Chapter Thirteen: All The Extra Stuff

A/N: This chapter, as the title suggests, contains all the extra stuff. It begins with an essay on magic so that I can show everyone how smart I (think I) am.

This is followed by the bibliography, generally to give everyone an idea of what my sources are. In case anyone is interested.

Third is a last minute addition suggested by Ouatic-7. The suggestion was tongue-in-cheek and so is this short story.

The last part is one of those stories where I wrote one chapter and never got around to finishing the rest of it. I may finish it one day, but it won't be in the near future. As usual, it is a crossover with a young Edmund Blackadder in the role of Harry Potter. The odds are that you can already guess the title.

Essay: Magic in the Air

There are three distinct worlds of magic depicted in this story.

The first form of magic is that as represented by the First Witch, Hermione Granger. In her world, people are either born with the ability to perform magic, or they are not. It appears to be a genetic disposition.

Once a person is determined to be capable of magic, that person is taught how to perform the spells. At the age of eleven, she (or he) chooses a wand which is most compatible. And then goes to a school. There, the skills are honed as the child learns the various spells and potions. Her success is determined by her ability to grasp the fundamentals of magic. In a previous story I wrote, Harry and Malcolm: Together Again, the character, Malcolm, explains this quite well:

"Magic is all around us and in each of us in this classroom. Those who can handle magic the best are the strongest and most powerful wizards and witches. Those who best understand what magic is can best handle it. With magic, Knowledge literally is power. If you know what you want to do, you can do what you want. That is the way magic works."

"Intent and Implication," Malcolm repeated. "If you know what you intend with a clear enough vision you do not need words. Words and hand gestures are only rituals. A powerful wizard is one who knows that intent is what is important. And that is why we have this class. Intent is what makes the difference between ordinary magic and the Dark Arts."

Malcolm also explained the concepts of Intent and Implications in casting spells:

. . . "When I talk about implications, I'm referring to intent. Are all of you clear on what I mean when I say intent?"

Rose raised her hand. "Intent is the desire that motivates a spell. It is not enough to want something, we have to know what we want and to have as clear an idea as possible."

Did you see that? She read from her notes. These kids are actually taking notes in my class.

NO. I didn't mean that. This is not a class. I'm only answering a few question.

"You quoted me word for word. But do you know what it means?"

Rose frowned. "It means that, say I want to bake a loaf of bread by magic, it's not enough to know I want a loaf of bread, I need to know how to bake it."

"Close, you're describing the rules of the formula, the context of the spell. When you intend, you have to conceive, you have to hold the idea in your mind, of a baked loaf of bread. When you formulate the spell, that is when you need to know how."

Several students nodded.

"Implication," Malcolm said. "To imply. Let's stick with the analogy of the loaf of bread. When we alter a spell, we alter the intent. If we do not keep the proper image in mind, we are also making a change in the spell, although not as drastic in most cases. For example, when we cast the spell to bake a loaf of bread and we imagine, say, eating a toasted slice with butter. We've implied something else. The spell is correct and the bread bakes, but it could have a slight buttery taste. That would be a nice extra. But it could end up being a loaf of toast. Think of the loaf as being one giant crust. By letting your mind wander, you've ruined a perfectly good loaf of bread. Mitchell?"

"That doesn't seem like much of a change."

"You're thinking small. Let's try it on a larger scale. Has anyone here ever been to St. Mungo's for treatment?" Two students raised their hands. "Would either of you have preferred to have the doctor thinking about his dinner when he was helping you or are you happy that he concentrated on the task at hand?"

The Second form of magic is that of Mildred Hubble from the series of stories about "The Worst Witch." In her world, anyone can learn magic. It is not a genetic factor, such as a fine singing voice or perfect vision. It is more along the lines of Car Maintenance or Art Class. In one case, being mechanically inclined, and in the other being dexterous, are assets but they make that person more skillful. Anyone can draw, but some of us are artists. Anyone can fix a car by following the manual and using the proper tools, but some of us can tune a carburetor simply by listening to the sound of the engine.

