Chapter 35: An Afternoon Class

Sans was having limited success with the whole 'being more careful' thing.

He had skipped lunch to instead spend that time trying to figure out how to keep from overpowering his spells. Which was why he was in this empty classroom, swish-and-flicking his wand while trying to keep whatever it was pointed at from launching itself into the air at top speed. After maybe ten minutes of trying, he could proudly say that at least nothing actually reached the ceiling anymore. Even though the last book he'd tested had still gotten pretty darn close.

For a moment, he toyed with the idea of just heading out to the forest and finding an adequate stick to use instead. Or maybe asking Perkins if he could snag one of the fake wands from that old prank closet. It would be the simplest thing to do, though by now people may have already taken note of his bone wand and would notice a switch.

Plus, conceding defeat to his own summoned creation just sort of rubbed him the wrong way.

So he swished and flicked the wand once more, sending a chair hurling into the air. A moment before it would have crashed into the floor, Sans caught it with a pulse of regular blue magic: it froze for an instant, thereby killing its momentum, and then dropped that last inch.

If fell over gracelessly, making a rather loud clatter. Luckily this empty classroom had stone walls thick enough that an eavesdropper would probably need to be pressing their ear right onto the door to hear anything going on inside. And even then, a shimmer of blue magic in the air around the edges of the room meant no sound would be escaping that way either; sound can't travel if the air can't move, after all.

Sans frowned thoughtfully—and, admittedly, with some annoyance—at the tipped-over chair. This problem was frustrating in a most fascinating way; he could cast the magic and get the desired effect, but not with any sort of real handle over it. He was used to having an incredibly precise control over his magic, and all of that control just vanished as soon as the bone wand came into play.

In his mind, his magic was light. He could reach out from white to the secondary colors—magenta, cyan, and yellow—with barely a second thought. Primary colors were just a step further, as well as being far more difficult and, in one case, exponentially more dangerous. Sans was one of very few monsters who could use all of them.

Blue was easy, his long practice with the color making its use almost as easy as the secondaries. Red was… tricky, and for most monsters it was beyond dangerous to fiddle around with—but Sans was not most, and the color was deep in his very bones. Green, in the end, was the color he had the greatest difficultly using. He could call it up, but he couldn't trust himself enough to actually try and heal anything. Not unless there was no other choice.

For most monsters, green was the first and only primary color they might learn. Kindness and trust came easily to them, so of course green magic should pose no problems.

Sans carefully did not examine the bitter twist his mind set to that fact. He had a different problem to puzzle through at the moment.

That being, quite simply, that these spells did not feel like light.

Kind of.

At least, when he wasn't using the bone wand, things behaved as he expected them to; if the spell called for a color, he could just reach for that color as usual. Easy. Then, with added intent, the spell would just come together like spotlights on the star of the show. Of course, it wasn't quite that simple—all spells seemed to use multiple colors at multiple intensities—but he could handle that.

As if to prove that to himself, Sans waved his right hand with a swish and a flick. The wandless gesture made the chair lift gently into the air, flip itself the right way around, then settle back to the ground. Even the hand motion was technically unnecessary, he just found it amusing.

He twirled his wand around his fingers, thinking.

Colors.

Red, green, blue. Magenta, cyan, yellow.

It was pretty obvious that colors still dictate the course that the magic would run, be it for a human spell or a monster bullet, regardless of how the colors mix together.

That word—'mix'—tugged at an old memory.

Sans had once found a mostly intact package of acrylic paints in the garbage dump, and of course he brought it home for his baby brother to play with. Not much painting had been done, but Papyrus had loads of fun mixing together the different colors. And just like the entirety of the kitchen after years of passionate pasta preparation, there were still remnants of the paint-play staining the wall behind the couch.

Sans gave his wand another flick, resulting in the book he had targeted suddenly flinging into the air and almost—almost, he was improving—hitting the ceiling.

And he realized something.

This magic was more like mixing paints together, not like light. Or perhaps magic as a whole is really some combination of the two, and he had simply never noticed.

