Sweetie Belle - Hogwarts Exchange Student

Sweetie Belle - Hogwarts Exchange Student
Cold Start

“You have to admit it was a good idea.”

Theodore’s conversational partner did not respond.

“We learned firsthand about King Sombra’s traps in a way we never would have by just reviewing all of Granite Peaks’ notes. And we have all kinds of information to add to our list of what not to do.”

That earned Theodore a brief glare before New Leaf put his head down on the floor and turned his back on the young wizard, rotating by degrees of hoof-shuffling.

A faint clattering noise sounded from up the staircase, growing louder until Granite Peaks and an unexpected visitor came through the stone doorway. Granite’s grey coat looked rumpled as if he had not gotten a chance to brush this morning, but Shining Armor was perfectly coiffed and dressed for the day down to the last bit of golden armor and shining hoof-boots.

There was a period of relative silence with Theodore scribing away on a piece of parchment and the two unicorns just standing there, looking at the iron cage and its unusual contents. Shining Armor walked once around their prison, inspecting the bars by the light of the shadowed room, before returning to Granite Peaks’ side and resuming his quiet observation.

“Nott,” said Granite finally. “What are you doing in there?”

“Taking notes of the magic used to create this…” Theodore gestured with his quill at the mesh of iron bars all around him.

“Trap,” continued Granite. “I lose my entire crew to a trap, have Celestia send to a whole different world for a better trapbreaker, and the first thing you do is fall right into another trap.”

“It was a short fall.” He pointed at the ceiling where hinged panels showed their path from last night. “We were staying out of the way of your guard patrols right up until the floor fell out from under us and we wound up here. Oh, and the bars closed up above us.”

It said something positive about both of the unicorns and their experiences in the Crystal Empire that they kept their horns as dark as New Leaf. After all, King Sombra’s traps had a particular affinity for unicorns, probably due to their instinctive need to use magic to ‘fix’ things that had just gone wrong, much like a wizarding student who had just reached legal age tended to grab their wand for any and everything imaginable.

Granite Peaks was as much of a professional cursebreaker as anything else in this world, and Shining Armor… Well, Theodore had not really seen into his character more than a brief glance, so he did not trust him any more than a Slytherin could trust. He probably trusted New Leaf most of every creature he had met in this strange and glittering land, mostly because they had established a great need for each other’s skills: Theodore for protection, and New Leaf for information.

“I’ve been running tests on it most of the evening,” admitted Theodore. “Had to drop by the room and pick up supplies. There’s a six-fold collection of spells involved in the trap that I think he was keeping in reserve for a special sneaky surprise. He never had problems with thieves, did he?”

“Never.” Shining Armor’s lips were drawn into thin lines and he continued to eye the iron bars with a great deal of judicious suspicion, then looked at Theodore again, and in particular the thick clump of parchment he was writing on. “You went back to your room?”

“Unicorn teleportation and wizard apportation are quite different. I was a little worried at first, but there’s always a risk when expanding our knowledge of new things.”

It had been tempting to just apportate out of the trap and leave New Leaf to his fate, but this had been an opportunity to learn yet another facet of this Crystal Empire’s potential. Some of the other unicorn spells had been quite close to wizard’s magic and could be modified with little effort, so Theodore had to temper his confidence that he could skate the razor edge of Sombra’s deadly hatred with the understanding that cheese did not look like a trap either, until the snap.

Leaving New Leaf alone in the cage for a few minutes had been a calculated risk which should have been easy, considering his Slytherin heritage, but Theodore had found himself rushing to get his supplies gathered and apportated back into the cage instead of outside of it for a proper examination of the trap. In hindsight, it had been a risk that he would not repeat, but his concern was… troubling. And it warranted considerable thought when he had more time.

Theodore never really had a friend before, and did not expect his first to have four hooves and a tail.

“Leaf, do you trust me?” asked Theordore on a whim, waving his parchment full of notes so the ink would dry faster.

“Not any more,” muttered New Leaf, keeping his rear firmly pointed at Theodore and his trembling tail tucked tightly against his rump.