As a result of this fact, that anyone can choose to be a witch or a wizard, a different system of education takes place. Children don't receive invitations delivered by owls. They apply, the same as they would to any other school. Mildred Hubble, for example, did not have the best grades in her primary school, but she wrote an excellent and imaginative essay which attracted the attention of the headmistress at one of the schools. As a result, she earned a scholarship to Miss Cackle's Academy for Young Witches.

Mildred is not the best pupil. She fails to do spells properly, but not because of her intentions. As Miss Hardbroom noted in Chapter Five, if intention were the driving force of a spell, Mildred would be a very powerful witch. In the same chapter, Mildred admits that her problem is that she is always making mistakes. She will say the wrong words and nothing will happen or, worse yet, she will cause something unexpected to happen.

One similarity between the two worlds seems to be potions. If you prepare the potion properly, it works. If you make the slightest mistake, it won't work or will have terrible consequences. This is true regardless if it is Neville Longbottom's cauldron melting, or Mildred and Maud accidentally turning invisible when they were trying to make a laughing potion.

The Third form of magic, that of the Disc World, is the most subtle. It can be flashy, as with the wizards in Ahnk-Morpock. It can consist of rituals and spells, as in Perdita Nitt's former coven. And it can be very simple. In one book, Granny Weatherwax is challenged to a contest, to take place inside a magic circle. She drags her foot along the ground to scratch out a circle in the dirt. Her opponent protest that there needs to be enchantments. Granny's reaction is to laugh. "It's a magic circle because I says it is."

Tiffany is a witch even though she is ten. She knows she is a witch because she decided she was one. She had it within her to become a witch but that did not make her one. She is learning about the knack of being a witch but that doesn't make her any less of one. She can perform magic. She knows she can. She has. She just doesn't know everything there is to know. So she learns from other witches. As she points out in Chapter Four, she knows the big things. She needs to learn the little things. It's headology, according to Granny Weatherwax.

The interesting thing about the disc world is that it is made up of magic. It survives on magic. Yet as a witch, the most important thing is to know when you don't need to do magic. A good example is when Granny Weatherwax was trying to explain to a family which suffered chronic illnesses that they stemmed from building the outhouse too close to the well.

"You built that outhouse right over a nest of gnomes, an' they're cursin' you for it. Fill it in and cover it with rocks. Dig a new outhouse over there, near the fence. Then the gnomes'll quiet down and take off their curses."

As Granny explained to Tiffany, it was a lie but these were simple people and superstitious. It was easier to get them to do the right thing than by trying to explain the contamination of the water supply by seepage from the storage pit of the latrine.

The Fourth world in the cosmology of the story does not have magic. Wizards and witches are the subject of fantasy. This is the world of Joe 90. Joe is only ten but he has the ability to know anything that another person knows. This is not done by magic, but by the use of technology. And as Loki point out, in his guise as Doctor Leo Key, any technology that is sufficiently advanced is indistinguishable from magic. It is interesting to note that, except for a brief question from Harry Potter about the use of a mechanical device, no one seems to notice Joe's abilities for what they are. For everyone else, Joe's technology is Joe's magic. And that outlook gives food for thought.

Here's an example. Imagine a world where people can talk to anyone instantly; where borders are almost nonexistent because of the means of instant communication; where ideas, art, music, anything, can be shared with anyone, anywhere. And here's the kicker. The great majority of people who read this were born after the first moon landing. I remember Sputnik. (Look it up in the history books.)

Back then the biggest computer was UNIVAC, which used tubes (Ask your grandfather). I remember seeing the prototype of the first home computer. It was three feet high, five feet long and two feet thick. And that was just the CPU. It had a revolutionary liquid mercury core which could hold up to Five Megs of information. Everyone was amazed at its capabilities.

