a bouncy cloud!"

Harry shrugged. "It takes practice. Not that I have any experience myself, mind you. But tucking your legs as tight as you can and making yourself a ball should make you spin faster. That's what divers have to do."

"Divers?" asked Autumn, sounding confused. "Why would divers have to do that? I guess when they're turning around in water, which is kind of like air, but…"

"Oh, I didn't mean the deep-sea kind of divers. I mean people who jump off of high platforms and springboards. They do purely non-magical tricks mid-air, like spins and flips, and then they land in water. The most basic trick of all is a dive, where you enter the water head-first, so it's called 'diving'. It's a muggle sport, and you're judged by how smoothly you can move in the air and enter the water at the end."

"You know," said Draco, coming to a land next to Harry with a little bend of his knees that ate all of his momentum and prevented further bounces. He wobbled a bit. "There's this massive impulse in my mind to scoff and insult the idea, and I don't know what to do with it."

"You are doing well to notice the impulse in the first place and bravely speak it aloud, Mr. Malfoy," said Professor Monroe. He turned to face the carefully balanced man nearby. "Lucius, what is your mind doing with that particular manifestation of human beings becoming skilled in the art of physical grace?"

The man hesitated, then gave a dramatic sigh. "The point is taken, Lord Monroe."

"In this narrow application, I suspect that it is. As a general mindset, I suspect that it isn't. Your suspicion is right that not all muggle sports are so respectable as art forms, but neither are all wizarding sports. You know my opinion on modern Quidditch, after all. Do with that information what you will." Then, speaking in a quite clear and loud voice, "Two more minutes!" At a quieter volume, he spoke to Lucius directly, saying something Harry didn't catch.

"Alright," said Harry aloud, a bit to himself but also a bit performatively. "Let's see if this works."

He bounced over to the edge of the group, faced a direction of open clouds and air, planted his feet in soft clouds which he firmed up with a bit of determination, reeled back a fist, and allowed his mind to slip into the mental habit of air-bucking as his fist flew through the air in front of him.

And connected.

And made a breeze, along with a clapping sound.

Harry nodded in satisfaction.

"Would you like to learn something new, Mr. Potter?" asked the Defense Professor's voice, suddenly standing next to him as Hermione, Draco, and Autumn were off doing their own things.

"Huh?" asked Harry, a bit startled. "Um, sure."

The Defense Professor waved his wand, and a staircase of cloud rose upward. "That structure is incredibly fragile. Try climbing it. Be warned, you will need much more concentration and determination than usual. This task relies on the power of your imagination and the mental habits of air-bucking. It will be well enough if you make it up the first step, in the short time we have. And do not use your bones."

Harry nodded, trying not to let his eager overconfidence engage in the self-flattery that, as Moody once told him, "gets people killed, boy, and don't you forget it."

The Defense Professor isn't in the habit of overestimating or underestimating his students' potentials. If even the first step is difficult to get in one and a half minutes, then that's Harry's goal. If he gets the hang of it in thirty seconds, he'll go for the full staircase.

The first two attempts, in the first twenty seconds, saw his foot just slip through the thin sheen of visible vapor as if it wasn't even there. The third attempt, after he firmly visualized what he was trying to stand on, not just with his eyes, but with his mind (the same trick he used to air-buck against a 'wall' of air that isn't actually there), saw his foot find purchase, but as he raised his second foot, he fell through the first step.

This is hard. He needs to keep every step in mind the entire way through. But typically, the human mind – if it's focusing on walking at all – stops thinking about a foot after it has found purchase, it doesn't keep thinking about the foot the entire way through the step.

It took another two attempts and another twenty seconds to make it to the second step, but once he made it there, he tried to keep the mental habit going, force his mind along the pattern of thinking about each step all the way through its motion – and in particular thinking about the stair it was pressing against.

More than anything, this was an exercise in fully conscious walking. Which just feels downright weird when you've been in the habit of subconsciously walking for as long as you can remember.

But Harry did manage to climb the full staircase.

Even when he made it to the end, his mind was firmly focused on the thin platform beneath his feet at the top, and he couldn't spare much attention to anything else. (Which meant that he didn't see everyone else staring at him.)

He heard the Defense Professor's whisper into his ear, not really paying attention to it at first, "The Confundus Charm will wear off in three, two, one." And the cloud staircase disappeared. And Harry's eyes widened. When he examined this memory later, synced up side-by-side with the Defense Professor's and watching in slow motion, he would realize that he actually stood on thin air for a brief moment, not falling even after the structure he was seeing disappeared. But then like a cartoon, reality seemed to kick in and he fell to the cloud below. Though he managed a clean air cushion out of sheer habit before he landed.

"Congratulations, Mr. Potter," said the Defense Professor. "You have managed your first air staircase and platform." When Harry looked, the Defense Professor was standing next to Lucius, as if he hadn't moved from that spot this entire time.

Autumn was clapping her hands awkwardly, in that she didn't seem to know quite how to clap her hands together yet. "If that was your first try, there's no doubt in my mind anymore. You're definitely Silver Wing."

Hermione began following suit with more natural clapping, which caused Draco to give a few polite claps as well.

Based on the Headmistress's expression of interested surprise instead of indignation, she probably didn't know about the Confundus, so probably nobody else knows either.

Then, in another whisper that spoke directly into his ear, "Apologies for the surprise false memory charm and Confundus-" (and they didn't know about the memory charm that had apparently been cast on him either) "-but pony law allows for them in harmless teaching settings…"

Harry pretended to look at Lucius while he listened, who seemed to not be all there. He wore a somewhat distant frown that was only mildly paying attention to what Harry had just done.

"…so long as the mental magics are immediately revealed as such after the fact," the Defense Professor continued, "and did not change your actual thought processes, and were carried out by a recognized professional. I did not Confound or charm what you might call your sense of self, nor did I touch your cognition."

Harry pretended to look at Professor Michael Verres-Evans, who seemed like he was recovering from a small panic attack and trying not to let it show.

"I can accompany you to your Astral Plane," continued the private ear-whisper, "and point out exactly what was real and what was not by showing you a side-by-side comparison of memory. Naturally, this method of teaching is less effective once you know about it, and especially if you are given immediate advance warning. I won't do it again if you ask me not to."

"It's fine," whispered Harry, who had already gotten used to things like Dumbledore having to surprise mind-read him to check for past attempts at mind-reading, and doing the responsible, adult thing of asking Harry a question about breakfast so he wouldn't think of anything important, instead of doing the stupid thing of asking Harry for permission first. "You have my retroactive permission. And my permission going forward. I'll just treat the potential of being Confounded or False Memory Charmed at any time as an exercise in distrusting potentially false things that other people want me to believe. Things that, for whatever reason, my brain just assumes are real in the moment, and therefore wants to believe are true in retrospect. Besides, it's not like I'm immune to those charms if some actually malicious person tries them. It'd be good to have some practice."

"Well spoken. And the Astral Plane?"

"When we have available time. Unturned time."

"Very well," came the whisper, and a subtle nod from the man himself.

"Also, why didn't we have this conversation through Legilimency?" Harry whispered. This is creepier, he did not say. They weren't even making eye contact.

"Variety," came the whispered reply.

"Time to go," the Defense Professor called out loud. "Everybody mount up and follow me." There was a blur, and there was a thestral. "I'll be in my pony form," said Tom Riddle's voice, though not everybody present knew to recognize it as such. "I'd prefer if you didn't yet call me such things as 'Professor' or 'David' or 'Lord Monroe' where anypony can hear. I'm doing this mainly to avoid hecklers. And please do not dispel the illusion I'm about to project over us, Lucius, Headmistress. Children, please do not try a massed Finite."

"You alright, Dad?" Harry asked, trying to sound casual and not unsettled as he walked over to his (unnecessary) broomstick and mounted up.

After briefly staring at the thestral, then at the glowing word hanging above the group's head, an illusion that simply read 'tourists' from (Harry flew a bit side-to-side, then up-and-down) whatever angle you looked at it, Professor Michael Verres-Evans's gaze turned to face his son. "Considering I've just watched my son walk up an invisible stairway to heaven and go into free fall after he got there, I think I'm keeping it together, all things considered." He took a deep breath. "Is all magical learning that… dangerous-looking?"

Harry considered the question as they took off. "Dangerous-looking? From a muggle standpoint, I'd say the only subject I've taken so far that looks risky is broomstick riding, and only first years go through that. And we didn't even have soft clouds beneath us to break any falls."

"And the other subjects?" asked his father.

"The other subjects… Battle Magic probably just looks like flashing lights at the first-year level. Heck, the earliest combat spells we learned were so weak that they were invisible to the naked eye. Potions is probably the most objectively dangerous class we've taken at Hogwarts so far, and those lessons don't look all that bad until somebody stirs twenty seven times instead of twenty six and they blow their eyebrows off…" Harry trailed off at his dad's expression. "Just to be clear," he added, "we don't get to the potions that risk eyebrows on super subtle mistakes until after we pass our O.W.L.s. First years only get the potions that blow up if you add the wrong ingredients and stir in the wrong direction and sneeze into your cauldron."

"I don't think you are helping, Mr. Potter," said Riddle Tome from where he led the glass box holding Professor Michael Verres-Evans through the sky on an invisible leash.

"No," said Harry's father. "That does help, actually. I also imagine the professors are very vigilant about danger, especially if Hogwarts has the best safety record out of all the magical schools in the world."

"Exactly!" said Harry. "So… is there a problem?"

"Not… exactly."

"You looked worried."

"I was worried. I think I'm beginning to understand Mr. and Mrs. Granger a bit better now. That's all."

"One would think," said the thestral in front of them, "you would have reached that understanding already. When Mr. Potter was confined to Hogwarts and Dumbledore thought it a good idea to bring you there."

The muggle professor blinked. "No, that was when I finally understood the political realities of being a normal human being in a world run by secret magical governments that do whatever they want to people who don't have magic, and all we can do on our end is hope they treat our son well and don't memory-wipe us. That's not the same as coming face-to-face with clear evidence that some Hogwarts lessons would give me a heart attack after all, if I saw my son taking them with my own eyes."

And as Harry's father said that, they crested a cumulus cloud and saw Silver Wing's Flying Stadium with their own eyes. Harry had actually forgotten that the whole stadium was named after him, not just the museum inside. Come to think of it, is the whole stadium just for teaching his techniques?

And why are there so many Equinoids filing into the entrance? Is there some event going on? And when you really really think about it, why would flying pegasi bother using the entrance at all for a stadium that is, by all accounts, "open air"?

Admittance bureaucracy, his brain supplied as they approached. Stadium that's open to the air above + free-flying attendees + event that costs money for tickets + high trust society = pegasi and griffons and dragons use the entrance right alongside the unicorns and earth ponies and other Equinoids who don't have natural access to flight. So there's probably an event going on. Plus I bet there's some sort of magical detection web for Equinoids that try to sneak a freebie. Or maybe just good, old-fashioned, plain-old social pressure against cheaters, from anypony who spots a would-be seat-thief.

"This is the part where I explain to you," said Riddle's whispering voice in Harry's ear, despite seeming to be focused on finding a decent landing space, "that among my intentions for today's itinerary was to attend multiple opportunities for your pony form to announce his official return to Equestria. You already accepted one such opportunity – the one that did not actually reveal Silver Wing's return, nor Prince Horizon's physical appearance. It is up to you if you wish to do something interesting here."

"Got it," Harry whispered as he dismounted his broomstick a few seconds after the Defense Professor dismounted his own and landed on the flat, treated 'cirrus' cloud.

Most of the rest of their group was staring at the stadium, or at the beings in line, and were being stared at in return. Not all Equinoids are Circus-goers, not even half are, and so not all Equinoids have seen live humans yet, though most have at least seen pictures and descriptions in the newspapers, or heard stories from friends.

"So…" Harry did his best to ignore the staring and whispering ponies in front of them, and soon enough, the staring and whispering griffons behind them. "What're these long lines all about? It wasn't crowded like this the last time I was here."

Riddle Tome turned so that he was no longer faced forward, though he continued taking steps backward whenever there was room to advance, despite not looking where he was walking. He addressed the whole group, not just Harry. "We are about to attend the Silver Wing Remembrance Ceremony. Two days from now is the thirty-fifth anniversary of…" he grinned "…Silver Wing's first lesson on pegasus magic, during which he bantered with pegasus celebrities, sent many young colts and fillies home crying that night, got many angry phone calls from parents, and afterwards experienced a massive upsurge in attendees for his classes by the time his next lesson rolled around."

"Did he now?" asked Michael Verres-Evans in an intrigued voice.

Harry chuckled nervously. "Eh… what happens during the ceremony?"

"The 'Remembrance' in Silver Wing Remembrance Day is meant literally. So we'll be seeing some of that banter. Memories are shown on a big screen, some of the items from his museum are put on display, there's a moment of silence where everypony whishes Silver Wing the best of luck, wherever he is, and then pegasus magic lessons kick off for the year, with more of a bang than most years." The thestral looked directly at Harry and allowed the corners of his lips to twitch upwards. "Now flourished by a Wonderbolts performance, of course."

"When did it start?" asked Harry, ignoring the ribbing in favor of trying to get a certain question answered.

The grin was dropped, and neutral lecturing resumed. "It started as a private little get-together between Princess Twilight Sparkle, Former Wonderbolts Captain Flight Formation, Princess Celestia, and Scootaloo, who would later become Princess Airess. It has since grown into a much more major event."

"Did it naturally grow into a major event?" Harry asked, hinting at his certain question more explicitly, though not yet asking it outright.

"I had no hand in its early growth," said the thestral. "If that's what you're asking. But Princess Airess and Flight Formation weren't shy to accommodate ponies who heard about it on the grapevine, and Celestia wasn't shy to grant the official recognition of the crown. I did volunteer some of my own memories of your lessons once the Remembrance ceremony had already grown sufficiently large as to be a Cloudsdale holiday, and almost a national holiday. Now that Circus events are so popular and Equinoids of all shapes and sizes have cause to learn the basics of wingless pegasus magic, Silver Wing Remembrance Day is a national holiday, though not the kind that would cause ponies to get holiday pay or an off day. Except every five years, where it is a paid day off and the Ceremony is projected on Circus screens, for the benefit of those who cannot attend directly. It helps that it's always held on the weekend."

By the time Riddle Tome had finished explaining all of this, they were at the front of the line and heading to one of the twelve entrance booths. The lines were moving fast.

"Tickets-" said a voice that paused. A voice that belonged to mare of orange coat, with a mane that billowed like the cloudy sky around them. "Um," said Scootaloo. "Tickets please," she said as if on automatic, looking from Riddle Tome to the human tourists he was escorting, until her gaze settled on Harry.

"Pardon me," said the polite voice of Draco Malfoy, "and I apologize in advance if I offend, but you're a princess, right?"

"Yeeeeees," said Scootaloo, her voice dragging out the answer as her gaze lingered on Harry for a while, before finally darting over to Draco.

"Is it normal for a princess to… do the job you're currently doing?" he asked, still in that polite voice.

Scootaloo's expression grew a bit… adult. Her eyebrows furrowed and focused, like she knew the question she was really being asked, and she was carefully considering her answer so as not to say anything childish. "Well, it's normal for princesses to do the jobs they're responsible for. I'm the one who's most responsible for this holiday existing in the first place, so I'm responsible for making sure every aspect is running smoothly. We need horseshoes on the ground, and I'm first in line for any task I can do, if I'm not doing something more important. One less paid volunteer to pay, and I'm more passionate than any random volunteer would be. Though to be fair to the volunteers they can get pretty passionate…" her gaze grew a bit distant.

"There's nothing more important going on right now than admissions?" Draco asked.

Her gaze refocused. "Not yet. Now that's enough questions, there's bodies behind you. No more pestering the princess! Here's your lanyards." She floated out eight. "Get inside and find your seats so we can keep the line moving. Next!"

As Professor Monroe ushered them in, he began lecturing again. "She has been the host for this event going back to its inception." He led them quickly through a section of 'grounded' seats. There were plenty of seats suspended in floating clouds above them, almost reminding Draco of the Quidditch Dillenium Stadium in how many bodies it seemed capable of seating.

Although…

"This is more than I thought space charms could handle," Draco pointed out. He wasn't surprised by the stadium being bigger on the inside than the outside, he was surprised at how much bigger. "How is the game supposed to be watchable from the seats that are that far away?" he asked, pointing to the most distant sections of the wide, wide oval.

"Pegasus eyesight is keen," said their pony professor as they walked at a brisk pace towards what might actually be front row seats.

Which were actually quite a good distance away, which explained the brisk pace. Most of the attendees flooding into the already-packed stadium seemed to be flying to their seats. There also seemed to be many ponies who were simply Apparating- no, being portkeyed into their seats.

"As is griffon and dragon eyesight," continued the Defense Professor. "And there are projector screens for everyone else."

"Don't forget the alicorns," said Harry's voice from behind him. "Alicorns have eyes like telescopes. No glasses needed."

"How does that work?" asked Professor Michael Verres-Evans.

"Magic," Harry answered, his words overlapping with the start of Professor Monroe's answer.

"It shouldn't," said the alicorn who was currently wearing glasses, "if I've correctly understood the question you're really asking. If Fiendfyre were to destroy the right forehoof of Mithril, let's just say your son would have needed to learn to write with his left hand, once upon a time."

"Not anymore!" said Harry cheerfully. "We have technology!" he declared dramatically.

"I would not call powerful magics by the name muggles use for their trinkets," Draco's father contributed.

"Actually, Father, I think Harry's referencing a famous saying among scientists."

"Sure am," said Harry. "From the perspective of a primitive society looking at an advanced one, any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic," he quoted. "If super-advanced aliens from outer space arrived on the planet tomorrow, their technology would look like magic to muggles, and probably even to wizards, even if that technology ran on purely mundane principles. That is the rising power of science, Lord Malfoy. But anyway, when I said 'we have technology', well, magical devices and spells are just the technology of wizards, from my perspective. And I really, really don't mean that as an insult, I mean it as a simple observation. It's the inheritance of all sapient minds to understand the world around them, to strive that their technology- their power be innovated and iterated upon to make better technology, better powers."

"Mm," said Draco's father, almost as if he hadn't heard Harry's words… which he probably mostly hadn't. Draco's father has been getting more and more withdrawn when the topic of muggles comes up, lately.

"Stop pushing," Draco whispered to Harry, who paused, met Draco's gaze, and nodded.

"So how is it handled when someone tries to sneak into the stadium without paying?" Harry asked in the Professor's direction. "And then sneak back out, of course."

"Depends on their manner of sneaking," answered the thestral. "First I'll say that there is no such thing as an unauthorized exit from the stadium, or most places in Equestria aside from prison. To leave is fully allowed and unrestricted, for it is against the ethics of pony society to keep sapient beings confined when they do not consent to confinement, and have otherwise committed no violations of law." He adopted his standard lecturing cadence. "In order for someone to enter into a building, consent is needed both from the building owner and the guest. To leave, you need only the withdrawal of consent from one party. If the owner demands the guest leave, they are no longer a guest and they must leave, or they are violating the owner's property rights and they are trespassing, occupying a building they do not own and do not have permission or approval to occupy. If the guest demands to leave and they are kept, it is kidnapping. This philosophy is applied practically, not just in theory, with the occasional crazy circumstance carving out an interesting exception to that general rule, of course. Although hard cases make bad law, so pony society trusts their dispute resolvers to be fair and just during the weird cases, rather than making a massive edifice of legal code for every exception. An edifice that nopony would be able to easily remember. In practice, that means you could teleport out, Apparate away, portkey home, phoenix travel escape, even fall through the floor of this cloud stadium if you wished, with no consequences to yourself. Well, no legal consequences. You'd still be falling to your potential demise. I repeat, please do not take off your bracelets and anklets, my good tourists."

"Ah…" said Harry. "And my original question? What happens to people who enter without permission?"

"Unauthorized entrances are blocked, tracked, and warded by various means, not least by the space enchantment itself. If, during an event like this, somebody manages to bypass security and sneak in anyway, and they get caught, they are charged with theft on top of trespassing, because they have not purchased a ticket. Unless they have purchased a ticket, in which case it's just the trespassing again."

"Would they get charged with a more serious theft if they stole front-row seats instead of back-row?"

"Yes. I wonder why you are asking all of this, Mr. Potter."

"The obvious reason," said Harry.

The thestral grinned. "While it would greatly amuse me to see a certain pony charged for trespassing into the stadium named after him, and for theft of admission to an event meant to remember him, I regret to inform you that this stadium technically belongs to the pony it's named after. Legal complexities of stewardship aside, it is simply impossible for him of all ponies to trespass here, given that he's the official property-owner on paper. Even, say, if it is discovered that no ticket was purchased in his name, and he was not admitted by any means that are yet officially recognized."

"Mr. Potter," said Headmistress McGonagall in a somewhat strict voice, though there was a hint of defeatism there, a tinge of emotional concession that it was probably pointless to even ask. "What are you planning on doing?"

"I have no solid plans whatsoever," said Harry. "I've pre-committed to no courses of action in my mind. It is entirely possible that today will pass and nothing interesting will happen beyond what was planned for us."

"BOO!" said a loud voice from right next to them, and Harry turned to see Discord, cupping the side of his lips that were shaped like an 'O' and giving a thumbs-down.

Discord then went immediately back to chatting with the pony sitting next to him, as if his little outburst had happened without him even being consciously aware of it. The pony he was chatting with was none other than Princess Twilight Sparkle, who gave Harry a wink as he passed by. Princess Luna was on Discord's right, Celestia on Luna's Right, Twilight on Discord's left, and the Elements of Harmony sat in the row immediately behind them. There were also eight empty seats immediately to the left of Twilight.

True front-row seats in every sense of the word.

When the 'tourists' sat down, they would follow the order of Riddle Tome sitting first, closest to the Princesses, followed by Autumn next to him, followed by Harry's Dad, Harry, Draco, Lucius, McGonagall, Hermione.

"That said," Harry continued as he passed by the rarified company, "It never hurts to ask potentially useful questions. I've been given the official, crown-sanctioned go-ahead to have fun. So I guess we'll just wait and see if I decide I want to do something."

"That's the spirit!" said what looked like a wrinkly, scale-less dragon that was quite disturbingly pale-peach coloured as well as human-sized and sort-of human-shaped, sitting next to the Elements of Harmony. The phrase 'uncanny valley' came to Harry's mind. The phoenix on his shoulder did not go unnoticed either.

"Finally come out of your cave?" Riddle asked.

"Ya got eyes, don't cha?" asked the creature, earning him a slap on the back of his head, courtesy of his phoenix's wing.

Riddle took the jibe in good humor. "What finally brought you out after so long?"

"My own free will, of course," said the dragon. "The future is now. And I think I'm finally ready for it. My rehabilitation ain't fragile any more."

The phoenix gave a "Caw!" of approval.

"Ya bastard," the dragon addended, still addressing Riddle, and earning him another slap on the back of his head.

Riddle nodded in seeming understanding. "Good to hear. How did you reduce your size? Shrinking Potion?"

"Nope!" said the dragon, raising a single claw in the air like a finger. He then looked at his own claw, which blurred into a… a human hand? "Stop by later and I'll let ya in on a neat trick with the magus thing." He blew out a small flame, a flame which caught and hovered just above his raised finger. "Morgana couldn't hold a candle to me!"

Again, a phoenix wing slap. It seemed routine for the two, at this point.

Riddle's eyebrows rose, as did Harry's and a few others. "I'll be sure to find the time when I can."

"Excuse me," said Harry. "But I don't think I've heard about you. May I ask your name?"

"The masterful Master Fool, at my service," said the dragon, earning him yet another wing slap. "Finally done with my however long of seclusion. Say, what century is it on Earth?"

That question earned him some odd looks from the humans in front of him.

"Almost the twenty-first," said Riddle, unbothered. "The turn of the millennium will be in seven years and change."

The dragon gave a low whistle.

Riddle tilted his head. "I'm tempted to ask why you're asking now and not a good deal earlier."

"And I'm tempted to answer it's because I'm finally not tempted any longer," answered the dragon. "If I asked back before I was ready, curiosity might've killed the incautious cat. Just like it killed a certain cat I knew, once upon a time. Eh he-he-he," he chuckled to himself, earning him yet another wing slap. "I know, I know. Schadenfreude's a bad emotion. But do ya have any idea what Morgana-" Another wing slap. "What I'm sayin' is, I didn't even know that's what happened! And I didn't even do anything, she did it to herself-" Another wing slap. "I'm just sayin' she got what she-" Slap. "Ah, fine. Have it yer way," he pouted, earning another wing slap. "Will ya stop that?"

"Quietus," said Riddle, his horn glowing briefly. "The joys of phoenix companionship," he explained to the humans staring at the now silent argument between dragon and phoenix. "Ms. Granger, you are lucky to-" he began, seeming to address Hermione, but stopping mid-sentence. "Never mind, and apologies," he said.

There was a brief, awkward silence between the humans, after which a few smaller conversations broke out.

Harry took the time to examine the big front stage in the center of the stadium, which had a lot of the memorabilia from his museum arrayed in a half-circle: including his 'wondercolts' outfit made by Rarity; a report card from Cloudsdale High (straight A+'s, naturally, though he couldn't see that at this distance without being in his alicorn form); and his headband of course.

It didn't take long for the event to begin.

"Attention, Mares and Gentlestallions!" said a voice that was clearly practiced in announcing for major events like this – cool, confident, and projecting, with skilled inflections on the right syllables to captivate the audience immediately. It was helped by the fact that the entire stadium had dimmed in brightness, and spotlights were moving back and forth across the wide crowd, as if searching for a target. "Dragons and Griffons, Changelings and Diamond Dogs, Equinoids all! Announcing today's host, former Wonderbolt Captain, give it up for: Soooaaariiiin'!"

There was thunderous, though lopsided applause, mostly from the stands floating in the air. From the grounded seating areas, there was more constrained, yet still present applause.

Soarin' himself, when he began speaking, was clearly not quite as good at presenting as the disembodied voice had been. He was just a bit awkward, just a bit hesitant with some of his lines, though he was still clearly well-versed to public speaking in front of massive crowds.

"Not Scootaloo?" Harry loud-whispered to Riddle two seats over.

"She said it would have felt like lying if she tried to host it this year," Riddle whispered back. "She knows you're back, after all. She almost cancelled the whole thing entirely, but so many arrangements had already been made that she decided to at least allow somepony else to carry out this year's ceremony."

Harry frowned, and mulled that over for a while as he watched an event that only existed because a lot of sapient beings who were grateful to him thought he was gone. Many probably thought he's dead. A disquiet grew within his conscience as he sat there, watching memories of his past self.

The moral disquiet grew as the proceedings went on.

And grew.

"Permission to point my wand at you?" he loud-whispered to Riddle.

"Granted."

"Emergus. Ventriliquo." And he said a few sentences. Asked a few narrow questions. Got a few answers.

And then he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The final memory that was shown, after many others, was his first flight lesson, in particular the parts involving Soarin'. The memory ended with Silver Wing falling through the cloud floor of the stadium, just like he had in the memory that was shown immediately prior, the memory of his speech at Flight Week.

This was followed by current-day Soarin' saying that he was young and stupid and full of hot air. He hopes that no future ponies, and especially no future Wonderbolts follow the example they saw out of his and Spitfire's past selves, and Flight Formation was right to dress them both down.

Even if Silver Wing was being a cheeky little munchkin.

This earned some chuckles from the audience.

"But that's an excuse that only works for foals," said Soarin' to the whole stadium with a sad sigh. "Adults should be more mature than to let cheeky young colts get under their fur. And I hate to say it, I wish I could've been better, but it took me thirty-five years to feel like I'm finally ready to say I'm sorry to Silver Wing, and actually mean it."

Harry almost pre-committed in that moment, but decided to hold off.

Soarin' then said that it was time for a moment of silence, to remember Silver Wing as he was – a real, living pony, who had his own little issues just like everypony else, but who did pretty well despite them. Much better than Soarin' did, that's for sure. Wherever he is, whatever he's doing, let's everybody wish him the best of luck, and hope he returns soon.

And there was silence.

And that's when Harry pre-committed.

"Quietus," he whispered with quite a bit of extra magical effort behind the spell, erecting a strong sound-proof barrier around himself just so he could avoid getting too much pre-knowledge that he might want to determine for himself later. He also looked away from the stage, at the expressions of his fellow humans and ponies, for the same reason.

He saw it on some of their faces – the ones who did not have their eyes closed. He saw the moment his future self made himself known…

"So that's where my headband went," said an Alicorn voice into the silence of the stadium. "Thank you," he said in a curt, performative tone that you would never use when actually delivering heartfelt thanks to someone. It's the tone some people use when they feel like they've finally gotten what had already been owed to them, and it's society's custom to say thank you, so they say it with just a tinge of cheeky not-quite-sarcasm. Then, more sincerely, "Apology accepted, Soarin'," he said to the gaping stallion. Then, slightly insincerely again, and trying his best to mimic Soarin's light tone of ribbing from earlier when he called him a munchkin, "Even if, from my perspective, it's a year late, Mr. Grown-Up Stallion."

By this point, all eyes (and the projecting screens) were on the colt pegasus with a white-glowing ethereal mane, headband over his forehead. Those who had not closed their eyes during the moment of silence had seen him place it over his horn. Everyone else had their eyes open by this point. Doubts about the how real he was were mostly non-existent due the fact that his voice and appearance almost exactly matched the memories that had just been shown. Aside from the mane, which might have made it seem more real, in a way. And due to pre-arranged charms, all of the crowd's gasps and other noise were silenced during this moment of silence.

"Thanks for the well-wishing for all these years, everypony! I think it actually helped more than you realize." Or rather, Equestria's general goodness and competence, which manifests in things like nation-wide well-wishing, helped. Specifically, it helped Riddle. "No need for this event anymore," he said. "I'm not going to ask that this one be canceled. I've been told there's still an unimportant show that lots of ponies put a great deal of effort into preparing, and I wouldn't want all that effort to be wasted. But you don't need to have any future days like this now that I'm back." He was grinning widely. "My perilous journey involving Time-travel is over. I got this neat mane out of it, and now I can do this." He made a wordless Patronus charm, and quickly expanded it to encompass the entire stadium, then allowed it to wink out, all in the span of three seconds. "Cool, huh? Although I've realized I probably shouldn't do it so much," he said as many Equinoids blinked away their temporary blindness. "So that'll be the last time it comes as a surprise, besides Circus battles. Sorry about everyone's eyes, now and earlier." Then, as he felt enough gazes had settled back on him again, gazes that could actually see again, he said, "Later!"

And he fell through the cloud stage, the cloud floor, dropping out of the crowded stadium.

…and right into a Sarlacc pit lodged in a flat expanse of clouds immediately below the stadium (clouds that were so smooth and crested that they almost looked exactly like desert dunes). Tentacles reached upward and claw-like teeth pointed down inward to a snapping beak and drooling tongue.

Author's Note

It's been a while since I included some good, ol' fashioned, light-hearted puzzling opportunities for you guys. There's the somewhat unanswered question from the start of the chapter, and obviously the Sarlacc Pit at the end. Two separate puzzles, two separate answers.

No pressure to answer, I intend to reveal both answers in the next non-rehab chapter, no strings attached. I'd also call these both 'GAP' puzzles, 'genuinely approachable puzzles'. I would not lump these in with super obscure, single-hint, incredibly-creative-outside-the-box-thinking puzzles like Autumn's name used to be when it was first introduced. I'd say these puzzles are easy-to-mid-tier.

Rehabilitation 14.1: A Tendency Towards Tyranny

Albus seriously wondered, not for the first time in his life, or the second, or the tenth, how long it's going to take this time for him to go truly, irredeemably, unretrievably mad. At a wild guess, a few days. A week at most.

Well, Albus hadn't been wrong. After around six days and change, he finally came to believe that Equus is as real as Earth, and ponies are as real as people.

It turned out to be possible to move the Mirror such that it reflects new objects and environments onto Albus's side, in real time. After that test had been run, Celestia had offered to take him on a tour of Equestria. Albus, in his role as neutral observer and critical evaluator, had not declined. Thus was the Mirror removed from its vault, with Riddle standing in front and Albus keeping pace within, wherever it moved.

In advance of all of this, he considered it highly unlikely that the Mirror would play ball with deception attempts that were purely illusion. Tom would at least have to fabricate physical objects and reflect those, which would be more difficult.

Fabricating a whole alternate universe, with multiple cities, countless colorful creatures that are not at all Voldemort's style, and a bumpy flying carriage ride in between each destination… that's not plausible even by Voldemort's standards of plausibility. Sure, the 'not his style' could be exactly what he wants Albus to think. The bumpy ride due to 'unexpected turbulence too strong for the stabilizing enchantments to dampen' could have been a convenient way to make it literally feel realer.

But…

But even given practically infinite time to forge this deception, it was just so… incredibly detailed. Voldemort would have gotten bored doing all this by himself.

The world itself is physically real, of that Albus is certain, and the ponies within are almost certainly real, in Albus's estimation.

Next question: Could Voldemort have literally cut this world out of whole cloth? Could he, perhaps, have created beings that went on to do all this work for him? Could he have arranged for a living world to be conjured from nothing, not unlike the Founders did with Hogwarts?

…

Again, highly unlikely in Albus's subjective view. Voldemort did not really create all that many things in his life. And even if Voldemort was capable of creating a Hogwarts, this is so far beyond that as to break Albus's suspension of disbelief when considering the possibility.

Far more likely, he thought, is that Voldemort was deposited into this pre-existing world, a world perhaps created by the Mirror, or more likely by the Atlanteans, and now Voldemort is doing what he does best: turning everything in that world to his advantage.

Voldemort could still be (and probably is) controlling what Albus sees, where he goes, whom he encounters. Ostensibly it was Celestia who chose which cities to visit, which streets to walk, which ponies to talk to. (Not that Albus interacted with most ponies, nor were most ponies even permitted to see Albus or the Mirror. Although he did speak with a few, including a few ponies he requested at random.) But it could still easily be a conspiracy in the 'Voldemort controls my information flow' regard.

For the most part, the Mirror floated a centimeter off the ground. Riddle and Celestia walked in front, guards walked beside, and the Mirror itself was disillusioned. Albus had to learn how to walk backwards in order to stay in place and not move forwards too quickly, to stay lockstep with the Mirror's surface. He kept an eye out in front of him on the ground through the Mirror's surface for things that would trip him up behind him.

In all his time as a powerful wizard, as the Holder of the Line of Merlin, and as the Headmaster of Hogwarts, he had never had to do something quite like it before, and so it took some getting used to.

Albus was given complete freedom to make requests, and he was given plenty of advance warning for all sudden changes of direction.

He occasionally asked them to pause when the Mirror reflected a wide enough space, an interesting sight, a vast forest, and then he himself would leave the Mirror, leave the viewing window showing Tom and Celestia, and explore things on his side.

The only thing the Mirror did not reflect, in its current setting, was anything with a brain. And if it reflected an object that was moving in the pony world for just about any reason, it would roll or drift to a stop on Albus's side, unless it was automated machinery. Anything powered by magic did not function on his side, only the mundane mechanisms were transferred, and so basically nothing functioned properly.

The first day had been a literal breath of fresh air. He did not realize how much he had missed the sight of the sun, the touch and smell of grass, the feel of a cool breeze on his skin.

The big modern mess of Manehattan… perhaps he could have done without that. But it had been the perfect place to request random ducks down alleys, or into shops, or state buildings.

The other cities were less urban, but no less impressive, especially Canterlot castle.

The Crystal empire: stunning.

Ponyville: nice and cozy.

From Ponyville, he asked to see the nearby forest, an outing that soothed his soul like red hot metal dipped in water.

Line-of-sight was not quite required for the Mirror to reflect something. It seemed to reflect objects, not merely what part of the object it could see. The Mirror could reflect buildings and their contents, cities and their contents, forests and their contents. Minus anything with a brain. And with hard borders on the sides. The reflected settings were deep, but narrow. Well, not too narrow, especially as he got further away from the mirror itself.

So he could go as deep into the distance as he wished. And a few times he did.

Albus wondered, as he walked through a forest – a forest which was not quite the best for an old man seeking a casual stroll, it had no paths and plenty of leaves and roots and hills, but it served well enough – Albus wondered if, all along, he could have drilled through the stone of the room he had been confined to for the week prior to this outing and seen an empty world beyond, with or without Riddle's permission.

Unaccompanied by Tom or Celestia or anybody, he found a good sturdy branch in the forest to turn into a broomstick, which he used once he had gotten his fill of walking.

What finally did it, though, was when he asked for the Mirror to be attached to the underside of the flying carriage, rather than sitting inside the passenger seat. He asked if he could ride that broomstick with a vast expansive world beneath him. Tom had to do the same to maintain Albus's presence, though Tom flew in his pony form, and it took a carefully regulated speed so that neither would outpace the other or the carriage.

Occasionally, Albus would ask them to slow down and pause mid-air. (The ponies claimed to rest their carriage on clouds that were impermeable to pegasi, alicorns, thestrals, and cloud-enchanted objects like the wheels to the flying carriage. They further claimed it was a pain to do this while keeping the space directly beneath the carriage compartment free of any clouds whatsoever.)

When the procession had come to a stop, Albus would fly down to the distant villages beneath him and enter the grocery store, the library (if there was one), the homes (though it felt just a bit wrong to do so, and he left quickly enough).

The rows of fruits and vegetables – all edible except the ones that humans couldn't eat, according to his edibility detection charm – hadn't quite been enough to convince him. The books in the library hadn't quite done it, though they were very convincing. Seeing unmade beds and scrambled toys in a child's room – that is what truly hammered home the reality of the situation.

Well, seeing it twenty times over, in five different villages, seeing evidence of different children with different parents and different habits and minds, THAT is what did it.

Given enough time, Voldemort might have been able to fabricate all that. But Albus considered that possibility so unlikely as to be worth discarding. Again, too much detail.

Far more likely is that Voldemort truly is inhabiting a world full of ponies, and he manipulated his way to the top of what he claims to be the most powerful country of that world, and now he's trying to manipulate Albus into releasing him.

One thing Albus was curious about, for he did not manage to eavesdrop upon them this time, is what agreement Tom supposedly settled upon to acquire Celestia's favor. Assuming the conversation he 'wasn't supposed to hear' a week ago hadn't been a lie, what favor is Tom giving in return for the massive favor from Celestia?

Even Albus had been slightly hesitant to make requests like 'please reflect massive swaths of your cities and/or countryside all at once', but Celestia had granted each and every request, after taking a few precautions. Perhaps what convinced her to acquiesce was Albus's continual conveyance of his own displeasure that he had to make such risky requests.

What could Celestia have demanded, what could Tom have agreed to do, that was capable of matching that?

Knock, knock. "Ms. Sparkle?"

Pause.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK. "Are you there, Ms. Sparkle?" Riddle asked, raising his voice louder this time.

Long pause.

Riddle sighed in annoyance. He turned away from the door that led to the private research lab – the door that was supposed to lead to his first official day on 'Project Panacea'. It was a project to which, before, he had only ever acted as consultant. If he had time for it, if he was properly compensated for his time, and if he found Twilight's difficulties interesting/amusing.

It would have been most accurately named 'Project Mass-Immortality', but that would have been a bigger security issue in Celestia's eyes. As if 'Panacea' didn't have a similar problem.

He arrived exactly on time according to his deal with Celestia, did exactly as instructed, knocked on exactly the correct door, and was met with no answer.

But before leaping to any conclusions, he decided to gather more information.

The familiar face he came across as he headed towards the main library might be a decent source. What was the name again? He remembered it being a common name for a pet dog- ah. Right.

"Spike," he addressed.

The green dragon looked up from a parchment. "Huh?"

"Do you know where Ms. Sparkle has gone to? I'm meant to meet her at this hour."

The dragon waved his hand. "No idea. Today's one of those days."

Riddle blinked. "Ponyville is still having those?"

"Yep."

"Are they letting up at all?"

"Nope."

"Aren't you usually with her when 'these' days happen?" He remembered a story or five from Mr. Potter, and that had been a common trend.

"I got homework."

Riddle took the answers all in stride, not pausing as he thought of the next step he should take to meet his obligations. "Would you mind sending a letter to Celestia for me?"

"Only Twilight has permission to send letters to Princess Celestia."

Riddle said nothing in reply, just stared Spike in the eyes. He used no legilimency, no Confundus charm, or any other form of magical coercion. After a few seconds, he did remove his cloak and his glasses. It was a bat-winged, bat-fanged, eye-slitted thestral alicorn staring Spike in the eyes, instead of a seeming earth-pony. And a few seconds later, as he deliberately dwelled on death, as he consciously activated his connection to his two horcruxes, it was a semi-ascended Alicorn, with mane half-ethereal (and painful to look upon), who was staring at Spike.

Spike gulped. "Okay, okay, fine, Mr. Scary Alicorn, sheesh. You get to send letters to Princess Celestia too." He held out a claw-hand. "That'll be twenty bits."

Riddle's eyebrows rose, and he diminished his pressure. "How often do you charge for this?"

"Every time a pony asks, nowadays. Except Twilight, she gets one free send a day."

"Twenty bits is expensive."

"It's for instant delivery. And you don't get the friend discount. Twenty bits is how much I charge normal ponies who want to send something right away to other normal ponies."

Riddle considered pressing further, claiming that neither he nor the recipient were normal ponies, but he noticed he was contending with Spike's words and not his meaning, and let it drop. Besides, bits mean nothing to him, except as a form of power to get what he wants.

He levitated over the petty cash from one of his cape pockets, which he had slung back over his back at the same time that he had returned the glasses to his face. He brought forth a parchment, upon which words appeared, accompanied by small whisps of smoke.

"Say," said Spike, looking at the rising smoke. "How do you do that hornless stuff? It is hornless, right?"

"Yes." Riddle extended a hoof. "Two-hundred-thousand bits."

"Uh… yeah, no."

"That's what I thought."

Riddle handed over the finished letter, and Spike spat fire.

One minute later, a true Patronus appeared in front of Riddle, eliciting no more than a blink of reaction out of him. Internally, he felt the distant urge to fire a Killing Curse at the Patronus message, an interesting leftover impulse from his sabbatical in the crystal caves beneath Canterlot.

The Patronus spoke in Celestia's voice. "Normally, I would say no. I would say you are forbidden. I would say the first session is cancelled for reasons that are entirely not your fault, and that we shall reschedule for a time when Twilight is hopefully not occupied by…"

"One of those days," Spike whispered.

"…an important day of studying friendship and magic in the field." There was then a pause long enough to indicate the message had ended.

Not that you could stop me anyway, he thought. And you probably know that.

"Today is abnormal, I take it?" Riddle asked.

The Patronus left and then returned. "It is for me. It does not feel normal to grant express permission for something like this to a pony like you." There came a long-suffered sigh. "But for you it will be perfectly normal, just like the last few times. I doubt it is coincidence that Twilight is gone today, at this hour of all times. Just like I doubt it was coincidence you and Silver first met her when you did. Just like I doubt it was coincidence you returned the day of Chrysalis's invasion and Discord's escape. As much as it goes against every fiber of my being to say this now that I truly know you, experience is telling me that I should not interfere if you wish to seek her out. Or wait until the dust has settled. It is entirely up to you. I will not impede Harmony's design."

"Even with me involved?" he asked with a grin that he allowed to colour the tone of his voice.

"Yes, even with you involved. Despite all your faults, you are an alicorn and a strong wielder of Harmony magic. Who knows? Perhaps Twilight is doing something incredibly important, dangerous, and difficult, and she will need your military advice."

The Patronus vanished.

Leaving Riddle with a choice.

After consideration, he decided he would put some effort into locating Ms. Sparkle the normal way, and if that failed, he would find something else to do. The time in his schedule had already been set aside, so he'd be sacrificing none of his other interests by playing this small game of ponyhunt.

He has Ms. Sparkle's blood and hair samples in his study. (That is the term he now calls his workshop beneath Canterlot, for he has come to need a benign word to prevent members from the reserves from inquiring further; 'workshop' elicited curiosity and questions if they could see it, 'study' implied privacy and killed polite/curious questions about it). But using those samples to locate her would be a violation of the trust placed in him. Luna hadn't made the requested of Twilight for a reason like this.

Plus it would be cheating, which to be clear he has no problem resorting to in emergencies or important matters. But for casual problems like this one, it's best to allow the constraints stand so that you are actually challenged by the problem's difficulty instead of just brute forcing it.

So for the time being, he would stick to the ability set and toolset available to a less powerful wizard or pony trying to solve this problem, someone without access to dark locating charms from ancient lost lore. (And without access to the True Patronus charm which is capable of locating your friends who do not mind being found, though he wouldn't know about that trick until much later.)

As a first step, he considered asking Spike: when he last saw Twilight, what she had been doing, where she had been going. But then a better idea came to mind.

"Spike?"

The dragon groaned and looked up from his page again. "Yeah?"

"Twenty more bits, if you send a letter to Ms. Sparkle asking where she is."

Spike is not quite a tool available to most wizards and unicorns, but Riddle just couldn't help himself from thinking laterally about the problem. Besides, he shouldn't have helped himself. Anypony else in his position, operating under the same constraints, only without lore or powerful magic, could have seen this possibility too.

"Thirty bits if I have to write it myself," the dragon haggled. "And she might not appreciate being interrupted."

"Twenty-three," said Riddle. Because you don't ever want to get into the habit of not arguing for your own self-interest, otherwise others will walk all over you with their perceived self-interests. "You need not supply the quill or parchment, and it is not a long message. It is only a single question, 'Where are you?', followed by your signature." Twilight Sparkle was more likely to respond quickly if she believed it was Spike asking. "That is worth five additional bits, in my view, not ten. I could write it myself," he bluffed.

"Twenty-five bits," Spike argued, trying to upsell his own services once again.

"Fine. If you can do it in less than fifteen seconds."

Like anything else, arguing for your own self-interest is an art form. If Spike wants to pretend that the difficult task of writing one sentence and signing his name is worth two bits more than Riddle pretends to believe that simple task is worth – Riddle actually believes it's worth more than three bits, since the true purpose is to prevent Twilight from immediately realizing Riddle is the one who's asking, but Spike doesn't know that (not that he couldn't forge Spike's handwriting, but again that would be cheating) – then Riddle will demand a very minor task in return for those two extra bits. He demanded something so simple and easy that Spike will not balk at it, something that Spike might even view as a worthy challenge for two extra bits.

Plus, Riddle actually does want this resolved quickly, without waiting for Spike to take his dandy time with it.

Riddle hovered twenty-five bits out of his pouch. He kept two in the air close to himself, then hovered the rest along with a quill and blank parchment towards Spike, who scribbled out the note and flamed it in less than ten seconds. The remaining two bits were delivered.

"Pleasure doing business with ya," said Spike.

Only because I'm consciously trying to make it a pleasure for you instead of a pain, given that you are a minor and Luna would want me to do that.

"Our business might not be over quite yet," Riddle cautioned. "I might ask that another letter be sent, depending on Ms. Sparkle's reply. If she replies."

"Fine by me."

A minute passed in silence. Spike went back to his parchment, which at a glance seemed to be about Chaos Magic. Homework about chaos magic…

Eventually, Spike looked up again. "So… how long you gonna wait? It can take a while."

"Four more minutes, then I'll leave the premises." Ponyville would be his next destination. "I'll return here if there are no leads, and then call it a day if she hasn't responded to your letter by then."

"Cool," said Spike. He began twiddling his thumb-claws.

"You have trouble focusing when I'm here?" Riddle asked, since he had nothing better to do.

"Um… yeah."

"We could talk to pass the time," said Riddle. "If you wish."

"Um… what about?"

Out of habit from practicing positive and curious conversations with the reserves, two mnemonics from one of Mr. Potter's psychology books went through his mind:

Family, Occupation, Recreation, Dreams.

Religion, Abortion, Politics, Economics. (This second mnemonic would not be understood all that well by the inhabitants of modern Equestria, Luna had pointed out. Ancient Equestria, absolutely.)

When having casual chats with strangers whose beliefs you don't know (or even when you do know their beliefs, even if their beliefs align with yours), it is safer and 'happier' to FORD your conversational partner instead of RAPEing them. The book did not put it quite like that, of course.

It is also productive to discuss topics you yourself are genuinely interested in, so…

"How goes the chaos magic?" Riddle asked.

Spike blew out some flame onto his hand and snapped his finger-claws.

Riddle erected a flat shield to block the suddenly-incoming, large letters that said 'GREAT!'. The answer to his question collided against his barrier, rebounded, and turned out to be made of paint and glitter, which splattered all across the library.

"Oh, that's just great!" Spike groaned. "Now I gotta clean all that up."

"Joke's on you, I suppose," Riddle said. "Although I could clean it up," he offered. "If you answer a few questions about what you just did."

"Really? Sure!"

With a thought, Riddle's magic vanished half of the mess. "The rest will be cleared once my questions are answered. First, what exactly did you intend to do when you snapped your fingers? What was going through your mind?"

"I wanted to show you my chaos magic is going great."

"Anything else?"

"Um… no?"

Since Spike didn't seem to be overly self-aware of his own thought processes – not surprising given his age and intellect – Riddle would have to get at the answer a different way. "Why not just tell me it was going great?"

"Well… showing is better than telling, you know?"

"But your demonstration did tell me. That paint spelled out the word 'GREAT!' as it approached me."

Spike's eyes widened. "It did?"

It was only in the air for a brief time, and perhaps backwards from Spike's perspective. "Yes, it did. But what I want to know is why you did not answer my question by saying 'great' and then demonstrate your chaos magic."

"Ummm… I didn't want to bother saying it. That's boring. And Chaos magic works better when you surprise ponies out of the blue."

Riddle processed that answer. "Then allow me to summarize what just happened, and you tell me if it sounds right. Your first impulse was to answer my question by saying 'great', but you didn't want to just say it, you wanted to demonstrate your progress. So since you didn't want to say it, the Chaos magic made written letters. Instead of, say, a big mouth shouting 'GREAT!' at me." He used the Royal Canterlot Voice for effect. "Does that sound correct?"

Spike's eyes were very wide. "Um… yeah. Say, have you been talking with Discord? Because you sound like he does when he gets going about chaos magic. Sort of. Well, actually you don't sound like him at all. But you sound like you know a lot about Chaos magic. Um… book smart. Like Twilight. But she's not the best when it comes to Chaos."

Riddle shook his head as he cleared the rest of the mess. "I know a lot about magic. My only experience with Chaos magic is on the receiving end. But when you know as much as I do, you begin to see overlap and underlying patterns. Chaos magic is… reminiscent, of something else I know about."

Namely, accidental magic from children. He studied that topic in-depth at one point, back in his Hogwarts years. It had been independent research with the goal of growing more powerful, not an assignment from class. His efforts had turned up little immediate fruit back then, but he remembered the most important insights about accidental magic, and apparently they are a decent reference frame for understanding a fledgling user of Chaos magic.

Implicit intent, instantiated.

"Wha- *burp* -t's the thing it reminds you of?" Spike asked, casually grasping a letter from the air and not allowing the belch to bother him in the slightest or disturb his speech.

"Classified. What does the letter say?"

Spike pursed his lips. "You know, most ponies are impressed or weirded out when I do that without flinching."

Riddle stared flatly for a while. Then, in an unimpressed voice, "I am mildly impressed that you did not pause in your speech, that you caught the letter, and that your emotions appeared utterly unbothered by this occurrence that you have had years to grow used to. What did Ms. Sparkle write in response to your question?"

Spike pouted, stuck out his tongue, then glanced over the letter. "Eh, she didn't write this. Looks like she's using the speech-to-spelling spell. She says she's busy exploring alternate timelines with somepony named Starlight Glimmer… they were enemies and now they're not, standard stuff… but Starlight still has a lot of deep wishes that would make her Twilight's enemy, so they're working through those… and also Twilight learned something horrifying that she's trying to understand better. Like I said, one of those days."

Riddle floated over twenty-six bits, holding three more at his side. "Two sentences this time, and they're slightly more complicated. Inform her that I arrived for our joint venture, and that I am mildly curious about what's going on. Thirty seconds or less."

Spike grasped his quill and the parchment he'd just finished reading from, started scribbling about halfway down the parchment, stopped after a span of twenty-six seconds, shot out a spout of green fire, and snatched his three extra bits from the air.

The response was much quicker this time.

"Uh…" said Spike, looking at the letter, then to Riddle, then back to the letter. "Oops."

Riddle raised an eyebrow.

"I'm going to handle this reply," said Spike.

"Will I be charged for it?"

"Oh! Um… no." Spike wrote out a quick sentence in less than five seconds and flamed it.

The letter returned very quickly indeed.

Spike grew a bit pale after reading the response. He frantically wrote another response, flamed it, and twiddled his thumbs very fiercely, looking down at his lap.

The letter came back.

Spike read it, wrote hastily, flamed.

The letter came back.

Spike read it and gave a sigh of relief.

"May I ask what that was about?"

"You can ask Twilight what that was about. Or I could ask her if it's okay for you to see the letter, but…" Spike held out his hand. "Thirty-two bits, and gimme thirty seconds to write it, and she might say no."

Riddle considered writing it himself and saving 12 bits on principle. But it might be more likely to be rejected coming from him instead of Spike. (Yes, he obviously considered stealing/reading without permission.)

Riddle offered twenty-eight bits, holding four at his side.

Spike wrote, sent, and was paid.

There was a long pause this time.

"*Burp*." Scaled claws grasped the parchment and green eyes looked down to its bottom line. "Alright," sighed Spike. "Here you go."

He set the letter down on the table and turned it around for Riddle to read.

Riddle grasped it in his magic and began scanning at speed.

Where are you, Twi?

-Spike

Sorry Spike, I don't have much time to talk right now, I'm busy exploring alternate timelines with Starlight Glimmer. She decided she was my enemy a while ago and did some stuff with Time magic to try and make me lose my friends, but I carefully explained that Time magic is dangerous and all the stuff she was changing was literally doing things like getting Princesses killed and causing tyrannies to rise to power. And then I asked why she wanted to make me lose my friends anyway, and we had a long talk about the importance of friends and growing up, but she said she still has this desire to break up my friendships and it's not so easy to just change like that, and I said that's okay because I'd actually like to explore some of these different futures she's creating. I noticed a worrying trend. So she went ahead and kept wanting to break up my friendship a few more times, and I asked her if she wanted to come along to see what breaking up my friendships actually does to the future, and after doing that a few times I realized something really horrifying. Now I'm busy learning more about that. So I really don't have time to talk.

Real quick, Riddle's here for your 'joint venture'. He wants to know what you're doing.

DON'T TELL HIM!

Um… too late?

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

I'm sorry! He paid me to send this letter in the first place! And the second reply! I'm sorry! What's wrong?

Wait! Wait, is it OUR Riddle? The one from our timeline? Wait, of course he is, joint venture, actually calls himself Riddle, you're my Spike because I'm not in a different timeline right now, duh. Spike, just to check, sorry for the weird question, but what's the name of Princess Celestia's sister?

You mean Princess Luna?

Yes. Thank you. I'm sorry for screaming. Thank you for clearing things up.

He's still here right now, asking what the last few sends were about. I didn't tell him after the second. Can I show him the letter?

Yes.

Riddle read the letter multiple times, examining key details, slowing down on the sections he did not immediately understand, narrowing in on the 'notes of confusion' as Mr. Potter would call them. At the very least he was attempting to explicitly notice each part he was confused about.

He was not given much time to work on the problem before Twilight appeared next to Spike, alongside a unicorn Riddle had not seen before.

The unicorn shrieked in alarm and cowered behind Twilight.

Riddle raised an eyebrow.

Twilight looked weary, wary, and wind-swept. "Riddle, I'm sorry if this sounds weird, but I really, really really need you to give, like, a two-minute summary of the big threats to Equestria in the last five years. And also your role in them. And also say what Princess Luna means to you."

Riddle did not so much as blink at the question. He'd understood by now that Twilight had encountered at least one different version of himself in the 'alternate timelines' she wrote about.

He spoke quickly and precisely. "When Nightmare Moon returned five years ago, you and the elements purified her of Sombra's dark influence. I helped with the situation behind the scenes. Three years ago Chrysalis orchestrated a plot to impersonate Princess Cadence, infiltrate Canterlot, and take over Equestria. I came across the plot by luck, infiltrated her infiltration, and ultimately ended her reign after she was expelled from Canterlot so that Thorax could become the new King. The brief yet intense invasion of the changelings brought enough chaos to Canterlot to allow Discord to free himself. I instructed the changelings on how to use Harmony magic to save ponies across Equestria while you and the Elements handled Discord directly. Luna was heavily involved in both of these incidents. Over a year ago was the Crystal Empire Affair. I stunned Sombra after he ran away from your defeat of him, and you and I later escorted his prison convoy to Tartarus. This year I killed Tirek after he had stolen the magic of the Princesses and killed Luna, whom I then revived. As for what she means to me… objectively speaking she is my talk therapist. In return for saying all of this, I'd ask you to tell me more about what sounds like an incredibly fascinating magical process, one I've only read about in legends up until this point."

And written them off like the fiction they were. 'What if the past was different?' is not a question that any real magical processes have been able to truly answer, in Riddle's experience.

"Okay," said Twilight. "Okay, I didn't know you did all that behind the scenes, actually. But okay!" she repeated, sounding a little more authoritative, and with forced cheer. "See, Starlight?" she asked the pony peeking out from behind her, who no longer looked like she wanted to desperately flee and now looked like she wanted to know a lot more. Or like she wanted to faint. "He might not exactly be a good pony in the normal timeline, but he's not exactly bad either, and he's trying to get better-" Twilight paused. "Would you like to sit down?"

"Yes," said Starlight, who walked over and collapsed into a cushioned library chair.

"Would you like to rest and think for a while?" asked Twilight.

"Yes," said Starlight.

"Okay. Can I ask a favor from you tomorrow?"

"Sure," said Starlight. "You can ask a million favors."

"Okay… um, this is going to sound super weird, and it's probably not at all what a good psychologist would recommend, but just as a favor to me, could you please hold on to that desire to break up my friendships for just a few more days?"

There was a pause.

Starlight looked like she wanted to flee the room again.

"You don't have to come along anymore!" Twilight said hastily, and in what she probably thought was a reassuring tone. "But I'd really like to explore a few more alternate timelines, and the spell only works if you deeply want to change the past as one of your deepest desires, so… pretty please hold onto it for a little longer?"

"I…" said Starlight, no longer looking afraid, just at a loss. "I guess I'll… try?"

"Thank-you-thank-you-thank-you!" said Twilight, picking her up out of the cushioned seat in a quick hug. "Wait! It might not work if you like me." She shoved Starlight away from her, back down into the cushioned seat. "Grr! I hate you! Get off my property, go home, and think about what you've done!"

Twilight's horn glowed, and Ms. Glimmer disappeared in a flash of teleportation light.

Twilight let out a long breath of air. She turned to face Riddle.

His lips had been twitched upward in an amused smile for a while now.

"Do you know what I am extremely tempted to do right now?" asked Twilight, her emotions obviously and carefully controlled.

"Something unproductive or counterproductive to your long-term goals," Riddle guessed. "Such is the nature of many emotional 'temptations'."

Twilight paused. "…Yyyyyeeeees," she said, drawing out the word, as if she was only just now, in real time, explicitly realizing Riddle's observation applied to her 'temptation', whatever it was.

"I thought as much. I am highly familiar with those."

"Personal experience?"

"Yes."

"As in, you had to deal with those temptations yourself?"

"Yes. Much of my youth and early adulthood was spent adopting habits to overcome them."

Ms. Sparkle seemed to think about that for a moment. "So… would you blame me if I succumbed to one of them for, like, thirty seconds?"

"Hah! Thirty seconds would quickly become the rest of the day, believe me. I would understand, certainly, but it would still reflect badly upon you in my eyes, now that you know about the problem as explicitly as you clearly do. I was worse at your age, but I still strived never to fail when I could see my folly in advance. Competent wizardry is to be in perfect control of every aspect of your will and body, such that nothing interferes with any spell you are casting. Not your focus, not your-" finger positions or gestures or voice "-mental shaping, not your battle strategies. Competent magic-wielders never lose control. Especially of their emotions."

"And if I don't care how competent you think I am as a magic-wielder?"

A shrug. "I am intended to work on what might be the most important magical project in all of ponykind's history with Equestria's most competent magic-wielder, aside from myself. That will be more difficult to do if I do not fully respect her competencies."

Twilight sat down at this point and put her eyes in her hooves. She was not crying, to Riddle's best estimation. "Okay. What did you eventually do about your temptations when you couldn't act them out?"

"I found alternatives."

"Then give me a moment to think of an alternative to my temptation."

"By all means," said Riddle.

There was a slightly long pause.

"Okay," said Twilight, looking up from her hooves. "Found an alternative." She met Riddle's gaze. "I have a question for you, instead of an accusation."

Riddle's eyebrows rose. "Very well. But think it through before you speak. If your first impulse was to accuse, your second impulse to question might contain a hidden accusation."

Twilight went back to holding her eyes in her hooves for a while. "Okay," she looked up. "Got it this time." She took a breath, then spoke with careful clarity. "Do you think that you naturally tend towards extreme authoritarianism?"

"What do you mean by 'extreme'?"

"Like, Nightmare Moon, Chrysalis, Sombra, Tirek?"

Riddle's eyebrows rose. "I see… and what do you mean by 'naturally tend towards it'?"

"Like, if you never had Luna as a therapist, that's how you'd be right now, almost guaranteed?"

His eyebrows rose further. "…Yes," he eventually answered. "I do think that is a strong tendency of mine."

"Thank you for being honest," said Twilight. "Now I need a bit more time to think."

Riddle allowed her to think without objection or distraction.

Twilight looked up again. "Do you think your desire for dictatorship will get you closer to your long term goal?"

"Which one?"

"The one you told me about on the train. Achieving happiness."

Good memory, Ms. Sparkle, he thought.

Then Riddle thought about the question. He tried to predict what Luna might say. "My 'desire for dictatorship', as you put it, is likely a desire that takes me further from that goal in particular. Not that I see how just yet."

Twilight nodded. "Do you know why authoritarianism is a strong impulse of yours? Do you have a reason that isn't just a laundry list of justifications and rationalizations and defensiveness for your behavior? Do you have a reason that Chrysalis or Sombra or Tirek or Nightmare Moon would not give?"

There was a much longer pause. All impulses to answer were shut down by that second qualification.

Because other people are stupid and do not act in their own self interest even when they believe they are doing so is probably an answer that is uniquely his own, but still something that, from Twilight's perspective, Sombra or Nightmare Moon might say. He almost said To save the world, but Sombra had believed that he was saving the world in some regards. That was a factoid he'd learned for the history section of his admissions test into Canterlot U.

"…No," he ultimately answered. "I do not have an explanation that wouldn't just sound like an excuse to you, or boastful arrogance, or perhaps delusion."

Certainly nothing that Luna would allow him to get away with without examining the statement for ten minutes and asking him to elaborate on every detail, which would mean she thinks it's indicative of a deeper problem. Even when it is a fully factual and accurate statement, she does that, and she has proven wise to do so.

"And is Luna working on your tendency towards tyranny?" Twilight asked. "Are you working on it? Have you discussed authoritarianism with her?"

Hm… how to answer that… "The topic of authoritarianism has come up recently in my private conversations," he said. "But not with Luna. She has addressed my desire to disregard the property rights of others-" i.e. to be dark "-and my behavior of making major decisions for others without asking them first-" i.e. to be a lord "-but that is the closest she has come to the topic, I think. She has not addressed politics directly, aside from topics that I brought up. And those were because I was curious about a few specific issues that are viewed differently-" i.e. with less rigorous attention to academic detail and predictive power "-by Earth societies in general."

"Issues such as…?"

"The issue of aberrant sexual preferences was discussed. Deviants and deviant behavior are either hated and therefore misunderstood by most idiots back on my home planet, or their preferences must go unquestioned, and thus uncriticized, and thus they are misunderstood by the other idiots comprising the rest of my planet. Oh, and she utterly refused to entertain my questions about abortion."

Twilight had her eyes in her hooves again.

"Ms. Sparkle?"

"Thinking of alternatives instead of outbursts again. Give me a moment."

…

…

…

"Okay," said Twilight, standing fully up out of the chair. "I'm going to trust that Princess Luna knows what she's doing. I'm going to trust that Princess Celestia knows what she's doing. I'm going to trust… I don't know, Time itself, because I think I would have heard a prophecy by now if I was supposed to do something about you. I don't know how much of what I saw was coming from you and how much of it came from your stupid planet in general."

"Hm," said Riddle, his lips twitching upward. "I suppose that is good to hear. Any other alternatives?"

"Yes. I am not going to treat you like a problem I have to solve. I am going pretend like all this didn't happen and all I did was teach Starlight Glimmer an important lesson about Friendship and Magic while I learned one myself. I am going to pretend like I didn't see you being the lord or ruler or king or dictator or prince or president of Equestria or sometimes all of Equus in every single alternate timeline I went to."

Riddle's eyebrows rose.

"And finally," Twilight finished, "I am going to pretend like I don't know exactly what the other you's were capable of doing and exactly whom the other you's were capable of killing in order to get power and keep power."

Chapter 73: Find the Celebrity

Author's Note

Minor note: I'm uploading a bit more quickly this week. Last upload was four days ago, Thursday night, a rehab chapter. Readers who check back weekly, be careful not to skip that chapter.

Chapter 73: Find the Celebrity

Silver Wing dropped through the stadium…

…and right into a Sarlacc pit, with tentacles reaching upward and claw-like teeth pointing down inward.

His heart leapt into his throat and he almost panicked long enough to fall into the gaping beak at the bottom, but he triggered his broomstick bones, and then the beak lunged upwards at incredible speeds and clamped above him, enshrouding him in damp, dank, disgusting-smelling darkness, at which point Silver Wing tried to teleport (fail), Apparate (fail), portkey (fail), panicked for half a second, then remembered another out and tried for the Astral Plane. (Success.)

Moments later, well before the WHAT?!?! had a chance to even begin to subside, he got the impression of a light knocking on his door – he didn't know he had a door – and the screen of his Astral Plane computer began flashing, along with a robotic voice saying "You've got mail".

Prince Horizon Wing-Verres took a few seconds to calm down and organize his terror-tinged thoughts, his inner-critic informed him that he's stared down Professor Snape and Dementors and a Mountain Troll and Tom Riddle, why is he afraid of a Sarlacc Pit of all things? And that helped him realize that he was being silly, that he'd probably just been the victim of a bogart or something, some kind of magic that preys on things he'd found scary as a child and just hadn't thought about in a long time.

Sane once more, he walked over to the computer screen and mentally commanded the mail to open. All it said was:

"Spoilsport.
Sincerely,
Figure It Out."

That insult sounded familiar, triggered a flash of recognition, and suddenly Harry suspected he understood who was responsible for the Sarlacc Pit. Who very well might have been the Sarlacc Pit.

After checking his own memories of earlier in the day for quick confirmation – he did not use any Astral Plane functions that might have guided him automatically to the answer, if any such function existed to sort through his subconscious for hints like that, because that would have been the kind of cheating that might lead to reliance on a crutch – he found the memory manually and listened to it.

"Feel free to trespass through my trachea whenever you want and without permission, strange creatures I've never seen before. There is no such thing as 'illegal' immigration. This is a safe space where everyone everywhere is welcomed into my rolling stomach with a wide-open, gaping clawed tentacle maw so that they can be brutally beaten in battle after battle. But if you give me a stomach-ache, or I give you a headache, I reserve the right to throw you up at my convenience, so try not to do that. Tah tah!"

Prince Horizon nodded in satisfaction.

He took a deep breath (because hopefully the bad smell wouldn't last long), and he left the Astral Plane.

He proceeded to fall through a fleshy tunnel out of a horror film, one that he could now observe with calm eyes that could appreciate the careful artistry it must've taken to achieve that effect.

After about fifteen seconds of horror-tunnel, there was a soft-looking inflated red spongy material beneath him in a cavernous, pulsing red room full of holes in the ceiling. He performed an air-cushion instead of just colliding with the ground.

The theme of horror-tunnel had not ended at the tunnel. It was maintained and applied to the cavernous room, and to the room's cavernous exit. The only odd thing out was the massive, flashing, cheerful, eye-catching, carnival-esque "Welcome to Circus" sign above the exit.

Many ponies and other Equinoids were falling through the red holes in the ceiling and landing on the red pad. Or they had already landed. And the ones who had already gotten their bearings were locking gazes to the only pony in the room with a glowing mane, who was helpfully drawing even more attention to himself by floating in the air.

Prince Horizon gave a powerful air buck backed by earth-pony-strength, rocketing himself towards and through the room's exit.

He heard a massive crashing sound behind him after he passed beneath the Circus sign, and glanced back to see that imposing iron doors seemed to have cut him off from everyone.

Now moving with slightly less urgency, he found the first private place he could – a perfectly normal-looking modern bathroom, cut into the walls of an otherwise grotesque hallway. He entered a stall, closed the door behind him, and said aloud, "Circus, I have a bathroom I need to be in. Er, not this one."

"Oh I know," said a disembodied voice that sounded like everything outside looked, except that the tone was cheerful, which made it creepier. "Fifty-five minutes, thirty-two seconds on the dot. I thought I'd have everyone play a fun little game in the meantime. A game called 'find the celebrity'."

"Without giving me any warning first?" asked the celebrity in question. "Isn't permission something you take into account? And consent?"

The disembodied voice gave a bark of hideous laughter. "Permission, no. Warning, no. That would've given you time to think and prepare, same as if I gave anypony else a warning. There's way more chaos and improv this way." Then there was a dramatic, sad-sounding sigh. "But I do take consent into account. If you want to be a scaredy-cat and refuse to play, fine, I'll spit you out. I just thought this would be better for you and everypony. Instead of, you know, going off to some solitary, secluded room and reading alone for an hour while you hurry up and wait for Time to catch up."

There was a pause.

"Describe the rules of the game," said the alicorn after a dramatic sigh of his own, mimicking Circus's sigh as best he could. "And the rewards. If you would please."

"Oh, I'd love to. Biggest rule," said Circus in the Royal Canterlot voice. (If Horizon hadn't been learned how to use the voice himself, he might not have been able to recognize that's what it was, given the grotesque accent attached to it.) "Numero uno, for non-alicorn chasers and watchers: Your memories of this event will be locked if you do not leave now!"

Oh. He must be saying that to the whole stadium. Or… the whole… Circus crowd. Actually, how many of the ponies in that big room had come from the stadium? Had ponies followed him through the clouds?

His past self (i.e. the first time sitting through Silver Wing's official return as a human) had been muted and blinded more heavily by Prince Excelsior, so as to not 'spoil any surprises', after which they had been teleported from the stadium, the Defense Professor concluded the tour, and everybody went back to Hogwarts. (The Defense Professor had later located him, given him a portkey, told him to go to a bathroom stall, turn into his pony form, and snap it, at which point he had appeared directly beneath an ongoing Wonderbolts performance, on the center-stage stadium platform, disillusioned from any onlookers, with a timer ticking down in front of him and the simple written instruction "Turn it once at exactly 0:00. Prepare yourself mentally."

He'd done that, appeared in front of the stadium during the moment of silence (no longer disillusioned), given his speech, one thing led to another, and here he is, listening to Circus give instructions to all his inhabitants at once, probably.

"So this means you can try your little heart out and use fun strategies that you might want to keep in reserve for later."

And that line must be just for Silver to mull over while everyone else decides if they want to stay, given that staying meant a memory lock. (Which can't be unlocked by the de-Obliviation ritual? He might have to look into that.)

"This is a Circus Challenge!" said Circus, seeming to address an audience again. "So as always this is your chance to earn way more Circus Tickets than usual, depending on performance. No mini-games or bonus challenges though. There is but one objective. Tag Silver Wing, you WIN! You can tag him physically or with a spell that makes him glow. Winners get a conversation with him. The more winners, the less time each winner will get to talk, unless they all agree to have one big conversation. That conversation will not be memory-locked. Silver Wing will be trying to avoid getting tagged. Winners can keep playing after they win, just in case they want a longer conversation, or to help others. If someone wins, the game resets and everybody's position in the maze gets scramble-ized. As the game progresses, players might start getting power-ups if it seems too one-sided. Nopony over seventeen may participate. Nopony under ten may participate. Standard combat spell rules. Please sign the terms and conditions on the dotted line, then get ready to get teleported into the map at random." No paper appeared before Silver. "And no Astral Plane, mister."

Taking just a moment to switch gears from 'listening and absorbing' to 'responding', he said, "Okay." Then, "What do I get for playing?"

"A score multiplier of times four for ticket-earning, instead of times two like everypony else. And one Hearth's-Warming wish if you make it to the final minute without getting tagged."

The 'Hearth's-Warming wish' part of the answer triggered a suspicion. "Did you consult with Prince Excelsior to arrange this?"

"Maaaaaybe. Or maybe he 'accidentally' let me see a memory or two from his mind so that I could come up with my own ideas from there, and he was not in any way, shape, or form expecting me to do this. What difference does it make in the end?"

"Hm… I have one last question then," he said, hiding the question behind his barrier of perfect Occlumency just like he had all the others.

"Shoot."

"Can I have my 'unicorn' helmet?"

"Are you sure you want to reveal your alias is connected to you?"

"You're locking their memories, aren't you?"

"Even if the explicit memories get locked, the effects of the experience will still be in their brains. If you get everypony's brain operating on Mithril equals Silver Wing as one of their primary assumed-as-true goal-orientation thoughts for a whole hour, even if the memories are locked afterwards, those mental patterns will be WAY easier for them to rediscover on their own. Even after the memory lock is in place, if they so much as think of the possibility that Mithril = Silver Wing AT ALL, their minds will just accept it as true, instead of doubting the thought like they normally would."

It took a moment to get over his sense of wow that's really useful information in general.

…

…

…

Okay, moment over.

Prince Horizon tried to imagine how he would feel if everypony suddenly knew Mithril = Silver Wing.

"Meh," he decided. "Autumn doesn't have any trouble. But you're right, I don't want to just reveal it outright. Tell you what, if you put giant illusion names over everybody, illusions that can be read no matter what angle you see them from-" like the Defense Professor's 'Tourists' illusion from earlier "-and I've got 'Mithril' above my head, and I'm wearing my helmet, and I use the mundane mane enchantment, who's to say I'll get caught at all? I'd much prefer a game of deception to a physical chase. You can broadcast the whole thing to the watching adults so they know what's going on. But make sure no outside communications reach the players, like Patronus charms or something. OH! And tags have to be deliberate. Winners have to actually suspect me, specifically, of being Silver Wing. They can't bump into me randomly around a corner, and they can't just systematically touch everypony they see because I might be wearing a disguise like a Changeling. If they're doing that, they have to actually reveal me, like by de-mundane-ifying my mane, or catching me in a lie or something. They have to know it's probably me, not just possibly me."

"I like it!" said Circus. "But fair warning, this is one of those special occasions. Players have an artificial way to talk to each other and find each other, if they want to be found. Not like it'll matter too too much. With how I set it up, they're basically competing to win the lottery. Of course, they still need skill to tag you after their insane luck lets them find you, but there's not much incentive to work together."

Hmmm... I can fix that.

A helmet appeared on the ground with the illusion Mithril hanging above it.

Silver Wing took off his headband, Prince Horizon inflicted mundanity upon his mane – a spell which would last even if he did something fulfilling to his Alicorn nature, like casting a Patronus – and Mithril put on his only piece of armor.

"Since you have a helmet, you can crash their communications, eavesdrop, lie, whatever you want."

The stall door slammed open. The toilet he was sitting on lurched forward, pushing him out of the stall. A sink stood up and wiggled itself out of the sink counter, then began shoving Mithril out of the bathroom with metal pipe limbs.

"Create as much chaos as you can, my fellow alicorn! The rules have already been conveyed to the other players."

The door slammed shut behind him.

"The hunt is on!"

Mithril immediately summoned his Patronus and began expanding it, making it large enough to encompass what felt like the edges of the massive crowd of lives clustered in one vast, physically challenged (in that it challenged physical concepts of space and geometry), all-encompassing life form.

"Oh, now that's just evil," Circus's voice observed, probably speaking to everyone.

"I warned them in my speech just earlier that Circus grounds are fair game," said Mithril to a potentially-watching – well, potentially-listening audience. "Blindness causes chaos, puts everypony at the same disadvantage and forces them to creatively adapt. Also, I'd like to see if anyone can develop a counter." Myself included, he thought.