“How about me?” Shining Armor gave a short grunt, as if actual thought were painful. “Princess Celestia sent you. I trust her. As for the rest, we’ll see.”

“I suspect this is not the only quiet trap around here that has been lurking out of sight since Sombra’s demise,” said Theodore, pointing with his quill at several locations on his map of the castle. “It’s too smooth, practiced, and efficient. I can feel it change when outside conditions vary. Adapt. Compensate. Like it’s watching. Thinking. That’s why I left the letter for you while gathering my notes. And why I left Granite the instructions on where to find us.”

Granite Peaks gave a curt nod to Shining Armor’s inquiring glance. “How d’ya think I knew where to go in the sealed-off section?”

“Sombra didn’t seem to like clever traps where he might step in them while checking on his other traps,” continued Theodore, giving his notes one last check before putting them away. “I presume that’s why the staircase and the secret entrance were clean. I checked,” he added.

Granite Peaks seemed to be set back a step. “I didn’t,” he admitted.

“Don’t do it now,” cautioned Theodore quickly. And since New Leaf had been traumatized enough, he added, “I’d like to keep the area clear of unicorn magic until I’m done. I’ll need a volunteer to test a theory, though.”

“Me,” said Shining Armor without hesitation.

Sweetie Belle was used to chaos, but Discord’s version always came with chocolate rain or orange frogs… Well, that was Twilight Sparkle’s kind of chaos, which was sometimes really difficult to tell from Discord. Human chaos came in the form of hundreds of students running around with schedules, although Wycliffe took great pains to tell her at breakfast that this First Year Hogwarts class was far smaller than most, and they had a greatly simplified schedule with only seven classes.

Simple was still quite complex in a castle that lacked any signs or door numbers. It helped that the First Year Houses had been consolidated into single classes instead of the normal routine of having two houses per class. All they had to do was spot the other First Year students who had been in the boats, give them a quick hug (or at least Sweetie did), and hunt for any other strays. Sparrow had been quite insistent that she knew where the classes were, but was turned around in short order and decided it was best to go along with the group, muttering to herself something about getting a packet of graph paper and mapping their dungeon party.

To Sweetie’s astonishment, their first class was with Professor McGonnagal in a big stone room sculpted with swooping arches and flowers on the walls and a bunch of cages hanging from the ceiling. There did not seem to be any creatures in the cages, but there were creatures in the room because several of the students had pets on a shoulder or in pockets. The official letter she had received in Equestria said a First Year could only have a cat, owl or a toad, which Sweetie had most carefully not mentioned to Fluttershy or she could have easily wound up with all three, as well as a few extras. A pet would have been a distraction from school and making friends, or at least she thought so, but Lady Rose had a beautiful scarab of some sort nestled in her curly blonde mane, and Miss Volant had an extremely small dog with bulgy eyes in her oversized purse so Sweetie was reconsidering her decision.

There did not appear to be an instructor in the beautiful ornate classroom, but there was a large and quite familiar cat sitting passively on the teacher’s desk in front of the room. It was familiar to Sweetie, but Sparrow gave a little squeak of startlement when the cat shifted to Professor Mcgonagall and she began her introductory lecture. It was filled with complicated warnings and detailed explanations of their upcoming year of learning, but Sweetie was so excited that very few words made it through her bubbling elation and onto paper. Sparrow likewise took extremely brief notes along with a few detailed doodles of interesting things around the room, while Wycliffe bent over his quill with serious intent, just barely lifting his eyes to glance at the various things the professor wrote on the chalkboard in violet and puce letters.

“Transfiguration is some of the most difficult and complex magic you will learn at Hogwarts,” cautioned the professor after her long introduction to the class subject. “With that in mind, I would like to introduce a visiting noted wizard, Babajide Akingbade, the current Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards.”

A rather unimpressive human stood up from a chair in the shadows of the classroom and nodded once at Professor McGonnagal. He was dark, quite nearly one shade away from ebony, and dressed in a very simplistic outfit compared to the rest of the wizards she had seen. He did not wear the traditional wizard’s pointed hat, but left his bald head shine in the mixed torchlight and sunshine of the classroom, which seemed rather odd to Sweetie since she was unaccustomed to heads without hair. At least he was smiling in a very subtle manner that did not show his teeth, and his attentive dark eyes darted around the room.