Today, I have a cheap computer, with a hard drive of only 40 gigabytes. I have internet access through my phone line, and stories I have posted on have been read, and reviewed, by people on every continent (except Antarctica). I carry around in my shirt pocket a phone that can be used anywhere in the United States. I have to pay extra if I go outside of North America. I can't use it to take or send pictures because I'm too cheap to spend that much money. (Remember, my computer is also the cheapest available.) I don't know about you, the average reader, but my world is filled with magic. I suppose that's why I like writing about it. We write about what we know.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Books:

Harry Potter, Books 1 thru 5, JK Rowling

The Worst Witch, Jill Murphy

The Worst Witch Strikes Again, Jill Murphy

A Bad Spell for the Worst Witch, Jill Murphy

The Worst Witch at Sea, Jill Murphy

The Wee Free Men, Terry Prachett

A Hat Full of Sky, Terry Prachett

Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien

World Mythology,

Schrödinger's Rabbits, Colin Bruce

The Science of Discworld, Terry Prachett, Ian Stewart, Jack Cohen

DVDs:

Little Nemo, Helmdale Pictures, 1992

The Worst Witch, TV Series for the first two years.

Joe 90, the complete series, Gerry Anderson, 1969, 2003

WEB SITES

The Harry Potter Lexicon

BIG RAT - The Joe 90 Web Site

The Worst Witch Web Site (at galafilms dot com)

Preview: The Harry Potter, Worst Witch, Disc World, Joe 90, Star Trek, Malcolm crossover.

(This is really stupid. Everybody gets to go to a neat school except me. I get to be a Krelboyne.)

"Joe, are you going to be a Krelboyne this year?"

Joe smiled. "Sorry, Malcolm, I lucked out. My secret government job prevents me from having any formal education. I get to be home schooled by my dad when I'm not engaged in any spying missions."

(That's what I like about Joe. He has no grasp of reality.)

Joe nudged Malcolm. "There's Mildred Hubble. She got a scholarship to that Witch's school."

Malcolm frowned. "The same one that showoff Hermione goes to? Some people have all the luck."

Joe laughed at Malcolm. "This is a different one. It's an all girls school she told me. Hermione goes to the one that the Potter kid goes to. Malcolm, why don't you do what Tiffany Aching does. Have someone tutor you in magic if you can't go to a school."

This time Malcolm snorted. "Oh yeah. That would be great. And have a bunch of ugly blue men hanging around me all the time. No thanks. I'd rather be a Krelboyne."

Suddenly, the air shimmered in front of the two boys and Mr. Spock materialized out of thin air.

"Are you from outer space?" Malcolm asked.

"That should be obvious," Spock answered.

"Wow, this is great. Are you here to make me a space cadet, um, space student and show me the wonders of the universe."

Spock shook his head. "I was merely curious. How is it that all of these other children are your friends on a daily basis yet you live in the United States?"

Edmund Blackadder and the Philosopher's Stone

It was still dark when Edmund woke in the small bedroom of the house on Privet Drive. He could hear his cousin, Dudley, snoring in the next room but that did not bother him. Dudley sleeping was much better than Dudley awake.

His had not been an easy life, Edmund reflected, but it had been interesting. His parents died in an accident when he was only one and he had been forced to live with his Aunt and her equally disgusting husband and son. He spent years sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs until the day he discovered the wonders of photography combined with the skillful tactics of blackmail. His life had gradually improved but he was still forced to live in the same house with his Aunt and Uncle.

Then his life was turned upside down, or rightside up if one preferred to speak in positive terms. The first inkling of this was when Dudley turned eleven.

Edmund walked into the kitchen to see the room filled with presents and his overweight cousin staring at them.

"How many are there?" Dudley asked accusingly.

"Thirty-Six," Uncle Vernon said cheerfully. "I counted them myself."

"Ah," Edmund sneered under his breath, "The mathematical genius reveals himself."

"Thirty Six?" Dudley was outraged. "But last year, last year there were Thirty Seven."

"No there weren't, you ninny," Edmund said scornfully. "There were only Thirty Two. Six bottles of your favorite cola only counts as one gift."