"True dat. Good luck, chasers!"

First, he erected a simple shield that would prevent ponies from blindly stumbling into him or hitting him with an ordinary light spell.

Now for his own blindness…

He tried the first thing that came to mind, hoping it would work just like it had with the invisibility cloak. Since it was his Patronus, he should be able to see through it himself…

…nope. Not gonna be that easy.

Apparently, when you're blinded by your own happiness, it's not simple or straightforward to unblind yourself… actually, that works on a magically symbolic level too. Damn. Definitely not going to be that easy.

(And hadn't magical symbolism just been such a fun powerful wizard lesson from Tom Riddle which was totally not annoying and not insane and didn't violate his every sensibility as a scientist.)

Well, at least he can sense the locations of the sapient beings around him, and relocate if any are getting too close. Going by their slow hesitant movements, or their fast and abruptly-stopping movements that were probably them crashing into walls, none of those sapient beings seemed to be adjusting to the new challenge very well. Or at all.

"Mute this and my following sentence from the watching audience and records, please." Because the screens outside are on a five-second delay, to give you time to make requests like that. "Outside devices allowed?" Mithril asked aloud.

"Eh… sure, why not," said Circus. "Goes both ways though. Outside devices are allowed."

"I'm cool with that," Harry said. He was confident he would get more advantage out of the rule than his opponents would.

"Oh, but no super-invisibility cloak or other super-devices," said Circus. "But no Things of Power besides what I give you. Because, come on."

Hm… that still probably left him with more advantages than his opponents, so he didn’t object.

Mithril lifted up into the air onto his broomstick bones and silently flew to the ceiling, going slow enough so that when he blindly bumped into it, he didn't get dazed. It was a soft, spongy (damp, ew) material anyway. (Not smelly though.) So there wasn't much risk of, say, hitting his horn hard enough to send it into tingles, not unlike a funny bone, and losing concentration on the Patronus.

As for why he was going up, it was an old Circus cliché: ponies never look up. On the off-chance they find a way to see in the first place.

"If they don't come up with a counter in thirty minutes," said Mithril, "I'll dismiss it. But that counts as a 'win' for me, and the rest is me giving them a sporting chance."

Circus sighed. "Fine, but I'm megaphoning those words. Light a fire in their competitive spirits, you know?"

A sigh was made to match Circus's. "Fine." Then, in a whisper, "Don't communicate my following words to anyone, even the watching audience. This is super-classified, Circus of Good Chaos. But in a scenario like this where mass-casting of Finite Incantatum doesn't work-" because it's not magic that's fueling this spell "-I'm actually curious if a massed Avada Kedavra would chip away at my Patronus and eventually counter it, or just not do anything and get cancelled out the moment someone tries to cast one."

"HA!" Circus laughed in his ear. "Yeah, no way any chaser thinks of that in thirty minutes. Well, one might. But most everypony below eighteen doesn't even know about Killing Curses, let alone how to cast one. Except a few exceptional and ambitious young Occlumenses like yourself, of course. And just in case you forgot, this ain't a death battle! No deadly spells! Not everypony here has an anchor. Which, now that I think about it gives you a big unbeatable advantage if you have an outside device like that. No suiciding and hiding in your horcrux either. That's the same as cheating with the Astral Plane. Actually, wait, it's a Thing of Power, I already said no to those."

Mithril was grinning. "Fine, fine."

Still no sapient beings nearby.

"How do I access the communication network?"

He'd only ever done solo battles, and teams in the multi-queues are supposed to manage their own communications.

Having a built-in comms network like this is 'cheating' in the sense that outside the walls of Circus, in real life, there's no such thing. Not unless you build a network yourself. The only time this amazing, multi-brain-powered comms network exists is when Circus is actively running it, which Circus should not be relied on to do in any real emergency. Plus it would be tied to the helmets anyway, and/or Circus's range of influence. But Circus does have the ability to create a comms network, she does like to use it on special occasions like this one, and Mithril is not familiar with it because he hasn't participated in one of these special occasions before.

"Ponies control it with ear and tail flicks," Circus explained, followed by a brief overview of simple commands.

Mithril followed the instruction for turning it on and was bombarded by a barrage of voices overlapping each other, with only snippets like 'Sunglasses' and 'don't work' making it to his conscious brain. He turned it off again.

"Normally," said Circus, sounding greatly enthused, "there's the option of going speech-to-spelling. You get a scrolling transcription wall so you're not bombarded with sound. But this big bright light of yours means that ponies literally can't see a centimeter in front of their face, so that's out. I might be able to mess with their brains directly and just send them the visuals that way now that I know I've got back-door access to my visitors like that, but I get the feeling that's dangerous, and Twilight would insist I test it on some rats first in case there are any long-term effects other than the psychological problems that might naturally come from seeing illusions produced by someone else's magic going through your brain. I'll go ahead and start testing that right now in my private lab, but for today, visuals are a complete no-go until the Patronus is handled. And to be honest, they might be a no-go period, even if they solve the light problem. Comms are a lot more truly chaotic this way, especially when you don't have a team dynamic with an established leader." She gave a put upon sigh and despondent drawl. "But they're also a lot less good." They grew chipper again. "This time I can say it's truly not my fault, I did the best I could, now let chaos reign, and you learn how to deal with it! Mua-ha-ha-ha-ha!" After the laughter died down, Circus sighed blissfully. "I love it when I can say that. Oh, I wonder if your charm is making me happier. If so, thank you, and also up yours for messing with my mind without asking permission, not that I have any right whatsoever to complain on those grounds. You're on your own from here on out. Good luck!"

And Mithril was left to his own devices.

A minute of nothing to do was quieter than he thought it'd be.

Most of the lives he could feel were staying in one place, so he didn't have to react to anypony trying to find him yet. There was the brief impulse to try to learn how to air-stand instead of cheating by using his broomstick bones, but this really isn't the time to try to learn that.

So instead he opened up comms, only to (worryingly) hear what sounded like a systematic effort to find a counter to Patronus blindness. It was being directed by a voice clearly experienced at command and leadership.

A voice of the Royal Canterlot variety.

In a flash of inspiration, Mithril decided to throw a monkey wrench into their efforts. "Hey that's a good idea using the Royal Canterlot Voice to rise above the rest mind if I do it too thanks hey did you know I can speak into this network too really neat this network it's my first time but I think I'm getting the hang of it pretty quickly-"

"VOTE!" said the commanding voice of Madam Chaos, followed by a massive chorus of voices overlapping with each other saying "VOTE!", followed by the entire network going mute, and soon after by an automated sounding voice:

"MADAM CHAOS WOULD LIKE TO BAN PRINCE HORIZON FROM THE NETWORK. SPEAK YES OR NO."

"Um… no," said Mithril into the eerie silence.

"IN A VOTE OF 24,213 TO 43, PRINCE HORIZON IS BANNED FROM THE NETWORK."

"Hey!" Mithril shouted indignantly. His Patronus wavered, and he refocused on his happy thought.

"I know I said you're on your own," said Circus, "but one last thing. That's democracy baby. Totally fair and balanced with no exploits. It sure does feel really good when you're in the minority opinion and have to live by a rule that 51% of the population wants 100% of the population to live by, amiright?"

Mithril just fumed. Both at being banned and at the blatant insult to, as Professor Quirrell had once put it, his 'precious democracy'. Not that he'd been overly partial to Democracy since Azkaban, but still. His Patronus wavered again, and he stabilized it again.

"And it gets even better when you just need a plurality of votes instead of a majority because there's more than two sides to the debate! Of course, this time you did deserve it. Next time try deception like you said you would," Cicrus suggested sternly. "Noequus likes blatantly disruptive noise. Oh, and I've only banned you from using the Royal Canterlot Voice – they banned Prince Horizon, not Mithril or Silver Wing – but your seekers don't necessarily know that yet, and I would have let you figure it out on your own by interacting with the visual systems if those were usable right now but since they aren't I decided this would be more fun. Now you're really on your own, I've given you waaay too much help already, but I felt like it because you are it and I did spring this on you when you didn't really want it and haven't used comms before and I am super-happy right now so that's my blatantly biased rationalization. Ta!"

And Mithril was left in silence once again.

So he tuned into the comms network again, and he didn't understand right away what was happening, but after a few seconds of listening and hearing a few interactions he pieced together that another series of votes must have been carried out or something, because 'Madam Chaos' seems to have been granted at-will authority to mute anypony for any reason for a full minute, at-will authority to temporarily mute all 'noise' (i.e. all voices except whatever one voice she chooses to permit), and at-will authority to perma-ban anypony from the comms. Oh, and she was once again carrying out a systematic attempt to generate useful ideas for dealing with the blindness.

Part of that attempt included procedures for avoiding ponies speaking over each other, which took up a good deal of time. Though she settled into the system of just muting noise after the first pony spoke up, and banning any counter or unproductive contributors. They only had around 20-25 minutes left in their 30 minutes to find a counter.

One Equinoid suggested they use eclipseglasses, not mere sunglasses like everyone tried earlier. (It wasn't possible to tell what species, but she had no recognizable accent – i.e. the secret sign of tongues translating somepony speaking in a different language – and so the speaker was probably one of the three standard pony races, or raised in Equestria.)

Mithril smiled at more time being wasted.

Madam Chaos said that it wasn't likely to work, but some speed-Transfigurers should have an answer in thirty seconds or so. Any other good ideas?

In yet another flash of inspiration – this time tempered by the wisdom of past failure – Mithril said "Emergus". He used the wizarding spell to change his voice, then waited a moment for another useless suggestion to fly by.

"Has a massed finite incantatum been tried yet?" asked the voice of Darth Vader. "I don't know if it has," he said as an excuse to potentially pre-empt a ban and to waste a bit more time. "I'm a late arrival."

There was a brief pause.

"You should mute him," said the voice of Draco Malfoy, who was apparently participating in this. "He's probably a villain in this game."

Well, thanks for at least not spoiling anything, Draco.

A chorus of noise almost started, and was silenced.

"Noted, but I'll give him a chance," said the voice of Madam Chaos, who had not deduced Vader = Harry Potter = Silver Wing like Draco had. "Explain what a finite is, Vader."

"Finite Incantatum is the generic human wizard spell for canceling magic." Not surprising that she hasn't gotten that far in her classes just yet; it's only been the first week. Or maybe she's just pretending to be ignorant for the tens of thousands of listeners. "No doubt a pony version exists. And a dragon version and so on." He knew a pony version existed, but any plausible excuse to waste time by talking, he was going to take.

"Is he telling the truth about the spell, Light?"

"Yes," said Draco with a put-upon sigh. "But if everybody casting magic canceling spells at the same time doesn't work, he probably knew that it wouldn't work and he's trying to waste our time. I register my prediction that it doesn't work, and heavily recommend that we ban him."

Meh. Fine. He can always switch to less obvious voices.

"Recommendation registered. I'll give a countdown of five. Everybody get ready to cast the strongest magic canceling spell you can in five, four, three, two, one."

On his end, Mithril felt… not much in particular. He didn't waste any effort on a dispelling attempt himself. His Patronus was still going strong, he could still feel the lives within it.

"Well, well, well, looks like he's not getting banned after all," said Autumn. "Thank you, Vader."

WHAT?!

"Finite Incantatum," said Darth Vader's voice, wielding Harry Potter's wand, in the hoof of Mithril the Circus-battling pony.

Nothing happened.

He almost wondered if he was being messed with now, but his brain supplied the intuition of 'wrong answer' and he kept thinking. In the meantime, Draco's voice claimed that it didn't work for him, and all the ponies said it's working fine for them and/or "THIS IS WHAT I WAS TRYING TO TELL EVERYPONY TO DO BUT I COULDN'T SPEAK-" (ban) and/or they don't know what Light's complaining about, so he's probably just being a sore loser about his prediction being wrong and he should get banned, and all that caused Mithril's mind to generate a separate hypothesis.

He cast the unicorn spell for canceling magic.

From his forehead extended a cone of visibility, gently pushing away the borders of his Patronus. Not canceling it, just clearing a sightline through the corporeal light wherever he pointed his magic-dispelling efforts. Like a lighthouse piercing the darkness, only in reverse. Like an anti-flashlight.

The dispelling did not last if he changed targets, it seemed to simply push his corporeal Patronus magic aside as a constant force, and if the force changed locations, his magical light would rush back in. Not that he was using much magic for the Patronus… and that's probably why it was so easy to mess with like this.

They weren't breaking his spell. They were just creating pockets of magic-free space within its vast borders, starting from their foreheads, clearing small individual cones of clairvoyance.

And since the human version starts from the wand, a human wizard wouldn't notice the effect unless they pointed their wand at their face, or held their wand in an awkward position next to their eyes.

A quick test of dispelling his facial area with his wand proved this assumption to be true. It also proved that the mundane mane enchantment couldn't stand up to a finite. And with everypony running around pointing a finite equivalent at everything they look at…

Darn. Well, actually, it's better to realize that now. He recast the mundane mane spell with the intention of thinking about it later, and kept thinking about Finite.

Could the Finite Incantatum spell take shapes other than a straight beam? He knows it can at least be a continuous beam, he remembered watching Tracey and Daphne clash with their Inflammare vs. Finite in the last battle of first year.

But until this exact moment, he'd never thought any more deeply about the spell than 'it do what me want'. Which, unfortunately, is what happens to your brain sometimes when it's on magic. When you have no obvious reason to question the limits of a spell (or the underlying rules of broomsticks), you tend not to question the limits of a spell. Even after you've spent years trying to train yourself to overcome that problem.

Can Finite be shaped like a shield by someone skilled enough? Can it be maintained indefinitely if it's cast weakly? These are questions Harry Potter hadn't been curious about before.

By the time Mithril had gotten over his brief frustration (one does not have time to get frustrated in a counterproductive way mid-battle), Draco had been temporarily banned from the comms and the living beings inside his Patronus charm were starting to move.

His mind generated the hypothesis that their horns and part of their heads might now be encompassed by magic-canceling, but not their bodies. So he could still track their movement.

Movement could not be allowed.

Thus far, his thought of encouraging life to grow had been happy, but mild. His corporeal Patronus, although it was very large indeed, was not actually all that bright. Not like that time he lit the corridors of Azkaban to be as bright as the sun, or made it bright enough to destroy Dementors in general.

And so, he took a few moments to imagine a happier thought than encouraging life to grow.

The thought he settled upon was: 'encouraging life to be prepared in the face of obstacles, so that it grows strong enough to defeat death on its own.'

His Patronus doubled in brightness, then tripled as he focused on his thought.

He felt like he might not be able to maintain this indefinitely – not just because he was expending more energy, but because he didn't have practice expending more energy consistently. But being the Alicorn of Life, he had the gut feeling he could keep this going for a while. Not all day, but probably at least an hour.

There was now a great deal of complaining in the comms. It doesn't matter that you can clear a path through the light if that light is so peripherally bright that it blinds you anyway.

"Calm down everyone," said Autumn. "Unban Light. Permaban Vader. Looks like you were right after all, Light. And were you not defending your pride when you said it wasn't working for you? Were you being honest?"

"Yes," said Draco's voice dryly. "I was being honest. I pointed my spell at my head while I was banned, and that worked. Humans don't have wands growing out of our foreheads, our spellcasting point is far away from our eyes, so this 'beam of clarity' you guys were talking about wasn't immediately obvious to me."

"Noted. He increased the brightness so our beams are basically useless now. Any new ideas, anyone?"

Mithril's mind generated the idea of echolocation. There's got to be a charm for that.

But that is something he is not going to suggest, even as a time-waster, because it might actually be a winning idea for the opposition. All they need is to have somepony who knows how to cast that particular potentially-maybe-a-spell and teach it to others quickly.

"Not an idea, but important!" someone said after a few temp bans of bad ideas and one permaban of a counterproductive waste of time, "Silver Wing has got to still be listening in on us. Maybe he's eavesdropping on somepony. Everybody cast a simple spy detection charm right now, don't give him time to retreat."

"Or," said another pony into the brief silence as, presumably, many ponies began warding against spies, "We didn't ban him. We banned Prince Horizon, not Silver Wing."

"Good catch, Lawyerific. Circus, please permaban all iterations and aliases of the cognitive mind behind Silver Wing," said Autumn's voice without pause.

And then there was silence.

Crap.

Well, off to go eavesdrop on somepony like they suggested.

He thinks he can generally tell which lives are bigger (i.e. older and likely stronger) and which are smaller (i.e. younger and likely weaker) just by the feel of his Patronus.

And as luck or perhaps Circus-manipulation might have it, one of the closest life forms seems to be small, alone, and wandering around aimlessly. Or pacing back and forth, it was hard to tell.

Getting to that ambling life form, that was a different matter.

Would it be more productive to just sit here and ask himself what they might try? Was he confident in his own abilities to out-think a competently directed crowd-sourced force of idea-generation that was twenty-five thousand minds strong?

Yeah, no.

(It did not occur to him that, when votes come up, there are plenty of abstainers, and that many ponies often don't go through the effort to actually vote if the outcome isn't in doubt. Also, he could not count or even estimate this many lives at all. He didn't even know if they were all players, or if some were watchers.)

Mithril positioned himself awkwardly against the ceiling, touching it slightly with his fur, then used his broomstick bones to glide along at a sedate pace, his hooves outstretched in the direction he was moving in case there was a wall. And there turned out to be many walls, all slowing down his efforts, but he got steadily closer.

As he neared his destination, he began to feel a small number of lives moving around a bit too quickly and confidently – making sharp turns, avoiding what were probably walls – to be anything other than a solution to blindness.

Mithril sped up his pace. Thankfully, his target didn't seem to be one of the rare movers. Four walls and four right turns later (was this a dead end, or Circus imposso-geometry?), he heard a sound coming from where the source of life seemed to be located.

It wasn't exactly a sound he'd been expecting to encounter.

He stumbled for a moment, both at the sound and as he scrambled for an idea on how to approach it, and then as he scrambled for a different necessary idea when his brain decided upon an approach.

And then he whispered, "Mimicus," changing his voice to Neville's.

It had taken him precious seconds to decide on the voice. Mimicus requires you to have somebody's voice in mind, somebody whose voice you can recognize instantly, and that you are very familiar with.

Mithril knows that a different spell exists for changing voices, one that selects a voice at random, not necessarily from among the list of voices you've ever heard in your life. That spell ensures the listener doesn't recognize the speaker by sound alone. (Unless the listener is a Lore holder who knows counters to everything.) But Harry Potter had only bothered to learn the Mimicus spell, which is something he should probably remedy after this battle.

In Neville Longbottom's voice, Mithril asked, "Hello? Is somepony there?"

"I-I'm here!" replied the sniffling voice.

"What's wrong?" asked Mithril.

The voice was laced thick with emotion. "I can't block magic," said what sounded like an 10-year-old. "I never learned. And I can't do transfuh- um, transfish-!" After a frustrated grunt, "I can't make sunglasses! I'm stuck! I can't do anything!"

For a brief moment, Mithril was tempted to…

His inner-voice of Prince Excelsior strongly recommended that Prince Horizon reconsider the temptation to just let this random crying colt win. Even as a trade for information.

"What does it matter if you can't do those things?" he asked instead. "Those ideas didn't work anyway."

"Yu-huh!" the colt rebutted eloquently. "Bang says so."

Bang? Better not ask. Instead Mithril decided to ask, "Is it working for everypony?"

Whatever the movers were doing, it must be difficult enough that not everyone could do it right away, given how few success stories he could feel.

"Well… no," said the colt. "Didn't you hear? It's hard. You have to do both. At the same time! And I can't do any!"

Do both?

Ah!

That explains it.

Thank you, little colt.

Now, what to do about you…

"What's your name?" asked the voice of Neville Longbottom.

"Soft Spoken."

"Well, thanks, Soft," said the voice of Silver Wing / Mithril / Prince Horizon, no longer obscured. "They banned me, but you just told me everything I need to know. Catch me if you can!" And just for cheek, Mithril ran for just a little bit to make the floor-scuffed-by-hooves noise, then silently flew upwards instead of away, planting himself high enough that the colt wouldn't be able to touch him if he followed.

He could have stunned the little guy. He could have left without saying a word. If he only cared about winning, he should have and would have. Revealing himself to the enemy in a cheeky mocking brag is probably violating at least five rules on Tom Riddle's list of 37.

But there are more important things in life than winning fun games. Like giving others playing the game a chance. Especially little colts who can't even counter your busted alicorn magic.

While the colt fumed and fumbled and stumbled around, Mithril went to cut off a strand of fur, encountered the obvious problem, thought ahead to the next move and saw yet another problem, and then another, and tried to think about how to handle those before he even tried to solve the first.

After settling on a strategy, he took out his headband as a better bet for a Transfiguration target than fur, given that he was fairly familiar with how it looked already. It pained him, but (going by feel, and then by cutting charm) he cut out the section of headband responsible for the space-concealment charm, leaving him with a straight line of cloth. He then cast the unicorn version of the dispelling charm, aimed at the ceiling, and if he was close enough, he could focus his vision just enough to get a good, long look at his no-longer-necessary headgear, despite the bright Patronus light.

Then he stopped dispelling and started Transfiguring, now made possible by his newly-acquired mental model of the former headband. You do need to know a target that you intend to Transfigure. Those ponies who started moving early on must be skilled. At Transfiguration, at least. And, he suspects, also skilled at maintaining a Transfiguration while it sits inside a dispelling charm. No wonder there are so few successes so far.

It took some time to complete the pair of strongly-tinted sun-goggles, pony-sized. (Thank you for the reference frame, swimming lessons at Cloudsdale.) Luckily, the movers were directionless and just running around at random while he was vulnerable in his Transfiguration trance, and there weren't enough movers for that to be a problem. Plus, Soft Spoken did seem to have gotten himself stuck in an obscure dead-end, so this was a harder location to stumble upon in general.

Mithril snapped his goggles in place over his eyes, then began to sustain the Transfiguration, constantly adding a stream of his own magic. Hopefully that would prevent the Transfiguration from reverting when…

...Finally, and as weakly as he could cast it, he once again invoked the unicorn version of the dispelling charm.

He could feel the sustaining magic in his goggles clash with the dispel, and he added just a bit more magic to the stream to counter it. Like pressing his own two fingers together so that they applied equal force.

He knew casting both at the same time was possible in theory and practice. He'd cast Finite Incantatum PLENTY of times back when he was sustaining the Transfiguration on his father's rock, and on Hermione's corpse. It's just that he'd never targeted a constant, incredibly weak Finite AT either Transfiguration he was sustaining. Or better yet, a practice marshmallow. Because he hadn't been curious enough.

Needless to say, all of this took a great deal of split concentration. But he could see through his own happiness now, it did work. It's the sort of split-concentration that's easier to handle when you've done the separate parts so often in the past that they basically become unthinking habit, so you can focus on the new, difficult application.

Since none of the other movers were particularly close – they still had to find him amidst whatever vast maze Circus had constructed for them all – Mithril took just a bit more time to get used to moving around while maintaining his anti-flashlight.

After he got into a good rhythm and his mind started wandering, he wondered if there was anything new he could do to troll the chasers.

"Hey, Patronus Charm," Mithril addressed.

"Yes?" asked his Patronus politely, his own voice emanating from all around him.

He'd never done this before either, but his Patronus does have its own cognition, borrowed from his own, like the Sorting Hat, like Circus.

"Are you able to deliver messages to multiple sapient beings at once?"

"I am, if they are in near enough proximity at the time of sending."

"Does inside of you count as near enough proximity to get messages to everyone inside you all at once?"

"Yes."

"Do I need to know their identities to send them messages, or does-" feeling their lives, knowing their locations "-being inside you suffice?"

"This suffices."

"Do you need my conscious input to share my happy thoughts that don't reveal anything important but are still the sorts of things I'd say to ponies?"

Given what had happened in Azkaban when his Patronus had acted autonomously, and what had happened when speaking with Dumbledore just before his escape…

"I do not need your fully conscious input. Your happy thought must simply involve the deep desire that the message be spread, combined with the understanding that it will lead to the promotion of life, and no hints of suspicion that it will go horribly wrong."

"In that case," said Mithril, grinning, "can you start making some noise?"

"Not with that thought. Sadistic glee at your own power over others is not the right kind of happy thought. It is not truly 'happy' at all. The firing of dopamine receptors, the simple feeling of 'elation', that alone is not true happiness."

And wouldn't you know it, but on some level, Mithril knew that. (It's just that, before this point, he really, really, really didn't want to admit it.) He felt an impulse to argue with his Patronus, but he felt it waver, and decided to just let it drop and accept the report as presumed-true until he had time to think about it later.

Hm.

Maybe talking to your own Patronus makes for decent therapy? Actually, probably not. It can't give you new thoughts, new perspectives, which you often need in therapy. It can only highlight the healthy and unhealthy thoughts you currently have, IF you already know them to be good or bad on some level. Talking to your own Patronus would be, quite literally, talking to yourself. The part of yourself that's truly happy. Which, to be fair, is still useful.

"Could you share that idea?" Mithril asked his Patronus.

"Glad to," said his Patronus.

(And then, to every sapient life within his Patronus's radius, his Patronus began describing in careful detail the likely long-term happiness and mental health benefits of regularly consulting with your own Patronus to determine which thoughts are good happy and which thoughts are other happy. For example, Prince Horizon's giddy glee at gaining an unfair advantage over others by using his Patronus to babble in their ears and distract them was not a truly happy thought, it was a thought tinged with the sadistic joys of bullying, the thrill of having an unfair advantage over others and they can't do anything about it and he wins, ha ha! But using his Patronus to share a useful tip to find happiness in general, a tip to check and see if a happy thought is truly happy, that is a truly happy thought and so on et cetera.)

Mithril felt an impulse to say Ban THAT! but ignored it in case the act of vocalizing that 'sadistic glee of his own unfair advantage over others' interfered with his Patronus.

Mithril instead brought a few other ideas to the forefront of his mind, things his Patronus could discuss after it exhausted all the details of the previous topic, so there would hopefully be a backlog of topics to discuss.

Then, on second thought, he asked his Patronus to pause in its message. He waited ten seconds. He asked it to continue. He waited five seconds. He asked it to pause. Wait. Continue. Wait longer. Pause. Wait very shortly. Continue.

Randomizing the up time should make it harder for ponies to tune it out as background noise. It's not like he had anything better to do while he waited for any movers to start to approach. Actually, he did have something slightly better to do.

He flew around his local area, trying to get a general layout of the corridors and a 'feel' for the architecture – in this case fleshy pulsating corridors and rooms with landmarks like pools of bubbling yellow acid – which is the best you can do in the absence of more concrete certainty. Circus might or might not be doing the upper-reaches-of-Hogwarts thing of changing rooms after you left them, but even if Circus was doing that, there's still something to be said about environment familiarity, encountering problems now (like big holes in the floors of hallways that you have to jump over, didn't know those existed until two seconds ago) instead of mid-chase.

Just as he was starting to get a bit bored of exploration, just as he was starting to get the feeling that there was something better he could be doing, just as he remembered the mundane mane dispelling problem as something that needed addressing, he no longer had the luxury of waiting for the next move of the players.

Mithril sensed ALL the movers suddenly start going the right direction. Towards him. And of course there are many more movers in the fray now than there were at the very start, though they were still somewhat few in number. Maybe 10% of lives at most.

Furthermore, a lot of the non-movers began to vanish. Not by dying, he could tell just by the feel of it that their lives weren't being snuffed out. They were simply leaving his Patronus Charm, almost certainly by teleporting out.

Well, he didn't have time to focus on the quitters. The very large number of quitters.

Ponies were converging on his position from all directions, he had to figure out why and how-

His mind generated the obvious hypothesis. He kicked himself.

Well, there is a reason Voldemort probably didn't ever violate his own rules.

Time to get as far away from little Soft Spoken as possible. Too late to go back and stun him now. "This is what I get for being nice and not ruthlessly stunning him, or even just silently leaving the moment I'd gotten what I'd needed," Mithril said aloud with a sad sigh, hoping his words would be conveyed to the watching audience. "And ponies wonder why evil exists. I knew I was making a stupid decision at the time when I gave the colt a chance by announcing myself, but I did it anyway because I knew I had an audience watching- well, listening. I'll remark that if you disincentivize mercy by exploiting it for victory like everypony just did right here, that's when you get less mercy in the long run from the ponies actually good enough to be merciful. Unless they've got some other way of tracking me, in which case never mind about everything I just said."

He stopped talking at that point because the closest movers were closing in. He stuck to the ceiling and did not point his anti-flashlight downward. He kept it pointed firmly forward.

His situational awareness then informed him that ponies were teleporting into his Patronus's range of influence, the opposite of teleporting out, and they were instantly becoming movers. They weren't quite big enough to be adults, and they were getting teleported in at seemingly random locations, so they probably weren't an adult emergency response team or anything like that. Come to think of it, they must be the ponies he'd assumed had 'quit' earlier.

Why did they-?

Ah. Outside devices are allowed. Sunglasses are an outside device. Most ponies probably own a pair at their home, or could convince their parents to buy them a pair real quick. The combination of the Transfiguration being difficult to do in the first place and then maintain while canceling magic in a space that included the Transfigured object had been the bottleneck of the blindness-counter. But if ponies had their own sunglasses, that removed the bottleneck and allowed movement for anypony who could cancel magic at all. Which was most unicorns no longer in primary school, and probably most non-beginner regular Circus-goers too.

After slowing down and allowing ponies to pass beneath him – they're definitely locked onto Soft's location somehow, probably a pointer-compass-function like Professor Quirrell had handed out in the battles of the upper reaches of Hogwarts – Mithril whispered, "Circus."

There was no reply from Circus.

"You would not like it if I teleported out to retrieve tinted swimming goggles from home," Mithril whispered.

He did not own a pair 'at home' in the sense of his parents' house in Oxford, or in his room at Twilight's (which doesn't exist anymore), though he probably could find such a product in Ponyville if he had a time-looped hour. (Time Turners are not Things of Power, though he really shouldn't waste another hour just for that.) He'd shopped for a lot of things in December of first year, and he eventually got the hang of finding what he needed quickly.

"You would call it cheating if I left," he continued speaking without any indication from Circus that he was being heard. "I ask that you teleport in a pair for me, given that I can't leave the premises like you just allowed the participants to do." It'd be much easier if he didn't have to worry about sustaining the Transfiguration on his current pair of sun-goggles.

Mithril felt a pressure around his left forehoof and found a pair of tinted goggles resting there.

He wasted no time swapping out the pair for his own, saying as he did, "And since I asked that because I'm it, not because I can't teleport – I can – I also ask that you do not use this as justification to give a pair of sunglasses to literally everypony here, even the ones who can't teleport, or whatever reason some ponies didn't leave."

"Eh…" said Circus's voice. "Too late? Sorry. My bad."

A lot of ponies began moving now. Basically all the rest of the non-movers, with a few stragglers who probably didn't know the dispelling charm.

"Tell ya what. Make it to the five minutes remaining mark without getting tagged, you'll get your big reward."

Mithril took a few moments to overcome his useless indignation so he could concentrate on the new constraint of probably just about everypony being able to counter his spell now.

He decided, upon reflection, to keep it going, because it's still generally useful to reduce visibility of pursuers.

Then he practiced at ramping up and down the strength of his dispelling spell at will. It felt not dissimilar to going from pressing your finger lightly against a table to pushing as hard as you can, then letting up to a light touch again.

Or perhaps it was more like going from blowing the lightest breeze from your lips to blowing as hard as you can. Blowing a light breeze is something you can sustain indefinitely, in theory, if you learn to simultaneously breath in through your nose and out through your mouth, as some wind instrument musicians have to learn in order to sustain really long notes or sequences without pausing.

Blowing as hard as you can, on the other hand, isn't something that anyone can sustain indefinitely, or even all that long.

Aiming a weak dispelling charm at sustained magic without breaking that magic is like blowing a sustainable breeze from your lips across a candle without killing the flame. Firing a strong dispelling charm and succeeding in canceling a spell is like blowing the candle out completely. With massed finite's being like lots of wind and strong magic being like large fires instead of candles – only Mithril doubts that finite's are capable of 'fanning the flames' of magic, which is where the analogy might break down, but still.

(And maybe Things of Power and other non-finite-able magics are like fires protected from wind by a barrier of glass or steel or whatever, a barrier that you have to pierce with something other than wind? Mithril was currently getting a lot of ideas that might be incredibly good for his private powerful-wizard lessons. Thinking in analogies is what lots of powerful wizards do in order to wrap their minds around difficult and complex topics, at least at first. But it's not so helpful when your ideas distract you from the task at hand.)

And now for the purpose of all this theorizing. The practice.

When a new group of ponies passed beneath him, still rushing towards the location of Soft Spoken, Mithril very briefly pointed his anti-flashlight of dispelling at one of the ponies below and ramped up his dispelling efforts to 'as strong as I can make them'.

The cry of alarm was expected.

Having true goggles that won't 'blow out' if he ramped up his dispel to max power also gave him an immediate working tactic to counter the earliest arrivals – the ones who had countered him the hard way, the ones with Transfigured sunglasses instead of true ones.

Transfigurations can remain sustained within the presence of a weak dispelling charm if you supply them with a steady stream of magic. But they can't be sustained in the presence of a strong dispelling charm unless (probably) you can instantly ramp up your own sustaining magic to match. Which (probably) only super-experienced battle wizards like Moody and Riddle and Dumbledore and Bellatrix can do mid-combat.

(A lot of this was going down on the mental 'ask Riddle about it later during private lessons' list. Riddle would answer just about any question Harry asked, if Harry asked it specifically enough. Or at the very least, he would soon arrange a lesson where Harry would learn the answer in a very visceral and unforgettable way.)

What Mithril did not expect, but made sense in retrospect, was when he briefly saw the tint on the glasses worn by his target fading to normal transparency, along with the shape reverting to more normal-looking eye-glasses.

Which informed him that a lot of the earliest earliest movers were probably wearing normal glasses to start out. It's much easier to Transfigure a pair of sunglasses by simply modifying the glasses you already have.

Pegasi might hardly ever need glasses, but plenty of unicorns wear them, same with city-dwelling Earth ponies. Transfigurations in general are much easier when the separation of form doesn't differ too greatly from the starting object, which is why the first lesson is matchsticks into needles.

He wondered how many of the early movers did it the really hard way like he had, Transfiguring a new pair out of whole cloth.

Now that a nearby chaser had been blinded out of the blue, he stuck around just long enough to confirm that the group below didn't suspect someone else of having done any dispelling. Since it didn't happen to the whole group, just one pony, that pony is more likely to blame themselves for a lap in concentration rather than blame their enemy's deliberate offense.

It was a risk, but a calculated one. He wanted to confirm that a lot of the assumptions he'd been making about his opposition were accurate. His brain was on high alert, his full faculties activated and pushing the limits of his cognition. As one must do if they wish to learn.

Also, he enjoyed confirming once again that nobody ever looks up, so long as nothing in the direction of 'up' is moving, or contrasts greatly enough with its surroundings, or is not far off from direct line of sight, or changes the brightness of the sun by blocking it, or is obscured too heavily by darkness. Or brightness.

After hearing an exchange along the lines of "Are you alright?" and "Fine, just lost my transfiguration", he continued on.

When ponies approach, it's never in a straight line because of the maze-like nature of the battlefield. So he hides behind the upper corner that they turn around and he doesn't move. Then he turns the corner himself the moment he's likely to be out of their peripheral vision. He spends as little amount of time as possible within their potential line of sight, giving him the least risk of being spotted.

In this fashion he continued in the direction of away from Soft Spoken until he felt he had gotten far enough, then found a nice little dead end hallway to occupy, one that a pony would never turn down by accident if they were trying to get to Soft Spoken by following a magical compass pointing at him.

Once ponies started spreading out from Soft Spoken's direction in a search attempt, he would continue away. Which means he shouldn't be at the end of the dead end, he should be just around the corner to the dead end's entrance.

After a bit of positional re-adjustment, he checked the time with a tempus. Around half the time of the game had elapsed, which is to say that in twenty-five minutes, there's a bathroom he needs to be in.

"FIFTEEN MINUTES REMAINING!" said Circus's voice, presumably to all players, and loud enough to overcome Harry's irregularly droning Patronus message. "NO WINNERS YET! COME ON EVERYBEING, YOU CAN DO IT!" Definitely to all players.

And it seems Mithril is being given ten minutes lee-way. Thank you, Circus.

Actually, wait, that's probably just to give time for the reward if someone wins.

Wait, you know what, why is Mithril dead-ending himself at all? Sure, it's harder to get here, but it's also harder to escape. Why not find a junction room so he has multiple escape routes? He'd come across some of those by now. That would be way better than cornering himself…

No, on second thought, he'll try to find a junction room if he's found and being chased. Moving around out in the open is more likely to get him discovered in the first place. He should focus on hiding until that stops working, then on running and escape routes.

He focused on ramping up his Patronus distraction to give his mind something to do. And also on running through mental scenarios of how he should behave if it doesn't seem like there's a way to avoid getting seen, especially if it's in a tight corridor or something. Which reminded him of the mundane mane problem. Which gave him something actually tangible to make progress on. He'll improv his lies, but the mane getting dispelled by ponies looking at him needs addressing.

"TEN MINUTES REMAINING! PORTAL TIME!"

Portal?

Mithril heard a squelching sound behind him, and he turned around to see a circular sphincter now imbedded in the formerly smooth – well, somewhat smooth – wall.

He also began feeling lives begin disappearing and reappearing at completely different locations, starting slowly but quickly ramping up until the lives he was feeling were a constant jumble.

After a flash of fight, flight, or freeze, he flew to just above the sphincter, closed his eyes, stopped dispelling, executed a series of precise gestures, aimed his wand, and said "Colloportus". He then reactivated his dispelling charm and opened his eyes again.

He had put as little power behind the lock as he could manage. He did still feel it activate, but it didn't tire him out all that much. The standard unlocking charm learned in the standard unicorn magic curriculum in Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns did not unlock Colloportus – he tested that a while ago – so he could afford to skimp on the power. Unless Draco came across the other side of this door and cast Alohomora, or unless there's an advanced magic user who knows more unicorn unlocking spells than the standard one, he should be good.

Now all he had to worry about were portals in nearby corridors. And his mundane mane. Which were quite worrisome indeed. In his place around a corner, he waited with bated breath as ponies trotted towards his dead-end, glanced down it as they passed (but not up), and kept running.

"FIVE MINUTES REMAINING! MANY PORTALS!"

Sphincters appeared to line the walls now.

"Opening in ten, nine, eight,"

It took Mithril a split-second to realize that his best path forward now was…

"…three, two, one!"

All the portals opened, and a few pony heads peaked into the empty corridor and looked around. One in particular…

"Hey! Mithril! Wanna join me?"

"Huh?" asked Mithril, an (according to his perfect Occlumency barrier) perfectly normal contestant trying to find Silver Wing just like everypony else. "Yeah, sure," he said in an altered voice, a voice that did not sound like the Patronus babbling in everypony's ears.

(The small, constant stream of magic to his mundane mane spell, feeling almost exactly like a sustained Transfiguration, prevented it from being dispelled by the arrival looking at him.)

"Great!" said the arrival. "Come on over. You remember me?"

Mithril blinked a few times at the illusory name of 'Big Bang' above the pony. (His inner-self was cursing Circus. No such thing as coincidence. It had to be someone who kinda knows my Mithril persona, didn't it?) "Um… yeah. We fought for first once, right?"

"Yep! Sorry we haven't had a chance to do a co-op yet. I bet we'd kill it." By now, Mithril had trotted over to Big Bang's portal. "Actually, I'm gonna come through to your side," said Big Bang, stepping through. "Man, Circus gave you the portal jackpot. This is a great hub! Come on, let's check each one. Start at the dead end and work backwards, I'll get this side, you get the other."

"Good idea."

After about thirty seconds had passed, "Pretty fun, huh?" asked Big Bang.

"It'd be more fun if I could win," said Mithril, a bit sourly.

"Aw, don't be like that. It's like playing a lottery. Just here for fun and tickets, don't expect to win. Same as a lot of special Circus events."

"Yeah, I know," he lied. "But still, it'd be pretty cool to win."

"Sure would be! The trick is to not get bummed out when you lose. Times like this, you just have to really expect to lose. And play for the bonus tickets," he said in a cheeky voice. "Do your best, reap the rewards, and look at what the winners did in the recap. Except this time we can't do that, I am a bit bummed about the memory lock thing, but no biggy."

"You've got a good attitude about it," said Mithril. "I wish I could see things that way."

"Well, it's all how you look at things, you know? By the way, why do you sound a bit different from last time? You got a thick accent."

"Hm? I don't know. Might be a helmet malfunction. Circus has been thinking about giving voice charms as a ticket reward."

"Really? That would be so cool! Just imagine sounding like Tirek. Or Nightmare Moon. Totally bad-flank."

"Uh-huh. Say, are your comms working? Those are on the fritz for me too."

"Really? Wow, Circus never drops the ball like that. Well, whatever. Yeah, comms are a manure-fest."

"TWO MINUTES REMAINING!" said Circus.

Then, two seconds later, "HEY!" shouted a distant voice. "I FOUND HIM!"

Big Bang shouted back. "NOT HIM! BEEN IN GAMES FOR MONTHS, SILVER WING JUST CAME BACK AN HOUR AGO!"

Mithril's heart was not hammering in his chest thanks to the perfect Occlumency. His eyes gazed out at where the distant voice had come from, which allowed him to have Big Bang in his peripheral vision. "Not the first time that's happened," he said in a casual voice.

"Oh, wow!" said Big Bang's voice. "I thought he just had bad eyesight, but you do look like Silver Wing. Huh."

"ONE MINUTE REMAINING!"

"You'd think the mane and cutie mark would be enough," he said in an annoyed voice.

"Yeah, well, when Madam Chaos warns everypony to be on the lookout for a normal-looking Silver Wing with a disguised cutie mark and name, I think this is one of the few times you shouldn't be annoyed. Come on, let's give these last thirty seconds our all! No more talking, eyes focused on these portals!"

Mithril nodded. "I'm not that gullible. You've seen through it," he observed.

He erected a shield to block the suddenly-stunner light bolt. He floated up to the ceiling.

"Can't blame a stallion… for… trying!" The air-buck-propelled pony and shield-breaker were anticipated and dodged. (That combo had gotten him the last time he lost to Big Bang. Of course, he couldn't use broomstick bones then, and his private lessons have since involved a lot of instant-reaction-to-spellbolts-using-broomstick-bones.)

"No, but I can blame him for choreographing it," said Mithril easily. "And being cheeky. Next time don't do that until after you hit me." He zigged and zagged. "Look how easy it is for me to escape."

"Well, crap."

"TEN."

"Occlumens?" asked Mithril. (It was the obvious guess for any pony being good at lying on the fly.)

"NINE."

"Yep," said Bang.

"EIGHT."

"Wanna free win?" asked Mithril.

"SEVEN."

…

"SIX."

"You sure?"

"FIVE."

"Sure."

"FOUR."

"Alright," said Big Bang.

"THREE."

"Here." Mithril darted down and offered a hoof, unshielded, taking a second to do so.

Big Bang touched it at the same time Circus said, "ONE."

His horn had glowed in a spell that prevented Mithril from taking his hoof away at the last second.

Which Mithril had tried to do.

Rehabilitation 14.2: Securing Knowledge

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter 74: NO 'ELP!

A/N: There has been a retcon of exactly two words in the previous modern day chapter, 73. I am now publishing these chapters basically as I write them, a fully serial production, no buffer of backlog. Both so I stop wasting time endlessly editing minute details that don't matter much, and hopefully to train myself to be more proactive with idea-generation. But that also means that I miss some good ideas until it's too late to get it right the first time around.

"WINNERS WINNERS LETTUCE DINNERS!"

In a small room with décor the same as the environment of the game, two colts appeared, standing across from each other with a big, pulsating brain between them. Two plates of lettuce lay upon the brain, accompanied by napkins and silverware, looking quite extremely appetizing to the pony palette if not for the gross mass of meaty walls, ceiling, and furniture.

"Good job Bang," said Mithril, having remembered during that final stretch what this colt once asked to be called. He shrunk his Patronus to normal size and mentally commanded it to hide, which it did. He took off his helmet (there was no longer an illusion of 'Mithril' above it) and dismissed his mundane mane enchantment. "I was wondering if you'd win," said Prince Horizon.

"I have been through middle school," said Big Bang in a bragging tone. "Why'd ya even give me the chance?" He gave a knowing grin. "Or were you just being a clever-stupid little brat?" He took a big bite out of the lettuce, looking completely unbothered by the surrounding setting as he ate.

"Well, no comment about the brat thing, but…" Horizon took a moment in his search for the right way to put it. "I already got the reward Circus promised me by making it to the last five minutes. In those last thirty seconds, I could've won just by flying away. Probably nopony could've caught me, even the other air-buckers and pegasi. So I gave somepony who actually did almost everything right a chance to win. You made it to the home stretch, and I could've been like 'Ha ha! Sucks to be you, I win!', which isn't a truly happy thought. Or I could've been like 'You know what, you made it this far, you came closer than anyone, you did everything right to fool a normal colt my age, so I'll give you a chance.' I still wasn't just letting you win, you did have to beat my last-second gotcha. But it was better than, for example, the 'chance' I gave Soft Spoken, which wasn't really a chance at all."

"Go on." Bang took another bite of lettuce. It was almost like he was grazing it. The silverware was ignored.

"Think of it like… I made it to the end, but me winning at that point would be easy and boring and pointless, so I offered something like a coinflip to the contestant who came closest. Also, Circus did set aside ten minutes for this conversation. One of the whole reasons Circus did all this was to have me get out more, instead of reading alone in my room. So… yeah. Conversation time. Congratulations, by the way."

A pathetic kazoo sound played in the room, and there were two weak sprays of confetti from two unseen openings on the ground, sprays which didn't get very far, reach very high, or contain all that much confetti.

"Oh," said Bang, swallowing. And he was already done? He eats fast. "Well… thanks, I guess." There was another wimpy kazoo sound, and Big Bang looked at the confetti to his right, then left. "But what about…? Wait, time travel, shut-in, right. Quick check, have you ever heard of-" Big Bang took a deep breath, then sternly shouted in a guttural accent, "NO 'ELP!"

Horizon's eyebrows rose. "I have not."

"Yeah, so, there's this dragon in Circus. Uh, adult section, not kids or teens. Calls himself 'Goo'. Keeps his profile private. Doesn't look like any real dragon from outside Circus, so he's probably disguising how he looks. Nopony knows who he actually is. And… you know what Circus challenges are usually like?"

"Not a clue."

Big Bang seemed particularly interested in talking about this, and Horizon wasn't in a mood to stop him yet. Horizon took a bite of lettuce himself and settled in for someone else's monologue, for a change.

"They're like what we did today. Only, less… um… zero sum. Less like a lottery too. WAAAAY more small games to play, chances to win, multiple winners. Lots of different ways to play, you can try to win honestly, win by yourself, win with a group, steal from other players, do all of the above, do none of the above, do a mix of the above like most players end up doing, whatever you want. There's one grand goal to shoot for, but it's usually a goal nobody can do on their own, and a lot of players don't even go for it, they just stick to the side content. And it's one big free-for-all map where you can encounter anypony else who's playing."

Horizon swallowed. "Okay…" Took another bite.

"Okay, so, when those come around, Goo always joins up and takes on the hardest stuff. Things that everypony thinks only teamers can do. But Goo tackles them alone. And a lot of times, ponies come along and see this one dragon taking on this massive task, a boss fight, an obstacle course, a super hard puzzle, whatever. And they just try to help him, you know? See an equine in need, help an equine indeed, and all that. But whenever anyone comes too close to Goo when he's in the middle of something, whenever they look like they're about to help him, you know what he shouts?"

Horizon chewed, swallowed, and said, "NO 'ELP!"

"Hey, you even got the spittle, good job." That had not been intentional, but Bang seemed pretty laid back, even in up-tight company. "But yeah, he tells them to stay back so he can do it on his own."

"And what if someone helps anyway?"

"If somepony helps anyway, it's not like he can stop them. Well, he can't stop them when PvP is banned, which it is for some of the challenges, or in some specific areas of a challenge. And when PvP is allowed, he doesn't stop them unless they attack him first. But anyway, when someone helps him even after he shouted 'NO 'ELP!' at them, he just stubbornly waits for the challenge to reset so he can beat it 'ethically', as he puts it. And when he finally wins 'ethically', he starts flexing and gloating and pretending like there's this big audience watching him and he says 'Ooooooh now that's a strong dragon!' like he's talking in third pony. Even back before nopony was paying attention to him. And of course he's still doing it now."

"I see," said Horizon. "And just how skilled is this 'Goo'?" He took another bite of lettuce, seeing that it was almost half gone.

"Best Circus player there is," Bang answered, sounding renewed in his eagerness to gush about this. "Well, he wasn't at first, but he is now. Even better than Prince Excelsior on average stats. But forget the stats, he's just hilarious to watch. And inspiring, when he beats these crazy-difficult things on his own. There's even an official category for it now: solo, self-found, self-made. No outside devices. No soliciting help from others. Not even any negotiating or bartering for mutual gain with others. You can do PvP if you want, but you can't take anything that other players have, so PvP is all risk, no gain. It's worth a ticket multiplier if you stick to those rules for a whole challenge, and multipliers are not common. And you can tell Goo doesn't care for the attention or the fame or even the tickets, he's having fun win or lose, but also he really cares about actually getting better and overcoming challenges. Oh, and if he ever comes across another player trying to do something difficult on their own, he'd stand nearby, and if he saw somebody else try to help them, he'd say, 'OI! DON'T BE A 'ELPER! 'E DON'T NEED NO 'ELP! And when he's shouting 'NO 'ELP!', it can sound like he's mad, but everything else he does kinda feels like over-the-top acting, so he doesn't come off as mean, just…" Big Bang trailed off, trying to find the right word.

"Eccentric," Horizon offered.

"Yeah, that's it."

"So… what's his opinion on group work? Negative, I take it?" Another bite. Almost done now.

"Not at all. He's not against group work in general. Even when you're as good as he is, there's a lot of stuff that you just can't do on your own, and Circus makes whole areas filled with stuff like that. The big goal of each challenge is usually smack-dab in the middle of a big area that only big teams can tackle, and it's WAAAY harder than anything else. The stuff Goo does alone is, like, the duo/trio/quad stuff, things in the open world away from that big area. Goo will usually find a group for the BIG team-only areas. No complaints about 'elping unless a different group 'elps his group, and only if his entire group agrees they don’t want 'elp. And he's a really good team player. He actually wants the team to win, not just himself, and he makes sure everybody gets their fair share of the spoils, and nobody gets left behind, even if it puts him at risk. And that's way better than a lot of players behave in team challenges, especially dragons. So he doesn't have a thing against teamwork or friendship in general. Just sometimes. Just when… it's not his goal, you know?"

"And…" said Horizon, trying to think, trying to get to the root of all of this. Based on Bang's animated voice and eagerness to talk about 'Goo'… "You've taken this dragon as your role model?" One last bite, and he had cleaned off his plate.

"More than most ponies," said Bang, smiling. "Not more than most dragons. They're OBSESSED with him. But a lot of dragons suck at magic, so they feel they can't reach his power level. And a lot of dragons also have a hard time being team players, even though they know that's the right mindset to have when you're on a team and you're competing with other groups. There's a reason why all-dragon teams never win the team challenges. And Goo never teams up with a full team of dragons either, usually it's him and a bunch of ponies, maybe one other dragon. And like I said, highest win rate. So Goo is like this unreachable messiah guru who's everything good about being a dragon: powerful, independent, self-confident, capable, passionate, assertive, willful, inspiring, honorable, principled. And none of the bad: arrogant, short temper, abrasive personality, can't work with others, doesn't like to slow down and think about problems. You probably know the stereotypes. Heck, you might know the evolutionary biology."

If by 'evolutionary biology', Horizon thought as he chewed the last of the fine cuisine, you mean the Mirror selectively turning the original Atlanteans into different species of cartoon animal based on personality. Or perhaps the original Atlanteans self-selected their own species when they first entered the Mirror? And the prideful-independent-powerful Atlanteans chose dragon instead of pony or dog? And then those personalities interbred with mostly only each other for thousands of years. Or maybe the Mirror assigned species at random? And then only the dragons WITH those qualities survived their new environmental circumstances and passed down their genes and personalities to their offspring. As usual with magic, laws of nature such as 'evolutionary biology' need critical re-examining. But that theory explains why most 'dragons' would have similar patterns of cognition to each other, and thus similar 'stereotypical' strengths and weaknesses – qualities which don't just stop at the obvious biological stuff like magic-proof scales and magic breath.

"Eh," said Bang. "And remember that a lot of dragons see Goo that way. I just think about him like any other role model."

Horizon nodded in understanding. "And how good are you in average stats?"

"Top five in my age group. And always looking to improve."

Well, that explains the Occlumency.

"That's… top five among unicorns?"

"No, top five overall."

"I take it you're fifth place?" When a company advertises itself as 'RATED ON THE LIST OF TOP 100 COMPANIES IN OUR FIELD WORLDWIDE!', they usually aren't in the top 10. Or even the top 80.

"Eh, technically I'm fourth. The guys above me started training earlier than me. Private tutors, rich parents, you know the deal. I'm from a good ol' small town smack dab in outer Equestria. Family owns a small business, lots of older siblings, no pressure for me to inherit, lots of free time, so I spend it all here at the Circus."

"Didn't you say you started really early?" He remembered something like that.

"My parents signed me up for dueling kinda early. They didn't tutor me, or buy tutors for me, just dropped me off at the dueling studio once a week because they thought a sport would be good for me."

"Ah."

There was a brief pause.

"So…" said Horizon.

"So…" said Bang. "You gave us all a great challenge. Way cooler than the hide-and-seek-and-tag I was expecting. I don't think there's ever been a challenge like this before. But at the end there… you 'elped me." Bang grinned. "You're a dirty, dirty 'elper. And you're a little brat. You know that?"

At this point, Horizon's matching grin was so strong that he might not have been able to stop it with a will of Occlumency. "So you're saying I should just embrace my inner-winner and always give it my all?"

"Pretty much. We're not foals anymore. Don't need handouts, no sir."

"Well, I might think that way. You might think that way. But I was kind of worried about the watching audience and parents. Even if they were going to get memory-locked. Not everybody understands the wise, wise ways of 'NO 'ELP!' like you and Goo do."

"Most ponies know the best of the best think that way, thanks to Goo," said Bang. "And that's all that matters."

"Five minutes left," said Circus's Royal Canterlot voice. "Keep going, guys, this is great stuff."

Bang seemed to shrink a little. "Well that's not gonna make me self-conscious or anything." He laughed nervously. "I thought this was private."

"Who said it isn't?"

Horizon sighed. "Circus, stop broadcasting the rest, please. Unless we say you can release it later."

"Fine, fine," said Circus's normal voice.

"So when did you figure out it was me?" asked Horizon. "When you saw me?"

Now looking relaxed again, "Nah, I remembered your real name from when we shared profiles. When Canterlot announced that 'Prince Horizon' was responsible for the big Patronus earlier today, I was like, 'Hey, that sounds familiar', so I checked all the profiles I'd ever met, and I was like, 'Woah! Mithril's an Alicorn, that explains how he was so strong!' And then I was like 'Wait! that also means I've met a prince and he's on my acquaintances list!' And there was this moment where I thought I should brag to all my friends, but then Circus reminded me that you shared your private profile with me, and talking about that would be like sharing someone's diary, and Circus stated very clearly that you like your privacy, and now that I know that I should go ahead and do whatever I feel like, so I kept it to myself. And then I had to leave Circus for Silver Wing Remembrance Day. My parents bought us all tickets. I wanted to go 'cause those memories that taught me how to air-buck were really cool , and my parents figured it would be a good family holiday. And then you did that thing in the moment of silence. And I was like 'Holy manure he's Silver Wing too!' Mind. Blown."

Well, so much for trying to avoid ego-trips. He hadn't been expecting it, and he knew it was probably bad for his mental health in some way, but hearing that someone else appreciated his stunt just felt so good.

"So I didn't even think twice after you left and Circus said we could follow, I just went straight through the cloud floor – probably scared the crap out of my parents – and then I got eaten by Circus, and the Challenge Rules were explained, and I was all hyped to be the one to find you. Circus warned us we were basically playing the super-lottery, nopony should expect to win, you need luck, not just skill, but fortune does favor the competent and the driven."

With 'fortune' being those portals at the end, Horizon thought.

Bang continued without pause. The brain between them was pulsating much more quickly than earlier. "I almost felt like Circus was talking directly to me because I was already lucky enough to know all that stuff about you. So I tried to be as competent as I could the entire time. Especially because Circus said this would be the first really big event where our ticket earnings will be entirely based on how we play the game, not whether we win or lose."

"Eh, elaborate, please." It was his first time hearing it.

"Well, Circus said winning wouldn't affect ticket count. If somepony does manage to win, they'll probably have a high ticket count because they were playing the game well, but winning just gets the reward, not extra tickets. So I focused more than usual on how I was playing the game. I kept up with the comms, made sure I didn't get banned, I tried all the ideas, even the bad ones. I even came up with the combo idea on my own and I told everypony about it. Even if it meant a lower chance for me personally to win."

This was also his first time hearing about that- no, wait, Soft Spoken had said 'Bang said you have to do both'. Ah. Now it makes sense.

"Why help them, mister 'NO 'ELP!'?"

"Goo would've done it too. I only got that far because of all the great ideas that came before me, the ideas from other ponies. It was a group effort, so it was only fair to share. I had a head start anyway. I began searching for you sooner than most ponies started their Transfigurations."

"In that case I have another question. If you're fine with lowering your own chances to win by sharing info with the competition, why'd you drive away that one pony who almost spotted me?"

"At that point I didn't feel obliged to help anypony else. I did my share to the group effort, and I was going for the win. Can't see through a misdirection, that's on them. Plenty of liar's games in Circus, so they could've practiced. Lawyerific probably would've seen through it. But in the impossible, perfect world known as 'hindsight'-" he said this as if it was a common saying "-maybe I should've called him over so there could be a two-on-one. I wasn't expecting you to be able to fly like Princess Airess."

"Two and a half minutes," warned Circus.

There was a pause.

Then, Horizon asked, "Hey, Circus, can Big Bang keep his memory? It's not like he'll forget he knows me, and he's an Occlumens, and… well, I guess he'd have to promise not to talk about anything…"

Horizon might need to blind his enemies in a desperate emergency, and rely on them not having a ready-made solution. It probably wasn't anything like the end of the world if it got out, same as the broomstick bones – not that those were known by the game players or watchers – but it was one more advantage he should make token efforts to preserve, even if at this point it's probably blown.

He had little doubt the Unspeakables have invented at least five potential counters by now, untested of course, but Amelia Bones isn't the type of witch to let Britain's perceived enemies get away with a battle tactic more than once, if she can help it, and she was there at the destruction of Azkaban.

So he did not think it would be any more of a problem when he asked, "Could a magical NDA contract at least be an option for the winner, instead of a mandatory memory lock? And then Bang can pick his poison from there?"

A magical paper appeared in front of Big Bang, whose eyes were wide. "Whoa, really?"

"Just make sure you don't get captured and tortured by a dark lord who wants to know how to counter my technique and you're the only one who remembers. Besides me and Madam Chaos." And Hermione, he thought, remembering the one other alicorn he knew about who might have been playing.

Bang no longer looked so eager. "Eh… heh… you're joking, right?"

"Mostly. I'd give it a 0.1% subjective probability of happening. And they'd probably memory-wipe you instead of killing you afterwards if you have an anchor, so if you suddenly find yourself feeling super stressed and terrible for absolutely no reason you can remember, maybe go to a specialist to reverse any memory-wipes. Or check for memory locks, if you CAN check for those."

"Eeeeeehhhhh…" said Bang. He pushed the contract away with a hoof. "You know what, maaaaybe I'll forget it after all."

From the brain upon which the contract rested, a dark-blue bruise grew from the healthy pink folds. An illusion above that welt read 'Worry', and from that welt sprung iron chains of fear – 'fear' was sketched in various fonts on every exposed surface of the iron – that quickly constricted the entire brain.

"Oh, stop being such a worry-wort," said Circus. "Both of you. How about this, I'll keep watch on ya, Big Bang. If something even remotely evil happens to ya, even outside my borders, I'll know right away and ask Daddy Discord to handle it. But no more 'elp after you reach twenty-five. Ya hear, Bangy? If you don't want something bad to happen after that, grow strong enough to not let it happen. Good? Good. That said, those services ain't cheap, so it'll cost ya all the tickets you just earned. Keep yer tickets, play it kinda safe, and forget this awesome challenge, or sign the contract, keep your memories, and get the protection of Chaos!" Circus's voice had deepened and distorted to a dramatic flair for the word 'chaos'. "Thirty seconds, make 'em count!"

Big Bang stared at the contract for twenty seconds.

When Circus started the ten second countdown, Big Bang signed it.

A small needle of 'friendship' gently pierced the blue welt. It quickly deflated and return to healthy pink. The chains fell away from the brain.

"Nice talking with you," said Prince Horizon.

"See ya 'round sometime?" asked Bang.

For a moment, Horizon hesitated to make a commitment. Then he put his helmet on and mundane-ified his mane. "Mithril will see you around."

He disappeared from the room and reappeared in his Astral Plane. (Leaving his helmet to fall to the ground and leaving a blinking unicorn behind. Big Bang had never before seen a teleportation method that left your clothes behind.).

A tempus told Horizon he had one minute.

"Send mail to Circus asking them to clear the room Bang is in," he said aloud.

"Sending… sending… sendi-" said the robotic voice of his Astral Plane's computer. "Received. You have mail!"

He read it.

Pfft. Doesn't even know he's NOT restricted to the default location of where he left the material plane. Some Alicorn. There was a looping image of large, rolling eyes.

Horizon took a moment to huff, was about to put that claim to the test, and then, "You've got mail!"

He was running out of time, but he decided to skim it real quick.

We have an hour of Time to review Astral Plane comparisons of the span when you were memory charmed and/or Confunded, among other things. Interested?

Y/N

-Excelsior

Prince Horizon blinked a few times. It would take up his only remaining spare hour… but hey, that's what spare hours are for. It's not like he's even used his other four for study just yet, so he'll still have an emergency escape. Not that he even needs emergency escapes now that he has access to the Astral Plane anytime, anywhere.

As far as Riddle himself has been able to determine after thirty-five years, there is no means by which an Alicorn can be prevented from retreating to the Astral Plane, other than unconsciousness. And unconsciousness would prevent deliberate Time-Turning too.

Now that Horizon's an Alicorn and he knows about that magical quirk/perk of having an Astral Plane, he can be a lot more liberal with the prospect of using up all his time-turned hours each day, leaving none for emergency escape routes. He doesn't intend to make a habit out of it. There is something to be said about always being ready to go back an hour or two for preparation time during an emergency. But he's no longer going to avoid exhausting his hours fully outside of emergency situations.

Besides, he can always have 2 hours of private study instead of 4, and still keep 2 hours in reserve that way.

"Send mail to Excelsior, Yes."

"Sen- received."

Prince Horizon once again experienced the strange sixth-sense of someone knocking on his door, a door which he didn't even know he had until today.

"Um… enter?"

"No," said a voice into his plane. "You check first. Do not simply allow a random knocker to enter your Astral Plane. You never know who they might be."

"Eh… how do I-? Um. Astral Plane. Show me the knocker."

On his screen appeared what looked to be a live image of Prince Excelsior, who looked to be standing in his own Astral Plane. "Confirm my identity," the pony on the screen ordered, as if speaking to Horizon through the computer.

"Um… what was the password we came up with together for the door in Diagon Alley?" That was a time where literally nobody should have been observing them, given how many insane precautions they set up. Unless someone got the information directly from one of their brains, nobody else should know.

A book floated to the alicorn on the screen. The alicorn consulted the book, then said, "Sword Fish Melon Friend. And you do not need to speak your commands to your Astral Plane aloud. Furthermore, it is far more forgiving than mental articulation."

Horizon mentally commanded his 'door' to swing open like the door from Diagon Alley had swung open when he spoke the password. The glass on his computer screen – a screen which was more than large enough to admit a pony through – lifted upward with a mechanical sound, like a door from Star Wars. Which was not a swing-open movement like had wanted/expected, but it was cooler, and if he had known it was possible, he definitely would have ordered his Astral plane to do that instead.

The thestral alicorn stepped through the large, screenless computer monitor, looking…

"You in another bad mood?"

The dark alicorn's frown became slightly less pronounced. "I am in a thoughtful, introverted, and thus negative mood, yes."

"Do you want to talk about it?" the light alicorn asked, not even realizing he didn't feel afraid to ask the question. It was not at all like the time he first encountered one of this being's 'bad moods'.

The thestral considered the offer to talk. "I would like to give the brief abstract, yes."

Horizon settled in for a brief listen. "Shoot."

The thestral adopted his standard lecturing cadence. "Equestria has a saying that it doesn't matter how smart you are, all addicts are stupid when it comes to their addictions. Especially when you cannot even see the addiction for what it is. Worse still are those who did not remain on what Equestria calls the 'innocent' end of the addiction spectrum. My stupidity, my failings, my choices did not redound only upon me, in those decades of my life. I am in a bad mood because it is rarely pleasant for an addict to be reminded of their worst sins, their lowest points, even after they are in a better place. Less pleasant still to comb through the low points deliberately, carefully, in detail." He sighed. "This is my own final extra hour of the day. I need a good distraction while my mood settles and I've had time to process."

"A distraction like pointing out the mistakes of others instead of yourself?"

The lips of the thestral twitched upward. "Let's begin."

Author's Note

Brief reminder: The puzzle that Draco's trying to solve from two modern-day-chapters ago, chapter 72, still technically hasn't been given a solution in the comments section. One reader said it was 'already solved', and yes the answer is blatantly overwhelmingly obvious, but nobody's come out and said it exactly, as Draco might be able to say it. Next modern-day chapter will reveal his answer.

Keep in mind, the puzzle you're trying to solve, if not quite the one Draco's trying to solve, is this: How does Tom Riddle prevent the Sense of Doom from returning when he wears the Voldemort mask, like it did during his performance at the Quidditch stadium? How does he suppress the part of his spirit, the mental patterns of cognition that cannot coexist in the same world as the boy-who-lived?

Rehabilitation 14.3: The Unearned Climax

It was an otherwise normal night, after a normal day filled with such normal tasks as: training the sitting army of Equestria about guerilla tactics; working towards a project of mass immortality; and calling forth a Time-Trapped image of his hated enemy so that an immortal sun god who hates him could help that enemy become more powerful.

But all of that progress was like ash in his mouth, tainted by the nagging sense that something about his own thinking is wrong. This has been going on for a week, ever since the conversation with Twilight about his own tendencies. It was getting worse over time, not better.

Four days ago, when he first noticed the pattern, he declared to himself that if the pattern continued for three more days, he would consult the obvious expert.

Three days have now passed since that declaration, it is now night, and he can no longer delay.

"Luna," he asked into an emotional lull he'd learned to recognize and wait for, a sense of completion and minor relief.

"Yes?" asked Luna, who had been dream-walking, and had just finished guarding one such dream.

"I suspect I am in need of a session." And there are none scheduled for tonight, an observation made three days ago, an observation that contributed to his decision of holding off until tonight. "Do you have an hour to spare?"

"Yes," she repeated, in almost the same tone and inflection as her first 'yes', except that it did not lilt up to form a question. "What about?" That did, though.

"It seems that, absent the careful combined influences of the Mirror, Mr. Silver, yourself, and possibly the Elements of Harmony, I have a tendency to be what Twilight Sparkle calls a full-blown tyrant, and what Celestia would call an extreme authoritarian. Of the generally right-leaning variety."

Preservation of the past and present, traditionalism, a focus on purity and the prevention of creeping corruption from foreign (muggle) and other outside sources… the Dark Lord Voldemort had been a right-leaning tyrant, and it is the least annoying role he ever played. Which means Tom Riddle, who had studied and idolized tyrants both left and right, probably leans 'right' as Equestria defines it, though of course the real him is more layered and nuanced than he'd pretended with Voldemort.

The 'president' version of himself, from what he saw in Twilight's mind during her Occlumency training, was what Equestria would call a left-leaning tyrant – a supposed champion of the people. Though that tyrant was just one iteration amidst a sea of right-leaning or just flat out politically neutral tyrannies. The neutral ones could be summarized as: 'I have killed and supplanted all your gods, I am nigh-omnipotent levels of powerful, you will serve me or die, deal with it'.

But ignoring the 'neutrals', there were still a good number of right-leaning tyrannies. Versions of himself that had risen to power under the guise of preventing the creeping corruption of Changelings, preventing the corruption of the Crystal Empire, preventing the corruption of chaos. Only one version of himself seemed to lean left.

So his sum-total average tendency is probably right-leaning.

Still…

"Though truthfully," he said after that brief pause for self-reflection – the thoughts had gone by in flashes, he'd already thought many of those thoughts before, and was now trying to organize them for the sake of conversation. "I've had left-leaning tyrannical tendencies as well. Or rather, I learned just as much from the tactics of left-leaning tyrants as the right-leaning-" Mao's little red book had been particularly insightful "-and I was not shy to implement whichever set of tactics I believed would work best for a given situation. I would like to know the various root causes of this mindset within myself. Not the what, but the why. More specifically, I would like to pierce through all the many excuses and justifications and rationalizations I am so fond of providing whenever indictments about my past political choices are raised. And of course I would prefer an utter lack of moralizing. And preferably not a lecture influenced by a stupidly biased political worldview either."

Luna took a deep, deep breath, and gave a deep, deep exhale. "That is a tall order. And I am not unbiased. And it is not the sort of thing that can be covered in one session, my cleverly wise fool."

"I'm fine with that."

"Or two sessions, or three, or ten, or even a hundred. It may be a years-long endeavor. Perhaps decades. I will do my best not to waste time, of course, but I can make no guarantees."

There was a longer pause.

A weary sigh. "However long it takes, I suppose."

"Then we may as well begin with the basics."

Her mood turned to reflection and openness for a while, the emotion of free, improvised thought. Then she spoke.

"My first claim is this: Anypony, at any time, might choose to attempt to violate the free will of another."

"What if they are in chains? Or otherwise indisposed?"

"That is why I said 'attempt'. It goes without saying that I am referring to ponies who have their faculties about them. My claim is that ponies can, at any time, choose that they want to do something that goes against the free will of another pony, either directly or indirectly. My claim is not that they will be able to succeed, only that they can adopt the ambition to exercise their free will in that way. Do you disagree with that? "

"No. It is a fact Dark Lords exploit by amassing enough power for their wills to triumph."

"Not just dark lords, but yes. Let's call this actionable free will. The fact that one pony or group of ponies might at any time choose to attempt to violate the free will of another. Now… is this fact not also used by anti-Dark Lords to overthrow their oppressors?"

He shrugged. "True enough. Stupid Dark Lords fail to foresee the powers by which they will be overthrown." But he shall have power the Dark Lord knows not…

"Which brings me to my next claim," said Luna. "The outcome in a contest of wills is decided by the calculus of power. Do you disagree?"

"No."

"Do you disagree that the calculus of power gets ever more complicated the more powers you add to the equation?"

"Describe what you mean."

"The more countries. The more factions. The more weapons and dark horses. The more exceptional individuals. The more plots. The more powerful interests involved. The more free wills that must be accounted for. The more of those, the more complicated the calculus of power becomes. Do you disagree?"

"No." It is why complicated plots tend to fail. It's not that the plotters don't take complicated power calculations into play, it's that they simply can't. "Why are you stating these elementary points?" he asked.

"So that you might have a better reference frame for understanding me when I say that my sister and I have been amassing as much power as we can on the side of Harmony."

He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Do you consider the power you have amassed to be sufficient to stop Dark Lords?"

Luna's emotions became tinged with a bit of frustration, but not the kind that was aimed at him. "Just so you know, my sister has gone on and on about how demilitarization and cooperation with other countries led to dramatically less loss of innocent life. But as you are clearly thinking, and as you and recent events have long since proven, there are risks to doing that. Even if it achieved something commendable in the short term. In exchange for a mutual decrease in military actions worldwide, we have achieved a system of true peace and prosperity-"

"Until a dark lord comes around."

"You did not let me finish. We have achieved a system of true peace and prosperity if we can keep it. My sister might be powerful, I might be powerful, Twilight and the Elements might be powerful. Other exceptionals might be powerful. But of late, the average Equestrian has not had any practice at 'keeping' our peace in the face of competent and powerful enemies. Not even the average guard has had true practice. Which, as you point out, is a problem."

"I don't think 'problem' adequately describes the magnitude of the risk."

A defeated sigh. The emotion of acceptance. "Indeed. A better way of putting it might be that much of our hard outer shell of protection has softened and atrophied from disuse, even as our inner yolk gets richer. Equestria is a juicy target for envious tyrants. Tyrants like the two of us. Like Nightmare Moon and Voldemort. And of course all the others. Does that describe the risk adequately, in your view?"

"It names the risk more precisely, yes. Where are you going with all of this?"

"Patience, fool. I have been thinking about this for a while, so allow me to use an analogy. All tyrants have their rationalizations. I coveted the copious love of my subjects, the majority of which I felt was going to my sister. I was like the ambitious helmsmare of a ship, coveting the admiration that the competent captain was receiving. You coveted control of the ship so that its incompetent crew and captain did not sink it and kill everyone aboard. Correct?"

"That analogy works, yes."

"What I truly wanted was attention. What you truly wanted was to stop the apocalypse. Correct?"

"Correct."

"Would you say that, within your own mind, 'stopping the apocalypse' was the biggest 'rationalization' of your political career? The biggest excuse?"

"Yes."

She nodded. "So, to fully address your authoritarianism, we will eventually have to address all of your excuses. But the biggest one is probably where we should start."

"Sensible. And?"

"And I think a good way to start is to ask: Why not let the ship sink? You had your immortality. You would not have died. What did the apocalypse matter to you?"

He knew it was rhetorical, that the purpose of this question was to reveal his own thought processes, that Luna was merely playing devil's advocate for the sake of a point, so he did his best to avoid getting annoyed and answer with the first honest words that came to mind. "If that happened, I would have been bored for all eternity."

As he told Mr. Potter, in the room before the Mirror. But not Luna, until now. She had only ever received his convenient excuses.

After waiting to see if he would say anything else, Luna said, "Right. To be clear, in your own words, would you describe that as a fundamentally self-centered motivation? I get that there would be side benefits to the crew and the ship if you adopted the ambition of preventing them from crashing, but regarding you, was your primary concern your own potential boredom in an endless sea of nothingness?"

Interestingly enough, his mind felt like bringing a few other rationalizations, justifications, excuses to the fore, in defense of the obvious accusation. But… "Yes, that is correct." But she had sufficiently cut through them that they finally sounded like excuses to himself, which was the important part. Back when he had said them to Mr. Potter, he believed them. He believed he was doing the world a favor, for all that it was a selfish motive. Now…

"Right," said Luna. "In other words, after achieving immortality, your primary concern, your primary goal, was to ensure your own future non-boredom. Correct?"

"Yes."

"You got angry at any would-be threats to the world, at reckless powers, reckless muggles, at any whom you perceived to be getting in between you and your goal?"

"…Yes. Anger is defense of your own self-interests, as you once said. The immune system of the soul, as you called it."

"Well… yes. That is anger turned to virtue. Frustration simply arises when you perceive that an obstacle has gotten in between you and your goal. Anger is when you either suspect or you know another living being is responsible for that obstacle, and is perhaps deliberately hindering you. THAT is anger. But we are getting a bit off-topic. That is my fault, I was trying to skip ahead." She took a pause to think. "Now… the you of many years ago… he dreaded eternal boredom, correct?"

"Yes."

"So on the flip side, would it be accurate to say past-you craved excitement? Stimulation? Novelty? Intrigue?"

Crave is a strong word, but… "Of some varieties, yes." It fits. "Primarily the intellectual. Nothing carnal."

"Did your cravings often turn to the purely natural world? Or did you tend to crave stimulation from sources that only exist because other sapient beings left things in the wake of their existences?"

…

After a brief pause to comprehend the full implications of the question, he said, "Sometimes the first, primarily the second."

"Right. So… before I ask my next question, I'm going to state the obvious and say that there are ancient sites, artifacts, and puzzles that adventurers spend their whole lives exploring."

"I have done a fair bit of exploring myself."