All the colors are still distinct when first beginning to stir, but after a while the paint just swirls together into one solid shade. Waving a wand—which, in this analogy, is essentially a paintbrush—was supposed to help control the color as it is added into the world.

And his paintbrush, so to speak, was more like a paint-roller: built for broad strokes and without much regard for the fine details.

It wasn't a perfect comparison, by any means, but perhaps a new angle could be helpful.

Before he could launch any more unsuspecting furniture in his attempts to figure things out, however, he noticed a familiar presence approaching the room. Dropping the blue magic that had kept the classroom sound-proofed, he heard a low bark and scratching at the entrance.

So, with a thought and a twist of magic, Sans pulled the door open.

Tail-wagging butt first, his golden retriever friend backed into the room. He was carrying something in his mouth, which somewhat explained the wrong-way arrival, and he plopped the bundle down with a pleased huff. As soon as the door clicked shut once more, Sirius gave himself a good shake and shed his Animagus form.

"I noticed you weren't at—" Sirius paused mid-stretch, blinking at the room in surprise. He was able to see quite a bit more of it when not standing on all fours, including all the tipped-over desks and chairs and scattered books. "What in Merlin's name happened in here?"

Sans looked over the haphazard mess his practicing had left behind. "ah yes, that would be me. i am what happened."

"I mean, I sort of guessed that but…" He sighed, shaking his head. "Okay. What did you do?"

To explain, Sans flicked his wand at one of the desks. One end promptly flipped violently into the air, knocking everything in its immediate area all higgledy-piggledy.

The wizard glanced between his friend and the scattered mess, understanding filling his eyes. "Oh, this is hilarious."

"is it?"

"Trust me, it is."

"i'll just have to take your word on that."

Still looking entirely too amused, Sirius sat down on the floor in front of the cloth-wrapped package he had brought. "Anyway, I noticed you weren't at lunch." He opened the bundle to reveal a small assortment of bread, meat, and cheese, plus a few cookies.

Sans sat down across from him, but didn't take any of the food. With a meaningful nod to the mess he had made, he said, "i had other stuff to deal with."

"I suppose this is all because of the book incident?"

"you heard?"

"By this point, who hasn't?" replied Sirius, shrugging. "Trust me on this, too: the Hogwarts rumor mill should never be underestimated."

"brilliant."

Sirius made himself lunch, frowning slightly when he noticed his companion was not doing the same. Around his first mouthful of sandwich, he commanded, "Rattlesh, ead the food."

"thanks for the effort and all, but i'm not hungry."

"I shwear," he said, then swallowed before continuing. "If you say that 'no stomach for it' line, I'll shove this bread down your throat."

Sans waved it off. "i try to cook up fresh puns daily, paddy. wouldn't want to feed you the same ones over and over, that'd just get stale."

Sirius stared at him for a moment. Then, apparently having nothing to say in response, he just took another bite of his sandwich. The rest of the lunch passed in a companionable silence, though the quiet didn't mean he had stopped trying to get his friend to eat. The pile of food was not-subtly pushed closer and closer to Sans, until he did eventually take something: a single slice of bread.

"You really should eat more."

"you do realize that i'm a skeleton, right?"

"So?"

"…nevermind." Sans sighed. "i can see nothing i say will get through to you."

From somewhere else in the castle, the chiming of bells called an end to lunch.

"I suppose I ought to clean up my mess," Sirius remarked, twirling his wand to vanish the remains of their meal. Then, with a grin, he looked rather pointedly between Sans and the cluttered wreck filling the rest of the room.

"yeah, yeah, i know."

Sans stood up, a slight blue glow slipping through his glamour on the left side of his face, and all the disorder he had wrought began effortlessly straightening itself out.

"hey, so if you want to catch your godson," he began, once things were back in order, "you're gonna need to skedaddle, pronto."

At that Sirius raised a brow. "You know, I was surprised you had me go with Harry earlier."

Sans just shrugged. "he's your family," he said, tone just a bit too carefree. "you can get to being a guide dog later, it's no big deal."

"If you're sure."

"sure i'm sure."

Sirius himself still looked decidedly unsure, though he wasn't going to complain about getting more time with his godson. Even if he did have to stay as a dog the whole time. Still, it was only after a long moment that he shifted back into his disguise as a golden retriever.