“Such a promising class, Headmistress.” His intent gaze swept over Sweetie Belle with only a slight hesitation before resting on Wycliffe in the seat next to her. “The study of magic in my homeland is significantly different from what you will experience for the next few years, although one of you already knows magic that may be considered just as unique. Uagadou is the largest wizarding school in Africa, established at nearly the same time as Hogwarts, and due to a message that I received last night—”

Akingbade’s eyes slid sideways until he was facing a portrait on the wall where a very familiar dark alicorn looked back at him for just a moment until it faded into the painting’s shadows. He shook his head ever so slightly and continued, “Were we notified, our school would have been more than pleased to offer a student of our own to assist in this foreign land.”

Sparrow’s hand shot up and she started talking at the same time. “I thought your school focused on transfiguration instead of counter-curses. At least that’s what it said in the school index of Hogwarts, a History because I wanted to see what the various countries did with their magic and some of them are a little weird. Cliff said his brother was going to the pony world as a curse-breaker, and there’s nobody as sneaky and experienced with curses as a Slytherin.”

In the resulting silence, Sparrow’s slender arm began to lower, bit by bit, until she rested both hands on the desk and wrapped her fingers together. The rest of the students whispered quietly to each other, but Sweetie could see Harold Puckle over at the edge of the classroom straighten up his green tie and look moderately pleasant for a moment instead of the constant twitching he had been displaying since Sweetie had first met him. Agatha next to him did not seem to appreciate the compliment, and narrowed her eyes in what was probably supposed to be an intimidating glare but only succeeded in making her look squinty.

“You will wait until you are called upon, Miss Lilley,” said McGonnagal calmly. “Two points will be taken from Gryffindor Horse… I mean House,” she clarified instantly with a grim expression that cut off the few student snickers cold. “Professor Akingbade will be a guest lecturer at Hogwarts several times this year, and I expect him to receive the same respect as the rest of your professors.”

“I’m sorry, Headmistress,” said Sparrow. It looked as if she were going to keep talking, but Sweetie kicked her carefully in the hind leg under the table, and from her reaction, Wycliffe had done the same from the other side.

Sparrow remained silent for the rest of the class while Professor Akingbade continued his introduction in what sounded like a well-practiced speech, complete with examples of how his school practiced wandless magic. He transfigured an apple into an abacus, then a funny-looking animal with a long nose, and finally into a slice of cake with creamy frosting before looking up to the class.

“Pineapple upside-down cake,” he stated, producing a fork out of thin air and placing it on the plate. “Would anybody like a bite?”

Hands shot up, including Sweetie’s, but Sparrow spoke up while waving her hand frantically.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she blurted out. “I mean you’re a professor at the school— Or lecturer which is nearly the same thing and Professor McGonnagal is right there but I’ll bet this is a lesson on how not to trust things that have been polymorphed into other things. Right?” she added weakly.

Akingbade stood with the slice of cake in his hand for a long moment, then did something to make it all turn into fluttering moths that flew into all the corners of the classroom. “Impressive,” he murmured nearly under his breath. “But out of turn,” he added louder. “Two points from Gryffindor House. It is also entirely correct, so five House points will be added. The rest of you who raised your hands, were you prepared to eat the cake?”

Most of the class nodded, except for Wycliffe who was still silently taking notes. That seemed to attract the dark wizard’s attention even more than hand-waving or speaking out of turn. Akingbade took several slow steps and stopped in front of their table, waiting until Wycliffe had finished writing and looked up.

“Have you no opinion on my creation, Mister Nott?”

Wycliffe shook his head, waited until it was obvious that a longer response was required, then said, “Only a complete fool would eat something that came out of a classroom. Including potions. Most potions, particularly ones made by First Years. And my brother mentioned that the Care of Magical Creatures class occasionally has cakes, which should be avoided at all costs.”