"Yes, good. So for the sake of argument, suppose that, hypothetically, all sapient life but yours were to end on earth, leaving an empty world full of copious sites you could visit. Imagine… what Dumbledore claims to experience when he explores his side of the Mirror, his version of Equestria. A world devoid not of life, but of other living minds. Would that have been satisfactory to the old-you?"

…

"I don't know."

"You said nothing carnal, but active competition with sapient opponents was not something you craved? Or even just decently cooked food? Well-crafted conveniences? And sapient minds specialized to build and maintain those conveniences? Would a world empty of other beings also be empty of many things old-you valued?"

The truth is, his mind was reluctant to think along these lines, along the lines of the thought experiment, and so it helped when she laid out the implications explicitly.

"…Put that way, I think old-me would not have been satisfied with a lifeless world, even uncharred, in the long run. Perhaps even in the short run. He could have coped, but it was not his ideal future. He would have preferred specialists to provide quality goods, and for there to be many living, intelligent minds for him to plot against." Riddle does prefer chess to solitaire, as he once told Mr. Potter.

"Alright, good. Now, here is the important question. Would old-you have preferred for other minds to exist even if those other minds might grasp at powers that are dangerous and potentially world-ending?"

"Old-me would have preferred a world in which that was not possible. Present me prefers a world where that's not possible."

"True, but let's deal with a realistic hypothetical. Two choices. Choice one: hypothetical empty world, only historical sites and yourself. Choice two: real world of… well, reality. In hypothetical empty world, no risk of death, no other beings, no new stuff. In the real world, there is new stuff, there are others. But there is quite literally always the risk of world-ending disaster that ends in your actual death. Because sapient minds will always be trying to tip the calculus of power in their favor, especially when they are up against the worst Dark Lords in history. Furthermore, imagine that nothing you can ever personally do will mitigate the risk that the world ends, that you die. You can only ever worsen it. You are not this Merlin you've told me about. You are Lord Voldemort, and you are blind to how you are worsening the risks, to the world and to yourself. Which world does old-you prefer, hypothetical and safe, or real and risky?"

…

…

…

"Old-me would not have entertained a thought experiment containing that accusation. Current-me acknowledges your point about ambitious minds always grasping at power, especially when they are desperate."

"So you can't picture which way old-you would lean because he rejects the framing outright?"

"Not quite. I'm unsure what old-me would decide if he did entertain it. But if it's just a question of leaning, I believe old-me is leaning towards hypothetical."

"And what about current you?"

"Leaning towards reality."

Luna took a deep breath and exhaled. "Good. Good. That is good to hear, Tom." She has been calling him that more recently of late, and he has not objected of late. "May I ask why you are leaning towards reality now?"

And in that moment, the cheesiest line his own mind has ever independently generated – not from a pretentious perfect Occlumency barrier meant to gull a normal sentimental fool, but a thought from his own, true self beneath the barrier – came to his conscious awareness. It was a cliché so corny and gag-worthy that old-him is ridiculing current-him for even thinking it, let alone thinking to say it.

But his inner-phoenix was all for it. And it was, as far as he could tell, an honest response.

"Do not take this as flirting," he warned. "I do not mean it that way. But I am leaning towards reality because you and Mr. Silver are in it."

His Changeling sense informed him that Luna was experiencing a sudden spike of love. It was not romantic, lustful, or carnal. He has felt those 'flavors' of love often enough by this point, just walking around in Equestria with his Changeling sense active, that he could distinguish those kinds of love from the platonic, 'friendship' kinds of love.

And there was an impulse within himself to mirror the emotion. Along with the rusty, atrophied, yet finally working brain pathways to actually be capable of the mirroring the emotion, if only slightly.

Perhaps there was a magical mechanism going on as well, if Changelings can feed from such things? He might have to research – i.e. ask – if they can feed from magicless cows. He sent a query to Thorax… then realized this line of thought was a massive distraction, and that the love he'd felt coming from within himself had already vanished, and he'd probably lost his opportunity to use it for a Patronus.

"Damn," he said aloud.

"Beg pardon?" asked Luna, her love turning to afraid confusion.

"Ah- nothing you did. I had a moment of happiness for a second there. Perhaps enough for a Patronus. I lost it a second later."

…

Now Luna was feeling hesitant worry. "And this moment deserves profanity?"

"If I had been faster, I could have tried casting the Patronus."

Luna seemed at a loss for words. "My dear fool… I think you are in far too much of a hurry."

"I'd argue I was not in enough of a hurry. Had I been faster, I could have cast it."

"My fool, the moment you lost your happiness, the charm would have broken anyway, so what would have been the point?"

"To prove to myself that it was not a one-off the last time."

"My fool, listen to me." She looked him square in the eyes. "It. Was. Not. A. One-off. You have already proven you have the potential, which was always your biggest worry. Now is the task of growing into that potential."

"Which I can only do by actually casting the spell."

"My fool, you are focusing too much on the charm and not enough on the happiness!"

"I do not see why I cannot focus on both."

"Because multitasking is for experts, not apprentices!"

That gave him pause.

"Your charm will probably have to last for hours to satisfy Dumbledore," Luna continued. "Maybe days. And it shall have to stand up to his prodding of your mental state, no doubt about that – which can interfere with Patronuses, and probably will interfere with yours."

He'd never thought of that far ahead before.

"If you cannot maintain your happy thought in the face of adversity, whether or not that thought is fueling a Patronus, then you are in any case doomed. So focus on maintaining the thought instead of scrambling to cast a Patronus with it. Understood?"

His eyebrows rose. That is not unlike the early instruction for the Killing Curse, for students who have trouble learning it; stew in thoughts of those you hate, let your anger build. Make your angry thoughts grow, if they do not build on their own. Focus on those thoughts FIRST. Those thoughts are the key, and you must learn to call them forth at will.

Although there is no such thing as 'maintaining' a killing curse. It is a build-up, then one-and-done, accompanied by a feeling of catharsis, satisfaction, and relief. If it eliminates your target of ire.

So perhaps his reference frame is off.

"I think I understand the mistake I was making," he said. "I was thinking of the Patronus as largely the mirror inverse of the Killing Curse."

"Which it totally is," the Princess of Night declared.

"I agree. But I did not explicitly realize one of the realms of inverse until just now. True happiness is lasting and must be consciously maintained. True killing intent is… explosive. It builds, it concentrates, it spikes to a singular point and lashes out."

"That… sounds entirely accurate. Fascinating," she said a bit distantly. And she meant it, according to her emotions. "These spells are symbolic on such deep levels, aren't they? The delayed gratification of happiness, the short-term rush of joy and catharsis."

"That is a good way to put it."

"If you think so, then would it also be accurate to say that for all your pride at avoiding carnal pleasures, you fell prey to the worst one of all?"

His eyebrows furrowed. "I don't think so. Which pleasure are you talking about in particular?"

"The carnal pleasure of schadenfreude."

"You are calling an emotion a carnal pleasure?"

"Of course. Sugar activates the dopamine receptors. So do drugs and sex. So do… well, all forms of hedonism. And so does schadenfreude. It activates the dopamine receptors. It is a carnal pleasure."

"I'm… not sure I agree. Besides, my pride is not that I avoided carnal pleasures, it's that I never became addicted to them."

"You think you are not addicted to schadenfreude? To the joy of you winning and others losing?"

"I… would need you to make the argument that it's an addiction. I would hesitate to say that I'm addicted to it."

"Very well. Carnal pleasures turned addictive are mood regulators. In particular, regulators of negative moods. Feel a bit of stress, take a swig of wine. Feel a bit of boredom, take a bite of chocolate. Feel a bit of annoyance, cast a killing curse."

His eyebrows furrowed further than before. "That sounds off. I did not kill everyone I was annoyed with. And there were plenty of times when I cast it without feeling annoyed in the slightest. I am almost certain I've cast it while laughing, though I can't remember any specific incident if that's true."

There was a long silence, as Luna seemed to consider what to say next.

"Yes, you cast the killing curse at times when you were not annoyed. But it was your fallback during times of great annoyance. It is a normal human's fallback during times of great hatred. It is something that quite literally everybody first learns how to use in order to regulate their mood of terrible hatred." He had not told her about how Silver's Killing Curse lessons had differed from the norm. "Ponies who really like sugar do not restrict their consumption to only when they are bored. Ponies that really like alcohol do not drink only when stressed. They do it… well, whenever they have reason to do it. But they reliably fall back on their addictions to deal with negative moods."

"Can it really be said I'm addicted when I haven't cast it 'evilly' in so long? Or hardly much at all in the past half-decade?"

"Yes. Because you are not addicted to the spell, you are addicted to the thought process that ends in the spell. Annoyance closes your mind to the possibility of an amicable settlement, you cheat, you win decisively. That is the standard thought process of the killing curse, boiled down to its bare essentials, and it is a standard thought process of yours, killing curse or not. Am I wrong?"

"…You are not wrong in your description of the standard thought process behind the killing curse." It is the ultimate 'cheat' spell in battle magic, after all, going straight through shields and walls and whatnot. "I think you are wrong to say I am addicted to it. Especially since I no longer engage in the standard killing curse. If I were addicted to the pattern of annoyed-cheat-win… then just the other day, I would have cheated in my self-imposed challenge to locate Ms. Sparkle. I used standard tools available to the lore-less wizard in my circumstance, namely Spike. I could have used a dark ritual. I deliberately chose no to."

"It does not surprise me in the slightest that you got bored of the standard addiction long ago. You are intelligent and nuanced enough to desire many other modes of thought, but the standard of 'Hate, cheat, win!' is still your habitual fallback. Or at least, it's your ultimate resort whenever you encounter enough manure. Call it an addiction or don't, hate-cheat-win is your final solution to any pony who annoys you severely enough, if you are allowed to do it. Correct?"

…

…

"Yes."

"Okay," said Luna. "Okay. So… imagine, for instance, there is an intelligent and diverse pony who loves sugary foods, their ultimate fallback pleasure, even if they are nuanced enough to have many outlets of joy. That doesn't change the fact that they are an addict. It just makes them a more complicated addict. Ponies who reach the second stage, the advanced stage of being bored with the basic pleasure, so they add and intersperse different and new layers to their carnal pleasures without realizing it… they have dug much deeper holes for themselves. Do you see?"

Again, the pain. Like a hot knife through his pride and ego. "Yes. Point?"

"The point is… you don't have just a single-habit issue like most modern Equestrian addicts tend to have. You do not have one sick tree that must be uprooted if the farm is to survive, but a plague upon the whole field, requiring a truly competent overhaul. That is why the Patronus charm is so difficult for you. Because you need a healthy farm, and most of yours is either dead or dying."

He was cynical enough about his own thought processes to know it was true as she said it. And faithful enough about Luna's good-faith to know she was not trying to use this argument as a means of advancing her own agenda at the expense of his. Luna was, quite literally, the only person in the world he fully trusted to do that. And not just because of the Vow she took, though that did help him get to this point. It was mostly her emotions of good-faith, at this point.

"Why are you focusing so much on this?" he finally asked, not un-wearily.

"Because those addicts who declare themselves 'not addicted' are helpless and hopeless until they acknowledge that they are addicted. Unless you are to tell me you've never seen that pattern before?"

"The pattern I've seen is that addicts are helpless, period. Unless a 'tyrant', as you would call it, forces change."

"Then it is time for you to learn a new pattern. Think of it logically. Addict number one believes the thing she's addicted to is healthy and good; she believes that even if it's bad in some ways, she believes she is not prone to the bad ways; and she believes that even if some people can get addicted, she herself is certainly not an addict. Being an addict is beneath her, it is low-status. Addict number two knows that his habit is bad for his long-term health; but he doesn't know how to quit because the short-term hits just feel so good; and he also can't see all the things he's addicted to. He does acknowledge that he has addictions, and he can see one or two of them clearly. If you had to bet money on one of these poor souls overcoming their addiction in the absence of outside force, which would you bet on?"

"Number two."

"Would you agree that number two's chances, while certainly bad, are not zero?"

"Yes."

"Would you agree that number one's chances are effectively zero?"

"Yes."

Luna nodded. "That is why we are focusing so much on this. To get your mind as far away from being number one as possible. Which means getting as close to number two as possible."

…

"Understood. What's the new pattern of overcoming addiction that you'd like me to learn?"

"It is one that Equestria has learned and practiced for over a thousand years. The pattern of freedom. Freedom from the root cause of the addiction, without force. And that pattern, my fool, relies on the free will of the addict. That's the only way forward for you. Your Patronus will come from your own free will, once it can overcome enough of the negative habits of thought you're addicted to."

"Acknowledged, but where does this pattern start? How do I begin to exercise my free will in that way?"

"You start with acknowledgement that you are addicted. Well, actually it starts with understanding addiction – not in others, in yourself. But anyway, once you do that, step two is to actively label your own impulses as 'addictive impulse' or 'not addictive impulse'. And then… we'll go from there."

"Consider my state of addiction to be acknowledged. What specific impulses should I look out for?"

"Ah… you are jumping ahead. We'll get back to this later, but I suppose for future reference, the primary impulses I can see are your impulse to cheat, your impulse to conceal the truth, and your impulse to annoyance. You are addicted to things being unfair in your favor, you are addicted to introversion and secrets, and you are addicted to the emotions that lead to the killing curse. In a word, you are addicted to power. When you get further along, I will tell you to beware all of these, as an obese pony should beware all impulses to eat. For now, just be cognizant of them."

There was a pause as Riddle almost unwittingly allowed the warning of the powerful wizard to be absorbed without question.

"An interesting word you chose," he remarked. "I almost accepted it without question. Then I almost objected that living beings must eat, and that living beings must be powerful if they wish to do anything at all. But the word 'beware' is not 'avoid'. Unless you did mean to say I should avoid them?"

"All necessities in moderation," Luna answered. "Ponies must eat to survive, and ponies must be powerful to survive. Again, you are not at this stage yet, but your eventual warning about your addictions must come with the nuanced understanding that it is not as simple as 'don't seek power', just as a warning to an obese pony is not as simple as 'don't eat', just as a warning to a porn addict is not as simple as 'never ejaculate again'. It would be so much easier if you were addicted to a narcotic that did not exist in the ancestral environment, instead of things that are, at their core, necessary to the sapient condition."

…

"I see why you are so fond of the obesity analogy now."

She gave a light smile. "Yes, it is my favorite analogy for a reason. Would you like to know how I saw your recent declaration of 'damn' in my mind's eye, just earlier?"

"I hesitate to say yes. I fear it will be unpleasant if I see the analogy more clearly than I used to."

"Should I stay silent then?"

"No. I prefer clarity to blindness, no matter how unpleasant. What mental image did you get from my 'damn'?"

"Bear with me for a bit. But you reminded me of an obese pony who had lost fifteen pounds in her first week of a new diet. She experienced a rush of joy at such great progress. She expected to lose fifteen more pounds each consecutive week. And then said 'damn' when she weighed herself the next week, when she saw she had gained a pound. After the first week, she felt she could 'cheat' a little when her progress was fifteen pounds a week. When in fact she had not lost fifteen pounds of fat, but rather water, for various reasons related to extreme changes in diet. She was- she was grasping at instantaneous progress, and frustrated when it slipped through her grasp, and – speaking as your wise wizard here – that frustration often leads the obese ponies to relapse. They put back on all the weight they just lost and declare the task impossible. Their expectations are unrealistic, they are too attached to the number on the scale from day to day instead of month to month, they cannot delay gratification."

"And… could you more narrowly lay out how this is precisely related to my own 'damn'?"

"Your 'damn' just now showed me you are attached to the idea of casting the Patronus now." She took on a voice. "What's the problem? Why didn't I lose weight? This scale must be wrong, I've done the work! I've done everything right!" She turned back to a normal voice. "The scale doesn't lie. She was not nearly as far along as she thought she was. In fact, she learned absolutely nothing of substance from her stupid fad diet that didn't teach her a thing about nutrition, the pony body, or her own bad habits of addiction. She doesn't even realize she is addicted to food. And she believes she should already be getting significantly healthier. Her believing she did everything right to achieve her goal is exactly the problem. She was being stupidly arrogant, an addict in denial. Like your mind might have been doing about your goal of casting the Patronus, and you doing 'everything right' to reach it."

He sighed. "And there's the clarity," he said with a bit of self-centered sourness. Not that he'd been nearly as bad as the pony in the analogy, but in order to see a problem, it often helps to look at the extreme cases of stupidity and ask what stupidities of theirs you have imitated to a lesser degree.

"Would you like a bit more clarity?"

"No."

Luna shrugged. "Would you like to call it for the day?"

"Yes. So please continue."

There was a pause. Luna was giving him a look.

"You asked if I would like more clarity. I would not. But I do want and need it. You asked if I would like to call it for the day. I would. But I want and need to stay. I need to see this as clearly as possible, as soon as possible. So hit me with it now, while my mind is still raw and open to change."

"I… shall try to be gentle." She paused for a while, then spoke. "Sugar, drugs, porn, cheating, stealing, raping, and yes, the Killing Curse, all have a certain thing in common. Can you guess what that is?"

"They are addictive," he said, trying to predict and pattern-match, though even as he said it he knew it probably wasn't the correct answer to the quiz.

"And?"

…

"Nothing else comes to mind, other than perhaps the fact that they are considered 'sins' or 'vices'. Well, all but the sugar."

"Yes, they are all missing the mark of virtue. But most relevantly to our discussion, what they have in common is this:

"The build up of tension, followed by the unearned climax, followed by a lingering feeling of relief and satisfaction, followed by a long-term feeling of hollowness and boredom. That is the pattern of addiction. And defending that pattern so that it may continue is also a pattern of addiction."

Damn.

Well, he did ask for it, and it is what he wanted. Something to cut through the excuses and rationalizations and justifications. And what better way to cut through them than to point out that excuses are the common symptom of helpless addicts.

It's been said enough times by this point. Twilight Sparkle in particular. He's said it to himself, or thought it himself, when considering the stupid mistakes of other people, when considering the mistakes of himself in those ten years of star-gazing. He knows that excuses defend stupidity. But back then it was more… shallow. Surface level. Bad habits of thought that did not cut this deep. They did not cut to his core.

He still couldn't clearly see how he is addicted, what all he is addicted to, but he can at least finally see that he is addicted, on an incredibly deep level.

"Your mind is picturing the climax of finally casting the Patronus," Luna explained without so much as touching his Occlumency barrier. "You are desiring the relief of passing the test and the satisfaction of escaping the trap."

"I am," he said honestly, seeing it the moment she said it.

"Would you like to know the ugly truth?"

"No. I need to know it."

"The ugly truth is that there is no climax of casting the Patronus. There is no relief of passing the test. There is no satisfaction of escaping the trap. After you pass Dumbledore's test and he unfreezes your world, the real test will begin immediately. After you escape the trap, you will not be satisfied. Because you will be back in an evil, stupid world, containing all the people you once hurt, and you will be armed with a Patronus that will shatter in your hands if you meet your victims face to face and they ask you why. THAT is the bitter pill of your future prospects."

"…I have told you what I plan to immediately do upon my escape, yes? The plot I intend to run? Even were I fully redeemed, I cannot see a way of accomplishing anything 'Harmony'-worthy in those early critical moments if I reveal myself as Voldemort."

She shrugged. "Perhaps you can delay the scary prospect of honesty with a clever lie, and perhaps it is in the best interest of future life on Earth if you perform that delay. But the delay will not last forever. Not to an immortal. And when the lie unfolds, when that day of reckoning comes, you will be left with nothing but the truth. No lie lasts forever, in the face of those who can cast the true Patronus. That is what you should expect."

And since she had Vowed to keep his secrets, it was clear she was not saying she would be responsible for the reveal, just that it was inevitable on this current course of action.

"Well. Conditional on that hypothetical model of the future being true, I am feeling a great urge to abandon this ambition altogether and go do something more pleasant."

"Yes, defeatism and escapism are common reactions. What most addicts are actually addicted to is not their specific addiction. Most addicts are addicted to avoiding. Avoiding their problems, avoiding feeling bad. Avoiding reality. Often for entirely understandable reasons, if the reality of their life is endless agony, or numbness. And they are also often addicted because they didn't know any better at the beginning, and they don't know how to get better once they realize they're deep down manure creek."

"Even if I knew how, I'm not sure my free will is in it anymore. Not with that-" all masks torn away "-to look forward to."

"Well, there is a major benefit for you, personally, if you do not give into the temptation to quit and instead follow through on the ambition you set for yourself. Three benefits, actually. That you haven't seen yet."

Finally. "List them."

"I shall. First, if you never give up on the Patronus, I'll never give up on you. I'll always be here, even if the rest of the world refuses you."

He felt a small surge of true happiness from within himself. He did not try to seize the emotion this time. He tried to just… observe from a distance, and let it be.

"Second, if your endeavors with Twilight Sparkle succeed, you will always have us to return to. Equestria. Equus. Even if Earth refuses you."

The surge strengthened, morphed, found purchase on something solid. An ambition.

"Third, and most importantly. If you go on this journey of recovery, you will never, ever be bored again. Would you like to know why?"

"I am skeptical of the claim I'll never be bored again, but why?"

A glow of orange crested the center of Luna's neck, though she didn't seem to notice it. "Because you will not have time for boredom. Going out into the world and always telling the honest truth in a way that still promotes Harmony will be the greatest, most unpredictable, most difficult, most stimulating, and most rewarding adventure of your life."

His inner-phoenix gave the most inner-ear-shattering CAW! of approval it has ever given.

Author's Note

For anybody who's played a decent amount of From Software games, in particular Dark Souls 2, here's my magnum opus on YouTube, a perfect example of the unearned climax:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Ow5kd7hIXc

I did enjoy me a good Killing Curse, back in the day.

Chapter 75: Ascending Above Addiction

Author's Note

So far I've tried to keep the modern chapters fun and light hearted, or at least action-packed and plot-intense, but by the time I was done with this one and half of the next, I realized it's a lot more along the lines of a rehab chapter. Sorry in advance about that, but there's an important point in having at least one or two chapters like this in the modern day.

Oh, and the first part is going to answer the puzzle from a few modern day chapters ago, if any readers want to try thinking about it one last time before the answer is revealed.

Chapter 75: Ascending Above Addiction

Earlier.

Draco stared at where pony-Harry had just phased through the stage's floor. After less than half a second of the entire stadium being silent, he started a bit in surprise at a new sudden appearance – one that had to be an illusion, right? – accompanied by loud clown music and blinking lights. He stared upwards at the massive, downward-facing arrow. It pointed straight at the direct center of the stadium. Pointing right where future-pony-Harry had disappeared.

Above the arrow, there was one word: FOLLOW?

The illusion was so big, and projected on so many screens, that every single being in the stadium could probably see it clearly.

"HelLOOOOO everyone!" said a chipper voice that Draco recognized from earlier in the day. It was the kind of voice that was so memorable from sound alone that it was hard to forget. "Sorry to interrupt, I'll be quick. There's a Circus Challenge starting in five or so minutes, ages ten to seventeen. Fall through the floor or activate your Circus portkeys to join the fun. Fallers get bonus tickets for bravery. Parents, don't be spoilsports if your children want to go, they'll just be celebrating Silver Wing day their own way. Plus, they'll be back in time for the Wonderbolts. Ya got two minutes to decide! Ta!"

And the giant arrow started flashing. The 'FOLLOW?' started flashing in off-sync, disappearing as the arrow reappeared, and vice versa. Above both was an illusion of a massive, muggle-style, numbers-only clock counting down from 2:00 to 1:59 to 1:58.

"I think now would be a good time to take our leave," said the pony voice of the Defense Professor. All human heads turned to face him. "The tour has achieved its various objectives, and Hogwarts curfew is approaching."

"…Yes," said the Headmistress after a few seconds' pause. "Yes it is," she repeated, more confidently, rising from her seat. (An action which was not out of place, given how many other adults and children were standing up. Or falling down. Or doing a mix of the two.)

"Everybody grab this portkey," said pony-Professor Monroe, holding in outstretched hoof a wheel that would not have been out of place at the helm of Durmstrang's ship, which Father had once taken Draco to see. "It is authorized to take us back to the castle, where we can then go through the Mirror."

"Come along, children," said the Headmistress. "Back to Hogwarts."

"Aaawww," said Autumn in a possibly-exaggerated childish voice. "But I wanted to have some fun!"

"Yeah!" said Harry, joining in on the joke.

"Yeah!" said Draco, deciding to join in as well.

Hermione just sighed.

"Tough," said the Defense Professor. "Come along humans. Back to earth. There shall be plenty of fun to be had… in due Time."

There was a brief pause.

"You know what," said Autumn, "that's a great point!" She jumped up from her seat, jaunted forward, and grabbed one of the two handles on the circular portkey closest to the Defense Professor's handle.

"All aboard the due time express," said Harry, who walked up and grabbed the other handle closest to the Defense Professor. Harry's father walked up and hesitantly grabbed the handle next to Harry's.

Draco and Draco's father grabbed two, Hermione and McGonagall grabbed two, and the portkey activated not a moment later.

"Although there is one last order of business," said the Defense Professor's human voice, coming from his now-human form, before Draco had fully gotten his bearings. "Now that we're out of public sight and sound." He cleared his throat. "Mr. Malfoy."

Two heads turned to face the Defense Professor.

"Draco," the Defense Professor clarified. "Have you figured out what Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, and Ms. Query all realized?"

Draco did not smile, though he felt the strong impulse to. (He might be wrong, after all.) He's been thinking about this whenever there was downtime on the tour, and he'd eventually found an angle of attack that actually worked for him. "I think I have, Professor."

"Oh? Let's hear it, then. What workaround was discovered to prevent the man behind the mask from reverting to his old ways, even as he wore the mask once more and spammed the Unforgivables?"

"He constantly has that super strong version of the Patronus active, so he constantly has to keep a super strong happy thought in mind."

The Defense Professor's eyebrows rose in apparent surprise, along with a few other adult eyebrows.

"I admit, I was not expecting you to succeed." The man inclined his head, a show of respect Draco had never gotten from the Defense Professor before, as far as he can remember. "Kudos to you, Mr. Malfoy, and twenty-five Monroe points too, of course. Though I shall need your Patronus charm to confirm that you received… no help… from those who already knew the answer."

This was done with a proudly honest message, spoken by a silvery serpent, declaring Draco did not cheat in that way, even if cheating is technique.

"May I ask how you figured it out?" the Defense Professor inquired, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. "Did you cheat some other way?" There was no accusation, no tone of 'I disapprove if you did'. Just pure curiosity.

Now Draco allowed himself to smile. "It was simple once I asked myself the right questions. I asked myself how you knew they-" he gestured to his fellow Hogwarts students "-would solve it but I-" he gestured to himself "-might have trouble. I also asked why Father would be the worst wizard here at solving it 'on a gut level', like you said. I asked if there was any magic Father knew about, but couldn't do like the rest of us could. And then I realized Father hasn't learned how to cast the Patronus charm yet. And when I thought about it a bit more, I realized Harry and Hermione can cast the super Patronus, I can't, and Autumn can probably cast it too. I heard her voice when we were all casting it earlier. And that's when I realized the super Patronus is probably extremely important to the answer of the Riddle."

The Defense Professor was smiling, now. Another rare sight. "Would re-state that riddle for the benefit of everyone? And provide your complete reasoning about it?" 'Show your work', as Harry has had Draco do in many a math problem.

"It's the question of how Tom Riddle-" you "-might not slip back into super-evil even if he wears the super-evil mask again. And my reasoning… well, I remembered that Patronus charms wink out if you can't maintain your happy thought because you get too clouded in darkness." Like mine did when Harry was talking about Slytherin House going wrong and Salazar wishing he'd never been born. "From there, it wasn't too hard to see that Voldemort-" you "-wasn't just talking about what everybody else has to do, back when he was giving that lecture after the death battle. He was also describing what he was actively putting into practice for the first time. Maintaining a super Patronus out of sight, I mean. Not just to block Killing Curses if a bunch came his way and he couldn't dodge, but also to ward away super-evil thoughts in his own mind. Even as he used the Killing Curse a bunch of times. And the Cruciatus."

Or as Father put it when Draco was much younger, the Unforgivables might feel good and righteous and justified in the moment, but they do have certain negative affects on your emotions. Like how eating too many cookies at once makes you feel good right away, but makes you feel bad a few hours later, and makes you fat and ugly a few years later, if you do it every week.

It is the pride of Malfoy to resist such low-class temptations. The Malfoys do not overindulge in the Unforgivables. Especially when others are watching. Just like it's the pride of Malfoy to not overindulge in sweets, especially when others are watching. It's undignified.

Just look at Mr. Avery. (This last line had been said in a conspiratorial whisper.)

Mr. Avery had, quite conveniently, been eating a cookie at the time. As usual, Mr. Avery was overweight, unshaven, and unkempt compared to Father. Mr. Avery has plenty of good qualities – cunning at chess and keen at business and conversation. But not all of your friends at Hogwarts will be smart about food and health, Father had warned Draco, and it is important to still make friends with them.

(Furthermore, by that point in his training, Draco had already been given first-hand experience, multiple times, about the problem of sweets. In that Father let him scarf down as much as he wanted a few times. Father even encouraged Draco to go overboard by offering new and exotic flavors to mix it up at the end of those glorious binges. And then Father pointed out later, when Draco was clutching his stomach in distress and didn't even want to look at another treat, that too much sweetness was to blame.)

(That particular lesson had taken three iterations to properly sink in, with three separate sweets.)

(Draco still likes cookies and chocolate frogs and ice cream, of course, but he now knows how to stop before he goes too far, stop when the sweet taste is getting just a bit too dull from repetition, and save some for later so he can spread out his enjoyment over a month instead of eating it all at once. He also now knows how to treat treats as treats. As rare rewards for special occasions, not as something to be childishly demanded after every dinner.)

Those lessons on temptation and self-control had been the key foundation upon which Draco was able to build his solution to the Defense Professor's puzzle.

Apparently, maintaining a Patronus is the efficient and obvious way to not overindulge in Unforgivables, if for whatever reason you have to cast them a lot. Not that Draco even understands how one can cast both the Patronus and the Unforgivables at the same time, but he's at least aware of his own confusion about that question, which according to Harry is the first step to actually trying to solve a problem, instead of doing what most people do – i.e. not even realizing there is a problem to be solved. But Draco didn't need to know the answer to that to realize that the Patronus method probably doesn't rely on any subjective intuition on when to stop, like Draco has to rely on with sweets. The Patronus just winks out if you're not thinking right.

The Defense Professor looked as satisfied with that answer as Draco had ever seen him.

"Your answer is perfectly correct, Draco Malfoy. This is one of the rare times I would not change a single thing about it. And that was a cheeky little deduction to kickstart your chain of reasoning, young Slytherin. Well done. I think an extra five Monroe points are in order for that excellent answer, and five points to Slytherin instead of three for how you went about your deduction."

Father stood tall and proud behind Draco, who also stood exultant. Even the Headmistress looked impressed.

"One of the best ways to solve any sapient-made puzzle," lectured the Defense Professor, "is to put yourself in the mind of the puzzle-crafter. It is often easier to pass a test if you know what the test-maker was thinking when they wrote each question. Kids these days call that the 'Cosmic-Brain' way of puzzle-solving. 'Big-Brain' is the intended solution path, and 'Small-Brain' is brute force, bashing your head against the puzzle until you eventually get it by luck, by process of elimination, by random guessing, or by sheer familiarity with all the puzzle's nooks, crannies, and pitfalls. All are preferable to 'No-brain', which is giving up and failing to solve it at all."

Harry interjected at that point. "What about when there is no intended solution path because it's not a sapient-made puzzle, it's the laws of nature?"

"That would be 'galaxy-brain'," said the Defense Professor without pause. "Or alternatively, 'science'. And in the realm of sapient-made puzzles, there are also 'exploits', 'cheese', and 'cheating'. All different ways to describe the event of overcoming puzzles in creative ways that were not intended by the crafter, if there was a crafter."

"Well," said Harry. "I know what method I'll continue focusing on."

"All methods have their places and times, Mr. Potter," said a slightly dry voice. "When the puzzle-crafter is deliberately misleading you, Cosmic-brain is often the way to go. Big-brain is a good way to prove your competence as a leader and thinker. And small-brain should be what you do in your downtime while waiting for ideas from the other three categories to surface."

"If all the methods have their places and times, does that apply to No-brain too?" asked Harry.

"Are you interested in the extremely deep, terribly difficult, ever-changing, and richly complex topic known as 'fashionable attire'?"

Harry blinked. "Um… no?"

"Then until you are interested, you should No-brain that entire field of study, lest you waste precious mental resources on it." The man turned to face Professor McGonagall. "Digressions aside, I was not expecting Mr. Malfoy to provide such an elegant explanation, Headmistress." (Draco preened a bit more.) "One that truly did exceed my expectations in every way." (More preening.) "One that, I think, might be understandable to the dullest first years in Hogwarts, if Mr. Malfoy refined it slightly." (That… also warranted preening? Yes, probably. More preening.) "Was it understandable to you?"

The Headmistress blinked at the question. "Ah… yes. I think it was."

"Do you think we have less to talk about now, when we go off for our private chat? I confess to being rather busy tonight, for possibly obvious reasons. Though of course I could make. Time. If you needed me to."

The Headmistress blinked a few times more, seeming to get the unspoken message that was so un-subtle even Draco got it. "I… well, I think there may be less to discuss. But not nothing."

He nodded. "To the Mirror, then."

"…but I'm still not convinced it'll prevent relapse," Horizon finished giving his opinion, speaking to Excelsior as they stood in the Astral Plane.

They'd already covered the false memory and compulsion charms, and had moved on to other topics. They still hadn't exhausted the full extra (i.e. Time-looped) hour, and Excelsior intended to use every minute.

The thestral tilted his head. "'Prevent' is not quite the right word for what the Patronus is doing for me. A better way to put it would be a 'constant reminder'."

Even that much was heartening to hear, it was exactly the way the Patronus worked, but Horizon still asked, "A constant reminder of what?"

"Of a brighter future. Without which, I could easily become lost again. I think the thing you do not understand, Mr. Potter, is that for those who have fallen as low as I have, the risk of relapse always exists. Always. That is the terrible power of habits and addiction. Like Dark Rituals, their scars remain with you forever."

That he did not immediately understand. "Eh… explain?"

"Habits start as cobwebs and end as chains," said the powerful wizard, starting with analogy and symbolism, which Horizon is getting more accustomed to hearing, now. "Warm, cozy chains. Protective chains. Heavy chains. They fit ever-so-neatly into the groves they have worn into your skin over the years. And into your muscles. And your bones. And most importantly, your brain. The chains are not locked. You can wear them or take them off at any time, if you can manage to notice them. And the iron serves as a powerful shield from attacks, whether or not you notice them. Can you picture that, Mr. Potter?"

"Give me a moment." Horizon closed his eyes. "Got it. Go on."

"All long-term addictions are powerful habits," said the thestral. "Therefore all long-term addictions have reached the point of powerful chains."

Pause. "Got it."

"The strongest habits end up as bonds so comfortable and reassuring that you cannot help but retreat into their familiar embrace at the first sign of negative emotion. All it takes is a small amount of stress, a tidbit of difficulty, a flash of frustration, a moment of anxiety, or most common of all, just plain old boredom. That's all it takes to push a man to retreat into his chains. And even if he manages to shrug off the chains for days, weeks, months, years, or decades, the temptation always exists to put them back on again. Because there was a strong reason he was wearing them in the first place."

"Um…" said Horizon uncertainly. "That's not at all reassuring?"

"Indeed," the Defense Professor nodded. "The patterns always exist in my brain, patterns I could fall back into if I am not careful. It was not fun to learn my future would look like that."

"So… what did you do about that? What are you doing?"

"There are three standard steps to the process of improvement, performable in any order. First, I have a certain foresight that I lacked when I first became addicted. I have a sharp understanding of the question, 'How will I feel two hours later?'. Second, I have a certain hindsight to know, on a truly gut level, every answer to the following questions: 'Why did I become addicted to this thing in the first place? What problems were I avoiding and self-medicating? What problems am I medicating?'. Those questions are difficult to answer, but they do not require a Patronus-capable mind to solve, just a self-cynical one, and so they came first in my own journey."

A pause for questions. Since Riddle would get to the third step anyway…

"And…" said Horizon. "…You found your answers?"

"To a decent extent, yes. Many addicts only find their answers after relapsing time and time again. By pure repetition, experience, and most important of all, paying close attention to what your mind and body are telling you through their feelings. After enough failure, the long-term consequences of the addiction finally manage to start outweighing the short-term relief. When a former sugar addict walks past a cookie on a table, they will notice it, but they will anticipate the unearned dopamine, the crash an hour later, the brain-fog of sloth. And then they will leave the cookie on the table, understanding it for the drug that it is. And understanding themselves for the mental issues they once avoided, suppressed, and medicated by drugging themselves."

"I think I get all that," said Horizon. "But isn't a common strategy of breaking addictions to avoid the addiction altogether? Isn't it bad to tempt a former sugar junkie with cookies?"

The Defense Professor shook his head. "No, Mr. Potter. Your questions are proof that you do not get it. Avoiding one's addictions entirely results in something Equestria calls a fragile rehabilitation." He said this as if it was a normal word he said all the time, and gestured towards the screen in Harry's Astral Plane. "For instance." He pulled out a book from nowhere, opened it, tapped it, and Harry's screen lit up.

"Finally come out of your cave?" Riddle asked.

"Ya got eyes, don't cha?" asked the creature, earning him a slap on the back of his head, courtesy of his phoenix's wing.

Riddle took the jibe in good humor. "What finally brought you out after so long?"

"My own free will, of course," said the dragon. "The future is now. And I think I'm finally ready for it. My rehabilitation ain't fragile any more."

The phoenix gave a "Caw!" of approval.

"Ya bastard," the dragon addended, still addressing Riddle, and earning him another slap on the back of his head.

Riddle nodded in seeming understanding. "Good to hear."

The memory paused there.

"When addicts force themselves to not do a thing," Riddle said as Harry tried to wrap his head around the memory, "or they allow others to force them into not doing the thing, that one specific thing may very well be removed from their life entirely. Those are called fragile rehabilitations. And they are called fragile because they are easily broken. They are a house of cards, a cabin built upon a foundation of sand. Sometimes, such structures do withstand the test of time, when they are carefully maintained. But more often than not, they are blown over by the right pressure."

"Okay…" said Harry. "I think I understand. Now that you mention it, I think that's what most people do to kick bad habits."

"Most people on earth, yes. And to be completely fair, many ponies as well. And as I said, sometimes they do last. Sometimes fragile rehabilitations can grow solid with enough time. But in the end, they are still fragile. The addict is 'cured' on paper. In theory. Until they aren't anymore. Until they encounter their old habit randomly in their environment, in a place they weren't expecting. Like a cigarette addict being pressured into a free smoke by an old smoking buddy he hasn't seen in forever, tempting him with his favorite brand while the sports game is on at the bar, which was always the addict's favorite time to smoke. And it's cold in the bar, he forgot his jacket, his shirt is thin, and the warmth in his lungs from a quick smoke would help. Even if he hasn't been smoking for years, that one moment is all it takes to shatter a fragile rehabilitation, Mr. Potter. Understand?"

"I understand."

"Do you understand how that generalizable circumstance would be a problem for me if I were susceptible to it?"

He tried to apply the knowledge to the 'Voldemort' issue in his head for a few seconds, before speaking out loud. "I… think so. Yeah, it makes sense. Whatever mental habits you were addicted to that caused Voldemort, we can't afford for you to have a 'fragile rehabilitation' about them." Man, that's a mouthful. There's got to be something shorter to describe the same concept in the English, right?

Riddle nodded. "Fragile rehabs do not fully understand – or even somewhat understand – all of the deep-rooted and painful questions about why they were addicted in the first place. They forced themselves to stop, but they learned little about themselves in the process. Even if they do manage to stop smoking, they often find themselves snacking on sugary drinks and fruits and cookies every few hours, replacing one addiction with another in their haze of ignorance. And then their idiot friend pressures them into smoking again, they relapse, and now they have a new sugar addiction to deal with on top of their old smoking habits. Such are those who believe they have overcome their addictions when they have not. That is what Equestria calls a 'fragile rehabilitation', though in their language it's only three syllables instead of eight."

At this point, there was a single obvious question that Excelsior wanted Horizon to ask. "So how does Equestria manage to do something else which is not that?"

The Defense Professor switched cadences, the tone of lecture he uses to subtly indicate that he is now talking about the correct thing to do.

"By enacting anti-fragile rehabilitations."

"Anti-fragile?"

"Yes, anti-fragile. Anti-fragility is the concept that some things grow back stronger after they undergo stress. It is a concept that applies to muscles and bones, for instance, and skin and tissues. It applies to the immune system. It applies to taste buds. It applies to your personal magic stores. It applies to many aspects of living creatures in particular. It is an insight that, as far as I remember, has been most directly touched upon in English by the phrase 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger'. Unfortunately, that phrase is too overbroad. There are plenty of things that make you weaker after you survive them. Still, it's close enough to the core insight the ponies have systematized and studied extensively."

"Huh," said Horizon. "Now that you mention it, I realize the English language really should have a single word for that. I know exactly what you're talking about, but yeah, we don't have a word for it. 'Anti-fragile' is what you came up with?"

"Not quite. The translation spell did. But getting back on topic, anti-fragile rehabilitations consciously and deliberately put addicts through the temptation process, like putting a muscle through a workout. They often involve many relapses, light judgement if any, and a great deal of therapy. They encourage their addicts to think about their addiction, and in particular the why's of addiction. At the end of a successful program, you can surround a former drinker with alcohol, pressure him through his social group, offer him free quality wine, and he will turn it all down. Or perhaps he will hold and keep the principle of 'I shall only drink alcohol with others, never alone, and only pre-determined amounts, like when having a toast'. And thanks to the therapy, he has not replaced his bad habit with something equally bad or worse."

Horizon thought about the proposed program style. "That… doesn't sound like the sort of thing most people would manage to do. Or anyone, really."

The tone switched back to academic temperance.

"Which is why many busy ponies will settle for a half-decent fragile rehabilitation, when they are willing to change at all. Even that much isn't easy. It takes some strength to close your eyes, plug your ears, and say 'I'm not listening' when temptation comes knocking."

Back to commanding lecture.

"But when temptation has burst through your door and yanked your hands off your ears and forced your eyelids open so that you must stare at its lovely appearance, it takes true inner-strength to calmly say 'You were not invited at this hour, there are designated times when you may be here but now is not one of them, you are trespassing, it is time for you to leave', and politely escort the temptation out the door again. And then to go through all of that again fifteen minutes later, with another temptation wearing a different enticing guise. And then ten minutes later. And then fifteen minutes later. For thirty-five years straight. Regarding habits you've had for over half a century."

"Yeesh," said Horizon. "Yeah, I don't think I've ever gone through that. But if you have… does that mean you're fully rehabilitated? You're not worried about Voldemort and relapse at all?"

"I am cautious about it. Incredibly cautious. I am constantly vigilant, as is Luna. I have peace of mind if I can keep it. The difficulty is the 'keeping' part. Rest assured, we are trying to comb through every detail of my past addictions. As I already said, that is partly the reason for my current mood. It is not fun to do for extended periods of time, especially alone, but others aren't always available to help."

"Okay…" Maybe it would be best to switch topics. "Am I allowed to ask what that dragon meant earlier today, when he said his rehabilitation isn't fragile anymore? I mean, I understand the term now, but not the context. And who was he?"

"You are allowed to ask, and I am allowed to answer, but you must swear that you will not repeat what I tell you without his permission."

Horizon thought about it. "Do you think I should?" he asked.

"I do. While you are still curious about the question."

"Alright, sure. I sswear not to repeat what you tell me of that dragon."

Riddle nodded. "When he spoke of his rehabilitation no longer being fragile, he meant he originally secluded himself in a cave partly out of fear that his temptation to visit the Mirror and return to the human world would one day overtake him, that he would undo his sacrifices made before the Mirror, thus undoing his Interdict, thus dooming the world. His name is Merlin."

That was a doozy of an answer.

"Let me know when you're ready for me to continue," said the thestral. "It is rather thrilling to learn, is it not?"

Horizon nodded absently. After a time of just prancing about his Astral Plane to release his pent-up excitement somehow, he said, "All right. Hit me with the rest of it."

"Because I told him about your escape method," Riddle explained, "for the past thirty-three years Merlin has had to deal with the beast of temptation living in his very home. He has a phoenix and an Astral Plane to exploit it, you see. I brought his seductive addiction to his door step and into his house, forcing him to face its every whisper day in and day out. After three decades, he feels some measure of confidence that he is truly no longer swayed by all the various mental temptations. A deep part of him really truly wanted to go back to the human world. The rest of him knew it would be a terrible idea and he would regret it soon after. So he addressed that deep part of his free will directly and found a positive means of aligning it. A means other than simply forcing it to obey the rest of him by telling it to shut up and listen, or by pretending it doesn't exist and it's not a part of him, as fragile addicts do."

Like I sorta-almost did with my Dark Side, Harry thought. Until I integrated it.

"As for how Merlin succeeded," Riddle went on, "as for what positive means he used to absorb that part of his free will into the rest of his being without allowing it to consume him, what arguments he used in his own mind, and what rationalizations and urges he had to deal with from his tempting side, you shall have to ask him directly. It's different for everybody."

Horizon considered this, then nodded. Now, to address something that might or might not be a test.

"So… earlier you said there were three things rehab patient needs to be anti-fragile, but you only got to two of them. What was the third?"

"Good catch, Mr. Potter. I was hoping I would not have to point that out to you, and you shall soon be trusted with more powerful knowledge."

YES! thought Harry.

"The third and final thing a rehabilitated addict requires in order to achieve anti-fragility is a reason to re-align their free will. A reason to overcome their addiction. A reason that is consistently more powerful than the addiction. When the prospect of staying on the same path grows more harrowing than the prospect of correcting course, that is when the addict changes. It tends to require a shift of perspective more than anything else, the ability to see what lies at the end of addiction lane. The ability to see yourself – your fat, wheezing, half-asleep, disgusting self – as you walk down that road one unthinking step at a time, unable to stop yourself."

"What kind of reason gave you that ability?" Harry asked.

"A new path is only revealed by a guiding light. A vision, a dream, an ideal, a principle. Something to believe in, and something worth believing in. Someone worth believing in. To put it as concisely as I can, anti-fragile rehab patients require a strong, Patronus-worthy thought if they wish to overcome their addiction for good. Which I now have."

"I see," said the Alicorn of Life, who didn't disagree with a single word of that. "And what was your shift in perspective, precisely?"

"Manifold and complicated."

"Two-minute summary?"

He paused. "I suppose we still have time, and then some. Very well. There were four fundamental acknowledgements involved in my perspective shift. I acknowledged that intelligent minds will always seek power; as I already knew. I acknowledged that so many more means of world-destruction probably exist out there than I can possibly imagine, just waiting to be discovered; as I half knew, but should have realized more explicitly. Next came the acknowledgement that, so long as intelligent minds exist and have cause to seek such power, the risk of unlocking those dangerous powers will never go away. Again, I half-knew this, but I never promoted that particular thought to conscious attention. And finally, and most difficult for me to accept, I acknowledged that being a Dark Lord is an efficient and effective means of giving otherwise ordinary people a reason to break their bounds and desire not only to seek such power, but to use it. Against me, of course. Put those four facts together, and I began seeing the bigger picture you were trying to communicate to me in our political discussions, I think."

Horizon had this overwhelming sense of being stupid. The feeling that, if he had just found that argument, he could have-

"If your mind is engaging in hindsight bias, tell it to not bother. You might have achieved something if you'd been able to find the right arguments, but there were many steps prior to my shift in perspective which were necessary for a Patronus Charm. Like six years of regular connection with Princess Luna. If not for those hidden variables, I likely would have simply replaced Lord Voldemort with David Monroe – something equally empty, only in a uniquely different direction. Just like any other fragile addict who 'gets over' one addiction by jumping ship to another, without addressing the painful root cause."

"Eh… you realize what I'm about to ask, right?"

"You are going to ask, 'then what do I call everything I've done in the recent months?'"

Horizon nodded.

"That shall be the final part of this lesson, if you had no other important questions."

There was a pause. And Horizon realized there was still something he didn't know. Something he needed to know.

"I still don't understand what part of your thinking was not Patronus-compliant, back during your duo performance as Voldemort and Monroe. Because it seemed pretty ethical across the board. No worse than what you did in the battle today. Probably better, actually."

The pony shook his head. "No, Mr. Potter. There was exactly one moment which was far, far worse."

There was a stretch of silence.

"You do not see it?" the thestral pressed. "There were no notes of confusion about any parts of that performance?"

Horizon frowned. "Nothing that I considered important enough to write down. I might have to re-watch."

"Do as you will. I'll remark that this Plane is a luxury to powerful wizards, one that might form a bad habit laziness. 'I'll watch it later, I won't think about it as it happens.' This habit gets in the way of seeing insights immediately, the first time around."

"Did Princess Celestia tell you that?"

"No. I am speaking from personal experience. That temptation was eventually another addiction I had to break, if minor. I saw and solved it for myself without any outside input, for I am highly competent at breaking those kinds of addictions. If there was a note of confusion about anything, that part of the performance should be more memorable to you than the rest. Even before you re-watch it."

"Eh… then let me think about it on my own for a bit."

There was a stretch of silence as Horizon manually tried to remember the performance.

"The… self-flattery you gave to David Monroe?"

Eyebrows rose. "You know, I hadn't even thought about that until you just mentioned it. Luna did not point that out. Perhaps that was not fully Patronus-aligned either. But it's not the sort of moment that breaks a Patronus."

"The Killing Curse?"

"Warmer, but no. Or perhaps I should say 'colder'." He chuckled. "But no, the Killing Curse was not the critical moment."

Colder? Hm…

"Was the self-Crucio real?"

"Yes."

"Is that the critical moment?"

"Why might it be the critical moment?" asked the thestral. "Why might that moment not be Patronus-aligned, even if it were aimed at myself?"

"Eh…" Horizon had multiple impulses to just answer right away, but they were all shots in the dark. "What was your mindset when you were casting it?" he asked, remembering the Defense Professor's 'mindsets' remark from earlier in the day.

"Before I answer that, a little background information. Much of the play you saw had no hard script, but I did practice many times leading up to it. I practiced the art of performing with my Time-Turned self, making sure to hit all the necessary moments. Sometimes Voldemort would lead, and David Monroe would act as he remembered seeing David Monroe act through Voldemort's eyes. Sometimes it was the other way around. I had been vacillating, considering a Crucio as a possibility, but never tried to practice it. When it finally came time, I decided Voldemort would lead. He came earliest in Time, he was my first time around, as you probably noticed or guessed. So in the moment of truth, in the moment before I said 'Crucio', I made the commitment to do it. I inflicted it on my future self in the heat of the moment, giving my future self no means of escaping it. I forced myself to suffer the torture curse for however long Voldemort felt he should maintain it. My mindset when casting it was, 'I deserve this, and probably far worse'."

Horizon no longer needed to shoot in the dark. "Nobody ever deserves the torture curse."

The distant descendants of sapience, the children's children's children, would be sad about it. Harmony would be sad about it. The ponies would be sad about it.

"Correct, Alicorn of Life," said the Alicorn of Death. "It took a long session with Luna, a session we had as soon as there was time, to figure out why the Sense of Doom had returned and resonated. In the long run, that part of my different spirit cannot co-exist in the same world as yours."

A different Horizon might have let the dramatic pause after that sentence stretch. But this Horizon was running out of his allotted hour. "If that's the case, how did you cast Crucio earlier today?"

Prince Excelsior switched to a lecturing cadence. "In the horrible world of the present, the torture curse can occasionally be necessary, even while maintaining a happy thought. Your past idea of torturing an immortal dark lord into insanity to prevent him from killing innocents for no good reason is an example of one such necessary circumstance. But there are others as well. On the day of our return, if my mindset had been 'this is truly what it takes to make the performance convincing, and it is ethical because it is only me,' and literally nothing else, no hints of self-loathing – if I had managed to include it in a practice session and I still felt I should do it to make the performance convincing – then it wouldn't have broken a Patronus. Not that I had been casting one. But believing that anyone deserves a torture curse, even the Dark Lord who used that curse more often and more severely than just about any other living wizard or witch on earth… that belief was borne of revenge-seeking."

"Or self-righteous anger," the Alicorn of Life pointed out. "Neither of which can fuel a Patronus."

"And so easily lead good ponies astray, yes," said the Alicorn of Death. "Thoughts of revenge and self-righteousness often lead to the thought that someone deserves a torture curse, a thought which not only can't fuel a Patronus charm, but breaks it outright."

"So what thought did you use in the Death Battle?"

The sucking emptiness of Prince Excelsior's mane grew a little stronger, his expression a little more severe. "I used the thought that, though it might not be deserved, tortuous pain is a part of the world. If we wish to stack the odds in our favor, then living beings must quickly develop means of dealing with terrible pain. And it's more efficient to crowd-source a solution, like you did with Patronus blindness in your own battle, instead of trying to research one all by myself. When you have known unsolved problems like the Cruciatus, there's less risk to the world in crowd-sourcing answers. Thoughts like that can co-exist with a Patronus."

Horizon's eyebrows rose. He found he had nothing to say, and nothing to add. That was, as far as he could tell, the exactly correct thought.

It was also a bit absolving, to explicitly realize that his Patronus blindness was already a known unsolved problem, from the perspective of Magical Britain. In all possible worlds of future political catastrophe, it probably helps that Equestria has a working solution in its back pocket, to be unlocked by Circus if necessary. To be used by ponies on the battlefield if necessary. While the Unspeakables, the Aurors, and the other magical military powers that aren't fully aligned with Harmony have to rely on guesswork.

If only Horizon had consciously intended this to be the case, instead of having a convenient post-hoc rationalization for something he wanted to do anyway.

But there wasn't any time for more self-reflection than that. It was almost time to go. "So," said Horizon. "What do you say in response to the accusation that you've clearly jumped ship from the narrow addiction of Voldemort to the narrow addiction of Monroe, because you're generally addicted to masks?"

"This, I say to you honestly, my young apprentice. I am the basstard child of love potion rape between ssquib and witch," he hissed in Parseltongue. "Raissed by bansshee orphan-mother ass muggle weaponss fell upon ssurrounding city, bullied by my fellow orphanss until my accidental magic hurt them back. That child did not grow out of hiss unsseen chainss for the longesst time. But finally I am becoming the man I wass alwayss meant to be. I sseek power over otherss no longer. Insstead I sseek power over my choicess and habitss. I am not the man I killed and occassionally pretend to be. I am not a Dark Lord. I am sstill addicted to masskss, but I am preparing for when I losse them all, for the day I never wear a falsse face again. For at my core, I am Tom Morfin Riddle. And don't you forget it, Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres."

Rehabilitation 14.4: Constant Vigilance

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter 76: The Color of the Sky

Later and earlier, in a different Astral Plane.

"You are doing well to notice the impulse in the first place and bravely speak it aloud, Mr. Malfoy," said a voice coming from the viewing window. The window turned to face a carefully balanced man nearby. "Lucius, what is your mind doing with that particular manifestation of human beings becoming skilled in the art of physical grace?"

The man hesitated, then gave a dramatic sigh. "The point is taken, Lord Monroe."

"In this narrow application, I suspect that it is. As a general mindset, I suspect that it isn't. Your suspicion is right that not all muggle sports are so respectable as art forms, but neither are all wizarding sports. You know my opinion on modern Quidditch, after all. Do with that information what you will." Then, speaking in a quite clear and loud voice, "Two more minutes!"

Then, back to Lucius again, "The art of music and the voice is also something muggles have extensively studied and practiced. Like chess, it's one of those areas where wizards no longer see dominance when it comes to the best of the best. Remind me to introduce you to what wealthy muggle aristocrats consider to be good music. I'll curate a selection you might find pleasant."

The memory paused.

"I think you are pushing too hard with Lucius," said Luna's voice.

"…You truly think so?" asked Riddle. "I thought I was being fairly gentle."

Luna's eyebrows were furrowed, the sign of thinking about how to best deliver her wisdom. Then she spoke. "He interprets everything you say as an order. He sees you as his master and himself as your slave. Those mental habits won't go away anytime soon, especially if you are constantly seeming to expect things out of him. All of which is to say that he is not operating under his own free will, which means your words are not having the effect on him that you truly desire. He does not want to like muggles and does not like being forced to act like he does and does not want to change."

"Hm… well, I already knew that, but if my approach is wrong, what's step one to changing him?"

"Step one is NOT regarding him as something that must be 'changed'. First you must understand- actually, wait, why don't you tell me your first impulse? That should make things more obvious. How would you try to 'change' this mindset in Lucius?"

"The direct approach. I would tell him that I and my acquaintances are touring a muggle location at some future date. I would then order him to follow his own free will and not my orders, or what he thinks are my orders, or what he thinks I want him to do, even if I do in fact want him to do it. If the sum of his own free will says to not attend, he is ordered to not attend. If his own free will says to attend, he is ordered to do that. If his own free will says to consult his friends or family before making a decision, he is ordered to consult them. Then, after he makes his decision, I would order him to explain his reasoning, explain the various willful impulses he felt, perhaps have him write them down on paper. I would then point out the ones that I do not think are truly the result of his own free will, but instead my will."

Luna took a deep breath, and sighed. "Yes, that is exactly your style. The style that still needs work, Mr. Taskmaster," she said, using the name that the reserves use. "As a general remark, orders and free will do not go hoof-in-hoof," she reminded him. "On average."

"…Right." How easy it is to forget that sometimes, even after trying to learn it for so long. "What would you do in my position, then?"

"What I would do in your position is I would stop expecting things from him. Presenting him with opportunities is fine, but I would allow him to grasp at them or ignore them absent any expectations on my end. If he grasps at nothing I offer, I would try to find opportunities that are more to his liking. I would expand his horizons in gentle ways that he appreciates at every step along the way. If I were going to order him to do anything, I would order him to learn the Patronus. That spell does help to manifest the positive part of a being's free will, which is what you're trying to accomplish with Lucius in the first place."

The thestral's lips were pressed thin. "I had been hesitant to give any orders at all, even that one. But if, as you say, he is interpreting my words as orders anyway, you're right that I should give that one deliberately. But how would I ensure he actually…? No, that is also obvious. I shall offer his son an extra credit assignment with a reward of a hundred Monroe points if he can successfully manage to teach his father how to cast it. The Patronus is quite exclusively meant to Defend against the Dark Arts," the Defense Professor observed. "And teaching is a means of cementing one's own knowledge. I could do that without recrimination, though the political implications might get tricky if word gets out. But Lucius would know that, and anticipate the fallout without any input on my end." He considered it further. "Better yet, I could simply announce that one hundred points is a standard reward going forward for any student who successfully teaches a fully corporeal Patronus to their reluctant parents. And I could offer the same reward for students who teach the Killing Curse. Mr. Malfoy can then quietly carry out the task and collect the reward at a later date."

"You are digressing and distracting."

"…I am."

Luna nodded. "So just to be clear, your intended path is to say to Lucius that from now on, he might occasionally be ordered to grow in magical power. He might be ordered to attend Circus daily to maintain and refine his fighting abilities. But that is all he is truly ordered to do?"

"On a weekly basis, yes."

"You are morally content with giving those orders?"

"Yes, because those orders do align with his true free will. He is appreciative of them immediately after the fact. He wishes I could improve his magical potential more than I currently do. Perhaps I should offer to further his training in the esoteric arts, but only as a reward for learning the Patronus."

"A good thought. But remember the important part: everything else you say to him truly is optional. Emphasize the optional part. Emphasize it in your own mind, not just to Lucius. Be happy if he says 'no' to one of those optional things. Because him saying 'no' is him expressing his free will. And it is an opportunity for you to challenge yourself to come up with a better idea from his perspective. Remember: true empathy. Allow him to expand his own horizons until he volunteers for a muggle vacation day."

Riddle nodded and sighed. "Thirty-five years," he said in a self-cynical voice, "and I still need you to hold my hoof like this."

"You have spent your last thirty-five years in modern Equestria, my good prince," she said in a tone of friendly prodding. "As the young colts like to say, you were learning how to play the game of voluntary relationships on 'easy mode'. And with little historical baggage dragging you down. Thanks to my sister's efforts, which were thanks to my mentor's efforts, ponies are rather good about developing their own free wills in foalhood, and they are good at listening somewhat carefully to their own free wills in adulthood. Had we decided to take up residence in the Crystal Empire like Cadence did, surrounded by a Time-lost pony population of a bygone era, we would have been having this conversation much earlier, I think. Now, was there anything else you wanted to examine before we see if the plane has anything big for you?"

"Yes. One of my past plots is bugging me, and I cannot understand why." He pulled up an image of the Robert(a) Jugson affair. "I feel as though I was mostly in the clear this entire time," Riddle said honestly, without defensiveness. "He initiated the game of competition between Slytherins by trying to assassinate me. I responded as a competent and mature older Slytherin is meant to respond, I think. And yet there is something about this that's bugging me."

"Where are you most bugged?"

"My interactions in the hospital, in my guise of Excelsior."

"Play that full memory."

He did, frowning the while.

Eventually, Luna asked, "Was it necessary for you to call Robert his father's 'daughter' when you knew very well Robert would hate that, and when Excelsior would have no reason to be ignorant about Robert's true sex?"

Riddle's Patronus wavered slightly, then firmed up again. "Ah. I was half-tempted just now to ask if you know what he has called certain others. And that half-temptation has made the issue clear. I think that nails the problem down quite exactly, thank you."

Luna nodded. "At your stage, it is often the vicarious anger which gets you. It's a given that Robert is a massive hypocrite who gladly spews all kinds of cutting venom and dislikes it when venom is successfully spewed back at him is. But he has not called you anything to your face, and if he now does, if he develops a grudge against Excelsior, you must accept a bit of the blame yourself, for drawing first blood. You invited it upon yourself by treating him in a way he did not treat you first."

"To be clear, you are referring exclusively to the mudslinging, not the poison joke punishment?"

"Yes. In the game of Slytherins, you did the mature thing. You responded to his poisoning efforts in kind but not in severity. You did not maim him but you did impose karma. You abided by the goal of teaching a valuable and lasting lesson to refine and sharpen his ambitions. You used a method that was less recklessly stupid, yet no less effective- in fact far more effective than the method he tried against you. Your actions were stellar. Except for the name-calling. In that arena you did not retaliate, you aggressed. You did not react, you provoked. You threw the first stone. In an incredibly minor way, true, and yes others in Slytherin did it first, but you should have left it to them. At worst, give a clinical description of the Poison Joke's humor, say that Poison Joke often makes lingual jabs. Did it, in that case?"

Riddle blinked. "That would have been much more amusing, now that I think about it. I could have said to his father that it gave jugs to his son."

"Mmm-hm," said Luna. "But you didn't see that because you were angry and blind to your anger. That might have emotional implications further down the road if you do not address it. If the reasoning inside your true heart of hearts is that you are justified in aggressing against the enemies of those you care about…"

Riddle gave a grunt of acknowledgement. "I think I can handle my impulses from here. Again, thank you."

"My pleasure," Luna smiled gently. "Any other minor problems before the main event?"

He sighed and shook his head.

"Then let us see what your Astral Plane has for you today."

He activated the automatic ascension function of the Astral Plane, which does not go away even after you ascend.

He watched whatever memory came to the fore. Whatever memory the Astral Plane determined to be the 'next step'. Whatever memory would be most useful in the long run for him to watch right now, according to some unknown combination of Mirror fiat, his own current mood, and probably Time itself.

This time around: another private Horcrux murder. This would make number two-hundred and twenty one. (He is counting, now.) He and Luna watched in silence for a while.

Eventually Luna stood. "Let me know if you need help on anything specific. I must go raise the moon and attend to my duties."

Then he was left alone with his memories.

He took notes as he watched, in a journal that contained notes for all the other private murders. As usual, his Patronus was active, and if it went out he would pause until he managed to recast it.

If he could manage a recast.

Normally he would stop after four (Time Turned) hours. Or he would stop after thirty straight minutes of being unable to re-cast the spell if it went out, at which point he would leave to do something distracting while his hind brain mulled it over.

It had taken a while to get up to an average of four hours. Even recently, there have been times when he had to leave early for being unable to maintain or recast his Patronus.

He often invited other alicorns to watch with him. It's unwise to always or even often do this alone. Without proper purpose when examining the past, without solid grounding in the reality of the present, without good guidance of a healthy vision for the future, dwelling in history can cause one to get lost in it.

The presence of others would change the kinds of memories the ascendency program promoted to attention, but it would also help him stay sane. Only Luna's presence didn't seem to have too much of an effect on what the program promoted to attention, compared to watching in seclusion.

He has even brought a certain intelligent and ever-curious alicorn here on more than a few occasions. The Plane would often show memories of the armies, and in particular General Chaos's training regiments. Seemingly for her benefit, though he often got a few insights out of them himself.

No matter who was here with him, the Astral Plane's Ascendency function had a tendency to repeat the same memory over and over, narrowing in on certain parts, until he came to a certain conclusion, a certain insight. He could never guess what that conclusion was in advance. But that conclusion would often strengthen his Patronus, if only slightly.

As for the Astral Plane function that causes an Alicorn to re-feel the emotions they felt the first time around, he left it up to the ascendency program whether to flip that function's switch to the 'on' position. It usually did.

If he called Luna back and asked her to do so – though he no longer quite needed her to do it anymore – Luna would name each subtle emotion he felt at any given moment. On the rare moments where Luna had not been sufficient, he had invited Thorax. The Changeling King of many years had been able to name those emotions exactly, where even Luna failed.

The memory he's watching right now, this particular memory of murder, seems to be suffused almost entirely by indifference. He did it because he could. He did it because it was useful to have another Horcrux. Because nobody would connect him to the murder. Because the victim was unimportant to his local society or the world. Because the victim was a layabout man in his forties with few acquaintances. No friends, no extended family, and dead parents. (As Legilimency had informed him at the time.)

These are the hardest kinds to deal with, lately. No obvious 'that's schadenfreude, that's annoyance, that's sadism' emotions to point to. It was all extremely subtle. It was almost entirely nothingness that he was feeling, after so many murders relying on that exact mindset.

But some of the negative emotions were there, if he listened carefully enough, and quieted his busy mind so he could pay close attention. The ever so slight rush of sadistic joy that he has the power to do this and get away with it, the ever so slight satisfaction that a blight on society was no longer there, the ever so slight relief and assurance and pleasure that his immortality is stronger.

It was not easy to examine one's emotions with a microscope, nor was it quick, nor was he anywhere close to where Mr. Potter probably thought he was, in terms of redemption.

The plan had not been for Riddle to leave the Time-frozen trap so soon. Not until he could consistently maintain his Patronus in the face of his past. Or if it winked out, not until he could always recast it with less than a minute of downtime.

But here he is anyway, back in the Time-resumed present and nowhere near that strong. It had been a combination of a certain somepony reaching a certain age and wanting to go to a certain place, and Dumbledore deciding that Tom was ready, even if his Patronus was not nearly as strong or steady as perhaps it should be.

On most days, he still uses four Time-twisted hours to work through his past. But Riddle is no longer protected from the present. Even as he reflects, he must start moving forward, now that he finally knows how to walk without leaving the world a worse place after every step. Probably. And if he does misstep, he has ponies and people who can guide him right again.

The final memory he was shown that night was this interaction:

"Professor, I have to ask, when you see something all dark and gloomy, doesn't it ever occur to you to try and improve it somehow? Like, yes, something goes terribly wrong in people's heads that makes them think it's great to torture criminals, but that doesn't mean they're truly evil inside; and maybe if you taught them the right things, showed them what they were doing wrong, you could change -"

He heard the laughing voice of Quirinus Quirrell's voice. "Ah, Mr. Potter, sometimes I do forget how very young you are. Sooner you could change the color of the sky."

The Plane then repeated 'sooner you could change the color of the sky' a few times, to draw his attention to it.

He did not manage to figure out what the ascendency program wanted him to realize before he had to leave early, even after thinking about it for a good thirty minutes in what he had thought were appropriately self-aware and Patronus-happy lines of reasoning.

(At his next session, his ascendency program would simply reveal the answer: A sonic rainboom, performed by himself, watched at a distance by another Time-Turned self.

As he watched so many colors fly across the horizon, he laughed in comprehension. His plane was pointing out to him that he could, in fact, change the color of the sky.)

Rehabilitation 15.1: Sanctioning Starlight

Ordinarily, the Night Court Watcher and/or Recorder is only somewhat interested in any individual Night Court session that is not his own. Which is to say he's more interested in them than the vast majority of other things he could be doing at any given time.

Even still, being only somewhat interested, he only somewhat pays attention. He does not read a book. He does not do anything overly taxing, mentally or physically. But he doesn't just stare at the session either.

Sometimes he practices a wizard spell he'd like to reach the point of reflexive wandlessness. Sometimes he practices a pony spell he desires to reach the point of hornlessness. Sometimes he practices other magics, like Potions or Transfiguration, both of which are doable (and to him preferrable) with background distractions going on.

He sometimes works on mundane problems – relatively simple puzzles, or problems of math. Ideally, these calculations would not require him to learn new rules, nor require him to apply old rules in extremely lateral and creative ways. They did not quite require him to think. They were simple problems that kept and reinforced and refined his existing habits of solving so that on future, more difficult problems, he would not stumble over the basics as he tackled the difficulties.

He does activities that can be done without fully thinking about them, and he can stop most of them at any point if the conversation suddenly grows to be gripping. His full, undivided attention is not required for either task.

Naturally, so as to not distract the petitioners, he does this all out-of-sight and out-of-sound, behind a one-way brick wall.

At the start of tonight's petition, Riddle had already begun the process of settling in for an hour or two or three, setting in front of himself a sheaf of papers in preparation for a long length of half-listening, possibly learning, and definitely reinforcing.

And then Luna's opening sentence snapped him out of that haze of habit.

"Hello, Starlight Glimmer."

A/N: So. The following section, until the next horizontal line, was the roadblock responsible for my gap in uploads. Or rather, deciding what to do with it was the roadblock. It was initially cut from the story, as were many other sections that have remained cut out. But this one in particular I decided to refine and re-include, in an attempt to actually improve. I've made many concessions in the delivery of this content, but I AM still going to deliver it.

This will be mostly Riddle's internal thoughts. It tries to clarify as carefully as possible how he sees the world – in a way that exactly conforms to what we've seen from him in HPMoR, plus six years of living in Equestria. That is highly relevant to his future redemption on the political Dark Lord side of things, which is somewhat distinct from his emotional improvement.

Some readers might, as usual, complain of certain parts 'pushing a worldview'. That said, I genuinely think it's much better than what came before. I'm also aware it's still not the optimal approach, to the point that I would have cut it, to the point that I did cut it, debated with myself about it for a month, and then reincluded it with this warning so fewer readers might have cause to complain. Yes, it could be better, but at this point I've gone a month without uploads, it's time to start moving forward again, even if my approach is still flawed. If at any point you become fed up, you have the option to just skip to the next horizontal line, which gets on with the actual encounter with Starlight Glimmer.

Throughout Twilight's Legilimency sessions and Occlumency lessons, Riddle had seen much of Starlight Glimmer. She was a recent subject of focus in many of Twilight's most recent memories. Those were also memories that Twilight explicitly allowed as 'safe to dig for, if you have to dig for something'.

When he got bored of seeing his iterated past selves, he often searched for memories of Starlight Glimmer. Even before her trial the other day, which she had declined to attend, he had pieced together the full story without ever having inquired about her out loud, and after only meeting her once, on his first official day on Project Panacea.

Starlight Glimmer had been the leader of a village of 'talentless' ponies. All Cutie Marks had been replaced by equals signs to symbolize sameness. 'And look,' she would say, pointing to her own equals sign, 'I was the first. I'm leading by example. I, too, am equal like you.'

Predictably, the truth was that – while everypony beneath her was equal to each other in their wretched misery (well, wretched misery by pony standards) – Ms. Glimmer was more equal than anypony else.

She claimed to be removing their talents through an artifact, but she was actually stealing them with a spell of her own making.

She claimed to be doing it for the sake of the ponies, for the sake of the village, for the sake of equality, for the sake of the entire country and world, once their (read: her) influence spread that far. And perhaps she managed to believe it for as long as it took her to say the words. But in truth, the hoarded marks were making herself more powerful.

While the ponies of her village did indeed have true equals signs on their flanks – for the length of time they were talentless, for the length of time Starlight Glimmer's magic was in effect – Ms. Glimmer's own equals sign was an illusion. During that time, the ponies beneath her truly were 'equal' to each other in their crippled states, 'equal' in their forced mediocrity, 'equal' in their statuses as her willing and faithful followers. As her successfully subjugated servants. As her slaves.

And when the defense barrister in her trial had argued that the word 'slavery' was too harsh, for the ponies of the village had chosen to give up their marks of their own free will, the prosecutor came up with the following counter-arguments:

Getting consent based on false pretenses is fraud. While it IS the responsibility of individual ponies to exercise their free will with caution, it is the responsibility of business owners, leaders, and public servants to tell the truth. Everything about Ms. Glimmer's rulership of that village relied on false pretenses to lure ponies in. And ONCE they were lured in, the part that made it truly slavery was…

That nopony was allowed to get their Cutie Marks BACK after asking for them. And nopony was allowed to leave, they had to stay and contribute to the village. Is this not slavery?

In the somewhat distant future, Starlight Glimmer would become one of those rare ponies who fully redeems herself after falling very far.

The Mare Who Claimed to Strive for Equality, and Stole Cutie Marks to do it.
The Mare Who Claimed to Serve the Ponies, in order to Rise to the Top of them.
The Mare Who Snuffed Out the Light in others, because She Believed Someone Else had Snuffed Out her Own.

She would take a role as a teacher, honestly describing her own past actions as a warning to others – a former wrongdoer who has achieved better understanding and peace of mind. (This was only after extensive vetting, followed by every teaching session of hers being watched and recorded and scrutinized, just in case she slipped back into old ways. Also, she would have to maintain her Patronus Charm for the extent of every lesson.) She would, at that distant future date, eventually give to the Court Scholar and Princess Celestia – and thus give to Canterlot University – the go-ahead to use her story in the following fashion:

Henceforth, whenever introducing modern ponies to the topic of tyranny in an educational setting, Starlight Glimmer's 'Reign of Equality' would be used as THE modern textbook example of a certain kind of authoritarian tyranny. The kind that leans a certain direction. Opposite the direction that Sombra and Tirek leaned, for instance.

And the reason Starlight's example would be used to introduce modern-day ponies to that style of tyranny is because nopony died, nopony was hurt in the long run, it was a relatively minor and straightforward and uncomplicated and understandable affair, and there was a happy ending. Also it happened recently, with recent names like 'Twilight Sparkle' and 'The Elements of Harmony' involved, so there aren't many compounding historical details that make the story more difficult to relate to, no strange past contexts that must be parsed separately in the minds of the students.

(The true pony historians of Canterlot University, the ones who would go on to study the topic of political tyranny in-depth – those rare individuals who managed to not quit in disgust or fear or seething hatred halfway through, or be dismissed for seeming to admire or respect the ways of the successful tyrants – the truly competent pony historians would often look back on their early days in nostalgia, for how tame Starlight Glimmer's plot was, how tame Blueblood and the Unicorn Clubs were, how tame most of modern Equestria seems to be, even how tame Sombra and Tirek's brief returns had been, in comparison to the ugliness of the past.)

But the wider implications of Starlight Glimmer's redemption would happen later, in the somewhat distant and unseen future.

In the somewhat nearer and clearer present, while watching Twilight Sparkle's recent memories of Starlight Glimmer, Riddle had not been a pony who possessed an Equestrian degree in political education from an institute of higher learning.

And even if he did possess such a qualification, it would have meant little. At that current moment in Equestrian history, Princess Celestia had not yet started – at the future insistence of Prince Excelsior – to allow dangerous subjects like Dark Rituals or political tyranny to be taught openly at the highest graduate levels of CU, so that there might exist Equinoids other than Alicorns who are capable of countering them.

(Although before any dangerous subjects would be taught in the first place, various methods of evaluating the academic, moral, and maturity standards of aspiring students would be developed, and THOSE would always be overseen personally by at least one Alicorn.)

But even still, even without an Equestrian education in politics, even without having sat through any classes on the subject of political tyranny, and without any conscious input or deliberate choice on his part, Riddle's own mind had nevertheless offered the following observation every time there was a memory of Starlight Glimmer acting or speaking in her capacity as the village leader:

He would see her in action, he would hear her words, and he would think to himself, Ambitious, self-serving politician.