"Does not," Dudley said adamantly.

"Edmund," Aunt Petunia said harshly, "Don't tease your cousin like that. You are so ungrateful for all the things we do for you."

"That's me," Edmund said cheerfully. "Never happy unless I get at least a tenth of what the junior whale gets." He shrugged his shoulders. They weren't listening to him.

"This is what we'll do, pumpkin," Aunt Petunia was saying. "We'll stop and get you two more presents on the way back from the zoo. Then there will be Thirty Eight."

Mollified, Dudley sat down to eat his breakfast. To mollify himself further, he also grabbed Edmund's breakfast and dumped it onto his own plate.

"That's right," Edmund noted. "I don't need food to survive anyway." He walked to the pantry and swiped a pack of Dudley's pop tarts and headed back to his room. "Let me know when it's time to go to the zoo."

"I don't want him to come," Dudley complained. Edmund did not wait to hear the rest of the conversation. He wanted to go, and Uncle Vernon would make sure of it.

Dudley was still upset when he climbed into the car. He was crying about Edmund having to come along. Until his best friend Piers Polkiss showed up. Then he suddenly became dry eyed and obnoxious. (As opposed to weepy eyed and obnoxious.) He told Piers that he was letting his cousin come along. There might be a chance for fun.

Edmund hated Dudley. Uncle Vernon was easy to manipulate, and Aunt Petunia was more difficult, but Dudley was impossible. Edmund could say anything about his cousin, regardless of how true it was, and Dudley wouldn't care. It only gave him another excuse to use his fists. Despite Edmund's best efforts, his Aunt and Uncle would never believe anything bad about their son. As a result, Edmund spent most of his life trying to avoid being alone with Dudley or, worse yet, being alone with Dudley and his friends.

Today was the exception. Edmund never went anywhere and he wanted to finally do something. After several threats and counter-threats, Uncle Vernon relented. Then Edmund found out that the babysitter wasn't available, and he was going anyway. He marked it down as practice.

"I'm warning you, boy," Vernon said as his final threat. Everyone else was already in the car. "No funny business. If you do anything, ANYTHING, I'll throw you back in that cupboard, and to hell with the negatives."

Edmund nodded sullenly.

"Make him move," Dudley demanded.

"Why don't you jump up," Edmund suggested. "The shock wave when you land will make the whole building move.

Uncle Vernon rapped on the glass as Piers hit Edmund.

"Do it again," Dudley demanded.

Uncle Vernon rapped harder while Piers went to hit Edmund again. At the last second, Edmund moved and Piers struck Dudley instead. The Boa Constrictor didn't do anything. Dudley hit Piers then walked away. "Snakes are boring.

Edmund smirked as they walked away. He looked in the case and smiled at the snake. "At least you can ignore him."

The snake suddenly opened it's eyes. It raised it's head to look at Edmund, and winked. Edmund stared in surprise, then winked back, grinning with delight. "Can you understand me?"

The snake nodded.

"Well, that puts you one up on my cousin. He can't understand anything except dinner time." Edmund let out a laugh of delight when the snake nodded in agreement.

"That proves it. You're intelligent as well. Now you're two up on Dudley."

"DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! LOOK WHAT THE SNAKE IS DOING."

Piers ran back and knocked Edmund out of the way. Dudley then hit his cousin in the ribs saying, "Get away, You," and Edmund fell hard on the concrete floor.

That was when it happened. As Edmund glared angrily at Dudley and Piers, the glass they were leaning against suddenly disappeared. The great snake uncoiled itself as the two boys stood there in horror. It suddenly snapped at them, causing them to scream. Then it made it's way out of the cage and headed toward the door, pausing to turn and give another hiss at Dudley. As the Boa turned away and passed Edmund, it winked again.

"Thanks," Edmund said to the snake, "for scaring Dudley."