Very slowly, Akingbade nodded, although his impassive expression did not change even in the least. “Consumption of transfigured items is as problematic as you say. But what if I were to offer to transfigure you into a creature as an example for the class…”

“I would turn you down, sir.” Wycliffe’s thick square glasses glinted in the light as he matched unblinking gazes with the dark professor, or at least until Akingbade turned to face Sparrow.

“And you?” he asked.

It was the first time Sweetie could remember her tall friend being at a loss for words. Sparrow started to reply three different times before settling back in her seat and shaking her head.

“Any of you?” asked Akingbade, looking across the class and seeing only one upraised hand. “Miss Volant?”

The young girl quickly lowered her hand and asked, “If you transfigure somebody who is an animagus, can they just change back?”

“An intriguing question indeed. Two points to Slythern. The answer is less clear. Miss Lilley?” he added, looking down at where Sparrow’s hand had shot up.

“Is that because of morphic resonance?” she asked.

“Oh!” said Sweetie in a rush. “Twilight talked to us about that since my friends have been transformed a few times. Ponies tend to return to their original form after the transformation spell wears off, if it’s not strong enough to keep them changed. I turned my tutor into a gardenia once,” she admitted. “You’re not supposed to nibble on the leaves when that happens, no matter how worried you are. It leaves toothmarks when they change back.”

* * *

Sweetie Belle was nearly as excited about lunch as she had been with everything so far today, and was learning even more about the human world. She did not have to take notes about the food like she had in Transfiguration class because there were no tests, only lessons learned from eating periwinkles and spending an hour in the loo, although Sparrow called it a bathroom, even when the room did not contain any bathtubs.

After lunch, they had Potions class, which was in a dungeon filled with bottles and flickering flames under caldrons, the skeletons of strange creatures on the walls, heavy tables that bore scars from many exciting explosions, and rooms full of ingredients that she was itching to try, although she had not been permitted to touch any of the fascinating things. They listened to the chubby teacher instead as he talked about all kinds of things involving potions and powders, the steps needed to ensure proper measuring and stewing, and a whole bunch of stuff that Sweetie could not focus on when there were so many other interesting things to look at.

She wanted to make a potion because some of the recipes in the book seemed so interesting, and this was only the beginning book. Her book was crisp and clean, unlike Sparrow’s book which she was doodling in, or Wycliffe’s book which appeared to have been pre-doodled. All of their potion-making equipment had been stored in the room so it would not have taken very long to dig it out and cook something up, but Professor Slughorn was very methodical about his lesson and laid out the schedule in great detail. Twilight Sparkle would have appreciated his teaching process, but probably would have let them make potions anyway.

She was still a little disappointed when they went back out into the chaotic corridors again, seventeen children smaller than the other students but united with Sweetie Belle in the lead, Sparrow herding them together when one or another would get distracted and start to wander, and Wycliffe bringing up the rear. Sweetie was unsure if he was looking for a spot to hide or just did not want to be looked at by the rest of the First Years. The castle was beginning to make more sense as she pressed forward, considering the possibility of returning to unicorn form in order to have a point ahead of the young human herd so they could make better time.

“Ah, there you are,” called out Percival. “Make way, there. Professor coming through. Get to your classes,” he chastised a taller cluster of older students with green ties.

“Hello, Percival!” chirped Sweetie, who nearly tripped over her own people-feet again when she turned around. It made for a sudden plug in the flow of students down the corridor, so she took a step back toward the wall while Sparrow encouraged the rest of the First Years to stand out of the way while they talked. “We were going to explore the castle before dinner, since our schedules have a hole in them.”

“You should be headed back to your House common rooms to consolidate your notes before the meal. That’s what the space is for,” said Percival, even though he looked slightly distracted. He glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice slightly. “You have History of Magic tomorrow, right?”

Sweetie nodded, even though several of the First Years behind her let out quiet groans.

“Well… There’s a visiting historian in the class.” Percival seemed to be struggling over a word, then said, “He’s an Equestrian.”

The groans from the other First Years transitioned into various interested noises.

“And he’s a changeling,” added Percival rather reluctantly.