Luna would later put Starlight Glimmer's past state more poetically:

"She was a pony whose ambition was drilling in to the part of her being that her soul was supposed to be filling."

But getting back to Riddle, like many other mental models, the general concept of 'ambitious, self-serving political actor' was so ingrained into his thought processes that it had reached the equivalent of wordless, wandless magic in his mind. He does not need to think the full words to himself or go through the full sequence of deliberate and conscious thought to call forth the concept. At least, not when he's witnessing someone who embodies the concept so crystal clearly.

And this automatic mental process happened even BEFORE he eventually saw within Twilight's memories the utterly predictable revelation of Starlight Glimmer's lies. The pattern Ms. Glimmer exploited, the pattern she embodied, is the same one he had exploited himself for almost ten years straight as Voldemort. And that pattern is this:

Back during the war, if it had been raised as a possibility, very few 'traditionalists' in Magical Britain would have entertained a certain fact about Voldemort – in particular, they'd never accept that the Dark Lord was actually a half-blood. Not only would they never predict it in advance, they wouldn't believe it if they were told about it.

Similarly, during her rise, few 'progressive' ponies would entertain the thought that Ms. Glimmer's claims of equality were self-serving falsehoods. The proof of this is in the fact that she took over an entire village with those claims.

Like the traditionalists of Magical Britain who were enraptured by Lord Voldemort's arguments about blood purism – which were far more competently thought through and delivered than the slurred slander spewed by drunks in Nocturn Alley – the progressives of Equestria grew starry-eyed at the surface-appearance of Ms. Glimmer's rhetoric. They were blinded by the seemingly successful manifestation of their deepest desires: the utopian ideal of equality between all.

And so, the entire 'Equality Affair' happened without anyone ever once pointing out to the general population of the village that Starlight Glimmer seemed to be more 'equal' than everypony else. Just as nobody ever once pointed out to the general population of Magical Britain that Voldemort was a half-blood, even to this day.

Not because either claim was untrue, but because the claims would have been scoffed at by the 'very smart' crowd – the (in past Riddle's view) self-flattering morons who would be of better service to humanity as landfill. Those idiots have the crippling attitude of 'You can't fool ME with that obvious lie! Voldemort, a half-blood? Glimmer, a heartless/soulless politician? HAH!' Their stupidity of self assuredness is precisely what makes them the most gullible fools of all. Their retarding confidence – in that their confidence in their beliefs literally retards their thought processes – their retarding confidence in their own infallible intelligence is their downfall.

(Silver Wing would use more temper language than that, even as he describes the same phenomenon. Luna would temper her language, Celestia would temper her language. But Riddle does not.)

Thanks to the existence of the 'very smart' crowd, not even Dumbledore tried to claim the half-blood fact publicly. Dumbledore knew it would not be believed by the blood purist faction or even the general population unless there was completely undeniable and unfalsifiable proof to connect Voldemort to Tom Riddle.

And even then, even with hard proof, it would still go unbelieved by those with motive to disbelieve it. It would only be believed by everyone if Voldemort himself, or perhaps Bellatrix, confirmed it personally and publicly, and that would never happen. Furthermore, if Dumbledore tried to connect Voldemort to Tom Riddle, Voldemort would escalate and make it unpleasant for him. After competently countering the fact with propaganda, as Dumbledore also knew.

Thanks to Lucius Malfoy, the 'Voldemort = half-blood' claim would go unbelieved by those 'very smart people' who unironically read the Daily Prophet to become 'well-informed' (i.e. well-propagandized). It also would go unbelieved by those who are afraid of Lucius Malfoy for any other reason, such as being in debt to him so they could start their prominent Diagon Alley business, or working a cushy Ministry job that Malfoy could arrange to terminate at a moment's notice. And since Ministry workers account for three fourths of the adult population, the overwhelming majority of the apolitical public has motive to disbelieve the fact. And the actual blood purists wouldn't believe it either, of course.

That is one of the major contributing factors to the general population's political incentive structures. Add to that the fact that most people are incredibly politically gullible and blind. Especially the 'proper adults' who consider themselves politically informed and intelligent. The 'very smart people'. The idiots.

Thanks to his most recent Night Court session, Riddle suspected Luna would say it is the same phenomenon of the "I'm not addicted!" addicts having no hope for seeing their own problems and fixing them. "What do you think I am, an IDIOT?" asks the idiot. "I'm NOT an idiot!" say those who have no hope of ever not being idiots, so long as they hold that idiotic attitude.

And it is easier to train a smart dog than a dumb dog. If you want the 'lessons' (read: propaganda) to stick, it is easier to train an intelligent mind than a dumb mind in that propaganda. The actually intelligent 'very smart idiots' are THE MOST hopeless. Just look to Lucius Malfoy. With the right incentive structures in place, you don't even need to do much training yourself, the intelligent human will train their self for you.

In many ways, Lucius Malfoy's ability to engage in intelligent skepticism is precisely the problem, for he uses that skepticism to find all possible ways of dismissing claims like 'the Dark Lord was a half-blood'. It is only thanks to Mr. Potter's efforts that his son became truly cynical enough to see a small amount of improvement.

The more intelligent addicts, as Luna said in a follow-up session, are better than anypony else at rationalizing their addictions to themselves. They quite literally think themselves to death.

Riddle suspected that this applied to politics, that there is something like an addiction to believing 'my side good, other side bad, we're never in the wrong.'

Intelligent minds will use their mental prowess to defend their false beliefs. Intelligent right-leaning minds will rationalize their false political beliefs, and so will intelligent left-leaning minds. And if anybody believes they don't hold false political beliefs, they are the most gullible idiots of all. They are Doomed.

Which is why Riddle always aspired to learn and understand political tactics. He did not aspire to hold beliefs, lest he be gullible. (Luna, at this point, would point out that, ironically enough, this approach was a contributing to factor to how he became more evil than just about anybody else in history.)

And clearly – if Starlight Glimmer's initial success in her village is anything to go by – the problem of political gullibility is still rampant in modern Equestria. To say nothing of wider Equus, to say nothing of Earth.

In Riddle's view, any political cynic who has even the slightest familiarity with the twentieth century of muggle or magical politics would have been able to predict both Glimmer's lies and Voldemort's lies. Lenin was not equal to the starving peasants beneath him, and Hitler did not qualify as 'Aryan'. Glimmer was not equal to the villagers beneath her, Voldemort did not qualify as pure-blood.

Not that the ponies have Hitler or Lenin or Voldemort to use as examples. Still, going by Celestia's words to him a few weeks ago, they definitely have some historical examples.

Even just a few knowledgeable cynics per village might be sufficient to undermine aspiring political would-be tyrants. Even one cynic per village might suffice. But Equestria lacks even that in the same way that it lacks competent fighters. Celestia confines dangerous subjects to her study. She censors them, deems them as 'dangerous', thus dooming history to repeat unless she personally gets involved. Or her apprentice gets involved.

On the one hoof, she has personally implemented something like the Interdict of Merlin, not only with regards to Dark Rituals, but with regards to political action, which perhaps was incredibly wise of her. On the other hoof, she has not done something to fix the widely-acknowledged problems with the Interdict of Merlin during her over a thousand years of rulership. Other than train the occasional apprentice, which is a widely-acknowledged stopgap solution to the Interdict of Merlin. It's woefully insufficient as a true solution, as his other iterated selves proved when they all killed her (with varying degrees of secrecy and openness) and took over her country.

Into this political landscape, Glimmer's plot naturally went un-predicted and un-suspected by anybody who wasn't Celestia's personal apprentice. It also probably didn't help that the political atmosphere of Ms. Glimmer's rise was generally left-leaning, as all of Equestria seems to be.

Voldemort's plot would've been less noticeable if Magical Britain had leaned generally right. But Magical Britain is a firm and complicated mix of left and right – the elites are not shy about the fact that they are elites, even if they don't judge sexual preferences. So it's more difficult to go unnoticed as an aspiring lord unless you are a firm and complicated mix of left and right yourself.

A mix like David Monroe had been.

Starlight Glimmer also kept her plot constrained to a single village. Starting small means she was less likely to encounter a truly competent counter voice. That was especially wise of Ms. Glimmer, as she was accumulating power and resources and experience early on. Her primary mistake was getting greedy and trying to induct Ms. Sparkle, rather than thinking to herself, 'We better find a way to have Ms. Sparkle politely leave as soon as possible, if she stays my whole plot will be blown.'

In Riddle's vision of what a truly competent country would look like – a vision that he dismissed long ago as stupid utopianism – the general population needs not only be able to physically and magically defend themselves on an individual basis, they need to defend themselves politically as well. They need to be intelligent. And wise. A general ethos of cynicism and skepticism towards self-serving claims that SEEM to represent your own personal pet beliefs could have stopped Ms. Glimmer's rise in her political infancy. But there is a great dearth of political cynics in the world. Equestria does not train its general population in that kind of awareness. No country even seems to try.

Instead, in order to unravel the plot, it took Celestia's personal protégé. It took someone as exceptional as Twilight Sparkle, who also leans left. Or at least, leans more left than right, as far as Riddle can tell. So it's clearly not a problem of left being blind to left and right being blind to right. It's a problem of standard idiots being standard idiots. It is a problem of normal minds – even normal intelligent minds – being unable to reach the apparently unreasonable standard of half-decent political cynicism.

(Silver Wing would argue that, with enough background knowledge of true facts, you don't even need the cynicism about motive, you can just see for yourself the individual leaps of logic that don't agree with reality. And of course, everybody believes their own mind is capable of doing exactly that. They believe their mind can see the factual errors, especially if their own mind worships rationality, or the appearance thereof. And perhaps their own mind is capable of seeing the wrong leaps of logic in the belief systems they already disagree with. But seeing the wrong leaps of logic in their OWN false beliefs? Hardly.

And on top of that, they believe that they're already sufficiently skeptical of their own beliefs, which makes it a million times worse. Like Lucius Malfoy, their minds are rationalizing their own false beliefs without their own conscious awareness, as a result of the incentive structures in their life, and the habits of thought that they've previously built in their minds.)

Getting back to the full present, standing behind his one-way brick wall, Riddle had not quite anticipated Starlight Glimmer's appearance before Luna. He had not quite anticipated her being genuinely ashamed or guilty or repentant enough to give such a session a shot. She hadn't even attended her own trial to try to defend herself. Then again, he hadn't attended either, he had just collected gossip after the fact. He had been busy with his own affairs.

But now his own affair was to listen and learn more, so he did.

"Do you know why you are here, Ms. Glimmer?" asked Luna's calm, cool voice.

"Because it's the job of the Day Princess to judge, and it's the job of the Night Princess to punish," said Ms. Glimmer's defeated voice.

Luna's eyebrows rose. "Mm… well, I would be very curious to know what books you have been reading, and you are actually right in this particular case, but in general that custom was disbanded… well, before my banishment. This case is special, as it had the eyes of the nation upon it. It still does, actually. For the record, we are currently being recorded, and this recording will be available to the public for scrutiny. But before we get to punishments, I was trying to ask if you know what particular sanctionable actions landed you here."

Ms. Glimmer's hesitant voice replied with, "Because of what I tried to do to Twilight Sparkle?"

"Mm… no, not quite. Could you try again?" There was no judgement or condemnation in the tone, in the question.

"…Because of what I did at Our- at the town?"

"Again, not quite. Third time's the charm?"

"Because I did something else that was wrong?"

Luna tilted her head. "Well… again, not quite. But before I say why I think you are here… you said 'something else that was wrong' just now. Does this mean you think that what you did at the town, and what you did to Twilight and her friends and the villagers, was wrong?"

Starlight nodded uncertainly.

"Could you tell me why you think it was wrong? Why was the town incident wrong, and why was the Twilight incident wrong?"

"Um…" Starlight said, still extremely uncertain. "I lied at the town. And to Twilight and her friends… and I tried to break up her friendship."

"Well… thank you for saying some of what you did. But that is not the same as saying why it was wrong. Let's start with the easier one. Why was it wrong when you lied?"

"Because… because everypony knows lying is wrong?"

Luna shook her head. "Societal consensus does not make something right or wrong. When I was born, the law considered it illogical that a stallion could 'rape' his wife."

Starlight Glimmer's eyes widened further and further at each example. "WHAT?! That's horrible!"

"History is horrible," said Luna. "But it is also our heritage." She didn't say anything after that, just let the sentence hang.

After it was clear that Starlight was expected to say something, Starlight said, "What are you getting at, Princess?"

"Well… put bluntly, a large portion of your perceptions of right and wrong seemed to be shaped by what 'everypony knows' to be wrong. Your morals seem to rely on outside pressure, not internal passion. Only once I stated something that would offend your modern sensibilities, did you object with seemingly genuine internal standards. And the reason I am saying all this is so that one day-" a Patronus Charm sprung into existence "-you will be capable of casting this, which I suspect will be difficult for you to learn under your current system of morals."

Starlight stared. "What is that?" she asked, her voice containing true wonder and awe.

"This is the Patronus Charm. It is a manifestation of a pony's happiness. It can only be cast using thoughts that are truly happy."

"Can you show me how?" asked Starlight Glimmer. "I'm a great mage! I'm sure I could learn it."

"I can show you the horn motions," said Luna calmly. "The stance, the words to speak. But I cannot make you happy. Evil thoughts, distracting thoughts, self-centered thoughts, thoughts that you think are happy but are actually hedonistic, addictive thoughts – these are all things that get in the way of the spell. This spell, more than anything else, shows whether you are truly happy. Cast this spell, Starlight Glimmer, and you will be released from your debts upon the instant."

Starlight Glimmer's eyes widened. "I… I'll be forgiven?"

"Well… I only said you would be released from your debts. I said nothing of forgiveness. It is not my place to remark on that. Twilight has already forgiven you, but you never did overmuch damage to her. The villagers from your town, however… they all were given the legal right to demand restitution for the many months of damage you did to them. And some of them have made demands. And some of those demands are quite reasonable. Some of those demands are financial."

Starlight looked like she was about to cry. "R-really?"

"Yes, really. You refused to attend your own Day Court trial, which was your right, just as it would have been your right to face your accusers if you chose to do that instead. But even if you can refuse to attend, you cannot refuse the consequences of that trial. And the punishment that will probably matter to you the most is more than financial. It is somewhat unusual, but… completely and utterly fair, by unanimous agreement of the nobles and the jurors, and if I had to guess, by the whole nation, as they read the newspaper articles, or witness the trial's recording."

Starlight looked incredibly uncomfortable at that. "The… the whole nation saw it?"

"Yes," said Luna.

There was a pause.

"W-what was my punishment?" asked Starlight.

"Well… suppose a pony makes a mistake that damages five houses. They might not have meant it, but they are certainly the responsible party. Tell me, Ms. Glimmer. Are they merely responsible for the damage done to one house, does their restitution end once they pay one of the home owners back, or are they responsible for paying back all the home owners for all of the damage?"

"Um… all?" asked Starlight, in a small voice.

"Can you keep that in mind as I speak the punishment that was decided upon by your peers, and witnessed by your country?"

Starlight now looked desperately afraid, but though she trembled, she nodded.

"Then your punishment is this: Sugar Belle did not have her cutie mark, a fundamental part of her being, for a full year, Ms. Glimmer. Party Favor for three quarters of a year. Night Glider for half. They would never wish that fate upon anypony… except the pony who caused them to suffer that fate, so that she might finally know what she did. They, and many others, are all asking quite reasonably that you live without a Cutie Mark for as long as they lived without one. And my sister declared that the years shall be calculated additively, just as a financial punishment would be."

Starlight Glimmer did cry then. For a long while.

And Riddle, who was watching Starlight, thought to himself: Hypocrite. And Riddle's third eye, which was watching himself, thought: A hypocrite like you, who inflicted death upon others and does not want to die yourself.

"P-p-please," begged Starlight Glimmer when she had regained the capacity to speak. "I-i-is th-there a-a-anything e-else I-I can do? P-please, Princess. A-anything b-but that."

"Other than learning the charm I just showed you? All you can do is make it up to them. Like Twilight and all but one of her friends, who did not demand restitution for their suffering at your hooves, any individual villager might choose to forgive the debt you owe them at any time."

"How?!" she begged.

"Well…" said Luna. "Step one is this. Ms. Sparkle?"

In a flash, Twilight Sparkle appeared in the room, to Starlight's startlement.

Sparkle's only word was "I'm sorry," and then the horn of perhaps the world's second or third most powerful Alicorn glowed, and despite Starlight Glimmer's expertise in magic, and in the field of Cutie Mark theft in particular, she was helpless to stop her Cutie Mark from lifting off her flank, from floating towards Twilight, and from being secured in a glass box at her side.

There was more crying, then. Shouts of "DON'T" and "STOP!" and "GIVE IT BACK!" But she wore a horn-suppressing ring, and could do nothing more than bang against the magical barrier stopping her from getting any closer.

"My fool," said Luna's Royal Canterlot Voice, which startled Starlight out of her onslaught. "Would you please come here for a moment?"

Riddle's eyebrows rose, and he apparated to her side, a feat of magic that might remind Starlight Glimmer that he is powerful and esoteric, for he possesses magic she knows not. Ms. Glimmer, upon seeing him, took a scared step back.

"You do not have to do this," said Luna, speaking to Riddle. "I could ask another, or do it myself. But would it at all interest you to hide this Cutie Mark in a place where nopony would ever find it? Where nopony would be able to retrieve it if they did find it?"

Starlight, at this point, began begging for her Cutie Mark back. Twilight Sparkle looked incredibly sad.

Luna was stoic as, still speaking to Riddle, she added, "Except yourself, of course."

Riddle considered the request. "That might interest me. Are you asking me to do this without payment?"

"You may request whatever you think is fair compensation," Luna offered. "I only ask that you not return it until Starlight has served her allotted sentence, or until she can cast the Patronus."

Riddle thought of what he might demand in return, but then he decided to have fun instead. He grinned evilly at Starlight, who took another step back. "No payment is necessary. It sounds like an enjoyable use of my time. Outer space is a vast place that I have begun to explore." He probably wouldn't store it in outer space, but it was a decent thing to say so long as he can casually prove to Ms. Glimmer that he can go there (if she ever asks), and so long as he does not actually store it there.

He took the container and disappeared with it, returning to his place behind the brick wall so he could observe the rest of the interaction.

Starlight Glimmer was no longer begging, she was bawling like a baby. The hopelessness of the situation had set in. Words would not get her out of this one, as words had gotten her out of so many other things in her life. This died down to sniffling after a good, long while.

"Step two, Ms. Glimmer," said Luna, "now that I have arranged for your rights to be violated – for all that it was fair and just restitution for your actions of violating the rights of others – step two is to give you the following choice. Personally, I suspect I am no longer a pony whom you would trust to help you with your mental state. So step two is possibly for you to leave my presence and never return, if that is what you want to do."

"I-I-I'd n-never get m-my C-c-cutie M-mark b-back if I l-l-left," said her sniffling and no-longer-sonorous voice. It was a quite noticeable different from before. Less alive. Less vibrant.

"I can arrange for that to be done outside my presence," said Luna. "If you wait out your sentence, you will get your Cutie Mark back."

What if I decide not to return it? Riddle thought curiously to himself, and his mind produced a curious answer in return: Perhaps Ms. Sparkle can return it at any time, wherever it lies. Perhaps she or Ms. Glimmer can FIND it wherever it lies.

He resolved not to hide it in or near any of his current hideouts, fallback or otherwise.

"I c-c-can l-l-leave?" asked Ms. Glimmer's voice. "I'm… n-not g-going to j-j-jail?"

Luna shook her head. The door opened behind her.

She looked at it. She looked to Luna. "H-how l-l-long is m-my s-s-sentence?"

"My sister decided that if you want to know the answer to that question, you can watch the trial yourself, or you can do the math yourself. Or you could always stop a random pony on the street and ask them. Assuming they are willing to talk with you."

Ms. Glimmer seemed to take an unconscious step away from the open door. "Should… sh-should I g-g-go? Am I to leave?"

Luna shrugged. "Only if you want to."

Ms. Glimmer looked at the open door again. "I… I don't want to leave."

Luna nodded. "You do have the option to stay. But there would be certain conditions."

Ms. Glimmer looked to Luna. "W-what conditions?"

"My fool considers me to be the best dark-lord redeemer in the country, and perhaps the whole universe. He considers you to be a dark-lord wannabe-" Riddle did not think 'how did she know?' to himself, for Luna knew him fairly well by this point "-and I find myself seeing you in a similar light as I now see my past self, as I see Nightmare Moon. I see you as a mare who has made many mistakes, and who is having trouble seeing even a tiny fraction of those mistakes for herself. If you wish to leave and wait out your full sentence, you may. If you wish to stay and suffer the painful process of mental healing, perhaps with the hope of a reduced sentence and a new charm under your belt, you may. From this point forward, your actions are up to you."

Chapter 77: Ignorant and/or Impotent

"Lord Malfoy," said the Defense Professor as what remained of their convoy left the 'restricted' third floor corridor and entered the main halls of Hogwarts. "I intend to request yet another segment of your son's time tonight. There is a favor I would ask of him."

Father's eyebrows rose, and he patted Draco on the shoulder. "Draco, know that my faith in your abilities, my faith in you, is greater than it has ever been. Despite…" he trailed off, allowing that suggestive statement to stand.

Despite everything that's bothering you, Draco thought. "I understand. Thank you, Father."

"Was there anything you wished to have, my son? Anything at all that would be useful to your future endeavors?"

That was a tempting offer indeed. But with the offer comes the condition, and with the bribe comes the quid-pro-quo. That lesson has been instilled into Draco so solidly that he reflexively quashed his childish impulse to blurt out anything stupid and immediately looked for the hidden cost.

"…No thank you, Father. The Malfoy coffers have suffered enough abuse lately."

Father smiled approvingly. "Be well, my son, and do well."

"I shall, Father."

They hugged, and then Father stood and strode away.

Lucius Malfoy had not been accompanied by his two faithful bodyguards all day. But then, he had the protection of the Defense Professor throughout the tour. And outside the tour, he was in Hogwarts: one of the safest fortresses on the planet, aside from maybe the Most Ancient Hall, which had been built by Merlin himself. Lucius is the most prominent member of the Board of Governors. He knows these halls by heart – as should any intelligent Hogwarts graduate. And he is safer in his person than he has ever been before, even ignoring the protection provided by the enchanted stone surrounding him. He neither needs direct staff oversight to supervise him while he is here, nor does he need directions, nor does he need a bodyguard escort.

As Father walked away, the Defense Professor said to Draco, "Do you have any homework that needs doing, Mr. Malfoy?"

That was the single most blatant trap that Draco had ever heard. From the Defense Professor, of all people. "Yes," said Draco. "I'll be doing it tonight."

"Excellent. Now to begin, Mr. Malfoy, this first part is not a favor. Nor is it any obligation or requirement on your part. It is simply an offer, no strings attached."

"What is it, Professor?" Draco asked politely, not allowing his skepticism to show, and in particular not allowing his increased skepticism to show. When someone says that, it's always a bad sign. Especially considering the Defense Professor's 'do you have homework that needs doing' line.

The Defense Professor spoke. "I can arrange for you to join the Circus Challenge when it starts, if you wish. Such events are often good learning experiences to all who attend, and I would not want you to go unwelcomed when at least two of your peers…" he grinned "…have already committed an hour of their Time into attending."

Draco blinked. "Oh." That actually did sound like it was a 'no strings attached' sort of offer. And although he hadn't been expecting it… "Yes," he said without hesitating. "I'd like to do the same." …he does enjoy the time he spends at Circus.

A more alive, more exhausted, and more Time Turned Draco Malfoy stood before the Defense Professor and acting Headmistress of Hogwarts. All three stood in the Mirror room, unreflected.

Upon the completion of the Circus game, Draco had been teleported to his private dorm room, where he had found a written note informing him that the favor to the Defense Professor, should he be interested in learning more about it, can only be offered in a certain location in Hogwarts. A location that, before and after the tour, they had 'cheated' their way to reach and to leave. A location that had been the talk of Gryffindor all of last year. A location Draco was instructed to pass through as quickly as he could, using whatever clever strategies he could imagine.

And so Draco spent around five minutes breezing through the third floor corridor, 'cheesing' all the parts except the second-to-last room, which didn't seem to have any challenges at all. At that point he simply walked into the final room – cautiously and hesitantly, in case of traps, but the psychological warfare of the final challenge room only added about a minute to his completion time.

All the rumors he had ever heard claimed minimum completion times of an hour. Honestly, those Gryffindoofuses don't have a single clever bone in their bodies.

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Malfoy," said the Defense Professor, standing beside the Headmistress. "Did you bring your homework as I requested?"

"Yes," said Draco, carefully controlling his expression. If this turns out to be what he suspects it might be, it was such a terribly stupid false-accusation plot that Draco could still honestly say he'd only been asked to bring his homework as part of a favor to the Defense Professor, he had no idea why, and he was not trying to cheat on it, Headmistress.

"Good," said the Defense Professor. "That will give you something to do for however long it takes the favor to conclude, if you agree to my request."

Draco blinked. "What request?"

"I would like you to stand alone before the Mirror so that Albus Dumbledore's image might be called forth. Then I would like you to sit in the back of the room – still reflected by the Mirror so that his image does not disappear – while the Headmistress speaks with him. Which, I suspect, will prove better than if I privately spoke with her."

Draco blinked some more. "Oh." Like Harry, the Defense Professor clearly has the knack for dashing your expectations and replacing them with something completely beyond your own imagination. And unlike Harry, the Defense Professor's ideas are way less weird. Draco looked for something to say in response to this one. "That's… clever?"

The Defense Professor shrugged. "Perhaps it was clever thirty years ago. At this point it is routine. In any case, you shall be prevented from seeing or hearing their conversation, so homework will give you something to do. Assuming all this works and you can call forth his image again."

"I see," said Draco, not letting his disappointment show.

While this favor IS something only he can do, he'd been hoping the favor would require… some kind of personal prowess or skill or ability.

Now that his emotions and expectations had aligned more with reality, he moved on to the obvious question. "How much is this favor worth to you?"

"Since I am asking for something simple yet time-consuming from you, in such a fashion that it does not overly impact your productivity…" An illusion of another muggle-style clock appeared above the Mirror, flashing at 0:00. "You may ask me for something simple yet time-consuming, in such a fashion that it does not impact mine. That timer will count my debt, if you agree."

How incredibly fair and boring, Draco thought, again with that sense of disappointment. Is this what happens to Slytherins who learn how to cast the super Patronus? They get all… Ravenclaw about their favors?

Not that he was going to turn down such a good deal, of course. Unless… "Do I get anything even if this doesn't work?"

"Five Monroe points, whether it succeeds or fails. And you earned thirty for your efforts getting here. I'm thinking of implementing a standard scoring system for those who attempt Dumbledore's corridor. It is a half-decent series of tests for young Hogwarts students, and you did well to see the cheats."

"Indeed you did, Mr. Malfoy," said the Headmistress, who had been watching this entire exchange in amusement, accompanied by an undercurrent of impatient anxiety.

Validation from competent experts is always nice. Draco had been a bit proud at his own speed. "Thank you, Professors."

The Defense Professor nodded. "Will you do this favor?"

"I'll do it."

The Defense Professor took a step back and swept an inviting arm towards the space in front of the Mirror. "Whenever you are ready."

Draco nodded in return, then strode around to the front of the Mirror.

And there was an ancient bearded face, attached to an ancient bearded man.

"Hello, Headmaster," said Draco, using Occlumency to make sure his voice and emotions were perfectly level and respectable.

Albus Dumbledore looked down curiously. "Hello, Draco Malfoy. May I ask how long it has been?"

"Less than a day," said Draco.

"Did you enjoy Equestria?"

"I did," said Draco honestly. "But that's not why I'm here. The Defense Professor has asked me the favor of standing here so the Headmistress can have a long chat with you."

The old wizard's eyebrows rose slightly. "I see. Minerva, are you there?" he asked in a raised voice.

"Yes," said the Headmistress's voice, looking like she wanted to walk around and see the Headmaster face-to-face.

But the Defense Professor impeded her impulse with a raised hand of warning (he was standing slightly in front of her), and his voice asked, "Did you hear her, Professor Dumbledore?"

"I did."

The Defense Professor's voice continued without pause. "Then even if your image goes away when she is reflected, there will still be means for you two to talk. Mr. Malfoy, please go to the desk in the back of the room. If you hear and perceive nothing of us, presume it worked."

Draco did as instructed, and his perception of the Mirror blurred. Although he could still tell it was there, so it was probably still reflecting him. When enough time passed that he began to get bored, he got out his homework.

"Now you may proceed, Headmistress."

Minerva didn't hesitate, though as she passed the Defense Professor, she noticed out of the corner of her eye that he was pressing a button on a box-like device, then setting that device on the ground.

When Minerva finally saw Albus, a wonderful feeling of hope and relief replaced her weary woes.

"At this point, Professor Dumbledore," said the Defense Professor's voice, "I will take my leave. I'll remark that she has not yet truly met Tom Riddle face-to-face. Knowing that, I'll leave the rest entirely up to you." Then there was the sound of footsteps retreating.

Minerva stared at the man who held all the answers, who almost always knew what was right, the man she trusted more than any other to make good decisions. And she said, "I don't even know where to begin, Albus."

Her oldest friend nodded sagely, stroking his beard, his reassuring sapphire eyes looking pensive behind his sapphire glasses. "May I ask for a report, Minerva? For old time's sake?"

"There is far too much to report upon, Albus. That is part of the problem."

Albus continued stroking his long beard. "Is this our only chance to speak?"

Minerva blinked. "I… I suppose that would depend on Mr. Malfoy's availability. And his willingness to help." And her own availability, but she would make time for this. Even if she had to make extra Time.

"Broad strokes for tonight, then," said Albus. "The major events, particularly those that are troubling, or important to the ones that are troubling."

"That still covers a great deal."

"Then please start with the most troubling things. I will ask questions from there so that I may understand the context."

She nodded, and she did.

She started immediately with her concern that Tom Riddle is not dead. He is still alive and apparently free to roam Equestria. The Defense Professor's words, upon the night of Voldemort's 'vanquishment', had not given her the impression that this was the case.

From there, Albus asked so many questions – about that night, about the Defense Professor's precise wording, about some of the events that have happened since and what she saw in Equestria – that before she knew it, an hour had already passed.

Upon being probed so carefully, Minerva was no longer quite so upset with the Defense Professor leading her on back in June. She was still plenty annoyed, but Albus's careful questions revealed that the Defense Professor was blatantly being a mysterious old wizard about the situation. He had used words like 'vanquished' instead of 'killed', and he had even asked them to decide for themselves if they thought it was possible for the man who became Voldemort to ever cast the true Patronus charm, leaving nothing of his past self but a remnant.

If the Defense Professor were here right now, Albus informed her, he would claim it was not entirely his own fault that Minerva and everybody else except Severus leapt to the wrong conclusion that night. They answered that question too hastily, without considering the unusual context of the situation, the thirty-five years of Mirror-trapped Time, and what that might imply. They did not consider that powerful magics like Time and prophecy and phoenixes and the Stone and the Mirror might have colluded to send history down an unlikely path.

Yes, the Defense Professor was not fully honest. He is still not being fully honest. But if Albus had to guess, since his return the man has yet to tell an outright falsehood, as Mysterious Old Wizards tend to behave. At least to his closest allies.

Albus paused thoughtfully. "All of that being said, I know the Defense Professor is currently upholding quite an enormous lie, likely without delivering any direct falsehoods, as I did about Narcissa, and I can only guess why he still keeps it from those who have already signed his contract. Most likely he is scared."

"Scared of what?"

Albus hesitated for a long, long moment. "Know that you will be bound not to repeat the answer to that question to anyone else, if I provide it. It qualifies as a secret of the Defense Professor. It is the secret of the Defense Professor. Also know that you will react badly. Know that you will feel utterly helpless to do what you truly want to do, as I have felt these many past years."

That gave Minerva a bit of pause. Then, "I have learned many such secrets from you over the years, Albus. Is this one terribly different?"

"Yes," he answered without pause, and with dreadful seriousness. "It is by far the worst one you will ever comprehend. That is my warning to you, Minerva, and I implore you: consider it carefully. Examine each secret you possess, all the horrors you know, and ask yourself if you are willing, able, and ready to learn something much worse than everything that came before."

Minerva took a moment to think of all the things she knew that she'd rather not know.

…

…

…

Then she asked, "Is there anything else you can say, Albus? Anything that might prepare me?"

"Only that I cannot stand the thought of you continuing in ignorance, Minerva. Nor can I stand the thought of you continuing in impotence. But this is a choice between one or the other, and only by telling you might you one day escape the dichotomy. If you refuse you will be uninformed, yet you will feel like you have some manner of control. If you accept you will be aware of this secret, and you will feel utterly trapped. If you ever manage to cast the True Patronus, and if you ever learn Legilimency, you will realize you are not quite powerless, where this secret is concerned. That you have never been powerless, from the very beginning. If only you had been wiser, smarter, and more open to new ideas." He smiled wryly, despite the gravity of the situation. "I am speaking more to myself than you, Minerva. For that is how I feel about the whole situation now that I am at the end of it."

That was very foreboding indeed, as most competent warnings tends to be. It is the kind of warning that is vague enough to reveal nothing about the mission, yet precise enough to let you know – in theory – exactly what you're in for. It was a quintessential wise-old-wizard warning. And Minerva had received enough of them over the years, and followed through enough times, to know that her 'I can certainly handle it' belief is entirely self-flattering fantasy.

It really will be awful, and Albus can only hint at that awfulness.

"Finally," said Albus.

He's not done?

"Remember that it is my own prediction that you will react badly when you first hear about this, regardless of circumstances. If the secret ever gets out in an uncontrolled fashion, you will react badly then. I think this is the main reason the Defense Professor has delayed. Your immediate reaction, and the immediate reactions of others. Perhaps you will be able to afford such a moment and nothing ill will come of it. Perhaps your own honest reaction will be beneficial to you, as it will inform others around you that you were ignorant until that very moment. Perhaps learning about it now will induce a great deal of stress that will have a terrible impact on your current tasks. On the other hand, perhaps its unexpected revelation in the future will demand something better from you – proactivity instead of reactivity – if you wish to do the most good. What the correct path might be, I do not know."

There was a stretch of silence, and nothing else followed for a time.

Then, eventually…

"Understood," said Minerva. Said Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. Who was Head of House Gryffindor. Who didn't always manage to live up to her house's ideals, especially when she had options other than doing what requires true courage. And she certainly has that option now.

She could even feel the great temptation to take that option. Albus had given her plenty of reasonable outs. He had not said that learning this secret now would be the right thing to do. Only that it might be the right thing to do. And that it would be difficult, and trying, and unpleasant.

That fear, those rationalizations, weighed greatly on her mind in this moment.

"Since it is a Gryffindor's way to do what is right," said Minerva to Albus, "and since neither I nor you know what is right in this moment, I shall instead be brave, for that is also Gryffindor's way." When Minerva had resolved, after Hermione's death, to do better, to be a better Gryffindor, she had meant it. Fear would not daunt her, at least in this moment. "Please tell me, Albus. I wish to know. And-" she added a bit wryly herself "-I know that you want me to know."

Albus smiled warmly. "You know me too well, Minerva. So be it."

His smile vanished, relaced by firm authority. "Steel yourself, Minerva. Cast and attempt to maintain your Patronus as we speak. Cast a barrier that prevents sound from escaping but not entering, so that you may scream as loudly as you wish without being heard. And be ready to escape into your Animagus form if you must. Give a nod when you have done all of this."

Like carrying out a Transfiguration experiment in which the highest Degrees of Caution must be implemented, Minerva followed Albus's instructions to the letter. When her moonlight cat was standing guard, as if to protect her from a Dementor, she nodded to show she was ready.

Albus spoke. "The Defense Professor remarked, and I agreed, that you have likely heard a certain theory by now. Answer honestly. I ask if you have heard, from Alastor or otherwise, the following theory: that an unknown wizard arranged for Voldemort to wipe out House Monroe, even the House Elves, so that someone could perfectly assume David's identity without suspicion. Please nod if you have heard this at some point."

A pit formed in the center of her stomach, and she nodded.

"That theory is true. Nod when you are ready to continue, or shake your head if you do not wish to hear more."

Though she trembled, she nodded.

"Then here is the truth, Minerva. First, please try to see it for yourself. David Monroe. Quirinus Quirrell. Lord Voldemort. What do all of these people have in common? Take a minute to think about it, and nod if you think you see it."

After a minute, she shook her head. She was trembling much harder, now.

"What they have in common is this: They all had the ambition of ruling the world. David Monroe, Quirinus Quirrell, and Lord Voldemort were all masks. The man who taught Battle Magic last year, the man who is teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year, the man who became Voldemort, all of them are the same person on the inside. They were all guises of my long-lost and wayward student, Tom Riddle."

Draco Malfoy looked up from his paper in the direction of the Mirror. For a moment, he thought he had heard the quietest of sounds coming from that direction, like the squeak of a mouse. After watching nothing for a while, boredom returned his eyes to his parchment.

Albus Dumbledore looked forlornly at the paralyzed form of the acting Headmistress of Hogwarts, who had screamed and then promptly fell over, limbs locked in place. He hoped that Tom had a contingency for this, and that Minerva wasn't fated to sit there for an hour and think about what she had almost done.

Whatever it was.

After a few minutes of silence, he said, "Minerva, since it seems Tom is not coming to release you from contract paralysis… I can see the pupils of your eyes, which are not frozen. Move them as you might move your head. Side to side for 'no', up and down for 'yes'. Do you wish for me to speak, to pass the time?"

With eyesight aided by his half-moon glasses, he saw her answer clearly enough.

"Do you wish for me to speak of the last thirty-five years, from my perspective?"

…

…

…

Her eyes moved up and down.

"Then let me begin with my first moment of awareness, when Tom came to stand before this Mirror in his pony form…"

One hour later…

"…at which point, my own journey of improvement began."

Minerva went from fully frozen to naturally collapsed in a sudden twitch, and Albus stopped upon the instant. She calmly pushed herself to her feet.

"Thank you, Albus," said Minerva's calm voice. Her extremely calm voice. Her overly calm voice. "I've heard enough."

Albus's eyebrows rose. "You have?"

"I have."

"…May I ask what you intend to do?"

"Nothing," she said simply.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

Albus was not worried at the answer itself, but at her perfectly calm conveyance of it. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you were right in your warning. My ignorance has been replaced by impotence. I must do nothing to affect his interests using this secret, I must risk nothing unless I wish to risk punishment, and so I must do nothing."

Now she knows why Severus reacted as he did. She now also knows why Alastor refused to sign the contract. She is not the kind of witch to grow jealous, but she resolved to herself that perhaps it would be wise to learn the ways of paranoia.

"You might be able to ask Tom that a new contract be forged to replace the old one," said Albus. "One that paralyzes dynamically, only lasting as long as your intent to violate the terms. He had you sign the first contract he ever made, partly out of sentiment and fairness to all the others who signed it. He may allow you to switch to something less punishing."

Minerva considered it for a long while, then shook her head. "Miss Granger is bound to this one. As is Filius, and others. I will not switch contracts unless they are given the same opportunity."

Albus nodded. "He might agree to that as well." Then, without transition, "Was there anything else we needed to discuss, Minerva? Mr. Malfoy looks ready to return to his dorm for the night."

The headmistress turned, and saw a young blond boy sleeping in his arms, which were crossed on top of his homework.

The power of partial parenthood pulsed through her, and a steel rod of responsibility suddenly supported her spine as she strode forward with purpose, gently woke the child, and escorted him back to his dorm.

Sometimes, she wished all of life could be so straightforward.

On that note, there was paperwork to do. Albus used to remark, many times during the wizarding war, that Hogwarts ran far more smoothly when there was an outside crisis for Minerva to avoid thinking about.

Hogwarts would run very smoothly indeed that night – all of that night, and into the next morning and evening, for Minerva would get no sleep until the weekend was over. And Hogwarts would continue running quite smoothly in the months that followed, as its Headmistress avoided thinking about the world's most evil Dark Lord actively teaching her children Battle Magic.

Rehabilitation 15.2: Sessioning Starlight

"M-my actions are up to me?" asked the pony whose magic was suppressed, who was effectively an open air prisoner.

Luna nodded, removing the magic suppressor with her own levitation magic. "It is your free will. You can stay, or you can leave. You never have to see me again if you do not wish to. Not even in your dreams."

"M-my d-dreams?" asked Starlight. "Ponies who lose their Cutie Marks d-don't have dreams," she said as if by rote, and in a slightly authoritative tone of knowledge that briefly overcame her sniffles.

Luna's eyes widened. "Not even nightmares?"

Starlight shook her head.

"Well," said Luna, now in a slightly frustrated voice. "I wish my Special Talent had informed me of that situation." She sighed. "But the past is passed. And for all that it is a terrible fate, there are plenty of ponies with Cutie Marks who also do not dream. Just ask my fool. And this is distracting from the issue at hoof. Do you, Starlight Glimmer, wish to learn from me, Selena Lullay, in the hopes that you will get your Cutie Mark back sooner than your allotted sentence, or perhaps develop a new one?"

"A new one?" asked Starlight, now sounding confused and doubtful. "That's impossible."

"Not impossible," said Luna. "Just extremely improbable. I've only ever seen it happen once, and I've been alive for… well, you know how long. It was quite the extraordinary pony who achieved it. And I wouldn't count on it happening again if I were you, but it is something that could happen. For all your faults, you are certainly exceptional, Ms. Glimmer."

There was a long pause.

"Do you know how I could do that?" asked Ms. Glimmer eventually, something like hope in her mostly dead voice.

"I could explain it in the abstract," said Luna. "Think of all your talents as the products of your truest, deepest passions. And imagine that your passions like flames. Little ones, big ones, bright bonfires, blazing suns, and everything in between. Can you do that for me, Ms. Glimmer?"

Ms. Glimmer nodded slowly.

"Good. Now, think of reality like a snowstorm crashing against your flames."

Ms. Glimmer frowned, but she listened raptly.

"Most ponies allow their passions to be extinguished over the course of their lives, one little flame at a time. It is only those fiery passions that refuse to go out which eventually develop into special talents. So if you want to develop a new special talent, you must ask yourself if there are any passions of yours that can be kindled, or re-kindled, or started from nothing. Are there any drivers of yours that can weather the storms of reality, no matter what it throws at you? Passions you can hold close to your heart no matter what happens?"

There was a long pause.

"I… don't know," said Ms. Glimmer, sounding dejected.

"Then I think it is safe to say that there are not. At least, not yet. So as I said, you should not count on that path working for you. That is why I recommend the path to redemption, if you are still interested in learning from me."

Ms. Glimmer slowly nodded. "I am, Princess."

"You do not blame me for arranging that your Cutie Mark be taken away?"

Ms. Glimmer shook her head. Luna did not object, so perhaps that answer was honest.

"Do you blame my sister or the court for their ruling?"

Again, a shake of the head.

"You do not blame Ms. Sparkle for taking away your Cutie Mark?"

Head shake. "She's probably the only pony smart enough to figure out the spell."

"Do you blame my fool for hiding it?"

Head shake. "I guess somepony had to," she said, depressed.

"Do you blame the townsponies for speaking out against you? Sugar Belle and Party Favor and Night Glider?"

There was a pause, then a shake of the head.

Luna sighed. "I see that you do blame them."

"I don't!"

"As a former bearer of the Element of Honesty, I can say with certainty that there is a part of you that does."

There was a stretch of silence.

"I will remark," said Luna after the silence lasted a fairly long while, "that my sister has placed you under a restraining order from that village and its inhabitants for the foreseeable future. If you wish to speak with any of them, it will be under supervision, and they have the right to say 'no' to your presence, and you will not be the only one who speaks with them. In short, you will not be given the chance to manipulate them into reducing your sentence. On us, you can try all you wish, as you already have. On them… you defrauded the townsponies from an integral part of their deeply personal property. You took their Cutie Marks from them for an extended period of time, using primarily words and arguments and social pressure. They have suffered enough of your sophistry."

"Sophistry?" asked Starlight's slightly indignant voice – as indignant as a dead voice could get, which was apparently quite indignant. She was also apparently one of the few ponies who deeply understands what that word means, to the point that she actually took offense. "I wasn't- that wasn't- I-" her voice continued producing useless excuse and denial noises for a while, but she was making eye contact with the former bearer of the Element of Honesty the whole time, and Luna simply stared back with an inquiring eyebrow raised. "I am not a sophist," Starlight eventually said.

"Hm…" said Luna. "You have my regrets. I should not have yet used a word to describe you that you are not yet comfortable accepting. That said, it was my own honest assessment. My sister used the words 'manipulation' and 'exploitation', and I'm not sure how you would take either of those. Out of curiosity, what is the harshest word that you would use to describe your own interactions, relationships, and arguments during your time as a leader?"

"Um…" There was a long pause. "Wrong?"

"How was it wrong?"

A much longer pause. "I lied?"

Luna nodded, as if to herself. "Out of further curiosity, what do you think you did well when running the village?"

And Starlight Glimmer immediately went into a long list of all the things she did well, how meticulously organized and clean she kept the village, how she immediately investigated all disputes in order to resolve them, how she contributed her own magic whenever and wherever she could, especially for large scale infrastructure projects like home-building, not to mention smaller scale endeavors like interior design, exterior design, party organization, town fashion choices, and just about everything else.

Luna held up a hoof, and Starlight stopped speaking, though it took her a few moments to notice. "In summary," said Luna. "You can provide layered and nuanced and complex reasons for why you were in the right, what you did right, what you made right. You are deeply aware of all the ways in which you were right. Correct?"

"…Yes, princess."

"And at least part of the reason you were able to… you had to do all those things in the stead of your villagers is because you had magical access to their Cutie Marks. They could no longer do it for themselves, but you could. Yes?"

"…Yes," she said in a voice so small it was barely audible.

"And yet, when I asked the worst term you would use to describe yourself, you drew a long blank, and then you asked that were 'wrong', which is not very specific, let alone nuanced or complex, let alone a firm conviction. When I asked you to elaborate, you drew a much longer blank, and then asked again that you lied. You didn't state it firmly, you asked. And when I asked about your lying earlier, you could not say why lying is wrong except that it is frowned upon. You are aware what Equestria thinks of you now, correct?"

"Yes," said Starlight, instantly and dejectedly.

"No hesitation in answering that question," Luna said in a sad tone. "You are sensitive to how others perceive you. That is what you care about. You said that lies are frowned upon. You didn't say that lies are a violation of trust, that trust is hard to build and easy to shatter. You didn't say that lies cause ponies to waste hundreds of hours of their lives on counterproductive tasks, like digging a hole because somepony told them there's gold buried deep below. You didn't say that that lies can get ponies killed, if the lie is egregious enough, like by telling an earth pony colt that he can fly, or that you'll catch him if he jumps off a cliff. You didn't say any of that. You simply said that lies are frowned upon. Which tells me that, deep down in your heart of hearts, you are able to convince yourself that lies are fine so long as nopony ever notices or finds out, because they cannot frown upon something that they cannot see."

Starlight's mouth made a few denial/objecting noises, but none of the sentences were completed, many of the individual words weren't completed, and they certainly weren't coherently formed.

Luna raised another hoof, and Starlight's stuttering came to an end. "None of this is how a redeemed pony would behave," Luna explained. "A redeemed pony, when asked what they did wrong, or why it was wrong, would not draw a blank. A redeemed pony would speak of principles, not of perceptions. They would talk about the negative impacts of their past deeds, not the way their past deeds were negatively perceived. They would be able to go into excruciating detail about their wrongdoings, why they were wrong, how they justified the wrongness to themselves, what they have done to address those bad mental habits. They would also quantify the damage they did to others and provide restitution of their own volition, without outside pressure forcing them to do it."

Acknowledged, Riddle thought to himself. From the transcript of the session being produced by a reading-writing quill and parchment, Riddle created a magical copy of Luna's most recently spoken segment and stored it in his robes for later review.

Because as she had spoken that particular description of redemption, Riddle's own mind had not produced a single objection. It sounded like it might be exactly correct, at least on first hearing, although of course he shall examine it closely later to see if careful analysis produces the same feeling of correctness.

And if, from his starting point, only a 'redeemed' pony is capable of casting the Patronus, and all 'redeemed' ponies have the mindset Luna just described, then that is one of the many mindsets he shall strive to adopt as an end goal.

"This is why you have not been forgiven by the townsponies," Luna went on. "You hurt them so deeply, and thus far your awareness of that hurt is 'They don't like me anymore'. It seems as though you only care that your reputation has been stained. And so, until you know their hurt almost as deeply as they know their own hurt, until you can offer something to them in return, something beyond mere words, something that makes up for the pain you caused, you will not be forgiven. And you will not even be allowed to speak with any of them unsupervised. By decree of my sister, as agreed by unanimous vote of the nobles and near-unanimous vote of all Equestrians who were watching your case as it was arbitrated, even taking into account your lawyer's best arguments for a lighter sentence. That's all there is to it, Ms. Glimmer."

Strange, thought Riddle. He knew that, if Luna had said this to himself, about himself, there would have been objections. He would have debated. He would have argued. He would have nitpicked the details until she said something he could fully agree with. Mostly because he himself is quite capable of describing many of his own past mistakes exactly. And he knows that Luna's reaction to that counterargument would basically be 'that's not quite what I meant'.

But when her criticism instead strikes at Starlight Glimmer – a much more blatant example than himself – he finds himself understanding Luna's every word, almost agreeing with her every word. It's why he became so enraptured by Night Court Sessions in the first place. When viewing poignant, cutting, and true critiques leveled at others, his brain could pick and choose which criticisms to accept and apply to himself, at his own pace.

Divorcing yourself from the issue, finding a more blatant example of stupidity than yourself, and being offered a competent point-by-point breakdown of that stupidity, can be such a simple bypass to one's own ego and excuses.

You are supremely competent, he thought to himself, at describing all the reasons for why your clever actions were the smart thing to do, the best move that you saw at the time, the optimal path, the RIGHT thing to do under the circumstances. When you objectively fail in your goals, you are supremely competent at searching for better strategies by criticizing past habits.

And yet, you still are not NEARLY as competent at self-attack as you are at self-defense. For obvious reasons. That is not an ideal state to be in. Mr. Potter pointed out that I could have made Horcruxes for others in order to test my invention. He pointed out the ways I could have easily been killed despite my Horcruxes. He demonstrated I have massive blind spots, and relying on myself to see all of those blind spots is beyond hopeless, given that I still had so much blindness even after ten years of solitude, with nothing better to do than search for my own errors. That is why I am here right now.

He had known all this on a subconscious, and indeed a mostly-conscious level. And in this moment he was more aware of it than ever, having seen the problem so blatantly in Starlight. But all of that didn't feel like a complete thought. It was not a goal, nor a solution. It was not a strategy, nor an idea. It was only a criticism. And his vast experience has led him to conclude time and time again that it is easy to criticize, but endlessly difficult to make true and lasting improvement. It is simple to adopt a lofty ambition, but nigh impossible to achieve it.

"Okay, Princess," said Starlight Glimmer, her voice still dejected, and even deader than before. "What… what can I even do, then?"

"First, you can learn to feel again, you can remember the emotions you have suppressed for so long with false faces. Because there is never much that anypony can do in a single day, even when they are doing the right things. At best, one insight I have provided today might sink in. Once you have more self-knowledge about your emotions, then you can start seeing your own past errors one little mistake at a time. As for end goals, until you can morally criticize your past actions and mean it, to the satisfaction of someone who can cast this," she tilted her head at her Patronus, "you can hardly hope to cast it yourself."

Until he can morally criticize his past actions to the satisfaction of one who can cast the true Patronus charm (preferably Luna), and mean it, he can hardly hope to cast the true Patronus himself. To get there, gain more self-knowledge about his emotions.

A part of him was tempted to think 'I have supreme self-knowledge as it stands. I know my motivations, and the motivations of others, as competently as any cynic who ever lived.' But that part of him was outweighed by the objective observer who pointed out that he apparently lacks the requisite amount of emotional competence that would allow him to cast the Patronus at will.

So instead of any self-flattering thoughts, there was only one mental impulse in response to Luna's claim:

Understood.

Chapter 78: UnKind

Hermione Granger saw a sealed and levitating letter on her bedstand that night, floating in front of her phoenix's perch as if to indicate its importance. The missive was a pure white color, not the dirty yellow of wizard's parchment, but it wasn't quite a muggle-style envelope. There was no flap that sticks after you lick it; the letter was literally seamless to the naked eye – no seams or slits or creases or openings or anything else that she could find, just a purely white envelope the size of a muggle envelope. A simple, handwritten scrawl in the dead center of the rectangle said only Ms. Granger. She wondered if Harry was involved, due to the non-wizard paper, but it's not Harry's handwriting. When she picked up the envelope and flipped it over, she found """instructions""" on the back:

How am I opened? That is the most important part of the riddle. (Please perform your attempts in private. If you would like a hint, cast Luminos upon the envelope.)

Hermione sighed and went into the room inside her trunk – a magical trunk which had been delivered to her over the summer, a hand-made gift from Twilight Sparkle and Rarity. There, she tried puzzling out the riddle.

Her cautious, timid, and failed attempts slowly escalated, until eventually she tried brute force – i.e. a "Finite Incantatum!" that did nothing, followed by a careful "Diffindo." charm. The cutting curse left the envelope completely uncut, undamaged, and even unwrinkled, just as all her previous attempts had left it. The letter – "Inflammare" – didn't burn either, and – "Aguamenti" – it was perfectly waterproof despite the feel of normal paper.

Then a new idea came to her…

"Alohomora."

…that didn't work either. She was beginning to suspect that she might be dealing with a Thing of Power. She also realized this test is going to be harder than she thought.

She looked at the instructions again.

How am I opened? That is the most important part of the riddle. (Please perform your attempts in private. If you would like a hint, cast Luminos upon the envelope.)

She decided she wanted the hint.

"Luminos."

Under the red glow of the spell that lit up the paper, new letters appeared:

The wording of the previous hint – not the part in parentheses, though that is useful information to the answer as well – is itself an obscure hint. (If you want another hint, you must wait at least fifteen minutes, then cast Luminos again.)

She sighed. She now suspected she knew who was behind this letter, given just how unashamedly difficult it was. Not to mention the wording. She had an impulse to leave the letter be… but it was probably fine? It was a test, a riddle, and she was a Ravenclaw.

She looked at the wording of the previous hint.

How am I opened? That is the most important part of the riddle.

She was… honestly drawing a blank. But she'd think about it for at least fifteen minutes.

…

…

…

…

…

After fifteen minutes, the best she managed to imagine was that 'riddle' might refer to she-knows-who. And he's asking how he himself is opened. And she had absolutely no clue.

Hint time.

"Luminos."

How do you successfully reach, open, and influence a closed-off mind in a positive way? (Fifteen more minutes, and you may cast Luminos one final time for your final hint.)

…

(She was almost tempted to get out her homework and wait out the fifteen minutes, but that felt like cheating.)

…

…

…

"Luminos."

Think back to the riddle you solved the day of the tour, before the young Slytherin saw and explained the answer at the end of the tour. Think back to what you were told after you solved it much earlier. (If you cannot solve this in thirty minutes, you will be told the answer after a final Luminos.)

…Oh.

She's pretty sure she sees the answer now. Checking back on previous hints… yes, it makes sense that she should be in private. Does it make sense in the other ways? Is this really the most important thing, the means by which a Riddle can be opened and changed?

Only one way to find out. After a moment to center herself…

"Expecto Patronum!"

When the letter still didn't open, she really was tempted to wait out the full thirty minutes. But as a last-ditch effort, she tried putting the letter into her corporeal Patronus and taking it out again.

The envelope opened, a seam cutting perfectly straight across the top where the fold had been.

When the stress of failing the test over and over had finally given way to relief, Hermione took out the contents of the envelope (written on muggle-style copy paper, folded into thirds so that the letter would fit inside the envelope). She let go of her wand to do so, deactivating her Patronus.

The letter flew back into the envelope, which resealed itself.

If she were Twilight Sparkle, her hair would be frizzing in frustration at this point. But since she is Hermione Granger, she simply took a few moments to centered herself again. She recast her Patronus and re-opened the letter, carefully keeping her Patronus active this time as she read the extremely fine print:

This is a request that we initiate and establish important communication between us. If your free will aligns with this request, please circle a date below for our first fully honest conversation.

Advice: One of three Princesses, L, recommends you bravely and prudently choose the same night you read this letter, and no later than next weekend. The other two, T and C, recommend no later than the end of the month, but they do not want to pressure you, and they remind you that you are free to never have the conversation if you do not wish to have it. I would prefer sooner rather than later as well, though I am also tempted to say that I would prefer we never have the conversation.

The first day, if there ever IS a first day, will last no longer than an hour, and you will be introduced to the format that will hopefully resolve conflict peacefully and positively in the long run. You may bring your phoenix to all sessions.

Hermione re-read it a few times, focusing mostly on the supposed recommendations of the princesses. If it was a lie, was it reverse psychology? Or reverse-reverse psychology? And if it wasn't a lie…

She looked down to the calendar below the paragraph, which showed only the current month. Future dates were glowing. Past dates were dimmed out and grey. Today's date was half-glowing – no, less than a quarter glowing, with a perfectly clear line cutting horizontally across the square, dividing the date into a dim upper part and a glowing lower part. The upper part was much bigger than the lower part. Checking her watch… yes, the ratio of glowing-to-not-glowing matched the ratio of time-remaining versus time-elapsed in today's date. It's almost exactly 8 PM right now, and the glowing section took up about one sixth of the overall square, just like how there was only one sixth of the hours in the day left.

There was also a dotted line above the glowing section, and another dotted line below the bottom of the calendar square…

…which must represent potential or elapsed Time-Turned hours, and/or the remaining potential Time-Turned hours in the day. This calendar has got to be Twilight Sparkle's idea. Memory Sunshine had been so deeply wishful to speak with Twilight Sparkle about Time Turners, but she hadn't been allowed. This calendar is exactly the sort of thing Twilight Sparkle would invent to keep track of it.

But that's not the important thing right now. She went back up to Twilight's and Princess Celestia's and Princess Luna's recommendations.

…

Hermione circled the only glowing date that had less glow than all the others. Today's date: Saturday, September 5th.

New instructions appeared.

At 9:00 PM of the day you chose, the meeting will begin in the Astral Plane. You may request the presence of any others who are able to go there – that is to say you may request the presence of other ascendants – but they might not be able to attend on short notice, or even long notice if their schedule conflicts. The earlier you submit your request, the more likely they will be able to find the time. If you are reading this before 9:00 PM on the same day as the tour, L, T, and C all intend to be available, and H can probably make it that day and time as well. T also intends to help you learn how to interface with your plane. To let her know you'd like to speak with her, go to your plane and order your plane to knock on her door.

Sincerely,

-E

A visible clock informed Riddle that it was exactly 20:59:57, 58, 59, and 60.

With a twitch of will, he ordered his Plane to, as the Changelings would call it, 'ping' Memory Sunshine. She is probably hearing a doorbell on her end, or the sound of knocking on wood. Or perhaps there is some other simple audio cue that her brain more readily associates with 'someone is requesting my attention presently', like a teacher clearing his throat.

An aperture appeared in front of him, made from clear glass and embedded in stone like many windows you would find in Hogwarts. Through the pane he saw a chestnut brown alicorn filly with a glowing golden mane, standing alongside a purple alicorn mare with a mane of intricate and ever-fractal patterns and a midnight alicorn of a mane like the night sky.

Riddle Tome still has not quite guessed Memory Sunshine's realm of magic, should she ascend. What feels like his best guess thus far has been 'the magic of learning', but now that he's seen her mane, he suspects it's something different. If it's a golden light… 'the magic of example'? As in the magic of leading/guiding/inspiring others by example, like a shining beacon of gold, or like a lighthouse? But no, that probably wouldn't result in a mane of such a soft and warm glow. If that alicorn ever comes into existence one day – if, indeed, ALL alicorns do not already embody that realm of 'magic', the magic of leading by example – then the resulting ethereal mane would probably look different from Memory Sunshine's. The answer did not feel exactly right, and so he (mostly) discarded it.

All this introspection happened in the space of time that he waited for Ms. Granger to open her side of the window, for he had already opened his own.

Instead of opening her window, she took a stance and called forth her Patronus in such a fashion that he could not hear her speak the incantation. She had apparently learned from Twilight how to be specific and detailed enough in her intentions to only send visual information to other Alicorns. She said something to the Patronus, which listened to its caster politely. Her Patronus then turned around, phased its head through the window as if the window wasn't there, and said, "I shall repeat Hermione Granger's words as she speaks them." Then, after a brief pause, "We'll talk like this," said the Patronus, its lips moving in perfect synchrony with Memory's.

His own Patronus – which he had already cast and which he had been maintaining out of sight, a background habit he is now trying to get into at all times, like maintaining a barrier of Perfect Occlumency – his Patronus did not hesitate to move into a mirrored position.

(His fine control over his own Patronus is nearly unmatched among any who can cast it, even Prince Horizon as far as he can tell. Partly because you have to know many intricate details about what, precisely, the Patronus charm is and is not capable of doing on a technical level, and you have to have a great deal of mental discipline to manipulate your own magic that precisely. Only Twilight Sparkle's skill might exceed his own in that regard. His charm's strength and stability, on the other hoof, still need plenty of work. There are many casters who are far happier than himself – actually, it's probably the case that all other true Patronus wielders are happier than himself. But a small fraction of his current pride/hope/ambition is that, when he does reach their level of strength, his own charm will be basically perfectly solid and unwavering in the face of reality's ugliness, which is something that most pony casters need to work on, even if their average happiness is stronger and less inhibited than his own.)

Without even speaking his own words aloud through his own physical lips, and without hearing confirmation that his message was getting through to Miss Sunshine, his Patronus said to her: "I take it you do not wish to speak face to face?"

"Correct," said her Patronus in a clipped tone, with Memory Sunshine's lips visibly (though not audibly, from his perspective) forming the words. Her eyes were firmly locked on his Patronus now. Not him.

"May I ask why you wish to speak like this?"

"I don't like looking at your mane."

"…Fair enough. You are not the first to hold that preference. I would turn it off, but our manes are untamable here."

You cannot use the mundane mane enchantment in the Astral Plane. Or rather, you can try, but it fizzles out in the face of power that is too strong to suppress. Even when Twilight is super-charging the mundane mane spell, it has a maximum power output. No mundane spell can match the power output of a mane belonging to an Alicorn who is standing in their own Astral Plane.

(And that circumstance is not fully unique to the Astral Plane. If the mundane mane enchantment had been placed upon Prince Horizon when he was purging the world's Dementors, the enchantment would have suffered a similar fate as it does in the Astral Plane.)

And Riddle still hasn't tested if it's possible to become human in the Astral Plane, which would also effectively suppress his mane. And he still isn't eager to test it.

Then Memory Sunshine said, "I also don't like looking at you."

Riddle's Patronus wavered ever-so-minutely, but he absorbed the obviously true fact with barely any difficulty at all. His nagging temptation was to ask, 'Then how do you get through defense class?', but he dismissed the snide remark as an anti-empathetic addiction to deflect and distract and deny, and in so doing, his Patronus charm stopped wavering.

"I don't blame you," his Patronus said to her.

There was a pause as the conversation halted. His own eyes were on Miss Sunshine's, even if her eyes were not on his – it was giving him a half-decent read on her emotions, even if her perfect Occlumency complicates that sort of thing (not that he was reading her mind, but perfect Occlumenses are better at controlling their facial expressions as well) – and so he did notice when her eyes flicked to meet his for a fraction of a second, then focused on his Patronus again.

"Um… okay," said she and her Patronus. "What now?"

"What indeed," his own Patronus conveyed. Not condescendingly, not 'mean'ly, just wearily. "I intend to go over some of our past interactions. Starting small, since this is our first day. If you wish to make a request at any time, including right now, you may."

"Twilight told me about how memory-viewing works," she/her Patronus said. "I don't want to go over to your Astral Plane. And I don't want you to come over to mine."

There was a pause.

It was not surprising in retrospect, and it should not have been unexpected.

His Patronus wavered as he considered objections; but he noticed the wavering, he isolated the root cause – sloth, laziness, not wanting to change a process that has worked perfectly well in the past – and then he brought those emotions to fully conscious attention.

It doesn't work 'perfectly well' in the PRESENT, now does it? he thought to himself. This counter-thought allowed him to resolve the inner conflict and allowed his will to realign with the reality known as 'Ms. Sunshine's preferences', where before his will had been aligned with his mere perceptions and beliefs about her preferences, or his perceptions and beliefs about her lack of preferences.

"Request acknowledged," his Patronus conveyed to her.

And then he took a moment to think. He truly thought. He engaged his brain and his will and his creativity to overcome the obstacle, absorbing the following constraints:

-She probably doesn't want to feel my emotions as she watches.
-She probably doesn't want to be in the same room as me, i.e. be at my mercy, even with Twilight there.
-She didn't say she's opposed to the general approach of viewing our past interactions through the memory-recall function of the Astral Plane.

Thanks to his past experience at creative problem-solving, it took him less than a few seconds to imagine a set-up that might work. And yet, if not for realigning his free will, he might not have seen the solution at all, or so soon.

He willed his window to take a certain shape – a solid wall of glass, like could be found in the Philosopher's Hospital instead of Hogwarts. To the left of where he was standing, along the straight vertical line of the glass stretching off into infinity, the glass pane folded towards himself , as if it were two panes instead of one, stopping when it formed a 120° angle with the glass in between himself and Memory Sunshine. Beyond the angled pane of glass, perpendicular to the pane between himself and Miss Sunshine, half of a memory-viewing window appeared.

"Observe," he said, and manifested a tall mirror, then slowly turned it so she might see his set-up. "If you mirror this window shape on your side, we might be able to jointly form a cordoned-off room, shaped like an equilateral triangle, made of two walls of glass and one wall of memory, so that we are both looking at the same screen, and we can still see and speak with each other while we watch, without ever entering the other's Astral Plane."

For now, the chestnut filly's window frame – how she viewed him – did not change: clear glass set inside cold stone. "How do I know that won't make it easier for you to break through the glass?" her voice asked, though he saw a flicker of wavering in her Patronus as it spoke the words.

Riddle allowed Miss Sparkle to handle that question. Or rather, before Riddle even had a chance to respond, Twilight Sparkle had begun to whisper what was likely an answer to Miss Sunshine's technical/magical question about the Astral Plane.

"Well, what if I don't even want him seeing the rest of my Astral Plane?" asked her Patronus in a voice that, from the outside perspective, sounded much like whining child who is looking for excuses. Miss Granger had instructed her Patronus to repeat what she said as she said it, not realizing…

"You might wish," his Patronus said to her, "to include a clause to your Patronus that it should only repeat the words you intend for me to hear. Also-" his Patronus wavered as he considered what to say next, things to the effect that she clearly didn't want to do this and was just looking for excuses. "-Also, if you don't want to view memories at all, we can take a different approach until you agree to return to that idea. If you ever agree." His Patronus did not waver as it said that, for it was not delivered in a critical/unempathetic tone and it did not contain critical/unempathetic words or ideas.

Again, Miss Sunshine's eyes flicked to meet his, a bit longer this time, and again her eyes wrenched back to his Patronus. "What?" she/her Patronus asked.

"I never asked you how you wished to approach this conversation," said his Patronus, shining brightly. "I only stated my own intended path. I should have asked first. But before you answer, you might wish to tell your Patronus to only repeat that which you consciously intend for me to hear. I overheard your question to Twilight about not wanting me to so much as see more of your Astral Plane."

The now-embarrassed Ravenclaw pony repeated that set of instructions to her Patronus, then said, "Okay. What I want to know is exactly what all you did to me."

Riddle's eyebrows rose. "Well," he said. "That is a tall order, and it contains a great deal of information that will take much longer than an hour." He gestured to his left. "I intended to show you our primary interactions sequentially so that I don't miss anything, and so that we could handle it in multiple sessions. Are you are saying you would prefer I say it in words first?"

"In your own words, yes," said the alicorn filly's Patronus.

She should already know. Riddle had spent long hours with Mr. Potter carefully combining and composing their memories of that conversation in the third floor corridor for maximum watchability. Ms. Granger should have seen that entire thing on the Hogwarts express, and she should have been particularly focused on the moments where Professor Quirrell answered Harry's question of 'What exactly did you do to Hermione?'

…

He shut down the stray, annoyed thought.

"…Very well," his Patronus said after it had stopped flickering, the very same moment he shut down the stray thought.

(And it should be mentioned that it was not a visible flickering. Much of what he has to deal with these days, in an effort to head off problems before they arise, is incredibly subtle. After so long, he has trained himself to recognize even the subtle wavering – the flutterings so small that anybody else who was watching his Patronus from the outside wouldn't be able to notice or tell the difference.)

In his own words, he began his explanation. "What I magically did to you that you don't remember was four-fold: Obliviation, False Memory Charms, a hypnosis-trance spell, and, in order to give myself time as I set the stage for my various direct plots concerning you, I used a stasis-paralysis-stunning hex that essentially freezes the victim in place, such that they don't realize any time has passed when the hex is lifted so long as they are caught unawares. My changing of guises was not instant, back when I was trying to tempt you into a conspiracy, and the blood cooling plot required that stasis charm a few times as well, when you and Mr. Malfoy were in the trophy room. I did nothing else overtly magical to you that you don't remember. Oh, and I cursed your items before I sent the troll after you, but you already knew that, and that wasn't technically done to your person, only your effects. I don't recall doing anything else to your effects, at any other point in time."

Twilight Sparkle, next to Memory Sunshine, was twitching violently. Like she really, really wanted to speak, but was restraining herself, because this wasn't her conversation. Luna continued observing silently.

"What all did you Obliviate?" Miss Sunshine asked almost immediately. "And what False Memories do I have?"

"I Obliviated the hours of manipulation attempts I tried on you. At the end of those hours, I False Memory Charmed you to make you obsess about Mr. Malfoy and Snape. I obliviated that False Memory later, during the blood cooling plot. In the trophy room, I False Memory Charmed you to believe you cast the blood cooling charm. I did not False Memory Charm the duel. I wanted as much of it to be real as possible. When Mr. Malfoy did not taunt you after his victory, as I had been expecting of him, only then did I intervene and craft the story from there. So your only remaining False Memory that I know about is of Mr. Malfoy taunting you after your loss, and of your casting the Blood Cooling Charm on him, as well as everything else you remember of that night after that moment. I allowed your mind's own suggestibility to fill in the blanks from there. It was the hypnosis trance spell that returned you to your bed and put you to sleep for the night."

"What about the next morning?" asked a young filly's Patronus, a strange tone in her voice. Desperation? Pleading? Something like that.

"All charms should have worn off by the time you woke up," said his Patronus, which could not convey a falsehood. "If anything happened to you then, I don't know about it."

"You didn't hypnotize me to prevent me from turning myself in when I woke up?"

He blinked. "I honestly did not consider that you might do that. Did you consider it?"

"Yes," said her Patronus. "Did you mess with my mind to make me too scared of Dementors to turn myself in like I knew I should do?"

…

(Behind his Perfect Occlumency, his true self shifted. A little. And his Patronus strengthened. A little. What a way to thwart Voledmort's plans that would have been. Or at least hinder them, and provide credence to the true claim of a false memory charm.)

…

"…No," he answered her question after the pause had passed. "As I said, I hadn't considered it. If I had considered it… no, I never would have imagined you might do that. But if I had, I probably would have accepted the risk as so incredibly unlikely that it wasn't worth the added risk of further magic. To guard against that scenario perfectly would have required a Legilimency impulse."

"You didn't do that to me?"

"No. Legilimency would have been caught by the court examiners. I never Legilimized you at any point until your perfect Occlumency lessons."

A new Patronus sprung up and stuck its head through the window. "When did you do perfect Occlumency lessons on her?" asked Twilight's indignant voice.

"While she was in Equestria," said Riddle's. "Among other private lessons. We waited until Silver declared she could perform the standard block so I would not see her every thought, but Silver was not nearly a good enough Legilimens to push and probe and prod her shields with a truly strong offense."

"Well no wonder she was stressed out all the time and I couldn't figure out why! You- you- you can't just-" there was a sound of frustration.

"-I need five minutes to speak with Memory," said a third Patronus. Luna's Patronus. "No more words between you two until I do."

The exposed windowpane tinted black, and Riddle could no longer see the other side.

Instead of twiddling his hooves, he tried to imagine what Luna might wish to discuss- no, he instead tried to examine his own private lessons with Miss Sunshine, what he remembered of them after thirty-five years, and retroactively see his own ethical errors.

As usual when examining memories from that long ago, in came the initial wave of excuses.

I did not wish to reveal Occlumency/Legilimency to Equestria. Thus I could not Vow that I would never share her secrets and/or Obliviate myself of what I saw after the fact, even if I wanted to, because the Vow would have revealed it to one or more third parties, not to mention the permanent sacrifice of magic.

Counter: I could have composed a contract, signed it in front of Miss Memory, told her to keep it and always check if it is active. A contract that said I would Obliviate myself after every session, or refrain from repeating her secrets seen with Legilimency. What I actually didn't want to do was Obliviate myself. At all. Nor bind my free will.

His past self had been fine with Obliviating himself to better hide his Horcruxes. His past self had not been fine with Obliviating himself for just about any other reason. Especially not for the benefit of others. At most he could be convinced to lock memories away, and that was for his own personal benefit.

Even with the hindsight bias that past Obliviations don't matter anymore due to the memory restoration ritual – that in this day and age what really matters is the nondisclosure Vow/contract – making that kind of promise to Memory Sunshine is still not something he would have done.

…

Is it something he would do today?

…

Yes. Today he would be more than willing to contract himself to not share her mental secrets. He would be able to form a Parseltongue promise about it if necessary. He would be capable of aligning and committing his free will to that permanent course of future action. When they speak again, he should make that offer pro bono. Actually, he could do it right away with his Patronus charm.

Is there anything else about his past lessons with Miss Sunshine that he should examine?

…

…

…

Not that he could easily see, though the slight wavering in his Patronus informed him there was something there.

The window untinted.

"May I say something immediately?" asked his Patronus.

Twilight looked at him skeptically. As did Memory.

Luna simply said, "What is it?"

"I swear I have not, to my knowledge, used information seen from within your mind against you, Miss Sunshine, nor shared it with others, and I swear that, to the best of my ability, I will not use it against you in the future, nor allow it to be used against you, nor shall I share it with others."

There was a brief pause.

"Okay," said Luna. "On behalf of Memory, thank you, but that's not what I was going to say. What I was going to say- what I was going to ask, is this: Are you, Tom Riddle, able to give a deep, heart-felt apology to her, Hermione Granger, for being unKind to her? Are you able to promise to never be unKind to her again without her express permission, in advance, for every occurrence of potential unKindness? Until you do, she'd rather you not speak to her directly outside necessary and normal Defense class interactions."

"…Could you clarify?" he asked. "What, precisely, do you mean by 'unKind'?"

"Well, that you cannot precisely nail it down yourself is part of the problem," said Luna, to Hermione's and Twilight's agreeing nods. "In the past, you were evil to her, which was extremely unKind. Recently, you have not been evil to her, but you have still been mildly unKind on a consistent basis. You still do not meet her minimum standards of virtue for her to want to speak with you. The absence of a negative does not necessarily equal a positive."

"And the worst part is that you think you're being nice," said the sunshine-maned filly. "Like that one time when Harry scared Padma with the ghost, he thought he was being nice when he really, really wasn't."

That gave the thestral a bit of pause. "Acknowledged, but informing a blind man he is blind does not help him to see what he cannot see. May I ask precisely how I've been unKind recently?"

"Like this," said Luna. She took on a false cadence. "'I know I mind-raped you, tried to Dement you, and then killed you, Miss Granger. Now let's talk about your homework."

This drew an involuntary laugh out of Miss Granger, where before her expression had been dour and serious. "No, no," she said, taking on a voice of her own, "let's talk about some life advice! Let's talk about how to solve puzzles. That's extremely important, you know.'"

Luna was smiling at the young pony. But she let her expression return to neutral before summarizing the problem for Riddle's benefit. "You lecture and preach and try to strike up unimportant conversations. For the past 35 years, in a world where nopony suffered great evil from you, that might have been fine. But with someone you have deeply hurt, it is not fine. Every time you speak to her without addressing the important issues, it is unKind of you to do so."