"speaking of being a guide, though," Sans added, earning a curious glance from the dog, "do you think you could lead me to the transfiguration classroom?"

With a snort that sounded distinctly chiding, Sirius stuck his nose in the air and sassily walked away. Until he reached the door, that is, since it was still shut tight. He placed a paw up on the wood, his dramatic exit defeated, and was forced to look back to Sans for help.

Sans grinned. "i'll take that as a 'yes'."

=X=X=X=

Sans decided to sleep through Transfiguration.

It wasn't a plan he really liked—these were lessons on a whole new facet of magic, after all—but given the book incident, unconsciousness might be the safer option. Later, once he figured out how to use his wand with some measure of control, he'd stay awake.

He had strategically chosen one of the desks in the middle of the class, knowing that it was more likely that the professor would keep an eye on students in the back row, and with any luck the students in front of him would block most line-of-sight. Then he settled in to sleep the class away.

In the end, though, his nap only lasted for just under five minutes.

It wasn't even the professor herself that caught him out; Sans had been coasting smoothly under her radar, silently snoozing, when he sneezed himself back into the waking world. It wasn't a loud sneeze—he had actually managed to cut it off—but it was still enough for Professor McGonagall to take note of him and his drowsy just-woken-up expression.

She took five points from Ravenclaw, which earned him a glare from his housemates, then positioned herself so that she could see him during the rest of her lecture.

Apparently she was just as strict as she looked, and didn't see the inherent advantage of teaching a class with a napping student—even if that unconsciousness meant that said student was unable to cause any inadvertent havoc.

Really, Sans was only trying to do her a favor.

So, forced into wakefulness, the best he could do was keep his wand out of reach and resist the temptation to try his hand at any of the demonstrations: no matter how fascinating the swirl of magic dancing through the transformed objects had been.

Unlike other wizarding spells he'd seen, which all used an assortment of colors, it seemed that transfiguration used predominantly white. Which didn't help with his urge to try it out, seeing as white magic was the same sort that all monsters used for summoned bullets. After all, given his familiarity with the color, maybe he would have better luck trying out this type of spell.

But then again, the charm from earlier had been mostly shades of blue and he had still royally messed that up—and he hadn't even been trying to do anything.

Perhaps he could try it out later, in that abandoned classroom. By himself. Without anybody around to witness whatever might happen.

"For the rest of the class period," Professor McGonagall stated, flicking her wand to lift a box out from behind her desk, "you will all have an opportunity to try a very basic transfiguration."

Well then.

Perhaps he should try to snooze again and just skip out on the activity as a whole.

As if detecting that thought somehow—sheer teacher instinct, perhaps—the professor sent him a very stern look. He straightened in his seat and tried to look eagerly attentive and not at all apprehensive.

They were to practice what was, apparently, the simplest spell of transfiguration: changing a match into a sewing needle.

This wasn't great news, in part because he wasn't terribly familiar with sewing needles. If it had been a syringe needle or a pine needle, he would be less worried. Or even a knitting needle; Undyne learned how to knit at the end of most peaceful timelines, and she took to that hobby with the same passion as cooking. Which meant that sometimes, if she had been especially enthusiastic, Sans could find her knitting needles sticking out of his ceiling. (She had been at his house because her own was, of course, on fire.)

As for sewing needles, though… well, it's not as though he'd ever bothered to repair any of his own clothing if it got holes. He had only ever seen a sewing needle once, on a particularly long run, when Toriel had insisted on repairing his tattered blue hoodie.

That had been ages ago by now, but hopefully it'd still be enough to go on.

When given his match, Sans looked between it and his wand with distrust. There was no way using the wand would go well: he'd end up accidentally transfiguring the entire desk or something. He just had to hope that everybody was too caught up in their own attempts to notice his wandless-ness.

So, as the students around him got to work waving their wands and saying magic words, he picked up his match to look it over more closely.

The match was basically a flat-sided stick just a bit longer than his thumb, with a blob of red at one end that smelled ever so slightly sulfurous. It was easy to leave small dents in the wood with a pinch, but he couldn't bend it at all—not without risking breaking it, anyway.