“Wait a moment, Professor Weasley,” said Wycliffe. “Changelings are fey creatures. The castle wards should keep them out unless they are invited.”

“He’s an Equestrian changeling, which is a horse of a different colour. It’s rather complicated for being so simple. He seems to have hitch-hiked here as your knapsack,” said Percival, looking at Sweetie. “We can’t send him back through your portal because the Wizengamot is in recess for the next several weeks, and the Ministry can’t figure out how to categorize him.”

“I have a good friend who is a changeling,” said Sweetie. “She’s sweet.”

“This one is—” Percival seemed to be looking for a word, and Sparrow remained quiet for a change.

“We don’t even have Care of Magical Creatures until next year,” said one of the First Year Ravenclaws in their group. “Shouldn’t an advanced class study this specimen?”

“She’s not a specimen,” said Percival, only to backtrack. “Well, he. I think. Headmistress McGonagall says we should treat him like a guest. Or a student. And since he has no experience with our world, he has been assigned to a professor.”

“So, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher?” asked Francis.

Percival shuddered. “No.”

* * *

Seventeen young students made an appreciable amount of noise while trying to remain silent, possibly more than if they had just walked through the castle courtyard and into the clock tower like they were headed for a class. The Ravenclaws tended to linger at the back of the group with Wycliffe, while Sweetie and Sparrow forged ahead as if they knew where they were going. And to be fair, Sparrow made far fewer wrong turns than Sweetie, who felt as if there really needed to be a piece of cheese at the end of the maze, or at least a food pellet.

“We’re not going to miss supper, are we?” asked Francis Helpenstall again. He rubbed his stomach with one thick-fingered hand and added, “I didn’t get out of the infirmary this morning in time to get more than a crust of bread for breakfast.”

“Covered with a whole jar of preserves,” whispered Agatha loud enough that everypony could hear.

“I was in a hurry,” said Francis defensively. “Are you sure you know where we’re going, Miss Lilley? This place has more wings than a bucket of chicken.”

“I think so.” Sparrow stopped at a heavy iron-bound door, hesitated for a moment, then opened it a crack to peek in. Seventeen students and one door did not make for a good view, but with some pushing and edging inside, eventually they all got a good look at the odd classroom beyond.

Sweetie was just getting used to ghosts, seeing their silvery forms drifting past when walking in the corridors or in the Great Hall. It was far more odd to see one behind a desk with a changeling sitting on the other side, and a great amount of paperwork piled between them. Even odder, the ghost appeared to be sleeping. His face was cushioned by his crossed arms, and his long silvery hair spilled out across the heaps of paper around him like a nest. A faint snore drifted up from his vicinity, and one tiny parchment note fluttered in the etheric breeze provided.

And there was also a changeling at the wide desk, working his way through a stack of paper with an inked quill hovering in his magic and several open books scattered around him.

“It’s a bug,” whispered one of the humans behind her, sounding absolutely terrified.

“He’s just a changeling,” said Sweetie, squinting to get a better look at the ghost instead. “One of my friends in Twilight’s school is a changeling. She’s very nice, with pretty red wings like a ladybug.”

“I don’t like ladybugs,” whispered the voice again. Sweetie looked over her shoulder to see Jill Wyvren at the very back of the group, almost standing on top of Wycliffe. Her long fingers were interlaced together and she was making very small clutching motions over and over. “And spiders.”

“Spiders aren’t bugs,” said Sparrow.

“Not in our world,” said the changeling in a slightly buzzy voice. He looked up from the table with a quill hovering in his green magic. “Not positive about this world. Haven’t had a chat with the creature teacher yet. They said I’m supposed to avoid him for some reason. Is it time for your class already, students?”

“We have dinner first,” announced Francis, looking a bit pale. “Are you going to be there? You don’t eat—” he swallowed “—people, do you?”

“Good heavens, no!” The changeling looked positively shocked with wide teal eyes and ears that did not know where to point, so they flickered all around. He shifted backwards in his chair and whispered, “You don’t eat—”

“Bugs?” said Sparrow. “Naa, nobody I know of eats bugs.”

“Except for candied crickets,” said George Chuffnell.