"…I see. Anything else?"

"She does not like your presence. She wishes to exercise her freedom of disassociation from you outside of classes, until you are Kind. And you are not noticing or respecting that preference of hers." Luna's eyes turned to face the young Alicorn. "Unless I am misrepresenting you?"

"No, that was good."

"…Acknowledged," said Riddle. "So what now?"

"Now I think it is best if we put this conversation between you and Miss Granger on hold. Wait until she comes to you. Wait until your personality and interactions in class suggest to her that you are Kinder. Eventually, if you come to meet her standards, she will voluntarily speak with you. Until then, do not impose your presence on her. Until you can make that apology to Miss Granger, and mean it enough to never be unKind to her again, these sessions might do more harm than good."

…

(His Patronus was wavering now. Visibly so.)

…

"…Your request is a tall order," he eventually remarked. "In the sense that it shall be difficult to be outwardly Kind when the dark, ambiguous Defense Professor has appearances to keep up."

"Does he though?" asked Luna's Patronus. "He can't finally be the Kind sort of dark and ambiguous?"

He had literally no words to respond to that.

"And we're not even in class right now," added the young girl's Patronus. "Are you even able to be Kind at times like this?"

Even harder wavering, and it took a while to try to see something that would stop the wavering.

"Not quite yet," he said honestly. "Which is to say that even if I made that apology to you, I imagine I wouldn't meet your standards for a good long while. I should mention my redemption was not complete when Dumbledore released me. It was merely adequate."

"And you've been drifting along in a sea of adequacy ever since," Luna pointed out.

"I've been making progress each night," he remarked. "Even if it's slow."

"Slow, you say," Luna repeated thoughtfully. "May I ask what your current ambition is?"

"To-" he began, then he blinked as he realized what he had been about to say would not have fit his old definition of an actual ambition. "Hm. Interesting. It would seem I don't have a solid one."

And he hadn't even noticed.

After escaping the Mirror, he'd been generally happy and occupied. Enough that he hadn't felt like he needed an ambition to keep from being bored. Things like 'saving the world' and 'saving as many lives as possible' and 'providing restitution for past wrongs' are not solid ambitions because there is no means for him to succeed to the point of conclusion, there is no definitive end date, no tangible overarching goal with a clearly defined end-point. There are lesser goals, but he's already fallen into routine and habit of succeeding at those, and now he needs a new and better ambition, something that pushes him to go faster.

Especially in the moral realm. Even he can admit his own progress is slow. At some point – at this point – it might be helpful to ask if there are any means of going just a bit faster. Or better yet, why he is not going faster.

Luna asked, "Do you think it might be good for you to adopt a new ambition?"

"I think that it would be," he agreed.

"Can you think of any ambitions to adopt? Something you genuinely want to do, something you genuinely want to achieve? Think carefully."

…

…

…

"I think I genuinely want to…"

Achieve peace between himself and her? Yes, but not solid… no, that is solid enough, but it relies on her.

Adopting an ambition that the free will of someone else shall change on a deep level is like trying to orchestrate a plot that requires a million things to go right. (And when you take Crucio off the table, it's like trying to orchestrate that same plot without cheating.)

So what can he strive for, if not peace with his past victims?

Well, Luna's primary concern is his unKindness…

"My goal is to become the sort of pony that the Element of Kindness would not outright reject- no. My goal is to become the sort of pony capable of bearing it."

One thing he grew to suspect after thirty five years, after interacting so much with Luna-the-'former'-Bearer-of-Honesty, is that there are no definitive 'Bearers' of the Elements. There are only those who are more fit than others, and those who are less fit, and those who are most fit, and those who are unfit. Luna is fit for Honesty, but not typically the most fit on any given day, though she has her moments, moments where her own fitness far exceeds Applejack's.

Riddle suspected that, in theory, it's possible for anypony, anywhere, at any time to grow fit to bear an Element, if they make the right decisions and adopt the right thought patterns and grow strong enough in those thought patterns. If Riddle is unfit for Kindness due to his current habits, and he almost certainly is unfit, then his ambition should be to grow fit enough to be a potential Bearer for Kindness, as Luna is a potential Bearer for Honesty.

His Patronus shone strongly, now.

Luna's right. Absence of a negative is not the same as the presence of a positive. He's been focusing on the practical positives so much – immortality for the world, hedging against war between muggles and wizards, making Harmony win – that he lost sight of the people directly in front of his face. The things in his personal life. He lost sight of his goal to personal virtue. The problem of abstracting to avoid the here-and-now is ever the addictive temptation to the intelligent mind.

An ambition is exactly what he needs to stir and him to greater speeds and heights. His slow pace in recent months proves his lack of a pressing ambition. He needs a solid goal that he can strive towards.

He will not abandon or in any way shirk his efforts at improving life and the world. But along the way, his ambition is to not be unKind while he does it. While simultaneously not being stupid. A terribly difficult ambition indeed.

"Hmm…" said Luna. "How long do you expect that to take?"

An ambition with a deadline, that is correct, thank you Luna. Because he no longer has the luxury of Time being frozen.

"It took thirty-five years to go from extremely unKind to mildly unKind. Another thirty-five would be a realistic time frame to from mild to not at all."

Luna took a deep breath, then sighed. "While I admire why you wish to adopt that ambition," she said gently, "I genuinely think Kindness is out of your grasp for now. Because to my ears, you sound like Fluttershy declaring she shall learn the Killing Curse. Your ultimate ability to be Kind would be better served by tackling a different Element first, I think."

There was a pause.

"…Is this another attempt to get me to admit the truth to Magical Britain right away, without further delay?"

"Possibly. What do you think, Memory?" asked Luna's Patronus, which had faced to turn Memory's. "Can any of his interactions in Britain be truly Kind while he is deliberately hiding such a scarily massive secret, looming in his shadow like a Lethifold?"

"No," said Memory without hesitation. "That's a good point, and it's been bothering me this whole time." Her Patronus faced Riddle. "Admit the truth to Magical Britain. Then we can talk."

Around three hours later, the Saturday after the first week of Hogwarts classes came to an end. Meaning that the weekend is only half-over.

Rehabilitation 15.3: The Silent Killer of Happiness

"Until you can morally criticize your past actions and mean it," said Princess Luna to Starlight Glimmer, "to the satisfaction of someone who can cast this," she tilted her head at her active Patronus charm, "you can hardly hope to cast it yourself."

Starlight Glimmer was frowning. "Morally criticize myself?" she asked uncertainly.

"And mean it."

"But… how do I do that if it's not enough to say that I lied?"

"By examining your emotions. You keep asking what you can do, but what's important is how you feel. Why did you feel justified in stealing the Cutie Marks of others? Why did you feel justified in trying to break up Twilight's friendships?"

"Because she broke up mine FIRST!" Starlight snapped back, and then gasped and covered her mouth. "Sorry," she squeaked in a small voice.

"No, no," said Luna, now looking more lively. "That was very good! It was the most honest you've been all night. Why do you think Twilight broke up your friendship?"

But Starlight was shaking her head. "I don't!" she said hastily. "I mean, not anymore."

"And back comes the filter," Luna said with a sigh. "Sometimes I wish-" she began, then cut herself off, her eyes widening. "Starlight, would you give me a moment? A clever thought occurred to me. It could move this conversation forward by miles."

"Um… okay?"

"Thank you. Pardon me." And then Luna closed her eyes. Her horn glowed in a small trace of what looked to be anti-light, to Starlight's curious fascination.

Riddle, who was watching, recognized that spell. He had taught it to her. But why-

"Can you hear me, my fool?" asked Luna through the Horcrux in his skull.

"I can," he said aloud. "Why are you contacting me this way?"

"I was not sure if you were still busy hiding her Cutie Mark in a remote location."

"Why not use your Patronus?"

"Because I wished for my Patronus to stay here with me and Starlight. It is also not unwise to give this method a live test. If you wish for me to never do this again unless my body ACTUALLY dies and I am in need of actual assistance, I can make that promise."

His perpetual frown turned thoughtful. He considered it. He made his decision.

"No need. For now I don't mind. I will let you know if my preference changes in the future." Like if she tried to take over his body by surprise, a thought which has occurred to him before, all the way back when he first thought to horcrux a part of his own body. Not that he expected her Vow to allow such a thing, nor did he expect her will and magic to prevail against his own if it did. And even if she did win such a battle, he could always abandon the body and escape to his own horcruxes, create a new body, et cetera. "What was the possibly clever thought that came to you?"

"Are you capable of brewing the truth serum you've told me about?"

Hm. That is an interesting thought. "I am, and I am not."

"Beg pardon?"

"I have memorized the recipe, I've brewed it before, and I could easily do it again." He stopped in slight pause for suasive effect. "If I had the proper ingredients."

"…I see. How much of the recipe cannot be found on Equus?"

"Exactly one ingredient, as far as my research has led me to conclude. Or rather, exactly one creature. But even if Joberknolls do perch on this planet somewhere, or even if a replacement ingredient could be found, Veritaserum takes a full Lunar Cycle to brew. It is not something that could be produced on short notice in any case. Unless you sped up the Lunar Cycle manually, assuming that would even work. And if other brewers in other parts of Equestria are relying on the Lunar Cycle in their brewing, such an experiment might have interesting unexpected consequences."

He's had that thought before, and he's always been curious as to whether it would actually work. Quite a few modern potions do rely on the Lunar Cycle, and it's been proven that the phases of the moon actually matter to the recipes. It wasn't just an archaic way of timing longer brews back before clocks had been invented.

"Noted," thought Luna. "Thank you, my scholar."

He blinked at the new moniker. Well, not 'new' per se, but she's never addressed him that way. There was the impulse to say You're welcome, my employer, but he decided not to offer insult or cheek to the first time she addressed him with a somewhat respectable title.

"You are welcome," he said simply.

"It would seem," said Luna out loud on the other side of the one-way wall, "that my clever idea is unworkable after all."

"What was it?" asked Starlight, who had been waiting in silence for a while.

"An artificial means to remove your filter for a time and cause you to speak honestly."

"…You were going to force me to speak honestly?"

"No," Luna answered with firm conviction. "I would have presented you with the option. If you had consented, we would have gone forward from there. If not, we would have done things normally."

Riddle frowned from behind the wall. Isn't this the same pony who unabashedly uses her element to discern when others are lying? Doesn't she and any other wielder of Honesty constantly exude a subtle magical pressure on others to tell the truth? Hasn't she used the threat of force in conjunction with her element to get the truth out of others? Like back when he was in Thorax's body?

And now she's against the idea? Has something changed, or is this another flexible moral guideline that changes based on circumstance?

"…You were going to give me the option to consent to being forced to speak honestly?" Starlight asked.

Is it because Starlight is currently a petitioner seeking aide, not an enemy of the state or a criminal who's currently on trial? Riddle made a mental note and a physical note to ask later. Now that moral quibbles actually matter to his future, it's a habit he has gotten into.

"I've been thinking about it for a while," Luna shrugged, "and one of the curses of a curious mind is the temptation to test one's ideas. The main good use I can see for that bit of magic is to use it as a tool to grant a pony self-knowledge immediately." She shook her head sadly. "But, as with many things clever, it would have been cheating, if it had even been possible. I apologize for the delay, we shall do this the normal way – the way we would have done it with any other petitioner if you did not consent to forced sincerity. May I ask about your past friendship that was broken by Twilight Sparkle?"

What followed from there was, in Riddle's opinion, standard fanfare for modern Equestria, and for Luna's modern Night Court sessions. An incredibly blatant and straightforward story, bordering on cliché, likely arranged by the Mirror itself in order to teach a moral lesson.

More often than not, Riddle feels as though these sob stories are meant for five-year-old girls. He often wonders if the Mirror is mocking him, or if the Mirror is simply informing him that his progress on the 'good' side of the apparently real spectrum of good vs. evil (as evidenced by the existence of the Patronus Charm) is only at the level of a five-year-old. Or perhaps, since he can see through the potential propaganda, and since the lessons don't even stick more often than not, maybe the Mirror is informing him that he isn't even at the level of a five-year-old girl yet.

It's often hard to make moral progress when you suspect that the world around you is literally being manipulated on a granular level for that exact purpose. But even still, he extracted the moral easily enough, by the time Luna got to it. But what really caught his attention was what came immediately afterwards.

"Did you know, Ms. Glimmer," Luna said to Starlight, who at this point had mostly recovered from the emotional highs and lows of sharing her early life story, "That lying itself can be a debilitating addiction?"

The light pink pony shook her head. "It can?"

"Lies provide short-term benefits, and typically come with long term costs. And lying can easily become a habit. Is that not an addiction? A habit with short term benefits and long term costs?"

"I… guess so, Princess," said Starlight, though she didn't sound completely convinced.

"Do you know why addictions come to exist in the first place, Starlight?"

This again? Riddle did not think. In his countless hours of watching Night Court, he has sat through numerous iterations of the same topics, and he never once felt like that was a bad thing. Luna herself was intelligent enough to get incredibly frustrated with repetition, and so she would mix things up between sessions, for her own sake if nobody else's. Not to mention that the same prompts can lead to wildly different results between different petitioners. For instance…

"I always thought addictions existed because ponies don't know any better when they start, and they're hard to break when they set in," said Starlight, giving an answer that Riddle himself might have given – academic and along the lines of what his mental model of Luna might say. Most other petitioners aren't at that level, and so this will be the first time he sees Luna respond to a half-decent answer, where addiction is concerned.

"Well… that's usually true. But that's not quite why addictions exist in the first place, it's why they often aren't pre-empted, and why they continue existing after they've formed." And every time, she says something interesting. "Young ponies who don't know that fire is hot might get themselves burned once, when they didn't know any better, but that doesn't result in a habit of burning themselves, it usually results in a habit of avoiding fire. I'm asking why a pony would start engaging in self-destructive behavior."

"…Because they don't realize it's self-destructive? You just said most addictions have long term costs."

"That's a big part of it. The more degrees of separation there are between cause and effect, the harder it can be to connect the dots, and time is the one of the biggest causal separators of all, in the minds of most intelligent beings. But ignorance of long-term consequences is only half of the equation. There are many addicts who are not ignorant of the damage they are doing. Do you know the other half of the addiction equation?"

"…The short-term benefit? You said that too."

Luna nodded. "I did. To cut to the chase, addictions form because they feel good. And I know this is going to come as a terrible shock, Ms. Glimmer, but feeling good is a big part of the Equinoid condition. Addictions have been used across the history of the Equinoid races to cope with the difficulties of life. You'd be surprised how much of ancient Equestria, and how much of modern Gryffonia… and how much most of the Equinoid world was built upon the back of alcohol addicts. Do you know why I'm mentioning this, Starlight?"

"Um… no?"

"I'm mentioning it so that, hopefully, you will keep in mind that nopony is exempt from what I'm about to say. Not me, not my sister, not you, and not anypony else throughout history. Okay?"

"…Okay."

"Do you believe you are addicted to anything, Miss Glimmer?"

"I never thought I was."

"Addicts are low-status, correct?"

"Of course."

"And you view yourself as high-status, right?"

Starlight was silent, but even without speaking, it was clear that the question very much bothered her.

"Sometimes, Miss Glimmer, it's as simple as that."

There was another stretch of silence.

"Are you sure?" asked Starlight quietly.

"Yes."

"Can you… explain why you're sure?"

"Here is my evidence, Miss Glimmer, and please stop me if any of it sounds wrong. An obese pony lies to others or himself about how much he eats, most of the time. The addiction there is to sugar, or to food, or to the feeling of satiety. An obsessive spender will lie to herself about her spending habits. She cannot stand to so much as look at a document detailing her poor purchases, to have her spending pointed out to her as the unnecessary behavior that it is." Luna's horn glowed, and a magical mirror appeared behind her. It was not the Mirror, but it was a magical mirror. Luna gazed into it, and reflected within was Nightmare Moon. There was sorrow in her voice as she said, "An arrogant mare, addicted to her own image of herself, addicted to pride and self-flattery, will lie about any true facts that make her look bad. Most crucially of all, she will never admit to being addicted to anything, because that would certainly make her look bad." The mirror disappeared, and Luna turned around to face Starlight again. "Wherever constant lies are involved, Ms. Glimmer, there is often addiction to be found nearby, and addictions often overlap. You were constantly lying in the village, therefore you were probably addicted to something. Something big. Does that make sense?"

"Yes." Starlight at least looked like an attentive student might.

"Now before I offer my own thoughts, do you know what you might be addicted to?"

"…To lying itself?"

"Perhaps," said Luna. "But remember, addictions overlap. Lying is typically tangential to the true addiction. Lying is the enabler, the cover. Do you have any other ideas for what you might have been addicted to?"

She didn't.

"Have you ever heard the term 'workaholic' before, Miss Glimmer?"

"Oh, I've been called that all the time."

Luna smiled. "I'm not surprised. You are a very productive pony, Miss Glimmer." Her smile dimmed. "But that comes with its own risks. When it comes to productivity in the political realm in particular… well, political action is one of the most addictive kinds of work out there. It gives the feeling of authority over others, it feels important, it feels morally righteous, and it can lead to lots of attention and praise when things go well. Perhaps the political actor truly believes in the cause, and perhaps the cause is indeed a noble one. But even if that were the case, it's all too easy to become addicted to power. And addictions are always used to distract and abstract from the painful problems in one's personal life. Always. Does that match your own experiences, Ms. Glimmer? In your own life, and as you've witnessed in others?"

Riddle didn't much pay attention to the hesitant answer, nor to the three or four times that Luna had to iterate and rephrase until Ms. Glimmer verbally accepted the insight. He didn't even bother dwelling too much on how Luna was obviously softening the blow a lot by saying Starlight is addicted to something that is itself flattering. Starlight views 'workaholic' as a compliment, after all. (He didn't bother dwelling on this because, in part, it also helped his own mind accept the critique more quickly.)

Instead, Riddle asked himself what painful thing he had been avoiding, what problems he had been abstracting himself from, back during his time as Voldemort. It was a difficult question to answer when his mind kept on trying to insert the false answer of 'I was avoiding the pain of terror that the world will end.' It didn't sound correct even to his own internal ear, he knew it was just another way of phrasing his justifications. He wasn't avoiding the terror of Armageddon, he was addressing it. So that can't be the answer of what he was actually avoiding.

After a few minutes of drawing a blank, eventually the session with Starlight progressed forward, thankfully in the exact direction he was hoping it would.

"Do you know what painful thing you were avoiding in your personal life, Ms. Glimmer?"

"My… past?" she asked hesitantly.

"Not quite. Emotional pain might have started in the past, but once you have distanced yourself from your old life entirely, the pain only ever continues into the present because your current behaviors perpetuate that painful past. Everypony responds differently to trauma, but the shadows of those responses often stay with us for decades. We adopted behaviors in order to cope with traumatic circumstances, and we failed to change our habits of behaviors after the circumstances were no more. It's these current habits that are currently causing you pain. Unless you have not left the traumatic circumstances, but I'm not sure that applies in your case. I'm asking if you know what current behaviors of yours, or perhaps current mindsets, are painful?"

"Not having a Cutie Mark," Starlight said sourly.

"Before that," said Luna easily. "It would be something that applied to you before you were caught. Most likely it is something that you were feeling before you even began your career as village leader."

After a long pause, Starlight said she couldn't see it.

"Would it be fair to say," said Luna, "that you were lonely when your friend left, Ms. Glimmer?"

"Completely fair," said Ms. Glimmer without hesitation.

"Would it be fair to say," said Luna, "that even after you began engaging in politics, you were still… intellectually lonely? That there was nopony else on your level?"

"Yes." Again, no hesitation.

"Would it be fair to say that, while you had many acquaintances, you had no truly close and deep friends?"

There was a brief pause to think, and then, "Yes, that's fair."

"Then here is my hypothesis: the painful thing you were avoiding in your personal life was the deep-rooted pain of loneliness and isolation. Does that match?"

After another pause, Starlight began nodding. "Yes. It does. But I wasn't avoiding my loneliness with the village, I was fixing it.

"If only it were that easy," said Luna. "If the pain could truly be fixed that way, Starlight, I would still be Nightmare Moon. She had more admirers and servants and followers than I do to this day. But she was never happy."

Riddle could actually see that argument get to Starlight.

Luna continued speaking. "Those who belong to a social species are not meant to be alone for extended periods of time. You and I were both supplementing our feelings of loneliness by surrounding ourselves with ponies. Being admired, being respected, being at the top of the social ladder… all of that delivered happy feelings to our minds. Just as being in the reverse position is now delivering unhappy signals to your mind. Correct?"

"Yes…" said Starlight skeptically. "You feel the same way?"

"It was difficult at first, but my current position is not currently delivering unhappy signals to my mind." She tilted her head at her Patronus. "Quite the opposite, in fact." Luna paused, seeming to think for a while. "Status, respect, praise, admiration, political power – using these to fill the emptiness inside is like trying to cure an amputation with a band-aide. Your wound was loneliness and isolation, and you tried to fill that hole in your soul with acquaintanceship. Think back to your time as village leader, Ms. Glimmer, and ask yourself: Could you have cast this charm-" she tilted her head at her Patronus "-with your happiness, at that time, using those happy feelings?"

Starlight was frowning, now, even as Riddle knew the answer. "Yes?"

Luna shook her head. "When you know more of the Patronus, you will know that the answer to that question is a firm 'no'. Surface level happiness is not enough for this charm. You need deep love and true caring. From another and for another, in a way that can't be faked. Did you receive deep love and true caring from anypony in the village, Miss Glimmer?"

A depressed voice said, "I thought I did."

"But it turned out not to be real, correct?"

"Correct," said Starlight, a bit acerbically.

"Just as the claims you made to them turned out not to be real?"

Starlight scowled. She looked down at her hooves

Luna took another long pause to think. Then, eventually, she said, "I think that is more than enough for today. I will leave you with this final insight, and I would like you to dwell on it. I will then give you homework. Okay?"

"Okay, Princess," said Starlight.

"Loneliness is like an abortionist." The purple-pink pony's eyes widened, but Luna spoke on. "It is the silent killer of your future happiness that hasn't even been born yet. While you were alone, love could not be birthed within you, you were not truly happy."

There was a long pause.

"Okay," said Starlight. "What's my homework?"

"Learn the casting procedure of this charm – Twilight will help you with that – and try to cast it using whatever happy thoughts you can. You will get a feeling of 'not right' for the thoughts you try. Don't worry, it's a normal part of learning the spell, everypony goes through it. I would like you to try casting the spell with as many different happy thoughts as you can, until you are familiar with that 'not right' feeling."

"Okay, Princess." And Starlight Glimmer departed the chamber.

As Riddle watched her go, he reflected on his own past actions and mindsets, trying to extract the general lesson of what he had just seen.

Had he really become a Dark Lord and surrounded himself with followers because, fundamentally, he was born into a social species and he was isolated and alone in his adult life?

Obviously it wasn't his conscious and deliberate reason, but the fact that he had violated his rules by extending the game with Dumbledore for emotional reasons even he couldn't see until long after the fact was proof that he hadn't been as immune to his own subconscious as he'd believed.

Voldemort had been the least annoying role he had ever played, and the reason for that was that he was finally, finally surrounded by people – surrounded by people – who thought like he did. Who could see the world like he did, at least in part, and they saw that he was incredibly competent in that particular way of thinking. Even if he had to force it into them through torture and the threat of death, he got them to understand his perspective. As much as ordinary idiots could understand what little of it he was willing to reveal. Furthermore, he was playing the game against Dumbledore, which was not unlike a social interaction with a mind that was on par with his own. That, too, did something to fill a void that a deep part of him wanted to fill, even if it was a strategic error to waste years in drawing out the war.

In a recent Night Court session, Luna had remarked that when you are cynically unraveling your own personal, unknown, emotional motivations, you shouldn't latch on to the first explanation you hear that sounds possibly correct. And so Riddle would stew on this one for a while.

And he would eventually conclude that, yes, loneliness and intellectual isolation was something like a dull background pain to which he thought he had grown numb long ago, and yes, that pain might have been a contributing factor to his stint as a Dark Lord.

The first thought that followed this insight was that he was adhering to his list of 37 rules. Consciously violating those rules for emotional reasons would have been a strategic error. But wise or not, those rules were making him unhappy. Had been making him unhappy for a long time. The rules might not have been the initial cause of his unhappiness, but they enforced an existing state of mind; they prevented him from acting in any way that would have led the young Tom Riddle to true happiness.

…

And with nowhere else to take that train of thought, he would then realize that his own mind had distracted him from the initial insight that led him down that chain of reasoning:

Loneliness is like an abortionist. It is the silent killer of your future happiness that hasn't even been born yet.

His own mind really doesn't like dwelling on that, does it?

Omake: Queen of England

Author's Note

I wrote this back when the queen was all over the news because… well, you know. In any case, I didn't write this with the intention of actually integrating it into the story, but I decided "You know what? To heck with it. The modern chapters are filled with lighthearted fun anyway."

In short: To me, this chapter feels like it comes close to the kind of plot points that kill suspension of disbelief. Mainly because it includes a (now deceased) real-life person, and it's impossible that I got that real-life person's lines believably right and accurate to reality, among other things. I apologize in advance for that, if anybody's bothered by it.

Nothing overly important happens, you can mostly ignore his chapter. At the end of the day, it was simply fun to write.

Omake: Queen of England

Sometime over the summer…

It started with a letter from Minister Fudge. If you ignored the politicking, which Harry could easily do after months of reading his own mail, the message was straightforward: "The Queen would like to meet with you."

Harry felt involuntary joy at that, not unlike what other young children feel after being told that they're going to meet Santa Clause. At the end of the day, he is a citizen of England, raised in Oxford, and despite the sentiment among some professors that monarchy is old-fashioned, everybody he'd ever met growing up approved of the current Queen. If monarchies had to exist, his father had often remarked, then they should exist as a symbol, an icon, not as a wielder of state power.

There was no better example of this than the Queen of England. She held no political opinions that he knew about. There were no major scandals about her, though her family was a different matter. She was like the kind mother, or perhaps grandmother of the whole country.

Strangely enough, Harry had never thought to ask magical Britain if they felt the same way.

"They do," said Professor Monroe when Harry asked, among other questions about the topic. "Excepting the blood purists, of course. Though even Lucius Malfoy of twenty years ago would not have refused the Queen if she politely requested him by name, nor would he have offered her insult. I think you should accept."

"I was planning to," said Harry. "But could I go with my parents and you instead of Minister Fudge?"

"I can probably convince him to let others tag along, but he would have to be there." The man grinned. "At least at first…"

Her Majesty's Royal Protection Officers were always nervous about this kind of thing. It typically happened once every year, whenever the latest minister was elected or re-elected. The minister of magic, that is. Her Majesty's bodyguards were some of the few people in the government – in the world, even – who were allowed to know about magic.

They had laughed or scoffed or disbelieved at first, of course. Their superior would always tell them to take it seriously, and it never really sunk in until the demonstrations. And even then, the gravity of the matter didn't sink in until they learned about Dark Lords, like the 'Voldemort' matter a decade ago. That had been a tense time.

Now it was back to 'business as usual', which was precisely the problem. Because on some rare occasions, 'business as usual' means entertaining the Queen's curious fancy with some part or another of the magical world, and she had recently picked up a new one.

After reading a magical newspaper, her Majesty had made a request to meet someone known as 'The-Boy-Who-Lived'. A messiah-like figure of the wizards who had ended the 'Voldemort' threat as a baby, and who had apparently done so again in June.

Since the boy is only twelve, and even the magical consultants insisted that this really, truly shouldn't require so much worry, the meeting had been arranged with only slightly less than the normal tensions and hullabaloo.

The 'Minister of Magic', a man called Fudge, had arrived in the magical fireplace installed in a heavily-guarded, private room. Fudge was followed by a man, a couple, and a child. The Prime Minister of normal Britain greeted the Minister of Magical Britain, and the two quickly left for tea and conversation. This left the other man, the couple, and the child in the company of the queen and her guards.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all," said her majesty. She smiled at the boy. "You must be Harry Potter."

"And you must be the Queen," the boy said, smiling back.

"Harry!" the couple whispered, clearly the boy's parents… though wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived supposed to be an orphan?

"This is my mum," introduced the boy, still smiling brightly, "Petunia Evans-Verres, sister of Lily Potter, who married James Potter. This is my dad, Professor Michael Verres-Evans of Oxford. I'm Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres, son of all of the above. Pleased to meet you." He bowed deeply.

The queen smiled back. "My, I didn't know all that. I thought it was just Harry Potter."

The boy looked up, and his smile faded slightly. "You and everyone else. At first I thought wizard newspapers didn't like to say my whole name because it would be acknowledging my muggle upbringing, and wizards don't think much of muggles. And while that's still 100% true, I can admit that it's also a bit of a mouthful to include in a newspaper headline."

The Queen blinked. "Did your… parents tell you about that?" The Queen asked, looking to the adults who were with the boy. "The… difficulties, between wizards and non-wizards?"

"He told me about it," said the boy's father. "He's… rather smart for his age."

"Is he now?" asked the Queen, looking at the father.

The other man in their company spoke up. "Smart enough to impress Albus Dumbledore in Transfiguration and Charms, smart enough to defeat Lord Voldemort multiple times, smart enough to outwit Lucius Malfoy in a game of politics, and smart enough to be the first to consciously apply the scientific method to magic. 'Rather smart' is a slight understatement."

The Queen looked at the man in surprise. "And… you are…?"

"David Monroe, presiding Chief Warlock in Albus Dumbledore's stead," the man said with a bow of his own. "Apologies for interrupting, your majesty."

"No, no, it's fine," she said with a smile. "He impressed old Albus, did he?"

"And me," the man nodded. "In all my life, I can count on two hands how many people I would call brilliant, and Mr. Potter is one of them."

"Tends to happen when you do the formerly impossible," the boy chimed in. "Multiple times. On purpose."

The Queen seemed to pause. "Oh my," she said with a chuckle. "Aren't you the fearless one? Most children I've met are a bit more… reserved. Or excitable."

"The charm wears off when you see people as people." The boy shrugged. "Besides, I've met other monarchs. Just yesterday, even."

"You have?" asked the Queen and his mother simultaneously.

"He's scolded another monarch," Monroe confirmed. "And not without just cause. And their country is better for it, in a small way."

The Queen blinked, then gave a full laugh. "My, the scolding of children. I hope I won't be scolded. But what monarch did you meet? One in Europe?"

"Ah… it's a long story," said the boy. "And hard to believe, if you don't know much about magic."

"We have all afternoon," said the Queen. "Come, I'd like to hear it. I can't remember the last time I've had a chat without the weight of my crown getting in the way." She smiled conspiratorially. "Did you know, I met a few tourists on a walk of the countryside, and they didn't recognize me? We had a normal little talk, and it was one of the most refreshing things I've done in a long time."

"I can imagine," said the boy. "I recently made a name for myself where nobody knew about 'The-Boy-Who-Lived'. I'm proud to say that even without name recognition, I was so much of a monkey wrench that the leader of the country contacted me on day two of me being there."

"Harry!" the boy's mother whispered, even more shocked and afraid.

"What did you do?" his Father asked calmly. Very calmly.

If not for the fact that the parents were taking the claims seriously, the Queen would probably have dismissed it as childish boasting.

"What did you do?" she asked curiously.

"Oh, nothing major. I met the monarch's personal student by accident, and that student mentioned me in her daily letter, and the monarch didn't want me distracting her pupil from her lessons, so she sent me a polite letter about it. But it doesn't sound so impressive when you put it like that, now does it?"

"Oh, it still sounds plenty impressive," said the Queen. "Come, have a seat. I'd like to hear more."

"Before we do saymore," said Monroe as they were escorted to seats, "do you mind if I ensure our privacy? Magical eavesdropping is all too possible, I'm afraid."

"No spellcasting in the Queen's presence," said her most experienced Royal Protection Officer. "This room is already protected."

"No spellcasting at all?" asked the boy, sounding disappointed.

"Unless I allow it," the Queen replied with a wink. "And if these old fuddy-duddies agree that it's safe. Now, what monarch did you meet?"

"Um…" the boy glanced at the older man, who shrugged and made a go on gesture. The boy looked to the Queen. "So… quick check. Did you want to meet me because you read that article in the Daily Prophet about the Dark Lord's return?"

"My, you are bright," she said. "I did read that one, yes."

"Did you read what else happened that night? The other big story?"

"You mean the part about the prison?" she asked with a slight frown.

"Yeah," said the boy. "How up-to-date are you on the pony situation? Or have you been told yet?"

She pursed her lips slightly. "I understand… Minister Fudge says it is a tense situation, but he does not think war is on the table. He said that a very powerful wizard is protecting us… I think his name was Davis… no… David…" she trailed off, then looked to the tall man in her company.

"Present," said the man with a raised hand.

"Ah," she said. "You're our ambassador?"

"Unofficially," nodded the man. "Not that we have an official one as yet."

"How have things been going?" asked the Queen.

"Politics as usual," he shrugged. "It's been a trainwreck, so nothing out of the ordinary. On our end of things, I've been managing the situation as best I can, despite the Wizengamot's best efforts to annoy our new neighbors. On the other end, the ponies took a while to warm up to me, and vice versa. Mr. Potter made a better first impression than I did."

The Queen stared at the man. Then she stared at the boy. "Might I ask how?"

"Eh…" said the boy. "Made a few friends?"

After the slightest of pauses, the Queen was beaming magnanimously. "Why, that is brilliant, isn't it?"

Chapter 79: False Assumptions

"I bet you're right," said Tracey. "I bet if we had Harry Potter with us, we'd run into three bullies and a hidden room full of treasure in the first five minutes. I bet that all General Chaos has to do is go to the bathroom and he, like, finds Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets or something-"

Daphne couldn't quite let that one go past. "You think Lord Slytherin would've put the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets in a bathroom-"

-HPMoR, Ch71

The day was Sunday, September the 6th, 1992.

It was Harry and Draco's first fully free day of the school year. The armies had not yet started, homework had not yet ramped up to high levels of difficulty or time consumption, and the first meeting of the Bayesian conspiracy (now including Hermione) hadn't even been scheduled yet. Harry intended to do that later tonight. Which makes right now a highly prudent time to get to work on repaying that favour Harry owes Draco.

"Can't we just get 'Professor Monroe' to tell us where it is?" Draco asked.

"Eh… not exactly." That had been Harry's first thought long ago, but… "Don't you remember what he said in Mary's Room? An excellent challenge for me to do by myself. Good luck." Harry tapped his cheek. "Though I'm pretty sure he would approve of you helping. Now just answer the question."

Draco groaned. "Do you know how many snake carvings I've seen around Hogwarts? And that's just the normal areas. There might be millions in the upper levels. Are you sure this is the best way to find the Chamber?"

"Hm… now that you mention it…" said Harry. "Alright, I've got a different idea. Cast your Patronus and have it send a random message to me so I can send a message back. I want to test something."

After a number of privacy charms were established, Draco did as instructed, and then Harry hissed.

The Patronus turned to Draco and said, "Salutations from Slytherin to Slytherin. I seek your secrets, so I speak to your snake."

Stillness and silence, in the classroom.

Draco looked bemused. "Was that supposed to do something?"

"I guess not. We can cross 'the corporeal snake Patronus of a Slytherin' off the list."

"I'd like to see what's on that list," said Draco, "because why in Salazar's name would my Patronus charm be on it?"

"Well, the original message I got was 'salutations from Slytherin to Slytherin, if you would seek my secrets, speak to my snake'."

And he's finally privately conspiring with Draco about that message, just like he was initially tempted to do, way back in the moments before he realized he should tell Professor McGonagall. Funny, how he ended up doing both in the end. First the responsible thing and then the fun thing.

"I thought maybe if I spoke to the snake Patronus of a Slytherin student, something interesting would happen. I didn't see how that could have possibly worked in any way, even by my standards of crazy magical weirdness, but I thought it was worth trying."

Draco took a moment to absorb the Ravenclaw's reasoning. "You know, Harry, this puzzle is meant for a Slytherin. I might be wrong, but I would guess that you're overcomplicating it."

There was a pause.

"An excellent point," Harry allowed. "So instead of finding all the snake carvings in Hogwarts, how about this: let's just check all the moving portraits of snakes. Starting with portraits of Salazar with a moving pet snake. Do you know of any?"

Draco slowly nodded. "There's a prominent one in the Slytherin Common Room. Salazar never moves, but the snake does. It's probably the one we're looking for."

"Probably," said Harry reluctantly. "But first we should confirm it's actually the only portrait of Salazar with a snake."

It would be much more convenient for keeping the Heir of Slytherin business under wraps if the Slytherin Common Room isn't the only place to speak to his snake. Or maybe Salazar intended for his heirs to become prefects who were above the laws of curfew and thus able to sneak about at night, encouraging his descendants to learn how to abuse authority to their own advantage. But ideally that wasn't the case. Ideally…

"Maybe there's an isolated portrait in a dead-end corridor or something."

Over the next two hours, and after a good deal of walking around and consulting portraits, they learned there are no moving portraits of Salazar Slytherin that they could easily access. What finally confirmed it was when they recruited portraits who could talk to older portraits who could talk to ancient portraits who could talk to historic portraits of the other three founders of Hogwarts.

Rowena, Godric, and Helga all confirmed that they could not find their erstwhile friend, neither now in the world of canvases, nor in the distant past, during the final years of their lives. After Salazar left them, it was as if he vanished from the face of the earth, and when he was with them, the man did not like having moving pictures made of himself. Thus, all known images of Salazar in the halls of Hogwarts are static. There is exactly one moving portrait of the fourth founder of Hogwarts – made soon after Hogwarts was raised – and it resides in the Head office, which cannot be accessed by outside portraits without the Headmistress's permission.

When Harry and Draco recruited their portrait army to locate all static Salazar portraits containing pet snakes, their portrait army came up empty. Except, of course, for those portraits of wizards and witches that had belonged to Slytherin house, who helpfully recalled such a portrait residing in the Slytherin Common Room.

"Why would Salazar put the key there?" Harry finally asked in frustration. "Didn't he want to keep the Chamber of Secrets a secret?"

"Maybe he thought it would be a good challenge for his heirs. I bet the ones who don't understand discretion don't get told where the Chamber is. Besides, being his heir wasn't always seen as an ill omen outside Slytherin house. And it's not like anybody else would hear the conversation. They'd just see Salazar's respectable heir talking with the portrait of Salazar's pet snake." Draco took on a formal cadence. "'My reason? Why, I was simply inquiring into history, my friends. I thought Salazar's snake might know more of him than history records, as some portraits do. But no such luck. Now if you'll excuse me, I am needed elsewhere.' And then he goes off to the Chamber. Or something like that. Anyway, if you don't want to out yourself and lose Professor Monroe's challenge…"

Harry nodded. "Come back at night while invisible. Got it. Will you let me in?"

"…if you don't want to out yourself and lose the challenge," Draco repeated, "we might be able to try something else."

There are two known restrictions to sending Patronus messages: the first is that you must know your target personally. The second is that you must wish them to know your happy thought. There's a third, mostly unknown restriction that you can't send Patronus messages to yourself, but that mostly only matters to wizards with Time Turners.

Draco's plan to overcome the 'public outing' problem was a clever one, and the initial Parseltongue testing had been promising, but when it came to actually implementing Draco's idea, it fell flat because of the 'you have to know your target personally' constraint.

That's when Harry suggested a modification to the idea, based on his knowledge of a moderately useless way to bypass that restriction: you can send Patronus messages to people you're currently looking at, even if you don't know them personally. That test worked, with the test leaving one very confused portrait in an empty hallway in its wake.

This led to the plan itself.

Step one of the modified plan had called for Draco to give his Patronus a series of carefully crafted instructions before they left the unused classroom.

Step two had Draco and Harry leaving the classroom and heading to the dungeons, the snake Patronus staying behind.

Step three had been for Draco to open the way to the den of snakes and pretend to give Harry a tour – a serviceable excuse, given that Harry had never actually seen the Slytherin Common Room, though the most clever of snakes might notice the coincidence.

The plan originally called for step four: after passing the couches beneath the curved glass wall and ceiling, Harry would pretend to gawk at the underground lake.

This was replaced with step four: Harry gawked at Autumn painting a remarkably good rendition of the underground lake. The painting also included the couches visible beneath the window, the chandelier above, and bookshelves off to each side. Although on closer inspection, it seemed more like a romanticized version of the scene, not a perfectly accurate recreation. On even closer inspection, there weren't any carefully-drawn details at all, but when you stepped back and looked at the picture as a whole, it somehow came together to portray the view.

Draco did a little gawking too, though he kept it from showing on his face.

Autumn was using her wand to levitate the brush instead of grasping the brush with her fingers, but the levitation was glowing, i.e. Equestrian. Not that there was only one brush, or that she only used brushes; sometimes she used other instruments.

And Harry and Draco weren't the only gawkers. A number of other Slytherins were spending their noons (it was 12:00 exactly) watching her. This number of watching Slytherins possibly included the Head of House, who within view of everyone was looking over a stack of Potions papers – not tests per se, but assessments he'd handed out at the start of the year, meant to get a picture of each student's current knowledge level.

The reason for the audience might have had something to do with Autumn's running commentary of what she was doing as she did it. Or it might have had to do with the quality of work. Or it might have had to do with the burly sixth-or-seventh year student standing a few paces away – wand in hand, arms crossed, and looking very intimidating, glaring at anyone who came too close.

"What's that about?" Harry whispered to one of the onlookers – Samuel Clemons, a Chaotic Legionnaire.

"She paid him three sickles to keep her safe," Samuel whispered back. "And she'll pay him five after her painting makes it safely to her trunk."

"Do questions count as interruptions?"

"Depends on the question," said Samuel.

So Harry asked Autumn where she learned how to do this – somehow mixing education and entertainment as she skillfully painted – and she shrugged and said she learned exactly the way everyone else in this room would be learning if they set up easels of their own and tried to follow along with her. She learned by mirroring an expert, internalizing the techniques, then practicing a bunch on her own, with occasional touch-ups from a master – the best learning method, she claimed.

Harry asked how long she's been painting, and she said as long as she can remember, same with a lot of her best hobbies. Harry asked how long she's been painting this painting and she said she started this morning. Most of her techniques focus on speed more than perfect accuracy, which she finds to be far more fun, since she can get paintings done in a few hours.

Harry whispered a question to Draco, and Draco confirmed that she had been setting up the blank easel before breakfast. Harry glanced at Draco briefly, then flicked his eyes in a certain direction…

Oh. Right.

Step Five: After they had been there long enough that the Boy-Who-Lived was no longer attracting significant attention (though he hadn't attracted too much in the first place; Autumn seemed to be drawing more attention than either of them, and others might assume Harry was here because he heard a rumor about it and decided to investigate), Draco casually glanced around the whole room to conceal where he actually needed his gaze to go.

He made eye contact with the snake coiled around Salazar's shoulder. His Patronus appeared directly opposite the snake. Draco continued his casual glancing and slowly turned away from the portrait, so that it wouldn't seem like he had been the first to notice.

"Hss ss shh shsh hssss ssss shs," said his Patronus to the snake in the portrait.

(They had confirmed earlier that he could instruct his Patronus to send messages in Parseltongue rather than English, just as they had discovered the reverse was true the very first time they tested sending Patronus messages.)

The hissing drew all eyes in the Common Room away from the painting and towards the glowing Patronus. One pair of eyes in particular, which had been roaming potions parchments not a second earlier, widened in fright at the sound, shooting up to meet the source, then widening further in surprise.

The snake in the portrait turned to face the Patronus. "Shshhh shsss," it hissed briefly. Then the portrait snake turned back to its original position, relaxed across Salazar's shoulder.

The Patronus did not slither across the common room to Draco and repeat what it heard.

As instructed earlier, it sat and waited for Draco to be alone. The hovering Patronus Charm drew a curious crowd of speculative Slytherins to surround the seemingly sleeping magical serpent.

Step six was to wait until the commotion died down and find a private place to receive the message-

"It basically said, 'nice try, clever snake'," Harry whispered to Draco without moving his lips, which Draco had taught him to do. "Dispel it. We'll have to go with plan B."

Never mind. Looks like they can skip step six.

Draco didn't give any outward sign of acknowledgement. His hand had been in his pocket this whole time to conceal the fact that he was currently wielding his wand, and he let go. The Patronus winked out, leaving many a confused Slytherin standing around an empty patch of air. Except one, who entered that patch.

A voice rose above the theorizing that had broken out, and that voice said: "Universal Translator Necklace."

Harry and Draco looked to the owner of the voice. They saw that Autumn (who had left a signed and completed painting behind) was now standing directly in front of Salazar's portrait. They watched as the first year withdrew a necklace (which they both recognized) from her pouch and held the amulet's jewel to her mouth. "Parseltongue, please." She then donned the necklace and, in front of the entire Slytherin Common Room, she began to hiss. "Hss ss shh shsh hssss ssss shs."

The snake on Salazar's shoulder looked at her. "Ssss shshsh shhhh hsssh hsss shhsss shssss."

The girl smiled, took off the necklace, and returned it to the pouch on her hip. She then skipped towards the portrait wall, spoke the password "Pureblood" to open it, and departed for the wider castle before anybody had the chance to catch their wits, Draco and Harry included.

Then there was a mad rush to follow her, though she was already gone before anyone knew the direction she took.

Draco and Harry slipped out of the crowd from there.

"Didn't think translation necklaces could do that," Harry said to Draco once they were alone. "I thought they were input-only, not output. Although you'd think Salazar would have guarded against false heirs in general, not just Patronus charms and probably animagi, and she failed to do it stealthily… but let's leave the solvable puzzles for later. Looks like this just became a race."

"She's got a head start," Draco pointed out after only the slightest of pauses to switch to 'Dragon General' mode, the mode that doesn't flinch at complications and curveballs.

"But she's only a first year," Harry countered with a grin. "Tell me Draco, what's the fastest way to the second floor girl's bathroom that you currently know about?"

A way that was not fast enough, as it turned out. According to Draco, who spoke as they walked at a fast pace towards the bathroom (no running in the halls), they are going to the bathroom in which a Hogwarts student had been found dead fifty years ago. It was inconvenient to get to in the first place, and now the stigma of it being a dangerous place meant it was no longer visited by any student outside of desperate emergency. Or a Gryffindor dare.

Just as they turned the corner, they watched the door close with a clack. Someone had just entered the remote, unused bathroom.

Harry didn't pause in his stride, taking out a device from his pouch. "Time to cheat."

One hour earlier…

"Open," Harry hissed to the sink, which crumpled in on itself to reveal a pipe leading down into what smelled like it might be the castle's sewage system.

"Ugh," said Draco. "I guess Salazar wanted his heirs to learn that they have to get dirty if they want to get anywhere in life."

"I'm more interested in why the toilets aren't just charmed to Scourgify the waste and refill with Aguamenti. What do they even need sewage pipes for? And where are the stairs?"

"Maybe Salazar liked slides," Draco suggested.

A thought occurred to Harry, and that thought was that there had to be a way back…

"Sstairss," he hissed. And there were stairs. Then, "You know what, I like slides too. It's been too long. No sstairss."

With bubble head charms on their heads and wands in their hands, one and a half Slytherin students slid down into the Chamber of Secrets. Harry went first, claiming it would be safer that way. (He has broomstick bones and can change his momentum if the slide has a bad landing or something, not to mention troll's regeneration if he gets injured, although Draco doesn't yet know about broomstick bones). After Draco used a Patronus message to verify Harry's safety at the bottom, he too took the plunge.

As they began their delving into the dungeon proper, Harry decided this would be a good time to play twenty questions with Draco, the same way Professor Quirrell once did with him. It took a slightly more specific set of questions, but Draco, like Harry, successfully deduced the purpose of the Chamber with proper guidance. It helped that the memory sequence Draco saw one week ago on the Hogwarts Express had contained some very overt hints to the answer.

When Draco was terrified out of his wits that Harry might possibly be leading them both to their deaths at the hands of Slytherin's Basilisk – it had to be that, no other species of snake could live to be that long – Harry reassured Draco on that count by helping the younger Slytherin continue to think.

It wasn't long before Draco looked both relieved and sad and disappointed all in one. "So we're just going to be visiting the corpse?"

Harry nodded as he once again commanded a door to "Open." He then once again consulted the Map at the fork on the other side.

This place isn't quite a maze. The pipework wasn't that complicated to navigate, it was actually quite straightforward. Even without the map, it probably wouldn't have taken much time to explore the whole thing. (Otherwise Slytherin's heirs might get lost, Harry suspected.) But that didn't mean Harry wanted to waste time backtracking, and if possible he wanted to leave before thirty minutes had passed.

The Hogwarts security system does show how to navigate the Chamber of Secrets, but only after the map itself is inside the Chamber. Otherwise, according to Professor Monroe, the map fails to show the Chamber at all, to anyone looking for it, nor can it or any tracking charm find you in the Chamber if you are inside and the seeker is outside.

They were about to reach what looked to be the final chamber-

"That iss a very clever Ravenclaw. Incredibly impresssive for a ssecond or third year. I ssee why you brought him. But sstun him now or you might both ssuffer and perhapss die."

Adrenaline immediately pumped through Harry's veins, and options pumped through his mind. Apparation is warded against. Phoenix travel is not prevented in this chamber, but they didn't have a phoenix. Equestrian teleportation might be possible, but he would have to draw his wand and start a spell that obviously wasn't a stunner, or turn into his animagus form to cast it. And either way, if he failed Draco would die, and Draco doesn't have a Horcrux yet. Using the spell to turn time might likewise be unwise, if this threat is an automated magical system keyed by Salazar into the chamber. Going back in time would just cause the system to reactivate, and Draco would be left defenseless in the here and now.

Harry glanced at Draco, who was looking for the source of the hiss, not overly alarmed and likely assuming it was some harmless part of the warding scheme, like some of the previous doors.

Draco fell over.

"It iss done," Harry hissed after the sleep spell had left his eyes. "He who iss not the heir of Sslytherin hass been put to ssleep."

There was a pause.

"Are you a true child, or wearing ssome form of falsse appearance?"

"I am true ssecond year," hissed Harry. "Thirteen yearss of age." And he might be wearing some form of false appearance, depending on how you look at it, but he kept that part to himself.

"Impresssive," hissed the chamber. "Wass not expecting he who wore Ravenclaw robess to be heir, nor wandlesss magic at your age."

Harry knew he should probably say something else, but… "Did you not ssee me sspeaking to doorss?"

"Heard only, did not ssee," said that voice.

Was it Professor Monroe? But that didn't make sense. Unless this was a test, which it might be.

If it's not Tom Riddle… Slytherin's monster? Or maybe…

"Who iss the Sslytherin child then," asked the voice, "if not the heir?"

"He iss a friend. Noble friend," he added, just in case that gave pause to any future death threats. "Family wieldss great political power. Will be great ssearch for him if he goess misssing. I am noble too, and famouss. Chamber may be expossed by tomorrow if we go misssing here. Wass in the processs of repaying a favor to him. Iss thiss the ghosst of Ssalazar I hear?"

"No," hissed the voice. "Now explain how a Ravenclaw learned to sseek thiss chamber if you wissh thiss converssation to continue."

Harry didn't want this conversation to continue. He wanted to leave and tell Professor Riddle that the Chamber of Secrets isn't as empty as Lord Voldemort thought he had made it to be. But the 'or die' threat was still in his mind, and he suspected a refusal to cooperate wouldn't go well, so he spoke.

"Ssomething happened that Ssalazar never foressaw. The Ssorting Hat did not like me becausse of a long converssation. It made a joke in retaliation, called out Sslytherin for me desspite ambitionss requiring a Ravenclaw ssorting. After a few ssecondss, Ssorting Hat retracted itss Sslytherin ssorting, ssaid it wass joking, put me in dessired Housse of Ravenclaw. Thiss wass not impulssive on Hat'ss part, wass done to teach me lessson. Firsst time in known hisstory that Hat ssorted falssely for joke, according to Potionss Masster. Fourteenth time in hisstory Hat hass demanded never to be placed an a sstudent'ss head again, according to Headmasster. Even the mosst clever professsor I know believed it wass outside interference that caussed my ressorting, not the Hat itsself. Not Ssalazar'ss fault he failed to account for thiss posssibility. But ssince Sslytherin wass called for my name, and ssince I am heir, I sstill heard Sslytherin'ss ssalutationss."

There was a long pause.

"Why did your ambition require ssorting into Ravenclaw?" came the eventual and unexpected reply.

"Many reassonss," Harry hissed. "Main reasson wass to reach full potential. I have learned much in Ravenclaw, thingss perhapss I would not have learned in Sslytherin. I already have power even at thiss age, ssome you have sseen, much you have not. Other main reasson is that Sslytherin Housse iss desspissed by other Houssess due to actionss of previouss heir, who became hated Dark Lord and recruited followerss from Sslytherin Housse. Future ambitionss require approval of Sslytherin and Gryffindor both. Ravenclaw iss neutral ground, allowss for ssupport from all ssidess."

There was another long pause. Then a hissing chuckle. "Clever. Very clever, young Sslytherin. But how did you fool the Hat into ssorting you falssely?"

"Did not fool Ssorting Hat. Played no clever trickss. I have sstrong Sslytherin tendenciess, but I am sscholar at heart, truly. Ambition iss to be like Merlin. Greater than Merlin, if posssible."

Harry heard a great deal of snakish laughter at that, much more than a mere chuckle. Then he heard a slithering sort of sound. A snake emerged from a pipe at his foot-

"Calm yoursself, child," hissed the snake. "I intend no ill to you, nor the one you have foolisshly brought."

That might not mean much, thought Harry, for intentions can change.

"If I had intended you harm, you would already be harmed by my gaze."

A few things happened in that moment, in the space between blinks. Mostly a wordless calculation that answered the question of 'should I close my eyes / look away / redouble my thoughts of escape'?

The primary things that kept Harry's gaze upon the basilisk's eyes were Draco, whose body rested within the snake's striking distance, and Harry himself, who also stood within striking distance. The gaze isn't the only deadly thing about a basilisk, Draco had mentioned not five minutes earlier in his frantic worry. The safest path, in the moment, seemed to be to continue cooperating, and looking away or closing his eyes wouldn't help to that end. Plus, it wouldn't make too much of a difference if worst came to worst.

"You have brought me much amussement," the snake spoke on. "In exchange I sshall overlook your transsgresssionss thuss far. Before we continue, ansswer me thiss. Would your friend betray the ssecret of thiss chamber?"

"No," Harry hissed. "He iss more Sslytherin than me, more Sslytherin than hiss housse matess. Would never betray Ssalazar'ss ssecretss."

"In that casse I sshall not require memory charm of him. Iss difficult at your age to recruit adultss for ssuch magic…"

Harry did not say that he could do it himself.

"…unlesss ssome of the power you claim to wield includess memory charmss?" asked the snake.

Damn it.

"Would prefer not to."

"I offer much," hissed the snake in a tone of danger and authority. "Power, magic, knowledge all, but sshall grant nothing if you do not resspect ssecrecy, do not follow orderss."

"I already know purposse of thiss chamber," Harry hissed, "ass you already know I do, having heard uss ssomehow. But your requesst iss pointlesss. Memory charmss can now be undone. To erasse memoriess from my friend would jusst make him upsset when he rememberss them later. Furthermore, ssecretss of chamber are lesss ssignificant than once they were. Immortality hass been disscovered. Am immortal mysself. Sshall not die of age or murder. I can even revive the dead in ssome cassess, and sso can otherss. The Dark Lord your previouss heir became hass been vanquisshed, but not in ssuch a fasshion that hiss lore wass losst. Messsage on Hat hass been ssilenced by sschool sstaff. Ssoon thiss place sshall be important hisstorical ssight. Old purposse losst, new one found. Planss were sset in motion by otherss for many reassonss, but main reasson iss that Sslytherin'ss beasst of lore wass thought killed, artifactss thought sstolen. I wisshed to explore empty chamber with friend before that happened. And ssolve any riddless or challengess required to find it, of coursse. It hass been a fun afternoon."

There was another long pause.

"It hass been long ssince I doubted Parsseltongue," said the snake at last. "Long ssince I ssusspected ssomeone disscovered a way to sspeak falssehoodss ass they sspoke to me. Thosse timess were not sso ridiculouss ass even one of the remarkss you have made sso far. For the firsst time in a long while, I musst remind mysself to not doubt the sspeaker'ss belief in factual asssertionss they have sspoken in ssnake'ss hisss. There sshall be much to disscusss in our future, but thiss I assk now. What requirementss are needed for revival which you claim you can do?"

"Why do you assk? Musst not ansswer without knowledge of your motivess."

"Wissh to revive certain people. Doess not go againsst interesstss of Hogwartss. Will not allow it to go againsst your interestss, if ssuch iss in my power. Will not usse your ansswer againsst you."

"Promisse alsso to not usse thiss knowledge againsst otherss either," hissed Harry. "Esspecially Hogwartss ressidentss. Promisse your intent iss not to kill otherss in ssuch a manner that revival becomess imposssible by current meanss. Promisse you will never do sso if you learn the revival requirementss, regardlesss of current intentionss. Promisse that your dessiress do not threaten the safety or freedom of the world in any way you can ssee. Only then sshall I tell you ssome of the revival requirementss."

The snake considered this for a long, long moment. Then it hissed the required promises, exactly as requested, without asking for any of them to be repeated.

Harry was a bit worried about how quickly the snake had agreed, maybe it had seen a loophole, but Harry had honestly said he would tell some of the requirements if he got those promises, so he spoke. "Revival requiress perfectly presserved corpsse, or corpsse that iss otherwisse lesss than an hour dead. Ressearch effortss are being made to do better than that, to revive thosse who are not intact, but presservation iss the current requirement for thosse not already protected from death by other meanss."

"You ssaid you can perform revival of otherss yoursself?" the snake asked instantly.

"Partially. My role iss to revive otherss into sstate of being muggless. Requiress help of another to resstore magic. But I did invent the technique ass a whole, yess."

"I shall promisse to tell you anything you wissh to know," said the snake at once. "Sspill all ssecretss I posssesss, if you promisse to do your besst to help me in thiss, for thosse I wissh to revive have been presserved. Hopefully well enough for revival processs."

"Ssomone elsse hass already promissed me accesss to Sslytherin'ss lore," Harry pointed out. "Sso promisse alsso to allow me to leave and conssult otherss. Allow me to wake Sslytherin friend sso he can be witnesss henceforth. Lasst, you sshall owe me one favour. If you do, I promisse to do my besst to revive thosse certain people you sseek to revive, sso long ass it doess not threaten the world or innocent livess."

"Done," hissed the snake, and repeated the promises. "The bargain iss sstruck. Now go with hasste. I have waited long for thiss. Do not wissh to wait more than I musst. You, too, may be pleassed to ssee who you sshall revive, young sstudent of Hogwartss."

Harry turned, then hesitated. "Ah," he warbled. "Before I go, I sshould ssay another sstudent sseekss thiss chamber. Sshe iss firsst year Sslytherin. Iss posssible sshe found way to beat Parsseltongue, sspeak wordss desspite not being heir. If sshe approachess, can you promisse to leave her unharmed, promisse not to approach, pretend thiss chamber iss empty?"

"No way to beat Parsseltongue," hissed the snake. "None."

"Witnesssed her sseemingly do sso perssonally. Sshe sspoke to Ssalazar'ss ssnake in Sslytherin Common Room, appearing to usse device of languagess. Overheard the portrait'ss ansswer and raced her here. Had to cheat and leave no tracess of cheating. Sshe will likely arrive in bathroom in half an hour hence, probably ssooner if I have losst track of time. If sshe doess not go further than ssinkss, you are correct and her ssupossed method doess not let her beat doorss guarded by passswordss. If sshe enterss, pleasse do not harm her. Sshe meanss no offensse or dissresspect in her clevernesss, I think."

The snake hesitated at Harry's insistence. "If sshe comess, I promisse to do ass you wissh. If young Sslytherin girl-child arrivess alone, sshall do nothing to her. Will obsserve only. Sshe will likely ssee great corpsse of old body. That sshould sscare her away, or elsse sshe sshould get bored and leave. There iss nothing elsse sshe would ssee but pipess and sstatuess. Former heirss have been quite greedy, ass you guesssed earlier."

"Thank you. Iss there way to leave Chamber that iss not bathroom?"

"Follow," hissed the snake.

"Wingardium Leviosa," Harry said at Draco's body. He'll explain things once they're outside the chamber and not in the immediate presence of the snake that had threatened to murder him.

Then, just as they were about to reach what seemed to be an exit, Harry thought of something else he should mention. "Ah…" he warbled to the snake. "I sshould alsso mention thiss. Sslytherin girl might appear in her animaguss form."

The snake stopped. "A firsst year iss animaguss?" it demanded in incredulity.

"Yess. Sso am I, if you wish to ssee."

"Sshow me," the snake hissed at once.

Harry lowered Draco to the floor, then Prince Horizon appeared in the Chamber or Secrets.

The snake's eyes were as wide and unblinking as ever, but Horizon got the impression they had widened even further. "Iss that light coming from your back the ssame ass a Patronuss?"

"Yess," he confirmed, to the snake's further shock. "Thiss sspeciess iss ssmart," he hissed, "capable of sspeech. Lookss harmlesss, but horn can casst sspellss. Firsst year Sslytherin girl iss ssame animaguss sspeciess. Her form iss dark grey, black hair with blue tipss. No sspecial hair, lasst I ssaw. Not unlesss sshe wearss sspecial helmet."

"Hass Hogwartss truly advanced sso much that firsst yearss are animagi? Of magical creaturess no lesss?"

"Ssort of," Horizon hissed. "Like I ssaid, it iss complicated. Will you alsso hold your promisse if sshe appearss in form of a pony?"

"Yess."

When Autumn arrived in the deepest depths of the Chamber of Secrets, surrounded by scary statues, an oppressive ambiance, and standing before the skeleton of a mighty serpent, there was one thought at the forefront of her mind:

What an amazing opportunity!

She took out an easel and set up her painting station. She then switched to her natural form to more comfortably hold her instruments in her magic. Painting as a human is a fun challenge and good practice, but if she wants to really go fast and make the best possible artwork, this is the way to do it.

Chapter 80: Convincing Your Heirs They're Right

And on his deathbed, Godric had told Helga (for Salazar had abandoned him, and Rowena passed before) that he didn't regret any of it…

-HPMoR, Chapter 43

"How am I supposed to be a witness if I can't even speak Parseltongue?"

There was a pause in the conversation. An extended pause. One that, until that point, had not occurred for any of the other questions Draco had asked.

"Um," said Harry, "I meant more as a general witness to the fact that the conversation was happening… actually, scratch that. I was trying to stop the snake from insta-killing you, and I thought that condition would help. I was not thinking ahead all that much, just trying to manage everything in the moment. There, that's an honest answer."

This time it was Draco who paused as he thought of something to say. "I'm very grateful you got me out of there," Draco said in a voice of honest humility. He didn't say anything immediately after that, deciding instead to wait for Harry to respond first.

"…And now you'd rather not go back?" Harry asked, seeming to understand. Well, seeming to understand half of the problem.

"I'll put it this way," Draco said eventually. "How would you feel if someone wanted you to go back to the deadly creature that just threatened to kill you, and your job is to just stand there, right in front of something that might kill you at any moment, in the presence of a conversation you'd very much like to hear but can't?"

"…Yeah, I can see why that would be annoying. So one of your objections is that you just don't want to be left out of an important conversation that's happening right in front of you?"

Draco nodded. "I've already had enough of that for one month. And the last time earned me a big favor which hasn't been repaid yet."

Harry seemed to consider Draco's perspective for a moment. "Does this outweigh your objection that it's too dangerous and you don't want to go back at all?"

"Yes."

"So you're fine with going back so long as you can hear the conversation?"

"Yes. But if I can't, it's a dealbreaker. Even if it is the Chamber of Secrets."

"…Well," Harry tapped his cheek with a finger. "We could have your Patronus relay messages of our conversation to you. It would be clunky and slow, but better than nothing." He tapped his cheek some more. "I can't see any other way of doing it without you becoming a snake animagus, or by having a Parselmouth do to you what was done to me as a baby." They were having this conversation inside the private protection of Harry's trunk (into which he had teleported himself and Draco before waking Draco up), under the protection of an Equestrian anti-eavesdropping box, so it was somewhat safe to say things like that out loud. "But that's an extremely terrible idea that would probably go horribly wrong, and it's off the table in any case because it would require… well, you know."

Human sacrifice went unsaid yet understood.

"Do you think a better way has been figured out in thirty-five years?" Draco asked. "Wait! A better way has been figured out! I just need a Translator necklace."

Harry's finger stopped moving mid-tap, now hovering over his cheek. "Hmm… well, I was going to consult the obvious expert about this in any case." Which is why he wasn't pushing back at all against Draco's risk-taking. He'd be safe if Professor Monroe was involved. "We can ask that question too. Has it been an hour since we used our Spimster Wickets?"

"Let me check," said Draco, who then cast Tempus. "Two minutes left."

Because there are standard procedures about Time. And while you don't always have to follow those procedures when everybody involved in the affair knows about Time Turning and has otherwise followed standard procedure up until that point, it's good to develop the habit whenever you can.

Autumn had only just entered the bathroom when they first went an hour back. Since one of his daily six hours have already been wasted on a frankly childish impulse to win – Professor McGonagall would not be proud, but again, all parties involved knew about Time Turners this time, including Autumn – Harry said he'll leave it up to Professor Monroe's judgement to authorize any more Time Turning.

And authorize another hour Professor Monroe did.

The Defense Professor, after hearing the story thus far, planned for them to arrive at the Chamber the moment after the very first instance of turned time. Professor Monroe also – in the hour of downtime leading up to that moment, and after all explanations had been given – immediately immortalized Draco Malfoy (after getting informed consent from him and his father), then said this about Draco's request for a necklace:

"You may purchase one if you wish, but translator necklaces do not work on Parseltongue, Mr. Malfoy."

There had been a pause.

"Then how did Autumn…?"

"How indeed," said the Defense Professor, looking amused at the question.

"…Is there some other safe way to bestow Parseltongue?" Draco asked. "You didn't do the human sacrifice method on her, did you?"

"I did not. There is indeed a safe method of bequeathing Parseltongue, Mr. Malfoy, and that method is indeed the explanation behind Ms. Query's display earlier today. Alas, it is not a quick method, and it would not work for you in any case."

"Oh," Draco had said, sounding disappointed. "So there's no way for me to speak Parseltongue on short notice?"

"There is, though it would require your consent. Have you heard of the Animorph Jinx?"

Draco slapped his head at his own forgetfulness, and lack of cleverness. "Of course!"

"The Animorph Jinx?" Harry interjected in inquiry. "I'm guessing-" since Charms is not Transfiguration and therefore it's not catastrophic to guess "-that's a spell to morph someone into an animal? Against their will, because it's a jinx?"

"Yes!" a highly enthusiastic Draco Malfoy answered, both to Harry and Professor Monroe. "You have my consent, Professor. I'd like to be a blue krait, please."

The Defense Professor shook his head. "I'm afraid it would be unwise to give you venom that deadly while you are adjusting to new instincts, Mr. Malfoy. A blue krait will have to wait."

Again, the disappointed "Oh," from Draco.

"…Is what I would say if we were all not already protected from death, and if you were not to be speaking with a basilisk in any case. Just be careful not to bite your own tail, or slither off on your own out of instinctual fear at the massive looming creatures trampling all around you. I'd also appreciate it if you didn't lash out at those creatures, even if your instincts scream at you to do so, and even if we would survive your fatal venom."

Draco hesitated. "Um…"

The Defense Professor nodded firmly. "We have ten minutes to accustom you to the form of a snake. Ten minutes which are otherwise not eating into my productivity. Do you understand, Mr. Malfoy?"

After a slight hesitation, Draco had consented to that implication as well. There would still be plenty of time left in the debt owed to him.

A flash of Professor Monroe's phoenix travel brought their party of three to a carving of Salazar Slytherin wielding his wand, against what looked like a giant covered in icicles. This was the very same location within Hogwarts that the side exit of the Chamber of Secrets had led to earlier that day.

As for why they did not simply manifest directly inside the chamber, it's due to the fact that a few fast ways out are permitted by its wards, but no fast ways in. (Except perhaps unicorn teleportation, but that hasn't been tested yet. Before today there had been no reason to test it.)

And the thing about wards like those is that they tend also to prevent inter-ward travel as well. Azkaban's wards, for instance, allow phoenix travel as a permitted way onto the prison grounds. But once you're there, phoenix travel cannot be initiated, even if your destination is somewhere else within the wards. Otherwise someone would be able to phoenix travel from the center of the wards to the outer edge, use magic to push themselves across the ward boundary, then Apparate away, thereby trivializing and invalidating the 'no fast ways out' restriction.

The wards upon the Chamber of Secrets are more ancient than the wards upon Azkaban, but they follow a similar yet inversed principle. They allow some forms of instant travel from one side of the ward boundary to the other (exclusively from the inside of the boundary to the outside, in this case), but they do not permit any forms of instant travel to those who want to go from one location inside the wards to another location inside the wards.

It would be accurate to say that the wards upon the Chamber of Secrets prevent Phoenix manifestation, but not Phoenix departure, and it would likewise be accurate to say that the wards upon Azkaban prevent Phoenix departure, but not Phoenix manifestation.

The fastest way to traverse the Chamber itself, one would think, would be by broomstick. If there wasn't an anti-anti-gravity jinx laid upon the entire Chamber. The other fastest way, therefore, would be something like the Roadrunner Charm (Harry hadn't investigated it, but he once heard about it), or Pegasus magic, or a living mount.

But after considering all of this and consulting the expert, Professor Monroe stated that he does not believe this particular quest warrants extreme haste. Walking at a brisk pace should suffice.

"Open," Harry hissed. This caused the seamless stone wall behind the statue to soundlessly and subtly open in a way that did not at all draw attention to itself.

Harry passed the statue of Salazar on foot and stepped into the Chamber. He was followed by a slithering Draco Malfoy and an invisible Professor Monroe.

Professor Monroe hoped to go unnoticed, and he only intended to ensure the safety of Autumn Query. For although the snake had permitted Draco as a future witness and an outside party as a consultant, Professor Monroe had pointed out (after extracting the exact wording from Harry) that the snake had not explicitly permitted the outside consultant to be a witness.

Harry's interactions with Slytherin's legacy shall be his own to control. Tom Riddle's time with the snake ended quite conclusively, and while he is certainly curious, he is not going to intrude on Harry's adventure unless the future of the world seems to be at stake.

He had said all this in Parseltongue and encouraged Harry to respond in kind, partly to give Harry practice at intending for a non-heir human-in-snake-form to overhear what he says in Parseltongue, and partly to give Draco practice at overhearing it.

That's when Harry had asked if the 'scene' of the Dark Lord's final interaction with the lore beast had been a complete fabrication, the scene that Harry had once been asked to visualize by Professor Quirrell and allow his own mind to fill in the missing details.

The Avada Kedavra delivered to Salazar's Basilisk had not at all been a fabrication. It had been a genuinely held belief by the Dark Lord, nor had it been a False Memory of any kind. And yes, he was certain of this, for that man rid himself of all Obliviations and False Memories some time ago. This, too, was said in Parseltongue.

Harry asked Professor Monroe if he knew what was going on with the Chamber-snake in general.

Professor Monroe said that he did indeed have his suspicions about what was going on, especially now that all of this has happened, but he didn't want to spoil the fun by giving away the potential answer in advance. Besides, he might be wrong.

(And he has had these suspicions ever since, at one point in Equestria, he scientifically tested the properties of Parseltongue with Twilight Sparkle. These tests revealed that Parseltongue does not, in fact, make snakes sapient, and that snakes cannot, for example, hold lore. They simply aren't smart enough for an order that complex. Perhaps a basilisk would be smart enough, perhaps a basilisk would be sapient, but Twilight Sparkle did not allow Riddle Tome to create one in order to test it until he could minimize the risks of such an experiment to her satisfaction, which he has not yet done. Basilisk venom is capable of melting through just about everything, after all, including the walls of an experiment's testing chambers. And if basilisks did turn out to be sapient, the ethics of Equestria would complicate things drastically from there, and its those complications that Riddle has not yet managed to satisfy to Twilight's satisfaction.)

"Open," Harry hissed at a door that he had already opened some time ago. He wondered if these doors automatically shut themselves after a set amount of time, or if they require a manual input every time. "Open," Harry hissed once again before turning his eyes back to the map.

There were five name plates (actually more like name parchments) and five sets of moving footprints currently inside the Chamber of Secrets:

Harry Potter (It was showing his name correctly, now. Well, almost. It's saddening but not surprising that the wards don't notice/recognize names inherited from muggle stepparents.)
Riddle Tome (And it was showing Riddle's name… incorrectly? Maybe? Even though he wasn't in his pony form? Or is he? He's invisible, so Harry couldn't check.)
Draco Malfoy (Nothing unusual about the name, but instead of footprints there were curving slither marks to round out their group of three.)

Autumn Query (Regular footprints, not hooves, which may or may not indicate she was in her human form, but Harry hasn't tested that yet either.)
? (Again, slither prints.)

It was the first time Harry had ever seen "?" as a viable name on the map. Then again, it was also his first time seeing any shape of prints other than footprints. He hasn't used the map all that much before.

The slitherprints and the "?" rather obviously indicated the basilisk, especially since it followed at a set distance behind Autumn Query, who was moving at a steady pace through the Chamber.

And since this map is probably an artifact that was created by Salazar Slytherin himself, Salazar Slytherin's magical programming was probably responsible. Both for the question mark being used as a symbol in the first place, and for the fact that Harry hadn't seen any "?" whatsoever when he had been exploring the Chamber and consulting the map earlier.

It would make sense that Salazar crafted his Chamber such that his lore beast could hide itself from the map, which may or may not be piggybacking off of the more general Hogwarts wards, which Salazar also helped to design. And then, obviously, Salazar helped himself to the circumvention of those very same wards when it came to his Chamber of Secrets. If the Chamber itself could be made to hide from the map, it's not such a stretch to imagine that its primary occupant can do the same.

As for the symbology of the question mark, Harry's third guess was that "?" is the programmed output when the map sees a sapient creature that has never been given a name. Or perhaps it was the result of the basilisk being killed and (recently?) reborn. But his primary guess is that the basilisk had been given control over that as well, and it was simply choosing to be a question mark right now.

And the reason why that guess came to him so quickly was that Harry had been thinking about a certain question over the past hour, especially while Draco was learning how to be a snake.

The Chamber-snake had said "she will ssee great corpsse of old body". And while miscommunications and misunderstandings happen all the time in conversation, Harry's current deduction – assuming that statement was as straightforward as it sounded – is that the tiny basilisk that currently occupies the chamber houses the very same mind that occupied the much larger basilisk killed by Tom Riddle five decades ago. (Or eight point five decades ago, from Riddle's perspective.)

With Merlin's Interdict in place, there are two ways for lore to get passed down across centuries: from one living mind to another, or one living mind ensuring that it doesn't die. The snake's phrasing suggested a sequence of new bodies to inhabit, not a sequence of successive lore beasts, nor a single long-lived lore beast.

Meaning Salazar had not been so foolish as to rely solely on a permanently-killable creature to empower his descendants, and in fact he had been so clever as to magically replicate something like phoenix immortality for the sake of his own legacy, and cleverer still to give his psychopathic descendants the false impression that they have successfully destroyed the source of their power such that no future rivals could benefit from it.

You think of convincing otherss they are misstaken. Far eassier to convince them they are right, Professor Quirrell had once hissed.

It made you wonder what 'right' things you are currently being convinced about, what feel-good yet false beliefs you are being encouraged and enabled and reinforced into believing.

And who's benefitting from your gullibility.

Because perhaps…

Well, there was one final note of confusion Harry was tangling with.

"When I was fifteen I made myself a horcrux as a certain book had shown me, using the death of Abigail Myrtle beneath the eyes of Slytherin's basilisk."

This had been said by Tom Riddle in the potions room before the Mirror, but it had not been said in Parseltongue. In conversations prior to that, Professor Quirrell had roundaboutly remarked/implied in Mary's room that Slytherin's monster would certainly have been keyed into the Hogwarts wards at a higher level than the headmaster, thus allowing it to get away with murder. But again, not in Parseltongue.

So Harry had asked Professor Monroe during Draco's Parseltongue practice if it was actually true that Slytherin's basilisk had delivered the killing blow to the mudblood-girl-child Hogwarts student (stupid Parseltongue forcing him to say it like that) five decades ago.