"Consider it a professsional courtesssy," the Boa Constrictor responded with a hiss, and slithered out of the reptile house. Edmund looked longingly as the kindred spirit disappeared around the corner of the building.

Vernon Dursley was glaring at Edmund, but Edmund wasn't worried.

"What?" Edmund said scornfully. "Are you going to blame me because Dudley let the snake escape?"

"You know what happened," Uncle Vernon said angrily as Dudley and Piers kept whimpering and Aunt Petunia tried to console them.

"Right. I made the glass disappear by magic or something."

Edmund cringed. He had accidently said the M word. Uncle Vernon's face turned bright purple. "GET. . .IN. . .THE. . .CAR. . .NOW."

Two days later, Edmund was released from his prison under the stairs.

His first task was to fetch the mail. There was a bill, an advert for Cable Television and a letter on old fashioned style paper. His hand shook as he read who it was addressed to: Edmund Blackadder, the prison under the stairs, No. 4 Privet Drive . . .

Edmund was amazed. He never received mail. And he never told anyone his pet name for the cupboard. He looked at the back of the envelope and the wax seal. It had a large H and was surrounded by four animals, and right next to it was a thumb exactly the same as the one Uncle Vernon had.

"And what is this?" Uncle Vernon demanded as he grabbed the letter. He looked at the address and at the seal and his face went pale. Aunt Petunia came over to see what the problem was. She looked at the letter and he lower lip began to quiver. Edmund tried to grab the letter but was forced away. Uncle Vernon tore the letter in pieces and shouted, "I won't let it happen. NEVER."

"That," Edmund said coldly, "was my letter."

"Not any more," Uncle Vernon said. "Now go to your room. We'll call you when supper is ready."

Edmund spent most of his time after that in his room, coming down only for meals. Occasionally he would hear his Uncle swearing, usually after the post was delivered. Then, two days before his birthday, Edmund heard Aunt Petunia start to scream. Dudley's wail could barely be heard over the noise. After a half hour had passed, footsteps could be heard running up the stairs, and Uncle Vernon unlocked the bedroom door.

"Come along, you. And don't ask any questions."

Edmund was grabbed and dragged down the stairs and out the front door. As he passed the living room he noticed dozens of letters lying all over the place but he was being pulled too hard to do anything. Uncle Vernon dragged him into the car where the rest of the family was waiting and drove away.

Something had happened. Something that Edmund could take advantage of if only he knew what it was. All he knew was that it had something to do with that letter. He knew that because he was dragged to a motel and the next morning the clerk said there were a hundred letters for HIM.

It was July 30, when Edmund Blackadder found himself lying on the floor. He was cold, the fireplace was unlit, and Dudley was snoring on the ratty couch next to him. Edmund did not object. In his opinion, the floor was cleaner. He could see Dudley's watch and noticed the time. It was almost midnight, almost his birthday. He drew the outline of a birthday cake, then rubbed it out with his hand. "Bother all of this. I won't make any birthday wishes. It's time to make birthday plans." As Edmund tried to figure out a way to have Uncle Vernon declared mentally incompetent (His recent actions should make that easy to do), Dudley's watch began to beep. It was midnight. Edmund was eleven. And someone was banging on the door of a rundown cottage on a rocky crag in the middle of the Irish Sea during a thunderstorm.

Edmund looked up in time to see the door fall onto the floor, and a giant figure stepped into the room. The giant picked the door up and wedged it back into its frame, then turned around just as Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia ran into the room. Uncle Vernon had a shot gun. The giant looked at them and said, "Would it be to much to ask ye fer a spot o' tea? I wouldn't object to somethin' stronger either, mind ye."

Then the giant turned toward the two boys. He dismissed Dudley on sight and turned toward . . ."

"Edmund! Yer the spittin' image of yer dad, alright."

"You know me?"

"Course I do. I even held ye when ye were just a baby. Wait, I've got somethin' fer ye. I might o' set on it a bit but it should taste fine."

The giant pulled a box out of his voluminous overcoat and handed it to the boy. Inside a cake with orange icing. On it was written, "Happee Birthdae, Edmund."