“And cockroach clusters,” said Agitha with a sniff of superiority. “They’re very good. I have some back in my room if you would like.”

The changeling simply remained in place and stared at them, much like Sweetie imagined she might if she was in the middle of a changeling school which was discussing the best way to prepare ponies for dinner. She had to admit it was very much like some of what Sweetie felt in some small insectile fashion, and Princess Celestia had sent her to this world to make friends, so…

“Why don’t you come back to the dining room with us?” she asked. “I mean you're kinda-sorta a professor and a student.”

“The Great Hall.” The changeling blinked several times. “Undisguised? I fear the students might panic.”

“No, they—” started Sweetie, only to be cut off by Sparrow.

“Yes, they would,” she admitted. “I about jumped out of my shoes when I saw you. I mean you’re not as scary as my uncle’s dragons, but I don’t think wizards and witches react well to the unexpected. Uh, did the teachers do something to you so you can’t change? Because that’s what changelings do, right?”

“Child,” said the changeling with a definite hint of derision in his buzzing voice. “I’ve infiltrated some of the most heavily guarded places in Equestria, which required changing into many, many different things. Humans are easy.”

There was a sharp green glow, and by the time Sweetie had blinked once, an old white-haired man stood at the desk, holding a quill in one wrinkled hand. He was not exactly as tall as most of the Hogwarts professors, and his gold-rimmed glasses perched precariously on the end of his thin nose like the changeling had not quite gotten the proportions correct, but he would have fit in perfectly at any of the human places Sweetie had visited so far since very few humans were exactly the same as each other either.

All of the students gave a little gasp or a squeak except for Alfred, who merely frowned slightly and made a low humming noise. The other Ravenclaw students likewise expressed intense interest in the changeling process, and Sweetie thought they might have been stuck there all evening with questions if Sparrow had not spoken louder than the rest.

“Great! Let’s go eat, Professor… Uh. What’s your name?”

“I don’t have one yet,” said the old man, leaning against the desk and getting familiar with standing on two legs, a process that Sweetie was quite familiar with. “Infiltrators get assigned names and histories unless we’ve captured a pony and replace them. And you can’t pronounce my real name without pheromone glands and a squigglyfronk. It projects emotions,” he added at the general look of bafflement that had swept across the First Year students.

“Names have power,” said Wycliffe, which was a bit of a shock to Sweetie since he had been quiet for so long, but she backed him up and nodded vigorously.

“That’s right. My friend Spike says knowing somedragon’s name, their real name, gives you power over them. That’s why the Dragonlord knows everydragon’s names.”

“Interesting.” The disguised changeling made an attempt at writing down a note of some sort, but smudged the ink and nearly upset his inkwell in the process much the same way that Sweetie did when she first was trying to figure out fingers. “I suppose I should have some sort of human name here so I don’t stand out, but most of what I’ve read so far involves human and goblin leaders, and I don’t think those would be very appropriate.”

“You mean like calling yourself Elagabalus or Ragnuk,” said Jill Wyvern.

“Exactly.” The changeling pointed at her. “Five points to Ravenclaw. That is what I’m supposed to do when somehuman makes a good educational point, is it not?”

“You’re not really a professor,” said Francis carefully. “You need the authority to award House points. But having a name would be a good start.”

“Blattodea,” said Kim Byng, a First Year Gryffindor who had also been very quiet up to that point. “It’s the Latin root for cockroach.”

The changeling winced slightly, and rubbed his long human nose. “The purpose of a good name is to avoid sounding like a changeling. Unless it is particularly clever.”

“Then Archie,” said Sparrow. “There was an old newspaper columnist who wrote in all lower case, pretending that the articles were all typed by a cockroach who could only hop on one key at a time. That would make you Archibald Blatt, which certainly sounds like a good wizard name.”

A general wave of approval swept around the group, mostly led by Francis who was inching his way toward the door so he could be first in line for lunch.

“Splendid,” declared the newly named Archie. “Professor Blatt it is. I suppose since my real name is unpronounceable, that gives changelings an edge over wizards.”

“And yet, you were caught, and you’re here,” said Wycliffe almost immediately.