Professor Monroe had said, in Parseltongue, that it was true.

The murder of Abigail Myrtle had almost resulted in the schools closure, and Professor Quirrell had also once said that closure would be the predictable result of multiple wards-blind murders on school grounds, muggleborn or otherwise.

So Harry's final piece of noted confusion was this:

Did Salazar Slytherin really key in a beast at a higher level than the headmaster, such that it was capable of getting away with murder, and trust his future descendants not to abuse that as children? Why did he allow for a scenario that might eventually lead to the closure of Hogwarts in the long run after he had already done so much to ensure Hogwarts would last into the long run?

That didn't seem in-character with the meticulously crafty Salazar Slytherin, unless his intentions had changed towards the end of his life, which they very well might have, or unless Salazar Slytherin wasn't as meticulously crafty as Professor Monroe had made him out to be. But assuming Salazar was that meticulously crafty, and assuming his intentions didn't change, or at least they didn't change far enough to the point that he was willing to risk the school's eventual closure, what seemed far more in-character was…

Author's Note:

"?" = ?

If you want to solve the puzzle at maximum difficulty, do so now. Well, medium difficulty. Maximum difficulty was already solved by a certain reader at the end of the previous chapter, in private messages so nobody else could see, and without any prompting on my end. For easy mode, keep reading. The answer will not be revealed until the next chapter.

In the second to last bend before Harry's collision course with Autumn would have led to an actual collision, the behavior of the "?" on the map changed from passive following to pro-active movement. The footprints beneath the "?" passed through what looked to be a solid wall and/or empty space, moving directly and rather swiftly towards Harry.

Harry immediately stopped in his steps, causing Draco to stop where he'd been slithering along right behind him. The map showed "Riddle Tome" to continue moving forward, right past Draco and Harry and onward towards Autumn.

"Who iss the other you have brought?" asked the snake, at which point Riddle Tome's footprints had already brought him around the next bend indicated by the map. "I permitted one witnesss, not two. Have you revealed thiss chamber to yet more outssiderss?"

Harry was briefly surprised by the snake's ability to know that there was a third person in the chamber despite that person being hidden by Deathly Hallow magic. But a quick mental leap of 'If it can control the map in part, it can probably see things like the map sees them, and the map can see Riddle Tome, therefore…'

Also, yeesh. Professor Monroe wasn't wrong about the serpent's strictness.

"That iss the Defensse Professsor of Hogwartss," Harry hissed back. "He already knew of thiss chamber'ss location long before I did. I did not reveal it to him. He iss the outsside conssultant, but I did not bring him ass a witnesss. He hass ssworn in a way that can't be a lie that he iss only here to enssure ssafety of the firsst year girl. He would have come here anyway to do sso, at sspeed, sso we came together, and he continuess to hiss purposse. If you prevent uss from crosssing her path, he sshall witnesss none of our converssationss. This, alsso, he hass ssworn."

"Then we sshall sspeak ass we move to a better location," the snake hissed at once, then began to slither down a side path. "Follow. I will assk ssome questionss while we move, but do not sspeak of ssenssitive matterss until I give leave."

Harry and Draco followed, neither being the first to respond.

"You did not mention," hissed the snake, "that your friend wass a ssnake animaguss. I wass wondering how he would sserve ass a witnesss. Ssusspected thiss might be the ansswer. Ssalutationss, noble child in Sslytherin housse."

"Ssalutationss, creature of Sslytherin," Draco hissed back. "But I sshould ssay I am not animaguss. I am ssimply ssuffering from the effectss of a Transsfiguration jinx."

The basilisk gave a series of snakish chuckles. "Tell me, child, what iss your opinion on the abssolute sstate of Sslytherin Housse?"

"…It iss politically unsstable," Draco responded after a pause.

"Tell me more," hissed the snake.

"Sslytherin is internally divided along many liness, and we are generally feared and dissliked by memberss of the other three Houssess. Alsso, there iss far lesss happinesss in Sslytherin than previouss generationss, if I had to guesss. Far lesss happinesss perhapss than Ssalazar himsself would have preferred."

"You pressume much about the preferencess of another," the snake said. "Sso explain yoursself. How have you obsserved lesss happinesss in Sslytherin? And asssuming your obsservationss are true, why doess this fail to match what you believe to be Ssalazar'ss preferencess?"

Draco slithered in silence for a brief moment, composing his thoughts. "Lasst year, a tutor wass brought in to teach Patronuss charm to firsst yearss. The Defensse Professsor ssought to make a point to headmasster, I heard, that young sstudentss could learn. Many sstudentss learned from thiss tutor, not jusst firsst yearss. I do not know exact numberss, but perhapss fifty sstudentss from Ravenclaw, ssixty from Hufflepuff, and sseventy from Gryffindor. That iss probably a low esstimate."

"About how many from Sslytherin?" asked the snake. "Forty? Thirty?"

"I know the exact number thiss time. Only two sstudentss from all of Sslytherin Housse in all yearss sshowed up."

The snake paused in its slithering. It turned to face Draco directly. "Why?"

Draco cringed just a bit, and not only because he was staring directly into the gaze of what was probably a basilisk. "Politicss. Both sstudentss from Sslytherin were in their firsst year. One of thosse sstudentss-" Tracey "-iss… weird. The other-" Daphne Greengrass "-wass in a possition that sshe could get away with it, because-" she's the daughter of a noble house with a reputation for being a neutral/swing vote, and she was in Sunshine Army, and her last name is Greengrass "-there were ssome even in Sslytherin housse who expected it of her, desspite the circumsstancess. Ass for the resst of uss, courage iss not common in Sslytherin, and the Patronuss Charm iss sseen ass a sspell of Gryffindor, enemy of Sslytherin."

Parseltongue-brain translated the shivering of the basilisk as dumbfounded shock. "Of all the sstupid-!" the snake couldn’t seem to find the exactly right word to finish that sentence in the heat of the moment, but it found a follow-up easily enough. "Godric could not even CASST the Patronuss charm!"

"That iss not common knowledge in Sslytherin housse." Draco tried his best to remain calm, placating, and deferential. His current instincts were informing him that if the other snake went on the hunt, bad things would happen, especially to living creatures in its immediate vicinity. "I mysself did not believe that Ssalazar could casst it and Godric could not until the heir of Sslytherin, who iss playing at being a Ravenclaw," he flicked his head in Harry's direction, "sshowed me the original reference in an ancient book he ressearched in the library."

The basilisk stared at Draco for the longest few seconds of his past month. (Although not of his past year. That honor belongs to those horrifying seconds after the Sunshine General unlocked his glove in front of all of Magical Britain.) What the basilisk was thinking, Draco could only guess, but his suppressed terror wasn't leading his mind to produce any happy guesses.

Then the snake settled on something to say, and those scary seconds were over. "Can you casst the Patronuss charm, noble-born and intelligent child of Sslytherin Housse?"

"Yess."

Another pause, this one less terrifying than the last. "Did you learn it from your parentss outsside of sschool, perhapss? Parentss who were not sso foolissh, or perhapss not sso young, ass to ssucumb to sstupid modern politicss?"

Draco gave the snakish gesture for denial. "No. My ssire wass disspleassed when he learned that I knew the sspell. Hiss disspleassure lassted until I explained that the processs of learning it got me out of an old and looming debt."

"That ssoundss like a sstory. Where did you learn it? What debt did you owe? Your wordss do not imply you went to the official tutor brought in by the Defensse Professsor."

"It iss not entirely my sstory to tell," said Draco. He did not glance at Harry.

"It iss ourss," said Harry. "It iss fine, go ahead."

Draco gave the snakish equivalent of a nod, then met gazes with the basilisk once more. "I musst expresss my regretss ass I ssay that I only learned the powerful and advantageouss Patronuss Charm becausse I owed him-" again the head flick at Harry "-a large favor. He ssaid I wass to repay it by doing my besst to learn the Patronuss charm from him, desspite my disstasste at the time. It helped that we did sso in private, where no one elsse would ssee that I wass learning it."

The snake looked from Draco to Harry, then back to Draco again. Then it turned around and continued slithering.

"You ssay Gryffindor iss viewed ass enemy of Sslytherin. This iss not my firsst time hearing that claim. I have been told by passt heirss that the hisstory tomess perpetuate it, and I have never felt the need to sspeak out in rebuttal, for it sseemed of little conssequence. But that falsse hisstorical enmity hass never to my knowledge gotten sso bad ass to ressult in ssuch sstupidity in Sslytherin Housse. Hear me, sstudentss of Sslytherin, sso that you might be lesss sstupid than your classsmatess: Godric Gryffindor wass not an enemy, but a friend. There were sstrong dissagreementss about the sstudent body of Hogwartss, the future of Hogwartss. But in thosse dayss, friendss and alliess were sscarce. Strong alliess even sscarcer. Wizardss and witchess in general were sscarce, not to be abandoned over policy difference, esspecially not wizardss ssuch ass Godric."

That phrasing called to Harry's memory one of the very books which had made that exact claim – and the only one Harry had read on the subject. "Sso the history bookss ssaying that Ssalazar abandoned Hogwartss and Godric near the end of hiss life-" history books like The Patronus Charm: Wizards Who Could and Couldn't "-were completely basselesss?"

There was the slightest of motions from the snake – if Harry had blinked he would have missed it – which his Parseltongue talent translated to be a wince. "Abandonment iss not an entirely unreassonable thing for outside witnesssess to claim, not knowing the full sstory. Do not misstake me, it iss sstill falsse, ass you will ssoon ssee with your own eyess, beyond all posssible doubt. It wass not abandonment, but retirement into plotss and ressearch which required ssolitude."

As the snake said this, it slithered up to what appeared to be a dead-end. The pipe corridor curved into a rounded off to form a smooth wall.

"Before we go further, I sshall require ansswerss to certain quesstionss from you. Both of you. How you resspond sshall determine how we proceed."

"May I assk a quesstion of my own firsst?" asked Harry. "I ssusspect I know the ansswer to thiss question, but I would like to assk outright."

"You may assk, if it iss quick."

"It iss. What iss your name?"

The snake seemed surprised, taking many long seconds to reply, which Harry was almost tempted to take as an admission like his inner voice of Professor Monroe was suggesting, but when the reply did come, he decided not to jump to that conclusion.

"I wass planning on ssaying a certain ressponsse to whatever quesstion you assked, regardlesss of what it wass. But if you truly do ssusspect a certain ansswer, I musst ssay it iss now endlesssly more amussing than I imagined it would be to ssay thiss response, young Ravenclaw. You have assked your quesstion, ass you requessted. Ssince you did not requesst alsso that I ansswer it in advance of assking, it iss now time for my questionss and your required ansswerss, which I did not fail to mention in my own initial sstatement."

With Harry's curiosity successfully put into a state of active and ongoing torture by a clearly skilled sadist, the Parseltongue interrogation into the specific loyalties of Harry and Draco began.

The questions seemed like they might have been pre-planned; perhaps they came as part of a standard set, one that the snake has asked previous heirs.

And if Harry had to guess, the results were anything but standard.

The snake seemed surprised, even shocked, at some of the answers it received from Harry about where his ultimate loyalties lied. Not with wizards, not with muggle-born, not with muggles, not with magical creatures, and not with anything selfish like himself and his family and friends, although those considerations did weigh heavily in his error-prone human brain.

(Not that it's quite an error for the product of evolution known as 'the human brain' to care more about those who are closer in genetic code to itself than others. Caring more about those who are in the same family is how we all got here in the first place – either the same genetic family or the same cultural family or the same moral family. Thankfully the human brain has evolved to be able to see beyond just the first one.)

His ultimate loyalties didn't even lie with Hogwarts or his country, although he was partial to both.

Harry is loyal to sapient life, on this planet and beyond. He is loyal to all of life's potential going forward, to the potential for a future among all thinking creatures of the wider universe who want to cooperate for mutual gain.

The snake asked if this was without exception. Would he be loyal to a murderer who otherwise wished to cooperate?

A murderer does not want to cooperate, generally speaking, was Harry's initial response.

Harry's more in-depth explanation was that he is loyal to those who innocents who have not – as Equestrians would say – knowingly aggressed against the property rights of others, with the right to life being the single most important property right of all, in his view. Put more simply, have they deliberately harmed an innocent? Whether someone has magic or not isn't particularly important to that question, and that question is the most important, at least when evaluating case-by-case exceptions to Harry's loyalties, because it's that question which reveals whether someone has ever defected from the moral code of cooperation between sapient minds, and therefore whether they're likely to defect again. By far the best predictor for future defections is recent, relevant past defections. The question of harming innocents reveals who is okay with defecting in the first place.

So to put it bluntly, NO. Harry would not be loyal to the life of a murderer. Even if it was his own father, or his own son. Murderers egregiously (and until recently, irreparably) aggress against the lives of others. But Harry would be loyal to the life of a killer who only ever killed in the first place because he was forced into a situation that required self-defense. Which is why he would take issue with anyone who would go around aggressively killing Hogwarts students and never making up for that or acknowledging in any way that it was wrong.

"And if the justification," Harry said, "iss 'sshe wass a mudblood and therefore her life wass without merit', or 'therefore sshe wass not human', or even 'I am a ssnake without human moralss'-"

"The reasson iss nothing along thosse liness," the snake hissed back without pause, and with a hint of condemnation, frustration, and anger. "Musst ssay no more for now, except that foressight hass itss limitss, can rarely account for extreme exceptionss, ass your own Ssorting proved."

That response wasn't anything like what Harry had been expecting. He'd been expecting the snake to be a straight-up bastard when it came to blood purism, along with a whole host of other ethical issues. It took Harry a few moments to recalibrate. Was he saying that Abigail Myrtle was an extremely exceptional student that had to die? "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I ssaid I sshall ssay no more about it for now."

There was a brief, tense hesitation, during which Harry tried to find a clever way to ask what he wanted to ask and failed to see any angles of going about it.

To his great relief, he didn't have to. "If passt eventss give you causse to doubt my future intentionss," the serpent volunteered into the silence, "ass well they sshould, ssimply think back to the promissess I have already ssworn to you. I have not tried anything clever with wording, tried no trickss to work againsst you. Sshould your promisse of ressurrection prove true, sso sshall my promissess of not threatening Hogwartss, her sstudentss, or the world. Sshould you ssucceed in all ressurrectionss, I sshall sspeak more of the passt."

After thinking it over, Harry decided that was at least good enough to go through with the resurrections. "Sso be it."

The snake gave a hissing sound that did not come out as words, but which Harry's mind interpreted as a sigh of relief. "And what of you, young sserpent?" the snake asked of Draco. "Where do your ultimate loyaltiess lie?"

"My loyalties are not ass clear to me ass hiss are to him," Draco hissed. "I think my ultimate loyalty iss to my family, to my ssire and my mother." (Draco yet again suppressed the shiver of weirdness when Parseltongue's word for his father was the much colder and literal term of his 'sire'.) "Next iss mysself, I think. Then Hogwartss, Sslytherin Housse, my friendss, and my country. Not necesssarily in that order, I think it would depend on the ssituation. I would try to weigh the cosstss and benefitss to help all of thesse loyaltiess ssucceed in the long term."

"What iss your ultimate ambition?"

"I sseek to protect the traditionss of man and magic and lead uss to the besst posssible future."

"A politician to hiss core," Harry observed out loud.

"My thoughtss exactly," hissed the serpent. "Sso, young sserpentss, it iss time for my final important quesstion. What principless consstrain you in your ambitionss, if any?"

Again, Harry's answer was clearer and more rigidly defined than Draco's, and it ended with another surprise to the serpent.

"My complimentss to he who dessigned that Vow," said the snake after Harry had finished translating the exact wording into Parseltongue. "You are ssufficiently consstrained." It turned to face Draco directly. "YOU, however, musst be given insstructionss and orderss. I sshall desscribe the nature of thesse orders, and you may choosse to accept or reject them. If you reject them, you sshall go no further."

Draco said that he understood, and then was ordered not to speak or act unless given leave – not by Harry, but by the serpent. Draco agreed to follow the orders to the best of his abilities.

"One lasst thing before we proceed," hissed the snake. "Or rather, a quesstion, Ravenclaw heir. You need not be correct, I am ssimply curiouss what you sshall ssay."

"Assk," hissed Harry.

"What ISS my name?"

Author's Note

I was tempted to have the chapter cut off at the "?" = ? author's notes. I was also sorely, sorely tempted to just leave it at "?" = ?, to have that simple equation be the only thing in the author's notes and nothing else. But I'm not that sadistic. I even managed to get in the "What is my name?" phrasing, à la Bumi.

So, puzzle time, now on the easiest difficulty I could provide. It's been a while. I wrote this entire chapter as a placeholder to propose this puzzle because I didn't think ahead and propose it when I should have, i.e. at the end of the previous chapter.

I know I read in another HPMoR fic the idea that Tom Riddle did NOT successfully kill Salazar's monster after all, allowing Harry to still learn from it, but it was so long ago that I don't remember which fic, and at this point probably multiple fics have used that idea. I am, however, pretty sure that this particular iteration of the idea hasn't been done before (although I could be wrong about that), so keep that in mind while solving.

Chapter 1: A Trap of Very Low Probability

Author's Note

Readers should expect a few things going in to this story:

1) To be extremely confused if you haven't read "Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality". This is NOT a crossover with the NORMAL Harry Potter Universe. Link (please let this work): https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5782108/1/Harry-Potter-and-the-Methods-of-Rationality. For those who have read HPMoR, maybe give chapter 110 a re-read as a refresher before starting here.

2) Expect Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres, exploiter extraordinaire, to explore the My Little Pony universe. Let that sink in. I'll do my best to make it rational, but the primary purpose of this story is NOT to teach rationality like HPMoR. I'm just here to have fun.

3) And keep in mind that I'm not Eliezer Yudkowsky, so don't expect the quality to be on par with HPMoR.

Also, there're a few warnings I should issue.

First: This story will occasionally cover grim subjects, but nothing grimmer than HPMoR covered. In other words, T for teen. Consider this your trigger warning.

Second: I'm very familiar with HPMoR, and I've read plenty of MLP fanfiction, but I haven't watched much of the show. I'll probably get some Equestrian details wrong, or deliberately change them for the sake of the story. Let me know if you notice anything that doesn't seem like an intentional change.

Final Warning: THERE WILL BE MASSIVE SPOILERS TO HPMoR!

Phew. Now that all that's out of the way, I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 1: A Trap of Very Low Probability

HPMoR, end of Chapter 110:

..."Why look at that," sang out Lord Voldemort's voice from the empty air, "I don't seem to have a reflection any more."

"No," said Albus Dumbledore. "No, no, NO!"

Into the hand of Albus Dumbledore flew from his sleeve his long, dark-grey wand, and in his other hand, as though from nowhere, appeared a short rod of dark stone.

Albus Dumbledore threw these both violently aside, just as the building sense of power rose to an unbearable peak, and then disappeared.

The Mirror returned to showing the ordinary reflection of a gold-lit room of white stone, without any trace of where Albus Dumbledore had been.

Or where Harry Potter had been. Or Lord Voldemort.

Chapter 1: A Trap of Very Low Probability

In a green meadow, under a bright sun and blue sky, grass swayed gently in a morning breeze. Birds chirped, leaves rustled, and small critters scurried about. To the untrained eye, the eye that ignores insectivores and viruses and parasites, it was a peaceful scene...

Until two ponies appeared, a white pegasus and a grey thestral. Both fell to the ground with a thud, scattering the critters of the clearing. For a time, there was silence, and there was stillness. As the ponies remained soundless and motionless, some of the braver critters returned to their scavenging, and the world seemed to be at peace once more.

Then the sleep of one pony ceased.

Harry stirred slowly and sluggishly from slumber, as if he'd run a marathon the previous day and hadn't slept enough to recover.

He didn't exactly feel like moving, but he wasn't in a comfortable position either, so he tried to bring himself to his feet- that was the intention, at least. What actually happened was the exact opposite: he tried to push himself up using what he thought were his hands, felt the strange sensation of two not hands pressing on the ground, gave an instinctive start, toppled forward, and found himself right back where he started.

The What?! that flashed through his mind and the adrenaline that flooded through his system did a good job of bringing him fully awake.

He deduced two things instantly: he was in a new place entirely, and he was in a new body entirely. For most people, this would be the moment where panic set in. And some amount of panic did creep into Harry's thoughts. But that had little to do with the new setting.

Coming fully awake had the unfortunate side-effect of allowing Harry to recall recent past events. Memories passed by like blinks, one after another, demanding his attention even more than his strange new surroundings.

The final night of the school year.

The 'forbidden' room on the left-hand side of the third-floor corridor.

A terrible truth.

A gauntlet of 'security'.

Fiendfyre.

Riddles and answers.

Lots of answers.

A final room.

A mirror.

A problem.

A solution.

A theft.

A trap.

And then...

A conversation between trapped and trapper, between Voldemort and Dumbledore.

Voldemort's clever use of Harry as a hostage in order to escape the trap...

Or so Harry had thought, at the time.

Because in order to save Harry, Dumbledore had to turn the Mirror's powers on himself.

Most powers of the mirror are double-sided, Voldemort had said. You could send yourself, not me, into that frozen instant. If you chose to. Or something like that.

From Dumbledore's frantic scrambling, Harry assumed the ancient wizard had been trying to reverse the trap, trying to sacrifice himself to save Harry... but maybe it had already been too late. Maybe Dumbledore hadn't made it in time.

If that's what happened, if Harry had been caught outside of Time, caught inside the trap meant for Voldemort, that meant the Mirror was responsible for the change in scenery and circumstance. In particular, it seemed to have teleported him somewhere new – probably one of the 'alternate realms of existence' that the Mirror was able to create, according to some legends.

But even if the Mirror wasn't responsible, something had taken Harry from Hogwarts, knocked him out for who knows how long, and turned him into a snow white, winged pony in healthy condition, except that his mane needs trimming. And the Mirror was the only thing Harry could think of with magics strong and strange enough to do something like that. The Mirror was the most likely culprit. That, or mind magics. Harry could currently be Confunded, in which case you'd think the Confunder would have included a clause to prevent Harry from realizing he might be confunded. Actually, shouldn't the Confundus charm do that anyway? He'd read up on the Confundus charm. One of its base effects is that it prevents the victim from realizing they're under outside influence.

So probably not the Confundus charm... unless that's exactly what the Confundus charm wants him to think...

No. Even taking Moody's paranoia into account, Harry couldn't think of anybody, except maybe Dumbledore and the Weasley twins, who would want to Confund the Boy-Who-Lived into believing he was a horse.

So maybe it was the Mirror. Maybe. This was probably real. Probably.

In which case...

Did Lord Voldemort get trapped as well? The Dark Lord had been standing right there next to him, but he'd been wearing the Invisibility Cloak at the time.

Professor Quirrell had said the Mirror held power over everything it reflected, and that power was said to be unchallengeable. He had said that even the greatest magical artifacts can be defeated by artifacts that are lesser, but specialized. The Defense Professor theorized that the True Cloak of Invisibility provided a perfect absence of image, so it should evade the Mirror's power of reflection, not challenge it.

Lord Voldemort had stolen and donned his Cloak just as the trap was about to take effect, meaning he should have been safe from the Mirror. He certainly believed he would be. If the Mirror was responsible for all this, then Lord Voldemort shouldn't have been affected, even if Harry's side of the Mirror had been trapped.

And yet, there was a grey equine on the ground right over there, and the pegasus could only think of two people it might be. If it was a person, that is.

Possibility 1: The grey pony was Dumbledore.

If it was Dumbledore, it was over. Simple as that. Voldemort won, they lost, and there was nothing that could be done.

Possibility 2: The grey pony was Voldemort.

Because maybe... maybe once the Process of the Timeless starts, the Mirror keeps track of everyone it reflects, not caring if someone puts on the Cloak halfway through. Or maybe the Cloak simply didn't evade the Mirror's power in the first place. Harry had felt the Time pressure in the air, even as he wore the Cloak of Invisibility himself.

So it was possible the grey pony wasn't Dumbledore.

And there was only one way to find out.

Harry struggled to stand.

Walking on hooves felt not quite like walking on fingers and toes. It felt like walking on the fingernails and toenails of just his middle fingers and middle toes. It was unnerving, but Harry didn't have time to be unnerved. He had to confirm his guess right away. This might be his only chance.

Keeping recent memories of equine movements – observed from white-haired centaurs, carriage-pulling thestrals, and Forbidden Forest unicorns – firmly in mind, Harry angled himself up to his ankles (i.e. hocks), then fumbled onto his fingernails (hooves), and then began an awkward shamble in the general direction of the grey pony- no, the grey thestral.

Harry had seen thestrals before. He had seen death and comprehended it, and so he could see thestrals.

This particular grey thestral didn't look exactly like those fleshy creatures, but the fanged teeth and leathery wings spoke for themselves. Harry didn't exactly look like any real equine either, but he knew that feathered wings meant pegasus, so bat wings probably meant thestral. "Kid friendly versions" is the term that came to mind.

No sense of apprehension overcame Harry as he neared the thestral, bringing a slight frown to his face.

He came yet closer, and still no Sense of Doom.

Was this not the enemy?

Was it Dumbledore after all?

No, wait. There was a mark on the thestral's fur – a book, open to its centerfold, resting on a backdrop of stars.

The mark was vivid, detailed, and quite obviously designated the thestral as Tom Riddle... except, that didn't make any sense. It was like Harry's mind knew it was looking at a picture that meant Tom Riddle, but when he asked his brain why it thought that, it came up blank.

At this point, Harry knew enough about the ways magic can mess with a person's mind to suspect that he should doubt this "knowledge", just like with the words of false comprehension.

What do I think I know and how do I think I know it?

Harry thought he knew this pony was Voldemort because of the picture.

Did the picture actually have anything to do with Voldemort?

Yes, actually.

The starry background was VERY Voldemort. Well, not quite. It was very Tom Riddle. Voldemort was just another mask. In the end, it was Tom Riddle, not Lord Voldemort, who had spent over nine years in outer space, looking out at the stars as the sun slowly receded behind him and thinking of all his past mistakes.

And... when Harry looked carefully... he did see something that truly identified Voldemort: a horcrux.

It was THE Voldemort Horcrux, the one that stood out from the other 107+ horcruxes he'd made: the golden plaque attached to the Pioneer 11 space probe.

That part of the picture was so small that any OTHER onlooker would mistake it for a star, Harry was sure. But he recognized the shape of the probe, and the tiny golden tint of the plaque.

(You can play I Spy if you want. It IS in the image.)

Harry looked to the same part of his own body, and sure enough he had a mark of his own.

In the background, there were six small orbs orbiting a larger one. The orbiting spheres were set in two orbits, the outer orbit containing four orbs and the inner orbit containing two. The central sphere was black and featureless, except for white longitude and latitude lines inscribed on the surface. The outer-space backdrop behind everything suggested that it was a planet.

In the foreground, above the planet's surface blazed an image reminiscent of a famous renaissance sketch, the Vitruvian Man... except the picture on his rear would probably be called 'Anatomy of Pony' rather than 'Anatomy of Man'. The pony within the picture glowed a bright silver, or it would have glowed if the picture had been moving. It gave the artistic impression of glowing, at least.

The entire thing was grayscale.

(Imagine the pony on the right overlays the planet on the left, with the white circle around the pony aligned to the planet's circumference. The "Vitruvian Pony" image is from a DeviantArt post titled "Biology of Equus Sapiens", made by AgentTasmania. The rest was cobbled together from stock imagery.)

At a guess, the six orbiting spheres represented electrons and the planet itself represented a nucleus. An atom of carbon, sometimes called the element of life. For the blazing silver pony, he didn't even need to guess. Despite the species, it clearly represented his Patronus charm. Taken as a whole, the image did a nice job of summarizing Harry Potter's core motives: science and life.

Tom Riddle's mark wasn't nearly as obvious unless you knew what to look for. The pioneer probe, the star-filled void, and the blank book in the middle. At his core, Tom Riddle wasn't anybody in particular. He was afraid of death, and that was about it. He pretended to be whatever suited that goal. He followed whatever script he felt he had to follow. A blank book wasn't the best way to describe Tom Riddle's personality, but it did work. And just like with his own mark, the blank book might mean something that Harry couldn't guess without being Tom Riddle. A blank book might be as blatantly obvious to Tom Riddle as a carbon atom had been to Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres.

Either way, that was all the confirmation Harry needed.

The gaze of the white pegasus returned to the form of the dark grey thestral.

The unconscious, defenseless thestral.

Either must destroy all but a remnant of the other, for those two different spirits cannot exist in the same world.

Now was the perfect opportunity to fulfill the prophecy. A simple Obliviate and the war would be over. A memoryless Voldemort was a neutralized Voldemort, more or less. Then just transfigure his body into a sustainable form, like a pebble, and the threat was ended.

But in order to capitalise, Harry would need his wand. Hopefully the Mirror had brought it, and hopefully it was nearby. It was certain that the Mirror could trap things as well as people. With any luck, it had trapped his personal effects.

Harry hobbled across the hill, his limbs occasionally stumbling over themselves in his haste.

Searching.

Searching.

Searching...

There!

Well, not quite. There was his Invisibility Cloak.

It was a good start, but not what he needed. Still, best to put it on in case the enemy woke up. Without the Sense of Doom, it should be much harder for Voldemort to locate him if he wears it.

Harry instinctively tried to bend down to pick up the item on the ground, only to realise he didn't actually need to do that with his new anatomy. No need to bring his hands closer to the ground, his front hooves were already on the ground-

And then Harry suddenly realised a different problem.

Namely, no opposable thumbs.

No time for problems.

He had a head, he had limbs, and he had a surprising amount of flexibility.

Harry maneuvered his way beneath the cloak (now shaped for a pony, no time to think about that either). After a bit of a struggle to get the right parts covering the right places, he donned it and disappeared.

Now with that marginal safety in place, he turned his attention back to the search for his wand...

And what do you know? His wand was right there inside the cloak's sleeve.

Perfect.

But when he thought to use it, he encountered the same problem as before: no fingers or opposable thumbs. If he couldn't wield the wand, he couldn't seal Voldemort.

No time for problems. He had a mouth.

After a bit of careful manipulation, he held the handle between his teeth, with the tip of the wand facing away from himself. He was tempted to go back to the thestral right away, but he needed practice first, to confirm that this was possible.

He sat down in what felt like a natural sitting position, ignored the fact that equines shouldn't be able to sit this way, and ran a few tests.

"Lumosh."

...

"Quietush."

...

"Hrigideiro."

...

"Mahashu."

...

Nope. It seemed that pronouncing the spells correctly while holding a stick in his mouth wouldn't be possible, to say nothing about the wand movements.

No time for problems.

If his new pony body could sit in a way that ponies shouldn't be able to sit, maybe he could do other things that ponies shouldn't be able to do.

Like holding a wand in a hoof, for instance.

Sure enough, after he twisted his right forelimb upward – again in a way that no real equine should be able to do – and dropped his wand, his hoof curled around the wood as instinctively as if he were using fingers to grasp a falling apple.

Harry leveled the wand and tried again, this time with wand movements.

"Quietus."

The surrounding sounds of nature disappeared.

"Frigideiro."

The air grew noticeably colder.

"Mahasu."

A few pebbles were kicked up from the ground where he'd aimed his wand.

Success.

Despite the lack of fingers to complete certain parts of the gestures...

Think about it later.

The pegasus stood, hobbled as quietly as he could, and sat in front of the thestral.

It was time to neutralize the threat. Regardless of the steps Voldemort had taken to prevent his own demise. Regardless of the fact that he was probably immortal. Regardless of the hostages... and regardless of the emotions involved.

Harry leveled his wand, the shape of the spell he wanted to cast already in mind...

But he froze just before the word "Obliviate" could leave his lips.

Harry couldn't...

Quite...

Bring himself...

To cast the spell.

Harry tried to shake the hesitation away.

He thought "forget everything except your truly happy memories" to himself once more.

He aimed his wand at the thestral's head.

He made the circular wand movement...

And said nothing.

Harry frowned.

He looked at his wand as if it was the problem, though he was really just giving his eyes something to look at as he thought, very carefully, about what had to be done.

He knew that he should do it.

Laying on the ground, right there in front of him, was perhaps the single most evil person that had ever existed.

Ever.

Like, no question.

Even Hitler probably wasn't as bad... on a qualitative level, at least. Hitler inflicted more quantitative evil upon the world than Voldemort, but that was only because he had an entire country at his beck and call, rather than a mere fifty Death Eaters.

Voldemort probably had Hitler beat on an evil-per-capita basis.

...

And yet...

Harry couldn't stop his mind from focusing on a recent memory. An important memory. It stood out above and beyond everything else involving Voldemort, and not just because it had, from his perspective, just happened.

Harry hadn't been a participant, only a witness, as Voldemort and Dumbledore spoke.

In that conversation, he now realized, Voldemort answered a question Harry had been asking himself over and over again. It was also a question Dumbledore had been asking himself over and over, except for years on end instead of hours.

Dumbledore had once asked Harry, in a pleading voice, 'Why? Why would anyone deliberately become a monster? Why do evil for the sake of evil? Why Voldemort?'

Dumbledore thought Harry would know the answer because Dumbledore himself could answer the question "Why Grindelwald?". Surely, Harry would be able to do the same for his own destined foe. But Harry couldn't figure it out.

Only Voldemort knew the answer, and even though Voldemort didn't know he was responding to a question, this was his answer to Dumbledore's and Harry's desperate plea:

"I don't know if you recall this, but do you recall that day in your office? The one where I begged you, where I went down on my knees and begged you, to introduce me to Nicolas Flamel so that I could ask to become his apprentice, to someday make for myself the Philosopher's Stone? That was my last attempt to be a good person, if you are curious. You said no, and gave me a lecture on how unvirtuous it was to be afraid of death. I went from your office in bitterness, and in fury. I reasoned that if I was to be called evil in any case, just for not wanting to die, then I might as well be evil."

And what did Dumbledore say? What did he do when he learned how his words, which probably seemed inconsequential at the time, had affected his former student?

"I decline. I do not accept even the tiniest shred of responsibility for what you have become. That was all, entirely, you and your own decisions."

Yeah.

That.

Tom Riddle had revealed his greatest fear to the one person he thought could help him, the one person he trusted more than anyone else, the one person who might have, until that point, made him feel as though he wasn't alone in the world. And what did he get in return?

Nothing. Worse than nothing, actually. He'd been spat upon, essentially. He'd been told his fear of death was irrational and immoral. He had been told that it made him an evil person. All as a result of Dumbledore's inability to understand why death is bad.

Harry couldn't stop himself from envisioning that scene. Harry couldn't help but see himself in that moment. Harry couldn't stop his mind from imagining itself coming to those exact same conclusions, going down that exact same path, making those exact same choices for the exact same reasons. If he didn't have his parents' impulse to kindness inside him, or Hermione's friendship, which Tom Riddle did not have, as Dumbledore of all people should have known.

Harry had been worried about other things when Voldemort and Dumbledore were speaking, but now that he had a small chance to slow down and reflect...

It seemed that his mind had decided that he wouldn't be casting the Obliviate spell thanks to this wonderful comment from Dumbledore. Harry wouldn't be wiping Tom Riddle's memories and transfiguring his body. He wouldn't be erasing and sealing Voldemort.

He gave an internal, sarcastic groan. Great.

On the other hand, he wasn't entirely displeased that he couldn't do it.

The pegasus hadn't exactly forgotten about all the pressing issues that required the thestral's continued cognizance to combat. There were hostages that needed rescuing, a friend that needed reviving, a stone that needed retrieving... he did have logical reasons to spare the enemy. He simply hadn't let those reasons influence him into rationalizing a potential mistake.

A potential mistake he was about to make for an entirely different reason.

Even knowing that it likely was a mistake not to vanquish Voldemort here and now, Harry still couldn't bring himself to cast the spell. Funny, how it was empathy and emotion which decided his enemy's fate in the end, not tempting logic.

The pegasus sighed. Wonderful.

And come to think of it, there was the off-chance that this thestral was actually Professor Quirrell – not Lord Voldemort, but the wandering adventurer who had found a horcrux and had his body stolen by Lord Voldemort. Obliviating an innocent bystander who had already been victimized by Voldemort wasn't exactly on Harry's to-do list.

So.

What should he do?

His mind suggested a different spell.

Harry sighed even more.

...

The snow white pegasus looked at the dark grey thestral.
...

The pegasus leveled his wand on the thestral once again.

...

This was, undoubtedly, a bad idea.

...

Still, it wasn't the worst idea. It was like that old quote about democracy. It's a bad idea, but it's the best one he's got. Harry had helped Voldemort get the Philosopher's Stone, so Voldemort was bound by magical promise to help him in a certain, important way.

...

And there were hostages, and unknown events had already been set in motion to kill those hostages. Harry was on a timetable, and there was only one person who would know how to save them. If Harry was going to cast the spell, better to cast it now.

...

The pegasus said, "Innervate."

Chapter 15: Efficient Learning Practices

"You wrought well, my student," were the first words he heard when he passed through the wards surrounding their crystal cave hideout. "Though you should have consulted me before quoting me."

So he WAS there, thought Silver. "Sorry," he shrugged. "It was a last-minute thing. I had a different answer prepared for that question, but when I mentioned you immediately before, I realised what you said to my loyal Darke Lady was better in every way."

"Indeed," said Mr. Book. "It is also well that you've foreseen and forestalled the efforts of the opposition. Or perhaps circumvented would say it better." Then, in a thoughtful tone of voice, "I suppose tomorrow's edition of Cloudsdale's newspaper will reveal how your speech has been received by those in power. If we are lucky, one or two journalists that have not been bribed, coerced, or propagandised will speak their own opinions, thus allowing us to perceive the actual pulse of the populace." Without transition, he asked, "Did you have anything specific you wished to learn today?"

Woah. Not a normal prompt. Was Mr. Book rewarding him?

"Just anything you think would be useful to my immediate future plans, or in general. Hmm... actually..." He realised he still had something important to check. "Do you mind if I teach you the underlying theory of pegasus magic? I want to see if it works for thestrals too." Now that his plot had run its course, it was time to continue the march of reason and discovery.

"I suppose I wouldn't mind playing the part of the student for a day," said Mystery Book. "I do need the practice."

Silver raised his eyebrows, but Mystery said no more, even after a request for clarification, so it would have been pointless to press. If Mr. Book intended to elaborate, he would have, and he won't be tricked into revealing anything by accident. He has an extremely firm grasp on the conversational habit of letting others know only precisely what he wants them to know.

And apparently, he wants Silver to know he needs practice playing the role of a student. In fact, he already has been playing the role of a student for a while now, regularly asking after advice about learning science and math quickly. Today was simply the first instance of direct tutelage.

Until now, Silver had simply assumed Mr. Book was learning math and science with the intent to further his magical pursuits. Silver did something similar himself when he first discovered magic, except in reverse.

Now he wasn't so sure about Mr. Book's intentions. What could the pony he'd called 'Mystery' be up to?

"By the way," Silver said after Mr. Book proved thestrals could learn to air buck. "Have you made any progress on the phoenix front?"

'Phoenix' being the code word they'd established to refer to 'resurrection' without actually using that word, at least when speaking in ordinary speech.

"No, nor on our freedom. I have learned much about this world's magic in the past month, and I have concluded the information we need is not available to the general public."

"Are you giving your besst effortss to resssurrect girl-child friend?"

"Ass besst ass I can without letting other plotss whither and die. Have learned much of thiss world'ss magic, but not the deepesst ssecretss, not mosst powerful sspellss, or even advanced oness. Will begin sseeking thosse now with plot that beginss ssoon, for I now ssusspect I know where to look."

Silver stared at the thestral with narrowed eyes for three seconds, then sighed and nodded.

He knew all too well the difficulties of searching for entirely new solutions. Like that analogy he'd given the headmaster at the start of last school year, the dilemma of diamonds and diamond detectors.

When you're just starting out and you don't have any information, most of your effort needs to go into locating where the hypothesis might be hiding. You don't just start throwing out ideas left and right. It was the first important lesson he'd learned when attempting to unravel the deeper secrets of magic.

In order to solve problems efficiently, you have to eliminate large chunks of the solution space at a time, then narrow your search only after you know where not to look and what not to do.

That Mr. Book now knows not to look for solutions to their biggest problems in the public library is progress, even if it doesn't feel that way. Mr. Book still hadn't explained where he would be looking instead, and it's rather annoying being kept in the dark, but there's nothing Mr. Silver can do about that other than ask directly...

...which didn't work.

Silver would have to remain ignorant for now. A Ravenclaw's worst nightmare.

[A/N: The following section is a bit long and bloated, without much happening until the end. Sorry in advance about that. I didn't realize it was happening until well after I'd edited most of it, and now I can't bring myself to cut it out. It's essentially an outline on how to become hyper competent at something, taken to Professor Quirrell's typical extremes of perfectionism. If that doesn't sound interesting, you could probably skip most of it without missing much plot. I'll show where the worst offending section begins and ends.]

Mystery Book had not developed any specific angles of attack on the 'escape the mirror' problem as yet. His overall approach was 'acquire power, brute force the problem if necessary/possible, explore all promising leads.' It is a plot that must succeed, where the core concept is kept as simple as possible, with every precaution taken.

During his first month, Mystery Book had entered the Canterlot library when it opened at 8:00 AM and left at 8:00 PM when it closed. He would always check at least one book out when he left, then return whatever he borrowed the next morning, having read it overnight.

But he'd hit a roadblock. He ran out of productive reading material.

Unfortunately, the public library of Canterlot had never had all that much information on magic to begin with. All the interesting material, he suspected, was safely secured in Canterlot University. (And perhaps Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns, though since that school only educates up to 18, it likely does not have the most advanced material.)

He could have attempted to sneak in and steal what he needed, but his apprentice had raised an important point on day one: he had no idea what security systems were in place. Furthermore, even if he did know and could bypass them, doing so over and over again, day in and day out until he finally found a promising lead would have been pointlessly tedious and annoying. A much better idea was to acquire official access and search at his leisure, especially since the process of doing so would come with permanent peripheral benefits.

This entailed entering Canterlot University, the most eminent magical institution in Equestria, as a non-unicorn. Though he'd have preferred professorship if possible, he knew it would never happen without a horn. That left only the option of apprenticeship.

He knew he would need overwhelming merit, above and beyond the other candidates, to even stand a chance at admittance as a thestral. Thus he'd been asking Mr. Silver (who once mentioned that he passed the academic portions of all his school's entrance exams at levels which would impress even university professors) for tips.

With the aid of Twilight Sparkle's pet owl, sufficiently enchanted into becoming a magical owl capable of delivering mail, Mr. Book and Mr. Silver exchanged messages, reading materials, and practice questions. In the process of teaching Mr. Book, Mr. Silver had to re-familiarise himself with much of his own knowledge. Mr. Book knew that Mr. Silver was grateful for the opportunity to sharpen his own grasp of the basics in order to properly teach the subjects, just as Mr. Book had been grateful for that aspect of teaching defense the previous year.

[OPENING BRACKET. Here's where the bloated part begins. Skip to the closing brackets if not interested.

There is an old proverb that it takes 1000 hours of practice to become competent in a new, complex field – more for those with less intelligence, less for those with more. A stupid person might take 2000 hours to learn a complex skill, while a smart person might only take 500. The proverb further states that it takes 5,000 hours to become an expert, 10,000 to become a master, and 30,000+ to become competitive for best in the world. The proverb finally states that working 40 hours each week for 50 weeks each year will give you 2,000 hours experience, so it typically takes 15 years of focus to become great in a single subject.

From the outside perspective, it is difficult to view extraordinary individuals in terms of hours dedicated. Even Mr. Book, in his own formative years, once ascribed amazing ability to the ambiguously-defined term of 'talent'. After recognising how he'd imitated that idiotic line of thought from ordinary people, he later reasoned that 'talent' is more typically the end result of many long hours of applied interest and passion. As Mr. Silver recently said in a lesson about what he calls the fundamental attribution error, we do not see people's histories trailing behind them. We see them in one instance and stupidly ascribe permanent, endearing traits like 'powerful wizard' or 'talented artist'. We see the skilled six-year-old violist and are amazed at her skill at such a young age. We do not see her perfectionist parents whose overbearing and demanding standards may have bordered on child abuse.

It became even more obvious when he applied it to his own experiences. He had accumulated around 60,000 hours of experience with magic over the course of his 55 years of life. He had spent 10 of those years ignorant of magic, and another 10 unable to move in any way... though he was at least able to ponder magic in his immobile eternity. He invented many powerful rituals in his imagination, for example, and examined inscrutable magical riddles, so those last ten years were not entirely wasted. But they were restricted.

60,000 hours of magical experience concentrated into 35 years, with the combined advantages of a sound mind and Slytherin's lore. Add to that the great range and diversity of magics he studied – he didn't spend all 60,000 hours in one narrow profession, enchanting omnioculars or creating cauldrons like most wizards – and further add the fact that he always applied what he learned to real-world problems, especially battle and war and strategy, and it was only natural that Tom Riddle had been tied for the most powerful wizard in the world prior to his banishment to this Merlin-forsaken land.

With all this in mind, the recent past can be examined with actual clarity and insight, unmarred by idiotic assumptions.

30 hours each day. (He had a Time Turner of his own, naturally.)

Subtract by 3 hours for Polyphasic sleep. Subtract by 1 hour for eating and other self-maintenance.

26 hours of free time per day, on average.

Multiply by 60 days.

1560 hours total.

Subtract 64 hours for lessons given to Mr. Silver and 96 hours for other endeavours (an estimation).

1400 hours of free time over two months. 700 hours per month.

He had spent his first month – his first 700 hours – in peaceful solitude, researching this world's magic to see how it differed from what he knew. His searches in the library had ranged from artifacts to creatures to history to theory to practice. That it only took him a single month to master the basics of an entirely new magical culture was a testament to how many magical cultures he had already studied. Chinese, Australian, American, Sumerian, Egyptian, African, and more. Not to mention his country of origin, Magical Britain, which was reputedly the best.

He took particular note of any magics which might prove useful upon his inevitable return – a teleportation spell that might be able to bypass anti-apparition, anti-portkey, and anti-phoenix wards, for example. Though instructions for casting were not available to the general public, so he'd not been able to put that guess to the test. For all Ms. Sparkle's starry-eyed naivete about 'the common endeavour', it would seem that the establishment unicorns were not as keen to share their most useful knowledge with the unicorns not in power.

He'd also encountered a weaker yet easier alternative to unbreakable vows called 'magical contracts'. These were available to the public – both for purchase and for study – and so he'd made a point to understand and master their creation process.

The second month wasn't so seamless as the first, but it was still extremely productive. Maybe even more productive since it involved truly novel learning. He'd dedicated the month almost exclusively to mathematical and scientific pursuits.

He had mental habits that adapted well to both fields, but as with any new endeavour skill still took time and practice to build, as did momentum. His first scientific lessons were examinations of famous experiments from the other side of the mirror, remembered and relayed by Mr. Silver and double-checked through other means. His first mathematical lessons involved representing unknown numbers with letter variables and grew more complex from there. It was only a small consolation that Mr. Book had already been about as good at calculations as a wizard could hope to be before he began.

700 hours total in that second month. 500 for Maths (the harder of the two), 150 for non-mathematical Science (the easier), 50 for other subjects. Add on top of that 500 hours from Arithmancy and his brief muggle education, and he reached a thousand hours for Math. Science was largely a field of analysis at the levels before university, so he'd already had... let's say 2000 hours of habits that counted towards it. The recent 150 hours went mostly to learning jargon and exact methods. Thus had he reached the minimum competence threshold for each field. Not enough for true competency, the sort held by those who engage in the subjects for a living, but enough for the sufficient adequacy expected to be held by eighteen-year-old ponies applying to Canterlot U.

Plus a few additional advantages.

Unlike a student in a classroom, Mr. Book's attention did not wander during his studies. Mr. Book refused to simply play the role of a student. He'd adopted the Hufflepuff virtue of hard work, diligently applying himself to learning the material he needed to learn by treating his sessions like an artist might treat a passion project. He had not been a Ravenclaw in his youth, but he could have been. He had only narrowly been beaten out for head boy. He had also developed a healthy enjoyment for puzzles and riddles in his adult life. Translating that enjoyment into the Maths and Sciences, treating equations like puzzles and experiments like riddles, was not difficult once he conceived of the subjects in that fashion.

Practically speaking, he sped his learning progress along with three tricks that would make absolutely certain he truly learned the material in the short time frame he had to learn it.

First, like Merlin, Helga Hufflepuff, and the muggle Leonardo DaVinci before him, he adopted Polyphasic sleeping habits so that he would not have to spend as many hours sleeping each day. This meant he only slept in intervals of twenty minutes every three hours, for a total of three hours spent asleep every day rather than the typical six to eight. He was not strictly bound to naps every three hours, but it was his average time frame. Polyphasic sleepers were meant to have a two-hour period of slightly deeper sleep each day, but he'd long ago found himself able to skip that prolonged slumber after imbibing the sleep-cycle extending potion given to regular Time Turner users.

Second, he engaged in project-based learning. In the case of magical studies, he'd accumulated the ability to cast many new spells, as well as a great surplus of useful enchantments. For math (and the scientific subjects requiring math), he'd fully completed multiple textbooks' worth of practice problems. Evidence of effort in the form of personal projects is proof of a true education.

His third and final advantage was intelligent instruction. Mr. Silver's scientific methods – learned and remembered from the other side of the mirror – exceeds everything in Equestria. That isn't to say Mr. Silver knows all science, far from it. It is more of a comment on Mr. Silver's ability to apply what he knows to the real world. Furthermore, while Mr. Silver's mathematical knowledge doesn't outstrip available material, his understanding of the subject is deep enough that he could confidently declare this world to be far behind in that department as well, just as Mr. Book could declare Equestrian sorcery lesser than Britain's.

Lastly, halfway through his second month he developed a final efficiency method by combining those three advantages and exploiting a certain quirk of the brain.

According to Mr. Silver's remembered scientific knowledge, problems are best solved by deeply thinking about the constraints just before sleep, then attempting to solve them after waking. It helps to go so far as attempting to solve them before sleeping, only stopping when it is not obvious how to progress further. That gives the brain a deeper understanding of a problem's constraints. Sleep will then connect the invisible insights together. Put another way, work on problems at night, solve them at dawn. Or rather, work before sleep, solve after waking, since Mr. Book does not follow a typical night/dawn sleep schedule.

Any time he hit an intellectual roadblock in one subject and he didn't simply move on to a different subject, he went to sleep, woke up twenty minutes later, and tried again. The only exception to this was whenever he developed momentum, solving problem after problem and learning technique after technique such that stopping would have been counterproductive to overall progress. Of course, most of this was only needed for the more difficult maths.

Science was often straightforward enough, and Mr. Book needed no tutoring in the art of language. If he chose his 'major' carefully, he would not even need to demonstrate more than a passing familiarity with Equestrian culture... though he did not neglect to research what might be classified as "social studies" (history, government, customs, norms, laws, ethics, fables) in his down time, when his mind needed rest from the slightly more rigorous subjects.

Well, perhaps 'rigorous' is not the best word. 'Unfamiliar' is more accurate.

Mr. Book is a skilled linguist, magician, and historian. Learning new magic and culture is no challenge for him, just as learning an additional language would not have been especially difficult for one already fluent in five languages.

But Mr. Book had not been adroit in Maths more advanced than Arithmancy, which mostly equated to muggle Pre-Algebra and Geometry, nor was he skilled in Science at all. That is why his second month had not been nearly as leisurely as his first.

At the end, he put his new skills to the test, acquiring a practice test via Twilight Sparkle and finding his performance sufficient both to his own standards and Ms. Sparkle's.

A/N: Thus ends the tedious part. One last note: regarding what comes next, visualize it as essentially equivalent to the ACT/SAT tests – the scores from which most top-tier American Universities use to decide if an applicant can handle the academic rigor of their classes. It'll be closer to the ACT than the SAT. Just in case anyone was curious. CLOSING BRACKET.]

That is the story of how a pony who went by the name Mystery Book came to enter the hallowed halls of Canterlot University to take an actual entrance exam exactly two months and three days after his arrival in Equestria.

He'd initially felt a slight amount of annoyance at his own lackluster speed. He knew others would consider his progress impossibly fast, but he also knew he could have gone faster. In retrospect, however, it was actually fortunate he'd taken so long. If he had been ready before today, he'd have taken the test with fewer fellow applicants. A non-unicorn applying to Canterlot University amidst a smaller group would have raised eyebrows.

But on this day in late Summer, the date of massed application, he was simply one of many ponies to apply, allowing him to blend in... although perhaps 'not stand out' would say it better. If his lack of horn was noticed, it might attract the occasional scoff, but it did not accrue immense amounts of scrutiny. The notice-me-not charm he maintained about himself works better in a crowd, as did the other aspects of his wardrobe.

Thestrals, being so rare, drew a great deal of unwanted attention. He had learned early on how to avoid that annoyance. When in public, Mr. Book wore a flat cloak with two space-charmed pockets on the inside to hide his distinctive bat wings. The fabric also extends down to cover his elaborate 'cutie mark', the intricacies of which attracted unwanted attention one time too many. Simple cutie marks were commonplace. Complex cutie marks were not. He wore glinting glasses to hide his slitted eyes, subtly charmed to be forever reflective to any who looked through the lens from the outside and forever transparent when seen through the inside, like a muggle one-way mirror. Finally, he maintained an illusion spell to make his teeth appear flat.

Most now assumed he was an earth pony, though a few were clever enough to realise that his cloak might hide wings. None of those few were clever enough to further suspect the wings might be composed of flesh instead of feathers. Or perhaps some had suspected, and simply wished for him not to know they knew it was a possibility. You never could be absolutely certain about that sort of thing. Still, Mr. Book was reasonably certain nopony thought him a thestral aside from Mr. Silver, Twilight Sparkle, her pet dragon, and the pink buffoon. And Celestia and the royal guard, if Ms. Sparkle had informed her mentor.

With cloak and glasses and notice-me-not charm, he sat down amidst rows of desks and amongst scores of unicorns, appearing to all the world as another would-be apprentice applying to the most eminent educational institution in Equestria.

"You may begin," was said to the gathered ponies.

As expected, the sections on magic and language were trivial at best, completed with quick and accurate efficiency.

The only difficulties, also as expected, were in the departments of Social Studies and Mathematics. Sometimes he would be asked a question about a relatively obscure historical fact to which he would not know the answer, or he would be asked to solve a mathematical equation of a structure he had not encountered and could not immediately intuit. He eliminated wrong answers, chose the best available option (it was multiple choice), then went on, remembering the questions for later if he had the time to return and make a more deeply educated guess about history, or work out the math problem despite being unfamiliar with it. Test-taking is a skill like any other, to be understood and mastered.

Mr. Silver's tutoring in Science, however, was more than adequate to not miss any questions in the subject, as far as he could tell.

"Time's up," said the unicorn proctor.

The unicorn applicants (and a single thestral) stopped levitating their quills.

"You will receive your results in the mail by Tuesday of next week." Mr. Book did not have an official address, of course. He had established a pick-up box at the post office. "Form an orderly line and place your tests on my desk."

The thestral fell in line with the march of applicants, fell out of line as soon as he crossed the threshold from room to hallway, and fell out of sight when he left the building.

He was a bit weary – mentally, not physically or magically – and so Mr. Book decided that, after a twenty-minute resting period, he would spend the next three hours stockpiling food (i.e. use magic to gather insects, which were not a readily-available commodity in any nearby market). One outing ought to be enough for over a month's worth of nutritional sustenance. After that, a bit of practice with pegasus/thestral magic wouldn't hurt, now that he finally has the time to dedicate more effort in that direction.

But when he appeared in the crystal caves, Owlowiscious was already waiting for him with a letter. Hopefully Mr. Silver would not uproot his imagined itinerary.

Professor Book,

I'll be teaching a class about my pegasus magic techniques two days from now, 4:00 PM at Cloudsdale High Flight Stadium on Monday.

Size of class: currently unknown. More than thirty students.

Age of class: projected to be all over the place. Colts/Fillies and adults alike.

It would be a great help if you could demonstrate the techniques to prove that they aren't unique to me. But if you're too busy, I understand.

-Silver

Mr. Book looked at the scroll curiously.

He did have the next week free... but he had already witnessed Mr. Silver in a teaching environment. Back on the other side of the mirror, Mr. Silver was capable of teaching upwards of twenty peers at once.

Then again, this would be different. It might be interesting to see how his young apprentice could handle a more diverse group of students, many of whom would likely be of greater age than himself and therefore of less inclination to respect a child.

Not to mention this would give him an incentive to master pegasus magic as much as he could over the next forty-eight hours.

Mr. Book attached a note to Owlowiscious's foot which read,

I'll be there. I shall also be here, tonight and tomorrow night, if you wish to discuss potential annoyances you might encounter, and strategies for circumventing them. Not to mention advertisement. You are going to spend tomorrow in the company of the other competition winners, yes?

[A/N: The next chapter should be much more engaging.]

Chapter 33: Placement Tests, Round 2

It was Sunday, three weeks after Hearth's Warming, their final lesson before school would begin. Silver knew they'd be covering something significant when they didn't immediately start on a spell or potion.

"Your next lesson will take a few weeks to complete," said Professor Tome. "After you pass it, you will implement the virtue of Hufflepuff."

"You care about loyalty?" Memory asked, only to shudder at Mr. Tome's severe look.

"Why the focus on hard work?" asked Silver, who had noticed how Professor Tome said virtue, not virtues.

"I do not know when we will escape," the thestral cautioned, "but I suspect it shall be soon, if it is possible in the first place. Within the year. At the very least, I should have the mirror found by then, assuming it exists within this country's borders. Even on the assumption it takes longer, accumulating power before our return is the sensible thing to do. At your age, that means industriousness. It would not do for that progress to go to waste, so you shall both become human animagi."

There was a pause.

"What?" asked Memory.

"It's possible?" asked Silver.

Riddle Tome's form blurred. For the first time in half a year, Silver's eyes beheld a human.

"It is," said Tom Riddle.

Silver stared. He hadn't been expecting that. Even though he was the one who thought of it, he hadn't expected success. And the thought occurred to him that maybe it wouldn't have worked if they weren't trapped in a wish-granting device of possibly unlimited power. The thought also occurred to him that, yes, they were currently speaking English. The mirror was not changing their brains to automatically understand some foreign language.

"Um..." said Hermione. "Why don't you look anything like you used to?"

"My previously-occupied human form was on the verge of death, so I did not use blood from that body in my testing."

The part of Silver's brain that paid attention to exact wordings noticed how that statement was technically true. "What testing?" he asked. "And why did you need human blood?"

"Ms. Sunshine," said Riddle Tome, thestral once more. "Describe the animagus potion's key ingredient for Mr. Silver's benefit."

"Every animagus potion contains a different core component," Memory recited from memory, "a piece of material from the target form. You need a fang to become a snake, a whisker to become a cat, a carapace to become a beetle. Over fifty known versions of the potion have been developed over the centuries, each with different stirring instructions, different supplementary ingredients, and different difficulty levels."

"Correct," said Professor Tome, who adopted a well-worn lecturing pose. "With very few exceptions, failure in the field of potions-making means disastrous consequences. The animagus potion is one of those exceptions. Mr. Silver would use the term 'fail safe'. It is more open to experimentation than other concoctions. Unless, of course, you wish to have the form of a magical creature. Those animagus potions have universally resulted in disaster. That does not preclude their possibility, mind you. An insanely lucky wizard who does not fear death might one day become a successful dragon animagus, or a successful basilisk animagus. If they get the potion right on their first try. But I digress. Through methods that neither of you would call evil, I have attained an unlimited amount of human blood, which allowed me to dabble until the recipe became viable. For whatever reason, the potion remained fail safe, not fail-deadly, despite the fact that wizards are technically magical creatures."

Well, that last part definitely supports the mirror-wills-it hypothesis.

"I can guess how you turned a finite supply into an infinite supply," said Silver, "but where did you even get human blood in the first place?"

"From a vial that was on my person at the time we were trapped," explained the thestral. "I had previously enchanted them with spells of protection and perfect preservation. Those charms, or luck, or mirror fiat prevented it from changing into pony blood. I likewise have the blood of you, Ms. Memory, Mr. Dragon, Mr. Chaos Hufflepuff, and a few others."

"Okay, that's definitely evil," said Memory.

"Not all uses of blood are evil, Ms. Memory," Professor Tome drawled flatly. "This use, for instance. And your own resurrection. And many aspects of magical healing. Are you not glad I took the liberty of extracting it when I could? Now you shall get your human form back earlier than your release. And on the off chance the mirror does not revert us when we return, we shall already be prepared."

The rest of the lesson involved rehearsing the animagus potion recipe, over and over, interspersed with spell practice. They would be getting it right on the first try. They would not be wasting time. Mr. Tome would make sure of that.

At the end, after Memory had left, Mr. Tome said, "I have devised a way for you to attain true battle practice, but there is still the obstacle of advertisement. You shall soon attend the most prestigious primary school for unicorns, correct?"

Three ponies walked into Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns.

"Hello? I'm Twilight Sparkle. I'm looking for the room hosting the entrance exam?"

They did not attract any stares.

"Really? I thought the room would have changed by now."

All three of those ponies looked like ordinary unicorns.

"Thank you! Follow me, I know the way by heart."

Sure, two of those unicorns were wearing cloaks that covered their backs.

"Remember, don't be nervous and it'll be a-okay. Okay?"

But the material was too thin and flat to possibly conceal wings.

"Good luck!"

That was, hopefully, how it would look to everypony else.

"Silver Life?" asked the teacher. "Memory Sunshine?"

He may have changed his name too. Wouldn't want to arouse suspicion that way either.

The name 'Silver Wing' was beginning to make the rounds across Equestria as one that belongs to a pegasus colt doing notable things in Cloudsdale. Not to mention it didn't fit a unicorn.

Only the ponies in Ponyville knew about his alicorn status so far. His status. Not Memory's. Hers was entirely unknown. He would have kept his own status a complete secret too if he could have. But that surprise party had... well, surprised him. Caught him off-guard. Combine that with the Element of Honesty, and it was a hard trap to avoid. Not that he was thinking clearly at the time. Once he did start thinking clearly, he reminded himself that Ponyville is a small town. Gossip from a single small town in Equestria probably wouldn't convince anypony. Even if that town did house the Elements of Harmony, it would just be seen as a crazy rumour like everything else.

He had guessed that nopony outside the town would suspect him, and his guess was turning out to be correct.

"Yup, those're our names," said Silver Life, a 'unicorn' who was applying to Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns right alongside Memory Sunshine, another 'unicorn' applicant. "Is this where we take our exam?"

He glanced around the room. There were no dragon eggs in sight.

"It is."

Once again, Silver was about to join an Equestrian school in the middle of its academic year (Canterlot school years start early fall and end early summer, Cloudsdale school years start early spring and end early winter), but he wouldn't be alone this time.

"Just to be clear," Silver asked, "since we already got our admittance letters, this is so you know where to put us, right?"

"Ah..." said the proctor hesitantly. "I'm afraid I cannot answer that question. I must warn you that applicants who do too poorly are not allowed to learn here. We only teach the best in this school."

"Got it," said Silver. He leaned over and whispered "we aren't applicants" to Memory, who nodded.

The test: levitate objects in various ways.

Their results: lack luster.

They couldn't write clearly with a levitated quill just yet. They couldn't levitate multiple objects at once. They couldn't turn the pages of a book. The heaviest object they could lift was a thirty-pound weight. (Pounds, not kilograms. Ugh.) They couldn't move objects very quickly. And so on and so forth.

It's not their fault they've only had horns for a few weeks.

Though Memory was distraught at her poor performance, Silver forced himself not to fret. He couldn't imagine Celestia inviting them to study, only to allow a random proctor to fail them before they even began.

After magic, they were sent off to the academic portions of their "entrance exams" (i.e. their placement tests).

Unlike Cloudsdale High/Elementary, this school prioritises Reading as the most important academic subject, followed by Math, Science, and Social Studies.

Silver's past experience gave him the wherewithal to ask if there were such things as anti-cheating charms, and if they could be put in place beforehand. The teachers had complied with surprising rapidity. It was, in retrospect, probably a common spell that unicorn schools used all the time.

Hermione had given him a hurt look, like she thought he was asking because he didn't want her cheating off of him, and he hadn't had time to explain himself before the first test began. Thankfully the results and the ensuing argument explained it for him.

"But you cast anti-cheating charms at the start," Silver argued. "We couldn't have cheated."

Once again, a superintendent was called. This one didn't seem as open-minded as Flight Formation.

"If the tests were so easy," said a blue stallion the teacher had called Night Light, "they should be easy to replicate."

Memory bumped her shoulder into his. Silver, who had been offended on her behalf up until that point, snapped his mouth shut. It's strange how it can be more emotionally intense when defending others than when you defend yourself.

"Fine," Silver said. "We'll re-take this one. But only this one. If we do well on Math and Science, we're not re-taking those."

"Oh, I'll be overseeing those tests personally," said Night Light. "There shall be little doubt about your true abilities when you take them."

And there weren't. No doubts whatsoever.

"Are we still going to re-take the Reading exam?" Silver asked before leaving for Social Studies.

"Yes."

"You still don't think we passed it on merit?"

"I think it doesn't hurt to be sure," Night Light said crisply.

Silver's eyes narrowed. "On that note, are we going to take Reading class at all? If the score proves true, I mean. And what about Math and Science? I'd rather not be bored out of my mind for... how long does each class last? Fifty minutes? If so, I'd rather not waste two and a half hours each day. And yes, we're willing to study elsewhere over this issue. We're only here to humor Celestia. She gave us acceptance letters as Hearth's Warming gifts and we thought 'why not?'."

He'd spent his Science exam thinking of multiple angles to attack this problem. He didn't want to take pointless classes for half of the school day. He could barely tolerate Social Studies at Cloudsdale. And he didn't want Memory wasting her time either.

But Night Light didn't seem as open as Flight Formation to the idea of letting a colt decide what's best for himself. "Most ponies are not given the opportunity to study here, young colt. It is not turned down lightly. You will find no better school on magic in the country."

"Except Canterlot University," countered Silver. "And given what my mentor says about that school, I'm not sure if I want to go there either. I don't care HOW good your magic courses are if the overall experience is negative."

"Canterlot University does not accept colts, and if you do not learn magic from this school, you are unlikely to get in."

"Ah, right. The whole 'let's find a reasonable way to discriminate against non-unicorns' application process. I'm not all that worried. Professor Book got in and he never studied here."

Something flickered in Night Light's eyes. "Professor Book?"

"Mystery Book," Silver clarified. "Now Riddle Tome. You know, inventor of paper airplanes, inventor of an unknown teleportation enchantment, inventor of memory-sharing, and inventor of a whole bunch of other things that he's keeping to himself for now." Those three feats were a matter of public record and a juicy part of the rumour grapevine in Canterlot and things that Mr. Tome wanted to proliferate. "Also, he's the current Court Scholar," Silver added. "So I'd say it's not the worst thing in the world if I find the best ways to educate myself. If you can't prove your school is better than my mentor, I'll just learn from him instead. Or maybe ask Celestia for tutors."

When Night Light replied, his tone was no longer that of a self-assured adult authority figure. He now spoke with something like apprehension. "He's your mentor?"

"Yup," said Silver.

"He's not mine," said Memory, who had been silent this entire time.

"But he is teaching you," Silver pointed out.

"That makes him my tutor, not my mentor."

"What's the difference?"

"A mentor is someone you want to be like," said Memory. "A tutor is just someone who teaches you one-on-one."

"Hmm... yeah, okay." Silver turned back to Night Light. "Yes, he's my mentor, her tutor. I take it you've heard of him?"

"My wife has dealt with him," said Night Light. "By her accounts, he is the single most unpleasant pony she has ever met."

"Sounds about right," said Silver, and Memory nodded. "But he's also the single most competent pony I've ever met. You learn to take the bad with the good. So, back to the question at hand. Are we going to sit in classes we don't need to take or not? My last school gave me independent study during Math, Science, and Reading-"

"This is not your old school."

"Correct. It's Princess Celestia's school. For gifted unicorns. But if it's not up to my standards, I'll thank her for the invite and tell her why I declined."

There was a long pause.

When you veiled your threats and wanted to maintain plausible deniability that you weren't making them in the first place, the important thing was to keep it all as subtle as possible. In this case, he hadn't said what he'd tell Celestia, just that he could and would tell her his reasons for not attending her school. If he didn't end up attending. The superintendent had no reason to see that as a threat if he truly believed his school was as good as he claimed.

"What I meant," said Night Light, "was that we allow students to jump ahead to higher grades in individual subjects. If those students can handle those higher levels."

"Perfect!" said Silver. "That's even better than independent study. Assuming the teachers are up to snuff, of course. I trust there won't be anypony dumb enough to order a non-unicorn to cast a spell, or something equally absurd. This institution is way too prestigious for that, right? And if it did happen..." he trailed off suggestively.

There was another pause.

"If something like that were to happen," said Night Light, voice carefully controlled, "the situation would be given the utmost care and scrutiny."

"As opposed to being brushed under the rug," Silver nodded. "And needing to be resolved in the royal court. Or by the media and public opinion. Or both. I'm glad this school knows how to learn from the mistakes of others. Maybe we will attend after all."

"I feel like I should have scolded you Mr. Silver," said Memory.

"I'm surprised you didn't," said Silver. "Were you just being polite?"

"I suppose I understand where you're coming from more than I used to."

"You mean after a hundred points were taken away in the great hall and you stopped relying on authority as much? Or after you... um... lost, in that final battle?"

"I mean," said Memory, "that my mysterious young wizard will say what he has to say to prepare his heroic young witch so she doesn't lose any final battles in the first place."

When their Social Studies exam ended and school let out, Silver took some time to search for alternatives, looking for a way to practice battle magic in a relatively pacifist pony society when it isn't taught in normal classes, and when mock battles can't happen daily. There is a dueling club, which is basically what he was expecting, but to quote the Defense Professor, dueling is a sport, not a branch of battle magic.

Still, the club was currently in session and it was worth checking out, so check it out they did. After five minutes of watching duels, Silver decided that (a) the club wouldn't be nearly as good as the battles had been, but (b) it would be better than nothing and (c) it would be the perfect opportunity to contribute to a certain plot.

So he and Memory asked if they could join.

They were each given a list of rules, a matching pair of documents to be filled/signed by their guardian, and a warning that dueling isn't for everypony.

Silver had replied that dueling isn't much compared to what they'd already learned how to do.

The teacher responsible for overseeing the dueling club voiced his skepticism by asking what they had learned how to do.

Silver and Memory declared in unison that they'd learned how to fight.

The teacher asked after the difference.

"Dueling is a sport," said Silver. "Or maybe an art form. Fights aren't. I don't think I could win a duel with most ponies in this room, but I'd probably win a fight."

The teacher still didn't understand. He also said with certainty that Silver was mistaken.

"I could prove it," said Silver. "If you'd like."

The self-assured stallion told him to go ahead.

"Suppose I wanted to duel a powerful opponent. I'd lose, hands down. But suppose I wanted to fight a powerful opponent. Like, I don't know, him."

Silver pointed his hoof at what seemed to be one of the club's best duelers, who hadn't lost yet, who had snorted when Silver said he could beat anypony in a fight, and who was looking at the new applicants with predatory anticipation. That is, until Silver pointed at him, at which point the skilled dueler was covered in blueberry and whipped cream.

"I'd do it like that. Except I would have used a stunner instead of a pie, and if I was fighting a war, I'd use something permanent so he couldn't get back up. Point is, fights are decided by surprise." And the teacher was suddenly covered in cherry. "Like that. And then I'd leave, because guerilla warfare is effective."

Before anypony could raise a fuss or complain, he teleported himself and Memory back to the library.

"Okay, now I'm going to say something. You shouldn't have done that, Silver. I don't think we'll be allowed into the club anymore."

"That's sort of the point," said Silver. "Mr. Tome is going to start an actual fight club soon, but he needs advertisement. If I get rejected when I return to the dueling club, I'll just use that opportunity to tell the members where to go if they want to learn how to fight. And if I get accepted, dueling club might be mildly helpful. It's not like our schedules will conflict with Mr. Tome's mock battles. He intends to host them on the weekends, not long after each tutoring session. Though if you really want to join dueling club anyway, you can just disavow me. The teacher will probably let you join even if he bans me. We should turn in these permission slips separately when we get to that point. Now," Silver grinned. "The question is, do you want to throw the pies, or should I go and do it myself?"

Aftermath: Admittance Letter

Dear Twilight Sparkle,

These are the test results and school schedules of Silver Life and Memory Sunshine. Please ensure that all contents are read thoroughly, and take careful note of the list of school supplies that...

...

Sincerely,
Superintendent Night Light

P.S. Twilight, you never mentioned you had unicorn wards too. Is Silver Life related to this Silver Wing you've told us about? And Memory Sunshine too? Is the Princess having you take care of young colts and fillies as part of your friendship lessons?

Chapter 37: Incompatible?

"Expecto Patronum!"

"Is that really necessary?"

"You know, now that you mention it, I think I could cast it wordlessly."

"Are you being deliberately obtuse?"

"No," said Harry. "Wouldn't want a stray Killing Curse to escape the practice zone and keep going until it hits something." He looked at his patronus. "Stand guard and intercept any killing curses that don't hit the beehives."

The silver humanoid snapped a solute, then began marching around the cave's perimeter. The movement wasn't necessary, Harry knew. It would teleport into place if it had to. But it gave the impression of guarding.

Tom Riddle sighed. "I do not think you are getting into the spirit of this spell. At all. Caring about collateral damage means you are not truly indifferent."

They were both currently human, as they would have to be to exchange finger gestures. They stood in a deep, dank cavern now lit by Patronus light. Not their ordinary hideout, but part of the same cave network. There wasn't a crystal in sight.

Cold, dark places worked wonders for learning the Killing Curse, apparently. Pictures of bitter enemies were also considered helpful, and students were often told, as homework, to brood on what they would do if they got their hands on the one they hate most.

Harry hadn't done any of that, and he didn't plan to. In the first place, he only considered it possible that he could learn the Killing Curse for two reasons.

One, he believed he would be able to achieve an apathetic mindset towards non-sapient creatures. He has squished literal insects before, like mosquitos, and this should be no different.

Second, Harry is almost certain that back when he killed the troll, his hatred at the time could have fueled a killing curse. He would have used the killing curse if he knew the gestures and had the power. He'd certainly had the right mindset.

If it's not sapient, it's not morally important. He doesn't care, and that indifference might be enough to cast Avada Kedavra at a beehive, even while maintaining a Patronus charm. And if apathy doesn't work, he'll try hatred, just to be honest.

If he has his Patronus charm active, he can tell it to intercept any stray green bolts before they strike something sapient. Assuming he can use both magics at the same time. They might be too incompatible, one based on caring, the other based on apathy.

"I'll dispel my Patronus if I feel like it's interfering," Harry assured his teacher.

If that conflict did happen, he might have to work his way up. Even if he can't do both spells simultaneously at the start, he might be able to do it eventually. It would mean relying on Tom to intercept stray curses until then.

Not with his body, of course. Killing curses can be blocked by anything that has a brain. Simply levitate a living creature into the path of the curse to neutralise the green spell.

It's hardly practical to do that in live combat when dodging is more efficient and reliable, but it can be done in a classroom setting. If Harry misses the beehives, Tom would simply move one into place. The bees are fully sealed inside glass cases for that reason.

"Do you think I'll have enough magic for the curse?" Harry asked. "Wasn't it a fifth-year spell in terms of power?"

"For now, as you learn the gestures and pronunciation, that is a good thing. Once you have memorised the preliminary parts of the spell, I have a solution to the problem of power."

Harry found himself surprised that those words did not sound ominous.

The words to the Killing Curse had to be exactly precise, like the Aguamenti spell. It involved finger gestures and wand movements, but those didn't have to be precise. And of course, it required magical power. Harry was almost disturbed at how the spell mirrored the Patronus Charm so invertedly. He wondered if he wasn't the first wizard in history to cast the Patronus Charm version 2.0 and block a Killing Curse after all. Maybe the original creators – the Atlanteans? – had known.

Once Harry had gotten the spell's prerequisites exactly correct ten times in a row, it was Tom's turn to learn the preliminary parts of the Patronus charm, as per their agreement. Harry had decided, in the end, to keep Hermione's Patronus lesson separate.