After turning the match over in his hands a few more times, he decided he'd try a quick test. Before doing anything, though, he positioned himself in a way that should keep any casual glances from seeing whatever might happen to the match. Then, with a small amount of white light glimmering on his fingertips and a very familiar shape in mind, he carefully pushed the magic into the wood.

There was a slight twitch, and then the match appeared to gain a pair of bumps on each end. It wasn't his best work, but it did look vaguely like a cartoonish bone. And, just as importantly, nobody else seemed to have noticed the change.

"okay, so far so good," he murmured to himself.

Changing his mental image to that of a needle, focusing only on the shape for the moment, he again called up the magic. In his hand, the wood jittered. Then the match nearly doubled in length, one end sharpening into a fine point while the other gained an oval hole.

All in all, it was a passable wooden recreation of one of Toriel's sewing needles.

Next up was switching the material to metal, which he expected would be a bit trickier.

Focusing closely on what he knew of metals—stainless steel, in particular—and contrasting that with the properties of wood, he tried to hold that difference in the white magic; like using a projector to display an image. Holding that idea took most of his attention.

The match grew warm in his hand.

"Mr. Skelton?"

He glanced up, quickly dropping his partially transformed match to the desk, and locked eyes with a very interested Professor McGonagall standing just one row of desks away. It seemed that he had let himself get rather too distracted.

"yes, professor?"

She joined him at his desk, and Sans tried to look completely not-anxious. And then tried not to feel embarrassed about feeling anxious; he might not really be an eleven-year-old kid, but Professor McGonagall had a formidable presence about her, regardless.

"May I see the progress you've made with your match, Mr. Skelton?"

"uh…" He looked down at his desk.

Unfortunately, it would seem that he had successfully changed the wood into metal.

The now-silver needle stood out plainly against the dark wood of his desk and, without any further prompting, the professor plucked up the match-turned-needle. She turned it over in her hands, inspecting it with an unreadable expression.

Then, after a long moment: "Excellent work, Mr. Skelton. Ten points to Ravenclaw."

Sans swallowed, still uneasy; he didn't know how much she had seen, if she had noticed that his wand remained untouched on his desk. "thank you, professor."

But she didn't hand back the transfigured needle, and Sans felt something twist worriedly in his non-existent gut. The bell rang, and the other students began to pack up.

"Please stay after class a moment, Mr. Skelton. I have some questions for you."

Author's Note:

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Undertale.

Happy New Year, everybody!
And Happy Second-Day-of-the-New-Year for some of you!

So this was a chapter in which Sans continues to attend classes.
Very exciting, isn't it?

What do you think Professor McGonagall wants to say to him?

Updates are on the first of the month.
Thanks again for all of the reviews, favorites, and follows! Can you believe that all three are over 1,000 at this point?! I can barely believe it myself!

Salvation Pink: Thank you very much! I'm glad you've stuck around, it did take quite a while to actually get to Hogwarts, didn't it? I'm also glad that the wordplay I throw in isn't pun-ishing, since you can expect pun-ty more of that, to be sure!

QUITHORSINGAROUD: It'll be quite some time before this is finished, I'm afraid! And though I can't post faster than once a month, I hope that the knowledge that there will be an update once a month eases some of the "please don't abandon this story" stress fanfiction can inspire.

Guest (who may, in fact, be QUITHORSINGAROUD): I don't know why you'd think the trial took place at ten in the morning, since Lucius's trial is a direct result of Sans's actions in this story. Though I can certainly relate to getting canon and fanfics mixed up on occasion! Also, for what it's worth, I do actually have a schedule drawn up for Sans. And I've found a full schedule for all years that somebody drew up online! I won't follow it exactly, but it should help me keep things straight. Thanks for the review!

Here's another random fanfiction recommendation, because it certainly deserves it:
"Magicae est Potestas" by SomniumofLight
It's an Undertale crossover with the Artemis Fowl series, and trust me: if you like Artemis Fowl, you should definitely read this.

See ya on the flipside, everyone!