“And not in the Great Hall where all the food is,” said Francis again. “We’re going to be late.”

* * *

As it turned out, they were not very late at all. There was a bit of a buffer zone between when all the students were supposed to be at their assigned House seats and when the food started. It was a little perplexing to Sweetie that an extra place setting had been laid at the teacher’s table so that Archie had a spot to sit, but she was learning how much this place was like Pinkie Pie, and things just ‘happened’ all over the place.

The old professor with excessively thick glasses beside Archie seemed to know something was up, and she engaged in a whispered conversation with him that lasted until Professor McGonagall went to her owl-podium and asked all the students to be quiet.

“We have a few announcements, so please settle down. First, due to a series of unexpected events during last evening’s Sorting, the Professors Gowans did not get introduced. Professor?”

A tall lady dressed all in black stood briefly at the professor’s table, gave a brief nod to the students, then seated herself back next to a stocky human who was as thick as she was thin. The male was also introduced as Professor Gowans, who would be teaching Muggle Studies for the upper-level students while his wife was the professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts.

It must have been terribly confusing for humans to have the same name, but there was little chance of confusing the one professor with the other. Rowen Gowens was more than painfully thin. To Sweetie’s experienced eye, she was fashion-model thin, the kind of human who needed to be careful in a stiff breeze or her loose black clothing could billow her up in the air like a kite. Her husband Agustus Gowens only came up to her shoulder, but had an unmistakable density wrapped in a few hundred bits of clothing in all shades of green and brown, with occasional golden overtones in places. A human that large should be friendly, like Hagrid the Magic Creature Teacher, but Agustus had a firm, serious expression that could have been carved on his face like a mask.

Headmistress McGonagall had been talking while Sweetie was considering the new professors. It was going to be quite difficult to make new friends with such difficult challenges, but she returned to alertness when Wycliffe poked her gently in the side.

“This is important,” he hissed. “She’s talking about Quidditch.”

“Quidditch?” said Sweetie, only to cringe nearly down into her robe collar when Headmistress McGonagall’s dark eyes swept in her direction.

“Yes, Quidditch,” said McGonagall to the quiet titters of laughter that swept over the cavernous room. “Please remember that several of our new First Years have not been exposed to the sport yet, but over the years, many of our finest players came from non-wizarding backgrounds. With the destruction of the Hogwarts Quidditch fields, this season will be difficult, but we are working around the issue. House teams will be having tryouts in the adjacent area while the field is being rebuilt, and First Year flying classes in the courtyard will start promptly on Saturday morning as usual.”

It was an interesting thing to consider, and kept Sweetie’s attention. She had not gotten to that section of Hogwarts - A History yet.

“At the suggestion of our newest professor—” McGonagall nodded at Percival, who looked proud enough to pop “—we will be adding a class on Saturday morning.”

A series of groans swept across the room, but the Headmistress quieted them with a short shake of her head. “This will not cover anyone but First and Second Years, and is aimed at giving these younger students some experience in the classes they will be taking in Third Year and up. With that in mind, professors will be preparing one or two ungraded sample classes in Arithmancy, Muggle Studies, Divination, Study of Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures for Saturday morning before your flying practice. This will not affect Quidditch practice for the older students in the least.”

The mood in the room improved markedly, which only made Sweetie more curious about this wizarding sport. All she really knew is that it involved broomsticks and some sort of ball, and that the broomsticks actually flew. Scootaloo would be so jealous if she brought one back to Equestria unless she could bring three of them and teach her friends how to fly too. The idea made her so excited she nearly missed the rest of McGonagall’s speech.

“Students should also be aware that Hogwarts is hosting two Equestrians this school term. In addition to Miss Belle, there is a shapeshifting insect in the History of Magic classroom. He is apparently harmless, or as much as a magical creature can be. He is also a historian, which is why he is in the care of Professor Bins. We know very little about this creature, but we expect our students to show him the courtesy of a visiting lecturer much like Professor Akingbade in the Transformations classroom. That is all of the announcements we have for today. Lunch is served.”