Tom took little time to get good and consistent, despite the difficulty. A result of his experience learning countless difficult spells, no doubt.

Then they shifted back to Harry.

First, Harry proved that the brief break hadn't interfered with his own consistency. Then Tom Riddle drew forth a wand of knobbed wood – the Elder Wand, which Harry had completely forgotten about.

"Before I grant you access to this powerful artifact," said Tom Riddle, "promise in Parseltongue that you will not attempt to take it from me, now or ever."

"Um..." said Harry, "why are you even letting me use it in the first place?"

"You might eventually wield different world-saving magics than I, which the Elder Wand might have to make as powerful as possible. I suspect that a centaur might tell either of us that we both must learn how to wield it, in order to prevent the world's end in the future. We are both Tom Riddle, so it might be convinced to respond equally to both our hands, and consider that we both vanquished its former master. But I will decide who uses it at any given time. Is that understood?"

Harry nodded.

"Repeat the full oath in Parseltongue. Say that you will not take it from me, that if circumstances force us apart while you are using it, you will return it as soon as you are able, and that you will not attempt to bypass this oath through any trickery."

Harry hissed the words.

And Tom Riddle levitated the Elder Wand to Harry Potter, bringing their magics close enough to activate the sense of doom, since they were both currently human.

The resonance wasn't nearly as strong as it had been on the other side, possibly because Equestria's natural harmony lessened their own anti-harmony. It was now more of a minor annoyance than a blaring alarm.

Even an object being levitated by Tom's magic mere inches above Harry's arm didn't produce anything more than a tickle. Then the wand was allowed to drop, and Harry accepted the wood in his right hand, his left already holding his personal wand. He was using non-dominant casting to keep the Patronus Charm as weak as possible without winking out, which left his dominant hand empty and available.

"First, we shall test your power," said Tom. A small cage containing a single bee was levitated to Harry's feet.

Harry picked it up, noticing the broken wing.

"Cast-"

"Episkey," Harry said, staggering only slightly at the amount of power it had taken to mend the gossamer wing. As a pony, that wouldn't have winded him.

"Very good. As I suspected, you should have enough strength to cast the Killing Curse when you are wielding the Elder Wand." Tom sighed dramatically. "Now for the tedious part. Aim your wand at the bees and begin your attempts. And do please conclude that your Patronus cannot be active in a timely manner."

Tom was right. Harry quickly concluded that he wouldn't be able to do both spells simultaneously. Not yet. Not while he was learning.

The Killing Curse felt wrong to cast. Actually, that didn't describe it accurately. The best way to describe the feeling of a failed Killing Curse was that the spell didn't feel right, which disturbed him. It was like the spell was telling him that it would feel right if he succeeded. Schadenfreude was the technical term that came to mind, the feeling of joy at the destruction of enemies. That emotion is, unfortunately, a part of human nature.

Harry wondered if wizards normally feel schadenfreude after using a Killing Curse, or if it was because he was trying to use apathy instead of hatred. Or maybe he was remembering Tom Riddle's neural patterns of anticipated joy for getting rid of an annoyance, triggered by speaking the words 'Avada Kedavra'.

The normal learning path – the only learning path, as far as all other wizards are concerned – is to use hatred to fuel a killing curse. Even if a wizard does manage to reach the second level of apathy-fueled killing, they typically used hatred so much that they became empty over time. Harry wondered if he was the first wizard in the world who was trying to skip hatred entirely. He wondered if it was even possible to skip hatred.

If not, he might not ever cast it. So far, prospects weren't looking good even after dismissing his Patronus Charm.

"You know," Harry said eventually. "Excluding the troll, all the things I've killed in my life have been much smaller than this. Mosquitos, at the largest. Maybe bees are too large, or I'm implicitly caring about their roles as pollinators?"

"Nothing smaller would block a killing curse."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked. "Has anyone tried casting it into an anthill? Or a massive cloud of gnats?"

And that is how the learning session derailed into a scientific endeavour. Just how large did a creature have to be to block a Killing Curse?

First, Harry Potter turned back into Silver Wing, so their magics wouldn't resonate out of control. Then he cast his Patronus, again with his left hoof, and readied it to intercept stray Curses.

Mr. Tome went through the tedious process of buying artificial anthills from various petshops and lining them up in front of the beehives, at enough of a distance that Harry could observe from the sidelines if the Curse was intercepted by the anthills. It was winter, so they couldn't exactly go through the normal process of gathering insects from the wild.

It turned out that ants could intercept Killing Curses. The only problem was precision. They had to line up multiple hills in a row until they were lucky enough that the curse exactly collided with one of the ants. Even aiming at concentrated pockets of ants didn't guarantee that the Curse would hit one. Not unless Mr. Tome used his own magic to clump them together so tightly that there were no gaps in the writhing mass of legs and skittering.

From this, they both concluded that the Killing Curse, despite its large outward appearance, was ridiculously precise. Like a perfectly thin line segment extending straight from the wand at the moment of casting.

Armed with this new knowledge, Mr. Tome used Silver's bits to buy more anthills. He had provided the beehives himself, but he wasn't going to indulge Silver's additional requests out of his own pocket.

He put all the anthills in a line in front of the beehives, then decided to stay as Riddle Tome, just in case something happened and he had to use his magic in a way that would collide with Silver's. Silver became Harry Potter, and they went back to the lesson.

They went back to the failing lesson.

"Maybe if you tinted the glass so I didn't see the ants, I would care less?"

This was done, with a look of extreme distaste on Riddle Tome's face.

A look that vanished when Harry Potter successfully cast his first Killing Curse.

It felt like it should have been more dramatic. Like there should have been some sort of emotional climax after a long and grueling journey.

Nope. Just a green flash disappearing behind tinted glass.

Turns out that cold, clinical understanding of the human mind is what it took to not care.

Visual cues are a big part of the human emotional system. And so is tactile information. And distance. And attachment. More of Milgram's test subjects made it to the XXX (deadly) electric shock when they couldn't see the actor they thought they were shocking.

Killing a person with a knife, with your own hands, is intense compared to shooting a gun. Shooting a gun at a visible target is intense compared to pressing a button. You can still feel the recoil and hear the pained shout with a gun. Pressing a button when you can still see the target is more intense than if the other person is out of sight, and therefore out of mind.

What Harry had just done to some random ant he couldn't see had felt like pressing a button.

"This is the part that I tell you all those ants were transfigured from live ponies."

"Parseltongue or you're lying."

"After months in my employer's presence, I've come to prefer the term 'joking'."

"It wasn't funny."

Riddle Tome grinned. "I thought it was extremely funny. As royal fool, it is my privilege to make jokes, even if others consider them to be in poor taste. I had been sorely tempted to give Ms. Memory a Troll for her Defense grade, though I ultimately decided that the Defense Professor was too dignified for it."

"As your Patronus Charm mentor, it's my privilege to tell you that any happiness you felt from those jokes won't work to fuel a Patronus charm."

"You are not my mentor yet," warned the wizard. "Replicate your results. Otherwise I will consider your earlier success a fluke."

This was easier said than done. First, Harry had to recover enough magic to cast it again. Then, as he stared down the line of anthills...

"Did you have to make that joke?"

To Tom's clear annoyance, it took a Parseltongue reassurance that he had indeed been joking, that the ants and bees were indeed ants and bees, for Harry to be able to cast the Killing Curse again.

Then Harry asked if there were any spells that gave the binary result of 'sapient' or 'non-sapient', and Tom taught him that one as well, again reassuring him in Parseltongue that the spell didn't do anything else.

Because not all past wizards had been ethical monsters. Just as there had been a wizard that had created House Elves, so too had there been a witch who was curious enough to wonder if Mermaids were really unintelligent beasts.

Once he got into the rhythm of casting the Killing Curse, once he could feel the emotional mechanisms for apathy in his own mind and body, he asked Tom to un-tint the glass. It took a few tries, but he eventually activated the feeling of apathy despite the ants being right in front of his eyes. Then he moved up to the bees. Then he became a pony and continued replicating his results.

And then, the really hard part. Now that he could do it as a pony, his attention wouldn't be occupied by outputting enough magical power to fuel the spell.

"Expecto Patronum."

But the first attempt failed. He had to remind himself of the value of sapient life, remind himself of all bright and beautiful things.

"Expecto Patronum! Stand guard. Be ready to intercept any killing curses."

The moonlight alicorn waved a winged salute, then began flying in a defense formation.

"Can you tint the glass again?"

Riddle Tome did this, even as he said, "You do realise you have already kept up your side of the bargain by the standards of my promise?"

Silver nodded. "I know. But... I feel like I should do this anyway. Or at least try. Outside a classroom setting like this one, I'm only ever going to cast a killing curse if I can use my Patronus charm to prevent collateral damage. This whole lesson is practically pointless if I can't cast a killing curse under real-life circumstances."

Riddle's eyebrows rose, but he stayed silent, watching as the alicorn with a white-glowing mane began trying and failing to cast a killing curse.

But he didn't fail for very long, this time.

Silver quickly realised that, in order to be both caring and apathetic, an obvious solution was Perfect Occlumency. His true, inner core would care, while his complete outer personality would maintain the neural patterns of apathy. Just like when he was rescuing Bellatrix Black.

That state of mind was enough to achieve the mental gymnastics required to cast a Killing Curse while maintaining a Patronus Charm.

The instant he succeeded, he felt another tingling on his cutie mark.

He looked back and saw that the number 5730 had been added to the bottom left corner of the picture. Three corners of the image were occupied now. The letter "C" in the top right, the number "6" in the top left, and the number "5730" in the bottom left.

Harry understood instantly.

"That number looks familiar," said Riddle Tome.

"It's-"

"No," said Riddle. "I shall figure it out on my own. A Slytherin should not have to remind a Ravenclaw of that."

There was a pause.

Then, "Ah! Yes. Carbon dating. Five thousand, seven-hundred and thirty years is the half-life of carbon."

"Yup," said Silver. "Do you want to figure out the meaning on your own too?"

"Not quite. I would like to attempt the problem before you say the answer," said the thestral. "Meaning is subjective, unlike fact. There are multiple potentially correct answers. My own perspective suggests that the half-life of carbon, which is sometimes called the element of life, is meant to remind you that all life will inevitably decay and die. Your earning that number after learning the Killing Curse lends to this interpretation."

"Almost," said Silver. "I think it's meant to remind me that we're on a timetable. Life will inevitably die if I don't do something about it."

Like, say, by trying to get Lord Voldemort to the point that he doesn't want to kill people all the time. Unfortunately...

"No."

"What? But you promised-"

"To put forth a genuine effort at learning the Patronus Charm if you learned the Killing Curse," he quoted. "I did not agree the effort would be my main priority. I did not agree to go immediately to extreme lengths if my early attempts fail." The thestral's slitted eyes narrowed darkly. "I did not agree to take happiness lessons. I will look into the matter independently. If I feel as though I am making no progress, then I might ask for aid. As it stands, I cannot imagine you have already implemented your own best efforts to the task of devising a good lesson. I suggest you take the time necessary to craft it in such a way that it would not annoy me in any way, shape, or form."

Chapter 39: Attempted Affection and its Aftermath

"You have decided against bringing your pupil?" his employer asked after exiting her bedchambers.

"I am told he will arrive at dinner, once his homework is complete," Riddle answered. "He has been given a potion to allow him to stay awake for the night."

"Then let us make haste. I would like to take care of something before we eat."

They walked through the hallways rather quickly, then made an expected turn at an unexpected time. This direction would take them to Night Court, where they normally went after dinner. It confused the escorting guards, though they know better than to protest.

Mr. Tome silently strode along. It was the same eight hours of work. So long as it's not boring, he didn't care how it was spent.

"Are you expecting a petitioner?" he asked after his mind offered the hypothesis.

"No," said his employer. Two large doors opened and closed, sealing them inside a room that could not be scried from the outside. But rather than walking to her throne, she simply turned to face him. "I have a question, and I thought you might want it asked privately."

"I might not answer," he said. "Then again, maybe I will. What do you wish to ask?"

"Are..." she began, then hesitated. She looked both hopeful and guarded, like she was afraid of her own hope turning out to be false. "Are you a thestral, Mystery Book?"

"Almost five months," he answered.

"Beg pardon?"

"That is how long it took. Though you are still to be congratulated on figuring it out before any-"

In the next instant, many things happened in quick succession.

The incident began when the tall, magically powerful being made a sudden dash towards him, as if to attack.

On instinct born from many battles, and using body motions practiced in recent martial training, he ducked her grab, put his front hooves on the ground, and bucked a back leg upward, all in one motion. After he felt his hoof collide with fur and flesh, he continued the roll (aided by broomstick bones) and put himself at distance from his attacker.

He jumped to his hooves, drew a stick from his cloak-

"Mystery!" came a magically augmented voice, sounding pained. "Why-"

-and snapped the portkey, delivering him to a safehouse far away from Canterlot.

"...I do have a way of contacting him. But we'll have to go somewhere private. And you'll have to ask your guards not to peek..."

Approximately thirty minutes later, a silver equinoid appeared before him.

Is there a way to ward against Patronus messages? He knew of no such method, despite all his lore. Perhaps he should invent the spell.

"Mr. Tome," said the patronus in Mr. Silver's voice. "Princess Celestia says that there's been a misunderstanding and asks that you return to the palace."

Hah. Like that would work.

The silver shape of a pony stood still, as if waiting to receive a reply.

"Tell Mr. Silver that I do not care for Celestia's meddling. This is between myself and my former employer. If you are going to convey messages, convey hers. Ask what she hoped to accomplish by attacking me without warning."

The message-bearing spell disappeared for a time, then reappeared again. "Princess Luna won't come out of her room. Celestia says her sister says she didn't attack you, but she won't say anything else. Celestia thinks the two of you can clear it up if you talk to each other."

"Tell her that if she wants me to put myself at risk, she will have to make it worth my while."

Not that he was actually in true danger, nor was he actually fearful of any risk. He had a horcrux. But it was the principle of the matter.

The Patronus disappeared again for a time.

"She asks what you want."

"Tell her she'll owe me a favour."

...

"She says she'll owe you a favour if you can get her sister to come out of her room. I'll add that she means through conversation, not physical or magical force."

"Fine. I shall be there in ten minutes."

Even as the silver pony disappeared from his safehouse, he Apparated to one of his standard Canterlot landing zones – an alley warded by a notice-me-not enchantment – and trotted to the palace.

Give them the false sense of security that he can't simply appear directly in the palace, right next to a princess's bedchambers. Walking was easy enough.

The Princess of the Sun stood outside her sister's door, surrounded by guards, looking apprehensive and angry. He'd never seen that emotion from her before.

"If you are upset with me," he began, "why request my return?"

"Because my sister will not speak with me about it," Celestia said, facial features tense. "She wishes to speak with you."

"Has she said why she wishes to speak with me? She did not seem like she wished to speak at the end of our last conversation."

"I did!" protested an amplified voice, muffled by the closed door. It was only then that he noticed the eavesdropping charm, though the others might simply think she has good hearing.

He turned to the door. More specifically, he turned to face the charm. He walked right up to and spoke into it. "You believe an attack conveys a desire for conversation?"

Princess Luna flinched at the voice that spoke directly into her hearing spell.

First, she reduced the spell's intensity.

Then she tried to collect herself enough for another reply.

This 'morning' has been a whirlwind of emotions, including but not limited to the overwhelming joy she'd felt when her fool had turned out to be a thestral all along, the subsequent painful buck and departure, the crushing fear that he was gone forever, and the desperate confusion at what she had done wrong.

"I was not trying to attack you," she managed to say with her usual dignity, though her voice trembled slightly.

"You do not call that an attack?" he asked sarcastically. "Then what would you call a sudden lunge towards another pony?"

That was enough for her to abandon her attempts at dignity.

"I was trying to HUG YOU!" she shouted, strongly enough to blow the doors open and bring her face to face with her fool.

...

"Oh," he said, face shifting from his standard severe scowl into something more disgusted.

"Oh?" she echoed. "OH? THAT is all you have to say?"

"More or less. I don't care for physical affection."

"Everypony on Equus cares for physical affection!"

"Not I."

There was a long, terrible silence during which she consulted her old element and confirmed for a second time that, yes, he was being honest.

"You don't care for physical affection?" she asked, still unable to believe it. "That is like saying you do not care for breathing! What parent would raise their child that way? How could such a horrible thing have been allowed to happ-"

"My parents did not raise me any way. My birth mother died in the birthing, and I did not learn of my birth father until well after I became an adult. I grew up in an orphanage."

"The caretaker then. How could he-"

"She was not particularly caring."

"The other colts and fillies-"

"Feared me, for reasons beyond my control." He made a motion as if he were shrugging wings, calling attention to them even though they were concealed by his cloak.

...

Oh.

...

Oh.

For perhaps the first time since she met him, the mysterious pony who stood before her made sense. Complete and utter sense. Perfect sense.

That explained it.

That explained him.

She had felt a slight bit of deception at the end there, right when he shrugged his wings, but she could hardly blame him for keeping the full truth to himself. It was likely very painful to recall the fear and shunning from his peers – which to a small colt feels like hatred and scorn.

Ignorance of thestrals is still plenty prevalent in this day and age. She would not be surprised in the slightest if the parentless colts and fillies had bullied the 'bat pony'. Combine that with a negligent caretaker, who might not have put a stop to it...

It was possible the thestral who stood before her had never experienced a single loving embrace his entire life. Or... or any embrace at all. If he did have physical contact with other ponies when he was young, it was likely the receiving end of a buck.

There were tears in her eyes. They were no longer angry or frustrated tears.

Before, she couldn't imagine how any pony could see an attempted hug as a threat.

Now, she couldn't imagine Mystery Book seeing a swiftly approaching pony as anything other than a threat.

"Tia? Could you please leave us? And take the guards?"

"Of course, sister. Come, everypony. Let us return to dinner."

"That include me?" asked a colt's voice.

"Yes."

"Can I say something to my mentor before we go?"

Tia looked through the door, and Luna nodded.

"I suggest you refrain from annoying me," the thestral warned. "Particularly if what you are about to say has to do with a certain lesson you wanted to teach, which I already refused."

The young colt hesitated. Then he spoke. "I'll try. But it is about that. The barrier between you and the charm... well, if you ever do manage to cast it, I suspect you'll have to get over your disgust at the idea of a hug."

At his mentor's expression-

"I'm not saying you'll have to like hugs. But my understanding leads me to believe that you can't be resentful about them. Can you at least try to be emotionally neutral?"

"I make no promises," her fool said dismissively.

When it was just the two of them, Luna spoke. "I understand if you refuse, but would you mind walking forward and allowing the door to be closed behind you? I would prefer not to speak with such distance between us."

"Are you going to attempt to hug me again?"

She shook her head. "I promise to do nothing of the sort. Not without asking first."

He snorted, walked forward, and allowed the door to be closed behind him. "Why did you attempt it?" he inquired, though he did not sound like he enjoyed the act of asking that particular question.

"I was overwhelmed by happiness," she answered honestly. "And I wished to hug my sudden source of joy."

"My mere species made you happy?" he asked, eyebrows deeply furrowed. He did not sound or look like he understood in the slightest.

Luna could understand his lack of understanding. "Yes. It did."

If he grew up in an orphanage, never seeing another thestral, spending all his life pretending that he wasn't one, pretending he was a normal, sun-loving pony just to get by...

Perhaps this is the first time anypony has been anything other than fearful of his species in his presence.

"Why would that make you happy?" he asked, still in that frustrated voice.

Luna took a few deep breaths. This was something she had only ever told Tia before.

"I am especially mindful of Equestria's thestrals," she replied. "A thousand years ago, I was their only friend outside their own species. Always had they been feared by the other three races. Never had they been accepted. Never had they been loved by anypony but themselves. I had thought that if a princess showed that she loved them, the rest of Equestria would follow suit. I now feel my Element informing me... I think... I think that was a rationalisation, one that I told myself a thousand years ago and deliberately ignored my Element telling me otherwise. The true reason I fell in love with thestrals was that they love my night."

...

"And you believe that warrants a hug?"

She sighed in exasperation. "Yes I believe that warrants a hug. Although I now feel as if your entire life warrants a thousand hugs."

"What about my life would warrant that?" he asked disdainfully.

"The fact that you have never received any at all?" she shot back. "And now you must catch up on the backlog?"

"That sounds extremely stupid."

"That-" she began, then caught herself. No, she would not snap at him. If he does not see the value in hugs, of course he would see them as a waste of time. "In that case," she said after collecting herself. "I have a request."

"Can you predict how I will respond before you make it?"

She paused. "Yes... then before I propose it, I shall say that granting the request will earn you my favour."

"I take favours very seriously," he replied. "I might ask for something you do not wish to provide. Especially if your request is something I would rather not do."

"I... I shall keep that in mind."

"What is the request?"

"Allow me to hug you."

He did not look surprised or happy at the request.

"Just once," she assured. "I would also ask that you explore any emotions you might feel as it happens. As your student requested, please attempt not to resent it." If he learned the value of a hug, many good things would follow for him. But he must take this first step. "Will you?"

"Yes."

She almost staggered in shock. "You agree that easily?"

"I already knew what your request would be, and I already knew that I would accept. Understand that my agreement has not been easy. You will find my own request equally unpleasant when I call your favour later this day."

She took a few deep breaths, discarding the emotions engendered by the words. He was only trying to push her away. Just like he has tried to push everypony away, to keep from being hurt. All his life, he has experienced that nopony cares for him, and that any attempts to get close are an attack. It is not his fault. It is unconscious habit. That's all.

"I understand," she said, and stood. "Please pay very close attention to yourself as this happens. Try to understand your own impulses. And try not to resent it. Or at least try not to frown."

She began walking forward while he remained motionless. He had a neutral look about him which suggested he simply wanted to get this over with. The look changed as she approached, his facial features flickering into frowns as he tried and failed to stop them from going there.

"You instinctively distrust approaching ponies," she said knowingly as she walked slowly forward.

He did not reply.

"You would rather push them away than allow them to get close. If you have had close contact before, it has been in the form of violence and pain."

Again, he did not reply.

"Perhaps this will show you that not all ponies are so cruel."

She lifted her head and wrapped her neck over his. She thought of her joy, the original reason she wished to hug him in the first place, so the right emotions would be conveyed. Originally, she wanted to sweep him up and swing him around herself in a twirl, but that would have been far too much at this point.

The embrace felt strange – somehow cold and hot at the same time. His entire being radiated the fact that he did not want to be doing this. He stood rigidly still. He did not lean into the hug.

He had never had a true hug in his life until now, she suspected, and maybe not even any false ones. She had never had a hug like this either. Not with somepony so old and dead inside, yet somehow still so full of life.

"What are you feeling?" she asked, her voice vibrating into his black mane.

"Annoyance."

"Anything else?"

"Not particularly."

"Do you feel as though I should not be this close?"

"Yes."

"Do you feel as though I might hurt you?"

"I don't think so."

"Then why should I not be close?"

"You are within my personal space."

"Why is that a problem?"

"Is that not self-evident?"

"No. Why is it a problem?"

...

"I assure you that it is not normal for ponies to feel that way," Luna continued. "Perhaps towards other animals, especially predators. Perhaps towards other intelligent life, even, like dragons. But not between ponies. Not between fellow members of a social species. Do you know why you feel invaded when another pony comes close?"

There was a pause.

When he spoke, his tone was thoughtful. "Perhaps it is because... no. I would feel the same way even if a member of my own species were doing this. Maybe even worse. I don't know how to answer your question, other than to point out that I cannot see how it is not obvious."

"You still feel annoyed?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Why?"

...

"I don't know."

She pressed just a bit tighter. "Please look into it." And released him.

He still stood rigidly still as she retreated.

When the distance between them was something like its normal length, she asked, "Might I ask you to remove your cloak and glasses before we return to dinner?"

"Are you asking for a second favour? I doubt I need to inform you why I wear them."

"...No. I understand why you do not wish to discard them. It was just a request that you show me, personally, at least once."

Riddle tilted his head, seeming to consider something. "Would you owe me a favour if I dispensed with it entirely? And perhaps made comment about the current state of attitudes surrounding my species to your sister as I did?"

Luna felt her eyes widen. "I... I do not even know what you want in exchange for the first favour, and you said that will be unpleasant."

He shrugged. "I have nothing in mind for the second as yet. I do not know if it will be distasteful by your standards."

"I... I suppose I would like you to stop hiding yourself so habitually. Yes, it would count as a favour if you stopped wearing it. I do not care if you make comment to my sister about it. She is already sympathetic to the plight of thestrals."

"Perhaps not sympathetic enough, if relations are still so estranged after a thousand years."

"...Perhaps. You will remove them entirely?"

"Yes, but not until the morning comes around. I will don them again for the time being, before we leave these chambers. I would like to prepare what to say. Perhaps arrange for my student to contribute."

"Fair enough. Please let me look upon you."

He removed his cloak, revealing a large pair of beautiful leather wings. He removed his glasses, revealing slitted eyes and sharp teeth.

...

And a horn.

...

She stared at it.

...

He noticed her staring.

...

"Um... Riddle Tome... when were you going to tell-"

"Obliviate."

"-me that you are an alicorn? And what was that you said just now? And why are you pointing that stick of wood at me?"

There was a pause. Followed by a massive spike of deception.

"Because I am a fool," he sighed, the words honest, the underlying behaviour not honest at all. His horn glowed a strange shade of green, and his stick vanished. Then his horn vanished. "I forgot that I had attached my horn's concealment charm to my glasses. Please refrain from telling my student that I made such a stupid mistake. You can see that I did not intend to tell you. On the positive end, you might have just helped me solve a difficult problem, and I can see yet another advantage now that my horn has been revealed. Thank you for that. If you do not speak of the wood or the word or the horn, consider the second favour already repaid."

All those words had been honest. All of the underlying emotions had been deceptive.

Her mind was now a whirlwind of questions, a whirlwind of answers to those questions, and a whirlwind of yet new questions.

Was he the pony who had called her to the astral plane the other day? He does not have the hair, and he no doubt has many memories, but he was right there when she was called to it, and he was detained by the guard while she was gone. There could be no alibi more solid.

If that wasn't his plane, if he has been an alicorn all along, is that how he's been performing magic all this time?

But then what about the whole debacle with him being a non-unicorn attending Canterlot University? Technically alicorns are not unicorns, but still! Had the entire thing been a stunt based on a lie?

"I will keep your secret," she said slowly, "if you answer one question."

"Ask."

"Have you been an alicorn this entire time?"

"No."

"When did you become one?"

"I said I would answer one question."

Ah, yes. The lawyer was back. She audibly sighed. "Very well. I think we have kept my sister waiting long enough."

Chapter 49: Declaring War on the World('s Dementors)

9:03 PM, June 13th, 1992.

"Don't flatter yourself," said the voice of Voldemort. "We're declaring war on the whole world."

With that one line, along with a massive pit dropping into his stomach, Silver was immediately and completely convinced that he'd made a massive mistake. Or at the very least, his plan to redeem Lord Voldemort had failed.

"Um," said the objecting voice of Memory. "No we're not!"

Silver had been about to say something similar out loud, but...

Funnily enough, Memory's words kicked his contradictory and argumentative mind into gear, and he realized it might not be as bad as it sounds. Yeah, we kind of are, he thought to himself.

The three of them were sort-of declaring war on the world, weren't they? Some wizards would certainly see it that way. Maybe his mentor saying that didn't mean he wasn't redeemed?

Not that there was time to think about it right now. In the span of about five seconds, an army of aurors arrived on the scene, quickly surrounding them.

To Silver's surprise, Riddle dropped his invisibility. Was he trying to take sole credit for their joint effort? (Not that Harry minded.) Or did he just not care to keep up the magical effort of hiding himself when faced with the Eye of Vance? Or was Riddle trying to fool the rest of the aurors?

Moody is part of Dumbledore's secret vigilante group; they might be able to convince him to keep quiet about the extra two invisible ponies he'd seen, if they contacted him quickly enough...

The arriving aurors launched volleys of shield-breaking spells that screamed towards them in an angry tidal wave of colour. Silver felt Memory flinch at the attack. He flinched himself. But nothing seemed to affect the pink dome.

"Is there a reason we're still here?" Silver whispered.

And just like that, they appeared in an empty warehouse in a flash of teleport.

Amelia Bones threw up a privacy barrier and demanded "Who's behind it, Alastor?" the moment the retired auror flew back through the window.

An hour ago, she'd asked him to aid in the defense of Azkaban as an emergency consultant, hoping this time wouldn't be a disaster. She'd learned her lesson about Dumbledore. She might have considered calling in the old meddler if it looked like Voldemort was behind it again, but the brightest and biggest Patronus charm that the world had ever seen suggested that anybody except him was responsible. Dumbledore himself being involved in this attack seemed more likely than Voldemort.

Like last time, she'd used a Time Turner to arrange for arrival in Azkaban as quickly as possible, mere moments after the guards first reported it and opened the one-way vanishing cabinet.

Even before the cabinet's door had opened, the world was silver Patronus light the moment she arrived. Nothing could be seen at all. She had to order her aurors to operate by feel, slowing down everyone to a grinding halt – everyone except the man wearing the Eye of Vance. Alastor had exploded into action the moment the one-way vanishing cabinet brought them to the guard room of Azkaban, completely ignoring the light. She knew this because she knew him and because she'd felt the wind from his wake, not because she'd seen him leave with her eyes.

On her end, shading charms didn't work. Charmed potions goggles didn't work. Solid walls didn't work. It was like the every inch of the world was solid silver light, and Alastor would later tell her that was because they'd been inside a massive corporeal Patronus charm.

Right now, his report was clipped, covering only the most important information. "Three culprits," he said, his eye spinning wildly.

"Did you recognize them?"

A sharp head shake. "Weren't human. Magical horses with wings and horns, two with feathers, one with bat wings. Spoke English. Horse-shaped Patronuses, too. Batty was bigger than the other two, about as tall as Albus. Maybe a bit taller. I think one of the smaller ones was responsible for the big Patronus."

"Did you capture them, or did you have to kill them?"

His expression soured. "They got away."

"WHAT?! You let them escape?!"

"They vanished, Amelia," said Alastor, utterly serious. "Completely gone. Didn't fight their way out, either. Don't know if they could have. They had a powerful shield that blocked everything I threw at them. And they could make themselves as invisible as a Deathly Hallow. I doubt the others saw the smaller two. Batty revealed himself, though."

She had that feeling of dread in her gut again, the one that had made her want to consult Albus Dumbledore months ago. It was the feeling she got when powerful and unknown parties were doing impossible things that threatened Magical Britain. The feeling compounded when it was more than one impossible thing.

"Did you put a trace on them?" she asked immediately.

"Couldn't get through the shield," he said unhappily.

"Did they take any prisoners with them?" she asked next. If they had taken Rabastan Lestrange, she would instantly know who had orchestrated the attack.

Another sharp head shake. "If they did, my eye didn't see it. I don't think this was a prison break, Amelia. Batty said they're declaring war on the whole world."

Her grimness doubled, and with it doubled her determination to catch them before they did any damage. "Are there any leads on where they went?"

He nodded. Finally some good news. "I didn't see any floating corpses in the pit-" what? "-and I don't think it's because they scattered. I'd bet those three are going Dementor-hunting. Couldn't tell you where they'll start, but I can guess some of the places they'll hit."

A string of curses went through her head.

She had arrived with the intention of stopping another prison break. She already had aurors securing the prisoners in their cells. But she gave a few more curses at just how bad it had gotten. She had expected a simple attack, not a declaration of a world war. Some would say this didn't qualify, but the perpetrators clearly saw it that way, and so would the Wizengamot. Even the ICW would probably manage to set aside their differences and agree.

She was already thinking about warning other countries, knowing it was above her paygrade, wondering if the emergency would let her and Barty get away with immediate action anyway, calculating if the thirty-minute delay of convening an emergency session of the Wizengamot for approval would be too much time to waste, but even all of that wasn't her immediate priority.

She grasped her communications mirror and gave a series of orders that would occupy almost the entire staff of the DMLE with prison security, where they needed to be, rather than horse-hunting, where she wanted them to be.

Next would come the unpleasant part. Involving the Unspeakables and the Department of Mysteries in setting up an ambush at the Ministry of Magic was half-baked, but it was her only plan. If the horses attacked the Dementor in the Ministry, the Unspeakables might be able to capture them. Assuming she could even get a good trap set up at this late hour.

"You need my help containing the prison?" Alastor asked, sitting on his broomstick and looking like he was ready to take off. "If not, I've got to go. Voldie might make his move soon. I already used the spare hour that Albus said I could use in an emergency, so I can't help you with anything else tonight. I'll have to show you the memory of what they look like tomorrow. Call Albus if something else comes up."

She didn't stop him, because she didn't need his help containing the prison. She only gave another curse at the idea of Voldemort making the night's disaster even worse somehow.

"Just taking advantage of the moment," Riddle Tome answered Silver's question as they stood in the warehouse. "I would have preferred not to reveal our ability to bypass the wards of Azkaban, but I suppose we were out of options."

"You couldn't have fought your way out?" Silver asked, trying not to be distracted by the mane of eye-hurting void that seemed to spill endlessly from his mentor's head and back and tail, as if that specific part of him were a live Dementor. Or, well, a dead Dementor. No, they aren't dead either, they're Death. A deathly Dementor?

"I could have fought," shrugged the thestral, the pull of his void mane growing slightly larger. Then it diminished to barely noticeable levels. "But who would have contained the prison riot? Us?"

"...I guess you have a point," Silver allowed. "So, quick question-"

"No time," Riddle denied. "We've delayed enough as it is. The longer we take, the more time we give the wizards of the world to defend their Dementors."

"What about my phoenix?" Memory demanded.

"Unless you want to hide her forever," Riddle said, "you should not let your phoenix be seen with your pony form. Not for a while. Once we go back to our human forms, I shall return her to you, but she should stay in my cloak until we are finished with the Dementors. Trust me, it's quite comfortable."

Without giving them another word in edgewise, his cloak extended towards them like a living thing, and they disappeared in a flash of phoenix fire the moment it touched their fur.

They launched from location to location, flashing from foreign land to foreign land. They stayed just long enough to destroy all the Dementors at each place and left the very next instant.

The most disorienting thing was how quickly they would go from midnight to high noon to evening to morning and back to night again. They were teleporting around the entire world, and that meant jumping time zones. And since it was phoenix travel, there didn't seem to be a limit on distance, only on whether Riddle had been there before.

Silver didn't have much time to think as he destroyed Dementor after Dementor. He didn't really want to think about anything else. But he forced himself to spend all of his spare mental capacity on threat assessment, just in case.

The fact that they were traveling by phoenix meant that Memory's newest companion, at the very least, did not hate Riddle Tome. That's a promising sign.

Thanks to the doubt instilled by Riddle's words at Azkaban, Silver was beginning to wonder if it was possible to fake a Patronus somehow. Voldemort would have had plenty of time to figure that out. But maybe he had done it honestly after all. If Memory's phoenix did not mind being directed by Riddle Tome, then either (a) it's the first wise phoenix in existence, able to tolerate evil for the sake of practicality without its master forcing it to do so, or (b) the phoenix doesn't think Riddle is a bad person/pony. That would mean Riddle had just been having fun / being dramatic when talking to Mr. Moody, and the phoenix was happy to help him declare war on the world('s Dementors).

Silver was fine with that too, so it probably was all good.

Although not every jump to a new location involved the phoenix's help. They would occasionally have to teleport away, and/or teleport to a location, probably because anti-phoenix wards were active. Silver had worried about guards and magical barbed wire, but his mentor seemed to account for that. On four occasions, he told Silver to destroy the Dementors while they were standing very far away, barely within sensing distance, and it was only thanks to his large Patronus that he could do it.

Silver quickly lost count of the number of destroyed Dementors. Ordinarily he would keep score, but his Gryffindor side didn't care for points, only absolute victory.

Soon enough, they began feeling fatigue. The true Patronus Charm does not permanently drain your life when you use it to destroy death's shadows, but it does temporarily drain your life, just like spells temporarily drain your magic. If you empty your life completely in a short amount of time, you die. If you don't die, your life slowly refills. It's only when you use the Patronus to revive someone that you permanently sacrifice a portion of your life, just like the Unbreakable Vow permanently sacrifices a portion of magic.

Destroying Dementors isn't a sacrifice. It doesn't cause permanent harm to the caster, as far as Silver has been able to understand. It only causes temporary exhaustion. You just have to be careful not to go over the edge and drain yourself completely in a short amount of time.

So far, everything has been going close enough to how Silver had pictured this day playing out, over and over in his head for almost a year now. And this part in particular, the part where they get tired and maybe have to stop for a while, is how it seemed to be playing out for Memory.

Only Silver himself wasn't getting tired like he'd been expecting. Not on the life end of things, anyway. His magic was beginning to ache, but his ability to pour his life into the spell seemed limitless. He hadn't questioned it when he made the big one at Azkaban, and he isn't complaining now, but he is noticing.

"Hey," he said during a lull in teleportation. "Mem, I think you've done enough." Best to use their aliases while they're like this, though using names at all during a mission is bad practice, so he shortened it. "It's dangerous to push yourself. I can do the rest."

He expected her to insist that she keep helping, but she simply nodded in relief and slumped a little.

"I can drop you off in a comfortable bed," said Riddle. "Or you can tag along and watch. But I should warn you that I'll be waking you soon. We have something important to discuss, both about how we will handle your return, and how we will handle my own."

She didn't take long to consider it. "I'll watch."

Soon after Memory stopped directly contributing, they began to hunt wild Dementors, not ones contained by structures and expectations.

Silver had no idea how Professor Riddle was locating them, just that he was locating them. Sometimes they'd appear far away from the target Dementor, well beyond Silver's ordinary sensing range, and then they'd have to fly the remainder of the distance. Sometimes they appeared very far away and Professor Riddle would perform a quick series of phoenix flashes, teleporting kilometres across the sky with each jump, likely going to each new position by seeing it with his night-adjusted thestral eyes, or his glasses-enhanced daylight vision, depending on where they were in the world.

As far as Silver knew/suspected, phoenixes can take you anywhere you've seen, so long as fire can ignite there. Silver severely doubted that a phoenix can flash into the Mariana Trench, or into outer space.

But that didn't matter right now. Silver also severely doubted that the Dementors of the world would take up residence in remote areas. Not even wild Dementors would do that. They had enough pseudo/borrowed/expected intelligence to roam places where people actually live sometimes, i.e. not underwater or in outer space. This theory was not disproven a single time in their entire hunt. Every wild Dementor was always near or within at least one human settlement or tribe.

Professor Riddle's "That was the last one" seemed to come out of nowhere. Equally out of nowhere was the return to the warehouse. Up until that moment, Silver had mostly just been thinking about 'the next Dementor', and he had a brief sense of disorientation as he recalibrated his goals.

His cloak floated off of his body and into a mokeskin pouch that Professor Riddle had produced from his own cloak, and then the pouch was floated to rest at Silver's hooves.

"What about the other two last ones?" Silver asked as he picked up the pouch that he'd been forced to leave in Equestria, since you couldn't take physical objects into the Astral Plane. "Where are the Dementors we spared?"

"One for the ministry," said his mentor. "One for the ICW. Both are likely heavily guarded, and there is a good reason to spare them, like I said earlier. I'll handle that situation later. For now, we must soon return to Hogwarts. We technically have until whenever the Quidditch game might end, but I would prefer we do it at the stroke of midnight, to make the story more believable. That gives us less than two hours."

"What story?" Memory asked, her own invisibility cloak floating off of her and into the thestral's black one.

"Before that," Riddle said, "I have something to give each of you." Four wands emerged from his robes. "Return to your human forms, please."

"A backup wand?" Harry asked after an animagus transformation, accepting the two that were floated to him.

"Not backups, per se," said Riddle Tome. "Those are Elder Wands. They were made with wood from a whomping willow and cores of goblin metal, which ponies call mithril. They are more powerful weapons than any ordinary wand."

There was a pause.

"Oh, is that all?" Harry asked, recovering his wits before Hermione. Leave it to Professor Riddle to think that an Elder Wand is an appropriate spare. "And what about the downside?" he asked, already thinking one step ahead. "Neither of us are you. If we ever lose a single battle-"

"I modified that aspect," Riddle interrupted. "As long as you remain dedicated to self-improvement, they will not betray you. When you are defeated in battle, the wands will stay loyal so long as you are asking yourselves why you lost, and what you might do to win the next time. They will only become discontent if you become content with yourselves. That was the best I could do once I learned how the original was made, but I think it's a fair price for ordinary people to pay for that power. On a technical note, I added a single strand of each of your pony manes to the cores, in order to achieve that outcome of binding them to you."

"And what happens if we ever lose the philosophy of self-improvement?" Harry asked. "Not that I ever would, but..."

"Then it will betray you if you are beaten by a stronger wizard," Riddle confirmed Harry's guess. "So long as that wizard does not already have an Elder Wand, that is." He grinned slightly. "In other words, if you rise to the top, or close to the top, and find it difficult to improve much further, you will have nothing to fear. Even if I was strongest, and you were second after me, and I defeated you in battle, I would not become the new master of your Elder wand because I already have one. And as a final note, they prefer battle to mundane use, although if you are using them to push the boundaries of your magic, to cast spells you otherwise couldn't with your current strength, they do not mind."

"Is that why they're made from Whomping Willow wood?" asked Hermione. "Because they like battle and strength?"

"More or less," Riddle Tome nodded. "I assume the goblin metal speaks for itself? Or did you never reach that subject in your readings?"

"I did," said Hermione.

"I didn't," said Harry.

"Goblin metal has properties that wizards can't reproduce," said Hermione, sounding like she was quoting a book. "It absorbs only that which strengthens it, and goblins use that property to make indestructible armor, which is how they stand a chance against wizards. Goblins almost never let others use it, so it's extremely valuable. It can't be stolen either; without the willing and true blessing of the goblins, it loses its magical properties, or so they say. The last recorded instance of goblins giving their metal to wizards outside of things like extremely expensive jewelry was the sword of Gryffindor."

"Meaning," Professor Riddle lectured when she was done, "that their blessing to Antioch Peverell went unrecorded by history-" he played with his knobbed wand in his grasp of levitation magic "-so we can assume they are slightly more generous than most wizards suspect."

"How generous?" Harry asked, his mind immediately looking to gain an advantage that ordinary people don't know how to get, now that he has the key insight on how to get it.

Riddle shrugged. "I expect you can earn their blessing by performing a great boon for the goblin nation in secret, but since that sort of thing is difficult to do, it explains why more Elder Wands have not been made, even if other wizards have guessed how to make them. I fashioned each of yours to resemble your original wands so they don't stand out. I won't bore you with the details except to say mithril makes an excellent enchanting base. Despite how they look, they do have the knobs of mithril balls that work as a series of magical amplifiers, with a series of undetectable space-extending charms hiding the fact. Olivander would be able to tell the difference from your normal wands, but most others would not be able to notice unless they used them, so you needn't hide them. Be careful only in the strength of magic you demonstrate, and be careful about situations of disarmament and wand-seizing during chaotic battles."

Harry and Hermione said "got it" and "okay" to the warning of the wise old wizard.

"So I'm guessing," Harry said, "this means you figured out the Deathly Hallows?"

He nodded. "Well enough to recreate them, yes. Twilight Sparkle helped. Though I should mention those wands are a bit more special than I've let on so far. They are my magnum opus, at least when it comes to device creation. Treat them well."

Harry looked at his wand with a bit more reverence, held it a bit more carefully than before. "What about the stone?"

"Which one?" Riddle asked. "Resurrection or permanence?"

"Permanence."

Riddle smiled. Two red stones flew from his robes to float before him. One he gave to Harry Potter, the other he gave to Hermione Granger. "There is a false bottom to your new wands," he said. "Touch the base three times, then the tip twice. That will reveal the hidden pocket of space-extension."

They followed the instructions and a hole appeared in the bottom of the wands, as if they were hollow.

"How did these end up working?" Harry asked as he dropped the stone 'into' the wand. He didn't have to worry about the permanence effect unless the stone was in contact with his wand... wait...

"In a significantly more complicated fashion than the Elder Wand," Riddle answered. "Do not worry about their activation in those storage compartments. There is a separate compartment for that, which I will explain later. Once you are more skilled, you will be able to have the stone touch your wand from inside the bottom compartment without any apparent change on the outside. It will not happen accidentally. But to answer your question, Stones of Permanence are closer to the Mirror than the Deathly Hallows. It was Twilight Sparkle's second biggest project for the last few decades. You'd be better served by asking her for the details."

"Decades?" Harry asked, even though it shouldn't have been so surprising. His own prediction had been at least 50 years. "How long were you..."

"Thirty-five years."

"What?" said Hermione.

"Oh," said Harry.

Honestly, that was better than expected. If Tom Riddle had been in his sixties, and Harry had told him to expect it to take as long as his current age to unlearn his bad habits, then taking 35 years to learn the Patronus Charm almost cut his predicted completion time in half.

"I've wanted to ask ever since you left," said the thestral, "but was your escape intentional or accidental?"

"Accidental," Hermione answered. "I had no idea we could leave until it happened."

"I was not asking you, Ms. Granger." He turned to face Harry. "I promise not to hurt you for your answer. And I should mention that I can act as a magical lie detector, though my own abilities aren't as solid as Luna's, so please don't try."

...

"It was intentional," Harry admitted.

"It was?" asked Hermione. "How..." she began, then trailed off. "Harry, did you know a phoenix would come and take me?"

"More like I manipulated you into being given the choice... but yeah. Sorry for Dumbledoring you like that. It was the only way I could see to get us out while we were still young enough to be Hogwarts students."

Hermione didn't reply in words, though she was going through a complicated series of facial expressions.

Riddle sighed. "I suspected as much," he said. "My self of thirty-five years ago would have plotted against you if he knew that for certain. He did plot against you, planning out your exact punishment if it turned out to be true."

Harry gulped.

"But even he saw the benefits of the happenstance," Riddle said, his eyes going a bit distant. "No sense keeping you in the mirror when you didn't have to be there. My old self balked at the unfairness, but he could admit that it was timely, and now I can admit that it was my own fault we were all there in the first place. It's a good thing you swore Celestia to secrecy. I don't know what I would have done if I definitively knew you'd planned your own escape, but it wouldn't have been good, and it probably would have set me back a few years. Maybe even permanently."

"Hold on," said Hermione. "Please slow down. Why did it take so long for you to get out? I thought Harry said you found the Mirror last night... well, I mean, thirty-five years ago. What went wrong?"

"You mean what went right," he corrected. "After I stunned and transfigured you into a metal band to recreate the conditions of our entrapment," he openly admitted, "Mr. Potter's quite reasonable and likely anger-fueled response was to make it so I could not leave until I learned how to cast his Patronus Charm. He'd already learned my Killing Curse, so I could not complain that he was asking of me what I had not already asked of him."

Hermione sat down on the floor. She was a bit awkward in getting there, probably because she was in human form and out of practice. "That's..." she said, then didn't say more for a while.

"Bad?" suggested Harry Potter.

"Good?" suggested Riddle Tome.

"Both," said Hermione. "Why did you teach Harry the Killing Curse?"

"Because I wanted him to learn it," said Riddle. "It ended up being a trade. I would learn his favourite spell if he learned mine. Well, my old favourite."

She turned to Harry. "And why did you learn it?"

"To get him to learn the Patronus," Harry explained. Then, immediately coming to his own defense, "I didn't even have to use hatred, and I only ever used it against bees and ants."

"Some of which had been transfigured from live ponies," offered Riddle.

"Will you stop it with that joke already?" asked Harry. He'd already been reassured in Parseltongue that it wasn't true. "Don't worry, Hermione, it's a fact that he didn't actually do that."

Hermione looked a bit disturbed, and not entirely reassured.

"Sorry," apologized Riddle. "It's been so long that the joke helps me remember the finer details off the top of my head. I only just remembered I even made it in the first place. It is a bit too mean-spirited, isn't it?"

"Way too mean," said Hermione. "Harry, I'm still having trouble with the fact that you know the killing curse."

"It's only for things like trolls and dragons," he assured her. "Well, our dragons, anyway, not Equestria's. I can cast it while using my Patronus now, so I never have to worry about accidentally killing a sapient being if I miss my non-sapient target."

Hermione had paused at the word 'troll', then actually seemed to consider his point of view. "I... guess I can understand that. If I had to choose between casting a killing curse and dying to a troll again... I'd learn the killing curse if I could. But how could you learn it without hatred? And how can you use it while your Patronus is up?"

"By using Occlumency," he replied. "A lack of hatred actually helps-"

"I think," interrupted Tom Riddle, "that this discussion can be saved for later. Only an hour remains. We must prepare our story. And once we have, there shall be one last thing to do. Are you ready to hear it?"

Before they left for Hogwarts, Riddle pulled Harry aside for a brief detour.

"Silver Life," he formally addressed, the words strange to Harry's ears because he wasn't in his pony form. "Do you have access to infinite life? Is that the domain of magic you have discovered for yourself and shared with the world?"

"Um..." said Harry. "Is that why I can make my Patronus as big as I want?"

"That is my guess," answered Professor Riddle. "Did you tire at all from purging the world's Dementors?"

"My magic was aching afterwards," Harry said. "But I felt like I could have kept on going forever, if not for that."

Riddle nodded. "Then I think it is safe to assume that you can revive as many people as you like, so long as you do not allow your magic to be sacrificed as well."

"Where are you going with this?"

It's not like they could go around reviving everybody that humanity has ever lost. And if he couldn't let his magic be sacrificed, he would only be able to do it for muggles, never wizards.

On that front, preventing death is easier than curing it, and prevention shouldn't be too difficult with so many Philosopher's stones. The Patronus can only revive the recently-deceased – people who are braindead, but who aren't yet warm and dead, i.e. whose brains have not yet suffered any major damage, from decay or anything else. That means his Patronus probably wouldn't work to revive people that are completely frozen, only people whose bodies had been much colder than usual when they died, cold enough to slow down the process of decay. A brain that's frozen solid would qualify as having way too much damage. Dying cold gives you hours. Dying warm gives you minutes. Dying hard-frozen gives you no time at all. But even a day would be too long for anyone, if he had to guess.

Unless Professor Riddle had found a way to...

"There is someone I'd like you to revive," he said, "before it is too late."

Apparently not. If he was saying that, he couldn't extend the window for revival indefinitely.

"Even if the assumption about infinite life turns out to be false, a single test should not drain you too much. Oh, and you shall have to take your pony form for it. Please do that now. And leave your new wand on the floor for a moment. I need to make a final modification."

Harry Potter became Silver Life.

"Just to be sure," said Professor Riddle, his wand making strange traceries of anti-light in the air, centered around Silver's new spare wand, "that mane is truly ethereal, correct? It is not the result of an active Patronus? You are not casting the spell at the moment?"

"Yep," said Silver. "I'm fully ascended." For some reason, the patterns in the air looked a bit hypnotic, like his mind was being drawn to them somehow. "Why?"

Professor Riddle finished tracing the anti-light in the air around Silver's new wand. The hypnotic pull was stronger than ever. In that distracted state, Silver had no ability to react as Tom Riddle leveled his wand at point-blank range and said, "Avada Kedavra."

Chapter 56: The House Cup and the Wisdom of Wizardry

Every year at Hogwarts is concluded by the leave-taking feast, and almost every leave taking feast is occupied by students talking about their summer schedules, planning to meet up, or simply saying goodbye. (The seventh year witches are especially tearful in theirs.) A bit of gloating from the Quidditch Cup and House Cup victors is also to be expected, of course.

This year, however – the year that would come to be remembered as the first year the Boy-Who-Lived came to Hogwarts – deviated greatly from the norm in many ways, and the leave-taking feast was no exception.

To start, there was a much wider range of conversation than the typical boring topics. Many students would go hungry later that night, as they had gone hungry earlier that day.

The topic of Voldemort's vanquishment had been exciting enough to prevent students from finding time to eat during breakfast, and although Headmistress McGonagall's promotion and the reveal of the Defense Professor's 'secret identity' happened immediately after all breakfast foods vanished from the table, discussions about it – and about 'David Monroe' in particular – had lasted all the way through lunch.

Now at dinner, even despite what must have been higher-than-average hunger, tomatoes and ponies and the Wizengamot were the topics of the moment. Students were still distracted from eating.

Even the ordinarily ravenous Gryffindors did not dig in, for they had front-row seats to the Weasley Twin celebration. Those two helped break a Hogwarts record that year: a new historical low of negative points.

They sang "For we're some jolly good losers" as the House Elves brought forth a cake bearing special candles shaped like numbers, with a floating minus sign in the same style, which actually allowed them to exactly spell out how many points they'd personally helped Gryffindor to lose. Almost two thousand throughout the entire year, they boasted.

(They included every point lost by Gryffindor tomato throwing, of course, since they were in some part 'responsible' for every single tomato. By that logic they were responsible for points lost from ALL houses in that particular activity, but nobody mentioned it, not even the two celebrators.)

The Weasleys claimed that they honestly couldn't see why some of their house mates were not impressed.

Other houses did not have to deal with the Weasleys directly, but they had their own distractions, especially Slytherin House, which was still hosting various heated debates about 'David Monroe'. Hushed heated debates, lest their words reach the ears of the man himself, though the children were too foolish to realize he could certainly hear them regardless of how softly they spoke.

Members of Ravenclaw House were the only ones who actually ate full meals due to their house rule. "No pestering during mealtimes" was recited many times that night. Students of that house are in the habit of eating as quickly and efficiently as possible in order to have some time for conversation afterwards.

Everyone else might have been planning to scarf some amount of sustenance while the victor of the House Cup was being officially announced-

A chiming of a spoon on glass dinged through the air, loudly enough that it must have been amplified.

"Attention, my young apprentices," said the voice of 'David Monroe' over the babble, which quickly died down at his polite request. "Before the House Cup is officially won by Hufflepuff, I have a few final points to bestow. My condition prevented me from awarding them last night."

This produced a brief burst of yet more babbling that quickly died down in response to metal-on-glass chiming that was much louder this time. Some of the babble, in the brief moments it had been allowed to happen, were shouts of indignation from Hufflepuff.

"Professor," said Headmistress McGonagall, sounding at once authoritative and apprehensive.

She had reprimanded him about the Wizengamot debacle when she heard of it, at least until she heard that he might have been placed under the Imperius. That threw her off-base. If, before, she did not know how to properly sanction that accursed and untouchable (and secretly her favourite) Defense Professor, now she is well and truly lost. Her standard appeal to authority has no effect on the man.

"Don't worry, Headmistress," Professor 'Monroe' assured her. "I do not intend to change the outcome at the last minute. That would hardly be proper. Besides, Mr. Potter has already refused to accept any House Points for the events of last night. He considers it unfair to win points for strange, heroic things that nobody else could possibly do. After all, how could Cedric Diggory, or Robert Jugson, or the Weasley Twins ever have the opportunity to exploit a dangerous, destructive, anti-harmonic resonance that only they share with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

This produced a few whispers that were not so loud that 'Monroe' felt the need to silence them with chiming again.

"But the events of last night still require recognition," said 'Monroe', causing the whispers to dwindle on their own. "First, without changing the House Cup outcome, I award Mr. Potter two-hundred points for Ravenclaw-" a statement which confused many students and outraged many Hufflepuffs, for that did change the outcome, "-immediately followed by a one-hundred point deduction." Which didn't change the outcome.

Many students were still confused, however. And many professors as well. One professor was simply frowning.

"In January," said the Defense Professor of Hogwarts in the precise tones of a competent lecturer, "Mr. Potter performed a feat of magic that was not a result of his being the Boy-Who-Lived. Without Dumbledore's help or mine, Mr. Potter discovered the truth about the Patronus charm. It was a truth any of you might have discovered, if you were brave enough to face Dementors, and clever enough to distrust what your eyes and ears perceived when you looked upon them, and smart enough to uncover their true nature, and happy enough to oppose them regardless. Mr. Potter did a thing that any of you could have done, in theory. It was not something exclusive to the Boy-Who-Lived. And furthermore, it was an impressive feat of magic. Neither myself nor Dumbledore had ever imagined it to be possible until it was done before our very eyes, the feat of magic many of you witnessed last night, capable of blocking a Killing Curse. Thus do I award Ravenclaw House two-hundred true House Points. It was an excellent display of problem-solving, an example which would have done proud to all four founders of Hogwarts, especially Rowena, and even done proud to Merlin himself. Congratulations, Mr. Potter. As I said, it deserves two hundred points to Ravenclaw."

He allowed the enthusiastic cheers from Ravenclaw house to go on for a while.

The man sighed heavily, his voice cutting through the excited babble. "And then Mr. Potter proceeded to flaunt the discovery to the world last night, an act which would have embarrassed Merlin himself, if it weren't for the unique circumstances of the situation. Simple emergency was not that circumstance, but I digress. On general principles, you must never follow his example, my apprentices."

"I agree one-hundred percent," said the voice of the Boy-Who-Lived from the Ravenclaw table.

He was the subject matter, the person being recognized, and yet it still took seconds for students to locate him. Everyone was wearing hats, so his shock of black hair was not readily available as an identifier.

"Please," said Harry Potter, standing on his bench seat, "for the love of Merlin, if you discover something big and important, don't tell the world about it. It's like what happened at the start of the year in Potions class. Don't disrupt class for personal reasons, no matter how much you want to. Do the appropriate thing and bring it up with the headmistress in private. When it comes to amazing discoveries, the appropriate thing is to keep it to yourself until you have an apprentice who's worthy enough to learn it. Don't brag about it. Don't talk about it. Don't use it where others can see. Don't even use it as a last resort. Sure I stopped the Dark Lord, but doing it that way would have been a mistake if not for our new pony overlords. Even-" the rest of that sentence was lost in the wave of words coming from the sea of students around him.

"While I appreciate the humor," said the dry voice of the Defense Professor, which rose above the extremely mixed responses to the statement, "please try to refrain from scaring our poor country any more than you already have. And please stick to the point, Mr. Potter."

The child looked as though he was trying not to laugh. "If you insist," he sighed, his voice now amplified. "So. To sum up. Even if it's to save a bunch of lives, even if it's to save the whole country, you have to be very careful about revealing powerful magic. Because in the end, the fate of one country doesn't outweigh the fate of the whole world. Got it?"

There was a heavy pause.

"Heed his words, my young apprentices, my fellow professors," said the Defense Professor. "Especially my young muggleborn apprentices. I apologize for calling you out as a group, for not all of you deserve it, but it must be done regardless. This day, you have seen the wisdom of politics, military, and virtue. Now you must understand the wisdom of wizardry: the arts of caution and restraint. Without it you put others at stake, not only yourselves. Those of you born to wizard parents should not need this lecture. You already know. You have already learned. When a powerful wizard says that you must not go further, when they say that you must not talk about what you have seen, then you do not question him if you want to live. It doesn't matter if that wizard is one hundred years old or eleven. If he has found it acceptable to demonstrate powerful and unknown magics to you, you listen to his edicts regarding that magic and you do not argue. Mr. Potter made his discovery in January and kept it to himself. Myself and Dumbledore were unavoidable witnesses, which happens sometimes, given that we don't live in a perfect world. Mr. Potter had the excellent forethought to tell us that we were not ready to know the truth, and I had to prevent Albus Dumbledore from prying further. Even the strongest wizards in the world are not immune to temptations of curiosity and pride. I hope that you grow to be wiser than the headmaster. Am I understood?"

There were a few murmurs of agreement, especially from Slytherin. Headmistress McGonagall looked indignant, but said nothing, only huffed. The other houses, especially Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, were in quite clear disbelief-

"If I had not stopped Dumbledore from prying, Voldemort might have learned of the secret, and the world might have ended. By widespread use of unblockable Dementors. Am. I. Understood?"

There was unanimous agreement from all four houses, even if the words expressing that agreement were different, overlapping into incomprehensibility for a few seconds.

"Good," said the Defense Professor. "The cleverest and most skeptical among you will have already noted that I have not followed my own advice. After all, I stupidly stated in a blatant and public fashion that I now possess the Elder Wand. Rest assured, my young apprentices, like Mr. Potter I had a good reason for revealing my own secret, with factors that mitigate the downsides. That said, if any of you wish to assassinate me and steal it," he grinned evilly, "you're welcome to try. I'll even put a bounty of a thousand Monroe points on my own head. I look forward to your creativity."

There were murmurings and wonderings to the effect of 'Wait, is he actually serious?', the Headmistress most of all.

At least one wizard in the room knew that he was serious, although that same wizard was not so stupid as to make an attempt. He wasn't a student, so the only reward would have been the Elder Wand. Which is reward enough, to be fair. Many other Slytherin adults would be thinking the same thing, given enough time. But it was a hopeless ambition.

"Just ensure that your attempts aren't too messy," 'Monroe' cautioned. "Collateral damage will be punished by Hogwarts regulation, and by the Wizengamot if it's bad enough. Trying to kill me is fine. I shall simply forgive the blood debt incurred by attempted murder, if it somehow makes it that far through the legal system. Hurting anybody else in your attempts, however, is unacceptable."

The Defense Professor then allowed murmurs of conversation for a time. There were many, especially at the Slytherin table now that it was clear he was serious.

"Now," the man continued after a single snap of his fingers that silenced everything else, "onto the final matter of justice. As I said, Mr. Potter has refused to accept true house points for his defeat of Voldemort. Therefore, I am awarding Mr. Potter in particular, not Ravenclaw House, nine hundred and thirty-eight theoretical house points. And seeing as that would theoretically put him at a tie with the current winners..."

The man clapped his hands, and the banners which had been outfitted in the style of Hufflepuff blew backwards for a brief moment. When they righted themselves, where once a black badger scurried, an image of a white humanoid of silver Patronus light stood, though the banners maintained their yellow backgrounds and black borders.

The crowd was stunned by the decision. Many of them, including the Headmistress herself, wondered if he was allowed to even do that.

The Defense Professor of Hogwarts bowed to the Boy-Who-Lived as lowly as it was rumored he had done at the start of the year, after teaching him how to lose. When the man righted himself, he was smiling widely.

"Thank you, Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres, for the service you have done for me, this school, this country, and the whole world. With a Hufflepuff victory at hand, nothing could be more fitting than your friendship and loyalty. And let's not forget the hard work, the work which nobody sees, the work which few even know about, yet which makes you a master of your craft, capable of overcoming You-Know-Who himself. That is truly a Hufflepuff victory."

Hufflepuff house burst into applause. Ravenclaw quickly followed, as did Gryffindor. Some of Slytherin joined, including Draco Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass and Tracy Davis and Theodore Nott, but the cheers of that house were scattered and muted, as they should have been.

"Even if you were working hard at cleverness and cunning," the Defense Professor said, eyeing his house rather sharply for a brief moment, "more than five Slytherins put together, and even if it did take courage to oppose the Dark Lord, and intelligence to win in the end, the fact that it was all being done for a friend makes it more Hufflepuff than anything else. You saved me from a miserable and unhappy end, Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres. I doubt there is more than one person in this entire school who would dispute the fact that you've earned this. I believe three cheers are in order. For the one who stopped the Dark Lord, saved his Defense Professor, saved Hogwarts, and demonstrated the virtues of all four houses along the way. Ready, my young apprentices? My fellow professors? On the sound of the chime."

The same sound that got their attention rang throughout the hall. Ding.

"Huzzah!"

Due to the timing cue, there was hardly a single person in the hall who missed the first cheer. Even the Slytherins were no longer reluctant, since they were supporting their Defense Professor's savior. (Even if it is the Boy-Who-Lived).

Ding.

"HUZZAH!"

On the second cheer, only a single person missed out. Everyone else was simply working on volume.

Ding.

"HUZZAH!"

Again everyone joined in, this time loud enough to shake the very stones of Hogwarts.

Everyone except exactly one wizard.

Severus Snape continued glowering. And not because Slytherin had finally lost the unimportant House Cup.

His gaze was focused firmly on Voldemort.

Rehabilitation 12.2: Letting In

"Upon a wall of metal in a place where no one had come for centuries, I found written the claim that some Atlanteans foresaw their world's end, and sought to forge a device of great power to avert the inevitable catastrophe. If that device had been completed, the story claimed, it would have become an absolutely stable existence that could withstand the channeling of unlimited magic in order to grant wishes. And also – this was said to be the vastly harder task – the device would somehow avert the inevitable catastrophes any sane person would expect to follow from that premise."

-Professor Quirrell, standing behind the Mirror, HPMoR Chapter 109

"Expecto Patronum."

At the result of his attempt, he felt a sudden, biting depression...

Two depressions, actually, in his life and in his magic. Two subtractions, two dips that he knew would not naturally return.

And yet, the sheer amount of relief and exultation going through him were more than enough consolation.

After the white glow surrounding Luna faded, a warm red glow replaced it, the result of his wordless Vitalis Revelio. She was breathing again, though weakly, much like Celestia.

"Can I look now?" Twilight asked. "Did it work?"

Not yet, he thought, for there was still work to be done.

He cast a wordless tempus to note the exact time, then took Luna away to the Stone's temporary storage location, though it was not his current objective. He retrieved the Cloak of Invisibility and put it over her unconscious form.

The Cloak should be able to hide from Tirek's gaze and power, given that it already had. His first tactic will be to enter Tirek's range under a device that Mr. Potter proved capable of hiding its wearer from magic draining effects, among other things.

Riddle is unwilling to risk any other powerful devices in this attempt, just in case Tirek proves capable of draining them through the Cloak. He had once composed a list of Horcrux candidates, but that list is now useless, and he shall have to improvise. Which leaves the question of what object to use, if no powerful devices are available… what object will be the most safe…?

Earlier…

"Most ponies are filled with useless magic. Some alicorns aren't even worth the bother. Love. Ugh. What a pointless talent. Is yours?"

There was a bright flash and a surge of power in the distance.

"I think you mean to ask," his past self voiced from a ways away, "is hers."

It was only on this second pass of Twilight's ascension that Riddle finally noticed what should have been obvious to him as soon as Twilight shared the premise for her sacrificial ritual.

Unfortunately, his theory would not benefit him directly. He suspected Twilight's ritual, if performed by any other wizard or pony, would fail. Either because they do not have the Mirror's direct support, or because there is already an Alicorn of Magic now, thank you very much. Only one is needed, let alone possible, or so he suspects. Or perhaps the ritual requires the unique circumstance of wanting unlimited power, needing unlimited power, but not for any selfish desires – the key to alicorn ascension is, after all, sharing one's unique magical discovery with the world. Keeping it to yourself is an excellent way to stay at the initial alicorn level – no ethereal mane, just like Mr. Silver.

Riddle did not have much time to devote to thoughts like this at the moment, but even still, even if it was not to his benefit, he took a moment to appreciate the poetry of this potentially historical moment.

By fully eliminating her own bounds, by sacrificing them on the altar of a ritual intended to grant her the means to wield infinite power, Twilight Sparkle finally achieved what the Atlanteans set out to achieve so long ago: as Alicorn of Magic, her body can now, theoretically, withstand the channeling of unlimited magic. With that power having been instilled in a living creature bound by unbreakable Vow not to destroy the world or risk its destruction (for that, too, Twilight had requested for herself as she got further into her research), perhaps the inevitable catastrophes associated with that insane premise might be averted after all.

After so long, after so many centuries, the impossible goal of the Mirror's creators may have just come to pass.

The sharp bang drew him from his brief musings back to the task at hand. It also signaled the moment to begin.

"Was that supposed to do something, whelp? I will deal with you next."

Behind and beneath Tirek's massive frame, close enough for the ritual to take and far enough to apparently avoid detection, Riddle tried not to pay attention to the scene he'd already seen. With the whole operation invisible save the magic itself, which will hopefully be blocked from Tirek's line of sight by the overhanging roof and wall of a Ponyville cottage, Riddle wove the patterns of his great creation into the air.

"My patience wears thin. Or perhaps you do not believe I mean it. Here. A taste of what's to come, if you do not submit."

Squelch.

It was hard to focus through that, but he managed. It helped that, despite being in his pony form once more, his inner-phoenix was not objecting to what he was doing. Mi Amore Cadenza's Special Talent, on the other hoof, hurt just about as much as it helped. The pain of witnessing that past scene flared more intensely than it otherwise might have, but the soothing thought of his next act kept him calm.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

As the green death flew from his past self's horn, he focused on the Horcrux he wanted to make.

"More foolishness? Pathe-"

The Killing Curse connected, and his third great creation in Equestria was complete, and the emergency was over. But even if he had been the type to cheer, he received not a moment's reprieve.

To say that things went wrong at the moment of the ritual's completion wouldn't quite be the truth. Things went weird. Even by his standards.

Just like when he first added troll and unicorn to his pony self so long ago, he found himself forcibly relocated to the Astral Plane, accompanied by a surge of energy.

"Riddle?" asked a familiar voice, one that made his eyes snap around and meet a blearily blinking Luna, mane still a mundane blue, coat still greyer than its usual midnight black, but otherwise conscious and well. Apparently the same magic that brought him also brought her, and innervated her while it was at it.

"Why is your mane pink?" she asked. "And why does it hurt to look upon in a completely different way from your previous ethereal mane?"

After a pause of self-examination, he saw that his mane was indeed an eye-sore: a warm aurora of pulsing pink light. And unlike his last ethereal mane, the one he could only reliably see in the astral plane, this current one did look wrong to his own eyes. Like a puzzle piece jammed into another that didn't fit, the two pieces so completely different in size and color and shape and nature that it looked plain wrong. Like trying to take a piece from a three-dimensional sculpture puzzle-box and jamming it into the 'show your work' section on a math problem. Or like seeing a patch of snow-covered forest in the middle of a hot summer day. The brain automatically goes 'wrong'. 'Error'.

A glance to his (Cadence's) cutie mark showed the blue crystal heart visibly beating, now encased by an outline of a shield.

As for why they looked that way… "For the same reason your mane is not ethereal at all," he answered Luna's question.

She gasped and looked at her mane, her eyes widening in fearful shock.

"Which is to say extremely complicated reasons," he continued. He cast a mental tempus. "Come. I believe Twilight can help with this situation. Will you allow me to teleport the two of us with phoenix travel, so that we do not return to our original departing location? And follow my instructions exactly for the next few minutes? I know it may be confusing, but no matter what you hear or see or believe about the recent past, please bear with me for the rest of the day."

She met his gaze. "I have born with you for years. One day is no time at all."

"This may be especially trying," he warned. "But thank you."

"I-" Twilight Sparkle stammered. "I- I-" She broke into tears. "I'm sorry!" she said. "I- I can't be happy! Not like this! Not with Princess Celestia like this! Not with Princess Luna…"

Luna felt a desperate urge to throw back the invisibility cloak and announce herself, but Riddle had given her strict instructions of the DO NOT VIOLATE ON PUNISHMENT OF EXTREME TEMPORAL DANGERvariety.

"Then cast the cutie-mark swap," past-Riddle said. "As you usually do."

Twilight complied, performing a procedure Luna had seen many times by this point.

"No!" Twilight gasped. "It's just you and Cadence! I couldn't swap out my own!"

"Wait!" Riddle said. "Cadence is unconscious. She will not experience my talent. The swap need only last a moment. Please wait."

How strange, Luna thought as she watched. She had not understood the 'temporal' part until she arrived here, floating invisibly above what remained of the war party, watching interactions that had, somehow, already happened. Her body was right there, apparently a corpse, though her past self looked perfectly intact.

"Turn around, please," past-Riddle said to the gathered watchers. "Discord, I know you'll peek anyway."

Luna was utterly hopeless to interfere because she had not interfered. So she was stuck watching real life as if it were a story.

"Expecto Patronum."

And at the play's climax, despite having her suspicions about how it would go, she was still shocked. She had half expected them to wake her sister, half expected Twilight to try again and this time succeed.

But no.

He finally did it.

"Can I look now?" asked Twilight Sparkle. "Did it work?"

Luna watched as her own past-self disappeared. She felt a nudge in her flank, the signal to 'teleport to the obvious location' as Riddle had instructed earlier. Obvious indeed.

After teleporting out of the cloak and trusting Riddle to catch it, "Yes, and yes," she said, smiling at Twilight.

"PRINCESS!" Twilight shouted, running forward to hug her.

Luna flinched at the sudden noise, her un-ascended ears not quite capable of handling the volume. "Now I know how my subjects felt," Luna said, then gasped. "Easy, Twilight, easy."

"Well that there is just plain wrong," said Applejack.

"Applejack!" Rarity rebuked.

"I don't mean the hug. That mane on him just ain't easy on the eyes. I'm feelin' all sorts a' weird and wrong just lookin' that way."

"I agree," said Riddle mildly. "Ms. Sparkle, would you mind undoing the Cutie Mark swap? Without delay?"

Twilight turned to face him, her face scrunched up in a repulsed expression, and she nodded. "Coming right up." Her mane glowed brightly. "From one to another, another to one. A mark of one's destiny, singled out alone. Does not make the stallion, does not make the mare. What makes us who we are is where we place our care. Change by magic sown, by magic be undone."

Riddle returned to normal.

Luna returned to normal.

Celestia returned to normal.

In the near distance, Tirek's body shrunk to what must have once been normal, going from a massive red mountain blocking the horizon to small ashen centaur lying in the grass.

After a brief celebration at the return of Equestria's magic, they walked up to the fallen tyrant.

"He is… unconscious?" asked Celestia uncertainly.

"No," said Riddle.

There was silence as ponies stared, some at Riddle, some at the corpse.

"What spell did you use?" asked Twilight Sparkle. "I've never seen it. And the thing before that?"

Riddle glanced around at the watching Equestrians, the Elements and Celestia and Discord. "The thing before that was a firearm," he said. "A purely mundane weapon…" He looked around at present company, which included ponies like Applejack and Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie. "A non-magical device that works like shooting a spitball through a straw. Except with metal and fire instead of paper and plastic. When non-wizards wage war in my home world, that is the weapon of the foot soldier."

"It looked pretty unwieldy," Twilight remarked.

Riddle tilted his head. Then he levitated a blade of grass to his horn and transfigured it into an unloaded pistol. He walked up to Tirek's body and, careful about Luna's comments of enslaving the dead, he levitated the grip into unmoving fingers, though he did not touch the corpse with his magic. "Not for those with hands," he said. Then he cancelled his magic, letting the dead rest, now with a single blade of grass held between limp fingers.

"Is it a kind of stunning weapon?" asked Rarity.

"No."

Silence.

"And… the spell?" asked Twilight before the implications could set in.

"…If Tirek had been truly smart," said Riddle, "and I knew this at the time, he would have dodged the mysterious spell that somehow stayed intact despite his powers. Or he would have used one of his hostages as a shield. That is what I would have done in his place. That said, it's a spell with no collateral damage, unlike the stronger mundane weapons I knew about, weapons which would have endangered everyone, so it was worth the comparative risk."

Technically, he shouldn't explain further, shouldn't even have explained that much, but half of a secret is its existence. Everypony here has already seen the Killing Curse, Discord the most worrying potential blabbermouth among them. If not for Riddle's attitude of security, of preserving advantages in the first place (as a final trump card against the likes of Discord and Celestia, his original reasoning had gone), then Tirek might not have been so cleanly overcome. Riddle has a wider range of muggle weapons that likely would have worked – chemical agents and other bio-weapons, and the ultimate trump card of nuclear weapons that he did in fact learn how to transfigure, in those final days as Defense Professor at Hogwarts, after he realized his stupidity of refusing to learn the powers of muggles because he feared them.

He faced Luna. "I no longer directly benefit from hiding this knowledge, for a number of reasons." Most prominent among them that he suspects he'll no longer be able to use the killing curse against most conceivable Equus threats. He sent this thought directly to Luna's Occlumency barriers, to her apparent surprise. "But the correct military tactic is to go on preserving that advantage."

"In theory, I agree. In practice…" Luna shook her head. "No pony would be able to cast it reliably." And if you are no longer able, she had her perfect-Occlumency persona audibly think, there is hardly an advantage to be preserved at all. "Still… I think caution is correct, just in case. Do you have a contract to silence?"

It took a small amount of time to retrieve it from its hiding place. As he did, he reflected on his recent choices.

Preserving the advantage of the Killing Curse had been part of a larger game he'd been playing on Equus, a memory and habit of security and self-preservation, and he'd just thrown that game away quite literally in a fit of anger. Perhaps it was the right choice regardless; resorting to a nuclear detonation would have been revealing in its own right...

No. That's not the right thought. The right thought is that his past self would not have gotten so personally involved in this fiasco, would not have considered it his problem unless 'Harmony' failed to handle Tirek as it tended to handle so many other things. His past self would have fled, like he fled from Discord and hid in the Astral Plane. Like he fled from Britain until his strength could match Dumbledore's.