"Oh," Edmund said with mock excitement, "this is exactly what I need after days of near starvation. A large sugar intake." When the giant guffawed, Edmund looked up. "May I ask who you are?"

"Sure, ye can," the giant said with a grin. "And ye have yer dad's sense of humor as well, I'm happy to say."

Edmund shook his head. The giant was actually going to make him do it. "Fine. I'll ask. Who are you?"

"Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. But ye know all about Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts? Is that a real name?"

"Of course it's a real name." Hagrid turned to the Dursleys in surprise. "Don't tell me ye never told him about Hogwarts."

"Why should we?" Uncle Vernon demanded. "We swore when we took him in we would put an end to this nonsense."

"Excuse me," Edmund said politely, which surprised everyone except Uncle Vernon, who immediately became suspicious. "Could I ask what this nonsense is. After all, it is about me." He then smiled innocently.

"As if you didn't know," Aunt Petunia said angrily.

"This will surprise you, my dearest Aunt, but I don't. Things like that happen when no one tells you anything." Edmund turned to Dudley who was about to say something. "Don't bother. It won't make any sense anyway." He turned to Hagrid. "Well? It seems you have all the answers."

"Yer a wizard, Edmund."

"A wizard?" Edmund was surprised. "As in magic wands and long pointy hats and robes covered in stars?"

Hagrid grinned widely. "Yes, yes and yes, although most wizards go fer plain coloured robes."

"I don't know what you have been drinking but I would like a glass if you've any left." Edmund smiled again.

Hagrid smiled back. "Has anything ever happened to ye that ye couldn't explain."

Edmund frowned. "Such as being forced to live with the Dursleys?"

Hagrid laughed at what he thought was a joke. "Did ye ever do anything that ye couldn't explain?"

"Well," Edmund thought, then remembered the disappearing glass at the zoo, and talking to the snake.

Hagrid saw the look. "That was magic." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a letter, handing it to the confused boy.

"He's not going," Uncle Vernon shouted.

Hagrid shouted back. "And I suppose a muggle like yerself is going to stop him."

"WE SWORE . . ." Uncle Vernon shouted.

"It's not polite to swear," Edmund said evenly, holding the opened letter in his hand. "Do you know what this is? According to this letter I have to go far away to a private school and stay there for ten months out of the year." Edmund paused for effect. "But the choice is yours, Uncle. If you want, you can put up with me every day until I reach my majority, and pay for the pleasure, or . . ." Edmund paused, this time to make sure he had everyone's attention, except for Dudley who was off in the corner eating the cake. "Or, my dear loving uncle, you can be stuck with me for only two months each summer."

Uncle Vernon hesitated. "I never thought of it that way."

Aunt Petunia nodded. "He does make a convincing argument."

And Dudley said, "Mrpph."

"YOU LAZY PIG," Hagrid shouted when he noticed Dudley. He pointed a pink umbrella at the boy and said something. There was a flash of light, and a pigs tail was sticking out the back of Dudley's pajamas.

"Sorry," Hagrid whispered to Edmund. "I was tryin' fer the whole pig."

"You succeeded," Edmund replied. "That was the only part that was missing."

Edmund heard Hagrid stir and awoke in front of the cheerful fire the giant had made. He was then handed a full-sized breakfast the likes he had never seen before, at least not on his plate. After breakfast, they made ready to leave, the Dursleys happily helping them out the door. Before he left the hut, Edmund turned around to face his Aunt and Uncle.

"I should say it's been fun but I hate lying. But I do think I owe you a parting gift." He reached inside his shirt and pulled out a manila envelope. "Priceless pictures, not suitable for children, of my babysitter and someone in this room." He threw the envelope on the floor between the two adults.

Petunia Dursley stared at the envelope as the words that Edmund had spoken began to register in her brain. In shock and surprise she looked at her husband.

"Vernon," she said, almost in tears, "I can explain everything."