George Chuffnell let out a sharp breath of air that sounded vaguely like “finally” but quickly bent to the task of eating as much of the food that magically appeared on the table as possible, much like the rest of the students. “Pass the potatoes, please.”

“I have to admit, they serve better grub here than the Dee-fak,” said Sparrow as she passed over a bowl filled with fluffy mashed potatoes, glistening with butter. “Dad always tried to get me practiced up with local food wherever my mother was deployed. I can even hold chopsticks mostly right. Better than you’re holding that fork, Sweetie.”

Whatever was in the colorful lumps that Sweetie had managed to stab with her fork tasted good, so she really did not want to ask what was in them until later. The pickled beets, however…

“I didn’t really expect the food either,” she managed without dripping too much. Thankfully, there was a large puce napkin by her plate which she used before adding, “So much of it is different, but there are things that are almost exactly the same. Like those. Wy, could you pass that plate, please?”

“This one?” Wycliffe hesitated with the platter in both hands. “Are you sure? They’re made out of—”

“Don’t tell me yet,” said Sweetie as fast as she could. “Let me try them first. If I don’t like them, then you can. Remember that brown stuff we had at lunch.”

“Braunschweiger,” said Francis, who was busy adding some pickled beets to his plate.

“Yes, that. I liked it until Agitha told me it was made out of livers.” Sweetie frowned at Francis, who had added some pickled okra pods to his plate. “I thought you were supposed to be eating at the Hufflepuff table?”

“The upper-classmen took the pickled beets at our table,” explained Francis. “It was quicker to come over here. I brought you some of those sugar-rolled jelly things that fizz on your tongue since you liked them so much at lunch.”

“Didn’t you put those in your pocket?” asked Kim Byng, the other female Gryffindor in Sweetie's year.

“It’s a clean pocket,” said Francis. “And I wrapped them in a handkerchief. Did you want one too?”

“Ooo, ‘at’s alroight,” said Kim with a stab at the bowl that Sweetie had just pushed over to her. “Noot enough space after the Svedish meatballs.”

“Oh, that’s what they’re called here,” said Sweetie while chewing.

“Here?” George Chuffnell took a break from eating to cock his head to one side and look puzzled. “You have meatballs in your horse-country?”

“Wheatballs,” said Sweetie while chewing. “Mamma makes them every moon, but they mostly come out burnt and crunchy. And my sister tries occasionally, but she adds all kinds of diet stuff to them and we wind up giving them to Opalescence. She’s a cat. She doesn’t like them either. These are a lot better. Minotaurs have something called protein spheres with tomato extract, and griffons have sky-drops, but I’ve never gotten up the nerve to eat them as a pony. Not because they have pony in them. The Treaty of Menagerie stopped that centuries ago.”

“Huh.” Sparrow regarded the meatball on the end of her fork. “I guess everybody does have a dish like Swedish meatballs. I wonder what else has parallels in your world, Sweetie.”

Theodore Nott could not help but think how nothing in Hogwarts could compare with his Equestrian experience of being captured in an iron cage with a frightened unicorn, and having another unicorn outside of the cage volunteer to help. However on the familiar side of things, Shining Armor was most certainly a Gryffindor, with all the intelligence of the average Hufflepuff.

“You’re certain?” asked Theodore. “I’m not quite sure how Sombra’s magic is going to shift when I do this. It could be dangerous.”

“Will it help you find and disarm Sombra’s traps and protect my family?” asked the unicorn with a gaze that never wavered off Theodore’s eyes.

To Theodore’s surprise, Granite Peaks spoke up. “Sometimes, the only way to tell what a trap does is to stomp on it, good and solid. There are only so many ways to hide a trap this big, and it slipped right past me. If it will help, I’ll do whatever crazy thing the human wants.”

“No, this is my responsibility,” said Shining Armor, stepping forward in front of Theordore’s boss. “Besides, whatever this triggers, I’m better prepared to face it. Go ahead, Mister Nott. I’m ready.”

“Very well.” Theodore bent down and got a good grip around New Leaf’s scrawny neck before pointing his wand at Shining Armor on the other side of the bars. “Castellum!”