And yet, the thought of flight simply had not occurred to him this time. Not once, that he could remember. Knowledge that so easily could have been turned into an escape plan without fleeing fully to the Astral Plane – so he could monitor the affair from afar – had instead been used to keep the Stone and his Horcruxes safe.

There had been much danger in confronting Tirek personally, much danger in staying when Discord had turned, when Luna and Celestia had lost.

Through all of that, he looked back and realized he had stayed without ever seriously considering the thought of preserving himself with the least amount of risk.

He looked at the contract he'd just retrieved, written in the style and purpose of all his past beliefs, even as it violated the single most important unifying factor of secrecy.

I swear I shall not, without their consent, act upon any secrets of the one(s) who is/are having me sign this paper. I shall not reveal their secrets to others, I shall not use their secrets against them, I shall not use their secrets FOR them. Unless I am in their private company, in the company of only those who already know the secrets, or I am otherwise given explicit permission by the contractor(s), I shall act as if I am completely ignorant at all times. The contractor(s) may release me from these terms, or certain parts of it, if they choose, but they must tell me directly if that is the case.

"Here," he said, presenting it to Luna.

"Those who wish to hear more, if my fool wishes to say more, may sign this. Note that it encompasses all secrets he may disclose to you in the future, not just this one."

Applejack, Rainbow, and Rarity left, all declaring that they had to check up on their little sisters. Pinkie Pie went with them, saying that her Pinkie sense tells her all she needs to know, and it was telling her she didn't need to know what he was about to say.

The names upon the paper now read:

Keen Eye
Twilight Sparkle
Fluttershy
(; !drOCsiD (This one was written in a multi-coloured hue and covered in glitter.)
Tia Sunrise

"So… what was the spell?" asked Twilight.

Riddle's face was expressionless, as if carved from stone. And then, in a very flat voice, "The Killing Curse."

Silence befell them once more. Horrified silence, in some cases. Resigned in others. Confused in the rest.

"Killing… curse?" asked Fluttershy, not sounding like she understood.

"A curse that kills," Riddle said in a deadpan. "Only kills. Nothing else." And after that, he didn't add any justifications. Didn't try to defend his actions or himself. He's had Luna's advisement all these years, but he was curious to see what the average pony reaction would be.

"That's horrible," Fluttershy gasped.

Riddle didn't say anything, he just looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

"Not Chaotic at all," muttered Discord, who was wrapped around Fluttershy. He wrapped around her just a little tighter.

"How so?" Riddle asked the God of Chaos.

"Life, desires, conflicting wills, that's the natural cause of the universe's chaos. Otherwise it's all..." he waved a claw. "Mathematically predictable. Life is chaos. Death is dull. Any spell that causes death and nothing else is, indeed, horrible."

Interesting perspective, Riddle thought. He looked to the others. "Are you in agreement, Ms. Sparkle?"

Twilight looked like she had just been presented with an incredibly difficult puzzle. "I might have called it horrible if I learned about it any other day… and I still don't like it… but it did save my friends…"

"And you, Ms. Sunrise?" he asked Celestia. "You once said that you have never succumbed to your base desires, even in those few instances where you have hated ponies." Like Dumbledore, the Alicorn of the Sun probably qualified as one of those rare people who would never be able to cast the killing curse. "What do you think of ponies who do?"

"Not that they are evil by default," said Celestia. "A few incredibly rare circumstances can make rage justified. The important question is why you cast it. And even before that, if Tirek's actions warranted it. I was out for the entirety of the fight. Was he an immediate lethal threat?"

"Tia…" said Luna, looking at her sister. She walked over and whispered something.

"Riddle had to do what?" she asked, sounding like she didn't understand.

Luna whispered some more.

"HE WHAT?!" the day princess exploded, her mane going from bright and prismatic to flaring fire in a fraction of a second, causing even Riddle to start. He could no longer afford to be so cavalier about the destruction of his body. Though on second glance, her anger seemed to be directed at the corpse, not him.

"Calm, Tia," said Luna gently, putting her head and neck beneath her sister's. "Calm." Her mane of cool starlight seemed to wrap around Celestia like a pillow, though it shied away from the fire.

It took a while for her burning mane to return to its normal flowing rainbow.

"Well," said Celestia into the awkward pause. She looked to Riddle. "It has been many centuries since I said this, but good… kill… then. It was a clear case of defense from an aggressive, unprovoked, and imminent lethal threat. It was done in immediate response to malicious murder of a loved one. And…" she hesitated briefly, then walked forward, but Riddle stepped back. Celestia paused at his reaction, then sighed and bowed her head. "Thank you for saving my sister."

More than you know, Riddle thought. "Speaking of which," he said uncomfortably, looking at Luna. "There is something we must discuss. In private."

In the Astral Plane, where no outside items could be brought, one pony extracted a memory from the empty bookshelf. The other waited patiently.

The memory, when shown, was brief and to the point, though it was complex enough that Luna had to ask for multiple viewings.

"Very well," hissed his past self. "If you tell me flawss and help to fix them, I sshall kill no more than three ssmart creaturess in thiss new place, unless more iss necesssary for my own ssurvival, or unlesss you approve of more. Creaturess I kill will be threatss to livess of otherss, and the world will be ssafer place if they die. I further promisse not to torture, maim, or murder, again unlesss I musst for my own ssurvival. Now tell me of flawss."

For himself, he was surprised to find that he, apparently, had somewhat misremembered the spoken part of his oath. He could have sworn he promised to use those three deaths for Horcruxes... though now that he thinks about it, the exact wording, while important, isn't the only binding part of a Parseltongue promise. As with Unbreakable Vows, the intent behind Parseltongue promises also has some amount of meaning.

Ordinarily, words spoken in Parseltongue must be technically true. Deceptions are still easily possible. Oaths are a slightly different matter. You cannot make an oath in Parseltongue in the first place unless you are the type of person who is capable of committing to an oath without an Unbreakable Vow. For while Salazar could not instill at-will Vows into his language, he could at least make oaths unspeakable by any who would not truly keep them.

"Why are the words all… hissy?" asked Luna.

"I never did mention I can speak to snakes, did I?" Riddle said thoughtfully.

"No," said Luna. "You did not. Snakes can speak?"

"…That is a good question," Riddle observed. "Perhaps it is more accurate to say I can command snakes through an inherited curse that manifests as language."

"A curse?" she asked, sounding worried. "What is the drawback?"

"…Another good question. The only downside I've found so far is the social stigma attached to being seen speaking with snakes, which can be avoided by not doing so in public. Perhaps the true downside is the risk of being forced at wandpoint to speak the literal truth at any time by a more powerful Parseltongue than yourself, so that ancestors and tradition always hold power over the newest generations... yes, that sounds exactly like Salazar. In any case, while I am grateful for the distraction, we do have something more important to discuss. The key fact behind this memory is that all Parseltongue promises must be meant, in the same way that true apologies must be meant in order to be real. They cannot ever be violated. Do you now comprehend the constraints I've been working with?"

"I… think so," said Luna. "You promised Silver to make no more than three horcruxes. Those three murders would have to be of malicious dangers who threaten the world. Beyond that, unless he gives you permission, you may not kill outside of self-defense."

"Outside of survival. Which," he gestured to the surrounding astral plane, "is no longer a problem that must be solved with a Killing Curse, since I can come here at any time. Not to mention my horcruxes. Unless somepony simultaneously invents the anti-Astral-Plane jinx and counters my great creation, I am no longer able to cast a Killing Curse. Ever since I ascended, I've only been able to cast that curse at intelligent creatures when I have the intention of making a Horcrux-" or with the intention of killing Dumbledore, who was not technically in Equestria "-and my three allotments have now been made. As long as-"

"Three?!" demanded Luna. "You made your third? When?"

"Just today."

"But- but Twilight must have been watching you…"

He raised a hoof. "Will you allow me to explain, fully, before responding?"

"…Yes, of course," said Luna, with a sigh. "Speak your peace."

"The moral dilemma," he began, "was as follows. I could stop Tirek. I could stop him easily, but only if I was allowed to kill him. You said I had permission if he proved himself a lethal threat, which he did by killing you, and by threatening you before that. But my promise to Silver meant I was only able to kill if I made a horcrux from the death. If I wanted to end Tirek, which I did, the mundane methods known to me outside of the one I tried would have been messy, so the only moderately safe and reliable way to stop him without collateral damage was to kill him with the Killing Curse. But in order to do that, I had to make a Horcrux. I did not say that part out loud, but an oath's meaning must also be binding, if it is to be spoken by snakes at all, and so I was bound by that part as well."

His student had needed no instruction at all in that regard, and so Riddle had skipped over those lessons in his tutorship of Mr. Potter. The young Ravenclaw was naturally the kind of person who kept his oaths, an otherwise ridiculously implausible personality type that therefore almost certainly resulted from Tom Riddle's inherited memories, or else had something to do with some part of his scientific upbringing. Decision theory, if Riddle had to guess at which field in particular. The young Tom Riddle had required repeated lessons from Slytherin's Basilisk to become the kind of person capable of making Parseltongue oaths.

Casual Parseltongue conversations can be games of exact wordings. Deception is still possible, in all the ways that intelligent creatures can lie with a series of true statements and omissions.

Parseltongue oaths cannot be so casually played with.

And so, the exact wording of his oath to Mr. Potter contained nothing of Horcruxes, only of the deaths he might use to make them. And yet, when swearing that oath, Horcruxes had been an intrinsic part of his promise's meaning, so he ended up bound by words unspoken.

The oath he truly meant was that he shall make no more than three Equestrian Horcruxes in the ordinary course of events, and he will not attempt to manipulate those events to get more than three out of the original bargain, though he will make more if he absolutely must. He meant the other parts as well, targeting threats to the innocent and so on, but the core of his promise involved Horcruxes, even if he did not say it aloud. Seriously, what was his past self going to do with those three allotted murders? Not use them to make Horcruxes?

This, too, he explained to Luna.

"Now do you understand, as it applies to our current situation?"

Luna's eyebrows were deeply furrowed. "I believe so… you are saying your motive in killing Tirek was not to make a horcrux, just that it was a necessary step to be able to stop him, given constraints to which you swore years ago, constraints to which you are now helpless to violate?"

"Much closer, but that's still not quite right," said Riddle. "After he killed you, I did want to kill Tirek. I wanted it enough to cast the Killing Curse the normal way. Put as plainly as possible, I am saying my motive was to kill him, nothing more. I used time travel to make the most of it afterwards, and to keep my oath to Mr. Silver, as I knew I would have to, but that wasn't my goal."

There was a long pause.

"I see…" said Luna, wearing a frown.

"Am I banished?"

...

...

...

...

...

"…No," said Luna after the longest minute of Riddle's life. "Nor are you fired. You did not murder him, and your reason was not to make a horcrux. You have skirted my sanctions by the skin of your teeth. I should have expected no less."

"I did not murder him?"

"If he had been stunned, helpless before you, it would have been murder. If he had not been the aggressor, had not killed me first, it would have been murder. If you had time to stew, if the killing curse had not been an immediate response to my death, it might have been murder."

"I don't understand."

"And I am having trouble articulating it," Luna said. "I think Tia put it best. It was a clear case of defense from an aggressive, unprovoked, and imminent lethal threat. It was done in immediate response to malicious murder of a loved one. Even Tia does not condemn those who respond to such situations as nature clearly intended them to, given all the associated emotional impulses an average pony would feel. If an average, good-hearted stallion might react as you did, what's there to condemn? The best way I can describe it in my own terms is the silver rule. You treated him as he treated others, immediately and without hesitation. He cannot complain about his fate, given what he did two seconds prior. The term 'murder' implies that you were the aggressor, or that it was premeditated, or that you had better options for threat-removal, or that Tirek was innocent… and while cases involving you are extremely complex, not to mention my own heavy biases, I am going to go with my gut emotional response anyway. My gut feeling says you killed him, but you did not murder him. Speaking of your mental state and nothing else, you murdered Sombra's servant. You murdered Chrysalis. If you had been able to cast the spell, you would have murdered Sombra. You did not murder Tirek. In terms of Equestrian law and objectively observable actions, you are 'clean' in every case, given what they were capable of when conscious, and the harm they had already done. In terms of your own personal, internal motivations… killing Chrysalis was evil. Killing Sombra's servant was evil. Attempting to kill Sombra was evil. Killing Tirek was not evil, though it did come close."

"You are certain?" he asked, a strange feeling encompassing his mind. Like a clamp on his head being released, or a bubble of pressure in his mind being gently popped.

"If it was evil, I do not think you could have cast that Patronus afterwards." She wrapped her neck around his. "Yes, I am certain."

He leaned into the hug.

...

...

...

"…Is this farewell?"

"Is it?" asked Luna, turning the question back on him.

"I cast the Patronus."

"You did."

"I can leave."

Luna looked at him, but it was like she was looking through him. "As always, that is up to you."

"You're saying you want me to stay?"

"I do want you to stay, but that is not what I'm saying. Come. Cast the Patronus. Show me as you would show Dumbledore."

When he tried, and when he failed, he understood her point.

"I don't understand," he said. And he truly didn't. Perhaps if that false ascension earlier – his mane had reverted to normal after Twilight undid the swap – if it had restored his locked memories, and those memories were suddenly interfering, perhaps he would understand this failure. But his memories remained locked, so that couldn't be the cause. "The Killing Curse gets easier with use, not harder. Why is this any different?"

"The Patronus is not different," Luna said. "It does get easier for most. But you are exceptional in many ways, my fool, and what you are experiencing is not so strange to me. Life-threatening emergency has the strangest way of bringing even the most broken of families together. They'll set aside the worst abuses and difficulties. But as soon as the emergency passes, or if the emergency lasts longer than whatever threshold of time the broken family can tolerate together, or if it's mere manipulation wearing the guise of emergency, the troubles return once more. You have cast the Patronus in desperate emergency which was possibly manipulated by forces greater than any of us. To call upon that strength at will is another matter entirely. Still…" she hugged him again. "Congratulations on making it this far. Do not let the disappointment detract from your triumph."

"I don't need…" he said, but trailed off before he could say 'pity' or 'consolations' or 'false praise'. None felt quite right to the situation.

"Open your Changeling Sense," said Luna's voice from behind his ear.

He did so. By this point, he should be used to the experience of feeling more love than he'd ever felt before, directed solely at himself. But it still manages to surprise and stagger him every time.

"It is true that you have far to go, but it is also true that you have come so far already. And for that…" she tightened the hug, and her love increased even more. "…you deserve this."

He basked in the warmth for a time, content to do nothing else.

"May I inquire about the time travel now?" asked Luna a while later. "I am desperately curious."

Riddle acquiesced and explained, finishing with, "It is convenient for giving yourself an alibi."

Luna looked like she would probably need more time to comprehend. "…Like you did when you first ascended to alicorn status?"

Or perhaps not.

"Would you like to leave one of your horcruxes with me?" asked Luna after a bit more time. "You cannot move in them, yes?"

He tilted his head. "You know that cloak you were wearing?"

Her eyebrows rose.

"It belongs to Mr. Silver."

She giggled. Her fool is much better at deliberately defying her expectations-

"And it is also the first Horcrux I made in Equestria. It's how I go invisible. Yes, I would like you to have it for safekeeping. It shapeshifts at the possessor's will to anything a sheet of fabric could become. Turn it into your mattress cover and the maids will never need to wash your bedsheet again. It is impervious to all forms of grime, and you will be in contact with it every night."

"That is… one way to do it," said Luna.

"I don't want its abilities to be known."

"I understand. It will not turn my mattress invisible?"

"Not unless your mattress is alive. And keep in mind it shall return to Mr. Silver's possession eventually."

Luna nodded. "And your other Horcruxes?"

"My other horcrux is in a good place, yes." Though he didn't describe that place for standard and obvious security reasons.

"One other horcrux? As in, two total?"

He nodded.

"But… didn't you just make a third? Or did one of them get destroyed?"

Riddle shook his head. "The third is not my horcrux. It is yours."

The stars of Riddle's astral plane twinkled just a little brighter.

...

...

...

"My horcrux?"

"Mr. Silver never specified that I had to make all three for myself," Riddle pointed out. "Nor did I promise that they would all be mine."

For even when he swore that oath, even all the way back in the beginning, he had considered, briefly, that he might use one of his three allotments for Mr. Potter. He had just been informed of his 'not being nice' folly a few hours previously, after all. He had been truthfully told that he'd lost ten years of his life for failing to consider the possibility of making a Horcrux for someone else. And so, as he swore that Parseltongue oath to Mr. Potter, he did not fail to considered it the second time around, even if he mostly didn't expect it to happen. That consideration meant he was not bound to make the Horcruxes for himself, even as he was bound to use his murders to make the Horcruxes.

Ssuch iss the importance of being clear in your meaningss, even in your mind, ass you sswear your oathss, Salazar's beast had once told him.

"And before you ask," he continued, lightly tapping his forehead with his hoof a couple of times. "I chose my skull as the anchor."

"Your skull?!"

"Well I wouldn't want to lose it."

Luna just stared at him.

"See for yourself." He pointed at his cutie mark. There was a single new addition: a pony skull, above the infinity sign on the right page of the open book's centerfold. "Even Harmony agrees that my special talent is making Horcruxes."

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…

…

…

…

…

"Tom."

"Yes?"

"You are, without a doubt, the most frustrating pony I have ever met in my life."

"I am the only human you've ever met in your life," he said. "Well, the only human you've truly gotten to know."

She had a hoof on her forehead, her eyes closed, her breathing forcibly regular. "Was this before or after you revived me?"

"After-"

"Was it possible to wake me up prior to Horcruxing me?"

Riddle decided to suggest, "I can abandon this body and destroy the Horcrux if you wish-"

"What I would like," she said, opening her eyes, "is for you to stop doing everything by yourself and ask. Ask others for their preferences. Please. Do not simply believe you know best for everypony else. Even those you care about. Especially those you care about. Sometimes you do know best, and sometimes the object you Horcrux has already exploded in the past, in quite the horrific and memorable shower of gore."

He hadn't considered that, mostly because a Thing of Power would trump the piercing spell. Then again, the general point of himself being a target, and the fact that he can no longer be so flippant about the destruction of his own body, that had occurred to him, and he had considered it deeply. "I don't intend to allow that to happen again," he said. "Consider this Horcrux to be my declaration that I will take this body's safety more seriously."

"I shall. But I will not be distracted from the critical ethics here. For important matters, ask. Consult. Conspire. Converse. Anything but autonomously making massive life choices for others who are grown adults with free wills and preferences of their own."

"So…"

"So," said Luna in a definitive tone. "Ask before you make a horcrux for somepony. Ask what object they would like to be their horcrux. Get informed consent. Are we clear?"

"…Yes."

"Good." She hugged him. "Now I can say thank you."

Chapter 69: On the Other Foot

"So I am sending you outside of Time, to a frozen instant from which neither I nor any other can return you. Perhaps Harry Potter will be able to retrieve you someday, if prophecy speaks true. He may wish to discuss with you just who is at fault for the deaths of his parents. For you it will only be an instant – if you ever return at all. Either way, Tom, I wish you the best of it."

-Albus Dumbledore, HPMoR Ch110

It was a large assembly that met in front of the portal that Saturday, all wearing necklaces that had been distributed minutes ago.

Draco, Hermione, Harry, and Autumn stood at the back.

Lucius Malfoy, Minerva McGonagall, and Michael Verres-Evans stood in the middle.

The Defense Professor stood in front.

Everyone present was an Occlumens, and most had been sworn to secrecy by various methods, some of which overlapped into redundancy.

One by one they stepped through the Mirror, each adult wishing to confirm for themselves that it was safe before allowing their children and charges to go through.

The Defense Professor reassured them that this had been done many times before, and nothing should go wrong.

So when, after Autumn and Hermione stepped through the portal and the surface suddenly changed into solid reflection, no longer showing Draco or Harry on the other side, the Defense Professor was naturally the first suspect, the first to blame, the first to be bombarded with demands for an explanation.

He stated that certain devices are informing him that they are not trapped here, the worlds are still connected, the door still exists, it is just, for some reason, shut…

Harry and Draco had both given a start when the image of their party disappeared and was replaced. Draco, in particular, almost suffered a heart attack.

"Headmaster?!" asked Harry in sheer shock.

Sapphire eyes behind half-moon glasses looked down and beheld two children of Hogwarts. "Hello, Harry," said the ancient wizard, looking surprised himself, and relieved. "It is good to see you in what seems to be, and what I hope, is genuine health and youth. Congratulations on accomplishing the impossible. On two counts."

"Er… thanks," said Harry, genuinely, but still in a shocked voice. "What's going on? How are you here?"

The ancient gaze turned to the other. "That would, I believe, be thanks to the young Mr. Malfoy."

"Me?!"

Dumbledore looked considering for a moment. "And perhaps you as well, Harry. I am here because one or both of you blames me for the death, or other departure, of a parent, or parental figure, and because you have not yet forgiven me for it."

"What?" asked Harry. "What does that have anything to do with it?"

Dumbledore smiled. "You cannot see it yourself, Harry?"

Harry paused. Took a moment to think. Came up blank. He could probably get it if he thought for five minutes, but Headmistress McGonagall and his dad might be getting worried.

"Sorry, no, and I don't have time to figure it out right now. You're… kind of blocking the way to Equestria. It's possible my dad, Draco's dad, your deputy, and the Defense Professor just got stuck on the other side for however long this lasts."

"Ah…" said Dumbledore. "In that case I shall try to be quick. I stand before you because you have triggered the potential prerequisites for the trap I turned upon myself, the trap meant for Voldemort. Anything trapped by the Mirror has conditions for release, whether it be a person or an object."

"Or a whole city," Harry said casually.

"Or that… I suppose…" said Dumbledore. Then the old man's eyes widened. Suddenly, a couch appeared behind him, and he collapsed into it. After a few awkward seconds of silence in which Draco had no idea what to say, the Headmaster said, "Harry, please don't do that."

"Sorry," said Harry.

"Do what?" Draco asked.

"He casually told me what happened to Atlantis."

"He WHAT?!"

"Did you figure it out yourself?" asked Dumbledore, ignoring Draco's undignified but involuntary outburst. "Or was it the Defense Professor?"

"The Defense Professor told me that I had enough information to figure it out for myself and didn't tell me anything else," said Harry. "So yes, he deduced it first."

"I see," said the old man.

"Hold on," said Draco. "What happened to Atlantis?"

"You weren't following?" asked Harry.

"I was…" Draco trailed off.

He understood what Harry meant by his disappointed look. Draco should already know the answer to his own question. So, Draco thought about what he just heard. The headmaster was talking about the Mirror trapping things outside of time… and Harry said 'or a whole city'… then Dumbledore mentioned Atlantis…

"Atlantis is in the Mirror?" he asked, his eyes very wide. The Mirror is said to be an Atlantean device...

"It's impossible to be 100% certain," said Harry, "but when Merlin himself is recorded as saying Atlantis was severed from time, and the only surviving Atlantean artifact has the power to sever things from time, well, you can see why that would be the obvious guess." Harry tapped his cheek thoughtfully. "The Defense Professor thinks that Equestria might be Atlantis… or, he thinks the whole planet might be Atlantis, or something like that. Anyway, he thinks the Equinoids are the direct descendants of the original Atlanteans. And yes, that means we're going on a field trip to Atlantis. Maybe. Anyway, and more importantly," he said, turning back to face the Headmaster, "if you're here, does that mean we can get you out of there?"

Dumbledore thought for a moment, then slowly shook his head. "Not yet, I think. The condition for my release, the universal clause I set the Mirror to accept for whomever it traps, is that someone else who has come to blame the prisoner for the loss of as many parents as have been taken from them must stand before the Mirror. That party must then forgive the prisoner after knowing everything of their motives and means of murder, or other attack. I thought that would prevent Voldemort from ever being released, since he would not know his own release clause, and even if he did, nobody would ever forgive him for such a crime if they knew everything, especially you, Harry." He tapped his side of the Mirror's surface with his index finger. "Since I am not already free, I assume that means you never blamed me for the death of your parents in the first place? Even after you learned of my prophetic manipulations?"

"Your what?" asked Draco.

"In short," said Harry, turning to face Draco, "he knew that if Voldemort attacked the Potters, then Voldemort would immediately be vanquished for a good amount of time. I'll show you the full memory later, but part of it goes, 'And so, the great and good Albus Dumbledore sacrificed his unwitting pawns, James and Lily Potter, merely to vanquish me for a few years.'"

(He'd not yet shown any memories involving the Mirror, partly because he didn't want to alarm them before they had the experience of safely walking through it to reach Equestria – of course that would go wrong – and partly because he wanted to show the memory immediately after their entrapment too, waking up in that meadow. But that would spoil the pony surprise, at least for Draco, so he held off on showing it.)

"But the truth is," Harry said, continuing his defense of Dumbledore, "that's what real war is like. He even almost got it so my mother didn't die. He managed to get Voldemort to offer Lily Potter the chance to flee instead of just killing her outright. Although my original suspicions that he did something along those lines is what prompted me to realize I should consult you about his character, Draco."

Draco seemed to understand this, even if he had to blink a few times in the processing. "Wow," he said. "That's…" he trailed off, looking at Dumbledore. "How did you get the Dark Lord to do that?"

"Through the powers of plotting and madness, of course."

"It's complicated," Harry answered. "And the answer involves secrets we're not privy to share with you or anyone else, strangely enough." It involves Snape's love life, after all. "I will say that the planning and execution was just as impressive as the feat itself."

"You do me too much credit, Harry. Lily did not survive in the end."

"Yes, but this is one of those rare times that I'll say you did your best to save as many lives as possible, including my mother's, and that it actually means something that you got as close as you did. You didn't put her wand in your fate room, did you?"

"I did."

"Well, if that room is meant to remind you of your biggest regrets and mistakes, maybe rethink my parents and put them in the Egg room instead. Also, you should have consulted me to think of a better trap rule for Voldemort. I don't think yours was the best idea."

Because Harry did come to forgive his creator for killing his parents. If current-Riddle was trapped in the mirror under that clause, he would be released upon the instant. Even his past self hadn't been as bothered by that fact as Dumbledore would have expected, and he might have come to forgive pre-redemption Professor Quirrell somehow. And it might have also been theoretically possible that Voldemort couldn't have been trapped by that, since Voldemort killed his own parents, and the him of thirty-five subjective years ago might have 'forgiven' himself enough to satisfy the phrasing of the release clause.

"I implemented the rule before you knew of our world," Dumbledore remarked. "Although I could have changed it later, I suppose. It had to be a rule by which I myself might also be trapped, you see, and hopefully have a better chance of escape than he, should it be turned on me. In the end, things may have worked out for the best, as there is now a likely candidate who might some day come to forgive me for taking his parent away." Dumbledore looked at Draco as he said this.

"I forgive you," said Draco.

His father had sworn to take Dumbledore to trial if he returned, and it would be better if that happened while the crime and the declaration were still fresh in everyone's memory. Plus, like Harry said, Father might be getting worried about them; best to get this over with if they can.

Dumbledore's eyes widened in surprise, but after extending his hand forward and placing it flatly on the surface of his side of the mirror, he sighed. "Thank you, Draco Malfoy. I am glad to know that you want to forgive me, or at least that you wish to set me free. But forgiveness is not as simple as saying the words, young Slytherin. You must feel it in your heart, and in your mind, and in your soul. All blame must be replaced with understanding, or humility, for true forgiveness to emerge."

Draco's eyebrows furrowed. Well, so much for the easy way out. As for the hard way…

The truth is, he really doesn't feel much blame towards Dumbledore anymore. He'd been feeling less and less blame ever since Father told him, the day his mother had been returned to them, that the Dark Lord had ordered Father to torture Aberforth Dumbledore into insanity, and then sent the memory to Albus Dumbledore to rub it in. And that was after attempting to ransom Aberforth for a hundred thousand galleons.

If not for a year of friendship with Harry Potter, during which the two of them reached true empathy about the deaths of each other's mothers, that new knowledge of Dumbledore's motives would not have done much to change Draco's mind. Draco doesn't have a brother himself, so no amount of automatic empathy would have kicked in at the story. But he has watched the play of the Elric brothers many times – it was his second favorite after the Tragedy of Light – and that had allowed him to understand the anger Dumbledore must have felt when the Dark Lord tortured his brother insane, using an unmasked pawn, Father, to carry out the order.

According to Father, the Dark Lord had said, "Your Polyjuice shall hide your true identity, my servant," for the sake of plausible deniability, just in case Dumbledore attempted to use the memory in the court of the Wizengamot (not that memories are admissible anyway) or in the court of public opinion. Dumbledore would have understood that it wasn't Polyjuice. Your average stupid citizen would be skeptical, and scared of angering the Malfoys with a potentially false accusation.

A/N: This is another one of those canon-compliant-but-not-ACTUAL-canon moments. Here's the direct quote from HPMoR, Chapter 82: "Do you also wish to see my brother as he died under the Cruciatus?" said Albus Dumbledore. "Voldemort sent me THAT memory as well!"

It's possible there's a different quote in the story that I'm forgetting about that specifically says Aberforth died at the Dark Lord's wand. If so please tell me, but based on my current knowledge, and based only on that quote, it's possible Voldemort ordered a servant to do the torturing so Voldemort himself could witness it and produce a memory that was as clear as possible. And if it DID happen that way, it's almost certain that Lucius was the torturer, because Dumbledore took 'revenge' on Narcissa in particular. I don't think that actually did happen in HPMoR canon, but hey, exploiting things that are left open to interpretation is what fanfiction is all about.

Ever since the full picture had been painted for him, Draco understood Dumbledore's desire for revenge, and he was surprised that Dumbledore actually turned out to be something like the saint he pretended to be. At first, Draco had expressed to Father the sentiment that an actual saint wouldn't take someone's mother away and pretend that he tortured her to death.

"Perhaps," Father had said with a detached, neutral expression. "Perhaps not. As a military tactic, it stopped everyone from going after uninvolved family members, while our leaders remained. If not for Dumbledore, after the Dark Lord's defeat Mad-Eye might have sought my life in revenge for the Potters, or the Longbottoms. And he might have succeeded in taking it."

A whole summer break to stew on that, along with a few other disproofs of standard Death Eater rhetoric, had done much to dampen Draco's dislike of Dumbledore. Apparently, that failed to factor as full 'forgiveness'.

Was Draco still clinging to more blame than he realised? Was there something else Dumbledore had done aside from getting revenge in one of the least evil ways possible? Was there something Dumbledore did that the Dark Lord had not done first, only ten times worse?

Then Draco suddenly understood why Dumbledore wasn't already free, assuming it had nothing to do with (a) his many ingrained biases that he was still having a hard time unwinding or (b) his thought that Dumbledore would soon go on trial after release.

"Did you plan to use my mother's life as blackmail against House Malfoy?" Draco asked. His suspicion of that hypothesis, he realized, might be the main barrier in the way of forgiveness.

Dumbledore's eyes grew very sad, his face seeming to develop a number of new wrinkles. "As an absolute last resort, when the threat of Voldemort yet loomed," admitted the old man. "I was sorely tempted to do so in Hermione Granger's trial. If not for Amelia, I would have given in. Do you remember that moment, Harry?"

"I remember," Harry nodded. "At the time I thought you were considering confession. That really puts it in a new perspective."

"Why didn't you say it?" Draco demanded of Dumbledore.

But before Dumbledore could answer, there was a crack of fire, and Professor Monroe was there, gripping Father's arm, and Hermione was there with a phoenix on her shoulder, holding the hand of Harry's father.

"See?" asked Professor Monroe, then paused. "Hello, Albus."

"Hello," Dumbledore said back with a nod. "And hello to you, Ms. Granger. I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you alive and in good health."

"Likewise," said Hermione, smiling gently.

Dumbledore smiled back, then faced the Defense Professor again. "Enjoying your freedom?"

"It has its ups and downs," he said. "But on the whole, I'd say it's been a good few months. Though with all the obligations I've undertaken, I would hardly call it freedom."

Draco felt Father's hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright, my son?" Draco glanced up to see Father eyeing Dumbledore cautiously.

"Worry not," said Professor Monroe. "Observe. Az-reth."

Draco felt Father's arms grip his shoulders just a little tighter as a jagged rune of blood red fire became a small snake, which slithered menacingly towards the mirror, bounced off the surface, and hissed indignantly. Dumbledore hadn't flinched. Then it slithered to the mirror's side, collided with the golden frame, and extinguished as it did so. Fiendfyre had lost.

"The Mirror can even deflect a Killing Curse," the Defense Professor remarked. "Your son was in no danger."

Father's grip loosened, but did not leave entirely. "Spells are not the only form of attack," he said. "What did he say to you, my son?"

"He told me how he got trapped in there," said Draco. "And how I'm the only one who can get him out."

"Not the only one," Dumbledore gently rebutted. "Just the most likely candidate, I think."

"A lie," Father said at once.

"No, Lucius," said Professor Monroe. "It's true. And ironic, is it not?"

Draco felt Father stiffen. "Ironic how?"

"You wish to take him to trial for what he did to your wife. And yet, in order for him to be released, your son must forgive him for that very same act. Do some of my past remarks make a bit more sense now?"

Father stiffened further. "Your remarks and… recommendations, yes," he said in a strange tone, which Draco understood as 'orders' in a flash of sudden insight. "You would see Dumbledore free?"

"I would," said the man. "Hogwarts isn't the same without its powerful, ancient, mad Headmaster. Not to mention the added military might his presence would add to our various operations, should they require protection. And his prophetic knowledge, among other things."

"You know the truth of him, Lucius?" asked Dumbledore.

Father nodded cautiously.

"And does your son?"

Father addressed Draco. "Did you choose to sign and be told?"

Draco had not sent any letter even hinting about this topic due to fear of interception. "I did."

Dumbledore's eyes flickered to Harry's direction.

"Dad's up next to be told," said Harry. "Can you beat three drops of Veritaserum yet, Dad?"

"I just managed last Wednesday," said the man. "And I did it again Thursday and Friday."

"Great!" said Harry. "…but now's not the best time." Harry's voice spoke a bit louder, projecting in Professor Monroe's direction, speaking to the Headmaster. "Is this the only chance we'll ever have to set you free, or…?"

"No," said Dumbledore and Professor Monroe, as if speaking in the same voice. "You're right, Mr. Potter," continued Monroe. "We should get back to the planned tour. We don't want to use all of the scheduled wiggle room on this. Come, side-along phoenix travel will work."

"Just remember," said Dumbledore seriously as they grouped around the Defense Professor. "As you travel to awesome and powerful places, never forget the most important things." He gave them all a cheerful wave. "Make friends, and have fun."

Draco couldn't help but think that Professor Monroe might have a point. Hogwarts is missing something without its mad headmaster, its dangerous potions master (for all that Snape might have been unwittingly damaging Slytherin's reputation by Dumbledore's design), and its grumpy squib janitor (for all that Filch might have been harming students, and personally tried to murder Draco over the death of his pet cat). Draco isn't mourning the loss of the Filch or Dumbledore, but all of those factors were important to the mystique of Hogwarts, and the school does feel... diminished, lesser, weaker without them, even with all that Professor Monroe has done in their absence.

At least they still have a ghost teaching History, a half-giant Keeper of Grounds and Keys, a former dueling champion with goblin ancestry teaching Charms, and the world's most powerful Dark wizard teaching the potentially-still-cursed class of Battle Magic. (Which Draco just now realized was cursed by the very same Dark wizard currently teaching it, which is also fitting). And Slughorn seems good too, for Hogwarts and Slytherin both.

Rehabilitation 13.4: We Shall Not See Each Other Again

Glacially, Celestia turned to face Tom. As if frozen once more, she stared at him, not speaking or moving.

Tom gazed back, also still and silent. After a while, he frowned, moving to the side a pace.

Celestia's head tracked him.

"Well?" he asked, now that he'd confirmed her ability to move. "Is there something you'd like to say?"

"There are many things I would like to say. But not a single one of them is something I am able to say. Thank you for that."

He couldn't tell if it was sarcasm or not, so he decided to give his own potentially-sarcastic reply. "You're welcome. The wild impulses of immediate emotional satisfaction which come at the expense of long-term goals can rarely be tamed without outside help. Or at all."

Again, staring, stillness, and silence.

Eventually, Riddle got bored of that. "What do you intend to do now?"

"I require a moment of privacy with my sister before this continues."

Riddle raised an eyebrow. "What would you say to her, precisely?"

"I would vent my frustration. Beyond that, I would prefer to keep it private," she repeated.

"In other words, you would like an empathetic ear to regulate your emotions. One would think an alicorn well over a thousand years old would be capable of regulating them herself."

Celestia said nothing in reply, appearing to take no offense. But perhaps that was only a strong control over her facial expressions.

"But I suppose," said Riddle, "the old saying is as true in this realm as on earth. Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise," he said, quoting the fool of Shakespeare's King Lear.

"I would argue," said Celestia in a tone of flat neutrality, her facial expression still unchanging, "that asking a competent therapist for help with your emotions is the height of wisdom."

"Oh, I agree. I am simply remarking that you should no longer need such help, at your age, and it's rather pathetic that you still do."

"That's ironic, coming from you of all ponies."

He smiled. "I require a shift in perspective and a more accurate outlook on sapient nature. I do not require help controlling my counterproductive, reactionary, emotional impulses. Those I tamed to my will long ago. Besides, I am less than a twentieth of your age."

No reaction. Silence.

"You realize you will still be bound by the contract?" Riddle asked. "I can't imagine you'll be able to 'vent' without being paralyzed. As you heard me say a few minutes ago, Luna does not know everything, and you are bound not to discuss my secrets with those who do not already know them."

"Unless you give me leave."

"No."

"What about-"

"No. Not 'just this one time' or any other nonsense. You have neither narrow nor general leave to speak of my secrets."

The edges of her pastel mane began to tinge at the fringes with a red glow, but Celestia seemed capable of reigning herself in, at this point. She didn't speak though.

"Do you still wish to speak with your sister?"

"Yes."

"Have you thought of a way to do it without requiring me to unparalyze you every thirty seconds?"

"Funny," said Celestia, not smiling at all. Her face remained expressionless. "As much as I loathe the thought, that was exactly what I was about to suggest."

"Sister..." said Celestia slowly, tentatively, within a barrier of silence but not of blur or darkness.

"Yes?" asked Luna, who had asked Riddle if he would in any way attempt to eavesdrop, and who had received the honest answer of "No." He had, however, suggested that they permit Dumbledore to overhear, though not interfere, in their conversation.

Celestia had carefully considered this request, and declined to allow it.

The sisters were visible, though not audible, to Riddle. All of this was being carried out within seeing range of the Mirror, on Riddle's insistence. Riddle had returned to his desk in the back of the room, ready to un-paralyze Celestia, should Luna cast a bright spell of yellow to catch his attention.

"Sister," Celestia said with a bit more confidence. "How much have you learned of Riddle's past?"

"Tia," said Luna in tones of light rebuke. "You know not to pry into my petitioners. Unless it regards future criminality, what he told me is strictly confidential, if that is what he wishes. And it is. Besides, the Vow you helped me to compose prevents me from answering in any case."

Celestia sighed deeply. "I... yes, you're right of course. I just... Sister, I don't know what to do!"

"About what?"

"About Riddle!" she said, stomping a hoof for emphasis, as if that was enough to explain everything.

"Could you elaborate?" asked Luna gently.

"No!" Celestia said, stomping again. "I cannot! Just about everything I'd like to say would result in paralysis. And even if it didn't, Silver Wing made me promise to not discuss everything else I'd like to say, and that's not his fault, it's still Riddle's-"

There was a brief, involuntary break of paralysis.

When she recovered, Celestia concluded with, "Lulu, it's maddening!"

Luna took a moment to absorb that. "You... can't speak in generalities?"

"I don't know! And I can't risk it without risking paralysis! That's the maddening part!"

"Well, there's no better time to risk it than now," Luna pointed out reasonably. "That's the whole point of this set-up, no?"

"Even still I do not wish to risk it. He is truly awful, Luna. He is worse than Tirek, Sombra, and Chrysalis combined!"

"He is worse than them all," Luna repeated slowly, carefully, temporizingly, "or he used to be worse?"

"There's hardly a difference-" Celestia began, but then froze. And not due to paralysis. She caught her own tongue.

"There isn't?" asked Luna, still calmly. Her tone was understanding, not accusing.

"Luna... Luna, I know why you ask that, but you are truly different. Nightmare Moon was largely a result of direct magical mind control. You had plenty of good in you before Nightmare Moon. And after, of course."

"Only thanks to you, Tia," Luna said gently. "Had you not been around, had my father had his way, had I no sunlight in my life, I very well might have been Nightmare Moon from the very beginning."

"But-" said Celestia. "But you did have goodness without me! Even on the day we met, even before you could speak, you did!"

"I'm still not sure," said Luna. "You know you saw goodness in everypony back then, regardless of whether it was actually there. You know that believing in the goodness of ponies who did not believe it of themselves had the potential to create it where none existed before."

And unfortunately, knowing that about herself made it less honest, less true, less genuine, and therefore less effective, when she tried to do it deliberately. Which is partly why Celestia is no longer the bearer either of Generosity or of Kindness. Some amount of truly blind faith is necessary for those aspects of Kindness and Generosity to function, and she grew less blind with each passing year.

"There is little doubt in my mind," said Luna, "that my fool had plenty of endearing things about him when he was two years old, plenty of cute habits, plenty of sparks of goodness that a kind enough loved one could have nurtured into a true nature of decency and light. But he never had you, Tia, nor anypony like you. He only had a caretaker like my father, and peers like most of our tribesponies – self-interested and unempathetic beyond their immediate circle, and even then…" Luna trailed off, then shook her head sadly. "The man in the mirror was a mostly good influence for him, but he was ten years too late, and I do not think he ever believed in Riddle the same way you believed in me. And need I remind you that even without Nightmare Moon to blame, I did more than a few evil acts, during the warfare of tribal times. That era may be well over a millennium old to you, but it is still recent enough in my mind."

"Luna..." said Celestia, but she trailed off when she found she had nothing to say. Nothing except, "What do I do?"

"Things always came easier to you, Tia," said Luna. "Much easier. You would get spells on the first few tries, you would change ponies for the better in a few short words, you became an Alicorn at fifteen years old."

"Silver Wing crushed my record," said Celestia.

"Even still," said Luna. "Your nature was to burn quickly and brightly. The sprint, not the marathon. And when that did not work to solve a problem, it was my job to keep at it afterwards, however long it might take, and into whatever dark recesses it might take me."

For all that her subjects believe she has patience in spades, Celestia did not always have a great deal of it. Not when situations were getting worse instead of better, or when they were absolutely awful and abhorrent from the start.

"I know," said Celestia, smiling wryly. "It only took me about three hundred years of doing your jobs for that to sink in."

Luna briefly smiled back. "And now that it has sunk in... please, Tia, for all that he might tempt you otherwise, please try to view Riddle as one of those marathons. I understand how his history would trigger in you the mindset of swift and righteous retribution, the mindset necessary to save our little ponies from all the atrocities of the tribal times."

"And a good many eras after that," Celestia grumbled.

Luna slowly nodded. "But, as with many modern problems, swift and righteous retribution is not what is needed with Riddle, for that would simply introduce a whole host of other problems. At most there should be the swift and righteous removal of the thing he's addicted to, the thing that hurt others. Silver Wing accomplished that upon their arrival here, for the most part. As for the rest of the work… well, perhaps you should not get too closely involved on any front involving his redemption. I think he brings out the worst in you. And I think you and Dumbledore bring out the worst in him."

"And... you bring out the best in him," Celestia observed slowly.

"And he the best in me," said Luna. "Oh, don't look at me like that, Tia. I am at my best when I have a challenge, when I have to struggle and struggle and struggle to reach my goal, which is frankly not something I've experiencing much in modern Equestria. Not outside of Riddle, that is, where every sentence is a struggle. You are at your best when you can overcome your obstacles quickly and joyfully, picking up speed as you go. Which is absolutely NOT something you can do in the face of Riddle's brick wall. Well, not without smashing him to smithereens. Or smashing yourself to smithereens."

Celestia sighed deeply. "I understand, Sister. I understood that when he was tormenting me with my own impulsiveness."

Luna paused very briefly. "Then what are you having trouble understanding?" she asked after a visible hesitation.

"...My own feelings of impotence," said Celestia. "Another result of those thousand years, for all that they forced me to learn your virtue of perseverance in the face of problems, is that I always feel like I must do something when I am faced with large issues that won't go away by waiting them out or offloading them onto others. And Riddle seems like precisely one of those problems."

"Tia," said Luna, her voice steady and serious. "Do you trust me?"

Celestia blinked. "I- well, yes, of course I do."

"Nightmare Moon did not permanently damage your faith in me?" asked Luna, still serious and steady.

Celestia visibly hesitated. "...No. She did not. You struggled to overcome her, you are back, and you are better than ever."

Luna smiled. She stood from her seat and walked over to wrap her neck around her sister's, embracing the Alicorn of Day in the cool embrace of night, as the sun slowly set behind the horizon, though this was not visible from their vantage point. "Then trust that I can once again pick up the burdens you cannot. When it comes to Riddle, you needn't do more than that."

Celestia felt many impulses to object, to say that she simply could not abide what she'd learned. After many long seconds, perhaps a full minute, she let all those impulses go. "Okay, Sister."

After a few minutes more, Luna ended the embrace and said, "Now. What did you mean when you said he tormented you?"

After a bit more time, Luna left for Night Court, leaving her Court Scholar behind without a word, so that he could continue working on his private project without interference from her. For now.

Albus had been given the choice to stop watching all this drama, if he wished, but he had chosen to simply abide by whatever was shown him. He will not influence the direction of the play. He will only witness it, and critique afterwards. Perhaps he will propose a ponderance or two to the playwright, if there is a great enough pause between scenes.

"I am sorry for trying to burn the contract," said Celestia to Tom after countless seconds had passed.

"Are you sorrowful that you tried, or sorrowful that you failed?"

"That I tried," said Celestia. "I apologize for trying."

Tom scoffed. "Easy enough to say now. I refuse to be so naïve as to believe you are promising you wouldn't try it again, if you are promising that. I might accept your apology in a hundred years. I doubt you would be sorrowful, regretful, or apologizing if you had succeeded in burning my contract."

"If I had succeeded, I would have attacked you, you would have survived, or not, you would have left, or not, and either way my sister would have been very sad, and very mad, and very justified to feel those ways. I was not thinking that far ahead."

"I'd argue you were not thinking at all," said Tom.

(He decided not to challenge the first 'or not'. He didn't think she had a chance of truly killing him, but in complex, free-form arguments where many words are exchanged at every chance to speak, the winning strategy is rarely to point out every last incorrect detail. Besides, there's no good reason he can see to point out that she's underestimating his combat strength and survivability. It's strange that he had the impulse to point it out at all. He'd thought he had killed his impulse to brag long ago, replacing it with an impulse to calculate his revelations. But he can perform that bit of self-reflection another time. For now, he had a princess to humble.)

"You would have also betrayed your oath to Mr. Silver, no?"

"On that I must not speak."

"You are doing a poor job of it."

Her mane flared. "I am only equine. You are-" she began to say, then froze again.

"-'not', were you about to say?" Riddle asked. "Well. Now you've piqued my curiosity. I can see how attacking me breaks your contract. I can see how speaking some things in front of Dumbledore would violate your contract. But how could saying 'you are not equine' POSSIBLY harm my interests? You know Dumbledore knows my true nature." A glowing horn freed her to answer.

She took a deep, calming breath first. "If I could have said it, I would not have meant it in the literal sense. And that would not have been Kind," she answered. "Nor Generous."

...

"And?"

"Your primary interest is to become happy, correct?"

"...And?"

Celestia sighed deeply. "I do not think I could explain it to you directly. I might be able to tell it through a story."

"If that's what it takes," Tom shrugged.

"Very well. Once upon a time, back before my sister had fallen, I was asked to take care of a dragon who regularly tormented-"

"Pardon me-"

"-my little-"

"-for interrupting," said Tom, his voice winning out, "but do you remember it well enough to show it as a memory? I much prefer that to a verbal retelling. You can give the moral afterwards, if it is not apparent from watching. Or have you failed to learn memory sharing magics?"

Celestia blinked a few times. "I have not, but... well, it has been a long time since I last recalled that memory as a memory. I think I shall have to go to the Astral Plane for a refresher."

"How long do you suspect that will take?"

"Perhaps ten minutes. The relevant parts of the memory, when strung together, are not that long."

"I ask that you take that time. As a tip, if you have not tried it before, try extracting the memory as you watch it."

"Very well." She vanished from her spot.

Tom set up a memory screen in the meantime.

"What is the Astral Plane, precisely?" asked Albus, now that there was a pause in the play.

"I am not truly sure," said Tom. "I personally experience it as a rendition of drifting through the void of space, surrounded by empty bookshelves. I was forced to go there by powers beyond my perception when I first became an Alicorn- by which I mean the stupid Ravenclaw girl definition of the word. Having both wings and a horn is unusual here; anypony who achieves it instantly becomes national royalty."

"May I see yours?" asked Albus, who had not yet seen Tom's bare back. Furthermore, Tom hides his horn in a way that standard acute mage-sight could not pierce.

Mage-sight isn't anything formal, as magic goes. It's simply a skill that develops with the experience of seeing so many illusions that you can guess which ones are in use without using magic yourself. Like a muggle 'illusionist' looking at the tricks of another muggle magician and being able to guess what the trick is without actually seeing it. It's the sort of skill one might need when watching the memory of another, or when reading a legend, or a newspaper story about a young hero betrothed to Ginevra Weasley – basically any time you are unable to use magical detection to figure out what's going on.

But whatever Tom's using to hide his horn, it's clever enough that Albus isn't certain he knows the answer just by looking. Albus has not seen Tom's horn since the very first time he saw Tom-as-a-pony. "You have hidden them well," he said.

Tom shrugged at the request, took off his glasses and cloak, and only when they were off did he pause for the briefest of moments. "For the record," said the bat-winged alicorn (as defined by young Hogwarts girls), "bare fur is considered a perfectly normal choice of clothes in pony society."

"Thank you for mentioning that," Albus said. The thought had occurred in the back of his mind that Celestia, ruler of a nation, was wearing the human equivalent of an exhibitionist outfit, but he saw no good way of broaching the subject on his own. "You claimed you achieved your horns and wings. You did not arrive with them?"

Tom shook his head. "I arrived with my wings, not my horn, the same as Mr. Silver and Ms. Memory. I cannot speak for their experiences, but in the moment I become an Alicorn, I was forcibly transported to the Astral Plane, after which I could come and go as I pleased. I know for a fact the same thing happened to them, but I do not know how their Astral Planes look to them. To answer your original question on what it is, the primary function seems to be perfect recall. Any memory I can remember as a vague happenstance, or that had a significant impact on me- even if I haven't thought about it in years- the Astral Plane can show me in crisp detail, as it originally happened, as I first experienced it. Even emotions and feelings can seep through during the rewatching, unlike with Pensieves."

"Is your Astral Plane a place only you can reach?" Albus asked.

"Alicorns can visit each others' Astral Planes with permission. Ascended Alicorns can visit the planes of the unascended without permission. There is also a mechanism that transports an older, experienced Alicorn to the plane of brand new Alicorns on their moment of first ascension. I am told Luna came to mine, though I left before encountering her because I did not yet wish my new status to be known. I was told Celestia went to Ms. Memory's and Mr. Silver's on their first ascension, which is how I knew to suspect it might happen to me. I believe that covers the bare essentials. Beyond that, all I have is speculation. For instance, it is where, I believe, Mr. Silver took Ms. Memory to disclose to her the Azkaban breakout; it is where, I believe, Celestia eavesdropped on him, as older ascended Alicorns are wont to do whenever the Astral Plane is involved. "

(And it is a place where, he believes, the Mirror is more directly involved, as it seems to be the case that phoenixes can travel to Earth from there, but not from here, even despite the trap. But Riddle is keeping that part to himself. Just on the off-chance Dumbledore finds a way to access the Astral Plane and call Fawkes to himself, leaving Riddle forever stranded.)

"Can you say more of Alicorns in general?" asked Albus.

"What would you like to know?"

"You said they are rare?"

"Yes."

"How rare?"

"Currently alive, I know of five. Seven, if you include our students. Nine if you include the cases about which I only have suspicions."

"How did you become one?"

"By using the Stone of Permanence to infuse the powers of a Mountain Troll and an Earthly unicorn into my thestral body." (A method unavailable to Albus, and thus almost certainly safe to disclose.) "Alicorns are members of all three standard pony tribes – earth ponies, unicorns, pegasi. Earth, magic, air."

"I assume the sacrifice of earthly creatures is not the standard means of becoming an Alicorn."

"I'm not sure if it is correct to assume that there is a standard means. You'd be right to point out that I cheated, but as I trust you've heard by now, cheating is technique. Perhaps that is simply how I was meant to do it. In your terms, Alicorns have become who they were meant to be. Fully Ascended Alicorns even more so."

"Intriguing." Albus was stroking his beard again. "No doubt Godric Gryffindor would be one, if he had been a pony. Unascended, perhaps?" This, Albus said aloud, but mostly for his own benefit, in an attempt to wrap his mind around the subject. "What is the difference between ascended and unascended?"

"The hair."

...

"What else?" asked Albus, silently wondering if Tom was simply having more 'fun' at this point.

"Ascended Alicorns have more raw magical might, and they tend to represent some greater concept. Day. Night. Magic." He frowned. "Love. In my case, I'd guess Death. I may have cheated to get it so soon, but I likely would have achieved Alicornhood by this point regardless. Perhaps twice over. Making the third Horcrux in the fashion I did was likely how I was 'supposed' to ascend in the absence of shortcuts."

"So... you have ascended?"

"The term 'ascension' can refer both to the initial Alicorn transformation and to the subsequent stage above that." He flicked his mane with his hoof. "As you can see, I have not yet reached the highest level."

"I see. Can only ponies ascend?"

"Only Equinoids, as far as I know. Those two alicorns I mentioned, about whom I have suspicions, are not ponies, and so I am not certain if they are alicorns or not. But they are still Equinoids – that is, sapient creatures born in or transformed by this mirror. Caution has curtailed me from visiting the Astral Plane in my human form. Are you hoping to try it yourself?"

After absorbing that new set of (possibly fabricated) constraints, Albus shook his head. "I suppose I should not risk a deliberate effort. But you said it can happen unexpectedly?"

There was a pause.

Tom's eyebrows rose. "A good and worrying point. Perhaps we should avoid anything which might bring you closer to ascension. Would you be willing to reconsider your desire to learn the Patronus? Or your offer to help with the novel? Even that might not be safe."

Albus sighed. "I hope you realize how truly maddening it is, at this point, for me to wonder what level of the game you are playing with me – if you are genuinely surprised at my point of involuntary ascension; if you are genuinely trying to dissuade me from my intended paths of learning or writing; if you are merely pretending at dissuasion for some deeper deception; if my paths are truly mine, or if it was all your design from the start. You continue to claim that you are playing no deceptions at all?"

"Not beyond deceptions by omission. My claim is that I am not playing the game with you."

"Have you omitted anything about the Astral Plane?"

"Some of my speculations."

"Is anything important therein?"

A potential escape route for you. "Yes."

"Is one of your reasons for reticence that it might advantage me and disadvantage you?"

"...Obviously."

"Would it make it easier for me to gauge your overall honesty, if you told me?"

"Did my telling you some of my old weaknesses make it any easier for you to gauge my honesty?"

That question gave Albus some pause. In truth, his "trust" in Tom Riddle had been put so far into the negative by Voldemort and Professor Quirrell that it will likely never turn positive again. The appearance of straightforward honesty out of Tom now has the effect of putting Albus on high alert, immediately suspecting deeper tricks along with the nagging reminder that sometimes things are just straightforward, but that's no virtue of Tom's even if it turns out to be the case in any one instance of truth-telling.

An abusive, manipulative liar might easily and honestly tell you the time of day, the weather outside, the options at the dinner table later in the day. Because maintaining a general veneer of trustworthiness is also part of the deception, so they'll tell the truth about anything inconsequential to their deeper aims. The key to unraveling deception, therefore, is to first find out what is consequential to their deeper aims. Which means understanding their deeper aims. Which almost always means being cynical about their motivations, a trick Albus prefers to reserve for his enemies, and which is in full effect with Tom.

"...No," Albus admitted. "Telling me your former vulnerabilities did not make it easier for me to gauge your honesty."

Tom gave a derisive huff. "Then I see no reason to humor any future requests along those lines."

"Perhaps it failed to affect me because you shared no true weaknesses, no current vulnerabilities. Even under the constraint of speaking only the truth, it is obvious you are not being candid. You are still calculating what to speak, what to hide, to what end."

"Welcome to the concept of conversation," Tom said, rather sharply and sarcastically.

"Indeed," Albus agreed, "when we speak of natural conversation. But what I ultimately require of you, Tom, is something supernatural. I require from you a conversation- no, a connection that would otherwise only be found between the closest of friends and family, something which I am not even sure can be done between the two of us, from your starting point, but which I am certain will not happen if you continue calculating every revelation. If it is within your means, I'll point out that the sooner you start being fully candid with me, the sooner you will reach your goals- if you were honest with me about them."

"Oh? Would that be a two-way street, then?"

"It is only possible as a two-way street, so yes. Though, under the circumstances, it might take me some time to acknowledge to myself that you are being candid and deserve the same courtesy in turn."

There was a pause. Then Tom's cloak and glasses returned to his body, followed by a blur, which was surprising enough to give Albus a small start, even though he knew he was safe.

"Apologies for the surprise- well, you have my courteous apology, not my deep apologies, I might do it again- whatever."

Albus raised an eyebrow.

"My inner-phoenix was getting annoyingly insistent, but I do not hear it in my human form."

"Ah," said a man who has had to deal with the downsides of a phoenix's companionship for the past few decades of his life. "I see."

For the first time, Albus got a good, solid look at the man Tom Riddle is now claiming to have become, perhaps the man he had been meant to become instead of a red-eyed, pale-skinned, flat-nosed, bald-headed, serpentine monster.

The man standing before Albus currently wore the same robes as Quirinus Quirrell. He looked like an austere yet eminent Hogwarts Professor, firm in his features, expression, and posture. Danger, power, and strength. Tamed, honed, and refined. Like a blade of finest sharpness, sheathed in a scabbard of solid steel. Ready to be drawn at a moment's notice, in the hands of a master who would never cut an inch more than intended.

In that moment, Albus briefly indulged in an old fantasy he had stopped caring about since his brother had been tortured into insanity. He wondered how things might have turned out, had he not denied Tom Riddle the position of Defense Professor at Hogwarts all those years ago.

And then Celestia reappeared, bringing an end to his brief daydream.

"I have- who are-" she began, then paused.

The corners of Tom's lips twitched upward, ever so slightly. "I suppose we never were properly introduced," said the man whose voice perfectly matched the tone and timbre of his pony form's. "I am Tom Riddle... human of Earth, I suppose. I don't believe I ever amassed any official titles outside of my aliases."

If only 'Defense Professor of Hogwarts' could have been that title, Albus briefly thought. How long has it been, Albus wondered, since that man introduced himself as himself to someone who did not already know him. Decades, probably. Maybe almost a full half-century.

"'Descendant of Salazar' would serve," Albus offered. "Or would you prefer 'Wearer of Masks'?"

"I created most of the masks I wore."

"Hm... 'Master of Masks'?"

Tom blinked. "That is actually half-decent."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Madman of Prophecy."

Albus was torn between allowing his expression to sour and bursting into mad laughter, and ended up doing neither.

"Human of earth is fine," said Celestia, who seemed to be having a bit of trouble not impolitely staring at Tom. She cleared her throat. "I have the memory. For context, what you are about to see happened after multiple nearby villages reported dragon attacks, and in particular after a report that a foal had been hurt. Are you ready?"

"Go ahead."

Upon the parchment screen, the silver sliver of liquid shifted and drifted into the shape of a vast verdant forest beneath a blue sky, passing swiftly beneath the vantage point of the viewer, though only an experienced broomstick rider might be able to recognize the high speed, at this height.

It wasn't a perfect, unbroken canopy of green. The memory started with the viewer gazing directly down at many rooftops peaking above the forest at various points. Then the perspective gazed upwards. The destination of the flyer was clear: a rising pillar of smoke billowed up from just beyond the peak of one of the many tree-covered mountains. As the viewpoint approached the smoke, sounds of battle drifted towards her, causing her to pick up speed.

The battle, upon arrival, was not one-sided. A deep blue unicorn held her own against a raging scaled beast twice her size. Neither was doing any damage to the other, though the pony was breathing heavily.

"Just- tell me- why!" shouted the blue unicorn in a female voice, accompanied by a large burst of what looked like pure magic, from her horn.

The magic washed over the dragon's head, and there was a roar of pain, followed by a roar of anger and a blast of fire. The fire collided against the shield of the unicorn, which did not shatter, but did not stay in one place. The fire forced the shield backwards into the caster, which pushed her backwards into a tree in a manner that did not look painless. Her concentration on the spell broke and she fell to the ground.

The dragon didn't hesitate to pounce. "Trespassers must suffer!" it shouted, raising a claw.

"LULU!" shouted a voice from the screen.

(It was loud enough to startle Albus.

Tom didn't flinch.)

Dragon claws descended towards the fallen unicorn, but met a golden barrier. The dragon gave a hiss and reeled, glancing in shock at the char marks on its own scales.

"Are you alright, Lulu?" asked the screen's disembodied voice, looking at the downed blue unicorn.

There was a groan. "You- know- I'm- too old- for- nicknames- Tia."

There was an audible sigh of relief. "Are you alright, Selena?"

"I- had it- under- control," said the pony who was struggling to breathe, let alone stand. Her horn did glow dangerously, at least.

An impotent roar drew the gaze of memory towards a dragon reeling from the golden barrier once again, its tail burnt black.

"Enough," said Celestia, and with a golden glow, chains sprung up around the dragon. These did not burn, though they held firm. "Do you want to die?" she asked the dragon in a frustrated voice. "This behavior is going to get you killed. If not by me or my sister, then by somepony else who is not strong enough to stop you without killing you."

"Good!" the dragon barked from beneath its bonds. "Better dead than weak! If you don't kill me, I may as well kill myself."

"What? Why?! What would that solve? And you did not seem weak to me."

"I lost to a pony," he spat. "A dragon's worst shame. And now she-" he snarled, as if stating her sex was an insult "-tries to comfort me about it?"

"I am an Alicorn. The first of my kind, as far as I'm aware."

"A pony is a pony!" declared the dragon. "Our pride is to be the strongest, and the strong would never lose to one. Perhaps an army. But never just one. Your condescension is the greatest insult you could have possibly offered."

An audible sigh came from the memory's viewpoint and... "I move. The sun." ...a brief demonstration was provided. (It was not shown in the memory, nor mentioned by Celestia to the viewers, but in the moment where she grasped the sun, her mane had burned a bright, pure white, the same color as the orb in the sky.) "I would be surprised if any dragon could overcome me at this point. Individually or as an army."

The dragon was, understandably, speechless.

This is the moment that a new voice cut in. A heavily panting voice. "I am- not sure- that- is the weakness- he truly means- Tia."

The viewing window was now occupied by the visage of a navy blue pony. "Beg pardon, Lulu? Actually, hold. Philomena!" And a phoenix appeared on the blue unicorn's back.

There was a blissful sigh. "Thank you, Philomena," said the blue unicorn. The Phoenix crooned, nodding its head once.

"You were saying?" asked Celestia's voice.

"Well…" said Luna, glancing at the Dragon briefly. "Think of it this way," she whispered in a voice low enough that it wouldn't be heard by fellow ponies at the range the dragon had been restrained to. "Instead of trying to carve out greater territory by putting himself at risk in contest against other dragons, he instead picks on the helpless, hapless, defenseless ponies who enter his territory. He bullies those he perceives to be weaker than himself, instead of challenging those he suspects to be his equal, or perhaps his better. He does to ponies what he wishes, what he perhaps believes he should be able to do against his fellow dragons. But the fact of the matter is he does not do it to his fellow dragons, and in particular his fellow males. Or at least he does not go out of his way to do it. He is cheating his way to emotional satisfaction, which leaves him deeply unsatisfied. He is weak because he fights ponies instead of dragons. Fundamentally, he is weak because he cannot impress a dragoness, if I had to guess. He is weak in his character, and weak in his convictions, and he is weak because he fears true tests of strength. He does not believe he is weak because he failed to beat you, his loss to you was simply the final nail in his coffin regarding a matter he already believed, deep down."

"...Do you know all of this," said Celestia, whispering back, "or is it just a theory?"

"I have my ways of knowing things about dragons," said Selena, somewhat mysteriously.

("I did not know about the Master Fool, at this point," Celestia said to Riddle, pausing the memory. "Nor my sister's apprenticeship to him."

"I picked up on that."

"The Master Fool?" asked Dumbledore.

It would have been so easy for Riddle to have a bit of fun at that point. But fun at Merlin's expense isn't wise... and it would also violate the trust Merlin placed in him. If he were to say "Oh, nobody. It's just Merlin," or anything along those lines, it would produce a revealing reaction in Dumbledore. Even the line itself might be enough for Celestia to deduce that the Master Fool was once human, or at the very least a known quantity by entities from beyond the planet Equus. Thus, Riddle would bear responsibility for violating Merlin's confidences. Perhaps even the old him would have cared about that from a pure question of power calculation, from his first rule of not making strong, potentially vicious enemies. But the new him cares about Merlin's trust as valuable in itself, regardless of the power dynamic between them- well, no, perhaps simply with less regard to the power dynamic than usual.

"A powerful and ancient dragon," Riddle said simply. "Digression over, and unnecessary in the first place."

Despite his imperiousness, Celestia did not object to his tone, nor to his unspoken request.)

"It is just a theory," Selena said, still whispering, "but I suspect at least some of those factors are at play."

"Hm..." Tia whispered. The viewing window turned to face the dragon, whose head was now bowed. "Dragon," she addressed in the Royal Canterlot Voice.

A scaled head crowned with horns rose to face her.

"I am Celestia, Princess of Equestria. What is your name?"

"Firescale." After he said it, his chains disappeared.

"Harass my subjects no more, and we shall not see each other again."

That was when the staring contest began.

"So if I want a rematch, I should harass your subjects?"

"If you want to be teleported to the other side of the world- I don't care if your scales are magic-proof, I will find a way- you should harass my subjects. Killing my subjects will earn your death, and not necessarily at my or my sister's horns. Antagonizing ponies is never a wise move in the long run. Not all of us are forgiving. Not all of us are weak enough that we'd lose to you. And not all of us are strong enough to spare you."

The staring contest continued.

"Tia..." Selena whispered nervously. "Perhaps we should not let him go."

"Hush, Lulu," Tia whispered back. The center of the viewing window did not shift away from those slitted yellow eyes. "Your doubts and suspicions are reasonable, but they are still a matter of belief. I choose to believe there is true strength in him. Or at the very least, the potential for it."

The yellow eyes broke contact, looking down. "Very well."

And then the dragon took to the skies. Then the memory ended.

"The moral?" asked Riddle instantly.

"Here," said Celestia, removing a... a rock? Yes, removing a rock from her regalia. "Read this."

He looked at the letters carved onto the rock- more of a stone slab, actually, now that he could see the letters.

To Celestia, Princess of Equestria

Your sister was right about everything. But so were you.

Firescale, Dragon Lord

Riddle looked back up to Celestia, raising an eyebrow.

"That rock is how I and Firescale learned of the message delivery function of dragon's breath. He carved that message onto stone and kept it with him, not wishing to violate my promise by coming to meet me, not wishing to entrust it to a messenger. One day he burned it in a fit of impotent rage. Along with my congratulations at his new station of Dragon Lord and a request for clarification, I asked a brave pegasus to convey to Lord Firescale the great surprise of me and my court when his message appeared before me and slammed into my marbled floor. I am told he laughed, claiming he didn't know dragon breath could do that, but he's glad he now has a means of speaking to me, even though we were not to see each other again. I only learned of this after I got his second message."

She pulled out another slab.

When we first met, I was in such a state that I was seriously considering your offer of assisted suicide. It is only due to your whispered words to your sister that I found reason to live. My kin would think less of me if they knew I felt this way about my famed encounter with 'The Sun God'. From the depths of my heart, thank you for believing in me. Someone had to be the first. May we never see each other again.

The message ended there.

"An odd valediction," Riddle observed, ignoring his temptation to remark on the message's eloquence. Who knows but that Draconic might be capable of conveying some concepts more eloquently than English.

"A natural valediction," Celestia replied. "From his perspective. His encounter with me became a legend in the minds of many, including himself."

"How so?" asked Riddle.

"Well... he traveled from territory to territory, challenging his kin to contests of dominance with prizes of gems- but not land- as the stakes. It was, at the time, an equitable yet unusual practice that he himself pioneered. Win or lose, he would never claim his prize, saying afterwards that he only sought to grow stronger through battle, and this allowed for a friendly exchange of words that was rare in the dragon culture of that era. Among other tales, he spread the story of 'The pony who can move the sun' – though he only retold the fact that he saw me do it, not the fact that he fought me, for he still felt that was a source of shame at the time, and he believed his kin would believe him even less if he included our fight, or think less of him if he admitted he lost to a pony. So for many years, he would fight, he would tell tales, he would grow stronger. And then when it became clear to all of Equus that someone other than Discord was indeed controlling the sun – and the moon, for that matter – and when it became clear it was likely a pony responsible for both, in a manner that could not be faked – he was asked for more details about his tale. At that point he was one of the strongest dragons on Equus, if not the strongest dragon, aside from the rumored 'great recluse', and so his words carried more weight when he recalled the full encounter to his kin. Including my final words." She adopted a minor cadence. "Harass my subjects no more, and we shall not see each other again." She sighed, and her gaze went a bit distant. "Those words lasted far longer than I thought they would…"

The following final remarks of the first Dragon Lord regarding Celestia have not quite been lost to time and the records of history. So long as, someday, Merlin is asked to personally share his memory of this gathering of dragons, which he attended in disguise, and out of curiosity, these words might one day live on in more than distant, embellished legend.

"NO. She is not offering a means of challenging her, she is nature declaring its edict. Only a fool tries to vaporize the ocean; every drop you burn, the rain shall refill. Only a fool tries to challenge the moon; you will run out of air long before you reach it. And only a fool tries to challenge the sun; you will be vaporized, for all that your scales are fireproof. If I ever harassed her subjects, it would be from a desire to see if I could handle the challenge of being teleported to the other side of the world. And I shall certainly never kill her subjects. There is a line all wise dragons must deal with, the line between pride and arrogance. And while that line can be difficult for even the best of us to draw, or even admit exists in the first place-" he glared at a few dragons in particular "-I think that challenging the greatest forces of nature clearly crosses it, going well beyond pride and far into the realm of sheer, foolish arrogance. One might challenge a maelstrom with the goal of surviving it. You do not challenge one with the hopes of dispelling it. Such is a challenge to Celestia. If I hear any of you fools hurt her subjects more than necessary to expel them from your territory, I will come to challenge you for that territory- all of it. And if I hear any of you killed one of her subjects, and if Celestia or an army of ponies does not kill you first, I will personally hunt you down and-"

"But I did see him again," said Celestia, her gaze returning sharply to Riddle. "For I did not mean it in quite the way he took it. Though of course I exchanged a few more letters first, to ensure he would not take it the wrong way again."

"Hm," said Riddle. "As mildly interesting as all that was, I ask you to relate it to my original question. You claim that calling me 'inequine' would have harmed my interests. I would prefer to hear an explanation, now in plain language, as to why that might be the case."

"Then I shall speak as plainly as possible. If I had, at any point, said something that caused Firescale to hate me forever, if I had called him inequine due to his past actions, or tried to inflict any other manner of shame upon him, he would not have come around. If 'mere' faith in someone has the power to improve their life, if believing in them enables them to adopt and chase a new vision for themselves that was until that point beyond their scope of imagination, then 'mere' BAD faith can have the opposite effect. When you speak ill of someone else, when you are not empathizing, when you criticize, when you 'moralize', as you put it, even if what you are saying is true, the target of your criticism will perceive that they are in a scenario of bad faith – which is also true – and that will make them just a little more of what they already are."

Riddle tilted his head at the surprisingly reasonable observation. He got the sense that Celestia was finally giving this matter more weight of cautious and careful consideration – and thus more mental effort – than she'd given to any matter in a long time. It was not quite like speaking to a different person. More like speaking to a different mode of the same person. A mode that hasn't properly been fully activated and alert for years, or decades, or centuries, and so it's coming with a good deal of rust.

"The words that nearly left my lips," Celestia continued, "made it fully obvious to me that I was speaking and acting in full-fledged, unbridled, and unlimited bad faith towards you. Which would have made you just a little bit more of what you already are, and not just a little bit more of what you aspire to be. Which was going against your interests, which is why the contract kicked in, et cetera."

And the rust was quickly being shed.

Riddle found that no immediate criticisms of her argument itself were coming to mind – in fact, he felt that his own perceptions were on the edge of a deeper insight, almost like a half-decent Night Court session. "You also called it unKind and unGenerous," he prompted. (The Tongues spell, or perhaps his own familiarity with pony culture, now lets him know when those words are being spoken with enough weight to deserve capitalization, in the speaker's opinion.)

"Yes. Being good faith is at the heart of Kindness. Offering good faith is at the heart of Generosity. Being bad faith is the opposite of Kindness, and offering bad faith is the opposite of Generosity."

And even though Riddle found no criticisms of the argument – in that her wise claims about what Kindness and Generosity are were more or less in-line with everything he knew about them – that didn't mean he saw nothing at all to criticize.

"Meaning that you, former bearer of those elements, were about to embody their opposites."

"Yes," said Celestia. Only her sister might have noticed the slight hesitation, the visible difficulty in admitting that. "Emphasis on former. Unfortunately, I could not always find a way for Kindness and Generosity to work. Unfortunately, there exist those who will readily exploit the Kindness and Generosity of others to gain power and to further their own ends, in the process undermining Kindness and Generosity themselves. As a leader of a nation, I learned the hard way that there are hard limits to my now-former elements."

Riddle gave a sardonic smile. "Do you believe the current bearers are better suited to handle those hard limits than you are?"

"Given that neither Fluttershy nor Rarity are leaders, and do not aspire to be leaders, and given that fewer exploiters exist in Equestria in general in this day and age, it is my current hope that they can embody those elements more purely than I ever did. Or perhaps they will be tested by fire and overcome the 'hard limits' I could not. Perhaps those two will find new and creative ways to be truly and genuinely Kind and Generous, even to the nefarious, in such a way that the interests of Kindness and Generosity themselves are not undermined."

The oddity of that phrasing was, again, something that only could have been noticed by her sister. Celestia was going above and beyond in an effort to understand Riddle's way of looking at the world – that of competing interests – to the point that she was quite literally trying to speak his language.

"But to get back on topic," she continued, "do you now see why my outright statement that I view you in bad faith would harm your interests, if your greatest current interest is to be happy?"

"Not really. I already knew you would view me that way after learning more of my history; an admission to the fact changes little."

Celestia sighed. "Then can you at least see why being in the presence of those who view you in bad faith would harm your interest to be happy?"

"That I can see. Which raises the interesting technical question of how you stand here unparalyzed."

Celestia scowled. "You really are an awful pony," she successfully said without paralytic intervention. "You asked me to be here, you asked me to interact with that human, you asked me to explain myself, all because it serves your interests. This whole set-up with the Mirror only works when all of us are in the same place, according to you. I did not leave at the moment of realizing my presence might hurt your interests because I was not fully aware which interest of yours I should be attempting to not violate at any given moment. I hate that contract, and I wish I hadn't signed it. But since I have, I am declaring an ultimatum, for it has vividly occurred to me over the course of the last hour that the contract does not force me to help your interests. I am simply forced to not use your secrets to deliberately harm them, which is much easier to do when I am nowhere near you or your interests or your secrets. Nothing is physically stopping me from getting up and leaving this room. And I will do exactly that unless you adhere to some manner of common courtesy. Or simpler yet, a permanent silencing barrier between us whenever I'm down here."

"Sensible," Riddle allowed. "I think I can agree to that."

"Good," said Celestia. Her horn glowed, and a piece of blank parchment was drawn from her regalia. "Because I am going to ask you to sign to it. Along with a few other conditions."